Bored in deep space - Novelisation -
Chapter 25 - Emerald Sky Marauders (4)
The android server walked to our booth, holding a thin, translucent menu screen. "May I offer you a refreshment?" Her synthesised yet pleasant female voice intoned.
Tama accepted the menu, her expression betraying no emotion as she scanned the glowing options. "I will have a Mocca-Lune Doppio with a single pump of caramel-infused Illium nectar," she stated, handing the device back. She then placed her order for me with an almost maternal tone. "And my companion would like a simple Soother's Choice Latte, extra depth."
The menu choices were a bizarre fantasy of Interstellar indulgence, the names sounding less like beverages and more like magic spells from a forgotten 90's video game. A Mocca-Lune Doppio? Illium nectar? I'd have sooner ordered a glass of engine coolant. As the android departed. I couldn't help but be acutely aware of her eyes. The black and orange glow I was used to from Tama now suddenly had a different context.
My gaze must've lingered, because Tama spoke softly, her tone pitched to carry over the cafe's ambiance noise. "The ocular configuration," she began, anticipating my question, "is not a design choice. It is a legal necessity. Mandated by Imperial Statute 117.4 after the Epsilon Incident of 855 STC. A large consortium of scammers constructed thousands of non-sentient remote-controlled humanoid shells with variable eye colours and iris shapes, perfectly mimicking every known organic species. Using those, they engaged in massive coordinated credit fraud, impersonating officials, spouses, and business partners. The Convocation's solution was to standardise. Now, the black and orange glow of a sentient android is a legally binding signifier to differentiate between androids and other species. The production of Androids without it is a capital offense."
She didn't so much as glance at the android waitress while speaking. She accessed, cross-referenced, and related a deep piece of galactic legal history from memory, all while maintaining the seamless persona of a casual patron.
"So then, what you're doing now is technically illegal, warranting capital punishment?" I asked, vaguely gesturing toward Tama who was in the guise of a human named Marissa Shirley.
"If they found out, yes," she very briefly smirked smugly. "But they never will."
"But didn't the old machines create your mobile chassis specifically? Why do you also have the same eye configuration?"
"My android chassis was created with the current galactic trend data mined from the SV-Eclipse I," she explained. "My purpose… their purpose, was to have me integrate with the current galactic civilisation and continue on their legacy in whatever means I deemed necessary. To that end, my appearance and configuration was chosen to closely match the current galactic standards." She paused briefly before adding, "on the outside anyway." She let out an almost phantom scoff of derision, the kind that I could've sworn I heard her make, but on closer inspection her face remained frustratingly neutral.
The subject of her explanation then evaporated in an instant. Her eyes, those human eyes shifted towards the centre of the table, beckoning me to check. "Moving onto our primary objective," she continued, switching topics. "Your review of the security footage, while thorough, lacked analytical depths. I have completed a more comprehensive cross-referencing."
A shimmering, orange-tinted, holographic screen appeared directly in my field of vision. The text was crisp, organised, and radiated an eerie phantom warmth.
On the left half of the screen a new file snapped into existence, a face I recognised instantly: the hulking bald man, a crude, angry glare etched onto his features. The tattoo of a coiled snake on his neck.
FILE: HENRICKS, VORN
AFFILIATION: Emerald Sky Marauders
STATUS: Field Lieutenant (Promoted STC 888.5)
CRIMINAL RATING (GUILD): Level 5 / Aggressor - High propensity for unprovoked violence. Documented involvement in thirteen unregistered starship seizures and two acts of corporate piracy.
RANK/MOBILITY: Field Lieutenant (Red Faction). Promotion indicates proficiency in enforcement and intimidation. Reports indicate a specialist in high-asset seizures with minimal collateral damage to cargo.
AUGMENTATIONS: Right arm is a Class-4 industrial prosthetic, unregistered serial number, likely stolen. Reinforced skeletal plating in the torso and lower spine. Subdermal combat injectors (stimulants). Neural interface linked to weapon suite.
RELATIVES/KNOWN ASSOCIATES: Orphaned at age 4 on Hesperus-3. No registered next of kin. Sole known associate: Riker Raelus (see linked file).
PSYCHOLOGICAL PROFILE: Vorn exhibits traits of psychopathy compounded by chronic stimulant abuse. Highly susceptible to directives that appeal to his base impulses for dominance and immediate gratification. Functions poorly without direct oversight and is fundamentally driven by a need for violent validation.
I absorbed the data with a grimace. Vorn Henricks. A brute with a cheap, dangerous hardware grafted onto him, exactly what he looked like. He was a weapon, and the Marauders wielded him like one, pointing him at their targets. Then, the right half of my vision filled with a second dossier. A sharper, leaner face peered out from the screen. The lanky man with the eye patch, revealing not a mangled, empty socket, but a sophisticated-looking cybernetic eye.
FILE: RIKER RAELUS
AFFILIATION: Emerald Sky Marauders / DEEP COVER OPERATIVE, Abyssal Cravens
STATUS: Field Lieutenant (Promoted STC 888.5)
CRIMINAL RATING (GUILD): Public Registry: Level 4 / Enforcer. Classified RACON Data: Level 8 / Ghost Operative. Significant disparity indicates falsified public identity.
RANK/MOBILITY: Infiltrated Emerald Sky Marauders 4 years ago under the alias 'Joric Kane'. Rapid promotion through Red Marauder ranks, culminating in his current position after a series of successful high-risk missions pertaining to rival gang clean-up. He is the intellectual counterpoint to Vorn's brutality.
AUGMENTATIONS: Left eye is a custom-built 'Cerberus' model multi-spectrum visualizer with direct uplink to a personal, hidden data node. Capable of accessing encrypted networks via quantum entanglement (a clear breach of Imperial Tech Sumptuary Laws). Micro-expressors in the jaw and vocal cords capable of perfectly mimicking over 400 registered vocal patterns. Reflex-enhancing nerve lace woven throughout the central nervous system.
RELATIVES/KNOWN ASSOCIATES: One sibling, Anja Raelus, currently resides in the Middle-Rim sector, occupation: Archivist, Solis Primus Library. All other known associates are within the hierarchy of the Cravens, reporting through clandestine channels only to their leader.
CURRENT DEEP-COVER MISSION: Infiltration has escalated. Raelus's primary objective is the acquisition or sabotage of assets deemed critical to the Emerald Sky's logistical and strategic operations, with the end goal of destabilising their leadership and facilitating a hostile takeover of their territory. His promotion alongside Henricks places him in a prime position to achieve these goals, specifically within the upcoming 'Vega's Harvest' resource transfer initiative. Riker Raelus is a spy.
My eyes remained glued to the glowing holographic dossiers, on the twin portraits of Vorn Henricks and Riker Raelus the spy. The ambient sound of the cafe, the delicate clinking of ceramic, and the faint gurgle of the espresso machine faded into an irrelevant background hum.
"Well," I said. "Things just got a whole lot more interesting."
My focus shifted more intently towards Riker's file, the tip of my fingers tapping against the table in an intrigued rhythm. "So our one-eyed friend is a spy. And not just any spy, but a deep-cover agent for a rival pirate syndicate." My hands stopped, laying flat on the surface of the smooth table. I looked up from the file and shot Tama a glance, asking the question she wanted me to. "Alright, I'll bite. The Abyssal Cravens, who are they?"
The android server returned with our drinks, placing them on the table with deferential efficiency. My latte was a work of art; a swirl of dark espresso and pale foam, dusted with something that glittered like diamonds. Tama's Mocca-Lune was layered with iridescent liquids that defied gravity, swirling gently in a mesmerising pattern of browns and shimmering golds. She took a delicate sip, her composure utterly unshaken by the complex beverage she'd ordered.
Wasn't she a robot? Is she allowed to drink?
"The Abyssal Cravens," she said after a brief, savouring pause. "Designation: 'Black' pirate organisation. Estimated operational length: 12 standard years. Sphere of influence is primarily focused on the volatile Fringe Territories and the scattered industrial outposts of the Outer-Rim. Their leader is a man by the name of Graham Altam." She set her cup down, the action so controlled it didn't even make a clink. "However, their operational methodology is what distinguishes them from other piracy factions. The Cravens function, for all intents and purposes, like a clandestine corporate intelligence agency operating outside the law."
Her orange eyes held a faint, analytical gleam as she continued. "Their primary methods are subterfuge, infiltration, and strategic acquisition and dissolution. They orchestrate hostile takeovers of rival pirate factions, exactly as Riker Raelus, or Joric Kane, is attempting to do with the Emerald Sky Marauders. They are known to maintain an extensive spy network not just within their own territories, but deep inside the administrative cores of various Middle-Rim corporations. It is theorised, with a ninety-three-point-four-percent probability based on their command structure and tactical patterns, that the Cravens' upper management is composed of former operatives from the corporate and governmental espionage circles. Highly trained individuals who became disillusioned by bureaucracy and the limitations of their roles, and have defected to a life that offers both immense profit and freedom."
It was a chillingly fascinating, yet alien concept. To take the soulless, ruthless pragmatism of corporate espionage and apply it to the cutthroat world of piracy. These weren't just thugs with ships; they were executives and lawyers in pirate's clothing.
"This does not mean they are not a credible military threat," Tama added. "While their adherence to the 'Black' code has shown to be absolute. They command an impressive and modern naval force; intelligence reports estimate their fleet consists of three-hundred-and-twelve active combat vessels, ranging from swift, long-range recon crafts to at least three heavily-armoured carrier-class command ships. They are not to be taken lightly."
"So they're like criminal lawyers," I joked. "If they're going to do all that, why bother with labelling themselves pirates at all. Wouldn't it be easier to just set up some corporation on the Outer-Rim and run their usual business from there?"
"Their focus on subterfuge and strategic dismantling are not the only activities they partake in," Tama corrected. "They absolutely still engage in what is commonly considered authentic piracy: the seizure of transport ships and cargo. During such operations, they maintain a careful consideration of their own 'Black' code. Crews of captured vessels are not harmed unnecessarily. They are stripped of their ships and cargos, but are then deposited in standard, unarmed lifepods with sufficient supplies to reach the nearest habitable system."
She finished her concise brief with an elegant sip of her alien coffee. I stared at my own untouched latte, the glitter dust sparkling like tiny stars. I inwardly cringed, feeling like it was the beverage of choice for a six-year-old pretending to be an adult. I leaned my back against the leather cushion of the sofa and rested my head against the edge. "Abyssal Cravens, huh…" Everything kind of felt like one mess of intersecting lies and allegiances. A 'black' pirate gang that behaved like a corporate spy ring. The Marauders with their unknown goals. And in the middle of it all, the ghost of another man's life.
I let loose a small, wry chuckle. "Tama, if I'm being completely candid here, a part of me just wants to unwrap this mystery for the sake of it. It's not like I care too much about what the previous Noah did or how he lived." I straightened my back and faced her again with a more peaceful expression spreading across my face. "Truth be told, the Fold Drive incident doesn't bother me that much, it's just the catalyst that started this whole thing." I paused briefly, my eyes glancing down back to the childish latte sitting in front of me. "I felt the same way on Astellion too, when I was going through all those nightmarish machine hallways. I think… halfway through, it kind of stopped being about you, and just the that I personally wanted to see through to it till the end." I confessed.
Tama's eyes fixed upon my face, studying every angle of it. I couldn't tell through her perpetually neutral, deadpan gaze if she was judging me or just looking for answers. "I know," she said. No further words were exchanged on that topic.
"Sorry, we got off track," I refocused the conversation. "Where we're we? Right, the Abyssal Cravens," I nodded and let loose a small breath. "Sounds like a gothic band from a bad historical drama." I finally took a sip of the latte, preparing myself for a disappointing concoction. Instead, a wave of smooth, complex flavours washed over my palette. It was rich and dark, with a nutty, caramel-like aftertaste that was neither bitter nor overpowering, but deeply satisfying. The foam was light and airy, and melted instantly in my mouth. "Okay," I conceded, setting the cup down with newfound respect. "This… isn't bad at all. For a wizard's brew. I take back what I said about the name."
"The names were irrelevant to my choice from the start, Captain," Tama replied. "The bizarre nature of their title is merely a marketing push. The beverage's quality, derived from cross-pollinated beans grown in artificial caverns of Ceres-Omega Belt Colony 4, was empirically verifiable," she said as she took the final sip. "In essence, it is the content -- the flavour -- that matters," her eyes were not on her cup of alien coffee, but towards me as she said it. "And the contents are often proven by results. Or in your case, by the actions you chose to take on Astellion."
There was a brief exchange of silence between us, before I returned a small smile, a very minor curve at the edges of my lips. My attention drifted from this bizarre conversation back to the shimmering orange data. "So, a spy from a wannabe-corporate gang gets into a staged fight, okay," I summarised. "The part that still doesn't make sense is the randomness of it all. There's nothing that links any of this to me -- to the previous Noah."
"That assumption is based on a critical error in tactical thinking, Captain," Tama said. "You are currently evaluating archived intelligence. The purpose of our presence here is not to analyse footage that is twelve-hundred-and-ninety-three cycles old." She then gestured with a subtle nod towards the cafe's entrance. The polished obsidian doors hissed open, and my gaze followed hers instinctively. Two figures stepped into the sophisticated lighting of the cafe. A man and a woman.
The man walking in was lean and sharp-faced, dressed in a tailored utilitarian jumpsuit that was a clear step up from the scavenged gear he wore on the security footage. He moved with a weary confidence, a certain coiled energy contained by discipline. And over his left eye, instead of a tattered leather patch, was a sleek, matte-black plate. Riker Raelus. Or better known as Joric Kane.
Beside him was a woman. Her movements were measured, precise, and she radiated a business-like formality. She had sharp, intelligent eyes that constantly scanned the room, a clear sign of someone accustomed to assessing threats. Her clothing of choice painted her professional demeanour -- a high-collared tunic of dark charcoal fabric, tailored with minimalist, almost militaristic precision.
I watched them with a rising sense of surreality as they bypassed the ordering counter, the android attendant acknowledging them with a simple dip of her head before they were led to a secluded booth in the far corner of the cafe, one with a direct line of sight to both entrances. It was an ideal surveillance spot.
My mind was reeling. The random bar brawl, the warning from my uncle not to get involved, the dive into criminal dossiers. Everything snapped into a terrifyingly clear focus. Tama hadn't just brought me here for a detour.
I turned to her, my expression stunned. "You've got to be kidding me," I whispered back. "I actually… I mean, for a minute, with the fancy coffee, I thought you were trying… I thought this was all just some elaborate ruse to take me out on a date." I returned my glance towards the two new figures. "You're telling me there was an actual plan outside of magic coffee? Actually, why am I even questioning the modus operandi of a millions-of-years-old superintelligence?"
Tama's ever-neutral gaze met mine. There was a flicker -- a micro-expression that was there and then gone in less than a second. It was almost, but not quite, a smirk. "A purely social outing at a critical juncture in an investigation, Captain, would be an illogical and inefficient allocation of our temporal resources." She leaned a fraction closer. "Such an indulgence would serve a different purpose," she said, her orange eyes glowing with a human-like mischief. "One we might pursue when a significant threat to you and your family's survival does not require our immediate attention."
I blinked, flushing despite myself, my focus rudely snapping back to the present. "Right," I stammered, clearing my throat. "Okay. Point taken. So, that's him. The spy? Who's the woman? His superior from the Cravens? His handler?"
"Their public profiles indicate no connection," Tama explained. "Her registered name is Elise Van. Official profession: Independent Logistics Consultant. Her public record is impeccably clean. However, a deep-level background scan reveals a one-point-four-percent statistical anomaly common to agents of high-level clandestine organisations: a four-year, unexplained gap in her travel and financial history. Cross-referencing that gap with a list of missing-persons cases in the Cravens' known sphere of influence presents a ninety-seven-point-eight-percent probability that 'Elise Van' is an alias."
My gaze locked onto the distant pair. They were sitting now, facing each other, their bodies angled away from the rest of the cafe. From a distance, they appeared to be sharing a quiet, intimate conversation over their cups of coffee. "So, a handler," I confirmed, my own excitement rising like a tide. "Tama, can we listen in to what they're talking about?"
"Of course," she responded with that familiar faint shrug that signified the ease of which she bent technology to her will. "Sub-channel, comm-link open now, direct to your auditory canal."
My hearing suddenly altered. The ambient noise of the cafe was replaced by the faint, telltale hush of a headphone in my ear, a phantom auditory illusion, yet the sound of them, of their hushed conversation, was crystal clear.
"—unwavering," came the woman's crisp, controlled voice, the sound of Elise Van. "The timetable for Harvest is advancing. The old guard is getting restless."
"Understood," Riker's voice responded, pitched low and gruff. "The operation against the Sky Talon smugglers is proceeding as planned. Henricks is… predictably effective. He's taking point on the asset seizure. He thinks I'm running interference for him." There was a dry, humourless scoff. "He genuinely believes the Crimson Syndicate are the primary targets."
"That gives you the cover you need," the woman pressed. "That's all that matters. Report on your primary assignment."
My entire body tensed. This was it. The real conversation. Riker paused for a long moment, and I could almost picture the conflict behind his cold, patched eye.
"Negative," he finally said, a frustrated tension creeping into his tone. "There's nothing. The trail for the Iron Serpent is still a dead end. Over two-hundred-and-fifty cycles since the last confirmed contact, and it's gone completely cold. Not even a whispered rumour on the black markets or the merc guilds. I've checked the pirate nets, the Guild logs, the frontier ghost tales… it's as if she was erased."
My brain struggled to process the name. The Iron Serpent. A person. Definitely some kind of moniker. A woman by the sounds of it too. An external mercenary? Were the Abyssal Cravens chasing a ghost?
"And for your secondary objective?" the woman's voice cut through.
For the second consecutive pause, Riker's frustration was palpable, even filtered through Tama's transmission. "In progress," he admitted reluctantly. "The Marauder's financial network is a mess, intentionally obfuscated. But there's a pattern. Someone high up, very high up, has been making a series of off-the-book purchases using crypto-laundered funds. Large sums. It isn't being funneled through their usual slush accounts for bribes or basic black market hardware. These purchases… they're different. It looks military, but it's not from any known contractor."
"So you have a lead."
"I have a suspicion, that's all," Riker corrected her, a trace of anger in his clipped words. "I don't know who the contact is, I don't know what they're buying, and I don't have proof of anything. I'm close to it right now. Pushing any harder will put my cover at risk. When I have something solid, I'll relay it."
The conversation suddenly shifted, becoming a bland, innocuous stream of chatter.
"Still a fool with your money," Van's light, airy tone cut through my connection. It was the illusion of two friends on a casual break. "You should have bought into the Tritium Futures when I told you to."
"I'm a spacer, Van, not a broker. I earn my creds by pointing ships at things, not by gambling on imaginary commodities," Riker retorted, a weary amusement in his voice. "Besides, that Hesperus-3 distillery you're so proud of isn't exactly a safe investment. I hear the local government is thinking about nationalising their moonshine operation."
It was all noise. Meaningless prattle to fill the space, a performance banter for any potential listening devices or prying eyes.
"Tama," I whispered back to her, keeping my gaze fixed on my own half-empty latte, "the Iron Serpent. Who is she? Scan everything you can find."
"Acknowledged, Captain," Tama's response was a cool whisper in my ear. "Running a cross-sector search for all references, active or inactive, to the designation 'Iron Serpent'. This will require sifting through the galactic 'dark data' and cross-referencing with clandestine mercenary registers. The process will take approximately ninety-seven seconds."
I watched the distant figures through lowered eyelids. Van made a dismissive gesture with her hand, a delicate, contemptuous flick. "Politics," she said. "It's always politicians who ruin a good distillery. Did you manage to fix that coolant leak on the old girl you fly? The mechanic you went to before was notorious for cheap substitutions."
The ninety-seven seconds crawled by like an hour.
My own auditory focus snapped back as Tama's smooth voice delivered its report directly into my ear.
"Captain, the designation 'Iron Serpent' is linked to a highly independent mercenary operative, active primarily in the Outer-Rim sector. Records of active operations confirm a five-year period of significant influence, commencing Stardate 884 STC and ending abruptly at 889 STC -- the previous year," she explained. "However, there is nothing else. She is not just difficult to find. She is a statistical void."
My eyes flicked towards her face, though her body remained perfectly still. "What do you mean, a statistical void?"
"I mean the information concerning 'Iron Serpent' was not merely lost or misplaced. It has been actively and professionally expunged. This is not the work of a lone hacker with a grudge or some petty criminal's cheap digital bleach. This was a precision deletion of astronomical scale. Every guild bounty posting, every shipping contract she ever worked on, every sensor log of a ship under her command. It has all been systematically wiped from the primary, secondary, and even most archival-level data caches. This level of erasure requires immense resources, rivalling those of a mid-tier corporation or the security apparatus of a noble house. I have catalogued twelve-hundred-and-seventy similar instances in the last decade, all correlating with high-level corporate sabotage for patent theft or the disappearance of politically inconvenient individuals, such as illegitimate children threatening a primary line of succession."
She concluded, the grim truth of it feeling like I've just set my foot into a swamp -- seeing a brief glimpse of a place I wasn't meant to be. "There is no official name, no known mission logs, no vessel registration. Only the ghost of a five-year-long career that has been deep-scrubbed from all relevant databases. The only reason the timeframe of her operational years is known at all is because it is logged in separate, archived economic indexes that are considered too trivial to merit a direct purge."
My mind raced, trying to slot the new piece of information with most of its pieces missing. "And your conclusion? What happened to her?"
"The leading theory aligns perfectly with Riker Raelus's report: she encountered a hostile force that could afford not only to eliminate her but to delete the very memory of her from the galactic record, all at once. Considering the context of this conversation, the most likely culprits are the Emerald Sky Marauders, and it is overwhelmingly probable she is deceased."
"No body," I murmured. It was the grim flavour of the unsolved case. A case, strangely enough, that a rival pirate gang was working to solve for some reason.
"There is no record of a body, nor a ship, nor any wreckage being recovered," Tama confirmed. "She simply… ceased. The presumption is that she either messed with the Marauders' core operations, or perhaps took a contract against a high-ranking member. Either way, she paid the ultimate price. And then someone paid the ultimate fee to make sure she was forgotten."
I paused momentarily, something about Tama's words caught me. "No record of a body… nor a ship. And no wreckage…" I repeated. I began tapping on the table with my fingers. "Doesn't that sound familiar to you? After all, that's exactly what happened to us -- the previous Noah and Calliope. Our ship, too, suddenly went missing with no body or a ship." I continued further. "Besides, does it even make sense for the Marauders to do that? Killing her because she got in their way? Sure, that part adds up, but then why scrub her existence afterwards? To that point, do they have that kind of money just lying around to throw away?"
"A logical query," Tama answered instantly. "A typical criminal organisation such as theirs would indeed be more predisposed towards making an example of her -- a spectacle; a body hung out to rot at the nearest shipping lane as a warning to others. This is a more cost-effective method of intimidation, and is also aligned with typical Red pirate thinking."
I took the last sip of my latte and stared at the empty cup. "But she got deleted. So we're looking at more than a typical Red pirate. Either the Emerald Sky Marauders are a special case. Or… there's something else going on."