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...
Sleep was unwelcome... It brought the dreams. A white space... full of nothing, except a desk... a very ordinary desk... and a man, sat in a chair behind it... Writing something on a piece of paper. That's strange. She would think. Who uses paper anymore? The paper was covered in a thousand letters. It looked like the letter 'Y' over and over and over again. She notices that the man is no longer there, or the desk, or the paper.
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She is lying down... the air is cool. She hears a rustling sound, a pitter-patter. It's raining. I'm getting wet. The smell of rain on stone, her breath short, she is tired. A creature kneels over her, tall, ethereal. It leans towards her. "You must find Upsilon" it whispers, its lips unmoving. "You must not lie down". Why can I hear you. "You must find Upsilon" it repeated without using words. "You must not..."
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"Lie down". The voice said as Yseult tried to sit up. She felt groggy, disoriented. It was too bright. "You need rest", the voice repeated. The ache in her arms was starting to agree. She laid back down and put a hand to her eyes to shield the light and give them time to adjust. She tried to look around, noticing the clinical sheeted bed she was lying in. "Je suis où?" she murmured in a tired gravelly voice. She tried to look to where the other voice had come from. "You're in a MANTIS recovery centre". It said softly. "Do you remember us finding you?" Yseult tried to think back but slowly shook her head. Finally used to the brightness, she recognised Riddaeon sitting beside the bed. He wore a wry smile. "When you ask your suit for a morphine injection, you're supposed to say a number... Not 'all of it'... I'm surprised you were still conscious, let alone in the mood for an argument". Yseult furrowed her brow; her head hurt. "Argument?" She replied. Riddaeon reclined in his seat. "You... insisted". He answered. "That we leave him there. And with rations too". He let a silence hang to see if Yseult would volunteer an explanation. None came and Riddaeon's wry smile had become frustrated frown. "You're as stubborn as you are persuasive. I shouldn't have sent a recovery team full of juniors to get you..." Riddaeon calmed himself. He wasn't here to get angry with her. The mission had been a success after all. Yseult had followed her instincts rather than her orders and allowed them to figure out how Octan was lifting the Mythril. It might not matter in a few weeks anyway; Octan were moving on Freegate and if they take control, the larger Mythril operations will be their first target. MANTIS will sabotage the liquid Mythril plant before they leave and it will all have been for nothing... Welcome to Quarrel he thought to himself.
He placed a cup and a small box on the bedside table. "I got you coffee". He said. "They grow the real deal here. Not like that swamp liquor on Marphacia". He thought back to their first meeting on the terrace in the morning mists. "And some bread and jam... They tell me you like to dip it in the coffee". He couldn't help making a face at the idea as he said it. Intentional or not, it conjured a small smile on Yseult's otherwise tired face. "Merci". She managed at just above a whisper. For the next half hour, Riddaeon talked to her about whatever he could think of; Ellie was fixing Darksight... She was glad that Yseult was okay. There was some big sports event going on... MANTIS's strongest entry had finished last in some race and half of the corporation was crying foul and pointing fingers. Eventually, Yseult managed to raise herself up and sit cross-legged. She took the bread and coffee: it was good, not fresh but good all the same and the hot bitter drink softened the stale crust while the jam gently sweetened the coffee. It reminded her of home; Saturday mornings and finishing off the last of yesterday's bread, topped with apricot jam. She was too young for coffee back then but her Dad would make her tea and they would sit on the terrace in the sun and he would tell her about what stunts he was going to perform in his next display and twist and flip his hands in the air as he explained it to her and she would stare, bemused at the display of skill and danger that he would describe and want, more than anything in the whole world... to become a pilot.
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When the visit was over, Riddaeon exited the room into an empty corridor. He activated the comm device on his temple and a fuzzy distorted holo-image emerged in front of him. It was small and difficult to discern details but the large beard and excessive hair made who it was unmistakable. "She is ready". Riddaeon said. "Good..." The image responded. "...How did she perform?". "Your calculations were correct..." Riddaeon replied. "...She did not perform as expected." The hologram gave a fuzzy and heavily pixelated grin. "Good." It said. "Shall I progress to the next phase?" Riddaeon asked. "Yes..." the reply came. "... But first, a matter has arisen. I understand you have acquired an Octancorp vessel?" "Yes..." said Riddaeon. "...A Quadstar."
The holo-image grinned a pixelated grin once more.
