#018 - "I Always Tell The Truth-"
Chapter 2: The Catalyst
At the entrance of the cargo bay, there’s a well-maintained armored flatbed MATT strapped down with a cargo crane hanging above it. Along with a few other various transport trucks lined up behind it.
The bay is jam-packed with crates, with only a narrow pathway leading to the elevator at the other end. To the right of it there’s an airlock door leading to the El Dorado’s main stairwell. I can briefly see the two therians scurry up the stairs towards the hangar bay.
To the left of the elevator, there’s an emergency weapons rack behind a black cage, along with high-end power armor lining the wall.
“So uh… The bay is a bit more full than the last time I was here.” I say, somewhat bewildered by the bay’s cluttered state.
“Haah… Yeah, I suppose it is.” He says with a wry smile. “I got lucky Fleece – Real lucky. I had docked the El Dorado in Hellman and I’s private Fortune District hangar that night. I had only just briefly stepped out to get something from the El Dorado when everything went to shit. The whole hangar broke apart around us, and we just barely managed to get the shields up in time. Hellman’s ship was not so fortunate. I had to use salvage drones to manually push the debris away from us, while salvaging as much cargo as I could.”
Calling Berrick lucky is an understatement.
Unlike small starfighters and light freighters like the Splicer, ships this size can’t raise their shields from cold as fast.
The fact the hull didn’t get pummeled into oblivion is nothing short of a miracle.
We enter the large elevator at the other end. For something that doubles as a cargo lift, it is excessively fancy. The walls are adorned with shiny caramel colored wood paneling, and golden handrails.
Berrick presses the lift button, and the elevator begins to ascend.
“So… How’re you holding up?” Berrick asks hesitantly.
“Man…” I pause, “Honestly? I don’t know what I’m feeling anymore. I’m sad, I’m angry, I’m confused – I feel like something inside of me is broken now.”
Berrick gives me a sympathetic look, and peers up at the ceiling.
“Ron was a good man. Strong, smart – Reliable... I’m going to miss him too Fleece.”
My lips tremble as I bite back the urge to cry.
“Yeah... It’s hard to accept that they’re gone.”
The elevator dings, and we exit the lift.
Because of the El Dorado’s massive guns, the only areas of the ship that Berrick bothered to properly furnish is the 30% of the ship between the cargo bay and the bridge’s tower.
While Berrick comes off as a relatable guy despite being a sciolite – His taste in décor is anything but.
He definitely has a bit of a vice for opulence.
It’s not as… “Tasteful” as Hellman’s design choices were to be honest.
Each deck has a different style. But they all flagrantly show off Berrick’s wealth, and his appreciation for craftsmanship.
I have never been to this deck before, but it’s just as excessive as the rest. It’s furnished with red, black, and gold carpeting, and accented with fine white marble.
Authentic antique paintings and various artworks line the vibrant red walls. Ludicrously expensive black ornate woodwork embossed with real gold embellish the walls and pillars lining the hall. The arched ceiling is a pure white marble, with hand carved crown molding.
“Is this cultivated lignis? Or real Black Pulmit?” I ask curiously.
“All of it is the real deal - Imported straight from Marusha.”
“That must have cost you a couple of dracan.” I say with a slight chuckle.
Berrick shrugs.
“While you might be able to get away with using lignis on more non-descript woods. There’s a big difference between real Black Pulmit, and its cultivated imitation.”
I could see that.
Black pulmit originates from Marusha – A muddy, swampy planet that is constantly covered in dense fog, endless woodland, and countless things that want to eat you.
It’s a weird type of wood to say the least. Underneath it’s mossy green bark, it’s black as tar, and can be polished so finely it almost looks like glass.
We pass by countless slaves who are all wearing Beryl’s somewhat skimpy military style uniform. They each stop in the midst of cleaning in order to bow to us.
Berrick is one of the galaxy’s largest collectors of rare and exotic slaves.
In this hallway alone there are several different types of thralls. All working diligently to clean out the small crevices in the hand-carved woodwork with soft-tipped brushes.
The long eared Elves and the youthful Dwarves are working on the lower areas. While a few squirrel-like Drey are hanging from the wooden archways up top in order to dust the golden chandeliers.
It’s odd to see a Timber Elf and a Night Elf working so peacefully together. Elves usually hate the other Elf races, and are constantly at each other’s throats. The only thing they seem to be able to agree on is how much they passionately hate the High Elves.
Elves are one of the most popular type of thralls to buy because they’re all gorgeous by human standards – Even if they do constantly call each other ugly. Their skin is always silky smooth and shiny. Almost like they just applied a thin layer of oil to their bodies – Which most human men find incredibly alluring.
Timber Elves have a fairly human-like skin color, with a faint yellow, orange, or pinkish tint to it. They are known for having large breasts, and huge fucking ears covered in a fine peach fuzz.
Night Elves on the other hand have beautiful pale blue skin, golden or amber eyes, and tend to be somewhat less endowed than their Timber Elf counterparts.
“Hey fuck off ghostie, I was here first!”
“Eh!? How about you take them nasty ass bat wings of yours and go flap off somewhere.”
“The fuck did you just say to me!?”
“Did I stutter pig tits!?!”
“YOU WANNA GO!?!?”
“ANYTIME BITCH!!!”
The Timber Elf and Night Elf tackle each other to the ground and start pummeling each other, and yanking each other’s hair.
I retract my previous statement.
The other slaves just give them a brief glance and continue working. This must be a regular occurrence.
Berrick just stares at them for a moment, dead-eyed and vacant. He groans and pinches the bridge of his nose.
“WILL YOU TWO RETARDS FUCKING STOP!?” He snaps.
The two Elves immediately separate and sit on their knees. Apparently they didn’t know he was there.
“I-I'm very sorry Master Berrick – But she started it.” She says pointing to the Night Elf.
“HUH!? I was just cleaning!!! She started it!!!” She yells, pointing to the Timber Elf.
Berrick bites his bottom lip, “I don’t give a shit who started it. If you two morons can’t stop fighting, I’m putting you both up for auction.”
A quick flash of fear appears on their faces, and they quickly bow.
“We’re very sorry!!!” They both exclaim.
Berrick just grumbles, as we continue down the hall.
As soon as we were out of eyeshot, I could hear the two elves start blaming each other for why they got scolded.
“Hey Fleece, you want a couple of elf slaves? No charge!” Berrick says with a completely forced smile.
“Uh, I think I’m going to pass.”
I can see your eyebrow twitching dude.
I’ve never really understood his interest in collecting slaves. The first time I saw his “collection”, my first thought was that it was probably somekind of fetish. I mean some of the custom-order therians he has are pretty messed up. Like the ones that are physically unable to wear clothes because their nerve-endings are so oversensitive, it makes them go crazy. Or the ones that were intentionally cultivated without limbs.
But apparently no – According to Beryl, he rarely touches any of his slaves. He’s just somewhat obsessive about completing his “collection.”
We go through a set of black doors, and enter a large two-story chamber.
Excessive to the extreme.
The walls are all bright red, with black pulmit beams stretching across them in a square pattern. The floors are all white marble and red velvet. There’s a large marble fountain on the other side of the room with golden statues of women in robes. On either side of the fountain, there are two marble grand staircases leading up to the second floor. The second floor has an ornate golden balustrade with black pulmit handrails, and a finely painted mural on the back wall.
“So… What do you think?” Berrick asks proudly.
“Honest answer?” I say with a bit of a scoff, “A bit too much for my blood.”
“HAHA!!” Berrick barks, “I guess because I grew up so damn poor, I now have a bit of an appreciation for the finer things in life. Come on, we’re almost there.”
We make our way across the room, up the stairs, and into a black and gold office.
The walls have alcoves built into them lined with vases and various statues. The floors are all black marble. The accoustic ceiling is lined with polished gold beams, making it look like ocean waves.
There’s a black pulmit desk sitting dead-center at the end of the room. Behind it, he has a grey stone waterfall built into the wall. On the left, a fancy black bar with decorative gold panels. On the right, a large display case filled with various precious gems, and rare ore. In front of the desk, he has two curved plush black leather couches, and a large holoplane island in the middle.
I feel very out of place here.
I’m too poor.
We hobble over to the couches, as he pulls my arm off of him.
“Here, take a seat.”
I flop down on the luxurious padded sofa, as he walks over to the bar.
“Would you like something to drink? I've got just about everything.”
“Ah – Nah I’m good. I’m already hopped up on painkillers, so I probably shouldn’t mix them with alcohol.”
“Water then?”
“Sure, that works.”
He pours some expensive looking chilled brown liquor into a crystal glass, and water from the sink in another, and hands it off to me. I put the glass between my legs as he walks over to the desk, and pops open a gold inlaid box.
“Cigar? They’re Lemoine Specials…” He says, cheerfully waving the box at me.
I just shake my head.
“I don’t smoke.”
“Well I do.” He says with a shrug, as he pulls one out, clips the end, and lights it – Puffing plumes of smoke into the air.
He sits down at his desk, taking a sip of his drink.
That cigar probably costs three-hundred dracan a piece at least. Even though I don’t smoke, I got to admit - It smells kinda nice.
He sighs, and leans back in his chair - Brushing his long black bangs aside.
“Well that was an ordeal, huh?”
Berrick looks exhausted.
I force a chuckle.
“Heh – Yeah... So, uh, about what happened-“
Berrick holds up his hand.
“No need to explain, I’m already up to speed.” He explains.
Good – Because I really don’t want to recount that story for the ninetieth damn time.
We sit there for a moment in silence, while Berrick unwinds with his cigar, and I sort through my thoughts.
We’re both tired.
“Hey man…” I say, breaking the silence. “Thank you… For getting me out of there I mean.”
Berrick gives a small nod.
“I’d like to say that it was no problem. But honestly, I had to call in quite a few favors. It pays to have connections Fleece.” He says, flicking his cigar against an ashtray.
I look at Berrick somewhat perplexedly.
“…Can I ask why? I mean I get that we’ve worked together for awhile, and that I’m one of only two survivors from A-Wing – But beyond what I already told them, I really have nothing else to add. Hell, I don’t even really understand what exactly happened.”
Berrick just silently stares at me, puffing on his cigar and tapping his fingers.
“What do you mean two? I heard there were three survivors from A-Wing?” Berrick asks, curiously raising his brow.
“…Huh? Wait, who!?” I exclaim, praying I might finally get some good news.
He sets his cigar down in the ashtray, and takes a small sip of his drink.
“Ah… So the interrogator never told you about him…” He murmurs to himself, almost as if he’s pieced something together.
He closes his eyes, and shakes his head.
“Sadly I don’t know who it is, I just know there was one other survivor. To be honest I shouldn’t know about it either. But again – Connections Fleece. What I do know is that they got pretty messed up. My contact told me that: ‘They are deaf in one ear, and two of their limbs look like wet noodles.’”
I wince.
How the Hell does that even happen?
He sighs, “As for what happened… Well… It seems that Hellman has been had.”
I pause, and narrow my eyes.
“…Had? Had how?” I ask, giving him a suspicious glance.
Berrick looks at me with tired eyes.
“I’m going to let you in on a secret Fleece…”
I lean in.
“The Fortune District, the debt-based business model, the subscription system – None of it was Hellman’s idea… They were Anna’s.”
I just stare at Berrick in a dim confusion, mouth agape.
“…What?”
Berrick makes a troubled face.
“I’m sorry Fleece. Hellman forbade me from telling anyone... But I guess none of that matters now. Truth is – I always had my suspicions about that girl, but I didn’t have anything solid to back it. If I had only acted sooner, maybe none of this would have happened…” He says mournfully.
I look down, clutching my head in my hand.
It all makes sense now…
I now understand why Anna was treated like royalty on that station.
Why she had so much pull with Hellman.
Anna was Hellman’s cash cow.
She’s been screwing us since day one. Since the day we got off of that transport, we were trapped inside her web.
She didn’t just butcher my brothers – She’s the whole reason we all went through three years of Hell!
She’s the reason Brick and Lark were stuck vegetating on that station for three years! She’s the reason Ron and I were forced to bomb villages for the past two years! She’s the reason I can’t sleep at night anymore! She’s the reason why countless good men committed suicide on that station, why I’m now up to my ass in debt, and why I’m now missing my fucking arm! She’s the reason that over five and a half thousand people are now dead!!!
That sadistic grin of hers flashes through my mind.
I WILL EVISCERATE THAT BITCH.
“…How?...Why?” I murmur softly.
I jerk my head up, eyes burning with white-hot fury, as I glare at Berrick.
“IF YOU KNEW SOMETHING WAS WRONG WITH THE BITCH, WHY DIDN’T YOU DO ANYTHING ABOUT HER SOONER!?!?” I scream, veins bulging my neck.
Berrick’s eyes widen for a moment, before his lips tighten with a look of sympathy.
He quietly nods.
“You’re right, I should have acted sooner. But Hellman wouldn’t have gotten rid of his ‘Little Silver Mine’ without any kind of hard evidence, and Anna never left any behind. I couldn’t start a formal investigation based on a gut feeling I had.” He says with a tone filled with acceptance that he fucked up.
Berrick runs his finger around the edge of his glass, and a look of irritation washes over his face.
“…Anna was smart… She started off as just a normal therian on that station. But one day, she started to cozy up to Hellman. She claimed she could sense his feelings, and said he was her ‘destined master’. Therians that naturally synthesize with their master are extraordinarily rare – So it definitely piqued his interest.”
Berrick puffs on his cigar, and hisses out air through his teeth in frustration.
“Then she started coming to him with brilliant financial advice. After trying out some of her ideas on a whim, he found that each time he did, he would massively profit from them. So in his mind, he had hit the jackpot with her. What she said became gospel, and at a certain point, I guess he stopped thinking critically. She’d come to him with methodically laid out plans, and more often than not, he would end up implementing them to the letter – Regardless how heartless they were.”
I look at Berrick with a bemused rage.
“I thought the Colonel was supposed to be a brilliant war hero!? How could he do something so fucking stupid!?!”
Berrick scoffs, flicking the cigar between his fingertips.
“Oh, when it came to military strategy, he was up there with some of the ACN Admiralty. But frankly – Hellman was an arrogant ass.”
Yeah, the man was a conceited prick.
“That arrogance blinded him to the fact he was being played by a slave of all things. His ego was so bloated, he couldn’t even comprehend the idea that he could be outwitted by a bulk order therian.” He says, rubbing his forehead. “You see, what raised my suspicions that something was off about Anna were the ‘mistakes’ she’d sometimes make.”
“…What kind of ‘mistakes?’” I glare.
Berrick takes a puff of his cigar and looks up at the ceiling – Slowly blowing a pungent cloud into the air.
“When she first started giving Hellman advice, she never made any errors. Calling her methodical would be an understatement – It was obsessive. But once Hellman stopped questioning her advice is when the errors began. At first they started small. She might forget to factor in half a percentage point on a loan contract. Or she might accidentally order too much perishable food on credit. Hellman was making so much money because of Anna’s advice, these small mishaps seemed insignificant. But as Hellman’s financial prospects grew brighter, these mishaps became more and more egregious, along with Hellman’s outstanding debt.”
“Are you saying that bitch was planning this from the beginning? That she was trying to push Hellman into debt? Why??”
Berrick pulls out his PD, and an ODSS scan of a Cottontail therian appears above the holoplane in front of me.
It’s a Cottontail therian with short black hair, and black-rimmed glasses.
“This is Kei.” He says, pointing to the rendering with his cigar.
“The therian Anthony did something to?”
Berrick nods, “Our records state that Kei died several years ago – Suicide by blood loss. Apparently shortly before she did it, she had a private appointment with one ‘Anthony Valoretti’.”
“So all of this was somekind of twisted revenge plot for a therian who offed herself years ago!?” I yell, bewildered by the stupidity of it all.
Berrick sighs.
“As you know – I’m a collector of various kinds of slaves. So I like to think I have a fairly firm grasp on how therians think, and how their behavior tends to vary between types and breeds. At the end of the day, all therians are pack animals. They form close family-like ties between each other.”
“…And you’re saying Anna considered Kei family?”
Berrick silently nods.
“Anna and Kei lived in the same block for a time, along with several others. All of which died one way or another.”
Berrick flicks his cigar ashes into the ashtray, and pulls up another scan of an Equine type therian.
She has long, flowing extremely light blue hair – Almost silver in color.
“Do you remember what that interrogator said about Bradley?”
“Yeah… That Anna maimed and tortured him. Later he succumbed to his injuries…”
Berrick’s lip twitches.
Berrick points to the Equine with his cigar.
“This is Lior. All of the recordings, records, and testimony we have strongly suggests that she and Anna were best friends. Several years ago, not long after Anna came and suggested the subscription model, and having mercenaries set up appointments – Bradley beat her to death.”
Berrick mashes the cigar out in the ashtray.
“…And that was when the errors started.”
I look at Berrick and just chuckle.
“Do you expect me to pity her?”
Berrick leans back in his chair.
“Do I expect you to pity a slave who helped massacre 5,600 plus, probably 10,000 plus people all because a few therians were killed? Fuck no.”
My eyes narrow.
“Then what is it that you’re getting at?”
Berrick takes a sip of his drink, and softly shakes his head.
“I’m merely explaining her motive and thought process. To hunt your enemy, you must know your enemy. Nekozokus, while a popular type of Therianthrope, are not a good type for first-time slave owners. They are valued for their proactiveness, and tend to go above and beyond for their masters – Even if they aren’t asked to. Which would explain why she was giving Hellman advice in the first place. But after the death of her best friend, someone she likely considered to be her sister, she probably snapped.”
Anna was manic and psychotic. That definitely would explain her sadism.
I understand that there was nothing I could have done at the time. I know that. If I had tried reaching for that gun, I probably wouldn’t be here right now.
But even still… I can’t stop feeling angry at myself for just how scared I was of her. She looked like a deranged demon, and I damn near pissed my pants like a child.
If Ron would have been the one to live, and I the one to die – Would he have been just as terrified?
Would Lark? Brick?
The “what ifs” are driving me mad.
“But what about the man in the mask? Where does he fit into all of this? How did they even manage to destroy the station?” I ask.
Berrick smiles, and points to me.
“And that right there is the million dracan question. As for how they did it – I actually have an answer.”
Berrick pulls up an image of the Surplus Heavy Ordinance Depot.
“Because of one of Anna’s more egregious ‘errors’, Hellman purchased a large stockpile of old Reclamation War bombs. They all turned out to be dangerously unstable. So they sat there for years, unable to be removed.”
“So Brick was right…” I murmur softly. “But… They shouldn’t have been able to destroy the whole station with the bulkheads in place.”
He grins, “Ah – And that’s where things get interesting…”
Berrick gets up, and walks over to his display case, and pulls out two halves of a rock that has been cut in half. It’s filled with brilliant blue crystals.
“After the incident, we found remnants of secret tunnels dug all throughout the station.”
My brow scrunches.
“Huh? Tunnels??”
Berrick leans against his desk, holding one half of the rock in either hand.
“The therians that survived claimed they made them under Anna’s direction. Apparently they had been using them to get around for years, and we were none the wiser.”
I just blink at him, trying to understand what the fuck he’s getting at.
Berrick chuckles to himself.
“You know, in a way, I kind of respect her ingenuity and ruthlessness… She had apparently convinced them they were for escaping ‘rough customers’. But in reality – They were creating a structural weakness.”
“Structural weakness?”
He presses the two halves of the rock together, and points to the seam between them.
“Anna had them build a tunnel directly above the Heavy Ordinance Depot. When those bombs went off…”
Berrick pulls the two halves apart.
“It split.”
I stare blankly at the rock in total silence.
I’m at a complete loss for words.
She heartlessly manipulated the other therians into killing themselves for her own personal gain.
Just how sick is this bitch!?
“T-there’s no way that Anna could have been smart enough to pull all of this off on her own!”
He nods, “I agree.”
He places the two halves on his desk, and sits back down.
“While Anna wasn’t cultivated to be stupid, she also wasn’t a custom-order slave. She was just a basic bulk order slave with average intelligence. But planning all this? Sabatoging the station's computer system? There’s no way she had the mental capacity to do all this. She had to have help.”
My gaze sharpens.
“The man in the mask...”
He snaps his fingers and points to me.
“Bingo.”
Berricks gets up to top off his glass, adding ice this time around.
“Who is he? The man in the mask?”
“I can only speculate to be honest. While I have plenty of connections who feed me information, Central is not making it easy to get reliable intel. He could be a Libertalian spy, an Arastonian saboteur, a CLF terrorist, the list is endless. I do have a theory, but we’ll get to that.”
Berrick sits back down, and relights his cigar.
“But what I do know is that this plan was years in the making. If I had to guess, that man is backed by some sort of organization. He would’ve had to have been to override Anna’s CNI – Possibly Ionna’s as well.”
Oh that’s right… Ionna was also in the image with the masked man… Not only that, but she was running alongside him with no restraints!
…I’ve been so fixated on Anna, that I never even stopped to consider that there might have been more than one therian in on this.
Ionna was the first and only Kitsune therian I’ve ever seen. While I saw her working around the brothels in the Therianthrope District from time to time, I never bothered talking with her – Nobody did. Although Anna was treated like royalty, she was still a bookable escort. Ionna on the otherhand was off limits. Even if you could book appointments with her, nobody would have risked damaging those goods. Not with her kind of price tag.
“Could it be a spectral manifestation?” I theorize.
Berrick laughs.
“While I suppose it’s possible – I’ve never heard of a spectral ability that can overwrite a slave’s registered owner, have you?”
My lips tighten, “No – I haven’t.”
Berrick puffs on his cigar, and leans in.
“I have multiple ideas on what could have happened. One being that the man in the mask, using his organization’s resources, somehow did an override of Anna's CNI years ago. He then took advantage of Anna’s unstable mental condition to gradually sabotage the HMC from the inside. He slowly built up Hellman’s debt, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. When that massive bounty appeared, he used his organization to locate her, had Anna relay the target’s location, and had her convince Hellman to purchase a brand new fleet officially sending him into the red. Then all he needed to do was snatch up the bounty, and hit the detonator.”
“…And Ionna?”
Berrick ponders to himself.
“There’s a reason I never bought any Kitsune myself, despite my hobby. Too high a price tag for what ultimately turns out to be a crapshoot. Kitsune work in extremes, and tend to be highly unpredictable. They are either the most loyal slaves you can possibly own, or an absolute nightmare to deal with if you can’t bond with them – And Ionna… Well, she was a failure as a slave on every possible level. Her compatibility with Hellman was shit, so she was absolutely untrainable. Kitsune are rather unique, or perhaps defective, in that they are somewhat resistant to their CS if they aren’t bonded to their owner. So it’s very possible she went with them of her own volition.”
“Why was she in the export box to begin with?”
Berrick lightly shrugs.
“Well earlier that night, a little while before the incident, Hellman tried laying with her. Ionna always had this weird phobia when it came to being touched. Instead of doing what she was told, she instinctively pushed him off – Breaking a glass display cabinet filled with priceless Pre-Blackout artifacts, and cutting up Hellman in the process.”
“Oof.”
“Yeah – ‘Oof’. He was already close to done with her at that point. With a tremendous payday on the horizon, he tossed her to some of the boys who helped capture the blonde as a payday bonus – Making sure they beat the Hell out of her first. Guess instead of trying to sleep with her, they opted to sell her.”
He chews on his cigar, looking out distantly while deep in thought.
“It’s possible that the man in mask somehow overrode her CNI early on. Which would honestly explain why she never bonded with him. He had her push Hellman’s buttons just enough to irritate him, but not enough to give up on her. Finally ordering her to ‘accidentally’ injure Hellman, which would inevitably cause her to be sent to the Export Box. Having her there would definitely provide some much needed insurance for their escape…”
I slump back in the couch, and heave a heavy sigh.
“Son of a bitch… That guy must’ve really hated Hellman. We were just victims of his game…”
Berrick flicks his cigar, “I actually doubt that.”
“Hm?”
“Hellman and the mercs in debt to him aren’t the only ones going down for this.”
I give him a sideways glance.
“…What do you mean?”
He runs his fingers through his long, dull black hair.
“There were countless politicians, company board members, and members of the top sciolite class who had billions in Hellman's venture. Many of which who were in too deep, and are going to end up right where Hellman is at now – Far past fucked.”
“…Are you saying that-“
“-Yes. This was most likely an attack on the sciolite class itself.”
Holy crap – That guy is insane!
I mean I get it. A good 98% of sciolites are absolute piles of shit. The universe would be a better place without them. But to actually go and attack their bank accounts directly…
It's a death sentence.
No.
Worse than that.
Death would be a mercy.
Most sciolites are petty.
They’ll make sure he suffers a fate worse than death.
“While I don’t really consider myself one, I’m technically a sciolite. So I’m privy to a lot of what goes on in their inner circles. Let me tell you Fleece… They are in a panic.”
“Is that why this ship is absolute pandemonium?” I ask.
He nods, “That’s part of it, yeah. They feel like they’re under attack. So there’s tons of forces pushing down from above to get the situation under control.” He says, taking a sip of his drink. “Sciolites will, for the most part, band together to defend one another when the need arises. But when shit goes south, they’ll throw each other to the wolves to save their own asses.”
Sounds about right.
“Berrick – You’re a guy with a lot of connections. That bounty… Do you have any idea who she was? Or why they wanted her so bad?”
He taps his cigar against the ashtray.
“No, and I doubt I’ll ever learn anything for certain. That said… I do have a idea.”
I raise my eyebrow.
“Oh?”
He takes a deep breath, and blows a hard sigh through his nose.
He looks at me with a deadly serious gaze.
“Fleece - What I’m about to say to you is not to leave this room. It is purely an educated guess based on spotty information I’ve been receiving recently out of the DRAC territories.”
I gulp down my water and nod.
“Got it.”
Berrick taps his fingers against his desk for a few moments – Gathering his thoughts.
“Quarterly taxes just started not too long ago, right? Us being in the ass end of nowhere, we haven’t had to do them yet. But the people living in the colonies have already started.”
Berrick takes a swig of his drink, and sighs.
“Well… After people filed their taxes, and received their normal quarterly CNI update – Odd reports began to come out about how they were starting to see dramatic personality changes in some of the people who got the update.”
I look at him warily.
“…Define ‘dramatic.’”
“Well…” He says, dabbing his finger into his glass. “At first, everything seemed normal. But for the past few weeks, Hellman and I started receiving more and more classified bounties for people believed to be defecting to Libertalia. At first, we didn’t think much of it – It happens from time to time. Your average military grunt who snaps, common low-value citizenry, whatever. But then… I started seeing faces I recognized. Of course, their bounties didn’t give a lot of details - No surprise there. But I knew from experience that some of them were actually big names within the military. Not only that, but I saw a few sciolites I recognized as well. Then, right around the time that woman’s bounty appeared, it was like a switch flipped and everything fell into chaos.”
“What happened?” I ask with a razor sharp gaze.
He leans in.
“Riots Fleece…”
Holy shit.
“People started swarming the streets, burning buildings, killing military men, sciolites, and public officials alike. And it’s not an isolated incident either! It’s all over the fucking place! Central has been shutting down Omninet access, freezing bank accounts, and placing entire systems under lockdown!”
“Is it a new X-virus!?!” I exclaim.
He shakes his head.
“I have no idea – But it’s gotten really damn hard to get intel about the situation. From what I’m getting, people who used to wave red, green, and gold are suddenly chucking firebombs through government building windows. I heard a crowd of people broke into one of the senator’s mansions, dragged him out into the street, and beat him to death.”
I hunch over, and look down at the floor. I wrap my fingers around my forehead.
“What the fuck… H-how many people have been affected so far?” I sputter.
“I can’t get that level of information.” He says bluntly. “It’s not everyone, I know that. Considering that taxes only recently started I’d guess maybe… Ten, fifteen percent?”
I scoff and look up at the ceiling.
Ten or fifteen percent…
Considering that the DRAC has hundreds of billions of citizens – That is still an unreal amount of people.
I pray that my parents and my sister never got the update. There’s no telling what Central is going to do to the people who got infected with it.
Please – Just be okay…
“So… Do you think that woman is connected?” I ask hesitantly.
“Do I think that the largest bounty in DRAC history, which just suddenly appeared out of nowhere exclusively through classified channels, right around the same time nationwide CNI riots break out. Along with the simultaneous appearance of a mystery man, who is somehow able to override a slave’s registered owner. Who then goes on to cause one of the largest terrorist attacks in human history, bankrupting some of the most powerful people in the galaxy, and escaping with the bounty in tow is all connected?… I’m not sure – You tell me?” He retorts sarcastically.
I give a pained chuckle which sounded more like a whimper.
“At this point…” Berrick says, smoke slowly rolling from his lips. “I think it’s far more likely that the two events are part of a bigger play. I think that woman let herself get caught.”
I give an exasperated sigh.
“Yeah… Things are finally starting to fit together…”
This was meticulously orchestrated - That much is clear.
The DRAC has the most secure CNI technology in the galaxy. That blonde has to be someone from the inside, which probably means the man is as well.
This isn’t just terrorism – It’s a coup.
“Do you think they’re part of a rogue government faction?” I ask.
Berrick closes his eyes, breaths in, and nods.
“I think the odds of that are very high. Did you know that ship had a big Colonial Special Operations plaque right in the middle of the fucking War Room?”
“They stole a CSO ship!?”
That would explain why the CSO was called in.
Berrick sips his drink.
“Seems like it. Not to mention it wasn’t like any military warship I’ve ever seen before. While that woman had locked down most of the ship, preventing me from seeing 90% of it – I did take a look at some of the ship’s readouts. That ship was probably only a frigate at most – But it was putting out some serious power. It probably has a fusion reactor five, maybe ten-times the size of the El Dorado’s.”
He leans in, and points to me with his cigar.
“Now why would a ship that small need a fusion reactor meant for a super dreadnought like the Adjudicator?...”
“Maybe it’s for the thrusters? Like a CSO dropship? Or a missile carrier?” I say, throwing out the first things that come to mind.
Berrick turns his chair, and leans back in thought.
“That’s very probable.” He says, puffing away at his cigar. “Experimental and prototype ships tend to have odd, unnecessary quirks that engineers just shove in because they want to test the ship’s limits. Those thrusters were definitely abnormal, and completely custom built. So it’s very possible they were trying to test their maximum output… Assuming it wasn’t an act, it would also explain why she chose to use an EMT. If they could make full use of that reactor’s power, she’d practically be glowing on thermals.”
I down the rest of my water, and lurch forward, setting the glass down on the holoplane.
“This offer… What is it?” I finally ask.
He purses his lips, closes his eyes and nods.
“About time we got to that, huh?”
He turns his chair towards me, as he leans into his armrest – Looking at me dead in the eyes.
“I want you to be my second-in-command.”
“…Eh?”
I just blink at him, utterly dumbfounded.
“I’m serious Fleece.” He says with firm certainty.
“Heh.” I scoff, “While I get that we’ve worked together for awhile, I’m just a normal mercenary. If it gets me out of my current mess, I’ll happily work for you. But I can’t help run-“
“-You were one of the only A-Rank mercenaries in the entire HMC.” Berrick abruptly interjects. “The vast majority of mercs the HMC brought on were F, E, D, and maybe the occasional C-rank. Hellman didn’t care about quality – But I do. We’ve worked together for two years now. I know we work well together, that you’re experienced, and that you’re one of the best fucking pilots I’ve ever seen.”
While it’s true – I am one of the top-rated pilots in the DRAC territories. I might not be as smart as Ron or Lark, but I know ships.
“Being able to fly a ship doesn’t mean I can lead people. I’m not Ron.”
Berrick pounds his fist onto his desk, making me jump.
“RON’S NOT HERE!!” He shouts. “I wish he was Fleece, but he’s not!”
I look at the floor and grit my teeth.
“Fleece, do you know what I did before I became a mercenary?”
I silently shake my head.
“I was a runner.”
Runner.
The DRAC suffers from a massive drug problem. It’s everywhere, and a huge industry has established itself underground in order to pump the crap everywhere it can.
In order to combat the problem, the DRAC made some of the most crime-ridden planets “Free-Use Havens”. Where all drugs are made completely legal, and property rentals are government operated – Intentionally making them either dirt cheap or completely free. Imports into the planets are a complete free-for-all, but exports are highly restricted.
Half the time, the DRAC just takes seized narcotics and air drops them onto haven planets – Letting the tweakers fight it out.
The goal was to lure all of the hardest users into one place, and letting them rot. Havens are basically impossible to leave once you move there. From what I heard from a couple former ACN men who used to be stationed on a haven's planetary blockade – They’re effectively non-stop warzones down there.
Hellman had Junis-12 licensed as some kind of privately-owned haven. Which allowed him to sell the stuff freely.
The plan did see some success at the expense of planets that drained more dracan than they brought in. A lot of planets saw a huge decrease in their drug use and crime. But it hasn’t completely stopped the tide.
That’s where runners come in.
Drugs, weapons, contraband goods, IR snuff, bootleg software, illegal cybernetics, security cracks – Whatever you need, they’re more than happy to oblige. Every city has them, and everybody uses their services at least once. If not for drugs, they’re using them for something else.
“When I was a kid, I ran Obsidian, Dirks, Jolt, Jumpers, Rebound, Re:Call, Neuralax, Neurocane, Overklok, Lover’s Lane – You name it, I ran it.”
I look up at Berrick with a somewhat dumbfounded expression.
“But… Why? Why would you risk everything to be a runner?”
Berrick turns and leans back in his chair, resting his arm on the desk.
“I was born SCI-9. Both my parents died when I was eight from Valovera, and all the orphanages refused to take a couple of dredges like me and my little sister in – What choice did I have?”
“You have a sister…?”
He purses his lips.
“Had.”
My mouth curls uncomfortably.
“But fortunately...” He says, flicking his cigar and tapping his fingers, “I met a man who let us into his gang. He taught me everything he knew, and somehow we were able to get by.”
He points to my jacket.
“That uniform you’re wearing is from that crew.”
“Kodoku? I’ve never heard of them before.”
Berrick gives a small, somber smile.
“Of course not. The badges stormed in one day while I was out running half a brick of black glass. I came back, and found they had purged the whole hideout – My sister included.”
“Hey man, I’m-“
He waves it off.
“Ancient history man. Don’t worry about it.”
He turns back to me.
“My point being – Do you think I was qualified to lead people?”
“I guess not?” I answer uncertainly.
“Exactly, and don’t worry about the debt – I’ll pay it off. Consider it a complimentary sign-on bonus.” He says with a warm smile.
“That’s a pretty fucking big sign-on bonus…” I mutter. “But what about my arm? I can’t fly shit in this condition!”
“I’ll get you a new one, a real nice one.” He answers nonchalantly. “In the meantime, you can just use a temporary prosthetic out of our medical supplies. The length might be a little off, but it ought to suffice for now.”
I look at him with a mixture of joy, wariness, and disbelief.
He sighs.
“Look Fleece I know you don’t believe you can do it. You probably think Ron should be sitting where you are right now.”
I avert my eyes and give a small, troubled nod.
“And how did he learn to lead?”
I look down.
“…By taking care of his younger siblings I suppose.”
“He learned by doing.” Berrick says resolutely.
Before I can open my mouth, Berrick smiles, and holds up both his hands.
“Hold that thought – I need to call someone in.”
Berrick pulls out his PD, and calls out to somebody.
“Go ahead and send her in.”
「Right away Master.」
A few moments later, the door to the office opens.
I turn around and see a familiar purple haired Anubis.
She has two swords on her hip – One normal sized, and one that is crazy long. Her long hair is tied up into a high ponytail. She’s wearing low-cut skintight reflective black pants, combat boots, and a snuggly fit sleeveless purple top with a mid-rise collar, ornate floral designs, and an exposed midriff. A diamond shaped cutout shows off her well endowed chest, and she has a purple metal collar wrapped around her neck.
“Rubrum?...” I quietly mutter – A relieved smile slowly stretching across my face.
She walks over to us, as I stagger my crippled ass off of the couch.
She’s a bit taller than I am, which makes her feel a little bit imposing.
As we stand there silently staring at each other, a mix of emotions rush through my mind.
“Ah, fuck it.” I finally say, suddenly wrapping my arm around her. “I’m glad you’re okay…” I whisper.
Rubrum hesitates for a moment, before eventually hugging me back.
Rather tightly.
Okay – Way too tightly.
“T-TOO TIGHT!!!” I gasp.
She immediately lets go, as air returns to my lungs.
“Sorry.” She says with a deadpan expression.
“It-it’s alright.” I hack while choking for air. “I’m just happy to see you made it.”
A small, faint smile stretches across Rubrum’s face.
“Likewise Fleece.”
I usually make it a personal rule not to make friends with slaves, and after everything I’ve been through with them – Especially not therians.
But for Rubrum, I'll make an exception.
We’ve worked together closely for two years now, and she’s saved my life more times than I’d like to admit.
Rubrum is not a very emotive therian. She usually talks very monotoned, and rarely shows others much of how she’s feeling. She comes off as coy, crass, and somewhat mysterious. But if you spend enough time around her, you’ll start to notice some of her tells.
I’ve noticed she has an interesting personality quirk where she’ll only eat around people she seems to like.
She has a horrible sweet tooth.
A lot of the mercs found her terrifying, and to be honest – I totally get it.
A part of me is still genuinely scared of her.
I’ve seen her do things with the human body that no man should ever witness.
When she’s out in the field, it’s like she becomes some sort of predator.
A cold, relentless hunter pursuing its prey.
She’s more than earned her nickname: “Rubrum The Huntress.”
A part of me thinks she enjoys the hunt. The act of tracking down, and subduing her prey. But afterwards she never seems excited or happy that she’s won. More like… It’s just another job to her.
I’d like to say that I understand her better than most people. But to be honest… I still feel there’s a very real gap between us. Not as distant as me and Beryl, but like… She keeps other people at arm’s length, and doesn’t allow them to get too close.
I am pretty sure she trusts and appreciates me – Which is good enough for a friendship between co-workers.
“You dyed the tips of your hair.” I say, noticing the purplish bluish highlights.
“Mm.” She hums with a small nod. “I did it for the party. But I’m going to dye it back to purple tonight.”
“It looks good on you though.” I say giving her a courtesy compliment.
“It looks like shit.” She flatly objects.
Just take the damn compliment.
Berrick clears his throat rather clearly, regaining my attention.
“Please – Sit.” He says, holding his hand out.
Me and Rubrum exchange glances, and I just shrug.
I sit down on the couch, as Rubrum detaches the swords from their magnetic mounts on her hip. She sits down next to me, resting the swords against her shoulder.
“I see you two still get along well. I was a little worried that Anna might have made you hate therians.” Berrick says with a relieved smile.
“I… I’d be lying if I said that after everything that’s happened to me, I wasn’t more… Cautious now. But… Rubrum has gone out of her way to save my ass more than once now. I think if I hated her for something some other bitch did – That’d be like spitting in her face.”
Berrick closes his eyes and nods.
“I can definitely understand that.”
He locks his fingers together, resting his elbows on the desk, and looks at me.
“So here’s the deal: I want you to sign on as my second-in-command for seven… No, that’s too much to ask… How about five years?”
I look at Berrick with an uncertain expression.
“While all of this is incredibly generous of you, I’m also somewhat confused…”
“What about?” He asks, setting down his cigar, and tilting his head.
“I know you’re a shrewd guy, and that you understand my situation. I’m fucked if I don’t take your offer. Instead of spending 5 years with you, I’d be spending 15 making peanuts in the military as a compelled conscript. You could have just offered me a regular paycheck, allowing me to pay off my debt, and I would have no room to bargain. Yet you’re paying off all my debt, and throwing in a brand new arm as well – Why?”
Berrick rests his chin on his interlocked fingers.
“Because I value loyalty.” He bluntly states. “Loyalty makes a company run predictably, and therefore more efficiently. Efficiency directly translates to how successful a company can be. But loyalty is a two-way street. If an employer tries to butter you up with kind words, and empty notions of ‘team-spirit’, but isn’t willing to back that bullshit up with something that costs him money – Then you’re an expendable resource. I mean, how is an employee supposed to invest in a company that doesn’t invest in him?”
I think back to the bullshit contracts Horizon would fuck the mercs with back on Geomoria, and remember how that ended up costing them in the end.
Either Berrick has the best line in bullshit I’ve ever heard, or this man can just naturally speak my language.
“So you’re saying there’s room to negotiate…?” I coyly ask.
Berrick gives a mildly impressed smirk, leans back in his chair, and crosses his arms.
“Sure! Let’s hear it.”
“One – I want a fair cut of each job. None of that fixed salary bullshit like Hellman pulled. Two –“
“-You want Anna’s head.” Berrick nonchalantly guesses.
I nod with a stern gaze.
“Done and done – I was already planning to offer you both. We’ll be going after them afterall.” He says sipping on his drink.
“With the HMC gone, do you even still have the clearance to go after classified bounties?”
“I’m an S-Rank mercenary with a slew of connections. While it took a lot of work and favors to expedite the process, I now have a brand new group temporarily registered under my name. Which of course has full classified bounty clearance. All we need is a group name. Got any ideas?”
I lean back in the sofa.
“How about Kodoku?” I blurt impulsively.
He narrows his eyes.
“Oh?”
Ah shit – bad idea.
Why would I suggest that!?
“I mean, if it brings up bad memories… I just thought that, since we already have the uniforms and all… Forget it – Forget I said anything.” I stumble frantically.
“Hahaha!” Berrick laughs “No, no – I like it. I think Madison would be happy to hear we're resurrecting the name.”
Thank God. I thought I just stepped on a landmine.
Madison… Must've been his little sister.
“Won’t that cause issues though? We’re basically naming ourselves after a criminal group.”
“Bah!” Berrick waves off, “The original Kodoku existed an eternity ago. I doubt anybody still remembers it. Especially given the badges snuff out countless runner groups each week. What do you think Rubrum?” He asks, picking cigar back up, and turning to her.
Rubrum, who’s been sitting there quietly with her two Ardonite blades resting against her shoulder, opens her eyes.
“I’m fine with it. But if we’re going to be moving to apprehend the original bounty, we’ll need more ships - And especially more ground units.” She says in a monotoned voice.
“Yeah.” I agree, “If that ship is as fast as we think it is, there’s no way we can catch up to them with the El Dorado. But why do we need more ground units?” I ask.
Rubrum looks at me with a sharp, serious gaze.
“Ionna.” She responds.
Confused, I look over at Berrick. I guess he could tell I didn’t understand what she was talking about, as he sighs and scratches his head.
“Yeah, Rubrum is right. While it wasn’t exactly secret, a lot of people didn’t know that Ionna was actually a military-spec Therianthrope just like Rubrum here.”
“Wait - Seriously?”
I jerk my head over to Rubrum, and she just gives me a small nod.
That explains the guy with the fucked up limbs…
“I am an 8th Generation Military-Spec Therianthrope, while Ionna is a-“
“-9th Gen.” Berrick cuts in.
Rubrum looks at Berrick with narrowed eyes.
“I purposely made Rubrum an 8th Gen. because they’re tried and true. I felt that they prioritized strength over stamina too much with the 9th Gen.”
“…So she’s stronger than you??” I ask in disbelief.
“No – She’s a defective product.” Rubrum plainly states.
Berrick frowns at Rubrum as he sips his drink, ice clinking against his glass.
He sighs as he sets down his glass.
“Yeah, Hellman was both one of the smartest men I ever met… But also one of the dumbest sometimes.” He says tiredly.
“What, uh… What makes you say that?”
“When it came to impulse purchases, he wanted what he wanted, and nobody could dissuade him otherwise. With Ionna, he wanted a slave to outclass all others. A trophy slave basically. So he made her a rare Kitsune, and demanded she be given the latest in military-spec advancements. Problem was, with all the sway and dracan he had, along with the fact that Hellman was one of their most valuable customers - He forced Akasha to accept a timetable that was far too small to cultivate them all normally. Military-Spec Therianthropes always take much longer to cultivate than regular therians. So they had to accelerate the process. What he was left with was... Unstable.”
“Unstable? And what do you mean by ‘All of them’? Are there other Kitsune??”
“Yeah, he made seven in total I think? Or was it nine?” He says uncertainly. He looks to Rubrum for confirmation, who just quietly shrugs. “Anyway, he kept them at other bases, so who cares. I was his business partner, not his babysitter. What he wasted his money on was his problem.”
He puffs on his cigar, blowing a wave of smoke across his desk.
Rubrum scowls a little bit. Given her crazy strong sense of smell, it must be rather unpleasant for her.
“As for ‘unstable’, her potential strength ended up being way higher than what it otherwise should have been – None of which she can actually control.” He says.
“Isn’t there regulations when it comes to limiting therian abilities?”
Berrick awkwardly smiles.
“Yeah, but they warned him. He even had the audacity to try and complain to them after the fact. But of course they refused to refund him.”
What a prick.
“Hellman wanted Ionna to be able to go toe to toe with me.” She says emotionlessly. “We sparred many times. But each time we did, I would always win – Save once.”
“My Rubrum is a battle-hardened veteran.” Berrick says, coughing slightly on his cigar. “Higher-specs and some implanted combat training is not enough to substitute for real world experience.”
“Then do we really need more ground units then?” I conclude.
Rubrum sighs through her nose, and glares at Berrick.
“You know, I’m going to need my nose to track down their scents, right?” She says pointedly.
Berrick gives a irritated smile and dabs out his cigar.
She looks back at me, “No, her losing to me is because Ionna is inexperienced, unconditioned, and a coward. The only time she ever overpowered me was during the Beserker Incident.”
I look between them both perplexedly, as Berrick glares at Rubrum.
“Beserker?”
“I rarely need it. But our beserker state is when we superheat our hydraulic arteries. This makes us faster and stronger for as long as we can keep it up.”
“That sounds… Incredibly painful.”
“It is.” Rubrum responds dryly.
Well, she would know…
Still – I find it hard to believe Rubrum has ever lost to someone. Calling her a pro is an understatement.
“But what’s this about an incident? Why have I never heard about it before?”
Berrick makes a troubled, but slightly agitated face.
“Well, for certain liability reasons, we had everyone involved sign a non-disclosure agreement.” He explains while staring daggers at Rubrum.
Rubrum looks at Berrick completely unphased, before turning her attention back to me.
“Ionna went into her beserker state during a sparring match with me.” She says flatly. “Her brain couldn’t handle it, and she started hallucinating. While trying to subdue her, she ended up tearing twenty-three mercs apart, and we had to pump her with enough tranquilizer darts to drop an adult Ravager. Afterwards she completely forgot what happened, so they just told her she fell down some stairs.”
“…By ‘tearing apart’ do you actually mean-”
“-I mean that literally.” She says with a deadpan expression, and sharp eyes.
Is that why they kept the other Kitsune at separate bases!?
I turn and look at Berrick with genuine disgust.
“Anyway-“ Berrick says, skillfully dodging the topic, “-The ground unit problem has already been solved.”
He rises from his chair, pulls out his PD, and a galaxy map appears above the holoplane.
“Prior to Junis-12’s destruction, the HMC held nineteen bases across the DRAC territories.” Berrick explains, highlighting the bases across the holomap.
“As you know, we are here,” He says, highlighting the easternmost dot nearest the DRAC Dark Tide border. He presses something on his PD, and the dot representing Junis goes dim.
“With Junis gone and the HMC falling into bankruptcy, the eighteen remaining bases have been seized and are set to be liquidated. Either the military will end up repurposing them for something, or they’ll be auctioned off to try and reimburse Hellman’s creditors.”
I tilt my head.
“Okay, and? Compared to Junis, those bases are small and in worthless locations. Most of them had skeleton crews of less than fourty mercs running small local contracts, and five of them weren’t even manned. They just left the turrets on to keep the pirates and the runners from setting up shop.”
Berrick points to me.
“You are correct.” He replies, “But unlike the mercs we had stationed on Junis – Many of them didn’t hold any debt to Hellman.”
I pause for a moment.
“…And now most of them are out of a job…!” I say, suddenly realizing what he’s getting at.
A big grin stretches across Berrick’s face.
“Bingo again Fleece. I have been working on getting in touch with everyone without outstanding debt. So far we have 243 confirmed recruits, with a hundred more possible candidates still undecided.”
“While I’m genuinely impressed with how fast you pulled all of this together – Even if we can get all those guys on board, what then? We still have the ship issue to deal with. How are we supposed to corner them if we can’t even keep up? Do you even have an idea of where they’re going?”
Berrick chuckles, “I have a pretty good guess on where they’re headed. I’d say they are probably heading straight to Roachdale to meet up with Avery. He’s the only one brazen enough to take on a bounty this hot, and actually have the means to protect them. But as we learned from our time in Libertalia, the closer you get to Roachdale, the more defenses they have. Fortunately, I have a plan…”
Berrick zooms into the southwest region of the galaxy map.
“How familiar are you with the Orion Group?” He asks.
“Hellman’s daughter’s group? I’ve never worked with them, but I know of them. They’re supposed to be somekind of up-and-coming merc group.”
Berrick shakes his head.
“Your information is way out of date. They’re up there with the big boys now. Unlike their father, who would hop from station to station depending on where the work is – They instead use a mobile fleet method. They have more ships than any other major merc group, and specialize in space warfare.”
“Okay? So are you saying they’re coming to help?”
He shakes his head again.
“No, they aren’t. Don’t get me wrong – They want to though. But like the HMC and Libertalia, the OMC is stuck in a campaign contract against the Taiyonami Shogunate.”
I let out a frustrated groan.
“I can’t believe the DRAC is still at it with those guys. Is this where all my tax money goes?”
“Politicians got to launder their dracan somehow!” Berrick laughs. “But… Because of the situation within the colonies right now, the ACN and other military branches are all stretched thin. I mean – Don’t you find it odd that the DRAC hasn’t rolled into Libertalia yet?”
My brows furrow.
He’s right – It’s totally out of character for them. They’ve been itching for an excuse to officially declare war on Libertalia forever now, and they just got that handed to them on a silver platter. Regardless of the masked man’s true identity, they will almost certainly blame Libertalia. They have the 5th Fleet right here at the border. Why aren’t they rolling in?
“You’re right… It’s weird.” I mutter outwardly.
“Take this information with a grain of salt, but from what I’ve gathered, most of the major fleets have been moved to secure the borders because of all the civil unrest going on back in the colonies. Namely the two largest threats: Arastonia and the Holy Cardinal Empire. Some of the more versatile fleets are being divided up and spread out to lockdown and police civilian sectors.”
“…And they’re using mercenaries to make up the gaps…” I realize.
Berrick nods.
“I’ll make a commmander out of you yet!” He beams proudly.
He walks back to his desk, and gulps down the last of his drink. He turns back to me – Leaning against his desk.
“Yes – Hellman’s daughters, along with many other major mercenary groups are now locked into their campaign contracts against smaller nations. Hellman’s daughters have never liked me, and I’m none too fond of them either. Apart from Lina, who’s got a calm head on her shoulders – Ella and Ada are both spoiled, arrogant, prideful little bitches.”
I scoff, and Berrick smirks.
We’re both thinking it.
Like father, like daughter then.
“But after I explained what I could to them about what had happened to ‘dear old Daddy’, they tried desperately to break out of their contract in order to go after Anna and the blonde. When all that failed, they relented, and extended me an offer.”
I tilt my head.
“…What kind of offer?”
“I obviously had to exclude a lot of information when I told them about the situation. They don’t know about the man in the mask yet. But they knew I wouldn’t give up on a thirty-billion dracan bounty, so they told me: ‘We want Anna’s head on a pike.’ In order to persuade me to let go of whatever her bounty is going to be, they offered to loan me ships and equipment.”
Berrick pulls up his PD, and renders of three huge, sleek silver battleships appear above the holoplane.
“They offered to loan us three brand-new Severance-Class battleships if we make sure Anna is brought in dead. Which that alone would be worth losing her bounty. At least then we would have the means to recapture both the blonde and her ship. But they also gave us weapons, ammunition, along with ten light freighters to use as troop transports – Bringing our total to twelve.”
I nod in approval, “Wow, alright. Severance-Class huh? They’re giving us some monsters, aren’t they?” I chuckle.
Berrick grins ear to ear.
“Oh – That isn’t even the best part. Get a load of this…”
He presses something on his PD, and an image of a colossal, mossy green warship appears above the holoplane.
Berrick leans in.
“They’re giving us their personal dreadnought – The Medusa.”
The term ‘battleship’ is used rather interchangeably. Typically when someone says the word ‘battleship’, they’re thinking of a heavily armed and militarized capital ship somewhere around 350m to 1,000m on average - Sometimes bigger. But I learned in DMA mercenary training that the term ‘battleship’ actually originally refers to military capital ships built with a focus on having a wide variety of weaponry, rather than gigantic ship-shearers like the El Dorado’s. Thus prioritizing adaptability and versatility over raw power.
They did this because of all the issues the El Dorado faced when outfitting her: Weight, mobility, size constraints, and energy consumption.
Technically, under the original definition, the Adjudicator would be considered a type of battleship – Not a dreadnought. If anything, the El Dorado is closer to being a true dreadnought.
But nobody really uses these classifications anymore except for engineers. Most people just associate the term “dreadnought” with size. Which is why super-dreadnoughts are technically classified as the highest subclass of battleship. I don’t even know what the Hell the El Dorado is, but Berrick outfitted her with the assumption she would always be part of a larger fleet.
True dreadnoughts are an outdated Reclamation War era class of military ship which prioritized range and power over mobility and adaptability. Because the guns were always massive, the ships themselves had to be massive too. Nowadays, modern dewey cannons have advanced so much, they can achieve the same results at only a fraction of the weight and size.
To the military, these old dreadnoughts are worthless – But to a merc, they’re worth their weight in gold.
They’re all at least eighty years old, so all of them have security cracks available. Meaning you don’t need to deal with manufacturers price gouging you to unlock their paywalls. The mounting points are massive, and have structural supports made to support those old, heavy guns. Meaning any modern weaponry you want to stick on there will fit with no issues. They have room for several reactors, and as much cargo as you could ever hope to carry.
They’re a mercenary’s wet dream.
Problem is – They’re incredibly rare. Anyone who has one that managed to make it this far without being scrapped ain’t selling. There’s probably only a couple hundred dreadnoughts left in the entire DRAC territories, and even less that are still spaceworthy.
If I had to describe the Medusa, I would say it’s long, fat, and rigid.
The mossy green ship is made up of multiple trapezoid shaped layers, stretching down and out from the ship’s stubby bridge. Each layer is jam-packed with various guns, from colossal to moderate – Technically reclassifying it as a battleship.
It is not a pretty ship by any means. Given it was constructed during the Reclamation War, it’s clear they designed it with function over form in mind. The long, wide, compressed layer design makes the ship look obese. But in actual combat, those compact layers, and long, wide design adds considerable clearance to the turret’s field of fire.
Berrick strides over to the holoplane.
“Built in 313RE by Atlas Aerospace and measuring 6,450m (4mi) in length – She is the last surviving example of the Smasher-Class Dreadnoughts.”
“And they’re just lending you that fucking thing!? Do you have any idea how much it’s worth at auction??”
Berrick gives me a toothy grin.
“Oh they most certainly are – Because I specifically asked for it. You see… The Medusa is not your average old, retrofitted dreadnought. It has something very special that only a handful of legacy warships still do. You see those barrel shaped cylinders she has on either side?” Berrick says, pointing to three cylinders she has both sides.
They jut out from the keel and topside of the ship, and have slits cut into them like vents.
“Yeah? What about it?” I ask snarkily.
“-They’re EMPs.”
My eyes open wide.
During the Reclamation Wars, EMPs were used in mass against the Scion. But after the last Reclamation War ended in 396RE, and mankind started to focus exclusively on going to war with each other, rather than with the machines – EMP usage became a major problem.
EMPs would blast electromagnetic energy: Frying ships, electronics, medical equipment, cybernetics, sensory neural implants – Pretty much everything apart from a person’s CNI.
So eventually, all of the major countries got together and agreed to sign the Orville Accord in 401RE – 5 years after the last Reclamation War. Banning the use of EMPs, and various other weapons meant for the machines in warfare against other human nations.
While I have no doubt the DRAC still secretly has some EMP equipped ships as a “just in case”, the vast majority of EMP armed vessels were either decommissioned or demilitarized following the accord.
With this, we won’t need to chase them down. Just ground their ship, and send in ground units to apprehend them.
“B-but how!? All of those old EMPs were supposed to be decommissioned!” I exclaim.
Berrick smiles smuggly.
“Not this one. The Medusa exists in a kind of… ‘Legal grey area’ so to speak.”
“Explain.” I demand.
Berrick begins pacing in front of the holoplane.
“Well for a brief period of time, Atlas Aerospace, along with several other shipbuilding firms, relocated to the newly founded Tobir Republic to avoid rising payroll costs and newly passed regulation which increased the tax on slave labor. Atlas officially became registered as a Tobir Republic shipbuilder, the Medusa was launched in 313RE, with the Orville Accord being passed 88 years later. Thing is, since then the Tobir Republic had suffered a second civil war. Tobir was originally a monarchy. But following a successful rebellion, the populace ousted the monarchy and became a Republic. The aristocracy sought refuge in the DRAC, and eventually returned later with an army which may or may not have been DRAC funded. The Republic lasted a measly 13 years. Once it was gone, the King pushed all of the faults the nation had before on the former regime – Refusing to acknowledge the Republic and the Kingdom as the same entity. So while the King signed the Orville Accord, he did so as the Tobir Kingdom – Not the Tobir Republic. So because the DRAC and the Tobir Kingdom are on friendly terms, and because bringing up the Tobir Republic is a major political sore spot, the DRAC publically acknowledged the Tobir Republic as a separate, and rogue entity. Meaning that if the DRAC acknowledged the Medusa as needing to adhere to the Orville Accord – They’d be indirectly acknowledging the Tobir Republic and Tobir Kingdom as a singular entity.”
I look at Berrick with a stoned expression.
“So… Legal EMP?”
Berrick laughs.
“Yes – Legal EMP.” He says, sitting back down at his desk.
I look between Berrick and Rubrum, who’s been silently waiting.
“Won’t using an EMP on Roachdale piss off a lot of countries?”
“Oh it’s going to be a political shitshow. Arastonia is undoubtedly going to run with it in a DRAC smear campaign.”
“Man – I would rather not get on the personal shitlist of every Central politician.” I say warily.
He chews on the ice from his glass, and sets it aside.
“Likewise. While technically speaking, what we’d be doing would be completely legal – There’s a good reason why the Orion group never used it. That’s why I’m working on getting prior authorization first. If they say no, then we’ll figure out another way. So – You in?”
I chuckle.
“Where do I sign?” I coyly ask with a playful smile.
Berrick grins, and claps his hands.
“Excellent! I’ll have one of my secretaries get the contract ready for you. Read through it, and when you’re ready, just fill it out. If you have any problems, let me know and we can work something out. I’m not Hellman, so take all the time you need to read it thoroughly. We’ll probably be departing in a few days – A week at max.” He says warmly.
While I feel a Hell of a lot better working for Berrick than I do Hellman – You can bet your ass that I’m going to read that contract a hundred times before I sign it.
He pulls out his PD and calls out.
“Hey Citrus, can you get that contract prepared for Fleece please?” He asks aloud.
The intercom clicks on.
「Yes of course Master. I’ll get started on it right away.」
“There. Citrus works fast so it shouldn’t take too long. In the meantime, we can-“
Suddenly the intercom clicks back on.
「Excuse me Master. Ms. Beryl is requesting permission to board downstairs.」
Berrick’s brow furrows.
“Already…? Alright, patch her through.”
「Right away.」
The intercom shifts over.
“Beryl, you there?” He calls out.
「Yes Master. I am here with-」
Suddenly I hear Beryl grunt over the crackling intercom.
「DAY DAY!!!」 A loud, cheerful voice rings out.
Day Day??
I look over at Berrick, and his expression has turned to stone. Rubrum’s eyes have shifted to her sharp, killer’s gaze she wears when she’s out in the field.
「IT’S VERY RUDE TO STEAL SOMEONE’S PUPPY AND THEN ASK FOR FAVORS DAY DAY. OPEN THIS RAMP RIGHT NOW – WE NEED TO TALK.」 The girly, cutesy voice rings out.
She’s so fucking loud.
His lips curl.
“Yeah... Opening it now. Beryl please escort them to my office.”
「Did you hear that? OKAY, SEE YOU IN A BIT DAY DAY!」
The intercom clicks off.
Berrick rests his forehead against his interlocked fingers, and heaves a large sigh.
“Umm… So who the Hell was that?”
Berrick looks up with dead, empty eyes.
“Remember how I said I was trying to get approval to use the EMP?”
“Yeah?...”
“That was Fleet Admiral Greta Sloan.”
“…Eh?”
Author's Notes: It’s hard to believe that Galaxy's Most Wanted's First Anniversary is coming up soon (Oct. 4th). This year has gone by scary fast.
So just in case I don't have Episode 19 out by the time the First Anniversary rolls around - Thank you everyone for all your support. Here's to another year of GMW!
