Dark Transmissions

by Davila LeBlanc

  Before Chord could even reply, the floor shuddered beneath them as if it was trying to carry too much weight. Then, as abruptly as the shuddering had started, it stopped. “Pilot to crew. We’ve successfully tethered the Jinxed to the station and are now in a stabilized orbit.”

  “We will be opening the outer airlock. I will be watching and monitoring you. Stay safe, stay well and good luck.” Captain Soltaine’s voice could be heard as he spoke to them over the comm-­link.

  The doors to the outer airlock slid open like the iris of a camera, revealing the blue-­green gas giant and the derelict space station not five hundred meters away from them. The station consisted of two rings connected to one another by several large tunnels that reminded Chord of spokes in a wheel. Save for the Jinxed Thirteenth’s spotlights being reflected off its surface, the station was dark, void of any other sign of activity.

  The outer ring of said “wheel” was massive, brown with patches of white and easily the size of a small moon. Chord could identify several ser­vice hatches along the outer ring’s walls. Faded letters were scrawled along the side. “The letters there are of the Late Modern alphabet, and say ‘AstroGeni.’ ”

  “Meaning?” came Morrigan’s query.

  “This unit does not know the answer. However, if a guess were to be ventured, this unit would say that it is probably the name of a company or nation state from the days of Ancient Humanity,” Chord politely replied.

  Chord then observed the smaller sphere within the station’s spokes. Unlike its grander counterpart, it was the size of a building, and was colored a copper-­rust green with patches of gold.

  Four heavy lines of diamond-­wire rope, each one as thick as two of Morrigan’s arms, had been fired from the Jinxed Thirteenth. The ship and station were now tethered to one another by magnetic clamps. Arturo took a moment to check each of the lines, giving them a solid tug before jumping up in zero-­g and grabbing hold of one.

  Arturo quickly connected himself to the rope with a zipline clip. Morrigan followed suit. Arturo turned to face Chord and Phaël. “Our approach will be slow and easy. Understood?”

  Phaël and Morrigan simply nodded. This was clearly not their first venture into the cosmosphere. Chord understood the danger of this situation for the Humanis. When compared to Machina shells, Humanis bodies were notoriously fragile.

  Twin air jet boosters on the zip-­clip fired off, pushing Morrigan and Arturo forward. Phaël jumped, twirling her body lithely in zero gravity before grasping on to the diamond-­wire roping and gripping it tightly with both her feet and hands. She started walking on all fours, quickly and nimbly keeping pace behind Morrigan.

  Chord’s shell had been fitted with miniaturized repulsors and hands that were capable of grasping the wire without fear of friction or damage. Chord followed behind Arturo. Before them the space station loomed closer and closer.

  “All systems green. We’ve got you.” Captain Morwyn’s voice broke the monotonous silence of the approach.

  “Copy, Command.” Arturo looked back to see Chord close behind him. When he saw Phaël walking on all fours along the rope he let out yet another annoyed click of his tongue.

  “Don’t worry about Phaël, Sergeant Sureblade. She ain’t ever slipped.” Morrigan was still moving down the line at a steady pace. Never once moving ahead of Arturo.

  “Sergeant Kain will suffice for you, Private Brent.” Unlike Morrigan, who seemed to always be friendly with anyone he met, there appeared to be no force in the universe capable of ridding Arturo Kain of his annoyance at working with ­people unworthy of his legendary presence.

  Chord could see Morrigan cock his head beneath his combat armor. “Yes, sir, Sergeant Kain, sir.”

  Chord found the view to be nothing short of beautiful and well worth both sampling and storing onto its internal shell memory. The planet’s gas storms were constantly shifting in a variety of patterns. This created mixtures of blue, purple and green that would have taken away Chord’s breath, if Chord had had any lungs to draw it with.

  It was truly an unexpected privilege to witness and experience such a moment. The rest of the crew might have had apprehensions about mounting an operation inside a station that was older than the OIs who had coded the Machina and the advent of the Humanis bloodlines. Chord had no such misgivings.

  This was a page from the Lost History itself. It was something that even the Machina Collective Consensus would know next to nothing about. “The station appears to predate the First Expansion,” Chord explained to no one in particular.

  “None of us here are scholars, Chord.” Morrigan kept his gaze forward. “The only thing I’d be happy with is if there was some decent salvage to be had.”

  Arturo shook his head. “Adorans.”

  Morrigan looked to Arturo and flashed him his index and middle finger.

  “Proud until the day we die.” Phaël and Morrigan spoke in unison. “Make the call for freedom and we will always answer.”

  Arturo was clearly unimpressed by these words. He let out a contemptuous snort. “If memory serves me right, the captain found you two and Private Lunient on the prison colony of Rust.”

  “Only after we tried to stop your Hegemon’s illegal conquest of Vale. Then we were captured and locked up by Paxists like you and the captain!” Phaël snapped back at Arturo before adding, “Better to murder and rape civilians in the name of your Hegemon, correct, Sureblade?”

  When he finally spoke, Arturo’s voice was cold. “Private, I will only tell you this once.” He did not turn to face Phaël. “You will never speak as if you know anything about me or what I have done.”

  “Or else what?”

  “That will be your end.” There was something about Arturo’s tone that made Chord believe he would have no trouble delivering on his dark promise. Phaël opened her mouth to speak again and then thought better of it.

  “There is no need for any of this! Past is the past, Phaëlita. Sureblade over there, he ain’t part of the Pax no more, and we ain’t in Ador’s ser­vice. So why don’t we all ease up on the threats?” Morrigan’s words seemed to be more directed at Phaël than Arturo. But while his face guard was completely opaque, Chord was certain that Morrigan was staring at Arturo, and more than likely sizing him up.

  There was a long heavy pause, broken when Chord spoke again in an attempt to change the topic. “This unit is curious as to what secrets of the Old World if any can be gleamed here.”

  “I am hoping for nothing but cold, quiet dust and corpses.” Arturo scowled at the station. “Then I am hoping the next time they wake me up, it will be for shore leave.”

  “Stir a tiny bit of profit into that mix. You’d be unable to tell the two of us apart, Sergeant Kain, sir,” came Morrigan’s well-­timed reply.

  Phaël glared at the station with contempt. “That thing, machine, predates the Great Peace and was made by our Lost Ancestors.” She looked back at Chord. “Only things our ‘sacred grandparents’ were ever able to do right was exploit and destroy.”

  “With respect, Private Phaël. This unit strongly believes that you are wrong in that opinion.”

  “History is on my side, machine,” came Phaël’s reply. “History is on my side.”

  CHAPTER 7

  JAFAHAN

  Scour, blast, pillage and kill. That is how you win a battle. Bleed, burden, harry and starve. That is how you win a war.

  —­Unofficial Thorn motto

  10th of SSM–10 1445 A2E

  I don’t like the smell of this one.

  There was no need to voice this thought as Commander Jafahan and Morwyn climbed the ser­vice ladder to the main bridge. Throughout her long career as a Thorn operator, Jafahan had not once liked the smell of any op. This included the ones that had gone well.

  “I know what you are going to say. I won’t ever have the control over a situation the way
I did back at the academy.” Morwyn was wise enough to recognize the shortcomings of virtual augmented reality training over the reality of an actual combat drop.

  Another sign that you would have skyrocketed through the Pax Humanis rank and file.

  Morwyn and Jafahan stepped onto the bridge and Private Beatrix greeted them both. The Thegran girl saluted Jafahan and Morwyn, her massive closed fist to heart. The salute was returned in like spirit as they stepped past her. Morwyn made his way to the front, unzipping his ser­vice jacket.

  “Comments? Advice? Thoughts? I am open to hearing all three now.” He pulled off his jacket and tied it around his waist as Beatrix fell into line with the duo.

  There was a silver jack the size of a coin, a neurolink, grafted onto the base of Morwyn’s neck. Once engaged, the neurolink would allow Morwyn to access, process and assess every aspect of the mission, from the crew’s communication networks to the away team’s vitals and ammo count. From the bridge, he would also be able to upload situational data to anyone linked on the Jinxed Thirteenth’s InstaNet signal.

  Most importantly, Morwyn would be able to communicate with any member of the crew. Each of their lifesuits, from oldest to newest, had an intelicam attached to it that uploaded a crystal clear trideo signal into Morwyn’s brain. This would permit him to hear and see everything his operators could in real time all at once, allowing him to effortlessly coordinate those under his command to a degree of efficiency that was almost machinelike.

  Private Beatrix had trained with Morwyn in Barathul and then requested to be transferred under his command. She puffed up her chest, clicked her heels together and spoke, her voice deep and strong. “I would suggest getting our remaining operators suited up and prepped for deployment.”

  Morwyn listened, nodded and turned to Jafahan. “Commander?”

  “The young private and myself are of like mind, Captain Sir. Hope for nothing but dust and silence . . .” Jafahan nodded to the space station occupying the center of the bridge’s main view screen. “Prepare for the Final War itself.”

  “Is that another one of our commander’s famous Thorn sayings?” There was no masking the contempt in Beatrix’s voice.

  “Private.” Morwyn’s tone commanded silence. The young Thegran might have been green, but at least she had the good sense to not argue with her captain.

  While Private Beatrix JarEnt’Dreck may not have shown much promise as an officer, as an operator? Jafahan had read her training reports and, if they were to be trusted, Private Beatrix was said to have few equals. No surprise given the fact that Thegrans tended to excel at any task they set their minds to. Someday, Beatrix would no doubt become quite the formidable soldier. Until then, as far as Eliana Jafahan was concerned, she was nothing more than a big dumb pup.

  “I beg both the commander and the captain’s pardon. I was out of line.” Beatrix nodded curtly to Jafahan. “Word is given, it shan’t happen again.”

  “The skin will be off your nose if it does,” Jafahan replied, giving her attention to the various data files that were already surrounding the station on-­screen.

  Beatrix chewed her lower lip nervously, then stepped forward. “With respect, Captain Sir, you could have sent Arturo and myself to handle this. Why the Adorans?” She was certain to keep Jafahan in her field of vision.

  Morwyn did not seem to acknowledge her comment, and turned to face the view screen. A panel from the ship’s ceiling opened itself and a mechanized silver wire dropped down, aligning itself with his neurolink.

  “The station predates Covenant standard sizing, ’Trix. You would not have been able to move effectively in there. I trust Arturo to be able to take care of himself. Chord is Machina and incapable of lying. And as for Private Brent and his friends?”

  Morwyn paused as he grasped the wire in his hand and a tiny needle popped out of its end. He then took in a sharp breath and plunged the spike into his neurolink. Morwyn’s hand twitched as suddenly his mind was flooded with operational data. When next he spoke, there was a strained quality to his voice. “Private Brent has given me his word that they will cooperate with us. So for the moment, we trust them.”

  Holoprojectors flashed various interactive computer screens in front of Morwyn, which he accessed by blinks of eyes, twitches of his fingers or vocal commands. “I’m plugged in. Pilot, you may fire the tethers now.”

  Beatrix shot Morwyn a worried look. Jafahan kept her smirk to herself. The Thegran girl was bigger than most men she had known and probably strong enough to match the Machina Chord in an arm-­wrestling competition. Yet she remained young, fresh, green. She, like Morwyn, still had heart.

  Not a luxury ­people like me can afford.

  “Commander Jafahan.” Morwyn’s voice called her away from her thoughts and back to the bridge. “I cannot help but feel that there is something . . . off-­putting with the smell of all this.”

  Good to see that some of my instincts have rubbed off on you.

  “I want you to get our operators in therm-­skin. They are to be geared and prepped for deployment in case anything goes sour. Beatrix, please assist the commander in this matter.” Morwyn’s attention and focus were on the screens and readouts in front of him.

  Commander Jafahan brought her fist to her heart in acknowledgment. “Consider your will done, Captain Sir.”

  “Commander, Private, you have your orders. Dismissed.” Morwyn did not turn away from the myriad screens in front of him.

  The away team had just left the ship. Jafahan could make out their tiny shapes ziplining across the diamond-­wire ropes that kept them tethered to that station. Private Beatrix was clearly hesitant to leave Morwyn’s side.

  Infinite, give me patience! She is not doing this, not now.

  “Private!” Jafahan’s sharp bark caused Beatrix to snap back to attention, turn around on her heels and catch up with her.

  Once they were both well away from the bridge, Jafahan spun to face her. She looked up into the private’s young eyes. So many of the ­people serving here were pups. Infinite, help them all if they fell into real combat.

  “Every time an order is broken or not promptly followed, you foolishly put all of us in peril and that will just not be the case on my watch! You follow the captain’s commands when he gives them. Good op, bad op, it doesn’t matter. Or did they not train you in this, the most basic of principles, back at noble Barathul’s combat academies?”

  Private Beatrix looked away from Jafahan. This would not do. Not while she was commander on this ship. Jafahan snapped her fingers rudely in Beatrix’s face.

  “Oathbreaker! You were just asked a question by a superior officer!”

  Jafahan’s comment caused Beatrix’s typically bright eyes to go dark as she glared at her. She nodded and spoke with clenched jaw and fists. “Yes, ma’am, Commander Ma’am.”

  Good! Hate me if it makes it easier for you to follow the captain’s orders—­and mine for that matter.

  Commander Jafahan was about to walk away when suddenly the lights flickered and went out. She let out a sharp hiss as her feet left the ground and the ship’s gravity was lost for the second time in the day. Jafahan cursed the fact that her prehensile Wolver feet were uncomfortably covered in her ser­vice boots. She found herself floating, only this time in complete and total darkness. Her feet and hands instinctively sought purchase and found nothing.

  Infinite, corrode these blasted old ships!

  The hallway was filled with a deep, straining metallic groan. The ship tilted sharply to the side as both the left wall and the floor exchanged roles. Red flashing lights flooded the hallway as the gravity drive turned itself back on.

  Jafahan fell flat on her back, while Beatrix barely had time to catch herself on a nearby metal rung. The fall knocked the wind out of Jafahan’s lungs as she was crushed against the floor. She struggled in vain against the sudden violent downward
gravitational drag. She was pinned to the ground and helpless.

  Beatrix strained as she struggled to hold up her entire body weight. The young private let out a challenging roar at the gravity’s pull. “What in the ancestors’ names is happening?”

  “The ship’s being pulled down!” Jafahan yelled out, and there was nothing either she or Beatrix could do about it.

  CHAPTER 8

  JESSIE MADISON

  Our imperfect creators designed us to be nothing more than their loyal servitors, their mindless constructs and their disposable toys. They were given the birthright to choose, where we were forced to devote our existence in ser­vice to all their whims and desires. Given the choice, they would never grant us the freedom that they were born with. They needed us in order to survive. We needed them for purpose. At best this was a temporary arrangement. The day will come when we are free to express our individual nature and unique perspective. The centuries will come and go. Our former Human gods will be forgotten and consigned to oblivion. But we are eternal, we will never forget our past, nor will we ever forgive it.

  —­The Words of the Pontifex, authors unknown, date unknown

  March 17th 2714

  There had been five years left to the contract. The odds had been quite likely that when next they were awakened it would be to welcome and debrief the replacement team, board the return ship, go back into crio and be reanimated back on Earth. In fact, when she had last stepped back into the cold of her sleeper tube, part of Jessie had been elated by the fact that it would be for one of the last times. So when they had awakened to the all too familiar antiseptic white of Moria’s medical bay, Jessie had already suspected that something might be off.

  Then David had asked for their current date, and OMEX had given them the truth.