#017 - "Embers"
Chapter 2: The Catalyst
“First things first – Let’s get you a change of clothes. I’m pretty sure you don’t want to wander around this ship in a medical gown. You’d probably end up getting another incident report walking around with your ass hanging out.” Berrick says with a chuckle.
I just scowl and shake my head, forcing down my fiery list of complaints.
Berrick pinches his bottom lip and whistles, and the door opens. A woman I recognize walks in carrying a bag.
She has a giant mane of fluorescent blue hair, horns curling out from the sides of her head, a white double-breasted military style uniform, a mini-skirt, thigh-high heels, and a tremendous rack.
“It’s good to see you made it Beryl.” I say with a somewhat teasing smirk.
Her expression doesn’t change, she just looks at me with the same serious gaze she always does.
“You as well Fleece. I’m glad to see you are in high-spirits.”
I don’t know about that. I just keep expecting I’ll wake up from this nightmare.
Beryl is a Wyvix. A dragon-like thrall race that is fairly rare to see due to their high demand, and considerably low supply. I’m willing to bet she’s the only one on-board this entire ship.
Before they were subjugated by the DRAC, the Wyvix were a primitive race of war-like tribal people. They were still chucking spears by the time the DRAC showed up with gunships and full-on orbital bombardments.
Obviously their defeat was overwhelming. You couldn’t even call it a war – Just domination.
But instead of showing resentment towards their subjugators, they instead willingly rolled over for them.
Both on an instictive level, and cultural level, the Wyvix respect strength.
When the DRAC showed up one day and started raining down death from above – To them it was like they were looking into the face of God.
Their subjugation took a single day.
All of the clan leaders across Wyrim immediately surrendered and vowed loyalty to the DRAC.
They revere humans as almost like some sort of divine race of beings. In their eyes, serving a Human master is the greatest honor a Wyvix can be given. So they take their duties as slaves extremely serious.
But thanks to their instinctual beliefs and immediate surrender – The DRAC left their culture and existing government almost entirely intact.
Well… If you can call nomadic tribes run by chieftains a “government”.
They even allowed them to form a new religion around worshipping Humanity on their homeworld.
Their natural reverence of humans, innate physical strength, ability to breathe fire, and low supply makes them extremely valuable to collectors.
Beryl is already taller than me – Probably about 185cm give or take (6’1ft approximately). But she isn’t even fully grown yet. Although she’s considered an adult, Wyvix actually undergo a second puberty later on.
Eventually Beryl is going to grow a tail and shoot up in height. Fully grown female Wyvix tend to get around 205cm to 220cm tall (6’7ft-7’2ft), sometimes even a little taller. The males get to be around 230cm or more (7’5ft.)
Eventually she’s going to be bashing her head against every doorway in her path.
I can’t wait.
Her tail is going to be somewhere between my wrist and my forearm in diameter, and covered in lusterous, precious gem-like scales.
Given her electric, almost turquoise blue hair – I’m willing to bet her scales are going to look like crystalline versions of turquoise gemstones.
I bet Berrick could sell them for a bundle anytime she sheds.
Beryl is Berrick’s personal aide. So we’ve worked together for about two years now. We have what you might call professional respect for each other. But I wouldn’t say we’re any closer to what you would call a friendship.
Not that I really care if she considers me a friend or not. I make it a personal rule not to make friends with slaves. To me they’re just another type of tool, or maybe a pet.
Making friends with a slave, regardless if they’re a thrall, a therian, naturally born, or cultivated – It never ends well.
Us getting stuck on that station for three years was a firm reminder of that.
I only make a couple loose exceptions at this point. One being the therian Lark bought and gave to my sister.
The other being a slave Berrick owns. I have no idea whether or not they’re still alive – But I’m not going to ask.
I just… I can’t…
There’s a lot of shit going through my head right now, and I don’t want to pile more crap on top of it.
While I wouldn’t be distraught if she died – I do think a part of me would feel genuinely sad.
I can’t handle anymore loss.
But… After the shit Anna did… I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have a newfound bias against therians.
So I’m honestly not sure how I would react if I found out she died. It could go either way.
Beryl sets the bag down on the table in a poised manner, and pushes it to me.
“Master Berrick instructed me to bring you these clothes. According to our records, these should fit you.”
I unzip the bag, and pull out a light grey jacket with stylish black shoulder padding, black cuffed sleeves, and angular pinstriping. The inside is lined with black, diamond stiched padding. I turn it around, and there’s something embroidered on the back in bold, chrome letters.
“…Kodoku?” I read aloud with a tinge of confusion.
“Just a crew I used to run with.” Explains Berrick. “I still had some surplus uniforms in storage.”
I pull the jacket up to my nose and take a sniff.
A bit musty, but not dirty.
“I’ll give you a moment to get dressed.” Berrick says, gesturing Beryl to leave, jerking his head towards the door.
She nods, and they both exit the room, closing the door behind them.
After a few minutes of struggling to put the clothes on while sitting down because of my leg – I finally get them all on.
A basic white T-shirt, the grey and black jacket, a stylish belt, baggy charcoal black cargo pants with built in suspenders that I left hanging off to the sides, and combat boots which reach my calves.
The jacket is a bit shorter than the T-shirt. So I just tuck it into my pants, and tuck the pants into my boots.
“I’m done!” I call out as I was struggling to lace my boots with one hand.
Berrick and Beryl come back in.
He notices me struggling, sighs, and points to me.
“Help him tie his shoes.”
Beryl nods, “Yes.”
She rushes over, and immediately begins to adjust the laces on my boots.
I look down at Beryl.
“Sorry about this.” I say, somewhat irritated at my own helplessness.
For whatever reason, her expression changes to something I can only describe as underlying frustration.
“No… It’s not your fault Fleece. If only I-“
“-Beryl.” Berrick abruptly interjects. “Focus on the task at hand.” He chides.
“My apologies Master Berrick.” She says, immediately correcting herself and regaining her composure.
I’m surprised.
While it wasn’t that pronounced, it’s not often I see Beryl lose her prim and proper façade.
What was that about?
Berrick looks down at me.
“Damn Fleece, fits you like a glove. It looks even better than I expected. The grey matches your wheat colored hair and goatee perfectly.” He says with a cheerful grin.
“Yeah, they’re pretty comfortable. But they’re a bit more flashy than what I’m used to wearing.”
“Heh – You should charge it. All of that black pinstriping is actually light channels. The controls are on the bottom left, next to the zipper.”
While I appreciate the free set of clothes, I really don’t need glowing clothes. I know fluoretics are popular in the big city scene. But I’m a mercenary – They’re liable to get me shot.
“So… What’s all this about an offer?” I ask, as Beryl finishes up.
Berrick looks over at Beryl, “Anyway, that will be all Beryl. Go take care of that other matter we discussed. I’ll meet you back at the ship.”
“Of course Master Berrick.” Beryl says with a small bow.
She grabs the empty bag, and strides out of the room.
Berrick looks over at me.
“Come on, the El Dorado is docked in one of the hangar bays. We can talk more there.” Berrick says as he points to the ceiling, and then to his ear – Covering his mouth with his finger.
I nod.
Yeah, they’re definitely listening to everything we say. Berrick probably jumped through quite a few hoops to get me out of here.
I can imagine there’s probably a fair amount of people who are just itching to throw me back in here.
I attempt to get up and stagger back onto my ass.
The pain in the back of my thigh is excruciating.
“Need some help?” Berrick says with a wry chuckle.
I scowl, and nod begrudgingly.
“…Yeah, if you would.”
Berrick puts my arm around his shoulder and lifts me out of the chair.
“Can you grab the briefcase? I can’t leave it behind.”
“Sure – What’s in it?.” He asks curiously.
My face scowls.
“…My brothers.” I drearily respond.
Berrick’s lips tighten.
He silently nods, dropping the subject.
He picks up the case, and we quietly limp over to the door.
I have to lean all my bodyweight onto Berrick. Everytime I put my left foot down, it’s like I’m being stabbed in the back of the leg.
It’s genuinely starting to piss me off.
We exit the interrogation room, and after a much needed trip to the bathroom, we go through a few small corridors lined with offices, and find ourselves in a large white and silver control room made up of three floors.
You can see people bustling past each other upstairs, as people on the ground floor are physically connected to rows of servers using neural interface lounges.
I personally never got any kind of sensory neural implant. I don’t like the idea of turning my brain into a personal device.
While some people consider them rudimentary, I was perfectly content with my simple wristwrap PD until that bitch destroyed it.
Being able to play immersive reality games, or experience IR porn just ain’t worth it to me.
The curved righthand wall has an enormous display reaching all the way to the ceiling. It’s covered in countless real-time images of the recovery efforts.
The station is in shambles, and the amount of warships surrounding the wreckage is incredible.
I don’t think I’ll ever learn who that blonde-haired woman we captured was. But given the fact they brought the entire 5th Fleet here just to reclaim her and that ship tells me something went horribly, catastrophically wrong.
That emotionless man didn’t even bother telling me to keep my mouth shut. He probably figured that simply seeing all of this would tell me all I need to know.
Which it definitely does. I’ve worked enough government contracts to know when something is going to be labeled top secret.
If I speak out of line – I, along with everyone I know will be erased.
From what I understand, this entire area of the ship is sectioned off for use by the Office of State Intelligence. But this place serves as the main control room for the OSI branch aboard the Adjudicator.
You can feel the panic in the air.
People are gathered around the countless emitters scattered throughout the room, parsing through the data on the holograms, yelling at each other, and racing about.
Berrick leans into my ear.
“Keep your head down and your mouth shut. Don’t look at anything, don’t touch anything, and don’t talk to anybody.” Berrick says in a serious tone.
I nod, and look down at my feet as we limp towards the exit on the left-side of the room.
As soon as we reach the exit, I notice a pair of heels I recognize from the corner of my eye.
I look up and see a woman with long black hair, ruby red lips, glasses, and an ash grey business suit with a pencil skirt.
Our eyes meet, as she gives me the smallest of satisfied smirks, before completely ignoring me as she walks past.
I stare daggers at her as my head instinctively turns as she walks past. My mouth begins open, but before I can start cussing the bitch out, Berrick grabs my head and jerks it around.
“Don’t.” He says sternly. “Let it go.”
I scowl, but click my tongue, and nod in agreement – Opting to go back to staring at my feet.
He’s right.
I only stand to lose trying to give her a piece of my mind.
Even if I did start screaming at her, she’d probably just use that as ammunition to say I’m stalking her or some shit.
I was never as smart as Ron, and especially not Lark. But as a merc, you see a lot of things, and meet a lot of different types.
If you want to survive in this business, you got to get good at reading people.
That accusation wasn’t about getting leverage over me – That was about control.
She wanted to feel like she’s the one with the power.
She’s the type of person with a bloated ego, and a baseless sense of self-importance.
Those types are typically not the brightest bunch. But in their mind, they believe they’re the smartest person in the room.
In reality, they just lack any kind of common decency or morals. Which lets them use and exploit people without a second thought.
But because their inflated ego is based on a lie, it bruises easily, which causes them to be very reactionary.
Those types struggle to see past their nose. If I do anything to bruise her ego, I’ll become her sole focus, and she’ll undoubtedly come after me out of pure, petty spite.
As pissed as I am, I just need to walk away, and tell myself that someday she’ll get hers.
Which, more often than not, usually ends up being the case.
If they don’t have the brains to back their ego, they inevitably end up fucking themselves. I’ve seen it happen countless times.
A crooked group of mercs that managed to bullshit their way up to A-Rank, and ended up biting off more than they could chew.
A pirate captain that managed to assemble a small fleet, thought he was invincible, and ended up totally obliterated by the ACN.
A gang leader who managed to get entire systems hooked on his products. Only to have the people he payed off to cover for him abandon him once the heat got too high. Heat caused by his own dumbass decisions.
They move up in the galaxy, gain some influence, and it ends up going to their heads. Then they get reckless, act like they’re untouchable, and carelessly out themselves.
Eventually, one way or another, it always comes to bite them in the ass.
□■□
We figured that they were probably monitoring us through ODSS, and recording anything we said after we left the control room. Making sure I didn’t say anything they didn’t want public. So we mostly walked in silence the entire way there.
We wanted to avoid bringing further attention to ourselves. So even though this ship is equipped with a plethora of tram systems, we took the long way to the hangar. Making our way through numerous empty corridors, and down countless steps – Which I nearly busted my ass going down.
The Adjudicator is the flagship of the 5th Fleet, and one of the largest in the entire DRAC Navy. Its exact size is classified as a state secret for whatever reason. But a merc buddy of mine that we frequently partnered with when we were still independent tried to do the math himself. He said she’s probably somewhere around 22,600m (14mi) give or take.
She’s classified as a super dreadnought, the highest subclass of battleship. She’s basically a full armada in of itself, and is armed with an ungodly amount of guns.
My connection to this ship is a strained one. Anytime I see the Adjudicator I just know that some new form of trauma is soon to follow.
…Once again, it never fails.
Honestly at this point, I genuinely believe this ship is cursed. For me, the Adjudicator is like the roaming physical incarnation of death and misfortune.
When we were still independent mercs, we oftentimes took on government contracts. Half the time, government work wouldn’t give you the full details of a job until you accepted the contract. They might give you a general idea of the theatre you’d be working out of, and a maybe a basic description like “Escort Duty” or “Search and Destroy”.
But anytime we saw: “Please report to the ACSV Adjudicator” on our PDs - We just groaned.
At the time it was just a running joke between us to lighten the mood.
But I’m not joking anymore.
This ship is cursed.
The Adjudicator is primarily used for orbital bombardments, and rarely sees actual ship-to-ship combat.
We had to play escort duty for the Adjudicator on several occasions. Everytime it’s a do-nothing job. No pirate is ever going to attack it, and most enemy fleets take one look at this thing and run.
But “guarding” the Adjudicator during its bombing runs is always a horrifying experience.
Greta Sloan – Admiral of the 5th Fleet and Captain of the Adjudicator – Is a terrifying woman.
While I’ve never met her in person, to the public, she’s the closest thing the DRAC military has to an idol. Though she rarely makes public appearances, in interviews she looks cute, harmless, and comes off as bright, cheerful, and bubbly. She even has her own devoted fanclub.
But her true personality shines through in her tactics. So us mercenaries get a firsthand view of the real Greta Sloan – The one they don’t show the public.
She’s a cruel, ruthless tactician.
Whenever she’s about to lay waste to an enemy, she likes to purposely position the Adjudicator directly above them so it blocks out the sun.
Given the sheer mass of this ship, it’s completely inefficient to get that close. But to her, it doesn’t matter. She intentionally allows her enemy to experience true dread seeing this monster loom overhead – Knowing that their end is imminent.
I’ll never forget the Wren operation.
Wren is, or perhaps was, an unsettled planet located in the Pho System. Although the planet is brimming with natural resources, native animal life, and its atmosphere is ripe for colonization – Up until now, nobody has done anything with it because the planet itself is unstable.
Wren is a relatively cold, but not unbearable, mountainous planet with excessive geological activity.
The tectonic plates are constantly shifting at an abnormal rate, causing near daily earthquakes. The volcanic activity is also sporadic and unpredictable. What might be a safe place to build one day might be an active volcano a few months down the line.
Not only that, but the unstable ground is constantly warping and bulging. Making building anything more than disposable structures completely unfeasible.
Because of this, Wren itself is classified as a possible spatial anomaly. While all worlds have varying levels of geological activity, Wren’s instability is especially weird for a fully developed world. Most planets that behave like Wren are in the early stages of their life-cycle, are covered in lava, and are completely unlivable. But Wren’s behavior is just tame enough to cast doubt on whether or not it actually is an anomaly.
The lobbying from companies hoping the situation will improve so they can strip it dry also helps.
Despite all that, I have to admit – Wren is probably the prettiest planet I have ever seen. It’s constantly covered in pure white snow, dense green forests, and beautiful blue skies.
I remember that morning, we were ordered to maintain altitude over the mountains while we waited for the Adjudicator's descent.
Knowing that the Adjudicator was in absolutely no danger, Ron and I tied a safety harness around ourselves, and opened the Splicer’s front cargo ramp. We pulled up a couple of chairs and sat there, beer in hand, as we watched the sunrise over the mountain tops.
Because of Wren’s unique atmosphere and dense natural forests, we actually had enough oxygen for us to breath fairly comfortably - Even while up at that altitude.
The sunrise was a bright, warm yellow. The sky was clear, with only a few thin transparent streams of clouds drifting past. I remember just taking in a deep breath of the cool, clean, crisp mountain air.
Honestly if Wren wasn’t so unstable, it would make a top-notch resort planet. The natural hotsprings dotting the landscape, and copious amounts of wild game makes the planet practically a paradise.
But honestly I’m glad the planet is unstable. If companies were able to colonize the planet, they would just end up ruining the natural beauty of that untouched landscape. Just like they did with Geomoria.
Granted Geomoria was an ugly, shitty planet to begin with. So no real loss there.
Our mission was to protect the Adjudicator from enemy spacecraft while it commenced a purge of a large CLF compound that was operating out of Wren.
The Colonial Liberation Front claims to be fighting to “Save us from tyranny”. But really they’re nothing more than an Arastonian-backed group of terrorists.
I’ve seen the shady shit the CLF does all over the Omninet. Kidnapping children, blowing up public venues, releasing biological weapons in civilian residential districts – The list goes on and on.
They’re terrorists – Plain and simple.
But even I felt a tiny bit of pity for them once the Adjudicator was looming over their base.
The planet was completely surrounded. Even if they somehow managed to take off from the base, and make it past the Adjudicator’s absolute hailstorm of laser fire - They’d never make it past the blockade.
They were as good as dead – There was absolutely no hope for them.
I can only imagine the despair that must have been going through their heads once the Adjudicator had completely blocked out the sun over their compound.
Right before Fleet Admiral Sloan gave the order to fire at will, we made the mistake of zooming-in on our optics. The compound was being swamped with throngs of terrified people trying desperately to flee into the forest.
They were pushing, shoving, trampling over each other – And then they were gone.
The entire screen flashed white, then orange, followed by dirt brown.
The dense amount of oxygen in the atmosphere made the resulting explosion tremendous.
The shockwave shook the whole ship, and I had to rapidly correct course to get us stablized. One of the other merc ships in the escort squadron nearly spun out into the Adjudicator.
By the end, half the forest was on fire, and the other half was just burnt, bare soil.
What I remember most was how quiet the Splicer became after that. No one said a word.
Despite each and every one of us seeing them as nothing more than terrorists, for some reason, I felt an inexplicable sense of overwhelming tragedy once it was all over.
In the end we just quietly accepted our payment for doing nothing, and never spoke of it again.
I think each of us felt that, if we had acknowledged the incident - We would be accepting responsibility for it.
Us being there on standby made no difference. It would have happened regardless. So there was no point accepting guilt for it.
I’m… Torn on the whole incident…
Honestly I’m still not sure why.
At the very least – I take solice in the fact that those people didn’t suffer. Their end was basically instantaneous.
Berrick only said one thing on our way to the hangar, and that was when we were in a completely deserted hallway.
He told me, with firm, deliberate clarity: “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you this, but you are not to speak of this incident with anyone, under any circumstance. Until the ACN and Central Government release an official statement – Nothing happened, understood?”
I immediately knew that Berrick was saying this for the ears that were almost undoubtedly listening from afar.
I nod vehemently.
“Yes – Understood. I will not deviate from the official statement released by the military. Until then, no incident occurred.”
After that, we kept walking in total silence until we reached an elevator leading to the Starboard-Side Capital Ship Hangars.
Upon exiting the elevator, we find ourselves inside a ludicrously huge hallway. The floor’s metal plates are sprayed with a thick coating of grey porcenol. Making it look like flat, smooth concrete.
I had never been to the Adjudicator’s Capital Ship Hangars. We had always docked in one of the Auxiliary Hangars. Just like the Auxiliary Hangars, unsurprisingly, the walls of the Capital Ship Hangars are also painted tan. Tan is a common color scheme for hangar sections because it hides the yellowing caused by most ship’s thrusters.
The hallway is jam-packed with military men in their olive green fatigues with deep red trim, state owned therians in blue grey jumpers, men in hard hats and fluoretic hazard vests, and doctors, all rushing around in every direction.
The air in here is thick with the smell of warm grease, and the sound of power tools is hurting my ears.
At both ends, the corridor stretches on for an eternity, with the ceiling towering at least several stories high. Normally hallways this large are kept separated with intermittent airlock doors in case of a hull breach. But due to the situation, all of them are open.
The wall in front of us is lined with countless airlock hangar doors spaced far apart. Most of them are currently open, with only a few that are closed. They’re massive, reaching all the way to the top of the ceiling.
At either side of the doors, there are two normal sized double-doors for going in and out of the hangars.
The ceiling has tracks built into it for the enormous maintenance crane sliding above us and into one of the hangars.
This whole ship is in a frenzy. These people are clearly exhausted, and some of them look like they haven’t slept in days.
“I didn’t realize it’d be this bad...” I mutter to myself.
“You should see the Port-Side Capital Ship Hangars. It’s absolute chaos over there.” Berrick says quietly.
An alarm rings out down the hall, as one of the closed airlock doors begins to slowly slide open – The heavy clunking of the gears reverberating throughout the entire hall.
A flatbed MATT drives through the doors, blaring his horn to clear the way.
I can hear screams echoing from the MATT as it gets closer. Me and Berrick move over to the wall as the crowd shuffles off to the sides.
As the MATT passes, I can see the back of it is lined with people from the station – All critically injured. A doctor is trying frantically to stop the bleeding on a man whose legs have both been crushed.
“What the fuck… What’s the death toll at??” I ask, looking to Berrick.
“They don’t know for certain yet. There’s still a lot of people trapped out there in parts of the station which might still have oxygen. Right now they’re in a race against time to get them all out. They’ve been using salvage drones to recover the bodies, and the hangar bays to bring in small chunks of the station – Last I heard, the confirmed death toll was over 5,600.”
“Holy fuck…”
While I hated the HMC, and especially Hellman – There were some decent enough guys in that crew.
I know that, considering the shit we did in Libertalia, I don’t have a lot of room to talk. But what we did was war.
Maybe I’m just justifying the blood on my hands. Telling myself that what we did was different. But the people of Libertalia at least got the chance to fight to defend themselves.
This… This is just slaughter.
That masked bastard is going to pay for this. Him and that little monster Anna.
We take a right, and begin gradually maneuvering our way through the erratic crowds.
I cannot wait to sit down, my leg is killing me.
We pass by the hangar which has the most amount of banging, drilling, and cutting blasting from its open doors. I look in, and see the ruined remains of a familiar light peach colored brick building with brown orange trim, and half disassembled spires covered in gold.
What is left of the building is surrounded by structural supports and scaffolding. As men in hard hats along with military officers surround it. Therians are frantically running in and out of it with armfuls of building materials.
“Is… Is that the Cerro Gordo? Why is it here?” I ask in a hushed tone.
Berrick whispers into my ear. “That was where Anna’s penthouse was. They’ve been tearing that place apart trying to find any information they can.”
My brow furrows.
That’s right, she was Hellman’s favorite slave. He set her up in her own private top-class penthouse.
The entire three years I was there, she was treated like royalty on that station. Even if that man in the mask had somehow ordered her to massacre everyone in A-Wing, that doesn’t change the fact that she genuinely enjoyed slaughtering us.
While a therian can’t resist their owner’s orders, you can’t force them to like it either.
How someone that pampered could do something this malicious to the people who gave her everything and take pleasure from it is beyond me.
But she clearly wanted revenge on Anthony for something he did to someone named Kei. I have no idea what he did, or who Kei is, but that much is clear.
Honestly I still don’t have a full-picture of what exactly happened. Those interrogators wouldn’t tell me shit. I didn’t even realize the station was completely destroyed until after they rescued me. I just thought that the sensors were sabotaged like Lark said. Frankly I’m shocked that suit told me they believe that masked man is probably connected to all of this.
But unlike those SCI-6 lackeys, that sciolite guy was a professional. There is a tremendous gap between people who are SCI-6, and those who are SCI-5. Probably 98% of the SCI-6 class will never see SCI-5. So he would only tell me that if he had a valid reason to do so. Most likely it has to do with this “offer” Berrick is planning to make me.
When I first learned of the station’s complete destruction, my first thought was that Anna was behind it all as some kind of twisted revenge plot. I know that occasionally the therians would sometimes get mistreated by the mercs there. Typically because they were pissed that they tricked them into debt.
While that would explain her sadism – Anna was virtually untouchable and everyone knew it. Everybody knew that she was Hellman’s favorite, and if you so much as bruised her, you would be added to his personal shit-list.
Anthony is a bottom-feeding, backstabbing, ass-kissing coward. But not even he is stupid enough to slight Anna. While she didn’t officially have any power, she definitely had some kind of pull with Hellman. Apart from a few select cases, Hellman didn’t protect the therians working there. He just slapped you with a property damage fee after the fact. But if this Kei person was getting hurt by Anthony, all Anna would have needed to do is say the word, and Hellman might have put a stop to it.
So the more I sat in silence in that quiet interrogation room, the more I started to think to myself. About how she said someone ordered her to return, and how things weren’t adding up.
Even if she hadn’t slipped up and told me that while high on blood, I’m pretty sure I would have pieced it together eventually.
Anna was just a basic bulk order therian slave. Even if she was somehow able to act against her CS, she shouldn’t have been smart enough to sabotage a multi-billion dracan computer system, or blow up an entire station all by herself. So whoever ordered her “To return promptly” had to be the one that planned all this. All that suit did was confirm my suspicions.
That masked man is just as guilty of killing my brothers as that vile bitch.
We continue onwards, and pass by a distinct group of soldiers storming down the hall. Even in all this chaos, the crowd in their path just seems to naturally disperse.
I recognize them as soon as I see them.
Not because I know them, or have worked with them before. Just the opposite in fact – This is the first time I’ve ever actually laid eyes on them.
But the presence they carry with them is clear.
These guys are CSO.
Each and every one of them is built like a walking bulkhead, and outfitted with blacked-out, full-body tactical armor. The massive guns they’re carrying probably weigh more than I do.
Their armor is both rounded and sharp in design, with clusters of thick, stubby antenna jutting from their hefty shoulder plates. Their face masks, red glowing optical lenses, and silent dimeanor almost makes them seem like monsters among men.
Their armor is comprised of three layers it looks like.
The first layer would have to be a form-fitting power suit underneath everything. I can’t visibly see it apart from a vague outline. But even without it – Those hydraulic lines and that oxygen hose need to integrate through something. They also probably wouldn’t be able to spacewalk without a base-layer to create an environmental seal.
The second layer is a heavy-duty matte charcoal fabric, with a utility belt around their waists. I’m not sure what it’s made out of, but I’m willing to bet its stab-proof, fire-proof, water-proof, and laser resistant.
The last layer is a thick armor plating covering the torso, shoulders, arms, hips, crotch, and legs. The armor plating has multiple raised channels to cover the hydraulic lines and oxygen hose underneath. It has a large backpack integrated into it with cooling fans, a weapons mount, two tanks underneath (one is probably reserve oxygen, the other being hydraulic fluid), and a round metal generator next to it.
You would think with all that armor attached to them, they would be clunking down the hall. But no – They’re almost dead silent.
Apart from their footsteps and the small tapping of their arms hitting their torso, I can barely hear them walk past.
I’m certain each of them has to either have full-spec cybernetics, or replaced their muscles with synthetic biotics. Maybe even a combination of the two.
That’s probably why they opted for custom-built tactical armor rather than actual power armor. By relying on the capabilities of their bodies, rather than a bulky set of power armor – It lets them move quickly, quietly, and efficiently.
The armor’s minor hydraulic assistance is probably only there for added redundancy. Most likely the suit’s hydraulic pump is primarily there to attach directly to their bodies – Amplifying their already high physical output.
I watch as the men pass by, and enter a large cargo lift – Going who knows where.
But to bring out the CSO… The DRAC isn’t fucking around on this one. Whoever that blonde haired woman is – They want her bad.
While anyone can get cybernetics or biotics – For most people, there are physical and mental limitations.
Cybernetics and biotics (especially cybernetics) can end up causing an immense amount of strain on the body. It is largely accepted that the primary reason for this is your brain's ability to adapt to the new artificial body parts. Along with your body’s autoimmune response, and whether or not it sees them as something foreign and invasive.
Usually, most people can handle minor cybernetic enhancements just fine. But the higher up in grade, or the more extensive your augmentations get, the more your body begins to reject it. Once you start getting into high-end and military-grade stuff – The body quickly starts to strain.
Everybody’s tolerance is different. Some have more, some have less. But once you cross that safety threshold - You’re pretty much fucked.
Depending on the enhancements you got, you might start getting infections, organ failure, seizures, mania, hallucinations, loss of motor control – It can get pretty nasty.
Once a body part has been cut out and replaced, going back to “stock” is not a simple task. You would need to custom cultivate a replacement organ which is specifically tailored to you (which costs way more than getting a basic cybernetic replacement). You’d then probably have to undergo major surgery, and maybe even physical rehabilitation afterwards.
Getting a custom order replacement organ can take weeks, or maybe even months depending on what it is.
Meanwhile your organs might be failing, you’re spazzing out in public, you’re seeing shit that isn’t there, and you’re sinking deeper and deeper into cybernetic dementia.
Biotics, or synthetic muscles, tend to be much more forgiving on the body. They aren’t nearly as strong as cybernetics, and require regular exercise to maintain – But your body tends to accept them far more readily. Probably because they’re closer to its original form.
Finding someone who is completely incapable of accepting any form of augmentation is as rare as finding someone who is completely immune to rejection.
Which after I lost my arm, I learned from the doctors here that I might actually be full Synetic.
Meaning that, if I wanted to, there’s a strong possibility I could go full cybernetic just like those CSO monsters.
Now that I think about it, that’s probably one of the reasons they tried so hard to push me into debt.
Synetic individuals are rare, and ones with 15 years worth of mercenary experience are even more rare.
But I think I’m going to pass on that. If I ever get the chance to cultivate a new arm, I’m going to do it.
□■□
We make our way past countless open hangars. Some filled with isolated sections of the station, some filled with seized HMC ships, all filled with people frantically working, with rows of frozen corpses laid out near the doors.
As we pass by the hangars, I pan through the bodies, scanning for faces I know.
Therians, mercenaries, mechanics, doctors – Their bodies are frozen stiff, their icey faces contorted in fear.
Their eyes are bulging from their sockets, flesh bloated and splitting, skin flushed red and purple with blood.
The floor around them is damp from their thawing bodies.
Th…This is horrible.
Their faces… It’s like I can hear their final thoughts as they were sucked out into space.
There’s terror, pain, panic.
I’ve seen a lot of death in my 15 years of being a mercenary… But nothing like this.
This is cruelty incarnate.
At a certain point, I just look down at my feet - Trying to shut it all out.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity of walking, we reach our hangar.
It's one of the only hangars with the main airlock doors still closed. We head through the side door and enter the spacious hangar.
Docked there is a massive 480m (1575ft) battleship I know well – Daylin Berrick’s personal flagship: The “El Dorado.”
Well, I say massive, but honestly she’s considered to be small to mid-sized by normal battleship standards. Built by Dynax Systems, her reflective white, gold, and silver plating, along with her towering aft-bridge makes her incredibly distinct amongst other battleships.
Despite her small to mid-sized status, she could probably outperform a good number of DRAC military ships.
Berrick, being SCI-5, pulled every string he could to get the El Dorado outfitted far past what normal DMA retrofitting permits and BSV regulations allow.
I don’t exactly understand how it works, but there are legal workarounds you can do to push the armaments far past their legal limits. But to do that, you need serious dracan, powerful connections, and a sciolite status.
All of her guns are split between top and bottom. She has twelve colossal main dewey batteries – Four in back, eight up front. She also has twelve mid-size multipurpose EMR batteries, six on either-side. Along with a slew of automatic anti-starfighter cannons on all sides.
Honestly it’s way overkill for a ship this size. He’s built her like a pseudo-dreadnought.
Each ship, no matter how big or small, has mounting points for weapons, thrusters, and other modifications. While they make swapping parts in and out far easier (at least in the physical sense) they are also somewhat restrictive.
Mounting points are given size and weight ratings which limit what you can and can’t swap in.
Most battleships this size focus on having more plentiful armaments in various small to mid-sized ranges – Rather than focusing on having monstrous ship-shearers. I’d expect these types of guns on a ship that’s at least in the 1,000m range (3,821ft).
The issue isn’t just with size or space, but with weight, mobility, and power consumption.
The main batteries on the El Dorado are huge – And tremendously heavy. While space considerably reduces weight, that rule doesn’t apply to everything underneath the hull. Nor does it apply to mass and residual centripetal force.
The reason smaller battleships focus on having smaller, more plentiful guns in a wide variety of sizes is mobility and coverage.
Turrets don’t turn immediately - There’s always a delay.
So smaller battleships tend to use quantity over quality to make up for this weakness. The smaller the turret, the faster the motors will be able to turn it. More guns means more coverage. Mix that with a few mid-sized cannons, and maybe one or two large ones, and they’ll be able to handle most situations the galaxy will throw at them.
Swinging a monstrous turret around on a ship that’s not built for its weight class causes repetitive strain on the ship’s hull and frame. The force generated from the turret’s sudden stop needs to go somewhere; so regardless of how many shock absorbers or magnetic brakes you install – Some of that residual energy is going to inevitably be transferred back into the ship itself.
So in order to fix this problem, Berrick shelled out an unbelievable amount of dracan to reinforce everything – Hull, frame, decks, everything. He also upgraded the rotational motors and shock absorbers with the most powerful ones he could fit. So even though he sacrificed a tremendous amount of space for the motors, shock absorbers, and electrical ccomponents needed for these big ass guns – Now they turn nearly as fast as mid-sized turrets made for a ship this size.
The El Dorado is a fairly new ship. So unlike the 340 year old Splicer, it’s still illegal to crack the security on her. So the only way Berrick could’ve modified her like this was to pay the manufacturer to lift the security for each individual part he swapped in. Anything that connected to the ship’s computer would need software clearance, otherwise it wouldn’t work. Not even OEM replacement parts will work without the manufacturer’s approval.
It must have cost an absolute fortune.
In order to get everything to fit, he had to place the guns at intermittent intervals. So the four main turrets at the top part of the bow are off-center from the four on the bottom. Same goes for the ones in the stern. He probably sacrificed a good 70% of the ship’s interior to get them to fit.
The last problem is energy efficiency. He solved this problem by retrofitting her with a top-of-the-line fusion reactor. Most ships run on pherous fuel – A cheap synthetic fuel which ionizes relatively cleanly (apart from the yellow stains they leave). That, or a fission reactor if they expect the ship to be in continuous service for decades.
Most people don’t get a fission reactor unless they have large cargo ships or starliners. The paperwork involved with getting licensed to own fissile materials is a nightmare. We tried once with the Splicer. But when that lady at the BSV desk dumped those tremendous stacks of papers on the counter, and told us we also needed approval from like 13 different branches of government – We immediately gave up on that idea.
We weren’t about to go through a whole new registration nightmare just so we wouldn’t have to stop for fuel.
Fusion reactors are actually much easier to get approved for, as their fuel is not fissile. So if you crash into a planet, you aren’t going to cause a self-sustaining nuclear disaster. But they’re extraordinarily expensive. Way more than a simple fission reactor. So they’re rarely seen on privately-owned civilian ships.
The biggest advantage of a fusion reactor is, apart from their low risk and high output, is their ability to remain stable when hit with power spikes that would be fatal for a fission reactor. So if you have a battleship that has a fuckton of massive guns like the El Dorado that are all firing at once, you aren’t going to cause your core to explode or some shit.
I can only imagine how many fusion reactors the Adjudicator has.
Berrick named her after an old sailor’s tale of a battleship made from solid gold. In the story, a mad king of a long-lost kingdom fell incurably ill. Faced with certain death, he became obsessed with taking his wealth with him into the next life. So, he melted down all of the kingdom’s riches to build himself a golden battleship he dubbed the “El Dorado”. He caused the kingdom to fall into ruin as he blasted off into space in his solid gold casket – Never to be seen again.
It's all bullshit obviously. Countless thick-headed explorers have set out on expeditions searching for the legendary lost ship. Despite the fact there hasn’t been so much as a single shred of credible evidence found to suggest that the kingdom even existed. Let alone that a mad king built a battleship made from solid gold.
Real gold would make a pretty terrible hull plating, and probably wouldn’t even survive passing the planet’s atmosphere. Lunatics spout that the kingdom must have had ancient alien shield technology centuries ahead of anything we have now. Shields that could somehow completely block the friction caused by entering and exiting a planet’s atmosphere.
While modern shields can effectively block orbital debris, projectiles fired by an EMR to a limited degree, and electromagnetic energy generated by dewey cannons – They still haven’t completely solved the friction problem.
From what I learned in school and from my time as a mercenary, shields are primarily used to block types of electromagnetic energy - So thermal energy, radiation, stuff like that. It doesn’t like kinetic energy – Namely physical impact. As it forces the shields to focus too much energy on one particular point. That’s the whole reason most battleships use both DEW batteries, and EMR cannons despite their much slower speed. Once an EMR round hits a ship’s shields, it creates a window for the dewey cannons to break through.
But atmospheric friction causes the shields to spread themselves too thin due to its wide, and constant distribution of physical impact. So while the shields do block a fair amount of friction, it doesn’t stop everything. Real gold (not the lookalike gold plating Berrick's ship has) also absorbs and distributes heat. So even if it could survive the friction, I doubt it’s occupants could survive the heat.
Admittedly, it’s true that ancient alien artifacts have been found before - Some of which have been crazy advanced. But as someone who has personally worked on the Splicer’s “ancient shield technology”, let me tell you – It was a piece of shit.
If that kingdom had such shield technology, they wouldn’t have fallen into financial ruin. Countries would be banging at their door, begging them to outfit their ships with it.
But for whatever reason, Berrick liked the story. He said it “Embodied the spirit of adventure!” So he named his ship after the legendary El Dorado.
“By the way I’ve never asked…”
“Hm?” Berrick hums, turning to me with a curious expression.
“Why did you choose to retrofit such a small battleship? Wouldn’t it have been cheaper and easier in the long run to just outfit a larger one?” I ask.
“Heh-“ He scoffs.
He looks down and grins, shaking his head slowly. He looks up, and pans his hand around the room.
“Look around you – What do you see?”
I look around the room in confusion. Besides the El Dorado, there’s literally nothing else in here.
“Umm… I don’t see what you’re trying to get at… There’s literally nothing else in here besides us and the ship.”
“Exactly.” Berrick says, pointing to me.
I look at Berrick, mouth hanging open like an idiot.
“I’m confused.”
Berrick sighs, “The only thing in here is the El Dorado, right?”
“Yeah…?”
“Do you think they could fit another ship in here?” He asks.
“No? Maybe a smaller one, but the El Dorado takes up – Ohh…” I say, finally realizing what he was getting at.
He just smiles and pats me on the back, as we begin walking underneath the bow towards the main cargo ramp.
I’m a dumbass. Yeah, having a smaller ship would let you dock in far more places than a full-sized battleship. Not only that, but the smaller the ship, the cheaper the docking fees.
Having a smaller battleship would also make it much, much easier to land on uncolonized planets. You need to consider if the ground itself can support the ship’s weight-class.
In this line of business, it’s actually really fucking smart.
I begin to open my mouth, but look over and see the gangway elevator is out of service. I guess we’re using the cargo bay instead because of the stairs and my leg.
When we reach the cargo ramp, Berrick sets the briefcase down and pulls out his PD, calling down the ramp. The ramp clunks open, and descends – Extending out as it comes down. When it reaches the floor, he picks up the briefcase, and we hobble up the ramp.
Two female therians wearing the same fine-pressed uniform as Beryl appear at either side of the door to greet us. One, an Equine with long, sharp brown hair and pointy horse ears. The other, a Cottontail with short, wavy sand colored hair, and perky rabbit ears.
The Cottontail reminds me of the therian Lark bought for his house – Just made to look older.
“Welcome back Master Berrick – I see you were successful in your task.” Says the Equine in a courteous tone.
“Would you like me to prepare anything for either of you?” Asks the Cottontail.
“Yes – Prepare him a room” He says, pointing to me. “Take this case to his quarters, and handle it with care. Also tell Gina to get dinner started.”
He hands the Cottontail the briefcase.
“Yes, right away Master.” They both say in unison, as they bow and quickly trot off.
I watch as the Cottontail scurries off with my brother’s ashes.
“She better not drop them.” I say in a stern tone.
“She’ll take care of them, don’t worry. Come on – We’ve got a lot to talk about.”
Author's Notes: Hope you enjoyed Episode 17 of Galaxy's Most Wanted! Sorry it took so long. Normally I try and get at least one episode of GMW out per month. But because this episode was originally intended to be released alongside Episode 18 (which is still not quite finished yet) it took about twice as long as it normally does. So rather than keeping you all waiting for 18 to get finished, I just decided to release 17 as its own standalone episode.
Thank you to everyone who continues to support this series - It truly means a lot.
