“This line will remain secure for approximately 180 seconds. Keep all inquiries to the point.”

Scar’s face bled in over my holo-UI. The call had come suddenly, a red blinker in the bottom of my vision giving me a few seconds to prepare to receive my superior. I supposed my unprepared, casual form would have to do.

My Principality preferred to send orders through a messenger, even in person at times, reserving SnakeHole transmissions for only the most urgent of missions. There was little to fret about this medium when it came to Scar, though. He was a meticulous man, not letting anything fall into the wrong hands. This transmission’s source, request, traffic, and destination logs would all be wiped from the cloud server within milliseconds of arrival. Keeping within the three-minute time limit meant anybody trying to link-tap wouldn’t even register the communication. Scar’s face was a sign of his confidence.

“Ophelia and the LimeLight organization’s visions have grown too closely aligned. They operate in increasingly close tandem - risk priority alpha to The Organization’s goals. Particularly, the perverse courtship between district executive Taishi Kitoshiro and LimeLight representative Legrande. Their collusion resulted in the termination of Bratok Arman, and I fear future transgressions against our design should this relationship continue to flourish.”

Scar’s expression flashed with anger at the mention of his trusted lieutenant’s death. The average person might have not perceived it behind his slate demeanor, but the man took his loss personally. I suspected that was reason enough to act against these two players; the rest functioned as a convenient motif to appease The Dominion.

“You are to temporarily relocate from your post on Dilmun. Bring with you 20 Devoted - none of a lesser clearance. Man two interceptor class vessels marked in Bay 32 at Thalium Docks. They are fresh acquisitions from The Bronze Company - a privateer fleet operating on LimeLight’s payroll. So fresh, in fact, that you will be acquiring them the moment they dock and compensating the original owners. You will also be needing their uniforms. I doubt they will have much use for them after your meeting anyhow.”

“Now pay close attention.” Scar leaned into the hologram projector. His eyes glowed orange in the light of his vessel. “You will intercept an Ophelian convoy en route to the planet Jorogumo. Two of Kitoshiro’s predecessors failed to colonize the mineral-rich planet - failures that cost them their careers. This convoy contains fusion cores necessary to run the facilities on that planet. They are also worth billions of credits in the right markets. Should these cores vanish under the banner of The Bronze Company, the right questions will start to be asked.”

The Principality’s face broke into a pointed grin. “Kitoshiro is a creature of pride. The billions mean less to him than his priceless ego. Hurt his career, and he will bite back - even the hand of a ‘friend.’ ”

“Will The Dominion approve of such bold action, Principality? It was my impression that he would order the first shot when the time arose.” I replied tactfully. Scar’s rage could get the better of him at times. Even if the plan made sense, a move like this could be seen as a slight against The Dominion. We did not need him bearing down on us with retribution. Not at a time like this.

“I appreciate your concern for my well-being, but this was pre-coordinated. Organizational directives listed Jorogumo as a key target at the last Council. This is nothing out of bounds.”

“Understood, Principality. Then it shall be done.” I pressed my fist to my chest in acknowledgment.

“And Tyrus,”

“Yes, Principality?”

“You will slaughter every vessel of that convoy except for one, the one with the least amount of living souls possible. And even that is more than these pigs deserve. Unfortunately, somebody has to pass the message to the Ophelian brass.”

I bowed my head and the feed dropped, data bits whisked into the void and virtually shredded from existence. No evidence remained to pin our conversation; no reference to the order that would end dozens of lives and lead to galactic strife.

------

Five signatures detected...

Communications Scrambling Array: Deployed

Mini-EMP: Deployed

Target Vessel: Engine Locked

We hit the front and rear ships of the convoy with a flurry of ballistics that tore through their metal plating with ease once the electromagnetic shields were disabled. The Interceptors came equipped with state-of-the-art auto-locking technology similar to more recent models of the United Systems’ fleet. Catching these run-of-the-mill Ophelian crafts unawares with such cutting-edge technology felt almost unfair.

Their two Guardian-class ships didn’t even have a chance to fire before our Tungsten Rods slammed straight through their engines. Oxidizing fluid in the life-support system of the vessels provided enough fuel for a brief detonation to illuminate the depths of open space. I watched with grim satisfaction as the contents of the ship, both life, and commodity spewed out of the rear breach. They wouldn’t be a problem anymore.

Undoubtedly, the cargo ships were trying to signal for support from nearby patrols. The handy scrambling array onboard our Interceptors would ensure that call never left the grid. For a bunch of pirates, these Bronze fellows were quite well-furnished. Something to report back to Scar in the debrief.

We only had the manpower to sack two of the three cargo ships, so one of them had to go. My scanners indicated forty heat-signatures aboard the trailing vehicle - the most of the three. I pinged the captain of my cousin Interceptor and aimed the next volley for their bridge.

Thirty onyx rods sailed from the gun decks below, crossing the chasm of space in a matter of seconds to rip the life from the bulky cargo vessel. The glossy window of the bridge melted under the extreme heat of chemical combustibles, the force of the impact shook the mammoth’s frame like a block of gelatin. Special care was taken not to hit the cargo bay and trigger the cores to detonate.

Even with our precision, no living creature could survive the concussive impact wrought by our volley. It was the equivalent of shooting an artillery shell into a tin can. I wouldn’t be surprised if everyone inside instantly turned to mush.

Two targets remained to pilfer. The money didn’t particularly interest Scar, but it was useful funding and lent credence to our cover. It would be a pain if we lost any of our Devoted in the boarding. Though, if they died to a bunch of witless engineers they probably weren’t worth much.

Firing two low-velocity missiles at the rear-thrusters of my target, I set the vessel AI to boarding protocol. On commercial ships, it would have to be done manually, but this military-grade vessel came with a pre-coded schema for such tactics. The blue flames of the cargo’s thrusters extinguished in a flash of white and yellow. The steely titan hurtled through the void of space carried by its dying momentum; they had lost all control of their course.

“Prepare to board,” I ordered over the ship’s comms. “Secure the cargo bay and kill all of its occupants. Leave the bridge.”

My squad assembled at the outbound airlock in the lower level of the Interceptor. They looked strange assembled in mismatched bits of ballistic plates, maxillofacial protective helmets streaked with orange on the dome, and scraps of carbon-fiber blend over their extremities. The privateers didn’t have much in the way of uniform coordination, aside from a tell-tale splash of rusty orange to identify their compatriots in the dark of a cramped ship’s service tunnels. It seemed a bit foolish to me for pirates to give themselves a unique mark, but I understood the practicality of it in combat.

The captain I impersonated donned himself in a shiny new suit of 900 Series Krutsteel Armor. A bronze hammer sigil was emblazoned on the left breastplate to mark him as one of distinction in The Company. It came complete with gravity regulation, shock absorption, and a deployable magnetized plasma shield on the gauntlets to deflect laser fire. None of it protected him when I shattered his pretty and highly exposed face with a concussive round from my right hand’s socketed chamber.

The armor fit nicely over my Tantalum chassis that most mistook as armor all its own. It had vulnerabilities that an extra layer didn’t hurt to cover, but I preferred to keep it exposed to make full use of the model’s extra utilities. Though I might just keep this Krutsteel for a rainy day.

As my ship’s boarding rails cracked through the Ophelian hull, I placed a tinted helmet over my head. The airlock doors shot open and I rushed through with my two appointed wingmen on the left, the seven others in my party taking the right airlock to go down into the cargo bay.

We entered via what appeared to be an abandoned mess hall. Trays of half-eaten food lay scattered about. Splashes of gruel stained the beige linoleum flooring with streaks of reds and greens. Some of the lights in the room still flickered vainly for life, the others were shut off from the sudden impact of two thunderbolts.

“The bridge connects to this cafeteria via the main hallway. It should be a straight shot from here, sir.” My soldier reported.

I nodded and directed them to the automatically sealed doors. Lights in the upper crust of the doorframe flickered a hazardous red. It wouldn’t stop us for long.

The radar in my helmet gave off five blips coming from the tunnel on the other side of that door. My men worked to pry it open with a set of plasma cutters - a fairly conspicuous method, but so was ramming our ship into theirs to board. The marines on the other side had the advantage of concealment, yet no amount of cover could protect them from what I brought to the fight.

My warriors tore the two doors apart and rolled away from the hail of blaster fire that ripped from down the hall. I deployed the gauntlet shields and met their blasts with a forward charge.

“On your feet! Push with me!” I roared as I rushed down the hallway.

In the narrow corridors of a spaceship, blaster fire could be funneled quite effectively on the unprepared foe. Unfortunately for them, I had been at this trade for decades. Their shots pinged harmlessly off my pulsing shields while the Devoted returned fire over my shoulder. As I drew nearer to our assailants, my eyes registered the five shadowy forms crouching behind an assortment of piping and divets along the walls.

A stray laser struck the foremost man in the shoulder and sent him sprawling across the floor. He howled in pain while clutching the smoldering hole in his weave armor. The soldier raised a hand to cover his visor right before his skull evaporated into a pink mist from the hydraulic force of my stomping boot.

One of the bolder marines stepped out to meet me with a lasknife. I commended his spirit.

The soldier thought himself triumphant when his lunge bypassed my shield and dug into my shoulder cap. Try as he might, however, he could not wrench it free from the thick Krutsteel plating. I bashed him away easily with the side of my plasma shield, the impact of the scalding material melting through his helmet and the sides of his face. Flesh peeled away from his skull as he crumpled to the ground. If that hadn’t finished him, a few rounds from my soldiers put him down for good.

A marine with a scattergun managed to halt my momentum temporarily. All the bullets sizzled out on impact with the plasma, but the force jolted me backward. He wracked another shot to finish off my shields.

He didn’t get the chance. I lowered my right arm and pointed it center mass. A bolt of searing yellow light expelled from the discharger at the base of my wrist. The beam wrought a neat rectangular hole where his solar plexus used to be, and he slammed against the wall lifelessly.

The survivors turned to flee, but I had already caught up to them. One of the perks of a 70% cybernetic body was the ability to run at deceptively fast speeds, given the bulk of my frame. I rearranged the fragments of my right fist into a mace pulsing with energy. The first one I met tried to whip around and deflect my blow with the barrel of his submachine blaster, but I tore right through it - and the meat of his torso. His limp form went flying into the side of the hallway, denting it on impact.

The final marine managed to make it to the bridge’s doorway. He frantically scanned his finger on the bio-lock pad to gain entry. I deactivated my shields and placed my wrists on either side of his neck. The door slid open just in time for his head to sail through as I reactivated the shields, slicing his flesh between the two sheets of plasma.

Inside, the two pilots hunched over a set of flashing displays on the ship’s dashboard. In the corner of the room, an engineer draped in blue coveralls blubbered to himself between wracking sobs. A name laced on his garment read “Horst.”

An orange-haired pilot spun about when he heard the doorway ping open. The head of the marine rolled to the base of his feet, leaving a trail of crimson behind. His pale face turned a sickly green and he fell back to clutch the dashboard for support. The pilot wordlessly tugged at his compatriot's sleeve and pointed. A groan was the only thing that escaped from his trembling lips.

The other pilot, an older gentleman with a pair of frameless spectacles over his eyes, attempted to parlay.

“Gentlemen, you can have anything you desire. The cargo bay is loaded with a variety of industrial goods worth millions of credits. You can have it all, no struggle. We’re just a simple transport crew.”

At least this one had some balls.

“Billions of credits, actually,” I replied, striding into the cockpit. I morphed my hand back into its normal five-digited shape. “And you are correct, there was no struggle at all in claiming it.” I glared down at the dismembered head of the ship’s security.

“Yes, yes. My mistake. There is nothing we are attempting to conceal from you, sir. We can show you the inventory for the entire ship. Everything is yours to take.” He nodded emphatically.

“Where is the security interface?”

“Uh. Over… over here sir!” The elderly pilot pointed a trembling finger at the dashboard beside the catatonic engineer.

I sauntered over to the interface, leaning over the chromatic dashboard to get a better look. The engineer below cried out and scampered away. One of my soldiers stepped in between him and the door and planted a foot on his jaw, sending the engineer sprawling to the ground. He did not lift his face from the ground, continuing to sob into the floor.

I grunted. Perhaps I had lost some of my humanity in my body’s reformation, but I just could not empathize with this pathetic cling to life. If you had lost what point was there in further humiliating yourself? At least die with dignity.

The security footage containing the attack was easy enough to find. It was the most recent file on the list of recorded days. Just to be safe, I deleted the file for the entire day’s journey. Out of curiosity, I scanned the total number of files. 37. Poor bastards had been drifting out in the void for over a month and got ambushed in the home stretch.

“D-does this mean you’ll let us live?” The red-head managed to stammer.

I turned a cool eye to the boy and made my way over to his frail form. Stroking the cold tip of my index finger along his fleshy cheek, I appraised him from head to foot. He was perhaps 23, fresh out of the pilot academy. This was likely his first gig. Unlucky that it ran at odds with The Principality’s designs for this district.

“Is your life worth more than the others? More than a humble old man, an engineer, a crew of people just trying to provide a living to their estranged families sectors away from here? Perhaps the marines that died protecting you from the boogeyman?” I burned holes into his yellow eyes with my own.

He squealed, unable to formulate a response.

“But you will ask me for mercy, having done nothing to warrant it except by right of being the last man in my path.” I tore my finger away from his face, producing a trickle of blood from the sudden force.

The young pilot fell to his knees. “Please...please!”

Scar ordered that I leave at least someone alive to limp back to Ophelia. As much as I wanted to slam the sniveling whelp’s face against the side of the dash, I had already ordered second squad to annihilate everyone on board their ship.

Instead, I bent down to his level and cupped his chin under my gauntleted hand.

“Remember this day for the rest of your life.” I made sure that the bronze hammer of my armor jutted right into his field of view. “Remember the man who spared your insignificant existence. You bear the burden of the souls extinguished in your stead.”

I rose and snapped my fingers. Two shots rang out from behind me, one splattering the old man’s brains against the glass of the driver’s window and the other silencing the engineer’s sobs.

A day to be remembered indeed.