Stand or Fall (The Omega War Book 4) Page 17

  Tameera panned the camera around the mostly-open room. There was enough room between her and the guards to allow direct engagement. Had she chosen the other door, the collection of multi-species capable furniture would have made it difficult, if not impossible, to take them down. The collection bracelet on her right forearm caught a faint bit of light as she selected another compartment. Pests were the perfect weapon. Seen as unclean, common annoyances, the guards would swat them away and squish them if found. They were perfectly expendable and almost certainly unnoticeable. While she would have preferred larger mice or rats from Earth, the lush planet’s insects and amphibians would work nicely.

  With a tap on her bracelet, she opened a control link on her slate. Two spiders skittered across the ceiling toward the two guards. They were harmless arachnids known as wolf spiders to the Humans. The Equirri would never give them a second thought until it was too late. Each of the spiders stopped directly above one of the guards. Using her slate, Tameera directed them to spin their webs and descend. She took a deep breath and relaxed as they executed their instructions. You couldn’t hurry nature. After three painful minutes, they descended ever-so-slowly toward their targets, hovering a few centimeters over the crowns of the guards’ skulls. Satisfied with their positions, Tameera dialed up the weapon interface and selected hypersonic. Equirri were listed in the “Maximum Yield” category, which carried a warning that using such power could terminate the spiders. She acknowledged the warning and watched the weapon charge. The ultrasonic pulses, far above the audible range, erupted simultaneously from the spiders’ tiny kits. The Equirri wavered on their legs and collapsed to the floor. Tameera shot to her feet, burst through the conference room door and ran silently across the floor toward them. She drew her pistol as one of the guards tried to get back on its feet. At close range, she fired twice into the Equirri’s head. Before it fell to the floor, she double-tapped the second. Her pulse surging, Tameera kicked in the door to the guild master’s chambers and stepped inside.

  “Welcome.” The voice stopped her in the semi-darkness of the chambers. “Your attack was most efficient, young one.”

  Tameera’s searched the room but couldn’t find the source of the voice. Her slate beeped. The voice did not belong to Guild Master Rsach. She raised the pistol in the darkness. “Show yourself.”

  “Lights.”

  She blinked against the sudden explosion of overhead lights and sought her target. The room didn’t look the way she thought the guild master’s private chambers would. She’d expected a suite or a bedroom. Instead, the central area appeared to be an office with a wide window facing lunar north and the Ocean of Storms. A wide, high-backed chair faced the window, with its expansive black leather back toward her. The voice emanated from there, she was sure.

  “Get up, whoever you are.”

  She heard a laugh. It was a deep, resonating sound that seemed to come from everywhere. “I take it you’ve come for Master Rsach. I’m afraid I cannot let you have him.”

  Tameera stepped forward and angled more toward the right side of the desk. “I’ve killed your guards. My team is executing its mission as we speak. All that’s standing between your guild master and me is you. Why don’t you get out of the way?”

  There was no response.

  She tried again. The first rule of being a mercenary was all things had a price. “I can make it worth your while.”

  “Credits do not interest me as they do you and your kind.”

  “My kind?” Tameera chuckled.

  The chair spun slowly toward her. A massive shape rose from the seat and gazed down at her. In shock, Tameera hesitantly lowered the barrel of her gun. That split second was more than enough time for the massive Oogar to lunge forward and swipe her pistol away with a heavy hand. The impact knocked Tameera to the floor. Her instincts took over, propelling her into a roll. She came up in a fighting stance, drawing knives from her boots.

  The Oogar was almost twice her size. His large, black eyes studied her for a moment, and a trace of a smile spread across its maw. Fury tightened her gut, and she twirled the knives in her paws, so they were blade down, making them harder to dislodge in a fight.

  “I can’t say I’m surprised by your appearance. Your team of operators was quite successful in placing their explosives. They’re currently moving toward your rendezvous point.” The Oogar openly smiled. For the first time, she noticed the end of his jaw was more white fur than purple. The massive Peacemaker stood with more weight on his left foot, a terrible starting position for a fight, so she assumed he was much older than she was. The Oogar might be fast, but she was faster. Tameera shifted her crouch to better strike the Oogar’s favored side. The fool had shown her his greatest weakness.

  “Peacemakers are not warriors.” Tameera grinned. “You can walk away now. I am not here for you.”

  “No.” The Oogar spread his massive arms wide. She could see no weapons on his body; unless he had one behind his back, he was unarmed.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Giving you a chance to live, mercenary.” The Oogar’s smile widened, and his jagged teeth glistened in the light.

  Tameera shook her head. “I will end this quickly.”

  “I think not.” The Oogar darted toward her. She came up with her knives and sliced at its arms, drawing a spray of bright purple blood. With a howl of rage, he swung across his body, connecting with her right shoulder and driving her into the floor with a resounding thud.

  Tameera bounced up to her feet, but the Oogar was already swinging again. She flinched away, enough so that the blow glanced off the side of her face. White hot pain blossomed in her vision, and she viciously shook her head attempting to clear it. A blur of movement caught her eye. The Oogar drove a huge fist into her abdomen, flinging her through the air. The sickening crunch of breaking bones and the rush of air from her lungs made Tameera realize this was one of her worst fears as she crashed into a wall.

  It moves like an Enforcer.

  Unimaginable pain shot through her body. She tried to get up but could not. Her legs would not respond. The taste of her blood filled her mouth as she looked up at the Oogar. He looked down at her. “Are you ready to speak reasonably?”

  Tameera said nothing. Staring up into the ursine face, she shook her head again, and the Oogar laughed.

  “Such strength and conviction.” The Oogar nodded at her, its eyes solemn. “You could have been an Enforcer with such heart, little one. I must tell you your mission has failed.”

  She spat blood on the rich stone floor. “Killing us and disarming our explosives will—”

  “We will do no such thing.” The Oogar said. “Your failure lies in the knowledge that Guild Master Rsach and the entire council are far from here readying for war. Our Peacemakers are gathering to support the Humans and their allies against this treasonous action your General Peepo has launched. You must know it will fail.”

  Tameera found the strength to laugh. She blinked against the pain. “They left you here to die. Rsach and his council are cowards.”

  “Those who are here volunteered to stay behind.” The Oogar stepped back, and she could see she’d cut him more severely than she thought in her first attack. Blood streamed down his arms. “There are worse things than being remembered by the guild for our sacrifice.”

  “Noble sentiment for an old Enforcer to have. They signed your death warrant, but you still admire them.”

  “Hr’ent has seen enough death for many lifetimes, little one.”

  Tameera blinked. “Did you say ‘Hr’ent?’ The Enforcer of Godonii Two?”

  The Oogar nodded once. She tried to remember the story, but her brain was filled with the cottony webs of blood loss. She knew the symptoms well enough to know she had little time left. The story of Hr’ent slowly formed in her mind. Hr’ent single-handedly fought off a veritable army of GenSha that were furious about losing a valid contract until the Peacemakers could send an extraction team via shuttle. He�
��d held a small mountaintop, alone, for four days and saved the lives of four fellow Peacemakers, including then-Peacemaker Rsach. He was one of the few Peacemakers known throughout the galaxy for his deeds rather than his words. As a child, Tameera and her friends played the siege of Godonii Two on their playgrounds. In her awe, a sense of irony rose in her dwindling consciousness.

  “You would save your guild master’s life again?”

  “I already have.” Hr’ent sat heavily on the floor across from her. “Rsach understands that a Peacemaker must stand or fall. I would stand for my friend and guild master any day. How long until your explosives detonate?”

  Tearing her eyes from him to her slate took much more effort than she would have ever imagined. The flashing display read three minutes and twelve seconds. “A little over three minutes. You have stopped nothing, Honored Hr’ent.”

  Hr’ent laughed. “You fought well, little one. I wish your death could have more meaning than the downfall of your guild.”

  Tameera tried to speak, but her tongue felt thick and heavy. She formed the words carefully. “Humans would have been the downfall of our guild. They will be the downfall of yours.”

  Hr’ent shook his head. “They will be the ones to save both guilds, little one. Maybe even the galaxy itself.”

  Neither of them spoke. Tameera tried to focus on the mission timer, but it was no use. Darkness swam up and took her as the first device detonated in the compound’s central power complex.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Sixteen

  Central Detention Facility

  Solitary Confinement

  Karma IV

  Rains woke in darkness. Lying on his back, on a cold, hard surface, his addled mind struggled to place what had happened. Temples throbbing, Rains kept his eyes closed as his brain replayed the memory from the physical training area like an old, silent movie. Slowly, the images formed into a cohesive unit.

  Enraged, Perez had charged across the space toward Rains like a wild boar. The wiry man slashed spastically with his knives but had no chance of connecting with Rains. With an easy sidestep, Rains gained a superior position and drove his right fist into the side of Perez’s head. The impact felt like any normal punch he’d thrown over the course of his life. There’d been a brief explosion of pain in his fingers and a firm shake of his arm muscles, but nothing felt odd. Then Perez sprawled face down and skidded into a weight rack face first. Rains turned, squared his shoulders, and prepared for a second attack but Perez never moved. Rains stared for a good thirty seconds, as alarm klaxons rang and guards descended on the scene, but the other man lay still on the ground. His chest wasn’t moving.

  Did he fall on those knives? Stab himself in the chest?

  Rains suppressed every ounce of first responder training he’d had and stood still. Getting closer to Perez, even with the intent of helping him, would make things worse. He thought the little sonuvabitch might be playing possum, until he saw the spreading puddle of blood near the man’s head.

  Andy waded into the ring of silent inmates and leaned over Perez’s still form. He turned toward Rains. Eyes wide and mouth agape, he said, “He’s dead, man.”

  Two Cochkala guards burst into the circle, waving their charged batons. Rains frowned at the typical Humans gathering around to look and gossip.

  The lead guard was a gold-furred Cochkala that Rains assumed was on the take from whoever or whatever paid him the most money. Frada, if that was his name, acted friendly toward the prisoners and often turned his back on situations an honest guard would have stopped. The whole charade made Rains sick, but it was nothing unexpected, and it didn’t affect his mission.

  Frada charged straight toward him, brandishing his baton. Rains remembered the protocol and raised his hands, palms facing the guard, elbows tucked in. Expecting questions, Rains relaxed and tried to let go of the anger coursing through his veins. The guard swung the charged baton into his chest, and Rains didn’t remember anything else until he woke up in solitary with a sore chest and a massive headache.

  Asshole must’ve had it set on cattle prod. He chuckled at his lame attempt at humor and rolled to a sitting position on the steel bench. He put his bare feet on the cold floor and realized he was wearing a loose-fitting top and pants, like surgical scrubs, that were poorly insulated against the cool, damp cell. The lights were off, so it was natural to assume it was night, but he knew better. The lack of a daylight or time reference would throw his circadian rhythms off, and he’d eventually start to lose his grip on reality. Part of his coursework in the academy dealt with the prolonged effects of incarceration.

  No way I’m doing that shit for real.

  It was light enough for him to see his body. He studied his hand for damage and found none. It was barely sore when he flexed his fingers and wrist. As a teenager, the idea that he could kill a man with a single punch would have enthralled him and given him an ego boost that would have taken a lifetime to fade. A single blow to Perez’s temple hadn’t killed him—the inexperienced fighter had sprawled after the blow and stabbed himself in the throat. The evidence suggested Perez’s death was a result of his own ineptitude, but Rains couldn’t shake the feeling he’d missed something. Sitting still, he internalized the consequences of his actions in the Peacemaker way. Study, in a calm and collected manner, led to discovery. When things seemed different from reality, the gifted changed their focus from what they’d done to what they did not expect.

  Rains closed his eyes and replayed the entire episode from the beginning, telling himself to see everything with fresh eyes the way they’d taught him at the academy. The mind caught much more detail than most people realized. It was merely a question of slowing things down and figuring out what didn’t fit. As he played back their conversation, the first clue hit him like a brick between the eyes. Perez’s tattoo of Death On Track’s logo was too fresh, as if it had been done in the last six months, not more than two years earlier as the timeline suggested. He snorted but kept his eyes closed, and realized the guards weren’t there because they had expected the outcome.

  They set us up.

  Whether it was the Mercenary Guild, his own guild, or the warden and her guards, he and Vannix had been set up to fail. There were only Humans in the prison, and Rains knew most, if not all, were mercenaries. Peepo and her council had a much further reach than anyone anticipated. The warden and the guards were certainly in on things, or they were stupidly following orders and collecting credits in their ignorance.

  He heard a rap to his left, and a small window opened. Someone pushed through a tray of food. He reached for the tray. A familiar insectoid face wearing a smirk peered at him through the slot.

  “What is it, Rehnah?”

  She shook her head. “Your kind raves about flat bread with cheese and sauce. I do not understand it.”

  He chuckled. “It’s called pizza. The good ones are pretty memorable experiences.”

  Rehnah’s face disappeared, but she left the slot open and light streamed into the cell. There was a small steel sink and toilet across from his bunk in the far corner. Hunger beat out his need for relief, and he scooted closer to the food. On the nondescript tray was a rectangle of pizza, an apple, and a small cup of water, exactly what he expected for prison food. What he hadn’t expected was the scrap of paper sticking out from under the pizza. With his left thumb and index finger, Rains grabbed the paper, expecting it to be what they had warmed the pizza on. When he saw the words scribbled on it, his hands shook.

  Stay ready.

  Rains crumpled the scrap and rolled it between his fingers. An old movie came to mind, one he’d seen but couldn’t remember the name of. A bunch of guys in prison found a way to communicate with each other. One inmate received a similar scrap of paper with his food and out of fear of discovery, he ate the note. Rains snorted and started to fling the note into the toilet bowl as though he were shooting a free throw when he paused. If the guards found any trace of assistance, they could make th
ings worse for him. There was a chance they’d check the toilet, he realized. He glanced down at the tiny bit of paper and shook his head before tossing it into his mouth. He washed it down with a bite of pizza and a drink of tepid water. He’d need the calories if he was supposed to stay ready.

  But ready for what?

  Not even a Peacemaker could walk into a detention facility, especially the solitary confinement block, and help a prisoner escape. There were more levels of security, both sentient beings and computerized checks, than anyone could defeat. Staying ready probably meant nothing more than keeping his mind and body ready and avoiding the insanity of confinement. Then again, it could mean Vannix was planning something that could happen at any time under any circumstances. Eating his pizza, Rains thought his partner probably leaned toward the latter of the two ideas. The funny thing was he trusted her. She was a Veetanho, but she was a Peacemaker, and she was his friend. She would do the right thing.

  I’m counting on you, Vannix. Have my back one more time.

  * * *

  Vannix returned to her hotel via a long, solitary walk rather than through a paid conveyance. The streets of Bartertown were nearly vacant, free of the teeming hordes of mercenaries who frequented the area when contracts were up for grabs. The weather was warm but not terribly humid, and the five-kilometer walk was refreshing exercise and the perfect tool for diffusing her anger and gathering her thoughts. Calx wasn’t a Peacemaker, yet she held a position closely tied to Vannix’s guild, and she had turned on her benefactors in search of favor from General Peepo. Calx spoke of dedication to their species more than the laws or their guilds, and while Vannix knew it was complete and utter bullshit, there was a part of her that wondered what would happen if Peepo and her guild succeeded. Would Peepo come for her?

  Vannix ran a paw over her face as she entered the hotel lobby. The staff greeted her with respectful nods and several murmured iterations of “Good evening, Peacemaker.”