Triorion Omnibus

by L. J. Hachmeister

  Jaeia snapped to and fell backward. Someone caught her and held her upright as she regained her balance.

  “Where am I—Jahx?”

  She was aware enough now to take in the team of medical staff hovering over Jahx, running to and from him and the surrounding machines. The room was cold and sterile, its smell a mélange of antiseptics and intravenous fluids.

  One of the doctors stood over her, manually checking her pulse and scanning her with a handheld. For a second his face distorted, half of his face buried under a bloody mess of metalwork before righting itself again.

  “Everything’s okay, Captain. The team is just making some adjustments to his electrolytes—he had another metabolic episode.”

  Her heart hadn’t slowed, and it took her several seconds to respond. “I made contact—he’s still alive!”

  “Your body is reading under considerable strain as well, Sir. I can’t recommend you make contact with him again until you are both in better health.”

  She was going to give the doctor a piece of her mind, but DeAnders stepped in, and she knew it best to keep her mouth shut. He pulled her aside, up to the observatory deck where they could speak in private.

  “Jaeia, I’m not going to lie to you. The Grand Oblin’s body cannot handle Jahx’s psionic signature much longer. We’re working on a solution, but right now I’m going to have to ask you to stop trying to make any contact with your brother, or you risk both their lives.”

  He left her standing there to rejoin the team still furiously working on her brother. The observatory was completely soundproof, with only the gentle air flow of the overhead vents to break the suffocating silence.

  “Jahx,” she whispered, pressing the palms of her hands against the window. She bowed her head, her hands curling into fists.

  Jaeia wouldn’t allow herself to cry. Not now, not after Jahx had risked everything to talk to her. She inhaled sharply, fixing the sleeves of her uniform, and after one last look returned to her post.

  Chapter III

  Rain was unusual on Aeternyx, and for some reason he felt like that was a bad sign. Reht pulled up the collar of his jacket against the wet chill as he checked out the streets. The headlights of hovercars passed over them as Femi huddled next to him, pressing her face into his chest, shaking and holding him tightly.

  Breathing through his mouth to minimize the stench of wet garbage, he dragged her through the alleyway toward the shortcut that would take them to the bounty board. Eyes in the shadows flickered over them as they ran through the dark passageway, ignoring the warnings the homeless slurred from beneath their cardboard shelters.

  He was doing the right thing, he told himself. The only the thing, really. He had to nail the bounty—so much was at stake. The money—his crew—

  Shandin.

  Femi must have sensed his intentions, because when he found the familiar double-plated metal door illuminated by its solitary yellow light, she dug her beaded nails into his chest, protesting with wild gestures and fierce words that made the veins on her forehead stand out.

  “Hey—hey!” Reht said, wrestling her into submission. He kissed her cheek tenderly, tasting her tears. “Everything’s gonna be alright. Just trust me.”

  She tilted her head in confusion, her blue eyes pleading with him as he greeted the doorman.

  “Let me in. I have to settle some business with Ash.”

  “Name?”

  “Reht Jagger.”

  Reht couldn’t be sure, but he thought the man snickered.

  He passed through, holding Femi firmly by the upper arm as he moved through the crowded bounty board. Fortunately, most were distracted by the fight on the killing floor, where two Ka’vers were slicing each other up with their sharp tails and spiny knuckles. Must have been another big purse.

  The short albino was waiting for him next to the vacant bar with a menacing grin. He nodded to Reht and disappeared toward his back office.

  Femi started to protest again, but Reht squeezed as hard as he could, bringing more tears to her eyes.

  “You look like gorsh-shit, Jagger,” Ash commented as Reht shoved Femi through the doorway. She crouched down in the corner, weeping as Ash looked her over, stroking his holstered machete. “Interesting...”

  A young, half-naked girl identical to the one Reht had seen during their first visit sat filing her nails on Ash’s desk. She was a puppet of the same model but must’ve been a newer version; there was something fresh and virginal about her. No bruises, no scratches—not yet. Her long eyelashes batted with silent contempt as she looked Femi over.

  “Where’d you find a Qua’ti?”

  Reht didn’t know what he meant, though it seemed obvious to Ash.

  “She’s one of the tribespeople from—Gods, what is that planet’s name? Ularu, I think—southern continent. Rainforest monkeys,” he explained.

  At first Reht wasn’t sure if Ash wanted her, but then he glimpsed the predatory gleam in his eyes, the raw hunger seething from every white pore. He also noticed the grave concern on the other girl’s face. It was clear that Femi threatened her livelihood, and that soon she would be just another of Ash’s used-up puppets wandering the streets, looking for work in a dead-end place like Suba House. The young girl played with her thong and bra straps, bending over the desk provocatively, but it did nothing to divert Ash’s attention.

  Reht played his hand. “Here’s to business, friend: Diawn’s working with a man called Shandin, collecting and shipping Deadskins.”

  “Shandin,” Ash repeated, his blood-red eyes looking him over as his hand relaxed on his machete. “Where have I heard that name before?”

  Reht was careful how he answered. “He’s an old dog-soldier that did a lot of cheap work for the Sovereign of the Eeclian Dominion. Gorsheater didn’t exactly follow the creed.”

  “Neither do you, Jagger—I know your reputation,” Ash said.

  Reht played with the bandages on his hands, very aware of the Cobra resting against his skin, the molded grip like snake scales pressed into his hipbone. “She said that somebody is ‘hungry’ for human flesh. She used the word ‘lurchin.’ Sounds like a large-scale farming operation.’”

  “You think it’s the Puritans?”

  Reht had already considered that possibility, but he didn’t have any concrete evidence of that organization’s involvement. The Puritans were an extremist sect of Sentient races that banded together when Earth’s refugees brought their highly contagious human diseases to the Homeworlds. There had always been old-school believers that the Starways would have been much better off without the presence of mankind, but the Puritans took it one step further with political and military force by keeping alive institutions like the flesh farms, fighting rings, and labor locks.

  “Here’s the signature where Shandin’s at,” Reht said, copying the signature he scratched on his arm to a datafile lying on Ash’s desk. “Diawn’s just a pawn. If someone’s really interested in Diawn, they’d be better off looking into Shandin.”

  Ash rounded back to his desk and took a seat. The young girl was still trying to get his attention, making strange mewing sounds and pawing at his shirt. He didn’t even look her way when he slapped her. She cried out, stumbling backwards into a filing cabinet and knocking her head against the edge.

  “Get down on the floor. Entertain our guests,” he growled at her.

  Her eyes pled with Reht as she cradled her bloody nose, but he looked away until she crawled off whimpering.

  “Is this it?” Ash said.

  Reht nodded over to Femi. “More than fair.”

  Ash laughed. “Come on, Jagger—you know I’m not going to be able to sell this back to the investor. This is thin. I need more. Diawn is too smart to work for some Joe.”

  Jagger played his last card. “She’s a virgin.”

  “How do you know that?” Ash said, licking his lips.

  “’Cause that’s the only reason Diawn would have her,” Reht said. “She loves to des
troy the most beautiful things.”

  Ash leaned back in his seat, putting his hands on his head and letting his hairy gut hang out over the lip of the desk.

  Femi started to protest, but Ash put his finger to his lips and flashed the blade of his machete. She went silent in the face of his weapon, but the defiance in her eyes seemed to excite Ash. He sprang out of his chair and circled her, running his white fingers across the exposed skin of her back, and her face contorted with revulsion.

  Something stirred inside Reht that he hadn’t felt so acutely in ages, something that made his legs feel too weak to support his weight. His hands burned, the phantom pain awakening with such vengeance that he winced.

  “I’ll give you forty percent. And that’s being generous,” Ash said. He laid the machete’s cutting edge against the underside of her chin as he sniffed her neckline, running his yellowed fingernails down her cheek. She squealed, tears streaming down her face as she shivered and whispered what must have been a prayer.

  It was too familiar, somehow; he had done this before, felt this way before. As Ash loosened the straps of her top, something inside Reht snapped. He was on top of the albino, knocking away the machete before taking his thick neck between his hands, squeezing with all his strength. Ash bucked, kicking him in the shins and thigh, beating him on the shoulders and clawing his face, but Reht only tightened his grip. The fat veins on the albino’s neck and forehead bulged ominously, his red eyes turning deep crimson as capillaries burst across the sclera. He gurgled as his tongue came to rest outside his mouth. Reht let him fall to the floor with a loud thunk. He stared at Ash’s body, transfixed by some unseen force.

  A clawed hand rested on his shoulder and Femi screamed, her eyes wide with terror. He whipped around to be greeted by two silver eyes and a mouthful of wet, sharp canines.

  “Mom—Holy Mukal,” he exclaimed, clutching his chest. “Hey, don’t do that, mate.”

  Mom bared his teeth as he inspected the albino’s lifeless body. Reht re-bandaged his hands and sighed. “I couldn’t do it, mate. I don’t know why, but I couldn’t let him have this one.”

  Mom growled and unfastened the hood shielding the rest of his face. He snapped his jaw at Femi, and she backed into the corner, covering her face with her arms as she yelled at Reht in her native tongue.

  “It’s okay, it’s okay,” Reht explained, stooping next to her. But he wasn’t really sure if it was. He had lost his cool—lost his mind—in killing the albino. Ash had friends, connections, and it was going to put his crew in serious danger. What was Femi to him anyway? Just another trade. But the way Ash touched her—the way he looked at her—it had awakened something rank inside him, something outside his field of understanding that left in its wake a hollow aftertaste of guilt. All he had known in that moment was that he had to do something this time—whatever that meant—and at that moment it was killing Ash.

  The programming. Reht thought. He remembered Sebbs’ words: “I can feel it. The thoughts I have—these urges. They’re not me. I don’t want to get high anymore—my pleasure comes in deals, dangerous ones, ones that will get me killed. That’s my high now.”

  Reht flexed his hands. Not now. Chak the Alliance. Keep your cool, keep it together.

  He realized how heavily he was sweating as he put on his best smile. “It’s okay, Femi—this is why I called up my crew. I wanted my first mate to keep a tail on me but not interfere in negotiations. I thought Ash would be in a better mood without my clawed friend, but things don’t always turn out the way you want ‘em to, right? But I iced him, now, see? Now we can have our jollies.”

  “Look,” Reht said, seeing the disapproval on Mom’s face. “I know I said I’d play it smooth, but the guy creeped me out. I made my move and it’s done now. Let’s just find the safe and get the hell out of here. Is everyone else in position?”

  Mom’s skepticism remained, but that didn’t stop the giant Talian from following the lead of his captain.

  “Alright, we don’t have long before his cronies figure us out. Let’s shake.”

  Reht rummaged through the desk, pulling out drawers and checking for hidden traps under the feet. Mom tore the filing cabinets and sockets from the walls, smashing anything that looked big enough to hold a stash. Femi stayed huddled in the corner, her eyes fixed on the giant Talian warrior as she muttered to herself and rubbed her beaded necklace.

  “Here,” Reht said, dragging an antique steel safe out from behind a broken mirror. Mom took one swipe at it with his claws and the handle and door halved neatly. Inside were stacks of 110s and a few purple lumps of dry methoc. Reht did the math in his head and realized it wasn’t going to add up to the purse he was promised even if they sold the methoc, but hopefully it would be enough to placate his crew.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Reht said, stuffing his pockets with as much as he could. Femi was still in her corner, her words harsh and her gestures wild.

  He joined Mom at the door, peeking out and making sure the coast was clear. “There’s about nine out there, and two watchdogs. Are Ro and Cray ready?”

  Mom nodded and then looked back at Femi. Reht shrugged. “I don’t know, mate. Might be too much work. Besides, I don’t want to give Diawn any more reasons to kill me.”

  Reht smelled Ash’s Voosik henchmen coming around the corner to the office long before his yellow hide was visible under the lights. Voosiks gave off a sickly sweet smell that on their native planet would attract honey birds to give them an easy meal. To Reht—and Mom especially—it just stank like overripe fruit rotting in the afternoon sun.

  “Chak me,” Reht muttered. Mom snorted, covering his nose and dropping his claws.

  Reht held his breath as he popped out of the office, trying to walk as casually as possible past the Voosik. The yellow-skinned outerworlder was packing two sidearms and a razor baton. His eyes, arranged in threes across his angular skull, stayed on Reht as he strode by. He made a clicking noise with one of his mandibles, the nictitating membranes drawing back from his eyes to reveal fluorescent, diamond-shaped pupils. Reht knew it was a warning but pretended not to understand.

  Mom trailed behind him, his face masked by the hood, his claws ready and waiting underneath the sleeves of his disguise. The Voosik sniffed the Talian as he rumbled by but made no move.

  Ten seconds. Reht thought. That’s how long it would take the Voosik to enter the office and realize what had transpired. He would see the girl—the mess—his boss’s dead body. Ten seconds would land Reht right in the middle of the bounty board floor, in plain view of all the patrons who would quickly realize their sacrifices had been in vain.

  Seven seconds...

  Ro and Cray were bickering on the killing floor; they were in position. That meant that Bacthar and Tech were waiting outside with a cab while Vaughn provided cover from the rooftops. It was still four on eleven inside, but the crew had faced much worse odds, and with Mom on their side they had a huge advantage.

  This doesn’t feel right. Reht brushed his hand along the hilt of the Cobra, making sure it was still there. His body heat had warmed the cold steel, but he could feel the scales rubbing against his skin.

  Three seconds...

  Ash wasn’t a gang boss and he certainly wasn’t a pusher—he was a bounty board operator, a middleman between the hunters and the employers that wanted to remain anonymous. Ash wasn’t—shouldn’t—be that important. Then why this rotten feeling?

  He had just turned the corner to the killing floor when Femi let out a scream. The Voosik wailed, alerting the other watchdog guarding the exit.

  “Hold it right there—”

  Cray bit the guard’s hand off as he aimed his gun while Ro slit his throat with a switchblade. The stunned patrons of the bounty board watched the guard slump to the ground, his head pulling back from the gash as fresh blood anointed the killing floor.

  The Voosik whipped his tail at Mom’s, who simply raised his arm and let the momentum of his blow spear his own tail on th
e Talian’s razor-sharp claws. The Voosik screamed, and with one motion Mom sliced him down the belly, spilling steaming green intestines onto the floor.

  The Ka’ver who had won the board raised his hackles and thorns, hissing and drawing his knife as a circle formed around Reht and his crew.

  “Hey—we just want out, okay? Nobody else has to get hurt,” Reht said, removing the Cobra from his pants.

  “Pretty boy—you’re in a heap of gorsh-shit now. Gonna remember your face,” the Ka’ver said, licking his lips. “Gonna dine on that face.”

  Reht had one foot out the front door when Femi came running around the corner. She stopped abruptly when she saw the circle of angry hunters.

  “Come on, Cappy!” Ro shouted as he dove into the cab. Bacthar and Techmotioned for him to jump in.

  Mom started to shove him the rest of the way through the door, but he resisted.

  “Bi me aceustao mi vermesi!” Femi cried, reaching for Reht as two of the patrons grabbed and fought over her.

  “Leave her here and we might call it fair,” the Ka’ver said, turning his attention from Reht to the dark-skinned beauty.

  He didn’t even realize what he was doing until the Cobra had discharged five times and he was pulling on an empty chamber. Four of five had been deadly shots and enough to disperse the rest of the killing floor contestants. Two Yumins took aim at him from behind the bar counter, but Reht played against the odds, running out in plain view and tackling Femi from the line of fire. He tumbled with her, dragging her behind an overturned table.

  “Just wait,” Reht said, picking the bits of glass from her skin as the other dog-soldiers fired at their location. She pressed herself into him, her warm skin heavenly against his body. He smelled her and something inside him supercharged, making him feel invincible.

  Normally he would have waited. He would have stayed put until he heard Mom’s roar and the wet sound of flesh torn from bone. But he shot up and ran to the bar, screaming all the way as plasma shots seared his skin. He dove over the counter, slamming one of the Yumins into the wall and cracking his skull. He kicked the other in the face, breaking his nose with a loud snap. Mom, who had been busy tearing up the two patrons hiding behind a ruined couch, dropped their shredded bodies and leapt to his captain’s side.