Authors: Tony Gonzales
“What the hell are you talking about?”
I shouted.
“Man yearns for something to believe in,” he answered, a crazed look in his eye.
“And you can help give it to them.
Nothing is more worthy of your talent!”
“I don’t care about any of this,” I said.
He shook his fist at me.
“Who among the heirs inspires you?
Ardishapur?
Kor-Azor?
Do you think any of them can show the universe that God exists?
No!
But
she
can.
And we cannot leave that to chance!”
“You hypocrite,” I shouted over the downpour.
“The point of the Succession Trials is to let God choose an emperor!
It’s treason just to
think
of tampering with it!”
“Imagine it, Marcus.
The people will adore her.
Jamyl is God’s choice; I know this.”
“Falek, if this is the choice you’re offering, I want no part of it!”
“You coward!”
he bellowed, pointing again at the cathedral.
“Look at that place of worship!
Gangs
make their home there now.
It’s become a brothel, a drug factory, a hole where terrorists gather to plan murders!”
He walked toward me with fire in his eyes.
“Do you know why the Kameiras are here, Marcus?”
he asked.
“Every week the infidels living in our church plot against Amarr.
Not against military targets.
Their only goal is to kill as many civilians as they can.”
I thought immediately of Sasha and how she had looked so sad the last time I saw her alive.
“Oh, you know something of this?”
he continued, feeding off the recollection in my eyes.
“Remember the slaves you loved more than your parents?
Who betrayed your precious innocence because they were given a
choice
?”
To this day, I wish I had struck him dead on the spot.
But the putrid rain was stinging my eyes; I was soaked to the bone.
The only glimmer of hope in this hellish place was the thought of Lady Sarum’s compassion.
I had known her for less than a minute, yet I could think of no one else who had ever shown me genuine kindness.
“The gang leaders are all assembled in there right now,” Falek said, pressing a small device into my hand.
“We have recordings, irrefutable evidence of their intent.
The Kameiras will unleash a purifying fire upon them—but only by your hand will they do so.”
“You expect me to kill them?”
I asked, incredulous.
“That’s the choice you’re giving me?
While saying the world would be better off without choice at all?”
Falek laughed.
“The True Amarr have been ordained since the beginning of time to choose for the wayward,” he said.
“That is the most fundamental tenet of our faith!”
My head was spinning.
“No,” I said.
“
No.
This is madness.”
“Think carefully,” he said.
“You will be the direct consort of Lady Sarum and committed to her bidding for eternity, for I will make you an empyrean.
You will root out the conspiracies that threaten her and our Empire, beginning with the one in
that
cathedral.
Marcus, you will help make her into the goddess she was meant to be!”
I thought of Lady Sarum’s eyes; those young, compassionate, beautiful eyes, and wondered if she was as much a captive to Lord Grange as I.
“And if I refuse?”
“Then the death of True Amarr will be on your hands,” he said.
“Those gangs will commit their murders.
And you’ll be responsible for the bloodshed that follows every heir to the throne but Sarum herself.”
“But I’ll be free?”
“Marcus,” he said with a sinister smile.
“Those who turn their backs on the highest calling are never again truly free.”
A burning sensation was spreading throughout my body as the rain ate into my skin.
Grange, himself drenched, seemed unfazed, staring at me with those dark, sinister eyes, waiting for an answer.
Suddenly, I missed the lab terribly; it was the only sanctuary I had left.
I wanted to be there, out of this hell, so badly that I began to lose the struggle for moral high ground.
I looked at the device in my hands and then at the cathedral ahead.
I thought of the helpless woman’s scream and the man with the crushed larynx behind us.
I remembered the blood smeared on the steps of the home I grew up in, and of the day that changed everything.
Then, somehow, I was able to rationalize the madness into a simple proof: Wherever the Minmatar are, there is blood.
I knew, despite my isolation under Falek Grange, that my personal experience with that race was not unique.
Whatever the motivation—religion, politics, culture—Amarr was soaked in blood and misery, and it seemed a worthwhile cause to do whatever was necessary to stop it.
I made my choice.
A cleansing fire lit the sky.
The Kameiras sealed the doors so no one could escape.
The screams of those trapped inside, and the proud look on Lord Falek Grange’s face, still haunt me to this day.
>>END RECORDING
PART III
MEDICINE
19
HEIMATAR REGION—HED CONSTELLATION
AMAMAKE SYSTEM—PLANET II: PIKE’S LANDING
CORE FREEDOM COLONY
SOVEREIGNTY OF THE MINMATAR REPUBLIC
A bang on the door yanked Dr.
Gable Dietrich out of the deepest sleep she had ever known.
“Dietrich, let’s go!”
the Valklear yelled, sounding more impatient than ever.
“Bad night at the ward.
Move it!”
Still half asleep, she looked over at her clock.
It read 03:57 hours, local.
A mere 120 minutes since she had collapsed after working for more than 24 hours straight.
More thunderous raps jarred her senses.
They sounded like the blunt impacts of a rifle stock.
“Doc!
I’m losing my patience!”
“Please, just give … me … a minute,” she mumbled, reaching for her datapad.
Numbed from exhaustion, her limbs felt as if they were moving through sludge.
She clumsily dropped the device onto the floor.
Uncaring, she rolled back over and drifted toward unconsciousness.
This time the door slid open.
The holding cell she now called home was tiny; it took two strides for the soldier to reach the cot she slept upon.
“I said I just need a minute,” she mumbled, not noticing the injector gun in his hand.
The soldier forcefully pushed aside the hair covering her neck and pressed the gun nozzle into the carotid artery.
With a quick hiss, a concentrated dose of chemical stimulants flooded her bloodstream.
Gasping as her heart began to race, she jumped to her feet, knocking the cot over in the process.
“Now let’s go,” the soldier grumbled.
Gable’s breaths were coming fast.
“How much was that?”
she stammered.
He led her toward the door by the arm.
An armored jeep with a mounted autocannon was idling outside.
“A patrol set off a flay trap near the edge,” he muttered, herding her into the backseat.
“Three soldiers are dead.
Kintreb wants you there before someone else dies.”
Gable was so cranked up that she was shaking.
Gripping the handrail with all her might, she lurched as the jeep catapulted forward.
Her chest was beginning to hurt.
“That dose was too high,” she stammered.
“I might go into cardiac arrest—”
“You need to be alert,” the Valklear growled, pushing the jeep hard into a turn.
It was the equivalent of nautical dawn already, and the sun would break the mountain ridge in less than an hour.
“The guys who stepped into that trap weren’t.”
Kicking up plumes of fine silica dust, they sped through the penitentiary gates.
As Gable pulled goggles on to protect her eyes, she could make out the jagged edge of Mount Krytas off in the distance.
Electrical storms were hammering the peak, illuminating the surrounding clouds in ghostly strobes.
The sharp equatorial tilt of Pike’s Landing made for wide temperature variances between poles that pushed powerful jet streams around the planet.
In addition to its abundance of raw materials, the mountain range offered shelter from the turbulent weather that lashed much of the hemisphere during the winter.
Somewhere out there, Gable thought, Empire scouts were stranded from the last battle.
They would have been the ones who planted those traps—a parting gift from a bitter enemy—evading detection by hiding in caves among the treacherous higher elevations of the mountain range.
As the silhouettes of installation buildings and structures began emerging from the darkness, a grim admission seized her:
She wished those scouts would rescue her from here.
Up ahead, the piercing white strobe lights of the medical ward sliced through the night: A gunship had just lifted off from the rooftop.
She ran her hand over her frantically beating chest, finding the golden pendant of the Amarr Faith beneath her scrubs.
Closing her eyes, she commanded calm, silently reciting the Solace Prayer.
The jeep came to a halt.
“Let’s go,” the soldier ordered, jumping out and opening the door for her.
Gable found strength in her prayers to God.
Ignoring the outstretched hand of the Valklear, she stepped out of the vehicle, wishing she had known this deity much earlier in life.
* * *
THE CORE FREEDOM COLONY
on Pike’s Landing was a joint venture funded in part by the Minmatar Republic government, but built and operated by the corporate giants Freedom Extension and Core Complexion.
Ground was first broken in YC 99 with little fanfare and a great deal of risk, as the Amamake system was a notorious “chokepoint” that bordered nullsec space.
Empyreans, many pirates among them, preyed on the shipping lanes to the outer regions; it was always a gamble to board a ship near Pike’s Landing.
But the planet itself was packed with natural resources and, even with the setbacks caused by piracy, quickly developed into an industrial gold mine.
But once the war began, it became a coveted target for Amarr, which wanted to take the resource-harvesting infrastructure built by the Republic intact.
In that sense, both sides were losers in the conflict.
There were two vehicle hangars on the colony, one on each side of the sprawling complex.
Besides the medical ward, there were a few buildings that still showed signs of active use, mostly as housing structures for the few colonists who remained.
Between them were the towering ore smelters that used to refine the natural riches of Pike’s Landing into precious commodities, but they had not processed a single kilo of material in nearly a year.
Alongside the smelting complex was a magrail freight yard that fell into disuse once the lines feeding it were severed during battle.
Of the four spaceports that once supported the installation, only one remained operational.
Construction of an industrial mass driver capable of launching cargo containers into orbit was halted by General Kintreb’s orders shortly after the war began; the Valklears began stripping materials from it to repair breaches in the colony walls.
Its huge unfinished struts loomed over the facility like the skeletal remnants of an ancient leviathan.
At its height, there were over 160,000 settlers at Core Freedom.
There were thriving families, a burgeoning local culture, and the beginnings of a great metropolis in place.
Today, less than a thousand remained, serving all the civilian roles needed to support the soldiers: operating planetary defense grids, vehicle maintenance, power generation, water reclamation, and what limited food processing and farming facilities were still functional.
General Kintreb demanded as much from them as he did his soldiers and was utterly intolerant of disobedience or mistakes.
Dropship runs offworld were dangerous enough, given the perils of Amamake.
But the main reason why anyone remained at all was because the personnel deemed “essential” by Kintreb—such as Gable, despite her prisoner status—were forbidden from leaving.
None of them wanted to be there.
As much as their existence was a fight for survival against repeated attacks from Amarr forces, the resentment against Kintreb—and the Minmatar Republic government for abandoning them—was reaching dangerous proportions.
General Vlad Kintreb, now 162 years old, made his personal office in the northwest vehicle hangar, a building more than a kilometer in length.
From there he could see the entire floor, which resembled a factory line for armored vehicles.
The machines were in various states of repair; salvaged battlefield parts were being fitted to the MTACs and tanks arrayed below him.
Juggling what little resources remained to keep the colony defended was taxing enough, but the loss of several soldiers left him in a fouler mood than usual.
The direct call from Muryia Mordu, which bypassed the established communication protocol for reaching him, angered him even more.
“General Kintreb,” Mordu said, with startling cheer, “how are you today?”
Vlad answered without looking at the grainy projection.
“What do you want?”
he grumbled.
“We received your down payment,” he said.
“A team of my best advisors are on their way to begin the initial consultation.
They’ll be arriving by dropship—Panther-class, unmarked fuselage, IDENT tags Six-One-November.”
General Kintreb glanced up and saw Mordu dressed in the garb of an Amarr priest.
The Legion founder was smiling ear to ear, expecting a reaction in kind.
“What the hell are you wearing?”
Kintreb asked.
“Something to cheer you up,” Mordu said.
“You
are
hiring us to kill zealots, yes?”
“When the fuck did this become ‘funny’ to you?”
“My experience is that levity helps in times of duress.
This is how we operate.”
General Kintreb was incensed.
“We might not live another day down here, and you’re telling me jokes?”
Mordu was unfazed.
“We all deal with pressure differently, General.
I meant no offense—”
“I think you’ve lost your goddamn mind.
Find some help before you get your people killed.”
Mordu turned deadly serious.
“You’re nearly two centuries old, and
still
fighting a frontline war.
Look in a mirror, Vladimir.
You’re absolutely fucking
insane.
”
“Do you have anything important to say?”
“Always,” Mordu growled.
“You need to face the reality that you’ve been abandoned.
Core Freedom is unimportant to the Nation or the Elders.
Now I can replace the bodies you’ve lost, but I can’t replace your pride—nor will I let it harm the people I send there.
Are we clear?”
General Kintreb glared at the image for a moment and then disconnected it.
* * *
GABLE FINALLY UNDERSTOOD
why the soldier had been so impatient.
A “flay trap” was the nickname given to an antipersonnel mine of Amarr design.
Instead of using explosive power to inflict damage, this weapon used a magnetic coil to accelerate four monofilament wires.
Each wire had a single ceramic or lead counterweight on one end; the other was tethered to a base cylinder that could spin freely in a frictionless hub.
Once detonated—usually remotely using hidden motion detectors—the cylinder was accelerated to several hundred revolutions per second.
At maximum speed, the outer shell was lowered, releasing the steel counterweights in a tight spin whose diameter expanded up to ten meters as the monofilament unraveled.
At the fully extended position, the shell “bounced” back toward the starting closed position, angling the weights upward as they spun, repeating until the spin energy dissipated.
The microfilaments, also known as monomolecular wire, consisted of tightly bonded metal-composite molecules, making it an especially sharp cutting edge.
They passed through flesh, bone, and light metals effortlessly.
Anything within the hemispherical killzone of the cylinder was literally flayed to bits.
The only sound it made—besides falling chunks of flesh—was of the lead counterweights zipping through the air at the speed of sound.
Gable—now thankful for the stims to help maintain her focus—was tending to the only survivor of the attack.
He was missing one of his legs from the hip down, had already slipped deeply into shock, and had vital signs that suggested his death was all but imminent.
KHANID REGION—BUDAR CONSTELLATION
THE IRMALIN SYSTEM—PLANET II: HEXANDRIA
KHANID INNOVATION BIOMEDICAL SCIENCES AND RESEARCH CENTER
SOVEREIGNTY OF THE KHANID KINGDOM
Two Years Ago
From the sky, the sprawling research outpost below looked strangely isolated, a series of white-topped buildings speckled with tints of silver reflecting the first rays of dawn.
Gable saw a single road stretching away from the facility heading south through hilly grasslands toward the open ocean and the lavish marinas beyond.
She marveled at how fertile the land was: A precious plot of land like this on her homeworld would have been fully cultivated with crops.
Temperate, habitable planets were such a precious thing in New Eden, and the Khanid Kingdom seemed to have an abundance of them.
It was here, at this beautiful place, where she could finally be at peace with herself.
Or so she believed.