Call of Destiny

by P. R. Adams

  “Ice!” Riyun took a step, stumbled. His chest ached from the earlier barrage.

  A lanky form hurried past, kneeling at the governor’s side. “On it!” Despite the chaos and gore of just-concluded battle, the deep voice was cold, emotionless. After a moment of wrestling the politician’s hands away, tension slipped from the form’s posture. “He will live.”

  That was enough for Riyun to relax, too. “Thanks, Ice.”

  The medic pulled gloves off, then slipped free of a backpack. Finally, the gun-metal helmet came off, revealing a shock of white, wiry hair that seemed to float lifelessly over a pink scalp. The youthful, plain face beneath that hair showed as much emotion as the voice had. “I will tend the wounds.”

  “Don’t you touch me!” The governor shoved the smaller medic.

  “I will wear protective gloves, of course.”

  Hirvok—Riyun’s second-in-command—kicked one of the terrorist corpses. “If that blowhard travels to the Hollow Hills, this was all a waste of time.”

  An expensive waste of time.

  Riyun tried to get to his feet, but the pain in his chest flared.

  Had he broken a rib? “We need to sweep the building.”

  Big hands lifted the lieutenant to his feet, and a gravelly voice chuckled. “All clear, Lieutenant. Operation’s over. Time for a little relaxing.” The hands belonged to Lonar, the squad’s heavy weapons expert. He was big, easily a head taller than Riyun, nearly the size of the Migra Rutai brute from the north terrace, but much wider.

  And all muscle.

  The big man pulled his helmet off, revealing mirthful black eyes, spiked black hair that was missing in patches, dark coppery skin, and an off-center nose.

  Riyun leaned against the table. “The security forces?”

  Hirvok dropped into a chair and pulled his helmet off. He brushed back thick, brown hair, and the olive skin of his face creased in irritation. “On their way. They’re not going to miss the opportunity to steal credit. Quil, how bad is it?”

  “Call sign—”

  “Mission’s over. Quil?”

  The lanky, young man dug through a medical kit, hands now protected by bloody latex gloves. “The bullet passed through the fat. There is no threat.”

  “Plenty of that to pass through, huh?” Hirvok snorted.

  Riyun shook his head, but his sergeant seemed bent on insulting the man they’d been hired to rescue. “We need to retrieve Tawod’s body.”

  “Stupid kid nearly screwed the—”

  “Hirvok, why don’t you head down there and give it a look?”

  “Send your pseudo.”

  “Quil’s tending to the governor.”

  “Yeah, well, he can tend to our dead hacker when he’s done. That’s why we call you Ice, right, Quil? Don’t feel a thing, do you? Had all your emotions bio-engineered out.”

  Quil didn’t turn from tending to the wounded politician. “That is hardly the way pseudos are created, Sergeant. But I assume you know that.”

  “Maybe I don’t.”

  Riyun staggered toward the governor, who sneered at the medic, repulsed. With his helmet off, there was no hiding Quil’s strange nature.

  Governor Dareth finally glared at Riyun. “This pseudo yours?”

  “Quil is part of my squad.”

  “What, he was engineered as a medic?”

  “A bodyguard. But he knows medicine as well as you’ll find in the field.”

  The fat man winced. “I’d rather have my professionals tend to me.”

  “He’s just cleaning the wound and stopping the bleeding.”

  “Very sloppy. Your entire operation. Sloppy.”

  “The contract was to rescue you. Alive. You’re welcome.”

  The politician’s pale bronze skin blanched as Quil applied pressure to the wound. “My security team could have handled it.”

  “Your security team was mostly wiped out. The rest didn’t have the expertise for something like this.”

  “Planetary security—”

  “No better. They lost their Special Response Team trying to storm the building. This place is a terrorist’s wet dream. Your head of security should have told you not to come here.”

  The governor pursed his lips petulantly. “I’m the governor.”

  So his people had warned him not to go to the building. “The terrorists had the operations center rigged with demolitions. I lost a man—”

  “Losses are part of your job.”

  Typical Onath. Born to wealth, never faced a day of adversity in his life. Zero empathy.

  Riyun twisted around to check on his team.

  Symbra’s armor had fresh dents in it, and she was favoring her shoulder. Lonar seemed barely aware that he was bleeding from a thigh wound. That was only one of the modifications he’d undergone as a child—a tweak—a high pain threshold.

  Hirvok and Javika seemed unscathed.

  But they’d lost one of their own, and that would eat at Riyun for weeks. It didn’t matter whether Tawod had been sloppy. It was a life lost.

  Like the security forces. And the Migra Rutai radicals.

  The governor sniffled and pushed Quil away. “Sloppy work.”

  Riyun ground his teeth. “Situations like this, time is of the essence.”

  “Time? What about safety?”

  “Your safety was always our primary concern, Governor.”

  Quil tried to examine the politician’s shoulder, which had apparently been injured before the rescue attempt. Once again, Dareth shoved the pseudo away. “I want my people in here now.”

  “They’re coming.” Riyun glanced at the terrorist who’d nearly killed the governor.

  The sky is burning? The strange tattoos. What did those mean?

  Madness.

  Riyun leaned on the table for a moment, then headed back into the hallway, accepting Javika’s support when she caught up to him. When they were outside the doors, he radioed the contact they’d been given on the governor’s security team. “The governor wants you people up here immediately.”

  “He’s alive?” The surprise was unmistakable in the security man’s voice.

  Hirvok hadn’t told them. It was another thing the sergeant needed to get over: antagonizing everyone.

  Riyun smiled to himself. “Alive and thankful.” Then he remembered Tawod. “Just so you know, they had the operations center booby-trapped. I lost my hacker.”

  “Uh—sorry about that. We’ve…uh…” The security man exhaled. “We’ve got two air-cars nearly there.”

  “Normally, I’d want my medic to check him out fully. These terrorists can be pretty diabolical. There was an incident on Arazki a few months back, where they’d injected the hostages with a virus—”

  “Yeah, um, thanks. We’ve got this under control. His schedule is pretty tight, and we need to get it back on track.”

  Riyun rolled his eyes. “Your call.” He disconnected, settled against a wall, and slid down until his butt smacked against the floor. “These guys—”

  Javika squatted at his side. “You breathe with effort. You look flush.”

  “Took a lot of hits.” He rubbed his chestplate. There wasn’t a single dent.

  “Let me see.” She knocked aside his hands when he tried to stop her from unlatching his armor. “Even this armor has its limits.”

  “Not according to the sales reps. I’m okay.”

  But when the clasps were undone and the chestplate came away, it felt like a mountain had been pulled off him. A steaming, hot mountain. The Nakasham Juggernaut armor was the best money could buy, but she was right—even it had its limits.

  She ran her fingers over the smooth surface of the gold chest piece. “You rely too much on this.”

  “I do what I have to do.”

  “Learn to rely more upon your team.”

  “Is that a Balawi warrior belief?”

  “No. But it is what you must learn. As a leader. Your sergeant must develop.”

  “Hirvo
k?” Riyun winced. “I’ll take that under advisement.”

  She lifted the heavy black material of his undershirt and examined his torso with the same cool detachment she’d shown while examining the armor. Her gloved fingertips were rough on his tender skin.

  He grabbed her by the wrist. “Okay. I get it. I’ll be more cautious.”

  Her fingertips pressed against a particularly sensitive spot, and she stared into his eyes, as if taking pleasure from the pain she inflicted. “You always say this. You must learn.”

  “I will. I mean it.”

  He caught the whine of air-car engines: The governor’s team had arrived.

  Riyun pulled her hand from beneath his undershirt. “Mind not having them see you molesting me?”

  There was unmistakable anger in her eyes. “This was not a good job.”

  “It was the only job we could get.”

  Heat darkened her cheeks. “We have made too many mistakes.”

  “We, meaning me.”

  “No. We. The galaxy is unforgiving. Our refusal to involve ourselves in distasteful work has darkened our reputation.”

  “You know as well as I do, we aren’t getting involved in butchery anymore. No one wants it.”

  Her head bowed. “It is all becoming butchery. The line between enemy and innocent is too thin. Even these terrorists…”

  “Yeah. Bloodthirsty killers—on the right side of things. I know.”

  Glass doors hissed open, and the storm outside entered, followed shortly by the stomp of boots.

  Dareth’s people.

  They came in a rush, a tight-knit group moving shoulder to shoulder, all black armor and boots. Even their weapons were black as the night. They were meant to be intimidating, terrifying, but it hadn’t affected the terrorists.

  Fear was a power that waned with overuse. Most people felt too much hatred toward the rulers to fear them anymore.

  And now even the radical terrorists like Migra Rutai were gaining followers.

  One of the security team peeled off from the rest, stopping at Riyun’s side, while the others hurried into the conference room. “Sorry about the fatality.” The voice: It was the guy from the radio connection. He was a little younger than Riyun and had the frazzled look of someone who was overwhelmed on a daily basis.

  That was something Riyun could empathize with. “He was a good kid. A little sloppy, a little reckless, but a good kid.”

  The head of the security team held out a hand to shake. “Trossfess. Dolett Trossfess.”

  “Nice to meet you, Dolett. Not to be a jerk, but I haven’t received notice of a payment yet.”

  “Um—” The security guy looked away. “Yeah, about that…”

  Now it was Riyun’s turn to feel heat. “We had a deal.”

  Dolett held up a hand. “Whoa, now. The governor wants to review the contract, that’s all.”

  “That’s not the way this works.”

  “It is when the governor says it is. Look, he’s just trying to make a point. He’ll come through. You’ll get your money.”

  “We need that money now, or we wouldn’t have taken this job.”

  “Yeah, well…” Dolett shrugged. “Sorry.”

  The security team rushed the governor out of the conference room, black uniformed men bracketing his flabby, bandaged body on all sides. Somehow, the politician managed a smug glare as he passed.

  “Um…” Dolett bowed his head. “Sorry about all this.” He fell in at the back of the formation.

  Javika sighed. “We will not see payment.”

  Riyun kicked at the floor. “I’ll file a protest.”

  “We have how many open now?”

  “Eight.”

  “How many have been settled in our favor?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.” He turned at the sound of someone approaching: Quil.

  The pseudo scuffed to a stop a few feet away, staring down the hall where the security team had just passed. “There were red marks.” He tapped a finger on each side of his neck. “They could have injected him.”

  Riyun shrugged. “He should’ve said something. Our immunizations up to date?”

  “If there is an immunization, we have it.”

  “Not our problem then.”

  Javika placed a hand on Riyun’s chest—gentle this time. “If something happens to him, we will never win our protest.”

  Riyun locked eyes with the wiry assassin. “Thought I said I didn’t want to talk about it.”

  The set of her jaw hardened, then she turned away and headed back into the conference room.

  Quil stared after her. “Protest?”

  Riyun sighed. “A little misunderstanding with the governor’s people.”

  “He is—you call it an ass?”

  “Yep.” Riyun groaned as he lifted his chestplate. “You think that’s anything more than some sort of virus?”

  “These terrorists…” The young man shook his head. “They’d demanded the release of several political prisoners and the removal of the governor from his seat of power.”

  “No money?”

  “Several million. But it was to be paid to a fund for survivors of a corporate malfeasance incident. They’re all dying of cancer, these survivors of a company dumping chemicals in a public reservoir.”

  “Huh. So these were hard-core terrorists?”

  “Yes.”

  There were so many terrorists, it was often impossible to tell just how serious someone was about their cause. A lot of kids just took up the thrill of being a rebel, joining or creating organizations intent on changing the course of their lives, maybe even the lives of those around them. But some of those kids were eventually drawn into the real organizations, groups like Migra Rutai. Those were the people who were serious about their cause, and there was no telling just how far they’d go.

  Was it worth telling Dolett? It didn’t seem likely it would help the team’s cause. The problem was Governor Dareth, and he wasn’t about to show gratitude, no matter what some mercenaries told him.

  Riyun patted Quil on the shoulder. “Tell the others it’s time to go.”

  As the young man walked away, Riyun’s radio crackled.

  “Shit!” It was Dolett. “Molliro! Oh, shit!”

  “What is it?” Riyun could tell by the panic in the other man’s voice it was bad.

  “It’s the governor. Oh, I—” Dolett gasped. “He’s bleeding. Bleeding everywhere. There’re these big holes in his neck.”

  The red marks. Explosives. Something small, just big enough to open the arteries up. “Get him to a hospital.”

  “Hospital?” The security man let out a hysterical laugh. “He’s dead. His blood’s everywhere. He’s just looking at me.”

  “I told you, you should’ve let my medic look at him.”

  That same hysterical laugh filled the communication channel again. “You’re done, Molliro. This was your job. You failed. And I’m not taking the fall.”

  Blood pounded in Riyun’s ears. “You know this wasn’t our fault. I tried to warn you.”

  The laughter changed to crying. “It doesn’t matter. We’re all screwed now. You’re just the one screwed the worst.”

  4

  As lofts went, the apartment was probably the biggest that Riyun had ever seen. More like a business office, really. With several rooms split between the north and south ends, the team had privacy and comfort. The middle of the place was split in half, to the east, a huge table surrounded by leather executive chairs, to the west a living room. The floors were a dark, rich hardwood, with the table centered on a raised area. From there, Riyun looked down into the living room, which was appointed with luxuriant sofas and recliners. The entire west wall was glass, buffeted now by gale-force winds and heavy rain that sounded like rocks cracking against the huge pane. On a clear day, that window looked out onto a harbor of crystal-blue water twenty stories below.

  But it was rarely a clear day on Jiven.

  Riyun sipped
at a mug of bitter tea, wincing at its heat while appreciating the warmth it would bring to his sore body.

  The young man sitting across the table smiled. “Hey—you okay?”

  Riyun looked over the top of the cup. The young man’s smile was a little too confident. His record said it all: demolitions expert, top recommendations, experience at some nasty hot sites as a member of the respected Steel Fury Brigade. The kid had dealt with terrorists and with common criminals. Capable, and from Janbyn, one of the nastiest planets of the Outer Sphere.

  But something about the kid was off.

  Perhaps it was the guy’s overpowering aftershave, something that provoked memories of the sea. Or it could be the outfit he wore: a tailored and pressed dress shirt and slacks—not the typical garb of a mercenary. Or it could possibly be the look—what seemed like a simmering anger—that seemed to reside in the kid’s pale green eyes, even when he smiled.

  Or maybe it was just that confidence. That damned confidence.

  Riyun set the mug down. “Yeah. All good. It’s just a little too hot, is all. The tea.”

  “So, uh, I heard you got some problems.”

  “You did, huh?”

  “Yeah, I did. I know people high up in the guild. Blacklisted?”

  “I have a protest in.”

  The kid picked at something on his shirt. “Do those ever work?”

  “All the time.” Riyun studied the battered tablet that held the young man’s history on it. It was impressive. Maybe the confidence was justified. “Look, we may not be hiring anytime soon.”

  “Yeah, I get it. You need a job before you hire someone.”

  Riyun set the device down. “I’m going to give it to you straight. I don’t understand why someone with your credentials would be looking for work.”

  “What?”

  “With us.”

  “You’ve seen my recommendations, right?”

  “Yeah. That’s what I’m saying. Why didn’t you stick with the Steel Fury Brigade? There aren’t many better outfits.”

  The kid shifted in his chair, his confidence waning for a moment. “I just didn’t like where they were going with some of their work. I could get back on with them anytime I want.”

  “Maybe you should. They charge top tier, and they pay the same.”