“I have an idea,” Rsach said. “It’s pretty disgusting, actually, but I think it’s our best shot.”
He looked at Vresh. “How does your stomach feel?” There was a strange tremor in his voice, and his antennae quivered apologetically.
Vresh moved back a step, shocked by the suggestion, while Tyrn and Ven exchanged confused looks. They clearly had no idea what Rsach was talking about.
“You can’t be serious,” she said, appalled.
“You have a better idea?” Rsach stared at her expectantly, his antennae swinging forward in the Jeha expression of frustration.
She hesitated, and her limbs slumped in defeat.
“Why don’t you do it?” she asked, and there was no missing the heat in her voice.
“Because I’d rather they shoot me if they’re going to shoot anyone,” he said. “We can do this…you can do this.” He stepped forward and took several of her pincers in his. “We have to think like the opposition and be as ruthless as possible.”
She looked at the other two Peacemakers, and her limbs quivered apprehensively. “If either of you ever says a word about this to anyone, I’ll spend the rest of my life ruining yours.”
They all turned at the sound of the door being unlocked. It swung open slowly, and four GenSha guards walked in, sidearms aimed at the four Peacemakers. They spread out, herding their prisoners to the center of the room. Rsach saw the menace in their eyes. These GenSha were angry, probably about the presence of the mercs and the sporadic artillery fire that was still shaking the walls around them, although it seemed to have lessened somewhat and was further away now. When Gorn’s massive frame filled the doorway, a half-snarl marring his face, Rsach got a sinking feeling, for behind the big GenSha were four more guards, and they held rifles. It was clear Gorn possessed a seething hatred for the Peacemakers, and for a moment Rsach thought there were all going to be executed.
He tensed, ready to go down fighting. The Peacemakers glanced at each other, and in unspoken agreement, they all tensed up, prepared to make the last sacrifice.
“No need for that, Peacemaker,” Gorn said, and he sounded disappointed. “Relax. You may yet survive this…if you cooperate. If you resist, we’ll take great pleasure in killing you where you stand, but we have our orders.” He raised an eyebrow and eyed Rsach. “Better to live and fight another day than waste your life fighting impossible odds, yes?”
Rsach was wary, but the GenSha before him sounded sincere. He couldn’t disagree with the sentiment. He glanced at his team.
“Do as they say and stay alive,” he ordered.
They had a plan, and Rsach had some confidence it might work. He had a sneaking suspicion they were being taken for an interrogation session. With the deadline past, the GenSha would want to know what the guild would do next. Rsach would probably do the same thing if he were in their shoes. He clenched his mandibles. It was all so…unnecessary. They’d come to broker peace, but the stubborn GenSha had made that impossible. And now they would have to endure whatever these terrorists had in store for them.
Gorn turned his attention to the nearest GenSha, a smaller specimen with nearly orange fur and pale green stripes. “Take that one first,” he said, pointing at Rsach. “Five meter spread and get them all sequestered. Two guards each.”
“Yes, sir,” the GenSha said as he stepped forward. He motioned with the pistol for Rsach to step away from the others.
“Stay alive,” Rsach repeated as he was led out. “Tell them anything that isn’t classified. Endure.” This would be a test of wills, not physicality. Every cadet had endured a wide variety of torture methods during their training. It was SOP. The trick was to inure them to a wide array of interrogation methods and heighten their pain thresholds using an assortment of mental discipline techniques. Rsach had never imagined he’d have to put that coursework into practice, but he absolutely understood why it was necessary.
Gorn backed out of the doorway, and one of the guards with a rifle stepped forward, the weapon held at the ready. He pointed down the hall to the right, deeper into the facility. Rsach actually breathed a sigh of relief as he walked forward. If they were going to be executed, odds were they’d be brought outside and shot over a shallow grave.
They reached the end of a hallway that only turned to the left. He made the turn and saw another long hallway with strip lighting illuminating more gray concrete walls. A lone GenSha stood before an open door, but just beyond him, at the far end, stood two GenSha holding up a sagging figure that made Rsach gasp.
It was Korvan, the corpulent executive that had led the negotiation meeting before everything came apart. His fur, from his forehead to his waist, was covered in his own blood. His eyes were swollen shut, and most of his teeth appeared to have been broken out. There was something wrong with his paws as well, and Rsach realized several claws had been pulled out of his right paw, and a few digits were canted back, obviously broken or dislocated.
Rsach stopped dead in his tracks as a wave of fear washed through him. A painful interrogation he could take, but Korvan looked like he’d been systematically tortured.
“Don’t worry,” the guard behind him said in a gruff voice. “We don’t intend to leave a mark on you. That bastard down there got some very special treatment for his crimes against our people.”
Rsach felt the bite of a pistol jammed into his back.
“Now move, or I’ll shoot you here,” the guard said.
Rsach let out a heavy breath and tried to push his fear away and replace it with resolve. What choice do I have?
He moved forward, his steps firm and his back straight.
The guard before the door motioned for Rsach to enter, and as he approached the doorway, he looked back and saw Vresh making the turn behind him. He nodded to her once and then marched into a bare, concrete room where an upright board designed to hold a Jeha, a barrel full of water, and a generator waited for him. As proud and defiant as any Peacemaker before him, he stepped up to the board, placed his back against it, and waited.
A test of wills it would be.
* * * * *
Chapter Twenty-Three
Godannii 2
Somewhere in the Culovir Range, North of Moppicut City
The trees flashed by as Hr’ent pounded through the forest. He’d discovered that his night vision had been enhanced, at least somewhat, as a result of the procedure. Oogar were already predisposed toward good night vision, but this was a step above. It wasn’t like seeing in daylight, for much of the color was washed out, but the clarity and brightness were ample enough for him to move at a ground-chewing pace without fear of tripping or crashing into anything.
He leapt a small stream angling away from a gentle ridge that cut across his path toward the equipment beacon somewhere on the other side of the ridge. As he pounded up the hillside, his heart keeping a steady rhythm with his boots, something caught his eye—a deep pair of gashes in the soft turf, cutting across the forest floor. He slowed his pace and came to a stop only a meter from where the ground had been disturbed.
I’m not alone out here.
Realizing his breath was coming out in heavy rasps, he took in one long breath using a Peacemaker calming exercise. His heart slowed, and his breathing settled into a steady rhythm. He took a moment to listen to the forest, trying to pick up any sounds, but he heard nothing but the breeze and some small creature making a high-pitched thrumming noise—no doubt attempting to attract a mate.
Hr’ent sniffed the air. The forest was thick in his nostrils and then he picked up something else…something very faint but definitely there. Sweat. A tinge of sweat came up from the trail, and it seemed to lead up the hill. He recognized that scent, at least somewhat. It was Jivool sweat. The undertones were unmistakable. He leaned over fully, dropping to all fours, and sniffed heavily at the detritus covering the ground between the two drag marks.
Blood.
He crawled across the ground, inspecting the trail. Deep, booted toe pri
nts cut into the earth between the drag marks, and it became clear what had passed through the area.
A Jivool pulling a sled or litter of some kind had walked up the hill. By the depth of the drag marks, it appeared there had been a good deal of weight on the litter. One Jivool dragging an injured associate?
What would two Jivool be doing out in the forest while an armed insurrection took place only 20 kilometers away, and why would they be heading for a combat area?
“They’re trying to get home,” Hr’ent said out loud. His eyes shifted cautiously back and forth as he pondered what might have brought them out to the forest in the first place. A downed shuttle, maybe? It was a likely scenario, but there was no way to be certain unless he caught up with them and found out.
“I’m here to gather intelligence.” Hr’ent chuckled. “And I’m talking to myself.”
There was only one thing for him to do: track the litter and whoever was pulling it. Hr’ent rose to his feet but remained in a slight crouch. He sniffed at the air once again. Now that he had the scent in his nostrils, it would be easy to follow. He stepped away from the drag marks, moving off to the side a few meters, then stalked his way up the hillside. A 500-kilo Oogar in combat armor wasn’t likely to be silent moving through the forest, but he was going to make every attempt to not go crashing through the trees like some hungry kroka.
Hr’ent followed the tracks up the hillside until the trees started to thin out, exposing large swaths of the starry sky. He had gained about 300 meters in elevation, when he came to a thick swath of vines and shrubbery that seemed to line the lightly forested ridge. He looked left and right, hoping to spot a gap somewhere, but the underbrush was a solid wall.
“Fuck it,” he said quietly and drew his PK-40. He was about to go crashing through the underbrush when something occurred to him. The words of one of his old instructors at the Academy floated up from his memory.
A battlefield has three dimensions, not two. Always look for opportunities to exploit that, because your enemy rarely will.
Hr’ent’s eyes lifted up and to the right. Fifteen meters away and a short span from the underbrush, the thick bole of a tree rose up from the forest floor. It’s lowest branches, easily thick enough to support his weight, were about six meters off the ground, and it stretched out over the wall of underbrush. Hr’ent grinned and holstered his PK-40.
Moving over to the tree, he eyed the limb he wanted and then sank down into a deep crouch. With an explosive push and a heavy grunt, he leapt straight up into the air like he’d come off a trampoline. The branch passed before his eyes, and when he reached the apex of his jump, the branch was at waist level. He reached out with his claws, clamped down into the bark, and lifted his legs up to the side. His heavy boots made gentle contact, and he held himself there, listening to the forest for any sign that someone had heard him.
When there was only the sound of the wind and a distant screeching of some animal, he let out the breath he’d been holding and rose to his feet. Turning toward the far side of the underbrush, he saw that he’d reached the top of the ridge line and that it dropped away from him at a moderate angle. The forest grew thicker as it reached the rolling hills of the landscape beyond.
In the distance, almost 20 klicks away, he could see the orange haze of Moppicut City. He glanced down at the ground beneath him and saw that whoever had been dragging the litter had taken a break there. The litter had been leaned against a low branch and then hauled away later.
Hr’ent walked out on the thick limb about four meters, and when he heard the loud CRACK of timber, he hopped off. He hit the ground six meters below with a grunt and clatter of combat armor. Staying in a crouch, he listened intently for any signs of nearby movement. When there wren’t any, he took a moment to inspect the area.
He’d been right. A single Jivool had come through the underbrush pulling another on a litter. The remains of two splints, one stained with blood, lay on the ground by a nearby tree. He could smell them now, although the tinge of blood only came from the bandages. There were footprints everywhere, one pair larger than the other. The boots he’d been following were combat boots, but the other set belonged to someone wearing flat-soled shoes, perhaps even dress shoes.
What the fuck?
Why would anyone be wearing dress shoes out here? And why would someone in combat boots haul them gods-knew how far through the forest?
A VIP, Hr’ent thought. It was the only thing that made sense.
“Who are you?” he whispered. He raised his eyes from the tracks and looked down into the forest below. He let out a long breath and then unclipped his slate from the back of his utility belt. Activating it, he pulled up the beacon and realized it was only three-quarters of a kilometer away, just down the hill and to the left a bit. The gash of a river cut through the forest, and he estimated the pallet was not far away from the water. He couldn’t tell what side of the river it was on, but it wasn’t far off.
He rose to his feet and then something occurred to him. What if his quarry had heard the pallet come down? Could they have gotten to it first? A pang of dread hit him. If they’d gotten to it before him, he might get down there and find empty crates, or worse yet, an armed and armored enemy looking to put big holes in him.
“Shit.” He wanted to kick himself for what he’d done during the drop. It was stupid, and it had put the mission in jeopardy. Never again, he thought.
He scanned the ground and realized both sets of footprints had gone down the hill to the right, with the booted individual still dragging a much lighter litter. Hr’ent breathed a sigh of relief. They’d gone the other way. Holstering his PK-40, he moved off down the hill, doing his best to stay silent as he stuck to whatever shadows he could find.
“Not far now,” he said quietly.
* * *
Godannii 2
Fifteen km North of Moppicut City
Creeping along the riverbank as quietly as he could, Hr’ent sniffed the air. Admittedly, his movements were far from silent, but he wasn’t crashing through the forest like some blundering herd animal. Fortunately, the sound of the rushing river drowned out his footfalls. His time at the Academy taught him that larger, persistent noises drowned out smaller, inconsistent ones.
“Shit,” he growled.
He could see what was left of his equipment pallet, overturned and broken apart in a weak pool of moonlight. The chute was still caught in the trees above, and the cargo had tumbled into a mostly a shattered heap on the other side of a seven-meter-wide river that flowed past him and continued eastward. He couldn’t tell how deep the river was, but from the current, he suspected it was at least up to his shoulders in some places.
A light gust of wind pushed its way through the trees from the south, carrying with it the charred gasps of a distant city in flames. The scent of the forest was subsumed by the smoke-laden, industrial tinge of burning buildings, ignited fuel, and spent explosives. It smells like half of Moppicut is on fire, he thought. The wind shifted slightly to the east and then back again, giving him another whiff of burning buildings and ozone.
For a moment, he considered trying to make the leap. If he didn’t have the armor on, he knew he’d be able to make it, but encumbered as he was, it was more risk than he wanted to take. Taking a dunk in all that gear was not something he wanted to do. He scanned downstream and saw a thick tree trunk about 50 meters away that had fallen across the river. In the darkness, he couldn’t tell if it would be sturdy enough, but it was better than going swimming.
He made his way downstream and discovered the tree had once been right on the bank of the river. The roots were washed out, and it had toppled over, leaving a thick ring of roots sticking up on his side of the river. He hopped on and quickly made his way across the time-weathered trunk. On the other side, he moved back upstream until the pile of aluminum cargo cases was in sight. It looked like quite a few of them were crushed and broken open, and damaged gear was strewn across the ground. Cursing again, he t
ook a moment to scan the entire area. The two Jivool had gone the other way, but he wasn’t taking any chances. The wind shifted again, coming in from the southwest and giving him a scent of trees and something wild that must be hiding in the forest well upwind of him.
Still, there did not seem to be anything around the pile of equipment cases, so he crept in slowly, his ears pivoting left and right as he strained to hear any sign of movement. As he drew nearer, he noticed the assault rifle had a bent barrel, although the comms equipment case looked intact. He hoped it, at least, had survived the crash landing. Most of the field rations had spilled out in a wide area, along with the water bulbs. The medical equipment had also spilled out, but most of it was probably still usable. One last look around the clearing revealed that there were no footprints in the area, so he moved forward.
He picked up the rifle and inspected it. With a shake of his head, he dropped it to the ground. It wasn’t salvageable. He retrieved two of the water bulbs and chugged them in quick succession, dropping the empty containers without a second thought. They wouldn’t survive what he had planned. As he stood there taking inventory of what had spilled out, the wind shifted again, this time coming in from the east. He picked up something on the air, very faint and barely perceptible above the burn of the smoke. He sniffed heavily, turning his nose into the wind.
Jivool…and blood…
Movement at the base of a tree 30 meters away caught his eye.
He dropped to the ground as a ruby flash of light lit up the forest, accompanied by the report of a laser shot. The crimson bolt hammered into a tree trunk behind him, and the flash left bright red splotches in his vision. Hr’ent instantly rolled to the side, placing the pile of crates between him and whoever had shot at him.
He’d just wrapped his fingers around the grip of his PK-40 when he heard the sound of bark crunch above him. His instincts took over as something whistled through the air, coming from the same direction. He rolled again, turning his attention to whoever was dropping, and only his enhanced speed saved him.
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