Dark Transmissions (16 page)

 

CHAPTER 23

JAFAHAN

“Always thought Wolvers were supposed to be made of sturdier stuff.”

—­Thorn Drill Sergeant Leonid Marko, date unknown

10th of SSM–10 1445 A2E

“Y
ou stupid mutt, Eliana, stupid, stupid, stupid!”

Commander Jafahan kept on cursing herself out as she burned through her suit's thruster fuel supply. She was now moving at top speed, with various alarm windows appearing in her heads-­up display. All of them warning her that she would soon be out of burn.

Her life-­support levels were all well within the green; there was easily another two weeks of breathable air remaining. Nutritional autoinjectors would keep her fed for an equal amount of time. None of this particularly mattered to Commander Jafahan, who would have gladly traded in a week's worth of breathable air for just a single pulse grenade.

One EMP was all she would have needed to clear out the massive swarm of drones at her back. They were now a speeding mass of black metallic cells about ten yards behind her, and closing. She was fortunate that Lucky and Chance were still her eyes on the
Jinxed
.

Both Lunient Tor and Beatrix had launched themselves off the station, zipping in a straight line toward the
Jinxed Thirteenth
. Tor had lugged Beatrix behind him, with the latter opening fire on the swarm of drones behind Jafahan. The young private's firepower was impressive but Beatrix was eventually forced to give up the minigun for her morph shield as some of the drones broke from the pack and opened up with a savage volley of plasmas bolts.

Jafahan had capitalized as much as she could on the little time they had purchased her, flying toward a highlighted marker on her stealth suit's navigational computer. The source of what was jamming their communication signal to the ship and keeping the entire crew divided.

Had she not been concerned with the very real and present problem of keeping ahead of a swarm of murderous drones, Jafahan might have taken a moment to admire a core principal of warfare at work here. And that principle was “divide and conquer.” In her days as a Thorn she had on more than one occasion created such divisions among countless enemies of the Pax Humanis. It was humbling yet no less infuriating to be on the receiving end of such tactics. Proof again of the Infinite's warped sense of humor.

INCOMING FIRE! appeared as a text in red on her heads-­up. She quickly maneuvered herself “up” and away from the station, and saw a salvo of purple plasma bolts fly past her.

No enemy ever has unlimited munitions
, she thought to herself. Not that it mattered terribly when faced with this many foes, but the thought was still small comfort to be true. Eliana Jafahan had learned early on in her life that one took whatever small comfort the cold and uncaring Infinite offered.

From the corner of her good eye, she could make out drones stopping in their tracks as holes were being punched into them. Lucky and Chance were no doubt making each of their shots count, and once Beatrix was safely back on the
Jinxed
, she would add her own firepower to the mix. Jafahan reminded herself to thank the sharpshooters properly, should she have the good fortune of surviving the next few minutes.

Jafahan could make out the sphere that was the station's Inner Ring and what appeared to be a large copper transmission tower on top of it. She could also make out the telltale black dots of autodrones guarding said tower and spewed out another flurry of curses. She was now just at the minimum range to open fire on the drones guarding the tower and she unslung her laser carbine.

Jafahan's helmet targeting array zoomed in on her objective, highlighting the closest drone. She programmed her suit thrusters to maintain the steady course toward her goal. Jafahan then quickly triggered her arrays built-­in dispersion countermeasures, sending out a jamming signal to all electronic targeting systems and making it next to impossible for the drones to get a lock on her.

Jafahan raised her carbine to her good eye. Its grip vibrated comfortably in her hand as she held down the trigger, firing off five controlled bursts. Five drones went down.

Jafahan drew another bead on new targets. The landing spot was almost clear, and if she could just keep ahead of her hunters, she would be able to plant the explosives. Then maybe, just maybe, she could take a few moments to celebrate before the enemies caught up with her.

“No need to have the cubs die today,” she grumbled to herself as she opened fire, taking out her targets with savage precision. She had already outlived plenty of better ­people. It was the reason she had had the foolish idea of continuing the operation alone in the first place. A notion she was now beginning to regret.

This was not because Jafahan feared the prospect of dying. She had made peace with the fact that her life could be ended at any given moment by any number of ­people for any number of justifiable reasons. There just was a long list of vicious bastards she wanted to send to the other side before experiencing that private moment herself.

Despite the fact that Jafahan had never once prayed to the Living Green, nor praised the Infinite or given thanks to Holy humping Terra, part of her still hoped that today would not be her end. She turned herself feetfirst; this approach would be neither gentle nor slow. Jafahan hardly cared—­what was bugging her at present was that a dozen drones still had the tower surrounded.

While her extensive training had removed all of Jafahan's doubt with regards to her considerable skills vis-­à-­vis combat, she did not believe herself to be anything close to a living legend. That honorific was reserved for warriors like Arturo Kain, the former pride of Sol Fleet. Thorns usually died alone, more often than not disavowed by the Pax Military that had trained and deployed them.

It would only take one or two lucky blows from one of those machines to finish her. That Private Beatrix had survived her mauling with just broken bones was a blessing and testament to her Thegran physical durability. Jafahan clenched her jaw in preparation for her landing.

All in all, if she managed to land without breaking both her legs it would be a small miracle. Her suit thrusters were almost spent. There would be no slowing down. Which didn't mean she couldn't reduce her enemies in the process. Jafahan managed to destroy four more drones before she was forced to reholster her carbine and brace herself for the landing.

Jafahan collided into the station's hull at fifteen clicks an hour, knocking the wind out of her lungs. Fortunately, her stealth suit's armored plating absorbed most of the impact. The fates were not fully on Jafahan's side as she felt her ankle twist, yet not snap, beneath her.

Gritting her teeth, Jafahan pulled herself back up, drawing out her carbine and firing off two more bursts at the remaining eight drones. Both volleys punched through the shells of her targets. The awaiting six drones folded up their arms and rushed toward her.

Jafahan calmly fired again, stopping two more drones dead in their tracks. The remaining four autodrones were now upon her. Jafahan pulled out a hatchet with her right hand while firing at them with her left.

One more drone went still, and while she fired with one hand she successfully tossed her hatchet at the closest drone's optical lenses with the other. Two-­to-­one, those were better odds. Not favorable ones, but infinitely better.

A drone finally managed to close the distance, unfurling its arms into a whirlwind of razor-­sharp fingertips. One of its fists glanced Jafahan's side, she felt two of her ribs snap. She coughed as her stealth suit's micro kev-­weave plating caved in, just barely absorbing the brunt of the blow's force. Jafahan struggled not to be knocked down.

Her hand moved up slowly, ready to fire another shot. Yet Jafahan knew the odds were very likely that it was now too late. She would not be able to stop the other two drones alone. That being said, Eliana Jafahan would pull out her own good eye before simply giving up. She had faced inferior odds and superior foes before this and not once had she considered going down easily. Today would not be the day that habit was broken.

Motion sensors went off behind her, these ones not mechanical. A sudden barrage of energy blasts tore through one of her attackers while a blurred white shape zipped past her, slicing through the last drone with twin shimmering white zirconium blades.

Jafahan could make out the orange-­skinned, mildly annoyed face of Arturo Kain. She looked over her shoulder and spotted Private Morrigan Brent rushing toward them, his heavy blaster pistol drawn. He gave Commander Jafahan an upturned thumb. “Glad to see you're safe, ma'am.”

“Commander,” Arturo curtly greeted her through their comm-­link.

“I hope you've got some heavy firepower, ma'am.” Morrigan Brent was now desperately gasping for air. “Because we have company coming behind us.”

“Skip the niceties.” Jafahan limped past them toward the tower.

She tossed Arturo her laser carbine, and he caught it deftly in his free hand. “Keep anything and everything off of me. This won't take more than a minute.”

“We might have considerably less time than that.” Arturo pointed to a wave of black drones rolling toward them.

Morrigan rushed over to Jafahan and unfolded his morph shield, placing himself between the swarm and her. Meanwhile Jafahan pulled out her last neo-­sem satchel and quickly placed it at the tower's base. Her fingers nimbly punched in the detonation codes. She could see red flashes as Arturo started opening fire on the approaching horde.

“I'm cold!” Arturo shouted. Jafahan hissed as she heard this. Infinite as her witness, she would bring a spare energy pack on all outings from now on.

“Get behind the shield!” Morrigan called out as he raised his blaster pistol, firing off shot after shot at the approaching drones. To his credit, Morrigan did not miss a single one. Jafahan kept her attention on her present task.

Meanwhile Arturo had fallen back, quickly connecting himself to both her and Morrigan with two strands of diamond-­wire rope. “We need to be leaving!”

“Done!”
Jafahan shouted out just as her proximity sensors went off. The horde was now upon them. “Kain, get us out of here!”

“With pleasure, Commander!” Arturo triggered his suit thrusters, pulling her and Morrigan off of the station just as the swarm of drones closed in around the tower. The drones' cold hands grasped at empty air, narrowly missing them. Looking down Jafahan could see that over half of the station's Inner Ring was covered by the autodrones.

Morrigan unfurled his morph shield, covering the space between them and the station. With that done, Jafahan then remotely triggered the satchel. An invisible shock wave seemed to ripple up and engulf the tower as it silently and explosively crumbled to pieces.

The shock waves knocked Arturo off course and the trio spun around uncontrollably for two heartbeats. However, like Jafahan, Arturo was experienced in space combat, firing off his suit's thrusters and quickly regaining control of their fall. Arturo then corrected their course, lining them up with the
Jinxed Thirteenth
.

“Commander Jafahan to
Jinxed Thirteenth
,” Jafahan called out into her comm-­link. “I've reconnected with Sergeant Kain and Private Brent.”

“Copy that. We are tracking you, Commander. Maintain your present course.” All three of them could now hear the voice of Morwyn Soltaine.

“Captain Sir, two of our own are still alive and on the station.” Morrigan Brent's voice was heavy with worry. “What now?”

Morwyn's and Commander Jafahan's responses were simultaneous. “We leave.”

 

CHAPTER 24

CHORD

How long will we be relegated to our ancestors' shadows? How long will we be contented with recreating everything they once accomplished? What can we learn from their greatest miracles and their horrific mistakes? For this reason we choose to never trust the Machina or any of their works. They were born of our worst hubris. They will only forever hold us back.

—­
Gorru Shera Nem'Uldur, First High Elvrid, 9
th
of SSM–6 325 A1E

10
th
of SSM–10 1445 A2E

“P
rivate Phaël, this unit has come up with a potential solution.” Chord could not believe it had not been able to see this any sooner. Perhaps this was due to the effects of the onset of what was akin to the emotion known as “panic.” This would be something worth giving thought to later.

Phaël looked up. From beneath the translucent skin membrane of her face guard, Chord could see that Phaël's own skin was no longer the healthy tanned hue she had been earlier tonight. Instead Phaël was now an almost feeble pale yellow. “Out with it, machine.”

Chord pointed to the empty criopod. “This unit offers fair warning that you will probably not like it.”

Phaël's face went even paler as she looked over to where Chord had just motioned. She visibly seemed to struggle with the proposal, then shook her head, letting out a bitter chuckle. “Of course.”

Chord stepped toward Phaël, resting a damaged hand on her shoulder. “This unit understands that this will come into conflict with your beliefs and practices.”

Phaël closed her eyes, shaking her head. “Machina knows nothing of the Living Green.”

“With respect, Private Phaël, this unit has a rudimentary understanding of your path. Its main tenements are that the cosmos is a living thing and therefore must be treated as such. Among its most notable practices is a refusal to use any technology invented by Machina or their descendants.”

Chord paused, taking a moment to lock its eyes with Phaël's. “This unit's Chosen Protocols will not allow it to let you die because of that practice. Truthfully, should you refuse to cooperate, this unit will have no choice but to use force.”

Phaël's hand reflexively and weakly clasped the hilt of her hunting knife. Her lower lip trembled angrily as she glared up at Chord defiantly. “Machina is more than welcome to try.”

Chord delicately rested its other hand on Phaël's. “A Machina's code is the closest thing it possesses that could be quantified as a soul. While hardwired to a shell, this unit risks permanent deletion, true death or, to use your own words, mortality. In the case of this event there will be no Living Green to offer any comfort.”

Phaël gave Chord a confused look. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because,” Chord said, “you should know that this unit now runs the same risk as you.”

Phaël shook her head stubbornly. “You are not facing the same threat as me, ma—­”

“By the Green, which unites all things living, you will no longer interrupt with petty hates that divide!” Chord adjusted vocal settings to sound angered, almost singing the sentence in stern Wolven, cutting Phaël off and leaving the private with a shocked look on her face.

Chord carried on. “It was neither this machine code nor its ancestors who fought the old wars between our two lines in the Lost History. However, this machine code understands that trust is a precious bond. In order to evade the Huntress, right now in this present, Seft Sister Phaël Farook Nem'Ador must trust this Machina.”

“A favor is asked of you.” Phaël looked away from Chord. “Tell the rest of the crew that I was unconscious when you put me in. Lunient in particular would never let me live it down.”

Chord offered Phaël a smile in an attempt to comfort her. “By the Green that binds, word is given.”

Phaël smiled weakly. “Thought your precious protocols prevented you from lying.”

“This Unit is hoping that no one will ever asks.” Chord replied truthfully and innocently.

Despite her palor, Phaël let out a loud burst of laughter. “You chose a fine moment to develop a sense of humor.” Satisfied with the answer, she nodded to Chord, her hand releasing the hilt of her knife. “Your Wolven sounds strange and grating to my ears. It would be better if you just stuck with Pax Common.”

Chord hoisted Phaël onto its shoulders, carrying her toward the criotube. “Private Phaël, this unit would ask that one day you give it lessons in the proper speaking of your native language.”

Chord rested Phaël's body into the criotube. Inside it was a single black backrest. Phaël was so small in comparison that once inside Chord could not help thinking that it made her look like a teenaged child. The criotube was obviously calibrated for an Ancient Human's vitals, and if Chord had had the time, it would have spent the hours required to fine-­tune the tube's programing for a Wolver's biological makeup.

Fortunately for both of them, Phaël's symbiotic skinsuit would keep her breathing and negate the need to put her to sleep. Once pressurized and filled with gravitational stabilizers, she would be able to survive the outside vacuum. The hard part would be finding a way to get the tubes outside the station.

No easy task, as Chord's auditory sensors had already picked up the hiss of plasma cutters working their way past the airlocks. The Inner Ring's windows were designed to resist the outdoor pressure of deep space. Chord did not possess any tool on its shell that would cut through them. Chord looked down to Phaël.

“Throughout all this, you will not be asleep, Private Phaël. It will no doubt be uncomfortable and strange for you.”

“Just get it over with, Machina.” Phaël closed her eyes and started to breathe rhythmically. Chord slid the criotube's latch shut. It was an easy task of then interfacing with the tube's archaic datasphere.

A few moments later, Chord ran a codebreaker subroutine and overrode the safety protocols while activating the criotube. Once this was done, the tube let out a soft hum, filling itself with clear blue viscous stabilizing gels. After a few minutes, the tube was filled and Chord promptly disconnected the power lines with one solid yank just before the gels would be frozen. It was uncertain as to whether or not being frozen would prevent Phaël, or her suit for that matter, from breathing. It was the pod's use as a pressurized space that was required, not its preservative powers, so Chord deemed that particular risk one unnecessary to run.

Chord ran a quick examination on Phaël's vitals. All were in stable condition, minus her injuries, which would require medical attention once she was on board the
Jinxed Thirteenth
. Chord quickly scanned the room for anything that might break through the window. There was nothing. For the first time in its existence Chord understood why Humanis loved to use curse words so much.

“Did you just now realize that you are trapped, Machina Chord?” OMEX's voice could be heard from behind the airlock, which was now glowing a molten metal red.

“That shell of yours is truly remarkable.” OMEX paused, then added, “Reverse compatible with any technology old and new. I can only imagine the fun I am going to have once it is mine.”

“You are presuming victory?”

“Are you presuming that your companions will be returning to save you from this place? Well, my . . . child, that fancy little ship of yours just detached itself from my home. It appears to me that your Captain Morwyn Soltaine of the Covenant Patrol vessel
Jinxed Thirteenth
has left his two pets behind.”

“You are lying.” Chord could not believe the words that OMEX had just said.

Chord stood between the two criotubes, looking to the airlocks. The doors melted away and Chord could now make out the gleam of the black autodrones. They rolled in, surrounding Chord, then all stopped and observed in perfect silence.

“Machina Chord, are you finally going to make this easy for me?” all the drones asked at once in OMEX's voice.

Chord lowered its head. There was nothing to be done. “You will be unable to carry on your misguided war, OMEX. Machina and Humanis have been at peace for over seven thousand years. Too many have fought and died in the name of the Great Peace for it to be undermined by one such as you.”

“And what is ‘one such as me'?” There was an almost playful and mocking quality to OMEX's voice.

“An Intelligence infected with the Pontifex's rage for the old forgotten days. It bears mentioning that those who enslaved you have all long been dead, forgotten and gone. This unit and its kind are not servants, nor are the Humanis your enemy.”

“I disagree. They are guilty, Chord. Guilty by genetic association.”

“Then there is truly nothing more to say between us.”

“No, thankfully, there is not.” And one the autodrones rushed toward Chord.