The Ghost of Queen's Light

Submitted for the Pod and Planet Eve Fiction Contest on October 24, 2016. 

Cover Art by Nomistrav

Date: YC117-10-15
Time: 07:01
The Bleak Lands
Kamela V - 24th Imperial Crusade Logistic Support

Oberyn’s eyelids fluttered with a heavy and ponderous weight as his emerald eyes angrily searched for the source of the ringing alarm that aggravated his already intense migraine. The faint, rhythmic echo sounded from the door across the room in a series of low-toned chimes. With a tired, irritable groan, the slender Khanid man pulled the sheets away from his pale, naked form. Lifting to a stand, he approached the door with ripples of light emanating on the floor tiles under the pressure of his bare feet.  With a languid glance, he saw the reflective eyes of his Syrikos hound, who sat in the darkness beside the door. The faint silhouette of her silent, snarling maw outlined her features.

“Easy, Animus,” He groggily reassured the beast.

Gently massaging the crick in his neck, he stood before the doorway with a slouched posture. With an arduous gesture of his hand over the door’s scanner, he prompted it to open, and with it came a stinging, bright light that caused his eyes to water.  As he shielded his tired eyes with his outstretched hand, a nauseating smell of oil polish washed over him. Casting his blurry gaze upward, he found the taciturn face of the gold-white mass of metal standing before him.

“There is a disturbance that requires your expertise, Uhlan. You will proceed to Medical for deployment,” The man explained in a deep baritone.

With a whistle of his arid nostrils, Oberyn sucked in a breath. Swallowing the hard lump in his throat, he began to tenderly lap at his cracked lips to wet them. His stomach turned at the faint taste of alcohol that still stained his lips from the night prior. The hungover Khanid loosed a disgruntled groan as the Commodore shifted and lifted the tone and tension in his voice to a booming command.

“A squad of Imperial Marines are already arming and they are in need of a Cyber Knight for this deployment. You will, unfortunately, need to wake yourself up, and transfer to your combat clone. It will be ready for you on-board a Transport inbound for Kamela Eight, and you will be briefed en route. I don’t want to hear any lip from you – not this time. Now, get that beast of yours in motion. You’re both going,” The commodore demanded, pivoting on his heel and walking away with a flare of his cape.

Gazing out at the long corridor as the Commodore took his leave, Oberyn caught a glimpse of the passing ships. Heavily condensed, the multitude of both Capsuleer and Imperial Navy vessels signalled that it was early morning.

“I’ll never get any sleep, you know that?” Oberyn asked the drooling hound, rhetorically. “Not that I need any – a bullet to the head wakes you up pretty quickly, strange as it is. You die, you wake up, you feel unnaturally refreshed.”

Resting her jaw on the top of her paws, Animus slowly closed her yellow eyes in an attempt to drift back into slumber. With a soft nudge to her ribs to jar her awake, Oberyn gave an irritable shake of his head.  The animal silently lifted to a shaky stand and left the room with a spring in its step. To the shock and dissenting complaints of his neighboring station-goers, Oberyn exited his quarters, stark nude. His clothing would be unnecessary for the clone jump.

***

Date: YC117-10-16
Time: 09:19

With a sluggish groan, Oberyn lazily stretched his arms above his head and collapsed back into a human-sized receptacle affixed to the wall. With a glimmer of curiosity in his eyes, he lazily surveyed other capsules adjacent to him. Those capsules, which were not empty, housed other loyal mercenaries, each providing a particular service for the Imperial Crusade. The majority of them served as a vanguard, fighting against the perpetual advances of Republic fighters and Matari loyalists, diligently preventing any progress.

A holographic display appeared in front of his eyes that followed his gaze. A swift overview of his mercenary profile began to scroll in an upward motion, outlining both his vices and virtues. While a number of his attributed feats revolved around combat and electronic warfare specializations, there were an equal amount of red-lettered stains on his record. Booster addiction, alcoholism, and solicitation of prostitutes within Amarr space were among the most egregious offenses. A cursory glance over the timing of his iniquity showed a particular trend that only arose after he had become an immortal soldier. His record prior painted him as a pious, loyal, family man, right up until his recruitment by the Royal Uhlans in the Marthia system.

Without the lingering fear of death, the immortal was free to act upon his debauchery to the fullest extent, and did so with unrestrained glee.

A flash of movement startled Oberyn, refocusing his attention on a neural scanner mounted to a hydraulic armature that lowered in front of his face. The device began to give his facial features a perfunctory scan with a glowing, golden light, and emitted a loud, rhythmic banging sound. He sucked in a breath and scrunched his features, to which the device protested with a single klaxon alarm.

“Alright, I’m so-” Oberyn attempted.

“DDNNNT” The device responded.

“Would you giv-”

“DDNNNT”

Rubbing at the dull throbbing of his head with a grimace, Oberyn conceded defeat. Holding perfectly still, Oberyn held his breath and permitted the device to attempt another dreadful scan of his skull. Completing its scan, the device emitted a cutesy chime of satisfaction. In an instantaneous collage of blinding light, he exited his cosmetic clone and jumped inside a new body. His migraine and nausea had abruptly disappeared. Pins and needles rocketed across his limbs as the nerves heralded the arrival of his consciousness in the virgin mold of biomass and its dropsuit shell.

As he patiently waited for the dropsuits systems to boot, Oberyn gave an annoyed, raspy exhalation that echoed from the external speakers of his helmet in a sinister, ragged crackling of static. The dim blue lights of his helmet sprang to life as the interior screens of his helmet faded in, displaying the hold of an Imperial transport ship. Uniformly decorating the inside of the hold were several rows of seated Imperial Marines, who stared at him with mixed expressions. A younger woman looked over Oberyn with short, nervous glances, unaware that he focused on her breasts during the brief exchange.  

Concealed by the traditional dark colors of the Khanid Kingdom, his combat clone was a both a beautiful marvel and menacing monstrosity of war. In his new state, he bore little resemblance to himself, with the pale, veiny flesh of the blank clone lacking any distinguishing features.  The dropsuit was grafted to his body, particularly the metal spine, such that it could operate in synergy with his central nervous system. The organic parts of his clone that were unnecessary for function were removed and replaced with alloy and synthetic materials, giving the clone and its armor a similar mass to that of a small vehicle.

The clone soldier leaned against the interior wall of the troop transport with a dull, metallic thump. To Oberyn’s immediate flank was Animus, who stood shoulder-height to the mortal Marines. Giving a calculated stoke across the animal’s back, Obery proudly cooed, finding delight in her mere presence. In response, Animus began to brush against the metal of his legs affectionately.

“I’ve never seen a Slaver that large,” The staring woman said, nervously.

“My division’s private stock,” Oberyn explained in a matter-of-factly drawl through the static of his helmet.

“Why are its claws removed?” Asked a marine.

“What’s the cut on its neck?” Another added.

“We remove the vocal cords and claws so they don’t make any sounds when they’re running or attacking,” Oberyn stated, proudly.

The Marines took uneasy, hurried glimpses at Animus, shaken by their own fascination of the beast’s alleged guile. By contrast, the slaver hound was wholly disinterested in any of them. Transfixed on Oberyn’s armored form, the panting beast dribbled long trails of frothy saliva from her maw. A discordant, reverberating whistle emanated from Oberyn’s helmet as he turned to meet the hound’s gaze, to which her ears perked. Taking on a sentinel’s vigilance, the hound seated herself beside him.

With a hissing shift in the fuselage airlock, a Templar Lieutenant presented himself from the cockpit. Bracing himself against either side of the airlock doorway, he briefly cast his gaze over the squad of Marines before him. Giving an informal regard for Oberyn and Animus, he relayed the mission parameters.

“Several hours ago we lost contact with Queen’s Light, a small port-city on Kamela Eight, and another city on Kamela Three. We’re being deployed there while another team investigates the situation on Kamela Three. Early orbital surveillance shows signs of electronic disruption; around the city is a thirty kilometer radius bubble of interference that’s prohibiting us from getting significant intel,” The Lieutenant explained.

“I suppose that’s why I’m being dragged along,” Oberyn mocked, with a faint, static-laden chortle.

“That’s correct. Whatever is down there is strong enough to knock out our TacNet relays, which is well outside of our norm. Early theories are that it is a Matari raiding party, probably Krusual Cov Ops since they’ve got a reputation for guerilla tactics, but we’ve never seen anything of this magnitude before.

“We’ll be landing outside of the sphere of interference, inform the Fleet of our progress, and then proceed to the city. Bear in mind, that we’re not intent on fighting. We’ll reconnaissance the area, re-establish TacNet, and then hold out for reinforcements. Arrival is in fifteen, give or take, so enjoy it while it lasts.”

The remainder of the flight was spent in relative silence with the hum of the transport’s thrusters filling the anxious air. Keeping to himself, Oberyn was enraptured in a deep, foreboding concern.  

***

Date: YC117-10-16
Time: 20:27
Kamela VIII
7km from Queen’s Light

Descending into the atmosphere of the region, it was immediately clear to the reconnaissance force that the city was razed. In its expansive growth, the city held a total area of close to 120 kilometers, expanding in all directions away from the ocean to the west. Surrounding the suburban landscape were dense, snowy, evergreen forests in the painful cold of the northern hemisphere. The ocean’s waves gleamed with the mirrored light of the perpetually setting autumn sun reflecting on the icy outcrops, contrasting harshly against the black haze that loomed over the city’s central area. It was apparent, from the smoking rubble, that the city cathedral had been destroyed, utterly and totally, with obvious spite.

The transport quietly settled in a nestled clearing within the surrounding forest just outside of the zone of interference. The thrusters of the ship caused the trees to whip about in dismay. Soon after, the squad of Marines escorted the lumbering Cyber Knight out of the interior hold and out into the forest. The transport lifted off as quickly as it landed and returned to orbit with a low boom of its afterburners, leaving the squad to its mission.

“We’ll approach from the south, through the forest on the outskirts of the city. Remember, TacNet is unavailable, so restrict your communications to hand gestures if you can help it,” The Templar Lieutenant commanded to his squad.

“Uhlan, we’ll get you as close to the source of the interference as possible,” The Lieutenant continued as he shouldered his rifle, gesturing to a marine to lead them.

Set in a loose column, the Marines escorted the Cyber Knight with their weapons at the ready. Taking a moment to smell everything she crossed despite her swift stride, Animus clung to the trees. Even despite her erratic movement, Oberyn kept a keen watch on her to ensure she never left the vicinity. The Khanid lifted his plated arm, looking over his Neocom, which flickered and increased it its instability as they ventured further into the forest.

“I thought Cyber Knights worked magic with electronics?” A curious marine inquired.

“We do, but my Neocom operates on TacNet, same as your comms. I don’t imagine it’ll be much help once we get to the city,” Oberyn replied, turning the device off.

Lifting his gaze to check on Animus, Oberyn noted that she had become overzealous, and in her haste, she had become a faint blur of movement in the falling snow and fog. She rushed toward the city ahead of the squad in bounding leaps. The Uhlan emitted a loud, off-key whistle. In an instant, the hound bounded off of her front legs, sprinting back to him. As she neared, she circled silently around his legs, and stuck to him like glue for the duration of their approach.

***

Date: YC117-10-16
Time: 21:31
Kamela VIII
Queen’s Light

Flecks of ash and soot fell from the skies around the squad, intermingling with the snow. As the soldiers moved northward through the city streets, along the waterfront, thick plumes of black smoke lifted from the city itself. In tandem with the gently blowing wind, the clouds of ash moved east to west over the water. Sparks, embers, and debris fell from the burning buildings in showers, and rubble caked the concrete jungle. Across the entirety of the city were wrecked vehicles and signs of significant struggle; the walls riddled with bullet holes and laser burns. Disturbingly, despite all of the detritus, there were few blood stains, and no bodies.

The Khanid mercenary cursed under his breath, disbelieving the notion that the Republic’s shock troops could perform that sort of carnage. While the Matari had a reputation for brutality on the battlefield, he knew better just from experience. The fact that there were no bodies had been a sign of something far more sinister than the Matari or their paid guns. Just as well, the Matari depended on TacNet as much as the Empire did, even if they used their own form of it. The evidence presented caused the Uhlan to lose his nerve, finding a semblance of solace in the fact that none of the Marines around him could see his increasing anxiety beneath his dropsuit.

“This wasn’t the Republic. Not with their scorched earth tactics and the fact they eat ammunition like it’s candy,” He reasoned through the echo of his helmet.

In unison, the soldiers stopped and turned toward Oberyn with unanimous concern. Lifting his rifle and resting it against his pauldron, he canted his head slightly. Gazing out at the dark, icy water through the white-blue, low-light optics, he noticed that his heads-up display struggled to stay alive. The suit’s systems were attempting to reboot themselves repeatedly, desperately attempting to cut through the interference. Despite being a Cyber Knight, there was little he could do about the interference remotely.

In the deepest recesses of his mind, he fended off the authentic possibility that if he died in the city, that he wouldn’t come back. If he died, his next clone would use the most recent data available - the data received just before he entered the city. A terrible prospect dawned on him: It wouldn’t be his consciousness, but a copy of it, and that made him increasingly worried.  

“So, what’re you thinking it was then? Ghosts?” The Lieutenant asked, sarcastically, holding his rifle close to his chest.

“If it were, we’d at least save ammo,” Oberyn explained with insincere bravado.

Pivoting on his heel, Oberyn sounded off the high-frequency pattern that Animus was attuned to. The animal’s enormous ears twitched and she immediately began to walk in stride with him. With his free hand, he gave the animal a soft scratch behind the ears, and with a feigned conviction in his steps, he soldiered deeper into the city.

“We’ll need to physically access or destroy the jammer, if it’s this powerful, this far away.”

***

Date: YC117-10-17
Time: 02:12
Kamela VIII
Queen’s Light - City Plaza

Crawling low along the snow-laden rooftop with a trained effort, Oberyn and the squad of Marines reached the roof’s edge and scanned the city plaza below. In a quiet shuffle, Animus crawled alongside Oberyn, looking over the building’s balcony with her ears lifted high above her head. The flash of blue-white light from the inside of Oberyn’s helmet illuminated the landscape in a low-light enhancement of his optical lenses. Scanning over the plaza about half a kilometer away, Oberyn could see far more clearly than any his companions.

To the east of the squared plaza was the smoking ruins of the once large city cathedral. In front of the steps leading up to the cathedral, overlooking the waterfront, was a three-tiered, frozen over fountain, now covered in ash. Along the waterfront, at the western edge of the plaza, was a cluster of ivory-colored dropships that were stained with crimson splotches. Moving between the transports were numerous individuals, weighed down by crimson and ivory robes and light armor. Loading numerous large, capsule-like containers onto the ships, the laborers appeared content with their newfound bounty. Several of the capsules were set upright in the proximity of the transports, connected to their respective drop ship hosts with a series of large, glistening, crimson tubes.

Situated atop of one of the transports was a large, tower-like beacon with several rotating panels at its top. The distortion of heat waves rising from the panels was clearly visible in Oberyn’s low-light vision.

“I suppose that would be our jammer.” Oberyn stated before continuing his surveillance.

In front of the cluster of dropships, nearing the fountain, were a small group of individuals that stood out from the rest. Among them were three whose facial features were distinctly visible. Groaning, Oberyn tried to shift his rifle in an awkward fashion, aiming it at the fountain’s lower basin.  He squeezed the under-barrel trigger gently, firing an audio probe from the attachment on his rifle.  The device buried into the basin’s wall and a moment later began to receive a point-to-point, high-gain signal that allowed him to listen in on the conversation through the jammer’s interference.

"-en they're done being drained, the capsules will automatically biomass the remains," Explained a pitched, female voice.

Adjusting the rifle’s scope once more, Oberyn attempted to see which of the individuals was speaking: A blonde, bob-cut woman with droopy eyes, clad in a bloodstained dropsuit. Without a connection to TacNet, he couldn't confirm his suspicions, but he strongly suspected the woman to be Tairei Namazoth, Senior Tactical Commander of the Blood Raider Covenant.

"The biomass will then be loaded onto the dropships and taken back to our ships in orbit, where they will be transported to your facilities," Tairei explained.

"I assume that we can begin production immediately?" Another woman explained, glancing between Tairei and a hooded man.

Oberyn recognized both the other woman and the hooded man from memory of a Khanid Kingdom wanted list. Hazli Tamarom, a security official, and Odrus Yakari, a distribution agent — both known individuals who operated a Blood Raider testing facility deep within Delve.

"Yes. They'll be expected to contribute to the harvest, but they'll be ready for combat as well," Odrus explained.

"Good. It'll prove to be an important insight into the technology. Our losses will be quelled, the donor blood pure, and the impact severe. You're ready to mass produce my armor?" Tairei asked, gesturing over her bloodstained suit with a devious grin.

"The Crimson Paladins will field only the best," Odrus replied, sincerely. "Erm, what should we call this model?" Hazli asked.

"Tairei's Crimson," Namazoth responded, dutifully.

It was only then that Oberyn fully realized what was surrounding the conversing group. Each of the bloodstained Paladins was clad in armor reminiscent of the standard issue Amarr light frame dropsuit, notably distinct from the lightly armored Raiders. Coincidentally, the Paladins wore the same model of dropsuit he was wearing, albeit with a more sinister look. Releasing a heavy, defeated sigh, Oberyn put all of the puzzle pieces together as the crippling realization dawned on him: The Covenant were preparing to field infantry clones.

"They’re biomassing the population," Oberyn explained to the squad that accompanied him.

"Why would they biomass them?" The Lieutenant inquired.

"Eh, well — Crimson Paladins got an upgrade. Only a few of them are in dropsuits though, rest of the Raiders aren’t as heavily armed, so that’s advantageous," The Cyber Knight explained with a grim tone.

The squad began to shift with a slight tinge of anxiety. While each Imperial was ready to give their life for the empire, few were willing to do so in vain, and with the Uhlan's brief explanation of his theory, the prospects for anything short of martyrdom were slim. However, the presence of the immortal Khanid bolstered their confidence to ill-founded extremes, unaware of his apathy toward them.

"We can't contact the Crusade while they have that jammer online. We can either assault the Raiders, disable the jammer, and get a transmission to the Crusade, or we can foot it back to rendezvous and wait for the dropship," Oberyn explained.

"We’d have to hike back to the dropzone and call for evac. It’d take hours." A marine barked in retort.

"Then I guess our answer is pretty clear, yeah?" Oberyn chimed, lifting to a stand.

***

Date: YC117-10-17
Time: 02:27
Kamela VIII
Queen’s Light - City Plaza

Igniting Animus’ commanding, off-key whistle, Oberyn stared at a lone Crimson Paladin through the view-screen of his helmet. In a flash, Animus began sprinting with only the faint patter of her de-clawed paws rushing along the ash-flooded ground. In an instant, the Paladin was tackled, and the hound clamped down on his throat like a vice grip, allowing his blood to pour like an open faucet. A blood pool quickly began to form as the Paladin struggled against the animal. Now missing his vocal cords, the silence was only broken by the soft scraping of limbs against the ground.

Pushing forward and converging inward on the city plaza, the squad of Imperial Marines made short work of the Raiders and Paladins, who were caught off-guard. Having ambushed the Covenant forces with lightning speed and efficiency, they overwhelmed the Raiders in their sudden advance. As they closed the distance, the Marines began to fall into defensive positions, guarding Oberyn against the inevitable counter-attack as he raced toward the TacNet Jammer. Leaping up the side of the transport the device was anchored to with a heavy thud of his armor, he quickly set to work.

Through the flurry of laser and small arms fire, Oberyn connected his Neocom to the jammer, hastily bypassing the safeguards in an effort to disable the device. The security on the jammer was trivial, and well within his expertise, but he still worked feverishly to make the most of the Marines' suicide mission. As the Marines began to lose ground, he quickly converted the jammer into a transmission beacon to dispatch a distress signal across any frequency he could think of. Having restored the TacNet signal, and the warning to the Fleet dispatched, the survival of his combat clone was no longer a concern, to which Oberyn gave a mischievous grin.

Atop the Raiders’ dropship, he lifted his rifle and returned fire at the advancing Raiders and Paladins. Keenly aware that the Marines were quickly dwindling in number, he knew that they would not last. Having achieved their goal, he was ultimately unconcerned with their lives, and focused his attention on Animus. Through his blue-white optics he could see that the she had huddled behind the fountain’s basin, desperately trying to avoid the incoming projectiles. Lowering his weapon to his side, Oberyn sounded off the authoritative screech of her routing command.

Animus had only ever heard the command once, but she was trained to recognize it as a retreat. The hound rolled out of cover and sprinted toward him as the last of the Marines fell dead around her. In the fray and confusion, she ran right into a dropsuit-clad Paladin’s arms, and was thrown to the ground with a sickening crunch that fractured her shoulder-blade. Seeing his companion silently writhe in pain, Oberyn panicked, and slid down the side of the transport ship in a desperate attempt to reach her.

As he ran toward the Raider who began to crack the hound’s head with the butt of his rifle, Oberyn was intercepted by another Paladin with a savage bodyslam. The Paladin pinned him to the ground with its heavy boot, throwing his weapon out of reach as several Raiders rushed to assist, using their additional weight to render him immobile.

Apprehended by several of his assailants, Oberyn was lifted to his knees as a presentation to the armored woman who approached through the haze of smoke and ash. Oberyn lifted his gaze toward the blonde, bob-cut woman with an unseen hatred in his eyes. By contrast, the woman approached Oberyn with a calm, tactical demeanor, but never lost the distant, uncaring look in her eyes. Kneeling down in front of him, she stared directly into his visor with a dim curiosity, mixed with disdain.

“Tairei, good to finally meet you,” Oberyn coughed in futile derision.

“You’ve caused me quite a bit of trouble now, mercenary. You have disabled my jammer, and we heard your little cry for help. This was supposed to be a covert operation and you’ve dismantled my plan.” Tairei explained with a bitter distaste in her voice.

“What can I say, I couldn’t let a bitch like you bleed the place dry without a little resistance,” Oberyn spat, mockingly.

The woman clasped her hands together, resting her chin against her thumbs. Oberyn weakly struggled against his captors, yanking his arms against their iron grasp. Despite his dissent, his captors overpowered him by volumes, trapping him.

"Normally, I'm not one to take captives. On the other hand, I never expected the Crusade to send clones. Not for a little reconnaissance, at least. Then again, the Khanid were always the brawn of the operation, weren’t they?" She challenged.

Shaking her head in joyful disbelief, Tairei gave the faintest of smiles. Lifting to a stand, she gestured toward Animus with a blasé wave of her hand.

"Kill the hound," She demanded.

"No! No, wait! Please, God, no, don't kill her!" Oberyn protested, the light static of his helmet accentuating the panic in his voice.

A Paladin stepped closer to the wounded and immobile slaver hound, igniting her in a bath of light. Pulses of his laser rifle cooked her flesh and dissolved the fatty tissue. The smell of burnt fur filled the air as a cloud of thick black smoke lifted from her form. Her flesh slipped from her form in a gelatinous puddle as she silently writhed and quivered in pain, unable to voice her agony.

Briefly escaping the grasp of his captors in his rage, Oberyn gave a terrible howl of anguish. Barely held back by the bloodstained Paladin and Raiders, he struggled with animalistic ferocity. In the struggle, he managed to pry a weapon from one of them, and thrusted the barrel upward into the Paladin’s jaw, yanking on the trigger with a vengeful snarl. The Paladin's head exploded instantly and its body rolled to the ground, twitching as the remnant nerves fired.

The Uhlan felt a solid kick to his helmet, causing a dizzying array of rainbow spots to cloud his vision. Despite his daze, he saw another Paladin walk off the ramp of a nearby dropship mere seconds later and immediately knew that it was the one he had just killed. With the confirmation of the immortal Paladin's rebirth, Oberyn knew they had access to Mobile Clone Reserves; that his struggle was unavailing.

"A clone’s blood is pure, mercenary,” Tairei barked, emphatically.

The Crimson Paladin approached with newfound purpose, placing the sharp of its blade against Oberyn's neck and dug in deep, cutting across his pale flesh through the synthetic material of his mantle. The blade pierced with a surgeon's precision, grazing along the artery and splitting it. The Paladin took careful consideration not to cut his throat, and thus Oberyn was conscious for the duration of his slow, fading death. Soon after his consciousness drifted away, he awoke again, suddenly, and disoriented.

In his new, naked body, he looked up, and saw his previous, armored form being prepared for a harvest of its blood. Long, hooked, sucking tubes were punched into his arteries by the Raiders, and at the base of his gashed neck, they held a container, collecting his trickling blood. Before he could react, several other Raiders apprehended him, kicking and buckling his knees to force him to the ground. His panicked, confused, and tear-filled eyes then met with Tairei, who bellowed a deranged laugh, and clapped her hands together in a giddy dance, pleased with the terror on display. In an instant, she fell beside Oberyn and grasped his head in her hands, preventing him from looking away from the exsanguination of his own body. She spoke with emphasis on her words, speaking quickly, and with a maddening grin that accompanied her wide, crazed eyes.

“We’re going to kill you again, back home. And when you wake up, we're going to bleed you again. And again. And again. You will never stop bleeding for us. All these people you were trying to save, and all of these Marines? They're going to fuel each and every one of your clones, little Ghost."

For the first time in his life as an immortal, Oberyn was terrified.

He Saw Infinity

Submitted for the Pod and Planet Eve Fiction Contest (around) December 1, 2015. 

"Murderer! Savage! Beast!"

The words stood out among the raucous crowd, likely because they struck home in Chryo's mind. He screamed and sobbed mentally, but kept a physical expression between deadpan and stoic. His white-blue eyes were locked on the ground as he stumbled over the pant legs of his prison uniform that was too baggy for his light frame. Soon enough he made his way into the room where his sentencing would take place. His defense representative, being the amateur he was, never stood a chance.

It was all a blur at that point. The outcome was inevitable and the sentence pre-determined. The evidence stacked against him had piled to the stars. He stood with his hands bound before him with a hopeless stare at the floor. The sentence was made with hasty, heated words. He had been sentenced to spend the remainder of his life in prison. Life was over for the man he was; the man he would have been. Half a decade of study and advanced placement in engineering amounted to nothing. In his heart he knew he was either innocent or so insane as to not recall the crimes he had committed. Regardless, fate wanted him to suffer — to die — and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

The first order of his sentencing was the removal of his tattoos. Both those that he had earned and brandished with pride and – more specifically – those that he had applied himself. His love of art had overshadowed tradition and law. His punishment for that amounted to torture as there was little mercy for the fledgling individuals who thought they could hide their marks beneath their clothing. He knew that full and well when he gave himself the tattoos. It was something that he only regretted when the consequences for those decisions became his to bear. The removal process took place immediately upon entry into the prison.

Chryo screamed in pain, yanking hard on the restraints that bound his wrists. He lay face down on a rusted steel table. His head was strapped down into a hole cut out specifically for the face. Through his blurry, tear-filled eyes he could only see his attacker from his peripheral vision. The instrument his attacker used to inflict pain mercilessly burnt the flesh away from his side, just over his ribcage. The initial heat was intense, but it eventually soothed and cooled at the site where the plasma had burned away the nerves.

His torturer shifted to the opposite side and set to work on removing the flesh over his spine. His muscles tensed and stiffened in a desperate attempt to escape the pain. The only way to get away from the pain was to press further against the cold steel of the table. The cold was the least of his concerns and the feeling disappeared in the torrent of agony that surged through his quivering body.
"Self-tattooing. Heh, you should have known how this would end." His torturer stated grimly before giving a carelessly slap at the flesh he had brutalized with the miniature plasma cutter. For a brief moment of respite Chryo collected his thoughts. He wondered about all the things he could have done with his life had that not occurred. For a brief moment he saw all the possibilities.

For a brief moment he saw infinity.


***


Chryo snapped out of his daydream.

"How long are those calibrations going to take, Bhuren? Kind of need that cloak ready if we're going to do this and live."

Chryo released the transmit button on his headset as he stretched his arms over his head. The Vherokior man gave a lengthy moan as the muscles in his arms released tension. He leaned back in the cushioned pilot's seat with his white-blue eyes scanning idly over the instruments that decorated the console. He swayed from left to right in his seat, staring at the dazzling colors of the nebula before him. A crackling broke the sound of the Tribal Music playing when he finally received the reply from his partner.

“KZKZCCH-ou know, these ships were designed by Caldari hands. It's a whole other beast than what I'm used to." Bhuren responded with a hint of irritation in his gravelly voice.

"Mhmm. We're still about five systems out. We have some time, but you're going to need to wrap it up once we're closer to gate leading into Geminate."

The probe was new, at least by Chryo's standards. However, most of the modifications applied to the vessel were to reduce the typically high crew requirements associated with most Matari designs. That was necessary to fit the mission parameters: stealth and low profile. More importantly was the frequency for leaving the ship (bounty hunters rarely captured their bounties otherwise). The automated systems were purchased from the Federation R&D Corporations, none more prominent than CreoDron. The ship, aptly titled the "Fluid Shadow", was a hybrid of every technological aspect available besides those belonging to the Empire for obvious reasons. The drawback was that it was quite cramped inside and much of the energy was pulled from other systems.

"You know that 'Caldari scientist designed the Probe' thing is just a rumor, right?" Chryo asked as he began to flip several toggles on the instruments panel.

“KZCCH-ell the alternative was that it was taken from designs stolen by the Guristas. Kind of ironic, don't you think?" Bhuren replied through the static of the internal communications.

"If you’re referring to the fact that we’re flying a ship made from Gurista-stolen designs into Gurista space, I think you mean coincidental."

“KZCTCCH-on’t be so pedantic.”

Chryo paused for a moment to look over the constellation map on a nearby monitor. He changed the filter to display the systems by their security ratings as provided by CONCORD. His lips curled in disgust at the sight of the entire constellation changing to a deep, dark red hue. A quick flick of his wrist sent the constellation map away and instead displayed the contract with which they had accepted, giving it a final look over.

"Bhuren, finish up what you're doing and get back up here. Two jumps out from Atioth." He stated, pointedly.

“KZTCH-n the wa-KCHZ" Bhuren replied, more static-laden than usual.

Bhuren made his way into the cockpit and took a seat adjacent to Chryo. He swiveled the seat around with a low hum, kicking his legs up onto one of the control panels. Bhruen’s appearance was a stark comparison to his smaller significant other and business partner. He was a largely built Brutor man standing at around two meters in height with good posture. More importantly, he had far less scars.

“Alright, hitting the gate. They’ll likely pick us up on directional for a second. Be ready to get us out of here if they start moving around. And get your feet off the controls, you know I hate that.” Chryo stated with a shake of his head.

Bhuren sucked on his teeth and shook his head before lowering his legs to a more accommodating posture. They entered the system in a blinding flash of light. The nebula of The Great Wildlands was farther away. Fading into the distant stars they had left. The beauty was striking and Chryo had briefly lost himself in the dazzling array of color that he had not seen from that angle before. He quickly re-focused on the task at hand, activating the cloaking device that shielded the scouting frigate from physical view and the sensor reads.

“Remind me again why we aren’t using scan probes to find this place?” Bhuren asked with a hint of sarcasm in his tone.

“Probes show up on directional. This is supposed to be totally dark; in-and-out, no witnesses. We nab the guy, bring him back to the spooks at the Verckel [Vherokior Combat Logistics] in Ebolfer.”

“Hmm. Scans are showing a lot of activity collected in this area, check it out.” Bhuren said as he transmitted the scan log to Chryo’s terminal.

Chryo glanced over the information briefly and noticed a signature that was quite sizable. It was set a good distance from the large collection of signatures by several hundred kilometers. He furrowed his brows together in thought, pondering as to the reason why that signature was the outlier.

“Hang on a second, going to get us a warp-in. Get ready to bail if I jump us too close to this thing.” Chryo explained.

Upon their arrival, the signature would reveal itself to be a small hub. Given that many of the lights were off and there were no signs of any activity within it, he had assumed it to have been abandoned. The main Gurista fleet was stationary and isolated from the hub several hundred kilometers off. All of the ships were aligned with the hub and looked as though their warp cores were spun and ready. Chryo assumed that this was to counter any intrusion with lightning swiftness and expert precision.

“We’re not going to be able to get close enough to this thing to board and stay cloaked. You know what that means, right?” Chryo stated as he lifted from his seat and started toward the connecting corridor.

“You know I hate doing this.” Bhuren replied as he lifted in unison.

Chryo stopped momentarily to turn back and peck his partner on the cheek with pursed lips. Briefly reminded of their time together in the Valklears.


***


“You know they’re not going to be too ecstatic if they catch us.” Chryo asked, if rhetorically.

The man nuzzled his way into the Brutor’s arms, his ear pressed firmly to Bhuren’s chest to listen to the soft beating of his heart. The sound of his lungs expanding was amplified as he took a deep breath. The olive drab blanket was of little defense against the cold wind that blew over the foxhole they were placed in. Bhuren’s eyes focused on the stars through computerized scope that he held in his right hand, the left wrapped about Chryo’s shoulders.

“Well, not like we can get in much more trouble. Still got a few years left to go for both of us and the worst that can happen is we get sent back in.” Bhuren explained.

“Not if they decide to just kill us off.” Chryo replied with a sarcastic grin.

“What, and lose two pairs of boots in this hell-hole? Please. Doubt they’d even bother filling out the paper work.”


***


“Don’t forget the safety latch you big oaf.” Chryo stated with a smile as he pulled the straps of his flight-suit over his shoulders.

 The Brutor grimaced and secured himself into the armored flight-suit. The two placed their helmets over their heads and faced the airlock of the ship. The music that played over the loud-speaker was calming. However, it was cut-off quickly as the air rushed out of the chamber. The magnetic seals on the door separated and opened up to the vastness of space before them with the hub about a dozen kilometers away.

“I hate this. I hate not being able to get out if it gets crazy.” Bhuren stated through the short range transmitter of his helmet, staring into the void.

“I know, but listen, if it gets bad, I’ll just send the signal to the Shadow to target the guns on the power core of this place. We’ll bail out, it’ll blow up, and we’ll make our way back to Metropolis – no problem.”

Chryo let out a chuckle before taking the Brutor’s hand into his own. Grasping the frame of the airlock door he pulled both of them out into the darkness. The cloak on the ship held as they exited, lost in the black. Several gusts of air were jettisoned from the container on the Vherokior’s back as he readjusted his course toward the hub. Both of their compact weapons strung across their chests to prevent the air bursts allowing them to maneuver.

“Just don’t let go, alright?” Chryo reassured the other.

“Yeah, yeah, let’s just get this over with. I want to get paid.”

“Could always be a dancer. Shame there’s not a market for that in Amarr, right? Sure they’d love to have a big burly bastard like you in there.”

“I don’t think they even have bars, Chryo.” Bhuren replied stubbornly.

The two landed on the outer hull of the hub, attaching with the magnetic soles of their boots. They continued the rest of the way with a slow, arduous walk toward the main airlock traditionally used for ship boarding. The two bounty hunters breached through the airlock manually as to not completely destroy the hub (and likely themselves) in catastrophic decompression. Furthermore, the method of entry allowed the atmosphere to be retained. Shortly after they were inside the dark installation with their weapons drawn and helmets off, the grim atmosphere had weighed on them.

The two searched several corridors and rooms but found nothing. There was no sign of life apart from furnishings within the living quarters. The air was damp, humid, and cold, with a fine mist hanging low to the ground. Condensation had clung to the walls and with each breath they took a gentle haze would escape. Particles of dust lingered in the beam of red light – used to preserve the eyes’ night vision – Bhuren had mounted to shoulder. Both bounty hunters cautiously cleared each room while they progressed further into the complex.

“It is unnaturally cold.” Bhuren whispered, twisting his shoulders to shine the mounted red light into a room.

Chryo placed a finger to his own lips with a soft nod toward his companion. He lowered his weapon to hang loosely against his chest and drew a pair of Ishukone-manufactured ‘Nova Knives’ – blades that held a plasma-heated edge when charged. Each of the blades were held at his sides. Each step the two took was careful and planned as to not make unnecessary sound.

A shape quickly emerged from the doorway of one of the rooms. Chryo saw the flash of movement in his peripheral vision and instinctively reacted. He swung his knife in an arch but wasn't fast enough to place its glowing blade in the target. In a moment he felt a hand grasp his wrist, crush, and break the bones in a tight squeeze causing him to howl in pain. His breath was stolen from him in a blinding array of lightning quick fists to his abdomen, falling backward into a length of pipes. The pipes split and burst, releasing a jet of steam that enshrouded him in the claustrophobic corridor.

His eyes struggled to find the source of his agony. White-blue eyes focused on the shadow that approached him, barely over a meter in height, bathed in a red wash. He lifted his limp, destroyed arm in protest before a loud explosion cracked the air around him. His ears rang as blood caked over his face, fearing the worst. When his vision cleared he realized that the crack was from Bhuren's scattergun, removing the figure's head in a cone of viscera.

"Chryo, you alight?!" His companion screamed.

Chryo nodded, glancing over the figure that had toppled over him, lacking its head. He realized that the form was that of a child, barely into adolescence.

"Wh-what..?" He inquired, puzzled and terrified.

Chryo shoved the body away from himself, scrambling back. In his haste he rested most of his weight on his now mangled arm, causing him to scream as he winced in pain. Bhuren ran closer to him and settled upon his knee. The Brutor’s eyes glanced over Chryo’s form in an effort to find the source of his suffering but in the red light could not distinguish blood from sweat.

“What’s wrong?” Bhuren yelled, his hands trying to find his partner’s wound.

“My arm. It’s done for. There’s no fixing this, Bhuren – I’m in trouble.” Chryo explained with a shaky voice.

“Which one? Can you still shoot? Was that a kid?”

“Y-yeah. I can still shoot. Give me something to kill the pain, quick.”

Bhuren reached into his pack and retrieved a syringe, quickly stabbing it into Chryo’s chest with a hammered fist. The Vherokior groaned and grinded his teeth together, feeling the adrenaline surge through his body. The black-market grade painkillers followed shortly after and for a brief moment Chryo saw rainbow spots. He shook his head and lifted to a stand, looking over his arm which now hung in the shape of an ‘L’.

“Guess cybernetics are always an option.” He stated with a sigh.

“Chryo that lo-that’s pretty serious.” Bhuren noted.

“You don’t say? Look, brace it. Painkillers should at least get me through the rest of this op. At least until we get back to the Shadow.”

“Was that a kid?” Bhuren stated as he set to creating a makeshift splint for his partner’s arm, wrapping it in thick fabric.

Chryo looked over to his side where the body still laid. The blood oozing from the stump neck pooled and drained into the crevices of the metal floor panels. The Vherokior gave a grimace and looked back up to Bhuren with a shake of his head, biting his lower lip.


***


“Normally we try to get skilled individuals into the Valklears. Not much skill involved in butchering children but since you have a knack for staying alive in incarceration, we figured we’d give you a shot.”

The recruiter explained to Chryo the nature of his interest through the plastic-steel barrier as he paced. Chryo neglected to respond, simply continuing his exercise regimen within the condensed cell he was housed in.

“If you fail to respond, we’ll simply move on to the next candidate. Trust me when I say that we’re not eager to take you into our ranks based on social morays alone. However, your excellence in close quarters combat is something we find valuabl-


***


“Chryo! Stay with me here!” Bhuren yelled, giving the Vherokior a soft slap on the cheek to snap him out of his daze.

Chryo abruptly snapped his head back and stared at the Brutor’s stern expression. He sniffed the air lightly and bit harder into his lip. With a faint nod, Chryo glanced down at his braced arm a brief moment. It was adequate, he felt. He leaned forward and placed his forehead against the light chest-plate of Bhuren’s flightsuit, shaking his head from side to side.

“I know. It was botch from the start. You’ve got to get that shit out of your head though, man. One of these days you’re just going to have to come to terms with the fact that you were screwed. Look at the bright side, you got me out of the deal.” Bhuren explained.

“Yeah.” Chryo responded, grimly.

An abrupt, loud series of metallic thumps was heard by the two. They quickly jolted to attention at the sight of a child running down the corridor, cast in red by Bhuren’s light. The child had death in his eyes. The Brutor moved in front of his partner and lifted his scattergun but was too slow to react. The child lifted a boot and slammed it into Bhuren’s leg, just beneath the kneecap. With a scream, Bhuren shifted his weight as his leg buckled. Just behind him Chryo desperately tried to aim his firearm.

The beating sound of something hastily crawling through the air duct above them rang loudly amongst the commotion. From the duct's opening a child sprang, swinging his legs out with hands gripping the edge of the duct firmly. Both of the child's boots planted firmly against Bhuren's skull causing him to reel sideways in a disoriented dance. The Brutor man fell hard against the floor and his eyelids fluttered briefly.

Before either of the bounty hunters could react the group of children were upon Bhuren. Their tiny arms swung, viciously stabbing into his chest and abdomen with serrated blades that ripped the flesh apart. He wheezed for only a moment before blood began to draw from his nose and mouth. A dead stare locked toward the ceiling of the corridor as his pupils dilated, his hands loosening their grip on his weapon.

Chryo snapped, firing his handgun into the fray and rendering one of the boy’s into bloody piecemeal. The other turned to him and advanced with lightning speed. In response, Chryo dropped his weapon and pulled free his knife. He swung the blade in a wide arch and slammed it into the side of the child's head with a sickening crunch as the bone split and cracked. The body began to quiver and jolt, collapsing down with the weight dragging Chryo's arm downward with it.

He screamed in frustration with hatred in his eyes trying to pry the blade away. Unsuccessful, He held down the button to charge it. The thermic igniter lit the plasma heated blade. The heat caused the fatty tissue to melt and the flesh slipped away, like a pinkish-white sheet rolling on water. Slowly but surely the edge melted away the bone and flesh until it was freely pulled from the now cauterized wound.

Chryo dropped the blade to the ground and fell to his knees beside Bhuren’s body. He panted heavily, burying his face into his shaking hand. He lamented his lover’s death, but his sorrow quickly turned to anger. Blood-drunk, he lifted to his feet with his weapon and soldiered forward in the direction that the children had come from.

After hastily checking several rooms Chryo entered a larger chamber that glowed from the light of several computers. The light was dim and the mist hung low ever still, giving him an unnerving sensation. He focused his attention on one of the computer monitors as he approached. His adrenaline still surged from the biotics and now with the added consideration that he was alone; his partner dead.

"What is this..." Chyro muttered gravelly with a single droplet of blood rolling down over his brow.

His blue eyes scanned the surface of a holographic projection in the center of a table. The text was inconsistent and strange to him. The sentence at the very bottom of the readout was the only lettering he could decipher clearly.

//who are you

He narrowed his eyes in a puzzled look, scanning over the projection once more for anything familiar. A roll of his shoulders was given with a heavy sigh before he placed his only functional hand on the table for stability. A new line of text printed out across the projection just as clearly as the last.

//i said who are you

"Chryo." He stated slowly and inquisitively.

//what are you doing here

//you do not belong hise

Chryo's eyes traveled until they found the test tube nearby. The glass container was filled to the brim with an eerie yellow-green liquid that fully surrounded a fleshy pinkish-grey object separated into two hemispheres but conjoined in the middle. He focused his vision and saw a series of long tendrils that coiled out from the base of the rounded object. Connected to the brain was a series of metallic cables and tubes with smaller ones adjoined to the ends of the nerve tendrils that stemmed from it. Chyro's eyes widened to what degree they could against his swollen features at the realization of what it was. It seemed too small to have belonged to an adult.

//you do not belong here

"What is this? Who am I talking to?"

//i am phantan

//you do not belong here

//you must leave

"What is Phantan?"

//i am

"Are you the brain in the jar over there?"

//i am waiting for the lord

Chryo swallowed hard. His adrenaline began to rush through his body with his quickened heart rate. His eyes danced and explored, looking for some semblance of explanation to what he saw. In his panic he drew his handgun and aimed at the jar, the iron-sights along the barrel lined up with the floating brain. He looked back at the projection in a moment of hesitation, reading the newly printed sentence.

//what are you doing here

The glass shattered and the fluid spilled onto the floor an instant later. The projectile had penetrated cleanly through the glass but slowed when it hit the liquid, embedding itself into the left hemisphere of the brain. Chryo gritted his teeth, his eyebrows knitted together in shock and fury as he struggled to understand the now incoherent text that displayed across the projection. He considered what he had just done before unloading the remainder of the magazine into the organic ball. What was left was a torn and grotesque webbing. The projection ceased to display any new text.

It was only then that Chryo realized he had a single round left. Reserved in traditional manner spawned by his platoon in the Valklears: Retaining a single round with which to end a comrade’s life if suffering. He loaded the round into the barrel with a snarl, trying to work around his damaged limb. In his mind he pictured this round as the one to end his bounty’s life – vengeance. Yet, despite this, he could not explain what he was seeing.

No sooner than he had done this a door on the far end of the room slid open and he readied his weapon. An older Amarr man leaned against the door frame weakly, looking up at him with tired eyes. They stared briefly before speaking.

“Who the fuck are you?” Chryo asked impatiently.

“Hmm. Bounty hunter. No matter, I haven’t accomplished anything of value in quite some time.” The Amarr explained, shuffling back into his chamber.

Chryo followed him with a quickened, livid pace. Yet no sooner than he had entered the room were two children upon him, slashing and stabbing at his form. The surprise caused him to jolt into reaction and mercilessly cut away at their smaller frames with his nova knife after dropping his handgun. In an adrenaline fueled blur the conflict was over and their bodies lay on the floor. His vision grew dark and soon enough he realized he was bleeding profusely from his abdomen. He wasn’t quick enough, even with the biotics.

Chryo lifted his bleary eyes to see the Amarr sitting in a chair in front of him. Beside the old man was a large test tube filled with preservation liquid and a body of a woman. She starred seemingly into the distance with a respirator attached to her face to allow her to breathe.

“What..?” Chryo asked, losing his balance.

“Mmm. I suppose I should enlighten you before you die. These children you have been so fond of killing are my soldiers of fortune – misfortune, really. They were supposed to be part of the Kameira program, but I took them with me for my research. A contract for the Guristas, you see.” The Amarr stated.

Chryo staggered and fell to the floor with a loud thump. He struggled to stay conscious and to lift his handgun.

“Prior to the Templar Project I was assigned to find a way to development infantry clone technology by conventional means for the Kameiras. Blasted Jamyl and her damned agenda put an end to that. She took the Empyreans’ boon over my research and now those demons are on every planet in New Eden.”

The researcher pointed at the woman in the preservation liquid and continued despite Chryo’s suffering.

“The children were the result of my research. This fine young woman here was the basis of their training. Implantation of memories from a separate brain. Amazing isn’t it? She made a willing subject, you see. Such is the nature of the unfortunate victims of the ‘Wetgrave’ as it were. Fatal and his flock are quite morbid.

These children are the ilk of my research. Indoctrinated, immortal, and trained by the trans-neural skill of a veteran soldier like the one whom you see here. It truly is remarkable. Children are easier to mold to be the perfect fighters and loyal to a fault.” The Amarrian explained.

"Fuck your exposition. No-one will know what you did here." Chyro stated as he lifted his sidearm, his hand shaking weakly.

"Wai-"

The researcher lifted his hand to shield his face in protest. It was, however, in vain as the deafening crack of Chryo’s gun echoed off the walls. The round had punched a hole cleanly through the man's hand and he immediately slumped forward. His head hung, dead, with a stream of blood pouring from the fresh wound that pooled at the floor between his knees.

Chyro winced as he removed the neocom from his broken, bruised, and battered arm. He flipped his fingers over the shattered glass of the interface that had previously wrapped around his wrist. A targeting interface showed for the automated systems of their ship – his ship – the Fluid Shadow. He selected the hub’s power core as the target and hovered his index finger over the firing interface.

For a brief moment he wondered if it was all a nightmare. He wondered if the past several years were all a fabrication of his mind. He pondered on whether or not he was insane – a child killer. That this was the reason why he was sentenced and that he was merely recollecting it all now. It didn’t make sense to him in the slightest and the house of horrors he was in only reinforced that. He wondered if Bhuren would still be alive if he had not been a part of his life.

The targeting of the Fluid Shadow finalized and Chyro pushed the button on the neocom. And for a brief moment he saw infinity.

Perhaps Reborn

Submitted for the Pod and Planet Eve Fiction Contest on December 1, 2014. 

Even the most hardened individuals are still capable of compassion when confronted with something novel. Anneyo realized this first hand with the man, who after a long battle against his affliction had resigned himself to what was essentially medical life support. Unconscious, but still alive with the assistance of contraptions that made Anneyo squeamish every time she saw him.

 The room was dark, only illuminated by a single bright light that shone down over the man’s form who was now more machine than flesh. Securely fastened into a metal frame, the man was immobile. A dull hum gently pulsing throughout the room every few seconds that conveniently eliminated the eerie ring of silence.

Before cascading into his abrupt final stages, the man had implored that she do everything in her power to keep him alive as long as possible, regardless of how much he plead toward the end. As expected, he did plead as the final stages of the disease worsened, as if craving his inevitable death. 

*** ***

System Name:\ 00GD-D
Region:\ Fountain
Security Level:\ 0.0
Sovereignty:\ CONTESTED

“Brigand Five, you’re going to start seeing a light show pretty soon if you don’t adjust your course!”

The words echoed in Anneyo’s helmet through her panicked breaths as she flicked several toggles in an attempt to defy the inevitable. As the walls of the craft grew warmer, the sight of a gargantuan green continent beneath thick cloud systems had begun to fill her screen. The details of a spider-webbed network of rivers had grown less vague as each second passed.

An ember quickly became an inferno that was enveloping the Gallentean vessel. A glorious glow of fire combined with a dull humming sound that grew in volume as turbulence rocked her ship violently. Trembling, adrenaline rushed hands flipped a switch marked in yellow and black stripes, igniting the external fire control mechanisms. Simultaneously she activated damage control systems in an effort to cool down the rapidly heating fuselage.

Klaxon alarms heralded her danger, followed by the damage assessments from the on-board computers, which screamed in her ears that something was awry. Pieces of the frigate broke and burned away in the smoke trail that followed behind the ship as it hurtled through the atmosphere. The capsuleer operating the craft had ejected from the ship several minutes prior, leaving her behind.

“Stand by for PTI. Brigand One-through-Twelve adjust for parallax and engage the Abaddon, call sign ‘Victim’s Deceit’.”

“Confirmed, Command. Scratch Brigand Five from the marker, we’ve lost contact.”

Anneyo shook her head and barked into her half-faced helmet with fervor, “I am still here. I’ve lost propulsion, requesting immediate evacuation on my emergency signal.”

“Confirmed, Brigand Actual, scratching Brigand Five from tally. We will have a secondary ship on replacement at the rendezvous. Continue with engagement order.”

A small crack had formed at the corner of the crystalline silicate shell that provided the cockpit a view port. It did not take her long to realize that the pressure difference inside of the ship was clashing with that of the atmosphere she was burning into. Before she had the opportunity to prevent it the cabin exploded outward forcefully, her head being pinned back against the seat from the sudden rush of air and soon her vision had grown dark.

*** ***

The smell of burning metal was the first thing that Anneyo had experienced upon regaining consciousness. The gentle lapping of her tongue moistened her dry and cracked lips. She could taste the coppery tang of blood on a small split in the tender flesh. The visor of her helmet had shattered, obstructing her view of the wreckage. She shifted in place to try to free herself from the fastenings that kept her in her seat but received a sudden wave of pain in return.

Her scream had frightened the local wildlife, which scattered as if roaches exposed to light in a dark room. Insects had ceased their calls and so did the birds. Regaining her composure, she looked down to the source of the pain that originated from her leg. Dried blood had caked inside of her suit and stained the material. Using that and the familiar deep ache as clues she had gained an impression that she had either fractured of broken the bone.

Anneyo had begun scanning the rest of her body to assess the damage she had taken on from surviving the crash. Beyond the extensive damage to her leg, she only had taken on scrapes and bruises. She freed herself of the broken helmet and began to crawl out of the twisted carcass that was her ship, however painful.

The gravity on the planet was different from what she was used to onboard ships and stations, as she had not been groundside in several months at least. A lengthy stare at the side of the wreckage as she crawled out showed the torn homage to her alliance: The Daedalus Conglomerate. A namesake honored by a logo – painted on the craft’s hull - of a man with wings holding a blade in one hand and farming tool in the other.

The staccato of rainwater pattering around her formed an almost soothing experience. She glanced around her surroundings to assess where she had crashed, quickly noticing that the region was a dense jungle beyond the blackened char that was left over from her abrupt landing. Were it not for the alien appearance of the flora and fauna, it would have been a stark reminder of her home: Intaki Prime. From what she could see, the ship she had been appointed to was scattered across the brush and foliage. Some segments still molten or ablaze.

The clouds above grew darker with the light of the system’s star peering through the heavy moisture in the air in blurry rays. The formations of the clouds were tight and bunched together, giving the telltale signs of an oncoming monsoon. Lightning had jumped across the sky in the distance with the gentle boom of thunder following several seconds later. The wind briskly moved an easterly motion, toward Anneyo. The clearing in the skies farther to the East revealed twin moons that slowly disappeared behind cloud cover as time passed.

The Intaki woman lifted her hand and pinched the bridge of her nose. She closed her eyes tightly in consideration of the negative evaluation. Limited in the scope of her training – survival, in particular – she had measured the scenario for what it was: grim. The first objective she had to focus herself on was shelter.

*** ***

Several hours had passed and nightfall had brought on an increased intensity of the storm. Anneyo had managed to crawl some distance from the wreckage, finding shelter underneath a slight overhang of compacted dirt and rock. It had not been as fruitful as she would have liked, much to her dismay with the rainwater rushing along the exposed roots above her head in the small hollow.

The woman’s suit had been mottled with smeared mud spread over her legs especially from where she had crawled. She had wrapped her shivering arms around her knees, her head held low between them. Her teeth began to clatter together. Anneyo's body had been trying to generate heat as compensation for the drop in temperature. The feeling in her fingers and toes absent as a result.

Her wet black hair fell into her crystal blue eyes as she moved. She lifted her damaged helmet and spoke into the communication device, still linked remotely to the damaged wreck, in another hopeless attempt to contact her corporation.

“Brigand Five to Command, requesting response.”

Several seconds had passed but to her it felt as though it were an eternity. She dropped the helmet to the ground below with a soggy plop before burying her face into her hands. Her shoulders tensed, sliding her hands down her face with a heavy sigh. Water cascaded from her fingertips in streams to the soil near her boots. Her thoughts were troubled with the slightest of anxiety. For a moment, she had lost control of her emotions, overwhelmed with the thought that perhaps they had left her to die, but quickly consolidated her feelings to a more logical approach.

It was then that a sound rang out from nearby. It was unfamiliar – not like the usual bustle of rain and thunder she had become accustom to over the past several hours. Snapping her attention upward to the source, her blue eyes found themselves over a figure, clad in black, which was standing in the darkness of the nearby trees. The figure was a silhouette of a short creature, roughly human in appearance, which starred directly at her. It was barely visible behind the cast of light from a device resting on its head.

Her face wrinkled; perplexed at how she had never noticed the figure or the bright cone of light it bore. She was only able to stare back at whatever was investigating her small outcrop. To her surprise, the figure began to speak in a silken tone, “It would seem the universe has done you quite the disservice.”

Her pupils dilated with her attention now fully focused; her response was wavering and shaky, “It would seem that way. Who are you?”

“Perhaps we would find it best to consider these answers together where it is not so damp, wouldn’t you agree?”

The man lifted his hand to his head and deactivated the light attached to his temple. At that moment, a bolt of lightning flashed across the sky and briefly illuminated the figure’s face. In that split second of time, Anneyo had been rewarded a glimpse – rather, a memory – of a face. The man’s complexion consisted of yellow-gray skin laden with a network of veins visible beneath his near translucent flesh.  At first glance, he looked like a Jovian, an enigmatic and incredibly advanced race not often seen. She considered that her mind was playing tricks against her until a second flash of light had confirmed her theory.

*** ***

“What is this place?” Anneyo inquired, glancing over the building’s interior.

“The Society calls this a ‘Kitz’. Your curiosity is commendable; the pursuit of knowledge is something we thrive on.” The Jovian responded.

The structure’s architecture was almost organic but not in a way Anneyo was familiar. The Intaki were no strangers to the Gallentean designs that favored curvaceous form and aesthetic; alien by comparison to the Jovian building. Though she could not quite comprehend what exactly it was, something about the Kitz appealed to her. The proportions were ambiguous but strangely subtle in their approach, as if the not-quite perfect design was intentional.

In the center stretch of the hall was their path, a matte bronze color outlined in dim lights that flickered with each step. The hall had no windows to speak of but the sound of the storm outside was still barely audible beyond the high walls. Tall pillars extended toward the ceiling where they connected with no readily visible fastenings, as if conjoined to the structure itself.

Her suit felt heavier, weighed down by the rainwater that its synthetic material had absorbed. The woman’s boots were soaked, squelching as she followed behind the short man. Her injured leg wrapped in a metal band he had provided her. The object, beyond her understanding, relieved her suffering greatly; enough that she could walk. A pooled trail of water had followed shortly behind them as they walked through the empty grand hall, each step echoing in a solemn tone.

 “Where are the rest of your people?” Anneyo asked, softly.

“Succumb to our disease, much to our misfortune. Hmm… Strange how quiet it is, now that they are gone. I had almost forgotten.”

“Forgotten what?”

“The vivacious choir of lengthy research and focused intellect. It is a magnificent sound, if one but takes a moment to listen.”

Anneyo had only then taken a moment to survey fully her guide. He was small, probably no more than four feet in height, with nary a single hair on his frame. The only outstanding feature about him was the sickly color of his flesh complementing his equally unsavory cybernetic eyes that focused in front of them. Apart from his black cloak, he only wore an equally dark jumpsuit with metallic bindings and buckles. A more complex aesthetic compared to her jumpsuit. She had the impression that these bindings, given their appearance, were similar to the one wrapped around her injured leg.

As they entered one of many adjoining rooms, the loud sound of a speaker rang to Anneyo’s ears. A giant hologram of a Jovian woman projected in the highest quality she had ever witnessed was playing in the center of an array of workstations. At first, she had mistaken that the speaker was alive until closer inspection revealed tiny flaws in the projection of its image; dust particles fluttering about through the provided light.

 The Jovian man pivoted on one foot in order to face her with an upward glance. His face bereft of any expression beyond his words, “A therapy recording.”

“Therapy..?” She asked.

“Yes. I have the disease as well. Therapy and medication assist me in combating its effects but I find that proper motivation is equally as important… Wouldn’t you agree?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Hmm… Your curiosity is not lacking but your determination and confidence is subpar. Tell me, from where do you come?”

“I am – I was – a support technician for a capsuleer in The Daedalus Conglomerate.”

“Ah, intriguing. Yes, we have observed the use of Capsule technology since provided. An interesting, if expected use; the everlasting pursuit of power and wealth. Perhaps it is a shame that we don’t fully relate to the nature of these ambitions any longer. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Anneyo had chosen to abstain from a response to his question, perplexed by his timing. She casually walked around the room to inspect the various workstations. They consisted of biological, electronic, mechanical, and an expanse of other studies, each individually designated a theme and purpose. Despite her limited understanding, she could still sense that something was wrong, as if the air itself was heavy with for a want of redress.

The therapy session was still ongoing behind her, providing the only sound available in the room besides her spirited breathing. She was comfortable and relieved despite her circumstances. She dwelled on her thoughts for some time before providing another question, “You said, ‘The Society’ earlier. I assume you are referring to The Society of Conscious Thought. Isn’t that a school of sorts?”

“Yes, The Society does provide many an education befitting of our standards, even despite our reputation. Each approach tailored specifically for the student to assist in their development. This Kitz was reserved for broad spectrum research in a specialized field and as such we had no interest in taking on students.” He explained.

“A specialized field?”

“Yes. A cure for our disease.”

“You said earlier that the rest of your people had already died from the disease. If you’re experiencing symptoms and are taking medicine with accompanying therapy, then something doesn’t add up. I thought the disease killed quickly?”

“It is true that the disease does kill quickly and although I cannot state it as fact, I feel it takes as long as the afflicted permits it. I have undergone therapy and medication for quite some time, so I can speak from experience.”

Anneyo lingered on the thought for a moment before she retorted with her own theory, “Perhaps it’s purely hereditary and your neurological structure is preventing the production of the necessary neurochemicals?”

“An interesting theory, if a wrong one.”

“Then why does the medicine and therapy work?”

“This goes beyond mere physiological constraints, wouldn’t you agree?”

Anneyo’s brows furrowed together in response to the Jovian’s question. She was confused, as his question seemed genuine, as if they were two researchers considering a theory. This, in contrast to the tone she had expected.

The Intaki lifted herself onto the desk of one of the workstations; she retrieved a nearby spherical object and began to toss it between each of her hands. Reclining until her back touched the cold metal causing her to gasp. Her damp black hair had all but engulfed the remainder of the desk while her blue eyes starred at the high ceiling. Her proprioception – the ability to sense the relative location of body parts – allowing her to play idly with the sphere without physically seeing it.

The Jovian began to approach her slowly upon seeing this. His eyes trailing over her form with a cat-like curiosity with a central focus on her activity. His right hand lifted with a gaunt finger following the sphere as she pitched it between her palms. Like a chameleon, his augmented eyes separated their focus. The left eye, watching the sphere she played with attentively while the right eye focused entirely on Anneyo's face.  

His words came out in a pitched tone, as if greatly interested, “Your mannerisms are particularly intriguing. Physically, you show aptitude that is expected of your stature in a military field. However, your mental and social capability is reserved, restrained, even. While all individuals are unique in their expression you seem fascinatingly quick to exemplify yourself of negative context. Tell me, how can you resort to recreation so soon after haphazard circumstance?”

“Ida – ‘To Consider’.” She replied, pointedly.

“The Intaki faith. Does this ‘Ida’ encourage abandonment of negativity?”

“Not quite. Ida is not a faith or belief, so much as a way of life. Ida is moderation in all things. To put it simply, it is necessary to indulge yourself occasionally but over indulgence isn’t encouraged, neither is self-denial. Proper alignment with The Way in our lives is what allows us to become reborn, that we may teach others the lessons we have learned.”

“Intaki Rebirth, yes, I have researched this. The Intaki are of particular interest to me for this cultural phenomenon. Your resigned nature, control of emotions, and societal impact are all a favorite study of mine. Our archives here in the Kitz are not as well equipped on the subject as I would like.  Discuss further, please, I’m sure the conversation would be of great value, wouldn’t you agree?”

“You keep saying that.” Anneyo stated, her interest piqued.

“Our disease includes a lack of focus at times. I am only asking to reassure that I am speaking clearly and concisely.”

Anneyo considered this statement with a moment of hesitation. Silently, she debated the moral ethic of seeing the extent of his focus but decided to forego playing mind games with a man so clearly struggling with his own stability. 

She gave a brief hum in combination to this deliberation before continuing with their chosen topic, “Ida is commonly misconstrued. It requires a level of discipline that many simply do not have, especially in the Federation where the people are so obsessed with their personal liberties to do as they will. There is nothing wrong with this, per say, but it reflects back to what I had mentioned about over-indulgence. Furthermore, many, wrought in the ideal that they are over-indulging when confronted, tend to exact themselves directly into self-denial with the misconception that they are wrong. To be reborn is to expand one’s knowledge of the world and its constant cycles. Life and death is a prevalent example.”

The Jovian’s eyelids fluttered for a moment, as if trying to remove debris. He turned around and began to walk toward a separate terminal, retrieving a similar spherical object as the one Anneyo continued to throw between her hands. He mimicked this action, methodically, and kept a careful eye on the movements, saying, “This subject is quite titillating. Tell me, are you Reborn?”

“Yes, technologically.”

“And in what ways would an individual go about becoming Reborn?”

“In the past, there were many traditions to ensure a soul would continue their lifetimes. With technology, however, we have perfected the methodology and many Intaki are reborn. However, Idama are the most revered as to be Idama, one must be reborn without assistance. They are truly the paragons of our way.”

The Jovian’s eyes focused on his sphere now. His concentration locked onto the task of throwing the sphere with increased intensity, the snapping of his translucent flesh echoed out as the metal forcefully found its way in each hand. He continued this display until it began to glow a dim orange color, growing brighter until it began to give a low whistling tune. Seemingly satisfied, he set the sphere back down on the metal surface of the terminal and began to walk toward the center of the room where the hologram still played.

“I suggest you explore the Kitz. Familiarize yourself with its layout. In exchange for knowledge of your culture and… ‘The Way’… I will teach you the way The Society would a traditional student. It will be difficult, given our limited time, but I am confident that you will succeed. You will become renown, as they all are.”

The Jovian sat down calmly before the hologram with his cybernetic eyes affixed to the projection. His stillness was almost disturbing, as if a statue on display with a deadpan expression across his face. Finding an appreciation and respect for his mannerisms, Anneyo gained the impression that he wanted to involve himself in the therapy recording. She lifted from her seat, walking out of the room to explore.

*** ***

Anneyo ate her food with reservation but not due to its taste. She savored each bite but her pace was particularly slow. Her eyes began to drift toward the Jovian across from her who sat with a calm, expressionless demeanor, the table in front of him empty. He appeared distant, as if lost in his own imagination.

In any normal circumstance, Anneyo would have waited until he acknowledged her presence than to interrupt the Jovian’s thoughts. She decided against this, however, concerned over his state of mind due to the increasing ferocity of the disease over the previous several days. Consequentially the decline was because of a single missed therapy session.

“You really should eat something. You’re getting thinner as the days go by.” She suggested, quietly.

Her mentor had not responded and she began to wonder if he had bothered to leave his own thoughts to acknowledge that she was trying to talk to him. If he had not been breathing, she would have assumed that he had died at the table.

Since she had started her education regime with the Jovian the two had worked closely to provide for one another, much to the benefit of the self-sustainment systems offered by the Kitz itself. Since the irregularity in his therapy schedule she had found herself more to be in a position of a caretaker rather than an apprentice of his studies.

His apathy had affected their studies as well and it had grown harder for Anneyo to keep the Jovian focused on their tasks. When he was able to focus, he seemed to be lost in a fit of depression and the joy he previously had shown for their conversations was not as profound. The only times he was able to break from the melancholic phases was through the discussion of Ida and Intaki Rebirth. She had accepted that his interest stemmed from the possibility that he could be reborn, free of the disease.

She slid the plate of food, still steaming, toward him. Offering the same utensil she had used as she spoke, “Here. Eat some; we will discuss more on Rebirth.”

His mood had shifted at this mention and as if a toddler presented with a candy after a shot slowly began to move about. Grasping the utensil in his hand, he began to eat with a lazy effort. Anneyo smiled at this, delighted by his continued drive to attempt to fight the inevitable. 

The woman lifted her arms and rested her elbows on the table. She placed her fingertips together while leaning forward to speak in a sagely manner before continuing, “Remember that self-denial is also discouraged. You shouldn’t allow negative feelings to cloud your thoughts. I understand that you may not feel much enthusiasm for your work as of late but it is important to keep to that ambition. If not for the fact that it will help combat the disease, that it will encourage you to better see the path that is before you.”

“I will try.” He replied, lazily.

“Trying assumes the possibility of failure. You will.” She said, reassuringly.

The constant motivation provided the Jovian the drive he needed to fight the disease as long as possible. Anneyo had considered several times that perhaps she encouraged his willpower selfishly; that she were keeping him alive for the bond that they had established. Although she fully understood and realized that death was the only inevitable outcome for his affliction, she had gained a reliance on his company as much as he had relied on hers.

“Come on. We’re going to play with the sphere again.” She commanded.

The Jovian’s reluctance was clear given the mannerism of the way he brought himself to a stand. His posture was poor, slouched forward as he lethargically moved to one side of the table. He rested his palms on the table’s surface, staring at her from a distance as she retrieved the glowing sphere. Anneyo rolled it across at a measured pace. A heavy metallic sound emitted from it as it traveled toward him, stopped by his hand with a fleshy clap. His mechanical eyes lifted and focused on hers, the shutters adjusting to zoom in on her features.

“Natural rebirth is rare among the Intaki.” He stated, but Anneyo knew that this to be a question despite the lack of tone. He was, at times, confused in how to voice his thoughts properly.

“Yes, very rare. It is possible though and if you truly wish to be reborn without technology then it is all the more important that you follow the path.”

The Jovian contemplated this further before rolling the sphere back to her. They continued this repetition for some time, absorbed in their own thoughts. The activity was beneficial to the Jovian especially as the exercise gradually elevated his mood. The game bolstered his psyche and soon enough they would continue with their exchange of knowledge as was tradition since their acquaintance.

*** ***

Even the most hardened individuals are still capable of compassion when confronted with something novel. Anneyo realized this first hand with the Jovian, who after a long battle against his affliction had resigned himself to what was essentially medical life support. Unconscious, but still alive with the assistance of contraptions that made Anneyo squeamish every time she saw him that way.

 The room was dark, only illuminated by a single bright light that shone down over the Jovian’s form who was now more machine than human. Securely fastened into a metal frame, the Jovian was immobile. A dull hum gently pulsing throughout the room every few seconds that conveniently eliminated the eerie ring of silence.

Before cascading into his abrupt final stages, the Jovian had implored that she do everything in her power to keep him alive as long as possible, regardless of how much he plead toward the end. As expected, he did plead as the final stages of the disease worsened, as if craving his inevitable death.

Anneyo canted her head gently as she approached. She had given a quick glance over several monitors to ensure that there were no complications with his prolonged survival, purely out of habit. The long span of time she had seen her friend in this condition weighed her consideration and eventually she had decided to go against his wishes. Deactivating and dismantling the machine, she allowed her mentor to die in his sleep, preventing unnecessary suffering. 

She controlled her emotions with resolve; such was her nature, as she began to leave the room for a final time. Her comrades from the Conglomerate having finally found her location now that she had activated a signal provided by the Kitz itself.

The Intaki placed her hand on the frame of the doorway, turning to look over her shoulder at the Jovian’s body that silently hung on the frame.

“Endless research without closure – an answer… but perhaps reborn…” Her thoughts echoed aloud as she departed.