by Mel Odom
“Staff Sergeant Kiwanuka was up there on a mission,” Sage said. “Do you know anything about her status?”
“I’m afraid not,” the pilot said. “Sorry. Wish I did.”
Leaning back in his seat, strapped in as the jumpcopter screamed just above the treetops on the way back to Fort York, Sage watched the fire and smoke filling the sky. Light rain spattered the leaves of the trees and bushes around him. He hoped it was raining harder in Makaum City. The rain could help put out fires and it would slow the Phrenorian Empire’s heavy assault vehicles.
But it was going to take more than rain to save those people.
FORTY-SIX
Interview Room B
Security Building
Fort York
0617 Hours Zulu Time
“Who do you see when you look at me, Throzath?” Quass Leghef sat on the other side of the plasteel table in the small room that felt too cold to someone who had spent all her life in the fetid Makaum jungles.
The rebellious, entitled young man seated across from her was only a few years older than her grandson, yet the difference between Jahup and Throzath made them worlds apart. Throzath had given himself to the worst parts the offworlders had brought with them, and he had turned away from the common decency her people showed one another because they had depended on each other for survival for so long. Instead of embracing the worst parts, Jahup had found, perhaps, the truest calling he had ever known.
It was an eye-opening experience, and one Leghef took great pride in.
Throzath didn’t answer her question and pointedly looked away from her.
No one else was in the room. Leghef had wanted it that way. Just as she’d wanted Throzath’s restraints removed. She wanted him to believe he had control over himself and his current situation. To a degree.
He believed he could overpower her. Maybe he was even considering doing that. Leghef hoped so. Such aspirations would make him break even more easily.
“Do you see an old woman?” Leghef asked in a conversational tone, like they were talking about the price of corok melons in the marketplace. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you do. That’s what many people see. Especially offworlders, young people, and dullards who have no life experience.”
“Are you calling me a dullard, Quass?” he asked in a mocking tone that told her he gave her words no value.
“No. You are much worse. You are a veskin. An otherwise insignificant parasite that sometimes manages to burrow into the heart of a lorkelis tree and poison all the berries.” Leghef touched the rolled taruwe skin on the table beside her.
Old and weathered, the leather carried scars from decades of hard use. Leghef stroked it lightly, drawing Throzath’s attention to it for a moment. For now it was a curiosity. Later it would be something else.
Throzath looked at her then and scowled. “My leg hurts.”
Leghef smiled, but she knew, from experience, the expression was cold and distant and had no warmth. She had practiced that smile to show unsuspecting prey. “Good.”
“I have no interest in talking to you,” Throzath replied. “I want to be returned to the detention center to await my father. I want medical attention. I demand medical attention. The Terran military can’t hold me here like this.”
“The Terran military isn’t holding you,” Leghef said. “I am. They are only giving me a place to keep you where your father can’t immediately reach you.”
That statement gave Throzath momentary pause. “He will come for me.”
“I have no doubt. Unless he died in the attack the Phrenorians launched a short time ago.”
That caught Throzath’s attention. He focused on her and sat up a little straighter. “You lie.”
Leghef had expected that response. The young always denied things that didn’t go their way.
She tapped the small keyboard in front of her and queued up the vid files Colonel Halladay had given her.
The large monitor at one end of the room blinked on in a blaze of color and immediately showed vid footage sent from space stations and cargo ships that probably no longer existed. The Phrenorians were a thorough predator species.
Whispered prayers, shouts of disbelief, and curses provided an undercurrent of noise to the vids along with warning Klaxons. The destruction of the space stations and cargo ships made no noise—until the host vessel transmitting the vids was hit. For a short time, deafening thunder filled the recordings, then it cut off abruptly.
Ship after ship after ship.
The hostile confidence on Throzath’s face gradually leached away, but he didn’t quite give up on it.
Throzath sat up straighter. “This is fake. Like one of the games in the entertainment emporiums. The Terran soldiers made this. But I don’t understand why you’re trying to fool me.”
“I’m not trying to fool you,” Leghef said angrily. “The Phrenorians have already done that. Just as they fooled your father into dealing with them. That’s what we’re here to talk about: the agreement your father had with the Phrenorians that made him their spokesperson.”
Throzath grinned at her with the self-indulgent cunning that only young men knew. “We supported the Phrenorians. That’s no secret. Everyone on Makaum knows that.”
“They do,” Leghef agreed. “But they don’t know about the arms trade you and your father were involved in. Do you think that knowledge will change people’s opinions of you and your family?”
Throzath leaned back, crossed his arms over his chest, and looked petulant. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m talking about the weapon Oeldo had.” Leghef didn’t try to restrain her anger. Her fury poured out of her, and it was a tool, not a weakness. Her emotions had not been vulnerabilities since she was a child. They were her strength because she knew how to use them to make her resolve stronger.
She leaned on her anger and her need to get answers from Throzath so she wouldn’t give in to her concern for Jahup, who was in the jungle fighting for his life against impossible odds, and Noojin, who was lost somewhere in space according to Colonel Halladay. In this room, in this moment, she could allow no distractions.
Her concerns presented a threat to the young man before her. But her anger could break Throzath.
“I didn’t give Oeldo a weapon,” Throzath said.
“The Terran military know that you did.” Leghef tapped the compact keyboard in front of her.
In response, vid of Dr. Gilbride filled the screen. In succinct terms, he laid out the DNA evidence he had gathered from the weapon Oeldo had used in his attack on Jahup. Images of the discovered thumbprint on the old man’s elbow showed bright and clear.
“This is your thumbprint,” Leghef said. “It was found on Oeldo’s body. You were with him only a short time before he was killed.”
Throzath shrugged. “I bought him a drink. That old man begged them from everyone. I’ll bet he’s even begged you on occasion.”
Leghef went to the next vid in the sequence. Gilbride introduced and explained the epithelial cells he had found on the weapon.
Most of Throzath’s confidence evaporated in that moment, but he was quiet, obviously hanging on to the belief that he could yet escape his present situation.
“I asked you who you saw before you,” Leghef prompted. “You didn’t answer. You can at least do me that courtesy.”
Throzath sneered at her and locked eyes with her. “I see a withered old woman. A leathery bag of bones that believes she is more powerful than she is.”
“Allow me to tell you what you don’t see.” Leghef smiled again, and it was a smile she never let anyone who cared about her and thought they knew her see. There was no joy in it, only fierceness and conviction. “You don’t see the girl that I was. The one who followed her father into the jungles to take meat because we lived in poverty and he had no other skills or resources to barter with.”
She unfolded the taruwe skin to reveal the dozen sharp knives rolled within. Even after
all these years, they gleamed.
Leghef slid one of the blades free and the keen edge caught the light. “My father made these knives from metal he scavenged from the ship that brought us to this planet.”
Throzath stared at her and looked less sure of himself.
“He taught me to take meat from creatures he killed,” Leghef went on, “even while kifrik and omoro hunted in the trees above us. I learned to work quickly because the scent of blood drew other predators. I cracked joints with my hands, then I severed ligaments and saved all of the meat I could.” She gazed at him over the knife as she turned it carefully in her hands. “Have you ever hunted sul’gha?”
Slowly, Throzath shook his head.
“But I’m sure you’ve eaten sul’gha. The meat is considered a delicacy, but it’s now illegal because of the way it’s taken. We consider ourselves . . . more humane these days. However, there are those hunters who still provide it for wealthy customers. Your father bought a lot of sul’gha when he was a young man as I recall. And his father before him.” Leghef paused. “Do you know anything about how the meat is taken?”
Throzath didn’t say anything. She had no clue if he’d heard the whispers that still circulated.
“The meat has to be taken while the sul’gha is alive,” Leghef said in a low voice. “Once a sul’gha dies, it has glands that produce poison. So sul’gha are captured, then butchered while still living. The trick is to keep it alive as long as you can so as not to trigger the poison to get a good harvest. I had to learn how to cut around major arteries and organs so as not to kill the sul’gha. Every morsel of the meat mattered. A mouthful paid enough in trade to feed a family for a day.”
To her surprise, her mouth had gone dry at the memories. She forced herself to go on and show nothing of the turmoil inside her.
“The whole time you’re taking meat,” Leghef said, “the sul’gha screams. Most hunters who trapped them say they sound like small children. At first, I could not bear to hear that noise.” She swallowed, but hoped Throzath would think she was only pausing for effect. “I got over my weakness. My father was a poor man and he had no sons, so I learned to do what must be done.”
Throzath paled.
“It got so those screams didn’t touch me,” Leghef said. “I took meat. Slice after slice, tying off arteries as I went, because that’s how you work your way down to the bone without killing your prey.” She smiled. “I got so good at my craft that I could hold the still-beating heart of a hollowed-out sul’gha in my hand and take it before the creature knew it was dead. The heart was worth the most because it was the hardest to take free of poison, and I was the most capable butcher anyone had ever seen.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Throzath demanded.
Leghef smiled again. “Surely you’re smart enough to figure that out, Throzath.” She turned the knife in her hand. “Or I can explain it to you as we go. You will tell me everything you know about your family’s dealings with the Phrenorians.”
Throzath turned to one side and threw up. The stink filled the room. When he was finished, when he had his breath again and fear for his life burned brightly within him, he started talking.
FORTY-SEVEN
Kequaem’s Needle
Makaum Space
0619 Hours Zulu Time
The first salvage operation went smoothly because, as it turned out, the ship’s pilot was excellent. Kiwanuka easily understood why the Turoissan was part of Sytver Morlortai’s crew.
The assassin also chose his other compatriots well. The Angenen and the Estadyn manning the laser cannons were good choices, and they proved how handy they were with the ship’s limited weapons banks when two of the Phrenorian gunships engaged what was left of Kequaem’s Needle.
The pilot kept up a steady blaze of innovative cursing while she played hide-and-seek among the tumbling sections of wreckage that spread outward from the initial attack sites.
Kiwanuka braced herself by holding on to the back of the seat and opened a vid channel on her faceshield that connected her to Veug. The elint specialist was nearly as innovative with his cursing as the Turoissan was, and his efforts seemed decidedly more heartfelt.
Another onslaught of particle beams chipped away at Kequaem’s Needle’s thinning shields. Or maybe the ship’s pilot had slammed into a spinning piece of debris. That seemed to be occurring more and more as they closed in on the stranded engine section and Cipriano’s people.
My people, Kiwanuka corrected herself. All of them were her people. Kiwanuka’s stomach was knotted up again, and she knew this time she’d die with it like that if they didn’t find a way to get down to the planet.
“Corporal,” Kiwanuka said tensely.
Veug punched his keyboard rapidly. “I’m working on it, Staff Sergeant. Tracking everything from the point of the initial attack to now is hard. It’s like trying to keep your eye on one billiard ball that’s able to skip from table to table in a room full of billiard tables while all the other balls are in motion too.”
“It’s a space station,” Niemczyk groused. “That’s gotta be like finding a beach ball on a field of billiard balls.”
“Maybe you’d like to try looking,” Veug suggested.
“Problems, Staff Sergeant?” Morlortai asked in his annoyingly calm voice.
Kiwanuka still couldn’t get used to the Fenipalan assassin. Even though she’d known from the few images of the man she’d seen in his file that he looked more or less normal, she hadn’t expected how . . . unassuming and casual he appeared. If she’d passed him on a street somewhere, he wouldn’t have drawn a second glance. And she was certain she wouldn’t have noticed him at all in a public place like a bar or a mall.
“Nothing we can’t solve, Captain,” Kiwanuka responded, and hoped that was true. At last count there were four Phrenorian gunships chasing them.
“Perhaps if you told us what you’re looking for,” Morlortai said, “we could help.”
“You and your crew just work on keeping us alive and picking up our people. That alone is enough to keep your hands full.”
“We could do more.”
Kiwanuka was beginning to believe that was true. Morlortai and his crew were already achieving the impossible by keeping them alive. She decided to try another tack.
“You were hired to kill Zhoh,” Kiwanuka said.
Morlortai kept his attention focused on the ship’s monitor and didn’t reply.
“You didn’t decide to do that on your own,” Kiwanuka said. “You’re a professional, and I’m betting even if you had a personal vendetta against Zhoh, you wouldn’t have traveled out to the middle of nowhere to kill him.”
“You’re correct.”
“Tell me who hired you.”
Morlortai looked at her as Kequaem’s Needle took another hit and rolled over. He remained strapped into his command chair while Kiwanuka held on to the deck with her boots and one glove.
“Tell me where we’re going after we get our remaining people,” he said.
Kiwanuka considered for a moment to let him think the decision was harder for her than it was. “A trade, then. We both get something we want.”
Morlortai pursed his lips and hesitated long enough that Kiwanuka assumed he was going to turn her down.
She smiled at him. “You never know, Captain. I could die in the next few minutes and you don’t have a next move in mind while the Phrenorian gunships are closing in.”
“Hey,” the Turoissan called from the helm. “Staff Sergeant.”
Kiwanuka maintained eye contact with Morlortai. “What?”
“Do any of your people know enough about Lerskel ships’ drives to turn them into bombs?”
That was an intriguing question and Kiwanuka cursed herself for not thinking of it. She passed it along to Cipriano.
“Can do,” Cipriano said. “We’ve already been working on it. A little going-away present from us to the Sting-Tails.”
“Glad to hear it, Sergeant.” De
spite the desperate situation, Kiwanuka smiled when she relayed the news to the Turoissan pilot, and let her know Cipriano and his people were already engaged in that task.
The pilot grinned mirthlessly. “I like that guy. Nothing like being insanely destructive to create breathing space.”
Kiwanuka wondered what “insanely destructive” entailed, then thought maybe she didn’t want to know because she had enough worries on her plate. Cipriano had something of a reputation for explosives. He and Culpepper had kept a bar crowd thoroughly entertained in Kahl’s Lamp the night after Sergeant Richard Terracina had died in the ambush during Sage’s first night on Makaum. Kiwanuka hadn’t kept track of the conversation, but she remembered some of the highlights.
That hadn’t been so long ago. And now the Phrenorian Empire had popped its claws. Glumly, Kiwanuka realized that if Sage hadn’t been on the scene, Fort York would have probably already fallen.
Maybe by now it has. The thought pierced Kiwanuka’s mind like a laser beam.
Then she realized Morlortai had spoken to her. She blinked. “What?”
“I said you have a trade, Staff Sergeant,” Morlortai said. “The destination you’re hoping for in exchange for the name of my employer.”
“Employers,” Kiwanuka said. “I want to know who arranged the assassination of Wosesa Staumar as well as the one or ones for Zhoh.”
Morlortai’s calm composure slipped for just an instant and he frowned. “Greed isn’t becoming.”
“It’s not greed,” Kiwanuka said. “It’s desperation.”
Kequaem’s Needle rocked over hard again and explosions unleashed a crescendo that filled the bridge.
“The (ta)Klar hired me to kill Staumar,” Morlortai said. “They wanted to cause confusion in the delicate balance between the Terran military and the Phrenorian Empire troops on the planet. That worked.”
On-screen, the stern section of the cargo ship swelled into view. Digital numbers counted down the distance from 123 kilometers. The explosions that had destroyed Kequaem’s Needle had scattered the ship. The pieces still traveled at extreme velocity.
