Post by Rusty Shackleford on Feb 8, 2014 13:49:17 GMT
I figured that it was long overdue that all three of the threads made for this should be compiled in one place, so here it is.
{Inis Truesight}
The officer grimaced as she zipped the cuffs shut around the thief’s wrists. She had managed to subdue him after a short struggle, leaving her with a long, shallow cut down her right forearm, and a split lip. Thankfully, her body armour had protected her from the first desperate stab as she had run the criminal to ground. She brushed her long cyan hair away from her sweaty face as she pulled the thief to his feet.
The thief himself was relatively non-descript, average height, short, mousy brown hair, a hard to remember face. He had tried to snatch a woman’s handbag, then knifed her when she wouldn’t let go. The officer had left two comrades to help the woman, while she chased the thief.
“Bitch! Le’ go of me!” The thief yelled, pulling on the restraints. The officer frowned and took him by the arm, leading him out of the alley he had ran into. She stopped; she had heard something behind her. The officer turned to see three people emerging from a door at the side of the alley, armed with automatic weaponry. They quickly raised the weapons, pointing them at the officer. The officer shoved the thief behind her, and turned, pushing him before her, and they opened fire. The officer jerked as bullets rained onto her back. The firing stopped, and the three shooters ducked into cover to reload.
The thief stared at the officer in shock as she dropped to her knees; her hand went to her belt, taking out a small key, which she pressed into the hand of the thief, with bloodstained fingers. She gave a short, spluttering cough, spraying blood down her front. “Run…” She said weakly, and slipped sideways to lie in an expanding pool of blood.
The thief ran, rounding the corner just as the shooters emerged to finish him off, two bullets streaked past him as he escaped round the corner, clutching the key to his restraints, with tears of fear running down his face.
The three shooters moved up, next to the downed officer, “Move her. Now! We need to get out of here,” One of them said quickly, slinging his gun across his back. One of the other shooters nodded, and scooped up the unconscious officer, “Some of the bullets got through her armour, and she is bleeding pretty bad.” He said, putting her across his shoulder. The three of them quickly backtracked down the alley, going through the door they had emerged from, “We can treat her on the truck, but that guy is going to warn someone, we need to move.”
The room they had entered was a garage, they had quite obviously been living in it for a while, there were empty snack wrappers littering the floor, and three rough cots had been set up in the corner, in the centre of the room was a plain white van. The shooter carrying the officer went into the back of the van, while the other two went into the front and started the engine. The garage door slid open, and they drove off.
Inis gave a quiet, pained groan as she woke up. She was lying on her face, and the floor was moving, her arms were restrained behind her back, but that wasn’t what she was concerned about. Her torso felt like it was aflame with agony, and there was a peculiar heavy sensation in the left side of her chest. She could just about hear someone else moving around in the darkness, when a bright light blasted her retinas.
The shooter gave a yell of shock as the officer spasmed on the ground, before grabbing her and holding her down, eventually the spasms stopped, and he continued staunching the bleeding from her back. She began to move again, so he slapped the back of her head and growled at her, “Stop moving, girl.”
Inis froze as she heard the other person speak; she could feel them doing something to her back. She gave a short cough, and felt something splatter against her lips, she opened her eyes a fraction, in the blinding light, to see specks of red on the floor in front of her. At that moment, the other person poured some chemical onto her wounds; Inis shrieked in a blaze of agony, and blacked out from a sudden blow to her head.
A few hours later
Varan Truesight was just sitting down in his armchair when his PDA beeped from across the room. Frowning, he stood up and walked across to it, there was a notice on the screen, /New message received/. Varan sighed and pressed a few buttons on the touchscreen, then blinked in surprise as the PDA informed him that it was a video message. He walked back to his chair, sat down and played the message.
The picture was grainy, but Varan could make out a darkened room, with a chair in the centre, he thought there might be someone sat in the chair, but he wasn’t sure. He saw some movement in the corner of the screen, someone moving in the darkness, then the dull rasp of a light switch being flicked on. Varan looked back to the chair to see that it contained a young woman, with very pale skin and long cyan hair; she was wearing a bloodstained police uniform, though the armour appeared to have been removed. She was cuffed to the arms of the chair, and she seemed to be unconscious, there was blood on her lips, though her chest still rose and fell with breath. On her lap was a small cardboard sign, it read, “Hello, Uncle.”
Varan was shaking with anger, and fear, as another sign was put in front of the screen, “We will be in contact, have money ready” The video ended.
Varan felt sick, and shaken to his core. He turned towards the door, and shouted, “Amy! Get up here!” He dropped the PDA on the table and stood up as a woman walked in quickly, “I am here…” She said very quietly, her hands were shaking slightly. Varan took a step forwards, and hugged her tightly, “Thank god you are safe,” He whispered. Amy looked at him, “Has something happened?” She asked. Varan hesitated for a moment, “Your cousin…Inis…” he shook his head and pointed to the PDA. Amy walked over to it and carefully picked it up, replaying the video. After a few moments, she gave a cry of shock, and nearly dropped the PDA. “Oh Gods…” She whispered, “Oh Gods, oh Gods, oh Gods…”
Varan took the PDA from her and set it down on the table, “Go round and get Savar, and Kiera, they deserve to know.” Amy nodded quickly and ran off. Varan picked up his PDA again, and began searching through his contacts page; a glint of rage flickered in his eyes.
After a half-hour, Amy returned, leading another two people, a man who, like Varan and Amy, had bright green eyes, and a woman, who had grey eyes. Both were very pale as they approached Varan. He held out his PDA to them, and stood up, moving to stand near the edge of the room. Within a few moments, the man let out a short gasp, and the woman clapped her hand to her mouth, both of them looked close to tears. The woman turned to Varan as the video ended, and snapped, “What are you waiting for?! Start collecting funds, this is your fault!” Amy flinched at the harsh tone, and stepped backwards into a shadowed corner. Varan said quietly, “Kiera, you know as well as I do, less than a quarter of hostages are returned alive, we can’t give into them, if we do, we may never see Inis alive again,” Savar slowly dropped the PDA onto the table and said quietly, “If they kill her…We can bring her back, Kiera…You know we can,” Varan shook his head, “No.” Kiera glared at him, “What do you mean, no? She is our daughter!” Varan spoke again, “I have messaged the archives, both the Centres, and the Corporations, Inis’ genetic back ups were wiped, three hours ago.”
The phone rang, everyone fell silent for a moment, before Amy picked it up, “…Hello…” She held it for a moment, then flinched, and held it out to Varan, he took it. “This is Varan Truesight, what do you want?” Varan set the phone to loud speaker, “We want credits, nineteen million, one million for each year of your niece’s life.” “How do I know she still lives? You could have killed her immediately after that video, I already know you wiped her back ups.” There was silence from the phone for a moment, “Very perceptive of you, I see you live up to your reputation, it does not matter, however, you will bring the money to the place I decide, and you will not contact the police, I will know if you do.” Varan barked down the phone line, “She will be at the drop point, alive, if you know me as well as you say you do, then you know I have the connections, and the money, to call down a starship on your location, and if I do not see her there, I will not hesitate to do so.” “I suppose the deal is set then, Truesight, Your niece will be at the swap point, alive, you will deliver the money, or she dies, and her body will be destroyed. We will be in touch.” The phone clicked off, and began droning, Varan replaced it on its stand. He turned to face the rest of the group, “I will begin collecting funds, Savar, I need you to go through Inis’ contacts, see if there is anyone who might be able to help us, we can’t go to the police, any mobilisation from them will be noticed, if need be, I can hire mercenaries for the job,” Kiera glared at Varan, tears streaked her cheeks, “And what job is that? You are going to give them their money, and get Inis.” Savar turned to Kiera, “Kiera…They won’t give her back… She is a threat to them, the only thing we can do is fight them, try and rescue her.” Kiera glared around the room, and shoved past Amy, nearly knocking her over, as she stormed out. Savar turned to Varan as he steadied Amy, “I will go see who I can recruit…If this ends badly…” With that point, Savar left after his wife.
Inis woke suddenly, though she kept her eyes tightly shut, she had moved, now she seemed to be sat in a chair, and her arms were strapped to some thing in front of her. The pain in her back was muted now, though she still had a heavy sensation in the left side of her chest, and it was harder to breath. She opened her eyes a fraction, then opened them fully when she saw that she was in a dimly lit room.
Across the room from her, there were three people, two men, one Tajara, she couldn’t tell the gender, they looked over at her as she pulled on her restraints, “Ah, so she is awake,” Said one of them, stepping closer. He was quite pale, with short, dark brown hair, and a plain face, Inis stared at him in shock, “You!” She shouted, pulling harder on her restraints, panting heavily as she found it harder and harder to breath. The man nodded, “Me,” The Tajara walked forwards, then looked towards the third man, hissing, “We need some thing to send to herrrr Uncle, to demand rrrespect.” The third man nodded, sitting down in a chair in the corner of the room, before raising a warning finger, “Remember, she is worth more intact,” The Tajara nodded, and looked at Inis carefully, he noticed a dull blue glow at her neckline, “Ah…Jewellerrry” He hooked a claw underneath the amulet’s chain and flicked it upwards, so it lay against Inis’ throat. The amulet was a vivid, electric blue crystal, hung on a fine silver chain, surrounded by plastic fittings. The Tajara purred, “Pretty pretty.” He reached for the amulet.
A bright flash of blue shot from the amulet, earthing against the Tarjara’s hand, igniting it. The Tajara threw himself back, yelling as the fire spread up his arm, “Smiles is on FIRRRRRE!” He began slamming his arm against the wall in an attempt to put out the blaze. The third man stood up calmly and took a fire extinguisher from the wall, activated it, and sprayed it over the Tajara. The fire went out immediately as the water smothered it. The Tajara made an angry spitting noise, not dissimilar to the sounds of the water on the flames. He glared at Inis, she smirked slightly, her amulet still lying against her neck. Smiles lunged, slashing her across the face with his claws, cutting three deep gouges from her cheek, Inis screamed. Smiles retreated out of the room, mreowling his misfortune.
The first man picked up a pair of insulated pliers, and carefully lifted the amulet off, over Inis’ head, placing it in a small cardboard box on the table in front of her. The third man quickly sealed up the box, and took it out of the room. The first man placed the pliers down, and walked in front of Inis, “So, you do remember me?” He took a small knife from his belt, and placed its point against the back of Inis’ hand. “You really screwed up our operation, didn’t you? How you even recovered from those wounds I dealt you, I have no idea, let alone how you managed to get off that shuttle without passing out from loss of blood.” He slowly began twisting the knife, applying a small amount of pressure, Inis’ other hand clenched shut, and her face went slightly red. The man began applying more and more pressure to the knife, watching the pain grow in Inis’ eyes. Her whole body shook as the tip of the knife scraped across a bone; the bleeding cuts on her face were forgotten now.
After five minutes of the silence, the knife hit the desk under Inis’ hand. The man let go of the knife, leaving it sticking out vertically from the back of Inis’ hand. He undid the closest strap to her hand, allowing her wrist to move. He carefully took hold of her thumb, and smallest finger, and jerked them upwards, pulling her hand up the knife. Inis couldn’t help herself, she screamed.
Varan waited impatiently in his living room, he was waiting for some people to arrive, and they were already late, he suspected that they had run into trouble at Customs, he thought, the only non-corrupt department on this godforsaken planet. He heard a parcel fall through his letterbox, and frowned, before walking to the door.
The package was a plain cardboard box, unlabelled, Varan’s heart gave a jolt, it must be from the kidnappers, He took the package and carried it into the living room, he could hear something rattling inside. He set the package down on the table, and carefully began to take off the packing tape. He hesitated for a moment, and then opened the box carefully; the inside was filled with a gentle blue glow. Varan’s breath caught, and he slowly took the amulet out of the box, there was a letter with it.
Mr Truesight
This caused my compatriot quite a lot of trouble, if you fail to meet our demands, we won’t kill you niece, well, not right away, we will send her to you, piece by piece.
Have the credits, at the centre of the Ostern wastes, I am sure you know where that is, two days from now, at midnight.
Mr West, Mr Crimson, Mr Smiles.
Varan carefully folded the letter, and put it on the table next to the box, The Ostern wastes…
The Ostern wastes was where, during the War of the Gods, the Followers of the Storm had sacrificed hundreds, if not thousands, in a macabre and horrifying attempt to draw the attentions of their mythical leader. On orders from the House of Electorates, the Devastator, his old ship, had dropped a particle beam on the site, during the war. An entire region reduced to glass, to erase the horrors of war. Rumour had it, you can steal hear the spirits of the priests, chanting their obscene rituals and hear the screams of the dying prisoners.
Varan was sat, staring at the amulet in his hand, running a single finger across the smooth crystal, when the doorbell rang. He heard Amy open the door, and some talking, and soon an entire troop of people marched into the living room.
The first one was quite aged, looking almost as old as Varan himself, though his head was still black, he wore a mixture of black and dark grey clothes, with an empty holster at his waist, though the bulge under his jacket made Varan suspect that Customs weren’t quite as attentive as they should have been.
The second one was younger, and shorter than Varan and the first man. He had dark brown hair, and a very cold face, with a large collection of scars, he wore red and black clothes, similar to those Inis wore as her uniform, he also had a holster halfway down his leg, containing a rather old, ratty looking pistol, but Varan could see that the focusing crystal at the end of the barrel was brand new, and the trigger looked well-worn.
The third one was a woman, the shortest of the four of them, she had dark purple hair, and was barely shoulder height to Amy and the two men, she was wearing a plain blue T-shirt and jeans, though she had a tool-belt slung over her shoulder.
The last man was only a few inches taller than the woman, and his skin was darker than the rest of them, he had dark brown hair, almost black. He was wearing a long black trenchcoat and had a rather angry expression on his face.
The four newcomers, and Amy, sat down on the collection of chairs and sofas in Varan’s living room. Several of them looked both surprised, and shocked, to see the amulet that Varan was holding. Varan slid the paper across the table towards them, without saying a word. They took turns reading it.
The first man spoke, in a thick Russian accent, “So this, you want us to go to this place, and get your niece, da?” Varan took a deep breath, “Yes, I am willing to provide equipment, weapons, money, hell, even orbital support if I have to.”
The First man nodded, “Da, da, how much you paying me, hmmm?” The purple-haired woman glared at him, but he took no notice. Varan responded, “Thirty thousand credits, after Inis is safe.” The man rubbed his chin, “I suppose that will do,” He conceded, it was a generous offer. The second man spoke, “We will need to know the location of this…Ostern? We will be at a disadvantage; they might expect something like this.” Varan nodded, then opened his mouth to speak, but paused as a jangling noise echoed from the corridor, getting louder, “Here is your equipment, and guide,” A tall man walked through the door, his head brushing the ceiling of the old house, he was carrying three large rucksacks, which he set down on the table, he was wearing a forth. Varan made a gesture towards the rucksacks, and the four people began rummaging through them, pulling out a dizzying amount of equipment.
The first man quickly snatched up an odd, elongated assault rifle, as well as a small pack of grenades, while the woman grabbed a thick dossier, with the lettering across the front, VTOL C74 Skyhunter. The second man collected various knives and survival supplies, along with one of the assault rifles. The last man snatched up a pistol, then opened his trenchcoat and began pulling out various plastic components, slotting them together, within a few minutes; he laid a fully assembled sniper rifle on the table. Varan looked at it, then at the man, “Oracle 3525? 7.92? What sort of scope?” He man ran his hand over the rifle before responding, “Class three scope, twenty times magnification.”
The first man snorted, “You won’t get that many shots with that, da? The plastic will deform, an expensive toy,” The last man shrugged, saying, “It gets the job done.”
After the supplies were dolled out, Varan did a quick check to see who had what.
The first man had collected an assault rifle, two spare power cells for it, three packs of grenades, and some basic survival supplies, his personal revolver and a knife.
The second man had his pistol, two pistol magazines, an assault rifle, three power cells, a backup pistol, and a field medical kit.
The woman had taken a pistol, and five spare magazines, as well as the dossier, and a medical kit.
The last man had his rifle, two pistols, a combat baton, and two spare magazines for his pistols.
The first man examined his assault rifle, “Now, Cristof has seen many weapons, but this one is strange, it has no magazine, just a power cell, and it fires projectiles? Da?” Varan nodded, and slid a paper across the table to the man, he read it, “The 792 Hurricane, rail weapon, well that explains the weight…400, or .600, that is useful…” The other man looked at his assault rife with renewed interest. The woman waved her dossier at Varan, “You have one of these?” She grinned greedily, “Where?” Varan gestured over his shoulder, “Out the back, I got it from a military contact; they thought it was disarmed, it wasn’t.” The tall man gestured for her to follow him, and they left to go examine the craft.
“So, who is that tall guy, you said he is our guide?” Lysanuh asked, leaning his sniper rifle up against the side of his chair, Varan nodded, and answered, “His is my nephew, Gollee, Inis’ brother, don’t worry about him slowing you down, he works with the special operations section of the Defense Force.”
Inis blinked in the harsh light, as the door to her cell was opened. She was been lying on a small, wooden cot in the corner of the filthy room; her right hand had been crudely bandaged, though there was still a slow seepage of blood into the crusted dressings. Crimson entered the cell, and walked over to the cot, where Inis lay, pretending to be asleep. He stood over her for a moment, before reaching down towards her right hand, his favoured way of waking her had been to dig his thumb into the wound whenever she passed out. Before he could reach her hand, Inis pushed herself out of the bed, towards him, her good, left hand clawing at his chest harness, trying to get a grip on one of the two, ornate knives that were there. Crimson took a smooth step back, catching her hand easily, before using her momentum to twist it behind her. He held her there for a moment, listening to her cry of surprise, shock, and pain; before shoving her roughly to the side, knocking her head first against the wall, and to the ground. Inis lay on the floor in a heap, panting and gasping; it took her several minutes to recover from the exertion. She slowly climbed to her feet, bracing herself against the wall, before launching herself at Crimson again.
Crimson neatly sidestepped the ill-planned attack, smoothly drawing one of the knives from his chest harness, and with a swift, quick motion, laid open the muscle of Inis’ upper left arm. Inis stumbled at the blow, with a strangled yell of pain. She turned again, and dived at Crimson’s legs, trying to knock him down. He made no attempt to dodge the attack; instead, as he went down, he turned, so he was looking at Inis’ back, and slipped an arm around her throat. Inis stopped moving immediately when Crimson began applying pressure to her neck. With his spare hand, Crimson gripped Inis’ wrists, and twisted them behind her back, before wrapping a zip tie around them. He let go of her throat.
Standing up, Crimson gripped Inis’ long hair, and pulled her to her feet, ignoring the cries of pain, he gestured to the door, from which West and Smiles had been watching, and West walked forwards, and wrapped a dirty strip of cloth around the wound on Inis’ arm, halting the flow of blood. Crimson began to lead Inis out of the room, keeping his grip on her hair.
He pulled her back into the room she had first woken up in, and strapped her into the chair in the centre. Inis glared at him, and noticed, with a slight thrill, that she had managed to split his lip, a minor victory, but a victory nonetheless. Crimson noticed her gaze, and brought his hand to his lip. He looked at the blood impassively, then turned and went to the table along the back wall. Inis strained her neck, but she couldn’t quite see him, she could, however, hear the sounds of metal on metal as he sifted through a large array of tools and devices.
After a moment, the sounds stopped, and Inis heard him straighten, and walk back towards her. When he was stood in front of her, she saw that he had picked up a pair of pliers. She looked at him, and he looked back, then he said, in a conversational tone, “Your friend reacted to this quite well, time to see if you are the same. I am sure the Followers won’t mind one missing finger,” He pressed down on the back of Inis’ left hand, stopping her from moving it, and then took hold of the fingernail on her left ring finger, with the pliers. Inis’ muscles strained as she attempted to pull her arm away, but she lacked the leverage. With a sharp tug, the fingernail was pulled out, with a dull sucking noise. Inis’ breath caught in her throat, and her pupils dilated. Crimson put down the pliers, and took out on of his knives. He placed the edge of the knife just below Inis’ second knuckle; he turned to look at her, “If you scream, I will take a second finger,”
The knife clicked as it tapped the table, Crimson carefully lifted the knife, flicking the blood of the blade, before glancing at Inis, she had turned even paler than usual, and her lip was bleeding from where she had chewed it. He picked up the severed finger, placing it to the side while he wrapped a clean cloth around the stump of her finger. Once that was done, he lifted the finger again, and slipped it through the fittings of a copper chain, which he hung around Inis’ neck. “You did not scream, unexpected, that is enough for now,” He turned and left, closing the door behind him, leaving Inis in darkness. Her head slowly tilted forwards and she hung in her restraints, unconscious.
Emilia dug her finger into her ear and rubbed it around, “Everything sounds odd here,” At that moment, they were 100,000 feet in the air, travelling at Mach three. Gollee shrugged, subtly checking that his seatbelt were still secure, “Different air composition, sounds waves are more compressed here, you will get used to it in a few hours, but you won’t be able to hear as well as an augment,” Much to Gollee’s discomfort, Emilia turned fully around in the pilot’s chair at this, “The hell is an augment?” She asked, not looking at the controls. Gollee gestured towards the flashing control panel, “Do you min…The contr- Oh fine, augments are the people who get themselves genetically altered to fit the planet perfectly, like Inis. They aren’t especially common, not many people like altering themselves that drastically, one of the most basic things the augments do is have their ears elongated to a point, it helps them pick up higher pitched waves.” Emilia nodded, seemingly satisfied, and turned back to the controls; Gollee gingerly released the death grip he had had on the sides of his chair.
The jet gracefully swooped in for a landing, the landing pad sparkling blue as ions ricocheted off of the surface from the thrusters. The jet itself was a heavily armoured avian-like craft, with three laser turrets mounted at various points, and a large rail cannon mounted under the cockpit. There was an assault door mounted at the back, closed at the moment, as well as two of its four thrusters, with the other two being mounted on its wings. The craft itself is a dark, iridescent green, while its thrusters glow a faint blue. It had a bulky, armoured section between the cockpit and the passenger bay, containing the micro fusion generator, according to the dossier.
The other three members of the team were waiting, just off of the landing pad, carrying their equipment. Once the jet had landed, and the men were certain that Emilia wasn’t suddenly going to fire up the thrusters again, they moved round the back of it, and entered.
Once inside, and once they had stowed their packs in the various spare seats, Gollee brought them all into the passenger bay.
“We are going on a flyover of the Ostern wastes, there is normally one every day, and this time we are replacing the normal craft, that way, we won’t be suspicious. We are looking for anything out of the ordinary.” He said, looking from person to person, Emilia was picking at her nails.
David spoke up, “And out of the ordinary is what, exactly?” There was a murmur of agreement from around the bay. Gollee nodded, and said, “Anything structured, the Ostern wastes was subjected to a heavy bombardment, over one hundred years ago, burned the place to glass, it was declared uninhabitable to humans by the government at the time. Any structures, or any patterns we see out there, were likely made by the kidnappers; they have to be holding my sister in the area.”
Emilia frowned, “If there is a flyover everyday, there must be some sort of threat there. Mind telling us?” Gollee sighed, clasping his hands together, with his forearms placed across his thighs, “The Ostern Wastes is close enough to Cevalon for the Followers to attempt to send raiders, either in ones, or twos, across the Wastes, the flyover has to find and eliminate any followers, the sheer size of the Wastes prohibits any real ground action, so we rely on our air superiority to protect the place.” Cristof nodded, and said, simply, “Sounds good, lets go, maybe we can catch a few of your Followers too, da?”
West tipped the bucket of water over Inis, and she woke up with a spluttering yell. West looked at her coldly, then smiled, “You have a visitor,” He gestured towards the door.
In the doorway stood a severe-looking woman, wearing what looked like plain farmer’s garb, but Inis could see that the fabric was much higher quality than the ordinary. The woman had grey hair, tied back behind her head, and she wore a necklace of some grey metal. She looked over at Inis, with a calculating eye. “I remember this one; she has some value to us. The Followers will be willing to barter.” Smiles grinned broadly from the shadows behind Inis, “Hearrrr that? Walkerrrr? Meet yourrrr new ownerrrr.”
The woman’s face stayed impassive, “No agreement has yet been struck, abomination, we are willing to offer five million for the priestess.” Smiles bristled at the insult, but he kept his claws concealed as West responded, “Her family is offering nineteen million credits, you will have to beat that, or we might run into…Problems,”
The woman frowned, “Nineteen million credits? Who precisely is paying this ransom? That is not street money.”
Smiles dug his claws into the back of Inis’ chair, before replying, “The esteemed ex-admirrrral of the Devastatorrrrr, and currrrrent leaderrrr of the metal marrrrket. Varrrran Trrrruesight, This is his niece.” The woman didn’t respond to Smiles, instead directing her attention to Inis, she took a swift step forwards, gripping Inis’ jaw with her left hand and twisting her head around, examining her face. “She is an augment…That makes it difficult to ascertain that what you say is true…” The woman took a small picture out of her briefcase and compared it to Inis’ battered face.
After a few minutes, the woman smiled, released Inis’ face, and straightened, turning to West, ignoring Smiles completely, “It seems that you are correct, though, after those heretical augmentations it is hard to tell, this is Inis Truesight, having her as a hostage will benefit the Followers greatly. I assume the normal procedures have been undertaken?” Smiles nodded, and surreptitiously placed himself between Inis and the woman, “All genetic backups of this one have been wiped, Smiles made sure of it.”
The woman looked at Smiles, and nodded once, despite the distasteful curl on her lips, “We are now willing to offer thirty million credits, on delivery to a secure location, we will provide additional guards to ensure you reach the designated location, they will arrive in a few hours.”
The Skyhunter arced gracefully through the sky, at two hundred feet; it was startlingly close to the ground, but that was necessary for what was happening inside.
“We have ground-pen radar, a recent upgrade to the systems, David, or Cristof, get it online and scanning, chances are they are underground,” Gollee pointed towards a console at the side of the passenger bay, and David walked over to it and began bringing the systems online.
“Contact!” Lysanuh called, he was sat at one of the windows, “Big dust cloud about…Two, three kilometres east,” They all lurched to the side as the jumpjet went into a high velocity turn and swung around to face east. Gollee shaded his eyes from the sun and stared at the cloud. “Looks like... What the hell…” he turned to Emilia, “Track their path, I have never seen the Followers move in numbers like this, a single buggy is rare, but five…” He turned back to the windscreen and stared hard at the vehicles.
After a second, David swung around in his chair, “Got it, their path has them intersect a buried structure, definitely man-made, I can see the rooms,” Gollee nodded, “Emilia, please activate remote control of the underside X-rays, you use the rail cannon, we need to take them out, especially now we have seen them,” Lysanuh and Cristof moved to each side of the cockpit, near the remote controls of the two unlocked X-ray turrets.
Gollee took a breath, “Take them out,” The roar of weaponry was immediate, two of the buggies exploded into ash and smoke instantly, another one was blasted into shards from a hypervelocity rail shell. The two remaining buggies swerved towards the rapidly decelerating Skyhunter and opened fire. The crude projectiles and energy blasts spattered off of the Skyhunter’s armour, as its lasers opened fire again. Two small puffs of smoke signalled the end of the brief skirmish, all that remained of the Followers were ash clouds and the scattered remains of the blasted buggy.
The woman scowled at the voice coming through her headset, West glanced over at her, from his seat, “What is it?” He asked, he had been playing cards against Smiles, and losing. Taking advantage of his distraction, Smiles proceeded to check the cards on the table, before slipping a few up his sleeve. She glared at him, “The government patrol spotted and destroyed the team that was on its way, we are on our own.”
Smiles shrugged, putting down his cards, “We can send those thrrrree we hirrrred to take herrrr, so long as we get paid firrrrst”
The woman sighed, “It seems to be the only option in this case, I doubt this little base you built yourselves will stay undetected much longer anyway, we need to move her,” She wirelessly sent thirty million credits to the one-use account Crimson had set up.
Emilia set the Jet to hover, while the five of them moved into the passenger bay to review their findings. David had brought the scan of the underground structure up on the console; it clearly showed several rooms imbedded two metres below the surface of the glass, with a concealed tunnel to the surface.
“How are we going to get Inis out of there? The moment we are detected, they will kill her.” Emilia said, sitting on one of the chairs in the passenger bay, Lysanuh shrugged, “That is if she isn’t dead already,” Gollee looked at Lysanuh for a moment, then started in surprise as his phone rang. He quickly answered it, he had it linked to Varan’s home phone, so he could hear any new messages the kidnappers sent,
“Someone else has their eye on your niece, a thirty million credit eye, unless you can beat their price… I am afraid you will be getting these messages for a long time… And they won’t be as polite, and civilised as we are.”
“I can up to thirty eight million, twice your first price, just don’t hurt her,”
The phone clicked off and Gollee threw it across the passenger bay, forcing Cristof to duck to avoid being hit. Gollee clenched and unclenched his fists, “We wait until they try to move her, then we take them out while they are mobile. It is all we can do.”
The three gunmen were strapping on assorted pieces of body armour when West entered the room, leading the woman and Inis. The woman was holding a thin plastic lead, which ran to a collar around Inis’ neck. She was almost dragging Inis forwards. When the woman stopped behind West, Inis leant against the wall; she was barely able to stand. The gunmen loaded various pieces of equipment into a buggy and the woman climbed in. She pulled harshly on the lead, causing Inis to stumble and almost fall. One of the gunmen caught her, and helped her carefully into the buggy. The woman turned to stare at the gunman, who looked away quickly. After a few minutes, the buggy was loaded up, and they left through the concealed tunnel to the surface.
West, Crimson and Smiles met up in the central room. Crimson nodded, “The money has been transferred, we are clear to leave, Varan would never have paid us, he would send a team to recover the girl, smart man.” West nodded and pressed a finger against his headset, “Starship Fractal, you are clear to jump us, I repeat, you are c-“ The three of them disappeared in a flash of blue light.
The Skyhunter settled down on the glass plain about two kilometres from the underground structure, the team hurried out of the passenger bay as soon as the thrusters shut down, spreading out over the area between the jet and the structure. David and Cristof concealed themselves in slight indents in the glass, almost invisible from the structure. Lysanuh climbed to the top of one of the surrounding dunes, an inevitable formation from wear on the glass, and sighted his rifle down towards where the scans said the tunnel opened up to the surface. Gollee moved up another dune, closer than Lysanuh’s and took out a pair of binoculars. Emilia activated the cham-coating on the Skyhunter, but kept the thrusters hot, in case she was needed.
All five of them listened quietly as the roar of an engine echoed across the plain, seemingly from nowhere. After a few moments, a buggy drove out of what had looked like a small indent in the glass; it was loaded to capacity with five people. Both Gollee and Lysanuh focused their scopes on the occupants, it was difficult to see them through the dust and smoke the buggy generated.
Gollee spied a flicker of blue on one of the passengers, and focused further, the person was hunched over, pressed into the back of the buggy, her face was obscured, but her hair and skin tone was unmistakable. “She is there! This is our chance!” He shouted over his radio, and took aim with his rifle.
The buggy closed on Cristof and David, and Cristof threw a grenade in front of it. It detonated, forcing the buggy into a sharp turn to avoid the blast. Too sharp, the buggy rolled over as it tried to avoid the grenade, throwing it’s passengers across the glass. One of the armoured men ht the ground head first and stopped moving. The other two were thrown clear and quickly climbed to their feet. The woman and Inis, pressed into the back of the buggy as they were, stayed in as it flipped, becoming trapped underneath.
Gollee David and Cristof fired on the two dazed gunmen, high calibre bullets scything them down, blasting off large chunks of armour before sprays of blood stained the glass. The jet decloaked and lifted off, accelerating towards the crash, Gollee, David and Cristof hurried towards the smoking buggy.
There was a hacking cough from the buggy, “Stop… Right there!” The woman called to the three men, who slowed. The woman had pressed a large muzzled pistol to Inis’ temple. Inis had been knocked unconscious by the crash, but she was better off than the woman. Inis had been pressed far enough into the back of the buggy to stay intact, the woman, on the other hand, had been caught up in the twisted wreckage, several of the warped metal struts had impaled her against the side of the buggy. “Any closer, and she dies, and we don’t want that, do we?” Gollee, Cristof and David stopped. The woman smiled, there was blood on her lips, “Good, now drop your weapons!” After a moment’s hesitation from the men, the woman jabbed her pistol into Inis’ head, eliciting a short groan. The men carefully placed their rifles and pistols on the ground, and stepped away from them. The woman smiled cruelly, and turned her pistol towards the men, when a loud crack echoed across the plain.
The woman’s head detonated, like a rotten melon hit with a stick, all three of the men looked around at the dunes, to see Lysanuh sliding down one of them, discarding his partially melted rifle. Turning back to the wreckage, the three of them began trying to extricate Inis from the wreckage, but it was no use, the roll had twisted the frame too badly. They turned and watched the Skyhunter land about twenty metres west of them, and Emilia hurried out, tool belt over her shoulder.
Emilia kneeled down next to the wreckage that held Inis in place, and quickly began cutting chunks out of it. After a few minutes, a hole a foot across had been made, and together, the men managed to pull enough struts out of the way for Emilia to ease Inis out of the hole.
They hadn’t been able to see from afar, but Inis was in a bad way. The crash had not only knocked her unconscious, but it had also snapped her leg backwards. Cristof hurried to get a stretcher from the jet, while Emilia and David applied what medical supplies they had to Inis’ multitude of wounds.
The injuries they had seen from afar had only been a fraction of the abuse Inis had suffered in the twenty hours she was missing. After getting her back to the jet, a comprehensive medical scan uncovered significant internal injuries, bullet shrapnel, on top of her extreme physical injuries. Her left upper arm had been lain open by a serrated blade, her right hand had been impaled by the same weapon, she had a bullet lodged in her left lung, which had completely deflated, and was beginning to wither, her left ring finger had been severed, then hung around her neck like an obscene trophy.
As soon as they were on board the jet, Emilia ran into the cockpit, and started up the engines, bringing them back to Cevalon at top speed, Mach 15. They were decelerating and landing outside Cevalon General within three minutes of breaking the hypersonic barrier.
Inis’ injuries were extreme, but not lethal, though she was in surgery for five hours to remove her ruined lung, repair her kneecap, and remove the shrapnel. A cloning patch was placed over the stump of her missing finger, of Mars Confederation designed.
The next day.
Inis sat up in the bed, leaning against the pillows, her face was still badly bruised from her ordeal, but she was conscious and aware. Stood around her bed were David, Emilia, Cristof, Gollee, and the rest of Inis’ family. Lysanuh Dilgan had left early in the morning; he had said he had something he needed to do.
“I will be back to work soon, Gods willing,” Inis said lightly, looking around at the relieved and happy faces around her, though some worry and anxiety was still present, Inis’ lips were almost blue, and she was breathing hard, they were still waiting on the clone vat to produce a new lung for her, and until it did, she had to survive with one, and medicine. Kiera looked like she had been crying, “Did they get them? The people who took you?”
Inis shifted uncomfortably, “They got the people who took me hostage…But not the organisers, they stayed in that…Place… In the Ostern,”
Varan frowned and leant closer, “There was nobody left in that structure, we made sure of it, after checking it, we followed the standard procedure and bombarded it, no one inside survived,” Inis’ face brightened slightly, and she nodded, before glancing down at her missing finger, Savar noticed, and said quietly, “It will grow back in a week or so, the technology is quite new, but nowhere near untested, it will be fine,”
Inis nodded, “I suppose so…” She said reluctantly, then looked over at the door as it opened, a doctor entered, he spoke, “The cloned lung is ready, you must leave,” Varan sighed and straightened up, “Alright, everyone, lets go, get well soon, Inis.”
The officer grimaced as she zipped the cuffs shut around the thief’s wrists. She had managed to subdue him after a short struggle, leaving her with a long, shallow cut down her right forearm, and a split lip. Thankfully, her body armour had protected her from the first desperate stab as she had run the criminal to ground. She brushed her long cyan hair away from her sweaty face as she pulled the thief to his feet.
The thief himself was relatively non-descript, average height, short, mousy brown hair, a hard to remember face. He had tried to snatch a woman’s handbag, then knifed her when she wouldn’t let go. The officer had left two comrades to help the woman, while she chased the thief.
“Bitch! Le’ go of me!” The thief yelled, pulling on the restraints. The officer frowned and took him by the arm, leading him out of the alley he had ran into. She stopped; she had heard something behind her. The officer turned to see three people emerging from a door at the side of the alley, armed with automatic weaponry. They quickly raised the weapons, pointing them at the officer. The officer shoved the thief behind her, and turned, pushing him before her, and they opened fire. The officer jerked as bullets rained onto her back. The firing stopped, and the three shooters ducked into cover to reload.
The thief stared at the officer in shock as she dropped to her knees; her hand went to her belt, taking out a small key, which she pressed into the hand of the thief, with bloodstained fingers. She gave a short, spluttering cough, spraying blood down her front. “Run…” She said weakly, and slipped sideways to lie in an expanding pool of blood.
The thief ran, rounding the corner just as the shooters emerged to finish him off, two bullets streaked past him as he escaped round the corner, clutching the key to his restraints, with tears of fear running down his face.
The three shooters moved up, next to the downed officer, “Move her. Now! We need to get out of here,” One of them said quickly, slinging his gun across his back. One of the other shooters nodded, and scooped up the unconscious officer, “Some of the bullets got through her armour, and she is bleeding pretty bad.” He said, putting her across his shoulder. The three of them quickly backtracked down the alley, going through the door they had emerged from, “We can treat her on the truck, but that guy is going to warn someone, we need to move.”
The room they had entered was a garage, they had quite obviously been living in it for a while, there were empty snack wrappers littering the floor, and three rough cots had been set up in the corner, in the centre of the room was a plain white van. The shooter carrying the officer went into the back of the van, while the other two went into the front and started the engine. The garage door slid open, and they drove off.
Inis gave a quiet, pained groan as she woke up. She was lying on her face, and the floor was moving, her arms were restrained behind her back, but that wasn’t what she was concerned about. Her torso felt like it was aflame with agony, and there was a peculiar heavy sensation in the left side of her chest. She could just about hear someone else moving around in the darkness, when a bright light blasted her retinas.
The shooter gave a yell of shock as the officer spasmed on the ground, before grabbing her and holding her down, eventually the spasms stopped, and he continued staunching the bleeding from her back. She began to move again, so he slapped the back of her head and growled at her, “Stop moving, girl.”
Inis froze as she heard the other person speak; she could feel them doing something to her back. She gave a short cough, and felt something splatter against her lips, she opened her eyes a fraction, in the blinding light, to see specks of red on the floor in front of her. At that moment, the other person poured some chemical onto her wounds; Inis shrieked in a blaze of agony, and blacked out from a sudden blow to her head.
A few hours later
Varan Truesight was just sitting down in his armchair when his PDA beeped from across the room. Frowning, he stood up and walked across to it, there was a notice on the screen, /New message received/. Varan sighed and pressed a few buttons on the touchscreen, then blinked in surprise as the PDA informed him that it was a video message. He walked back to his chair, sat down and played the message.
The picture was grainy, but Varan could make out a darkened room, with a chair in the centre, he thought there might be someone sat in the chair, but he wasn’t sure. He saw some movement in the corner of the screen, someone moving in the darkness, then the dull rasp of a light switch being flicked on. Varan looked back to the chair to see that it contained a young woman, with very pale skin and long cyan hair; she was wearing a bloodstained police uniform, though the armour appeared to have been removed. She was cuffed to the arms of the chair, and she seemed to be unconscious, there was blood on her lips, though her chest still rose and fell with breath. On her lap was a small cardboard sign, it read, “Hello, Uncle.”
Varan was shaking with anger, and fear, as another sign was put in front of the screen, “We will be in contact, have money ready” The video ended.
Varan felt sick, and shaken to his core. He turned towards the door, and shouted, “Amy! Get up here!” He dropped the PDA on the table and stood up as a woman walked in quickly, “I am here…” She said very quietly, her hands were shaking slightly. Varan took a step forwards, and hugged her tightly, “Thank god you are safe,” He whispered. Amy looked at him, “Has something happened?” She asked. Varan hesitated for a moment, “Your cousin…Inis…” he shook his head and pointed to the PDA. Amy walked over to it and carefully picked it up, replaying the video. After a few moments, she gave a cry of shock, and nearly dropped the PDA. “Oh Gods…” She whispered, “Oh Gods, oh Gods, oh Gods…”
Varan took the PDA from her and set it down on the table, “Go round and get Savar, and Kiera, they deserve to know.” Amy nodded quickly and ran off. Varan picked up his PDA again, and began searching through his contacts page; a glint of rage flickered in his eyes.
After a half-hour, Amy returned, leading another two people, a man who, like Varan and Amy, had bright green eyes, and a woman, who had grey eyes. Both were very pale as they approached Varan. He held out his PDA to them, and stood up, moving to stand near the edge of the room. Within a few moments, the man let out a short gasp, and the woman clapped her hand to her mouth, both of them looked close to tears. The woman turned to Varan as the video ended, and snapped, “What are you waiting for?! Start collecting funds, this is your fault!” Amy flinched at the harsh tone, and stepped backwards into a shadowed corner. Varan said quietly, “Kiera, you know as well as I do, less than a quarter of hostages are returned alive, we can’t give into them, if we do, we may never see Inis alive again,” Savar slowly dropped the PDA onto the table and said quietly, “If they kill her…We can bring her back, Kiera…You know we can,” Varan shook his head, “No.” Kiera glared at him, “What do you mean, no? She is our daughter!” Varan spoke again, “I have messaged the archives, both the Centres, and the Corporations, Inis’ genetic back ups were wiped, three hours ago.”
The phone rang, everyone fell silent for a moment, before Amy picked it up, “…Hello…” She held it for a moment, then flinched, and held it out to Varan, he took it. “This is Varan Truesight, what do you want?” Varan set the phone to loud speaker, “We want credits, nineteen million, one million for each year of your niece’s life.” “How do I know she still lives? You could have killed her immediately after that video, I already know you wiped her back ups.” There was silence from the phone for a moment, “Very perceptive of you, I see you live up to your reputation, it does not matter, however, you will bring the money to the place I decide, and you will not contact the police, I will know if you do.” Varan barked down the phone line, “She will be at the drop point, alive, if you know me as well as you say you do, then you know I have the connections, and the money, to call down a starship on your location, and if I do not see her there, I will not hesitate to do so.” “I suppose the deal is set then, Truesight, Your niece will be at the swap point, alive, you will deliver the money, or she dies, and her body will be destroyed. We will be in touch.” The phone clicked off, and began droning, Varan replaced it on its stand. He turned to face the rest of the group, “I will begin collecting funds, Savar, I need you to go through Inis’ contacts, see if there is anyone who might be able to help us, we can’t go to the police, any mobilisation from them will be noticed, if need be, I can hire mercenaries for the job,” Kiera glared at Varan, tears streaked her cheeks, “And what job is that? You are going to give them their money, and get Inis.” Savar turned to Kiera, “Kiera…They won’t give her back… She is a threat to them, the only thing we can do is fight them, try and rescue her.” Kiera glared around the room, and shoved past Amy, nearly knocking her over, as she stormed out. Savar turned to Varan as he steadied Amy, “I will go see who I can recruit…If this ends badly…” With that point, Savar left after his wife.
Inis woke suddenly, though she kept her eyes tightly shut, she had moved, now she seemed to be sat in a chair, and her arms were strapped to some thing in front of her. The pain in her back was muted now, though she still had a heavy sensation in the left side of her chest, and it was harder to breath. She opened her eyes a fraction, then opened them fully when she saw that she was in a dimly lit room.
Across the room from her, there were three people, two men, one Tajara, she couldn’t tell the gender, they looked over at her as she pulled on her restraints, “Ah, so she is awake,” Said one of them, stepping closer. He was quite pale, with short, dark brown hair, and a plain face, Inis stared at him in shock, “You!” She shouted, pulling harder on her restraints, panting heavily as she found it harder and harder to breath. The man nodded, “Me,” The Tajara walked forwards, then looked towards the third man, hissing, “We need some thing to send to herrrr Uncle, to demand rrrespect.” The third man nodded, sitting down in a chair in the corner of the room, before raising a warning finger, “Remember, she is worth more intact,” The Tajara nodded, and looked at Inis carefully, he noticed a dull blue glow at her neckline, “Ah…Jewellerrry” He hooked a claw underneath the amulet’s chain and flicked it upwards, so it lay against Inis’ throat. The amulet was a vivid, electric blue crystal, hung on a fine silver chain, surrounded by plastic fittings. The Tajara purred, “Pretty pretty.” He reached for the amulet.
A bright flash of blue shot from the amulet, earthing against the Tarjara’s hand, igniting it. The Tajara threw himself back, yelling as the fire spread up his arm, “Smiles is on FIRRRRRE!” He began slamming his arm against the wall in an attempt to put out the blaze. The third man stood up calmly and took a fire extinguisher from the wall, activated it, and sprayed it over the Tajara. The fire went out immediately as the water smothered it. The Tajara made an angry spitting noise, not dissimilar to the sounds of the water on the flames. He glared at Inis, she smirked slightly, her amulet still lying against her neck. Smiles lunged, slashing her across the face with his claws, cutting three deep gouges from her cheek, Inis screamed. Smiles retreated out of the room, mreowling his misfortune.
The first man picked up a pair of insulated pliers, and carefully lifted the amulet off, over Inis’ head, placing it in a small cardboard box on the table in front of her. The third man quickly sealed up the box, and took it out of the room. The first man placed the pliers down, and walked in front of Inis, “So, you do remember me?” He took a small knife from his belt, and placed its point against the back of Inis’ hand. “You really screwed up our operation, didn’t you? How you even recovered from those wounds I dealt you, I have no idea, let alone how you managed to get off that shuttle without passing out from loss of blood.” He slowly began twisting the knife, applying a small amount of pressure, Inis’ other hand clenched shut, and her face went slightly red. The man began applying more and more pressure to the knife, watching the pain grow in Inis’ eyes. Her whole body shook as the tip of the knife scraped across a bone; the bleeding cuts on her face were forgotten now.
After five minutes of the silence, the knife hit the desk under Inis’ hand. The man let go of the knife, leaving it sticking out vertically from the back of Inis’ hand. He undid the closest strap to her hand, allowing her wrist to move. He carefully took hold of her thumb, and smallest finger, and jerked them upwards, pulling her hand up the knife. Inis couldn’t help herself, she screamed.
Varan waited impatiently in his living room, he was waiting for some people to arrive, and they were already late, he suspected that they had run into trouble at Customs, he thought, the only non-corrupt department on this godforsaken planet. He heard a parcel fall through his letterbox, and frowned, before walking to the door.
The package was a plain cardboard box, unlabelled, Varan’s heart gave a jolt, it must be from the kidnappers, He took the package and carried it into the living room, he could hear something rattling inside. He set the package down on the table, and carefully began to take off the packing tape. He hesitated for a moment, and then opened the box carefully; the inside was filled with a gentle blue glow. Varan’s breath caught, and he slowly took the amulet out of the box, there was a letter with it.
Mr Truesight
This caused my compatriot quite a lot of trouble, if you fail to meet our demands, we won’t kill you niece, well, not right away, we will send her to you, piece by piece.
Have the credits, at the centre of the Ostern wastes, I am sure you know where that is, two days from now, at midnight.
Mr West, Mr Crimson, Mr Smiles.
Varan carefully folded the letter, and put it on the table next to the box, The Ostern wastes…
The Ostern wastes was where, during the War of the Gods, the Followers of the Storm had sacrificed hundreds, if not thousands, in a macabre and horrifying attempt to draw the attentions of their mythical leader. On orders from the House of Electorates, the Devastator, his old ship, had dropped a particle beam on the site, during the war. An entire region reduced to glass, to erase the horrors of war. Rumour had it, you can steal hear the spirits of the priests, chanting their obscene rituals and hear the screams of the dying prisoners.
Varan was sat, staring at the amulet in his hand, running a single finger across the smooth crystal, when the doorbell rang. He heard Amy open the door, and some talking, and soon an entire troop of people marched into the living room.
The first one was quite aged, looking almost as old as Varan himself, though his head was still black, he wore a mixture of black and dark grey clothes, with an empty holster at his waist, though the bulge under his jacket made Varan suspect that Customs weren’t quite as attentive as they should have been.
The second one was younger, and shorter than Varan and the first man. He had dark brown hair, and a very cold face, with a large collection of scars, he wore red and black clothes, similar to those Inis wore as her uniform, he also had a holster halfway down his leg, containing a rather old, ratty looking pistol, but Varan could see that the focusing crystal at the end of the barrel was brand new, and the trigger looked well-worn.
The third one was a woman, the shortest of the four of them, she had dark purple hair, and was barely shoulder height to Amy and the two men, she was wearing a plain blue T-shirt and jeans, though she had a tool-belt slung over her shoulder.
The last man was only a few inches taller than the woman, and his skin was darker than the rest of them, he had dark brown hair, almost black. He was wearing a long black trenchcoat and had a rather angry expression on his face.
The four newcomers, and Amy, sat down on the collection of chairs and sofas in Varan’s living room. Several of them looked both surprised, and shocked, to see the amulet that Varan was holding. Varan slid the paper across the table towards them, without saying a word. They took turns reading it.
The first man spoke, in a thick Russian accent, “So this, you want us to go to this place, and get your niece, da?” Varan took a deep breath, “Yes, I am willing to provide equipment, weapons, money, hell, even orbital support if I have to.”
The First man nodded, “Da, da, how much you paying me, hmmm?” The purple-haired woman glared at him, but he took no notice. Varan responded, “Thirty thousand credits, after Inis is safe.” The man rubbed his chin, “I suppose that will do,” He conceded, it was a generous offer. The second man spoke, “We will need to know the location of this…Ostern? We will be at a disadvantage; they might expect something like this.” Varan nodded, then opened his mouth to speak, but paused as a jangling noise echoed from the corridor, getting louder, “Here is your equipment, and guide,” A tall man walked through the door, his head brushing the ceiling of the old house, he was carrying three large rucksacks, which he set down on the table, he was wearing a forth. Varan made a gesture towards the rucksacks, and the four people began rummaging through them, pulling out a dizzying amount of equipment.
The first man quickly snatched up an odd, elongated assault rifle, as well as a small pack of grenades, while the woman grabbed a thick dossier, with the lettering across the front, VTOL C74 Skyhunter. The second man collected various knives and survival supplies, along with one of the assault rifles. The last man snatched up a pistol, then opened his trenchcoat and began pulling out various plastic components, slotting them together, within a few minutes; he laid a fully assembled sniper rifle on the table. Varan looked at it, then at the man, “Oracle 3525? 7.92? What sort of scope?” He man ran his hand over the rifle before responding, “Class three scope, twenty times magnification.”
The first man snorted, “You won’t get that many shots with that, da? The plastic will deform, an expensive toy,” The last man shrugged, saying, “It gets the job done.”
After the supplies were dolled out, Varan did a quick check to see who had what.
The first man had collected an assault rifle, two spare power cells for it, three packs of grenades, and some basic survival supplies, his personal revolver and a knife.
The second man had his pistol, two pistol magazines, an assault rifle, three power cells, a backup pistol, and a field medical kit.
The woman had taken a pistol, and five spare magazines, as well as the dossier, and a medical kit.
The last man had his rifle, two pistols, a combat baton, and two spare magazines for his pistols.
The first man examined his assault rifle, “Now, Cristof has seen many weapons, but this one is strange, it has no magazine, just a power cell, and it fires projectiles? Da?” Varan nodded, and slid a paper across the table to the man, he read it, “The 792 Hurricane, rail weapon, well that explains the weight…400, or .600, that is useful…” The other man looked at his assault rife with renewed interest. The woman waved her dossier at Varan, “You have one of these?” She grinned greedily, “Where?” Varan gestured over his shoulder, “Out the back, I got it from a military contact; they thought it was disarmed, it wasn’t.” The tall man gestured for her to follow him, and they left to go examine the craft.
“So, who is that tall guy, you said he is our guide?” Lysanuh asked, leaning his sniper rifle up against the side of his chair, Varan nodded, and answered, “His is my nephew, Gollee, Inis’ brother, don’t worry about him slowing you down, he works with the special operations section of the Defense Force.”
Inis blinked in the harsh light, as the door to her cell was opened. She was been lying on a small, wooden cot in the corner of the filthy room; her right hand had been crudely bandaged, though there was still a slow seepage of blood into the crusted dressings. Crimson entered the cell, and walked over to the cot, where Inis lay, pretending to be asleep. He stood over her for a moment, before reaching down towards her right hand, his favoured way of waking her had been to dig his thumb into the wound whenever she passed out. Before he could reach her hand, Inis pushed herself out of the bed, towards him, her good, left hand clawing at his chest harness, trying to get a grip on one of the two, ornate knives that were there. Crimson took a smooth step back, catching her hand easily, before using her momentum to twist it behind her. He held her there for a moment, listening to her cry of surprise, shock, and pain; before shoving her roughly to the side, knocking her head first against the wall, and to the ground. Inis lay on the floor in a heap, panting and gasping; it took her several minutes to recover from the exertion. She slowly climbed to her feet, bracing herself against the wall, before launching herself at Crimson again.
Crimson neatly sidestepped the ill-planned attack, smoothly drawing one of the knives from his chest harness, and with a swift, quick motion, laid open the muscle of Inis’ upper left arm. Inis stumbled at the blow, with a strangled yell of pain. She turned again, and dived at Crimson’s legs, trying to knock him down. He made no attempt to dodge the attack; instead, as he went down, he turned, so he was looking at Inis’ back, and slipped an arm around her throat. Inis stopped moving immediately when Crimson began applying pressure to her neck. With his spare hand, Crimson gripped Inis’ wrists, and twisted them behind her back, before wrapping a zip tie around them. He let go of her throat.
Standing up, Crimson gripped Inis’ long hair, and pulled her to her feet, ignoring the cries of pain, he gestured to the door, from which West and Smiles had been watching, and West walked forwards, and wrapped a dirty strip of cloth around the wound on Inis’ arm, halting the flow of blood. Crimson began to lead Inis out of the room, keeping his grip on her hair.
He pulled her back into the room she had first woken up in, and strapped her into the chair in the centre. Inis glared at him, and noticed, with a slight thrill, that she had managed to split his lip, a minor victory, but a victory nonetheless. Crimson noticed her gaze, and brought his hand to his lip. He looked at the blood impassively, then turned and went to the table along the back wall. Inis strained her neck, but she couldn’t quite see him, she could, however, hear the sounds of metal on metal as he sifted through a large array of tools and devices.
After a moment, the sounds stopped, and Inis heard him straighten, and walk back towards her. When he was stood in front of her, she saw that he had picked up a pair of pliers. She looked at him, and he looked back, then he said, in a conversational tone, “Your friend reacted to this quite well, time to see if you are the same. I am sure the Followers won’t mind one missing finger,” He pressed down on the back of Inis’ left hand, stopping her from moving it, and then took hold of the fingernail on her left ring finger, with the pliers. Inis’ muscles strained as she attempted to pull her arm away, but she lacked the leverage. With a sharp tug, the fingernail was pulled out, with a dull sucking noise. Inis’ breath caught in her throat, and her pupils dilated. Crimson put down the pliers, and took out on of his knives. He placed the edge of the knife just below Inis’ second knuckle; he turned to look at her, “If you scream, I will take a second finger,”
The knife clicked as it tapped the table, Crimson carefully lifted the knife, flicking the blood of the blade, before glancing at Inis, she had turned even paler than usual, and her lip was bleeding from where she had chewed it. He picked up the severed finger, placing it to the side while he wrapped a clean cloth around the stump of her finger. Once that was done, he lifted the finger again, and slipped it through the fittings of a copper chain, which he hung around Inis’ neck. “You did not scream, unexpected, that is enough for now,” He turned and left, closing the door behind him, leaving Inis in darkness. Her head slowly tilted forwards and she hung in her restraints, unconscious.
Emilia dug her finger into her ear and rubbed it around, “Everything sounds odd here,” At that moment, they were 100,000 feet in the air, travelling at Mach three. Gollee shrugged, subtly checking that his seatbelt were still secure, “Different air composition, sounds waves are more compressed here, you will get used to it in a few hours, but you won’t be able to hear as well as an augment,” Much to Gollee’s discomfort, Emilia turned fully around in the pilot’s chair at this, “The hell is an augment?” She asked, not looking at the controls. Gollee gestured towards the flashing control panel, “Do you min…The contr- Oh fine, augments are the people who get themselves genetically altered to fit the planet perfectly, like Inis. They aren’t especially common, not many people like altering themselves that drastically, one of the most basic things the augments do is have their ears elongated to a point, it helps them pick up higher pitched waves.” Emilia nodded, seemingly satisfied, and turned back to the controls; Gollee gingerly released the death grip he had had on the sides of his chair.
The jet gracefully swooped in for a landing, the landing pad sparkling blue as ions ricocheted off of the surface from the thrusters. The jet itself was a heavily armoured avian-like craft, with three laser turrets mounted at various points, and a large rail cannon mounted under the cockpit. There was an assault door mounted at the back, closed at the moment, as well as two of its four thrusters, with the other two being mounted on its wings. The craft itself is a dark, iridescent green, while its thrusters glow a faint blue. It had a bulky, armoured section between the cockpit and the passenger bay, containing the micro fusion generator, according to the dossier.
The other three members of the team were waiting, just off of the landing pad, carrying their equipment. Once the jet had landed, and the men were certain that Emilia wasn’t suddenly going to fire up the thrusters again, they moved round the back of it, and entered.
Once inside, and once they had stowed their packs in the various spare seats, Gollee brought them all into the passenger bay.
“We are going on a flyover of the Ostern wastes, there is normally one every day, and this time we are replacing the normal craft, that way, we won’t be suspicious. We are looking for anything out of the ordinary.” He said, looking from person to person, Emilia was picking at her nails.
David spoke up, “And out of the ordinary is what, exactly?” There was a murmur of agreement from around the bay. Gollee nodded, and said, “Anything structured, the Ostern wastes was subjected to a heavy bombardment, over one hundred years ago, burned the place to glass, it was declared uninhabitable to humans by the government at the time. Any structures, or any patterns we see out there, were likely made by the kidnappers; they have to be holding my sister in the area.”
Emilia frowned, “If there is a flyover everyday, there must be some sort of threat there. Mind telling us?” Gollee sighed, clasping his hands together, with his forearms placed across his thighs, “The Ostern Wastes is close enough to Cevalon for the Followers to attempt to send raiders, either in ones, or twos, across the Wastes, the flyover has to find and eliminate any followers, the sheer size of the Wastes prohibits any real ground action, so we rely on our air superiority to protect the place.” Cristof nodded, and said, simply, “Sounds good, lets go, maybe we can catch a few of your Followers too, da?”
West tipped the bucket of water over Inis, and she woke up with a spluttering yell. West looked at her coldly, then smiled, “You have a visitor,” He gestured towards the door.
In the doorway stood a severe-looking woman, wearing what looked like plain farmer’s garb, but Inis could see that the fabric was much higher quality than the ordinary. The woman had grey hair, tied back behind her head, and she wore a necklace of some grey metal. She looked over at Inis, with a calculating eye. “I remember this one; she has some value to us. The Followers will be willing to barter.” Smiles grinned broadly from the shadows behind Inis, “Hearrrr that? Walkerrrr? Meet yourrrr new ownerrrr.”
The woman’s face stayed impassive, “No agreement has yet been struck, abomination, we are willing to offer five million for the priestess.” Smiles bristled at the insult, but he kept his claws concealed as West responded, “Her family is offering nineteen million credits, you will have to beat that, or we might run into…Problems,”
The woman frowned, “Nineteen million credits? Who precisely is paying this ransom? That is not street money.”
Smiles dug his claws into the back of Inis’ chair, before replying, “The esteemed ex-admirrrral of the Devastatorrrrr, and currrrrent leaderrrr of the metal marrrrket. Varrrran Trrrruesight, This is his niece.” The woman didn’t respond to Smiles, instead directing her attention to Inis, she took a swift step forwards, gripping Inis’ jaw with her left hand and twisting her head around, examining her face. “She is an augment…That makes it difficult to ascertain that what you say is true…” The woman took a small picture out of her briefcase and compared it to Inis’ battered face.
After a few minutes, the woman smiled, released Inis’ face, and straightened, turning to West, ignoring Smiles completely, “It seems that you are correct, though, after those heretical augmentations it is hard to tell, this is Inis Truesight, having her as a hostage will benefit the Followers greatly. I assume the normal procedures have been undertaken?” Smiles nodded, and surreptitiously placed himself between Inis and the woman, “All genetic backups of this one have been wiped, Smiles made sure of it.”
The woman looked at Smiles, and nodded once, despite the distasteful curl on her lips, “We are now willing to offer thirty million credits, on delivery to a secure location, we will provide additional guards to ensure you reach the designated location, they will arrive in a few hours.”
The Skyhunter arced gracefully through the sky, at two hundred feet; it was startlingly close to the ground, but that was necessary for what was happening inside.
“We have ground-pen radar, a recent upgrade to the systems, David, or Cristof, get it online and scanning, chances are they are underground,” Gollee pointed towards a console at the side of the passenger bay, and David walked over to it and began bringing the systems online.
“Contact!” Lysanuh called, he was sat at one of the windows, “Big dust cloud about…Two, three kilometres east,” They all lurched to the side as the jumpjet went into a high velocity turn and swung around to face east. Gollee shaded his eyes from the sun and stared at the cloud. “Looks like... What the hell…” he turned to Emilia, “Track their path, I have never seen the Followers move in numbers like this, a single buggy is rare, but five…” He turned back to the windscreen and stared hard at the vehicles.
After a second, David swung around in his chair, “Got it, their path has them intersect a buried structure, definitely man-made, I can see the rooms,” Gollee nodded, “Emilia, please activate remote control of the underside X-rays, you use the rail cannon, we need to take them out, especially now we have seen them,” Lysanuh and Cristof moved to each side of the cockpit, near the remote controls of the two unlocked X-ray turrets.
Gollee took a breath, “Take them out,” The roar of weaponry was immediate, two of the buggies exploded into ash and smoke instantly, another one was blasted into shards from a hypervelocity rail shell. The two remaining buggies swerved towards the rapidly decelerating Skyhunter and opened fire. The crude projectiles and energy blasts spattered off of the Skyhunter’s armour, as its lasers opened fire again. Two small puffs of smoke signalled the end of the brief skirmish, all that remained of the Followers were ash clouds and the scattered remains of the blasted buggy.
The woman scowled at the voice coming through her headset, West glanced over at her, from his seat, “What is it?” He asked, he had been playing cards against Smiles, and losing. Taking advantage of his distraction, Smiles proceeded to check the cards on the table, before slipping a few up his sleeve. She glared at him, “The government patrol spotted and destroyed the team that was on its way, we are on our own.”
Smiles shrugged, putting down his cards, “We can send those thrrrree we hirrrred to take herrrr, so long as we get paid firrrrst”
The woman sighed, “It seems to be the only option in this case, I doubt this little base you built yourselves will stay undetected much longer anyway, we need to move her,” She wirelessly sent thirty million credits to the one-use account Crimson had set up.
Emilia set the Jet to hover, while the five of them moved into the passenger bay to review their findings. David had brought the scan of the underground structure up on the console; it clearly showed several rooms imbedded two metres below the surface of the glass, with a concealed tunnel to the surface.
“How are we going to get Inis out of there? The moment we are detected, they will kill her.” Emilia said, sitting on one of the chairs in the passenger bay, Lysanuh shrugged, “That is if she isn’t dead already,” Gollee looked at Lysanuh for a moment, then started in surprise as his phone rang. He quickly answered it, he had it linked to Varan’s home phone, so he could hear any new messages the kidnappers sent,
“Someone else has their eye on your niece, a thirty million credit eye, unless you can beat their price… I am afraid you will be getting these messages for a long time… And they won’t be as polite, and civilised as we are.”
“I can up to thirty eight million, twice your first price, just don’t hurt her,”
The phone clicked off and Gollee threw it across the passenger bay, forcing Cristof to duck to avoid being hit. Gollee clenched and unclenched his fists, “We wait until they try to move her, then we take them out while they are mobile. It is all we can do.”
The three gunmen were strapping on assorted pieces of body armour when West entered the room, leading the woman and Inis. The woman was holding a thin plastic lead, which ran to a collar around Inis’ neck. She was almost dragging Inis forwards. When the woman stopped behind West, Inis leant against the wall; she was barely able to stand. The gunmen loaded various pieces of equipment into a buggy and the woman climbed in. She pulled harshly on the lead, causing Inis to stumble and almost fall. One of the gunmen caught her, and helped her carefully into the buggy. The woman turned to stare at the gunman, who looked away quickly. After a few minutes, the buggy was loaded up, and they left through the concealed tunnel to the surface.
West, Crimson and Smiles met up in the central room. Crimson nodded, “The money has been transferred, we are clear to leave, Varan would never have paid us, he would send a team to recover the girl, smart man.” West nodded and pressed a finger against his headset, “Starship Fractal, you are clear to jump us, I repeat, you are c-“ The three of them disappeared in a flash of blue light.
The Skyhunter settled down on the glass plain about two kilometres from the underground structure, the team hurried out of the passenger bay as soon as the thrusters shut down, spreading out over the area between the jet and the structure. David and Cristof concealed themselves in slight indents in the glass, almost invisible from the structure. Lysanuh climbed to the top of one of the surrounding dunes, an inevitable formation from wear on the glass, and sighted his rifle down towards where the scans said the tunnel opened up to the surface. Gollee moved up another dune, closer than Lysanuh’s and took out a pair of binoculars. Emilia activated the cham-coating on the Skyhunter, but kept the thrusters hot, in case she was needed.
All five of them listened quietly as the roar of an engine echoed across the plain, seemingly from nowhere. After a few moments, a buggy drove out of what had looked like a small indent in the glass; it was loaded to capacity with five people. Both Gollee and Lysanuh focused their scopes on the occupants, it was difficult to see them through the dust and smoke the buggy generated.
Gollee spied a flicker of blue on one of the passengers, and focused further, the person was hunched over, pressed into the back of the buggy, her face was obscured, but her hair and skin tone was unmistakable. “She is there! This is our chance!” He shouted over his radio, and took aim with his rifle.
The buggy closed on Cristof and David, and Cristof threw a grenade in front of it. It detonated, forcing the buggy into a sharp turn to avoid the blast. Too sharp, the buggy rolled over as it tried to avoid the grenade, throwing it’s passengers across the glass. One of the armoured men ht the ground head first and stopped moving. The other two were thrown clear and quickly climbed to their feet. The woman and Inis, pressed into the back of the buggy as they were, stayed in as it flipped, becoming trapped underneath.
Gollee David and Cristof fired on the two dazed gunmen, high calibre bullets scything them down, blasting off large chunks of armour before sprays of blood stained the glass. The jet decloaked and lifted off, accelerating towards the crash, Gollee, David and Cristof hurried towards the smoking buggy.
There was a hacking cough from the buggy, “Stop… Right there!” The woman called to the three men, who slowed. The woman had pressed a large muzzled pistol to Inis’ temple. Inis had been knocked unconscious by the crash, but she was better off than the woman. Inis had been pressed far enough into the back of the buggy to stay intact, the woman, on the other hand, had been caught up in the twisted wreckage, several of the warped metal struts had impaled her against the side of the buggy. “Any closer, and she dies, and we don’t want that, do we?” Gollee, Cristof and David stopped. The woman smiled, there was blood on her lips, “Good, now drop your weapons!” After a moment’s hesitation from the men, the woman jabbed her pistol into Inis’ head, eliciting a short groan. The men carefully placed their rifles and pistols on the ground, and stepped away from them. The woman smiled cruelly, and turned her pistol towards the men, when a loud crack echoed across the plain.
The woman’s head detonated, like a rotten melon hit with a stick, all three of the men looked around at the dunes, to see Lysanuh sliding down one of them, discarding his partially melted rifle. Turning back to the wreckage, the three of them began trying to extricate Inis from the wreckage, but it was no use, the roll had twisted the frame too badly. They turned and watched the Skyhunter land about twenty metres west of them, and Emilia hurried out, tool belt over her shoulder.
Emilia kneeled down next to the wreckage that held Inis in place, and quickly began cutting chunks out of it. After a few minutes, a hole a foot across had been made, and together, the men managed to pull enough struts out of the way for Emilia to ease Inis out of the hole.
They hadn’t been able to see from afar, but Inis was in a bad way. The crash had not only knocked her unconscious, but it had also snapped her leg backwards. Cristof hurried to get a stretcher from the jet, while Emilia and David applied what medical supplies they had to Inis’ multitude of wounds.
The injuries they had seen from afar had only been a fraction of the abuse Inis had suffered in the twenty hours she was missing. After getting her back to the jet, a comprehensive medical scan uncovered significant internal injuries, bullet shrapnel, on top of her extreme physical injuries. Her left upper arm had been lain open by a serrated blade, her right hand had been impaled by the same weapon, she had a bullet lodged in her left lung, which had completely deflated, and was beginning to wither, her left ring finger had been severed, then hung around her neck like an obscene trophy.
As soon as they were on board the jet, Emilia ran into the cockpit, and started up the engines, bringing them back to Cevalon at top speed, Mach 15. They were decelerating and landing outside Cevalon General within three minutes of breaking the hypersonic barrier.
Inis’ injuries were extreme, but not lethal, though she was in surgery for five hours to remove her ruined lung, repair her kneecap, and remove the shrapnel. A cloning patch was placed over the stump of her missing finger, of Mars Confederation designed.
The next day.
Inis sat up in the bed, leaning against the pillows, her face was still badly bruised from her ordeal, but she was conscious and aware. Stood around her bed were David, Emilia, Cristof, Gollee, and the rest of Inis’ family. Lysanuh Dilgan had left early in the morning; he had said he had something he needed to do.
“I will be back to work soon, Gods willing,” Inis said lightly, looking around at the relieved and happy faces around her, though some worry and anxiety was still present, Inis’ lips were almost blue, and she was breathing hard, they were still waiting on the clone vat to produce a new lung for her, and until it did, she had to survive with one, and medicine. Kiera looked like she had been crying, “Did they get them? The people who took you?”
Inis shifted uncomfortably, “They got the people who took me hostage…But not the organisers, they stayed in that…Place… In the Ostern,”
Varan frowned and leant closer, “There was nobody left in that structure, we made sure of it, after checking it, we followed the standard procedure and bombarded it, no one inside survived,” Inis’ face brightened slightly, and she nodded, before glancing down at her missing finger, Savar noticed, and said quietly, “It will grow back in a week or so, the technology is quite new, but nowhere near untested, it will be fine,”
Inis nodded, “I suppose so…” She said reluctantly, then looked over at the door as it opened, a doctor entered, he spoke, “The cloned lung is ready, you must leave,” Varan sighed and straightened up, “Alright, everyone, lets go, get well soon, Inis.”
{Adrianna Cross}
The Ex-lover
The nights in Lowell City were always a little sultry, and this one was no different. Down here in the lower districts the ventilation from the high rises created a constant miasma -- a combination of condensation, pollutants and god knows what else that were stinging my eyeballs, making my nose run, and leaving my trench coat damp.
I drove my fist into the man's face again. He spat blood.
The man's name was Yuri Boytsov, or Yuri the Hammer as he was called by his mafia friends, and he was an expatriate from the New Marx Republic. Rumor had it that he had sold some equipment -- three .45 caliber pistols, silencers, some swords, and and a stolen skiff to three men. Just the men I was looking for. I could feel it in my gut.
"Hammer, I want names."
I hammered his face again. There goes a tooth.
"I don't have fucking names!" he cried.
I pulled him up roughly by his neck. There was a window nearby, and I intended to use it. I showed it to him.
"This jar your memory?" I asked him just before putting his face through the glass. He gave out a wordless cry.
"Mister Crimson! Mister Smiles! Mister West! They didn't give me fucking names!"
I showed him the next window.
"They didn't give me fucking names!" he cried. Shit. He was telling the truth.
"How did you contact them?" I demanded, preparing to launch him.
"Th-They contacted me! They knew exactly what I had to sell! They met with me one time, they did not give names, and they paid in cash! I swear to God, I don't know anything else!"
I ground my teeth. Useless. Same as the others.
I angled him towards the wall and sent him sailing head first. He went down like a bag of bricks, knocked out cold.
Those .45s he had sold had killed good men. Honorable men. This was justice.
Smiles, Crimson, and West -- I had bullets for each of them. This was personal. Not only had they shot up my friends, they had taken someone from me; the love of my life, but not before cutting her up a bit and smashing her leg -- her bad leg. I made sure to remember that so that I could make sure they got what was coming to them. It was only a matter of tracking them down.
They were professionals. Got in, took two hostages, and got out; all without a trace. I don't know what made me more angry, the fact that they took her, or the fact that I hadn't been there to protect her. Instead, they tortured her while the man that stole her from me... her her useless prick fiance... just watched, tied to a chair. I would've broken that chair, and their skulls along with it for touching her. That or die trying.
Unfortunately, I wasn't there, so I learned about it the same way everyone else did -- in the papers. In the weeks that followed, the other hostages were rescued; even Inis, who was taken later. But not her. That's why I decided to take this little vacation.
I made my way down the alley. Yuri was the last lead I had left.
Suddenly a thought hit me. Know who could have tracked those bastards down? She could have. Always so fucking smart.
I was lost in that thought, in the bowels some twisted and decrepit alley near Equatorial Avenue when my PDA suddenly gave its usual call,
"TEH LAW!"
I looked at the sender. Not really who I was in the mood to talk to. It read simply, "Dilgan, I need your help."
I replied, "What do you want, Selvion?"
"I want you back at Central Command, ASAP. How quickly can you get here?"
"I'm busy."
"Not too busy for this."
"I'm listening."
"I received a text. It's from Adrianna. Now are you interested?"
I stared at those words and felt that dull, familiar ache enter my chest. One message... she had found a chance to get out one message... and she sent it to him. I remembered the days when that one cry for help would have been her lips calling my name. I would give anything to hear that again.
But that didn't matter right now.
"How quickly can you get here?" Selvion Renworth asked again.
"Ninety minutes."
I made it in seventy four.
The Fiance
After she was taken there came a month of stifling silence in my life. I was on administrative leave, pending a full investigation of the infiltration, Adrianna’s kidnapping, and the top secret information I had divulged in order to save her life. Not only had she been taken from me, it looked like I was on on the fast track to stand in front of a firing squad for high treason.
Still, I didn’t regret a thing. I would do it all again just to save her the pain.
Seth Brode; that was the name of the man that pulled my ass out of the fire -- he took the hit for me, and saved me from the firing squad at the cost of his position and career.
It was because of him that I was alive to look for Adrianna.
I tried to go back to the condominium that she and I shared together, but I couldn’t stay. In its empty rooms I saw a pale reflection the emptiness of my life. I needed to find her, to fill those rooms again.
Her kidnappers had left us nothing and the investigation had hit a dead end. There was no hope...
Until I received the messages.
The first message was a 127 digit string of numbers. The second came days later, and simply said, “I love you. Find me.”
She was alive, and that was all that I needed.
I worked on decrypting it like a man possessed, but made little progress. Eventually the inconsistency hit me. I looked at the time stamp of the second message; it was wrong. It wasn't a time stamp at all, I realized -- it was a cipher, and it had been staring me in the face.
The unencrypted message gave right ascension and declination in a set of galactic standard coordinates.
14h 29m 42.9487s
−62° 40′ 46.141″
Proxima Centauri. Is that where she is?
Every muscle in my body urged me to run for her, to find out, but my brain told me I couldn’t. I might have kept my head thanks to Major Brode, but I was still grounded. I was stuck. Any unexpected moves might put me back under investigation for treason. I needed help. The Renworth name wasn’t getting me very far these days, but I still had connections. It was time to call in some debts. I leveraged a number from one of my contacts and I called it.
Agent Creed was a private contractor. A loyal one. Once he had accepted a job, he would see it through to the end. In addition to his loyalty, he also had a reputation for ruthlessness. I would require both. We agreed on a fee of $500,000 credits plus expenses for the return of my fiancée.
The coordinates I received led Creed to the scuttled husk of the skiff used in the abduction. Inside, Creed found two things of note: Adrianna’s engagement ring, and the corpse of a Tajaran, both of which Creed bagged and brought to me.
Seeing the body, a name rose in my throat along with the taste of bile, “Mister Smiles.”
The Tajaran was male, approximately age 28, and had had his throat cut so deeply that his spinal cord had been severed and his head was hanging by a flap of skin and muscle. The cut was even; surgical in its precision. I had seen its like before when Adrianna cut men open in order to save them on her operating table. This is the first time I had seen her do it to someone else to try and save herself.
"That's right, darling," I thought, "Bleed them. I’m coming for you."
Fortunately, Mister Smiles had been placed in a medical sleeper shortly after death, and had been largely preserved. That meant he was still useful provided he had died knowing where she was going.
An hour after the body had been brought into my office, the MMI containing Mister Smiles' brain had been so thoroughly filled with electrodes that looked more like a pincushion than something that had once been inside a person. Realities were built up and torn asunder inside its cerebral cortex. The pain centers were stimulated. Seizures were induced. The brain was shut down section at a time only to be restarted again. He died a thousand deaths, and it only took a nanosecond. In the end, the information we wanted came streaming out of it in a flood of ones and zeroes.
I looked at the data.
“Sol System. Jovian Moons. Europa. Son of a bitch… of course.”
The Cross Chemical Corporation, headquartered on Europa, was Adrianna’s namesake. It was the empire that her father, Johnathan Cross, had built with his bare hands. It had grown to be the largest supplier of industrial chemicals in the Sol system, and an up and coming player in interstellar trade, in a ruthless campaign of espionage, extortion and murder. Escaping her father and her past had driven Adrianna halfway across the galaxy, and into my arms. And now he had finally come for her, just like she had warned me he would.
She had once told me she would rather die than go back. I prayed to the stars that she could wait just a while longer.
“That’s going to be a problem, Mister Renworth,” said Creed.
“How so?” I asked.
“This mission is now high risk. You will be moving against a corporation in an op unauthorized by Nanotrasen. There will be nothing to protect us. If she’s on Europa at her father’s estate, or in Cross Chemical’s corporate headquarters, she will be surrounded by security; cameras, dogs, cyborgs, and armed guards ready to shoot on sight.”
I grimaced, my mechanical eyes whirring as they focused on the assembled data I had in front of me. There had to be a way. I wondered briefly how many millions Johnathan Cross must have sacrificed to get her back. I would have doubled it, if I could have.
“This is why I’m paying you. Are you saying you won’t do the job?” I asked him.
“I’m saying I can’t do the job. At least not without support. I would need a team. It's a three person job at least. Intel suggests that the girl is wounded. She will slow me down. I will not be able to get her out alone." He paused.
"I'll also need to adjust my fee. One million credits.” he finished.
My vision began to cloud, the lenses of my prosthesis taking on a red glimmer.
“I can get you your fee, but I can’t finance a team; I simply don’t have the liquid assets right now. Most of my accounts are frozen due to the investigation.”
Creed looked down at the brain flayed open on the operating table,
“Well then, I’m afraid this is far as we can go… I will be unable to get her off Europa without support, and you cannot pay men to risk their lives on credit,” he paused.
Dean, I thought; I can count on Dean. For me he would do it on credit. But who else?
After a moment he added, “...Unless you know someone who would risk death to save her for free.”
Son of a bitch.
Lysanuh Dilgan; the man that had her first... the man that broke her heart... the man that wouldn't let her go. She may be mine now, but I could always see that hesitation reflected in the green of her eyes -- that glimmer that said there was a small part of her that still belonged to him and always would, no matter how much she might deny its existence.
I would have sooner seen him dead than worked with him under normal circumstances, but right now I needed him. He would do it; no questions asked.
Maybe I’ll get lucky, and he won’t make it back. After all, it was going to be a dangerous mission, and Dean owes me a favor…
The Rescue
It was the best day of my life. A soft, shimmering light flooded in through the the drapes of my apartment, basking us in a golden glow. I studied face of the man that had just proposed to me; with whom I had just made love -- the man that saved my life.
Selvion Renworth may have once been a handsome man, but fate had robbed him of that as it had robbed us both of many things. Some would have thought him monstrous; where his eyes should have been there was only a sunken set of silver beads with an eerie light emanating from their center. The eyes are the windows to the soul, and those eyes, though monstrous, reflected his more fully than most. Right now they glowed a faint pink; a color that he saved only for me these days.
"I love you." He said, and I knew that he meant it.
A sudden pain made me flinch. I closed my eyes to drown out the pain in my leg. Old wounds? I couldn't remember.
"Adrianna, are you alright?" he asked me.
"I... I'm fine, my love." I replied.
The pain slowly subsided, and I returned to the world.
I opened my eyes to once again look upon him only to find that he had changed. The face of Lysanuh Dilgan looked back at me, his eyes dark and resentful.
"I love you too," I said, though I didn't know why.
He looked at me as a man haunted, a man tortured, and I was his torturer. I knew those eyes well. They were my eyes when--
Time seemed to stand still, images flashing through my mind. A Tajaran with his throat cut wide open, his blood on forming a widening pool; his blood on my hands. A clean cut man in a suit standing over me with a telebaton raised. I was naked, and tied to a chair. The sobs of Janet Fisher and the muffled cries of my future husband rang dully in my ears. The scene leaped into motion, the telebaton swung down, and I let out an anguished scream as the bones of my leg were shattered below the knee.
Pain washed over me like a fire, burning away happiness, love, and memory.
I woke with a start. A stark, dull light drifted in through the windows on a morning much different from that one many months ago. I knew that if I looked outside I would see the pleasure beaches of New Scarsdale, Europa. This was the place of my birth; my father’s house – and now it was my prison for a second time.
During my eight years on the run from father I had often imagined what sorts of horrors would await me should I ever be found. He was not a kind man, and had never been known to let disloyalty go unpunished. The reality was that my return had been acknowledged with little more than a silent nod, and since then I had been left to my own devices. I spent the days locked inside this room; the one I had slept in when I was a child. Perhaps it was enough that I had been returned to his control. Perhaps he couldn’t bring himself to kill me, his eldest daughter, despite having sold his secrets on the open market in exchange for my freedom.
A dull ache still remained in my leg. I pulled aside the sheets that covered me. When I did, I found that my leg was gone and an unwieldy plasteel prosthetic hung from my thigh like a grotesque metal parasite. I found it in this state every morning, but hadn’t quite yet become accustomed to it.
I sat on the edge of my bed looking at myself in the mirror, and how much I had changed from that happy woman that I was within my dream; hobbled, broken and caged.
Minutes passed, and then hours. My only companion was the hum of a security camera that hung in the corner of the room. I thought about suicide, and the release it might bring me, but I had resolved myself to not die yet.
At noon the door slowly opened. It always opened at noon.
I sat, as I knew I was supposed to, and two men silently filed in. The first was a younger man, and the second was middle aged and wore a goatee. They wore suits and sunglasses – father’s men. They were forbidden from speaking with me as they carried out their duties. The provided a change of clothes and then set out to see to the cleaning, one making the bed as the other began to dust the corners.
A meal was brought, and I silently began to consume it.
The door swung open and two more men strode quickly into the room,
“Miss Cross, we need you to come with us. There has been a potential security breach. We’ll bring you to a safe locat-“
Two quick ‘thumps’ in rapid succession, and crimson spray shot out from the face of the man with whom I had been speaking. The other new arrival began to reach for his weapon, but two more muffled shots rang out and he collapsed before he could reach it. I opened my mouth, letting out a wordless utterance of panic, my eyes moving from the lifeless men on my floor to the younger man, the one who had been cleaning -- he had a .45 caliber pistol with a silencer in his outstretched hand. The cables on the security camera had been cut. My eyes wandered to the older man. He spoke first:
“Miss Cross, my name is Creed. We’re here to get you out of here. Selvion sent us. I believe you know my associate.”
The young man did look familiar,
“…Dean?” I quietly asked.
“You're my best friend's fiancée. Of course I'm here,” he replied.
“We need to move. We need to be lifting off in five minutes. That’s approximately how long it should take them to respond to these two dropping off the comms,” said Creed.
I stood up and made my way to the door in as hurried a pace as I could muster. It had been more than a month since I had been allowed to walk freely, and my stride was hobbled by my new ‘leg’.
As we left, I found a third man, also dressed as one of my father’s men, standing guard. He must have heard the shots, so I knew he was with my saviors. As he turned towards me, I instantly knew him. A horrid roiling feeling filled me gut; a mix of longing, regret, and resentment.
“…Lysanuh?”
He didn’t respond, but he didn’t need to. I could see relief below that familiarly pained expression that he wore around me.
“Later,” he said, “We can talk later.”
Creed seemed to know the layout of my family estate better than I did from my childhood memories. He led us towards the eastern servant’s entrance. From there we would descend down to the main concourse separating us from Cross Chemical Corporation’s executive headquarters and the public shuttlebay; where we would make good our escape. We found the exit guarded, but only by one man.
Creed motioned for us to remain hidden and turned the corner, walking towards the man in full view. He signaled for the man’s attention as he came near, and spoke to him in a low tone. The guard glanced aside, and that was all that it took. Creed jabbed his fist into the man’s throat, sending him reeling back and stunning him. With little fanfare, Creed drew his .45 and fired a single round into the man’s temple.
The concourse lay before us after we descended the stairs. It was separated from the beach by a tall concrete wall, but I could hear the waves roiling in the distance. Our pace was frantic as we went across; this was open ground, and we were vulnerable. I struggled to keep up, my prosthetic was heavy and uncooperative, as it always was. We were about two thirds of the way across when I heard the first shots.
Crack, crack, crack!
I spun, trying to see where they were coming from, before I was roughly pulled off my feet by Lysanuh and I knocked my head. My vision reeled. I was pushed down, forced to take cover behind a low concrete planter decorating the concourse. I looked around. It registered numbly to my senses that Creed, Dean, and Lysanuh were all shooting in the direction from which we came.
A hail of gunfire kicked up dirt, tore flowers and shrubbery to shreds, and send Lysanuh ducking for cover as he pressed me down further. Lysanuh was yelling something to me, but I couldn’t hear. Creed ran from cover despite the danger. He was shouting, but the words came as a far off ring,
“Move! We need to move!”
Lysanuh grabbed me by both arms and began to drag me as Dean popped out from his shelter and provided covering fire. Here and there bullets kicked up dust and small pieces of debris as they impacted the concrete around us. I had managed to pick myself up by the time shadow of the shuttle dock fell over us.
“Not… Not much farther now. Is anyone hit?” I heard Dean ask.
“Leg-shot. Not a problem,” said Creed. I hadn’t even seen it happen. He was bleeding from his thigh, though it appeared to have missed major arteries. He seemed to walk without any visible difficulty.
We proceeded down the main corridor of the shuttle bay until we came at last to dock itself; it was a square room, separated from the main corridor by a pair of columns. Three separate doors led to the three different shuttles currently housed at that dock.
No sooner than we had arrived Creed began to bark out more orders.
“Dean, start prepping the shuttle,” he said, and Dean complied.
“Dilgan, I want you guarding our flank. Cross, I want you out of the way. Find a hiding spot. If they catch up with us, stay hidden and stay down. Do not come out no matter what you hear. Is that understood? When we’re ready, I will call for you.”
I nodded numbly, and began to hobble towards one of the vacant shuttles. Dean and Creed went towards another. I looked back at Lysanuh. He was taking a position behind the column closest to my shuttle.
Hesitantly, I spoke my first words to him,
“Lysanuh… I want to thank-“
“Just don’t,” he interrupted.
Desisting, I turned and entered the vacant shuttle. Inside there wasn't much of a place to hide, but I could still stay low. Then at least I would not be visible from the airlock.
My thoughts wandered.
Hiding… I was always hiding; hiding from my past and hiding from my feelings. I waited for Creed's signal. I hadn’t imagined it would take long, but the seconds seemed to stretch into eternity. Any moment now, I was certain, they would catch up with us. If they caught up with us, Lysanuh would die.
I couldn’t let that happen.
Slowly, I crawled out from my hiding spot and pressed the button to open the shuttle’s airlock. It opened silently, and time seemed to freeze.
Lysanuh was still crouched down in cover, ready to protect our flank, and unaware that Dean was standing in the doorway of his escape shuttle with his gun drawn and aimed at Lysanuh's head. Dean, detecting the movement, glanced over.
Our eyes met for a moment, and I gave him a pleading shake of my head.
He blinked, his lips twisting apologetically.
I knew what was about to happen. I moved without thinking, spurring my false leg into action. He shot twice.
A searing pain soared through me as the first bullet that had been intended for Lysanuh entered my abdomen, and then another. I collapsed to the ground, my vision blurring. I looked up and saw Lysanuh, his face twisted in rage.
In silence, I watched my rescuers try to murder each other. Bullets flew. They both dropped and moved, firing blindly, trying to evade as best they could in the close quarters.
Dean’s leg buckled and blood stained the wall behind him. He fell to one knee.
Lysanuh’s shoulder was struck, and his arm flew back. He dropped prone and fired twice more, hitting Dean in the abdomen and arm.
My vision began to fade as I felt a hand roughly grab me by the shoulder and drag me towards the shuttle I had been hiding in. Dean was gone, but a trail of blood led to the opposite escape shuttle.
It became hard to track how long I had been lying on the floor of the shuttle. Had it been minutes or moments? I couldn’t say. Eventually low rumble resonated through the engines, and the pod lurched into motion. Lysanuh appeared, and I was hefted over his unwounded shoulder.
He put me in the copilot’s jump seat. I could hear that he was speaking to me, but the words didn't find purchase.
My wounds no longer hurt, and sleep was coming. I had felt this before.
Far below us, dimly lit, an expansive white sand beach was passing by.
“Adrianna!”
I heard him scream, though his voice sounded far off and vague.
“Lysanuh, we… we made it. We finally made it to the beach... like we promised…”
Darkness came.
Epilogue
Slowly consciousness crept back over me like a rising tide. A droning hum resonated in my ears; the sounds of machinery, and a rhythmic beeping keeping time with the pace of my heart.
My heart. My heart? My heart is beating.
I opened my eyes. I was blinded by the flickering of fluorescent lights. Walls. White walls. White bed. White everything. This is a hospital, I thought numbly. A dull ache came from every part of me. I tried to lift my arm but it was too heavy.
The door opened slowly and a woman walked in. She was wearing white -- a nurse. When she saw me awake she seemed surprised.
"Mrs. Nervat?" she asked me calmly.
I stared blankly. That wasn't my name.
"Mrs. Nervat, can you hear me?"
I nodded weakly.
"Good. Do you know where you are? Do you remember what has happened."
"H-Hospital... I was shot." I replied falteringly.
She nodded, quietly making a mark on my chart.
"Your husband is just down the hall," she said.
...Selvion? I thought.
"He told us about the mugging. He was injured as well, but he is recovering nicely. I'll tell him you've woken up."
Injured...? Lysanuh.
"There are also some members of the UGNF outside. They'll need you to answer some questions."
I replied, my voice faltering and hoarse,
"I... y-yes..."
I struggled with the words that came after, "May I... may I speak with my 'husband' first?"
She nodded, slipping away her pen and replacing my chart.
"Try to get some rest, Mrs. Nervat."
She closed the door, leaving me once more to the hum of the machines and the solitude of my room.
Still alive... the world crumbles around me, but I'm still alive. The Aurora -- soon I would need to go back. I would need to go back and find out what, if anything, remained for me there.
“There are only two kinds of men: the righteous who believe they are sinners, the sinners who believe they are righteous.”
The Ex-lover
The nights in Lowell City were always a little sultry, and this one was no different. Down here in the lower districts the ventilation from the high rises created a constant miasma -- a combination of condensation, pollutants and god knows what else that were stinging my eyeballs, making my nose run, and leaving my trench coat damp.
I drove my fist into the man's face again. He spat blood.
The man's name was Yuri Boytsov, or Yuri the Hammer as he was called by his mafia friends, and he was an expatriate from the New Marx Republic. Rumor had it that he had sold some equipment -- three .45 caliber pistols, silencers, some swords, and and a stolen skiff to three men. Just the men I was looking for. I could feel it in my gut.
"Hammer, I want names."
I hammered his face again. There goes a tooth.
"I don't have fucking names!" he cried.
I pulled him up roughly by his neck. There was a window nearby, and I intended to use it. I showed it to him.
"This jar your memory?" I asked him just before putting his face through the glass. He gave out a wordless cry.
"Mister Crimson! Mister Smiles! Mister West! They didn't give me fucking names!"
I showed him the next window.
"They didn't give me fucking names!" he cried. Shit. He was telling the truth.
"How did you contact them?" I demanded, preparing to launch him.
"Th-They contacted me! They knew exactly what I had to sell! They met with me one time, they did not give names, and they paid in cash! I swear to God, I don't know anything else!"
I ground my teeth. Useless. Same as the others.
I angled him towards the wall and sent him sailing head first. He went down like a bag of bricks, knocked out cold.
Those .45s he had sold had killed good men. Honorable men. This was justice.
Smiles, Crimson, and West -- I had bullets for each of them. This was personal. Not only had they shot up my friends, they had taken someone from me; the love of my life, but not before cutting her up a bit and smashing her leg -- her bad leg. I made sure to remember that so that I could make sure they got what was coming to them. It was only a matter of tracking them down.
They were professionals. Got in, took two hostages, and got out; all without a trace. I don't know what made me more angry, the fact that they took her, or the fact that I hadn't been there to protect her. Instead, they tortured her while the man that stole her from me... her her useless prick fiance... just watched, tied to a chair. I would've broken that chair, and their skulls along with it for touching her. That or die trying.
Unfortunately, I wasn't there, so I learned about it the same way everyone else did -- in the papers. In the weeks that followed, the other hostages were rescued; even Inis, who was taken later. But not her. That's why I decided to take this little vacation.
I made my way down the alley. Yuri was the last lead I had left.
Suddenly a thought hit me. Know who could have tracked those bastards down? She could have. Always so fucking smart.
I was lost in that thought, in the bowels some twisted and decrepit alley near Equatorial Avenue when my PDA suddenly gave its usual call,
"TEH LAW!"
I looked at the sender. Not really who I was in the mood to talk to. It read simply, "Dilgan, I need your help."
I replied, "What do you want, Selvion?"
"I want you back at Central Command, ASAP. How quickly can you get here?"
"I'm busy."
"Not too busy for this."
"I'm listening."
"I received a text. It's from Adrianna. Now are you interested?"
I stared at those words and felt that dull, familiar ache enter my chest. One message... she had found a chance to get out one message... and she sent it to him. I remembered the days when that one cry for help would have been her lips calling my name. I would give anything to hear that again.
But that didn't matter right now.
"How quickly can you get here?" Selvion Renworth asked again.
"Ninety minutes."
I made it in seventy four.
The Fiance
After she was taken there came a month of stifling silence in my life. I was on administrative leave, pending a full investigation of the infiltration, Adrianna’s kidnapping, and the top secret information I had divulged in order to save her life. Not only had she been taken from me, it looked like I was on on the fast track to stand in front of a firing squad for high treason.
Still, I didn’t regret a thing. I would do it all again just to save her the pain.
Seth Brode; that was the name of the man that pulled my ass out of the fire -- he took the hit for me, and saved me from the firing squad at the cost of his position and career.
It was because of him that I was alive to look for Adrianna.
I tried to go back to the condominium that she and I shared together, but I couldn’t stay. In its empty rooms I saw a pale reflection the emptiness of my life. I needed to find her, to fill those rooms again.
Her kidnappers had left us nothing and the investigation had hit a dead end. There was no hope...
Until I received the messages.
The first message was a 127 digit string of numbers. The second came days later, and simply said, “I love you. Find me.”
She was alive, and that was all that I needed.
I worked on decrypting it like a man possessed, but made little progress. Eventually the inconsistency hit me. I looked at the time stamp of the second message; it was wrong. It wasn't a time stamp at all, I realized -- it was a cipher, and it had been staring me in the face.
The unencrypted message gave right ascension and declination in a set of galactic standard coordinates.
14h 29m 42.9487s
−62° 40′ 46.141″
Proxima Centauri. Is that where she is?
Every muscle in my body urged me to run for her, to find out, but my brain told me I couldn’t. I might have kept my head thanks to Major Brode, but I was still grounded. I was stuck. Any unexpected moves might put me back under investigation for treason. I needed help. The Renworth name wasn’t getting me very far these days, but I still had connections. It was time to call in some debts. I leveraged a number from one of my contacts and I called it.
Agent Creed was a private contractor. A loyal one. Once he had accepted a job, he would see it through to the end. In addition to his loyalty, he also had a reputation for ruthlessness. I would require both. We agreed on a fee of $500,000 credits plus expenses for the return of my fiancée.
The coordinates I received led Creed to the scuttled husk of the skiff used in the abduction. Inside, Creed found two things of note: Adrianna’s engagement ring, and the corpse of a Tajaran, both of which Creed bagged and brought to me.
Seeing the body, a name rose in my throat along with the taste of bile, “Mister Smiles.”
The Tajaran was male, approximately age 28, and had had his throat cut so deeply that his spinal cord had been severed and his head was hanging by a flap of skin and muscle. The cut was even; surgical in its precision. I had seen its like before when Adrianna cut men open in order to save them on her operating table. This is the first time I had seen her do it to someone else to try and save herself.
"That's right, darling," I thought, "Bleed them. I’m coming for you."
Fortunately, Mister Smiles had been placed in a medical sleeper shortly after death, and had been largely preserved. That meant he was still useful provided he had died knowing where she was going.
An hour after the body had been brought into my office, the MMI containing Mister Smiles' brain had been so thoroughly filled with electrodes that looked more like a pincushion than something that had once been inside a person. Realities were built up and torn asunder inside its cerebral cortex. The pain centers were stimulated. Seizures were induced. The brain was shut down section at a time only to be restarted again. He died a thousand deaths, and it only took a nanosecond. In the end, the information we wanted came streaming out of it in a flood of ones and zeroes.
I looked at the data.
“Sol System. Jovian Moons. Europa. Son of a bitch… of course.”
The Cross Chemical Corporation, headquartered on Europa, was Adrianna’s namesake. It was the empire that her father, Johnathan Cross, had built with his bare hands. It had grown to be the largest supplier of industrial chemicals in the Sol system, and an up and coming player in interstellar trade, in a ruthless campaign of espionage, extortion and murder. Escaping her father and her past had driven Adrianna halfway across the galaxy, and into my arms. And now he had finally come for her, just like she had warned me he would.
She had once told me she would rather die than go back. I prayed to the stars that she could wait just a while longer.
“That’s going to be a problem, Mister Renworth,” said Creed.
“How so?” I asked.
“This mission is now high risk. You will be moving against a corporation in an op unauthorized by Nanotrasen. There will be nothing to protect us. If she’s on Europa at her father’s estate, or in Cross Chemical’s corporate headquarters, she will be surrounded by security; cameras, dogs, cyborgs, and armed guards ready to shoot on sight.”
I grimaced, my mechanical eyes whirring as they focused on the assembled data I had in front of me. There had to be a way. I wondered briefly how many millions Johnathan Cross must have sacrificed to get her back. I would have doubled it, if I could have.
“This is why I’m paying you. Are you saying you won’t do the job?” I asked him.
“I’m saying I can’t do the job. At least not without support. I would need a team. It's a three person job at least. Intel suggests that the girl is wounded. She will slow me down. I will not be able to get her out alone." He paused.
"I'll also need to adjust my fee. One million credits.” he finished.
My vision began to cloud, the lenses of my prosthesis taking on a red glimmer.
“I can get you your fee, but I can’t finance a team; I simply don’t have the liquid assets right now. Most of my accounts are frozen due to the investigation.”
Creed looked down at the brain flayed open on the operating table,
“Well then, I’m afraid this is far as we can go… I will be unable to get her off Europa without support, and you cannot pay men to risk their lives on credit,” he paused.
Dean, I thought; I can count on Dean. For me he would do it on credit. But who else?
After a moment he added, “...Unless you know someone who would risk death to save her for free.”
Son of a bitch.
Lysanuh Dilgan; the man that had her first... the man that broke her heart... the man that wouldn't let her go. She may be mine now, but I could always see that hesitation reflected in the green of her eyes -- that glimmer that said there was a small part of her that still belonged to him and always would, no matter how much she might deny its existence.
I would have sooner seen him dead than worked with him under normal circumstances, but right now I needed him. He would do it; no questions asked.
Maybe I’ll get lucky, and he won’t make it back. After all, it was going to be a dangerous mission, and Dean owes me a favor…
The Rescue
It was the best day of my life. A soft, shimmering light flooded in through the the drapes of my apartment, basking us in a golden glow. I studied face of the man that had just proposed to me; with whom I had just made love -- the man that saved my life.
Selvion Renworth may have once been a handsome man, but fate had robbed him of that as it had robbed us both of many things. Some would have thought him monstrous; where his eyes should have been there was only a sunken set of silver beads with an eerie light emanating from their center. The eyes are the windows to the soul, and those eyes, though monstrous, reflected his more fully than most. Right now they glowed a faint pink; a color that he saved only for me these days.
"I love you." He said, and I knew that he meant it.
A sudden pain made me flinch. I closed my eyes to drown out the pain in my leg. Old wounds? I couldn't remember.
"Adrianna, are you alright?" he asked me.
"I... I'm fine, my love." I replied.
The pain slowly subsided, and I returned to the world.
I opened my eyes to once again look upon him only to find that he had changed. The face of Lysanuh Dilgan looked back at me, his eyes dark and resentful.
"I love you too," I said, though I didn't know why.
He looked at me as a man haunted, a man tortured, and I was his torturer. I knew those eyes well. They were my eyes when--
Time seemed to stand still, images flashing through my mind. A Tajaran with his throat cut wide open, his blood on forming a widening pool; his blood on my hands. A clean cut man in a suit standing over me with a telebaton raised. I was naked, and tied to a chair. The sobs of Janet Fisher and the muffled cries of my future husband rang dully in my ears. The scene leaped into motion, the telebaton swung down, and I let out an anguished scream as the bones of my leg were shattered below the knee.
Pain washed over me like a fire, burning away happiness, love, and memory.
I woke with a start. A stark, dull light drifted in through the windows on a morning much different from that one many months ago. I knew that if I looked outside I would see the pleasure beaches of New Scarsdale, Europa. This was the place of my birth; my father’s house – and now it was my prison for a second time.
During my eight years on the run from father I had often imagined what sorts of horrors would await me should I ever be found. He was not a kind man, and had never been known to let disloyalty go unpunished. The reality was that my return had been acknowledged with little more than a silent nod, and since then I had been left to my own devices. I spent the days locked inside this room; the one I had slept in when I was a child. Perhaps it was enough that I had been returned to his control. Perhaps he couldn’t bring himself to kill me, his eldest daughter, despite having sold his secrets on the open market in exchange for my freedom.
A dull ache still remained in my leg. I pulled aside the sheets that covered me. When I did, I found that my leg was gone and an unwieldy plasteel prosthetic hung from my thigh like a grotesque metal parasite. I found it in this state every morning, but hadn’t quite yet become accustomed to it.
I sat on the edge of my bed looking at myself in the mirror, and how much I had changed from that happy woman that I was within my dream; hobbled, broken and caged.
Minutes passed, and then hours. My only companion was the hum of a security camera that hung in the corner of the room. I thought about suicide, and the release it might bring me, but I had resolved myself to not die yet.
At noon the door slowly opened. It always opened at noon.
I sat, as I knew I was supposed to, and two men silently filed in. The first was a younger man, and the second was middle aged and wore a goatee. They wore suits and sunglasses – father’s men. They were forbidden from speaking with me as they carried out their duties. The provided a change of clothes and then set out to see to the cleaning, one making the bed as the other began to dust the corners.
A meal was brought, and I silently began to consume it.
The door swung open and two more men strode quickly into the room,
“Miss Cross, we need you to come with us. There has been a potential security breach. We’ll bring you to a safe locat-“
Two quick ‘thumps’ in rapid succession, and crimson spray shot out from the face of the man with whom I had been speaking. The other new arrival began to reach for his weapon, but two more muffled shots rang out and he collapsed before he could reach it. I opened my mouth, letting out a wordless utterance of panic, my eyes moving from the lifeless men on my floor to the younger man, the one who had been cleaning -- he had a .45 caliber pistol with a silencer in his outstretched hand. The cables on the security camera had been cut. My eyes wandered to the older man. He spoke first:
“Miss Cross, my name is Creed. We’re here to get you out of here. Selvion sent us. I believe you know my associate.”
The young man did look familiar,
“…Dean?” I quietly asked.
“You're my best friend's fiancée. Of course I'm here,” he replied.
“We need to move. We need to be lifting off in five minutes. That’s approximately how long it should take them to respond to these two dropping off the comms,” said Creed.
I stood up and made my way to the door in as hurried a pace as I could muster. It had been more than a month since I had been allowed to walk freely, and my stride was hobbled by my new ‘leg’.
As we left, I found a third man, also dressed as one of my father’s men, standing guard. He must have heard the shots, so I knew he was with my saviors. As he turned towards me, I instantly knew him. A horrid roiling feeling filled me gut; a mix of longing, regret, and resentment.
“…Lysanuh?”
He didn’t respond, but he didn’t need to. I could see relief below that familiarly pained expression that he wore around me.
“Later,” he said, “We can talk later.”
Creed seemed to know the layout of my family estate better than I did from my childhood memories. He led us towards the eastern servant’s entrance. From there we would descend down to the main concourse separating us from Cross Chemical Corporation’s executive headquarters and the public shuttlebay; where we would make good our escape. We found the exit guarded, but only by one man.
Creed motioned for us to remain hidden and turned the corner, walking towards the man in full view. He signaled for the man’s attention as he came near, and spoke to him in a low tone. The guard glanced aside, and that was all that it took. Creed jabbed his fist into the man’s throat, sending him reeling back and stunning him. With little fanfare, Creed drew his .45 and fired a single round into the man’s temple.
The concourse lay before us after we descended the stairs. It was separated from the beach by a tall concrete wall, but I could hear the waves roiling in the distance. Our pace was frantic as we went across; this was open ground, and we were vulnerable. I struggled to keep up, my prosthetic was heavy and uncooperative, as it always was. We were about two thirds of the way across when I heard the first shots.
Crack, crack, crack!
I spun, trying to see where they were coming from, before I was roughly pulled off my feet by Lysanuh and I knocked my head. My vision reeled. I was pushed down, forced to take cover behind a low concrete planter decorating the concourse. I looked around. It registered numbly to my senses that Creed, Dean, and Lysanuh were all shooting in the direction from which we came.
A hail of gunfire kicked up dirt, tore flowers and shrubbery to shreds, and send Lysanuh ducking for cover as he pressed me down further. Lysanuh was yelling something to me, but I couldn’t hear. Creed ran from cover despite the danger. He was shouting, but the words came as a far off ring,
“Move! We need to move!”
Lysanuh grabbed me by both arms and began to drag me as Dean popped out from his shelter and provided covering fire. Here and there bullets kicked up dust and small pieces of debris as they impacted the concrete around us. I had managed to pick myself up by the time shadow of the shuttle dock fell over us.
“Not… Not much farther now. Is anyone hit?” I heard Dean ask.
“Leg-shot. Not a problem,” said Creed. I hadn’t even seen it happen. He was bleeding from his thigh, though it appeared to have missed major arteries. He seemed to walk without any visible difficulty.
We proceeded down the main corridor of the shuttle bay until we came at last to dock itself; it was a square room, separated from the main corridor by a pair of columns. Three separate doors led to the three different shuttles currently housed at that dock.
No sooner than we had arrived Creed began to bark out more orders.
“Dean, start prepping the shuttle,” he said, and Dean complied.
“Dilgan, I want you guarding our flank. Cross, I want you out of the way. Find a hiding spot. If they catch up with us, stay hidden and stay down. Do not come out no matter what you hear. Is that understood? When we’re ready, I will call for you.”
I nodded numbly, and began to hobble towards one of the vacant shuttles. Dean and Creed went towards another. I looked back at Lysanuh. He was taking a position behind the column closest to my shuttle.
Hesitantly, I spoke my first words to him,
“Lysanuh… I want to thank-“
“Just don’t,” he interrupted.
Desisting, I turned and entered the vacant shuttle. Inside there wasn't much of a place to hide, but I could still stay low. Then at least I would not be visible from the airlock.
My thoughts wandered.
Hiding… I was always hiding; hiding from my past and hiding from my feelings. I waited for Creed's signal. I hadn’t imagined it would take long, but the seconds seemed to stretch into eternity. Any moment now, I was certain, they would catch up with us. If they caught up with us, Lysanuh would die.
I couldn’t let that happen.
Slowly, I crawled out from my hiding spot and pressed the button to open the shuttle’s airlock. It opened silently, and time seemed to freeze.
Lysanuh was still crouched down in cover, ready to protect our flank, and unaware that Dean was standing in the doorway of his escape shuttle with his gun drawn and aimed at Lysanuh's head. Dean, detecting the movement, glanced over.
Our eyes met for a moment, and I gave him a pleading shake of my head.
He blinked, his lips twisting apologetically.
I knew what was about to happen. I moved without thinking, spurring my false leg into action. He shot twice.
A searing pain soared through me as the first bullet that had been intended for Lysanuh entered my abdomen, and then another. I collapsed to the ground, my vision blurring. I looked up and saw Lysanuh, his face twisted in rage.
In silence, I watched my rescuers try to murder each other. Bullets flew. They both dropped and moved, firing blindly, trying to evade as best they could in the close quarters.
Dean’s leg buckled and blood stained the wall behind him. He fell to one knee.
Lysanuh’s shoulder was struck, and his arm flew back. He dropped prone and fired twice more, hitting Dean in the abdomen and arm.
My vision began to fade as I felt a hand roughly grab me by the shoulder and drag me towards the shuttle I had been hiding in. Dean was gone, but a trail of blood led to the opposite escape shuttle.
It became hard to track how long I had been lying on the floor of the shuttle. Had it been minutes or moments? I couldn’t say. Eventually low rumble resonated through the engines, and the pod lurched into motion. Lysanuh appeared, and I was hefted over his unwounded shoulder.
He put me in the copilot’s jump seat. I could hear that he was speaking to me, but the words didn't find purchase.
My wounds no longer hurt, and sleep was coming. I had felt this before.
Far below us, dimly lit, an expansive white sand beach was passing by.
“Adrianna!”
I heard him scream, though his voice sounded far off and vague.
“Lysanuh, we… we made it. We finally made it to the beach... like we promised…”
Darkness came.
Epilogue
Slowly consciousness crept back over me like a rising tide. A droning hum resonated in my ears; the sounds of machinery, and a rhythmic beeping keeping time with the pace of my heart.
My heart. My heart? My heart is beating.
I opened my eyes. I was blinded by the flickering of fluorescent lights. Walls. White walls. White bed. White everything. This is a hospital, I thought numbly. A dull ache came from every part of me. I tried to lift my arm but it was too heavy.
The door opened slowly and a woman walked in. She was wearing white -- a nurse. When she saw me awake she seemed surprised.
"Mrs. Nervat?" she asked me calmly.
I stared blankly. That wasn't my name.
"Mrs. Nervat, can you hear me?"
I nodded weakly.
"Good. Do you know where you are? Do you remember what has happened."
"H-Hospital... I was shot." I replied falteringly.
She nodded, quietly making a mark on my chart.
"Your husband is just down the hall," she said.
...Selvion? I thought.
"He told us about the mugging. He was injured as well, but he is recovering nicely. I'll tell him you've woken up."
Injured...? Lysanuh.
"There are also some members of the UGNF outside. They'll need you to answer some questions."
I replied, my voice faltering and hoarse,
"I... y-yes..."
I struggled with the words that came after, "May I... may I speak with my 'husband' first?"
She nodded, slipping away her pen and replacing my chart.
"Try to get some rest, Mrs. Nervat."
She closed the door, leaving me once more to the hum of the machines and the solitude of my room.
Still alive... the world crumbles around me, but I'm still alive. The Aurora -- soon I would need to go back. I would need to go back and find out what, if anything, remained for me there.
{Janet Fisher}
A rusty old metal chair sat in the center of a small, square room with a single door, locked from the outside. A flickering lightbulb hanging from the ceiling served as the sole source of light, casting a dim, yellowish glow onto the floor, which was covered with blood. The entire room was filled with the coppery stench of it. The faint echoes of screams permeated the metal walls.
A young woman was strapped into the chair; she had been unconscious for a while now. She was short with a slender frame, and pale skin. She looked to be barely out of her early 20's. Her head hung limply over her chest. Her long black hair was matted with blood. She was practically naked, save for her bloodstained undergarments; the rest of her clothing had been torn off and lay in pieces in a corner of the room. She was bound to the chair by leather restraints that cut into her flesh. Her body was covered in bruises and cuts. Her arms had deep slashes in them, and the pointer finger on her left hand was missing. Her right hand, which was once a high end prosthetic limb, was now nothing more than a smashed piece of scrap metal attached to her forearm. Her robotic right leg had suffered a similar fate.
The door slid open, and a fat man wheeled a surgical cart into the room. He was wearing a bloodstained apron and was whistling a cheery tune. The cart he pushed in front of him had various nasty looking instruments on it, some of them rusty, all of them covered in dried blood. The fat man closed the door and turned his attention to her. He slapped her on the side of the head and yelled at her in a gutteral language. When she didn't wake up, he picked up a bottle of whiskey from the cart, and after uncorking it and taking a swig, poured it over her head. Her eyes snapped open and she cried out as the alcohol burned her wounds like fire.
He yelled at her again to catch her attention, but when she wouldn't look up at him, he grabbed her by the hair and jerked her head up so that she was looking him in the eyes. With her face in the light, it was easier to see her split lip and the deep gash on her cheek. Gritting her teeth, she snarled at the man. He simply grinned back at her with a set of crooked, disgusting brown teeth. He let go off her hair and started whistling again as he reached over to the cart and picked up a pair of pliers. He smiled at her again, and with a sudden jerk, ripped out the fingernail on her middle finger. She threw her head back and screamed.
---------------------------------------------
Apex, the largest of the Eridani Federation's military space stations, floats high above its capital. In its core is contained the nerve centre for all operations executed by the Eridani Federal Navy. Access is restricted, highly so. But below NAVCOM, beyond a guarded hallway lies a command post even more secretive - the command and control centre for the Naval Expeditionary and Special Operations Task Force - NEST.
The sound of a pair of dress shoes echoed through the elongated corridor, coupled with the sound of a pair of military boots quickly marching in tandem. The two guards at the end of the hall immediately straightened up to attention, shouting "Sir!" in unison and saluting the pair of approaching men. The pair itself consisted two very different individuals: one, a taller gentleman, somewhat pale, and clearly aging. His complexion completed by an old-school militaristic hold, gray hair, and a set of Eridani Naval fatigues, carrying three stars arranged vertically on the chest. His companion, in stark contrast, was wearing a navy-blue dress uniform, and carrying a slightly younger complexion and more bulk to his presence. He was a piece very much out of place onboard Apex.
After a cursory clearance check, the doors rose to reveal an auditorium containing a flow of intelligence beyond comprehension; personnel bustling around, exchanging folders and diskettes, the constant crackling of communications ever present, orders being administered and received. The centerpiece of this organized chaos was a large screen showcasing the local cluster of Epsilon Eridani, with a number of locations flashing. The pair walked up, and at the stern request of the fatigued officer, a particular area was highlighted.
The map was that of a dustfield, on the outskirts of which lay a large construct of man and machine. A simple tap on the screen revealed pages upon pages of information -- schematics, reconnaissance images, construction logs, usage logs. There was a highlighted name on the final list, which had been crossed out and replaced by the word "SYNDICATE". A few moments were allowed to marvel at the sight, before a duty-officer directed their attention to a folder.
"Sir, ENV Boundless has just entered bluespace. REDCON 1; two detachments on alert 5; two on alert 20." "Good," the elderly officer nodded, returning his attention to the screen and dismissing the duty-officer. "Lieutenant Brode, as per High Command's..." he halted for a moment, before continuing, "...agreement, with NanoTrasen, a strike force has been dispatched. ENV Boundless will be on station within 5 minutes, at that point, operation Fairway will be greenlit." "Just here to make sure my people get back Admiral, it wont interfere with your operation. Now let's do our jobs and all this will be over with soon," Brode responded.
---------------------------------------------
By the time the ordeal had finally ended, her tormentor had ripped out all of her fingernails with the pliers, then had cut off each of her fingers with a serrated knife. Finally, he had used a circular saw to sever her hand at the wrist, then jammed a syringe full of coagulant into her arm to keep her from bleeding out. With his work completed for the time being, the fat man began putting tools back onto the surgical cart. His apron was spattered with fresh blood. Her blood.
She had screamed the entire time, screamed until her throat was raw and her voice was reduce to a raspy whisper. Now all she could do was whimper pitifully as she stared with horror at the stump that used to be her left hand. She glanced at the bucket on the surgical cart, the one that now contained her severed fingers and hand. The pain was ebbing, but she suddenly felt violently ill. She doubled over and retched, but nothing came out; she had not eaten any food or had any water for days. The retching drew the attention of the fat man, and he slapped her on the side of the head. She wanted to glare at him, shout curses, spit. But she couldn't even summon the strength to lift her head.
The door slid open and the fat man wheeled the cart through the opening. Her vision started to go dark. The last thing she heard before falling unconscious again was the fat man whistling the same cheery tune.
---------------------------------------------
The area of interest pinged a few minutes later, the words "STRIKE TEAM IN POSITION" flashing green by the map. The pace in the room hastened, the radios crackled to life. "...5th, 4th detachments on alert-0, REDCON maintained..." "...Sheppard flight cleared for..." "...negative on last adjustment, maintain..." Another duty-officer hastily walked up to the officers, locking his hands behind his back and standing at-ease, "Admiral, all elements for Operation Fairway are in place and awaiting a green light." The admiral took another moment to marvel at the massive amounts of information at his fingertips, before taking a step back and nodding. "Green light, operation Fairway is a go."
Lieutenant Brode walked up to the screen, taking a cursory glance at the blueprints of the targeted station -- a prison station owned by a Syndicate shadow corporation. Areas were designated beforehand, coded, key points of interest assigned. The area suspected to be the prison wing caught his attention, the cellular construction making this a logical deduction. "How many men are tasked to securing this area?" The admiral deferred to an enlistedman, a Commanding Chief by his rank, "Chief?" "90 soldiers, 3rd troop from the 5th detachment, sir. Callsign Razor." The admiral nodded and glanced back at Brode, who was intently watching the multitudes of green blips approach the station. "Good fighters, I would assume, admiral?" the lieutenant inquired. "The principal will be recovered, lieutenant Brode, I assure you." The dossier of Janet Fisher was displayed above the situational information, designed as "PRINCIPAL: DAWN," the status marked as "Unknown."
---------------------------------------------
Janet regained consciousness some time later; it could have been hours, or it could have been days. She had no way of knowing. Her first thought was of escape. She tugged against the restraints but stopped and cried out in pain when she felt sharp jabs of pain in her chest. Catching her breath,she concluded that they had broken a few of her ribs during the initial beatings. But it didn't matter, as the restraints were too thick and secured too tightly for her to even think of breaking or slipping out of them. Her thoughts raced as she tried to come up with some way to get out, to escape this bloodsoaked hell, but after a while she gave up. She knew that there was no hope for her. She was going to die here. She closed her eyes and accepted it.
As she was waited for death, her mind wandered. Her thoughts turned to her sister. Poor Laura, she had practically raised Janet. They shared more than a bond between siblings, it was almost maternal. She wondered if Laura would ever recover when she heard her little sister was dead. The thought was unpleasant, so she put it out of her head.
Her thoughts turned to her friends. Before she was dragged onto the shuttle, she had watched one of her captors shoot Inis in the leg. She silently prayed to whatever deities where out there that she was alright. She wondered what became of Adrianna. The kidnappers had dropped Janet off at this facility first, and had taken Adrianna somewhere else. She doubted if Adrianna would ever be seen again. Another unpleasant thought. She put it out of her head as well.
She thought of Erec. She wasn't quite sure of what would go through his head when he heard the news. But she knew how he felt about her, and that if there was anything within his power he could do to find her, he would do it in a heartbeat. But she knew that in the grand scheme of things, it would make no difference. She was aware of her state, that she was severely dehydrated and had lost large amounts of blood. She knew that she only had a day or so before she would finally succumb to a painful death. It was inevitable, so she simply accepted it.
The sound of heavy footfalls in the hall outside the door derailed her train of thought. She listened and heard the wheels of the surgical cart squeaking, and a cheery tune being whistled. Gritting her teeth, she steeled herself in preparation for what would happen next.
Suddenly, the floor beneath the chair vibrated. It was only for a moment. She figured it was just a figment of her imagination. Then she noticed that the noises in the hall had stopped. The fat man had heard it too. The floor vibrated again, louder this time, like a muffled thump. It was then that she heard men shouting in the halls, followed by gunfire.
---------------------------------------------
"Emergence from bluespace imminent," a calm synthetic voice echoed through the confined space of a dropship's cargohold. In that cargohold, two rows of soldiers sat, 8 on each side, facing one another. Rifles were seated upright between their legs. Their faces were masked by metal and glass, and the metallic ribs of light combat hardsuits were spread like webbing across their vital organs. Pockets for magazines and equipment, oxygen tanks locked onto their backs. The message was accompanied by a jolt that rocked the entire cruiser. The soldiers simply sighed and adjusted; to them, it was another day at the office.
The squad level radio sparked with communication. "Razor troop, alert-0, maintain REDCON and stand-by." The dropship doors slide shut and the engines started with a quiet, constant rumble. "Standing by to stand by," the third soldier from the right row cracked a joke, which was very quickly shut down by a female voice commanding from the back of said row. "Two-Two-Fox, keep comms clear." "Yes chief," he quickly retreated. The silence was thus sustained.
A short instance later, the engines picked up with increased power and the craft began to move. The quiet hum turned into a steady rumble as the soldiers ran through their final checks, routines and traditions. The chief at the end of the right row unholstered her pistol a quarter from its place of rest on her chest, barely enough to reveal a set of intricate markings engraved into its slide. The engravings were that of an old design razor blade, the digits "2-2-B" marked over the figure. She snapped the pistol back into its holster, raised her rifle, gave it a once-over and rested it on the ground between her legs.
"30 seconds!" the alarm echoed from the dropship crew. In unison, the 16 men stood to a red light, oxygen valves opened, and a steady flow of hyperzine gearing their bodies towards a singular purpose -- combat. With a heavy clunk and a noticeable jerk, the ship clamped onto the targeted station. A few seconds later, a series of explosions echoed through the walls, the closest of which eminating from between their ship and the hull. The two soldiers on point raised their rifles as the doors slid open. With the weighted steps of metal boots, they streamed out into the brightly lit hallway, splitting to the left and right.
"Clear left! Blue left!" "Clear right!" "Rally up, move right!" A stream of orders flowed through the headsets; the organized ballet of clearing an entire prison station had begun. The 16 flowed through the compressed corridors with an ease only applicable to those best trained; two columns stacked side-by-side. A corner, a turn, two people down the next hall. Tactical clothing, armour, weapons -- hostiles. Rifles raised, without a halt the leaders of the formation open fire. Streams of particles struck their marks, the military grade weaponry making short work of targeted personnel. They crumpled and fell, and the formation continued movement.
The unit reached a larger door, an airlock, closed shut. The bolts were quickly located, charges planted as the rest covered every approach imaginable. "Charges set!" "Stack up, split," the order from the squad commander sounds. The chief's team arranges itself in a file on the left side of the door, with the commander's team on their right. "Breaching!"
The explosives slashed through the bolting mechanisms and the airlock hissed open. Down the hall, a row of doors lined the walls on each side; in the middle, three people stood, dumbfounded. Two of them were carrying arms, and they were quickly dispatched. The third, standing a short distance from the closest door to the left, remained stunned and unable to move. "Unarmed combatant!" is echoed through the file, the leader of it hastened his pace to close the gap between him and the apron wearing man. With a hefty swing of his rifle butt, the man collapsed to the ground and was immediately ziptied and picked up by the second soldier down the row.
The columns stopped at the first doors. On the left, the chief was the second man in her team, lead by a teammate commonly referred to as Fox. He waited a couple of seconds before he opened the airlock to his left and turned in, quickly followed by the chief. It was a small room, extremely so; a single chair stood in the middle with a restrained occupant. No threats. "Short room!" the notification rang from Fox's helmet. Only him and the chief were inside, the rest waited outside. "Room clear!"
Chief very quickly turns her attention to the room's sole occupant -- a small woman wearing little in the way of clothing. Her body was covered in multiple cuts and wounds, the most horrific one being her missing left hand. "Fox, grab the door; Echo, we have a casualty!" In response to her orders, Fox set up on the door, rifle pointed down it. The team outside continued movement, with a single soldier, Echo, peeling off and joining the occupants inside. Chief and Echo took a knee in front of the wounded prisoner, with Echo focused on hasty treatment of her many wounds. "Talk to me, Echo," the chief demanded. "Wounds, maltreated, untreated. Severed hand, she's a mess, June." The chief gave a small nod, and tried to catch a glimpse of the prisoner's face. "Come on, we're here to get you out," she encouraged with a subdued tone. When the prisoner slowly raised her head, the face was quickly matched in June's head with that of "DAWN".
"She needs MEDEVAC to Diamon, no way in heck she's surviving on Boundless." The chief stood up, the prisoner's weak gaze following her. "Razor 6, Razor 2-2-Alpha, DAWN located and secured. Critical state, requires immediate MEDEVAC, over." The radio crackled in response, and the chief spun into action. "Echo, Fox, grab her. We're getting her out of here," with the help of the two soldiers, Janet was carefully picked up and the movement towards the initial breach point began.
---------------------------------------------
Janet opened her eyes. She blinked a few times as they adjusted to the bright light. She suddenly realized that she was no longer in the cramped cell, restrained to a chair. She quickly turned her head from side to side, glancing around the room. She found herself lying on her back in a hospital bed in the middle of a white room. She was no longer half naked, and was now dressed in a loose fitting hospital gown. In the place of her left hand was a brand new prosthetic one, and her other prosthetics had been repaired as well. There were several IV drips in her arm. She was still unaware as to where she was, and she began to panic. She began slowly pulling the needles out. The machine she was hooked up to began beeping, and a thin, balding man in a white coat rushed into the room. She looked up at him and quickly asked, "Wh-where am I-I?" "Ms. Fisher," he said, "Please don't do that, you are severely dehydrated, those IVs contain a saline solution!" He took her arm and reinserted the needles, placing pieces of adhesive gauze over them.
"Y-you h-haven't told m-me where I a-am yet," she said, watching the man with distrust in her eyes. "Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot that you were unconscious when you were brought here. I'm Dr. Roberts, and you are in the recovery wing of the Diamon Joint Naval Hospital." "Diamon J-Joint... w-wait, where are w-we exactly?" she asked, her confusion mounting. "We're smack dab in the middle of the Eridani Federation," the doctor cheerfully replied. "Th-the Eridani F-Federation? H-how in th-the... h-how was anyone a-able to find m-me?" "Well, I don't know the exact circumstances leading up to your admission into this facility, so I'm afraid I can't answer that. Don't worry, I'm sure that once you're out you'll be able to get answers to all of your-" The doctor paused a moment and placed two fingers on the headset in his ear, listening to someone speak and answering them. "Yes, everything's fine... she's conscious all right... vitals are looking good... oh? Well, I suppose it would be alright, as long as I'm here to supervize."
Turning to Janet, he said, "It appears you have a visitor, Ms. Fisher. I'll be right outside if you need anything, to leave you two some time alone." He walked to the door and closed it. On the other side, Janet could hear him greeting someone, a woman, she judged by the pitch of the voice. It seemed oddly familiar. Janet began to worry who it was that was visiting her, but the feeling evaporated and was replaced with immense joy when Laura walked through the door. They embraced, tears of relief and joy in the eyes of both.
A rusty old metal chair sat in the center of a small, square room with a single door, locked from the outside. A flickering lightbulb hanging from the ceiling served as the sole source of light, casting a dim, yellowish glow onto the floor, which was covered with blood. The entire room was filled with the coppery stench of it. The faint echoes of screams permeated the metal walls.
A young woman was strapped into the chair; she had been unconscious for a while now. She was short with a slender frame, and pale skin. She looked to be barely out of her early 20's. Her head hung limply over her chest. Her long black hair was matted with blood. She was practically naked, save for her bloodstained undergarments; the rest of her clothing had been torn off and lay in pieces in a corner of the room. She was bound to the chair by leather restraints that cut into her flesh. Her body was covered in bruises and cuts. Her arms had deep slashes in them, and the pointer finger on her left hand was missing. Her right hand, which was once a high end prosthetic limb, was now nothing more than a smashed piece of scrap metal attached to her forearm. Her robotic right leg had suffered a similar fate.
The door slid open, and a fat man wheeled a surgical cart into the room. He was wearing a bloodstained apron and was whistling a cheery tune. The cart he pushed in front of him had various nasty looking instruments on it, some of them rusty, all of them covered in dried blood. The fat man closed the door and turned his attention to her. He slapped her on the side of the head and yelled at her in a gutteral language. When she didn't wake up, he picked up a bottle of whiskey from the cart, and after uncorking it and taking a swig, poured it over her head. Her eyes snapped open and she cried out as the alcohol burned her wounds like fire.
He yelled at her again to catch her attention, but when she wouldn't look up at him, he grabbed her by the hair and jerked her head up so that she was looking him in the eyes. With her face in the light, it was easier to see her split lip and the deep gash on her cheek. Gritting her teeth, she snarled at the man. He simply grinned back at her with a set of crooked, disgusting brown teeth. He let go off her hair and started whistling again as he reached over to the cart and picked up a pair of pliers. He smiled at her again, and with a sudden jerk, ripped out the fingernail on her middle finger. She threw her head back and screamed.
---------------------------------------------
Apex, the largest of the Eridani Federation's military space stations, floats high above its capital. In its core is contained the nerve centre for all operations executed by the Eridani Federal Navy. Access is restricted, highly so. But below NAVCOM, beyond a guarded hallway lies a command post even more secretive - the command and control centre for the Naval Expeditionary and Special Operations Task Force - NEST.
The sound of a pair of dress shoes echoed through the elongated corridor, coupled with the sound of a pair of military boots quickly marching in tandem. The two guards at the end of the hall immediately straightened up to attention, shouting "Sir!" in unison and saluting the pair of approaching men. The pair itself consisted two very different individuals: one, a taller gentleman, somewhat pale, and clearly aging. His complexion completed by an old-school militaristic hold, gray hair, and a set of Eridani Naval fatigues, carrying three stars arranged vertically on the chest. His companion, in stark contrast, was wearing a navy-blue dress uniform, and carrying a slightly younger complexion and more bulk to his presence. He was a piece very much out of place onboard Apex.
After a cursory clearance check, the doors rose to reveal an auditorium containing a flow of intelligence beyond comprehension; personnel bustling around, exchanging folders and diskettes, the constant crackling of communications ever present, orders being administered and received. The centerpiece of this organized chaos was a large screen showcasing the local cluster of Epsilon Eridani, with a number of locations flashing. The pair walked up, and at the stern request of the fatigued officer, a particular area was highlighted.
The map was that of a dustfield, on the outskirts of which lay a large construct of man and machine. A simple tap on the screen revealed pages upon pages of information -- schematics, reconnaissance images, construction logs, usage logs. There was a highlighted name on the final list, which had been crossed out and replaced by the word "SYNDICATE". A few moments were allowed to marvel at the sight, before a duty-officer directed their attention to a folder.
"Sir, ENV Boundless has just entered bluespace. REDCON 1; two detachments on alert 5; two on alert 20." "Good," the elderly officer nodded, returning his attention to the screen and dismissing the duty-officer. "Lieutenant Brode, as per High Command's..." he halted for a moment, before continuing, "...agreement, with NanoTrasen, a strike force has been dispatched. ENV Boundless will be on station within 5 minutes, at that point, operation Fairway will be greenlit." "Just here to make sure my people get back Admiral, it wont interfere with your operation. Now let's do our jobs and all this will be over with soon," Brode responded.
---------------------------------------------
By the time the ordeal had finally ended, her tormentor had ripped out all of her fingernails with the pliers, then had cut off each of her fingers with a serrated knife. Finally, he had used a circular saw to sever her hand at the wrist, then jammed a syringe full of coagulant into her arm to keep her from bleeding out. With his work completed for the time being, the fat man began putting tools back onto the surgical cart. His apron was spattered with fresh blood. Her blood.
She had screamed the entire time, screamed until her throat was raw and her voice was reduce to a raspy whisper. Now all she could do was whimper pitifully as she stared with horror at the stump that used to be her left hand. She glanced at the bucket on the surgical cart, the one that now contained her severed fingers and hand. The pain was ebbing, but she suddenly felt violently ill. She doubled over and retched, but nothing came out; she had not eaten any food or had any water for days. The retching drew the attention of the fat man, and he slapped her on the side of the head. She wanted to glare at him, shout curses, spit. But she couldn't even summon the strength to lift her head.
The door slid open and the fat man wheeled the cart through the opening. Her vision started to go dark. The last thing she heard before falling unconscious again was the fat man whistling the same cheery tune.
---------------------------------------------
The area of interest pinged a few minutes later, the words "STRIKE TEAM IN POSITION" flashing green by the map. The pace in the room hastened, the radios crackled to life. "...5th, 4th detachments on alert-0, REDCON maintained..." "...Sheppard flight cleared for..." "...negative on last adjustment, maintain..." Another duty-officer hastily walked up to the officers, locking his hands behind his back and standing at-ease, "Admiral, all elements for Operation Fairway are in place and awaiting a green light." The admiral took another moment to marvel at the massive amounts of information at his fingertips, before taking a step back and nodding. "Green light, operation Fairway is a go."
Lieutenant Brode walked up to the screen, taking a cursory glance at the blueprints of the targeted station -- a prison station owned by a Syndicate shadow corporation. Areas were designated beforehand, coded, key points of interest assigned. The area suspected to be the prison wing caught his attention, the cellular construction making this a logical deduction. "How many men are tasked to securing this area?" The admiral deferred to an enlistedman, a Commanding Chief by his rank, "Chief?" "90 soldiers, 3rd troop from the 5th detachment, sir. Callsign Razor." The admiral nodded and glanced back at Brode, who was intently watching the multitudes of green blips approach the station. "Good fighters, I would assume, admiral?" the lieutenant inquired. "The principal will be recovered, lieutenant Brode, I assure you." The dossier of Janet Fisher was displayed above the situational information, designed as "PRINCIPAL: DAWN," the status marked as "Unknown."
---------------------------------------------
Janet regained consciousness some time later; it could have been hours, or it could have been days. She had no way of knowing. Her first thought was of escape. She tugged against the restraints but stopped and cried out in pain when she felt sharp jabs of pain in her chest. Catching her breath,she concluded that they had broken a few of her ribs during the initial beatings. But it didn't matter, as the restraints were too thick and secured too tightly for her to even think of breaking or slipping out of them. Her thoughts raced as she tried to come up with some way to get out, to escape this bloodsoaked hell, but after a while she gave up. She knew that there was no hope for her. She was going to die here. She closed her eyes and accepted it.
As she was waited for death, her mind wandered. Her thoughts turned to her sister. Poor Laura, she had practically raised Janet. They shared more than a bond between siblings, it was almost maternal. She wondered if Laura would ever recover when she heard her little sister was dead. The thought was unpleasant, so she put it out of her head.
Her thoughts turned to her friends. Before she was dragged onto the shuttle, she had watched one of her captors shoot Inis in the leg. She silently prayed to whatever deities where out there that she was alright. She wondered what became of Adrianna. The kidnappers had dropped Janet off at this facility first, and had taken Adrianna somewhere else. She doubted if Adrianna would ever be seen again. Another unpleasant thought. She put it out of her head as well.
She thought of Erec. She wasn't quite sure of what would go through his head when he heard the news. But she knew how he felt about her, and that if there was anything within his power he could do to find her, he would do it in a heartbeat. But she knew that in the grand scheme of things, it would make no difference. She was aware of her state, that she was severely dehydrated and had lost large amounts of blood. She knew that she only had a day or so before she would finally succumb to a painful death. It was inevitable, so she simply accepted it.
The sound of heavy footfalls in the hall outside the door derailed her train of thought. She listened and heard the wheels of the surgical cart squeaking, and a cheery tune being whistled. Gritting her teeth, she steeled herself in preparation for what would happen next.
Suddenly, the floor beneath the chair vibrated. It was only for a moment. She figured it was just a figment of her imagination. Then she noticed that the noises in the hall had stopped. The fat man had heard it too. The floor vibrated again, louder this time, like a muffled thump. It was then that she heard men shouting in the halls, followed by gunfire.
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"Emergence from bluespace imminent," a calm synthetic voice echoed through the confined space of a dropship's cargohold. In that cargohold, two rows of soldiers sat, 8 on each side, facing one another. Rifles were seated upright between their legs. Their faces were masked by metal and glass, and the metallic ribs of light combat hardsuits were spread like webbing across their vital organs. Pockets for magazines and equipment, oxygen tanks locked onto their backs. The message was accompanied by a jolt that rocked the entire cruiser. The soldiers simply sighed and adjusted; to them, it was another day at the office.
The squad level radio sparked with communication. "Razor troop, alert-0, maintain REDCON and stand-by." The dropship doors slide shut and the engines started with a quiet, constant rumble. "Standing by to stand by," the third soldier from the right row cracked a joke, which was very quickly shut down by a female voice commanding from the back of said row. "Two-Two-Fox, keep comms clear." "Yes chief," he quickly retreated. The silence was thus sustained.
A short instance later, the engines picked up with increased power and the craft began to move. The quiet hum turned into a steady rumble as the soldiers ran through their final checks, routines and traditions. The chief at the end of the right row unholstered her pistol a quarter from its place of rest on her chest, barely enough to reveal a set of intricate markings engraved into its slide. The engravings were that of an old design razor blade, the digits "2-2-B" marked over the figure. She snapped the pistol back into its holster, raised her rifle, gave it a once-over and rested it on the ground between her legs.
"30 seconds!" the alarm echoed from the dropship crew. In unison, the 16 men stood to a red light, oxygen valves opened, and a steady flow of hyperzine gearing their bodies towards a singular purpose -- combat. With a heavy clunk and a noticeable jerk, the ship clamped onto the targeted station. A few seconds later, a series of explosions echoed through the walls, the closest of which eminating from between their ship and the hull. The two soldiers on point raised their rifles as the doors slid open. With the weighted steps of metal boots, they streamed out into the brightly lit hallway, splitting to the left and right.
"Clear left! Blue left!" "Clear right!" "Rally up, move right!" A stream of orders flowed through the headsets; the organized ballet of clearing an entire prison station had begun. The 16 flowed through the compressed corridors with an ease only applicable to those best trained; two columns stacked side-by-side. A corner, a turn, two people down the next hall. Tactical clothing, armour, weapons -- hostiles. Rifles raised, without a halt the leaders of the formation open fire. Streams of particles struck their marks, the military grade weaponry making short work of targeted personnel. They crumpled and fell, and the formation continued movement.
The unit reached a larger door, an airlock, closed shut. The bolts were quickly located, charges planted as the rest covered every approach imaginable. "Charges set!" "Stack up, split," the order from the squad commander sounds. The chief's team arranges itself in a file on the left side of the door, with the commander's team on their right. "Breaching!"
The explosives slashed through the bolting mechanisms and the airlock hissed open. Down the hall, a row of doors lined the walls on each side; in the middle, three people stood, dumbfounded. Two of them were carrying arms, and they were quickly dispatched. The third, standing a short distance from the closest door to the left, remained stunned and unable to move. "Unarmed combatant!" is echoed through the file, the leader of it hastened his pace to close the gap between him and the apron wearing man. With a hefty swing of his rifle butt, the man collapsed to the ground and was immediately ziptied and picked up by the second soldier down the row.
The columns stopped at the first doors. On the left, the chief was the second man in her team, lead by a teammate commonly referred to as Fox. He waited a couple of seconds before he opened the airlock to his left and turned in, quickly followed by the chief. It was a small room, extremely so; a single chair stood in the middle with a restrained occupant. No threats. "Short room!" the notification rang from Fox's helmet. Only him and the chief were inside, the rest waited outside. "Room clear!"
Chief very quickly turns her attention to the room's sole occupant -- a small woman wearing little in the way of clothing. Her body was covered in multiple cuts and wounds, the most horrific one being her missing left hand. "Fox, grab the door; Echo, we have a casualty!" In response to her orders, Fox set up on the door, rifle pointed down it. The team outside continued movement, with a single soldier, Echo, peeling off and joining the occupants inside. Chief and Echo took a knee in front of the wounded prisoner, with Echo focused on hasty treatment of her many wounds. "Talk to me, Echo," the chief demanded. "Wounds, maltreated, untreated. Severed hand, she's a mess, June." The chief gave a small nod, and tried to catch a glimpse of the prisoner's face. "Come on, we're here to get you out," she encouraged with a subdued tone. When the prisoner slowly raised her head, the face was quickly matched in June's head with that of "DAWN".
"She needs MEDEVAC to Diamon, no way in heck she's surviving on Boundless." The chief stood up, the prisoner's weak gaze following her. "Razor 6, Razor 2-2-Alpha, DAWN located and secured. Critical state, requires immediate MEDEVAC, over." The radio crackled in response, and the chief spun into action. "Echo, Fox, grab her. We're getting her out of here," with the help of the two soldiers, Janet was carefully picked up and the movement towards the initial breach point began.
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Janet opened her eyes. She blinked a few times as they adjusted to the bright light. She suddenly realized that she was no longer in the cramped cell, restrained to a chair. She quickly turned her head from side to side, glancing around the room. She found herself lying on her back in a hospital bed in the middle of a white room. She was no longer half naked, and was now dressed in a loose fitting hospital gown. In the place of her left hand was a brand new prosthetic one, and her other prosthetics had been repaired as well. There were several IV drips in her arm. She was still unaware as to where she was, and she began to panic. She began slowly pulling the needles out. The machine she was hooked up to began beeping, and a thin, balding man in a white coat rushed into the room. She looked up at him and quickly asked, "Wh-where am I-I?" "Ms. Fisher," he said, "Please don't do that, you are severely dehydrated, those IVs contain a saline solution!" He took her arm and reinserted the needles, placing pieces of adhesive gauze over them.
"Y-you h-haven't told m-me where I a-am yet," she said, watching the man with distrust in her eyes. "Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot that you were unconscious when you were brought here. I'm Dr. Roberts, and you are in the recovery wing of the Diamon Joint Naval Hospital." "Diamon J-Joint... w-wait, where are w-we exactly?" she asked, her confusion mounting. "We're smack dab in the middle of the Eridani Federation," the doctor cheerfully replied. "Th-the Eridani F-Federation? H-how in th-the... h-how was anyone a-able to find m-me?" "Well, I don't know the exact circumstances leading up to your admission into this facility, so I'm afraid I can't answer that. Don't worry, I'm sure that once you're out you'll be able to get answers to all of your-" The doctor paused a moment and placed two fingers on the headset in his ear, listening to someone speak and answering them. "Yes, everything's fine... she's conscious all right... vitals are looking good... oh? Well, I suppose it would be alright, as long as I'm here to supervize."
Turning to Janet, he said, "It appears you have a visitor, Ms. Fisher. I'll be right outside if you need anything, to leave you two some time alone." He walked to the door and closed it. On the other side, Janet could hear him greeting someone, a woman, she judged by the pitch of the voice. It seemed oddly familiar. Janet began to worry who it was that was visiting her, but the feeling evaporated and was replaced with immense joy when Laura walked through the door. They embraced, tears of relief and joy in the eyes of both.
