Dolamiir still lay motionless on the litter, both of his legs bound by splints, and the left one wrapped in heavy bandages that had finally stopped the seeping blood three days earlier.
Had Satuur survived the distant crash alone, he could have easily returned to the city in a couple of days, despite his minor injuries. Cut and bruised, he’d suffered no broken limbs in the traumatic crash, although he was certainly more durable than an average Jivool. The same could not be said for Dolamiir. The executive’s condition had been far worse. Both of the executive’s legs had been broken in the crash, one of them in a grotesque compound fracture between the knee and ankle. He had also dislocated his shoulder, which Satuur had popped back in. The executive had numerous cuts and abrasions across his face and arms that were now, thankfully, mostly healed.
After the crash, he’d found Dolamiir still strapped into the acceleration couch, dangling face-down inside the tail section. At first, he had assumed the weak executive had perished, but a quick check revealed faint life signs. Satuur’s obligation was clear. For a flickering moment, he had considered ending the unconscious executive…simply covering his muzzle with a paw. It would have been easy to explain once he got back to ISMC, but in all his time, he’d never broken or betrayed a contract. He wasn’t cut out that way. It was a matter of pride, and he’d do what he could to meet his obligations, no matter what he wanted to do personally. If he had been alone, he would have made his way back to Moppicut, but Dolamiir’s very inconvenient existence made that impossible.
ISMC’s policy was—if reasonable and without undue risk to executives—to wait by the wreckage for 72 hours. This would give ISMC search teams an opportunity to find them, assuming they were looking. With a groan of disgust, Satuur had cut Dolamiir loose, taking great care with his injuries, then set to work stabilizing Dolamiir and the situation.
Much of the transport’s emergency survival gear had been badly damaged in the crash, but there were enough skinseal, splints, bandages, and nanites to treat Dolamiir’s injuries and keep him alive for at least a week. Satuur had started an intravenous nanite solution to begin the healing process, but after 12 hours, there was no visible change in the executive’s condition. During that time, he’d discovered that the comms equipment was dead, the weapons locker had been torn away with the missile impact, and their survival rations were meager at best. At least he had his training, personal weapons, and a fierce will to survive, which could mean the difference between life and joining the detritus covering the forest floor.
Hope that flyers or a patrol would locate them had long since vanished, so Satuur fashioned a sturdy litter from the wreckage and a pair of long trees painstakingly brought down with his combat knife and brute force. He strapped Dolamiir down with seat restraints, loaded up their meager supplies, then hefted the heavy load like a beast of burden. He put his head down and walked through the fourth day and into the night without stopping. After an eight-hour rest by a flowing creek, he set off again, preferring to travel at night when it was cooler.
Dolamiir did not regain consciousness in the first 36 hours after the crash, nor the 40 hours after that as Satuur hauled the executive and their supplies through the thick forest. He’d had to cut well to the east around a deep river canyon and slowed down as he dragged his charge up and over one ridge and then another. Nearly three more days had passed before the executive moaned and tried to move his shattered leg. He’d cried out in pain and immediately passed out.
Satuur trudged on, grateful for the continued silence, until he finally reached the ridge and laid his eyes on Moppicut City.
As he stared over the rolling hills between him and the city, calculating possibilities, he heard a rustling behind him. He turned slowly, wary that someone might be sneaking up on them.
“We live?” Dolamiir croaked.
“Indeed,” Satuur assured him.
Dolamiir cursed once and took stock of his situation. “We have to get back to the city,” he said.
“What is it you think I’ve been doing?” Satuur could not keep the rising fatigue and frustration out of his voice. “I’ve dragged you for eight days through this gods-cursed forest.”
“Eight days?” Dolamiir asked, incredulous. “Wasn’t there a rescue party?”
Satuur stared at the insipid director. It took all of his control not to bark out some response about how he’d waved them off because he enjoyed dragging useless executives over one mountain ridge after another. Biting his tongue, he said, “They never came.”
Dolamiir tried to move, wincing at the remaining tenderness in his legs and then glanced around his surroundings.
“How far have we come?” He started loosening the straps that held his shoulders in place.
Satuur shrugged.
“Forty or 50 klicks, perhaps. It’s hard to say. I had to divert east to get around a river canyon.”
Dolamiir released the straps and sat up, stunned. “How could you possibly do that?”
Satuur pulled a water bladder from his belt and drained it in two swallows. He met Dolamiir’s eyes. “Do what?”
“Your strength. Stamina. It’s like nothing I have ever seen.”
Satuur grunted. “You never spent time with the domestic militia,” he said dismissively. He didn’t really want to tell Dolamiir the truth, but he wasn’t sure he had a choice. It wasn’t something he’d told many people.
Dolamiir grunted and tried to smile. “I did not. But I’ve never known any soldier who possessed what you have. You were enhanced?”
Satuur shook his head. No choice.
“Not artificially, no. My father was a geneticist. I was his ultimate achievement.”
“How?”
“Does it matter? We are still about two days from the city,” Satuur said. “I must rest for a few hours. How is your pain?”
Dolamiir sighed. “Manageable. You sleep and I will keep watch.”
Satuur snorted and then laughed. “There isn’t time. The mercenary forces may be in orbit, if not already on the ground. They will most certainly need to be corralled. There is the matter of the Peacemakers, too, if you recall. Your hope that they do not understand the original scope or intent of their mission will not end well.”
“I am not worried about them,” Dolamiir said. “Other arrangements have been made.”
Satuur glanced up at Dolamiir to ask what he meant, but the executive’s eyes closed, and his head lolled back against the platform. A wry grin split Satuur’s maw. There would be no one watching him rest. No one standing guard. He lowered himself down onto a patch of soil beside a large boulder, closed his eyes, and leaned his head back. Slipping his needler into his paw, he was about to close his eyes when a bright flash of light caught his attention. He rose quickly to his feet and strode over to the edge of the ridge to get a better view behind them.
High above, in the darkness of a clear, starry sky, a ship fired its engines and climbed toward orbit with a full burn of thrusters. It was back behind the course he’d taken to bring them to the ridge.
Satuur’s eyes narrowed. The profile of the ship, it’s angle of ascent and location north and east of their position, was wrong for the nearby spaceports. There was nothing in the landing profile, and the ship appeared to be executing a missed approach maneuver of some type.
“Suborbital bombardment?” Dolamiir’s voice startled Satuur as the executive’s wide eyes followed the light in the sky. “The GenSha can do that?”
“It’s not the GenSha, let alone any type of bombardment.” Satuur shook his head. He should have considered all the options from the very beginning. “It’s most likely a Peacemaker dropship.”
“More Peacemakers?”
“No. With the first mission intercepted by the GenSha on landing and the continued combat in the city, it’s obvious they failed to reach any sort of settlement. I saw another explosion on the western side of Moppicut. I suspect Bith and his forces have taken them hostage…or killed them…because if they had
managed to negotiate, the fighting would have stopped. It hasn’t.” Satuur raised a paw and pointed at the ship accelerating to the north. “If it were mercenaries, they’d come down in force—multiple transports—and go directly to the spaceport or one of our landing sites. If I’m not mistaken, that ship is an insertion vehicle, with at least one Enforcer and gear.”
“How do you know it’s an Enforcer?”
“Standard operating procedure. It’s what they do to a fault,” Satuur replied as he folded the empty water bladder and tucked it into his tactical belt. “I’ve seen it before.” The thought chilled Satuur’s blood. GenSha, he could handle. Mercs, he was willing to contend with. But an Enforcer changed the dynamic considerably. He made a decision. He turned to Dolamiir and locked eyes with the nervous executive. “We must kill him before he kills us and ruins ISMC’s objectives.”
“No,” Dolamiir said emphatically in a tone he normally reserved for his board of directors. “Once you’re rested, we’re heading back to the ISMC post. We’re bound to run into a patrol.”
Satuur narrowed his eyes, and he could feel his frustration building to a dangerous level.
“You do not understand this situation, Dolamiir.”
“It’s Director to you, and do not tell me what I do or do not understand! You are my security guard. I hired you to protect me and not to—”
Satuur leapt forward, clutched Dolamiir’s jacket and shirt collar in one massive paw, and effortlessly lifted him into the air, holding him at eye level. Dolamiir’s mouth hung open, soundlessly moving as the words evaporated on his tongue. The last shred of Satuur’s patience and self-control turned his normally calm, stoic face into a wide snarl of violence.
“I said, we are going after the Enforcer. You have no idea what one of them is capable of in a situation like this, Director.”
“H-how?” Dolamiir struggled in Satuur’s grasp, his legs dangling. “This isn’t possible! You cannot be this strong!”
“And you cannot be this ignorant.” Satuur shook Dolamiir once. “The Enforcer is our primary concern until it is eliminated. They carry a license to kill. They are judge, jury, and executioner. If that Enforcer finds out what you’ve done, it’ll kill both of us. We kill it, or it will most surely kill us. There may already be a death sentence on our heads.” He let out a frustrated breath and tried to find the calm center where he normally existed. It irritated him that Dolamiir had been able to break that calm, and he suddenly found himself wishing he had ended the executive. Hauling him through the forest while trying to get the drop on an Enforcer was not what he’d signed up for.
With as much care as he could manage, he set Dolamiir back on the litter without straining. He stood to his full height. “Do you understand the situation, Dolamiir?”
Dolamiir nodded. “What did your father do to you, Satuur?”
“Don’t ask that, Dolamiir. Ask yourself what I will do to you if you continue to protest this course of action.” Satuur turned away to the emergency ration package and rooted for something to eat. Exerting himself as he had required an inordinate number of calories, and he’d consumed three times his daily rations just to keep his strength up. “And more importantly, ask yourself what will happen if we do not find and kill that Enforcer.” The menace was thick in his voice. “No arrangement you’ve brokered around a conference table will save you from one of them.”
A faint fluttering sound caught Satuur’s attention. He turned his gaze up and to the left, trying to pick whatever it was out of the dark sky. His ears turned fully forward and shifted left and right, zeroing in on the sound.
There.
About 300 meters off the ground, he picked up the silver highlights of a descending chute. Beneath it, he saw a pallet swinging. The chute came down fast, and he heard it tear through the trees with the sound of breaking limbs, a little more than a klick away. Then he heard the tremendous clatter and crash of cargo hitting the forest floor. It sounded like it landed near the river that cut along the bottom of the ridge.
“We have to get moving,” he said, turning quickly on Dolamiir. “Can you stand?”
“I—I don’t know.”
“Try,” Satuur insisted. “The nanites should have repaired the bones and most of the muscle by now. It’ll be stiff and painful, but movement is the best thing for you.” He drew his combat knife and cut away the splints he’d fashioned. Setting them aside, he stepped back a pace.
“Why such a hurry?” Dolamiir asked. “You have to be exhausted.”
“I’ll be fine,” Satuur said grimly. He pointed down the hill. “The Enforcer’s equipment just landed not far from here. We have to get to it before he or she does. It’s the perfect bait, and it has the equipment I need to keep us alive. We will wait for the Enforcer, leaving the pallet untouched so as not to arouse suspicion. Once our enemy is dead, we can take what we want and return to the city.”
Dolamiir gingerly pushed himself forward and stood on shaking legs. His paws grasped at Satuur, who helped him to his feet. The smaller Jivool swayed a bit, but his balance held. “I can stand, but I’m not sure I can walk.”
Satuur kept his arm steady. “I need you to try. Take it slow and focus on your balance.”
Dolamiir walked about 10 meters forward and stopped. His breath came in deep heaves but wasn’t overly labored. Satuur idly wondered about the executive’s physical condition before the accident. He reached out again, but Dolamiir shook his paw away from Satuur’s support and walked a few more meters. The executive turned to him. “You were correct. It feels good to move.”
“Good.” Satuur gathered the few supplies in their possession. He pointed 90 degrees away from the direction of the parachute. “We start walking that way. You set the pace, and I will be right behind you.”
“What if I get too tired?”
Satuur frowned. “Then I’ll carry you. We have to get to that pallet in an hour or less, Director, and we have to come around from the other side so the Enforcer—hopefully—does not cross our tracks. I’d suggest you move like your life depends on it.”
* * *
Godannii 2
Captured ISMC Emergency Relief Facility (ERF), Northwest of Moppicut City
Rsach picked at the military rations they had been provided. He wasn’t at all hungry, but he knew he needed to keep his strength up. After Bith and Gorn’s hasty exit from the conference room, the four Peacemakers had been rounded up at gunpoint, had black sacks pulled over their heads, and had been taken to a waiting military transport. The vehicle shuddered briefly over an uneven dirt road before spending 30 minutes rolling over smooth pavement. There was another brief patch of dirt road and then the doors at the rear of the transport opened. They were marched into a building, made several turns, and descended two levels in an elevator. After another couple of turns in what sounded like a concrete hallway, they were shoved into a five-by-five-meter room with one door and no windows. There weren’t even any cots, just bare floor and a stack of blankets. The other three Peacemakers had been sullen and silent since their confinement. Rsach, on the other hand, had welcomed the absence of chatter.
He had a good deal of thinking to do. In fact, he’d been thinking almost non-stop. The mission—his mission—had gone horribly wrong, and he was still trying to figure out how…and why. He’d done everything by the book, and when the order came down from the Guild Master, he’d followed it to the best of his ability. So why were they in a concrete prison? It was all that hothead, Bith’s fault. He’d ruined everything. Rsach sighed heavily. At least none of them had been executed…yet. ISMC had called in mercenaries, so maybe they could succeed where Rsach and his team had failed. Diplomacy at gunpoint seemed to be the only thing the GenSha were going to listen to. But at what cost in lives and livelihoods? Rsach wasn’t unaware of how badly the GenSha had been treated. If he had been in the same situation, he might have taken up arms. But he never would have fired the first shot or taken Peacemakers hostage, yet the GenSha had done both? The
video he’d seen was conclusive. The GenSha had murdered sleeping troopers as the opening volley of their rebellion. And to take Peacemakers hostage and condemn them to death? That was well beyond any sort of response other than base terrorism.
As he forced himself to take a bite of his rations, a series of shock waves pulsed across the floor. Moments later, they heard the muffled sound of explosions, probably less than a kilometer away. The four Peacemakers exchanged nervous glances as a fair amount of commotion broke out on the other side of the door—including shouts of Veetanho mercs—combined with the sound of a good deal of pounding boots going in one direction…the way the Peacemakers had been brought in.
“Orbital bombardment?” Tyrn asked, and there was no mistaking his underlying fear. ISMC had undertaken such a response in the past. And if that was the situation here, odds were good everyone in the building would be dead in minutes.
Rsach shook his head. “Artillery maybe, but nothing heavy. I’m thinking high-altitude mortars.”
“Maybe they’ve come for us,” Vresh said, looking at Rsach with a hint of hope in her voice.
“Unlikely,” Rsach replied. “At this point, I suspect our presence will be tertiary, until and if the Peacemaker Guild decides to intervene again. If they do”—he let his gaze slide across the other three—“it will be an Enforcer, not combat troops. Intelligence gathering will be their primary mission and rescuing us will be secondary until they get better situational awareness.”
“We have to get out of here,” Ven whispered in a low voice. He looked at Rsach urgently. “Tonight, if at all possible. In here, we’re nothing more than bodies they will someday pull out of the rubble, assuming they even look.”
“You have a point,” Tyrn added.
“I agree,” Rsach said. He’d been thinking about that, too, for a while. He had a plan of sorts. It would be risky and would depend on the guard’s knowledge of Jeha anatomy. The time to take risks, however, had arrived.
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