Omake: Back from Retirement (pt 1)
A cold, sick chill oozed through Senmursh's flesh as he read the headline. There had to be some mistake. Some distortion of Federation propaganda. This was completely out of character.
He looked up from the PADD and bit his thick, jade-colored lip - a bad habit he thought he had gotten over decades ago - and began pacing around the lounge. A few other passengers looked up at him, not a few narrowing their eyes in suspicion, or condemnation. Entirely by reflex, he straightened himself up to his full, broad shouldered, cybernetics-plated 2 meter height, and they looked away again. He could barely even acknowledge them right now.
Selling two hundred thousand Amarki into slavery, or holding that city hostage for Federation concessions, those would make
sense. He would think the Shodar responsible was being foolhardy, provoking the Federation like that with it already on the warpath, and quite possibly a liability to the entire Syndicate, but he at least would understand. But this? Sheer, malicious genocide without a strip of latinum in sight? Why would they do that? Why would
anyone do that?
He left the freighter's lounge and found a suitably dark and miserable corner between the mess hall bathrooms and the sickbay. Leaning against the bulkhead, Senmursh closed his eyes, pulling up years of old news articles on his HUD implant. The articles he had ignored when they came out, or rationalized away, or disregarded as Federation or Union slander. The ill-timed slave raid. The repeated use of Orion shields. Each of those could be explained away in isolation, but this was different, and it cast everything that came before it in an altogether different light.
It was an unquestioned fact, in the poorest slums of Alukk, that Mama Syndicate was the only one looking out for you. Sure, you had to pay her for it; nothing in this galaxy comes for free. You had to fight for her, pay protection money, and occasionally sell her a cousin who you never much liked anyway. But the important truth was that this was a
transaction. Both parties benefitted. The urban poor were able to feed themselves without having to rent out their bodies for Hypercorp medical experiments.
Senmursh reread the point that the first article had made, comparing this to something from Human history. An organization of religious fanatics who had deliberately antagonized the most powerful nation-state of their day to provoke a harsh response against their own countrymen, in order to improve their popular support against an outside aggressor. Senmursh had never been one for history, let alone alien history, but even an unschooled former-dirtbait like him could see the parallels, and couldn't dispute them. It wasn't the Amarki who the bomb had been meant to kill, not really. It was Zerysh. Morlun. Mother. Aunt Senzal. And all the other family members whose existence he actually acknowledged.
Just so that the one or two who survived the reprisals, the people Senmursh had so long ago sacrificed everything to lift from penury, would be impassioned to do the same as him.
Some
transaction.
"Is everything alright, my good sir?"
Senmursh looked up. A slim, athletic-looking Human woman stood before him, eyebrows slightly raised. There was some faint scarring on her forehead and neck. Semnursh had the strangest feeling that he had seen this face before, but he couldn't for the life of him recall where.
"Do I know you?" He straightened himself up, giving his huge, metal-flecked shoulders a little intimidating flex. Just in case.
"I don't think so," the Human replied, "at least, not by name. But I have long prided myself on never, ever forgetting a face."
He knew it was coming. Saw it in her eyes before it happened. But he was still saving up for that combat reflex genemod, and she was just too damned fast. A bony, tan fist cracked into his neck, contracting his chin downward and filling his throat with blood. He tried to raise the wrist that held his flechette launcher, but she must have scanned him before approaching; her very next, lightning fast motion cracked his fingers against the bulkhead beneath her foot, and the next brought both her fists together into the one unarmored spot on his sensitive belly.. He heaved, nearly spilling his guts, as the tiny-by-comparison woman moved around behind him and put a knife to his throat.
"My apologies for the discomfort; they didn't let me bring my phaser onboard. Now, I wonder what the background check they run when I bring you to the brig will turn up?"
"Sta...wait..." Senmursh choked out, somehow managing to speak despite the number this crazy Human had done on his neck, "I can...there's..."
The blade pulled itself tighter against his neck. "Oh? This had
better be good."
The bulkheads seemed to be closing in. A hundred voices were yelling at Senmursh inside his head, over each other. He felt as if not one knife was pressing itself to his throat, but many, held by so many different men and women. A single image rose above it all, though. His family back on Alukk, Zerysh and Morlun and all the others, cowering beneath the phaser rifles of a bloodlusted Amarki gendarme.
"I...planted a bomb. Sedative gas in the freighter's...air ducts. My ship..." he coughed, spitting out blood as the nano-sutures in his neck slowly did their work, "...will ambush the freighter in less than an hour."
"Why would you be telling me this? If it were true, you'd have only to wait in the brig until your shipmates rescued you."
Senmursh squeezed his eyes shut, daring himself to say the words. "I don't want them to rescue me."
(
part two)