Authors: Tony Gonzales
“Is it?”
Admiral Ranchel asked.
“Even when it costs lives and battles in places where you take resources to chase ghosts?”
“As a proactive means of winning the war—yes,” Roden said.
“This has already happened once before, over an Amarr city named Xerah,” Jacus said.
“The Elders would have gladly traded some lives to know in advance that a fifth of their navy was about to be obliterated.”
“This is—” Ariel started, then composed herself.
“We’ll examine where we can be more proactive.”
“I’ll finish your thought: ‘This is insane,’” Admiral Ranchel declared.
“There are more immediate priorities based on what we actually
do
know, not what we might speculate.”
“Not long ago we were informed that CONCORD was attempting to expand their influence to the frontier,” Jacus said.
“That is unprecedented.
What would compel them to do that?
What do they know that we don’t?
Is that not clear evidence of proactive, desperate measures?”
There was silence.
“My instincts have always served me well, Admiral,” Jacus said.
“Send a task force of your own to Amamake.
Meeting adjourned.”
22
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
Gable awoke to the sound of gunfire and the biting stench of ash in her sinuses.
Loud, sharp reports of weapons fire and screaming brought her heart rate to a dangerous pace.
Coughing violently, she pushed herself up onto her elbows.
The wind was carrying black smoke toward her from smoldering wreckage.
Somewhere through the chaos she could hear a dropship idling nearby, and she figured good air must be near it.
Desperate to breathe, she crawled in its direction.
She made it only a few steps when a hand forcibly grabbed her.
“Here’s another one,” a loud, urgent voice declared.
“Time?”
“Ninety seconds,” another voice answered.
“Stand them up.”
As she was yanked to her feet, she realized she was bumping shoulders with several stunned, whimpering researchers from the Khanid facility.
Across from them stood a soldier wearing an intimidating tactical helmet and face shield.
The rust-colored armor suggested he was Minmatar, and there were a dozen or so more behind him.
Aside from varying heights and builds, they all looked the same to her: There were no ranks or other printed insignia to be seen.
“Put your hands on your head.
All of you!”
another voice shouted.
“Sixty seconds,” the timekeeper said, stepping back.
“Do it.”
A soldier stepped forward and drew his sidearm, pointing it directly in the face of the first researcher.
“What do you do here?”
he asked.
“I’m a scientist—”
Gable flinched in horror as the weapon exploded.
A reddish mist hung in the air as the scientist’s lifeless husk collapsed.
The soldier moved on to the next person in line, again raising his weapon.
“What do you do?”
The man was mumbling prayers through clenched teeth; the back of his skull disappeared a moment later.
Gable’s breaths were coming fast and shallow as the weapon was pointed at her.
“What do you do?”
asked the executioner.
Gable couldn’t speak.
Her mouth was wide open, but the words would not come.
Her eyes fixated on the barrel; smoke wisped beyond its steel like the spirits of those it had just claimed.
“Thirty seconds!”
the timekeeper declared, just as the soldier’s finger tensed on the trigger.
The words set off a survival mechanism in her; instead of a heroic rush to save her own life, she found only the courage to tell the truth.
“I’m a doctor!”
she gasped.
The executioner moved in closer.
“What
kind
of doctor?”
“Trauma surgeon…” she stammered, “… cybernetic qualified.
I just … heal people … help them.…”
The gun was pressed hard into her chest.
“Why should I believe you?”
he demanded.
Another soldier stepped forward.
“She’s telling the truth,” he said.
“We got our secondary.
Let’s go.”
“Prison line!”
the executioner shouted.
There were still six researchers left.
In a well-rehearsed drill, the soldiers quickly aligned themselves a few meters opposite them.
Each had a rifle raised to shoulder height.
Gable felt herself spun around; her hands were quickly bound behind her.
One of the soldiers spoke his mind.
“This is
fucked
up, Lieutenant!”
“Kintreb’s orders,” the executioner said.
“Company aim!”
Gable felt a sickening wave of dread wash over her.
“Fire!”
The sound of half a dozen simultaneous gun reports made her flinch.
She was first thankful to be alive—and then ashamed of herself for having survived.
“You’re coming with us,” her captor said, marching her toward the open mouth of the idling dropship.
“Where?”
she gasped.
“You’ll find out,” he said, turning her around again.
The man’s face shield had retracted, and she saw what might have been compassion in his eyes.
“Keep that pendant out of sight,” he said, tucking Sister Marth’s holy piece inside her coat.
“For your own sake.”
“Time’s up!”
the timekeeper yelled.
“Move out!”
Clear of the smoke, the sky resumed its deep blue beauty, where abundant sunshine was broken only by lazy puffs of clouds overhead.
Just minutes ago, she believed she had landed in paradise.
“Who are you people?”
she gasped.
“Valklears,” he said, as the craft’s ion turbines began to rev up, pushing the tall prairie grass over in waves.
“And you are our prisoner.”
HEIMATAR REGION—HED CONSTELLATION
AMAMAKE SYSTEM—PLANET II: PIKE’S LANDING
CORE FREEDOM COLONY
SOVEREIGNTY OF THE MINMATAR REPUBLIC
Present Day
The Panther-class gunship circled the entire complex once before touching down on the roof of the medical ward.
General Kintreb was annoyed at this but accepted that he might have done the same in the pilot’s position.
The craft itself, undulating with adaptive camouflage hues that gave its skin a shimmering appearance, was easily the most intact vehicle at Core Freedom.
Well-maintained weapons hung from pylons and turrets, and there was none of the telltale war damage prevalent everywhere on the base.
General Kintreb didn’t care for the mercenaries already, and was sure none of his soldiers did either.
As the ship hovered over the roof, an armed figure jumped to the surface, shielding his eyes from the downwash as he jogged toward him.
Vlad noticed that he ran with a peculiar gait: One stride was much more powerful than the next, almost like he was skipping.
Several freight containers were pushed out the open ramp; they fell to the landing pad as the craft banked away and thundered toward the mountain range.
Vlad couldn’t help but grimace when the approaching man’s face came into view.
The new arrival said nothing as he neared, instead holding out a datapad from which the volumetric projection of another man appeared.
“General, my name is Captain Jonas Varitec of the MLW
Morse
.
My associate’s name is Mack, and he’ll be assessing your surface defenses.
Apologies for the flyby, but we used that time to get scans of your outposts to complement the recon we have from up here.”
“Where is ‘here’?”
Kintreb asked.
“About a thousand kilometers overhead,” Jonas said.
“The crates my gunship dropped off are medical supplies.
They should hold down any immediate needs until we’re secure.”
“We didn’t ask for those.”
“Mack wanted you to have them,” Jonas said.
“He paid the tab on his own.
Please show him around the colony and answer his questions honestly.
It’ll help us ensure that you get what you need.”
Vlad looked over the hideous man, unsure of what to think.
“Does Mack ever talk?”
“Only when spoken to,” Jonas said.
“My gunship is going to do some terrain mapping of the mountain range to the east before refueling.
It’s registered as Wildcat-Nine on your air grid; please let your tower know.
Out.”
“Right,” General Kintreb said, straightening up.
“So, Mack.
Where do we begin?”
“Medical ward first,” he said.
“Then vehicle hangars.
After that we see.”
“Interesting choice,” General Kintreb commented.
“But we’re paying you for firepower, not medical advice.”
“Must learn truth of this place,” Mack answered, starting toward the stairs.
“See with my eyes, not yours.
So we start with med ward first.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Kintreb demanded.
“I’m a Valklear general.
Do you know how long I’ve been fighting Amarrians?”
“No,” Mack said, turning so that his disfigurement was facing him directly.
“If that mattered, we not need to be here.”
* * *
WHEN GABLE ENTERED THE TRAUMA WARD
, she was greeted with a bewildered soldier hauling boxes of fresh medical supplies in each hand.
“Where do I put this stuff?”
he asked.
More soldiers were unpacking bags from a large crate at the end of the hall.
It was like a miracle had happened.
“Who brought all this?”
she asked.
The Valklear looked over his shoulder.
“Him.”
Gable took one look at Mack and reflexively began a mental diagnosis:
Mannar male, mid-to-late forties, seventy-two to seventy-four kilos; burn victim, likely radiation scarring; acute left-side trauma with extensive cybernetic augmentation; asymmetric biomechanical load balance; scarring on right trapezius caused by small-arms fire or shrapnel; intercranial implants, ocular probable but definite olfactory augmentation; extent and cost of cybernetic engineering suggests patient must have refused cosmetic restructuring; indicative of self-destructive or sadistic tendencies with possible psychosis.
She determined all of this in just under a second.
“You’re with Mordu’s Legion?”
she asked.
“Yes,” Mack answered politely, studying her with his good eye.
General Kintreb was hovering nearby.
“You are the Lifegiver?”
She couldn’t help but look surprised.
“I’m sorry?”
He was smiling beyond what his scarring allowed, gleaming at her.
“I bring life supplies for you,” Mack said, waving toward the rows of recovering soldiers.
Those who were conscious were staring at them.
“Help take their suffering away.”
“I’m sure they appreciate it,” Gable said.
“Thank you.”
He limped toward her, motioning that he wanted to whisper something.
Mack didn’t seem concerned about making it obvious he didn’t want General Kintreb or his escorts to hear him.
Accustomed to human disfigurement, she managed to lean in close without flinching, as he cupped a hand between his mouth and her ear.
“Someday I free you,”
he whispered.
“I bring another Lifegiver for these men.”
“What’s going on here?”
General Kintreb demanded.
“What did he say to you?”
“He asked me which patients have the worst prognosis,” Gable snapped, doing her best to hide her shock.
“He’s being mindful of them.”
Mack turned to face General Kintreb.
“Wounded men are liability,” he said.
“We offer them transport offworld to restore health.
What you say?”
Mack had just put the General on the spot in front of his own troops.
Gable was impressed.
“I’ll consider it after you complete your ‘assessment,’” General Kintreb snarled.
“Care to move on, Mack?”
“Of course, General.”
* * *
KORVIN LEARS STOOD ON THE BRIDGE
of the
Morse,
pretending to study the combined reconnaissance of Core Freedom from the Panther gunship flyby and orbital photographs.
He was extremely nervous, unable to recall whether he had ever felt this insecure aboard a starship before.
Watching Captain Varitec command the ship, barking orders to a crew that carried them out after what felt like hours instead of seconds, was tantamount to torture.
Traditional ship command protocol was lethally redundant.
The
Morse
bridge was choked with electronics and a myriad of displays that danced across the air before the officers, who manipulated them by waving their hands like magicians.
To Korvin it seemed utterly primitive, this so-called “nerve center” of the battlecruiser.
In the time it took for the ship to execute the most basic maneuvers, he could have obliterated it several times over.
Until now, nothing had put into perspective for him just how potent the merge between the mind and a starship was.