Syndicate's Pawns

by Davila LeBlanc

  ­People had been killed here, and probably in a very unpleasant manner given what Jessie had seen so far. Who were these criminals? And most importantly, how had they figured out that Jessie was even here in the first place? That was the question that worried her the most. As far as she could tell, they were all presently beyond the borders of Covenant space. The Jinxed Thirteenth had stumbled upon her rescue beacon by pure chance. Yet another silent testament to how far Ancient Humanity’s domain had once stretched and fallen. How in the Hells had the Althena been able to track them down?

  “There are no coincidences,” she muttered to herself.

  “That is truth.” Phaël’s spoken agreement was a soft purr. There was a feline-­like grace and weariness about her as she clutched a long curved dagger in one hand and her vine whip in the other. Her arsenal was a stark contrast to all the technologically advanced weapons Jessie had seen so far. What was even more shocking was that Phaël had been able to overcome this apparent disadvantage time and time again.

  I’m starting to like her. Jessie kept this thought to herself. There would be plenty of time for admiration once they were done besting their opponents.

  The storage bay led to a single branching hallway, the path forward led to yet another storage bay, and Jessie could see that this one had been converted into a bedroom/harem of sorts. To their left the hall led to a small kitchenette, and past that Jessie could make out the ship’s cockpit. A lone individual was seated in the pilot’s seat. Phaël pointed to the pilot and the two silently crept up toward him.

  As she got closer Jessie could see that whoever this pilot was, he was presently chained to his seat by the wrists. He suddenly spun around. He had a long unkempt red beard and wild hair. His face was sullen and his eyes were lined with heavy bags. There was a look of pure exhaustion ­coupled with terror on his face as his eyes fell on Phaël and Jessie.

  “You aren’t supposed to be here!” His hand darted toward what looked like a speaker. There was a crack as Phaël quickly unfurled her whip, catching him by the wrist. There was a bone-­cracking snap and the pilot let out a pathetic whimper as he pulled his hand back and cradled it weakly against his chest.

  Before Phaël could say or do anything else Jessie interposed herself between the two. Whoever this man was, he was clearly a victim of something and not in the same league as the crimson mercenary they had faced outside the ship. As if to punctuate the point, the man started to nakedly sob and Jessie could see that Phaël’s vine had broken his wrist.

  “What are you doing?” Jessie ignored Phaël’s question as she held out her hand and examined his injury delicately. The man kept on silently blubbering and pulled his hand back fearfully.

  “Do not worry,” Jessie said in PaxCom, “my friend and I do not want to hurt you.”

  “It is not the worst injury I’ve suffered on this cursed ship,” the man replied.

  “My name is Jessie Madison. What is yours?” Once more she took his hand in hers and looked it over. His wrist was already swelling, and she could tell by the bruises around them that he had been shackled to his seat for a very long time indeed.

  The pilot looked to both Phaël and Jessie as if expecting to be harmed should he not give the right answer. “Kendric Loc.”

  Jessie took a moment to examine Kendric more closely. He was chained to his seat, malnourished and incredibly feeble looking. She was fairly certain that her omni-­gloves could make short work of his bindings. This poor man had the look of the enslaved and Jessie wanted nothing more than to free him.

  Before she could do anything, Phaël caught Jessie by the wrist and pointed to beneath Kendric Loc’s seat. There was a blinking fist-­sized silver sphere. This one grafted onto the chair itself along with what appeared to be some sort of metal pressure plate. Jessie pulled her hand free but not before giving Phaël an appreciative nod.

  “How is the bomb on your seat triggered?” Phaël asked.

  Kendric Loc, who was slowly realizing what was being done, flashed them a look of gratitude. “If I get up, or if anyone tampers with the monofilm grenade, it will go off.” His shoulders slumped forward. “And if boss Domiant learns that I helped you, my death will be a slow one.”

  As he said this, the brief look of hope faded away from Loc’s face. “He is going to kill me.”

  “Kendric, is it? I need you to listen to me.” Jessie cupped Kendric’s face in both her hands, locking eyes with him. “You are not dying today.”

  She released him and Kendric Loc stared at his hand for a moment then at Jessie. He composed himself and nodded at her. “I believe you.”

  “I cannot get you out right now. So I want you to seal yourself in here. You stay out of our way while we take care of the ­people who did this to you, and I promise that we will not punish you for your part in all of this.”

  Phaël interjected. “You can’t make that promise.”

  “Well, I have,” Jessie snapped back.

  “Captain won’t be pleased.”

  “He seems to be the type who rarely is. And you seem to be the type who does not give a shit.” Phaël beamed back in agreement when Jessie said this.

  Jessie looked back to Kendric Loc. “We are going to step out of here and take care of your friend Niko.”

  Loc’s indignant look was all she needed to see to indicate his contempt for the man just outside the Althena trying to make his way in. “That motherless hump is no friend of mine. Do your worst. I will not mourn his loss.”

  “Good to know.” Jessie was about to turn around and step out of the cockpit when Kendric Loc stopped her with a hand.

  “You need to hide.” All three of them looked down the hallway as they heard the ominous sound of the airlock opening back in the cargo bay Jessie and Phaël had come from. “Niko is an animal. He will kill both of you.”

  “And what of your leader, Domiant?” Phaël asked.

  Kendric Loc shuddered. “If given the chance, he will do far worse.”

  They made sure to seal the cockpit door behind them. From there it was Jessie’s hope that Loc would be kept safe until they could do something for him. Truth be told though, she was more concerned about the armed lunatic they were sharing this incredibly enclosed space with.

  Niko’s voice carried down the hall to them. “WOLVER DOG! I’M GOING TO SKIN YOU AND MOUNT YOUR HEAD LIKE A TROPHY!” Jessie and Phaël both looked to each other.

  “You can stay with the pilot.” Phaël put her hand on Jessie’s stomach. “Otherwise you risk too much.”

  Jessie held Phaël’s hand for a moment. David, in his final moments, had made a similar offer: run my love, hide and survive. He had died, she had lived, and that was, in her opinion, the essence of tragedy. Now facing a similar option with someone who had been a hateful stranger toward her only a few hours ago, Jessie shook her head no and swallowed back the fear she was feeling.

  “We are here together, and that is how we are going to take down that asshole.”

  Jessie could see Phaël smile a relieved smile from beneath the membrane of her strange air mask. “He is both loud and stupid,” she whispered, and guided Jessie’s hand to the butts of her plasma cutters. “Let us introduce him to the Huntress.”

  CHAPTER 32

  MORWYN

  When you cannot trust in your skill, trust in the soldier next to you.

  —­Plaque at the Sol Military Academy,

  author unknown

  20th of SSM–11 1445 A2E

  There was no doubt in Morwyn’s mind that both he and Chance were thoroughly outclassed by Sopherim. Even if the two of them had not been under the effect of the airborne narcotics tainting their ship’s air supply, she would have proven to be a most dangerous opponent. Under normal circumstances while facing a foe like her, the order of the day would be to create distance between them, in order to make proper use of their pulse pisto
ls.

  Eliana Jafahan had once told him that firearms were the great equalizer of the universe. They could turn even an untrained civilian into a serious threat. However they came with one major drawback: they were only useful outside of close range.

  It was clear that Sopherim was also aware of that weakness, and was exploiting it to her favor. She deftly slashed her blade at Chance’s throat level, and the young private desperately dove to the ground to avoid the lethal strike. Morwyn tried to take advantage of this momentary distraction but Sopherim, with a speed that would put lightning to shame, drove her elbow into his unprotected face.

  There was a crack followed by blinding pain as Morwyn felt his nose break. The impact of the blow dropped him on his back. Sopherim stabbed her blade toward his chest. Morwyn was able to deflect the blow with his stun-­stick, but was unable to avoid the fierce kick to his side.

  Morwyn gagged and raised his pistol, aiming for Sopherim’s leg. She deftly cartwheeled aside as he pulled the trigger and raised her blade above her head, ready to strike Morwyn down. Fortunately, Chance took the opportunity to open fire on Sopherim, who was forced to lithely drop to the ground, avoiding the shots once again.

  Their foe was not only slippery but opportunistic as well. Like a coiled spring, Sopherim rolled back up to her feet, thrusting her blade forward and stabbing Chance in the shoulder. Her blade pierced through Chance’s armor and she let out a pained scream, dropping her sidearm. Sopherim pressed her advantage as she pushed the blade and Chance forward until her back was against the wall.

  “Covenant agents.” Sopherim’s voice was heavy with contempt. She did not notice as Chance reached behind her back for her spare sidearm. Chance quickly grabbed onto the flat end of Sopherim’s blade with her injured hand while firing on her with the other. This time Sopherim was unable to avoid the shot as the pulse round clipped her side, going through her armor and drawing blood.

  Sopherim did not bother struggling with her blade. She hissed and leapt away, snapping her leg up and catching Chance beneath her chin in an acrobatic kick. Morwyn, who had by now managed to crawl over to his pulse pistol, was about to draw a bead on her, but despite her injury, Sopherim was still fluid and quick. Her hands went for two of the dozen knives sheathed around her armor. One blade found its mark in Chance’s left leg. Morwyn was forced to duck his head as the knife meant for him narrowly whizzed past.

  Once more Sopherim was quick to press her advantage as she rushed over to Chance, placed her foot against her chest and wrenched her sword free from her shoulder. Chance let out another agonized scream and slid down to the ground, leaving a streak of blood along the wall.

  Sopherim turned to face Morwyn and twirled her curved sword, shaking the blood from it. Her left arm felt the wound at her side and she examined her bloodstained fingertips as she stalked menacingly toward Morwyn. He raised his pistol, taking aim this time for her shoulder, not wanting to kill her.

  Sopherim must have read his intention through his body language because she let out a cold chuckle then kicked the pistol from out of his hand. “You two made me bleed. That was no small task.”

  Sopherim raised her blade, poised to strike Morwyn down. “STOP!” Chance shouted. Sopherim lowered the edge of her blade onto Morwyn’s throat and glanced back to see Chance pointing a pulse pistol from where she was seated on the ground.

  “By the Infinite if you do not drop your blade, RIGHT NOW, I will end you where you stand.” Chance’s face was set and steady. Morwyn hoped that Sopherim would be unable to read Chance’s obvious bluff.

  Sopherim snorted, before responding in broken Pax Common. “You know what I think, little girl?”

  Sopherim drew another knife with her free hand. “You, a Covenant agent, must take me in alive. It is how you operate. Your rules of engagement.”

  “We’re in End Space now. No one will ever find out.” Chance briefly glanced past Sopherim then back at her once more. She then let out a resigned sigh and lowered her weapon. “But you are right. I won’t kill you.”

  “Pity for you, I do not have the same code.” Sopherim prepared to throw the knife in her hand. Before she could, however, there was a sudden loud bang from behind Morwyn and Sopherim.

  Sopherim let out a yelp and dropped to one knee. Morwyn could now make out a long dart behind her leg. Before she could react there was another bang followed by another yelp from Sopherim as a second dart suddenly pierced her second leg. Morwyn looked behind him from where the sound had come. Down the corridor, lying on his stomach staring through the scope of a kinetic bolt rifle, a smoking vapostick in his mouth, was old Lucky with a satisfied look on his face.

  Sopherim tried to push herself back up but was now wobbling and breathing heavily.

  “I’d just lie down were I you, Blade Dancer,” Lucky called out to Sopherim, not once taking his eye away from his scope. “You’ve been pumped full of the heaviest anesthetics Covenant Medical technology has to offer. Ain’t as fun a trip as Somapoline, that be the Green’s Truth. But they’ll get the job done right.”

  Lucky, Chance and Morwyn all waited and watched as Sopherim struggled to get back to her feet. But her legs seemed no longer capable of supporting her, and soon she fell flat onto her stomach and into a deep sleep, breathing steadily.

  Lucky left his rifle where it was and walked over to Chance, limping heavily. “Thanks for the diversion, Chance.”

  “I figured if anyone was going to land a shot on that one, it was you, Lucky,” Chance replied weakly as the old Wolver examined her shoulder wound closely before applying pressure on it. The deed was a token one as Chance’s standard issue Pax infantry armor’s autoinjectors were already pumping her up with painkillers, adrenaline and coagulants.

  Morwyn’s lungs were on fire as he got to his feet and quickly went about handcuffing Sopherim’s feet and hands together. Once he was done. Morwyn sat back down and took a moment to breathe in deeply until the act was less painful. He looked to Chance and Lucky. Fortunately for Chance, her battle armor would stop her from bleeding out until they could get her to Doctor Marla Varsin.

  “How are you feeling, Chance?” Lucky asked her as he took a haul from his vapostick.

  “I’ll be able to manage a steady limp until the doc takes a look at me.” From beneath her helmet, Chance shot Lucky a friendly, yet weak smile. “I think I might have broken something.”

  Morwyn winced as he pulled down his air mask and took a sip from his flask of brandy. “So have I.”

  “Well, kiddies, both of you are mobile. So with respect—­on your feet and help me take back our bridge.” Lucky helped Chance up then stepped over to Morwyn and did the same.

  “Come along, Captain, time enough to heal once we’re dead.”

  CHAPTER 33

  PHAËL

  Violence is not inherently evil. It is a tool, something we have used in the past and will no doubt continue to use in the future. When used in the wild it is to protect. Humanis are the only species I have seen, so far, who will use it for any other reason. It will take a far greater mind than my own to figure the answer to this most troubling of riddles.

  —­Icarius Odenshaw, 12 of SSM–05 1359 A1E

  20th of SSM–11 1445 A2E

  This was not Phaël’s first time encountering an abomination like Niko. The Living Green was quite clear in its teachings that the body, the natural body, was a sacred vessel for the spirit. It was therefore considered heresy to have parts of that body replaced by lifeless metal and plastic. What she had learned was the fatal flaw of many a Kelthan was that they often equated superior technology to being superior.

  Remove their technological edge and most Kelthans were soft and weak. She did not think that Niko would be a pushover. But as with any fool who thought having a weapon made him invincible, she would be more than happy to verse him on his own fragile mortality.

  There was no machi
ne in existence that could make someone deathless. Even Darlkhin, the immortal Humanis bloodline, could be sent to meet the Huntress. Thankfully Phaël had never faced one of the ageless in combat.

  This Niko was no wizened immortal. He was a foolish, violent and—­most importantly—­angry man. The time for hiding was over. Not that there would have been many options on so enclosed a space to begin with.

  “I’M COMING FOR YOU, DOG!” Niko’s angry footsteps echoed down the corridor as he stalked past the storage bay and turned to face them. The man’s left arm had mechanized into a long viciously serrated vibroblade.

  Jessie and Phaël could both hear the menacing hum of the blade vibrating in the air. Phaël hissed as she saw this. The vibroblade was a razor sharp weapon that could rend through flesh, bone and armor. It was a vicious and dirty weapon; one Phaël was not terribly shocked to see Niko sporting.

  He paused as he saw both Jessie and Phaël waiting for him. “I’m glad you chose to make it easy for me, flex girl.”

  “We could say the same to you,” Phaël snapped back at him as Jessie opened fire on Niko with her plasma cutters. With inhuman speed, he avoided the purple streaks of heated plasma bolts and with each missed shot he came a little bit closer to them.

  Phaël could hear Jessie letting out an outraged scream as she missed with her last shot and both plasma cutters let out an impotent “click.”

  Niko maliciously wagged his finger at Jessie. “You’re dead now.”

  Jessie dropped to her knees, popping the chambers of her weapons open, and started to reload them. Phaël deftly twirled her knife in her hand, pointing it at Niko. “I’ll buy you some time,” she whispered to Jessie.

  Now confident that he no longer had to worry about incoming fire, Niko sprang forward and slashed at Phaël with his bladed arm. Phaël kept her cool as she rolled under the blow, beneath his legs and behind him. She was about to snag his neck with her whip but Niko was quick to react, spinning on his heels and stabbing down. Phaël deftly avoided the blow and leapt onto Niko’s chest, locking his blade arm with both of hers and kicking him furiously in the face guard with both her prehensile feet.