Specter, p.18
Specter, page 18
Da’kota snorted. “That’s how you end up being programmed to kill the president, you know?”
Torque shrugged, as if to say then he dies.
Da’kota started to tug his jumpsuit on – his other hand waving to use some magical telekinesis to lift his daedela and slide the wrist mounted computer and fabricator to his arm. He tapped at it, then swiped his finger upwards, revealing the memory he had worked so hard to get.
The grainy image showed a first person perspective of a tall, hunched figure, with a decidedly inhuman shape to them beneath their thick black robes. Their face was mostly concealed, but what little showed around the hood that hung around their scalp was muzzle-like and metallic. They had gleaming, flat fingers that were just as robotic as the rest of them. Their voice was a raspy horror.
“Yes. Irrelevant. You were hired to destroy Project Soulbound. That is what you will be paid for.”
The view swung down, aiming at the floor – a look of shame that Da’kota had seen before from the outside. “You said that this was a military target,” Torque’s voice came from within, sounding resonant and deeper, like how Da’kota’s voice sounded differently to himself rather than on recordings. “I’ve seen merchant stations that are better armed than this – there’s not even a frigate tender.”
“The drow sought security in secrecy. It was their down-”
Da’kota skimmed to the end of the memory, using his finger to fast-forward to the moment where the view became a staticky blur and pain indicators started to flash up on the edges of the vision, the HUD coming to life and alerting Torque to everything in her body that was going haywire. Relict had thrown their hood back, showing their brilliant glowing red eyes, and their features. The shape that Da’kota had taken for a muzzle was actually the planes and curved features of a stylized dwarf beard, projecting away from those ruby red eyes. The voice that reverberated from Relict carried the weight of a godly portent.
“Your kind exist because my master wills it. They will end when we command it.”
“And now,” Da’kota said, hitting the pause button. “Not only do I have this proof that Relict-” He paused, glancing at the dwarfs, who were both looking horrified, appalled. As horrified and appalled, he supposed, as he would if Jesus Christ had shown up and started smacking people around and declaiming like a villain. He continued. “Or, uh, someone pretending to be Relict is active, but we also have this.” He made a tugging motion and pulled a writhing hologlyph from the image. It looked like the sound-wave of a recording projected for ease of editing, and it warbled between his fingers.
“What’s that?” Ada asked.
“It’s the sympathetic tether of the signal,” Admiral Grimstern said, her lips pursing. “It means you can do any kind of sympathetic magic relating to that signal as you could with, say, a lock of hair and a princess. You pulled that from a memory file?”
Da’kota smirked. “I’m a specter. What can I say?”
“I am going to need to tell my government to re-classify certain files even more securely,” Admiral Grimstern muttered under her breath.
“Wait, hold up!” Ada said, holding up her hands. “Aside from the insane fact that someone is pretending to be Relict - or, worse, that Relict, a god that died six centuries ago, is running around - there’s just... I have... there…” She spluttered, then finally got the words out. “Who the fuck is giving Relict, the god of smiths, orders!?”
“That is something I am very curious about as well,” Da’kota said. “And I am going to get Z’illa to tell it.” He smiled at Admiral Spiderblood. “Now, for the next step of the plan.”
“What now?” she asked.
“You put me into chains, strip me of my weapons and gear, and drag me before the Empress to stand trial,” Da’kota said, dryly.
Admiral Spiderblood sighed. “I was worried you’d say that.”
***
The drow battlefleet and the dwarf squadron needed to split up – the last thing Da’kota wanted was for the home fleet of the Empire to start shooting wildly at a bunch of dwarf ships. He stood at the airlock with Adamant Gemglory, offering his hand to her as she glowered at the door.
“I do hope we can talk again, in the future,” she said. “I’ve been thinking that... oh!” She took his hand, realizing what it was for at last. She shook him, firmly. “We drow and dwarfs may not be as different as I always assumed.”
“There are some subtle congruence, yes,” Da’kota said in a tone of voice that flew over not just the princess’ head but also every other dwarf and every drow in the room. Well, maybe not Admiral Grimstern, who shot him a fishy look. Da’kota did take pride in the fact that he was pretty sure Ophelia would have been doubled over in hysterical giggles at this point. “Now, remember, only change course-”
“I know, I know!” she said, scoffing. “We won’t jump the gun.”
Da’kota nodded to her, then smiled. “Once this is over, I’ll be sure to have you meet my girlfriend, Ophelia.”
“Not a very drowy name,” Ada said, turning – her red hair swirling. Da’kota noticed, though, that the hair now came with a subtle tinge of gold, near the roots. It was less than a finger’s breadth, but it was noticeable, roots growing out. It was like she had dyed her hair and the dye was near the end of its life cycle. Da’kota reached out before he could stop himself, catching some of her hair and sliding his fingers through her curls. This gesture made her stop for a moment – long enough for Da’kota to lean forward.
“So,” he said. “If red hair means a dwarf is fertile, and black means you’re off your cycle, does blonde mean…”
“W-What are you talking about? I’m not blonde! What’s blonde? Shut up!” Ada said, putting her hand onto her hair and then hurrying forward. She shot through the airlocks before anyone could stop her. Admiral Grimstern frowned at Da’kota, her eyes narrowing. Da’kota looked back evenly – then flicked his gaze to her silvery hair.
“Hmm,” he said.
Was that gold?
Or was he just imagining it?
Admiral Grimstern made it hard to guess by sliding her dwarf naval uniform cap over her head. “Good luck, Spiderblood.”
Then she and the rest of the dwarfs followed their princess.
Da’kota retired up to the bridge of the IDS Requirements of Emergent Political Friction. He watched the swirling tunnel of faster than light travel sweep around the vehicle as he stood beside Admiral Spiderblood, who was looking as coolly confident as she ever did. Then they dropped into normal space at the farcaster that lurked at the edge of the Webheart system. The distortion in space and the swirling accretion disk of Webheart’s central binary of black hole and red giant that dominated the center of the solar system glinted in Da’kota’s eyes.
“Admiral,” the comm-tech in charge of the bridge console turned in her seat, her fingers still on the console. “We’re being contacted – they’re asking if he we have the prisoner aboard.”
“Tell them the Spiderblood First Fleet has their prisoner and will be transferring him when we make orbit,” Admiral Spiderblood said, then frowned. “Got anything?”
“At this range?” Da’kota said. “We’ll have to be in suspense for a few more hours.”
Admiral Spiderblood managed, somehow, to not grind her teeth. Da’kota tapped into his training to keep his heart from thundering and his blood pulsing. He managed to not imagine Lilith and Ant floating in space, dead and slowly dessicating as vacuum stole away everything that they had ever been. He instead simply considered the approaching Webheart, and the fleets of starships orbiting around it. To pick out a single aetheric message from all those ships would take a skilled scrying spell and a sympathetic component.
Now, lets see if I actually have both, or just one.
He lifted his chin.
Webheart grew.
And then his smile flicked across his face.
“Got her,” he whispered.
In his vision, Z’illa’s shardjammer hazed with a magical aura. She had not just some communications from Relict. She had dozens of them. Da’kota’s spider arms slipped from his back as he swung himself into the com-console next to the serving comm-tech, who squeaked in alarm as his hip almost drove her from her cradle chair. His fingers and his extra hands played along the console, and soon, a glowing data-crystal had been extruded from the slot. He snatched it up, grinning as he did so.
“You will be taken before the Empress naked, how are you going to even bring that in with you?” Admiral Spiderblood asked.
The comm-tech, who had been looking at Da’kota with near religious awe, blinked and her bright red eyes dropped down, then back up again. Da’kota, snorting loudly, stood and shook his head.
“I am not hiding the data-crystal up my ass,” he said.
“Ah,” Admiral Spiderblood.
Da’kota chose to ignore that she sounded faintly disappointed. He also ignored the comm-tech’s whispered, “ah but I’d be happy to help.”
Instead, he twitched his finger, opened a dimensional pocket, tossed the crystal in, then zipped the pocket shut with a spurt of mana.
“Now,” he said, then took hold of his jumpsuit. “Let’s get me into those chains, huh[6][7]?”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The massive doors into the heart of the Empress’ court weren’t even closed before Da’kota had confirmed his worst fears.
Ant and Lilith weren’t there. There had been no drow life signs on the shardjammer and if they weren’t in the crowd, there was a thin chance they had been spirited somewhere on Webheart – but more likely…
No, Da’kota thought. They’re not dead until I have it from the horse’s mouth.
Then the sounds of the voices within penetrated.
“-and once again, what possible reason would Da’kota Spiderblood have to do anything you claim, Z’illa Moonshadow, if that is your real name!” Ophelia’s firm, piercing voice rang out of the walls as she stood before the Empress, dressed in her best silverhawk uniform. She was no longer visibly pregnant and looked quite impressive, considering how tiny she seemed in the circular chamber that the Empress held court in – her body was dwarfed by the four statues of drow paragons that held up the roof, and the circular amphitheater like collection of seats where the various noble houses of the Drow Empire sat and watched the proceedings.
“Does a male need a reason to screw anything up?” Z’illa shot back. She was dressed in her more severe jumpsuit – the color and cut denoting her specter status. She smirked as she watched Ophelia. “I mean, you may have failed to communicate to the Council that you are, in fact, henpecked. A male-besotted half-drow whose soul was dragged from a planet that didn’t even have magic on it. Which, I must say, is a piece of information that does put your entire testimony in a new light.”
Murmurs of shock and discontent came from the naves, while Da’kota was pushed forward into the center of the circular chamber. There he stood, buck naked and chained, his wrists bound together, his feet locked in close. The Empress – who reclined on her opulent throne, her head resting against the spider-web pattern of the throne’s back – did not seem either perturbed or disturbed to see him in this state. She was as impassive as granite, her ruby red eyes glinting.
“That’s just blatant ad drowinem[8][9]!” Ophelia said, her voice firm. “We’re here to discuss facts, not feelings.”
“And yet, your facts all rely on-”
“Proven character witnesses, not only from myself, but also an entire squad of pathfinders, and Pain Technician Silthas – or do you think one of the most respected NCOs in the entire Pathfinder Corps is someone to lightly dismiss?” Ophelia sallied back.
For a single flickering moment, Da’kota saw that Z’illa was looking murderous. She smoothed it away so fast that Da’kota was fairly sure only he and Ophelia had noticed it with their trained senses. Ophelia didn’t let it slow her down. Instead, she turned to the Empress, spreading her hands. “But we don’t need to debate around the point now, your highness. Da’kota Spiderblood is here, to answer for himself.”
Murmuring voices from the naves grew louder – and a female voice shouted down, a Moonshadow from the color of her leather straps and tall, conical hat. “Are we really going to let the testimony of a male hold any weight here? Really now?”
“This male is a specter, whether you like it or not!” Ophelia shot back.
“So speaks the dick sucker,” another voice called down – Da’kota couldn’t see the heckler among the crowds.
“Boo!” a Weaveweb noblegirl near the front row shouted back, cupping her hands around her mouth. “Shame! Shame!”
“Has no one here sucked a dick before and liked it? I challenge any of you to-” Ophelia started, pointing her finger dramatically towards the Moonshadow quarter of the council chambers.
More clamoring filled the chambers and General Darkshadow stepped forward, her power armor bleeding off its thermographic camouflage like paint being poured onto her body. She slammed the butt of an official looking halberd into the ground, the resounding crack shutting everyone up.
The Empress, who had her head resting on one hand, her elbow propped on the throne, waved her hand to Da’kota.
“Speak, Specter,” she said. “Z’illa Moonshadow claims that you have deliberately failed your mission, seduced to the dwarf clan’s side by the promise of nubile dwarf pussy and the wealth of their vast golden vaults. Your defender, the Silverhawk Lazata, claims that this is simply spurious supposition. What say you?”
“I say…” Da’kota lifted his chin. “That Z’illa Moonshadow is a traitor. That she serves not the Empress, but rather, an entity known as Relict, and that I have proof she is behind the attempted sabotage on Project Soulbound, the near destruction of the Everdark training colony, and this recent debacle with Princess Adamant Gemglory. Adamant was kidnapped by non-drow made to seem like drow, and delivered to a dragon in such a way to draw the ire of their bearded forces upon ourselves. Meanwhile, Z’illa attempted to annihilate me with an orbital strike after taking over my shardjammer and flying it back here.”
The soft sounds of gasping shock filled the chamber. The Empress was sitting up now.
“Do you have any proof?” she asked.
“Yes,” Da’kota said, his eyes locked on Z’illa’s face. She looked back at him, her lips pursing. “But I think that you expected me to not be able to find it. That’s why you made sure to lead the dwarf fleets back to Entzhar, wasn’t it, Z’illa? You knew the space battle was going to obliterate that habitat and destroy Torque.”
“You act like I’m supposed to know who that is,” Z’illa said. “Wait, no, that was that cyborc that tried to destroy Project Soulbound. It seems to me that destroying her would be a benefit to the galaxy.”
“Save, of course, for this,” Da’kota said. His eyes locked on Ophelia’s. He winked. She tensed. He twitched his nose and focusing. The chains around his wrists were made to dampen mana – but one didn’t need much to open a dimensional pocket. The data-crystal clattered to the ground. Z’illa’s eyes widened and she sprang forward.
“Empress, look out!”
“No, you don’t,” Ophelia shouted, her palm glowing with purple fire. Seconds before Z’illa’s heel drove down onto the crystal it whipped through the air and slapped into Ophelia’s palm. And, of course, Ophelia did exactly what Da’kota knew she would. She held her wrist up, slammed the data crystal into her daedela and began to play the data on the crystal in the biggest projection possible.
It showed Z’illa’s shardjammer, and the haze of communication signals around it – the glowing runes clear as day.
“As you can see! She’s been getting a signal from someone using a code cypher that I pulled from Torque’s mind!” Da’kota said.
Z’illa, her eyes flashing, looked left, then right, her eyes clearly seeking for anything she could do. But the Empress had her gaze locked on the glowing glyphic, her lips pursed.
“We need to get to the bottom of this,” she said, firmly. “We shall call for a recess-”
Z’illa laughed. It was a sharp, short bark of laugh that made everyone look at her. Da’kota frowned, his body tensing.
“Fine!” she said. “You got me. I framed Da’kota.”
The entire crowd gasped. Ophelia, though, immediately started to rush towards Da’kota. She skidded to her feet behind him, her daedlea flashing as she fabricated a mono-knife. She started to saw at his chains, hissing. “Shit, shit, shit, shit!”
“Explain yourself at once, Z’illa Moonshadow!” The Empress exclaimed as General Darkshadow stomped towards Z’illa. Several more star knights emerged.
Then-
Crunch!
General Darkshadow froze midstep. A glimmering white disk had buried itself into her helmet, carving through armor as if it wasn’t even there. Da’kota felt the chains slip around his wrists as a hissing whirring noise filled the air and a series of crunches so close together that they were almost one noise rang out. More disks sliced into the general, sending her jackhammering backwards, until her armored body collapsed, blood pouring and puddling under him.
Z’illa hadn’t moved.
The shots had come from above her, from the Moonshadow section of the audience.
“Well, simple!” Z’illa said. “I’m not Z’illa Moonshadow. There never was a Z’illa Moonshadow.”
She snapped her fingers and her skin flashed – then turned milk pale, her hair shifting from white to platinum blond, her eyes to piercing blue. Da’kota’s jaw dropped. He had seen those hues – in a history text book, during his training.
Z’illa wasn’t a drow.
She’s a goddamn high elf!
The false Z’illa snapped her arm up, snarling into her daedela.
“This is Avenger Zaline! Execute Operation Patriarch! Now! Now! Now!”
And every Moonshadow elf – each as pale as her – sprang from their chairs, pistols and swords in hands – and leaped at the shocked drow nobility.
“Get down, Madam President!” Ophelia shouted and flung herself directly at the shocked Empress. The two crashed to the ground mere seconds before half a dozen of those razor sharp killing disks thudded into the throne – fired by Zaline, who had pulled one of those exotic pistols of her people out. Da’kota saw that they were rapid fire, they used solid ammunition – mana shields would be useless – and they seemed to be carved entirely out of bone. He snatched up the mono-knife that Ophelia had dropped and flung himself at Zaline. She saw him coming, turning and bringing her pistol to aim at him.
