Trained for Their Use

by Ivy Barrett

  The Fortar brothers might be the best procurers Ventor had ever produced, but they never did anything free of charge. Loax’s gaze narrowed and he had to ask, “Did you turn over all the females to the high command?”

  His secretive smile turned into a triumphant grin. “As far as Savator knows, we did. I trust you’ll keep it that way.”

  “How many did you keep and what do you intend to do with them?” Rentar wanted to know.

  Rook’s only response was a mysterious smile. He lifted his chin then ended the transmission.

  “Why would they keep some of the women?” Amanda sounded horribly concerned. “The women must be terrified. What if they didn’t want to be transferred from one captor to another?”

  “They’re carnal companions,” Loax reminded her. “They were meant for Ventori males.”

  Her chin shot up and she crossed her arms over her chest. “I want to talk to them. Make sure they’re not being abused.”

  “Ventori Defenders do not abuse females,” Loax insisted.

  “No, they just strip them naked and spank their bare behinds,” she replied just as vehemently. “Then bend them over the nearest piece of furniture and fuck their brains out.”

  “Only when they deserve it,” Rentar countered, his smile unapologetic.

  “We don’t have time for this,” Loax cut in. “If Tormenta switches vehicles, we might never find him again.”

  All playfulness fell away and Rentar nodded. “You’re right. First and foremost, we need some sort of ship.”

  “First and foremost our mate must be protected while we’re gone,” Loax stressed.

  “Why can’t your mate just come with you?” Amanda looked from one brother to the other.

  Fear rather than rebellion surged across their link, so Loax didn’t chastise her. He framed her lovely face between his hands and kissed her briefly yet tenderly. “The situation is too unpredictable. We will not put you in danger.”

  “Is Minister Orellian still here?” Rentar asked.

  On their ship Loax would have asked the computer for Orellian’s current location. But only the common areas of the lodge were under continual surveillance. “He’s either downstairs or in 6B. Can you go ask if we can borrow a couple of his men for an hour or two? I’ll work on finding a shuttle.”

  “I’m on it.” Rentar hurried from the room.

  “I don’t need a babysitter,” Amanda grumbled. “This is embarrassing.”

  It was highly unlikely Tormenta had arranged another hit, but Loax wasn’t taking any chances. Now that they’d claimed her other Ventori would sense the connection, and the penalty for intentionally harming a Ventori pod’s mate was death. But these were desperate times. Many, if not most, Ventori went for months, sometimes years, without interacting with a real female. And a female genetically compatible with Ventori would be even more of a temptation. The instinctual drive to perpetuate one’s bloodline was strong within every Ventori male.

  “Even human celebrities have bodyguards,” Loax pointed out.

  “I’m not a celebrity.”

  “You’re far more valuable than a celebrity. You’re a female genetically compatible with the Ventori. You must be protected. Now stop arguing with me or there will be consequences.”

  A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth and color blossomed across her cheeks. “It’s been three days since my last spanking.”

  He groaned, more than happy to oblige her, if it weren’t for Tormenta. “Hold that thought until we return.”

  Rentar burst into the suite a few minutes later with the excited energy of a thunderstorm. “Minister Orellian wants to guard Amanda personally, and he offered the use of his striker, which is in the VIP lot right now.”

  Strikers were slightly larger than the average shuttle and infinitely more suitable to combat. They were fast, agile, and equipped with camouflage shields that made them almost invisible to sensors and the naked eye.

  “I haven’t piloted a striker in years. This should be fun.” Loax smiled, but every urge in his body was savage, destructive.

  “Actually, the only condition was that we allow his pilot to fly the ship.”

  Loax gaped at his brother. “Does Minister Orellian know I was a fighter pilot for eleven years before we were given our own command? How insulting.”

  Rentar chuckled yet tried to soothe his brother. “This will free us both to confront Tormenta without risking the ship.”

  “I hadn’t intended to confront him. I plan to find his car, make sure he’s in it, and blow the fucking thing up.”

  “Either way, we’re stuck with the pilot if we want to use the ship.”

  There was no question of their using the ship. Their only other option was waiting for a shuttle to be dispatched from the Aganista and that would take ninety minutes or more. “You accepted his kind offer, I presume?”

  “Of course. The pilot is out there now preparing the ship.”

  “Let’s not keep him waiting.”

  Amanda slipped on a pair of sandals that matched her casual dress then followed them from their suite. They went to Minister Orellian’s apartment, which occupied half of the lodge’s top floor. Chancellor Savator’s apartment occupied the other.

  “Will I be alone with him?” Amanda’s anxiety spiked as they neared the door.

  “Unlikely,” Loax told her. “The ministers are never alone.”

  “How many ministers are there?”

  Amanda always asked questions when she was nervous. Unfortunately, he had very little time to indulge her. “There are six.”

  “The six ministers and Chancellor Savator make up the high command,” Rentar added. “They’re our ultimate authority.”

  Amanda only nodded, but nervousness simmered in her mind. She didn’t seem afraid, just uncomfortable with the situation. Who could blame her? They’d promised to keep her safe and she’d nearly been strangled while they lounged one room away.

  As Loax predicted, guards flanked the door to Orellian’s apartment. They snapped to attention and one said, “Minister Orellian is expecting you.”

  Deciding it would be rude to drop off Amanda without even saying hello, Loax moved into the elegant foyer where another member of Orellian’s staff waited to escort them to their host. Orellian was seated behind a small desk, working on some sort of holographic report, but he closed the program and stood as they entered the main living space. The entire lodge was nice, with a unique mix of rustic charm and luxury. Orellian’s apartment leaned heavier on the luxury side of the equation. A massive bank of windows framed extraordinary views of the surrounding mountains and the deserted town once known as Steamboat Springs.

  Orellian greeted each of his visitors in turn, then focused on Amanda. “Have you eaten?”

  “I have not.” She was starting to calm down, which freed Loax to concentrate on their enemy.

  “Then we’ll chat over dinner while your mates take care of business.”

  It was a subtle dismissal and Loax was happy to take the hint. “Thank you, sir. For everything.”

  “My pleasure.” He shooed them away with a wave of his hand. “Good hunting.”

  With Rentar at his side, Loax jogged toward the VIP lot, which was up a small hill behind the lodge. The striker wasn’t hard to find. It was larger than the other two ships, with aggressive lines and numerous weapon arrays. The pilot left the main hatch open, so Loax and Rentar paused at the bottom of the steep stairs.

  “Permission to come aboard,” Loax called.

  “Come on in,” the pilot responded. “I’m almost ready.”

  Loax climbed onto the ship, followed by Rentar. The hatch closed behind them.

  “Name’s Tarlon,” the pilot announced without turning from his preflight checks.

  Loax and Rentar exchanged startled looks. Minister Orellian had a younger brother named Tarlon. He was constantly in trouble, forcing his powerful brother to come rescue him and/o
r clean up the messes Tarlon left behind. Everyone had heard stories about Tarlon Orellian.

  “Yeah, I’m that Tarlon, but don’t let my reputation concern you. I know this ship better than anyone.” His hair was very short, barely more than a shadow on the sides and in back. The top was slightly longer, making the blue threaded through each dark strand more apparent. His orvatta, also dark blue, peeked out from beneath his collar and ended halfway up his neck. The heightened color was only achievable through elective genetic modification, the sort only available to the ultra-rich and powerful.

  “Sin said you had a tracker signal. Send it to main navigation so I can lock in our course. The access code is FR5-214.”

  Sin? It took a second for Loax to realize he meant Minister Orellian. Few were bold enough to call the minister Sintar. Only a brother would dare call him ‘Sin.’

  Loax sent the signal to the navpanel, trying not to let anything else distract him from their goal. Storm Killer had tormented Amanda long enough. She deserved to live without fear.

  “Got it.” Tarlon made a bland gesture toward the second row of seats. “Strap in. Let’s get this party started!”

  Loax had barely secured his safety restraints when the striker lurched sharply upward then twisted to the left, completing a perfect three hundred sixty degree roll before stabilizing. Rentar gasped, grabbing his armrests so tightly his knuckles turned white. Tarlon laughed, clearly enjoying the wild takeoff.

  “I’ve locked on to three separate lifeforms in the car,” Tarlon told them a few minutes later. “Does that sound right or should I keep scanning?”

  Loax nodded as his stomach caught up with the ship. “That should be right. Rook Fortar said our target dove into the car with two of his guards and they’ve been driving ever since.”

  “Unless they arrive at their destination before we catch up to them, this should be over quickly,” Rentar added.

  Twenty minutes passed as Tarlon flew at top speed toward the as-yet-unseen vehicle. Landscapes and cities blurred as the striker raced past. “I should be able to provide a visual now.” Tarlon’s hands dipped and twisted within the holo-matrix skillfully controlling the ship. A black sedan appeared on the main view screen. “There they are.”

  The car sped down a two-lane highway, surrounded by miles and miles of arid countryside.

  “Where are they?” Loax had seen much of America during his patrols, but he’d never been to Mexico.

  “They’re in the middle of nowhere. Nearest town, and that’s being generous, is sixty miles west of here. However, they are hauling ass.”

  Loax glanced at Rentar, but his brother looked just as confused by the odd phrase. “Meaning?”

  “The driver has the pedal to the metal.” Tarlon looked over his shoulder, then shook his head and laughed. “Clearly your language infusion needs a vernacular update. They’re going really, really fast.”

  “As are we.” Loax was starting to understand why Minister Orellian found his brother so frustrating. Did the man take anything seriously? “Will we intercept them before they reach the town?”

  “It’ll be close, but I’ll give it my best shot.”

  Loax didn’t think they were within weapons’ range, but he let the comment pass.

  The next forty minutes passed in tense silence. Loax thought about all the things he’d like to do to Storm Killer before he was allowed to die. It was unlikely he’d have the opportunity to do any of them because the plan was to use the ship’s weapons to obliterate the car. Still, the violent images calmed his restless spirit.

  “Shit,” Tarlon muttered. “They just snuck across the finish line. All three occupants got out of the car and walked into this building.” He sent several commands with the movements of his hands and the image of a low adobe house filled the main display. “The house was empty, so we’re still in business. If we kill all three occupants, we should get your target.”

  The word ‘should’ always made Loax nervous. “Human drug smugglers are known to use tunnels. Make damn sure they stay inside that house.”

  “Shouldn’t be an issue,” Tarlon dismissed. “They’re still eighty miles from the U.S. border, and almost ten from the town. A tunnel out here would serve no purpose.”

  Something about the situation didn’t feel right. Loax reviewed all the advantages of conducting the strike from the ship, but he couldn’t shake the trepidation. “I need DNA so we can confirm his identity. I won’t feel good about this until I have tangible proof that Asesino de Tormenta is dead.”

  “Big bro don’t like it when people ignore his orders,” Tarlon warned, his tone almost singsong. “Are you sure you want to risk deviating from the sanctioned plan?”

  Loax shrugged. “Your brother isn’t here. I’ll explain that the situation changed and I had to make a judgement call.”

  Tarlon laughed softly then said, “I’m liking you better and better.”

  A reluctant smile rolled across Loax’s lips. Despite the seriousness of the situation he found the younger man entertaining.

  The magnification on the main display adjusted several times as they neared their destination. As Tarlon had said, the house was surrounded by desert on all sides.

  Much to Loax’s surprise, Tarlon didn’t establish an orbit around the property. He landed behind the house and announced, “Two to three aren’t bad odds, but I like three to three better.”

  Loax shook his head, seriously uncomfortable with the development. “You cannot leave this ship unattended. Your brother will punish us all.”

  “I’m not afraid of my brother. Are you? Besides, what Sin said was, ‘You will not leave my ship in orbit while you jaunt off to raise some hell.’” He grinned like a naughty schoolboy then added, “The ship is not in orbit. Now is it?”

  “When he kicks you out of his household,” Rentar made it sound like a foregone conclusion, “we’ll let you join the crew of the Aganista.”

  “If we’re still in command,” Loax muttered. Minister Orellian was doing all of this out of the kindness of his heart. If it all went sideways, the consequences were bound to be severe.

  “I’ll leave the ship shielded and locked down tight,” Tarlon told them. “What could possibly go wrong?”

  Loax cringed. Asking that question was like begging fate to throw obstacles along the path.

  Unfastening his safety restraints, Loax stood and started looking through compartments while Tarlon secured the ship.

  “What are you looking for?” Tarlon freed himself from the pilot’s seat and moved to Loax’s side.

  “Something in which to collect DNA samples.”

  Tarlon thought for a moment then went to a compartment near the back of the ship. “Will these work?” He held up a bunch of plastic bags with press-to-close seals running across the top.

  “Perfect.”

  Rather than hand them to Loax, Tarlon just shoved them into the pocket of his synth-leather jacket.

  They all checked their weapons before they left the ship. Loax led with Rentar and Tarlon close behind. The windows were tightly shuttered from the inside, so they chose a random door and attempted to manipulate the primitive lock. All that accomplished was several minutes of frustration, so Loax finally shoved the others aside and kicked in the door with brute force.

  The three rushed inside and fanned out, but the kitchen and eating area were empty. Quickly checking the other rooms, they determined that the entire house was empty.

  “You’re right,” Tarlon grumbled. “They’ve gone gopher. We have to find the entrance to their tunnel.”

  They flew back through the house, checking closets and under rugs as their frustration rapidly mounted.

  “Back here, in the pantry,” Rentar called a short time later.

  Loax ran to the walk-in pantry to see what his brother had found. Rentar slid a small section of the shelves to the side where the wall was conspicuously bare. The adjustment revealed a narrow doorway semi-
hidden behind the crowded shelves.

  “The door isn’t even locked.” Tarlon lowered his voice and his expression was suddenly tense and suspicious.

  Loax nodded. “Weapons at the ready. This is a trap, men. Be prepared to shoot.”

  The narrow door and steep staircase forced them to descend one at a time. Loax knelt on the small landing and aimed his rifle into the dimness as Rentar went down the stairs. Tarlon followed and finally Loax as the other two covered him.

  The tunnel was slightly wider than the stairs. Loax and Rentar walked side by side, protecting Tarlon whether he liked it or not. The tunnel was roughhewn dirt, illuminated by a string of crude light bulbs. The small party advanced slowly, carefully, approaching each curve and corner with the utmost care.

  A harsh, whispering voice just reached Loax’s ears so he alerted the others with a hand signal.

  Rentar tapped him on the shoulder, motioned toward the string of lights, then toward his weapon. Target the conduit, not the bulbs. If we sever the wires, the entire string should blink out.

  Loax nodded, then looked back to make sure Tarlon understood the plan. Ventori could see relatively well in the dark while humans struggled in dimly lit environments. It would give them a serious advantage.

  They each took aim at the wiring connecting the bulbs and Loax counted them down with his fingers. The first blast severed the wires and the entire string of lights blinked off, casting the tunnel into complete darkness.

  Loax blinked repeatedly, willing his eyes to focus. Left with no other option, he pushed onward even though all he could see was dense shadows.

  Suddenly, Tarlon strobed a handheld torch between the brothers, revealing their targets for a millisecond. They each took aim as the light blinked off, then fired repeatedly. They held perfectly still, listening intently.

  Nothing happened. Not a sound, not a movement.

  “I think we’re clear,” Rentar whispered, hope evident in his hushed tone.

  Tarlon reactivated the flashlight, leaving it on this time. “Nice work.”

  All three humans lay in a bloody heap. Loax wasn’t sure which one was the mysterious drug lord and he didn’t really care. Tarlon handed him the plastic bags and Loax quickly collected hair and blood samples from each of the three humans.