Chương 29: Escalation arc

Woe to those who stand in defense of the wicked. Woe to them, woe to their families, and woe to all who they call friends. So said by the captain of a Toncon War Priest party, context unknown.

"You didn't do your due diligence when allowing the Challenger to dock on your station," Tim said, seemingly having fought his way back to some state of lucidity. Mat strained his ears, but whomever had entered the warehouse had stopped.

"You allowed Bladeslave Fighting on your station, or at the least failed to stop it." Eerdium glanced at the man.

"I am not to be held accountable for my failure by you."

"You're not," Tim agreed.

"But then you allowed the owner of the Bladeslave Fighting ring to hire mercenaries under a contract that your people approved. Then, once accusations were made that the contract was invalid, station security—which was present at the time—failed to intervene. Three strikes." The governor paused, frown deepening, and waved his hand. The three women came into view, yet to Mat's surprise, they didn't attack. Instead, one of them handed the man a dataslad, which he spent some seconds looking at. What's 'three strikes'?

"No clue," Nova replied, offering a shrug.

"Just roll with it, I guess." Eerdium cleared his throat, handing the dataslad back.

"I have no desire for more bloodshed on my station, Herald."

"Then don't try to steal my ship, governor," Mat replied, sounding more confident than he felt.

"What's the legal issue?" The man cleared his throat.

"Obedias signed ownership of the vessel over to one Helene Darvin, who owns a small equity firm on the station. This appears to have been done in exchange for a number of services, the details of which are irrelevant, considering that the contract is null and void. The point being, Helene is protected by law, as are her assets." Why the hell didn't you catch this?

"It wasn't in any of the systems," Nova said, sounding mildly panicked.

"Don't let him take the ship. I like the ship." Tim shrugged.

"The contract is null and void, as you just said."

"Yet the Challenger has already been signed over," Eerdium replied.

"I'm afraid you'll have to come to some sort of an—" Mat was about to speak when Tim beat him to it. The man's voice was oddly hollow.

"No. I don't care to chase down the labyrinthine mess that has made this legal. Three strikes, governor. The ship is ours, or we can let a Starspawn Adjudicator decide this matter. Phallor is the closest, I think. Our people would be more than happy to send him a message, should we ourselves be delayed." Eerdium's face went wholly blank, and Mat resisted the urge to shoot Tim a surprised stare. Mostly of the 'where the fuck did this come from' variety. This Nova seemed to know, and a moment later Mat knew too.

Phallor, apparently, hated slavery. There was very little doubt on who the man would support.

"That won't be necessary," Eerdium said, tone somewhat strained. He took back the datapad, tapping a number of times before continuing.

"As I was saying, while you would ordinarily have to come to an arrangement with Helene, I've taken the liberty of doing so on your behalf. The Challenger is yours, and a clerical mistake has resulted in one too many starship engines being procured. Take it as a token of my gratitude, and as a replacement for the one that the Challenger is missing. One less slaver is a boon to the entire galaxy." Right then. Mat turned, feeling almost robbed.

There he was, expecting a fight, and Tim came out of left field with an Adjudicator, whatever the hell that was. So he offered the man a nod, turned, and walked out of the room. The prisoners. Mat paused at the door. Oh, Stef's soldiers. Those were alive, apparently. Good.

"I'm sending you some of Obedias' mercs, the few we captured alive. Feel free to do with them what you wish." Then he was out of the door, and for three streets, the entire party was silent. That, Mat decided, could have gone much worse than it had. Mostly thanks to Tim. The silence continued to reign until they were back at the Challenger, and only at that point did anyone speak.

"By Toncon's left ballsack," Jason cursed.

"If anyone was going to pull some shit like that, I'd expect it to be fancy pants Tobi." Tobi barked out a strangled laugh.

"I'm from the Federation, fuckface. What do I know about Starspawn Adjudicators? Why did you know, Tim?"

"Dealt with all kinds back when I was an accountant," the man replied.

"So, uuhm, did we just send those guards to die?" Mat shrugged.

"I handed them over to the proper authorities. What happens from there isn't our problem." Not like they could have harvested their biomods or techplants, anyway. Not without doctors or a truly horrifying success rate. Tim nodded, then seemed to withdraw into himself. Right, everyone he loved was dead. Mat didn't really know how to deal with that.

"Hey Tim," he said. The man half turned, blinking at him in surprise.

"How would you like a job?" Tim shrugged, seeming in agreement. Mat gave a mental sigh. There was nothing that he, nor anyone else, could really do for the man. A job would keep him busy, and the rest was up to Tim himself. Mat watched the last candidate give a nod, then turn to leave. An older man, with a probably-fake white beard and one eye replaced by what appeared to be a camera. Noah waited until the door closed, then shook his head.

"Not him."

"Who, then? We interviewed all the licensed captains on the entire station. I'm surprised there were that many of them, to be honest." Noah leaned back in his chair, taking a long drag from what Mat was pretty sure was a futuristic vape.

"Alena."

"I thought you said she was too young?"

"She is," Noah replied.

"But she's the best of this crop, even if she only has a few years of experience. And I thought there would be more with combat simulation training, though I'll admit some ignorance on the topic. Regardless, Alena achieved high marks in said simulations, was a navigator on a ship just like this before becoming a captain, and her sister was killed by a pirate who moonlighted as a slaver." Mat blinked.

"That wasn't in her file."

"I had my people do some digging." Noah shrugged.

"She comes with her own XO, comms officer and junior navigator, which means we only need to hire a few more to fill the gaps. That'll save us time, which is good, because we need to get off this station before the governor decides to call our bluff." Fucking great.

"Don't withhold information like that again, crewchief. To do my job I need to be informed, and if you can't inform me, I'll find someone who can. Hire her, and that trio of doctors that pissed off whomeverthefuck. That local merc group. One of them was a modsurgeon, right?"

"I'll get it done," Noah affirmed. If the man cared about the threat, he didn't show it.

"All three are trained modsurgeons, but only one has kept up licensing. My people will make sure they get revalidated before we leave." With that, the engineers from this morning, and Tim taking like a fish to water as the ship's quartermaster, things were actually going pretty smoothly. Noah was still very Noahish, but Stef had seemingly fallen in line, as Bea had said. That saw the man outnumbered, which in turn would keep him in line. For the most part. Wasn't politics just delightful?

He abandoned Noah to the small meeting room, moving back into the wider ship. Not even twenty steps out, he nearly tripped over a crew of engineers, who were seemingly welding a new ceiling panel into place. Further down, the floor had been removed, and some poor woman was stuck halfway down into the revealed mess, doing gods knows what with wires. Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

Going with local talent removed the risk of LandTech inserting their plants, or at least lowered it, and damn if they weren't enthusiastic about the work. Mat shook his head, moving past them. That engine Tim had blackmailed out of the governor would be installed soon, too, replacing the one Bea and himself had blown to shit. More to his immediate concern were the barracks. The two million he'd stolen from Obedias was being drained rapidly, so the domuses had to remain.

Hells, current projections were that he'd be left with less than half a million, once everything was done. And that didn't even include payroll. It did include filling their cargo holds, though. Mostly with food and mechanical parts and water. Tim was dealing with that, thankfully. Two million credits had never seemed like less money. Through the ship he went, greeting the few people he knew by name and nodding to the rest. Stef's people, both soldiers and would-be soldiers saluted.

She finished putting those squads together, then. A mix of veterans and not, always led by a proper soldier. Mat didn't know enough to judge if that would work. His old domus came into view as he stepped through the airlock-like doors, crawling with engineers and bladeslaves both. Everyone who Noah had hired as a non-combatant of Ironblade Incorporated. The space looked simultaneously unchanged and wholly different. No more sparring rings. Gone, and likely never to return. Not here, at least.

Rows of benches and tables were being put in their place; a mess hall. The cells were double wide, every other wall removed to create larger sleeping spaces. They housed eight men now, one for each squad. The slop dispensers were unchanged, though the paste they provided was vastly better tasting. The screen, once displaying official matches, now listed a duty roster. Mat took it all in, wondering if it really was a good idea to house the people here.

But reality had to be faced, and the domuses had the infrastructure to house and feed the twelve hundred people who had signed with Ironblade Incorporated. Nine hundred fighters, three hundred 'others'. Not all of the others were bladeslaves, but nine hundred fighters. Soldiers, really. Stef had explained the whole hierarchy to him only a few hours ago. Eight men per squad, led by a sergeant. Five squads led by a lieutenant, who had their own squad.

Five lieutenants answered to a captain, forming what she had called a company. Ironblade Incorporated had five slightly under-strength companies. Jesus fuck.

"They'll overthrow you before breakfast," Nova stated confidently.

"No, scratch that. They'll overthrow you because of breakfast. And they're not soldiers, at least not most of them. Oh, and they're more Stef's soldiers, not yours." Did you want something?

"Yes. Bea said she needs you." Mat blinked. She did?

"She told me to fetch you," Nova corrected.

"I thought that sounded… I'm not sure. I get this weird feeling in my nineteenth energy cluster when she glares at me." That would be fear. Which the AI already knew, but Mat took in the chamber again, nodding when a nearby sergeant snapped into a salute. Oh great, a 'yes herald' kind of officer. Let's go, then. Haven't seen her in, what? A day and a half? Nova didn't reply, so Mat made his way out again. If nothing else, he'd shown his face. That counted for more than some people realized.

And hey, he didn't even need to be told that. In as little as two decades, he might actually turn into someone capable of leading nine fucking hundered soldiers. Trekking through the ship ate up another half hour, most of that due to the ongoing repairs. When he did arrive, he found himself facing a relatively small meeting room, which was already filled with the inner circle. Jason had called it that, the wretch. Tim, Bea, Tobi, Jason and Reg.

With official titles or not, they were close to the 'big boss', an off-handed joke that made him flinch. He was not the big boss, and only the fact no one got that unintended reference saved the last of his ego. Bea pushed off from the wall when the door closed, and she threw the bag at her feet on the table. It made a rather disturbing sloshing sound, not quite liquid but not quite solid either. Mat blinked at the bag, stepping closer. Local Omniscience filled him in. Organs. Metal and organs.

Mat opened his mouth, closed it, then offered a helpless shrug. Bea snorted.

"Biomods and techplants. You hired those doctors?"

"About two hours ago, yeah."

"Good." Bea turned the bag upside down, and things fell out. Fleshy sacks with long tendrils, metal suspended in fluids, small purple orbs. Mat didn't flinch, because honestly, he'd seen worse, but he did have to suppress the instinct to look away. Bea waved her hand.

"Five sets of basic kit. None for Tim." Tim didn't seem to take that personally, but Mat frowned.

"What's a 'basic' kit to you? And more to the point, where did you get these? We're not exactly flush with ca— credits anymore."

"Strength, speed, defense." Bea shrugged.

"One for stamina too. Normal, everyday biomods. No internal healing, which is what these are for." She threw a bundle of syringes on the table, the same kind that she'd used during the uprising. Nanobot healing. Jason poked at one of the tentacle biomods, frowning.

"This isn't a normal stamina mod."

"Flexibility and stamina. Not as good as either, but does both."

"Dibs," Jason declared, snatching the small orb away. The man paused, frowning at what seemed to be folded layers of meat.

"Hardened skin?" Mat waved the man's question away, asking one instead.

"Where the fuck did you get all of this?"

"Small group of mercs," Bea replied. She shrugged.

"Raped a woman. Now they're dead, and we have their biomods. Aside from the metal spine, the only techplant." And of course Bea knew how to remove those. Reg moved closer, running his fingers over the techplant. Well, over the plastic bag that contained it.

"This is a Toncon spine support. Those are rare in Starspawn space." Bea didn't reply, but Mat could fill in the gaps. She'd gone hunting, and though he doubted that she was lying, the fact those mercs had raped someone was only a justification. If they hadn't, she'd have gone after someone else. He'd been busy enough that the whole thing had slipped his mind. He had power, after all. Hell, Tobi had his thick skinned mod already.

But a single defensive mod counted for jack shit out there, and while their experience as bladeslaves evened the odds, there was exactly zero reason not to get a proper kit for themselves. Tim spoke after a few seconds of silence, tone unconcerned.

"I'm not really a fighter anyway, and I got here late. It's fine." Mat shot the man a glance. He'd get Tim something later. Fighter or not, he was in a position of power. That meant he would need some kind of physical might, since the uprising had more than proven that bladeslaves respected that more than usual. Still, while it would be a pain to get these installed, Mat was looking forward to seeing what his strength perk would do to a strength biomod. Hell, two speed mods sounded downright broken.

And a proper defensive mod sounded—"Are you out of your damned mind?!" Nova demanded. Mat startled, both at the volume and the sheer intensity in the AI's voice.

"Oh yeah, let's just stack speed mods. Not like those have limits for a reason, or anything. No. I won't stand for it. While I appreciate these offerings, they are but a meager shadow of what perks can accomplish. Nor will I have some back alley doctor poking around your flesh, making my own job ten times harder. What if your next perk turns your skin into metal, hmmn? Then what?" Jason glanced his way, even though Mat was too busy being startled to notice.

The man pulled Tim aside, a clear distraction, and Mat turned his focus on Nova. The fuck has gotten into you?

"What I do is art," Nova hissed.

"Art of a higher purpose. A higher meaning. How would you feel if someone handed you a mentally crippled baby and installed them as second in command to Ironblade Incorporated? How would you feel if you had to fight while… while… I don't know. No second rate biomods. Even if they would work, which most of them won't, it's pointless. Go kill some people, and I'll craft perks an order of magnitude more powerful." Mat blinked. Not the words, which were only half full of meaning. No, he recalled a memory.

Of Nova telling him at being declared a failure, back when the AI was still at that LandTech lab. Of being abandoned and discarded, used and then thrown aside. Unsellable. A prototype, their lesson learned and the next batch to be more compliant. Peace, Mat soothed. The slight edge of power wasn't worth insulting his friend. No biomods, I take your point. Got blinded by greed there for a second. Nova huffed, then faded away, an edge of embarrassment there then gone. Sometimes he wondered how Nova saw the world.

Not through eyes, certainly. Not with a human brain either, to process their signals. Fuck, Nova could read his mind while they had a conversation. That would drive any normal person insane. Mat shook his head, focusing back on the real world.

"Tim can have mine," he said. Tim turned, surprised, and Mat waved his hand.

"I have my own. The doctors will be here soon, if I know Noah at all. A few tests to make sure they're competent, and then you lot can once more join the realm of not being pathetically weak. Bea excluded." Tobi flipped him off, but was already gathering together a set of mods. Tim hesitated, then followed suit. Soon enough the spoils were divided and Jason was crowing about becoming god emperor of the universe, or some such nonsense. Mat wasn't really listening.

He lingered before following the rest of the group out of the door, catching Bea alone if only for a moment. She raised an eyebrow, her face as placid as always. Mat inclined his head.

"Thank you." Bea offered a shallow nod, and that was that. Afterword The schedule from now on will be every Friday. Not to worry, I'm not in the habit of abandoning stories, so at the very least book one will be finished. It'll just take a while, since I can't afford to put too much time into the story. My thanks again for all those lovely reviews, and I hope to see you around. Patreon (No current advanced chapters for this story) Discord