Date Point: 3Y 8M 4W 2D AV
Keffa
Waking up wasn’t fun. Normally the worst of it was the matter of trying to tame her unruly hair, but today Keffa found her mouth dry, her muscles aching and weak, her stomach in no condition to do anything, and a giant hole in her memory where the explanation of how she’d ended up naked in a man’s bed should have been.
“My God,” she groaned as she pulled herself out of the bed. She stopped as she sat on the edge, head in her hands as she willed away the nausea. “Ohhhh no, I’m turning into my mother.”
Well, technically that remained to be seen. The last thing that Keffa remembered clearly was going down to Perfection with Chir and Darragh and… she froze as the dreaded possibility hit her; had she had sex with Darragh? That was one way to break the tension but it would be very awkward if only one of them remembered the encounter.
However, the evidence around her seemed to suggest otherwise. There was a certain state of mild disrepair in everything that didn’t match anything aboard the Vaulting Star, and the kind of mess that Darragh would never have been able to abide. There were scrap parts everywhere there was room, on the floor in disorganized piles and on the stand beside the bed where cup she now noticed a space had been cleared for a cup of water.
She drank it greedily, her mouth and throat too parched to refuse them and finished it still thirsty. Damn, she thought, *that means I’ll have to move if I want more…”
She got to her feet in a single, lethargic push against the ridiculous weight of her own body, and spent a few moments with a hand pressed against a wall before her inner-ear figured out where equilibrium should be.
She paused at the door and decided that she wanted to cover herself with the same blanket she’d been sleeping under. That was unusual for her – normally she was as comfortable naked as she was clothed – but the thought of running into whomever might have bedded her without any clothes on made her feel strangely vulnerable. Only once she’d wrapped ot around herself to a level she felt satisfactory did she proceed out into the corridor beyond.
Her mind took a few moments to realise that this was a Hunter ship, albeit plainly modified by someone who didn’t mind it looking like a repair job in progress, and that the list of people who’d comfortably ride in one of those was pretty damned short. A cursory investigation of nearby rooms found the bathroom and the water supply, both of which she made good use of before she felt in any condition to try anything else.
Finally she found her way to the front of the ship where familiar voices were busy having different arguments.
“… a dinosaur!” Darragh exclaimed, almost accusative. “They’re extinct, Adrian! That means that you’re not supposed to be able to have one on fecking staff!”
“You saw him, mate,” Adrian replied, laughing lightly. “I will say he looks good for his age.”
Adrian Saunders, the same man who’d Keffa had borne a not-so-secret desire for, the same man she’d helped nurse back to health only to have him strangle her into unconsciousness and steal her ship. If she hadn’t slept with Darragh then there was only one other option; an option that would certainly explain the muscle soreness but probably not the memory loss. She was ninety… maybe seventy percent sure of that.
Darragh grumbled incoherently. “What did he mean about ‘regretting that Plan B was not required’, then?”
Adrian shrugged. “I’ve got no fucking idea. I’m not even sure if he knows what it means.”
“You mean that your plan has gone to shit and that the only workable solution was ‘kill everything’?” Chir asked. “Recent events have proven it to sometimes be a very cathartic experience.”
“Yes it certainly fucking can,” Adrian agreed emphatically. “Anyway you can meet him in person once Grznk has given him an implant. Right now his body is probably just as deadly as any human, and Chir has already been down that road once.”
“I did not enjoy the experience,” Chir added. “We were fortunate that Dominion medical records already had details on how to negate a large number of Earth-pathogens. By the way, it appears we have an eavesdropper.”
They turned to face her, and Keffa found herself reddening and unable to make eye-contact with the Australian.
“She arises,” said Darragh with half of a smile. “Looking a little bit the worse for wear.”
“Did… uh…” she began, one hand clutching the blanket while the other ran nervously through her hair. It was a difficult question to ask, but it needed asking and she finally locked eyes with those of the massive Australian. That made her burn all over and fall over her words twice as badly. “I… um… was in your bed… and I was wondering why that might be.”
“You were fucked up on some kind of fucking space-roofies,” he replied bluntly. “I figured you needed a bed more than I did. I remember when my sister got slipped some of that shit… she was lucky nothing worse came of it, and so are you.”
Relief and disappointment washed over her simultaneously, but she tried not to let it show.
He smiled kindly at her. “Don’t worry, love,” he said as reassuringly as a man who looked like him was able. “Nobody did anything untoward, you were in the nuddy when Chir found you.”
“I did not have the time or ability to locate your possessions as well,” Chir added. “You were not in your right mind, evidently suffering from the side effects of these ‘space-roofies’.”
Keffa sat, glad to be off her feet again. “So,” she said, wanting to move the conversation along so that she could stop feeling confused about Adrian. “Can somebody tell me all about the things I can’t remember?”
Adrian raised an eyebrow. “Memory loss, too? How’s the vision and breathing?”
“Fine,” she replied automatically before taking a moment to confirm that was actually so. “Fine,” she repeated more believably. “Just some throwing up and balance problems. I’ll be alright.”
They eyed her with some concern before relenting and filling her in on everything that she’d forgotten and had then missed. For the moment they were on their way to Cavaras where the plan seemed to be stealing everyone some clothes, after which they would save Grznk from a corporation that seemed to consider Adrian its deadly enemy. All that so that Grznk could install an implant into an ancient lizardman from Earth so that it could wander the galaxy without accidentally killing everybody.
“This seems like we should be prioritising getting Grznk,” she said. “I can do without clothes for a while.”
She became aware of Darragh not quite not looking at her, and remembered his insistence that she couldn’t just walk about with no clothes on.
“Thing is that most of our supplies were in a ship that Askit exploded,” Adrian told her. “So we’ve got to knock over a fucking restaurant or something while we’re there.”
“Speaking of which,” a mysterious female voice announced from the speaker, “we’re almost there.”
There was nobody else aboard the ship; she’d stumbled around long enough to be sure of that, and she looked to Adrian for an explanation.
“That,” he told her, “was Trycrur, our resident Deus ex Machina.”
“That means ‘god from the machine’,” Darragh corrected him. “You meant ‘ghost in the machine’, and I doubt that either means what you think they mean.”
Adrian turned to stare at him while mouthing something along the lines of “What the fuck?”
Darragh shrugged. “Some of us actually paid attention in school.”
Sparing only a short glare of rebuke, Adrian turned back to Keffa with the wind very obviously taken out of his sails. “Her body was killed and her mind was put into a computer.”
“And Adrian believes he has a way of bringing her back,” said Chir, not showing much hope for it to be true. “Which would, by the way, be the greatest advance in recorded history. You’ll understand why I might be sceptical.”
“That’s because you don’t know what we’ve found out about the Hierarchy,” Adrian replied. “Because from the looks of things they’ve had the technology for a long fucking time.”
Moments later, Trycrur reported that Spot had dropped into local space, and all attention was back on the consoles. Cavaras loomed before them, a blue-white orb of Corti civilisation and little else, but still a place she could try and find a half-decent outfit.
“There she is,” Adrian announced. “Cavaras, the place I spent a few months causing huge fucking problems in.”
“Do you think they’ve forgotten?” Keffa asked, doubting it very much.
“I shouldn’t think so,” he replied. “So… this visit could get a bit interesting.”
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Out of Sight, vicinity of the Zhadersil
Tjheth, Irzht Clansman of the Eye
Tjheth watched. That was what he did, his great purpose as determined by the God Emperor at the time of his spawning all those long years ago. He knew, in purely numerical terms, that a million years spent touring a foreign galaxy was not all that many – the record was eighty-two and had resulted in the thorough mapping of what had subsequently become Lahzlahnya, crowning jewel of the Empire – but Tjheth would be lying if he said he didn’t miss the feel of wind in his feathers or the mud at his feet. Much of his time was spent in recreational immersion, giving him a facsimile of what he wanted, but either he was unable to put the falsehood of the experience from his mind or the years had given him a far greater sense of nostalgia than the simulator was able to replicate. In honesty he favoured the latter explanation.
Today he was not concerned with any of that. Survey missions held a certain monotony, scans of dead planets and dim stars were the everyday, while the computers automatically processed and archived all available data being broadcast by the lesser species.
Today, however, his interest had been piqued by an investigation into an abandoned ship, enormous and ancient by local standards, and quite badly damaged by the conflict that had brought it to this point. The ship itself was interesting, its history was interesting, and the lesser species scuttling around it in vain attempts to understand it were interesting.
He finished reading over the raw data on his own scans, far more subtle and effective than those of the primitive locals, and reclined into a more comfortable seat to render his daily report. “Computer, new report, time-stamp and title with ‘Somebody Has Been A Naughty Hatchling’.”
“New find today, an older vessel that spans nearly a fifth the history of the Holy Empire. Not one of ours.”
He paused significantly, then realised that a transcript wouldn’t reflect this. “Significant pause.”
“As previously reported, the star-faring species of this galaxy are primarily of the fragile variety found only sparingly in previously investigated galaxies. A fact that, well prior the appearance of the bipedal mammalians who self-style as ‘human’, provoked me to investigate exactly why this might be. My details on the organisation known as the ‘Hierarchy’ are in my report detailing the conflict with the parasites of their own creation.”
“In the time since that particular incident, they have been busy annihilating species of hardier stock, as they always have, and has suppressed all knowledge of what has come before. Good for us, I suppose, but I had always wondered where the roots of their paranoia lay. Today I wonder no more.”
“The ‘Zhadersil’, a vessel that caused a devastating burst of gamma radiation, is a vessel constructed by the extinct species known as the ‘V’Straki’. It is of a military carrier configuration, and is not equipped with radioactive weaponry. The device used for this purpose appears to have been completely destroyed, much to the chagrin of all those searching the wreckage, but their technology does not compare to our own. Upon realising the possibilities, I have excised the data from the Zhadersil’s computers and have confirmed my suspicions: this is our technology. With some margin of differentiation, it is our technology down to the very detail of the abandoned ship!”
“Computer, append a link to data on the schism wars of Yhonh-Agris, the time frame is right for heathen plot against the God Emperor. I postulate that one such heathen came here, and attempted to build an army, although what became of that individual I cannot imagine. What I do know is that this is a case of the tool being made into a weapon; the same technology with which we tend our stars, with which we power our collectives, being turned into a weapon! The concept of what this could do for them, if taken to its natural conclusion, should be obvious to all.”
“Therefore, for the glory of the God Emperor, I am deviating from my assignment. One individual has been given the knowledge, and he has a name that I am tracking through various broadcasts. A ‘human’ by name of ‘Adrian Saunders’. He will be eliminated. The ‘Zhadersil’ will be eliminated. I am confident that this situation can be contained.”
“Report end.”
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The Amber Radiance, Mercenary Vessel, Dominion Space
Laphor Metmin
Laphor was nervous. Not the usual kind of nervous, the stressed nerves before going into or just after coming out of a battle, but a trepidation of sorts. She was a battle-hardened mercenary captain with her own ship and a trail of bodies behind her, and trepidation wasn’t something she usually felt. Today, however, was different, because today they were receiving a guest.
Five-Skulls Zripob – although it was supposed to be Six-Skulls now, from what she’d been told – and in all honesty that would have scared the absolute shit out of just about everyone else. Those on her crew who knew the name were shades of worried or terrified, and those who had not yet heard it were soon informed.
Six-Skulls Zripob, the bloodiest mercenary to ever rise from the war. Word had it that he’d most recently been running around with a band of pirates, slowly breaking down the Celzi economy with an endless series of strikes on its trade routes. The Celzi Alliance had eventually realised this, and had turned the same tactic against the Dominion, an eventuality that had only given Laphor and the crew of the Radiance more work than they could ever ask for, but they hadn’t had anyone as terrible as Six-Skulls Zripob at their command.
At least they hadn’t until now. Laphor knew that the small vessel they’d tracked entering Dominion space was of Celzi design, and that it didn’t have any hope of outclassing the Amber Radiance in any respect, and she knew that Six-Skulls had at least claimed to be returning to Dominion space in stolen property, rather than having switched sides… but this was Six-Skulls Zripob that they were talking about, and Laphor figured that anyone who wasn’t at least a little bit wary about the idea of letting him on board would have to be out of their damned mind.
Four guards flanked her each side as she waited for the airlock to allow the lone Chehnasho mercenary in, all of them toting the new Irbzrkian stunguns that were effective even against humans. They’d been set to disable standard species, and Laphor had been emphatic that if Six-Skulls were to start anything they were to shoot first and worry about questions later.
As it turned out, Zripob was the perfect guest.
“Captain,” he said as he stepped from the airlock. “Allow me to introduce myself again. I am Zripob.”
“Six-Skulls Zripob,” she replied, unsure how to approach this sort of greeting. In her experience the meeting between two mercenary leaders was generally not quite so cordial. “You are… not what I was expecting.”
She hadn’t really known what to expect. She’d had pictures, of course, war footage of an aggressive leader who led from the front, but that had painted him as a brute. The Chehnasho before her was older, and possessed such a different demeanour that it was difficult to imagine him as the same man she’d watched screaming orders.
“An affectation,” Zripob admitted, before turning to run a critical eye over her guards. He seemed satisfied with what he saw because he gave a gentle nod of approval before returning his attention to Laphor. “I have need of your services, Mercenary Captain.”
“You wish to hire us?” Laphor asked in surprise. Whatever she’d been expecting of the conversation it hadn’t been that. “We’re already contracted to the Dominion.”
“This will in fact complement your mission, Captain,” he replied. “You see… I intend to apprehend Adrian Saunders.”
Time seemed to freeze for a moment before Laphor managed to recover her wits. “Sorry, did you say you wanted to apprehend Adrian Saunders? As in the Human Disaster?”
Zripob chuckled, a throaty croaking sound. “I had not previously heard him called by that name, but it fits. And yes, I very much want to apprehend him.”
Laphor took a moment to consider this. It was true that Adrian Saunders was wanted by absolutely everyone in the Galaxy for one crime or another, and that it would certainly complement her general ‘anti-pirate’ mission if she were to go and attempt capturing him. The problem was that she wasn’t certain she was up to the task.
She settled on a provisional agreement. “I’m not against the idea, but I hope you have a plan. I’m not going to throw my crew into a suicide mission against the most destructive individual in the galaxy. What he did on Perfection is all over the news!”
The Chehnasho veteran nodded slowly in understanding. “I have seen… the level of destruction is a dead give-away. Surprising that those in the Penitentiary were only seriously injured at worst, while those in the other location were all so brutally slaughtered. Perhaps he is getting soft.”
“That did not look soft, Commander Zripob,” Laphor replied. The destruction had been similar to that seen on worlds near the front, but those had never been worlds so populated as Perfection. The fact that such things could happen anywhere had been brought home to her by Saunders’ actions, and it had unsettled her.
“Nonetheless,” Zripob continued, “I will capture him, and I shall do it through trickery and guile. Will you help me, Captain Metmin?”
It was time to decide, but there was still one more question that Laphor needed to ask. “What’s in it for us?”
Six-Skulls Zripob broke into a triumphant smile. “A great deal of money.”
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Hierarchy Communications Link
Fifty-Four
The mood was not a pleasant one, and Fifty-Four was most uncomfortable of them all. Technically the only thing she had to do with Adrian Saunders was trying to piece together the details of his time aboard the Zhadersil, but that had just become extraordinarily hard to do.
Because the Zhadersil was gone.
+0009+: What do you mean ‘it’s gone’?
+0054+: Everything is gone. As you know from my last report there were several independent research teams attempting to gain access to the technology and the data. They are also gone.
+0022+: I believe what Nine intended to ask was ‘how?’. Please explain yourself, Fifty-Four.
+0054+: It was required of me to take transport to Irbzrk station in order to deal with a bureaucratic blunder. When I left the Zhadersil it was still radioactive and dead, and all the research teams were very active. When I returned it and everything else was simply gone. In its place, a radioactive haze of elementary particles.
+0009+: Disintegration? You believe that something managed to disintegrate on such a broad scale? That is impossible, Fifty-Four!
+0022+: No… it isn’t quite impossible, Nine.
+0003+: We don’t need to speak of that. It is a banned technology. Field technologies are where they should be: transport-focused. We do not need further developments that allowed our old enemy their advantage!
+0054+: Such history is beyond me…
+0009+: It will remain beyond you, Fifty-Four. Banned technology, understand? Keep talking about it and risk deletion or worse.
+0022+: I see no other explanation. Two, can we please lift the moratorium for the length of this discussion?
+0002+: Agreed. Speaking of banned technology is now allowed as long as they related to the matter at hand. Decompilation will be punishment for those who stray too far.
+0022+: Thank you. There was never an adequate explanation for where the V’Straki obtained their technology. The records showed them springing into existence practically overnight.
+0009+: As the humans have done.
+0003+: Not so. Records state a long technological path has been taken by the humans, and much of the world is industrialised to reach this point.
+0022+: So, I ask again, where did the technology come from? I don’t believe they could be so much more intelligent than everyone else that they could simply come up with the ability to create universes by themselves in a matter of (centuries), and then weaponise it? A feat we have never been able to replicate?
+0009+: Are you suggesting some sort of secret organisation? Because we’ve been a secret organisation ever since, and there’s no indication that we’ve got a rival!
+0022+: How do explain the disintegration of the Zhadersil without warp-field technology being involved? Is it even possible without it? I think not.
+0003+: Seconded.
+0009+: I… am forced to agree. But that does not explain who was behind it and why. The Zhadersil was dead, Fifty-Four can attest to that, so it hardly did it to itself.
Fifty-Four had the feeling that she was being allowed to listen into some considerably restricted material, and actually being included in the discussion rattled her somewhat. After a moment of inactivity she realised she was expected to respond.
+0054+: There was nothing left aboard capable of doing anything like that! I am certain.
+0009+: Could it have been Adrian Saunders?
+0003+: Why would he destroy his own vessel?
+0022+: A sound question. A better question is: does he know how to make a weapon like this?
+0002+: Adrian Saunders is already marked for destruction. Include all who have had extended contact with him as secondary targets. This information cannot be allowed to exist.
+0009+: My last reports show him leaving Perfection with several more craters than when he arrived. Evidently antagonised by the corporate plots of our previous Zero, and who knows where he might be, now?
+0003+: I know.
+0022+: You know?!
+0009+: How do you know? Why didn’t you say it earlier when we were all discussing the situation on Perfection?
+0003+: I have only just received this data. He is here on Cavaras.
+0022+: Didn’t he get tired of making explosions the last time he was there? What’s he doing?
+0003+: Shopping.
+0009+: Shopping!?
+0003+: Indeed. Although I suspect ‘stealing’ will prove more accurate. The man is a serial thief, I doubt he’d pay for whatever he needs even if he had millions.
+0009+: I demand you immediately kill him and everyone with him!
+0003+: I refuse. This operation will be difficult enough to restore without outing myself to Adrian-void-damned-Saunders.
+0002+: Watch your language, Three. In this instance, attacking Adrian Saunders would be pure folly. What you will do is to put a tracking device on him so that we can monitor his every move. It’s more important to confirm that he had nothing to do with the destruction of the Zhadersil.
+0022+: And what if he didn’t?
+0002+: Then Fifty-Four will proceed with her new investigation to find out what did.
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Cavaras, Corti Directorate Core World
Adrian Saunders
“I don’t like shopping much,” Adrian mused as they wandered the market together, ignoring the stares of everybody stopping to look at a trio of humans walking down the street like they owned the place. There hadn’t been any gunships or swarms of troops yet, so he figured they had some time to enjoy themselves before Plan B inevitably came into effect. “Always so much time spent trying to find what you fucking want, only to come home with all this shit you don’t need.”
“Didn’t you ever try internet shopping?” Darragh asked, sticking close to Adrian as he’d been told. “It’s a lot easier to find what you want.”
“I tried that with shoes once,” Adrian replied. “Didn’t fucking fit, and then I had to pay return postage to get them exchanged. And the wife went fucking mad for e-bay so the house was filled with her crap in every space. How many fucking spice racks do you need if you never fucking cook?”
Darragh frowned at him, taking moment to properly process the information that had just been delivered in such an off-handed manner. “Wait… go back to the part where you were married?”
“You’re married?” Keffa echoed, sounding equal parts surprised and annoyed. Not that he could blame her; anybody could see why she might get judgemental over that sort of thing.
“I was,” Adrian replied, uncomfortable with going into too much detail. “Look, I know you’re thinking ‘how can this motherfucker be going after that Jen girl when he’s got a hot piece of arse back home?’, but it’s not like that.”
“Can’t say I was thinking in exactly those terms,” said Darragh. “But do go on.”
Adrian stretched, his discomfort with the topic increasing. “Well, let’s just say it didn’t last, and it mostly wasn’t my fault.”
“I’m not sure that I find that altogether credulous,” Darragh replied, “but I expect that’s all the answer we’re getting.”
He pointed out a shop up ahead, something written in whatever the Corti wrote, but otherwise looking just as grey and drab as every other building. As architects went, the Corti were about as function-oriented as it was possible to be. “Hey, isn’t that some sort of rugged-wear shop?”
Keffa nodded. “We should be able to get Vacuum Suits and proper clothing made there,” she said, most likely for Adrian’s benefit. “Corti will actually wear clothing if there’s a reason to do so. Just like everyone else.”
“I like wearing clothes,” Adrian replied somewhat defensively. “Clothes make the man, you know?”
Darragh’s sidelong glance was about as sceptical as it was possible to be, with one eyebrow raised as high as it could go, and the mocking smile of doubt touching on his lips about as daintily as an elephant on roller-skates. “I find it very odd that a man dressed as you are would say that sort of thing. Didn’t you dress in some sort of leathery abomination and too much flannel?”
“Least I’m not fucking naked in spandex,” Adrian shot back, wondering how you could ever really have too much flannel. It was hard wearing stuff, great for space-adventuring where you were never sure when you were going to have time to freshen up, and it was more comfortable than the artificial fabrics the aliens used.
Keffa just sighed as if the argument was completely intolerable, just like Adrian’s sister had always done in her teens, and pushed on ahead whilst ignoring them. It hadn’t been an endearing action when his sister did it, and it wasn’t one now, but he knew better than to try and stop her if she was intent on being pissy.
“Huh…” said Darragh, staring after her. “Do you think she knows the wind is blowing her back flap around like that?”
Adrian tilted his head to observe what Darragh was talking about and shook his head. “Nah mate, I don’t reckon she does.
They stood and watched for a moment before Darragh hit him in the arm. “What’re you doing when you’ve got Jen and apparently a whole wife and such?”
Rubbing his arm like it’d actually hurt, Adrian looked down at the utterly transparent Irishman. “Mate,” he said with a half-grin, “I’m still a bloke. Besides, as far as I can tell you haven’t exactly been staking any claims. Does she even fucking know that you like her?”
Darragh looked at his feet. “Well… I’ve… there’ve been certain suggestions made. I’ve done a lot of implying.”
“So… no,” Adrian interpreted. “Do you want some advice?”
Darragh stared at him. “About women? From you?”
“Yeah,” Adrian said, not quite sure what he was getting at but imagining it wasn’t very complimentary. “Look, I can’t be that much of a fuck up when I’ve been married, can I?”
“I’m not sure that’s all that much of a reassurance,” said Darragh. “How do I know it wasn’t one of those mail order brides?”
Adrian grimaced in disgust. “Fucking Christ… I like to think I can do a little bit better than that! When I met Sandy we were both drunk and hooked up. She was still there in the morning and I was on leave, so… you know, things went from there.”
“This is supposed to help me somehow?” Darragh asked. “What am I supposed to do, get her drunk and have my manly way with her?”
“No mate, you both have to be drunk so that it comes natural,” Adrian advised him. The concept seemed simple enough to him but he was older and wiser, and there was also this cultural barrier between them “Otherwise it’s just fucked up.”
Eyeing him sceptically, Darragh shook his head. Getting drunk with Keffa and letting nature take its course had a certain appeal but he’d never seen it work out particularly well, and by his own admission Adrian’s experiences hadn’t led to a better result either. “I’m really not sure that’s an improvement.”
Adrian shrugged. “Suit yourself mate. Speaking of, let’s go see if we can get you looking snappy.”
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Amongst the Swarm of Swarms
Alpha-of-Alphas
Information could be dangerous. In some instances that could mean a tactic, a strategy, or a weapon design, and in others it could mean that the impossible had occurred and that it had somehow managed to escape the notice of the entire Swarm until now.
The defeat at the vessel known as the Zhadersil had been catastrophic, and yet the Swarm had recovered admirably. They had used the self-destruction of their greatest enemy as a symbol to rally around so that their failure to actually feast on him did not disturb them quite so greatly.
The Cursed Human had been dead, and that had been a very important fact. That it had now discovered the reality to be otherwise had both infuriated the Alpha-of-Alphas to the point of eviscerating the messenger, and had disquieted it to the extent that he had ordered the slaughter of every member of the Brood who might know. The survival of the Cursed Human, of Adrian Saunders would threaten the stability of the Swarm, a situation that could not be allowed, and of the Alpha of Alpha’s own position, which was even more the case.
The Alpha-of-Alphas considered the data, picked it apart carefully and analysed what it had. The Cursed Human had paid a visit to an idyllic Prey world, Class Three by their standards, and had damaged it. The Cursed Human destroyed whatever it touched, but in this case it seemed to be intent on retrieving its allies.
Could that mean there was a weakness to exploit? The Alpha-of-Alphas turned the idea, delicious in concept, over in its mind. Humans, unlike the Prey, would often risk themselves foolishly to save those already in the grip of death, and Adrian Saunders was apparently no different. All it would take was the right kind of trap, and the right kind of bait.
It was possible! And this time it would be a real victory, and this time the Alpha-of-Alphas would be ready to taste the flesh of the greatest individual enemy the Hunters had ever encountered. It would take time, plausible excuses to the ones who must be involved, and a great deal of cunning, but the Alpha-of-Alphas would have its revenge.
And revenge was best served bloody.
<Greed; bloodlust> +Meat to the Maw.+
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The Devastator, Cloaked in high orbit around Cavaras, Corti Directorate Core World
Askit
“I don’t understand what fish have to do with this game,” Askit mused as he looked through the cards Xayn had retrieved from Superior Firepower before they’d destroyed it. “Nevertheless… do you have any Sevens?”
“Ha! I have no Sevens!” Xayn exclaimed. “Now you must ‘Go and Fish’.”
“This is a terrible game,” Askit said as he picked up the next card, the third Five for his hand. “Or maybe not…”
“You picked up a Seven!” Xayn accused him. “You went and fished for a Seven and you found one!”
“I’ll never tell what I picked up,” Askit replied defiantly. “And that still has nothing to do with fish…”
Xayn looked briefly at his cards and resumed pressing them against his chest. “Do you have any Sevens?!”
Askit begrudgingly provided the two Sevens in his hand to his opponent, sliding them across the table to where the V’Straki could snatch them up. “You just said you had none.”
“I do not. I wished to deprive you of your prize,” Xayn admitted. “It is now your turn.”
Askit glared at him. “Fine. Do you have any Sevens?”
Xayn slid the two cards back across the table looking somewhat less delighted than he had been a moment before. “In a moment those will be mine once again.”
“This seems to be a major issue with the rules of this game,” Askit observed. “Should I just leave those on the table?”
“You cannot be certain that I am going to request your Sevens,” Xayn replied, glancing again at the cards he kept pressed to his chest. “Do you have…”
Askit began to pick up the cards.
“… any Sevens?” Xayn asked.
Askit shot an annoyed look at him. “You just said…”
“In battle, uncertainty will undo all foes,” Xayn recited. “The wisdom of my father, and his father before him.”
Askit sighed, and slid the cards back across the table. This exercise rapidly seemed to be getting pointless and infuriating, and he wondered what Adrian and the V’Straki managed to see in it. Mercifully duty called at that moment as a message came through to the ship itself.
“Ah, something else to do,” he said with some relief, and slid from his chair in order to go and take a look at what was going on. As it turned out it was a request intended for the mercenaries to action, sent by the same employers who’d sent them against the Superior Firepower and the Vaulting Star before that. “Interesting.”
“What is it?” Xayn asked, striding over with the cards still pressed flat against his chest. Askit had attempted to explain that this had merely been an idiom, but Xayn had persevered with his paranoid secrecy. “I would like to know what the message said.”
“Request from Iridis Industries,” Askit related as he read over the finer details. “Looks like they’ve noticed Adrian is down there on the surface and they plan to mobilise the Vaulting Star against him. They’re requesting the attendance of anyone on their payroll who’s in the vicinity. Two million credit bounty.”
“Two million is a lot?” Xayn asked, and Askit forgave him his ignorance. There hadn’t been much in the way of shopping lately – or ever, for that matter – and there was no way for the V’Straki to learn just how much two-million credits actually was.
“A great deal,” Askit told him. “Easily enough to purchase a ship, or live in luxury for a long time. Our human friend just became very valuable to a lot of people.”
“He will destroy all of them,” Xayn said with confidence. “Adrian Saunders is not a force to be trifled with, I know this from personal experience. The streets will run red with the blood of his-“
“The Vaulting Star intends to target him from orbit,” Askit interrupted. “I think we should do something about that because I think it might be possible to actually kill him that way.”
Scratching the leathery scales on his throat, Xayn briefly considered the suggestion before nodding his agreement. “I shall get my gun and then I shall be ready.”
Askit gestured towards the weapon holstered at the V’Straki’s side. “I believe you’re currently wearing your gun.”
Xayn grinned, and Askit realised that this had been exactly what he’d been supposed to say. “Then,” Xayn said, “it looks like I was born ready.”
That didn’t make any sense.
“That… does not make any sense,” Askit said, echoing his thoughts as he sighed and shook his head in exasperated resignation; the V’Straki often picked up sayings from Adrian and used them incorrectly, and this was just another of those times. Askit was glad to be able to turn his full attention to the console for the time it took to enter the coordinates sent from the Vaulting Star.
“I’ll send a message down to Adrian,” he said, once it was done, “and another to Chir and Trycrur. I think they might want to get in on this.”