The Serpents and the Skulls, Chapter 1.4
25 Mar 2017Michael Wolfe
“Well?”
Apollonia is standing before me, in her usual white leathers. From the maniacally giddy look in her eye, I already know that she’s succeeded in her task. We’re in my expansive walk-in closet, surrounded by clothing and preparing for the day ahead.
“Azalea was in his arms before the door to her suite had even shut.”
I nod, pleased with my minion. “And did she see you?”
An amused look crosses her face. “Ma cheri, she wouldn’t have seen me if I’d danced naked in the corridor!"
I step forward, letting my hand brush along the swell of her breast, pausing to gently tweak a nipple. Apollonia’s face flushes as I feel it harden between my fingers.
“Good. This Wolfgang Teilhard savage should be a bit more pliable for this round of negotiations.”
A playfully curious look spread over her face. “Anything to help the annexation, oui?”
I give my minion’s breast a final squeeze, and turn to select a necklace. The painite teardrop with the matching earrings always go well with whatever I choose. Apollonia has only to see where my gaze had fallen before she picks up the jewelry and begins affixing it to me. As I feel the prick of the earring, I smile slightly.
“It was more than just the annexation that was helped. I needed to see what sort of man this Wolfgang is. And now I know.”
The weight of the necklace snakes around my neck as Apollonia fastens it from behind. “And what kind of man is he, mon ami?”
I look at my reflection in the mirror and smile cunningly. “The useful kind.”
Negotiations proceed far more smoothly the second day. In fact, an accord is agreed upon before it’s even time for lunch.
The envoy preserves all the trappings of warrior posturing and drives a hard bargain, of course. But in the end, he agrees to all of Black Omega’s terms. The man presents himself well, not sneaking glances at Azalea nearly as often as I’d thought he would. But glance he does, and though her face remains neutral, her eyes betray her secret to any woman who could see.
Fortunately, I’m the only other woman on the council.
Though the accord is agreed upon, the actual signing won’t take place for another week. That gives time for Deggie to organize an elaborate celebration for the upper crust of both Black Omega and the Gold Crew. Like a marriage, it’s always better to embark on a long-term relationship with a party. And if all the men from the Gold Crew are like their envoy…
I shake my head. No. Deggie will expect you to be on-hand and sociable. Let Azalea spread for every chiseled face that shows up. You have more important matters to see to.
With the purpose of the meeting accomplished, the council adjourns. This time, Degginal doesn’t keep me for a private chat. This suits me- it’s my intention to see if the man makes his way to Azalea’s suite again.
He does, and doesn’t emerge for several hours.
Even as Apollonia relays the news, the wheels of my mind turn. Kat von Steuben aside, things might be looking up with the Gold Crew situation. Azalea has clearly charmed one of their inner circle, and she in turn is closer to no one on the council. We’re the best of friends, after all. We lunch, we exchange smiling kisses, and there are no secrets between us.
What a pleasant fiction we maintain…
I despise and distrust her, and she regards me with grotesque, spiteful envy. Things may have been genuinely warm between us once, back when I was just a druggie pirate and she was a nightclub owner. But then she started working for Jaz, and I started working for Deggie- and swiftly discovered that the ladder of ambition seldom supports two people at once.
The counsel assembles in the landing pad’s observation tower to see the envoy off. A last round of formal pleasantries are exchanged and mighty oaths of future fealty are sworn. The fake smiles remain on the council members’ faces even as the massive Anaconda-class ship lifts off and slowly flies out of the mailslot. As before, the mood among them is conflicted- some are relieved that the deal went through, and others are suspicious of the envoy’s sudden change of heart. Either way, we’re due for guests in a week.
The distress signal is received that night. It isn’t to us specifically, but to any ship or station within range- and there isn’t much of Black Omega space that isn’t constantly monitored. The order to investigate comes from Deggie himself. Before I know it, I’m in the Seren Du with Idris and a contingent of Black Omega enforcers strapped into the troop transport bays.
I scowl at the pilot as I look over the auxiliary controls. “You fly like a newjack going to his first combat zone. I know that this ship can go faster.”
The man’s face tightens. He’s no novice, of course- the consigliere of Black Omega gets an Elite-rated member of the Pilot’s Federation with more ambition than scruples. Being a passenger on my own ship was one of the most bitter pills I had to swallow upon promotion. Degginal, however, insisted that I refrain from flying myself like I had in the past.
“We have thousands of pilots, but only one consigliere,” he had said. “And a consigliere’s mind must be free of distraction.”
But he'd been right. I needed to focus on how I'd handle the details once I was there. Not only was it a potential disaster- an accident befalling the envoy after such an important meeting- but it was a matter of diplomatic face that someone important personally lead the effort to find and aid him.
The pilot knows better than to argue, so he instead sticks to the task at hand. “We’re coming up to the distress beacon now.”
I renew my scowl, still slightly resentful that Deggie had sent me on such a mundane task.
“Probably just a blown frameshift drive,” I mutter.
In moments, the Seren Du is back into normal space. I take a moment to get my bearings-and gasp.
The envoy’s Anaconda is slowly spinning, small fires and white geysers of atmosphere leaking from its hull. Weapons fire has savaged where the engines and frameshift drive are housed, and hull integrity is barely holding.
Without needing to be ordered, the pilot brings the Seren Du alongside the Anaconda. “Looks like you were right about the blown frameshift,” he says calmly.
Not having time to berate him for speaking out of turn, I unstrap myself and stride down the hall, Idris close behind. Like it or not, this is now a spacewalk job. We descend into the troop quarters, ordering them to prepare to go “outside” as I open a locker to don an armored Black Omega boarding suit.
Idris assists me with putting on the heavy gear, and I find myself almost reliving old times- like I was going to loot the struck Anaconda of everything in its hold instead of lending aid. I shake my head and don the black-visored helmet.
That was a long time ago, Marra. When you were passing out from too much o-head every night and barely had two credit chips to rub together.
On my order, the team assembles in the airlock chamber as the helmet’s red-tinted tactical display flickers on. The door opens, causing the air to rush out in a white puff as I hold up my hand.
“Hold!”
The Anaconda floats into view before us. A gash in the cargo bay presents our best opportunity to swiftly enter the crippled vessel. I gesture to the dark, jagged tear in the hull and take a deep breath. I would need to time the insertion just right...
“Enforcers! Into the cargo bay! Loose!”
In unison, I and the team release our magboots and fire our maneuvering jets, launching ourselves towards the Anaconda. The speed and precision isn’t strictly necessary, but this is a team that is trained to take and hold ships- and old, efficient habits aren’t easy to overcome.
We speed through the gash in the ship’s hull, switching to low-light magnification to compensate for the total darkness. To a man, the team lands and re-engage magboots, shining their lights around and verifying that the bay is secure before forming up by the cargo bay access.
I gesture for the men to open the door, which is still on thanks to the ship’s emergency power. We walk in and re-secure the access, forming a sort of airlock down the ship’s corridor for the life support to slowly bring back. All around us, debris floats in the darkness, and rotating emergency lights illuminate the corridor in red and yellow hues.
Cautiously, two enforcers lead the way, plasma rifles at the ready. There’s no sign of the crew, nor of the envoy himself. We don’t know what’s happened other than a violent attack on the ship. But who would deliberately attack a diplomatic mission of the Gold Crew, and in Black Omega space? And who would be able to track it down and blast it in the first place?
There’s no idle chatter among the men as we search the ship level by level. Like before, there’s no sign of the crew. What we do find is extensive small-arms damage, and on every level. The pockmarks and blackened scorches tell the tale of violent boarding action. Idris touches his hand to a length of slagged bulkhead near the bridge entrance.
“We are not the first,” he tonelessly reports.
I draw closer to him, subtly touching his armored wrist.
“No, old friend. We are not,” I say on a private channel.
With the enforcers’ weapons at the ready, the door to the Anaconda’s bridge swings open. We round the corner and see-
No. By all the gods, no!
Wolfgang Teilhard, envoy of the Nijkas Gold Crew and bearer of the Golden Dragons, lays dead in the commander’s chair. He's held in place by the chair’s straps, his arms floating in the weightless vacuum. But I don't feel the heavy leaden weight in my belly until Idris shines his suit’s searchlight on the corpse.
Both of Wolfgang’s wonderfully tattooed arms have been skinned from shoulder to fingertip. On his lifeless face is a final expression of pain and rage. Tiny droplets of blood float around the bridge as the team fans out, searching every nook and cranny. They’re following procedure, but I instantly know what has happened.
This was no simple bandit raid. The envoy was meant to be found like this. Idris reaches forward, holding the man’s bloody skeletal fingers in his own armored ones. I could make out a slight shake of the head and a subtle glance in my direction.
“Nid wyf yn deall,” he privately comms.
I set my face, taking in the grisly scene. “It’s a deliberate insult,” I say. “In their culture, the loss of one's serpent tattooes is the most extreme punishment possible. But it doesn’t make any sense. Only someone else from the Crew would even bother to-”
The general comms chirp. It’s the pilot, from the bridge of the Seren Du. “Council, we have a new signal. Fer de Lance class, approaching rapidly. Shall I-”
The signal cuts out as though being jammed, and for a moment nothing came over comms except static. Then, it clears up as a new signal overrides the one from the Seren Du.
We hear her before we see her. Ominous, accented laughter, echoing through the ship’s hull and into our ears. A sleek triangular shape with curved, dark lines comes into view. Sure enough, it’s a black Fer de Lance, hardpoints deployed and a raven-haired woman in the commander’s seat.
I seethe, baring my teeth under the black-visored helmet. Even from a distance, I know who the newcomer is.
“Bitch,” I say to no one in particular.
Over the comms, we heard a delighted gasp as the woman checked her display. She edges her ship forward a few more meters until the shields ripple.
“Meine kleine Amsel, is that you?”
“Are you certain that was wise?”
The raven-haired woman looked at the dying Anaconda, leaking the last of its atmosphere into the void of space. The exhaust trail from the departed Python was still barely visible from the bridge of her Fer de Lance. Smirking to herself, she turned back to the holographic K-cast of her clan’s elder.
“Aber ja, mein Herr. News of her death might have rallied the Skulls and inspired them to glory. Now she and her people must wallow in humiliation and fear. It is a good trade, ja?”
A disturbed look crossed the man’s face. Golden serpent tattoos covered both his bare arms and crawled up to even his face. “And these tactics that you would have us use? Wolfgang was one thing- a traitor, undeserving of an honorable death. But everything else? You insist on too much.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed, meeting the gaze of her superior with ease. “I insist on victory and survival. Nothing else.”
The man nodded, the years of pious devotion in his eyes. “You would never have made it this far if the Black Dragon himself had not supported you. Even now he speaks of your plan for the Skulls with fervor.”
Her eyes focused in an expression of icey bloodlust. “All are in the coils of the Great Serpent, are they not?”
The Elder slowly nodded, wrestling with the tumultuous changes that were ahead. In his time, no warrior would have ever considered the course of action upon which his clan was embarking. Nor would it have found itself so dependent on the guidance of a low-level outsider with the simple green serpents of a commoner on her arms.
But it wasn’t his time, he reminded himself. And the Great Serpent ever sheds the skin of the past. The fleet was ready. The warriors were ready. And the Black Dragon himself was eager to do his part.
“Indeed they are,” he replied. “And soon, the Omegas will be choking in its grip.”