Rikas Marauders

by M. D. Cooper

  Rika almost spat out her mouthful of bread. “What?!” she asked.

  “Septhians hired us—or so we think. They want to shake things up, and this job will give them their in,” Barne said.

  “The four of us are effectively going to topple a government?” Rika asked.

  “No,” Jerry smiled. “There are thirty Marauder teams in the city now. We all have specific targets, and we’re to strike simultaneously four days from now.”

  “And who’s our target?” Rika asked, dreading the answer.

  Barne gave her a predatory smile and leaned in close. “Like he said; the Theban president.”

  THE CHASE

  STELLAR DATE: 10.25.8948 (Adjusted Years)

  LOCATION: Starview Lounge, Noon’s Glory

  REGION: Approaching Maui, Ontario System, Septhian Alliance

  It hadn’t been easy, but Chase eventually learned the name of the hooded figure that had purchased Rika at Pierce’s auction—Gregor. He worked for the Marauders, a mercenary outfit comprised mostly of Genevian veterans from the war with the Nietzschean Empire.

  By the time Chase had been able to track him down, the man was long gone from Dekar. Not that Chase had any idea what he would have done had he caught up with Gregor.

  The more he looked into the Marauders, the more dead ends he found. With the Genevian systems now a part of the Nietzschean Empire, the Marauders didn’t operate openly within their borders. From what Chase could tell, their headquarters was somewhere in Septhia; at least that’s where most of their public recruitment centers were.

  Septhia—one of the many interstellar nations within the Praesepe Cluster. Once an ally of Genevia, they had not gone so far as to openly join the war with the Nietzscheans, or offer them any real assistance.

  Nevertheless, Chase knew that’s where his best chance of finding Rika lay.

  The memory of that night with Rika was still crystal clear in his mind. The soft skin of her face, and where it met the coarse grey skin at her neck; the soft hints of her breasts. She was a beautiful woman, but he found her striking blue eyes to be her most captivating feature; they could convey so much, and held so much strength.

  Chase knew that those eyes had seen things he could only imagine—yet they were still kind, and had shown him that there was a gentleness inside Rika. One she kept buried deep below the hard shell that she presented to the outside world.

  He let out a long breath and signaled the bartender for another round, then turned on his stool to gaze out the window on the far side of the bar. It wasn’t a real window. The bar was somewhere in the middle of the Noon’s Glory, but the holodisplay perfectly rendered the external view with a three-dimensional effect that made it appear as though open space began just after the last table.

  Ahead, slowly resolving into more than just an indistinct blob was Maui—a massive orbital habitat on the outskirts of the Ontario System. Ontario was one of the systems near the rimward edge of the Septhian Alliance, close to its border with Thebes.

  “What’s your business on Maui?” a woman asked as she settled onto the stool next to him. Chase glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, seeing enough to note that she had dark hair, and wore a loose grey suit.

  “Looking for someone,” he replied, not really interested in having a conversation—though still glad for a little human contact at the end of the three-month journey. Septhia wasn’t far from the Parsons System as the photon flew, but the Noon’s Glory had made several stops along the way. Enough that Chase was starting to feel like he should have tried to book private passage—though that would have completely depleted his savings.

  “Aren’t we all?” the woman said with a laugh. “Anyone in particular?”

  “A friend,” Chase replied. “We got separated by… unfortunate circumstances.”

  “A lot of that going around lately,” The woman responded. “I hear that the Parisians just attacked the Roman Republic.”

  Chase shook his head in dismay. “Galaxy is going to shit lately. It’s like the FTL wars all over again.”

  The woman nodded. “All thanks to that stupid old colony ship showing up—no one’s even seen it since it left Bollam’s World, yet they’re all still fighting out of fear and distrust.”

  “I think people just needed an excuse. Mind you, not everywhere is a mess,” Chase said. “Praesepe still seems unscathed; no wars to speak of in the cluster.”

  The woman nodded. “Yeah, we need places like this. Have to have somewhere safe to build new ships and weapons. Good business in that.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” Chase replied.

  “I know, but that’s my business, so it’s how I look at it.”

  “Oh?” Chase asked. “I didn’t get your name, by the way. I’m Chase.”

  The woman offered her hand. “I’m Sally. Nice to meet someone willing to chat; been a long, dull trip.”

  Chase chuckled. “Yeah, I’ve caught up on all the sims, vids, and even did some reading on the trip.”

  “I have to ask, this person you’re trying to find…is he or she a romantic interest?”

  “She,” Chase confirmed.

  “How do you know she’s on Maui?” Sally asked.

  Chase gave a long sigh and reached for his drink. He took a sip before answering.

  “She’s probably not, but I’m just chasing leads right now. I might have to take work for a bit on Maui. I can’t afford to go chasing her all across the stars on my savings.”

  “What’s the lead that brought you here?” Sally asked.

  “Well, she got pi—she joined the Marauders; they’re a merc outfit. They have a recruitment place on Maui. I have no idea what I’ll do once I get there—I’m not sure if I can convince them to tell me where she is.”

  Sally laughed, and then took a sip of her drink, her eyes twinkling above the glass. “You’re probably right. You could enlist, though.”

  “That crossed my mind—which is nuts. I’ve had my fill of fighting.”

  “Have you?” Sally asked. “Chase, formerly of Hal’s Hell on Dekar Station in the Parsons System. Before that, squad sergeant in the second platoon of Charlie Company, 4326th Regiment, 23rd Battalion, 19th Division, Genevian Armed Forces. Have you had your fill?”

  “What the hell is this?” Chase scowled. “That information isn’t in any shipboard database.”

  “You’re right about that. But I knew it before I boarded back at Hintin. Gregor sent me; he was curious who was looking into him. From what I can tell, there’s nothing to worry about, though—just a lovesick boy, chasing after a girl.”

  Chase slammed his drink down on the bar, spilling its contents as he stood, and took a step back. “You’re a Marauder? You fucking slaver! Where’s Rika?”

  “Hey, easy now,” Sally raised her hands defensively. “I don’t know where she is, but she’s listed as active duty on the roster.”

  “Active duty…so she’s fighting in a war somewhere,” Chase said, his tone accusatory.

  “To my knowledge, the Marauders are not currently fighting in any wars. But she’s probably fighting somewhere.”

  “You know she’s a slave, right?” Chase asked. “She was sold at auction.”

  “I saw that in her record. The way we see it, the Marauders saved a Genevian war hero from a horrible future somewhere. She’ll have to work off the money we paid for her, but she’s no slave.”

  Chase gave a cynical laugh. “Most people don’t make a huge distinction between slavery and indenture, you know.”

  “Yeah, well, we’re not a charity,” Sally shrugged, and took another sip of her drink.

  “It’ll take her years to pay that off!”

  Sally nodded. “But it’s a small price to pay for freedom.”

  “If she survives,” Chase spat. “I know how you mercs operate. Chew people up and spit them out.”

  “Hey! Check your attitude, Sergeant. I was enlisted in the GAF, too. Staff sergeant. Did my share of time in the shit. I
’ll tell you one thing for certain: we treat our own a lot fucking better than we got in the war. If Rika survived that, then she’ll do fine with the Marauders.”

  Several of the bar’s other patrons had turned to stare. Sally pointed at Chase’s stool. “Now sit the fuck back down and finish your drink. What you didn’t spill all over the bar, at least.”

  Chase was at a loss for words, but followed Sally’s instruction and retook his seat on the stool. He picked up his glass, took a long look at it, and then downed the remains in one swallow.

  “Another one for my friend, here,” Sally said to the bartender before giving Chase a conspiratorial smile. “It’s on the company dime, anyway.”

  Chase felt like an ass for losing his temper. It wasn’t going to get him any further with Sally, and he was glad that she didn’t just tell him to shove off and leave. Still, it took him a few sips of his next drink to ask the question burning a hole in his tongue.

  “So, can I see her?”

  Sally smiled. “You really have it bad, don’t you?’

  Chase chuckled softly. “Rika’s an amazing woman; you’d understand if you knew her. She’s…she’s so strong inside, like a diamond.”

  “Forged in the war’s crucible,” Sally said.

  “Breaks the metaphor, but yeah. She thinks that what they did to her broke her…ruined her. But she’s wrong; they made her better.”

  “You into mod girls?” Sally asked with a raised eyebrow.

  “No…well, yeah, a bit. But that’s not what’s special about her. Shit, I can’t believe I’m telling all this to you.”

  Sally winked. “It’s one of my specialties.”

  “Huh…I can tell.”

  “Look, Chase, you’re a good guy. Your heart is in the right place, and you’re not afraid to call a broom a broom. I was serious about you enlisting—the Marauders could use a man like you.”

  Chase had been mid-drink, and he coughed, getting more than a little on Sally.

  “Sorry,” he said, and handed her a napkin.

  “Don’t worry, I get that a lot,” Sally said with a grim smile. “So, should I pass you a contract?”

  Chase knew that if he said no, his chances of seeing Rika again in the next decade were slim to none. He wiped his mouth, took a deep breath, and nodded.

  “Yeah, send me the contract.”

  NIGHT

  STELLAR DATE: 12.15.8948 (Adjusted Years)

  LOCATION: Warehouse on the northeast edge of Berlin

  REGION: Pyra, Albany System, Theban Alliance

  The rest of the team had gone to sleep; though not before Barne gave Rika a stern admonishment not to ‘try any sneaky shit’ during the night.

  She had to admit that she’d considered it. Jerry had not given her any specific orders to remain in the warehouse, and so long as she could maintain a mental belief that leaving the warehouse was in the best interests of the team, she could fool the compliance chip and not be disciplined.

  But she had nowhere to go, and she suspected that somewhere in the armor she now wore was a tracking system that would bring the Marauders right to her.

  There was also a part of her that liked being part of a team again. No one here was responsible for buying her, and Leslie and Jerry didn’t seem to have any issue with her being a mech. Barne wasn’t happy about her, but she suspected that was because he was used to being the biggest muscle; but he hadn’t called her ‘meat’, so that was a plus.

  For now, she’d play along and see where things went.

  Well, you do know where this is going; you’re going to assassinate a president.

  Rika knew that a younger version of herself would have been horrified, or perhaps morbidly curious about doing something so crazy. But she’d spent a lot of time on the streets. ‘Kill or be killed’ was something she had embraced long before the military had carved her up and made death her full-time job.

  As a scout mech, she had relied on her GNR-41B sniper rifle to take out more than a few thousand enemies. She didn’t feel any special remorse at the thought of actual assassination—a realization that worried her more than a little.

  All her work to become a normal person since the war had ended—as much as was possible—seemed to have been nothing more than a veneer over what still lay beneath.

  The killer.

  She pushed those thoughts down and brought Team Basilisk’s intel on Pyra and their target location up on her HUD.

  Pyra was the second planet from Howe, which was the name of the primary star in the Albany System. It was strange that the system’s star and the system itself didn’t share the same name; it was also odd that no planet or star in the five-system Theban Alliance bore the name ‘Thebes’.

  Not that any of that mattered.

  Pyra was a well-settled world, boasting a population of five billion. Most of that number was concentrated in mega-cities, leaving the majority of the planet’s seven hundred million square kilometers of land open for farming and recreation.

  The world had continents at both its north and south poles, making for a colder climate in the temperate zones than was common on terraformed planets. However, from what Rika could see, the locals had a real affinity for winter sports. She wondered if that was cause or effect.

  She focused in on the location of the capital city, on the outskirts of which lay the warehouse the Marauder team was occupying.

  The city, named Berlin, was nestled in a wide bay on the east coast of one of the world’s continents; just a few degrees below the northern tropic line. Unlike the mega-cities elsewhere on Pyra, Berlin had an older more cultured feel. Local laws restricted building heights so that none could come close to the height of the capitol buildings. Rika noted that long-range urban shots would likely be out of the question.

  She brought up the dossier on her target. President Ariana appeared to be popular with her people, having been recently voted in for a seventh consecutive ten-year term.

  That was too long for anyone to hold power, by Rika’s estimation. Maybe the Marauders were doing Thebes a favor by ushering in a change of the guard.

  As Rika reviewed the president’s daily schedule, as well as the briefs and dossiers of her guards and staff, the local time slipped past midnight. She noted that it was now the twelfth day of the third month on the local calendar. Strangely, a month named Julius.

  She set a countdown: eight hundred hours on the morning of the fifteenth. That gave her just over one hundred and eight local hours until she pulled the trigger.

  It was going to be a long wait.

  She straightened and stretched her arms overhead. The feeling of being armored was still comforting, though the change in balance was taking some getting used to.

  Rika turned and looked behind her at the sleeping forms of the other three members of Team Basilisk. ‘Other’? Does that imply that I am one of them?

  She walked quietly to the crate containing civilian clothing and grabbed a long robe. At first, she had wondered why the team had equipped her with full armor—it wasn’t ideal for blending into an urban population—but when she saw that the local fashion tended toward long flowing robes, it made more sense.

  The robe they had supplied her with was more than simple cloth. It contained impressive EM-masking technology, and would even flow around her body in a fashion that masked her double-kneed legs.

  She carefully pulled it over her head. The robe was made of tan cloth, with intricate white whorls across its surface. She left the cowl down and crept to a staircase that led to the warehouse’s roof.

  Her augmented vision revealed the steps least likely to creak and groan under her considerable weight, and she made it to the top without waking anyone below—she hoped.

  The door on the roof was unlocked, but she saw a sensor on it and punched in the code to deactivate it—that much the team had trusted her with; then she pushed open the door.

  Rika drew in a deep breath, relishing the scent of the clear night air as she leaned h
er head back and gazed at the stars above.

  “Wow,” she whispered, taking in the stellar beauty above her. The Theban Alliance lay on the rimward edge of the Praesepe Cluster, which consisted of a thousand stars, all within one hundred light years. Pyra was in the stage of its local year where the night sky was dominated by the display, illuminating the city and forests surrounding it with far more light than even most moons reflected.

  Rika walked by the light of that brilliant display to the edge of the warehouse’s roof, taking care to follow a route that would not pass over the team below, and leaned against the decorative cornice lining the top of the building.

  Genevia—now a part of the Nietzschean stars—was not visible in the night sky at this time of year. She wished it were; Parsons would be visible from Pyra. She could have gazed at its light and wondered about Chase: where he was, what he was doing.

  For her, it had been less than a day since they had been in each other’s arms; for him, it had been well over a hundred. Did he think of her? Was he even still on Dekar? Rika doubted that she’d ever know.

  She pushed the melancholy thoughts from her mind and gazed around her.

  The warehouse was situated on the northeast side of the city, near a long string of wharfs mostly filled with recreational craft—though a few commercial fishing vessels were visible.

  Rika wondered about a planet with so many inhabitants using human fishing fleets. Perhaps it was some sort of recreational activity.

  To the southwest, seventeen kilometers distant, rose the capitol buildings. Rika gauged the building’s spires to be no more than five hundred meters tall, but no other building in the city crested one hundred. Five kilometers north of the capitol and sixteen kilometers from the warehouse, lay the presidential estate.

  The intel the Marauders had gathered showed that the presidential palace’s grounds bordered a national forest, and that the president often went for a run in the morning on its twisting paths.

  That would be their primary strike point, close to the palace grounds—Rika didn’t want to be too deep in the woods if the president’s schedule changed that day.