Syndicate's Pawns

 

DEDICATION

To my three siblings:

Morganna, Alaric, and Arndell

My father:

Alain, who has always driven me to excel.

And my mother:

Constance, who fed my creative side.

I am blessed to have you as my family.

Now and forever, now and forever.

 

CREW OF THE COVENANT VESSEL
JINXED THIRTEENTH

Formerly of the Pax Humanis

Captain Morwyn Soltaine: A young and un-­tested captain

Commander Eliana Jafahan: A former Thorn Commando

Private Beatrix JarEnt-­Dreck: Formerly of the Pax Infantry

Sergeant Arturo Kain: Formerly of the Sol Fleet Vanguard

Sergeant Pietor “Lucky” Bant: Retired sharpshooter

Private Hanne “Chance” Oroy: A young sharpshooter

Formerly of the Confederated Nations

Private Morrigan Brent: Formerly of the Adoran Liberation Army

Private Lunient Tor: Morrigan Brent's partner in crime

Private Phaël Farook Nem'Ador: Of the Adoran Liberation Army

Lizbeth Harlowe: The ship's pilot

Doctor Marla Varsin: A disgraced physician

Kolto TarKa'ShanLiuk: The ship's lead mechanic

Oran Arterum Nem'Troy: The ship's lead engineer

Chord: A Machina pilgrim

Jessie Madison: Former lead engineer of Moria Three

Crew of The Merchant Vessel Althena

Domian Kuaro Nem'Uldur: A former Elvrid Breedmaster from Uldur

Sopherim Kuaro Nem'Troy: A talented Blade Dancer

Mikali Zahur: A code-­slicer and career mercenary

Niko Taem: An augmented pit-­fighter and killer

Jerkol Loc: The
Althena
's captive and cowardly pilot

Zanza Ai'Karai: A Kohbran gene lector

 

CONTENTS

 

PREVIOUSLY . . .

J
essie Madison and her husband David Webster, both engineers working a routine maintenance contract on the automated mining station Moria Three, awakened from criosleep only to discover they had lost all contact with Earth for over five hundred years. A revelation made even more troubling by the fact that the station's artificial intelligence, OMEX, was now capable of lying to them. Trapped on Moria Three and at OMEX's mercy, David and Jessie came up with a plan. The duo rigged the station's transmitter to broadcast a distress signal, and were then supposed to enter criosleep and await a rescue operation. But OMEX was able to regain control and kill David before he could get to safety. Filled with despair, Jessie entered criosleep alone . . . and waited.

Centuries later, while patrolling the fringes of End Space, Jessie's distress signal was picked up by Captain Morwyn Soltaine of the Covenant Patrol vessel:
Jinxed Thirteenth
. The crew, led by former Thorn Commando Eliana Jafahan, boarded the ruins of Moria Three, all of them unaware that machine eyes were silently observing and lying patiently in wait. OMEX sprang her trap and crippled the
Jinxed Thirteenth
. She then deployed a near endless supply of deadly autodrones, hoping to kill the crew and escape her prison by uploading into the robotic body of Chord, a Machina Pilgrim serving as the ship's translator. Thanks to Chord's courage, Eliana Jafahan's ruthless training, Morwyn Soltaine's steady command and the quick wits of his crew, they were eventually able to defeat OMEX and rescue Jessie. She is now safely on the
Jinxed Thirteenth
, about to awaken into a world she knows nothing about . . .

 

CLOAKED TRANSMISSION

Dated 11th of SSM–10 1445 A2E

To all the eyes and ears on the Elusive Frequency.

The following is a priority open contract.

Target: Covenant Patrol vessel: Jinxed Thirteenth.

Ship is crippled, must be claimed by one of our Pieces.

Extremely valuable cargo confirmed to be on board.

Payment: sixty trillion u-­bits, Con-­Cred or Pax-­Dol upon intact and secured delivery of the ship, cargo and crew.

All relevant data will be forwarded once contract is accepted.

This is the will of the Voice itself.

We remain stronger in the dark.

 

PROLOGUE

14th of Standard Sol Month 10 year 1445 After Second Expansion

“T
hey're going to wake you up, Mom.” Malory's tiny voice broke through the wonderful sunrise that Jessie Madison was enjoying. She was bundled up in white blankets with the comforting warmth of David's arms around her. There was no need to wake up just yet. Plenty of time to sleep in and enjoy the moment. Jessie ignored Malory's voice and pulled herself closer to David, who was breathing heavily, still fast asleep.

There was an insistent tug on the blankets, and Jessie grumbled. “Five more minutes Malory, then Mommy will get up and make you some breakfast.”

“You're not listening to me!”

Jessie opened her eyes to find Malory staring at her, unblinking. She was a pretty young girl, with long brown hair like Jessie's and piercing blue eyes like her father.

“What is it, little one?” David's voice was a tired mumble.

Malory ignored David's comment and grabbed Jessie's head in her tiny hands, locking eyes with her. “The voices outside are talking. They've moved you, Mom.”

Jessie shook herself free of Malory's surprisingly strong grip and sat up. She looked past her daughter to the bedroom window, expecting a view of the Maine winter wilderness. She was shocked to be greeted by the endless expanse of deep space. Jessie licked her lips nervously. “I'm still dreaming, aren't I?”

Malory nodded. “Yes.”

Jessie pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes, wincing. Her skin was suddenly covered in goose bumps. Her breath was misting. “I . . .”

Malory's fingers gripped Jessie's hand. “Don't be afraid, Mom. I'll be back with you soon.”

As she said this, Malory's fingers slipped away. Jessie was rudely and roughly pulled up off her bed, and through the ceiling of her home. White lights, blinding and painful, filled every last inch of her reality. Jessie let out a shocked scream.

A
wakening from criosleep had always been a horrible affair. It was a savagely disorienting experience in which one went from complete and total nothingness to suddenly being overloaded with stimuli. The dimmest lights stung the eyes; the slightest of sounds, even the ruffling of clothes, was like an explosion. And all of it paled in comparison to the bone-­deep cold that one felt all over the body, accompanied by the uncontrollable shivering and vomiting of bile-­flavored nutritional gels.

Before she and David had set out for the automated Station of Moria Three, they had read that the longer one remained in criosleep, the more severe the symptoms would be. Hence, long sleep periods were often discouraged. In the earlier days of sleeper-­tube travel, many crews had been lost, not in transit, but during their subsequent awakenings.

During her time as lead engineer on the automated mining station of Moria Three, Jessie had lived through a number of such horrible revivals. The worst, she would later think, paled in comparison to this one.

Lights were being shined down on her, and amid the blurs and dots in her field of vision she could hear what sounded like voices, speaking words she could not for the life of her comprehend. However, she was certain that this was, in fact, reality, if the deep-­freeze burn pain all over her body was any indication. Jessie tried to breathe and realized that it was taking every last bit of energy in her weakened body to do even that much. She gasped desperately. The air around her might have very well just been liquid fire as her lungs drew in ragged breaths.

She started to convulse and gag, too enfeebled to even turn herself over, bile-­flavored nutri-­gel caught in her throat. Jessie could make out one of the voices, this one a young man's, shouting out orders. A pair of cold, strong hands gently grabbed her by the shoulders and turned Jessie onto her side. She coughed out again and could suddenly breathe burning air into her lungs.

“No worries, Jessie Madison. This unit is named Chord and assures you that you are safe.” A soft and calm voice spoke to her in a strangely accented and cadenced English. “You are safe and on board the Covenant Patrol vessel:
Jinxed Thirteenth
.”

Jessie closed her eyes as a wave of massive nausea overtook her. Her heart was beating rapidly, her skin felt like it was brittle and frozen. Her head was still swimming. “Am I going to die?” Her voice was a dried croak.

“It is doubtful. The ship's doctor, Marla Varsin, inoculated you before deactivating your criotube,” Chord's almost emotionless voice said, as if trying to reassure her. It wasn't working; there was something incredibly off-­putting and almost artificial about how Chord spoke.

The young man's voice asked what sounded like a question in that unknown language. Chord once more spoke to her in English. “The captain wishes to know if you remember anything?”

“My name is Jessie Madison, lead engineer of Automated Mining Facility Moria Three. My husband David Webster and I were stranded. We sent out a distress signal and were supposed to sleep in our criotubes until a rescue operation could be mounted.” Jessie had a sudden vision of David, her husband, being casually tossed off the hull of Moria Three by one of the station's autodrones. He had died floating into the endless void of the cosmos. The thought drew a faint whimper from her.

“This unit offers you its condolences. It was unaware that there had been another crew member serving on the space station.”

“How long was I asleep for?” Jessie opened her eyes and quickly thought better of it. Everything around her was painful blurs and unfocused shapes.

There was a significant pause. “Most if not all of the records from your history were destroyed during the Lost War, Jessie Madison. Because of that, there is no way to truthfully answer your question.”

“Just swell.” Jessie's throat was raw and beyond dry. Her stomach was unsteady, her fingers and limbs felt like frozen limp noodles.

“Good news remains,” a woman, older and tired sounding, said in an English that was even more broken than Chord's. Regardless, it was still a comfort for Jessie to hear a human-­sounding voice speaking her language.

“What would that be?” Jessie shook her head groggily. David was dead and she was alone with no way of knowing how long she had been asleep or even where she was.

“Inside child is safe,” the old woman explained after a lengthy pause, as if she had been trying to formulate the proper sentence.

“What does she mean?”

“You must forgive Doctor Varsin. Late Modern is a seldom-­spoken dialect,” Chord replied, politely. Cold fingers, metal fingers, Jessie now realized, clasped her hand, sending shivers up her spine as it suddenly dawned on her that Chord, the owner of the calm emotionless voice, was a machine. “What the doctor is trying to say is that the child inside you is healthy.”

If she had had the strength to do so, Jessie would have pulled her hand back. The last thing she wanted was to be anywhere near a machine. Jessie wasn't sure how much of her trembling was from the cold or from the sudden anxiety building up inside her. She found herself wishing that she was safely back in her dream home, far from the nightmare of reality and the cold lifeless hands holding her.