The very idea of Christmas did not exist on the mostly dead, icy planet of Gefnia. Not fit for human habitation in the first place, it was a prime example of human tenacity; beset on all sides by deathly snowstorms and the graveyard of ships fallen from orbit as sacrifices to the Heart of Gefn, the very core of how anyone even defied this uninhabitable hellscape was a mystery to all but the ministers at the top of the Order of Her Icy Eminence. Led by the seldom-seen Archbishop and his Prelate, they held an iron grip over all the territory blessed by the heart with mercy from the elements that would threaten to reduce Gefnia’s occupants to frozen tableaux. Land, and livelihoods, were at the whim of the priesthood that whispered to the heart and received its boons in return; blasphemers and traitors alike faced the wrath of those lost to the Heart, the recovered undead Exarchs that few survived to tell tales of.
Lachlan had many things to be thankful for - his home on the destroyed alternate Earth overrun with yokai from which he recruited his birds; the irreplaceable love and attention he got from Chloe; his status in the broader criminal underworld that brought him dozens of letters on any given day - but the very act of being allowed to exist, tolerated by some unseen god he wasn’t even sure was the one matching the label on the tin, was remarkably foreign to him. But that was the way the people of Gefnia brought importance to the period surrounding Earth’s Christmas, even if they had never appreciated the tradition itself. Any power in this sector of space would be foolish to reject the slew of trade opportunities that came with the festivities, and to the Gefnians there was nothing more festive than the Parade of Gifts.
He was sure that the actual name wasn’t that - “Parade of Gifts” was merely a loose Agnloc translation - but that wasn’t his concern. Rather, it was the person he knew would be in charge of the parade, like she did every year.
Lachlan closed the small window in the side of his personal shack, purchased from the Order with a service he’d provided in the pirate colony’s early days. His first plan was to simply call in his marker with the Archbishop, but with how nobody had seen him in years, the most sensible assumption was that he was dead or rotting in a cell, and therefore of no help to him. The Prelate had never liked him either, but unfortunately for him, that was exactly the person he was going to have to rob.
He opened a metal door to his shack, checking if anyone was watching, and hurried out into the frosty back street. He wasn’t stupid enough to buy land in the Order’s actual backyard and risk a random raid, and that decision was quickly paying him off. Two alleys away was the beginning of a very specific district, one with more complex metal construction and electronics than any other section of Gefnia. The moment he stepped over the perimeter, he knew he was being watched, and a cursory glance already located him no less than four surveillance cameras hidden in the nooks of buildings, and on the poles of the open street. The people here moved with purpose, knowing exactly what they had to do from the devices implanted into their temples, interfacing directly with their optic nerves. That level of augmentation was illegal in UHE territory without a permit of course, but out here, who cared?
Realising his relatively natural movements through the crowd would have made him stuck out regardless, he decided to stand underneath one of the domed cameras hanging from the pole at the street corner, and look straight into the lens.
A figure loomed over the street from the roof of the building opposite his position. A woman, staring at him with eyes that flashed. She nodded.
He nodded back, and started towards the narrow gap between that structure and its neighbour. Part of him doubted that he had avoided scans up to this point, but it would take more than sensors from a distance to figure out neurosynchronous casting and the underlying puppeteering he’d spent centuries perfecting. Try as they might, they would have to trade a fortune for that knowledge.
There was a ladder on the side of the building, glistening with fresh ice that had formed on it, and he gave it a good tug to verify its integrity before committing to climbing up. The runs felt freezing cold and dangerously slippery, but that was hardly going to stop him thanks to the composite lining he had installed in his palmar region.
The woman he had seen was just standing up there with a tablet cradled in her arm, the indicator lights on her temple-devices flickering as she watched him pull himself to his feet. “Two extra arms.”
“Had to get them under this coat.” He straightened the fur-lined edges and turned the collar to stand up. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten last time.”
“Mr. Sykes wishes to apologise on behalf of the Network. He would like to assure you that, at least in this instance, there will be no sudden departures from the agreed-upon plan.” Even her way of speaking with monotonous, like she was reading from a script.
“There better not.” Now that he thought about it, she probably at least had presentation notes somewhere in her field of vision. “I’d like to kindly remind your boss that I know where his fake asteroid field is. I call in one favour and the Network gets dismantled, got it?”
“Noted,” the contact said.
“You got the device?”
The contact produced a small glass orb, containing a mass of wires and other electronic components and a vial of shifting gas. “This will do it.”
Lachlan turned it around in his hands. “Seems low-tech. What’s my gig?”
“At the end of the Parade, the Prelate presides over a sacrifice. A large ship of gifts for their dead god.”
“And?”
She turned towards the massive, angular structure stretching into the sky from the other side of town, surrounded at its base by a small town bearing all the banners of the Order. “The blast required to drain it in orbit will be exorbitantly powerful. Much larger than any other firing the Heart uses to sustain itself. Our data confirms this. It has been this way consistently with the offering. The fallout will be significant.”
Magical fallout. He was almost mad he wasn’t the one to think of it first. But then again, he wasn’t constantly on-planet, measuring each giant magical beam with a suite of spying equipment that would almost coax envy from Division Three. “How’d you figure?”
“That information is privileged.”
“Okay, what’s this got to do with it?” He held up the glass orb.
“One of our best members is inside. The blast will affect our instruments close by too, so they will be the processor.”
Lachlan peered at the vial of cloudy gas. “Thanks buddy.”
“The Order has protocols to maintain a veil and protect their machines, but most electronics within the citadel will be affected. The vulnerabilities have been tested. This orb will get you in.”
“What’s the catch?”
“You will deploy him when you get to the main archive. Fifty-fourth floor. Our previous efforts have been deemed too risky.”
“But somehow I’m fine?”
“You will not be traced back to Mr. Sykes.”
“If I keep my mouth shut, sure.”
The contact frowned, her processors flashing as she processed that. “This is…acceptable. Your capabilities are well known.” She attempted to peek through the gap in his coat, to see the arms he had picked for this job.
“Good enough for me. Parade ends at the spaceport if I remember?” He pocketed the orb and buttoned himself up.
“Correct.”
“How will you know if I succeed?”
“We will know,” she said simply, stepping back.
Lachlan shrugged, and hopped off the edge of the roof. His boots landed in a small pile of snow, and he quickly weaved through the streetgoers to make it to the end of district. Beyond that was a small strip of neutral territory, before it was just Order-controlled streets all the way to the citadel proper.
Wandering out was a little relief, knowing that Todd Sykes’ people weren't constantly monitoring him. The only issue was that now he was under the azure banners of the Order of Gefn, who he had never had a particularly fruitful relationship with. Try as he might, some people just never warmed up to him. In this case perhaps that was a literal thing. If he was to get inside the citadel, he was going to need to be dressed appropriately.
Right now, Lachlan could think of one place where people were looking just one way.
He headed westwards, to where he knew from the memorised map in his head the street intersected with Gefnia’s main thoroughfare, an almost straight shot from the citadel to the rudimentary spaceport at the other end of the habitation bubble the Heart provided. As he got closer and closer to the wide street, he decided against making himself scarce, and stood near the back of the crowd, looking past their heads at the floats still passing by.
A third human arm emerged from his throat, wearing an old wristwatch, which he glanced at briefly before sending it back behind him so as not to draw attention. If the parade was passing this point, then he had a little over twenty minutes to gather what he needed.
Still, he stood there, watching as the largest float in the convoy slowly came into view, a veritable throne of glass and ice and a myriad of coloured lights shining strobing through it. Standing at the helm was a woman with stark white hair, in a long, dark red coat, one sleeve empty and its corresponding arm hidden, waving at the crowd with her other, though she did not seem to smile.
This was Prelate Ercillia Leverenz, who was likely currently in control of the Heart and therefore the entire Order. All interactions Lachlan had with her over the previous decades had not been without thinly veiled hostility, and dare he say, abject disgust on her part. Smiling was never her strong suit.
He stood and watched as her float disappeared behind a building, and went on his way into the nearby inn, ignoring all of the customers crowded around the windows to see the rest of the parade.
Instead he sat at the bar, waving to get the bartender’s attention while simultaneously peeking at the table of deacons to his right out of the corner of his eye, talking amongst themselves. They hadn't seen him yet, and it was exactly what he was betting on.
The bartender poured him a pint of some sweet-smelling dark liquid. He took a sip. It was some kind of bootleg mead from the honeyed tones, but it went down smoothly. Unsatisfied, he took another big gulp to convince any onlookers, and got up from his stool, fake-stumbling towards the parade watchers. Then, when the moment was just right, he put one foot crossed over the other and tripped himself, sloshing the contents of his mug all over one of the deacons.
There was shouting and shoving and name calling, and he flipped them off as he ran outside, making sure to drunkenly turn and make for the alleyway behind the bar. They were right on his heels, intending to give him a good beating. Lachlan stopped in the alleyway, leaning against the wall as if to throw up, then he felt rough hands pull him back and shove him towards the icy ground.
He waited for them to pick him up.
As soon as he felt the deacon directly behind him lean over, the arm with the wristwatch shot out at high speed, fingers striking the deacon in the middle of his throat and caving in his windpipe. Before the other one could react, Lachlan sprung up with the help of his other extra arm, and threw a punch at similar speed into her abdomen, making her keel over as the wind was knocked out of her, and spun to kick her head right into the nearby wall.
Within moments she was dead and he was asphyxiating on the ground, while Lachlan carefully checked the tags on their uniform's sheepskin jackets. As he had figured, the male deacon was almost his size. He shrugged off his coat, and put the deacon's on, buttoning it up the same way its owner had, before stepping back and allowing the other extra arm - a robotic prosthetic limb - to come out and grab onto the fresh corpse. Under his command, the cadaver began to vibrate at a high speed, bringing its matter out of phase with the ground, and slowly sank into the cold dirt. He let go when the body was no longer clearly visible, and then did the same with the female deacon.
He stood up and checked the coat pocket, which had a little flip wallet with the deacon's face on it along with his credentials. It looked nothing like him, but at least they had the same colour. Lachlan was about to head out to the citadel when he spotted a small boy standing at the end of the alley, staring at him.
He put a finger to his lips, smiling at the boy, before exiting via the main street. Most of the pavement here was devoid of people now that the floats had passed, and he stuck his hands in his pockets, whistling a tune as he strode past the few scattered civilians who wanted nothing to do with who they saw as basically an enforcer of the Order. There was little resistance all the way to the front gate, which he avoided, electing to go around to a section of the perimeter wall that was relatively unguarded.
Glancing around to ensure nobody was looking, he pressed the robot arm to it, causing the painted concrete to vibrate, and held his breath as he pushed himself through it. On the other side was a small courtyard, but the plants had all but been killed by the harsh conditions. Behind him, the wall snapped back into phase with the concrete around it, creating a vaguely oval displacement in the paint on its surface. With a bit of luck, nobody would even notice.
Lachlan took position behind a dead tree, watching the commotion at the front of the citadel's sloped base, feeling the growing static in the air. The weapon was powering up, and like Sykes' people had said, it was going to be a big one, channeled through the entire structure. In the chaos he would slip in, and do what he had to do.
He took the glass orb out of his pocket, shaking it slightly to get a reaction from the juvenile Steamkind specimen operating it. "Alright. You better do this hacking thing well. Just you and me."
The vapour in the vial bloomed excitedly.
I'm coming, Chloe.
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