Syndicate's Pawns: A Tale of the Jinxed Thirteenth

By Davila LeBlanc

The action, adventure, and horror continue for the crew of the Jinxed Thirteenth in the follow up to DaVila LeBlanc's thrilling space opera, Dark Transmissions.

A month has passed since the eclectic crew of the Covenant Patrol vessel Jinxed Thirteenth endured a harrowing mission on the abandoned space station of Moria 3 and rescued its sole surviving crew member. During the mission, Moria 3’s deranged AI all but crippled the Jinxed Thirteenth, and the skeletal crew is now desperately trying to get it repaired.

Waking from several millennia of cryo-sleep, Jessie Madison’s worst fears are confirmed. She is the last surviving member of the Human race. Surrounded by the descendants of mankind in a world she knows nothing about, not even the basic alphabet, Jessie finds herself only able to communicate with the ship’s medic, Marla Varsin, and its translator, Machina Chord. 

When the merchant vessel Althena arrives on the scene, its captain, a shrewd trader named Domiant, offers to sell Captain Morwyn the parts he needs. As guards are lowered on the Jinxed Thirteenth and repairs get underway, it becomes evident that a cunning foe has managed to infiltrate the ship. A deadly game of deception begins to play out, with a sinister foe setting its sights set on capturing Jessie. Captain Morwyn Soltaine, the crew of the Jinxed Thirteenth, and Jessie Madison find their mettle tested as they are dragged into a desperate battle for survival.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Jul 5, 2016
• ISBN: 9780062464323

Davila LeBlanc

DaVila LeBlanc spent his college years studying print journalism but quickly found himself working as a writer and performer in the comedy circuits of Montreal. During this time his goal became to break into the world of professional writing. He would get his first opportunity when he co-created and sold the hit animated television series: "The League of Super Evil." This was his first foray into the world of production and an important first step on his road to becoming a writer. After working on various television shows, in 2013 Davila decided to take a year off from children's animation to focus on writing his first novel, Dark Transmissions. He is an avid reader of science fiction and fantasy and wants to add his own voice to the genre that inspired him. Davila currently resides in Ottawa where he is working on several other writing projects. He can be reached through his website: www.davilathewhite.com

Book preview

PROLOGUE

14th of Standard Sol Month 10 year 1445 After Second Expansion

"They’re going to wake you up, Mom." Malory’s tiny voice broke through the wonderful sunrise that Jessie Madison was enjoying. She was bundled up in white blankets with the comforting warmth of David’s arms around her. There was no need to wake up just yet. Plenty of time to sleep in and enjoy the moment. Jessie ignored Malory’s voice and pulled herself closer to David, who was breathing heavily, still fast asleep.

There was an insistent tug on the blankets, and Jessie grumbled. Five more minutes Malory, then Mommy will get up and make you some breakfast.

You’re not listening to me!

Jessie opened her eyes to find Malory staring at her, unblinking. She was a pretty young girl, with long brown hair like Jessie’s and piercing blue eyes like her father.

What is it, little one? David’s voice was a tired mumble.

Malory ignored David’s comment and grabbed Jessie’s head in her tiny hands, locking eyes with her. The voices outside are talking. They’ve moved you, Mom.

Jessie shook herself free of Malory’s surprisingly strong grip and sat up. She looked past her daughter to the bedroom window, expecting a view of the Maine winter wilderness. She was shocked to be greeted by the endless expanse of deep space. Jessie licked her lips nervously. I’m still dreaming, aren’t I?

Malory nodded. Yes.

Jessie pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes, wincing. Her skin was suddenly covered in goose bumps. Her breath was misting. I . . .

Malory’s fingers gripped Jessie’s hand. Don’t be afraid, Mom. I’ll be back with you soon.

As she said this, Malory’s fingers slipped away. Jessie was rudely and roughly pulled up off her bed, and through the ceiling of her home. White lights, blinding and painful, filled every last inch of her reality. Jessie let out a shocked scream.

Awakening from criosleep had always been a horrible affair. It was a savagely disorienting experience in which one went from complete and total nothingness to suddenly being overloaded with stimuli. The dimmest lights stung the eyes; the slightest of sounds, even the ruffling of clothes, was like an explosion. And all of it paled in comparison to the bone-­deep cold that one felt all over the body, accompanied by the uncontrollable shivering and vomiting of bile-­flavored nutritional gels.

Before she and David had set out for the automated Station of Moria Three, they had read that the longer one remained in criosleep, the more severe the symptoms would be. Hence, long sleep periods were often discouraged. In the earlier days of sleeper-­tube travel, many crews had been lost, not in transit, but during their subsequent awakenings.

During her time as lead engineer on the automated mining station of Moria Three, Jessie had lived through a number of such horrible revivals. The worst, she would later think, paled in comparison to this one.

Lights were being shined down on her, and amid the blurs and dots in her field of vision she could hear what sounded like voices, speaking words she could not for the life of her comprehend. However, she was certain that this was, in fact, reality, if the deep-­freeze burn pain all over her body was any indication. Jessie tried to breathe and realized that it was taking every last bit of energy in her weakened body to do even that much. She gasped desperately. The air around her might have very well just been liquid fire as her lungs drew in ragged breaths.

She started to convulse and gag, too enfeebled to even turn herself over, bile-­flavored nutri-­gel caught in her throat. Jessie could make out one of the voices, this one a young man’s, shouting out orders. A pair of cold, strong hands gently grabbed her by the shoulders and turned Jessie onto her side. She coughed out again and could suddenly breathe burning air into her lungs.

No worries, Jessie Madison. This unit is named Chord and assures you that you are safe. A soft and calm voice spoke to her in a strangely accented and cadenced English. "You are safe and on board the Covenant Patrol vessel: Jinxed Thirteenth."

Jessie closed her eyes as a wave of massive nausea overtook her. Her heart was beating rapidly, her skin felt like it was brittle and frozen. Her head was still swimming. Am I going to die? Her voice was a dried croak.

It is doubtful. The ship’s doctor, Marla Varsin, inoculated you before deactivating your criotube, Chord’s almost emotionless voice said, as if trying to reassure her. It wasn’t working; there was something incredibly off-­putting and almost artificial about how Chord spoke.

The young man’s voice asked what sounded like a question in that unknown language. Chord once more spoke to her in English. The captain wishes to know if you remember anything?

My name is Jessie Madison, lead engineer of Automated Mining Facility Moria Three. My husband David Webster and I were stranded. We sent out a distress signal and were supposed to sleep in our criotubes until a rescue operation could be mounted. Jessie had a sudden vision of David, her husband, being casually tossed off the hull of Moria Three by one of the station’s autodrones. He had died floating into the endless void of the cosmos. The thought drew a faint whimper from her.

This unit offers you its condolences. It was unaware that there had been another crew member serving on the space station.

How long was I asleep for? Jessie opened her eyes and quickly thought better of it. Everything around her was painful blurs and unfocused shapes.

There was a significant pause. Most if not all of the records from your history were destroyed during the Lost War, Jessie Madison. Because of that, there is no way to truthfully answer your question.

Just swell. Jessie’s throat was raw and beyond dry. Her stomach was unsteady, her fingers and limbs felt like frozen limp noodles.

Good news remains, a woman, older and tired sounding, said in an English that was even more broken than Chord’s. Regardless, it was still a comfort for Jessie to hear a human-­sounding voice speaking her language.

What would that be? Jessie shook her head groggily. David was dead and she was alone with no way of knowing how long she had been asleep or even where she was.

Inside child is safe, the old woman explained after a lengthy pause, as if she had been trying to formulate the proper sentence.

What does she mean?

You must forgive Doctor Varsin. Late Modern is a seldom-­spoken dialect, Chord replied, politely. Cold fingers, metal fingers, Jessie now realized, clasped her hand, sending shivers up her spine as it suddenly dawned on her that Chord, the owner of the calm emotionless voice, was a machine. What the doctor is trying to say is that the child inside you is healthy.

If she had had the strength to do so, Jessie would have pulled her hand back. The last thing she wanted was to be anywhere near a machine. Jessie wasn’t sure how much of her trembling was from the cold or from the sudden anxiety building up inside her. She found herself wishing that she was safely back in her dream home, far from the nightmare of reality and the cold lifeless hands holding her.

Part 1

DECEPTION’S DIALOGUE

CHAPTER 1

JESSIE

The more time I spend in this world, the more I come to learn and appreciate the value of words. The power and magic they can possess. One day you will hold this book with these words in your hands. They will survive this crude mortal form that transcribed them. And yet none of this compares to the true immortality gained when one produces life.

—­Icarius Odenshaw,

Alexandran scholic and pilgrim,

13th of SSM–10 1166 A1E

17th of SSM–11 1445A2E

"Ten minutes more," Doctor Marla Varsin called out in her strangely accented English as Jessie willed her left leg to move forward. Her body was trembling with effort, her leg muscles screaming in agony. Jessie let out a frustrated growl as she leaned heavily on her arms. Doctor Varsin had rigged two metallic poles along a slow-­moving treadmill, and Jessie had been walking in place for what felt like hours.

During her last session with Marla Varsin, Jessie had managed to walk in place for thirty minutes before her muscles had all but given out on her. She had then collapsed, and were it not for the support bracers presently fastened snugly around her waist, she would have been unable to stop her fall. She looked up past Marla Varsin to the digital timer on the wall behind her. While Jessie was still unable to fully recognize the red numbers on it, she knew that when they flashed green her previous record would be bested.

The rest of her body felt like it was on cold fire right now. It was a month after her awakening and she still couldn’t shake the bone-­deep chill she felt. No matter how bundled up she was, Jessie just couldn’t seem to get warm.

Jessie strained to keep her legs moving and knew that they were struggling just to support her. It was disheartening. Marla Varsin, short and reed-­thin, was no more than three steps away from Jessie. Yet that distance could have been the size of the Pacific for all it mattered. Every part of Jessie was begging her to sit back down; her arms and shoulders had started to tremble as well.

Marla Varsin saw this and was about to walk toward her.

I can do this! Jessie shouted, stopping Varsin in her tracks.

Varsin shot her a concerned look. Fall on your part risks child safety.

Jessie flashed Marla Varsin a frustrated look. My breasts are tender, I feel nauseated and I pee three times a night. I don’t need to be reminded that I’m pregnant.

Jessie let out an outraged roar and pulled her left leg forward, then her right. She refused to give up as she glared at the timer, willing the numbers to turn green. Doctor Varsin applauded as Jessie kept walking in place. And just like that the numbers on the counter went from red to green. Jessie immediately let her body go limp as the wires in her bracer went taut like a seat belt, supporting her as she floated inches above the ground, enjoying the incredibly relaxing feeling of weightlessness. After a few minutes, Marla Varsin handed Jessie her crutches and made sure she was fully supported on them before undoing her bracers. It was a comfort for Jessie to realize that she could, despite all this effort, still safely lean on her crutches.

Very good progress shown. Marla Varsin led Jessie to the operating table and helped her on it before handing her a silver canteen of water. Jessie emptied it in one heavy gulp.

I can’t stay in this state forever. Jessie winced as she laid herself back.

Not a concern you should be having, Varsin replied as she proceeded to massage Jessie’s sore legs. Her grip was firm, warm and welcome comfort to the endless cold numbness she felt all over her body. Jessie had asked the doctor when this would end. To which Varsin had replied that she had no way of knowing. Her knowledge of criotubes and the technology from Jessie’s time along with any of their side effects was nonexistent.

Jessie studied Varsin closely as she went about her task. The doctor had short graying hair with several streaks of winter white and a dour look to her. She was Kelthan and her appearance was the most familiar to Jessie. Of the new species that populated the universe, the Kelthans were the ones who resembled the Humanity as Jessie remembered it from her time of 2205 AD. Or what was now collectively known as the Lost History of her entire civilization.

Doctor Varsin’s skin was of an odd shade of pale grey. Her eyes, like most of the Kelthans she had met, although that had been limited to Varsin, Captain Morwyn and his pilot Lizbeth Harlowe, were almond shaped and in Varsin’s case they were a dark earth brown. Her lips were full and her face lined. Jessie could not help but think that Varsin would have been quite lovely in her youth.

Jessie sighed a relaxed sigh as Varsin massaged the tension out of her shoulders and arms. These regular daily sessions of physiotherapy were something Jessie looked forward to. They helped take her mind off the unsettling truth that she was not only light years away from Earth, her home—­now called Terra—­but that she was effectively alone in the cosmos. There were no other humans. But there was also no time to wallow in self-­pity when she had a task to focus on—­regaining her strength.

Your hands are like magic, Doctor Varsin. Jessie closed her eyes as the pain of today’s session melted away.

I do not understand that particular word. Marla Varsin paused. Am I causing harm?

Jessie shook her head. It’s just a . . . never mind, you weren’t hurting me.

Marla Varsin carried on with her task. The two of them were on the medical bay of the Jinxed Thirteenth. Inside were over two-­dozen copper-­colored cylinders. These were the carbon tubes, where the rest of the inactive crew was presently being kept in suspended animation. This was in order to preserve the ship’s limited life-­support systems. From Jessie’s understanding, these sleeping men and women had been the ones to rescue her from her prison on Moria Three.

The captain had suggested they place Jessie in one of those tubes. It was Doctor Varsin who had argued against it, not really knowing what the effects would be on Jessie or her unborn fetus. The captain had conceded, remitting her to the care of Doctor Varsin and the Machina construct named Chord. They were to keep Jessie out of the way while the ship’s engineers went about the task of repairing the Jinxed Thirteenth from its battle with OMEX.

And so Jessie’s day-­to-­day routine had been spent on physical therapy followed by linguistic lessons with Chord. It was infuriating to be unable to perform the basic task of communicating with someone else. Of course there were language softwares on the Jinxed Thirteenth, but all of them relied heavily on the Pax Common alphabet, which just this week Jessie had managed to grasp. She was also beginning to get a basic understanding of words like hello and how are you doing? This, ­coupled with her desperate need to catch up on what appeared to be over seven thousand years of Covenant history and culture, had managed to keep Jessie fully occupied.

She had about seven to eight months to learn as much of the languages, cultures and new histories as she could. Then it would be on Jessie to teach her daughter how to fend for herself. Because she had been down the road of machine dependence and had already lost too much because of it.

Jessie was thankful that today she could make her way down the halls of the Jinxed Thirteenth on her crutches. After each session of therapy Jessie could feel her legs and body getting a little stronger. The pain in her muscles was welcome against the cold.

You will only need a cane soon. Marla Varsin’s tone was proud and friendly as the two of them stepped into the cantina. There were three tables bolted to the floor and a tiny kitchen space in the corner of the room. There they found Chord, patiently waiting for them. The Machina was silently staring out one of the portholes, observing the blue and green gas giant of Moria, which they were now currently orbiting. Jessie made her way over to Chord and sat herself down, keeping a respectable distance from it.

Chord’s frame was humanoid in shape: two arms, two legs and a head. Its face was composed of a polymorphic metal, which was fashioned into the semblance of a face, two blank eyes, a nose and lips. When Chord saw them enter the cantina, its lips moved up into what appeared to be a smile. Although whether the construct before Jessie actually felt the emotion or was just imitating a smile to comfort her, was unclear.

Jessie Madison, you look like you could use rest. This unit recommends that we postpone the day’s lesson.

Jessie refused to accept rest. Yes her mind was overloaded with data, and she was tired, exhausted, really, but she needed to learn. I’ve slept enough, Chord.

Chord placed something that looked like a palm-­sized flashlight with various buttons onto the table in front of her. This unit wishes to give you a gift, Jessie Madison. It believes that this will help you in your continuing education.

Jessie gave the black cylinder a curious look. What is it? She picked it up and examined her present more closely.

It is a codexicon. Chord pointed to a button at the bottom of the codexicon. A light flickered on and the projection of what appeared to be some sort of computer screen appeared in front of her. It contains all the data stored inside this unit’s memory matrix.

Jessie was happy to realize that she could recognize letters and navigational commands on the projected screen. In her hands was a veritable encyclopedia. This was indeed one of the best gifts anyone could have given her. She did not say anything. Had Chord been a human being, she no doubt would have been thankful.

That is very kind of you, Machina Chord, Marla Varsin said, breaking the uneasy silence and attempting to mask Jessie’s apparent faux pas.

There is no need to say anything. This unit understands that part of Jessie Madison’s learning process will require her to do so without assistance.

Marla Varsin left the two of them alone in the cantina. Chord started projecting various holographic letters from its left hand. The right hand, Jessie had noted, was missing three of its fingers. The rest of Chord’s body was smooth and polished an almost pearly white except for a large brown metallic plate that had been welded onto the chest.

According to Doctor Varsin, Chord had suffered these injuries while assisting with Jessie’s rescue. Three other members of the Jinxed Thirteenth had been injured as well. Two of them were in carbon sleep. The third one was a Wolver by the name of Phaël, whom Jessie had barely seen since her awakening. She had spent most of her time sneering at Jessie and giving her hateful looks and kept well away from her, as if Jessie were somehow infected with some sort of disease.

When Jessie had asked Marla Varsin about this, she had explained that many of the Wolvers reviled the works of Ancient Humanity, claiming that it was their hubris that had brought about the Lost War. It was a war in which Humanity had battled Machines and lost. What had followed for the descendants of Humanity was thousands of years under the cruel rule of the false machine god known as the Pontifex.

Repeat the letters as they are called out to you, Chord politely instructed, in its electronic monotone.

Yes. Jessie repeated the letters back to Chord. The latter corrected her whenever she was wrong and congratulated her whenever she was right. All of this was on cue, as if Chord were following a preprogrammed lesson plan.

An hour into the lesson, Chord was now naming the myriad galactic nations that made up the Covenant