Syndicate's Pawns

by Davila LeBlanc

  There was something incredibly satisfying in watching those who deserved to suffer receive their dues. And given that Domiant would have done just about anything in order to return to beautiful Uldur, the center of Wolver culture, politics and religion rather than remain in the filthy storage bay of the even filthier transport vessel Althena, he would take whatever small measure of joy that he could.

  “Those who die in the void are lost to the Living Green.” Sopherim did not blink as she loosed the arrow. The shaft flew across the cargo bay and found its mark. Right between the eyes of Vint Zin, who let out a shocked gasp and spasmed violently as his life left him.

  The young man in the middle, Pleto Zin, was no more than a year older than Domiant and started to blubber in fear. “Infinite, help us!” he shrieked. “We’ll pay you back! We’ll pay you back!”

  Domiant got to his feet and walked over to Pleto Zin. He shushed him with one finger on his lips. “We were not sent across the cosmos on a mission of mercy, Kelthan. This is your ending.” He patronizingly patted Pleto’s face before adding, “Try to face it with a semblance of dignity.”

  “Please! Do what you will to me! Just spare my son!” Somner Zin begged Domiant through his broken teeth and swollen lips.

  “Oh, do shut it, you old hump.” Domiant wheeled around to face Somner and slapped him across the face. “You stole from Ynnarra Kuaro Nem’Troy.”

  Domiant sneered with disgust as he looked at the blood on his hand. He wiped it off on Somner’s chest. “And because of you, I am here! On this ship with air that smells like sweat, blood and piss!”

  “Please . . .” Domiant slapped Somner once more, silencing him.

  “We were told to make you suffer for what you did. Your replacement will think long and hard before crossing us.”

  Domiant turned to face Zanza and nodded at her. “Make him experience his worst fears.”

  Zanza silently made her way past Domiant and into the airlock. Each step she took caused her to sway in a manner that made him think “serpent.” Because of this he gave her a wide berth as he made his way back to his sister’s side. Meanwhile, Zanza knelt down in front of Somner, his eyes now gone even wider with panic.

  “You keep that, that . . . reptile away from me. Keep her away from m—­”

  Zanza quickly and softly touched Somner’s chest. Her pupils were fully dilated as she locked her gaze with his.

  “Your thoughts are now mine.” When Zanza spoke, her voice was a soft whisper. Both Somner and Zanza started to breathe together as one. Sopherim notched another arrow in her bow and waited.

  “The left kneecap.” Zanza called out as she unearthed Somner’s greatest fears with regards to what he did not wish to have done to his son. Domiant thought this a delicious punishment that his mother would no doubt have approved. After all, there could be no greater suffering than forcing a parent to watch the life of their child being taken from them, bit by painful bit.

  Sopherim let loose another arrow and it went through Pleto’s kneecap. Pleto let out a loud and pained scream as he looked at the shaft. Much to Domiant’s satisfaction, Somner was now gibbering uncontrollably.

  “The other kneecap.” Zanza’s voice lost none of its whisper-­like quality.

  “Please spare my . . .” Sopherim ignored Somner completely as she fired yet again and found her mark with deadly precision. Pleto’s screams doubled in intensity. They were accompanied by Somner’s agonized and outraged howls.

  “THE INFINITE ERODE YOU BOTH! FILTHY WOLVER DOGS!”

  “His genitals.”

  Another arrow found its mark. Domiant savored this moment. The Living Green bless him but he could watch his sister ply her craft all day. “I will remind you, Somner, that the blame for this is on you. My sister and I are simply the tools of your demise.”

  “Any one of the eyes,” Zanza called out. Another arrow was fired and another mark found. It was a testament to Sopherim’s self-­control that she could loose the arrow with just enough strength to pierce Pleto’s eye but not go through to the brain. She would only end his misery when Domiant ordered her to do so.

  “The Great Huntress calls for us all, and today is your day.” Sopherim spoke the words as the Elvrids, the keepers of the Living Green’s teachings and knowledge, had taught her. They were void of meaning to Domiant as he was far more skeptical about the Elvrids and the path of the Living Green. Exile from Uldur could do that to you. No matter what his ancestors’ motives might have been, the Living Green reminded him more and more of a doctrine of control. Where the Kelthans of the hateful Pax Humanis fell under the military rule of the Hegemon, the Wolvers fell under the spiritual rule of the Elvrids.

  “This is no true test of my talents.” Sopherim spoke; where Wolven was often very emotional, almost musical, Sopherim’s tone was cold, yet not void of contempt at the deed she was being called to do. “May I end him now?”

  “I’m sorry to interrupt all this.” Before Domiant could answer the question there was a cleared throat coming from the entrance of the cargo bay. Standing in the archway was a woman. Her face was covered in several unhealthy raw pink blotches, and her deep brown eyes were bloodshot, the veins almost black. Her skin was light brown and her hair was shaved into a purple Mohawk. Both the base of her neck and her forearms had black, coin-­shaped pieces of plastic grafted into them. These disgusting neuro-­link augments were what allowed a besotted Frost addict like Mikali Zahur to crack digital codes and fire her barbaric mass-­produced factory-­made weapons with a semblance of accuracy.

  Mikali was a contractor his mother had hired on several occasions. The fact that she was willing to do any job in order to get her money and a steady supply of Frost was the main reason Ynarra Kuaro had kept her as a regular employee of the Seft. While the Elvrids would have found working alongside a technologically augmented Humanis an unforgivable sin, punishable by eternal exile from Uldur, they did not have an influential smuggling empire to run and maintain.

  “Well, out with it, Mikali.”

  “Pilot picked up new orders and a coded message from your mother. The orders are to drop everything we are doing and prep for a slip into End Space. As per usual, message is for your eyes only,” Mikali explained. Her voice was grating and her PaxCom was like an irritant to Domiant’s ears.

  Domiant turned to face Somner and his son. “Well, it looks like you are in luck.” Domiant sighed in annoyance. “I’ll take the message in my private chamber.”

  “What about these three?” Zanza called to him.

  Domiant paused and gave the question some thought. “Blow the airlock. Commit their bodies and spirits to the endless void.”

  “Should I kill them first?” Sopherim asked.

  Domiant shook his head. “Father and son can live their final moments in the frigid vacuum together. We were told to make them suffer, after all.” Zanza stepped out of the airlock and pulled a lever at the door. Lights flashed red as the inner door slowly closed itself.

  “Don’t do this! Kill us first! Kill us! Kill—­” Somner’s pleas were cut off as the airlock door sealed itself shut. Domiant waved at him as the outer hatch blew open and the vacuum of space violently sucked Somner, his son and the remains of his brother out of the Althena and into the eternal void of space.

  There were two storage bays on the Althena, one of which Domiant and Sopherim had converted into their own private chambers. Not to be shared with the rest of the members of the crew. Various pillows and a long fur rug were littered about. The smell of incenses and spices hung heavy in the air. Domiant had claimed the one bed to himself while Sopherim had been content with a pillow and the floor. It was in the privacy of this room that Domiant received his mother’s transmission, a hologram with hundreds of prerecorded responses.

  For the thousandth time, he wished they could simply converse via the InstaNet, which allowed ­people to instantly
communicate over the vast distances of space in real time. But the Covenant was the effective law in space, and their agents monitored the InstaNet for illicit activity. Furthermore, the Elvrids of Uldur had strictly forbidden the use of the InstaNet on their world. This had forced Domiant’s mother, Ynarra Kuaro, to find other overlooked—­some would even say obsolete—­methods to communicate her will to her pieces offworld. The solution had come in heavily cloaked holographic messages with hundreds of prerecorded answers.

  Few were the ­people still living in the cosmos that Domiant hated more than his mother, the Prime Matriarch of Seft Kuaro: Ynarra Kuaro Nem’Troy. He had made it a habit in life to avoid interaction with her as much as possible. “I am glad to see that you made it here on time, my little Domi.”

  “There is no need to call me that.” Domiant spoke through clenched teeth to the semitranslucent holographic recording of his mother standing before him. He had always loathed his mother’s pet name for him.

  “Your mother will call you what she wishes, little Domi, and there is nothing you can say or do to change that.” Ynarra was a proud and fairly plump Wolver woman. She was strong, with the patience earned only by having birthed and raised twelve children. She had several streaks of gray hair, which added an air of dignity to her that was in no way undeserved. She had dressed herself in an ornate emerald dress with gold stitches at the hems. Her face was lined, her eyes were golden and she leaned on a thick wooden cane, more for show than out of necessity.

  “You are always at your strongest, when your enemy thinks you at your weakest” was a saying he had often heard her say. Many of her former enemies, whose bodies were no doubt littering the void, had made the fatal mistake of treating Ynarra Kuaro as what she appeared to be: a plain and simple woman and mother.

  Nothing could be further from the truth. Ynarra Kuaro Nem’Troy was as ruthless a Matriarch as any accomplished warlord. She had not been content with a simple life in quiet worship of the Living Green. Rather, Ynarra Kuaro had put her considerable cunning into setting up the groundwork for a smuggling empire that now spanned three worlds. She had sought to profit from the many wretched souls calling the more “civilized cosmos” their home in need of release from the drudgery of living in overpopulated canned cities where the air was thick with industrial pollutants.

  Ynarra had a supply of various psychedelic plants and herbs. And within the span of a few years she had managed to set up a network of like-­minded individuals who were more than willing to process these plants that the Elvrids used for medicine and healing into something far more profitable. Through careful steps she and her associates had managed to produce and distribute the designer drug Frost to the farthest ends of Covenant Space.

  Seft Kuaro had grown under her rule by astronomical proportions. Uldur prided itself in being one of the main exporters of clean air, food and natural resources. Thanks to Ynarra and her brood, the base ingredients for one of the most addictive designer narcotics on the market could now be added to those accolades.

  “Unless you are summoning me back home, I was hoping we could dispense with the regular humpery that passes for our exchanges and cut straight to the chase.”

  The hologram paused and almost seemed to freeze for a moment, and Domiant wondered whether he had for once made a comment for which his mother had not been able to anticipate and prerecord a response. Any hope he might have felt was short-­lived.

  “Yours is not to understand what my intentions are, Domi. Yours is to do as you are told, when you are told without question. A trait you could stand to learn from your sister.”

  “When I’m in charge of the Seft, things will be far different.” Domiant sneered at the hologram, knowing full well that it was pointless. This image was not being projected in real time, it had, in fact been prerecorded and transmitted days ago.

  Ynarra’s hologram let out a snort of insulting laughter. “Keep on speaking to me like that, and I will make it a point to extend your exile to a lifetime, little Domi.”

  “When do I get to come home?”

  The hologram gave another pregnant pause before replying. “No more than ten standard years, no less than five.”

  “WHAT?!”

  “Lower your voice. I have ended far better ­people than you for far less.” The holo-­recording replied, because of course she would have expected this reaction from him as well. Domiant did not know which infuriated him more. The fact that his mother had anticipated his response or that he had been so predictable to begin with.

  “The Infinite lies between you and me, Mother.”

  “And you of all ­people should know just how long my reach can be.” There was an extremely dark quality to Ynarra’s tone.

  Domiant bit his tongue. He was not going to lose patience or argue with this lifeless projection. Instead he took a deep breath and spoke as calmly as he could manage. “Just say your piece so we can go back to secretly hating each other.”

  “It saddens me that you speak to your own mother, the very reason you can even draw air into those hateful lungs, in that manner. But I forgive you, Domiant. I know you are upset.”

  “I am overjoyed to see that your penchant for understatement is not lost.” Domiant’s voice dripped with sarcasm as he paced impatiently around the hologram.

  “Would a sixty-­trillion-­dollar payday be enough to brighten the eternal darkness that is your life, my little Domi?” Domiant’s ears perked up when he heard this.

  “It would be a good start, Mother. Illuminate me.”

  The hologram smiled at him. “I am glad to hear that. First things first, your target is a Covenant Patrol vessel named the Jinxed Thirteenth. And from what I’ve gathered, there is something incredibly valuable on board. You, my son, will secure it for me, or die trying.”

  CHAPTER 3

  PHAËL

  Nothing, not even belief, is permanent. If there is one lesson we here on the united world of Ador have learned, is that to desperately cling to the way things were is the height of ignorance. Think how many more ­people we could reach with our teachings. Think how many more lives would embrace the way of the Living Green if we were able to accept that the past is past, that the future is forever unknown, and that only the present is our concern. Change does not mean disregarding the path that leads us to this point. It is the first step to recognizing that we are all part of the living cosmos.

  —­Solim Deru,

  Kelthan Adoran philosopher and honorary Elvrid,

  13th of SSM–09 1360 A2E

  17th of SSM–11 1445 A2E

  Life is fragile.

  The ship’s storage bay was the only place Phaël had been able to find any semblance of peace and quiet in the past few days. Between the human being awakened and the constant repairs going on, Phaël wondered if she would not have been better served going into carbon sleep. Of course this notion came in direct conflict with her beliefs and practices of the Living Green. But right now, Phaël could not help but wish that she had been more flexible.

  It was all right to consider temptation, provided one did not give in to it.

  She sat cross-­legged on the floor, breathing in deeply and chanting to herself. She could feel Doctor Varsin’s stitches along her back, keeping her wound closed. Where normally her injury would have been treated with a generous application of stempaste, the Doctor had respected Phaël’s wishes and refrained from using it or anesthetics during her treatment. Varsin had muttered under her breath that Phaël was being ridiculous, that the stempaste would have her healed in a matter of days instead of weeks.

  “No one would know that you broke your code this one time.”

  “I would, and so would the Living Green,” had been Phaël’s reply.

  Yes, it would have been easier, but right? In her opinion: no. Stempaste was mass-­produced on the cloner nation of Lotus, harvested from cloned women who were preprograme
d to be perpetually pregnant. And while the PR departments of Lotus were quick to point out the countless lives stempaste had saved, Phaël could not help but view the artificial creation of Humanis life to be used as a warped version of cattle as an absolute perversion of the ways of the Living Green.

  No, for her the easiest way for her body to heal would be to relax her mind and spirit. Which was why Phaël had sought out solitude and quiet as she presently counted her deep breaths. She let out a pained sigh as she slowly tried to stretch. The stitches in her back were tight and limited her range of motion. She did not allow this to control the steady in and out of her meditative breathing.

  In a way she was thankful for her injuries. Machines and technology had always been an unknown to her, and she was incapable of contributing to the repairs. The Living Green often had a warped sense of humor, and her injury had allowed her to be absolved of any chores or repair duties on the ship. That she could spend most of her days in quiet meditation and recuperation, well away from the rest of the crew, was also a blessing in disguise. Phaël was at home only in the cosmos or in the wild. Where the Jinxed Thirteenth was constantly awash with the hum and buzz of various artificial sounds, the forests of the cosmos were filled with the symphony of life.

  Phaël’s days were slow and long now that she was without her surrogate family, Lunient Tor and Morrigan Brent, who were both in carbon sleep while the Jinxed underwent repairs. For the first time she could remember, Phaël truly felt alone. Now that she was serving in the Covenant, Phaël was forced to work alongside former members of the reviled Pax Humanis. It did not help that her barely-­a-­grown-­up captain, Morwyn Soltaine, was a former privileged Kelthan citizen of the Pax.

  The difficult part of all this was letting go of the past that had brought her to this moment and place in time. The trees did not cling to their leaves when fall came. This lesson was to be applied to her current experience.