Damion
THE MESS hall was crowded and loud. The Zeus was the largest ship in the Chrysalis Corporation fleet, an immense combined battle cruiser and scientific transport of nearly thirty levels. Ten of those levels were strictly military controlled and housed the Fighters. The Zeus was a colony in and of itself. It held everything from a local market to a missile that could destroy an entire planet. It was a majestic vessel that seemed to extend forever as it floated through limitless space. At this point in the day, there were nearly a hundred people in this common area, from all ranks and of differing ages. The hall was cacophonous with all the voices echoing off the shiny steel walls.
Damion was dark-skinned, as most Mars-born were due in part to the UV lighting used in the tunnels, but not nearly as dark-skinned as Mercurian men and women, who were generally so dark that their skin contained blue highlights. He was also taller than the average pilot, since the Corporation had stipulations on maximum and minimum height, but the rule could be overlooked for skill. And Damion definitely had the skill.
He ate with his fellow Beta pilots. Sammy and Dulton were the seniors at their table. They were there to get a bead on the rookies, find out who were the troublemakers and who had potential to go further up the ranks. They had asked Damion where Juni had run off to, and he told them Juni was choosing sleep over chow, again. Damion didn’t care about the loud vocalizations, because the more he listened to all the bullshit flying around, the more he was able to sift through it and pick out what was real and what was fiction.
In the short time he had been listening, one subject stood out: whoever the Core named 47 was, he seemed to like killing his Alpha Fighters. As he listened to the story unfold, Damion hoped he never crossed paths with him. The stories seemed to be more fiction than fact. However, the first parts came from Dulton, who appeared to not be one to bullshit. The senior Beta pilot told Damion that the Alpha Fighters had all died on their first mission with 47. They all suffered from unexplainable life-support failures within their pilot chairs in the bow of the Zodiac.
Except for the last one. According to Dulton, the last one had a feeling what his fate was going to be based on the Core’s previous two Fighters, so he had tried to kill 47 three days ago while out on a mission. According to the reports, as soon as the Fighter’s hands wrapped around 47’s throat, the boosters activated and the unfortunate Fighter was thrown against the hull, crushing his head against the hard metal. Dulton said he had seen the bruises from the Alpha Fighter’s fingers on Core 47’s throat, telling of the Fighter’s obvious abuse of him.
Then Sammy stepped in and continued telling the tall tale of the evil, homicidal Core to the table. Damion half paid attention while determining if he should eat the protein offered on his plate or the baked goods his mother had sent him last week instead.
Sammy’s deep voice caught his attention. “Generally within the Chrysalis Corp, Cores pick their Fighters. It seems to work better that way since a more positive working bond forms between them. But in 47’s case, he had repeatedly refused to select a Fighter since he arrived on the Zeus about two years ago. He held off, telling the Creators and Commander Sandrite that he was waiting for the best and wished to experiment on different weapons systems for the Zodiac spaceship. But they didn’t believe him, so they went with a default protocol to reassign a Core when one refuses to make a choice and assigned him a Fighter—or rather, several Fighters. I’m sure they’re kicking themselves now.”
“They should just kill him,” Tethis spat in disgust, shaking his head. “No Core could be worth that much trouble.”
“Why would the Corporation or the Creators put up with that?” another Beta asked from farther down the table.
“I don’t know,” Sammy answered. “Everything I get about them is from a friend who is dating a sister of one of the Alpha pilots. For some reason what they do is super hush-hush, and unless you get picked, you don’t get told shit.”
Tethis frowned. “But we need to wait for one of the disturbing bastards to pick us to get a spot.”
“Well, technically we need to wait for someone to vacate an Alpha seat.” Sammy winked and pointed a finger at Tethis.
Damion did not have an opinion on the matter—at least not in the open space of the mess hall.
“One of the Zodiac Cores was overheard telling his Alpha Fighter that he heard 47 mumbling ‘He’s here. He is finally here’ a few days ago.” Dulton tossed his head back and drank down the last of his ration of water before changing the subject to maintenance schedules and away from murdering Cores.
“Well shit,” Dulton blurted.
“Speaking of the demon spawn….” Tethis groaned.
Damion half turned his head to see whom the men were cursing about.
The Core strode through the room, his gaze in their direction and apparently not bothered that the mess hall was becoming quiet. A silence similar to the void of space descended in the large hall.
Damion would have known immediately what the Core was by the suit he was wearing even if Sammy hadn’t pointed him out. It was a typical black flight suit with the Chrysalis Corporation brand of the crystal and wing. There weren’t many differences between a Core’s suit and a Fighter’s except for the holes. All along the back of the Core’s suit, strategically placed cutouts fitted over the ports installed in all Cores’ skin; ports that allowed them to access the system.
“Fighter Damion Pierce Hawk, please come with me.”
Everyone at Damion’s table stopped eating, staring at the Core behind him. The dark color of the attire made everything else about the Core stand out. Pure white hair that was nearly see-through hung slightly haphazardly around the almost severe features. The only thing that didn’t make the Core’s face angry-looking was the softness around his jaw, his slightly pointed nose, and his full pink lips. Those made him handsome. Not that Damion often looked at other men, but this one drew his attention. From the white hair to the pale-as-snow skin, it was obvious the Core was of Plutonian descent. But what drew Damion in completely, almost compellingly, were the glacier-bright blue eyes that had fixed on Damion. They were like two chips of aquamarine that shone brightly but without any life in them.
Damion cleared his throat and spoke as authoritatively as he could, “Why? What is your number?” He didn’t think that pilots, no matter how low in rank they were on the ship, were supposed to take orders from Cores. But honestly, he didn’t know much about the modified, emotionless beings. He was only a grunt—a mere Beta pilot.
“I am 47. You have been chosen. You need to accompany me so that you can receive your reassignment from Beta to Alpha class as well as begin to familiarize yourself with your Zodiac-class vessel.” The Core tilted his head slightly to the side, his expression blank, his voice a monotone as he added, “Is that sufficient information?”
“A little weird, but yeah, sure.” At the moment he couldn’t produce a witty reply if he wanted to. Uranus’s ball sac, this was just his luck.
Damion put his utensils down and stood up, motioning to Dulton to take care of his tray. The men at his table looked as surprised as Damion felt, not to mention as confused. The evil Core swooping in on his chow time to take him to the Commander’s office was nothing to laugh about, especially considering Core 47’s history. Damion’s best friend and roommate, Juni, wasn’t going to believe any of this, and of course this was the day Juni had decided to skip mess to nap.
“Let’s go, Core.”
The Core didn’t say anything as he turned and swiftly walked out of the mess hall and into the corridor. He didn’t stop until he reached the elevator at the end of the corridor and called it to their level. He waited for Damion to enter it before himself, then pressed a button to take them to the fifth floor—the floor with the Commander’s office.
“We will be reporting to Commander Sandrite to have your assignment made official and also to retrieve your room access card and pass for the Zodiac vessel.” The Core announced the order
s in a monotone voice. Typical for a Core, or so Damion had heard. This was all completely new to him. His brow furrowed in confusion. He’d been working hard to eventually achieve command of “his own” Zodiac, but he hadn’t expected it to be so soon or to be receiving one in such a manner. All junior pilots had aspirations to be assigned to a Beta ship that they would share with other pilots before finally working their way to Alpha status and a Zodiac-class ship of their own.
Achieving Alpha rank so quickly was unheard of. Until today.
“A bit soon, isn’t it? I haven’t even met any other Cores, and I’ve only become part of the Beta squad.” Only top pilots—the Alphas—were paired with Cores. Ten Alphas were in command of a unit of twenty Betas each, along with working as a unit with ten other Alphas. This brought the Zeus attack fleet to a total number of 210 ships available for deployment. Unless there was a large battle or they had to practice maneuvers as a unit with their Alpha leader, Betas generally stayed on the ship and worked with simulation units, which had proved boring to Damion so far, Although that didn’t mean he was ready to become an Alpha.
“You do not need to,” the Core replied without looking at him. The doors opened, and the Core waited until Damion exited first before doing so himself. “You have already been chosen by a Core. Therefore there is no need for you to meet others. We are the ones who pick our Alpha Fighters. The Fighters do not pick the Core. It is not ‘a bit soon,’ as you say, for one such as yourself.”
The Core began walking down the corridor beside Damion, obviously leading him but not walking in front of him.
“Right, but how can I be chosen if none of the other Cores have met me?”
Damion was starting to feel even more unbalanced than before. He felt as if he were talking to a wall or a computer console, but knew that if he were truly going to be an Alpha, he would have to adjust to the way Cores spoke, no matter the frustration. If the Commander didn’t laugh him out of his office first.
“You were chosen before you arrived on the Zeus,” the Core stated as if it explained everything. He paused at Commander Sandrite’s gray office door.
Damion sighed as he pulled on the edge of his uniform to straighten out any remaining wrinkles. “I hope you’re not being extremely obtuse on purpose.”
The Core finally turned to him, his odd-hued eyes meeting Damion’s through a length of bangs. “What do you need me to explain? I assumed I was being clear.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” Damion replied, glancing at the door. A hint of excitement joined the nausea in his stomach. “There is no way someone can choose me if they haven’t met me. It’s impossible.”
“Nothing is impossible, and anything deemed such should be proven otherwise,” the Core stated matter-of-factly, some essence of almost emotion flashing in his eyes. He turned to the door himself. “As I have just proven.”
When the Core pressed the door chime beside the metal entrance, a buzz was heard inside the room and a gruff voice bade them enter. The Core walked forward and the door opened automatically. He stopped in front of the door sensor and waited on Damion to follow.
“Obtuse.” Damion gave a small glare at the Core before he marched into the office. He made sure to keep his eyes facing forward, stepping only a few meters into the room before giving the Commander a formal salute.
The office was large for a destroyer class ship but befitted the Commander’s position. Directly in front of Damion and his Core was a massive wooden desk. The Commander sat behind it with a console in front of him and an intership communicator off to his right.
“Reporting as requested, sir.” Damion spoke in a clear, strong voice.
The Core stopped slightly behind and to the right of Damion, gaze lowered to the ground in a submissive pose that was unlike his previous almost commanding attitude.
“So you’re the one he’s been waiting for? I sure hope you were worth the three fucking lives that 47 went through to prove his gods-be-damned point.” The Commander was an ex-Alpha Fighter with a no-nonsense air about him. His watery pale-blue gaze rose from a comm tablet to look first at Damion and then at the Core before looking back down.
“Excuse me, sir?” Damion looked behind him at the silent, expressionless Core before directing his attention back at his Commander. “I don’t understand. I never met this Core until ten minutes ago.”
The Commander looked up again, his mouth pinched in a frown. “Let me give you a bit of advice for free, Fighter. Never try and understand a Core. What they do, how they do it, and the decisions they make are nothing we will ever understand. They’re trained and modified from birth to be nothing more than breathing computers with a pulse. They also give our Fighters an edge in combat when they merge with the Zodiac flight systems, making them a pivotal element to our forces.”
Damion had always felt, from the moment he first saw the Commander, that this was definitely a man who wouldn’t take any shit and would give more than he got if pressed. He was middle-aged, with salt-and-pepper hair, and he was in a position he had obviously earned instead of kissing asses to get there. Damion had not overlooked the height difference, having noted before that the Commander was a full hand shorter than him, but the man made up for it with a stocky stature that commanded attention.
Grumbling under his breath, the Commander finally put down his tablet, placing his elbows on the desk before lacing his fingers in front of his chin. “That particular one especially. He’s gone against his programming and isn’t the perfect little toy that the Chrysalis Corporation or the Creators want him to be. But he’s so fucking good, they won’t wipe him and plug him into the Zeus’s system. No, they let him get away with killing my goddamn Fighters, because they wouldn’t listen to his reasons as to why he hadn’t chosen yet. He’s been here on my ship for over a year now. When he said he’d chosen but his Fighter wasn’t here or ready yet, they decided to go against protocol and force him to pair with different Fighters. He’s too good to waste on idleness.”
The Commander’s voice was rising, getting agitated as he slammed his hands on the desk loudly and stood, glaring at the bowed head of the Core. “When asked why, his only explanation was that he deserved the best! So—” He paused, turning his angry gaze back to Damion. “—you better be the fucking best, or you’ll be just as dead as the other three. Do I make myself absolutely fucking clear, Fighter?”
“Yes, sir!” Damion answered automatically, but it was a knee-jerk response and not what he truly felt. He didn’t understand for one damn moment why this Core had killed while waiting on him. He also knew that if the Core didn’t kill him, it seemed the Commander wouldn’t mind throwing them both out an airlock and into the nearest sun to be rid of the Core. It had started out as such a good day, too, and now it had turned to shit. “I will either prove myself or obviously be killed by this Core trying to.”
“That’s all we can really ask for, I suppose. Hopefully it will be different with you,” the Commander growled, taking one last moment to glare at the Core before sitting back down.
He took three items off his desk and held them out to Damion. “This is your assigned room passkey along with your security clearance and also your Zodiac. You’re assigned to the Ares Zodiac. It was specially outfitted under this Core’s direction and has already been modified to accommodate your height and body shape, since you’re so damn tall.” Sandrite glared again at the silent Core. “He had the maintenance crew modify it three months ago. How he knew you were coming, I’ll never know and won’t attempt to guess. Why he didn’t tell me you were his chosen before today also goes into the increasing ‘I don’t understand this Core’ pile. If he had given us a name, perhaps he wouldn’t have been matched to the last Fighter, but I can’t waste time waiting on one rogue Core’s opinion. I had an Alpha seat to fill, and I filled it, damn it.
“Moving on, that piece of paper contains your official assignment. You’ll start exercises with your Core tomorrow so that you can become better acquainted
with each other’s styles and complete the bonding process. Any questions?”
“No, sir.”
Like hell. He had a lot more questions but didn’t want to be thought insubordinate. He also doubted Commander Sandrite would answer them. Hopefully he could keep up the front that he had his shit together and hide the fact that his state of shock was slowly wearing off. Of course, this meant his heart wasn’t beating as hard as before.
Damion didn’t even know what you did with a Core. Sure, he had heard the men talk, but most of the Fighters now with Cores had been regular or Beta pilots for years until chosen by a Core and becoming an Alpha. A Core did have the ability to bond with different Fighters, in case a Fighter died in combat, was reassigned, or failed to perform to expectations. Damion reached out and took the items held out to him before giving the Commander another salute. “Permission to leave, sir?”
“Yes, yes. Get him the hell out of here. He’s your responsibility now. Good fucking luck.” The Commander flapped a hand at him, dismissing them.
The Core was already at the door, waiting to follow Damion out of the office.
Damion read the room assignment, and as he expected, it was on the upper floor with the higher-ranked Alpha Fighters. “47, show me to my room.”
If there was one thing he had picked up from his talk with the other pilots, it was that the Cores had to do anything asked of them by their Fighters, and most of the time they complied. But this one had a record of refusing orders, and killing three of his Fighters in the process. Damion figured he had better test out the waters now, rather than risk his life in open space.
The Core merely turned back toward the elevators and pressed the up button, waiting yet again for Damion to get in before entering and queuing the elevator for the seventh floor. The command and control offices were on the fifth floor because it was the center of the ship and most protected from outside attacks. The officers’ quarters were on the tenth, while the other floors were scattered with different offices, Medical, mess, and general quarters. The seventh floor was for the senior Fighters, the Alphas.
Chrysalis Corporation Page 2
