Sean-Michael Argo - Ghost Faction

“It has to die,” said Jada, realizing that she’d been repeating that phrase out loud. The pistol was in her shaking hand and she raised it level with the putrid thing that filled the horizon of her consciousness. “ It has to die. ”

As Jada squeezed the trigger, her body was struck violently and pinned to the ground by a metal net. She recognized it as a projectile from the Tasca net launchers. Watching the barbed points drilling themselves into the flowstone snapped her back to reality.

The thing that had been in the coffin wasn’t making a sound, or if it was, the cacophony of gunfire and roaring engines as dropships, barges, and the slaver skiff converged on the ring all at once drowned it out. She could only see parts of the nightmare as it writhed, engulfed in multiple net projectiles. Ellis must have pre-loaded six or seven of the nets, and as she watched, several of what looked like electro-darts slammed into the creature.

For a tense moment, it seemed the thing would surely burst free before the retro-fitted cage slammed down upon it. The cage itself was attached to a cable, and as the skiff continued on its flight path, the cable grew taut and the cage was dragged into the air.

There was little more to see pinned to the ground, and as the cage was lifted, her line of sight fell upon Poe’s prone form. He lay face down, but his helmet’s faceplate hadn’t broken and Jada could see the man within. His eyes were open and blood seeped from his nose and ears. Whether he was alive or not, Jada couldn’t tell. The sight of her battle buddy gave her a renewed strength and she pushed up against the net pinning her to the ground.

The mag-armor ground against the net, but soon her enhanced strength won out against the barbs, and she pulled herself free of the net. It was when she tried to stand up that Jada realized, too late, just how damaging being in the presence of the Objective had been and her legs gave out, sending the merc collapsing in a heap before passing out entirely.

Above her, in a low orbit, lurked the ship Far Rider, a sleek cargo hauler belonging to the shipping magnate Praxis Mundi. The cost of passage had been a small fortune, compounded by the private use of one of the Rider’s exploration craft, though Jada cared little for such details. The Dire Sword’s accounts were bursting with wealth, for such was the bounty of continued success within the elite ranks of the Merchants Militant.

The casual detachment with which Jada now spent vast sums of money was something of a norm among the Merchants Militant who did not have families or causes to support, more common even among the grim ranks of the Dire Swords. It was part of the cosmic tragedy, in Jada’s thinking, that of all the soldiers of fortune in the universe, it was those with the highest pay rate that seemed to care the least about money.

Womack and Jada had recovered from the inexplicable trauma they had endured upon witnessing the Objective. Her battle buddy, Poe, had suffered a brain aneurism and died on those steps. Poe had died without attachment, just like Mors, with no family or heirs to speak of beyond his commitment to his comrades, and so his wealth was folded into the operational accounts of Sword Base.

In the de-briefing, they had learned that the Objective was a cyborg, but one vastly different than the alpha cyborgs. It had brain waves, albeit somewhat alien ones, and once the shock of its capture had subdued it, the stasis cage it had been placed in by the Tasca operatives kept it so.

Jada knew little and cared less about the technical specifics of the cage, or even the Objective itself, so long as it was being taken away. According to the trade agreement between House Indron and Augur Corporation, the Objective was being covertly transported to an undisclosed facility in Augur space by the Tasca operatives. They were taking the long way around, across the frontier, as many slave ships did in order to avoid any adverse contact with corporate elements.

For her, and the rest of the Dire Swords, the mission was over. Whatever outcome resulted from their capture of the Objective was of no concern to them.

They arrive. They fight. They leave.

The mercenaries were disconnected from the tapestry of corporate intrigue, having little awareness or interest in the big picture or the grand scheme. That was for others, for them, there was only the next mission, onwards until the last.

She and Womack both been shaken by their experience. Womack had stepped down as captain, allowing Berg to take his place while he focused on repairing his own damaged psyche and returning to the fundamentals of basic soldiering.

Jada had the same arrangement as Poe did when it came to the eventuality of her death, though she had one thing left to do before her time in this life came to an end, the reason that had brought her across the void to this forgotten planet and the corpse of its capital city. The moment she’d placed Poe’s skull-faced helmet upon the altar shelves, she’d known what she had to do.

Jada watched in silence as a strong wind swept across the bitter surface of a place that had once been known as Vorhold.

The city was all but a skeleton now, after everything of value had been stripped away from it, including the people. It was here that she had seen the true face of horror, where she had known her fiercest combat and the site of her greatest loss.

Deepspire had left its mark on all the marines who had gone down into that pit, and though many of them returned, every single one of them left a piece of themselves down there.

It wasn’t so much that the furious chaos of combat had been any different for the marines who fought that long and bitter campaign. They had faced tough enemies before that, and after Vorhold, they had met the Gedra. No, it was something else, thought Jada as she exited the landing craft and stepped into the heavy gale, more that Vorhold had served as a model of what corporate tyranny could look like if left unchecked by the people who lived under its rule.

Jada had stood on the picket line alongside the other marines during the now famous, or infamous, depending on one’s perspective, Reaper Strike. She had joined the labor movement because she did care about Grotto Corporation, despite its many faults.

After her time in necrospace, she had come to believe that there needed to be order of some kind in the galaxy and commerce was a natural human activity and a universal rallying point for civilization. The Grotto regime was a hard one, but there was a kind of dignity possible for those who had the will and the yellow-eyed daughter of Hama Sek had an awareness of that more nuanced than most.

Life and prospects for the average citizens of Grotto had been incrementally improved after the Anointed Actuaries had bargained with the Reapers and other labor movements. There was compromise, and a mutual understanding that they were all in it together, regardless of where on the corporate ladder any individual happened to perch. The arrangement was functional, an implicit understanding of give and take between the powers and the people.

Vorhold had been a system out of balance. The city itself was a model for that failed corporation, from the glittering towers of the elites to the horrific subterranean dwellings of its lowest human scum. The center could not hold, because the core of Vorhold was rotten, and it was in that fetid dark place that the Stalker emerged.

She and the other marines had gone into that hole and battled the monsters the sins of tyranny and neglect made manifest, and yet, they were not there to rescue the people, only to eliminate obstacles for the efficient scrapping of an entire civilization. A once great predator had fallen, and the scavengers had come to feast. It was nothing more, and nothing less. The elites of Vorhold had irresponsibly gambled with the future of the corporation, and the people ultimately paid the price.