EVE®: Templar One (46 page)

“Its origins are human,” he answered.
“It can be beaten!”

“How?”

“The Joves will know,” he said.
“They can find a way.…”

She sensed that Marcus too was in agony.

“What can I do to help you?”

“You can’t,” he said.
“Jamyl, the Sleepers are still alive.… Those implants … we’re killing them.…”

“What?”

Marcus pushed a neuro-mimetic recording of the
Significance
mission log into the commlink.
Her implants absorbed the data as fast as it traveled through the quantum pipeline, flooding her vision with his memories of the Sleeper civilization.

She screamed, as Marcus had when he saw the horror, and became hysterical.
People were flooding onto the altar to help her, including medics.
A needle pierced her skin, but she ripped it out.

“Destroy the technology,” Marcus warned.
“Do it while he’s distracted.… I can’t hold on for much longer!”

The ice pick returned, and the pain was so intense that her spine arched to an almost impossible angle.
She involuntarily threw herself down the stairs before the altar, coming to rest at the feet of the heirs, who jumped out of their seats in terror as she writhed in diabolical agony.

GENESIS REGION—EVE CONSTELLATION

THE NEW EDEN SYSTEM

The
Significance
was adrift at the Promised Land stargate.
No other ships were in the system.
There rarely were, anyway.
For all of New Eden, this system was a dead end.
There was little reason to come here.

No one could help Marcus now anyway.

I see my old friend Grious was here,
the Other said.
Clearly he was forthcoming about my relationship with your Holy Empress.

Marcus was on his knees, all physical movement incapacitated by the implants in his brain.

“Go to hell,” he stammered, with what little remained of his courage.

I know it well,
the Other answered.
Pity you believed everything that genetic abomination told you.
I had considered sparing your life.

Marcus stood up involuntarily.
No longer in control of his motor skills, he was forced to an instrument panel in the research lab.

Such primitive augmentations,
the Other observed.
Grious remade you in his image.
You should be insulted.

His hands, at the whim of the Other, danced over the volumetric display.
The inert drones aboard the ship suddenly snapped to attention.

Do you know why he never reactivated them?

Marcus heard dozens of servos and metallic irises whir to life.

Because of their determination to not let you harm yourself.

*   *   *

“VICTOR,” EMPRESS JAMYL BREATHED,
utterly disoriented.
“
Victor!
”

“I’m here, your majesty,” she heard him say.

“Cancel the Templar program,” she ordered, helped to her feet by some invisible hands.

“It’s too late for that!”
he answered.

“What haven’t you been telling me?”
she demanded.

“I’ve been trying to tell you that
some
of the prototypes are flawed,” he said.
“You were always unwilling to hear bad news.”

“‘Flawed’ how?”

“They have these strange visions—”

“What
kind
of visions?”

“Apocalyptic dreamscapes and bizarre phobias,” Victor answered.
“All very similar to each other.”

My God,
Jamyl thought.

“What else?”

“Templar Six malfunctioned during the insertion at Pike’s Landing,” he answered.
“Templar One disobeyed orders during the fight … he’s the Caldari test subject.
I think we’re losing him as well.”

More bolts of pain sliced through her; she was now frothing a litany of curses, clawing at her temples so deeply that blood began to drip down her face.

“You have to destroy them!”
she cried.
“
All
of them!”

“Why?”
he pleaded.
“We’ve come all this way!”

“Because we can’t control them!
Can’t you see that?”

“But the technology works!”
Victor pleaded.
“These are prototypes, the next generation will be flawless!”

“There won’t be another generation!”
she spit out.
“You don’t know what they really are!
Victor, listen to me: From this moment on, you must
disobey
my instructions to support the Templars!
Do you understand?”

“Your Majesty!?”
Victor asked, incredulously.

“For the sake of Amarr, do as I say!”
she roared, breathing heavily.
“Grand Admiral Sundara: I
command
you to destroy those prototypes
by any means necessary
.
That’s an order!”

“My lady,” his gentle voice replied.
“I … as you wish.”

“No!”
Victor pleaded.
“We’re so close!”

“Victor, get off that planet or face the consequences!”
she cried.

“How can you do this?”
Victor pleaded.

Marcus screamed just as she was about to answer.

*   *   *

THE DRONES HAD MARCUS PINNED
facedown to the surgical gurney, but were entirely unfamiliar with his new anatomy.
All they could discern was that the cybernetic implants in the exposed hemisphere of his brain were the cause of both his corrupted motor functions and the bursts of pain coursing through his entire nervous system.
Nothing in the medical archives, either on board or in any accessible network in empire space, could have prepared them for this.

But the mandate to save his life was the hierarchal prerogative in their programming.
Doing nothing while he suffered was therefore not an option; that path in their logic was blocked.
As a limited AI, their ability to reason led them to believe that trial and error on a live patient, even if it meant causing immense anguish, lasting physical damage, was the right course of action.

Fully aware of this, the Other varied the source and intensity of the pain flashes, confusing the AI with false positives and leading them to the wrong conclusions about where to cut next.

They couldn’t sedate him, for they needed him conscious to verify motor functionality as parts of his brain were wrongfully excavated around the implants.

Marcus was awake for all of it, fully aware he was being sliced to pieces.

He screamed, but refused to cry for mercy.
It couldn’t last forever.
And deep down, he knew he would not die in vain, for all his secrets were no longer just with the Amarr Empire.

Marcus hoped that good hearts would prevail.

He did his best to die with a smile, just to infuriate the Other, as the drones continued to mutilate him.

*   *   *

EMPRESS JAMYL COULD FEEL HIS SUFFERING,
and sobbed as the life mercifully left him.

As she anguished, her surroundings finally began to set in.
The cathedral altar was utterly desecrated; sweat and blood smeared the stairs upon which she had fallen.
Paladins and medical personnel were in attendance; many were deep in prayer, chanting Scripture as if to ward off the evil they had seen.

No one, she realized, had ever heard or experienced anything like this before.

I want you to take a moment,
the Other said.
To realize what you have just done.

Yonis Ardishapur was standing, hands rolled into tight fists at his side, chin jutting out toward her with an expression of absolute defiance, murmuring as if he was about to face the Demon himself.
The other heirs—Catiz especially—were horrified, undoubtedly wondering if they had just witnessed the complete unraveling of their Empress.

They think you are weak,
the Other said.
You know I cannot allow that.

With as much dignity as she could muster, she rose to her feet.

You will remember none of this.
But they will never forget.

“I will do as you commanded,” Grand Admiral Sundara said, straightening out his tunic.
“I’m sorry, Lord Victor.”

You will beg for my help soon.

The Admiral left the room urgently, and the ghost of Lord Victor vanished.

Suddenly, she couldn’t remember what she asked the Grand Admiral to do.

I’ll be waiting.

31

ESSENCE REGION—VIERES CONSTELLATION

THE LADISTIER SYSTEM—PLANET IV, MOON 4: RÉNEALT

PRESIDENTIAL BUREAU STATION

SOVEREIGNTY OF THE GALLENTE FEDERATION

President Roden avoided the weekly press briefings as much as possible, preferring to leave the unenviable task of facing the nation to his able press secretary.
But today, Federation Hall was packed with media representatives from all six regions, and Jacus was required to man the podium and answer questions.
According to polls, the administration’s approval rating was dropping precipitously, and his political strategists thought some face time with reporters might help stem their losses.
But it was hardly an easy option.
The Federation press corps was notoriously aggressive, empowered and emboldened by a cultural demand for absolute government transparency.
Reducing politicians to molten slag at public events was a competitive sport among journalists here; catching the right lie on camera was the profession’s ultimate jackpot.

But Jacus Roden was a capsuleer and highly intelligent even before cybernetic augmentations made him very difficult to stump.
If he didn’t know the answer to a question outright, a cursory search on any number of data networks accessible to him usually did the trick.
Statements meticulously prepared by advisors were available for him to read in an instant.
That nuance, combined with his stoic personality, was frustrating for the press as well, as Jacus moved effortlessly between questions about his government, the war he inherited, sensitive social topics, economic challenges, and now international affairs.

“Mr.
President, your foreign-policy charter toward the Minmatars is often criticized as lacking direction or purpose.
Do you feel your administration is doing enough to strengthen ties with them?”

Jacus recognized the reporter as Rena Duranse, of the
Placid TriNet.

“History will show that the Minmatars have never had a stronger ally in the Federation,” he answered.
“Our ties remain strong, but we are mindful of their ambitions.
My charter outlines a vision of how to navigate this new relationship.”

“Does your charter include a willingness to escalate hostilities with the Amarr Empire?”
Rena asked.
With so much public resentment about the war, clearly she was trying to bait him into contradicting old campaign promises to bring combat operations to an end.

“It includes many provisions that are confidential by nature,” the President said.
“We will always be strong advocates of peace.
The use of force is always a last resort.”

Jacus’s augmented-reality vision suddenly sprang to life: Mentas Blaque was contacting him directly, in spite of the press conference.
It was urgent:

Mr.
President: All contact with the 626 Recon Element on Pike’s Landing has been lost.

“The Minmatar have shunned Federation assistance in most affairs since you took office,” Rena said.
“How do you explain that?”

They were last reported investigating a dropship of unknown origin.
Specifications inbound.

“They are rebuilding their nation and identity, and we must be respectful of that,” Jacus said, while simultaneously absorbing old imagery of the strange dropship on the surface of Pike’s Landing.
Relative to the complexities of handling a starship in combat, concentrating on several mental tasks at once was trivial.
His mind began exploring the schematics and the mission log.

Undetectable on every frequency except the visible spectrum,
he thought.
It wanted to be found.

“Mr.
President, there are reports that the assistance you’ve offered was conditional on aggressive loan-repayment schedules,” Rena said.
“Is this the reason why relations have cooled?”

“The truth is simply that only so much assistance is welcome before it becomes an intrusive influence,” Jacus answered.
“There is more to our alliance than just arms sales.
Our economies are so tightly interwoven that many of our interests align naturally.
But we can sustain each other without disrupting their cultural renaissance.
So I can see how a foreign policy charter that respects these circumstances can be misconstrued as indifferent.
But clearly, that is not the case at all.”

Rena remained insistent.

“Mr.
President, numerous former Republic colonies were lost since the war began,” she said.
“The sentiment among those regions is that they were abandoned by both their government
and
the Federation.
How do you respond?”

There are no remains at the site of last contact.

“I would respond by saying they are not forgotten,” he answered.
“And that their liberation cannot come soon enough.”

Admiral Ranchel won’t authorize search and rescue without your approval.

“Would you describe this policy as ‘passive’?
” Rena asked, herself now frustrated.
“What are you actually prepared to do for them?”

Rheopectic starship armor,
Jacus thought, taking one last look at the mission log.
No one owns that kind of technology
,
except for the Joves.
And CONCORD.

“If the Minmatar ask for our assistance,” he answered, “we are prepared to do everything we can to help them.”

The 626 were elite SPECFOR commandos,
he thought,
making it highly improbable that lowly Paladins could just make them disappear.

Jacus mentally opened a secure line with Admiral Freeman, patching in Mentas Blaque and Admiral Ranchel.
Then he sent the following message:

SAR mission to recover SPECFOR on Pike’s Landing approved.
Provide full orbital support for surface units.
Secure any military targets of opportunity.

“Why do you suppose they haven’t asked?”
Rena asked.

“I won’t speculate on that,” he answered.
“But I look forward to sitting down with Sanmatar Shakor after he finishes forming his government.”

Admiral Ranchel asked:

Are you authorizing direct hostilities against the Amarr Empire?

While pointing to another journalist in the crowd, Jacus mentally replied:

Confirmed.
Use of lethal force is authorized.
Protect Federation assets by any means necessary and instruct our forces to be vigilant for new enemy clone technology.

“Next question,” he said aloud, his face aglow in the wash of camera lighting.

PURE BLIND REGION—MDM8-J CONSTELLATION

SYSTEM 5ZXX-K—PLANET V, MOON 17

MORDU’S LEGION HQ STATION

The man formerly known as Vincent Barabin is our High Value Individual.
In many respects, the mission is similar to a hostage rescue—except in this case, the HVI is an inert clone.
It is housed within one of thirteen converted HAZMAT transport vehicles containing CRUs, which for you illiterate dirt beaters in the audience stands for Clone Revival Unit.
As of now, this truck farm is lightly guarded and located in the southwestern grid of the colony.
The objective is straightforward: Return the HVI to Mordu’s Legion HQ intact.
Not one scratch!
Or else it voids the damn warranty.
Sergeant Mack’s fire team, callsign “Baseplate,” will be escorting the only noncom, Dr.
Gable Dietrich.
Her role is to identify the CRU containing the HVI and safely extract him from it.
If the mission is compromised for any reason, your fallback mission is to return any of the clones located in that truck farm, dead or alive.
We are sacrificing a great deal for this.
We are not coming back empty-handed.

“How are you holding up?”
Jonas asked.

Gable looked away from the CRU schematics she had been studying for hours.

“You’re not going to ask me if I know how to use a gun, are you?”
she asked.

“No,” he said, stepping inside and closing the door.
“But I will ask if you think you’ll be able to use one of those things when we find him.”

She exhaled deeply.

“I’m convinced it’s standard technology,” she said.
“Regardless of what those clones can do, storage protocols for biosynthetics are fundamentally the same.
I’ve reviewed every industrial model of the last five years.
I don’t know what else I can do to prepare.”

“Then you’ll do fine,” Jonas said, folding his arms.
“I’m sure of it.”

“Thanks,” she said, swiveling fully around to face him.
“But that’s not all you’re here to say, is it?”

Jonas smiled briefly.
“No, not everything.”

“Well, out with it then,” she said, leaning back.
“What’s on your mind,
Captain
Varitec?”

“Your pendant,” he said, jutting with his chin.
It figured prominently around her neck, glistening in the cabin lighting.
“It has to stay out of sight.”

She rolled her eyes, but Jonas waved her off.

“There’s concern you’re an Amarr sympathizer,” he said.
“That you might look to ‘defect’ or cause trouble when we’re down there.”

“That is
completely
ridiculous,” she said.

“You could allay those fears by respecting the wishes of those you’re going to war with,” he said.

“Are you serious?”

“Think about how it looks from here,” Jonas said.
“You were a prisoner at Core Freedom—”

“Did that twit Miles put this thought in your head?”

“—and your life was spared by an immortal Amarr soldier who nearly killed all your rescuers,” Jonas said.
“People are people.
They say things.”

Gable sprang out of her chair and began pacing quickly back and forth.

“I’m not a … I’m so angry I don’t even know what word to use,” she fumed.
“I believe in the
faith,
not the institution.
There’s a difference!”

“But in this case, the institution
is
the enemy,” Jonas said.
“And its faith is an accomplice.
Whether that’s founded or not, it’s understandable.”

“Is it?”
she said.

“Gable, I know you,” Jonas said.
“You’re not going to do anything crazy down there.”

“I’m not?”
she said, pacing furiously.
“How reassuring.”

“All I ask is that you keep your lucky charm out of sight,” he said.
“Please don’t make this more than it is.”

“How can you trust me if you don’t understand what I believe in?”
she demanded.
“I’m a crazed zealot!
I could snap any time!”

“Okay, look, just settle down,” he said, putting up his hands.

“No,
you
settle down and listen to me!”
she demanded, marching up to him.
“I wish I knew what this faith was when I was trapped aboard the last deathtrap you captained.
You have no idea what I’ve been through since then, the nightmares I’ve had over and over again because of that experience.
This is all about … about being macho and fearless and shaking a fist at danger, with no regard for the people you hurt along the way.
You’re the most selfish man I’ve ever met.
That’s always been you, and it always will be!”

She quickly retreated away from him, murmuring a prayer.

“I’m sorry,” she said, clearer.
“That outburst wasn’t me.”

“It’s alright,” Jonas said, looking down.
“You didn’t say anything wrong.”

Gable felt queasy and sat back down.
It felt good to release that tension, but the relief was short-lived.

“I always think about Gear,” Jonas said, stepping into the shadows.

Hearing the name of the former
Retford
crew member tore her heart out.

“I never had a son,” he said.
“I miss him.”

It was the most painful loss of the experience for her as well.
Jonas was quiet for a moment, thinking.

“The way I see things, it doesn’t matter
where
we get the strength from,” he said finally.
“As long as it inspires the resolve we need when it matters most.”