Two years later…
It was raining that night, as it did every night on Mother's Ruin.
After the Thousand Revolutions, the remaining loyalists to the Gene Tyrants had been hunted down across the galaxy. Some, like the people who would later become known as Noblesse Oblige, retreated into hiding and vanished from the public eye. Others, however, weren't so lucky or so competent -- and the former noble colony of Mother's Ruin had quickly been targeted by the nascent Supremacy and the anti-Gene Tyrant alliance.
To be fair to them, the loyalists had managed to last quite a while in that long night. Their planetary defences had been sound, and the Supremacy had been reluctant to perform a full orbital bombardment -- their allies had wanted to put the leaders of the loyalists on public trial as a ceremonial end to the Thousand Revolutions. So, even as the Supremacy fleets had constricted around the planet, life had continued below…
…for a time.
Needless to say, the Supremacy eventually got tired of waiting. Bombardment still wasn't an option, but other avenues were available to them. Discussions were conducted between the allied governments, and an agreement was made -- prototype terraforming methods would be used to quite literally flush the loyalists out of their nests.
The end came quietly. A few adjustments to the atmosphere, conducted by the newly-formed Absurd Weapons Lab, and the infinite deluge followed soon after. The rainstorm came down without end, and all drowned. The soldiers, the civilians, the cities, the towns. Even the leaders they'd wanted to preserve sank to the bottom in the end, although by that point the Supremacy cared little for the demands of their former allies.
The drowned planet was forgotten soon after, as the Supremacy turned on the rest of the galaxy in an effort to unite them under one strong banner. The corpses remained where they had drowned, a seabed of the damned.
Yes, the rain continued to fall -- but a forgotten planet was a useful thing indeed. The Ventriloquist's quarry had surely thought the same thing.
Gloved hands adjusted the landing sequence on the screen before them, the starship feeding the readouts back to the visor the Ventriloquist wore over their head. That bright blue visor was long and pointed, like the beak of a bird of prey -- and the starship carried a similar theme. Like an eagle, it spread its wings wide as it maneuvered down through the storm, rain pelting against the cockpit window as it approached the waterlogged city.
Behind their visor, the Ventriloquist narrowed their eyes. Most people called them the Ventriloquist for the strangeness of their conduct, but it wasn't what they called themselves in their head. Even so, they were happy to accept the moniker. Their real names weren’t safe to advertise.
As expected, the quarry had chosen a good time of year for their rendezvous here. The tops of moss-painted buildings could be seen poking through the artificial ocean, with some streets even visible as well -- although, in their current state, they were more like canals. The level of rainfall on Mother's Ruin varied throughout the year. It never stopped entirely, but sometimes it calmed down enough for the drainage systems to catch up and unearth some of the structures.
The starship touched down atop the peak of one of the largest remaining buildings, a rusted hulk that had surely been a factory once-upon-a-time. After the landing clamps had firmly secured the vessel, the Ventriloquist descended the ramp, already looking around for any signs of life… or, well, the opposite.
They couldn't be too hopeful, after all.
Their visor sweeped over the area, scanning the surroundings for anything of interest -- and it did its job well. On a neighboring skyscraper, barely visible through a hole in the roof, were a few stray drops of blood. Vivid, red, fresh.
The Ventriloquist gulped, fearing that it might belong to the one they were looking for, but they quickly reassured themselves. Inspection came before despair. The thrusters in their boots carried them across the gaps between buildings easily -- even as they did their best not to look down at the hungry ocean that waited for them below.
Thunk.
The moment they landed on the roof, the Ventriloquist crouched down next to the blood sample, poking at it with their gloved index finger. The analyser in the glove immediately began comparing the sample to the records in the visor’s computer -- and a few moments later, it came back with an answer.
98% match, said the readout in the corner of the Ventriloquist's vision. Callum Call. Target.
They let out a sigh of relief. The blood belonged to one of the people they were after, but not the person they wanted to find. Peering down into the hole in the roof, the Ventriloquist could see that the bloodtrail kept going down through the partially collapsed stairwell, growing more copious as it descended. Little doubt there was a corpse waiting at the end of this treasure trail.
"What do you think?" the Ventriloquist muttered. "A trap?"
A few seconds of silence, and then they nodded to themselves, leaping down into the hole. Again, the thrusters on their boots came in handy, slowing their fall enough that they didn't smash right through the fragile ruins -- and, like a detective with an magnifying glass, they followed the bloodtrail down into the building proper.
The water had done its work well. Whatever function this factory had once served was now utterly indecipherable. Featureless lumps of worn-down metal protruded like gravestones as the Ventriloquist pursued the red further, tracking the trail as it wound through old chambers and hallways. All around, the sound of rushing water echoed as a constant companion, backed by a chorus of rain. Apart from the Ventriloquist's footsteps, no sounds of humanity existed here. The only things that lived on Mother's Ruin these days were the raindrops.
Halfway through their chase, they paused. A half-distinct footprint had been planted through the blood before they got there, smeared against the metal floor. From a glance, it seemed to match the size of their quarry, and so they knelt down to inspect it further when…
Pain.
Gasping for breath, they planted a hand against their temple, a sickening migraine pulsing like a worm crawling through their brain. The pain lasted only a few seconds, but those seconds dragged on and on -- and by the time it was done, the Ventriloquist had been forced down to their hands and knees, inconsistent heat and chills coursing through their body. With all the willpower they could muster, they suppressed the urge to vomit -- just barely.
These headaches were getting more frequent, and more painful. Sooner or later, the Ventriloquist knew they'd have to get them looked into, but for now the hunt was the priority. They snapped a quick photo of the footprint with the camera on their palm and saved it for future analysis.
The search came to an end soon after that, in a room on the very border between the water and the land.
Callum Call -- a middle-aged man with curly black hair and golden eyes -- lay slumped against a pillar, his blood painting the water that lapped at his hands and legs. It was clear from a glance that he was dead. A quick inspection of the corpse revealed that the fatal wound had been a plasma shot to the back.
That checked out.
A quick warning, red as the blood in the water, popped up on the visor. Movement detected in the vicinity. The Ventriloquist smirked to themselves: the warning was appreciated, but they weren't ignorant enough that they needed the help. They'd been through enough to know when someone wanted to kill them.
Callum Call, career criminal from the Supremacy city-state of Vevis. Currently on the run after a heist of the Provvidenza’s vault at the Grand Vevis Bank, with takings estimated in the billions of stator. Every other member of his crew -- save the Ventriloquist's true quarry -- had shown up dead in the last few weeks, and now it seemed that fate had caught up with Call as well.
That wasn't what concerned the Ventriloquist. What concerned them was the ability Call had registered with his previous employers -- automatic generation of Aether constructs to deal with hostility. Judging from the sinister shapes skulking around the dark corners of the room, the person who had finished Call off hadn't bothered cleaning up after themselves.
The Ventriloquist turned and -- in the moment before the beasts of steel and stone could lunge forth -- spoke.
"Serena," they said, grasping the invisible shield before them. "Let's start with a spear."
Beneath the beak, a cheery smile spread wide. "O-kay!"
At the same time as the forcefield was warped into the shape of a long spear, the first of the three constructs -- a metallic ball -- leapt at Bruno and Serena.
They'd done their research on Callum Call before coming here -- his ability worked by combining pre-recorded automatic body parts and other materials into a configuration based on the nature of the threat. Presumably, these last productions had been designed to counter whatever had killed Call: they wouldn't be adapted to the tactics of the Ventriloquist. They wouldn't see the invisible spear coming.
The shield-spear shattered as it was buried in the core of the metal mass, but it was enough to halt the construct's momentum. As it fell to the floor, it lashed out with a protrusion like a scorpion tail, the point aimed square for Bruno's throat.
No problem.
Perfect Parry.
At the very instant before the attack would have made contact, the tail suddenly froze, seized in midair by a perfectly sculpted forcefield. The construct chittered, red eyes flashing deep beneath the layers of metal, and more tendrils struck at various points all across Bruno's body.
Four in total, aiming for the right leg, the stomach, the heart and the left temple. Daunting, but it was the sort of thing Bruno had trained for. Hesitation was defeat.
Perfect Parry.
Perfect Parry.
Perfect Parry.
Perfect Parry.
One by one, the tendrils were caught in forcefields right before they made contact -- and within the span of around two seconds, the construct had been fully immobilized. Bruno swooped in towards the sphere, dodging a swing from one of its fellows in the process. A slot in the center of the machine opened up as Bruno came in, revealing the eager barrel of a flamethrower, but it was too late.
Bruno slapped a firm hand against the automatic.
Since he and Serena had entered the bounty hunting business, he'd made efforts to refine his abilities. Once upon a time, Perfect Parry had been nothing but a rarely-used way to stop an incoming attack. It had to be activated right before the attack hit -- and when panicked, that was nearly impossible.
Bruno had learnt to shut his useless panic away, but that wasn't all. He'd made the timing for Perfect Parry even more unforgiving, and that adjustment came with a benefit. Purple Aether flared around Bruno as Perfect Parry rewarded him, granting him momentary strength equivalent to a low-level Aether burn.
Ordinarily, creating a shield in his hand and immediately destroying it would suffice only to push an enemy away. With Perfect Parry, though? He could blast right through.
Boom.
The construct exploded into scraps of metal, and Serena took over as the remaining two automatics pursued them. One was big and bulky, with two arms much larger than its legs that gave it the silhouette of a gorilla. The other was thin and jagged, like a piece of scrap origami, sharp claws protruding from its skeletal arms.
She'd destroy the thin one first. The skeletal automatic thrust its arm towards her, and Serena dodged with an elegant cartwheel. As she did so, she infused her violet Aether into the metal floor below, the pale light coursing through the bulkhead. As she came to a halt, the material flowed out of the floor like a liquid to reform in her grip.
In one hand, she now held a mighty metal bow. In the other, a deadly-sharp arrow. Bruno's forcefield served well enough as the string.
Charging in with a distorted bellow, the gorilla slammed its arms down towards her with enough force to total a car. Serena leapt backwards to avoid it -- and at the same time, fired her arrow towards the thin automatic. Her aim was perfect, as was her timing, but the shot did not strike true.
Before the arrow could hit the automatic, a bright blue barrier -- slightly translucent -- flickered into existence around it, deflecting the projectile.
Serena frowned.
It's adapted against ranged attacks, Bruno observed. It could have been him, right? It could have adapted against him?
"I dunno, Bruno," Serena muttered, ducking under another swing of those mighty arms. "Lots of people shoot. Don't get your hopes up, okay?"
They're closing the distance as well, keeping apart in case we appear and disappear between them. It fits, right?
"I guess," Serena sighed, and then -- with that same breath -- she scooped the metal bow in her hands through the floor, adding to its mass until it was a mighty warhammer.
Spinning like a ballerina, she slammed her new weapon into the thin automatic, utterly demolishing its flimsy body. Whoever these constructs had been adapted against, they'd clearly had a much different fighting style than the Ventriloquist. These guys were using tactics aimed to take down a sniper. Clearly, they didn't understand they were up against a bulldozer.
Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.
Which left just one. The gorilla thumped its massive arms against the floor as Serena circled it, and the building creaked ominously in response. Best to take this guy down quickly, before he had time for collateral damage. Serena enjoyed swimming, sure, but not --
Thrum.
Bruno's ears pricked up as he heard it. The telltale noise of a starship engine. The sound of someone leaving this place.
Bruno! Don't just take over like --
Too late. Bruno didn't even realize he'd taken control until the gorilla slammed into him, seizing hold of his body as it ran. As a pair, he and the automatic smashed through the far wall, bitter winds slicing at Bruno's skin as he was thrown out of the building. The water below raged as they plummeted towards it, eager to greet them.
He needed to get away. The gorilla still held him tight, clearly intending to bring him down with it. Not a problem.
When it came to Aether, the general rule of infusing an object was 'first come, first served' -- so Bruno ordinarily couldn't create a shield intersecting someone else's Aether, not without investing a greater power. But Callum Call was dead, his Aether was fading, and the joints Bruno was aiming for were so very thin…
…if he could just overpower them…
Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop.
Four shields appeared for just an instant, severing each of the joints connecting the construct's limbs to its body, and the disassembled automatic tumbled down into the sea. Bruno himself landed on another forcefield, the barrier easily holding his weight as he caught his breath. For a moment, he remained there -- staring down at the ocean below, waiting for some final attack… but it never came.
Callum Call’s last gasp had come and gone.
Gritting his teeth, Bruno snapped his head up to look at the hole they’d left in the wall up above. They’d fallen quite the distance before he’d managed to escape -- he’d need to climb all the way back up. Damnit. He clenched his fists. He didn’t have time, he needed to hurry, that ship was getting further and further away every second… if he didn’t get a move on, he’d --
Oh, Bruno, Serena sighed. We’ve done this enough times, right? You know.
For a moment, Bruno persisted, hurriedly creating a staircase of shields to get back to the building. Soon enough, though, experience won over hope, and he found himself falling down to his knees. Serena took the liberty of standing back up.
“If we look away from Dragan…” she sighed, looking up at the empty sky. “...he’s already gone.”
----------------------------------------
The Shrike swooped through the gulf of space like the bird it was named after, moving towards its destination on autopilot.
As Serena had predicted, Dragan Hadrien had been long gone by the time they'd managed to get the ship in orbit. That was assuming, of course, that he'd been there in the first place. The only traces of his presence Bruno had managed to scrounge together were the ramblings of one of Call's near-dead comrades and a blurry security videograph. Straws to clutch at.
In the cockpit, Bruno sighed, leaning back in his seat as he looked into the dark beyond the window. Without looking, he reached out to the side, snatching away a cup of coffee carried by the refreshment automatic Serena had insisted they pick up. He sipped the drink -- bitter, and not the way Bruno liked it. The thing hadn't been worth the money.
It had been a long two years.
After Dragan had disappeared, somehow escaping from the rescue fleet even though he should have been comatose, Bruno hadn't been in any mood to go with his UAP hosts back to their territory. He'd had a friend to find. Serena had no choice but to come with him, of course, and Ruth had accompanied the two of them for a time… but eventually, she'd drifted away. She'd found a life to live. It'd been months since they'd last spoken.
Bruno and Serena had found one too, in a fashion, a way to make money to support Bruno's endless search. The Ventriloquist -- the alias they'd decided on -- was quite the respected bounty hunter these days. They went after criminals on the run, bringing them to whatever passed for justice in the Supremacy.
Bruno was sure that Skipper would have disapproved of him cooperating with the Supremacy, even to that extent… but a guy had to eat. Especially since Dragan Hadrien seemed to very much not want to be found.
"Destination approaching," the Shrike's autobrain said smoothly. "Please take care."
Bruno blinked, snapping back to attention. The Gelstrung was a sight to behold -- a massive station, formed from countless bound-together cylinders, huge enough that it blotted out the stars behind it. One of the Supremacy's biggest and most secure prisons -- and the holding place for the man that Bruno had come to speak with.
It wasn't easy. It had taken countless pro-bono jobs as the Ventriloquist to muster the goodwill needed for such a favour.
Be careful, Bruno, Serena warned him. If they've figured out who we are, this could be a trap.
"Right," Bruno muttered. "Got it."
Tiny names like theirs weren't at the top of the Supremacy's hitlist, but it was still best to watch their backs. After the Elysian Fields Incident -- as it had come to be known -- the Supremacy had retaliated harshly against all the different parties involved. The man Bruno was meeting was just one of them.
The Callum Call trail might have gone cold, but it wasn't the only one Bruno could follow. He had no shortage of straws to clutch at, after all.
-
"You'll have five minutes," said Bruno's host, a Scurrant security officer with a pair of massive feathered wings. "That's all I could pull for you."
"That's fine," Bruno replied, his voice modulated by his visor -- he was here as the Ventriloquist. It was a short amount of time he was being given, but from what he remembered, this guy wasn't much of a talker anyway.
Bruno followed the officer down countless dull grey hallways, making seemingly random turns again and again and again. From what Bruno understood, the Gelstrung was specifically designed to be a confusing labyrinth, so that any escaping prisoners would quickly become lost, easy pickings for the guards. The man leading Bruno had a visor lowered down over his eyes too. No doubt it was feeding him the route to his destination.
If he decided to abandon Bruno for whatever reason, he was pretty much screwed.
But abandon Bruno he did not. After a few minutes, the two of them finally reached the door to a visitation room. The guard nodded towards the metal door as it slid open.
"Wait in here," he said simply. "I'll get him to you."
Bruno, this is so shady…
"Fine," Bruno repeated, striding into the dark room beyond.
Behind him, he heard the guard speak once more: "Five minutes."
"Five minutes," Bruno replied.
The doors slid shut behind him, and for a second he was bathed in darkness -- until the lights on the ceiling flickered on, revealing the chamber. There wasn't much to look at. A single chair, facing a huge glass cube in the middle of the room -- an empty cube. Bruno glanced over his shoulder, wary of the cameras, but turned back to the room's centrepiece as a deep rumbling noise began to sound out. Now that Bruno looked, that cube was actually even emptier than he'd first believed -- below it, on the other side of the glass, was nothing but a deep dark pit.
No, not a pit… an elevator shaft.
As the del Sed twins watched, a prison cell began to rise up until it filled the cube, held behind the glass like an exhibit at a zoo. Even after the cell had risen up, though, there wasn't much to speak of in the enclosure -- a bed, a stout bookcase, an audiograph blaring out indistinctly…
…and the annoyed glare of Asmodeus Fix.
The orange prison jumpsuit the Scurrant wore provided a burst of colour that was almost garish compared to his grey skin and yellow eyes, sunk deep within their pits. The former acting head of the Oliphant crime organisation sat on the side of the bed, fingers drumming along his thighs as he regarded Bruno. For a second, it seemed as if he'd say nothing at all.
Then…
"What do you want?" he grunted.
Bruno's memory had been accurate, it seemed. This man wasn't much of a talker. He doubted Asmodeus Fix had been part of many conversations that had gone on for more than three minutes, let alone five.
So Bruno got to the chase. "Dragan visited you," he said, voice curt as he paced around the outside of the cube. "Dragan Hadrien. Two weeks ago. What did he tell you? Where was he going next?"
Fix blinked placidly, following Bruno as he moved through the room. "He wasn't here," he said placidly, his voice a bored monotone.
"Don't bullshit me," Bruno snapped. "People I trust tell me he was here -- and you spoke to him."
Asmodeus Fix sighed like two rocks scraping past each other -- and he stood up from the bed, crossing his arms. "Del Sed, right?"
Bruno stopped. "What?"
"You're the del Sed kid. One of them. I recognise your voice." Fix nodded to the visor Bruno was wearing. "Take that thing off."
"I don't…"
"Take that thing off," Fix repeated, steady and insistent. "You look ridiculous."
Slowly, Bruno acquiesced. Since he spent a lot of time in the field, he wore that visor more often than not -- and so a slight difference in shade had emerged between the bottom and top half of his face. If anything, Bruno thought he looked more ridiculous without the thing.
It makes us look unique, Bruno, Serena said reassuringly.
"You look different," Fix grunted.
"I'm not here for small talk, and neither are you," Bruno said. "I just want to know where my friend is. What did Dragan tell you when he was here?"
Fix stared at him for a moment, his golden gaze inscrutable, his mouth a flat line. The only sound came from the audiograph in the corner of the cell. It was blaring out a running commentary on the conclusion of the Outer Melees. Bruno glanced at it, annoyed by the exuberant and near-incoherent celebrations of the announcer.
"Can you turn that off?" Bruno asked.
"No," Fix replied. "It's history."
He was sort of right about that.
After two years of investigation and preparation, the Dawn Contest -- the process to decide the next Supreme -- had finally begun. Those who came out victorious in the chaotic free-for-all of the Outer Melees would proceed to the Inner Melees, and those victors would then be accepted into the tournament proper. It was strange to think… but one of the names the cheerful announcer was reeling off could very well be the next leader of the Supremacy.
“I’m surprised they gave you an audiograph in here,” Bruno commented.
Fix scratched his chest. “I’m good at making friends. Not everyone is so lucky. They say ol’ Roy’s in here too -- somewhere so deep and dark that nobody will ever find him. So it goes.”
“I don’t know anything about that,” Bruno said, glancing away.
"I bet not. You want my advice, kid?" Fix finally spoke again.
"No," Bruno snapped. "I want your answers."
"Well," Fix shrugged heavily. "My advice is the best you're gonna get. I'd tell you to give up, kid."
Bruno's brow creased as he glared, continuing to pace around the cell, visor tucked under his arm.
Fix continued without waiting for a reply; "Dragan doesn't want to be found. You ain't stupid -- you realise that -- and I'm telling you now, it's for your benefit, not his. Maybe I could tell you something that'll give you some clue, but wherever that clue takes you… it ain't somewhere you wanna go. Understand?"
Bruno didn't answer. He just stared, eyes wide… not at Asmodeus Fix, but at the tiny audiograph in the corner of the room. Fix frowned, glancing at the object too for a moment -- before realising what had happened with a deep groan.
"Ah, shit," he muttered.
The reason Bruno hadn't answered… was because of the words the audiograph had just said.
In the end, Bruno didn't use the five minutes he'd been given. A second after hearing the audiograph, he just turned on his heel and charged out of the room, hurriedly putting the visor back on. Fix just watched him go, shaking his head ruefully as the cell began to descend back down.
"So it goes," he grumbled, in the moment before he was swallowed by the darkness.
----------------------------------------
Lightpoint 2134-6719-1003B ("Little Brother")
Little Brother was one of two lightpoints in the Hidurna system, right on the edges of Supremacy space -- the safe edge, not the one that bordered the UAP. A small spherical starstation, perpetually in the shadow of Hidurna II, out of sight and out of mind. Its counterpart in the system, imaginatively named Big Brother, was officially recognised by the Supremacy, with supply and arms shipments passing through each and every day. The people who ran Big Brother had become quite rich from the business tyranny brought.
Little Brother wasn't recognised, wasn't rich, and so it was where the interesting people were.
Ruth Blaine sighed as she walked down the road, her bulky mechanical legs thumping against the ground beneath her. They were thick, industrial-grey, the feet flat and round like those of an elephant. They looked more like something stripped from a mining automatic than actual prosthetics. Ruth didn't mind that, though: they looked cool.
The noise, though? She didn't care as much for that. Thunk-thunk-thunk, all the time, like she was a walking factory. The cushioning on the soles, which was supposed to make them less loud, had been wearing away for a couple of weeks now -- but the money she had to hand wasn't for her own comfort.
Fuel costs, food, clothes… ammo… Ruth honestly didn't know how Skipper had managed it. Her red long coat swished around her metal legs as she ducked into a side street, quickly passing through it before reaching the hangar where the ship was waiting.
The Slipstream BRAVE -- she'd insisted on the name -- was a sleek red-and-blue combat freighter, perched on the landing pad with a collection of insect-like legs. Light gleamed off the smooth surface of the main cylindrical section -- and as Ruth approached, she could see her own reflection in it. Her long hair was tied into a braid at her side, and her face held a collection of new and tiny scars… but it was still her.
In some little way, in some miniscule but somehow vital sense, she'd made it somewhere. She'd found a tiny life for herself and made it work. It wasn't perfect… it wasn't what she'd maybe wanted… but it was hers and hers alone.
Beep.
As Ruth came within range of the Slipstream BRAVE, the script on her pocket connected to the communicator aboard, buzzing as a message came in. Ruth plucked the paper-thin device from her pocket -- and winced as she saw the sender. Bruno… did he have another wild goose chase to guilt her for not pursuing? It wouldn't be the first time.
Still… it wasn't like she had a choice. Ruth opened the message -- and her eyes widened as she read it. Two words from Bruno, and a capture he'd clearly taken off a Brighteye news report.
Found him.
There, staring at her from right beneath Bruno's words, was the face of Dragan Hadrien -- two years older, his silver hair grown long, his blue eyes grown cold. That wasn't what shocked Ruth, though.
What did that were the words that came below the picture.
Outer Melee Victor #212 -- Dragan Hadrien. Victor proceeds to the Inner Melee.