Chapter Four
Heritage and Redcliffe Quay, Saint John's
As far as cruise ships went, the Sirine Queen was on the smaller side, in Jamella's considered opinion, as the three came within sight of the dock, overflowing with crowds, either embarking, disembarking, or simply there for the metal reggae concert, taking place in the adjoining plaza.
Still, while undersized, the vessel was gorgeous, and clearly intended for well-to-do passengers.
The festive atmosphere, and the ambient decibel level, was such, that Irwine had to raise his voice to even make himself heard. For the two women and their cochlear implants, there was no such difficulty, even if both had to tune them down to their lowest setting, to prevent auditory overload.
"Oh geez... and I THOUGHT ROCK GIGS WERE LOUD...! This is worse..." - he shook his head to himself, feeling the rapid-timbre basso literally thudding in his brain, as they made a circle around the plaza's outskirts. Even this far from the stage, the noise was near-pain threshold. How did those lunatics in the mosh-pit next to the stage deal with it, the man couldn't begin to guess. Permanent hearing damage probably?! While he liked various kinds of music, this was just too damn loud for him to appreciate it.
"WHAT...?!" - Jamella barked, as she increased the gain slightly, to hear him. The instant she did, she recoiled, from the amplified reverb, feeling dizzy.
"I SAID I WISH I WAS DEAF!" - the man glared sarcastically. She grimaced, but nodded, lowering the gain once more. She never expected that being deaf-on-demand would come so useful. But she was grateful that her implants had that functionality.
Yelena stayed quiet, but picked up her pace, making a beeline towards the pier itself, and the ticket terminals there. The sooner they were aboard, the better. Even moreso then Jamella or Irwine, the aquline woman didn't appreciate too loud music. She loved music, but not like this. This was obnoxiously loud. She relied a lot on her enhanced hearing, for acquisition of potential threats, not to mention keeping an ear on any stray transmissions or signals in the area.
At the moment, it was all drowned out. Which made her feel exposed. Fleetingly, she considered that a clever ambusher might use this noise to their advantage, and catch her off guard. Unlikely of course, right here and now, but not impossible.
Inside the pier enclosure leading up to the check-in terminal, things got considerably quieter, and the cyborg woman restored the hearing threshold, looking back the way she came. Her height allowed her to see over most of the crowd, to spot Irw and Jamella just making their way in. Giving them a wave, she turned and headed for one of the check-in desks.
Once more, she couldn't fail to appreciate the fact that there was no such thing as checkpoints, here. No checkpoints, no segregation, no 'hanzer lines'. Nonethless, augmented passengers were definitely in the minority, as far as she could see. And many of the natches, especially foreign tourists, did look at her with a degree of... ambivalence, mixed with thinly veiled disapproval.
Yelena didn't care. As long as they kept their bigotry to themselves. If not – normally it didn't take more then a look, from her, to make people think twice about giving her any crap. She still had her patented medusa stare, available and ready to be unleashed when she wanted it. And it hadn't lost any of it's intimidation potential, over the years. She made a habit of making hardened spec-ops types nervous with it, an average person was like a deer in headlights.
Case in point – a trio of young toughs off to one side hanging out under an overhang, chewing on cigaweeds and eyeing her white-jeans red-tank-top cybernetic figure, with a mixture of lust and disdain, as she approached the desk. Chains and leather, that puffed-up fake-tough attitude she came to expect from insecure tough guy types, and one sported a faded Humanity Front scarf around his neck.
The aquiline woman smirked to herself.
And here I thought the Front went out of fashion... now with the ghettos, the prejudice is a bit more hands-on! These guys are behind the times... shouldn't they be beating up some of those Machine God nutcases, not stalking passengers for a cruise liner? And where is the security... ? Eh. Local colour I suppose.
The trio 'casually' sauntered towards her.
"Ey, chica, aren't you goin' the wrong way? You gonna rust out at sea!" - the biggest of the three, and the ugliest, in her considered opinion, called. That mohawk really didn't fit, on that chubby face. The other two sniggered, as they tried to block her path.
Yelena didn't so much as slow down, bumping straight between the two, knocking them both off their feet as she passed, to land with a moan on their asses. They looked outraged as they scrambled back up, but the woman's tall stature and sinous, relaxed, mantis-like gait, was enough to make them think twice about trying anything.
"Oops. Sorry about that. I did not notice you there." - she threw over her shoulder noncommitally.
"HEY...! I'm talkin' to you-" - the ringleader started, fingering a telescopic baton stuffed in his pocket, before Yelena suddenly turned her head to shoot him a look.
That look. The medusa one. Hollow, penetrating, lifeless. Boring through him, to a patch of wall behind.
The thug bit his lip, dithering on the spot, as his expression changed. He paled, visibly, then muttered something under his breath, looking away indecisively, before he reluctantly walked off, glancing back only once.
She looked at the other two. They didn't even meet her eyes as they each pretended to adjust their clothes, chewing on their cigaweeds nervously, before they followed suit. Without another word, she walked up to the desk, and smiled at the clerk, her expression changing to pleasant, once more.
"Tickets for three, please. Preordered under Steyn, Lessner, and Amaro." - listing all three of their alter-ego's last names.
"Looked like trouble down there for a minute. Those three punks, I mean. Sorry we didn't catch up sooner..." - Irwine murmured quietly, once they were on their way up the access ramp, as a tour guide nearby went over the finer points of their route for the next week.
The three didn't pay much attention to it, unlike most of the other passengers. They were eager to get to their cabin and unpack.
"No trouble." - Yelena replied casually. Jamella didn't look convinced, though.
"Not so sure... Don't you guys think it's funny how there wasn't a sec guard in sight? We saw 'em all over the plaza and the pier, except that one place just before the check-in desks. Plus how did those three guys even make it that far into the terminal? Just hanging around there, like they were waiting for something – or someone." - the girl frowned.
At that, Irwine rubbed his chin.
"Well, it's not like security around here is top notch or anything. A lot of those guys will look the other way for a credit chit, so there's plenty of ways for someone to get into the terminal. Plus, if they were waiting for us – why? What's the point? They couldn't have been any kind of ambush team, those three idiots!" - he chuckled, then turned serious, "And it's a lousy place for an ambush. Too crowded."
But Yelena pursed her lips.
"Now that you mention it, they did seem to be just... waiting there, until they saw me. There were a few other augmented people ahead, and they did not pay them any attention. Strange. And the whole Humanity Front paraphernalia... it makes little sense. Three years ago it would have been the thing to rally behind, for all those bigot types. Now, it's very obsolete. Their type no longer needs a 'cause' to make trouble for us." - she murmured.
Entering their shared cabin in the 2nd class section of the vessel, they began to unpack. Irwine's idea; not to be too flashy, but also not to be among the 3rd class peasants, since that would restrict their scope of movement and activity aboard ship, too much. A golden medium worked best, given their actual reason for being here.
"Hmm. Maybe they were trying to sell the 'anti-aug' thing, but just went a little too much on the nose about it? Trying too hard, you know?" - the man suggested. Yelena nodded, opening her backpack and spreading it's contents on the table.
A Buzzkill stun pistol and three packs of electro-darts, a spool of nylon rope with a climbing hook, a pair of electronic multitools, and three gas grenades. No firearms, no lethal weapons, aside from her pair of blades, which she never separated from.
"Maybe. If so, very amateurish... but still, why? Why get our attention like that, especially since they never even came aboard... ?" - she paused, glancing at Jamella.
"Or did they...? Can you access the onboard security grid? Camera footage? Especially of the boarding ramp and orientation concourse?"
"In my sleep. Just get me to any terminal... preferably one out of sight!" - the girl smirked, tapping the dataport on the side of her neck.
The Nelson Club, manager's office...
"Did you do what we needed you to do?" - a shadowy figure on the holocomm terminal asked.
The manager, a bead of cold sweat pouring from his brow, fidgeted nervously.
"It's all done; they think it's a cartel assignment, and they took it... uh... they're aboard, and the ship should be sailing out right about now. My guys confirmed it, and got aboard to keep tabs on 'em... but... but this could bite me in the ass, if the Collective gets wind of it... I'll be disappeared! Not even my cartel contacts can save me... I've put a lot on the line, you people better protect me!" - the fat man jabbed a finger at the figure, trying to project a tough front.
The figure crossed it's arms, resolving itself into a flickering image of a large, heavily augmented man, an Inter-Guarda emblem on his custom heavy-armour suit's collar, next to a VersaLife logo.
~"Cast your burden unto the Lord, and He will sustain you, He will never permit the righteous to be moved."~ - with unsettlingly fanatical conviction.
"You've proven yourself righteous, despite your allegiance to terrorists, criminals and anarchists. You've cast off the shackles of lawlessness and depravity, and will be rewarded accordingly." - the large cyborg added, his rugged, militaristic tone in sharp contrast with the quoted Bible verse.
~"I will give you a new heart, and put a new spirit within you; I will take the heart of stone out of your flesh, and give you, a heart of flesh~ , so the good Lord tells us. Take succor in that."
Being very careful to restrain a contemptuous smirk, the manager scowled...
"Not to be the one to question the... Lord... mister Zelazny, but I want something more concrete. A New Sons commando, and a former Tyrant operative, aren't the kind of people I want on my case, hunting me down for treason. Especially if half of what your intel files say about them, are true!" - leaning forward in his chair.
Zelazny shook his head.
"Inside of a week, they won't be anybody's concern anymore." - with conviction, "But we all have our part to play. You want out, and you want the ability to turn legitimate. My employers will provide your redemption, but for now, your cover with the Collective has to stay intact. See to it. We'll see to the rest." - before the holo-image winked out.
Leaving the fat man alone in his office, to rub his hands nervously. Truth be told, his relationship with the Collective was profitable enough, but it didn't offer the kind of long term security, he was after.
New York, VersaLife Regional HQ
"It's done, sir. The trap's been primed, and the rogues have stepped into it." - Zelazny spoke as he entered the room, clasping his hands behind his back, as he faced a bald figure sitting in a chair turned away, looking through the window at a New York cityscape.
While the cyborg kept his tone mostly neutral, there was no escaping the conflict in it.
The seated figure spun around, favouring the augmented soldier with a curiously kind, beneficent smile.
"It's for the best, Commander Zelazny. I'm sure you will agree, vengeance and punishment should be in the Lord's hands, not the man's. One should admire their desire for justice, but not at the expense of inciting chaos and disorder, which is what the Juggernaut Collective and their minions seem to want to accomplish. And for what? Because they believe they are saving the world from a secret... cabal... of conspirators? Because their intentions are... righteous?" - Volkard Rand stood up, pacing over to a liquor cabined and pulling out a Johnny Walker bottle, and two glasses.
Michael Zelazny looked even more conflicted.
"Three years ago, when I liberated my unit from neuro-hub control, and realised we were being used, I thought I could change the world, myself. That all it took, would be killing all the wrong people, and things would be automatically set right..." - he sighed.
"But it never stops. No matter how deeply we dug down the rabbit hole, more wrong people kept coming into the light. And killing them, made little difference. Even more wrong people replaced them, and the wheel kept turning. It's... it's..." - he paused, old frustration bubbling beneath the man's surface.
Rand kept his beneficent expression, but inwardly, he felt vindicated.
And that was the original purpose of the Illuminati. To moderate self-defeating human nature, beneath a shroud of benevolent conspiracy. That goal has never changed. Now more then ever, with transhumanity at stake... the price of wrong decisions has never been higher.
"It's human nature, Michael. The desire for self-elevation, countered by a desire for retribution, by those hurt by it. A perpetual process. The key to breaking it, is to rise above it, and take a multi-perspective approach." - he adopted a father confessor's mien, motioning the cyborg to join him at the table, as he poured two shots.
"Vigilantism is a band-aid, not a solution. Solutions come from long-term incremental influence on the perceptions of society, not myopic acts of punishment and retribution. You realised that on your own, when you made the choice to accept a position here at VersaLife." - before he gesture-activated a videowall on one side, bringing up the intel files they had, on Yelena Fedorova and Irwine.
"They fail to see that. One is a disillusioned terrorist, looking to overthrow the establishment just for the sake of it, without any coherent thought on what should come in it's place; the other, a jaded, vengeful soul, seeking to punish and settle scores. And neither of them really cares, about the common people caught in the middle. That's the problem with vigilantism – it fails to account for what happens after. What happens, after they had their pound of flesh, and satisfied their need for personal justice? After the dust settles, and they have their new world, the way they think they want it? What then? The Juggernaut Collective preaches a release from the elitist establishment. But they do not preach, on what should replace it. They simply want to destroy. Tear down. They have no vision on what to build, in place of that which they seek to get rid of." - he took a sip of the whiskey.
"They believe that humanity will sort itself out, magically. How did that work out, throughout history? Circles of repeated suffering. Wars, strife, chaos."
Zelazny bit his lip, but nodded reluctantly.
"I guess we never really change. Or evolve." - under his breath.
"No. We don't." - Rand nodded, seizing on the opportunity, "We think we do, and that is part of our inherent arrogance, as a species. We advance in technology and our command of the world around us, but that advancement isn't matched by our mentality evolving." - he nodded at the screen, and the two faces there.
"Both of them have their reasons, reasons that in their minds, seem perfectly valid to act upon. Both see the world through their own lens of experiences. And there's nothing wrong with that..." - he noted Zelazny's look of surprise.
"...if it didn't also involve creating chaos and uncertainty for humanity at large." - which prompted a nod, "There has been enough chaos and uncertainty, in the past several years. We do not need more." - draining the rest of the glass.
Zelazny nodded again, following suit.
"When do we leave, sir? Preparations are complete, we can deploy and infiltrate the vessel within 48 to 72 standard hours, if needed, at one of the points when it's between territorial waters. Between the proliferation of civilians, and the predicted low-difficulty profile of their intended assignment, chances are high we'll catch them completely off-guard." - tone turning fully professional.
"At your discretion, Commander." - Rand gestured with his hand, "But keep in mind their intended assignment is sabotage. I would suggest you time your approach to coincide with their efforts, so you can pretend you're an anti-terrorist unit there to foil them. It will be an excellent cover, and it will grant you full cooperation from the ship's crew, in cornering them."
Zelazny rubbed his chin, looking unconvinced...
"That's a serious level of coordination, sir. Means up-to-minute intelligence from our cartel contact's men aboard, will be needed. Let's hope he's as reliable as you claim. I've got my... doubts. And that his men are up to the job." - before he walked out.
Aboard the Sirine Queen, just leaving port...
"No sign of 'em on the passenger manifest... but they definitely boarded." - Jamella frowned, routing the hacked camera feed to a tablet for both of them to see.
The footage showed the three punks, walking past the check-in alcove on the main concourse without the clerk giving them a second look, before they turned into the hallway leading to a 3rd class elevator.
"That's odd. Nobody checked their tickets at all... what the fuck is going on? Who ARE those guys?" - Irwine frowned.
Yelena was silent for a long moment.
"Save the footage, Jamella. And see if you can get more, from the lower decks. I want to know exactly where they're staying." - she ordered.
"Someone's coming... we better disconnect." - Irwine put in a whisper, briefly peering past the corner.
The three quickly disconnected from the terminal, shut it off and casually walked down the hallway, to the observation lounge.
"You plan to ask them?" - Jamella inquired, under her breath. The aquiline woman nodded.
"Yes. I get the feeling they're here to observe us. They aren't very good at it, but the pattern is there."
Irwine led the way to the bar, ordering a cocktail for himself. Jamella made that two, while Yelena just asked for a glass of water.
"At least we can be pretty sure they don't work for the cabal... unless the Illuminati recruitment standards dropped down to zero. Those three really stand out like a sore thumb!" - Irwine commented derisively.
"That's beside the point... the very fact that someone seems to be observing us, means that our assignment here has likely been compromised." - Yelena reminded him firmly, then added...
"And I can think of very few people, who would know about it." - significantly, a flash in her dark eyes.