JESSIE
Competition does not breed excellence. Overcoming obstacles does.
—Shock Legion motto
20th of SSM–11 1445 A2E
One of the things Jessie had found both endearing and sometimes incredibly infuriating about her late husband, David, had been that he had the habit of always saying: “Hey, things could always be worse.” Of course they could always be worse! Jessie had yet to have lived the moment in which things couldn’t have been worse, although the present moment was definitely competing for the silver medal of lowest moment in her life ever, David’s murder at the hands of a machine Intelligence being the current champion.
“Thoughts?” Jessie felt more alert and ready than she had since she’d awakened on the Jinxed Thirteenth. By all the known gods she swore that if she lived through this, she would never be so foolish as to let her guard down like that ever again. She could tell by the way Phaël was glowering that the Wolver felt the same way.
They had all allowed themselves to be caught off guard, had let the boredom and autopilot mode of routine to kick in. That was the only reason the sons of bitches that were messing with them right now had been able to pull off all of this. Jessie couldn’t help but admire their cleverness. If she was going to render the standing crew of a vessel next to useless, then deactivating the ship’s gravity was probably one of the best bets.
Live long enough and maybe you’ll get to use this little trick on someone who deserves it, Jessie thought to herself as she quickly scanned the inside of the med-bay for anything that might help them.
Jessie instinctively switched to English as she called out, “Marla, stay calm. Phaël and I are going to get you out of there.” Jessie made sure to keep eye contact with Marla Varsin. The doctor’s eyes were wide with fear, bordering on panic, and who could blame her? Jessie didn’t kid herself into believing that she would be acting any differently if the roles were reversed.
Jessie had never been one to show an interest in military tech. But the little she did know about grenades was straightforward enough and she doubted that much had changed since she had entered criosleep. One pulled a pin, or something to that effect, to arm the grenade. Once it was released, there usually was a countdown followed by the boom.
The doctor and her two companions were all desperately gripping their grenades; if they dropped them, countdown and boom. If Phaël or Jessie went through the laser grid trip wires, countdown and boom. And before she could do anything, she would need to get closer.
Phaël must have had the same idea because her brow was furrowed in clear frustration. Neither of them wanted to step into the room and yet if they didn’t they’d lose a chance to regroup and shore up their numbers.
Jessie pulled herself down onto the floor with her hands whilst Phaël maintained a firm grip on her leg. Once Jessie was certain she was anchored, Phaël sprang up and floated to the ceiling. She twirled until she was facing the doorway, took a deep breath and propelled herself from the ceiling to the floor, landing just in front of the door and grasping the frame with both her feet.
Four hands are better than two, Jessie thought, finding herself envious of the fact that Wolvers effectively had two sets of hands. Phaël motioned for Jessie to jump toward her.
Jessie didn’t hesitate for a moment and vaulted herself forward with her arms. She enjoyed the brief moment of “flight” before Phaël caught her. Jessie helped as she braced herself against the frame.
She now had a closer view of the scene and could better make out the spheres in Marla Varsin and company’s hands. Each of their thumbs was pressed down on a button. It was amazing to Jessie how in thousands of years of technological advances, removing the pin had been the main improvement for the good old hand grenade. The chrome casing made it look quite harmless. Under different circumstances, Jessie might have even confused the spheres for a child’s toy.
Jessie gave the medical bay a closer examination and let out a “yes” when she spotted the solution to their problem. On a nearby wall was what Jessie recognized as a first aid kit. She remembered Marla Varsin pointing to it and showing her its contents. Among them had been rolls of gauze and medical tape.
The first aid kit could be reached, if both she and Phaël formed a chain. Jessie pointed to the first aid kit. Phaël’s eyes lit up when she saw this and she gave Jessie an approving thumbs-up. She took a moment to readjust herself, grasping onto Jessie’s heel with one of her feet and firmly holding on to the door frame’s edge with her hands.
“I’m ready,” Jessie said in PaxCom.
With a muscle control that would have impressed even the greatest gymnasts of her time, Phaël slowly stretched herself past the door frame; Jessie used Phaël’s body as a support beam as she floated past the doorway and beneath a series of crisscrossing laser wires. All eyes in the room were on her, and Jessie was certain that everyone’s breath was now being held as she extended her arm and her fingers were able to catch onto the first aid kit. She delicately pulled it off the wall and motioned for Phaël to pull her back.
Phaël started to slowly reel Jessie toward the hostages. “We are getting you all out of here,” Jessie said in her halting Pax Common, hoping to reassure the other two hostages. Jessie opened the kit and quickly pulled out the gauze and medical tape.
Phaël released one of her hands and performed a perfect split, which allowed her to offer assistance. Jessie quickly took the gauze and rolled it up into three separate heavy balls. The task done she delicately took Marla Varsin’s grenade, making sure that the button was not released.
Jessie then took one of the three balls of gauze, slipped it between her thumb and the button and rolled up the tape around it tightly. Now was the real test as she released the button. She winced for a moment and counted in her mind. One, two, three, four, five, six . . . When Jessie had reached ten without any kind of boom, she let out a sigh of relief. One down, three more to go.
They were all floating safely in the medical bay. Or as close to safe as they could possibly be given the circumstances. Jessie had repeated the process two more times and Phaël had done her part by displaying incredible prowess and zigzagging between the laser trip wires to disarm them one by one. This had come as a shock to Jessie; at first glance, bomb disposal was not one of the skills she would have pegged Phaël as having.
Jessie had now loaded the silver spheres into a shoulder bag and under better conditions she would have loved to examine them more closely to figure out how they worked. Yet another thing she would have to do once she knew a little bit more about this new world and its rules.
The feeling of relief that everyone in the room was feeling was quite palpable. Marla Varsin had given Jessie a deep hug once she was free. “Infinite’s love and gratitude to you both, Jessie Madison and Phaël Farook of Ador.”
There was very little time for celebration or introductions, although Jessie could tell that both of Varsin’s new companions were equally as grateful. They both looked a bit tired but otherwise no worse for wear. Jessie was fascinated by the wonders of carbon sleep, another miracle and product of this time. Where awakening from any stint in criosleep would result in shakes and uncontrollable nausea, both Chance and Lucky were only a little bleary-eyed, as if they had just awakened from a long nap.
Chance was a young Kelthan woman with short, military cut black hair and pale skin. She had a certain mousy quality to her and she nervously chewed on her fingernails. Despite her outward shyness, there was a quiet certainty to her. Jessie could tell at least part of her mousiness was for show, as she silently observed and sized everyone up.
Lucky was an older Wolver male. He had a chinstrap beard and leathered wrinkled skin. Despite his obvious age, his green eyes were alert and sharp.
“You have my thanks,” Lucky said as he dug into his pockets and pulled out what looked like a long plastic cigarette. He slipped it into his mouth and took a d
eep haul from it, exhaling cinnamon flavored vapors, then handed it to Jessie, who politely refused. There would be plenty of time to smoke whatever was in that stick once they had regained control of the ship.
“We have little time to waste,” Marla Varsin started to explain. “The woman in control of Chord, Mikali Zahur, was planning on spiking the ship’s air supply with some sort of agent. That was fifteen minutes ago.”
Jessie pondered these words for a moment. “Right. Doctor, during my day the air supply to the med-bays were typically sealed off from the rest of the ship’s,” she said in English.
Marla Varsin nodded as she took a haul from Lucky’s vapostick. “That is still the case today.”
Jessie turned to Phaël, and asked in PaxCom, “Do we have weapons?”
“Yes, in the armory.”
Jessie turned back to Doctor Varsin. “Okay. Phaël, myself and Chance here are going to make our way to the armory and suit up. Then we are going to take back our ship. Does that sound like a plan?”
Marla Varsin nodded, then took a moment to explain Jessie’s plan to the rest of the people gathered in the med-bay. Chance and Lucky nodded in agreement, as did Phaël. The only person who did not seem to be too certain was Marla Varsin.
“There will be a spare lifesuit for you, Jessie Madison. But once you are suited and armed, you must promise me that you will do your best to let Chance and Phaël do the majority of the risk-taking. You have already risked enough.”
Jessie couldn’t help but feel touched by Marla Varsin’s concern and she gave her a quick hug. “I promise.”
Jessie shouldered the bag with the grenades. Chance, Phaël and Jessie then floated out of the medical bay and Marla Varsin sealed the door shut behind them. Jessie had had enough of these games; it was time to reclaim their ship.
CHAPTER 22
PHAËL
The easiest plunder is taken from those who have become complacent.
—Genji Suun, Galasian Khan, 1200 A2E
20th of SSM–11 1445 A2E
It was good to be in the arsenal. And it felt even better to be looking at her living skinsuit, Oricia. They had found the halls of the Jinxed eerily silent. The air was growing staler and staler by the minute and every second they dallied about was another second in which they risked breathing in whatever poison the ship’s atmosphere was being laced with. Phaël was ashamed to admit that she, Morrigan and Lunient had used similar tactics while plundering Argentine vessels during the Liberation War.
It was a particularly dirty yet effective way of disposing of a combat ready crew. Back then she had used several justifications to herself for what she had done. Namely that had the roles been reversed, the Argentine would have done the same, or worse, since they did not consider anyone Adoran-born to be truly deserving of any dignified or fair treatment.
It was an easy and lazy excuse, and if there was one thing that the Living Green cosmos loved, it was irony and balance. “Commit an evil deed and it will be visited back upon you, no matter what your motives or circumstances might have been,” the Elvrids had told her during her choosing ceremony on Uldur, where her suit had bound itself to her for life.
Part of her had wanted to tell the Elvrids of Uldur that it was easy for them to say that. Their world had never been under the thumb of merciless rulers or in the crosshairs for the expansion of galactic hegemonies like the nation of Argent or the Pax Humanis. She had of course not spoken these thoughts out loud, although she was fairly convinced that the Elvrids had known about them. It was next to impossible to hide any detail from the spiritual voices of the Living Green.
The Elvrids had an incredible knowledge of plants and life in general. They were capable of growing and crafting concoctions that could turn a person into a fearless warrior or a mindless slave. They could create salves and natural medicines for almost any known disease. After all for each sickness, be it spiritual or physical, there existed a cure in nature.
Chance was presently assisting Jessie into one of the ship’s emergency photosynth lifesuits. While Jessie might have been too tall for it, the suit was remarkably versatile and adjustable. It was fortunate for them that the young sharpshooter Chance was well versed in suiting up.
For her part, Phaël took a moment to admire Oricia. It had a dark brown, chitin-like exterior with black stripes. It was fully segmented, so once she was in it she would be able to move as well as she could without it. In essence it would become an extension of her body. The inside of the suit was lined with hundreds of tiny white suction cups, the suit’s neuro-tendrils, would allow it to better feel what Phaël felt.
It was not an unpleasant feeling as the suit wrapped itself up and around Phaël, and she could feel an impression of happiness on her suit’s part. Of course it would be happy, even excited, at the prospect of stepping out of the ship. There was no need to explain to it that this was merely a safety precaution, to protect them from whatever was going to be in their air very soon.
Phaël gave her shoulder an affectionate pat and a gelatinous, transparent membrane unfurled itself from a pouch at the base of her suit’s neck. The membrane wrapped itself around her head and would act not only as an oxygen supply but an air filter for Phaël. Her suit sealed up, Phaël quickly sheathed her dozens of knives and two dense vine whips at her side. Now she felt ready for the miserable humps that had managed to get the drop on her.
For her part Chance had just finished sealing Jessie’s helmet. The durable plasti-suit parts were all extendable or collapsible and had been adjusted for Jessie’s height. Chance took a moment to make sure that Jessie’s air supply was turned on before starting to get into her own combat armor: a standard-issue Pax Infantry suit, with fully articulated limbs and finger pieces.
Jessie was loading up her warped pistols and holstered them at her side and slipped on her omni-gloves. She had already slung the confiscated grenades over her shoulder in a magnetized bag. Her gearing up done, Jessie was testing the mobility of her new suit.
While not as fluid as either Chance’s combat armor or Phaël’s skinsuit, Jessie appeared to nonetheless be incredibly impressed. “This shames the life-rigs of my day,” she said in PaxCom.
“Anything we do or have done would put your time to shame, Jessie Madison,” Phaël quipped back at her.
Jessie flashed Phaël her middle finger once more. She then turned to offer Chance assistance with her suit. The young woman was just finishing with her chest plate and arms and was about to slip on her helmet when suddenly the ship’s intercom went off. A young man’s voice, confident and calm spoke.
“Members of the Jinxed Thirteenth, I am Domiant Kuaro Nem’Uldur. Know now that mine is the only voice you will obey. I know you are housing a living specimen of Ancient Humanity. I order any and all standing servicemen and women to surrender and help me in securing said incredibly valuable specimen, and to kill anyone who gets in your way.”
“BOTH OF YOU, STAND DOWN!” Chance suddenly barked in an uncharacteristically bold tone.
It was at this point that Phaël noticed Chance’s dilated pupils and raised service pulse pistol pointed at them. She was biting her lower lip as if struggling internally with herself. “Take off your air masks right now!” Tears were welling up in her eyes, and her trigger finger trembled.
There was a look of confusion and fear playing itself out nakedly on poor Chance’s face, and former Paxist or not it broke Phaël’s heart when she heard her helplessly whimper: “I’m sorry.”
CHAPTER 23
DOMIANT
In the wrong hand, wisdom can be used to unravel the very cosmos. It is why we are so uncompromising with who will be one of us.
—Slena Toir Nem’Uldur,
High Elvrid, 1360 A1E
20th of SSM–11 1445 A2E
“Is this ship not a lovely improvement from our previous living arrangement
s, mister Niko?” Brimming with pride, Domiant stepped once more onto the Jinxed Thirteenth. The plan was moving along like clockwork so far and he would have to congratulate his three pieces for a job well done.
Niko gave the ship’s deserted halls a quick glance. “Will be good to have a room to call my own.” Niko was carrying an incredibly heavy looking Thegran model pulse carbine in his armor-clad arms. Were it not for his unnatural augmented muscles, Niko would have been unable to carry it. It was no surprise to Domiant that a man completely lacking in any creativity or tact would have chosen such a thing to be his weapon of choice.
And as long as he did not fire it in the ship, there would be no problem.
“Captain’s being held in the gravity ring. Figured you’ll want to have chat with him.” Mikali spoke to Domiant through Niko’s comm-link.
“Have you secured the main bridge yet?”
Mikali’s significant pause was answer enough for him. “The captain ordered the bridge sealed off before we could do anything. Standard protocol, really.”
“I do not like excuses, Mikali.” Domiant looked to Niko. “Go assist Mikali with her task. I can find my way to the captain on my own.”
Sopherim and Zanza were both waiting for him, although they were at opposite ends of the room from each other. Morwyn was tied to the ground and floating just above the floor as far as his bindings would allow him.
Captain Morwyn shot him a baleful look. His eyes, however, were, to Domiant’s satisfaction, dilated, and his head kept on rolling back and forth as if all of his muscles were now relaxed.
Domiant walked over to Morwyn, knelt down and examined him closely. Morwyn’s left eye was swollen shut and his lip was cut.
“What did you do to me?” Morwyn managed to get out.
Domiant ignored the question and grabbed Morwyn’s chin, examining his face. Morwyn was about to try to pull back. “Be still!” Domiant commanded. Morwyn complied, the confusion plain to see on his face. The sight filled Domiant with much satisfaction.
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