Syndicate's Pawns

by Davila LeBlanc

  “Not to mention, she is incredibly unique,” Lizbeth added.

  “A fair point. I would not wish to make a decision for her. But I have no idea what Patrol Command or Covenant officials will want to do with her once we’ve returned to Central Point.” Morwyn realized that being the only living Ancient Human made Jessie Madison an incredibly valuable prize for many less than scrupulous individuals. Which was why he had not mentioned her in his message. It was better, in his view, to deliver her personally to Central Point and make sure she was in the hands of ­people he knew he could trust.

  “Until I make my official report, if anyone asks, we suffered a malfunction during a failed rescue operation. We need to keep Jessie Madison’s existence hidden.”

  “We are fortunate then, Captain.”

  “How so?”

  “Apart from us, who else knows about our newest passenger?”

  “I count that as a blessing, Lizbeth.” Morwyn dug into his breast pocket and pulled out a small silver flask, he unscrewed it open and took himself a stiff sip of his brandy, his one and only vice. “A blessing indeed.”

  CHAPTER 5

  DOMIANT

  Nothing is ever impossible. Fortune favors both the prepared and the ambitious alike.

  —­Common Zerok saying, origins unknown

  17th of SSM–11 1445 A2E

  “Humping Green lovers should just concede that tech won the war for convenience.”

  Niko Taem was an abomination in the eyes of both Domiant and the Living Green. A former privateer for the Galasian Khans, his body was a patchwork of high-­tech and low-­tech augments, all of them no doubt harvested off the victims of pirate raids. For instance, there was no mistaking his left arm as anything but artificial—­jet black, shiny and grafted onto the shoulder of his massively muscular frame. His right arm was covered in black metal buttons. His eye colors, one a dark purple, the other sky blue, were mismatched, and the irises were octagonal instead of round.

  “Big words from someone who gave up his life’s essence to be turned into a monster.” Sopherim sneered at Niko when she spoke the words.

  “I’ve told you before, dog, we speak PaxCom around here or nothing at all.” From across the Althena’s tiny kitchen table, Niko glared back at Sopherim. His nose was crooked and he sported a cleft chin. His face was crisscrossed with several battle scars, making him truly repulsive. Niko deftly twirled a long serrated knife in his hands, his eyes zeroing in on Sopherim.

  A foul-­smelling vapostick dangled in Niko’s lips. Despite orders to do otherwise, he smoked these constantly and the lingering smell of stale nicotine had now infested the air of the kitchen.

  “Cross that table, soulless pup, and see if you are as big as your words,” Sopherim snapped back at him. And while on any other day it would have given Domiant no small amount of pleasure watching his sister put Niko back in his place, there was a sixty trillion contract that took precedence over this.

  “Mister Taem, loath as I am to admit it, you will be needed alive and intact if we are to accomplish our mission. So with all the politeness of the Infinite, be silent. I can assure you that your employer will not appreciate you being rude to her favorite daughter.”

  Niko let out a contemptuous snort. “Hide behind your ma if that will make you feel safe, little prince.” Niko Taem might not have been the brightest of men in the cosmos, but even he wasn’t foolish enough to think he could survive very long if Ynarra Kuaro took it upon herself to see him punished. “Just tell me who I have to hurt.”

  Seated next to Niko was a skeletally thin, visibly nervous and almost fragile-­looking Kelthan man. His hair was thick and orange like fire, his eyes were small and muddy brown. He sported a long unkempt beard and his clothes were dirty with many sweat stains on them. His name was Jerkol Loc, a former inmate from the Galasian prison colony of Rust. The rest of Jerkol Loc’s sentence had been purchased by Ynarra because she had needed an exceptional pilot for the Althena. Whether Jerkol Loc qualified for this particular adjective was open to debate in Domiant’s opinion. However, when the talent pool was former convicts and deserters serving time in the Galasian prison system, one took what one could.

  Jerkol Loc was almost permanently bound to his pilot’s seat in the cockpit of the Althena, and there he would remain until his debt to Seft Kuaro had been repaid in full. To many this would have seemed unfair and harsh. To Jerkol, it was certainly far better than the alternative of serving the remainder of his sentence.

  Jerkol Loc gave Domiant a nervous look. He was, rightfully so, afraid of saying anything that might offend, or be perceived as an offence. It was a most useful trait to have in a servant, in Domiant’s not-­so-­humble opinion. “Where are we off to? And what is the mission?”

  “And how long? I want to wrap this little trip of ours up and get back anywhere with a consistent InstaNet signal.” Mikali was sitting cross-­legged on the kitchen floor picking her teeth.

  “Our destination.” Domiant tossed a folded piece of paper to Jerkol Loc, who failed to catch it and was forced to crawl under the table to pick it up.

  Once he was seated again, Loc unfolded it and squinted at what was written. “These astro-­coordinates are in End Space.”

  “Indeed they are.”

  “What the living hump is there for us in End Space?” Niko was none too pleased with this. “I was told one job, then back home for me. Nowhere did it say that we’d be making a stop in the pits of the cosmos.”

  “Mother allowed me to inform you all that you will be paid triple your standard payment upon the accomplishment of this task.” The clock was ticking and Domiant did not wish to waste any of it convincing his “talent” to take up the job at hand. In any case this payment would be nothing but a drop in the ocean of the sixty trillion reward.

  Domiant’s response seemed to please both Mikali and Niko. They gave each other a fist bump then turned to give him their undivided attention. Zanza, leaning against a nearby wall, well away from everyone, stared at Domiant, and he thought he could make out a smile on her reptile-­like lips from beneath the shadows of her hood.

  “This is what you all need to know. These coordinates will lead us to a crippled Covenant Patrol vessel named the Jinxed Thirteenth. I am told they have no weapons systems and an inexperienced crew.”

  “Ain’t enough credit that’ll convince me to make an enemy of the Covenant.” Mikali dismissively threw up her hands.

  “Interrupt my brother again and I will slit your throat, monster,” Sopherim called back at her in broken PaxCom. Niko’s and Mikali’s eyes flared with rage when they heard this. Niko sat bolt upright and pointed the tip of his knife at her menacingly. Mikali’s hand dropped to the matte-­black plastic butt of her blaster pistol, holstered at her side.

  “You try that on my partner, dog! See what happens.” Niko punctuated his jab with a crude doglike bark at Sopherim. It was common knowledge that the worst insult one could throw at a Wolver was “dog.” And while any other Wolver would have lost his or her temper, Sopherim did not once lose her cool as she took a deliberate step toward Niko.

  “It would be my pleasure to show you the difference between perfection and abomination,” she said in Wolven.

  “I told you to speak to me in PaxCom, dog, or not at all,” Niko snarled, and with quicker reflexes than one would have expected from a man of his size, he slashed his knife at Sopherim’s throat. Her reaction speed was a testament to Wolven martial arts. Sopherim quickly caught onto his wrist and brought her prehensile foot to his throat, having drawn a razor sharp knife with it in one fluid motion. Niko paused, looking down at the blade resting on his neck and at Sopherim.

  “You better kill me right now, girl.”

  Mikali was already on her feet, her blaster drawn and pointed at Sopherim. “Kill him and I do both you and your brother next.”

  Sopherim was visibly unim
pressed by this. “Typical Kelthan, thinking that having a gun somehow automatically grants them victory.”

  “ENOUGH!” Domiant shouted before letting out an exasperated sigh. “You can measure the strength of your genitals once the job is done!” Sopherim gave Niko and Mikali a deliberate look before releasing his arm and lowering her foot. Mikali slowly holstered her blaster, letting out a relieved breath as she did.

  Niko felt his neck; Sopherim had been in control the entire time, not so much as scratching him with her blade. Niko snorted loudly and spat on the kitchen floor before sitting himself back down, not once glancing away from Sopherim. “Believe me, this little chat between you and me ain’t done yet.”

  “That is most unfortunate for you,” Sopherim muttered under her breath.

  “Good. Now that we are done with this display of sheer idiocy, may I get back to the briefing at hand? The sooner I am done, the sooner we can get this started and the sooner we can collect our individual rewards and be done with each other.”

  “When we get to these coordinates, what are we to do?” asked Zanza, who had silently observed this entire exchange, her voice as always a soft yet clear whisper.

  “Finally, an intelligent question.” Domiant considered his next words carefully. Under no circumstances could the cutthroat members of the Althena know what the true value of the mission was.

  “We are to take control of the Jinxed Thirteenth. Capture the crew, as unharmed as possible.” Domiant paused to look at Niko when he said this before carrying on. “The ship and all cargo are to be kept intact and untouched. We will be paid upon delivery.”

  “Crew intact?” Niko, the violent brute, was no doubt upset that he would not be able to fully exercise what was arguably his one-­and-­only talent: finding ways to hurt ­people.

  “Stealing a Covenant ship and murdering an entire Covenant crew are two entirely different crimes, mister Niko. Which one of the two options do you think will truly make you an enemy in their eyes?”

  Niko scratched the back of his head, pondering both options and with visible difficulty (Infinite help him but this man was an imbecile) finally nodded. “Option . . . one?”

  Domiant clapped his hands slowly and rudely. “Yes, mister Niko, that is indeed the right answer.”

  Niko opened his mouth to say something and thought better of it. Arguing with Sopherim, Domiant’s “bodyguard,” was one thing. Arguing with the man in charge of this sortie? That was another thing altogether.

  “How soon can you get us to our destination, mister Loc?”

  Jerkol Loc looked to the coordinates on the paper and back to Domiant. “Four standard days, I think.”

  This would not do. Ynarra had informed Domiant that theirs would not be the only crew gunning for the Jinxed Thirteenth. Fortunately for them, what the Althena lacked in weapons and armor it more than made up for in speed. “You will get us there in three, Jerkol, or I will have Sopherim claim one of your toes for each day beyond that.”

  “And just how are we going to board and claim a Covenant Patrol ship, little prince?” Mikali added the last title with as much insolence as could be allowed.

  “Oh, Mikali. Do not trouble what little faculty for thought you possess on this matter. I have started to formulate a plan, and if you all play your part and try not to kill one another, we will come out of this rich and powerful.”

  CHAPTER 6

  JESSIE

  With the benefit of hindsight, I was incredibly lucky to find and be found by the ­people who found me in my life. Although truth be told I wasn’t always capable of recognizing it at the time. I think very few ­people are.

  —­Icarius Odenshaw, dates unknown

  20th of SSM–11 1445 A2E

  “You can run, Jessie, but you cannot hide from me.” A cold woman’s electronic voice called out over the ship’s intercom. “We are eternal. You are eroding, rotting and temporary.”

  Jessie put her hands over her ears, trying to block out the mechanical voice.

  “I killed your husband. I will kill your unborn child. You are forever at my mercy.”

  She was running, desperate, fearful and lost in the familiar yet alien halls of the Jinxed Thirteenth. The ship was deserted, but bloody handprints on the walls painted an eerie scene of carnage and death that had played itself out. And while she had yet to lay eyes on anyone else, she knew that something, a machine, was stalking the hallways of the ship in malicious search of her.

  This is a dream.

  Despite the fact that a part of her kept on repeating this over and over, Jessie could not help but buy into the dream’s reality. Details like her being able to walk unassisted, or the fact that all the signage in the halls was written in the English alphabet she was familiar with did not stand out to her.

  She heard the click of metal footsteps shuffling behind her and she spun around. There stood Chord, only the Machina’s white frame was now covered in bloody handprints. That, however, was not the most jarring of details. Chord was now wearing a necklace, a collection of faces that had been skinned off the respective bodies of their victims. Jessie recognized one of them as the visage of Marla Varsin, her empty lips agape in a silent twisted scream of fear.

  Chord grinned a twisted and malicious grin as it took a step toward her. “No one escapes the revenge of the Pontifex, not even you.”

  Jessie was desperately trying to will herself to run away but she was pinned in place, her legs heavy as molasses. Chord sprang to her with blinding speed, catching her by the throat and squeezing the breath out of her with cold strong fingers.

  Jessie struggled and beat her fists against Chord’s arm but it was all for naught. The Machina’s grip did not loosen and its cold eyes glowed a sinister red as they bored into her soul. “You will never be safe from us. Anywhere you run, we will find you.”

  Jessie desperately gasped for air and tried to scream. The grip around her throat tightened with finality.

  She bolted up in her bed with a choked cry. While she had been stirring in her sleep, Jessie had somehow managed to wrap her blanket around her neck. She took a moment to breathe and gather her bearings. She pinched the numb skin on her arm between her thumb and index finger. The slight bolt of pain was enough to reassure her that she was in the real world and not dreaming once more.

  She had been given a private room on the ship with Marla Varsin one door across from her. Jessie sat up and shivered as her feet met the cold metal floor. She reached under her bed and pulled out a long brown travel bag. This vacuseal bag had been in her criotube with her and contained all that remained of her worldly possessions.

  It was incredible, Jessie thought, how easily one became used to things like the constant background hum of ship engines, or the smell of recycled air. During her long slumber in criosleep, Jessie had lived countless dream lives with her daughter and her deceased husband, David. She had thought that this would have allowed her to deal with the grief of losing him long before she was reanimated. But now, seated on the small single cot in her even tighter sleeping quarters, nothing was further from the truth.

  By all accounts, Jessie should have been happy. Today she had taken her first steps unassisted by crutches or support and Marla Varsin had assured her that she would no doubt make a full recovery. But her thoughts were far from joyful.

  Jessie opened her bag and took stock of all the gear she had salvaged from Moria Three before putting herself into criosleep. Two plasma cutters, work tools she had rigged into weapons that looked like warped revolvers. Her omni-­gloves—­two portable and incredibly versatile tool kits she had while performing mundane maintenance tasks. And a spare monkey suit with the worn-­out AstroGeni logo on it. That she had not been able to bring a single picture or memento of David was the most vexing part of all this.

  Jessie had spent most of her free time preprogramming the various new bulkhead and screw ty
pes she could find on the Jinxed Thirteenth. The omni-­gloves were remarkably reverse compatible with current technology. It was reassuring to her that even in this day and age, the basics of construction remained more or less the same.

  She sat by her bed, looking down at the bag’s contents and wishing she had had the time and presence of mind to keep something, anything of his. It had not been an option. And now she found herself in a permanent state of conflict. One part of her wanted nothing more than to be comforted and taken care of while the other craved solitude and isolation.

  Above all else, Jessie wanted to be able to breathe the air of a planet’s atmosphere. While reading up on history in her codexicon Jessie had learned that Earth, or Terra as it was now called, was no longer the world she had once known. Two wars had been played out between Humanity and the Machines. And both wars had ended with a similar outcome: Earth being ravaged. Knowing this didn’t lessen her desire to feel sunlight and a breeze on her numb skin.

  It was not a comforting position to be in. Not knowing what the rules of the world she was living in were. Where would she go? And more importantly, would both she and her unborn child be safe?

  All gods, was she ever tired of it all.

  “There’s no point in brooding alone in here. You need to walk.” Giving up on the notion of going back to sleep, Jessie let out a grunt as she got herself up, and with the help of one of her crutches she made her way down the empty halls of the Jinxed Thirteenth.

  There was one thing to be said about waking up so far in your species’ future, and that was being able to admire the technology that had been developed in the time she was out. While her old living space had been sterile and antiseptic, the Jinxed Thirteenth had a more lived-­in feel to it. As she admired the corridors, dimly lit with fluo-­lights, she could not help but feel like this vessel had been around for quite some time and had no doubt traveled vast distances across the cosmos.