And here we are.
A seven chapter drop. From 36 to 42. Just a bit over 30 pages in writing. I sat down, channeled my inner Eiichiro Oda, and pulled a full One Piece. This is the end of the first part of the series. I can put a great turning point here and call this saga closed.
Keeping with the Oda style a time skip comes next. In these chapters I managed to pull off a lore dump with some transverse jumping, and a cheeky little Sun Tzu quote at the very end. After the time skip we'll have some new stories for all the main characters, along with some new and familiar faces. I have parts of the story all laid out in my head, so I'll see where it takes me. Maybe it will happen soon, and I put something to paper. However, always remember that I am, after all, a lazy ***.
Cheers and thanks for reading!
Chapter 36: IN MOTIONSpoiler
IF THERE’S ANYTHING Siona hates more than people groveling, it’s meetings. One could not be farther removed from the other, but both leave a distinct cadaver taste in her mouth. The boredom and tedium of both are nothing to chuckle at either. And Siona knows how both of them end - with a bullet to the head. A real bullet in the former, and fictional one for herself in the latter case. But a final meeting is the least she has to attend if the operation is about to be set in motion. Farideh wants her here, and it gives her enough delight that Sunderland doesn’t, so that will make it more bearable.
Siona zones out during the introduction part where Farideh, Sunderland, Mutemba, and Salvatore - the head of Farideh’s armed forces - exchange operational banter and wave their dicks and clits around to show who’s doing more, who knows more, and who gets more. All the while the Leto stands unmoving like a mountain behind Sunderland, seemingly lost in thought just like her. Siona knows that he’s all eyes and ears. It’s a strange sensation to Siona, seeing the Leto like that, or in general. Unlike other washouts who wear the face and frame, this one has an aura to him. That veneer of confidence, that quick twitch of his muscles and languid precision of his movements. She doesn’t feel the same when she sees Sunderland, but when she sees the Leto she wants to fly against him. Face him in the Pits. Skiff versus skiff, MOS versus MOS, because Sunderland might be her confirmed adversary in the Known Galaxy, but the Leto feels more like a MOS than the rich washed-up flyboy.
Once they’re all finally finished doling out the menial tasks and coordinating minute details the major part of the operation, the *** operation itself, can be planned out. And not a skies-damned moment too soon.
“Let’s go over the meeting with the Authority first,” Farideh kicks it off. “I will initiate contact with Superior Auburn. Mutemba has confirmed that he is the main contact for the Cardinal. With me initiating the contact the legitimacy of the meeting will be established. Any objections?” A collective nod from the whole crew, Siona included. “Any questions?”
“One thing came to mind,” Sunderland moves in quick and deadly. “I want to be present during that conversation.”
“And why is that?” Siona can guess from Farideh’s tone that she’s snarling on the inside. The boss is good at keeping her professional demeanor, but her outbursts have gone up quite a bit since Melkior and all this *** started flying about.
“Because of your incessant fuckery, and my own safety. You’ve been poking your nose in my business to the point where I can’t be so sure you’re not going to *** me over. Just hand me to the Authority and offer to take down the Syndicate yourself. Sure, it will take you longer, and it will be messier, but Trafalgar would reap all the spoils. Who’s to say that in the end you won’t just end up a double-crossing ***. All I want is some reassurance. I’ll listen in, that’s all.”
“You think offending me at this stage is going to do you any favors?” A real snarl from Farideh now. Even Siona’s caught a bit off guard. Sunderland was keeping low and nice, close to the ground for the entirety of his stay on Trafalgar. Siona even saw him once, docile and compliant. She’s just about sure now that it was all a show. Just about sure.
“We’ve offended and berated each other since the day we set foot on the Galaxy stage. You, me, Siona, Trafalgar, the Authority, the Syndicate, and every other *** out there. The time for pleasantries is over, Farideh. I will take every precaution so you don’t *** me over. Is that clear?”
“As will I, Sunderland. You can listen in. But in return your Leto won’t be present at the meeting with the Authority.”
“That’s a big ask with little return value for me.”
“Siona will also not be present at the meeting.” And that bucks Siona out of her chair. She wants to object, and do so loudly, but she isn’t one to not learn from her previous mistakes. “The request will be to meet with Superior Auburn himself. That’s a tall order in of itself. It is paramount that we appear genuine, and conduct ourselves as such during the meeting. The only parties present will be the Superior, Sunderland and myself, as well as the Cardinal and the nukes. Siona will be flying her skiff for protection, and if your Leto is competent enough he can be on call from your,” and Farideh scoffs, “Baby. Both armed forces, Authority and ours, will be within shooting range, but respectfully so. We need to play this right. So while you, Sunderland, are busy thinking of ways I might *** you over, I’m actually taking this seriously.” That has to sting. To Siona’s delight.
Sunderland takes a moment to himself, nods at nothing in particular, and then gives that slight apologetic nod. “Indeed. A change in tone is in order. I accept.”
“Good. We will conduct the meeting in the Daffodil system.”
Perfect move. Siona thinks to herself. The Daffodil system was a thriving jungle biome system with two green planets. A wildlife resort for hunters. After the C the sun blew and took both the planets with it. Now it’s nothing but a pile of asteroids moved about by residual gravity wells and swelling. The movement of the asteroids provides perfect cover and minimizes the ambush potential. Plus, Daffodil is nicely balanced in terms of arrival time between Trafalgar and Saturn, where the Authority has their headquarters. Neither can enter the system before the meeting if it’s planned right, and jacking up ambush spots isn’t as easy either. Daffodil also has one hyperspace point so both parties can keep an eye out for invasions. So far this thing looks damn solid. The other members of the meeting agree with collective nods.
“Security on our side will be handled by Siona and her crew. Leto as backup.”
“Baby has to be primed for flying. We’ll be going straight to Nazareth to handle the takeover there.”
“Of course. Mutemba has inserted some of his subordinates within the more stable planets and systems in the Cardinal’s operation. Meanwhile, Salvatore will coordinate with Sunderland to take over the crumbling parts of the Cardinal’s operation. We will focus on the Paladins first. Destroy them from within just like they planned with the Syndicate. We will balance our offensive strikes with internal strife caused by Mutemba and his people. This transition needs to be seamless, so we can’t go in guns blazing. If the Syndicate catches a whiff of this, they will burrow and wall themselves off from anything that even has the slightest stink of the Cardinal on it. Nazareth is their head of operations. When the others have crumbled, Sunderland can insert himself as the new head of the Cardinal’s operation, and no one within the Syndicate will be the wiser.”
“Question.” Sunderland even raises his hand like he’s at school. Farideh lets out a deep sigh. “Do I have to wear the robe?” That one actually garners him a chuckle or two. Even Siona’s tempted.
“Now this all sounds simple and clean, but we won’t know *** until we have boots on the ground. The main thing is that we keep our deal. The Authority will wait to convict the Cardinal after we have taken over his operation. Sunderland will then step in as the legitimate head. So,” Farideh addresses Sunderland directly, mean-mugging him all the way, “you’ll have to work on your angle alone. The Syndicate needs to embrace you, or this is all over. You gave your word that this will not blow back on Trafalgar. So you better do it right, because, Sunderland, I don’t want to be *** over either. Once Sunderland is in, we can retreat. The deal is done, and all parties have fulfilled their end of the agreement. However, the Galaxy wasn’t built on trust. It wasn’t built on mutual respect either, but on contingency plans, safeguards, and assurances that *** over one another isn’t beneficial. That’s why we’re lucky to have both of you here.” Farideh gestures towards Sunderland, and then Siona, leaving her with a prickling chill down her spine. “Before I even start, let me make it abundantly clear that if anyone interrupts me you’re going to the Tombs, and I’ll just vent the Carindal and let this all go to ***.” An even colder chill down Siona’s spine festers. “You two will exchange override codes for your skiffs.” And now Siona’s completely cold, from the inside out. “If any party bails on the deal, the override codes get sent to the ones *** over.”
“Like hell we will,” Sunderland vents through gritted teeth.
“I agree,” Siona concurs, to her own amazement.
“Fight it all you want, but there is nothing else to wager, nothing else to give. I sure as the *** skies won’t wager my most precious possession. So we will compromise. We put both of your skiffs on the table.”
“Never going to happen,” Sunderland snarls out and Siona silently agrees.
“Fine then. We go to war, and both of you can spend all that time in the Tombs. When someone comes to get you after it’s over, you better hope it’s Trafalgar forces and not the Authority.”
Siona’s *** boiling. With override codes a person can initiate a full control transfer. While she doubts Farideh would ever let Sunderland have her Cain, the mere fact that the codes are out there would gnaw on her every day. That feeling that at some point she wouldn’t be in control of her skiff. That Siona would lose all she has built.
“Who would be in charge of the codes?” Siona’s actually glad Sunderland is taking point.
“The Leto.”
All hell breaks loose like a hyperspace storm. Siona is out of her chair before she knows it, and Sunderland is almost off the wall. Farideh motions to Mutemba and Salvatore who hold each of them down. The Leto still unmoving, just looking at them both, silent and still, taunting them even harder than if talked at all. Both Siona and Sunderland are back in their places, fuming from the ears.
“Now that we’re all back to being sane on the matter. Leto, I believe you to be more than just a hired hand. You’re also a man of principle. That I’m certain of. Even though you fly with Sunderland, I believe you will be impartial in this decision. If either of us breaks the deal, you will hand the override codes to the wounded party. Do I have your word?”
“As the Grand-Master of War, I swear on my name.”
“***,” Siona flares up.
“Good enough for me,” Farideh gives her the cold shoulder with a flare.
“Not good enough for me. What’s to stop him from just handing the codes over to Sunderland once this is over?”
“After we have each done our parts the codes will be returned. Leto, you assure me of that?”
“I do,” the Leto assures everyone, as stoic as ever.
“***,” Siona can’t help it, putting her Cain on the line is too much.
“Your objections are noted, as are yours, Sunderland. I can tell you right now they don’t mean ***. We go on. We do this, and we do this well. While we’re by no means allies, all of you know full well that this can’t work if any one link cracks. So get your heads out of your asses and let’s go *** up someone else so we don’t end up getting ***. Shall we?”
The talks go on deep into the night. Defense positions, attack patterns, information pathways, subterfuge lines, offensive takeovers, number of troops deployed, assault routes, trade embargoes, false information leaks, personnel changes; all that in the name of the bigger picture. That bigger picture that lets them all get out of this unscathed, and better than they were before. Farideh always tells Siona that there’s a fine line between insanity and genius, and Siona can’t tell which is which the longer the talks go on.
The only thing she can think about, and the only thing she sees Sunderland has in the back of his head too, is that their skiffs might end up in the hands of the person they hate. That part is genius. Siona admits to herself. The rest sounds like *** insanity.
Isn’t that what it means being a MOS. Taking insanity and making it *** work.
Siona knows that this plan better work, insanity or not, or it’s all their asses on the line.
Chapter 37: INSANITYSpoiler
“WE COULD JUST TAKE both the skiffs and bolt it. Be off-planet and leave this entire mess behind,” Sunderland blurts out while pacing about the room. His incessant rambling has become somewhat of a staple for the past couple of days, while the details of the operation came to the final stages. The meeting is set for tomorrow, and everything is going according to plan. Which is why Leto has trouble fathoming Sunderland’s apprehension. “You have the override codes. I take my Baby, and you can have that ***’s Cain.”
“I do hope you are aware of the multitude of reasons why that would not work.”
“No, no, you see.” Sunderland starts gesticulating even more, pointing fingers, waving about like a man on fire. “Ninety percent of the time there isn’t a thing in the Galaxy that would stop that *** from getting her Cain back. She’d be on us like grav sickness. But if we bail now, Trafalgar will have more dicks up their ass than a Malakhaar hooker on the day the miners come in. Farideh won’t be able to spare her most valuable asset, and the *** would stay hardlocked in the sector. All we have to do is make it to the hangars. By now the troops all know us, so I’m sure we could sweet talk our way in.”
“That would necessitate that I use the override codes for my own gain, which I will not,” Leto makes sure Sunderland recognizes his earnest standpoint.
“Why? Because you gave your word. *** me dead, will you get over yourself.”
“For a person I heard uttering the phrase and what is a man without his word, you do expect others to go back on theirs often enough.”
“Don’t lecture me on hypocrisy. I mastered that a long time ago. No word in the entire *** Galaxy means anything. A word is only as good as the bounty it brings in. Do you even have the slightest idea how many credits we could rake in by selling the Cain? Not only an original MOS design, but one from Siona of the Skies. We could finance our own enterprise, and do this our way. While the Authority is busy with Trafalgar, and while the Syndicate is busy dealing with the Cardinal fallout, we use that capital to finance our own information pipeline. Cut the Syndicate straight out the business, clean, quick, and we don’t owe anyone ***.”
“What is it that frightens you so?” Leto has to get to the bottom of this before Sunderland is left alone with Farideh and the Superior. He did extremely well before the plan had finally come to fruition, and Leto noticed he even reveled in it. Leto remembers a time when he felt the pang of dismay before an operation. The lingering doubt festering until it was like a black mist coiling around his thoughts. The possibility of defeat far outweighing that of success. His mind a blank canvas for all the murky potential of loss.
“My gut,” Sunderland blurts out like that is supposed to mean something. Leto gives him the look which requests elaboration, since he has no interest in indulging the man for too long. “I get this gut feeling before a run. It’s telling me this *** is going to fly skyward faster than a fried flux capacitor. My gut’s never been wrong.”
“That’s not the only thing, is it?”
Sunderland takes a deep breath, calms down, and finally takes a seat before Leto has to make him. His scuttling about can be tiring. “Do you understand that when this is done we, well I, will be running the Syndicate. Sure enough I’ll have you, but this is the Syndicate we’re talking about. One of the biggest crime organizations in the Known Galaxy. We did well with Warhorse’s little band of *** misfits. But this is a whole other level. Even this plan, this *** plan has too many moving parts. We’re balancing plates on our dicks here, Leto.”
“Demir, it was you who concocted this *** plan in the first place.”
“That’s how I know it’s ***. Do you really think I’m capable of pulling this off? I fly, Leto. That’s what I do. I don’t *** run criminal enterprises that span the *** Galaxy.”
Leto knows this frustration all too well. The day the Tarsians were annihilated, and the AIs were barreling down. All his careful planning, all his effort and all his will, just out the hatch. Since Leto knows this feeling all too well, he also knows exactly what to do.
“Demir, if there is anything I believe you are capable of, it is adapting. I don’t know anyone better at it than you. So, let me just say this - shut up and do your *** part.”
***
“You know I don’t like being on the sidelines,” Siona’s been nagging her for days now. Farideh can barely get her thoughts straight with all her whining.
“Tell me, are you better with a gun or with your skiff?”
“That’s a stupid question.”
“Stupid *** begets stupid ***. Now, I want you to *** realize that the future of Trafalgar rests on this deal. If I thought I needed you next to me with a gun, you would be next to me with a gun. But the Cain on standby is a show of force. And the Cain needs its *** pilot. So, for the love of the skies, will you stop whining? I’m starting to miss Sunderland.” Farideh massages her temples.
“That’s low. What if he *** us over?”
“And how exactly will he do that, alone in that room with me and the Superior? Unarmed and without backup. Is he going to order his Leto to cut through our defense and the Authority’s. Alone. Swipe the Superior from under our noses and hold him for ransom. His Leto’s a delusional *** who’s in it for the long run, but he’s not that good. Sunderland will do his part, and we will do ours. We all fry if this goes bad.”
“That’s exactly what I’m worried about - it going bad.” The undertone of genuine concern puts Farideh off guard. Siona isn’t used to dealing with too many moving parts. You point her in the right direction and she will decimate her way through. But this, all this scheming and planning, Farideh knows she’s out of her element.
“The meeting’s tomorrow. We went over all the specifics to the point where my brain is devoid of anything else. I know the *** coordinates of every ship we’ll have out there, and all the numbers of every force we have stationed on each planet. My head is just numbers and names, Siona. I got this. Now, please, do whatever you need to in order to calm down. Give your gut a rest, and trust me.”
“I always do, Farideh. I don’t trust anyone else, that’s the problem.”
Siona sighs, gives a weary smile, and makes her way out of Farideh’s office. She finally has time to mull through all the numbers, the names, and all the moving parts over and over again until she falls asleep in her chair.
***
Leto connects his comms to the rest of the Trafalgar fleet. The agreement is that all parties enter the meeting flying light. Baby and Cain make up the spearhead, and the rest fly backup. Six to a MOS skiff, dispersed formation. They all have their grav plates set to accommodate the shifting asteroid field. Transponders are on just to make sure the count is accurate, but the Trafalgar skiffs keep out of sight. Fourteen skiffs to a party. On one side are fourteen Authority skiffs, pristine and well-kept, armed and ready. On the other side the ragtag band of miscellaneous parts grafted together by people who live and breathe for their craft. Leto knows which side would win, he can see it all in his mind. And he is glad to be on the winning one.
Farideh, Sunderland, the Cardinal, and the nukes are all loaded onto the mothballed freighter that is using minimal power just for shields against the asteroids. That is the meeting location. Everyone inside will have their comms cut off as soon as the meeting starts. That is also part of the deal. No outside intrusions. When everything is over, Farideh will turn off the frequency jammer.
The Authority has their skiffs in circle formation around the perimeter of the hyperspace jump point, making sure no reinforcements can ambush them. All the while Farideh has her people patrolling hyperspace and nearby sectors to make sure no reinforcements can ambush them. It is all a game of being where you think the enemy is going to be, and making sure the enemy does not know where you are. The mistrust is as palpable as the sweat bubbling between Leto’s palms and the control wheel. It has been so long since he piloted a skiff like this. Sunderland knows his craft, that much is beyond a doubt. Leto could cut through all of them in this skiff, and if it comes to that he will not let Sunderland die. His life is paramount, and the rest can go to hell.
Leto recognizes the potential for betrayal more and more with every passing day. The singular goals of people across the Galaxy savagely pulling fate in their own direction, with complete abandon and disregard. He wishes he could hear the meeting. He wishes he could alleviate the sweat making his hands slick and the grip of the wheel wet.
Leto wishes this could all just be easier.
But most of all he wishes someone would just *** believe him.
***
The Superior stands before them, and probably despite his own better judgment, he is alone. Quite a short man, stocky even, with amazingly short arms and no neck to speak of. His bald head shimmers under the artificial light inside the freighter. His bushy mustache twitches with every suspicious move of his lips, as he walks about the central cargo space, eyeing everything with a degree of mistrust. Like at any moment armed forces are going to crawl out the vents, jump from hidden compartments underneath the floorboards. Knives in the dark, blasters on standby, and nothing inside the space but the last good deal gone wrong. The Superior’s eyes may be full of doubt, but behind their pale blue glaze lies the shimmer of a discerning man. Someone who knows how to judge a situation.
“Satisfied with the premises, Superior?” Farideh asks to stop him from pacing about the place and making her skysick.
“Oh, I know neither of you are stupid. The only reason I am here is because I know that you are not stupid,” the Superior has a languid tone in his impeccable Common fit for the pre-C royal courts. “Quite to the contrary, it is rare that such industrious and crafty people, each in their own craft, assemble like this. And I hate to be the last one invited to these kinds of gatherings. I quite like being the first in the room. So, to be completely honest, I’ve had worse company in bigger dumps than this. I’m just waiting for my men to confirm that all the scans are clean and we can proceed.” The Superior tends to his comms for a brief moment. “And there it is. You are free to cut the comms, Ms. Farideh.”
Farideh nods, cuts all comms to the outside, and the meeting can officially start. It almost feels like parliament. Like they’re taking turns having the floor. All that’s missing is some token they carry to know who can talk ,and who can shut the *** up.
“Since the cliffnotes brought you all the way out here, I believe the full deal will be worth your time. If I’m known for anything, it’s for not wasting a good meeting.”
“Indeed. While I would relish the thought of hunting you down like the vermin you are, my innate pragmatism always gets the better of me. However, Trafalgar is much farther away than any Syndicate turf. And if there’s anything I hate more than miscreant pirates, it’s organized crime under my *** nose. That’s why I put up with the Cardinal for so long, but I have to say the shackles suit him much better than my patronage.” Farideh tries her best to notice any contempt in the Superior’s voice. Any sign of his expressed hate, but there is none. That makes him all the more dangerous. He doesn’t hate pirates or crime because of any emotion, but because they interfere with his pragmatic view of a perfect Galaxy. Crime must be eliminated not because he believes it to be wrong, but because it offsets the balance of his system. The savagery with which he would approach Trafalgar’s extermination would be devastating. Given any chance to eradicate any crime, and the Superior would cut through it like a viroblade. Politics, treaties, and public opinion keep him shackled, but Farideh has seen Superior Auburn in action when given the chance. That’s the main reason she’s even here.
Sunderland stands pensive and riveted to the floor, next to the shackled and gagged Cardinal on his knees. The last thing they need is his prattle. Never let your bargaining chips speak. Farideh holds the briefcase with the most advanced model of nukes they could procure, no larger than water bottles. When linked to a detonation harness, the nuclear yield is the stuff of legend. Even to this day, thousands of years of advancement later, and nuclear power is still used. Only now, instead of providing power, it's only value lies within the capacity for mass atrocities.
“I have here six nuclear warheads,” and Farideh shows the Superior the briefcase with a flourish. “That way you can pin Melkior on him. But not before we insert Demir Sunderland into the Syndicate fold and he takes over the Cardinal’s operation.”
“I can get behind pinning Melkior on someone, Ms. Farideh. My first choice would be Trafalgar, but I’m aware you know that already. You wouldn’t be here otherwise. So, do tell me why I should pin such a heinous crime on one of my operatives, and let someone like Demir-***-Sunderland run the Syndicate? The Cardinal has proven to be valuable.” The Superior shrugs. “I don’t see any reason for changing operatives this late in the game. Do you?”
“I do,” Sunderland steps in. “The Cardinal wants his own turf after he’s done with the Syndicate. His own little slice of the Galaxy to build his EN *** commune. How long do you think he’ll be satiated by that, and let alone what’s to stop him from harnessing the power he has once he takes over the Syndicate? Now, I believe you promised him Trafalgar. He gets rid of the Syndicate, and in the process when you get rid of Trafalgar he gets to keep it. Amazing play, but the fact that the Cardinal would still be here has to leave a sour taste in your mouth.”
“It does, so tell me how you would propose to clean it.”
“I already have my hooks in the Cardinal’s flock. Give the people a taste of luxury, and they’ll want to keep it. I can take over his Syndicate operation without them even noticing. I can work my way through the ranks and bring the entire operation down, and it wouldn’t even require your generous armament stipend. That would let the Authority keep its hands clean of the matter. I would make sure the Syndicate goes down. That’s first. Second, I don’t want any sector for myself, any haven, any part of the Galaxy. What I want is to be deleted from the Authority mainframe. I want my clean slate.”
The Superior cocks his head at a weird angle, and bobs up and down, like he’s thinking, but not quite. Closed eyes and all. “And what do you want, Ms. Farideh?”
“Trafalgar will aid in the takeover of the Syndicate operation. We will also provide you with an opportunity to go after the Church of Man. The Cardinal has contacts there, and once Sunderland takes over his operation those contacts will be ours. We will initiate arms trade with the COM to justify not only a blockade, but an all-out assault on their sector. The Authority will be rid of the Syndicate and the COM, and all I ask for in return is that you abstain from blockades or assaults on Trafalgar. We can still hunt each other out in the open. I don’t expect you to turn a blind eye to my business. But I don’t want a war. Trafalgar gets passed by when all this *** goes down.”
Superior Auburn puts his chin in his hand, muses to himself with a little chuckle here and there. “I must say, in all my years as the Superior I have rarely had someone suck my *** and lick my *** to the extent that both of you are doing. I don’t know if this is because you sincerely hate the Cardinal and the COM, and want to ruin them, or you are really afraid of me. Both, maybe?” The Superior’s menacing grin finally betrays his bestial nature.
“The Authority has lost a lot of cred in the Galaxy after Melkior. We know you need a win. You’re like a hungry whorbeast, Superior. It’s only smart not to get in your way when you’re ravenous. I’ll do anything for my people, and I believe Sunderland will do anything to save his ass.”
“Oh, I love my ass.”
“There is only one thing left.” There always is. Farideh thinks to herself while the Superior puts his hands behind his back and paces closer to them. “How do we ensure your compliance with the deal?”
“It’s not our compliance I’m worried about, Superior, but yours. Considering you have the most to gain, I have taken precautions to make sure your end of the deal is held up. I’m recording all of this. The Superior of the Authority meeting with two of the Galaxy’s most known criminals. That will undoubtedly cause some problems for you down the line. No matter if the deal is made or not. Just you being here plants the seed of doubt. And I know how much you love your position.”
“Almost as much as I love my ass,” Sunderland cuts in with a childish jibe, but at least it’s on point. The Superior takes more time to think.
“True. I wouldn’t have expected less from the Pirate Queen. I was just trying to bake my cake and eat it too.” Superior Auburn looks them both in the eyes. “You have a deal. Just delete that recording as a show of good faith.” His outstretched hand beckons their own.
A shake of hands and the deal is made. It’s all going according to *** plan.
The ship rocks violently, sending everyone inside tumbling around like cargo. As soon as they’re on their feet it rocks again.
“What the *** is going on?” Sunderland blares. “This isn’t an asteroid crash.”
“Turn off the comms jammer,” Superior Auburn orders like Farideh’s one of his lackeys.
“Everyone just keep calm,” she tells them all while going insane on the inside herself. The ship rocks again, even worse now. Emergency protocols are engaged. Everything turns dark and is awash with flaring red a moment later. “***,” Farideh curses at no one and everything in particular. She turns off the jammer. “Siona, what’s going on?”
“Farideh, it’s a mess. We need to get out of here.” Farideh can hear the clatter and boom of combat noise in the background.
“What happened? Siona, what’s going on?” On the other side the Superior is conversing with his own men.
“They came out of nowhere. Farideh, they didn’t use the point. They came up right behind us, they blew through hyperspace. Farideh, this is ***. We need to get out.”
Farideh tries desperately to wrap her head around everything, but it’s not working. She can see the Superior doused over with concern, and Sunderland on his private little chat with his Leto going crazy next to the Cardinal who just sits there, shackled and gagged. The Cardinal’s eyes are more telling than his open mouth would be. He’s telling her - you will pay.
“There’s a *** cruiser in the system. Is this your *** doing, Farideh?” The Superior pulls her out of her own inner hell.
“How the *** would I push a *** cruiser through? You have the point locked down!”
“My men tell me they didn’t use the *** point. What the *** is going on here?”
All of their comms break down at the same moment. Radio silence. Not a peep, except for the alarm inside the freighter.
Then the message comes through the comms, distorted at first, wild a bit later, and then a spine-chilling cold demand.
“We want the Cardinal.”
***
Time and space distort at first, congeal into themselves, fall apart like a mirror, crack and hum as they bend around each other, and finally break open and implode. A blinding flash erupts, and a second later, when Leto squints his eyes open, a cruiser of unknown design is right there. Right there inside the sector they so meticulously fenced off, guarded and patrolled. The hyperspoince point far in the distance, and the cruiser close enough for Leto to smell the exhaust fumes. Authority patrol still at the jump point. No one the wiser.
At least not until the cruiser starts firing.
Pulse blasts shoot from the forward cannons and dissipate against the freighter’s shield. Leto recognizes a warning shot, and then the following consecutive warning shots while the comms are turned on and the chatter starts. Leto mutes the rest and focuses on Sunderland.
“Tell me the Authority didn’t *** us?” Not so much a question as much as a premonition. But Leto can’t confirm it.
“It is a cruiser of unknown design. Considering it is firing on the freighter with the Superior inside I highly doubt it is an Authority prototype.” The cruiser itself is slick, angular, with a sharp nose, clean lines, barely exposed upper deck, unmanned turrets that protrude from the hull, small and hard to hit, probably a proximity shield that’s hard to puncture and even harder to dissipate from the outside. With the firepower he has available it is unlikely he could break through the shield with any ease. Leto judges the only weak spot to be the rear thrusters, which are wide and tough. The entire cruiser looks like a spearhead. It is undoubtedly quick, agile even for its size, and Leto can’t help but wonder if it is carrying smaller crafts and manned skiffs. He has to take everything into consideration if he is to engage. Judging by the continued fire on the freighter, he might just have to, and soon.
“How did it *** get past the patrols?”
“It didn’t come in through the point. It burst through hyperspace and came up behind us. Demir, I have heard of this. This is pre-C technology, highly volatile and dangerous.” Leto swallows his own words, the images of his fellow Immortals assembled to hear the words of their peer Hephestus.
The comms are then cut off, just like Leto’s recollections.
“We want the Cardinal,” a half-human-half-mechanical voice beckons them all. “Usher him into the escape pod, and we will leave the freighter intact. Once he is on board you will be given access to the hyperspace jump point. Resist, and you will be slaughtered. We are the Sons of Hephestus, and such is our decree.”
Leto feels a surge of anger like he hasn’t felt since the days he piloted his ship against the Khromnian uprising, since he flew to the Outer Reaches, since he quelled Magnolia-Tarsia dispute, and let alone since he faced the AIs.
Leto III, Grand-Master of War, punches in the override codes for Baby, and engages the weapons system. He flies straight for the cruiser.
***
Siona can’t really believe her eyes. Not just that the *** cruiser comes out of nowhere. Then the fact that she can’t explain *** to Farideh before the comms are cut off. Next thing is the voice - skies be damned, that mechanical voice - that tells them they want the *** Cardinal. And now, above all that ***, the *** that tops it all off, the Leto is hightailing it into the *** cruiser. All of her people are cut off. There’s no way to issue orders, to assume formations, or to formulate a plan. Farideh is alone, while Farideh and those *** bastards are inside that drifting coffin. The *** in the cruiser want the Cardinal, and Siona would bet her Cain on the fact that Farideh will not hand him over lightly. The entire situation is ***, and Siona is struck dumb, stuck in place like a statue. Neither she nor her Cain are moving, and she’s just watching the cruiser shoot at the mothballed freighter.
But above all that, above everything else, she’s stuck watching the Leto bolt it into the *** cruiser like a maniac.
Siona shakes it off, plunges the overdrive capacitor into the control panel, and engages all weapons systems. She starts the proximity comm protocol, and if she can pinpoint any frequency close by she can open a private channel. Choppy transmission, wavey voice reconstruction, and it hurts her ears worse than an ESP burst. But she has someone she wants to talk to.
Siona bolts it into the *** cruiser.
***
“We give them the Cardinal, and they’ll blow us to the Outer Reaches. You know that as well as I do,” Farideh tries to take control of the situation. Superior Auburn on one side wants to hand the Cardinal over as quickly as possible, and be out of this system and behind his cushy desk. On the other side is Demir-***-Sunderland who wants our forces to combine and form a protective barrier between the freighter and the cruiser; without comms no less. And then there’s Farideh, who just wants to *** wait for a second and start negotiations. “They won’t blow the freighter with the Cardinal here. We give that away and we lose our only bargaining chip.”
“Didn’t you hear them?” The Superior states the obvious, clearly afraid since he’s not in control.
“Everyone heard them, Superior. That’s not the issue. The issue is that I don’t believe them.”
“Who even are these ***? Sons of Hephestus, what is it with the *** names already,” Sunderland asks a valid question, and murmurs the second part mostly to himself. Farideh takes a look at the Cardinal, his eyes still speaking of payment that will be made.
“I have no *** clue. That’s the issue here. We can’t properly assess the danger, since we have no idea what the danger actually is.” And that’s where the Superior’s fear lies - the unknown. “They burst in here without using the point and with a full *** cruiser, no less. I say we give into their demands, and hope they honor their word.”
“Give into their demands, and *** hope they honor their *** word!” Farideh is all but at the edge of her composure.
“Let’s all take a step back and maybe we ask the person who obviously knows more than we do. How about we ungag the Cardinal?” Sunderland’s idea puts Farideh back on track, just like a cold shower.
Farideh begrudgingly removes the Cardinal’s gag, half expecting him to curse her until the skies fall down, half hoping he would tell them everything because if there’s anything the Cardinal loves in this Universe, it’s himself. “Give me a good reason and this won’t go back in your mouth,” she lets the old man know just where he stands.
“I believe you should listen to the Superior,” the Cardinal’s voice booms over the muffled sound of the alarm. It’s wasting what little power it has to function, and soon the only noise left will be that of the barrage from the cruiser, and the damned flickering red light.
“Of course you would believe that. You would also promise us these Sons of Hephestus won’t shoot us down once we hand you over. What is man without his word, after all?” Farideh refrains from kicking the Cardinal in the teeth.
“You played your hands, all of you. The cards are on the table, and my hand is better than yours. You see…” The Cardinal stands up, his hands still shackled in front of him, so he has to awkwardly push himself and grind up the wall he’s leaned on. “My flock have known I would be leaving them for a while now. Inserting yourself into my operation is only worth the credits you are ready to dish out, and not your armed forces. You will find all my bases empty, and me people all about, like a good flock, a free flock. Some will follow in my footsteps, and others won’t. I have given them free will. All the operatives you have at the ready will get you only as much as my people are ready to give. As soon as I disappear, the Syndicate will know, and my flock will be free to do as they see fit. Stay, leave, be beholden to the Church, beholden to Earth, or let yourself loose upon the Galaxy. Since the Authority has so kindly supplied the Sons of Hephestus with arms, they are finally ready to come out of the shadows.” Superior Auburn turns white as a rag. “Oh yes, I funneled all that nice gear you shelled out for my operation straight to them through the Syndicate, playing both sides. While I have to admit that your little double-cross and the putrid existence of Demir Sunderland have put a wrench in my original plan to nuke you all into oblivion once we made contact with the COM, I am still on track.” The Cardinal lifts his shackled hands. The cuffs light up red, and then green before they fall to the ground. “Do all you want with the Syndicate, but even after I’m gone they will still find a way to flourish. Such is the nature of roaches. The Authority will be blamed for all the carnage the Sons will wreak across the Galaxy, once the arms are traced back to their owners. Trafalgar will still be the number one suspect in the Melkior incident. And Demir Sunderland will still be without a single ally in all the *** Galaxy. So you can take my word for it - I won’t kill you. I have no reason to, or need for it. You have played your hand, and you have lost.”
Farideh is choking, like she’s been vented. The Superior is dazed, his soul shattered from his complete lack of control over the situation. It’s all vacuum, more vast, lonely, and darker than space. Farideh wishes the skies would fall down.
She also wishes Sunderland would *** stop looking out the port window and do his best to grasp the situation and maybe think of a way out. “I think we still have two cards to play, Cardinal. Better yet, they’re being played right now.” Sunderland smiles while gazing out the window with a glint in his eye, like he’s watching himself being saved. “While you were prattling on about how we lost, you didn’t take time to look out the window.”
***
Leto throttles Baby up the curves of the port side of the cruiser. Turrets pup up one after the other while he rides the frequency of the shield all the way to the stern, engages the uranium-coated front turrets, and blasts at the massive thrusters. Shields hold up, and his assault is just an inconvenience. The slick cruiser engages side thrusters to outmaneuver him, and the stern slides away, the entire ship rolls starboard side and the turrets can engage him again. Leto punches the throttle, pumps up the grav and sucks Baby on top of the shield, almost clawing his way as close to the ship as possible. Grav waves and electricity arks spark in between the skiff and the cruiser. Turrets have to disengage before they hit each other.
That’s when Leto has a chance to fight back. When a turret flips its cannons up and starts to disengage Leto douses them with shells. He rips through the turrets. But Baby is having trouble maintaining momentum this close to the shield. Leto’s losing thrust, and he has to disengage before he gets caught between the crossfire he can’t dodge at such a low speed.
Bottom thrusters burst Baby away from the shield-slide and Leto is off careening up the port side and to the upper deck. Main cannons are already on him as soon as he’s in view. Unlike the turrets, which have to pop out the shields, cannons have independent shield units for their own defense.
The main cannons lock on. Rockets come at Baby from all directions. Leto brushes off three and nosedives as close to the cruiser as possible to offset their targeting. He threads his way in between the cannons, linking his slides with twists and jukes, but there are still rockets on him. Leto bounces off a quick barrel-roll and careens upwards into a summersault. Baby can take the grav, and he can too, but the rockets can’t and he gets rid of two. Still more on him.
Leto has to do a one-eighty, duck between them and hopefully lose them in the next set of rockets that are being loaded. Cause them all to burst into each other, get jammed, or just fly off into the nothingness of the skies without a target or motive.
The alarm of the lock-on still blaring, Leto doubles the side-thrusters and prepares to slide into the one-eighty. Explosions behind Leto catch him off guard, but that welcome kind of being off guard.
The Cain bursts in between the rocket barrage, douses the locked-on pursuit with shells, and then dips low to hammer and pelt the cannons with grenades. Leto’s comms flare up, static bustling and growing into a voice.
“Come on, come on, skies be damned,” Leto can make out the gruff cursing of Siona.
“Siona, I have you on proximity.”
“Finally.”
“We need to stall the cruiser while Farideh and Demir make it out of there.”
“What if they let the Cardinal go and stay inside the freighter?”
“We both know that is never going to happen.”
“True enough. Are you ready for a real MOS run, Leto?” Siona of the Skies says that with a tone of challenge in her voice.
Leto can almost feel the smirk on Siona’s Face. “Are you?”
***
“Why is it that everywhere you show up, everything turns to *** ***?” The Cardinal snarls, spittle cascading in front of him like rain.
“You wouldn’t believe how often I’ve asked myself that.” Sunderland even chuckles.
“No matter. This will be your grave either way.”
First she sees the Cardinal. Then Farideh just sees the flaps of his robe. Then nothing. A sickly crack, wicked and lean, just like a vase breaking but less pompous, less drastic, punctures the silent space. Farideh then sees the Superior on the floor, and the place where his head used to be is now a mash of pulp, brain matter, and boney gore. The Cardinal is standing over him. Remnants of the Superior on his robe.
“Run,” she tells Sunderland in a grim hush, and pulls him along. “To the bridge. Now!” The hush turns into an order.
Both of them are out of the hangar with the Cardinal at their heels. Farideh closes the door and overrides the safety. They’ll find a *** way to crack it, just like the cuffs. But it should buy them enough time. Siona and Leto should buy them a way out. All they need to do is stay alive until then. Or face the problem head on. Farideh isn’t sure about much any more.
Farideh and Demir make their way down the corridor through the crew quarters, then take the right through the mess, and finally to the elevator that leads to the bridge. Doors close and the safeties engage behind them. The way blocked all the way to the elevator that brings them up to the bridge. Farideh is on the console as soon as they’re up. There’s no way that will hold. She thinks to herself, deadly aware of the fact of what she has to do. “I can initiate the evac protocols and enable the escape pods. Siona and Leto are keeping the cruiser busy. The Authority is retreating. Even without comms they have a life beacon on the Superior. No use waiting around for a dead body.” Farideh fingers the underside of the main console, all the while keeping her eyes on the main deck window. What I have to do. In the distance it looks like two mosquitos wildly darting about a warthog that is desperately trying to squash them. Her fingers finally find what she is looking for. Farideh takes out the blaster. “Sunderland, you go ahead. I need to chat with the Cardinal.” She sets the blaster to shred, and cocks the first load.
“Are you insane? You saw what he did to the Superior. He’s stimmed up on something, or he has enhancements up the ass. Modded to the teeth. How did your scanners not pick that up?” Sunderland’s twitching around, like a frightened gooblerat. All the while Siona and the Leto are taking on a full-blown cruiser outside. Seems like pilots are only brave in their ships.
“We don’t even know how those Sons-of-whatever made it here without using the jump point. You think I know how the Cardinal’s mods didn’t get picked up by my scanners? Don’t be stupid, Sunderland. Just go.”
“He’s going to kill you.” A pang of genuine concern in his voice.
“He might, but I have the element of surprise. I need to see his face before I leave.”
“Then pride is going to get you killed.”
“Just go already. Take the emergency stairs. The Cardinal will be coming up the elevator.” Sunderland nods respectfully, what he thinks might be the last time, and then he’s out of sight and down the stairs.
Farideh clips the blaster to the small of her back, turns away from the window, and waits for the Cardinal. Her heart starts pumping as hard as a rave in the Trafalgar entertainment district. She blinks sweat from her eyes, and traces her fingers over the hilt of the blaster one more time before the elevator comes up.
“I didn’t expect to find you here, Ms. Farideh.” The Cardinal enters the bridge, cutting a more imposing figure than usual. His eyes wilder and wider, with a reddish hue that matches the blood splatter on his gown. His shoulders seem broader, and his pace is like the boom of a drum. Each step forward an announcement of violence. “Wouldn’t you consider that, shall we say, unwise?” His voice sounds like extruding gravel, like every word he says hurts. Farideh knows she doesn’t have the time or the means to act this out with any drama or pomp. She takes out the blaster, sets it to full charge, and points it at the Cardinal’s head. The older man stops in his tracks. “Are you certain I won’t dodge the shot?” he asks her through a vicious grin.
“It’s a shrapnel-blaster set to full. Something will land, and I’m quick enough to reload for the rest to land too. I’m certain of that.” The nozzle of the blaster doesn’t even twitch, despite the burn in Farideh’s arm. She can keep this up all day, and she’s not lying when she says that something will land. The Cardinal wouldn’t be the first person she’s shot. He’s not the only one to walk his path over the bodies of the damned.
“Well then, do it. What are you waiting for?” The Cardinal takes one step closer, outstretches his arms, and beckons the shot. “Are you afraid, Ms. Farideh? Oh yes, you are.” His snarl becomes feral, pointed and precise. Malice seeping in between his teeth. “You’re still that little girl in the brothel. Living every day in fear that they might look past your horse face and your manly body, and see you for what you are - meat. That your *** is still a ***, and *** can be sold. Put a sack over your head, put a dress over those broad shoulders, small hips and tiny legs. Cover everything up and just sell you because you’re nothing but meat. And so you live now as you did back then - in fear. Constant fear that one day what you are, who you are, will not be enough and you will get sold. *** by the world, *** by the men you so utterly despise. That is why you own, that is why you take, and that is why you’re afraid. Because you’re still that little girl just doing her best to protect the only thing that they still haven’t taken - your *** ***. So *** shoot me. Shoot another man who is here to take from you. You have the upper hand now. You said so much yourself. Now *** shoot me.”
Farideh’s heart beats slower, her breath is steady, her arm still taut and her aim true. She puts down the gun, and places it on the control panel.
Without a word Farideh passes the Cardinal and takes the elevator down.
She makes her way to the escape pods, and finds all of them still docked. “What the ***?”
Something smashes against her head and Farideh tumbles down in a daze, writhing on the floor, the world all in blacks and blues. “I’ll take that,” she hears. Once her vision comes to she sees Sunderland standing over her. He has the case with the nukes in his hand. All this time Farideh didn’t even notice that she was carrying them, never letting go, like a warmongrel with a prize. “I couldn’t very well ask you for this, but I do need it.”
“Sunderland, what the *** are you doing?” Farideh can barely focus on the words from the ache in her head. She feels the ship jolt, but she’s not sure it’s not just her stifling legs.
“Looks like the Cardinal turned off the shield. The freighter will be harpooned to the cruiser soon. I’ve been keeping an eye out on the battle outside, and I have to admit Leto and Siona are doing an amazing job.” The airlock of Farideh’s escape pod closes. “Better get out quick, before they harpoon you in too. Thanks for the nukes.”
Sunderland disappears and Farideh is left alone in the escape pod. She can hear the neighboring pod initiating launch, and the MOS is off the ship. With the ache still in her head, and her vision slightly blurred, Farideh starts her own launch sequence.
I’ve been *** enough for one day.
***
“Siona, we need a front and follow,” Leto gives the command.
“What’s the target?”
“You be the front, and I will follow. I need you to blast open a rift in the shield and do a one-eighty from the tip of the ship to the thrusters. Stick close to me, and on my command open another rift. Got it?”
“You’re a crazy man, Leto. But I like it. I got you. Bow to stern, full rip.”
Leto takes the low path in between the cannons so Siona can get into a good position to aim her rockets. She does well by flying out of range of the lock-on, so the canons will focus on Leto. He has to dip and weave his way through both plasma turrets and the canons, since the cruiser engaged all defenses because both MOS skiffs were presumably driving the gunners insane. Leto cuts his way in between them, gets some shots off just to tickle the defenses, but saves most of his ammo for the final assault. He can see Siona on his radar, a blip in the radar sphere, and how she moves out and in quickly enough that he can cut his way to the bow.
The Cain lets two rockets loose inside the gunner turrets’ blind spot, and Leto is on it like grav sickness. Baby ducks between the barrage and moves under the shield, Leto cranks the grav and sets it to mitigation. He’s like a scarab in between skin and flesh, tearing his way down the underbelly of the cruiser. Leto threads Baby in between the popping turrets that can’t aim for him under the shield, and the cruiser command won’t risk lowering the shield lest they open themselves up to the full force of the Trafalgar skiff fleet. Siona has trained her men well enough to know when not to interfere, and when to take their chance. Grav pressure and metal against shield creak and crack all around him while he keeps Baby tightly in between the two. A twitch or two and he’ll crash.
Leto can see Siona taking on her role as the forward, and then he knows he can let loose. He turns Baby upside-down, opens the hatch, and lets loose the only clip of bombs and rockets Baby has on board. Explosions erupt in his wake, at point-blank range. Thrusters are on full blast, and only fire and debris cut a swath as Leto makes his way to the stern thrusters. He slides the skiff to a full halt, angles the nose upwards, and empties the rest of the uranium-coated shells straight into the thrusters.
“Now,” he calls out to Siona, and she launches her rockets again. The shield breaks and Leto’s out. The cruiser loses air, and tumbles before emergency thrusters stabilize it.
Leto’s proximity comms glitch out. He can hear a voice, almost like it’s a distant apparition in the static. “Leto, Leto,” he can make out. “Escape, es… cape… es…” Leto checks the radar but finds nothing. Siona is still running loops around the cruiser, but Leto can see it changing course, moving ever so slightly instead of keeping the position secure. “Le… Le… Escape…” He hears over the comms. Leto sets the radar to infra and there it is. A dot in the distance, blinking. One person.
An escape pod.
Leto turns Baby around, disengages from combat, and heads to pick up Demir in the escape pod. Behind him the cruiser shifts and lowers the offensive turrets, and engages full defensive maneuvers. Another blinking light on the radar shows another pod. In the rear-view monitor Leto can see the cruiser making way towards the freighter, cannons and turrets lowered, harpoons out. Siona and her men are cutting their own swath towards the other pod.
Leto harpoons Demir’s pod and bolts it for the jump point. They are out and in hyperspace before the Trafalgar forces. Leto turns the transponder off, and opens his comms to a familiar frequency, saved in Baby’s memory.
Once he gets a bead on her skiff Leto sends Siona her override codes.
“Demir, where do we go from here?”
“Just take us somewhere where I can get out of this *** pod. And Leto, one more thing,” a pause, “I *** told you so.”
Leto sets course for the nearest uninhabited nebula. Farther than that, how and where, he has no idea. He only hopes Demir might have one or two, besides his gut this time.
Chapter 38: AROUND THE WAYSpoiler
THEY LANDED ON THE SWAMP planet of Anudorah a day after the Sons of Hephestus put all their hard work to the pyre. Leto had been wracking his brain in the hold of Demir’s skiff. No matter how much he mulled over every angle, Leto always came back to the same main question - is Hephestus alive? Is there another Immortal out there in the Galaxy? Is she truly behind this insanity?
Leto had time to think and reminisce while in the hold. The image of that first gathering of the Reign, when Hephestus proposed her wild machinations. Human-machine hybridity, instead of AI. Trans-humanism to the point where mods, grafts, enhancements and stims would become a matter of the past. Instead we would expand synchronicity, and achieve complete fusion with the machine. We could survive hyperspace jumps without the gates. We could work tirelessly. War would be a thing of the past. AI would never overshadow us, as Hephestus always claimed it would. To an artificial intelligence, when advanced enough, the chaos of mankind is a threat to existence itself, perfect as it envisions it. Those were her predictions, which wnet widely disregarded. What was most important about her proposal was that we would all be immortal, if her grad design was put forward. Leto expected the Reign to not just scoff at the idea, but to strip Hephestus of her title. They did the former, but she escaped the latter and went into exile. The Reign never went after her, despite her negligence to appear before the council at repeat instances. It was too much of a hassle for them to find her system and strip her of her title, than it was to just let her be insane somewhere far from them. The Reign had already become complacent then, and AI research was in full swing. If she is truly fostering the Sons, then the Galaxy is in much worse shape than Leto had originally feared.
When Demir had docked his skiff and Leto was waking about again, following the MOS around a hovel-township deep in the swamp, he still had little to say and much to think about.
“We need to go see Fromaroundtheway,” Demir tells him. “She’ll give us safe haven for some good info. But getting to her damned hovel is such a hassle.” The words pass through Leto. “I mean, she’s a high-ranking information dealer. She could make the trip easier. You know she also sits on a major Quyah deposit?” Leto grumbles something in return. “Yeah, the land has been in her family for eons, before they even discovered that Quyah can be used in metallurgy. She lets companies mine on her property and in return she also gets info from the miners. They come from all over the Galaxy to mine the stuff here. It’s amazingly toxic, and the pay’s legendary. When the miners leave they earn their keep, maybe get another contract sooner rather than later, if they pass on some info to Aroundtheway. Miners see some ***, I tell you. Aroundtheway expands on that info, trades it along, and her route stays grassroots. No miner would ever rat on her. But still, she could make the trip to that damned hovel a bit easier.” Demir turns around and does his best to grab Leto by the shoulders. “Are you even here?”
“I apologize, Demir.”
“Don’t apologize, just be here. It’s a setback, trust me. I have some ideas.”
At first Leto hoped to hear the word idea coming from Demir. Then he remembers that it was his ideas that got them to this junction of culminating failure in the first place. “Pardon my lack of excitement for your ideas as of recently.”
Demir whistles. “Good one. Granted, granted. But you want to know the upside to that colossal failure?” he asks through an almost childlike smile.
“Pardon me, if I fail to see any silver lining in this situation.”
“That’s because you’re used to winning.” Demir’s jubilar tone feels almost off-putting to Leto. It honestly makes him want to smack the MOS. A quick upside swing to get him back on track. “From failure sometimes the best new ideas come to fruition.” Demir turns around and continues his way through the messy thoroughfare, going someplace he didn’t tell Leto about. So all he can do is follow.
“You won’t disclose this inspired idea?”
“No,” Demir just brushes him off.
They make their way in between huddled masses of miners getting up for a shift, or coming back from one, covered in grime to the bones. Demir leads them to a small harbor with hovecrafts. He approaches one of the pilots with a level of familiarity. “We got the skinny for Aroundtheway. Righteous dibs. Make it worth her timings.” The level of patois Demir can switch to in his Common sometimes astounds Leto.
The pilot nods through a concentrated frown. “Well tidings you brought so far. Aroundtheway appreciate you. I ring in the call, see what she say.” The pilot turns away and tends to his call.
“I’ve known Fromaroundtheway for years. We’re on good terms. Probably one of the few I have in the *** Galaxy. She’ll do me a solid. And the info we sell her will give us a chance to start from here.”
“Aroundtheway will be seeing you.” The pilot motions to Demir. “But only you,” and he shows Leto to stop.
“We both go, or skinny go too.”
The pilot murmurs something into his chin. “She say you better make it worth her hearing.”
“Solid as usual.”
They are then ushered into the hovercraft. The cockpit glass comes down, and it is a full open view panel. The pilot takes his seat at the back of the craft, operating an ancient back-burner design. Once the grav kicks in they are above the swamp, and lightly cruising through the muck and tree marrow percolating in the waters. No one speaks a word during the trip. Demir still deep in his self-satisfied inner machinations. Leto tries to take in the scenery, but it is not one worth taking in. Everything in shades of brown and dead. The pilot sticks to piloting, thankfully not trying to be friendly when it is not required.
In silence they arrive at a run-down hovel deep in the woods of the swamp, in a cul-de-sac of sorts. From the hovel extends a short pier. The pilot wishes them a fruitful meeting in his colorful patois, and is off into the swamp again. Demir shows Leto the way down the pier and through a moldy, ragged piece of cloth hanging over what should be a door.
“Demir, my boy, let me look at you.” A woman of formidable size embraces Demir in her massive arms. “You haven’t been eating right. I can tell. I could snap you like a twig.” And she most assuredly could. “And who’s this?” The woman looks Leto over with a discerning look hidden behind her plump eyelids and gorged sacks under her eyes. “Top class Leto, I must say. Looks like you have taste in other things besides those dreadful MOS skiffs. Sit outside, and I’ll be right there with some stew. Go on.” The woman waves them out through another rag and they sit down at a small table on the terrace overlooking the vast stretches of cut-down swamp. In the distance machinery dots the horizon like insects. Cockpits mounted to long, stinger-like legs that move with spider-like precision over the carcass of the land. Driving their stingers into the soil, extracting the precious Quyah and siphoning it through tendrils that course all the way to the mining station in the farthest murky distance. In the silence of the terrace the scene is almost serene in its own way.
“The stew is good. I can vouch for that.” Leto continues immersing himself in a view that entrances him unlike the rest of the swamp. Disregarding Demir in this time of tranquility. “You know why they call her Fromaroundtheway?” Demir continues. “Of course you don’t. Well, when she started peddling info, if anyone would ask her where she got it from, she’d say from around the way. The nickname stuck.”
Leto gets pulled out of his scenic meditation. “And that is all? The entire story.”
“Stories don’t have to be long, to be good. All that matters is the point.” Leto becomes more concerned with Demir the more this wild demeanor of his persists. He wouldn’t judge the MOS mad, but he also finds it quite difficult to discern his complete state of mind as of yet.
Fromaroundtheway walks out of her hovel two large bowls or steaming stew. Luscious smells and vapors coil their way upwards. “Here you go. Dig in, boys.”
Demir unabashedly starts wolfing his stew down. Leto takes his in carefully, seeing as Demir isn’t known for his culinary palette. To his astonishment the stew is spectacular, and Leto soon joins Demir in bestial devouring. Fromaroundtheway takes a chair and sits down at their table. Demir sighs delightfully once he’s done, and Leto sets his bowl aside with a bit more tact.
“Now that you’re both fed, I’m going to be needing that skinny. What’s my trade for it?” Fromaroundtheway keeps her warm, motherly tone of voice even when conducting business.
“We need safe haven here, and access to your comm-center.”
Fromaroundtheway nods to herself. “Not too big of an ask. Sure, just make it worth my while.”
“Superior Auburn is dead. You get it first. Authority won’t be announcing yet, and the only other people who know won’t be acting on it quick. Exclusive skinny.”
“That confirmed?”
“Saw him die myself.”
Fromaroundtheway chuckles. “Who did him in? And who’s the other party that knows?”
“Some new force. Can’t tell you a lot about them, but keep your ears and eyes out for the Sons of Hephestus. They ambushed a meeting between the Superior, Farideh the Free, and me. Won’t tell you anything about the meeting though. Lips sealed on the why.”
“Anything on who leads these Sons of Hephestus? What’s their deal? Who or what do they hate?” Fromaroundtheway makes a chilling point that Leto finds hard to come to terms with. That seemingly everything, or at least too much, in the Galaxy now operates in spite of something, and not for something. Division, strife, hatred and evil-minded competition are the norm.
“I don’t know if he leads them, but they seem to be running circles for the Cardinal now. He’s blown, switched from that EN *** to something far more dangerous. He did the Superior in. Still don’t know what they want, or who they hate. That’s why you and yours have to hop on that.”
“So the Cardinal finally popped his lid.” Fromaroundtheway harrumphs almost like a hiccup.
“I believe he’s more dangerous than ever,” Leto chimes in despite his initial intent to keep that silent. His contemplation seeps out of its own will.
“He’s always been dangerous. That coming from you, I’ll be sure to keep an even closer eye on him now. Well,” and Fromaroundtheway smacks her thighs, stands up and stretches her back. “You got yourselves a place to stay. Demir, you know the way. Pick out your rooms and the comms are yours. I have some work to do.”
Demir thanks her and ushers Leto into the hovel, shows him to a small trap door and opens it. They go down a ladder and make it to an underground facility that reminds Leto heavily of an army bunker. A large corridor stretches into the gray distance, and at the end is a large double-door. On either side of the corridor small open entranceways are interspersed with closed doors. Leto knows the open ones to be common areas, or kitchens, and the shut doors are private rooms.
“Pick a room. Just put in a code and it’ll pop out a keycard for you. I’ll be in the comm-center if you need me.”
Leto picks a random room, and lets Demir go about the business he seems so eager to start. He can have his ideas, and Leto can have his meditation. All he might need now is a bit of peace and quiet.
Chapter 39: WINTER ***Spoiler
THERE HAVE BEEN FAR TOO many meetings in the past months, let alone the week. And here they are again. Siona, Mutemba, Salvatore, and Farideh. Again in her office. Again looking at the sphincter of lady luck open wide and *** all over them.
Mutemba has his own ideas about taking over the Syndicate for ourselves. With the operatives he has in place, and Salvatore’s forces, it’s an actual possibility. Although they would lose a lot of traction without Sunderland’s connections. Farideh has no idea what that thorn in her side is going to do with those nukes. So she’s not too keen on betting anything concrete on a play involving Demir-***-Sunderland. Siona, on the other hand, wants to kill them all. Send her and her pack out to start tearing through everything and everyone until they get a bead on the Sons. While her brutal ways may be an option Farideh avoids most often, in this case she has a straight fancy for the idea.
Neither play is the best one, though.
“We shut Trafalgar down tighter than a winter ***. And the suggestion box is closed on that. I want all our contracts cut, we take the financial loss. All our resources we pool into fleet production. Mutemba, you keep working on info. I want everything on the Sons, preferably in real-time. Their movements, targets, manifestos; I want to smell the Cardinal in this room twenty-four-seven. Salvatore, you secure the sector. Regular patrols throughout the sector, a total reach-around. Same as with the info, twenty-four-seven.”
“Ms. Farideh,” Mutemba cuts her off cautiously, apologetically. “That will burn through our finances. Without our contracts or any trade, we have no way of reinforcing our capital, let alone the spending.”
“You’re completely right. We will burn through our entire capital. Every last credit of it.” Mutemba sits quietly aghast, while Salvatore has his worry-face on, and Siona on the far side just waiting to hear her part in this. She’s the only one who doesn’t even get paid. “While we’re reinforcing our navy, and keeping an eye out for the Sons, Siona will be leading her pack to scavenge.” Siona’s face lights up. “The Sons won’t keep a low profile, that’s certain. They’ll probably take credit for icing the Superior. The way they just came into that pile of asteroids. Not through the jump point. Anything harvested off of them will be worth a hefty sum on the black market. We stockpile. The info gets us their routes and targets, and Siona will be there waiting with her pack. A scrap of sheet from their ships, and I want it. The cog in the mechanism of their turrets, and I want it. Anything and everything that flies off their ships, and I want it. We monopolize the entire trade on the Sons. Any competition, MOS or otherwise, we wipe it out. Better ships for the pack, better ships for the defenses. Better flyboys from the academy. The best train the new best. And when the Galaxy starts getting that itch for the Sons’ tech, we swoop in. Stock the capital with some investment potential, ally ourselves with the winning parties, and resume business with ramped up prices. High risk, high reward. Now, this is the one and only time I will take any suggestions.” Farideh looks around the room. Approving faces let her know. “Good. Now see yourselves out. I need time alone.”
Mutemba and Salvatore make their way out, but Siona stays behind.
“What is it, Siona?” Farideh immediately starts with the motherly tone, clearly irked and fresh out of capacity for any more banter.
“Nothing, everything’s good. But there is one thing I think you should know.” Siona pauses.
“Fine, fine, I can take it.”
“That Leto,” and another pause. “No other way to say it. He’s either some kind of experiment or something. Some kind of tech *** I don’t understand. A way to try and replicate the original Leto. Or he’s the real *** Leto.” Another pause.
“Spill it out, woman. Use your words and stop grumbling. It doesn’t suit you. We’ve seen enough crazy *** in the past week to justify any batshit idea you might have. Spill it out.” Farideh has had enough of everything up to her eyeballs. Hearing Siona out in all honesty is surprisingly exactly what she needs. A good dose of something insane, just like how she feels right now.
“I’ve never seen someone fly like that. It’s not even his skiff. He worked that Sunderland rig like it was custom. I could barely keep up with him. Now, I haven’t lost my edge.” She has to save face. “But either I have to start training, and bring my numbers up, or that Leto is somehow the genuine *** article. He’s no protege, we would’ve heard about that. They don’t just fall out the sky without a MOS hearing about some stiff new competition. I’m telling you Farideh, there’s something up with that Leto.”
Farideh takes a deep breath and exhales as loudly as she can. It feels like a soothing exercise. Like she just blew out her demons. “I know. Or at least I suspect the same thing. I’ve had my eye on him since he first strolled in here. He was way too confident. Even when we talked in the Tombs. Or in the car. I could never quite place it, why he worried me so much. He’s just too much Leto. He’s too perfect for the role. I thought it was grand delusion at first, or something similar. Probably some kind of military job. Maybe deep hypnosis. But now that you can vouch for his flight capabilities, I’m starting to think we might have a *** Galaxy-wide bomb on our hands.”
“He sent me my override codes back as soon as he entered hyperspace. Didn’t keep them even a second longer than the contract lasted.”
“We know he’s honorable. Can’t say that about a lot of people in the Galaxy. We’re on good terms with both Sunderland and the Leto. I can forgive the *** for clocking me over the head. Hell, I can even appreciate it as a move. Either the Cardinal disposes of me and he bolts. Or I come out and he takes the nukes. Keep an eye out for Sunderland doing MOS runs. Get in touch if he pops up. We might have an ally there.”
Siona leans on her thighs, blows a hefty sigh, and stands up. “Glad to know I’m not the only one who’s insane. Have a good night, boss.” She leaves the office and Farideh is alone again.
This is the time she keeps for herself. This is the time when she is one hundred percent in control. Of her own thoughts, of her empire, of her sanity. She also has time to think about what she’s going to do to the Cardinal once she gets a hold of him. Once she breaks him in open combat, on the battlefield, and not on some freighter in the middle of nowhere.
Chapter 40: MANIFESTSpoiler
“THE SONS ARE ON A rampage. They have this full manifesto out. Something about the merging of man and machine.” Demir finally starts telling Leto what he knows after weeks of walling himself off in the comm-center. “Auburn’s been replaced by Svyla Torkk, the ***-Queen herself. She’s been gunning for that job for decades. And she’s tougher and meaner than Auburn. Torkk already declared the Sons terrorist organization number one. Even the COM are in the fight, calling them an act against god, or some ***.” Leto listens to how the Galaxy is going to ***, courtesy of Demir’s expressive delivery. “The Sons, meanwhile, have launched full-scale assaults on every major tech company. Xing-tech, Hanzo, Charkul, Drakk-web chains, and even the Syndicate and PROTECs. They’re jumping all over the Galaxy. Call their tech transverse jumping. No need for jump points, and from what I heard they can fight in hyperspace. A lot of big-tech is going to get screwed.”
“I never thought I would say this, but can we move along to your plan?”
“My plan is your plan.”
“I’m tired, Demir. Tired. Just tell me.”
“You can’t know what I’m doing, or else you’ll never leave. And you need to go.”
“Don’t play games with me, I told you I’m not in the mood.”
“I don’t give a *** about your mood, Leto. We went about this all wrong. We tried to shoehorn you into my world, and we got jack-*** for it. We don’t repeat mistakes. On the ground you’re just another man wearing a better man’s face. You’re not Leto down here, you’re a Leto. But out there, in the skies, you’re the Leto. You need to fly. And you need to take this.” Demir hands Leto the case with the nukes. “Six nukes will give you plenty of capital to build yourself a skiff. Any respectable chop-shops will be just enough for a decent start.”
“We can’t risk that, Demir. You know that. What if something happens to you?” Leto has to admit he has also grown somewhat fond of Demir. He doesn’t want to see the man hurt. Leto did drag him into this, and continues to do so. Still the MOS is here, undeterred by failure.
“Once we part ways I’ll set up a data dump. I’ll put it where we first met. Emergency signal connected to my heart. Also a regular daily update. Pulse from Beby. Hell, even an escape protocol for Baby if something happens to me. You don’t receive any of those, or well, you do receive any of those, and you’ll know where to find the coordinates to your sector. In the meantime, I have buyers for the nukes lined up, and a selection of chop-shops. Leto, you need to know that I’ve never been so clearheaded in my *** life. You need to get out there and start flying. Start the legend. But most importantly you need some backing. You need to contract your service, finance the initial push, and then the legend will tell itself. Tell me it’s not a good idea.” Demir outstretches his arms, and looks Lto square in the eyes.
Leto then knows.
“Who do you have in mind as a benefactor?” Leto gives in. He sees it in Demir’s eyes - he is certain this will work.
“Just the right people,” Demir tells him.
Chapter 41: SYNDICATESpoiler
IT DOESN’T OCCUR THAT often that you get to see New Hiroshima from the penthouse of the Saotomi Headquarters. The entire place is decorated with an eastern EN twist, all in reds and golds and silvers. Sharp and deadly, minimalistic and precise. Deals being conducted in the dark tell tales from within the walls. The top floor to see the top man in the Syndicate - Hayao Fukusawa. The youngest leader of the Syndicate ever, and the most brazen. The main reason why he took on the Cardinal’s people in the first place. He’s been expanding for years now, and it’s not going as smoothly as he thought it would. And when things don’t go smoothly you’re more inclined to have a meeting with Demir Sunderland.
Demir’s surrounded on four sides with a member of Fukusawa’s personal bodyguards. The peak of the Syndicate faithfull. Already seated in one of the most comfortable chairs Demir’s ass has ever graced, he doesn't find it hard to adjust to the sight of New Hiroshima stretching to the end of the horizon. Big guys with their huge windows overlooking what they feel is theirs. The entire far wall is just glass, adjusting to the natural sunlight coming from outside, always the perfect hue to keep the view of the city as bright as possible. The desk between Demir and Fukusawa is massive in scale, polished to perfection, and entirely as big and polished as the Syndicate leader’s ego.
“I know you’re enjoying the view, but that’s not why you’re here, Mr. Sunderland.” Fukusawa has a silky tone of voice, hushed and grim.
“Yeah, but it’s a good view. A man could easily get lost in it.”
“I know, I see it every day. Now, on to the matter of the moles in my organization you so vehemently suggested I should know about.” Not one to mince words or waste time. That’s how you make it up the Syndicate ladder.
“There’s a ton of them. I mean so many, it’s hard to even count. Now, a lot of them are former Cardinal people, obviously. Getting rid of those would be tricky for anyone. But the problem with those people who came into the organization already aligned with someone else,” and Demir pauses, “is that it spreads dissent among your men. Letting something like that happen right under your nose.” A whistle, long one too. “That’s not easy to wipe away.” Two of the bodyguards on Fukusawa’s side move in closer. “What I came here to tell you is that your men have decided to accept that times are changing. The reign of the family tradition is over. It’s time to branch out. And in order to do that, well,” and Demir shrugs, “some of the ballast needs to be vented.” The two bodyguards grab Fukusawa by the shoulders.
“You wouldn’t dare,” he blurts out and looks from side to side, like a trapped animal. “You wouldn’t dare,” he says again to hammer the point home.
“Oh, I dare,” then Demir hammers the point home.
Chapter 42: TECHSpoiler
ANOTHER DAY, ANOTHER JAIL CELL. When having visited more than one, even if it is just the one, they all start looking the same. Blinding white or black, depending on the mood of the jailors, with a force-field in either blue, green, or red, covering the entrance. A space to sit and sleep, and a space to *** and ***. The only space with any walls between Leto and the surveillance is the shower. There is still so much as human rights in the Galaxy he finds himself trapped in.
Leto always finds solace in meditation. The blankness, the emptiness of the void he can conjure in his own mind soothes him. It is a balance in all things. Everything and nothing. There Leto can just fly, unencumbered and unhindered.
It is also about the same feeling the first and second time around when a person with a higher position in this new Galaxy strolls down to the prison cells and decides to talk to you. Leto remembers Demir, and his mantra that becomes a lot more palatable in these types of situations. Something about the tables and the turning thereof. When the powerful come to see someone more powerful, despite the circumstances they find themselves in physically.
“Before you have to admit anything, or state your surprise, or even make an observation, don’t even bother. Straight to the point, please Mr. Xing. I hope you appreciate that as much as I do.”
The man so tall it is almost alien, lanky and swaying gracefully, languid yet quick, looks straight into Leto without a minimal shift in expression. His soft face a waxen mask, caught perpetually in thought almost, always thinking far ahead of everyone else. Every new CEO of Xing-Tech is Xing. Currently holding that throne is Xing XVI. It is a tradition of theirs to modify their physical being. Since the days before the C, they were at the top of tech. Pioneers in the field of AI. Responsible for the exile of Hephestus. A company that overshadowed an Immortal. Every Xing is bred and groomed for the position. They are made to recognize, adapt, and conquer.
Xing approaches the force-field. “Your enhancements, mods, grafts, even the stims and nano-myte machinery. It is all so old. We have much never, and much more promising models of the same tech. Yet the brightest stars often fizzle the fastest,” and the lank Xing puts some pomp in his movements. It is a dance, a very subtle dance. “The biggest issue with better and faster tech is that the sync factor suffers. And you, sir, have a sync factor of a hundred percent. That is odd, and I want to know why. And if you cannot offer the why, I want to know what you can offer.”
“I will offer you the Sons of Hephestus on a silver platter. Sponsor my skiff, my tech, my operation, and I will be wherever they are. I will destroy them until they regret ever coming out of the shadows. I will stalk them, report routes to you so you can manage your shipments safely. I will gather more men, more skiffs, a small but lethal squad. I will not stop until they are obliterated. What I offer you, Mr. Xing, is the Grand-Master of War. At your service.”
“In the midst of chaos, there is also opportunity,” Xing says.