Dark Omega

CHAPTER 3 - OF TWO MINDS

Haides rose, put his hitherto concealed gun upon the desk with a clank. Pulled the stopper from the decanter and poured golden liquid into the waiting crystal glasses. The rich fragrance of the liquor spread across the table. "Seeing as how we'll be here for a while, I think drinks are in order. Talking—and listening—is thirsty work."

Marcus turned his attention to the pistol—a man's choice of weapons could reveal a lot about his personality. It was a massive piece, a B1B Coilgun, chambered for the standard 8-millimeter hypervelocity round. The boxy magazine in front of the trigger guard held twelve rounds—filled with an ultra-compact explosive compound, gravimetrically fused to detonate inside the target—and the energy needed for the grav-coils to fire them. The weapon had sufficient penetration to deal with exo-armor and enough stopping power to take down even cyber-augmented troopers.

Mass-produced by the Syndicate, it was a favorite sidearm with military types and security officers, right across Dominion space. Xerza carried one on those occasions she meant to shoot someone. Marcus wasn't a coilgun man. He'd trained with them, but given a choice, he preferred pulsers. Accurate and effective, with far less chance of collateral damage.

Marcus's eyes caught something: 'There will be Blood' was engraved into the dark gunmetal. Or to be precise, it said 'Theyr wilth be Bloth,' which wasn't consistent with any of the Dominion dialects in use along the Milky Way's southern edge. The spelling resembled the Common Dominion used in the Illyrian Concordat. Still, the use of the letter Thorn—'Þeyr wilþ be Bloþ'—suggested something closer to coreward, perhaps one of the worlds located within the Magyar Marches.

"The inscription, it's Solomoni," Haides said.

"I've been to Solomon. They don't use the Thorn."

"Not anymore. This is Old Solomoni, from way back when the Mordechais reigned."

The Mordechai dynasty—famous for the potency of their divine lineage, the skill of their legates, and their refusal to bow before the Collegium—had ruled Solomon from long before the founding of the Dominion. The current ruler of Solomon wasn't a Mordechai by blood, however, but an adopted apprentice. It will take forever if I encourage him to talk about trivia. Marcus made a slight, dismissive gesture, urging Haides to let the matter drop and proceed with the interview.

Haides picked up one of the now-full glasses, stepped around the desk, and handed it to Marcus. This time his smile did contain a little warmth, but Marcus recognized the mummery behind it: Haides's psychic aura remained colder than the void. I bet lies come easy to those lips. You'd slit my throat still smiling and think nothing of it afterward.

Haides wasn't exactly short, but neither was he very tall. Marcus pegged him at around a hundred and eighty-four centimeters, give or take a few millimeters. Compared to the impoverished—and often malnourished—masses of the Successor Kingdoms, Haides was a veritable giant. When measured against the gentry, he came out rather average. Athletic, but not heavy, body screaming of lean muscles. Like a sword of folded steel, razor-sharp, with an unyielding edge, yet flexible enough to endure where more brittle blades would snap.

"Used to be one hundred eighty-five, but years of service have taken off a centimeter."

This time Marcus's super-charged empathic receptors picked out a faint humorous undertone in Haides's voice, but the man's eyes held no gaiety whatsoever. He's hinting at far greater sacrifices than a few millimeters of height. But that's nothing special. All who serve the Dragon are expected to sacrifice everything. Why is he telling me these things?

"It has a twin," Haides said matter-of-factly, "called 'There will be Death.' This one," he pointed at the pistol on the table, "I use for the marks I wish to take alive, but," he patted something in a shoulder rig hidden underneath his cloak, "this one I use purely for killing."