EVE®: Templar One (9 page)

“Okay.”

“Miles, kindly take us to Five-Zee.
Fastest route possible, please.”

The engineer turned suddenly to face the
Morse
captain.

“How the hell did you know he wasn’t going to attack us?”

“Because I know capsuleers,” Jonas growled.
“He’s just human like the rest of us.
There’s no way he wandered out here looking for a fight.
That ship isn’t crewed, and I’ll bet there’s no ammo left for those rails.”

“Pretty ballsy to stare down a cappy like that,” Blake remarked.

“Yeah, well,” Jones muttered as the ship’s warp engines activated, “sympathy has got me into trouble before.”

11

PURE BLIND REGION—MDM8-J CONSTELLATION

SYSTEM 5ZXX-K—PLANET V, MOON 17

MORDU’S LEGION HQ STATION

The “old man” that the
Morse
crew was taking Korvin Lears to see was the legendary Muryia Mordu.
He had many faces—all of them aged—depending on who you were.
There were very different sides of the iconic man who founded the Legion.

If you were a member of the Legion, you were treated with all the reverence of family.
Mordu was a patriarch who cared deeply for those who placed their trust in him.
Whether a civilian or former Navy Admiral, it wasn’t uncommon for the man to greet you with an embrace and the sincerest inquiry about the welfare of you and your loved ones.

He wore the most eccentric attire imaginable in support or jest of ambiguous Caldari and Gallente national holidays, sports teams, unusual anniversaries, or sometimes, for no discernable reason whatsoever.
While no one dared to offer counsel on his fashion sense, some guessed that his flair was merely a reflection of his mood; it was always a good day for the Legion when his outfit made children giggle.

When meeting with a head of state, renowned scientist, or other figures considered highly competent in their field, he was quick to discover gaps in their expertise.
Mordu devoured knowledge, and his intellect was respected internationally, if not always favorably.
But there was universal consensus that creating a modern nation-state—as he had done almost single-handedly—required the kind of genius that emerged but once in a generation.

But he was known for his dark side as well.
Sooner or later, adversaries of Mordu found themselves staring down the barrel of a gun.
Betrayal was inexcusable to Mordu, and as a matter of professionalism, he often personally ensured that loose ends in the Legion were cut to make that point perfectly clear.

As a former Brigadier General in the Caldari Navy, Mordu was no stranger to violence.
The Legion survived for years as a mercenary enterprise alone, though its biggest client by far was the Navy.
Unfortunately, Mordu never thought much of Tibus Heth, strongly objecting to his bigotry and swift rise to power.
He was already distancing the Legion from Navy affairs when the siege of Caldari Prime enraged Mordu so much that he placed a bounty on the dictator’s head.

The Legion’s outstanding contracts with the State, worth billions of credits, were promptly terminated.

Business, however, remained brisk.
The ongoing Minmatar-Amarr conflict provided a trove of contracts for the Legion’s services, and though the affairs of mercenaries were invariably dark by nature, their reputation for honoring agreements while navigating the complications of international rules of engagement was nearly pristine.

He was thus very surprised to learn that CONCORD had dispatched a representative of their Inner Circle to see him.
After all, Mordu’s Legion fell well outside their jurisdiction, and the two factions had never dealt with each other in any capacity before.

Surprise gave way to anger when it was revealed that this “representative” used deceit to board the station, illegal technology to infiltrate restricted areas, and brute force to incapacitate the guards assigned to watch the office in which he now sat.

*   *   *

MORDU SAW THE WORLD
through an augmented reality display superimposed onto his vision.
The data was generated by the station AI and routed to cybernetic implants in his brain.
Despite her disarmingly attractive looks, the AI warned him that the intruder’s biorhythm was abnormal, and that passive jamming technology was masking her true capabilities.

She was fit but not physically overbearing, with blue eyes, cropped jet-black hair, and pale, baby-smooth skin.
Mordu had heard that CONCORD was hatching custom-grown clones for special missions.
These hybrids were biological anomalies with remapped arteries, dense muscle structures, faster-than-normal resting heart rates, and perfectly symmetrical vein patterns in their retinas, among other oddities.

The AI posited that the woman sitting in front of Mordu was broadcasting prerecorded biometric telemetry.
Even though scans showed a beating heart pumping blood through veins and lungs inhaling and exhaling air, nothing about her was normal.

But she wasn’t a capsuleer—at least not one that he’d ever seen.
There was no implant over the brain stem, and the scanners didn’t detect a shred of inorganic material, metal or otherwise.
She looked to be a hybrid between Caldari and Gallente ethnicities, a soft beauty that could appear harmlessly meek or stone-cold cruel.

Mordu was deeply furious.

“Before you say anything,” he said, standing in the doorway.
“There’s a very good chance you won’t leave this station alive.”

She smiled pleasantly, as though he’d commented on the weather.

“Threatening a CONCORD official is a felony, Mr.
Mordu,” she said.

“Not here, it isn’t,” Mordu growled.
“But falsification of ship registration and assault are felonies as defined by Legion law.
I’d be concerned if I were you.”

“My actions were regrettable but necessary to keep my identity as a representative of CONCORD secret.
Victims were paid considerable compensation for their troubles.
I hope you understand.”

Mordu’s office was rigged with a variety of self-defense apparatuses, not the least of which included a pair of retractable 20mm railguns in the ceiling, designed to shred men and machine.
It wouldn’t take much more than a thought to transform this woman into a chunky puddle.

But for the intimidation factor, security drones and armed guards were now standing behind him.

“There will be consequences for your actions regardless,” Mordu warned.
“Now tell me why you’re here.”

His guest showed no sign of being intimidated at all.

“The Inner Council sent me to ask for your assistance.”

“Really,” Mordu said, crossing his arms.
“What a first impression you’re making.”

She raised her hand for silence.

“Please listen.”

Glaring for a moment, Mordu strode purposely across the office and sat before her.
The guards standing at the entrance raised their weapons and took aim.

“I’m listening.”

The woman now had a pleading expression that was unnerving.

“The Empyrean War has endangered the human race,” she started.
“We have learned that member nations of CONCORD are aggressively researching infantry applications of capsuleer science.
The first nation to acquire this technology could wage a war without risk to itself.
We cannot let this happen.
We are working directly with national authorities to dissuade them from proceeding.”

She paused, studying Mordu for a reaction and finding only a hard stare.
She continued her plea.

“The charter formalizing the existence of CONCORD sanctions the mandate by which we are sworn to act.
To uphold our mission, we have passed legislation expressly forbidding research that advances capsuleer technology.”

Mordu narrowed his eyes.

“We have never interfered with your affairs, nor passed judgment on the activities that sustain you.
But we need your help.
Between the personnel you offer refuge to, and the work you perform on their behalf, the Legion is uniquely positioned to report on the activities of the Caldari State and the Gallente Federation—”

“That isn’t accurate,” Mordu interrupted.
“While it’s true that we offer amnesty to refugees from both nations, we ceased all business with the Caldari Navy once Tibus Heth put a titan over Caldari Prime.
We blacklisted the Federation Navy after their Grand Admiral was executed for treason.
Espionage is not one of the services that we provide.
There is nothing we can or will do for CONCORD.”

The woman continued as though begging the much older man to be reasonable.

“I respectfully disagree, sir,” she said.
“As mercenaries, you have profited from the suffering of others in the war.
But rather than ask you to spill more blood, we’ll pay you for information that prevents more from being shed.
If your operatives passively discover leads about the development of capsuleer technology, we’ll reward you for that information.
If you’re open to contracts for active investigation, we’ll pay double your rates.
Mr.
Mordu, this contract is worth your while, and it will benefit the whole of humanity itself!”

“Tempting,” Mordu sneered.
“And if I refuse?”

“That will be disappointing,” the woman said, her expression turning from hope to sadness.
“But let me make this perfectly clear: If we learn that Mordu’s Legion is withholding information from us about capsuleer research, well … the Inner Circle doesn’t want that to happen.”

“Did I just hear correctly that CONCORD is threatening Mordu’s Legion?”

“All you heard was the strength of our convictions and a generous offer to help us honor a mandate that protects humankind.”

“I see.
Is that everything you came here to tell me?”

“Yes.”

“Then there’s nothing left to do here,” Mordu said, turning toward the guards in the room.
“Please see her back to her ship.
If she tries anything, kill her.”

The woman rose slowly, without ever taking her cobalt-blue eyes from Mordu’s.

“The datapad confiscated upon my arrival contains information on how to contact us,” she said.
“You may keep it.
There are contract propositions that explain what we’re looking for and instructions for how to find it.
Should you decide to accept our offer, you’ll find it quite useful.”

“Noted,” Mordu said as guards surrounded her.
“Now I have a question for you.”

“Of course,” she said, clasping her hands behind her back.

“I don’t believe I got your name.”

“My name is Tatiana Czar.”

“‘Czar,’” Mordu repeated, feeding the query to the AI.
No information was returned.
“I’ve never heard that surname before.”

Tatiana surveyed the room as a prod from the glowing barrel of a vowrtech pushed her along.

“It’s Khanid,” she said on her way out.
“From the old commoner’s dialect.”

“‘Commoner,’ right,” Mordu warned.
“I hate liars, Ms.
Czar.
Don’t ever come back here.”

*   *   *

ALONE IN HIS OFFICE,
Mordu took a moment to reflect.

Tatiana Czar—whatever she was—was escorted to the hangar entrance several levels down and left without incident.
The guards who had been roughed up by the unassuming visitor voluntarily transferred the “compensation” delivered by CONCORD to the Legion’s treasury—a gesture that Mordu expected and appreciated.
The ship she arrived in was an unremarkable Tristan-class frigate with Interbus tags; no one had expected a CONCORD representative to disembark.
The datapad she left behind contained the proper encryption keys for all the levels leading to Mordu’s office, even though these were changed daily.

Mordu clenched his fist and rapped the desk lightly.

There was a security breach, and it needed to be found quickly.
CONCORD was playing a dangerous game, and before he could retaliate, he needed to understand how they had compromised him so easily.

Then the words of Tatiana Czar returned to him.

She was right: Immortal soldiers would have a devastating impact on humanity, especially if one nation alone possessed them.
But if his operatives discovered the tech first, it would be he—and not CONCORD—who would decide what should be done about it.