The Senior Senator was something of a mystery to Darius. Soft-spoken but with a will of iron, the Laird usually waited for Rogar to finish speaking when giving him his daily brief before asking a few questions. The old man’s questions didn’t appear very piercing to Darius at first, but as time went by Darius began to realize just how effectively the questions seemed to draw out bits of information which Rogar somehow always seemed to leave out of his daily briefs.
Spotting the pattern, Darius began to craft a secondary brief to help answer the seemingly innocuous questions of the Laird. Rogar, thankful for the extra assistance, allowed him to fill in the blanks. Darius quickly became adept at spotting the questioning patterns of the Laird and wrote his briefings accordingly. Rogar began to rely more and more on Darius. Darius was nearly positive the Laird had begun to notice as well, and figured it was time to move on to the next phase.
With assistance from Christine Dai, the woman who trained him in electronics, Darius was able to have funds transferred into Rogar’s new, unknown account. He arranged for it to appear the senior aide was working with a rival family on Ceres and spilling secrets of the McCarroll clan. Darius guessed the senior aide would not even know about the account – or who was apparently paying him – until it was too late.
His plan worked to perfection. After a cursory questioning from the security detail surrounding the family, Rogar suddenly resigned one day, and Darius found himself in the position of senior aide to Laird McCarroll, one of the power brokers in the Upper House of Parliament. His duties increased, but so did his access to the Laird.
It was almost too easy.
Chapter Six
The implant nodule isn’t too bad, Gabriel thought, scratching the back of his head once more as he walked into the barracks of the recruit training center. He rubbed his scalp and touched the bare skin. But the lack of hair is going to drive me nuts.
The previous two weeks had gone by in a whirlwind, with him being sworn in almost immediately after his brain scan. Jonas had been particularly thrilled at his desire for a rapid departure, and had ensured he was on the next shuttle to the Mechanized Infantry Training Camp.
After being sworn in by a haggard looking Navy officer, standing before the crimson and black flag of the empire, Gabriel was quickly transported to the northern hemisphere of the planet Corus. The days-long jump through the drive gates was enough to make any man go crazy from boredom, but Gabriel managed by simply sleeping throughout most of the long journey. It also gave him time to reflect on the differences between the outer fringe planets and the core worlds of the Dominion, and the technological differences as well.
Despite being dressed for the warmer climate of Belleza Sutil, he had surprising little difficulty in dealing with the frigid winds of the Corus winter once he had arrived. Blasts of icy cold wind slapped his face and buffeted him, but he was deep in thought and barely noticed it. With his meal ticket in hand, he boarded a small transport shuttle with two other recruits from Corus’ orbital station. Within three hours he had arrived at the army’s Mechanized Infantry Training Camp on the outskirts of the tiny town of Lares near the magnetic north pole.
Also known as “Wraith Tech” to locals and Wraiths alike, MITC was where all Wraith units were born. Constructed in the large forges near the base, each suit was meticulously crafted to be an instrument of death for humanity’s enemies and to support the life of the Imperfects who were to pilot the machines from within. Gabriel had been told, as the shuttle landed on the base, the township of Lares existed solely to support the Wraiths. Someone else had told him Lares was where the Emperor himself took vacation each year, something Gabriel had a hard time believing. The desolate, icy conditions which surrounded the barren town ensured other, more tropical destinations were probably more to the Emperor’s liking. The dry humor of the claim, though, was not lost on the young man.
Gabriel shook the memories of his journey from his mind and walked to one of the unclaimed bunks. He rested his arm on the metal frame of the top bunk and looked around, gauging the others who had already arrived. Other recruits were milling about, talking to each other in low voices. Each male in the room looked as though they were normal, as if nothing was wrong with them and they were simply about to begin the training it would take to control the monstrosities of war known as the Wraiths. Gabriel knew the truth, however. Only Imperfects were worthless enough to be cast into battle haphazardly, to hold the line no matter the cost, to wither and die on some unknown and misbegotten world far from their planet of birth. And of all the Imperfects, only a few were even mentally capable of driving the massive Wraiths into battle.
Psychotics. Lunatics. Nutcases. Those who had no soul, no remorse in their killing. Gabriel had initially been surprised when he discovered the Wraiths were known for taking only those who did not care to live. He had protested he had much to live for, that he was neither psychotic nor remorseless. All he wanted, he had tried to explain as they sedated him for his implant surgery, was to rescue Sophie on Ptolemy. The surgeons, though, didn’t seem to care or listen to his plight. The doctors had simply shrugged and reminded him he had volunteered, signing away what few rights an Imperfect had before he had been sworn in.
His hand unconsciously wandered back to the fresh scars on the back of his head, where a small hole surrounded by a thin sheen of ceramic lay. They had shaved his head completely with a laser, removing each strand of hair by the root and destroying the follicle in the process. This process, combined with a gelatinous cream injected under his scalp, ensured he would never grow hair on his head again. He lifted his shirt and peeked down at his bare torso, also devoid of any traces of hair. He shivered as he remembered the cream injections into other, far more uncomfortable places. His hand ran along his back to the seam of his pants and stopped, embarrassed. Scratching at it, he knew, was not going to make the pain go away anytime.
“Hey,” a voice came from behind him. Gabriel quickly jerked his hand away from his pants and looked over his shoulder at the shorter man standing behind him. Gabriel turned completely around and cautiously offered his hand in greeting. The man looked at the hand for a moment in confusion before he looked Gabriel in the eye and began to chuckle softly. “A Sutillian, eh?”
“How’d you know?” Gabriel asked, surprised as he pulled back his hand. The man tapped his head with a finger and smiled knowingly.
“Only Sutillians shake hands like that anymore,” the man said. He patted Gabriel on the shoulder once. “Esau Morales. I’m from Solomon.”
Gabriel nodded, surprised and more than a little pleased. Solomon was one of the smallest worlds in the Dominion, a lush moon located a mere six light years from Belleza Sutil. Circling a gas giant named after King David’s firstborn son, Solomon was an unspoiled world and the most beautiful jewel in the Emperor’s crown.
Solomon was also notorious for having very few Imperfects in their society. For reasons that scientists could not determine, the environment of Solomon helped keep the number of Imperfects to a minimum. Of course, those who were Imperfects on the beautiful planet were far more ostracized than even the Imperfects of Belleza Sutil, Gabriel recalled. Theories abounded, of course, as to the low numbers on such a populated planet but Gabriel recalled nobody was certain as to why.
It’s one of the many mysteries of the universe, he thought as he reached out and mimicked Esau’s earlier greeting carefully, patting Esau on the shoulder once.
“Civilized greetings,” Esau teased him as he looked around the barracks. It was half-filled, with the number of recruits walking through the door tapering off dramatically. The barracks was obviously designed to hold over one hundred recruits; barely fifty had shown up, which caused Esau to frown. “Guess with the attack on Ptolemy killed off any desire to join the Wraiths and see the galaxy, eh?”
“See the galaxy?” Gabriel asked, thoroughly confused. He was slightly embarrassed at the prospect of appearing like a simple backwater country bumpkin, but he could not
help it. He had a burning desire to know everything, to learn as much as he could.
“Didn’t your recruiter say you’ll get to see the galaxy, traverse wild planets while protecting the Dominion from her enemies? Eat exotic foods and bed even more exotic women?” Esau rattled off quickly, his expression curiously vague. Gabriel shook his head negatively.
“My...I need to find someone who was on Ptolemy when the Abassi hit,” Gabriel stammered slightly, the cold feeling in the shadows of his heart returning with full force at the thought of Sophie. He roughly shoved it aside. There is a time for mourning, he told himself. This is not that time.
“Ah,” Esau said and grinned horribly. “You’re in it for the revenge factor. Mother, Father, sibling?”
“Er, no,” Gabriel argued. “Not revenge, just… I really need to find her.”
“Ah, girlfriend. I really don’t think anybody–” Esau doubtfully stated before he was cut off.
“Attention on deck!” a loud, booming voice cut through all conversation. The personnel inside the room looked around, though one or two stood up straighter at the call. Gabriel looked towards the entrance of the barracks, curiosity getting the better of him. His eyes widened as the largest man he had ever seen entered the bay.
“Good afternoon, maggots,” the man said in a cheerful yet sinister voice, a giant standing almost seven feet tall. He was so wide, Gabriel realized, the man had been forced to turn sideways to fit through the doorway. He also was bereft of any hair on his head, which told Gabriel far more than anything else possibly could. Gabriel wondered how the man had managed to put so much loathing into a simple greeting. The giant continued his welcome speech. “I am your training supervisor, Sergeant Stephanos Griffon and I am responsible for your lives over the next two months. Unlike the rest of those worthless worms known as Imperfects, who simply exist in our society and then die, you have agreed to have a higher purpose. You are to go out, die and take as many of your enemy as possible with you. You might, should you survive training, be a Wraith.
“The next eight weeks are going to be hell on you,” Sergeant Griffon continued as he began to pace down the line of assembled recruits, most of whom were beginning to finally stand somewhat at attention. “Eight weeks might not seem like enough time to train, but then, there’s a war on, isn’t there? The new implant in your head will help facilitate your learning process, even if you are the dumbest pieces of shit since the Caliph named his wives. If you know anything about the structure of the Dominion’s military forces, then you are in luck. Everything you think you know is wrong.
“You sorry, pathetic collection of worthless bags of water and meat are what I was given to train, and by the loving grace of His Majesty and God I will train you. You will go from being Imperfects to being something more, something not even Perfects can be. You will be Wraiths, death incarnate, mortem incarnatum. You will become something far greater than you should be, because you are worthless.
“You may be aware in digital vids, we training sergeants tend to be cranky old men with lots of battle experience. We’re supposed to work you hard until you prove yourself to us. Then we respect you and we form a single, unique bond where I will be the kindly father figure you always knew us to be. Ha! You will never earn my respect so long as you are an Imperfect. You are nothing but a waste of space to me until you have a suit. In my eyes, and in the eyes of the rest of the Dominion, you will never be anything more than piles of shit. But I digress.
“The Wraith suit – listen up, maggots! – is the greatest weapon we have against our enemies. Powered by a mini-fusion reactor and armored with anti-neutrino metals, the Mark Six Wraith suit is damn near unstoppable. The Lynx cannon attached to the typical Wraith suit can fire up to ten thousand rounds per minute with pinpoint accuracy and can decimate, singlehandedly, a company of regular infantry.
“We are both the sword and shield of the Emperor. We strike at His behest, defend until our blood is dried upon the baked lands of some long forgotten hell. The Navy can claim to protect the Emperor all they want; it’s not their fancy hat-wearing pansy asses who drop onto a planet first or who are the shield between the Emperor and the barbarians who threaten the gates. Wraiths always go first, get to kill first and always die first. We go, we kill and we die. It’s that simple. Until then, though, you are under my loving and tender command. You will not graduate from Wraith Tech, oh hell no! You simply move on, beyond, to join a unit. Hopefully trained, I presume to add. And I am responsible for your training. And I train Wraiths, not pussies!
“Which means,” Griffon finished as he moved directly in front of Gabriel and looked down at the short, muscular young man from Belleza Sutil, “some of you worthless pieces of shit are going to die here. I have no problem with that. In fact, I welcome it. It allows me to go home at night and feel better about myself, knowing I have helped the Dominion chlorinate the tainted waters and prevented any of you from destroying all that is good in our society. Your job is going to be to die, while taking as many as you can with you. You will be harbingers of death, if I decide you get to live that long.” Gabriel held his breath and stared blankly at Griffon’s chest, his face carefully devoid of any expression. The sergeant grunted.
“You’re an ass,” a voice called out from across the room, cutting into the sergeant’s well-rehearsed speech. Griffon turned around quickly and stalked towards the entrance of the barracks. Gabriel suddenly remembered to breathe and quickly exhaled as Griffon walked away from him; the massive sergeant had nearly scared the literal crap out of him.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you,” Griffon boomed as he approached one of the larger recruits near the front door of the barracks. He stopped in front of a darker-skinned man Gabriel recognized from the orbital station on Belleza Sutil. A fellow Sutillian, Gabriel thought. He swallowed nervously as he watched Sergeant Griffon pull up to a stop in front of the recruit.
“What did you say, maggot?” Griffon demanded, glaring angrily down at the shorter man.
“I said you’re an ass,” the other recruit said, his own face set into a scowl. “You can’t talk to us like that. I’ve seen the digital vids about boot camp in the army and this isn’t allowed!”
“I see,” Griffon said pensively, nodding in thought. Gabriel began to relax slightly, secretly glad someone called the sergeant on his abrasive behavior. Even Gabriel knew about the studies on how fostering trust and building a partnership helped facilitate training at a much faster rate. Griffon looked around the barracks at the other recruits, who were now standing more or less at attention. “You think I should foster our relationship? Build up trust and a mutual respect for your lives and well-being? Do the rest of you feel this way?”
“Yes, sir!” the recruits shouted, Gabriel included. He knew Sergeant Griffon had crossed the line with his ranting, though he had a nagging fear this was exactly what the sergeant wanted. He remained at attention, however. There was only so much leeway he would allow himself, and movement might attract the unwanted attention of the training sergeant. Deep inside, Gabriel suspected being the object of interest of the massive drill sergeant was a bad idea.
Griffon nodded slowly. “Then by all means, let’s foster. What’s your name, recruit?” he asked as he looked back at the recruit who had spoken up earlier.
“My name is Nicholas Gutierrez,” the recruit said and offered his hand. Griffon took it in his own and shook it.
With frightening speed, the sergeant spun Nicholas around and held him firmly in place, a forearm across his throat while still holding the recruit’s hand. He had twisted the hand behind Nicholas’ back, however, rendering him helpless. Griffon looked over glaring down at the shorter man and glanced quickly around at the rest of the recruits. His face was set in stone, and his eyes were remorseless. A few had started towards the sergeant when he pinned Nicholas. Gabriel remained rooted in place, keeping his eyes forward as he continued to be nothing more than a pillar of flesh. He did not want to attract the attention o
f the hulking and dangerous man.
“Stop!” Griffon barked, his voice carrying over the protests of the rest of the recruits. The voices and recruits stopped as Griffon applied more pressure to Nicholas’ throat. Nobody dared move as Griffon’s eyes tracked each recruit in the room with a brisk and calculating look. The cold eyes passed over the room once before settling on Gabriel. His eyebrows twitched slightly, dangerously. “You, recruit! Third down, left side. Name!”
Oh shit, he means me! Gabriel realized suddenly. “Gabriel Espinoza, sir!”
Griffon nodded once and looked back down at Nicholas, whose face was turning darker as Griffon applied more pressure with his forearm. Nicholas squirmed slightly but the training commander held him easily in place. The massive man applied a little more pressure to the recruit’s trachea and the struggling stopped.
“Why didn’t you move like the rest of the scum, recruit?” Griffon barked. Gabriel blinked and looked around as he realized he had been the only one not to move from his position when Nicholas had been grabbed.
“I...don’t know, sir,” Gabriel responded after a moment’s pause. There was no way he was going to admit just how much the training sergeant terrified him.
“Pick a recruit to help you with trash duty, Espinoza,” Griffon ordered and Gabriel looked at Esau. Esau shrugged but nodded to him. Gabriel felt a small surge of appreciation, and a larger one of relief, cascade over him.
“I pick him, sir. Recruit Morales,” he said, thoroughly confused as he jabbed a thumb at Esau. Whatever Griffon was planning, he decided as he kept his gaze straight forward, I’m not going to say anything about it. Or do anything to piss him off any more than he already is. Damn it, he cursed as he realized what he had just done, and now I have trash duty. Griffon looked back around the barracks, eyeing each individual recruit with a cold gaze.
Wraithkin (The Kin Wars Saga Book 1) Page 9
