CHAPTER SIX:
‘Conspiracies’
Somewhere off the coast of the Woofer:
Xiziel Krayman heard voices in his head. They told him things about himself, the others around him, and the reasons behind the war. Many within the Mercenary industry considered him to be insane; he saw himself as a prophet.
He was currently lounging in a leather chair with ruined upholstery and springs digging into his back, inside the dilapidated Sypharium Fleet Vessel, The Ximanite. Sitting at a desk typing into a communication device was his white-haired companion, Proteus Hand.
The Voices did not like Hand. In other circumstances, he would have killed the man without a second thought; but he had instructions, and a large sum of credits waiting for him if he completed this job.
‘You don’t like me, do you?’
The typing continued without a pause.
‘You’d rather have Madrick as a partner, despite my experience.’
Hand briefly looked up from his console, his blue-grey eyes analyzing Xiziel.
‘No. I don’t.’
He replied frankly, and continued his work.
Xizel stared at the clock on the wall. He knew it would be twenty-minutes early, as Proteus preferred to be early rather than late, unless the job in particular required, as they often did, a certain time scale.
‘We have Twenty-One minutes.’ He remarked.
Proteus ceased typing and hit the ‘Send’ Button. Without a word, he motioned silently to the hatch. A few seconds later, the lights went out, and any outsiders would have assumed that the wreck was uninhabited.
The ARS Initiative: Several hours outside of the Earth’s atmosphere:
Ten Minutes earlier, Renn Hoyle had been carrying out the usual mundane duties that an Unarmed Freighter required on a daily basis. She had refilled the water-cooler, ensured that all cargo was still secure, and then proceeded to talk to Captain Blackworth about the days when the Initiative had been a medical cruiser in the heat of the First Wars.
Five minutes earlier, she had been lying on her back, hearing her friends screaming for help as Sypharium craft ripped the bridge apart. Then the gentle hiss of air as the survivors had fled from the craft in the Life-Pods. Now, she was struggling to survive;
she staggered towards the rear of the craft, flaming debris streaking past her slender body. The craft continued to buck and roll as it began to hit the atmosphere, streaking towards the earth, and to Badnarik.
Clinging onto her last hope of survival, Renn clawed her way across the dented floor, making painfully slow progress. She was now able to see the hatch that led to the only remaining life-pod. She knew why it was left behind; the oxygen cylinder was faulty; it had been damaged on the Initiative’s last voyage, and had not yet been looked at by the Alliance Engineers. Nonetheless, hauling her gasmask onto her face, she slipped through the buckling hatch and pressed the release catch. There was the sensation of falling, a terrible sound of shredding metal, and then the pod was consumed by the darkness.
The
Xizel crept towards the sleeping figure that nested beneath the sheets. Carefully flicking the safety off of his weapon, he inched towards the bed. He could now see the gentle rise and fall of his target’s chest, and the sound of his steady breathing.
Smiling at the ease of this mission, and already planning how he was going to spend his payment, he made his first mistake; For the first time in his life, he ignored the voices; The voices which had been screaming at him that something was wrong.
He pointed the gun at Fenir, Not hearing the gentle thud as Proteus’ body hit the ground behind him. He was now standing directly at the head of the bed, staring at the man who had gone from Cadet to Admiral in a matter of hours.
A shot rang out in the darkness, followed shortly by a gasp of pain. The room was suddenly illuminated by a dozen watchlights being pointed at Xizel, who was lying on the floor in agony.
The figure in the bed rolled onto his side, and stood up. Saluting the Intelligence Officers who had just saved his life, he turned to the doorway. Fenir Herbst edged shakily into the room, still in full Admiral Garb.
‘is this him, sir?’
Fenir stared at Xizel. Dissapointed that the figure was not his Grandfather’s assassin.
‘No.’
He then spotted Xizel’s partner, who was trying to grapple inconspicuously towards the door.
‘That’s him.’
The Intelligence Officer smiled nastily.
‘Thank you sir, we’ll take it from here…’
For Proteus Hand, everything went black.