If the state of Anna's handheld comms was any guide to the state of her secret weapons stash, then Shara was going to have to rely on her selection of sharp and pointy bits of metal for any actual physical damage she had to do to anyone or any thing. Out of a crate of seven arcane comunits stashed in a desk drawer, only one was operational, and that barely.
He may not have been as quick on the uptake as Shara, or had the scalpel-sharp mental acuity that Alenda enjoyed, but he could put two and two together.
These comunits are sharded, Anna, so I'm thinking they're just a cover story for direct telepathy?
There was a sudden sensation of confirmation, uncomfort, necessity and distaste.
Thought so. Listen, I'm not going to go into this right now, but for reasons I'm pretty sure you can guess at, I'm not as uncomfortable with the concept as Shara is. If you want to drop me a hint from time to time, like you were doing before, feel free.
Zyan suddenly knew things – some letters and numbers in the local alphabet. He hoped that these would be useful at the appropriate time.
Okay, good. Fortunately I can clone the frequencies off the comunit that's sort-of-working, so I won't have to have an uncomfortable conversation with Shara.
An impression of agreement, followed by curiosity.
So not getting into that now, Anna, Zyan thought. Just keep your hints directed at me.
Anna's presence disappeared politely.
Zyan showed Shara how to turn the TX wattage on their suits down to minimal levels. That was as good as their transmission security to Anna was going to get: they had BlackTalk, of course, but had kept that to themselves. Anna may have already known, but Zyan was just assuming she didn't: if he went down the rabbit hole of trying to guess how much she could/had/would read from their minds, he was never going to come out again. He was still uneasy: Anna might have spun them a plausible tale about being a reformed character, but this was still an allegiance borne of necessity rather than trust.
Still, as Zyan had been thinking a lot recently, it was the only game in town.
"Comms check," Zyan murmured into his suit comunit.
"I am receiving your transmission clearly," Anna informed him.
"And I'm stood right next to you," Shara said.
Zyan gave her a Look.
"All good," Shara replied.
"The entrance to the subsurface service tunnels is via an access hatch in the chamber opposite this one. Go down several metres and you will come to a larger chamber containing a maglev module. It is in working order. Go fifty seven stops north – towards the bow, that is – until you get to an agricultural service node labelled like this," Anna instructed them, bringing up an alien glyph on her screen.
Zyan snapped a holo of it with his wrist unit. "Got it," he said – although he already had that knowledge, thanks to Anna's direct hint.
"The weapons cache is hidden in the machine shop, in the storeroom at the back. Third wall panel from the door, on your left as you go in. Take care – the resistance was in the habit of booby-trapping their secrets," Anna said.
"They weren't the only ones, but thanks for the heads up," Shara replied, before Zyan could open his mouth to say pretty much the same thing.
Anna inclined her head. "We'll be out of radio contact for much of the time. This," she flashed up a picture of an alien terminal, with a few buttons and a small screen, of a type Zyan had already noticed dotted around, "is a tertiary systems utility panel. I still control all tertiary systems – whenever you are within a few metres of one of these, we will be able to converse securely. The closer the better. Once you engage the Overlord, though, I will have to reveal my existence in order to defend your mental autonomy. At that point, you may aswell use standard comms."
Same story with telepathic comms: only secure when we're near a panel? Zyan asked, and immediately felt that was correct, which was, he supposed, a confirmation.
Shara seemed to have been having similar thoughts. "Or just think things at you, I suppose?" She asked sourly.
"Yeah, but be careful not to shout," Zyan told her.
Anna shook her head. "My telepathic systems will be fully engaged with the Overlord in this situation. Use the radio," she advised.
"Happily," Shara replied.
"Then I will wish you good luck," Anna told them.
"One last thing," Zyan said. "Assume this all goes according to plan, or approximation thereof, but this ship is no longer in a viable orbit or everything is shorting out and the core systems are about to go nova. How do we get you out of here in a hurry, if we have to? Or even not in a hurry, but you just want off this deathtrap as soon as."
Anna blinked. "I had not thought that far ahead," she said.
"Well, start, then get back to me," Zyan told her. "We don't leave our people behind."
Shara shot him a look that said, quite clearly, she wasn't 100% on board with Anna being 'their people'. Zyan felt – internally, he was convinced, not due to a prompt - he had to say it. Besides, it might also serve to motivate their new ally a bit.
They left the office, peering round the doorway and already moving carefully, covering all the angles. As advertised, the opposite chamber did indeed have an access hatch that let onto a ladder wide enough for a large being, with oddly slanted rungs. They shimmied down, and arrived in a dimly lit chamber with not one but several wide-bodied maglev modules. These, too, were - surprise! - hexagonal, with large doors. They were clearly intended to transport goods and heavy equipment as well as people: well, people in the widest sense.
Only one lit up as they arrived, though. "Please make your way to your designated carriage," Zyan commented dryly.
There was less mould and general filth down here, but even so the viewports needed a quick wipe before they could easily see through them. Zyan used his suit sleeve, more of a scraping than a wiping, as the material was not absorbent. They could, at least, see out.
"OK, we're on our way. Radio silence until we reach a tertiary panel," Zyan murmured into his suit comm.
"Understood," Anna replied, faintly.
The controls were simple – you selected your destination and away you went. Zyan didn't need to remember the glyph for their first stop: it was part of his 'download' from Anna. He punched it in and hit engage. The doors slid shut and they hissed into a tunnel opening, slowly accelerating to what he judged to be a respectable speed. He hoped there were no obstructions or other modules in the way, otherwise their mission was going to come to a very sudden halt: there was no manual override to engage the brakes.
Shara stared out the viewport, although there were no exterior lights: just a dim view of metal flashing by.
"Anything you wanna tell me, Zyan?" She asked.
Zyan wasn't daft: he winced internally. This wasn't a conversation he wanted to have. However, he wasn't going to insult Shara's intelligence. "Plenty – but I can't. Not all secrets are mine to share."
"Fair," Shara said, with a slight tilt of one shoulder and a nod. "I know Alenda's not just your run of the mill empath, and judging by a few things you've let slip, especially talking to Anna, you know a fair bit more than I do. She's my friend, though, and no matter what I will see this through to the end. No. Matter. What," she emphasised. "So, once again, with that in mind: anything you want to share right now?"
"Not just your run of the mill empath is as much as I can tell you," Zyan replied carefully. "She is your friend, though. When we bust her out, she'll owe you a Full Disclosure. As far as what you might call the tactical situation goes, if we can get me next to Alenda then maybe, possibly, Anna the AI won't be the only one with an effective countermeasure against the Overlord. That's by no means a sure thing, though – this is still a rescue mission, not an assassination."
Shara turned around and nodded. "You've been as honest as you can. I understand. I appreciate you not flat-out lying to me."
"Could've been sooner: sorry," he said.
"No need – I know this music, I've danced these steps before," Shara said. "I've got no complaints, there's been some excellent violence and your cousin is crazy stupid hot.
"As far as the mission goes," Shara said, then drew her blade and inspected the edge, "you do the rescuing, and I'll do the assassination."
- o O o -
The weapons cache was in the advertised place – behind a wall panel in a workshop crammed with strange, alien tools and hexagonal crates. Shara and Zyan had both stashed their share of killware over the years, and so removed the panel very carefully. The obvious booby trap was the wire connected to a grenade of some sort: pull away the panel too quickly, and you'd regret it.
Behind the hexagonal panel was a rectangular crate, clearly wrought by a different species. Zyan's suit scanners revealed the more subtle trap that he and Shara had both anticipated – there was another grenade glommed onto the crate with resin, attached by another wire to the rear wall. There was just enough slack to allow it to be pulled out and safely unhooked. A power cable came with it: the crate had been hooked up.
Although they still exercised caution, there were no more layers of protection: the lid lifted up on smooth hinges, albeit with an alarming hiss of escaping air that made them both brace themselves. Inside was a pair of weapons designed for hands similar to their own – a large pulse rifle, with a wider-gauged barrel slung beneath the top one. A pair of fat cartridges were stored alongside. There was also a longer, more slender weapon with optical sights, also with a cartridge. The cartridges were connected to a powered device that, Zyan hoped, had kept the ammunition viable for all these years: there were no reloads. The weapons themselves were clean and didn't look hundreds of years old. A climate-controlled crate, then.
"Dibs on the pulse rifle," Shara said.
"Fine by me," Zyan acceded. "Although weren't you intent on doing some sniping?"
"I know, but the grenade launcher makes all the difference," Shara said. "Is any of this even in working order?"
Zyan ran the suit scanner over it, and shrugged. "Think so, not reading anything untoward: then again that could be a bad sign. We'll just have to try. It'll add an extra special frisson of exciting uncertainty if we get into a firefight."
Shara glowered at him, but nevertheless hefted the pulse rifle with an appreciative grin. Once out of the crate and into human hands, the singers could tell that their former owners must have been a little larger than they were: the weapons were oversized, the grips hard to grasp.
Zyan also scanned the grenades: they read as containing a bunch of inert chemicals. They had been in no danger from the pair of booby traps: the destructive capability of these grenades had expired a long time ago.
They armed themselves with the plus-sized guns. This left both of them looking somewhat overburdened – especially Shara, who was already heavily armed. Singer strength plus low gravity, though, meant that it was an aesthetic issue rather than one of carrying capability.
Whatever species had made the guns, they'd employed triggers and safety catches – a common feature of firearms, no matter where they originated. Zyan thought they'd be able to use them if required.
Shara made a disappointed noise as she loaded and examined her enormous gun.
"Only three grenades," she frowned.
"You have ridiculously high standards for multiple-centuries old weaponry," Zyan replied. Shara huffed.
The workshop had one of Anna's little service panels – Zyan knelt down next to it and allowed a sliver of power to his suit comms.
"Got the weaponry," he said.
"Excellent," Anna replied. "Return to the maglev module – it will take you a little further – the line is blocked – and stop by a ventilation shaft. Go up the shaft and you will be able to proceed on foot from there. The slave complex is not far."
There was a mental transmission along with Anna's voice – Zyan felt the unsettling feeling of getting new memories: a picture of a ventilation shaft, an ugly, plascrete-block building beneath one of the huge habitat spokes. The layout, the entrance, the flooding underneath it.
The singers returned to the maglev module. This time, the journey was slower, more cautious. After a while, the car came to an automatic stop. Ahead of them, the tunnel had collapsed. The doors opened onto a tiny hexagonal access shaft. It was not a 100% match for Zyan's fake memory: but a few tendrils of dead plantlife, some dim light and the unclean smell of mold were clues that this let out onto the surface.
"Looks like we walk from here," Shara said.
"Crawl, more like," Zyan said, eyeing the shaft.
Zyan had to take his pack off in order to fit into the tiny shaft, pulling it up behind him. The shaft sloped steeply up to a grille which had been infiltrated by a great deal of twigs and fungal growth: Zyan stopped and listened for a good long while, but could hear nothing except the trickle of water. He risked a push on the grate: whatever it was made of had become brittle and weak with age, and it practically crumbled at his touch. He cleared it away and pulled himself up and out, trying to be as stealthy as possible. Shara followed him up after he got his pack out of the way.
They were in the middle of some dead vegetation: to the left and right it seemed to continue, but behind them a small stream could be made out, the water dirty, brown and stinking. There appeared to be a path in front of them, made of rusted plates which had been skewed and upset by the questing roots of now-dead plants. More foliage blocked the view beyond the path.
Zyan had an urge to go left, along the path. Another hint from Anna – or so he hoped.
They emerged carefully onto the path – it was bordered on both sides with dead hedges, so they would be hidden from view. The pair of singers started along the path, moving as quietly as they could. They both had their scrounged weapons at high port, but if they had to use them the game would likely be up. Every now and again they had to push their way past a bulge of vegetation, and at all times the footing was slippery and uneven. However, they were at least hidden from wider view, and the stream stayed with the path, providing a minor amount of background noise to cover their steps. On the other side, there seemed to be a wider route, possibly for use by vehicles.
Through the sparse tangle of skeletal twigs above their heads they could see one of the cylinder's giant spokes close by – that, Zyan knew, marked their destination: the slave complex was built around it's base. Up close it appeared anything but spindly – it was vast, dozens of metres across, an impossible dark slash against the illusory sky. Beyond it was the line of dim artificial sunlight, and the faint traceries of landscape on the other side of the cylinder.
Shara, he noticed, was trying not to look up: even now that she was no longer a resident of New Babylon's labyrinthine urban maze she wasn't overly comfortable with wide open spaces. She may have got used to the ranges, but this unnatural space was clearly giving her a least one or two heebs. Zyan wasn't overly comfortable himself.
Perhaps due to her eagerness to get somewhere, Shara took the lead. She suddenly jabbed her thumb at the ground, sank to her knees, then held her hand to her ear. Zyan understood the signals: she thought she'd heard someone, and wasn't even risking a BlackTalk subvocalisation.. He also crouched and listened.
They approached from behind, on the other side of the blighted hedge. Crystal singer hearing was, in most cases, extremely good: Zyan had enjoyed an excellent transition but Shara's must have been better in this regard, because she'd heard them before he had from farther away.
Zyan froze.
It was an uncanny, unnerving sound. Soldiers, especially if they were irregulars of some kind, would normally chat, joke and complain while they walked a perimeter, manned a turret, stood guard or performed some other boring task.
Not these soldiers. They walked in silence, saying not a word. One of them, however, appeared to be having some difficulty – every second step was accompanied by a dragging sound.
As they grew closer, Zyan could also make out that one of them was vocalising, although he wasn't speaking. The man made gave vent to a repetitive 'urrr' sound every few seconds, as if he was straining to pick up a heavy object, or force open a stuck door.
They finally came into view – four figures, one lagging a little behind the other three. Zyan started to relax from his state of high alert: they'd walked right past them, hidden by the hedge. A few moments more and they'd be away down the road, out of hearing.
Then the one bringing up the rear fell over. The entire group stopped.
"Urrrrrr," the fallen pirate said. He appeared to be flopping around weakly on the ground.
One of the upright trio turned back to stand over his prostrate comrade, but far from offering help or even asking if he was okay, he simply nudged the man a few times with his foot. His only response was the same 'urrrr'. The pirate bent over, relieved the man of his weapons and some other bits of kit, and then simply left him there without a word. The trio continued on.
Loyal bunch, Zyan thought.
They waited in complete stillness and silence for the group to disappear out of enchanced earshot, and then for the injured man to fall still and quiet – but he didn't. Instead, his moans turned piteous, from a semi-grunt to a high-pitched keening, interspersed with attempted words. He began to drag himself along the road, fingernails scraping along the pitted metal surface.
The stricken pirate then stopped and levered himself to his feet. Zyan exhaled – quietly. It looked like the man had experienced a sudden recovery, and was going to wander off after his companions.
They weren't that lucky, though. The man gave vent to several more high-pitched cries, convulsed, stumbled and fell sideways – right through the hedge and across the path in front of Shara.
She didn't hesitate. Shara laid her rifle down, drew a knife, then took two silent steps forward. The pirate was silenced.
Shards, Zyan thought. He crouch-walked forward to join Shara.
She was cleaning her knife on the man's clothes.
"Unfortunate," she whispered.
"Did he see you?" Zyan whispered back.
Shara nodded, and slid the knife back.
"Shard it," Zyan said. "If Anna's to be believed, these guys are basically security sensors. If one goes dark suddenly, the chief bad guy's going to know something is up."
"No help for it," Shara said. "They already know this particular zombie was dying. Maybe they'll assume he checked out suddenly."
Zyan winced. "Do we have to use the Z word?"
Looking at the man's corpse, though, 'zombie' wasn't a bad term – the man's hair had started to fall out, his skin was pale and mottled, his eyes clouded and his teeth brown and decaying. He stank, and his clothes were stained with drool and what seemed to be dried vomit and blood. It didn't seem so very far-fetched that his controller might simply assume he'd died.
"Seems a convenient label," Shara shrugged.
"Ugh. Let's hope they do think he just expired," Zyan agreed. "Looks like you did him a favour if you hurried it along a bit."
"I'm a regular angel of mercy," Shara whispered. "Let's move out before any more ZSPs turn up."
"Zed ess what?"
"ZSPs – zombie space pirates. Thought you might prefer an acronym, since you're apparently so opposed to traditional labels," Shara explained.
"Thoughtful of you, thanks," Zyan replied.
They continued, drawing ever nearer to the huge pillar stretching up overhead. Looking at it induced a sense of personal unimportance, that one was too insignificant to make any difference against the minds that had designed and wrought such works. Presumably this had been the builder's intention, or at least a welcome side-effect.
Zyan got the urge to stop, and obeyed it. They both knelt down, next to another of the ventilation grilles. Through the hedge, he could see that the road passed by the base of the spoke, around which a large, squat-looking building had been erected. His borrowed memory of it was from when it was new. Then it had been a brutalist, ugly block: now, on top of that, it was stained with fungal growth and looked as diseased as the purpose it had been made for: to contain slaves. There were no windows and only one entrance, a large door guarded by four of the Overlord's ZSPs, all of them looking nearly as unhealthy as the guy Shara had just put out of his misery. They each toted a pulse rifle, though, and were looking about keenly enough. Beside the entrance, a rail ran up the side of the spoke, disappearing into the vertiginous distance. The open-sided lift car that ran along it was cranked a few metres off the ground to form a watchtower for two more sentries. One of them walked from one side to the other, keeping an eye out. The other one, though, had dropped his rifle and just sat down with his back against the railings, eyes closed. Zyan didn't think he was sleeping on the job: he was dead. The Overlord certainly looked to be going through minions pretty quickly.
"That the only way in?" Shara whispered.
Thanks to Anna, Zyan knew that it was. The underground ways in were flooded. He smiled grimly as he thought about that.
"I don't know if it's reassuring or worrying that she's not infallible," he said.
"What? Who?" Shara asked.
"Anna," Zyan said. "There's a way in underneath, via the maglev station, but it's flooded. She's forgotten one thing, though," Zyan said.
Shara looked at him quizzically.
"We're in spacesuits," he said, with a grin.
Zyan started to quietly remove the grille – this one was larger than the example they'd emerged from farther back, but equally as degraded. He was interrupted, though, by the whine of an electric motor.
A large, patched-looking wheeled vehicle hummed down the road from the opposite direction, and it was loaded with more of the Overlord's troops. They jumped out, and started to form up into quartets. Search parties.
"Shards," Zyan said. "We've been rumbled."
"Yep," Shara agreed. "Swap."
She held out the assault pulser.
"What?" Zyan asked her, surprised.
"That long gun's no use inside, and you may need something fairly explodey to take out the Overlord, so swap," she repeated. She dialed her suit comm and raised it to her lips. "I need cover now, give me as long as you can." She was addressing Anna, of course, but Shara was a pro: no unnecessary detail.
Her use of 'I' and 'me' probably wasn't a coincidence, either. Shara knew what she was doing. Zyan handed over the sniper rifle and accepted the assault pulser in return. He felt a simultaneous odd, fuzzy feeling at the back of his head – a little like crystal resonance. Anna's psionic overwatch, or so he hoped.
"What have you got in mind?" Zyan asked, both urgently and somewhat doubtfully.
"They don't know how many of us there are: they saw me, not you – so I'm going to let them see me again," Shara explained. "I'll create some chaos, you go get our friend, we both hope that when you find her your 'effective countermeasure' is actually effective. Clock's ticking, no time to argue and you know it. Go!"
Zyan didn't like this as a plan, but had a hard time coming up with an alternative in the precisely zero seconds available. It would be much easier to infiltrate if the ZSPs and their master believed all the action was outside.
"Okay, good hunting – and don't get dead!" He said, taking his pack off.
Shara gave him her trademark smirk: it genuinely looked like she was enjoying herself. "I'm immune to death – but I am a carrier."
Then she turned, raised the rifle to high port, and fired a single shot. There was no smoke, very little recoil, and a truncated hiss rather than the report of a chemically powered round. The sentry on the high platform literally exploded.
Shara's expression of joy and wonder was almost childlike. "Oh, this is going to be so much fun. Are you still here?"
She took off in a crouched run, firing twice more as she went.
Zyan took the hint, sealed his helmet, then dived down the ventilation shaft, pack and rifle first.
The extra weight of the pack and gun was enough negative buoyancy to take him down and out of the shaft. He flicked on his suit lights just in time to illuminate a maglev module which had been flipped onto it's side, it's viewports smashed. He kicked his legs, avoiding it, then touched down beside it, stirring up centuries of silt and debris around his ankles.
He turned around, and his lights illuminated the wrecked and flooded station. There was another module, this one in the correct orientation, and thankfully with both side doors opened. He struggled back into his pack straps, then pulled himself through it with one hand, the other holding the rifle. Belatedly, he realised he didn't know if it would fire after getting wet: FSP pulsers would, and he had no worries about the stun pistol, but this alien weapon was an unknown.
Beyond the other module were a couple of exits, hexagonal, again, as everything was, and sloping upwards. With no information from Anna, Zyan picked one at random and started toward it, skirting odd bits of junk. He dimmed his suit lights: he hadn't gone down through more than maybe three or four metres of water, and didn't want to emerge as a blindingly well-lit target.
He tried to discipline his mind, suppressing worry for both Alenda and Shara, for whether Anna's interference would shield him from the Overlord for long enough: whether it would work at all. He concentrated on the mission, then started to worry that this would just broadcast the equivalent of a live video feed to the Overlord. He started running through his mental count – 1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4 – tried to keep his thoughts behind it. Alenda had once told him he required more practice, which he admittedly had not been doing, but the fact she'd mentioned it did suggest it was at least a vaguely effective approach. Maybe she'd just been trying to be nice.
Zyan thought he detected a faint glow ahead, and killed his suit lights entirely. He tried to bring the rifle up to his shoulder, but since he was using one hand to help propel him through the water this was not practical. The floor started to incline upwards – he could make out the surface of the water above his head, and stairs beneath his feet. Crystal singer sight was a wonderful thing.
He abandoned his flailing and instead moved slowly using his feet only. He had to crouch, to keep beneath the surface of the water. He drew his stun pistol – probably quieter than the assault pulser – and risked sticking his head up and out.
The hexagonal passage continued in the dry, the stairs leading upwards. There were dim lights recessed into the ceiling every metre or so, most of them still working but some of them smashed or dead. There was nobody guarding it, but the sound of pulser fire echoed down the passage, getting, Zyan thought, gradually fainter. Shara's side of the plan was working, then – she was leading them off.
He slid his helmet back – the water stank. His suit and backpack material wasn't absorbent, and very quickly shed droplets as he stepped out, but he was probably going to leave wet footprints anyway. They might betray his presence, but there was no help for it. He hoped the backpack had kept the spare suit dry, otherwise it wasn't going to be easy or pleasant for Alenda to put on.
Zyan advanced slowly forward, stepping lightly and carefully, trying to make the minimum of noise. The downside of his revised infiltration point was that he now didn't know where he was – he needed to know the relative location of the original entrance, then he'd be able to orient himself. Luck was on his side – he spotted another tertiary service panel on the wall.
"Anna?" He whispered into his comm. "I'm in, but I need-"
The response was immediate: Anna literally slammed a route into his mind, along with a warning so obvious she may aswell have screamed it at him: NO TIME LOSING BATTLE KILL IT NOW!
"We've already hit 'shard it', then," Zyan said to himself, as he threw caution to the wind. He took off at a sprint, following his new directions. Up the stairs, left, right, straight on and then he'd be there: a mental picture of a large steel cage, the most secure part of the slave pens. He shoved the stun pistol back into it's holster and got a proper firing grip on the assault pulser instead.
There was a pair of ZSPs running along the passage at the top of the stairs, but they'd already run past the junction. Zyan risked it – he didn't want them behind him but he didn't want to give the game away by opening fire – he just ducked out, turned left and kept going. The right turn led him into an empty passage, lined with empty cells, some doors open, some doors closed. He didn't pause to look because there was brighter light ahead. He ran forward, into a large hexagonal chamber.
There was a lot to take in – Alenda was in the cage, she turned to see him, surprise and fear on her face, but there was no time to feel relief. The chamber also contained two ZSPs, Anderssen, and a thing out of nightmare. Anderssen was by the cage: the thing and it's pair of minions were across the chamber, by the far entrance.
It was huge, glistening black, hulking: claws tipped it's six-fingered, multi-jointed hands. It turned a baleful, segmented glare on Zyan and opened it's mandibles in a hissing challenge: Anna had been right on the money about the teeth.
"Alenda get down!" Zyan shouted. Anna I'm engaging now! He cast the thought wide, hoping she was monitoring as promised: stealth was now no longer an option.
Zyan forced himself to ignore the creature that had to be the Overlord, concentrating instead on the ZSPs flanking it: they were armed with pulsers, the creature, however terrifying, was not.
One pirate fired and missed, the rounds whirring through the air above Zyan as he ducked and rolled, using every last micron of his spore-adapted reactions to come up firing. The assault pulser thrummed lightly against his shoulder as he loosed a burst. His aim was true – all of the man's head, aswell as his left shoulder and arm, disappeared. Zyan used his momentum, kept moving, dived sideways. The other pirate's pulser carved a jagged groove out of the floor where Zyan had fired from, but he was already somewhere else. He pushed himself up on his elbow, fired from the hip – it was a sharding awkward position to fire from, he was still sliding across the rough floor, and the gun's grips were too big for a steady grip. He squeezed the trigger and held it down, deciding to expend the ammunition to make sure of his target.
The wall behind the ZSP exploded in plascrete dust and chippings, but three large holes also appeared in the man's chest, sending his body to the ground in a twisted, semi-dismembered chunk.
The creature hissed again.
"Zyan, no!" Alenda was shouting, he had no idea why, but it would be a bad idea to think about that now, he had more pressing concerns: the gun was clicking empty.
There was an impression of regret, suddenly. Anna, Zyan guessed, monitoring things and picking up that he was out of ammo, but she didn't know the show wasn't over yet.
"Impressive," the Overlord hissed, jaws working in a very disconcerting way. It could easily bite a man's head clean off. "You seem to be out of ammunition, however."
"Zyan, hold your fire!" Alenda shouted.
"Nearly right," Zyan told the huge insectile creature, as it raised it's leg – it had four – to take a step in his direction. "I'm out of bullets."
He levered himself up, worked the pump to load a grenade, and pulled the other trigger. The gun made a whump noise and jerked. The grenade was a low velocity projectile, almost visible, it seemed, as it flew across the chamber and took the Overlord in the chest. It detonated with a short, sharp crack and a flash of light. The Overlord hissed in pain and staggered backwards, then hissed again, this time in anger, pushed itself off the wall and advanced.
"Pathetic!" It snarled. "Your puny weapons cannot harm me!"
Zyan loaded another grenade and fired, getting it right in the middle of it's thorax. This time the hiss was louder, and Zyan saw fragments of chitinous armour spiral away from the explosion. He stood, and followed it up immediately with the final grenade. This one penetrated before detonation, and in a horizontal fountain of black gore, the Overlord was blasted in two. The two halves fell to the floor, lifeless.
"Turns out, not so much," Zyan said, letting the gun drop to the floor.
Anna, it's dead, do your zombie-sleeping thing, Zyan thought, then immediately went over to the cage.
Alenda was on her knees, clutching her head. Zyan's ears were also ringing from all the gunfire and explosions, but this looked like more than that. He had to get in there. Anderssen, too, had his hands up to his head, looking confused and shell-shocked.
Zyan went past him, up to the cage. It was almost clean inside, he noticed. Alenda had been provided with a collapsible bed, water, ration packs and a hygiene unit – a valued prisoner. The door, however, was firmly locked with an alien keypad.
"Alenda? Alenda!" He rattled the door. She stayed down, unable, it seemed, to move. "Shard it!" Zyan swore.
"Hey!" He said to Anderssen, whirling round to get his attention. "Anderssen, right? We can help you man, but that's my friend in there. Can you get the door open?"
Anderssen was wide-eyed: one eye was, anyway, the artificial replacement was impassive.
"Wh-what?" He asked. "Where am I? Where are my crew? Who are you?"
Zyan put his hand on the man's shoulder. "I'm sorry, I can't even begin to think what you've been through, but it's dead now. You're free. Can you get this door open?"
Anderssen nodded, typed in a quick series of keypresses, and the lock thunked open.
Zyan rushed inside, knelt down beside Alenda. Not knowing what else to do, he tried to take her hands away from her ears.
"Alenda? It's me. It's Zyan. Can you hear me?" He asked, deathly worried.
The cage door clicked shut.
Anderssen was clapping slowly. "I can't actually cry," he said, "but if I could? I'd be in floods, I swear."
Zyan looked round. "Anderssen, what the shard? Open the door, we have to get her out of here!"
Alenda removed her hands from her ears, as if some incessant noise had suddenly abated. She blinked, looked up at him. "Oh, gods. I'm sorry, Zyan," she said. "I couldn't stop him. I couldn't get through to you."
It started to dawn on Zyan that he'd badly misinterpreted the situation. He looked over at the far wall: there were two dead ZSPs, and three very large holes, but no dead Overlord.
He remembered Brendan's boast: 'I have a very advanced med bay capable of complex surgical operations on every known alien species, and even some not so well known'. Had that, on some level, been a warning? Too late now.
Alenda had tried to warn him, and he'd felt Anna's sense of failure. They'd both known. He'd seen only what the Overlord wanted him to see.
Anderssen wasn't a puppet of the Overlord. Anderssen was the Overlord.
Zyan slammed his suit comm up to max. BlackTalk was already broadcasting everything, but he didn't necessarily want the Overlord to know that, if by some lucky chance he didn't already. "Abort op, abort op! I'm compromised repeat I'm compromised! Get out of here, Juliet, do not come back!"
"Ahem, I believe her name is Shara," Anderssen-Overlord said delicately. "I look forward to meeting her in due course."
"You tricky piece of shard waste," Zyan said.
Anderssen spread his hands in a gesture of acceptance. "Guilty as charged, CS Jarvis, guilty as charged. To be perfectly frank, by the way, I'm amazed and disappointed that the 'your puny weapons cannot harm me' line didn't tip you off. More than a little cliched, in retrospect, but I suppose the phrase has fallen out of human popular culture in recent centuries. You've forgotten your stun pistol, by the way," Anderssen pointed helpfully to the holstered weapon.
Although he already knew it was hopeless, Zyan drew and fired: three, four, five harsh buzzes. The stun bolts slammed into Anderssen, who stood there, quite unalarmed and unaffected.
Anderssen smiled thinly. "Well, I suppose 'your puny weapons cannot harm me' covers it pretty well this time, too," he repeated.
"Shardhole," Zyan spat at him.
"I'm not here to make friends, CS Jarvis. You can put that away again, it's not going to inconvenience me overmuch. Keeping Guildmember Falkstrom and that sharding computer at bay, on the other hand, now that is something I can feel proud of. I'd thought the damned thing long since deactivated and destroyed: an oversight I'll correct in short order."
Zyan holstered the pistol, and bent over to help Alenda. She was already getting to her feet. He helped her up, gave her a hug. She weakly hugged him back.
"You shouldn't have come, Zyan," she said, "but at the risk of seeming selfish, I am glad you are with me."
She looked terrible: drawn, even paler than usual. Her hair was lank, lifeless, and her eyes shadowed. She was shaking – and Zyan immediately went cold inside when he noticed. Was this just privation and exhaustion, or was it the beginning of her symbiont failing? Had she already been away too long?
He'd been about to kiss her, while he still had agency, but he was mindful of Sentinel's warning, given to him in Alenda's own voice: this isn't something that's been attempted before, it could prove to be...physically demanding. He gathered her into an embrace instead, holding her upright, and tried to bury any thoughts of the Junks where the Overlord could not dig them up.
For all her harrowed appearance, though, Alenda was also doing her own information security: she didn't ask him how he'd managed to figure out where she was, if and how he'd accessed memories she'd cut him off from, was it just Shara or was there someone else. Neither did she attempt to communicate in the alternative way – although the Overlord could be preventing that, he supposed.
She didn't want the Overlord to know, even though she must know his capabilities better than Zyan did. But if he wanted Zyan's thoughts, surely he could just take them?
"Ah," Anderssen said, raising an eyebrow. "There we have the crux of it. Let us have a truce for a moment, there is much to discuss. I hope you are not unduly distressed after our latest clash of wills, Guildmember Falkstrom?"
"As ever, you can go to hell," Alenda informed him haughtily. Even in a situation like this, barely able to stand, she haughted really well.
"Look around, Guildmember. What do you think this is, if not hell itself?" Anderssen asked.
"I don't know, but when I get out of here I'm going to leave terrible reviews on every traveller's info feed I can find, the accomodation is frankly awful," Zyan told him, then wondered when the Overlord had changed from 'it' to 'him' in his head. Had he done that himself, or was that an intervention?
Anderssen arranged an insincere smile at the quip.
"I must admit, you're the first celebrity I've come across. Black Zyan himself, in my humble abode. Do you get asked for autographs?" Anderssen asked.
"Yeah, sure. Let me out and I'll sign one for you," Zyan replied.
"I'd be overjoyed to let you out, CS Jarvis. I'm wondering if you're the sort of chap who's willing to 'do business', I believe the phrase is," Anderssen told him.
"If you're looking to buy crystal, sorry, the Guild has the monopoly and I'm all out right now," Zyan said flatly.
"Fascinating stuff, to be sure, but not what I was referring to. It's more your other line of work I'm interested in. You see, when I said you'd come to the crux of the issue when you wondered why I did not simply read your mind, you'd hit upon a problem I'm facing. You see, CS Jarvis, I rather think I'm going to conquer the FSP: for starters, anyway. I can make as many soldiers as I want, but as you've seen," Anderssen indicated the dead ZSPs, "they have their limitations. So, I'm looking to recruit some trusted lieutenants, motivated ladies and gentlemen who bring something unique to the table. There is a new order coming. My order. I will triumph over this lacklustre little Federation of Fools I find myself in the midst of. The FSP will be swept away, and I can sense that you would not mourn it's passing overmuch, Black Zyan," Anderssen said.
"Not massively keen on the alternative, Anderssen. A galaxy full of zom-, of brain dead catatonics doesn't strike me as a good time," Zyan replied.
"It needn't go that way," Anderssen waved that aside. "We could replace it with something better, something that truly enshrines justice and maintains an order that works for all."
Anderssen had adopted a lectorial manner, walking from side to side in front of the cage. "Where was the FSP when your homeworld was in chaos and your countrymen and women oppressed and dying? Far away, pointlessly moralising, while honourless snakes cut from the same cloth as Moran and Saito cut your legs out from under you. The FSP should have begged the forgiveness of your rebellion, and helped you finish the good work you had started."
"Thought you said you weren't here to make friends," Zyan said.
"As I said, I am trying to recruit allies. You are strong-willed and strong-minded, and I can respect that. Men such as you should never suffer a fate such as these," he indicated the two fallen ZSPs again. "Men such as you should lead. You could rule the Scorian sector as you wished, accountable only to me. Cast out the old singers holding the Guild back, and remake it as you would see it run. Then, for an encore, you could return to Djiel at the head of an army, and mete out whatever justice you wished to the Protectorate scum who have so far escaped the execution they so richly deserve. Then, if you wish, move on to the FSP, help me usher in a new age of peace and justice for all. With power such as I command – such as Guildmember Falkstrom can wield – all things are possible."
"Yeah, no," was Zyan's only reply.
"I have seen your every thought, Black Zyan. Your gamble has failed and you have no more cards to play. Why continue down a path that will only lead to defeat? Why defend an institution that you hate?" Anderssen asked.
Zyan shook his head. "Why does everyone assume I'm on some kind of crusade? It's not that complicated. I'm here for her," Zyan said, pointing to Alenda, "not to right wrongs, do deals or enlist in someone's galactic domination army."
"Choosing death over dishonour is a fine thing, CS Jarvis, but would your young protegee out there agree?" Anderssen asked, with the trace of a threat.
A chill passed through Zyan at the threat, but he covered it as quickly as he could.
"She's not my protegee – she's better at this than I am, in fact. Also, she's even less inclined to parlay with the likes of you," Zyan said.
In truth, he was only still talking because he was unsure of Alenda's condition, and his mind was racing, trying to find alternatives. How Anderssen hadn't seen this he didn't know – perhaps a deeper look into someone's mind required contact, or ran the risk of turning the subject into a ZSP, something Anderssen didn't seem to want to do to him: yet.
Zyan went on. "Mind control or not, if she walks in here I don't rate your chances. Especially if you carry on with the lecture, she's got limited patience for anything that bores her and her default solution for pretty much any problem is to eliminate it violently."
Anderssen snorted. "We shall see."
He turned his attention to Alenda. "Guildmember Falkstrom, you are a pragmatist. Exigency have made their final move, and I have countered it. This game ends only with my victory, now. If you die here with your mate, your influence over me ends, and I will go on to rule as I wish. If you stand with me, I will listen to your counsel. You will be my equal, and we will rule an empire together."
Alenda simply glowered at him.
"Once again I remind you I have much to teach you. Do you wish to forever cower inside your own mind, afraid of your own power? With my help you can unleash it. Already your life is far from mortal, but with my help I can free you from your dependence on the planet that chains you. Look!"
Anderssen lifted his arm to one side, in an oddly theatrical gesture that seemed wildly out of place in the grim setting of a dungeon.
Zyan also saw what Anderssen conjured. Rank upon rank of hexagonal chambers, each containing a humanoid figure, floating lifeless in a glowing orange fluid. Then a vision of Alenda walked into view – aged, with a lined face. She collapsed to the floor, and one of the chambers opened. A young Alenda emerged, stepped over her previous body, and walked out of view, smiling.
"Life everlasting, Guildmember Falkstrom," Anderssen said, as his illusion faded. "No catches, no limitations, no dependence on primitive creatures infecting one's blood, chaining you to a windblown ball of blasted rock."
Then he smiled, a predatory, malicious smirk. "And do I detect that you may need it sooner rather than later? The wondrous Ballybran symbiont does have it's limitations, and I wonder if you have begun to discover them the hard way?"
"You sharding bastard, you know you're killing her just keeping her here!" Zyan snarled.
"One has to have leverage," Anderssen shrugged. "But it can be, how do you say, 'a double-edged sword'. I must admit, your culture has a pleasing array of metaphors: my own culture didn't even have the concept."
Anderssen approached the bars, and his voice became low and persuasive. "So on the subject of leverage, consider this, Guildmember Falkstrom. Your power may one day exceed mine. When that day arrives, you could strike me down and restore your precious FSP. I accept this risk – it is a price worth paying for your allegiance, because together, together, Guildmember Falkstrom," Anderssen made a clenching gesture. "Together, we could rule the universe!"
Alenda's reply didn't disappoint. "I suggest you take your promises, your bribes, your lies, threats and cloning chambers, Mr. Anderssen, and insert them into your posterior opening where they belong, alongside whatever other useless waste you generate."
"Full marks for insane megalomania, though," Zyan added. "World? Nah. System? Pfft. Galaxy? Aim higher. It's universe or nothing, for you. You're committed to your nutcasery, I'll give you that."
"I have been more than patient," Anderssen stated, stepping back from the bars. "This is your final chance. Join me, or die."
"Still with the cliches," Zyan said, then screwed up his courage and resolve, and spoke to Alenda. "I'm sorry about this, but since we're both about to die anyway, kiss me like you mean it?"
Alenda gave a wan smile. "Always."
He kissed her, she kissed him back. Zyan experienced a sudden, deeply strange, disjointed feeling. He physically shuddered as Sentinel's download left his mind and flooded into Alenda's.
Her eyes widened, and then she spasmed, became limp in his arms, and started convulsing.
He lowered her to the floor, as gently as he could while she juddered.
"I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm so sorry Alenda!" He repeated, terrified. "Please be okay, please be okay."
"No!" Anderssen screamed. "What have you done to her?"
"I don't know!" Zyan replied, with total honesty. Right then he really didn't.
"Liar!" Anderssen snarled. "Tell me what trickery this is! What have you done to her!"
Alenda became still – she was still breathing, shallow, quick breaths. Zyan laid her on her side, kissed his fingers and brushed her cheek, and said goodbye. He hoped that she'd be okay. He hoped that she'd come to with a proper grip on her powers and rip Anderssen's mind into tiny shreds. He didn't have any hope that he'd live to see it, though, or not in any way that was still really him.
He stood up, and turned to face Anderssen. "Wow, you really have the hots for my girlfriend, don't you? You get the full package of added extra parts when you got the human body makeover?"
"Tell me!" Anderssen insisted, his face bleak.
"No," Zyan said. A few stun bolts into his own head should stop the Overlord knowing what he knew. He drew his pistol...
...and put it down on the table. A man in the uniform of the Protectorate Civil Harmony Directorate took it away.
"Zyan Jarvis," the man said, leafing through a file. It was a hefty one, but Zyan knew that trick: they bulked it up with random paperwork, to make you think they knew more about you than you did yourself. "Second year student here. Performing Arts."
Zyan looked around the small interview room. Four walls, one door, several security sensors, no windows. Every academic institution had one like it, for the convenience of PCHD officers sent to keep the students in line.
"Yes sir," Zyan responded.
"Not doing particularly well, are you?" The man said, raising his eyebrows.
"I'm achieving passing marks, sir," Zyan replied.
"Passing is not excelling, Jarvis. You should apply yourself more. Is there perhaps something distracting you from your studies?" The man asked, again leafing through the file.
There was indeed: Zyan had been attending resistance meetings for the past several weeks, and last night had thrown a molotov cocktail through this very man's office window.
"You're only young once, sir," Zyan answered, with an attempt at humour.
"Indeed," the PCHD officer replied dryly. "A word of advice, Jarvis: if you wish to remain a student here, then you should leave visiting dignitaries very much alone. What did you do to the Guildmember?"
"The who?" Zyan replied. "I haven't been on the welcoming committees for any visitors, sir. That's for students who are excelling."
The PCHD man stared at him. "Answer me, or this interrogation can continue in a Re-education Camp, Jarvis. We've got our suspicions about you anyway, and now this. What did you do to her?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," Zyan shrugged, holding out his hands.
A Protectorate guard took his left one, and manacled it to a podium.
The judge began speaking. "Zyan Ezekiel Jarvis, you have heard the charges of which you have been convicted. The crowd howled, shoving against the inadequate barriers. "The sentence is death. However, this court is minded to be merciful. Tell us what you did to Guildmember Falkstrom, and your sentence will be commuted to exile."
"Everything you lot are pinning on me, and it's kissing a girl that you're all so worked up over?" Zyan replied, and snorted.
"This court will not tolerate disrespect!" The judge announced. "You will give us a full account of what you did to Guildmember Falkstrom, or you will hang!"
Zyan smiled thinly, and gave the man a rude gesture. The crowd howled, and the barrier broke.
"I told you this was a waste of time," Jerblek said to the other four committee members. "Black Zyan will not co-operate, even to save the life of an innocent woman!"
Yanaka banged the table in front of her. Zyan, flanked by Flay and Jakovsky, looked up. He was in the conference room on Barney's Rock. "Refusing to co-operate with valid Federal authorities is a very serious crime, citizen! What did you do to the Guildmember!"
Zyan blinked, and looked at each face in line. At the end of the table, off to one side, Soros Vander looked coolly back.
They were in the nameless bar again. Vander handed him a drink. "Look, Zyan – I can call you Zyan, right? You're in a position to benefit very greatly here. Tell me what you did to Alenda, and we'll call it a round two thousand CRs. You can go a long way with that in your pocket."
"You can go and shard yourself, you spineless, cowering little fardling," Zyan sprang to his feet, lashed the drink into the man's face, then smashed the glass over his head.
He was in the back of a technical, with McKenzie. She levelled her stun pistol at him.
"Tell me what you did to the Guild woman," Jamila said, "and you can walk away from this right now."
"Get lost, McKenzie," Zyan said, shaking his head.
"Make the wise move, Jarvis," Konovalov said, along the barrel of his pulse rifle. "Tell me what you did to her."
Zyan backed up towards the empty black crystal mount, and threw the smoke grenade. It detonated, and everything went white.
"Is there nothing you can do?" The Guildmaster asked Presnol, tears standing out in his eyes. In the infirmary, lights blinked and monitors hummed.
Alenda was lying on a med bed – thin and wasted, her skin nearly translucent, clinging to her bones.
Presnol shook his head. "I'm sorry, Lars, we've done everything we can. If we only knew what happened, then perhaps we could reverse the damage."
The Guildmaster turned to Zyan. "Please," he asked, "tell us what happened."
"I, I cannot say," Zyan responded, shaking his head and backing away into a corner of the room.
"Anything you could tell us, Zyan, anything at all, the smallest detail could be all we need to heal her," Presnol said.
Zyan shook his head.
The door swished open, and Donalla entered. "I think I've got it," she said, waving a data pad, "but without knowing all the facts about what happened, it's risky."
The Crystal Singer followed her in, and immediately pinned Zyan with a ferocious stare.
"Listen to me, Jarvis," she said, walking right up to him. "I don't give an old half credit about the FSP Secrecy Act or whatever shard-waste promises you had to make to Exigency. That's Alenda on that table, and if you know something that might help her, you will sharding well tell us right now!"
"I'm sorry, Crystal Singer, I can't," Zyan replied. "Think I like it? I don't, but that's the way it has to be."
"Fardles!" The Crystal Singer jabbed him in the chest with a finger so hard it hurt. "If you let her die, you'd better go out and wait for the next mach storm, because believe you me it'll be nothing compared to what I'll do to you."
Zyan rubbed his chest where she'd prodded him. It still hurt, a little.
It hurt. That wasn't right.
He closed his eyes, exhaled, and opened them again. He glanced at his suit readout: several minutes had passed, he was sweating profusely and felt like he'd just run a marathon. A strange tingling feeling in his head told him he'd would probably be in intense pain, if he could feel any.
But he'd kicked the Overlord out.
"Well, well, well," Zyan did a creditable imitation of Shara's smirk. "Looks like someone's mental hoodoo has come up a bit short. Alenda had no trouble rearranging things in my head as she wanted. Like six times or something: not that I want you to feel, y'know, inadequate. Either way, I'm not telling you a sharding thing, Anderssen," Zyan told the Overlord.
Anderssen looked back at him with, Zyan fancied, a small shred of surprise.
"I can still bend you to my will," Anderssen threatened.
"Not, I'm betting, without wiping out what you want to know," Zyan replied calmly.
Anderssen glared.
"So be it, Crystal Singer," the alien said. "Traditional methods are still open to me, however. Tell me what I want to know, or you shall know pain and torment worse than you could possibly imagine. I have had centuries to perfect my techniques on beings such as you."
Zyan smiled bleakly. "I don't feel pain, Anderssen." He knelt down next to Alenda again.
Anderssen glowered at him and then walked over to one of the dead ZSPs, picked up the fallen man's pulse rifle, walked back and levelled it at Zyan.
"I'll make it very simple for you, Black Zyan," Anderssen said. "Tell me what you did to her, or die."
"Still not going to help you unlock what's up here, is it?" Zyan tapped his ear, but the gesture was actually to release the BlackTalk device. Under cover of once again brushing her cheek, put it into Alenda's ear, then stood.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, he felt Alenda's familiar presence in his mind again. Keep still, don't give anything away, and bite your lip inside your mouth!
Alenda! You're okay! Thank God. What do you mean by-
Here's what I mean, Alenda sent, and a plan of action blossomed in his mind. We have to buy a little time. Trust me.
Always, Zyan replied, and bit his lower lip. His mouth filled with the metallic taste of blood.
Anderssen appeared completely unaware of the exchange. Zyan saw the alien's finger tighten on the trigger.
"Subcutaneous drug sacs," he blurted out, and let the blood trickle out of his mouth.
"What?" Anderssen asked, lowering the pulser – a little.
Keep talking, Alenda hinted.
"Advanced biotech implants," Zyan lied. "Exigency are smart operators, Anderss-, look, sorry, I get that this is a really very tense moment but what do I call you? Is it Overlord or is it Anderssen? It's a bit confusing, to be honest with you."
Anderssen glared. "Get on with it, Crystal Singer. My patience wears thin."
Zyan shrugged. "Okay, okay. Exigency never back just one horse, Anderssen. Did you think Steeplejack was their only play? There's probably like ten backup plans, and this," Zyan pointed to the blood on his chin, "is only one of them. It's a-"
Um, little help, he thought to Alenda.
Anti-empathic neurotoxin, Alenda prompted him.
"It's an anti-empathic neurotoxin," Zyan parroted. "Shuts down the neurons that let empaths do their thing, both in me and in her. She's not waking up any time soon, and you're not going to be able to get in here any time soon either." Zyan tapped his head meaningfully. "Exigency weren't sure it'd work on whatever it is Alenda and you are but, well, they believe in a multi-pronged approach to problem solving."
Just a little longer, Alenda sent.
"And if you were wondering if there was an antidote? You're shard out of luck," Zyan said. "Now, let's talk about your surrender."
Anderssen snorted. "My surrender? Hah! I need but wait. You are, after all, in there, and I am out here."
And time, Alenda sent.
Zyan grinned. "Yep – but so's she."
There was a hiss, and then a meaty-sounding thunk as an arrow sunk into Anderssen's arm. He cursed and dropped the pulser, then whirled around just in time to get another one directly in the chest. A third one went through his remaining natural eye and out the back of his skull – but still he stood.
Shara strode calmly into the room and up to Anderssen. Her suit was covered in blood and gore, as was much of her face.
"You fool!" Anderssen snarled. "Did you think this was a mere human body? This vessel is the pinnacle of a thousand years of work, mere crude sticks cannot-"
The Overlord was interrupted by a three foot long traditional Zentaran butcher's "knife" slicing through his neck and taking his head off his shoulders, but Shara wasn't finished. She raised the sword above her head and brought it down through his body, cleaving it in two, then before the two parts could topple over, she swept it around in a horizontal arc and turned them into four parts, which she then allowed to fall to the floor. A considerable amount of black blood was now added to the red already covering her suit and range jacket.
She nudged the nearest Overlord-chunk with her foot, and smirked. "Sorry, you were saying?"
"Whoa!" Zyan exclaimed, equal parts impressed and terrified. "Shards, Shara, are you okay?" He asked, even as he helped Alenda to her feet.
Shara looked up, as if genuinely confused. "Never better, why?"
"Um, you're covered in blood," Zyan pointed out.
"Well yeah, genius, I just cut a guy into five pieces, it's going to get a bit messy."
"No, before that," Zyan added.
Shara looked down. "Oh, that. Yeah, that's just the blood of my enemies. This season's must-wear accessory, goes with any outfit as long as you're okay with only wearing it the one time." She grinned. "Hey Alenda."
"Shara, it's good too see you. Thank you for your timely intervention," Alenda responded.
"Thank you for running interference for me so I could think. Anyway, you're welcome, I have had just the best time," Shara grinned again. She genuinely looked absolutely thrilled with the way the day was going.
"Shara, shoot the sharding lock out already," Zyan said.
Alenda and Zyan stood away from the door. Shara picked up the Overlord's pulser and squeezed off a burst. The lock disappeared, and the cage door swung open.
"So, looks like I'm doing the assassination and the rescuing. Some knight in shining armour you are," Shara told Zyan.
"Yeah, yeah, I know. Thank you. In my defence I thought I'd already exploded the bad guy when he locked me in here with Alenda," Zyan explained.
"Did you waste the grenades?" Shara asked, offended.
Zyan nodded guiltily. Shara looked annoyed, then shrugged. "Anyway, we good to go? This place is awful."
Alenda shook her head. "No. This was but the latest form the Overlord took. Even now, his consciousness is settling into a new body."
Zyan retrieved the other pulser, along with a spare clip.
"So let's go on a bug hunt," Shara said. "We splat until he runs out of bodies."
Alenda shook her head. "No. This vessel must be completely destroyed – it's the only way to be sure. Does that backpack contain a suit for me?"
Zyan nodded, slipped out of his backpack, and got the spare suit out. It was reasonably dry. Alenda got into it with a practiced efficiency that suggested it was something she'd done a lot.
She seemed physically better as well as mentally recovered. The shaking had stopped, and although she still wasn't her usual impeccably presented self, she moved with her usual grace.
She turned to face him. "Thank you," she said. "I know there's much to be said – I'm very sorry, for the way I treated you, for what I did. I will never, I fear, be able to make it up to you. I'm surprised you still came, after you found out."
Zyan shook his head. "None of that matters. Nothing could've kept me away," he said. "What did...what was in there, for you?" He tapped his head again, something he seemed to be doing a lot at the moment.
"A great deal, but most of it was just...me," Alenda answered. "The me that exists in your mind. I didn't have the confidence to master this power, but for the perfect utopian goddess of grace and beauty that I apparently present as to you, turning it off or up to eleven is merely a matter of deciding it to be so." She smiled at him. Zyan's heart leapt.
"Totally agree on the goddess of utopia bit, obviously, whichever planet that is, but that's all it was, just a confidence boost?" He asked.
"Sentinel also threw in a few other hints and pointers, some of which I have yet to fully explore. We must pop in on the way back so I can say thank you properly. The junks just saved the FSP, after all – or will have, if we get a move on. We need to exfiltrate, now."
"Yep, let's get right on that. Slight complication: I said we'd get Anna, who – and this is a bit weird but, y'know, it's that kind of a day – is a psychic computer holed up at the far end of-"
"I know," Alenda interrupted him. "We're in touch. We'll retrieve her before you do what you do best."
"He has something he does best?" Shara snorted.
Alenda smiled at her. "Lots of things: but right now, what is most relevant is that he's rather talented at blowing things up."
"Oh, that. Granted, yeah," Shara allowed.
Zyan interrupted. "You said you're in touch with Anna. Anna said that the Overlord could hear or sense or whatever any communication of that sort."
"Don't worry," Alenda said. "My mind is encrypted now."
Zyan blinked. "Wow."
During this time, they'd all been walking hurriedly out of the building. Shara led the way, pulser trained along the passage ahead. Zyan brought up the rear, making sure nobody came up from behind. He'd kept the backpack, although it was mostly empty now.
"Thoughts on how to blow this place up, Zyan?" Alenda asked.
"You mean like literal thoughts?" Zyan asked.
Alenda smiled. "No. My default setting is now speaking and listening like anyone else. I'll resort to other options only if necessary."
Zyan nodded. "Okay. Well, a reactor overload is usually a good standby."
Alenda cocked her head to one side. "Anna does not think that will work. The reactor is too depleted."
"Alright then, there are two pocket rockets, sorry, Alenda, very condensed cruisers hove to next to this vessel. Those things pack a serious punch. If we unload everything they have at this rock, that's gonna open everything to to space. Bye bye any life on board," Zyan offered.
Alenda shook her head. "Overclones, at this point, could potentially survive an extended period in vacuum. We're going to need to achieve a maximally prejudicial result, ideally on as observable a basis as possible. Two hostiles about to come round the corner, Shara," Alenda said.
"On it," Shara replied.
Her pulser thrummed twice, and moments later they were stepping over the bodies of two ZSPs.
"Sorry," Alenda said. "There's no way of shutting them down while the Overlord's consciousness is still viable. Stay alert."
"Check," Shara replied.
"Okay," Zyan said. "One: overclones, nice. Two: you're after nothing heftier than gravel and iron filings left over, and measuring their size and weight?"
"Reducing this whole place to it's component atoms would be better – nothing must escape. The Overlord, I am assuming, will have made contingency plans. It is not interested in defeat or death."
"In that case we get the shard out of here, and come back with a full squadron of major naval assets. We deploy in a spherical formation around this wreck and blow half the yearly munitions budget in one go. Nothing short of that is going to do the tr-"
Zyan stopped mid-sentence. They had exited via the front door, out into 'daylight'. It was a veritable slaughterhouse – a dozen or more dead ZSPs were scattered around in front of the door, and the truck-thing was on it's side on fire, to boot.
"Gods, what happened here?" Zyan asked, aghast.
Shara responded with a certain smugness. "I happened here," she said.
"You really don't mess about, do you?" Zyan stated.
"I did not come to play," Shara agreed.
Alenda helped herself to a pulser and some clips from the ready supply available on the ground. Zyan and Shara also grabbed a couple each. It didn't seem unlikely that there would be more fighting.
Alenda then blinked, and addressed them both. "Anna tells me that a very large vessel just entered the system. She thinks it is a military vessel."
"The Sassinak," Zyan said. "Great news, guys, our lift just got here ahead of schedule. I'm guessing Vadansky had no sooner translated back into Maxim space than he grassed us up to the feds."
"Be fair, we kind of asked him to," Shara said.
"They are not hailing," Alenda added. "Anna has tried to contact them, but there is no response."
"Anna's access to com systems is more than a little ropey," Zyan said.
"Why would you call up an FSP cruiser?" Shara asked, frowning.
"To make a point about the might of the FSP and force us to co-operate?" Zyan guessed.
"You don't need a massive great starship just to threaten a couple of errant guildmembers," Shara shook her head. "You need firepower like that to blast something to hell and back from a nice safe distance. Remember what Saito said to you, back on Maxim? 'Give me what I need to take Anderssen out. I'll make certain of it'. We also know that she contacted someone via black crystal comms, but it wasn't Exigency that showed up, it was the Sassinak. I don't think we should be counting on co-operation from that ship, I think we should seal our helmets and brace for impact, because destroying this ship isn't down to us anymore."
Zyan blinked. It made sense.
Alenda evidently agreed too. "I fear you are correct."
Zyan looked about, and his eyes hit on the lift. "We go up, now," he said, grabbing both of the women and herding them towards it.
Alenda looked confused. "Up? Why up? Surely we should take cover?"
There was a cargo net attached to the elevator, as a makeshift ladder. Zyan devoutly hoped that didn't mean the lift was out of commission. "No time to explain, have a look," he said, scrambling up.
He felt Alenda's presence in his mind, as she brought herself up to speed on the chilling scenario Zyan was currently envisioning.
"I see," she replied, unflustered, but added, "going up seems like a very, very good idea. I'll brief Anna - she thinks the lift is operational, but the track is damaged just before it reaches the sunstrip."
All three of them scrambled up the netting. The dead ZSP was still there, joined now by his compatriot, who had been Shara's second victim.
"Pitch them over the side," Zyan said, as he located the controls. "Less weight." The controls were simple enough – you shoved a lever in the direction you wanted the lift to go. They began to ascend, way too slowly for Zyan's liking, but gaining speed.
Alenda tilted her head to one side. "I'm not familiar with this version of the BlackTalk interface – it was still in the preliminary testing stages when I left Shankill. What does 'hide and seek mode activated' mean?" Alenda asked.
"It means that the cruiser captain read Vadansky's mail and paid a visit to my cousin before they hit the hyper limit," Zyan replied. "More practically, it means they know where we are. Could I possibly have that back?" He asked.
"Here." Alenda handed the BlackTalk unit back to him. "Also, do you mean a literal cousin?"
"I literally do," Zyan replied, as he fit the crystal back into his ear. "You're serious about the whole not reading minds thing, aren't you?"
Alenda nodded. "I don't doubt it will take serious work, but yes, I am. It's always going to be a part of me, but I have it under control now."
"Maybe I'll actually be able to beat you once or twice in the dojo, then," Shara said with a smile, as she heaved the last pirate corpse over the side. Zyan noted that she seemed far less suspicious of her friend Alenda the telepath than she had of enigmatic artificial intelligence Anna the telepath, but that was probably only to be expected.
They were already quite high up – the body fell for a while.
"As far as his cousin goes, she's called Merisa, also she's my girlfriend," Shara explained. "She's a Princess, but it's not a big deal or anything. Now that we've achieved going-upness, Zyan, can you tell those of us not sharing the other one's thoughts exactly why we're doing it?"
"In a minute," Zyan said, and activated the BlackTalk unit. It advised him there was a real-time channel open to the third unit. "Saito, this is CS Jarvis, come in," he said. There was no answer. "FSPS Sassinak, this is CS Jar-, no, actually, this is Commander Jarvis, FSP Naval Reserve, please respond."
Again, no response, even to a fellow officer. Someone had to be listening – the fact that they were choosing not to reply was a very bad indication. He pressed on anyway.
"FSPS Sassinak, be advised there are two repeat two condensed cruisers in-system, last known location orbit fifth planet, capabilities unknown, consider hostile. The BX Are We There Yet? has been compromised by a Steeplejack threat, any intel received from Brendan should be considered tainted. Guildmember Falkstrom is with us, she has an effective Steeplejack countermeasure, I say again, Guildmember Falkstrom has an effective Steeplejack countermeasure. We need to retrieve a friendly, and then require extraction ASAP. Please respond."
They did not. The lift rose higher and higher. It was still not high enough for Zyan's liking, although the 'ground' was now far below, and the sunstrip seemed closer.
"You were right, Shara. Anna has detected what she thinks is a spread of torpedoes. Impact forty eight seconds," Alenda said, then: "Oh no, they're all targeted on the stern."
Anna was very close to the stern. Zyan got back onto BlackTalk. "Abort! Saito, abort those torpedoes, shard it! Sassinak, there are friendlies still aboard the target vessel, abort that launch!"
Still no response.
"Shardholes," he cursed. "Abort that sharding launch, damn it! It won't be enough to be sure anyway! We have an effective countermeasure!"
He looked at Alenda. "Hate to ask this, but can you…?" He let it hang.
Alenda knew what he meant, but she shook her head. "They're too far away, I can't even sense them. Neither can Anna."
Still nothing. He closed his eyes, shook his head. "Tell Anna sorry," he said.
"She wishes us the best of luck. She doesn't seem afraid. She doesn't think your shuttle will survive, though," Alenda said. "Revised time to impact, thirty seven seconds. Anna says she can detect eight separate torpedoes. She's mobile, trying to get clear. There will be no further updates."
Zyan wondered how Anna had managed to become mobile. Evidently she'd taken his suggestion to think about escape to heart.
"Okay, seal helmets, check your rifles are safetied and sling them round your chests, move to the edge of the platform, and make sure your magboots are disengaged," Zyan instructed.
"Disengaged?" Shara asked, surprised.
"You heard right," Zyan confirmed. "Same reason we're going up. When those birds hit we're gonna lose atmosphere, but that's gonna be the least of our problems."
They all sealed their helmets and moved to the edge of the lift platform, and the conversation moved over to the suit comms.
Zyan went on, quickly. "We're in a huge cylinder, spinning to create what is referred to as gravity. If the cylinder stops spinning suddenly – for example because some shardhole launches a spread of torpedoes at it, probably staggered to hit one after the other, for deep penetration – then it stops, and we lose gravity."
"So we should make sure we're attached to something!" Shara objected.
"Big nope, Shara," Zyan said. He looked up – or at least what was 'up' for the moment. They were getting near the sunstrip. Good. "Because it's not really gravity, it's centrifugal force. The cylinder stops, but anything on it still has momentum. It's gonna be like a reverse earthquake down there, so our best chance is to be as far off the deck as possible: slower spin equals less momentum. How long?"
"Five seconds," Alenda said. Zyan I love you.
I love you too, he answered. "Right, stand at the edge and grab onto each other. This is likely to be, well, I don't know exactly. I've never done this before. Not, I'm betting, good."
Zyan started counting down in his head. 5, 4, 3...