Clasped in Zanza’s left hand was her rebreather. It would fit over his mouth and nose. In her present condition, Morwyn figured that Zanza would not mind if he borrowed it from her. Before slipping on the rebreather, Morwyn felt beneath his impact vest into his uniform breast pocket and pulled out his small silver flask of brandy and took himself a stiff sip.
The brandy was like a small fire down his throat, but it helped wash away the soreness and pain from his encounter with the Wolver Blade Dancer, Sopherim. He slipped the mask on, holstered his sidearm and silently made his way out of the grav ring. Enough was enough; it was time to reclaim his ship.
CHAPTER 29
PHAËL
The key to hunting as a pack is dividing the prey’s attention. If they do not know where the next attack is coming from, they will be unable to defend against it.
—Rolyan Jingo Nem’Ador, Master Blade Dancer
20th of SSM–11 1445 A2E
The repetitive impact of pulse round fire against her cover was a familiar feeling to Phaël. She silently gave praise to both the Huntress and the Living Green for the good fortune of cover, as it was giving her time to think. Jessie’s mounting panic was plain to see on her face. She might have been a very courageous woman in her day, but Jessie was no soldier; she had not fought in wars. This was probably her first time in a real firefight.
Phaël, on the other hand? She had known violence almost her entire life. This was not her first time facing technological nightmares. It was easy to become reliant and almost complacent when machines could do the work and the thinking for you. That included, no doubt, this mindless sentry gun.
Was it dangerous? Yes. But dangerous did not mean smart. The Living Green would never bless these deadly contraptions with the only real tool the Wolvers and the rest of the Humanis for that matter possessed, and that tool was intelligence.
A Humanis shooter would no doubt have stopped firing and waited for Jessie and Phaël to try and break cover. Not so with this soulless machine. Phaël also knew for a fact that there was no way the turret could target them both.
She looked to Jessie and they both knew staying here would only lead to capture, death or worse. Phaël made a running motion with her fingers, pointed to herself going one way and Jessie going in the other. Jessie’s eyes went wide with apprehension, but this didn’t prevent her from pulling out her two plasma cutters and letting out a ready grunt.
There was no need for a countdown. As one they both jumped out of cover in separate directions. As predicted, the autoturret stopped firing as it tried to lock on a target. Phaël sprang toward it and cast out both her whips, binding it in place. Jessie rolled along the hull and managed to engage her suit’s magboots. The autoturret struggled to break free from Phaël’s vine whips; the machine’s efforts were wasted as Jessie took aim with her weapons and fired two purple plasma bolts at it.
Jessie’s shots found their mark, striking the turret at its base and severing it cleanly from the Althena. The sparking turret floated away from them and Jessie hooted a “hoorah” as she rushed over to the ship’s main airlock. As to be expected, the entrance was locked.
Jessie quickly began to examine the airlock entrance and found a panel she could unfasten with the tools on her fingertips. “I think I can open this.”
“Machina Chord could do this in seconds.” Phaël watched their flank, making sure no one was coming for them.
For her part Jessie was adjusting the fingertips of her gloves into the proper tools she needed for the job. “That’s great.” Her tone was curt; Phaël figured that she did not appreciate being compared to a machine.
The tall shape of Niko, encased in his crimson combat armor, suddenly stepped out from the torn remains of the walkway. He was carrying a heavy looking Thegran carbine and when he spotted Jessie and Phaël at the entrance of the Althena he leapt off the Jinxed and landed a few steps away from them.
“I need more time,” Jessie said, not once taking her eyes off her work.
Before Niko could say or do anything, Phaël leapt at him. He was big and her initial assessment of him was that he would therefore be slow. It was a mistake and one that almost cost Phaël her life. He quickly sidestepped her, catching Phaël’s heel in a vise-like grip and slamming her violently onto the Althena’s hull.
Phaël grunted in pain as she felt more of her stitches snap apart. Stars peppered her field of vision, but her hands were already reaching for her vine whips. There would be time enough for pain when she was done sending this brute to meet the Huntress.
He pointed the barrel of his heavy carbine at Phaël. “Dead or alive, flex girl, you will be my personal play-toy when this is done.”
If he had used his ranged weapon at a distance, it might have been a threat to Phaël, but this close? Perhaps not all Humanis made as much use of their intelligence as she had been led to believe. Phaël lunged up with a kick, slapping the gun away from her before wrapping her other leg on his trigger hand.
Niko easily deadlifted Phaël off the ground but was unable to shake her off as she wrapped her second leg around his trigger arm. He tried to punch her with his free fist, but Phaël merely used his captured limb as a lever and flipped onto his shoulders while keeping his gun arm pointed upward and away from both her and Jessie.
Niko grunted aggressively as he struggled to get her off his shoulder. He tried to grab her once more, and Phaël dropped off his shoulders behind him, doing a handstand while still not releasing his gun-arm. Had the humping fool just dropped his weapon and tried to engage her using his combat augments, he would no doubt have bested her. Or at least posed more of a threat.
Like most Kelthans she had come to know, Niko thought that his weapon was what made him dangerous, rather than the other way around. Because of this, Phaël was able to grab one of her whips and bind his gun-wrist. Before he could react, Phaël released his arm and pushed herself past and between his legs. As she did, she quickly kicked him behind both his knees, where his armor would no doubt be at its weakest.
Niko let out a surprised yelp as the impact of her blows caused him to stagger down on one knee. Phaël did not let her momentum die down as she quickly tied both his gun-arm and leg together with her vine whip. Like a captured beast, Niko tried to pull himself free from his bindings, although it was doubtful to Phaël that his task would be easy. Her vine whips had been bred by generations of Breedmasters on Uldur to be as durable as diamond wire rope. This didn’t mean that Niko wouldn’t be able to undo the knot as he still had a free hand.
“You would have done better without this.” Phaël kicked the carbine from out of Niko’s hand, caught it deftly with her foot and hurled it into the void with all the might she could muster.
“You humping dog!” Niko shouted as Phaël cartwheeled out of the way of a wild backhanded swing from his free arm.
Phaël looked past her shoulder to see that Jessie had finally managed to open the airlock. She could feel blood trickling down her back. Niko was already trying to unfasten the knot to his bindings. This was not the ideal setting for a fight. Alone, Phaël didn’t think she could best this man. With Jessie, however, in close quarters where his superior size and strength would count for nothing?
“Catch us if you can, abomination.”
Phaël spun around and ran toward the open entrance, where Jessie was waiting for her. Niko managed to break himself free just as Phaël made it onto the Althena. Jessie pulled a lever and the door closed itself between them and Niko. Two large pulse pistols were in his hands, mechanized from pressurized holsters in his wrists. He started firing at them in rage, but his pulse rounds bounced harmlessly off the airlock door. The airlock began to repressurize itself and Phaël took a moment to catch her breath. They were inside the enemy nest; it was time to wreak some havoc.
CHAPTER 30
MORWYN
Contrary to what many migh
t believe about me, I do not hate the Pax Humanis, rather I pity those who make their lives under its shadow. Their existence is one dedicated to becoming one of many cogs in a great unfeeling machine. And once the piece is used, it is discarded and replaced. We are fortunate to have our belief in the living cosmos. For there is a sacred meaning to our rituals. They help bring meaning to the lives of those who experience them. Realizing and experiencing that meaning is never without value.
—Edwina Derun Nem’Troy, Elvrid,
13th of SSM–07 1440 A2E
20th of SSM–11 1445 A2E
During the early years of his life, Morwyn’s older brother Somus had taken him on a tour of the shipyards on their native Sunderlund. There he had met Captain Coren Selt, a veteran captain of the Pax Fleet. She had smiled when Morwyn revealed to her that it was his dream to one day sail the cosmos, commanding his own ship. A year from that day he would be shipped off, at the age of thirteen, to the Pax Combat Academies of Barathul. But the words she had told him had stuck with Morwyn to this day.
“A good captain needs to know her ship better than she knows her lover, her family and herself.”
When he had first set foot onto the Jinxed Thirteenth, Morwyn had made it a point to explore and commit as much of the vessel’s layout to memory as he could. He had done his best to commit everything from man-sized vent shafts and intelicam blind spots to where the floor squeaked, to memory. He knew that it would be no easy task. But one day, he had thought, he would thank himself for it.
Today was that day, and as Morwyn slipped down the lesser-used service corridors, he reminded himself to thank Captain Coren in person once he had the chance. It would probably do him good to thank Somus for bringing him to the shipyards in the first place, but his older brother had long ago turned away from his life of service, opting for a retirement in the forests of Uldur. The decision had not pleased their father and truth be told Morwyn had not spoken to his brother in years. He hoped he was all right.
Morwyn thought it strange that in this dangerous moment he found his thoughts being flooded by the people he loved. Somus would have told him that everyone had loved ones, that the desire to see them again before welcoming death was often a source of near limitless strength. Having been a former infantryman, Morwyn was fairly certain that his older brother had been speaking from personal experience.
Morwyn’s body felt like it had been bruised all over, and while the beating he had received at the hands of Sopherim had in no way been a delicate one, he was fortunate that she had shown enough restraint not to break any of his limbs or cause any lasting damage. The Infinite alone knew how he would have been able to reclaim his ship if that had been the case.
Every time he tried to remember how he had broken free, the memories were fogged; the narcotics lacing the air supply no doubt had a serious role to play in all this. Or at least, that was what he kept on telling himself. However, it felt like an important detail had been revealed to him. Was his release another ploy from Domiant? Had they somehow tricked him?
He chased these thoughts away. Second-guessing every single detail would only cause him to abandon all hope. Surely his foe could not divine every move he would make or could possibly conceive of.
Because if that were the case, they would already have taken Jessie Madison, he reminded himself.
Domiant not being able to foretell the future was precious little comfort to Morwyn, as he was presently alone with no way of being able to physically take on a crew of competent mercenaries. Never mind that he had no way of knowing how many people Domiant had under his command.
His progress was maddeningly slow, as he could not risk making a sound and had to hop from intelicam blind spot to blind spot. The cams moved back and forth in a pattern along the ceiling, like the stock enemies of a child’s trideo-game. Eventually Morwyn had made it past the cantina, through the ship’s living quarters, and was now just a few steps away from the arsenal. There he was hoping to replace his rebreather with a sealed and soundproofed helmet. It would do him no good to confront Domiant only to have the latter order him to put his pistol in his mouth and pull the trigger. And given how easily Morwyn had surrendered Jessie Madison’s true nature, it had to be presumed that it could be a possibility.
He still felt the heady rush of the Somapoline trip running its course through him. The flashing red emergency lights all cast extended auras about him and even the most mundane of sounds seemed to beg for his attention. Any time he felt the need to stop and surrender to the trip, Morwyn would pinch the webbing between his thumb and index. It was a trick shown to him by Eliana Jafahan, and one that was meant to make him focus.
For the moment it was working, although he had no way of knowing how long it would be before he was free of the airborne Somapoline’s effects. Morwyn found himself walking slower and slower, every part of his body feeling heavier and heavier. When he reached the doors to the arsenal he was forced to support himself on a nearby exhaust beam. He rubbed his eyes furiously, hoping that it would somehow shake off his current condition.
The Infinite erode him. He needed to overcome this. His crew had rescued Jessie Madison, and he would commit himself to the cold vacuum outside before he let her be captured once more. She had suffered through enough.
Without warning, the doors to the arsenal whooshed open, startling Morwyn, who raised his service pistol. It was his military training that prevented him from pulling the trigger and firing blindly.
Staring at him through the visor of her air mask was Private Chance. Her eyes, like his own, were dilated. And while both of them were surprised to see each other, Morwyn was nonetheless pleased to finally recognize a friendly face.
Chance let out a sigh of relief and spoke through her lifesuit’s comm-speaker. “Captain Sir. I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me. I raised my pistol, pointed it at Phaël. I would have killed her, too, sir. Infinite help me. I would have killed her.”
Morwyn gave Chance a quick hug as she broke into soft sobs. Chance was a prodigal sharpshooter, who had passed all of her virtual augmented reality training on Barathul with flying colors. But in the real world, she had found herself categorically opposed to taking a life. “I won’t kill those, those motherless humps, Captain Sir. But I am going to hurt them—that is a promise.” She sniffled, then added, “What did they make you do?”
Morwyn looked away from Chance, suddenly feeling very ashamed. “I revealed to them who Jessie Madison truly is.” It was his turn to suddenly be comforted as she took him in her arms. Chance’s grip was far stronger than he would have expected the mousy private’s to be.
He took a deep calming breath, and pulled away from her. “Private, who else is awake?”
“Doctor Varsin and Lucky are sealed off in the medical bay.”
Morwyn permitted himself a smile. The medical bay had its own untainted air supply. At last the Infinite had tossed them a scrap of good fortune. “Good, we’ll regroup with them.”
“Neither one of you are going to live long enough to make it.” Morwyn looked over his shoulder to see Sopherim, her right hand firmly clutched around the hilt of her dangerous blade. Her golden eyes fell upon both Chance’s and Morwyn’s pulse pistols. There was something about her stance that made Morwyn think that beneath the snarling wolf mask of her helmet, Sopherim was smiling.
To their credit, Morwyn and Chance both drew their pistols and fired a shot each. Sopherim was able to read their body language and easily avoid the salvo of pulse pistol. She rushed forward drawing her blade out as she did. Morwyn felt like he was moving through thick molasses as he tried to draw a bead on Sopherim, but he simply could not get a clear shot as she fearlessly zigzagged toward them. Before Morwyn could squeeze off a second shot Sopherim had already closed the distance and was upon them.
CHAPTER 31
JESSIE
Of our many evolutionary edge
s, I do not believe that strength is the one that has allowed us to make it this far. I think that it is our compassion, our ability to feel another’s pain and joy that has taken us this far. The Machina do not harm the living because it goes against their protocols, while most Humanis choose not to harm the living because it is the right thing to do.
—Atrien Silenus,
Pax Humanis Prefect of the
Ambrosian City of Mosayin,
12th of SSM–06 1444 A2E
20th of SSM–11 1445 A2E
Jessie and David had once gone on a tour of the haunted asylums on the continent of America. These places had been converted into amusement theme parks using artificial light projections as ghosts. What Jessie had felt during the guided tours of these “haunted” sites was not so much the spirits of the angry dead, mainly because she had never believed in ghosts. Rather, what she had felt was the heavy air of despair and pain that seemed to permeate the walls of these sites of horror.
That same lingering feeling was heavy in the air as both she and Phaël stepped past the airlock doors into a tightly crammed storage bay of the Althena. The lights flickered and cast uneven shadows across secured transport crates. Jessie was thankful for her present company, as Phaël did not appear to be as nervous as she was.
In fact, as she thought about it, Jessie realized that Phaël was incredibly eager and comfortable in their present situation. How many ships had she boarded like this in her past? There was something about Phaël that made Jessie think that her companion was no stranger to warfare and suffering. This struck her as sad. Not that she could really tell the ages of these new species of humans, but Phaël did not seem to be much older than she was.
As they cautiously progressed through the cargo bay, Jessie spotted a large pool of dried blood on the floor. Whoever had cleaned it had done so quickly and badly. Jessie was thankful for her air filter right now as she was certain that this room would no doubt reek of stale blood and death.
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