Dark Transmissions (13 page)

Jafahan counted in her head to ten before chancing a peek past the morph shield's edge. She stepped away from Beatrix's massive encased form and observed the damage. Jafahan let out a whistle at the scene of destruction that was presented to her. As she had predicted, the neo-­sem had done its job and then some.

The pack of drones had been completely destroyed by the blast and where they had once stood there were now only various floating and still-­sparking piles of debris. Much of the shrapnel had lodged itself in the station's thruster as well. The blast had not been enough to permanently damage it, but a good strong start nonetheless.

Lunient and Beatrix both let out an excited shout as they surveyed the scene. “That was a good strong opening punch, ma'am.” Beatrix nodded proudly to Jafahan.

“We can suckle each other's nether regions in celebration when we get back on the ship.” Jafahan started moving toward the thruster at a quick jog.

The Infinite alone knew how much time they had before this station sent more of these drones to stop them. While she had no doubt that they would be able to survive a battle or two, the clock was still ticking, and they were no closer to removing their foe's claws.

 

CHAPTER 17

CHORD

In the name of the Great Peace are these Truths transcribed. The traversing of space is a dangerous endeavor in its own right. All weapons that would threaten the integrity and survivability of a ship's hull will be forbidden. This Truth shall be so from Covenant's Start to Covenant's End.

—­
The Covenant's Third Truth, 1st of SSM–01 01 A1E

10th of SSM–10 1445 A2E

“ . . . e
ight, seven, six—­”

The voice of the machine Intelligence—­designation: OMEX—­continued its countdown to electrocution in her friendly monotone. Chord's subroutines were desperately trying to access the station's datasphere in the hope that perhaps some sort of override command could be found. Regrettably for them, there was no such good fortune.

Meanwhile, Morrigan looked to Phaël and gave her a brief nod. He pointed his carbine up the elevator shaft. Morrigan then quickly thumbed a dial on the handle of his weapon and the barrel widened to the size of a fist. With his other free hand Morrigan quickly slapped in a like-­sized blue-­gray-­tipped obsidian-­colored round.

“ . . . five, four, three—­”

“Get ready to jump!” Phaël shouted.

“You've got this, old man.” Morrigan let out a controlled breath and squeezed the trigger, firing a single shot up the shaft. Chord's optical display was able to trace the round's trajectory and recorded its impact with the hull.

There was a heavy and muted explosion. Morrigan raised up his shield as a shock wave of debris rippled down the shaft toward them. The action was unnecessary, as the wave of shrapnel was suddenly and violently sucked out. Chord could now make out a huge star-­shaped gaping hole where the ceiling twenty stories up had been just seconds before.

They were all pulled roughly upward by the sudden strength of the vacuum. Chord spun around, struggling in vain to find purchase in order to stop the out of control fall. Sensors indicated that they had traveled over half of the twenty vertical floors when all of a sudden a gauntleted fist caught ahold of Chord's forearm. “Got you, Machina!”

Chord looked down and was gazing into Morrigan's faceless black helmet. “You have this unit's gratitude, Private Brent.”

“Don't go thinking this makes us even.” Morrigan had driven his long vibro-­sword into the steel wall next to them. Chord could make out Arturo and Phaël, floating and tethered together behind them.

Morrigan struggled to pull Chord closer to him, letting out a strained grunt as he did. Once the two were close enough, Chord's toes, possessing the same amount of manual dexterity as its lost fingers, grasped on to Morrigan's spool of diamond-­wire rope and connected the two together.

The pressure equalized itself, and as abruptly as the vacuum had started to pull against them it stopped. The last of the elevator shaft's breathable atmosphere had been sucked out. For a moment, all four of them floated together in silence.

It was Arturo who broke it. “Private Brent! What in the Infinite fuck was that?!”

“That, my dear Sureblade, was a proton-­accelerated osmium-­tipped round. Purchased at the not so small tune of fifty thousand u-­bits from a Darlkhin merchant by yours truly.” Morrigan's tone was slightly upset.

“We're alive, Old Pa. You can live to spend more bits,” Phaël called out, her voice teasing, yet still very weak.

“That will depend on whether or not he goes back to his cell on Rust.” Arturo gave Morrigan a hard glare. “Do you mean to tell me you had that . . . thing on you when you boarded the
Jinxed
?”

“You should just be happy you're alive.”

Arturo opened his mouth to counter Morrigan's argument, then stopped. Starflight had always been the dangerous endeavor. Because of this, when the Covenant had been signed after the Advent War, it had been agreed that weapons with the capacity to pierce or damage a ship's hull would be forbidden.

The opposite had been true in the lost days of Ancient Humanity.

“Mark my words and mark them well! Any more such surprises from you, Adoran—­” Arturo jabbed his finger forward menacingly “—­and our next exchange will be far less pleasant.” Arturo paused, taking a calming breath before begrudgingly adding, “A word of gratitude is given, Private Brent.”

“And it is accepted, Sureblade.” Morrigan offered a friendly thumbs-­up.

Arturo looked up toward the hole at the end of their tunnel. “Ten more floors and we've found our survivors, correct, Machina Chord?”

“Affirmative, Sergeant Kain,” Chord replied.

“Plenty of time for rest and relaxation once we're back on the
Jinxed
, then.” Arturo fired off his suit's thrusters and floated forward, dragging Phaël with him. Chord did the same, pulling Morrigan along.

The team remained silent but alert with Chord's sensors scanning in every direction. There was movement along the outside of the shaft. No doubt OMEX was following them through the station's numerous sensors.

“We are being tracked and followed,” Chord informed them all, breaking the silence.

“I know.” Phaël visibly suppressed a shiver.

Arturo Kain's hands were hovering above the hilts of his zirconium blades. His eyes locked toward the hole at the end of the elevator shaft. It was easily large enough that they all could have been sucked out into space without even bumping into one another. Red lights were silently flashing and Chord picked up multiple automated distress alerts being projected along the station's datasphere.

Chord counted five more floors remaining as they continued downward and motioned to a pair of metal doors. Two living biological forms were highlighted in Chord's field of vision. The survivors were located behind them, which made getting past those doors the team's next destination.

“What exactly were you hoping to find in these halls, Chord?” Morrigan did not turn to face Chord as he was watching their flank and being pulled forward. The red lights of the elevator shaft bounced off of his dark-­brown-­and-­black body armor. Morrigan's morph shield was shaped now into a perfect octagon, offering them both its protection. His carbine's barrel was rested on the shield for stability.

Chord did not know exactly how to respond to the question, for it itself did not truthfully know the answer. Unlike Humanis, Machina did not fear the works of Ancient Humanity, or anything for that matter. There was no superstition to be had here.

This location was simply an ancient piece of technology, from an age no one, not even the oldest Machina, could remember. Perhaps the Darlkhin, the mysterious and immortal “plastic” Humanis, could, but their numbers were few and far between. On top of which any answers they gave were usually incredibly vague, evasive and, more often than not, leading to more questions.

“The station's Original Intelligence, OMEX, is ancient, Morrigan Brent. While all signs would seem to indicate that it is corrupted, any data on the Lost Ages it possesses in its datastores is no less precious.”

“Here I thought you Machina didn't value anything.” Morrigan chortled and shook his head. “Guess I learned something new today. Thank you, Machina Chord.”

“You are more than welcome. Information is never without value, Private Brent,” Chord replied.

“Then when we go to sleep tonight it will be with far less foolish minds than when we woke up,” Arturo called out to them, his voice dripping with what was known as sarcasm. Both Arturo and Phaël stopped in front of the doors.

The hole in the shaft was no more than several meters away from them. Chord disconnected from Morrigan and navigated up to Arturo, but before anything could be said the entire station's datasphere was filled with alert windows. There appeared to have been an explosion near one of the station's rear thrusters. For the first time since he had awakened today, Chord saw a smile on Arturo's lips.

“That will no doubt be the work of a certain former Thorn.” Arturo looked at Chord, nodding to the airlock. “Can you get this door open?”

Chord ran a system's diagnosis on the doors. They had been fused shut from the inside. While Chord's omnitool hands had been damaged and were no longer of any real use, its feet were still fully functional, as were the tools built into them.

“The task will require time.” As Chord said this, motion sensors suddenly went off. Chord could make out the shapes of several autodrones now surveying the hole. Three of them started repairs while the other four spun and moved toward Arturo.

“Get on it, then!” Arturo's order came out as a bark and his hands darted to the hilts of his swords. He started forward. “Private Brent! You keep them off me, and I will do the same for you!”

Arturo fired off the thrusters on his suit and zoomed forward to intercept the attacking drones. Once he was close enough, Arturo pulled out both his blades in a rapid and perfectly practiced motion. A hiss of frozen vapor burst out of the vacusealed sheathes as he did this. The twin zirconium blades were both at least four inches wide, double-­edged, a slick shimmering white and beyond razor sharp. Arturo spun around, turning himself into a whirling buzz saw and lopping arms off of three separate drones as he did.

Arturo zipped past them and, before they could react, fired off his retro suit thrusters, zooming back while maintaining his spin motion. This time he cut through two of the drones, slicing them cleanly in half. Arturo then jabbed forward with one blade, skewering a third drone and pushing himself off of it as the fourth and final attacking drone swung at him and narrowly missed. Its plasma-­sharpened bladed fingers left thin streaks of purple in their wake.

Arturo fired his suit thrusters back toward the drone and slashed both his blades in a horizontal arch. Sparks fired out of the drone as his blades sliced through its carapace and it fell apart in two clean halves. The remaining three drones remained focused on their task at hand.

Morrigan let out an impressed whistle. Arturo had felled his foes in less than four standard seconds. And through all this, he had not suffered so much as a single scratch to his lifesuit. “Sureblade indeed, sir.”

Chord was hard at work cutting through the door's safety bolts and could already detect over a half dozen movement signals both on the station's outer hull and at the bottom of the elevator shaft. “Sergeant Kain, we are about to be overrun.”

“Then perhaps you should quit wasting the time I am purchasing you, Machina.” Arturo twirled his blades in his hands, a cocky grin on his face, his eyes narrowing on the reinforcements. “Thousands of my foes tried earning themselves a name by being my end only to meet their own.” Arturo sprung forward. “Let us see if these machines fare any better.”

 

CHAPTER 18

JESSIE MADISON

T
he home in Maine isn't really hers. Part of her knows this, while another part of her doesn't really care. Jessie Madison has started to lose count of all the times she has visited this place
.

She is standing in front of a kitchen counter, chopping vegetables and tossing them into a pot of boiling water. Jessie is in her warm welcoming home with a breathtaking view of the Maine wilderness outside. Or more like the wilderness she remembers from the nature trideos she's seen back on Earth.

I've been here before.

Snow is falling peacefully and a fire is crackling in their living room fireplace. It has been ten years since David and Jessie returned to Earth after their grueling contract with the AstroGeni facility Moria Three. Their omniexecutor suffered a critical malfunction and the company offered them quite a hefty severance package. In return, David and Jessie both signed the nondisclosure forms, promising to keep silent about the incident with the station's AI almost killing them.

At first Jessie thought that they should take them to court for everything they were worth. But in the end, a forty-­trillion-­dollar settlement on top of their time-­interested salary was more than enough to keep her happy. Neither Jessie, nor any of her future family, will ever have to want for money or anything, ever, making all the pain and anguish they went through very well worth it. She and David have moved to Maine, built a house and, more importantly, together they've conceived and raised their wonderful precious daughter, Malory.

Malory is currently in the craft room that David insisted they build so that they could raise a brilliant artistic child. He now spends the majority of his days drawing with Malory and playfully teasing her. Jessie is so blessed, so happy, and she is content taking care of the few farm animals they have on their plot of land.

I've been here before.

Somewhere in the recesses of her mind Jessie knows that none of this makes any sense. Land is no longer available for sale anywhere on overpopulated Earth. Centralized Earth Gov owns everything Earth side all the way to the moon. The best their fortune would be able to get them is perhaps a smart house in the richer, safer sectors of the American Continent. As for the cooking of freshly grown vegetables or livestock? There is no legal way anyone can acquire and own an animal.

“Where are we right now?”

Jessie is startled when she hears this, almost cutting herself with the kitchen knife. Malory takes a great deal of delight in being a sneaky little devil. Much like Jessie back when she was her age.

Jessie puts down the knife on the chopping block and turns around to face her daughter. Another problem, why make food by hand? All homes come equipped with AI autocookers capable of creating delicious meals, freeing up time to sample trideos or a chilled glass of wine.

Arable farmland is incredibly rare and precious. This limits naturally grown food to the godlike rich or for special occasions. No one she has ever heard of would ever waste such a valuable commodity on something as vulgar and regular as a family dinner.

Jessie smiled at Malory. “We're in your house, silly.”

Malory looks at her, cocking her head to the side curiously. She has her father's blue eyes, and her mother's brown hair, round cheeks and full lips. Jessie can already tell that she will be a beautiful woman when she gets older.

“Dad is dead and this house isn't real.” Malory's voice is curt when she says this.

I've been here befo—­

Jessie's lips tremble as she kneels down in front of her daughter, facing her eye to eye. Malory doesn't even blink when she asks a follow-­up question. “My real father died on some place called Moria Three, didn't he?”

Jessie shakes her head. “Why are you saying this to me?”

“The woman's voice beyond here hates you, you know. She says it to you all the time. She can't wait for you to wake up. So she can hurt you.” Malory points to the ceiling, only now the ceiling has been replaced by what appears to be a glass observation dome. Through it Jessie can see the familiar dark sphere of an autodrone looking down on them both.

“Her name is OMEX and she . . . it killed your father.”

Malory abruptly pulls herself away from Jessie when she hears this. “Who are you?”

“I'm your mother.” Jessie is taken aback by the question.

“Where are we? Really?!” Malory is visibly getting angrier.

“I . . .” Jessie pauses for a long moment. This place isn't the real Maine. This isn't even her real home. Where
is
she? Gods, it's so hard to filter out the real memories from the dream ones. She knows that part of her is more than likely going mad right now. “Malory, I don't know.”

“Who am I?”

“You're my daughter?”

“Am I real?”

Jessie doesn't know the answer. The walls to her dream house begin to crack and crumble. Her daughter keeps on calling out. As she does her voice becomes more and more outraged.

“Am I
real
? Am I
real
? Am I
real
!!??”

Jessie closes her eyes. There is only darkness. This is all just a dream and it will come to an end. She promised David she would survive. This includes keeping herself sane. Part of Jessie hopes that she will soon wake up. Another part of her is morbidly in no rush. Everyone Jessie knows back on Earth is now dead. Here, in this place of dreams, she can at least temporarily forget the heavy reality outside: that everything she knows is gone. At least here, in this place, she has a family . . .