The Serpents and the Skulls, Chapter 2.3
01 Apr 2017Michael Wolfe
The trouble with chasing a snake into its den is that you’re never quite sure who is stalking who.
I and the entire Black Omega High Council are in the boardroom, along with the bosses, merc captains, and personal assistants to the council members. Combined with the most trusted enforcers standing guard at the entryway, it’s a crowded situation. Still, no one complains. Among the council, there isn’t a man or woman who hadn’t been been personally targeted in some way or another. Nicholas Locke had barely escaped with his life when one of his guards raised his axe to attack, cut down by a lucky shot from another enforcer who happened to be walking by. Upon unmasking him, it was discovered that a Gold Crew operative had stolen a uniform and gotten close to the security chief. The enforcer’s body was discovered a short time later, stuffed into a ventilation shaft.
That had resulted in a temporary ban on the usual face-covering masks that all Omega enforcers wore. But there had been more to it than that. A hangar explosion had damaged Big Betty, Victor Laius’s personal Corvette. He would have been onboard but for a delay that required his attention. Pahn had been attacked by Gold Crew ships while on approach to Clair Dock, losing two escorts and suffering terrible damage to her ship before Black Omega reinforcements jumped in. Azalea’s near-run with the poisoned wine was by now known to me. And Marra?
I glance at my consigliere, her face focused on the mission hologram that dominates the boardroom. In a way, Marra had gotten the worst of it. Whereas the others had been attacked, Marra had been humiliated, toyed with and left at the mercy of her nemesis a second time. Only her, her crew, and I knew of the encounter, but it had left her with a smoldering thirst for vengeance. She didn’t tell me the details of her and Kat von Steuben’s second encounter- nor had she needed to. I’d gleaned the information from the others who had witnessed it. As expected, Kat had coolly taunted Marra and laughed at her impotent rage, leaving her humiliated in front of her men before allowing them to re-board her ship and high-wake out of the system.
Of course, her anger isn’t only directed at Kat. Shortly after returning from her debacle, Marra had insisted, loudly and repeatedly, that she be allowed to personally lead the strike on Gold Crew headquarters both from her ship and on foot. I had only barely managed to overrule her in council, but that wasn’t my concern. What has stuck with me is the sheer hatred in her eyes. Hatred I hadn’t seen since long ago, when I ran with her father. Indeed, her very demeanor and voice had changed even as she was demanding the right to carry out the strike, Rabat Morgan’s mannerisms and gravelly tone manifesting themselves in his daughter.
The holo-display before us is a collection of helmet-cams of the strike team leaders that have been dispatched to Serpent’s Redoubt, the main habitation complex of the Gold Crew. There hadn’t been any resistance for the fleet as it broke orbit, and so far the facility was deserted. The teams moved with precision, securing each level of the massive facility as reinforcements steadily arrived, but I already suspected what had happened.
In a stand-up slog, the Gold Crew doesn’t have a chance. Neither their infamous savagery nor prayers to their Great Serpent would have ever helped them against the overwhelming firepower and numbers that Black Omega could summon. So they didn’t. The entire faction- men, woman, children, ships, resources, and slaves- had disappeared into the blackness of space, staying mobile and making themselves an absolute nuisance to pin down.
“It would appear,” I say to no one in particular. “That the Gold Crew has returned to its roots.”
There were murmurs of agreement as the teams’ cameras continue to reveal level after level of empty corridors and rooms. The installation had been cleaned out, without so much as a ration bar left behind. The facility was also surprisingly bloodless. Given the savagery of the top level purges, intelligence had predicted that our strike teams would find the Snakes in a state of internal strike, with bodies and infighting both helping and hindering them. But that isn’t the case. The entire faction has simply vanished, along with all their ships. Where they had gone is anyone’s guess.
And that worries me.
Before they were a feared clan, the Nijkas Gold Crew was a society of nomadic neo-pagan warrior priests. Rumor had it that they had been forced off of one of those legendary megaships, condemned to wander the void in lesser vessels and subsist any way they could. Fanatical elements of their Great Serpent religion took over, and they bloodily carved a path through Pegasi, settling in Nijkas and constructing permanent settlements. They weren’t quite mercenaries, and they weren’t quite a cult. They were simply the snake-armed Gold Crew of Nijkas. You could do business with them, but it was foolhardy to cross them. They didn’t have the numbers to take over a system for themselves, but any power that attacked them would suffer losses so great that the effort would be for naught, even if they won.
Or so the thinking had gone.
“Contact!”
I look up, focusing on one of the strike team’s holo-footage feeds. At the end of a long corridor is a lone Serpent, stripped to the waste with his arms help wide. Coiling around his arms are thick, dark tattoos. Even from a distance, I could tell that they are more ornate than any others I’d seen. His eyes have a fearless look of finality to them, and in an instant a dozen green laser sights are on him. He looks contemptuously at the enforcers, the camera bobbing as they close in.
“I am the Black Dragon,” we hear him say. “I am the one who brings death to the many! I am the fangs of the Great Serpent!”
In his hand is a device, held high for all to see. It isn’t immediately clear what it is, but the team leader doesn’t wait to find to find out. With a single order, the team cuts the man down, his body shattering as the bolter rounds tear through it.
There isn’t much of him left as the team lead’s camera walks up to him. The man is clinging to life, still holding the device in his bloody hand. His thumb twitches over a large button in the center as the life drains from his body. His voice is a broken whisper, barely able to form words.
“You are in the coils of the Great Serpent. Always.”
Before any of the strike team could stop him, he presses the button even as a new burst of weapons fire severs his outstretched arm. The camera follows the arm as it lands, focusing on the device. A feeling of dread fills the boardroom as each of us brace for something to happen. The team lead uncurls the man’s bloody fingers from the device and inspects it. It looks like a crude detonator.
“It’s nothing. Whatever they had planned didn’t happen,” he reports.
A wave of relief fills the room as people visibly exhale and look around. The facility is secured. Now, it was time to bring in the hackers and intel specialists. With as hurried as their evacuation had been, surely something of value had been left behind. It was just a matter of combing through what remained and finding it.
Marra is standing next to me, her face a permanent scowl. She has been silent the entire observation, knowing better than to speak during the operation. Now, she turns slightly to me and speaks with a low voice.
“It should be me leading them. I’ve earned that right.”
I narrow my eyes and glance back at her. “No. Your place is here.”
My consigliere’s scowl deepens as she gestured to the holoscreen. “Their trap failed,” she says. “They gave up their fortress for nothing.”
The consensus around the boardroom seems to agree with Marra. Next to me, Victor Laius is on the master comms, giving the stand down order. On the screen, weapons are lowered and postures relaxed, reflecting the relief in the boardroom. Speculation and plotting among the cream of Black Omega society begins to fill the air with a steady background of conversational white noise. But I don’t feel better. Something isn’t right.
I’m the first to hear it. A garbled ship’s transmission. One of the fleet’s Corvettes in low orbit, its captain in contact with the surface teams.
“...vise. I repeat… -nstable readings. Energy sig is spiking-”
I pointed to the room’s holoscreen tech. “Clear up that signal!”
The man springs into action, and the Corvette’s transmissions are amplified. My words had silenced the room, which was once again listening with rapt attention.
“I repeat, Omegas: sensors are detecting massive energy spikes around the central reactors. Temp is critical. Coolant pumps are reading as offline. Acknowledge!”
I feel my face harden. There’s no way to tell how much expertise savages like the Gold Crew have at maintaining fusion reactors, but it isn’t worth the risk. Reactor spikes don’t just happen like this.
Turning to Victor, I narrow my eyes. “Get your teams out of there.”
His eyes widen. “But there are hundreds in the facility by now. All the levels are sec-”
I slam my fist on the boardroom’s table, stunning all in the room. “I said get them out of there!”
The Corvette’s commander was still trying to reach the strike teams, and Laius himself wasn’t able to establish a link. His mouth dropped as heat levels continued to escalate. The reactor cores were beginning to crack, causing too much signal interference for remote comms to work. The teams were unreachable via K-cast.
My subordinate’s face turned white as he looked up, realizing the situation.
“No,” he whispered.
The team leaders’ holofeed went blank within moments of each other. The room is stunned into silence. Marra steps forward, her eyes still on the holoscreen.
“Orbital feed,” she says.
The screen flickers, and the satellite imagery pulls up just as the mushroom cloud is rising into the atmosphere. The closest Black Omega vessels have been vaporized, and the others are struggling to keep control amid the shockwave. The facility itself is gone, engulfed in the slowly-widening fireball that continues to grow from where it had once stood. The shockwave rapidly approaches the camera drone, and the horizon flips wildly a few times before going to static.
“Mon Dieu…” It’s Azalea, her Gallic accent thickening as she beholds the scene. Beside Marra, Apollonia is silent, both hands over her mouth.
My heart is thumping harder than it has in years, not in grief but in anger. How? How did a band of savages get the best of me? When word of this spreads, it’ll be twice as hard to placate the systems under our boot. Men and credits will be spent when they should be reaped. Unacceptable.
I place my hands on the polished black surface of the table, processing the situation. As hard as I try not to, my mind keeps returning to times past.
All those years, I thought. All those years, running with Rabat Morgan and pulling off hits against respectable outfits just like this. They were big and cumbersome; us, lean and flexible. How we used to laugh at their idiocy and reap the rewards.
I look around the table. All eyes were on me, waiting for me to say something to salvage the situation.
Now he’s gone and you’re entrenched, just like those you used to knock over. So what now, old man?
“It would appear,” I said slowly. “That we’ve got a fight on our hands. What Black Omega was in the early days, these snakes are now. Lean, mean, and flexible. They’ve got nothing to lose and everywhere to hit.”
Again, I look slowly around the room. In some faces I see fear. In others, resolution. Good. I know the measure of my people now that our backs are against the wall.
“But they’ve forgotten something. Black Omega isn’t some Federal corporation with a silver spoon up its ass. We were the ones who fought the hopeless wars for our clients, and we won because we were the meanest, toughest sons of bitches on the battlefield.”
There are nods all around and grunts of approval. I inhale, baring my teeth and standing up straight. “And if these damn snake worshippers want a fight, then by the gods we’ll give it to them! If they’re going back to their roots, then so are we. Captains!”
Several of the merc leaders snap to attention, not daring to appear listless or half-hearted. I look everyone in the room in the eyes before continuing.
“Ready your people. All of them. When these snakes die, they last thing they’re going to see is a pair of grinning skulls. Starting today, we go back to gutter-fighting. Starting today, we’re back in the business of taking scalps. Starting today, we remind all Pegasi of who the fuck we are!”
There’s a single, deafening battle roar from all in the boardroom, filling the air with martial energy. Victor starts barking orders at his subordinates, and even those who had been wavering are filled with new resolve. Marra’s eyes are filled with an almost sexual bloodlust as she motions to Apollonia and turns to leave. I reach out and grab her wrist. She spins to face me, fury in her expression.
“Never be the first to rush into a den of snakes,” I say.
She snarls and leans towards me. “I-”
I wave my hand, cutting her off as the others leave the boardroom. “You are the consigliere of all Black Omega. Your place is at my side. What if I'd granted your wish to lead the attack?”
Her face hardens as she glances to the still-static holo-display. Her mouth twists and contorts as she tries and fails to deliver a worthy retort. I nod my head in understanding, looking her hard in the eye.
“That’s right, girl. You’d be dead. The Morgan line would be extinct. And I would be out a second-in-command instead of replaceable ships and enforcers.”
Marra turns away, her body trembling with rage. Whether at me or the situation, I couldn’t tell. Presently, she regains control of her anger and turns back to me.
“This is von Steuben’s doing,” she says.
I shake my head. “You don’t know that.”
She turns her gaze contemptuously to the holoscreen. Another recon drone was now over the site, faithfully relaying footage of the massive cloud of ash and dust that was hovering over what had once been Serpents’ Respite. She draws a deep breath, struggling to play the part of the clear-thinking consiglieri.
“Yes, I do,” she says. “The Serpents are known for fighting in the open. They’re upfront with their intentions. More honor, according to their warrior code. This was different. They didn’t even try to fight us. They knew exactly what we would do- hit their base with overwhelming force- and they turned a hopeless situation into a victory.”
I take a step closer. “And what makes you think that Kat was behind all that?”
The woman looks over her shoulder, danger in her eyes. “Because that’s how she defeated my father. Used her allies as fodder and struck at the perfect moment.”
I feel myself slowly exhaling as I considered her position. True, it was possible that Marra’s hatred for von Steuben was clouding her judgement, but-
But she’s right. The Gold Crew have always operated according to their code. The rat knowing the snake that devours them and such. But poisoning? Assassinations? Luring an enemy into a trap? Unprecedented.
I look my consigliere in the eye for what seems like a long time.
“You may be right,” I say. “Nevertheless, your place is with me.”
A look of scorn flashes in her eyes. “Yes, boss,” she says. It’s the same statement in the same tone as before. She signals to Apollonia and turns to leave. As she’s walking out, I call out to her.
“Marra.”
She stops and spins around, annoyed. “What is it?”
I look at her immaculate business suit and nod to her. “Keep a knife in your boot, though. Like in the old days.”
A hint of a smirk lifts the side of her lips. Her tone is far more cordial this time.
“Yes, boss.”