Authors: Tony Gonzales
“How did he convince Mack to get on board?”
“He didn’t have to.
By then Mack and everyone else near the surface was baking in lethal levels of radiation for upward of an hour.
Jonas found him unconscious, surrounded mostly by corpses.
He dragged him on board and barely made it back to the
Morse
in time.
We warped out maybe two minutes before the plasma wave hit.”
“My God,” she breathed.
“What was Mack doing there in the first place?”
Miles snorted, drawing another line through the muck on his plate with a fork.
“He was there to kill someone.
We’re mercenaries, right?
The target was Mannar, so Mack was uniquely qualified for the job.”
“What was he before ending up here?
In fact, how did he wind up with Jonas—uh, Captain Varitec?”
“You can probably guess,” Miles said.
“The Feds have hundreds of classified paramilitary units.
Captain V.
knows but won’t say which one.
I quit trying to find out; Mack didn’t take kindly to that.
He scared the shit out of me with a threat and then went back to playing with his goddamn toys.”
“Why does he do that?”
“Given everything he’s seen, can you blame him?
Seyllin would have cracked anyone.
I heard the toys are a mental ‘safe spot’ for him.
Whenever he thinks he’s about to lose it, out comes Sergeant Space Muffin and the Comet Cowboys.”
Miles abruptly stabbed the food with his fork, leaving it upright in the mush pile.
“You’re easy to talk to,” he said.
“Pretty too, if you don’t mind me saying.”
Gable smiled uncomfortably.
“Thanks,” she said.
“Listen, about that pendant you wear…” he started.
“I know, I know; I’ll keep it hidden,” Gable said.
“It offends people who don’t—”
“No, no,” Miles said, looking around again.
“Actually, I’d like to learn more about it.
If that’s okay with you.”
27
HEIMATAR REGION—HED CONSTELLATION
AMAMAKE SYSTEM—PLANET II: PIKE’S LANDING
CORE FREEDOM COLONY
SOVEREIGNTY OF THE AMARR EMPIRE
Present Day
Vince was overwhelmed—not by the agony of his dislocated shoulder or the deep gashes marring his face, but with the sublime clarity of the world surrounding him.
He marveled at the way dust fell from his armor and disappeared in the dirt at his feet; how the Amamake sun’s yellow rays pierced the clouds; the way the breeze carried silt in eerie wisps across the landscape, and the sound of its countless particles colliding with the granite walls of the mountain pass in which he stood.
His senses were relentlessly pumping data into his consciousness for him to scour, so much so that he nearly collapsed from the fascination of it all.
He couldn’t differentiate between what was beautiful or hideous; there was just an indescribable interest in all things.
His TACNET was littered with communications as the Paladins celebrated their victory; Vince would have gladly turned it off if he could.
But they reminded him why he was there.
A gunship was en route to pick him up; a debriefing with Lord Victor himself was to take place within the hour.
Biding his time until the Vex arrived, Vince limped toward the Kwaal wreckage, blinking away pain as he detected something out of place.
The ground was moving around the charred metal: Laaknyds, blackish insect creatures with hardened scales and sharp, angular features, suddenly emerged from the silt.
Vince watched in amazement as they crawled over the APC and then inside, sniffing out blood.
He realized he could smell it himself—and the first fluids of decomposition.
Squatting beside the overturned vehicle, he peered inside at the deconstruction of the Valklear soldier pinned in the driver’s seat.
He could hear the pincers and jaws of these magnificent laaknyd creatures performing their work, tearing away flesh, gnawing bone, and carting away their spoils as the stronger bull insects stood guard over them.
An odd sound of selective clicks drew his attention: A trio of bulls were picking at the remnants of his previous body.
Like testing the water of a pool, the insect cautiously dipped a pincer into the gore, rather than dive into it, as it had with the other corpse, drawing bits of carnage close to its olfactory receptors, then shaking the material off before repeating the process.
Vince reflected as they dug into the discarded ruins of himself.
He remembered the scarred man who had shot him, the way he limped and favored his left side, and of how the round placement in the target’s shoulder and neck area had failed to kill him.
If fate was kind enough to reintroduce them, he would not make that mistake again.
Standing over his own remains, Vince realized his corpse had been brutalized.
His killer had desecrated him, and by doing so, blasphemed against the faith.
Cursing the rotting version of himself, he reached down and snatched one of the protective bulls off the ground.
The insect reacted like a cornered warrior, viciously plunging its pincers deep into Vince’s flesh.
Who was that woman,
he wondered, watching his own blood seep from the wound onto the silt.
Why am I almost certain that I know her?
Fighting for its life, the laaknyd withdrew its pincers and lunged to its side, driving its mandibles into flesh.
Glands released an acidic enzyme designed to break down prey.
Why do I wish I could see her again?
he asked himself, trying to dissect his emotions as the insect shuddered from head to tail and went limp.
Vince was caught by surprise; he hadn’t gripped it too hard, and he felt bitter remorse that the creature had perished.
As the roar of the Vex’s engines rolled down the valley, he gently set the dead laaknyd down, hoping it would show a sign of life.
The bulls who had tasted his flesh were stumbling around as though incapacitated, and the other insects, seemingly aware that something sinister was about, cautiously kept their distance.
DOMAIN REGION—THRONE WORLDS CONSTELLATION
THE AMARR SYSTEM—PLANET ORIS
EMPEROR FAMILY ACADEMY STATION
SOVEREIGNTY OF THE AMARR EMPIRE
Nine Years Ago
As Mekioth Sarum drew his final breath, the bells of nearly a million cathedrals tolled across the largest empire in New Eden.
Preparations for the passing of the monarch had begun years earlier, and a state funeral of historic precedent was about to get under way.
Coordinating the effort with the royal court of Emperor Heideran himself, Jamyl Sarum was expected to be a prominent feature of the ceremony, if not the focal point for the entire affair.
She was now heiress to the house that bore her name and a candidate for the Holy Throne of Amarr; every pair of eyes in New Eden, no matter how humble or powerful, would be set upon her.
As of this moment, in the history of the Empire, there was no one in existence who was more important or of greater consequence than the eighteen-year-old Jamyl Sarum.
In the hours before this epic national production was to begin, many would expect the newly anointed heiress to be meditating, praying, or perhaps even fasting as a sign of respect for her father.
Amarr tradition called for mother and daughter to be kept separate from one another during this crucial period of reflection.
This was a transcendent time for her spirituality and the path she was to take alone with God.
Anla Sarum, herself praying as priestesses prepared her appearance for the ceremony, certainly believed her daughter would take this responsibility seriously, yielding to its divine significance and setting aside her personal disdain for the sake of her nation.
On all those counts, she would be wrong.
* * *
“DID YOU DO AS I ASKED?”
Jamyl said, looking the Paladin captain directly in his eyes.
Despite their training, the other maidens struggled to maintain their composure.
“My lady, please,” the veteran soldier and devoted bodyguard said.
“I must protest—”
“—as I
commanded,
Captain?”
she interrupted.
“Or are you questioning my decree?”
He looked upon her with a mixed expression of disappointment and concern.
In his hand was a bag filled with small, shimmering vials.
“Give them to me,” she ordered.
Reluctantly, the captain stepped forward.
“Lord, I beseech your forgiveness,” he murmured.
“She knows not what she does.”
Jamyl angrily snatched the bag from him.
“I know
exactly
what I’m doing,” she snapped.
“Now get out of my sight.”
“This isn’t you,” the noble captain said.
“Where is the wonderful young woman I watched grow up?”
“
Grown
up,” she snapped.
“Now leave us, or you’ll be sorry.”
“You have but three hours before the entire cluster pays its respects to your father,” he pleaded.
“Is this how you want them to see you?”
“If they see me at all, it will be
my
choice,” she growled, fully incensed at the man.
“Not anyone else’s.
Now get out.
”
The captain left without another word.
“So,” the heiress said, eyeing up the ladies before her.
Some were True Amarr and others were of Minmatar descent.
They were all equally thirsty to share this moment, swept up in this rebellious emotion and falsely believing that Jamyl could protect them from whatever consequences lay ahead.
Cryllisium was an exotic and hugely expensive derivative of a common street drug that produced the most “erotic highs” ever known.
Jamyl wanted to understand exactly what that meant.
What better way to empathize with the people she was to rule than to live their experiences?
She could never know them all, but if tradition expected her to absorb mankind’s struggles during a few hours of spiritual reflection, then the holy order was in for a big disappointment.
Living meant sinning, and her living had been denied at the expense of transforming her into a monarch against her will.
The window on the last “normalcy” of her life was closing, she knew, though perhaps not as tightly as even she suspected.
Still, not even the might of empires could contain the recklessness of intractable, determined youth.
“Who wants to have some fun?”
she said, popping the first vial of Cryllisium into her mouth.
HEIMATAR REGION—HED CONSTELLATION
AMAMAKE SYSTEM—PLANET II: PIKE’S LANDING
CORE FREEDOM COLONY
SOVEREIGNTY OF THE AMARR EMPIRE
Present Day
Vince stood at attention beside the other Templars, who had obediently fallen into formation at his order.
Like him, they bore unsightly wounds that seemed as if they should have been more incapacitating than they were, at least for those standing near enough to notice.
For reasons he was certain had something to do with Templar Six, the conventional troops were arrayed far away from them.
In truth, he was beginning to feel doubts.
A short time ago he had relished the opportunity to serve as one of Her Majesty’s holy warriors, but now … now he wasn’t sure at all.
His faith, which he convinced himself was unbreakable, had clearly withered.
There were no priests here to step into this reality and explain the context of his feelings, nor spiritual reassurance that these were just temporary distractions.
Vince had questions.
Fascination.
Anger.
And more questions.
His eyes wandered to the space-elevator cables, following them upward as they tapered and disappeared in the clouds high overhead.
Squinting into the hot sun, he could make out a hexagonal disk traveling down one of them, a tiny dot growing into a vast platform several meters tall and as long as a frigate, slowing as it reached the pinnacle of the receiving platform.
The troops erupted in cheers as Lord Victor and his lieutenants emerged from the Minmatar-built marvel.
A cursory check on his TACNET revealed this was the first time the machine had been used in years, and that Imperial engineers had little trouble restoring its functionality.
If this grand entrance was intended to be an act of triumph, it was lost on Vince, who kept his gaze on the sky.
It remained so even as he was approached by the Imperial commander.
“Templar One,” Lord Victor said, “you did well.”
“Thank you, sir,” Vince responded automatically.
“It is an honor to serve.”
“You’re all to be congratulated,” Lord Victor continued, walking down the line of immortal soldiers.
“Because of you, this ground is now hallowed Amarr land.
You are the Empire’s Archangels, and you honor our Holy Empress with your courage.
Your TACNETs have been updated with debriefing instructions.
They will commence in just under an hour.
Group at the location provided, reclone, and rest.
More challenges await.
Dismissed.”
Vince knew better than to follow the other Templars, who looked at ease, relaxed, and happy to be in each other’s company.
“Templar One,” Lord Victor said.
A squad of heavily armed Paladins approached, weapons at the ready.
“Come with me.”
They walked back toward the freight entrance of the elevator platform.
Vince admired the tiny puffs of dirt as their boots left prints on the ground, and remembered his walk with Empress Jamyl.
For the first time, he questioned whether that had ever really happened.
“You’re wounded,” Lord Victor said, taking note of Vince’s mangled shoulder.
“But that injury wasn’t sustained in the service of our Empire.
It was gained in the act of something else.
Do you know what that was?”
Vince’s cybernetic memory extracted the orders that arrived after his fateful encounter with the scarred man—the ones he had promptly ignored.
“I was bested in combat and became angry with myself,” Vince answered truthfully.
“I have never consciously experienced an emotion like that before.
I know I was Reclaimed to do God’s work, but I was unprepared for this.
To be vanquished by a mortal—it enraged me.
And I allowed that rage to consume me.
I humbly ask forgiveness … There is still much I have to learn.”