Rieven stood with a weary stretch. He’d been seated in this bunker room for almost six hours without moving. He shifted the pearl from one hand to another and back again, trying to let his fingers stretch out somewhat. It had been a tedious five and half hours after the most recent action concluded. There was too much to do, and he was needed for very little of it personally. It was his authority that was needed. Once they had that, he could move on to the next situation. Twenty-seven. That’s how many of the Fourth were caught up in the mutiny directly. Twenty-seven whom he had bled for and fought to keep breathing. It was a bitter drink to swallow. He hated it.

  Of those twenty-seven men and women, only fourteen were subverted by that strange foreign axiom, that insidious touch of the Wythgoesh. They rest had been rats. It was sick. The others though, maybe they were innocent and had just been manipulated by the Wytthgoesh. It had to be them, for what else could it be when the energy readings recorded matched frequency with his pearl’s. That was concerning.

  What was more concerning was what that energy did. The Chief engineer on the Exile’s Retribution was convinced that an apocalyptic virus had begun to consume the crew, turning them into undying creatures in human skin. He had been terrified for his life, and doing the best he could, locked them in the cold storage for later, figuring that once help came, maybe they could be healed. They had found him facedown on the floor of engineering, recovering from fear-induced heart-failure. His engineering suit’s life support kept him alive. He would be weeks recovering, not from the physical damage, but from the fact that something reached inside his head and removed his ability to tell fact from fiction. A worse fate for an engineer did not exist.

  He felt a comforting sending from his pearl. It warmed in his heart. Now that they were aware of what was possible, none in the Fourth would be caught flat-footed again. Two weeks from now it would change from none would be caught to none could be caught. It was going to become a physical impossibility. Every soldier in the Fourth was going to undergo deep axiom threading training. They would be threading it through their axiomatic liver, into their left kidney, then into their brain, and then back down again. It was going to be a continuous cycle that would lead to a brain impervious to axiom. Rieven was personally of the opinion that there would be far-reaching cascade effects. You couldn’t thread axiom continuously through your system without effects other than the intended. He smiled. He began to suspect that he was raising a navy of monsters. So should it be, if they are to survive that which comes.

  He turned and grabbed his datapad from the mount it had rested in the past six hours, and attached it to his waist. When he opened the door and stepped into the hall, he was pleasantly surprised to see the entirety of his Dragon Guard standing guard outside the bunker room. He saluted them and turned to begin the long trek to his bunk. As they walked, passing saluting crew making holes for them, he said “I’m glad to see you boys. Thank you for showing up in force.”

  Dragontooth spoke, “Had to sir, we couldn’t leave you alone after a mutiny, and we are the Dragon Guard, and you are the Black Drake, so it seemed fitting.”

  Rieven smiled. He turned to corporal Snaptoe, “Corporal, did the entire guard volunteer, or was there a threat?”

  Snaptoe continued glancing around, checking every corner of the corridor and rooms as they passed. “No threat, sir. You’re not safe until those axiom protocols the Sarn’t were discussin’ with everyone get implemented. No need to take stupid risks. Slow is smooth, smooth is fast.”

  Rieven waited, unsure if there was more, but apparently the corporal had said his piece. Rieven replied, “I suppose things are settling down now for you boys that the fun is over?”

  Private Benny took this one, “Sir, no one said that nothin’ would settle down. Can’t, in fact, too much crazy in this part of the real. Too much crazy. We’re gettin’ used to our new squad though. Ain’t never seen so much grumblin’ in the mess, sir.” He puffed his chest out as he looked around, “We’re the envy of the navy, sir. We had to show for ya, can’t let our drake lose face, sir!”

  Rieven snorted softly. So that’s how it was? It was the smart move though, I have to say, they are more image-savvy than they let on. “Am I to understand, corporal, that our good master sergeant has assigned me a permanent guard rotation?”

  “Yes, sir. He’s got us rotatn’ in an’ out. No need to worry, at least three of us will be with you always ‘till after the court-marshals and the clearancin’ of the Fourth. Once we know there’s no more lurkers, it’s just gonna be two of us at all times, sir. And, beggin’ yer pardon, sir, but you spend your time doin’ paperpushin’ an’ decision makin’, ‘snot like it’s a hardship to guard ya.”

  “Yes,” Rieven said, “I’m pretty sedentary most days.” They had arrived at the door to his bunk. He turned to them. “Thank you for your guard and for your escort. I’m going to rest for six hours now, and then we’ll go to the next meeting.”

  As one they saluted him. But there was something more to their gaze than had been there yesterday, there was a respect that only came when looking at the man who risked everything for you. It was unmistakable. He shook his head as he closed the door. That respect was touching, and he’d never mention it. Some things weren’t talked about; they were subjects you only circled around until the hole in the conversation made plain what what left unsaid. Their respect did make him feel better, however. If they started looking at him in the same way the looked at Ono, he’d be guaranteed their best at all times, and no one would gut him under their watch.

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  He activated the override-proof deadlock on the door. Nothing was getting through that door without waking him. He crossed his office and opened the panel to the shower, stripped and left the pearl in the sink before stepping in the shower. Once he was dried, he picked up the pearl and made his way to his bunk. “Ship’s Intelligence, please wake me in five and a half hours.”

  There was a tone, then “Of course, sir. Rest well.” The exit tone sounded and he was left to fall asleep. He kept the lights on so he wouldn’t be confused when he woke, like the last time, and promptly fell asleep.

  -x-

  “The rumours are spreadin’. They know now. They know traitors’re in the Fourth, differ’nt from those in the paddocks onboard the Hidden Dagger. It’s true ‘cause every member of every crew is bein’ interviewed in an official SI terminal by at least three imperial marines and one mind-reader.”

  “They’re not mind-readers Poach, they’re just information officers.”

  Poach rolled his eyes. “Information officers who read minds. Same thing Skip. Wha do you ‘spect when mutinies jump up all over? The Drake’s mind-readers’ll come an’ play fer sure. Works every time.”

  Skip heaved a great sigh that sounded like nothing so much as wearied long-suffering. Around and around they’d go. “People aren’t psycic Poach. They’re people. Now stop this nonsense before you get called in for being stupid.”

  “Psycics are people Skip! They’re the best people ‘cause they knows what we don’t. Think on it: Here we are, sittin’ in the Jester’s Lament, looking at the viewscreens and what do we see? We see the Fourth, our Fourth, attacked, unprovoked mind you, an’ then the Drake goes and melts a dragon in CQC. Bloody CQC! Can you imagine? ‘n I hear he’s got the body all set up in his new office on that death-rig he won. Think on that! A bloody dragon as decoration! If that’s not impossible, why’n it can’t be possible for ‘im to ‘ave mind readers? Think on it. Makes sense ‘s all I’m sayin’. Don’ be so bloody close-minded Skip. It’ll do ya good sooner ‘r late.”

  A tone sounded from the ceiling. They both looked up. “No you’ve gone and done it Poach, you idiot!”

  The voice of the SI sounded, feminine and hoarse, like a woman hanged just long enough to leave the noose’s mark on her breath. “Spaceman second-class Poach and Spaceman second-class Skip, please report to the nearest SI Terminal for debrief.” They both shuddered as the exit tone hit their ears.

  “Debrief’s not good Skip, never was. Better’n cap’n’s mast though. Them’s no fun at all.”

  Spaceman second-class Skip just shook his head as they made their way to the SI Terminal. Neither of them were guilty, he was sure. He knew he wasn’t, and Poach was dummer than a bag of hammers in a cornfield, just no need for anything he brought to the table.

  They arrived at the terminal to find twelve people standing there already and eight of them were imperial marines. Eight for two people? That’s not good, he thought. You can’t expect two seconders to put up that much of a fight. What’s going on? As soon as the two of them were noticed, they were surrounded by the marines and carted off into two different rooms adjacent to the terminal but close enough to still have terminal access.

  The room they drew him into had chains hanging from the ceiling and others were resting on the floor, manacled ends. He spun in fear and tried to leave, but the marine on his left grabbed his upper arm in a vice-grip and dragged him to the chains. It took three of them, but they had him chained and hanging from the ceiling in a matter of mere moments.

  His breath was coming in short gasps, barely enough to supply oxygen to his brain. A man approached him, flicking the air out of a syringe. He tried to shrink back, moving and twisting his head away, but the needle unerringly found the artery in his neck and the man depressed the plunger. Soon all he felt was calm and peace. He didn’t even feel the pain from the manacles on his wrists holding him off the ground. It happened so peacefully that he didn’t even notice he was calm.

  He watched as another man, tall and thin, waved an axiom stick over his body. “He’s got it, sir. No doubt about it.” The man put the stick in a case on the side of the room and picked up another instrument that looked identical. He waved that over him. “He has no foreign matter in his system, sir. I’d say we’re safe for purging.”

  Another man came up to him. This one was old. His hair was grey and thinning, but cropped close to his skull, like he couldn’t be bothered with it. This new man put his hands on either side of Skip’s face and closed his eyes. In moments he could feel pain light up his laces. Pain like he’d never had before. He began screaming, only he couldn’t hear himself screaming because he wasn’t. He was too calm. He wasn’t even trembling, and at this point he wasn’t even sure he had felt any pain.

  “That’s good stuff you gave him doc,” one of the marines said. “I’d like some o’ that for tonight, if you know what I mean.” He guffawed. ‘Doc’ or whatever he called himself, ignored him and stared at Skip. After another moment the man in front of him released his face and stepped back. “All of the foreign axiom is gone, mark another one to the tally. I don’t know why they want sleeper agents, they can’t reach us without the dead zones, but they were ready to act. I’m glad we only have this last one to deal with. For a while we were doing them two at a time, but it’s draining using both rooms simultaneously. When this fella came down the corridor all on his lonesome I almost cried for joy.” He turned to Skip, “What seemed wrong but never was?”

  Skip thought about that. What did he mean I came alone? But finding the answer to the man’s question just felt more important than asking any of his own. After thinking it over he decided that Lots seemed wrong, but most of all it was Poach that was wrong. He said so, “Poach hadn’t been the same since lately. He just wouldn’t settle down, kept talking about mind-readers coming to get him and how it was obvious humans were psychic and mind-readers and we should be prepared for when you took us and read our minds, said it would be bad. It made me nervous.”

  The man with the grey hair looked meaningfully at someone behind Skip, and he heard a connection tone from the ceiling. He tried to turn to see, but one of the marines stopped him, holding his head still and facing the grey-haired man. “Who is Poach?”

  “What a silly question, he’s the guy who came with me here, you got him in the other room. You said I came alone, but that’s a lie. You can’t make me lie. I came with Poach. Check the SI, she called us both.”

  The man’s eyes widened slightly. Someone leaned in and said something about the SI saying he came alone. That’s not true, he thought, I didn’t come alone. The man stepped forward again and put his hands on his face and threaded axiom through his system. “Looks like the effects linger.” He stepped back and spoke to Skip, “Is there anything Poach wanted you to do?”

  “No, sir. He just gave me his observations to think on, he liked that phrase. ‘Think on it”. He’d say it all the time, which was strange because he could barely speak Imperial. He always sounded like a landed noble when he said that though. Must have picked it off a vid somewhere.”

  “Were his observations about anything other than mind-reading?”

  “No, he just really wanted me to tell him everything I knew about it. What’s a mind-reader anyways? Psycics? What’s that? Like it was real or something. Idiot.”

  The man frowned. He looked to the person standing behind Skip again, “If that’s all he’s saying with that cocktail in him, that’s all we’re going to get until the axiom completely leaves him. I’ll let his onions caramelise some more and then we’ll resume this conversation at that time.”

  The man responded, “Very well Major Travers. Thank you for your assistance. I didn’t know they could implant an autorun axiomatic program in the mind that would continue to interact with the subject even after the connection had been terminated. This is useful. Please let me know when the effects fully disappear.”

  “I shall, Adjunct.”

  The connection terminated.