Authors: Tony Gonzales
SYSTEM UBX-CC—THE MJOLNIR NEBULA
INSORUM PRODUCTION FACTORY
Mila watched drones scurry away from the freighter as it cleared the hangar doors, its hold almost entirely empty.
Years ago, in the early days of the war, it would have left filled to capacity with various forms of Insorum, the antidote to the mind-warping Vitoc enslavement drug.
Now the vessel was a cavernous husk, piloted by a drone that would navigate into Republic space and then abandon it.
She wondered if it would ever return, let alone meet the designated Minmatar pilot assigned to fly it the rest of the way.
The obvious implication was that the Elders were winding down their rescue missions in the Amarr Empire.
There were still millions of Minmatar slaves in their service, with dozens more added every day as the two empires fought an ugly war of attrition across dozens of colonies in the losec worlds.
It was a grim reminder that the nobility of what Otro Gariushi had done—the selfless act of courage in giving this solution to the beleaguered nation without asking for anything in return—was largely gone.
The Insorum factory had given Mila purpose over the years.
Though drones did all the work, she considered herself a supervisor of sorts; one who presided over a great moral triumph.
But now the satisfaction of knowing her actions were freeing a subjugated people was gone.
Little else remained to distract her from other thoughts.
Ones that carried a bittersweet mix of passion and regret.
The freighter accelerated and then vanished.
The last time a ship left this place with a beating heart on board was when …
She caught herself moving a hand over her swollen breast.
“God,” she said aloud.
“I have to stop doing this!”
“Which activity are you referencing?”
VILAMO asked, startling her.
“The act of watching the freighter depart, or the physical stimulation of mammary tissue…?”
“What do you want?”
she snapped, to which the drone—a caterpillar-shaped insectoid—withdrew as though offended.
“I am sorry,”
it said dejectedly.
“I did not mean to disturb.
But I have information for you.”
“It’s okay,” she said.
“What’s going on?”
“There has been a spike in secure comms traffic in the Caldari State,”
the drone said.
“Mainly with internal CPD security channels.”
“Are there any patterns emerging?”
“The Tsukuras system has been mentioned numerous times on compromised channels,”
VILAMO answered.
“But we do not detect any abnormal ship movements, nor is there anything remarkable about the system itself.”
“Tsukuras,” Mila pondered.
She would start doing her own research immediately.
“Okay, VILAMO—thank you.”
“You’re welcome.
I will continue monitoring and report with more tact next time.”
The drone scurried away, leaving her alone with the view.
Gas and dust currents were pummeling the outer hangar now as a nebula storm moved in.
Something is happening,
Mila thought.
And it kills me that I don’t know what it is.
PURE BLIND REGION—MDM8-J CONSTELLATION
SYSTEM 5ZXX-K—PLANET V, MOON 17
MORDU’S LEGION HQ STATION
Handing the
Morse
over to Harbor Control for the final docking stages, Jonas ordered the officers into the ship’s only conference area for debriefing.
The rest of the vessel was buzzing with activity as the crew anxiously prepared to disembark for a short leave.
Though they were under strict orders to keep the details of their mission classified, rumors were already flooding the station that the
Morse
had managed to take down a dreadnought—an impossible feat by any standards, but nonetheless part of the inevitable legend-seeding that marks the spacefaring profession.
Gable was assisted into the room by medical personnel.
She took in the setting cautiously, unwilling to admit that she was quietly impressed with the accommodations and treatment she had received.
Subtle welcome-aboard introductions were made between Miles, the ship’s engineer, and Blake, the weapons officer.
Mack was there as well, sitting at one end of the table with a dozen new toys arrayed around him, occasionally moving a piece with his good arm.
There was a handsome Gallentean capsuleer in the room with kind, tired eyes.
He introduced himself reluctantly, after no one else bothered to.
She could tell he was new here and not entirely welcome aboard the ship.
Objectively, Jonas would have to be a different man than the one she remembered to assemble this group.
But it was far easier to latch onto emotional reasoning, which told her that deep down, no one ever truly changes.
But Mordu’s appearance reinforced the notion that Jonas was the same as he always was, running with a crowd of like-minded megalomaniacs.
Arrogance liked company.
“The little Drake that could,” Mordu said, wearing on his head the model of a Revelations-class dreadnought that was snapped in two.
One half was covering each ear, and a crude model of a Drake sat triumphantly perched atop his scalp.
“The
Morse
has officially become legendary.
Well done!”
“Thank you, sir,” Jonas said.
“But gravity did more to bring the
Doystoyov
down than anything we did.”
“That’s not how the tale will be told,” Mordu said, clasping Jonas’s shoulders.
“I read the mission log.
You’re far too modest.
That was fast, bold thinking on your part.
Most captains would have shit themselves.”
Jonas appeared more embarrassed than anything else.
“We had a team down there,” he said.
“We go back for our own.
Any of us would do the same for—”
“Well, I don’t believe we’ve met,” Mordu interrupted, waltzing around the table toward Gable.
He performed an elaborate bow and offered his hand.
“I am Muryia Mordu, founder of the Legion.
A pleasure to meet you.”
“Dr.
Gable Dietrich,” she said.
“Thank you for saving my life.”
“You owe that thanks to the ship’s captain, not to me,” Mordu said.
“Now, I believe we have some lingering business with Pike’s Landing, yes?”
“That’s correct, sir,” Jonas said.
“Normally I’d brief the officers before bringing you in, but these are special circumstances.”
Gable was intrigued by how much Jonas deferred to the man.
“The bottom line is we think we’ve got hard evidence that the Amarr are using immortal soldier technology,” Jonas began.
“Here’s why.”
Step by step, Jonas walked Mordu through the engagement, supplying video footage taken from orbit, the gunship, and the tactical camera in Mack’s helmet.
Gable had to turn away from a composite image of Vince before and after he was shot.
On the other side was an image of him on the speeder just moments later, and another from the rear hatch of the gunship as it flew away.
A portrait of the
Retford
crew, with Vince circled, made for the final slide.
“That’s definitely Vince Barabin,” Jonas continued, setting the implant that Mack had ripped out onto the table.
Cleared of blood, the damaged metallic-green device appeared strangely alien.
“No question about it.”
Mordu stood with one arm folded across his chest and the other on his temple, studying the implant intently.
“Mack recovered this from the first corpse,” Jonas continued.
“It was definitely
not
in Vince’s head the last time we saw him.”
“All this shows is that you’ve found new technology,” Mordu said, picking the device up.
“What evidence is there that this … thing … makes a man immortal?
How do you know there aren’t just active clones of the same—”
“Because he come back,” Mack interrupted.
Everyone turned to look at him.
“I look into his eyes,” he said, staring at his toys as he spoke.
“Know where to find me.”
In one motion, he swiped them all onto the floor—except for one.
“Eyes not lie,” Mack said, glaring at Mordu.
“This same man.
Same.”
Jonas cleared his throat.
“Everything to this point has been theory,” he said.
“I admit the evidence is circumstantial.
But if this is what we think it is—”
“You’d return to Pike’s Landing even if I said this wasn’t worth the trouble,” Mordu interrupted, weighing the implant in his hand.
“Why?”
“Because this is personal,” Jonas said.
“Vince was one of ours—one of mine—on the ship I captained before the
Morse.
It would mean a lot to me if we could get him back.”
Mordu narrowed his eyes.
“Let’s say you actually make it down to the surface alive,” he said.
“What’s the plan then?
To rescue him?”
“That’s the idea, sir.”
Mordu smiled.
“How do you know he’s not there of his own volition?”
he asked.
“You just showed me what looks like a very determined Paladin.
What makes you think he would want to come with you?”
“Vince would want to come with
me,
” Gable said, speaking up.
“Especially since we’re both Reclaimed.”
Mordu threw her a surprised look.
“Gable, please…” Jonas winced.
“‘Please’
what
?”
she snapped.
“Why do you think he spared my life?”
“Interesting,” Mordu noted.
“You realize the Amarr have almost certainly dispatched reinforcements, right?
And that the Republic will send ships to raze the colony?”
“I do,” Jonas answered.
“But you would still go back down there anyway?”
“Yes.”
Mordu looked approvingly at him, as he had for a thousand other mercenaries who seemed hopelessly determined to march to their deaths.
His gut told him this was indeed the technology CONCORD had warned him about.
Mordu decided that Jonas and his crew didn’t need to know that—at least, not yet.
He also decided that one way or the other, he was
going
to get that tech, no matter what the cost—although fate had conveniently provided him with the perfect sacrificial lamb to accomplish that.
“What do the rest of you think about this?”
Mordu asked, scanning the room.
“Korvin?”
“This is weak evidence of immortal tech,” he said.
“Then again, I’ve never seen an implant like that before.
The fact we pulled it out of a dead Paladin makes me nervous.”
“So what are you saying?”
Mordu asked.
“Is he worth it?”
“The
tech
might be worth it,” he said.
“If nothing else, just to find out what it can do.
Then you reevaluate.
But the man is lost.
You’d pay a steep price to get him out.”
Gable was horrified but kept her composure.
“What about you, Mack,” Mordu asked.
The mercenary had a sullen, lifeless look in his eyes as he slowly moved the soldier across the table.
“I follow my captain,” he said quietly.
Mordu looked the group over.
“I’ll be blunt,” he said.
“If this group doesn’t return to Pike’s Landing, I’ll find another team that will.”
“Why?”
Korvin asked pointedly.
“You’re new here,” Mordu said.
“So let’s leave the answer at ‘I have my reasons.’
Don’t ever ask me what those are again.”
“It’s a fair question,” Jonas said.
“If you want the tech, I don’t have a problem with that.
But we’re after the
man.
So if we’re going to work together, we need to understand each other’s reasoning.”
“Alright,” Mordu said.
“The short answer is that
if
this turns out to be immortal tech, I won’t allow one nation to control it.
Especially the Amarr.
What’s your reasoning?”