Silent Order: Wraith Hand

by Jonathan Moeller

  “Vasquez?” said March. “Vasquez, respond please.”

  No one answered.

  “Caird?” said March. “Respond.”

  No one answered.

  “Perry?” snapped March. “Sergeant Perry, this is Captain March.”

  Again, he heard nothing.

  “Vigil,” said March. “Respond.”

  No one answered.

  “Faster,” said March to the cargo drone.

  “We are traveling at maximum safe speed,” said the drone in a toneless, metallic voice.

  “To hell with safety,” said March. “Faster! Get me to Bay 997!”

  The drone shuddered and then sped up.

  “Vigil, respond,” said March.

  Again, he heard silence in his earpiece, and then a burst of static.

  “Communications system coming online,” announced Vigil.

  “Vigil, report,” said March. “Status update.”

  “Rebooting,” said Vigil. “Systems coming back online according to priority.”

  “Rebooting?” said March. He cursed. “You were forcibly rebooted?”

  “Correct,” said Vigil. “Someone accessed the primary computer core and triggered a manual reboot. Subsystems coming online one by one by priority.”

  If the Tiger’s computer was forcibly rebooted, it could take upwards of twenty minutes for the computer system to come back online. It would take several minutes before Vigil herself could even respond to verbal queries. Likely the pseudointelligence had only just come back online.

  “Who triggered the manual reboot?” said March.

  “Unknown,” said Vigil. “Security camera subsystems still coming back online.”

  “Internal sensors?” said March.

  “Online,” said Vigil.

  “How many living humans on board the ship right now?” said March.

  “Four living humans are detected,” said Vigil.

  The rail gave a metallic squeal as March’s cybernetic hand tightened.

  “Corpses?” said March.

  “Two detected,” said Vigil. “Alert. Toxic substance detected in the ship’s atmosphere.”

  “What kind of toxic substance?” said March.

  “Sleeping gas,” said Vigil. “Non-lethal concentration. Designed to stun assailants.”

  Most sleeping gasses were used as weapons on ship-to-ship boarding actions, stunning the enemy ship’s crew and making it easier to take them prisoner. Except the Marines’ power armor included breath masks, which ought to have filtered out the gas.

  “Start pumping out the gas,” said March. “I’ll be there shortly.”

  “Atmospheric purification underway,” announced Vigil. “Atmosphere should be restored in two minutes, thirty-seven seconds.”

  “How much longer until the reaction chamber is calibrated?” said March. He hoped the reboot wouldn’t force Vigil to restart the calibrations from scratch.

  “Remaining calculations will take approximately thirty-two minutes,” said Vigil.

  “Get started on those, too,” said March. “I think we might need to leave in a hurry.”

  But he had a sinking feeling that it might be too late. If Lorre had used the Wraith device on one of the men on the Tiger, his main priority would have been to recover the second Wraith from the Tiger’s strong room.

  The doors to Bay 997 came into sight. The drone started to slow, but March didn’t wait. He leaped from the side of the drone and rolled to one knee, his metal fingers scraping along the deck to slow his rate of speed. March surged to his feet and sprinted through the bay doors. He started to reach for his pistol but realized that would be suicide. If there was violence, March would have no choice but to fight hand-to-hand. His cybernetic arm, augmentations, and combat experience gave him a massive edge over any unarmed foe…but the Marines’ power armor would negate many of those advantages.

  The Tiger sat where he had landed it, the cargo ramp down. Two Marines in power armor lay at the base of the ramp, blood pooling beneath them. March saw that the Marines’ heads had been crushed with terrific force. Someone had convinced them to remove their helmets and then had crushed their skulls. Likely one of the other Marines had done it, using the augmented strength of power armor. The blood hadn’t even begun to clot yet, which meant the men had been murdered not long ago, no more than a few moments.

  March yanked his breath mask from his belt and tugged it over his face as he ran up the ramp. “Vigil, status.”

  “The sleeping gas is being filtered from the atmosphere,” said Vigil. The wind tugged at March’s coat as he stepped into the cargo bay, wind blowing from the vents in the walls. “Now at a safe concentration.”

  March spotted men in blue jumpsuits lying on the floor of the cargo bay. Behind them, the door to the strong room had been ripped open and lay on the deck. “The dead men outside. Can you identify them?”

  “Ulm and Rogan,” said Vigil.

  March looked at the motionless men as he hurried to the strong room door. They were all alive and unhurt, just unconscious. He saw Caird and Vasquez and the two other Marines. If Ulm and Rogan were dead, that meant Sergeant Jeffrey Perry was under the control of the Wraith. The sequence of events made sense. Perry had been in charge of the watch outside the ship, and likely Caird and Vasquez and the other two Marines had been trying to get some rest. Perry must have instructed Ulm and Rogan to remove their helmets, and then he had killed them both while waiting for the gas to pump into the ship.

  He stopped before the strong room door, but he knew it was a useless gesture.

  The Wraith was gone.

  March stepped back and gave vent to a furious snarl of a curse, and then turned, his mind racing with the need to do a dozen things at once.

  Caird groaned and sat up, and the air in front of him flickered. Elizabeth appeared out of nowhere, blinking in surprise. March supposed that the macrobe could only observe the physical world while Caird was conscious.

  “What happened?” said Elizabeth.

  “The device,” said March. “The Machinists took it.”

  Caird groaned again and sat up, blinking.

  “March?” said Caird. “What happened? A gas leak…”

  “Listen to me,” said March, crossing the cargo bay to a pallet against the far wall. “Caird, get over here and listen to me. Hurry!”

  Caird nodded, got to his feet, and jogged over, still woozy. “What happened?”

  “The device is called a Wraith,” said March, opening the cargo container on the pallet. “The Machinists only have thirty-six of them, and it’s based on alien technology that they can’t reproduce. Lorre has a second Wraith in Bay 908, and he used it to take control of Sergeant Perry. Perry killed Ulm and Rogan, gassed you, and took the Wraith. I guess he left no more than five or six minutes ago.”

  “Good God!” said Caird. “The others…”

  “They should wake up shortly,” said March, pulling out the long heavy object from within the cargo container. “I’m going after Perry and the Wraith. If I’m not back within the hour, you have command of the ship. The Honest Profit will be heading out in an hour. Follow them back to Calaskaran space, and let the Ninevehk deal with any Machinist ships that chase you.”

  “Perry will be in power armor,” said Caird. “You can’t possibly deal with him alone.”

  “I have a plan,” said March.

  He wheeled the motorcycle out of the cargo container and started the engine. It had come in handy before on a few jobs, and it was going to come in handy now.

  Chapter 9: Wraith Hunt

  Thirty seconds later March roared down the cargo ramp, jerked the motorcycle’s handlebars hard to the right, and shot through the bay doors and into the main corridor of the docking ring. The bike’s capacitors had been fully charged, and it hurtled down the corridor, the tires squealing against the metal deck.

  His earpiece started chiming.

  “Captain March,” said Vigil. “Incoming call from Emissar
y Logos.”

  “Put it on,” said March.

  “Hello, Captain March,” said Logos, her cool voice filling his ear. “I feel obliged to inform you that operating an unauthorized motor vehicle inside Monastery Station is prohibited.”

  “Going to stop me?” said March, easing around a corner. He passed a group of Lithobati freighter crewers who gaped at him.

  “Nope,” said Logos. “It looks like the Machinists made their move.”

  “Yeah,” said March, gunning the throttle. The bike shot forward like a railgun round. “Lorre’s Wraith is linked to Sergeant Perry. He must have ordered Perry to kill two of the Marines from the Covenant and take the Wraith to him in Bay 908.”

  “Your surmise is correct,” said Logos. “The internal sensors are showing Sergeant Perry heading towards Bay 908 with a mild source of dark energy.”

  “The Wraith and its quantum inducer,” said March. “Who’s in Bay 908?”

  “The Machinist shuttle,” said Logos. “One human life sign…Mr. Lorre, looks like. He’s waiting outside the shuttle, and he also has a weak source of dark energy with him.”

  “The Wraith he’s using to control Perry,” said March.

  “I’ve dispatched security drones to Bay 908,” said Logos. “They won’t intervene, but they will kill anyone who uses an energy weapon or a chemically-propelled firearm.”

  “Good,” said March. Not that it would have mattered. His pistol could blast its way through Marine power armor eventually, but Perry would kill him long before that. At least it would stop Lorre from shooting him in the head.

  “You’ll have to fight them hand-to-hand,” said Logos. “The security drones won’t intervene. The Custodian can exercise that much control over them. But even with your cybernetics, you can’t go hand-to-hand against a man in power armor and win.”

  “Nope,” said March.

  He skidded around a corner, almost overbalancing, and righted the bike. About three hundred meters down the corridor he glimpsed a figure in blue armor vanishing through a set of bay doors, a metal container under one arm.

  Perry and the Wraith device.

  “Then what are you going to do?” said Logos.

  “Cheat,” said March, and he sent power to the bike. The motorcycle shot down the corridor, tires squealing, and March screeched around the corridor and headed into Bay 908.

  He took in the sight in an instant. The Machinist shuttle seemed tiny in the vast space, though it was over thirty meters long, an ugly, boxy craft covered in black armor. The shuttle’s cargo ramp was down and facing March, and Simon Lorre stood on the ramp, smiling. Sergeant Perry jogged towards him, the metal box containing the Wraith components under his right arm.

  Then Lorre saw March, and his eyes widened. He started to shout a warning, and Perry turned.

  March rammed open the bike’s throttle.

  The motorcycle blurred forward, the powerful engine accelerating. March stood up, gripping the handlebars with his hand of flesh, and Perry turned to face him. In the same instant, March leaped from the side of the bike, and the motorcycle slammed into Perry with a hideous crunching sound. The bike hit the Marine, throwing him to the ground with a resounding clang, and flipped handlebars-over-wheels into the air, landing with a deafening clatter on the deck.

  March managed to time his impact properly. He landed on his shoulder of metal, which absorbed the force that would have shattered the bones in his right arm. The impact flipped him over several times, and he drove his metal fingers into the deck with a screech and a spray of sparks, using the cybernetic strength to bring himself to a stop.

  He heaved himself to his feet.

  Lorre drew a pistol, saw a dozen security drones hovering overhead, and then shoved the weapon back in its holster. Instead, he yanked a heavy knife from inside his jacket and pointed it March.

  “Sergeant Perry!” shouted Lorre. “Kill him!”

  Perry staggered to his feet. The motorcycle impact hadn’t killed him, and it probably hadn’t even hurt him. However, it had done considerable damage to his armor, denting the plates on his torso, and his movements seemed stiff and sluggish.

  “Perry,” said March. How total was the Wraith’s control over the man? Could March talk him out of it? Could Perry resist the device? “Listen to me. Lorre’s using that machine to control you. He…”

  “I have to do my duty to the King and the Navy, sir,” said Perry. The voice coming from the helmet’s speakers sounded almost regretful. “I’m sorry.”

  He raised his right arm, pointing the built-in plasma weapon towards March.

  “No, don’t!” snapped Lorre. “The security drones. Hand-to-hand!” Lorre edged forward. March wondered why he didn’t simply run into the shuttle and flee while Perry advanced.

  Then March saw the metal case lying discarded a few meters from the damaged motorcycle. Of course – the Wraith from the Tiger’s strong room. Lorre wouldn’t leave without it.

  Perry lumbered forward. March backed away, noting that the Marine was moving with a limp to his right leg. The armor there had been damaged. Lorre circled to Perry’s left, the heavy knife ready. If March caught that blade in his left hand, he could crush it like cardboard.

  If the blade found his heart, it would kill him.

  “Sir, don’t make this harder than it has to be,” said Perry. “We both know that it’s my duty to kill you.”

  “It’s not,” said March, trying to keep an eye on both Perry and Lorre. “You’re mind-controlled. Lorre has a machine he’s using to control you.”

  “That’s nonsense, sir,” said Perry. His feet shifted subtly. “I would know if I was mind-controlled. I think you ought to…”

  He attacked mid-sentence, without warning, without hesitation. The Royal Calaskaran Navy trained its Marines to win in hand-to-hand combat by whatever method necessary. But it was harder for a fighting man to bluff with his stance, and March had seen the subtle changes in Perry’s balance. The Marine came at him in a blue blur, the power armor driving his legs forward and giving his arms the strength of sledgehammer blows. But March had already begun to dodge, and he twisted to the side, letting Perry hurtle past him. As the younger man did, March swung his left arm with all his augmented strength behind it.

  His fist hammered into the back of Perry’s right knee. March was familiar with the design of Calaskaran Marine power armor, both from his years as an Iron Hand and from later training with the Silent Order. There was a weak point there, and it had been damaged from the impact with the bike. A hideous squealing noise came from the armor’s right leg, and Perry’s charge came to an abrupt halt as the leg’s motors locked up. March started hammering with his left first at Perry’s head, landing four blows on the armored helmet in rapid succession. On the fourth blow, there was a small explosion from the side of Perry’s helmet, and the Marine shuddered, trying to turn.

  Before March could draw back his fist to land a fifth blow, Lorre was on him.

  March jumped back, parrying the sweep of Lorre’s knife with his left forearm. The blade sliced through his jacket sleeve and his jumpsuit sleeve, only to rebound from the impenetrable metal of his arm. In his haste to overpower Perry, March had neglected Lorre for too long, and he had forgotten how cat-quick the Machinist agent could move.

  Lorre’s right fist blurred forward, the fingers sheathed in steel knuckles. His hand buried itself in March’s gut, and March stumbled back, the breath exploding from his lungs with the impact. Lorre drove the knife at March’s face, and March jerked back. The blade would have opened his throat, but March managed to move fast enough that the knife instead bounced off his collarbone. Pain burned through him from the cut, and he felt the hot blood well up from the wound.

  March stumbled several steps and let his legs collapse, his back slamming against the deck. Lorre sprang after him, a wild, triumphant grin on his face, and raised his knife for the kill.

  But March had landed right next to the metal case holding the Wraith,
and he seized it and hurled it towards Lorre. His arm was true, and the heavy metal case hit the Machinist agent in the face. Lorre’s head snapped back, blood flying from the impact, and the case hit the floor. March threw himself to his feet, leading with his left arm, and caught Lorre’s knife in his hand. He gripped the blade and twisted, wrenching the weapon free from the Machinist agent’s grasp. Lorre stumbled back, eyes wide, blood streaming from his nose and split lip.

  “Kill him!” shouted Lorre.

  March raised the knife to stab at Lorre, but Perry interposed himself. Lorre whirled and sprinted for the bay doors, heading towards the corridor. March wondered why Lorre was fleeing and then realized that Perry was in no shape to continue the fight, and there was no way Lorre could win a fair fight against March. The armor’s right leg was dragging, and to judge from the Marine’s hesitant movements, March’s blows had damaged the helmet’s visual sensors.

  “Perry, listen to me, it’s over,” said March. “You can’t win.”

  “It’s my duty, sir,” said Perry. “It’s my duty to kill you.”

  “Was it your duty to kill Ulm and Rogan?” said March. “Was it your duty to betray the location of the Covenant to the Machinists?”

  “I…I don’t know,” said Perry, doubt filling his voice. “I thought so at the time, but now…” He shook his armored head. The gesture seemed somehow plaintive.

  “Listen to me,” said March. “You’re not yourself, you’re being controlled. That machine of Lorre’s forces you to obey him.”

  “No!” said Perry. “That can’t be it! That…”

  “Come with me, and I’ll show you,” said March. “We can turn the machine off, we…”

  “No!” screamed Perry. “It is my duty to kill you.”

  He raised his right arm, leveling the built-in weapon at March.

  “Don’t!” said March, throwing himself to the side, but it was too late.

  Perry fired twice, plasma bolts carving chunks of molten metal from the deck.

  The dozen security drones hovering overhead responded at once.

  Green light blazed around their equators, and a dozen beams of emerald light engulfed Perry. The Marine stood encased in a cocoon of green fire, and the temperature in the bay shot up twenty degrees. The light flashed, and when it cleared, Perry was simply gone, though the deck where he had been standing had been reduced to warped and buckled char.