by M. R. Forbes
“What is the status of our preparations?”
“Gloritant, we have completed the retrofit of four of the ships. They are converted, and their captains are awaiting orders.”
“Only three?” Thraven said.
“There has been a minor setback with the fueling chambers, Gloritant. As you know, they can be difficult to prepare, and we’ve discovered that many of the cells are unsuitable. They have not been surviving the integration process.”
“What is the failure rate?”
“Over sixty percent, Gloritant.”
Thraven considered it. Venerant Alloran’s reports had suggested a twenty percent failure rate on the integration of Lessers into the fueling chamber. Was it truly a surprise? They had been collecting cells from planets throughout the Outworlds, but their specimens were of questionable quality, necessitated by the need to remain hidden until the time to strike arrived. They didn’t have the same resources to procure the higher quality material that Eagan Heavyworks did. It was part of the reason they had gained control of the company to begin with.
“Gloritant, stronger cells will improve overall systems performance,” Honorant Gizlan said. “We have four ships, in addition to the Fire and the Brimstone. Perhaps a few exploratory strikes would be of value?”
“Perhaps,” Thraven said, an idea beginning to form.
He couldn’t argue that they needed better cells. Four ships laden with Shrikes, Converts, and standard infantry should be more than enough to seize a single planet, even one of formidable size. He had hoped to launch an organized offensive that would leave the galaxy trembling, but it seemed the Father was sending him on a slightly different path. He knew better than to question the will of his Father.
“Prepare the ships. We will launch a preliminary offensive, with the goal of collecting Lessers for integration.”
“Yes, Gloritant,” Gizlan replied, his eyes brightening with the order, his excitement obvious. “And who shall you name to lead this vanguard of the Great Return?”
Thraven knew Gizlan wanted the position for himself. In other circumstances, he might have even permitted it. His Nephilim brothers and sisters were committed to more important endeavors, and while Gizlan was a Lesser, he had proven himself loyal.
Not in these circumstances, however.
“I will lead the assault personally,” Thraven said. “You will remain here and prepare for completion of the fleet.”
Gizlan didn’t miss a beat, snapping another salute even as he tried to hide his extreme disappointment. “Yes, Gloritant.”
“You have done well, Honorant,” Thraven said. “I expect you to earn much glory in the days and years to come.”
Some of the disappointment vanished. “Yes, Gloritant.”
“You are dismissed, Honorant.”
Gizlen saluted once more, and then the projection vanished. Thraven turned his head, looking out the transparency to the field of starships beyond. The Fire was foremost among them, and already he could see the workers around it changing formation, shifting priorities to begin loading it with the full weapons of war.
He retreated away from the room, pausing when he reached the dark figures that stood motionless on either side of the door.
“Have the Font transferred to the Fire,” he said to the one on the left.
There was no indication the guard had heard him, but he was certain they did because as he moved away, one Immolent remained behind while the other followed dutifully.
He would go and clean up this mess, and then the real war could begin.
20
Ursan followed Dak off the loop transport that carried them into the city, keeping a wary eye on the individuals around them. He clutched the satchel defensively, holding it tight, nervous that someone might give it too much attention.
“Where to?” he asked, looking up. Vehicles crowded above them, skipping along designated lanes stacked six rows deep below the linked platforms that connected the Uplevel. It was more traffic than he would have expected judging by the activity at the spaceport.
“Not up there,” Dak replied. “That territory is for the bankers.” He pointed ahead. “That way.”
“The station doesn’t run through it?”
“And force the snobs to have to look at the likes of us?” Dak laughed. “It’s bad enough for them when they have to ride the loop with us. Why do you think there are so many cars?”
Ursan redirected his eyes forward. The buildings were all massive, leaving this part of the city bathed in darkness despite the time of day. It felt hotter down here, too, and more moist. Like the wealthy were sweating on the poor. Or pissing on them.
“This part of the city reminds me of Caliban,” he said. “I think I’d be worried if things were too clean.”
“You and me both, Boss.”
They walked for a while, following the flow of foot traffic through a number of alleys between buildings, the landscape becoming more industrial and aged as they did. Ursan noticed soon after that the composition of the individuals had slowly changed, the number of soldiers mingled in with the crowd increasing as they drew nearer to Central.
There was no sign announcing when they arrived, but it was clear all the same. Residences, storefronts, and eateries gave way to brothels and drug dens, clubs and Construct nodes, black market surgeons, and armories. They weren’t advertised on signs or anything, but he knew how to identify them from his time frequenting similar locations on other planets. He was a career soldier after all.
“One second, Boss,” Dak said, pausing in the middle of one of the streets.
Ursan stood with him, eying a pair of barely clothed human synths gyrating behind a large window. One of them caught his gaze, smiling and sticking her hips out provocatively before gesturing and causing the window to turn opaque.
“Recreation later, huh, Boss?” Dak joked.
Ursan glared at him, and he lowered his head. That kind of maneuver might have been tempting to him before Trin. Not now.
“What’s the holdup?” he asked.
“I was just a little confused. Things have changed a bit. That pleasure house wasn’t there before. It’s this way.”
Ursan followed him down an adjacent street. A vent from the upper levels was dumping steam out nearby, casting a haze on the entire area. He found his hand moving toward the blaster hidden under his coat as they walked. Something about this area didn’t feel right.
He heard the clicking and smelled the salty brine before the Plixians appeared from a side alley, rushing toward them in a group, their legs tapping along the pavement. Ursan had the blaster out before he thought about it, but Dak’s hand landed on top of it, pushing it down.
“Hold up, Captain,” he said.
Five of the six Plixians remained back. The other one approached quickly, scuttling forward and reaching out toward Dak, putting a pair of three-fingered hands on his shoulders and clicking in a tight cadence.
“Dak, you meaty bag of putty. You’re the last individual I expected to trip my trap.” He hissed in laughter.
“Gorix, you cockroach,” Dak replied. “How long has it been?”
“Four Earth standard?” Gorix guessed.
“Earth standard,” Ursan said. “We’re in the Outworlds, aren’t we?”
Gorix’s head turned, two beady eyes landing on Ursan while his antennae shivered. “Earth standard is an accepted and easily understood metric, even here on Anvil.” He looked back at Dak. “Who’s the hairless Curlatin?”
“Ursan Gall,” Ursan said. “Captain Ursan Gall.”
Gorix made a dismissive clatter. “Captain? Dak, you brought a soldier my way?”
“It isn’t like you think,” Dak said. “Captain Gall has funds. He can pay.”
“Are you vouching for that?”
“Yeah.”
Gorix’s mandibles moved quickly in excitement. “In that case, follow me, Captain Ursan Gall. I’ve got a lot of good stuff I can show you.”
“
I’m not interested in it,” Ursan said.
“No?”
“There’s only one thing I need from you.” He shifted the satchel so he could open it.
“Boss, maybe we should wait until we’re inside,” Dak said.
“We don’t need to go inside if he can’t help me,” Ursan replied. He opened the bag, gently reaching in and wrapping Trin’s hair in his hand.
Gorix sank from his thorax as he tried to see what Ursan had, snapping back in surprise when he lifted Trin’s head and held it out.
“My wife,” Ursan said. “Dak told me you make bots. I want you to make one that will allow her to walk again.”
Gorix’s head rotated toward Dak, whose expression told the Plixian that Ursan was serious and that he should respond seriously to the request.
“Captain,” Gorix said hesitantly. “I am very skilled in bot repair and construction. Bots, Captain. Not Terrans. Even if I could rig a system that would mobilize the head, I mean your wife, I can’t return life to dead things.”
“The brain runs on oxygen and electricity,” Ursan said. “It isn't that different from bots.”
“Captain, I’m sorry if you came all of the way to Anvil for this, but this is beyond the limits of my abilities.”
“So you can’t do it?” Ursan asked. He could feel his skin beginning to burn. He was getting angrier by the second.
“No, Captain,” Gorix said.
“Or you won’t do it?”
“Captain Gall, if I could, I would.”
“Liar,” Ursan shouted. “It was Thraven, wasn’t it? He got to you. He told you not to help me.”
“What?” Gorix said. “I don’t know who-”
“Lying again,” Ursan said. He lifted his hand, throwing the Gift into Gorix. The force pushed the mechanic backward, sending him crashing into the other Plixians.
“Boss,” Dak said.
“I came in good faith, and you attack me?” Gorix said angrily, twisting on the ground to get his legs back under him. “Kill them both.”
“Gorix, wait,” Dak said. “Ursan.”
“Shut up, Dak,” Ursan said.
The Plixians around Gorix produced sidearms from packs strapped close against their backs, wasting no time unloading the rounds within. Most of them were aimed at Ursan, but one of the Plixians had targeted Dak, and he dove to the ground as the slugs whipped past him, one of them grazing his shoulder.
“Gah,” he shouted. “Mother fragger.”
Ursan was burning with fury and despair. He held up his free hand, and the bullets headed his way all came to a stop, hanging uselessly in the air. He wanted more than anything to send them back to the individuals who had fired them, to watch their heads snap as the rounds struck them between the antennae with more force than their guns could manage. He held himself in check, shaking from the effort.
“I could kill all of your guards,” Ursan said. “A thought. A gesture. They would all be dead. I don’t want to kill right now. I want to save.”
Gorix remained still, his mandibles dancing as he stared at the frozen bullets.
“I’ll do what I can,” he said at last. “I may be able to rig something up, but I’m going to need to call in a specialist on the organic to mechanical interchange. I can do larger work like muscle connectors, bionics, even implanted weapons, but what you want is at the near microscopic level.”
“Bring whoever you need,” Ursan replied. “I can pay. My starship, the Triune, is in orbit. That should cover it, shouldn’t it?”
“Boss?” Dak said, getting back to his feet. “You can’t sell your ship.”
“Why not? I have the other one for now, and the only way I’m going to lose it is when I die. Probably at Thraven’s hands.”
“What about me? What about the rest of your crew?”
“Thraven won’t blame you for following orders. He’ll keep you on. This isn’t your decision to make, Dak. She isn’t your ship.”
“That will cover it,” Gorix said. “Assuming it’s at least Castle class?”
“Castle? Frag that. She’s way above Castle.”
“Then we have a deal.” Gorix hesitated. “I will require the head.”
Ursan looked down at Trin’s face. He didn’t want to let go of her. “I’ll stay with her.”
“This work is going to take some time, Captain,” Gorix said. “A week at the soonest. Most likely more.”
“We can get a room nearby,” Dak said. “You won’t have to be far.”
Ursan was motionless for a moment. Then he nodded and put Trin’s head back in the satchel, zipping it closed. Only then did he allow the bullets to fall. They clattered to the ground as he stepped through them, holding out the bag to Gorix.
“If anything happens to it, I’ll kill you slowly,” he said.
Gorix clicked, his posture fearful when he took the satchel gingerly in one of his narrow hands. “Understood.”
“No progress, no payment,” Ursan said.
Gorix’s head tilted as though he was going to complain. He nodded instead. “Dak knows where my workshop is located. Give me one local day to contact my specialist and do some preliminary research.”
“Fine. One local day. Dak, let’s go before I change my mind about leaving her.”
“It’ll be okay, Boss,” Dak said.
Gorix turned his head and clacked something to the other Plixians, something Ursan’s translator implant wasn’t able to convert. He was about to question it when Dak put a hand on his shoulder.
“They’re talking about what they want for dinner,” Dak said.
“How do you know?”
“I spent some time with Gorix before I started running with you. I know the customs. Come on.”
Dak started leading him away. The Plixians retreated as well, making their way back into the side street where they had appeared. Ursan paused, looking back, a sudden panic gripping him. “They’re going to hurt her.”
“Gorix can be trusted,” Dak said. “Besides, you scared the hell out of him. Didn’t you notice that line of green running down his foreleg?”
Ursan was confused for a second. Then he started to laugh. “No. I didn’t notice.”
“There’s a shitty dive I know a couple streets from here. It’s friendly to assholes like you and me, and it isn’t a paradise, but the living’s at least as good as it is on the Triune. We can wait there if you want?”
“Anywhere close,” Ursan said, starting to rub his hands together. She had only been gone for a minute, and he was already losing it. He needed to get a grip. “I’m not crazy, am I, Dak?”
“You keep asking me that, Boss.”
Another non-answer. “Never mind.”
21
There were a few tense minutes during the shuttle ride when Abbey wasn’t sure if the Haulers were as trustworthy as their reputation had led her to believe. After the craft had cleared the atmosphere, Nilin had adjusted course and put them on a direct heading toward one of the Republic battleships orbiting the planet. Not the Driver, Olus’ ship, but another, older ship, whose tags were obscured by a smaller cruiser beside it.
She had felt herself tensing, only to feel like an idiot as the shuttle had passed over the top of the ship, the maneuver revealing the Destructor behind it. The cargo ship was nearly three times the size of the battleship, the bow facing toward them, the body stretching off almost endlessly into the black. Like the prison ship that had transferred her to Hell, it was composed of a fixed forward crew area and a detachable, and replaceable, aft where all the cargo was stored. It was essential both for quick transfer of big loads and for more effective escape in the event of an emergency. Not that there were many emergencies in Republic space. Not that a company like the Haulers needed to worry about it, anyway.
Everyone knew to leave the Crescent Haulers alone. Their founder had seen to that years ago, building the business on an uncanny ability to travel the universe safely. Doing that had meant some allegedly seedy deals with some alleg
edly seedy people, and the untimely deaths of more than a few government officials, military leaders, mercenary commanders, and heads of criminal enterprises that were thought otherwise untouchable. It was dirty business, but it also meant that the Republic had a source to handle their most precious cargo. One whose delivery percent had been at one hundred for nearly fifty years.
Which left Abbey wondering what the frag they were doing picking up useless space junk.
Unless it wasn’t as useless as she thought?
Unless it wasn’t the Republic that had hired them?
She was thinking like a Breaker, trying to untangle the knots in front of her eyes. While the questions were disconcerting, the activity was comforting. She had been questioning her sanity too often lately. She knew she was changing, and Olus had even suggested she embrace the change, but at the same time, it had seemed as though she was being replaced instead of altered.
She wished Captain Mann was still with them. She wanted to know what he thought of the situation. Were the Haulers working with Thraven? What if only some of them were? She knew the bastard had spies and operatives everywhere. Inside the Outworld Governance, the Republic Council, Hell, and the military. She still didn’t know how long he had been moving his pieces into place, but she could guess it was a pretty long time.
Where did Sylvan Kett fit into that? She surprised herself with the question. She hadn’t given Kett much thought since Mamma Oissi’s. The Rudin had suggested Thraven was looking for Kett, desperate to find him because of what he knew.
What did he know? How had he learned it? She wished she still had her hands on the mainframe she had recovered. She wished she knew the whole story behind the small box that had been left behind on the Nova. Where had it come from? Had Kett lost it? Did the target on Grudin belong to the General? To Thraven? Or were they just a bunch of hapless idiots who got their hands on something they didn’t understand?
She had seen the setup inside the compound. It wasn’t the gear of hapless idiots.
