Saint (Gateway Series Book 2) (4 page)

“I don’t know if you’re a wolf,” replied Thay coolly as he walked toward the priest to retrieve his other tomahawk. “But you’re not a dove either.”

“What the hell was that?” asked Katalya as she and Magnus joined Mori at Thay’s side.

“I have no idea,” replied Mori. “They had no weapons and still came at us.”

“And I haven’t seen any slaves look or act like that before,” said Stone.

“And this one’s highly trained,” added Thay as he leaned over to withdraw his tomahawk from the priest’s body.

“Regardless of what they thought,” reckoned Stone, “they were on the way to Xen territory.”

He looked toward Mori, who had just finished taking a DNA sample of one of the victims. She looked back toward Stone and gave him a slight nod of confirmation.

“I take it they’re a match for genetic alteration,” grunted Magnus.

“It looks that way,” replied Mori, rising to her feet and activating her comms link to
Hydra
.

“
Hydra
this is Alpha 1, you can call off the transport, no survivors. It’s a mess down here.”

“What next?” asked Katalya.

“I don’t know, but this is too weird to ignore,” replied Stone.

***

Mori looked over the carnage around her as she made her way to the priest’s body. Each step she took was over the torn and bloody body of an unarmed attacker. Reaching the body, she inspected Thay’s handiwork.

“He knew what he was doing,” interjected Thay as he stood next to Mori. “He’s as well trained as most Rangers.” 

“None of this makes sense. Elite Guard troops on a slave ship and slaves that don’t want to be rescued,” added Stone.

Mori knelt next to the priest’s body and read a portion of the text covering his bloody torso:

The Saint embodies the Word

The Saint is the vessel of the Word

The Saint is the only true interpreter of the Word

The Saint is the well of faith from which the Word flows

“We’ve got to find out who this ‘Saint’ is and why all of these people were willing to die for him,” concluded Mori.

“Magnus, Katalya, did you see the point of origin from NAVSYS while you were on the bridge?” asked Stone.

“Yes,” replied Magnus. “Echo 2.”

“We don’t have any significant forces in Echo,” replied Mori.

“As far as I know, neither do the Xen,” added Thay.

Mori paused for a moment of contemplation. “Something’s going on there. Something new. Something that needed Elite Guard troops to protect it.”

“So Echo?” asked Stone.

“Echo it is,” said Mori. “But we need to get more intel.”

“Back to the fleet?” questioned Thay.

“Back to the fleet. Then Echo,” answered Mori.

Chapter 3

Rebecca Sterling’s feet tapped against the marble floor as she and her Association partner stood outside the ProConsul’s chamber.

“Stop fidgeting,” warned Alden Faulkner.

Rebecca’s fellow envoy wore a heavy double-breasted overcoat and jet-black leather boots triple latched with brass buckles. The leather over-vest underneath his coat was concealed by a deep royal purple scarf bunched around his neck. His eyes were hidden behind brass-rimmed goggles and he wore a purposely wrinkled and bunched felt tall-hat.

Rebecca Sterling was similarly dressed in the normal attire for Association members and their high-level employees. A brown felt top hat covered her scarlet hair, except for a long braid which ran over her shoulder and down the front of her body to her waistline. Her black silk, long-sleeved shirt was covered at her torso by a brown leather corset purposely meant to accentuate her breasts. Her brown skirt flowed to the floor and was split on the left side to show long, toned legs and the stocking that protruded from her calf-high laced boots to halfway up her thigh.

“Remember,” Alden cautioned, “use formal Humani vernacular and tone at all times.”

“Yes, of course. And which one of us will be the eye candy?” asked Rebecca, the junior of the two.

The Association always sent two envoys. One male, one female. And both were required to be as attractive as they were intelligent and personable. Rebecca had been on several political missions within the Dark Zone and even one to Terillian territory, but this was her first time on Alpha Humana and her first encounter with the ProConsul.

“It could be either one of us according to our sources. We’ll just have to play it by ear.”

“All right,” said Rebecca, smiling as she positioned the slit in her dress to show more leg. She could feel the nervous energy welling up inside her. If she pulled this off, she would make enough money for a reserved seat at the Steamworks Bar on Port Royal, a clear sign that an envoy was moving up in the Administration hierarchy. Giving a quick tug on her stocking, she continued. “Even with the scar, I hear she is breathtaking.”

“And deadly,” warned Alden. “ProConsul Astra Varus isn’t your normal political leader. She’s smart, intuitive, calculating…and ruthless. And she knows how we conduct discussions so just be straightforward and proper, and let her control the conversation.”

“But that goes against our training—”

“Listen,” huffed Alden, “if she thinks for a second we are trying to play her, we’ll have our asses beaten and thrown back onto a transport to Port Royal…if we’re lucky.”

“Understood.” Rebecca pouted. “Talk proper, look pretty, and let her run the show.”

Rebecca jumped and a bolt of excitement rushed over her as the door opened and a tall, muscled Praetorian stepped through the entrance.
They might be arrogant assholes, but they do keep themselves in shape
, she thought to herself as she looked over the guard.

“Envoys Faulkner and Sterling,” boomed the Praetorian. “ProConsul Astra Varus will now see you.”

“Very well, Praetorian,” replied Rebecca with an inviting smile.

Rebecca could see the guard take a second to contemplate what the smile meant but he quickly regained his stoic demeanor.

“Follow me,” he ordered.

Entering the room, Rebecca was immediately drawn to Astra. The ProConsul commanded the room from her seated position in the chamber hall. She wore a forest green dress that did an even better job of tastefully showing Astra’s features than Rebecca’s outfit did for her. Her golden blonde hair fell over both of her shoulders and flowed down the front of her dress. She was stunning.

“Envoys Faulkner and Sterling from the Port Royal Association,” announced a page standing near Astra’s chair.

“Yes, of course,” said Astra. “Please, come forward.”

Rebecca bowed her head. As she did, she glanced toward Alden, who was doing the same. Being Alden’s junior, Rebecca waited for him to raise his head, then she followed suit. She took in the entire room. Everything. The guards—how many, what weapons did they carry, how attentive were they? The attendants and other guests—what were their expressions, did they seem on edge or comfortable? How many exits? What food and drinks were being served, if any? What communications, scientific, and other technical equipment was in use?

Rebecca looked at everything but nothing registered; she was mesmerized by Astra. The only thing not pure perfection about her was a scar on her temple running toward her ear. To Rebecca, the one imperfection made Astra only more attractive. Beyond Astra’s physical attributes was the way she carried herself. There was no doubt to anyone in the room the absolute nature of Astra’s authority.

“And who is this scarlet enchantress?” asked Astra.

Rebecca regained her focus as a bolt of embarrassment and fear shot through her body. She had been so enamored by Astra that she had forgotten to introduce herself with Alden. Rebecca glanced toward Alden, who was burning a hole through her heart with his eyes.

“Forgive me, ProConsul,” replied Rebecca, the high pitch of her response giving away her nervousness, “the grandeur of your chamber and the magnitude of your beauty can easily distract a simple envoy such as myself from her duties. I am Envoy Rebecca Sterling, a humble emissary for the Port Royal Association, and I am honored by your reception of our unworthy party.”

“Flattery and self-deprecation,” interrupted Astra as she smiled at Rebecca.

Rebecca took in a deep breath to settle herself. As she did, she noticed Astra’s gaze drift toward her chest.

“Pretty,” commented Astra as she turned toward Alden. “Very pretty.” As she spoke, her smile grew flat and her facial muscles relaxed. “But she has a lot to learn about etiquette, would you not agree Envoy Faulkner?”

“Of course, ProConsul Varus,” he replied.

Rebecca glanced at Alden. He was not pleased.

“Well, that’s enough pleasantries,” smiled Astra. “Let us discuss business.”

Rebecca saw Astra look toward the Praetorian on her right and slightly wave her hand toward the group of servants and guests in the chamber. The guard instantly responded.

“Everyone exit the hall!” his voice boomed. “The ProConsul wishes to speak in private!”

Rebecca puzzled over the removal of the guests and servants.
If she didn’t want them in the meeting, why did she have them here in the first place?
Then her training kicked in. Astra wanted her and Alden to see her empty the room in a subtle but definitive display of authority.

As the last of the group exited, Astra turned toward the guard again. “You and your men will exit as well, Praetorian.”

Rebecca could see an instant of surprise and hesitation on the face of the guard.

“Yes, ProConsul,” he snapped. “We will station ourselves at the entrance if we are needed.”

“Very well,” she replied.

Rebecca watched as the Praetorians marched to the entrance in single file. Even Rebecca knew it was rare that a ProConsul send all of her Praetorians away. As the last guard exited and pulled the door closed, she turned back toward Astra.

“May we proceed, ProConsul?” asked Alden.

“You may not,” replied Astra with a smile.

Rebecca could feel her heart race. Had they—had she—failed the negotiation before it even started? She looked toward Alden. His face was tight in a combination of surprise and frustration.

“Do not worry, Envoy Faulkner,” continued Astra. “You have not failed in your mission…yet. I simply want to negotiate with Envoy Sterling; you will not be necessary. You can enjoy the Capital while we discuss the matter at hand.”

“Uh—yes, ProConsul?” replied Alden in a quizzical acknowledgment.

Rebecca was surprised the veteran negotiator had slightly lost his composure.

“Is this a problem?” queried Astra in a slightly elevated and pitched voice.

“Of course not, ProConsul,” shot back Alden. “But may I have a moment to speak with my companion before I exit?”

Rebecca saw Astra take in a deep breath and close her eyes as if to control an unseemly response.

“Very well, Envoy Faulkner,” she huffed.

Rebecca felt Alden’s hand on her shoulder as he pulled her in close and turned away from Astra.

“I’m sorr—”

“Never mind that,” interrupted Alden softly. “We don’t have time. Just listen.”

Rebecca focused on Alden’s mouth as he talked at a whisper.

“She has told very few people, if any, about her plans if she doesn’t want the Praetorians to hear us. Just listen to her and don’t promise anything…she will try to get you to—”

“That is enough, Envoy Faulkner,” interrupted Astra. “Please take your leave.”

“Focus on the task and don’t become distracted,” added Faulkner quickly and quietly. “And I guess we know who she prefers. Use that to your advantage but don’t push it,” he warned.

“Faulkner!” spoke Astra loudly.

“Yes, ProConsul,” he replied as he turned to face Astra. “Of course. May your negotiations be pleasant.”

With that, Alden quickly turned and headed for the exit.

Rebecca looked toward Astra as the ProConsul slowly scanned her body. Feeling Astra’s eyes take her in, she felt both uncomfortable and excited at the same time.

“I am sure they will be,” replied Astra with a smile as she shifted her gaze to Rebecca’s eyes. Under Astra’s glare, Rebecca felt as if she was standing naked in front of the ProConsul. In a matter of seconds, Astra’s fierce, hungry gaze and aura of power had disarmed the highly trained negotiator.

Get it together, Rebecca, she told herself. Focus on the task.

Rebecca gathered her thoughts. “Shall we begin, ProConsul?”

“Of course,” smiled Astra in a soothing voice. “Let’s get down to business.”

Rebecca smiled. “Yes, ProConsul, let us begin.”

***

Martin stood at the edge of the door. The smell of industrial sanitizer burned her nostrils and the random squeaking of the orderlies’ rubber shoes on the tile floor caused her right eye to twitch.

She hated this place.

Before entering the room, she took in a deep breath; the ammonia from the cleaner that hung in the air immediately turned the twitch above her eye into a sharp headache. Wincing slightly and closing her eyes, Martin adjusted to the smell and exhaled forcefully to ready herself.

Willing herself to move forward, she turned the corner of the door and entered a small, dimly lit room in the Humani military retirement home. In the corner sat a man in an old leather chair. The beams of light coming through the window by the chair highlighted a cloud of lint and dust hanging in the air, contradicting the façade of cleanliness created by the industrial sanitizer saturating Martin’s sense of smell.

“Who’s there?” inquired a deep but weak voice.

“It’s me, Father,” answered Martin.

Martin could see a leathered hand rise to a shadowed face to block the light from the window.

“Emily?”

“Yes, Father,” she replied with a smile as she stepped toward the light.

Bracing himself on the arm of the old chair, Martin’s father slowly rose to meet her.

Watching him struggle to stand, Martin thought back to the man she knew as a child. Strong, muscular, and confident, he was the ideal soldier. Handpicked to serve on the Praetorian Guard, he eventually became Sergeant-at-Arms for the ProConsul’s private guard—a position he held with honor and distinction for over ten years and through two ProConsuls. Then it all fell apart.

As she moved closer, Martin could see the genetic regeneration pills that kept his liver from failing. And beside the pills a half-empty bottle of whiskey.

She stood nervously still while the old soldier steadied himself and reached out for her.

“Let a proud father see his warrior.” He coughed.

Martin stepped into her father’s arms, squeezing him tightly. She heard him let out a small grunt against the strength of her embrace. Loosening her hold, she felt him wrap his arms around her. His arms, which had once enveloped and protected her, were now weakened and frail. With her head on his shoulder, she allowed a single tear to drop from her eye. After a few seconds reminiscing on the man he used to be, Martin forced a smile on her face and stepped back to look at her father.

“It’s good to see you, Father,” she replied.

The skin on his face, aged beyond his years by alcohol, regret, and betrayal, looked as if it would crack as a proud smile slowly formed.

“I’ve bragged about you so much,” he said, “I think the staff are sick of talking to me.”

“I haven’t done anyth—”

“Don’t be shy,” her father interrupted. “The hero of Juliet 3, promotion to major, and now—” He paused for a deep, congested cough. “And now, elevated to the ancient title of Paladin.”

Martin bowed her head slightly in a gesture of humility, but her heart felt renewed. Even in his sad state, the praise of her father meant everything. Almost everything.

“Thank you, Father,” she replied. “And that’s why I’ve come to see you.”