| abstract
| - An artificial intelligence talked to a mercenary. "Four million credits," Diana said, raising a quartet of extended holographic fingers and wiggling them up at her partner's face. "Four million credits." Simon-G294, known to most of the underworld's criminal community as Mordred, looked away from the holo-display on the grimy table and did a quick scan of the sparsely populated bar, a dingy little dive on the even dingier Outer Colony world of New Ceylon. Still all human patrons. That was good. The Path Walkers probably wouldn't hire "filth" to do their job for them, which mean that no two-bit losers would think to try and claim the seven-figure bounty they'd placed on his head. "We have four million credits," Diana continued cheerfully. "That's one million times four. Four times one million. Four one millions--" "Alright, I get the picture," Simon groaned, reaching for the mug of dull, flavorless beer he'd taken from the bartender. "Yeah, we had a good haul. Not that it matters now." "Oh, but it matters a whole lot," Diana said, throwing a lock of blond hair over her digital shoulder with a toss of her head. "We are rich, dumbass. Richer than any of the losers we normally have to hang out with. Richer than just about anyone in our line of work. Rich, rich, rich." She was practically doing a little dance on the table, her legs making tiny skipping movements as she talked. "What's got you in such a good mood?" Simon demanded, choking down the foul-tasting beer in a single gulp. He wiped the murky liquid off his chin with his left hand or, to be more precise, the skeletal prosthetic that had replaced his entire left arm. "Usually you're bitching that we haven't gotten enough out of the last job." "Well, usually we aren't sitting pretty on four million credits," Diana informed him. "Now we are. Get the difference, dumbass?" "I'll tell you the difference I'm getting," Simon growled. "Remember that cute little list of people the Fallen used to have? You know, the ones they were paying money to have killed? Well, the Path Walkers have taken over that little corner of the assassination market, and guess what? My name's on that list now. And that's not even taking the fact that the UNSC knows I'm alive now into account. So, my life was in the shitter before we signed on with Kahn, and now someone just came and flushed it for good measure." "But you've been flushed down the shitter with four million credits for the trouble." "Great. The only thing I should be thinking of using it for is bribing the hit squad ONI's going to send our way the minute they get a fix on where we are, which, seeing how wonderfully everything else has been going, will probably be in a matter of hours." Diana snorted. "Relax, dumbass. I think the UNSC and its Union buddies are going to be a little distracted for a while. Just check out the news." Simon glanced over at the bar's cracked broadcasting screen, which showed a grim-faced news anchor indicating a glowing star chart. The words Naval Engagements on Outer Rim were emblazoned below him. "More reports of Interspecies Union naval forces engaging ships belonging to the Path Walker faction are coming in from the frontier," the anchor was saying. "UNSC officials have confirmed that additional warships are being contributed to the Union's joint navies to bolster its ability to maintain the security of frontier colonies." "See?" said Diana, waving a slender, holographic hand at the screen. "That little war you started should help keep them from worrying about little old you. Stop worrying so much." "Would you shut up about that?" Simon put his head in his hands. "I didn't start that war, okay? Kahn and I just got caught in the crossfire, Nothing more, nothing less." "Don't be so modest," Diana mocked. "I think having some guys dressed up as a Spartan and an ODST breaking into their compound and kidnapping one of their friends helped kick things off. Don't let those UNSC goons take all the credit." "I said shut up," Simon snarled through gritted teeth. "It was just a job! I wasn't looking for trouble with the UNSC!" "Then explain that suit of Spartan armor we've got stashed back at the apartment," Diana told him with a smirk. "That's another thing you're not taking credit for: offing that Spartan guy. I mean, you couldn't have done it without me, but for you it's still pretty impressive." "Do you want me to turn you the fuck off?" Simon was seriously getting angry now, and not just at Diana. He could still remember the chaos back in that forest, how they'd isolated that Spartan who'd come after them, confused him with holo-drones, the way his energy sword had felt as he slashed the super soldier's head off... Simon squeezed his eyes shut until they hurt. Anything to take his mind off everything that had happened over the course of the past week. He downed the last of his drink, choking down the foul liquid in the hopes that it would kill all the stupid feelings and memories that were churning around inside him. I'm done with all this guilt shit. That's what I told Tuka, right? All this crap that happens around me, it's not like it's all my fault. I don't need to go running back to the Visag keep with my tail between my legs just because a job went south. Same with Cassandra. She can keep all that peaceful living stuff to herself. It's not who I am. It's not who I'm supposed to be. But as many times as he repeated those lines to himself, the guilts and doubts just wouldn't go away. He'd been doing a lot of unwanted thinking over the past few days, reliving a hell of a lot of old memories that he'd thought he'd buried a long time ago. And the real kicker was that it all boiled down to one thing. He reached his organic hand into a pouch on his battered Semi-Powered Infiltration armor and pulled out a small yellow capsule, which he crushed between his teeth. The gold-colored liquid inside tasted even worse than his beer, but he choked it down anyway. He couldn't be too careful these days. The strange, Sanghelios-based disease that had been steadily attacking his lungs for the past two years had been getting worse than ever over the last couple of months. If he went a day or even too many hours without taking him one of the capsules, he could end up on the ground, unable to breath and spitting out his own blood. That's where that four million's really going, he thought numbly as the burning fluid wound its way down his throat. Buying more of the damn meds from Syndicate dealers. More and more lately, he'd been doing the unthinkable and considering the option of taking his old friend Tuka 'Refum up on his offer to return to the Visag keep on Sanghelios. The kaidon there, Roni 'Visag, had once saved him from a savage Brute slave camp and brought him back to the keep, where he'd been allowed to study the art of wielding an energy sword as if he were a young Sangheili warrior. Although he'd been loath to admit it then, now Simon looked back on the period as one of the best times in his life, free of war or fear or death, the three things that had dominated the rest of his life. And yet he hadn't been able to handle it. He'd walked away from the keep because he simply couldn't adjust to such a secluded, peaceful life, and if he went back now, he'd just be a drain on the keep's finances, with his constant need for the pills to keep his disease in check. Besides, Tuka had already risked too much in letting him go after the Path Walker disaster; the last thing he needed was for a wanted criminal to show up at his adoptive home seeking shelter. Another option would be to seek out his former Gamma Company comrade, Cassandra-G006, and try to find peace with her. He'd been responsible for nearly everything that had ever happened to her, from the death of her squad to her separation from the rest of their Spartan brethren, and yet she'd chosen to forgive him, remain his friend, and repeatedly extend the offer of escaping the hellish world of crime and mercenary jobs that he dwelled in now. That was but one of many things about her that Simon would never understand. At the end of the day, he couldn't bring himself to just come out and tell Cassandra that deep down he wanted to be more than friends, had wanted that since they'd been together in Gamma Company. They both knew it, had come close to making that a reality during their brief, frigid exile together on Hekate, but in the end nothing had come of it. They'd been reunited for a brief time a few months back, but now Cassandra had gone back to the clinic she worked in back in Sangheili space, putting her peerless medical talents to the non-violent use she'd always wanted to use them for. There wasn't a chance in hell that Simon would go to her and risk bringing either the Path Walkers or UNSC down on her. He'd ruined her life enough times already. "Well, if you're going to be all mopey about it, then I guess I'm the one who gets the credit," Diana was saying. "I, Diana, the greatest construct in the history of artificial intelligence, single-handedly pissed off the Path Walkers and kicked off an interstellar war, giving you meatbags something new to kill each other over. Oh, and I killed a big, bad Spartan while I was at it." She took a deep bow. "Bask in my superior power and intellect, meatbag." Simon glared at her over the rim of his mug. "Just power down already. You're being even more of a miserable bitch than usual." She just shrugged. "I don't see why you meatbags get so busted up over just a hundred thousand or so deaths. It's not like you guys have much to live for anyway." "I'm serious. Shut the hell up." "Since when do you care so much about this stuff anyway? Whatever happened to the whole looking out for number one gig you had going on for a while there?" Simon bristled, but he had to admit she had a point. "Just because I stuck my neck out a few times..." "Let's see," Diana began counting off on her fingers. "Saving Doc back on the asteroid, that nearly got us killed; saving her from those Brutes on Hekate, that got you thrown in a slave camp; that disaster over Famul, our shuttle got blown to kingdom come... yeah, for someone who says he only cares about himself, you've got a real bad habit of getting all noble at the worst possible times." Simon resisted the overwhelming urge to smash the holo-pad. Diana, who was projecting from where she was slotted into his prosthetic arm, would just keep chattering through the speakers he'd unwisely grafted into his armor. He was just about to eject her from the armor when a voice interrupted them. "Mordred!" Simon whirled to see a girl, probably a year or so younger than him, darting over to his table. She wore the working overalls that were all the rage amongst the colonists on New Ceylon along with a white shirt that was covered in grease stains. Her thin, pointed face bore similar stains, and her straw-colored hair had been pulled back to keep it out of her eyes. With a start, Simon instinctively reached for the sidearm strapped to his leg armor. The girl wasn't carrying a weapon, but she could have any manner of lethal instruments hidden in her overall's pockets. Worse, she might just be a distraction, something to get in his way while her accomplices lined up their shots at him. His assault rifle was leaning against the table: within reach, but plenty far away if someone opened fire on him. The girl stopped dead when she realized he had a gun trained on her. A few heads had turned, but most of the patrons knew enough about New Ceylon to mind their own business about things like this. "Keep your hands where I can see them," he warned her quietly. "What the hell are you doing, yelling my name out for the whole damn world to hear?" Rather than looking afraid, she just looked a little hurt. "Don't you remember me? Zoey? From Famul?" Simon blinked, thinking hard. Finally it came to him. "Yeah, I remember you. The slave girl." That had been just one incident amongst many on that shitty trip. He lowered the pistol, and the girl--Zoey--moved closer. "You're jumpy," she said, moving to sit across from him in his booth. "Not being that way gets you killed in my line of work," Simon told her coldly. He was still shaken by her sudden appearance. "What the hell are you doing here? I gave you cash back on Famul didn't I? Why didn't you get back to that rich father you said you had on Earth?" Now that she'd come back to remind him, he'd been hoping to get something out of that particular good deed once she got back to her family. Quite disappointing. "I got back to UNSC space as quick as I could," Zoey assured him. "But the money you gave me was only enough to get me as far as this place." "So why didn't you just call your family from here?" asked Simon, exasperated. He had a lot bigger issues to worry about than some charity case who thought they were friends. Zoey looked away. "You know how hard it is to get an encrypted call done around here?" she asked. "I could do it through local channels, but now I'm never sure who's not listening in." She looked back at him, and Simon saw both fear and determination in her eyes. "I'm never going back into slavery. Ever." "Good for you," chimed in Diana. "The dumbass here learned that the hard way, and he had it way worse than you did." She turned back to Simon. "Now tell me, how was it that you got stuck in those slave pits? Didn't I just remind you?" "Oh, you've got that cute AI with you still!" said Zoey, instantly brightening. Simon flinched at her use of the term "cute"--it was one of many words that could instantly make him nauseous if it wasn't being used sarcastically. Now he was remembering how quickly Zoey's attitude had gotten on his nerves back on Famul. Rescue her from slavery and get her out of harm's way, and she was possibly the most cheerful person he had ever met. Remarkably, Diana didn't take offense. Instead she curtsied and smirked up at Simon. "Well, at least someone appreciates the effort I put into this projection." "Great," Simon muttered to Zoey. "She only likes you because you're a better stooge than I am." Zoey just shrugged. "Pays to be nice to people. That's how I got a job here. Never worked in my life, but I sweet talked the bartender into letting me help around back." Her familiarity bothered Simon in a way that was different from the way most people annoyed him. "Listen," he said. "Glad to see that you got off Famul alright, but I'm a little busy right now. Job problems, the war, all that heavy stuff." "Well, why do you think I came over here?" Zoey demanded. "You're still a merc, right?" "Well, yeah..." "Back on Famul you said you were busy with something else, but you don't look so busy now. How 'bout giving me a lift to Earth now? I swear my dad will shell out enough money to keep you out of cash problems for years." The very promise of all that wealth was enough to make Simon drool. Then his more rational side took over and began pointing out the two main problems with that plan. The first: waltzing into the Inner Colonies and knocking on Earth's doorstep probably wasn't the brightest thing he could do right about now. Second: there was something he'd had back on Famul, something very important that he didn't have now... With his old Insurrectionist shuttle blown to hell, he had no way of actually getting Zoey anywhere, let alone Earth. "Ah, shit," he muttered. Why can't anything ever be simple? "What is it?" Zoey asked. "What's wrong." Simon sighed. "Back on Famul, there was a shuttle that I owned. It had living quarters, a Slipspace drive, the works." "And...?" "It got blown sky high about a day after you got out." "Oh..." Zoey looked crestfallen. "But you're the only merc around here I can trust!" Simon laughed bitterly. "What the hell makes you think you can trust me?" "Yeah," said Diana. "This guy's a nasty piece of work, let me tell you. Right, Simon? Like on Famul, when you could have handed that Tuka kid over to the chieftain like you agreed, but instead you decided to go back to helping him." She shook her head. "It's a shame when mercenaries can't finish the jobs you agree to. But I did like the bit where you told Tuka it was all part of the plan anyway. That was a nice touch." Zoey looked confused. "Well, you did save me. Doesn't that count for something." "Might," Simon said with a shrug, pointedly ignoring his partner. "Might not. I've got my days. But if I don't have a ship, what do you still need me for?" "Like I said, you're the only merc around here I know I can trust. If you can get a ride for me, I'd like some security." Simon leaned forward. "Now you're talking business. What kind of trouble would you be expecting?" "Slavers, pirates, criminals," Zoey said with a shrug. "So basically everyone on this planet," Simon noted wryly. "Do people around here know who you are?" "No, but that doesn't mean they won't find out." "If I book us a trip to Earth, we just need to make sure we don't shout it to the hills." Zoey leaned forward eagerly. "So you'll help me?" "Well yeah, if there's really going to be a payout at the end," Simon told her. "You're positive your dad'll cough up all this cash you're promising?" "He's really generous," Zoey assured him. "Always has been." "Then we've got a deal." Simon leaned back in his chair. "I'll snag us a ride out of here, we hit Earth, and then your dad pays me more credits than I could possibly imagine." "Ooh," Diana teased. "There goes poor Zoey's inheritance." "I'm sure Mordred and my father can reach an agreement," Zoey told her, oblivious to the sarcasm. "How long till you can get us out of here?" Simon thought about it. They would definitely need people they could trust, which ruled out just about everyone on New Ceylon or even in the entirety of the frontier colonies for that matter. That left people he'd worked with before, which ruled out just about everyone else. Then an idea struck him. "There's two guys I know," he said. "They were docked here a week ago, so if they're still here we can get going in under twelve hours. Otherwise, we're stuck here for a few days. Weeks even." "So how long till you know?" Simon reached for his helmet. "About two minutes. How do you feel about aliens?" "Long as they're not trying to enslave me, I can handle them." "Good." Simon donned the helmet and opened a radio channel. The only question now was whether or not the two people he was about to call would actually be happy to hear from him.
|
![[RDF Data]](/fct/images/sw-rdf-blue.png)