The Serpents and the Skulls, Chapter 4.4
28 Apr 2017Michael Wolfe
Azalea Constantinestu: in death as she was in life.
I took a deep breath, and took a final look at the woman’s corpse.
Naked, on her back, and surrounded by blow.
I was standing over my longtime associate and “friend”, flanked by Apollonia and a forensic investigator from the local Authority. She was still there- on her bed, robe splayed open and dried blood all over her bare chest and belly. Kat’s final lash had ripped out her throat, and Azalea’s last moments had been spent writhing on her bed, desperately clutching her neck to stem the bleeding. She hadn’t even cried out, her vocal cords having been severed and her last noises being a panicked, wet gurgle. It was an inglorious end for one who had risen so high.
I had arrived too late, just in time to see the same black Fer de Lance as before jump away. I ordered the Seren Du’s escorts to pursue, but knew that it was hopeless. What mattered was that I found out what was going on. On my orders, the station’s maintenance team rigged an emergency lift to provide access. It had only taken a short while.
With Idris standing guard, I’d allowed the investigator to conduct his work, though it had been obvious as to what had happened. A team had penetrated the narrow tower that elevated the settlement’s executive suites, cutting power and destroying the lift so as to prevent reinforcements from being sent. Then, it was a matter of fighting their way to the penthouse, leaving both local Authority and Azalea’s personal guard in their wake. Kat von Steuben had made the final push on her own, cruelly dispatching the rented meat from Exotica and the last of Azalea’s guards with a powered, vibrobladed razorwhip.
For as long as I’d known Azalea, as many times as we’d laughed and kissed and smoked too much onionhead together in our younger years, I felt nothing now that she was dead. Certainly we’d been more rivals than anything else towards the end, but-
But this was going to happen. Sooner or later, she was going to be swept aside as soon as her usefulness was at an end.
I scowled and looked at the rest of the mess. Bodies, blood, and scattered bits of detritus littered the suite. Below, emergency crews were still sorting out the damage from the Omega Vipers, shot down by Kat with what I had no doubt was contemptuous ease. The fires and smoke plumes could just be seen in the distance.
But not like this. I wanted her disposed of on my terms, not that bitch von Steuben’s.
“Council?”
I turned, the investigator standing next to me. He was a thin, middle-aged man, with eyes that had long grown accustomed to sights such as the one before me.
“It will take a few days for the finalized report, but I think it’s obvious what happened. I can-”
I scowled, cutting the man off. “You can write your report and send it in when it’s ready. I've seen enough.”
The man looked at me with his mouth hanging for a moment, and then took a step back, excusing himself. A brighter figure replaced him in my peripheral vision. Apollonia stood at my side and joined me in surveying the scene, watching as two of the investigator’s assistants pulled a sheet over Azalea’s body.
“Not exactly how you ever planned to say goodbye, is it?”
The waif pursed her lips as she watched the sheet cover her former lover’s face. “It was not me who ever said goodbye, cheri.”
I smiled slyly and gently squeezed the pale woman’s nipple, not caring who saw. “She always was a fool.”
Apollonia flushed and bowed her head submissively, holding her breath. I allowed myself a slight smile of contentment. Since I’d reminded her of her place on board the Bucephalus, she had been the very model of loving submission. It was a shame that I’d needed to do so. The sight of the hardened nutrient gel cast over her broken finger was displeasing to me. But it had been worth it. The platinum-haired waif was even more attentive than before, and almost desperately enthusiastic as a lover.
And she hadn’t once snuck away for any long, reflective showers, either.
“Well? What’s happened?”
Victor’s face was one of trepidation. He’d known that Mukusubii was lightly guarded, and that any reinforcements sent would likely arrive too late. It was also possible that he felt partially responsible for the attack, agreeing as he had to press-gang local forces into the greater Black Omega fleet.
Weak, I thought.
“Azalea’s dead,” I said. “Killed by Kat von Steuben herself. She’s going after council members now.”
The admiral’s face darkened as he considered the ramifications. “I’ll double the guard outside Degginal’s room. And you should return to Clair Dock. Your ship-”
I cut him off, waving my hand in dismissal. “Never mind my ship. Or yours, for that matter. Even a dozen Big Betties wouldn’t stop her if she found you. We don’t need to kill Kat. Only her people.”
“You don’t mean to-”
“I mean to win, Victor. And Degginal ordered an end to the slaving. That only leaves one choice, doesn’t it?”
Victor was starting to open his mouth to protest, but I again interrupted. “We stay mobile. Wars are won by attacking, not holing up in some fortress. Just ask our friends from Sanctuary Prime.”
The man glared at me, unable to decide if arguing or obeying was the wisest course. I technically outranked him, but only just. And it was true that he had more expertise in military matters- but being ex-military, was also accustomed to taking orders.
“Yes, consiglieri,” he finally said. “Take care of yourself.”
I’d missed none of the iciness of his tone, but we both knew that the loss of more council members would be disastrous. Forcing a conciliatory smile, I nodded.
“And you.”
The k-cast flickered off and I turned to Apollonia, who has been standing silently nearby the entire time. Like in the Bucephalus, the captain’s quarters in the Seren Du were spartan and drab, but I didn’t mind. They reminded me of old times, and how far I’d come since my days of being a druggy pirate nobody.
“Inform the helmsman that we leave within the hour. We’re done here.”
“Oui, Cheri.”
Giving me an amorous look, the waif lingered a moment before exiting the captain’s quarters. In her renewed determination to prove herself, she’d been reluctant to leave my side for long. At first I’d been irritated at the lack of privacy- but the constant, desperate attention had its upsides, too. I looked at the bed and smirked, recalling the way that I’d felt her harden under my fingers earlier.
At least I’ll arrive back at Clair Dock with a little tension relieved.
“Ah, council! Everything is prepared.”
Glaboski smiled warmly, gesturing around his surgical chamber. To my untrained eye, I couldn’t tell any difference compared to before, but that was for him to worry about, not me. I’d personally prioritized the biotech conductors that the doctor needed to proceed with the next neural shunt, eliminating any excuses he had for further delay.
“And the patient? He’ll divulge the location of the remaining sanctuaries?”
The doctor’s smile grew, as though he were welcoming family into his house. “Of course. It’ll be far more straightforward than with the girl, whose memory needed to be coaxed. In this case, the patient will consciously resist mentioning the locations- which means that his mind will be dwelling on them. He’ll actually be helping us in the preparatory phase.”
I raised my eyebrows. “A shame that the probe can only be used once.”
Glaboski shrugged, his warm smile never leaving his face as his eyes grew distant. “A shame indeed. But perhaps one day the science will be advanced enough to allow for repeated insertions. Such mysteries to be unlocked!”
I help up a finger to refocus the man. “For now, the location of the sanctuaries are mystery enough. And then there’s the matter of the other procedure coming up…”
Again, the man nodded, already knowing what I was referring to. “Yes, Degginal’s organ transplants. The replacements have grown excellently, and I have every reason to be confident in complete success. Your don needs only to keep his strength up.”
I turned away, looking at the various medical tools that might soon be used on Degginal. “And how is his strength?”
The smile on Glaboksi’s face lessened until it resembled a frown. “He sleeps for days at a time, which reduces the strain on his heart. Hooked up to the proper instrumentation he's stable, and his mind remains sharp.”
Tell me something I don’t know.
“So what are you saying?”
The man paused, choosing his words carefully. “I wish that I’d been able to examine him a year sooner. The procedure would have had a much higher chance of success. Early detection is the key to keeping up one’s health, especially if they’ve had an, ah-”
He turned to me, his eyes sweeping over my body.
“-interesting history with pharmaceuticals?”
I didn’t even bother to hide my disgust. I would sooner take a turn in Exotica than let you lay your clammy old hands on me.
“Never mind that. Just stay focused. I don’t have to tell you what’s at stake.”
The man’s warm smile returned. “Of course. Your mentor is in good hands, council. He has a strong heart.”
I felt an eyebrow lift. “I thought that he had a weak heart.”
Glaboski gestured charmingly, leading me to the surgical chamber’s exit. “An unfortunate figure of speech for this occasion. I’ll notify you the moment that everything is prepared.”
The transmission woke me, causing instant irritation. My first assumption was that it was Deggie, immediately k-casting Victor and myself upon waking. The man wasn’t obsessed with control, not exactly- but he did insist on always being updated as situations unfolded, and only being conscious for a hour or so at a time was surely a circle of hell for him to live in.
To my surprise, it wasn’t the don. In fact, it was Clair Dock’s parcel service, a lowly clerk on the other end of the line. My irritation grew into a barely-suppressed rage.
How dare they wake me at such an hour? When I find out what fool decided to notify-
I closed my eyes, suppressing my anger. Or perhaps there’s a good reason for this. And if there isn't, someone is getting ejected out an airlock.
With an unsteady finger, I hit “accept” on the holo-display. A young man’s face appeared, tense and clearly uncomfortable at contacting the consigliere of Black Omega.
“What is it?”
He swallowed, perspiration on his face. “P-priority delivery for you. From Lasswitz Silo, on Muku-”
I grit my teeth. “I know where Lasswitz is, boy! And what’s so blasted important about this delivery?”
“I- I don’t know. An Authority investigator k-casted and said that you were to be informed of its arrival at once.”
This is either huge or a total waste of my time.
“Fine. Send a courier.”
“Already done, he should be almos-”
I killed the transmission, still irritated. Right on cue, I heard a simulated bell chime echo throughout my suite, informing me of a guest. Beside me, Apollonia had stirred and was already sitting up.
“I’ll get that, cheri.”
I held out my hand, stopping her. “No. I want to see what flunky dares come to my door at this hour.”
I threw on a sheer black robe and strode to the entryway, lights automatically activating as I moved through the suite. With a tired motion, I hit the controls, the door sliding open to reveal another young man in a shabby postal uniform. Like his co-worker, he looked terrified. His eyes fixed themselves on my tattooed chest, then immediately snapped up.
“P-package for you, coun-”
“Give me that,” I said, snatching the tiny box out of his hands. Without another word I turned around into my suite, the door shutting behind me. The box was small, made from a sturdy reusable composite- what in the void could it possibly contain that was worth so much hassle? It was opened easily enough- one side of it was a thumbprint reader. I absentmindedly pressed my digit against the surface, and the lid to the box popped open. I turned the container upside down, a sealed vial and holodisk dropping into my palm.
Now what the hell is this?
I sat down at my personal holo-terminal, sliding the disk into the reader slot. It only took a moment for the information to load. It was a pre-recorded transmission, the investigator’s wiry face filling the screen as he began to speak. I tightened the robe around myself and scowled.
This had better be good.
”Apologies if this finds you at an inconvenient hour, but the results of the medical examination simply cannot wait. We found something both very unusual and very disturbing on- or should I say in- miss Constantinestu’s body. The tech lab confirmed both it and its origin beyond a doubt. Contained in the vial is-”
My eyes widened, my prior sleepiness and irritation forgotten.
No…
I picked up the vial, the tiny specks in it almost invisible. It can’t be…
“Our bed grows cold, oui?”
A pair of thin, pale arms snaked around me, tender lips caressing my neck and shoulder. I didn’t return Apollonia’s touch, didn’t acknowledge her in any way. As much as I relished her amorous attentions, the news that I had just received had shocked me into inaction.
Apollonia, too, noticed my lack of reciprocity. “Something wrong, cheri?”
I barely nodded, not able to take my eyes from the contents of the vial.
“It’s a mistake,” I said. “All of it. The war, the killing. It’s all one giant fuckup.”
One of her hands had drifted to my breast. I shoved it away and spun around. “Leave me,“ I said. “And wake Glaboski. I have a decision to make.”
Pouting, my waif withdrew, padding back to the bedroom to get dressed. Alone, I again held the vial in front of my face. It was more than simply its tiny contents. It was the truth. It was a way to achieve peace. The lives and fates of thousands were in my hands. I needed only the will to extend mercy.
My mind drifted as my vision became hazy. In the vial’s reflection, I saw dark, sooty eyes that weren’t entirely my own. Degginal would have made the peace, but-
But you’re a Morgan, the familiar deep voice said. And Morgans aren’t in the mercy business.
The meeting was held in deep space, at secret coordinates where only the most trusted and revered survivors were invited. The Clan was leaderless, directionless, and all but broken in spirit and fighting strength. Raiding and sowing discord had failed to break the will of the Skulls or sufficiently weaken their grip on the systems they occupied. Furthermore, the clan was losing the ability to do even this- supplies were dangerously low, and no station in a hundred light years would risk opening their docks to them.
To the untrained eye, the gathering of ships would have been impressive- but the realization that the vessels represented the last of the Clan’s fleet a sobering one. The debates began at once, held over wideband comms with nothing held back. The oldest and most senior spoke first, their more sophisticated serpent tattoos on their arms reflecting their greater prestige and influence. Yet they were not alone in their desire to speak. The future of the clan was at stake, and every man and woman with the means to afford a ship wanted a voice.
Exodus into the Bubble was a popular choice. Cram as many supplies and people as possible into the remaining ships and disappear into the void, it was demanded. The war was lost, many claimed. Start again elsewhere, leave the conflict behind. The only disagreement among the would-be nomads was how exactly to choose those who would depart the Pegasi Sector and those who would be condemned to stay. Some wanted only warriors. Others pressed for fertile women and children- often with a reason as to why they, a man, should accompany them. Still others believed that only the remaining Serpent Priests and those favored by them be allowed to make the journey.
The raven-haired woman listened to the deliberations in silence and contempt. For years, she had suffered these fools and their primitive ways, rewarded only by their savage protection. She alone had been the only one to truly bloody the Skulls. She alone had seen the path to victory. She alone had proven herself worthy of the title of Black Dragon- and what had come of it?
Nothing. Even the timing of her “honor” was suspect, keeping her chained to a slab of stone in some godsforsaken temple chamber, arms in agonizing pain and with no company except the priests and that giant carved serpent head, ever snarling down upon her. She should have been on the front lines, leading raids deep into Skull territory and slaying more important targets than bystanding merchants. The enemy should have been decapitated early on and an equitable peace negotiated.
At last, she could bear no more. The woman rose from her chair and opened a general channel. She spoke forcefully, with the conviction of one who saw with clarity what must be done. One more strike, she argued. One more hard strike with the last of the clan’s power, to end the conflict forever. She charmed, she threatened, she cursed and cajoled. She appealed to the impetuousness of youth and the caution of the aged. She invoked the will of both the Great Serpent and- heretically- of lesser gods as well. Only when the blood of Rabat was purged, she said, would the Skulls see the threat posed by the clan.
Though not occupying a formal position of leadership, the words of a Black Dragon were never without influence. Talk of exodus diminished as the clanspeople weighed her words. Without the stern voice of the Elders to silence her, the silver tongue of the Black Dragon began to sway the hearts and minds of those who not long ago were determined to flee Pegasi forever. There was even hope of peace, of the simple mutual respect given and received by neighboring warrior tribes.The Serpents and the Skulls would live in harmony, it was speculated. They had only to prove themselves in their darkest hour.
The woman held no such illusions. Victory would not be had on the battlefield, but in the death of her hated nemesis. Only then would her curse be broken. Only then would she be free. And if it took the lives of her clansmen to accomplish, then so be it.
After many hours of rancorous back and forth, it was decided that the clan’s fate would be placed in the hands of the outsider who had ascended to bear upon her arms the Black Dragons. There was none more worthy, it was declared. None who had better honored the Great Serpent. Across the fleet, those who ought to have known better were swept into an intoxicating hope, as though each of them had consumed an entire bottle of the infamous venomwine themselves.
As the voices of the multitude chanted her name, the woman felt a strange sense of peace. She was committed. There was no turning back. In the weeks of solitude and pain that invariably accompanied the ritual of the Shedding, the woman had been stripped down to her very essence, and left with the only tactic she knew. She would repeat the same masterstroke that had worked over a decade ago with a different Morgan.
To the last man, woman, and child, the clan would be sacrificed on the altar of her bloodlust- and they would love her for it.