While mega-corporations vie for control of Andromeda's precious resources, the very anti-corporate Yseult, surreptitiously recruited into the heavily militarised MANTIS soon finds that the drawbacks of corporate life may be a small price next to the...
Vyken Tyros stood in the squalid cell that was his room, searching for information with his digi-page... He'd been at it for hours and still not found what he was looking for. Who was she? One red-headed woman in a galaxy full... deep down, he knew he was unlikely to uncover anything but, staring briefly around his room at the grey walls, grey floor and grey ceiling... He had nothing better to do. He didn't expect to be alive right now after all.
The mission had all gone according to plan. Octan operatives aboard the Jade Sun had facilitated a 'silent dock' with the freighter while inside the gravitational anomaly transit from Lesser Drigo. It was an extremely dangerous manoeuvre but the risk was deemed acceptable. Vyken's Quadstar, not having a GATE system of its own piggy-backed the freighter. His orders were simple... If the operation is discovered, detach, fall back and destroy the freighter... and with it, any evidence of Octan's involvement. It would have left him trying to navigate the anomaly without a GATE... Who knows where he might end up... if at all. 'For the corporation' he had told himself.
The transfer went without a hitch and with the cargo on-board, they dropped back from the Jade Sun. They exited the anomaly at Donwarr and proceeded, as usual to the rendezvous. Vyken detached and now became the freighter's protector. They entered Donwarr's atmoshphere without challenge... evading the eyes of MANTIS here had almost become routine... almost. As usual, shortly after entering atmo, he doubled back. He timed it so that anything that might have been following just out of sensor range would be passing through the ionosphere at that time and the interference would prevent them from seeing him approach. Usually, there was nothing there and he would swing back round and catch up with the freighter... Not this time.
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He'd never seen this kind of ship before but he recognised the black finish with green hints... MANTIS. The ship had made it through re-entry faster than he'd expected so when he saw it, he didn't have time to lock onto it. His initial volley of plasma bolts had missed and the two banked to avoid each other. Vyken immediately rolled 180 degrees and began to bank back towards the black ship. When it came into view it was a long way off. It's fast he thought. Faster than me. His second burst of shots was little more than hopeful but it would likely be his last chance. That one of them hit was nothing but sheer luck. He watched as black smoke poured from the right-hand engine and the ship started falling out of control.
Vyken levelled off and turned back towards the black ship... Remarkably, the pilot had arrested the spin and appeared to be gliding it to the ground. It would take some pilot to pull that off. He thought and as he watched the ship hard-land without busting into flames. He found himself pondering who the pilot was. Foolish! Vyken snapped himself back to the present and shook his head in self disgust. His curiosity had got the better of him, he knew that. He wanted to know who had found them and who has steered the damaged ship to the ground when it should have crashed, all records of their discovery lost with the pilot in black smoke. Perhaps he was right to land nearby and see though; after all, their survival would only compromise the mission. He found the pilot beside the downed ship, clearly shaken by the landing. I will not get a duel, he had thought, but at least I will ensure MANTIS is less one of its best... He remembered his reaction when he removed her helmet, the red hair and a stranger's face looking back at him. For a brief moment, he was bemused: Who was she?
He didn't let it last and had been about to end whatever short career she had enjoyed with MANTIS when he heard something... a sword. He looked up... Graves. He knew of Graves, or had heard the stories at least. The red-haired woman was forgotten; he was going to get the duel he had hoped for after all. Vyken thought back to the duel... He had heard stories about Private Graves... Some were believable, others he treated with suspicion. It was from those stories that he'd heard the phrase of 'making the mistake of taking a gun to a sword-fight'. As a swordsman himself, he had liked that and had hoped to meet Graves in combat one day... Finally, he had got the chance. The duel had been evenly matched and Vyken had soon realised that Graves' reputation was well deserved. Blow after blow, parry after parry they clashed. It soon became clear that skill alone would not settle this and the battle may ultimately be decided by who tires first. He would not be given the chance to find out.
Despite his armour and large scimitar, Graves's style was surprisingly deft and Vyken had wagered that whatever was behind that plain black visor was not entirely biological. He had settled into a defensive strategy: let Graves dance around and expel his energy attacking me. But in the heat of the fight, his efforts, his concentration focussed on one of the most formidable swordsmen in the Galaxy... He hadn't noticed the red-haired woman... Why would he? She was an exhausted wreck in a heap on the ground. Why didn't I see her get up? I was careless. He only knew she wasn't still on the ground when something struck him from behind. Whether Graves knew she was there or not, he didn't know. The black visage gave nothing away. The blow knocked Vyken sideways... He lost his footing and fell. She must have used something. He thought back, recalling the events. Large and solid... Not a rock, her helmet maybe.
He remembered falling onto his back. He didn't see Graves after that, the woman was already kneeling over him, the bone of her knees digging into his upper arms. She was doing something to his suit. He remembered the alarm going off... The environmental alarm. He remembered a brief moment of drowsiness... CO2. She must have done something to the air mixture. He was scrabbling with his arms to get her off but she was too heavy, or was he getting more tired. He knew he would pass out if he did nothing... That was her plan, he realised. He bore the pain and reached for his helmet controls. Straining, he was able to knock the visor lock with one hand. With the other, he had managed to reach the tip of his visor, lifting it to let a rush of fresh air in... As it did, the woman had released his legs, raised up and with the full force of her shoulder, plunged a tight fist into his face. No, he thought in the moment before it made contact. That was her plan... He passed out.
The cold air of the evening finally awoke him. He was alone. Graves and the woman were gone, as was the black ship... and his own. He had struggled to his feet and surveyed his surroundings... Nothing. Except, on the floor near where his Quadstar had been. He walked over to it to find an emergency survival pack... Food, water and medicine. They took everything and left me there, he thought, looking once more around his tiny room, but gave me supplies to survive... Why? He looked once more at the digi-pad and to his fruitless search for an answer. This time, his thoughts were words on his lips. "Who are you, red-haired woman?"
