Omega Taskforce Series: Books 1 - 3: A Military Sci-Fi Box Set

by G J Ogden

  “If I do, then it will be because you just jinxed me,” replied Banks, smiling warmly.

  “The trading district is just ahead,” said Lieutenant Shade. Sterling looked at his weapons officer in the rear-view display. She had the appearance of a grumpy teenager who was being forced to endure her parents' incessant banter on a long road trip.

  “Thank you, Lieutenant,” Sterling replied, not that he’d needed Shade to point it out. “Is your squad in place?”

  Shade checked the computer that was wrapped around her left wrist, like a giant sweatband. “They’re in position, sir,” Shade replied, pulling the sleeve of her jacket back down to cover the device.

  Sterling nodded. “Okay then, let’s go and meet the locals,” he said, pulling the freshly beaten-up rover into a parking spot and switching off the motor. There was a sudden thumping sound coming from outside the rover and Sterling’s hand immediately closed around the grip of his pistol. He glanced left, ready to draw the weapon should it be required, then saw the face of a kid staring at him. The boy was perhaps no more than five or six and had his mouth pressed to the glass of a truck parked to their side. He was blowing out his cheeks and forming a seal against the glass with his lips, like some kind of sucker fish.

  “There you go,” said Banks, jumping out of the rover. “Say hello to the natives.”

  Sterling got out of the rover then thumped his fist against the glass, causing the kid to jolt back. The boy then hurled a string of what Sterling assumed to be local curses at him, while also giving him the middle finger.

  “I think when we finally beat the Sa’Nerra, we leave these colonies in the Void,” said Sterling. “It’s like society out here has regressed by centuries in only the last fifty years.”

  Lieutenant Shade then jumped out of the rover, landing beside the truck window where the kid was still flipping the middle finger to Sterling. The boy saw Shade’s face, peering in at him with her cold, emotionless eyes, like some sort of ghoul, and immediately sat facing the front.

  “Do you normally have that effect on children, Lieutenant?” asked Sterling, though he was grateful for her unexpected intervention. The kid was beginning to piss him off.

  “I have that effect on everyone, sir,” Shade replied. Coming from anyone else, it might have been a joke at her own expense. However, though Sterling knew little about Opal Shade, he knew for sure that she didn’t tell jokes.

  Sterling approached the main entrance of the trading post, which was a sprawling complex that incorporated not only the trading center, but a hotel, several eateries and a huge bar. A man in a wide-brimmed hat, perhaps in his late seventies, sat in a rusted metal chair outside. A half-drunk bottle of dark, frothy liquid sat on the arm of the chair, and he was smoking a hand-rolled cigarette. The old man sucked on the cigarette then smoke that was blacker than oil billowed from his nose. It smelled like burned herbs, cinnamon and sweat, though Sterling figured the pungent bodily odor was more likely to be rising off the old man’s damp, mud-brown shirt instead. However, whatever the actual composition of the smoke was, it stung Sterling eyes like soapy water.

  “I’m looking for the Marshall,” said Sterling, standing in front of the man. Another plume of smoke forced to him to wipe water from his eyes.

  “You ain’t from these parts, kid, that be right?” replied the old man, in a guttural dialect that was as thick as the smoke escaping from his nostrils.

  “No, we’re from a town a few hundred miles south of here,” replied Sterling. “Our rovers are damaged, so we’re looking to trade for parts.”

  “You a funny talker, mister. All folks talk this funny from south town, that be right?” the man replied, sucking in another long draw from the cigarette. The tip burned brightly and the man’s eyes narrowed as he sucked in the acrid smoke.

  Sterling opened his mouth to answer, but then sighed and shut it again. He turned to Banks, hoping she might understand the strange pidgin language the man was using. However, she just shrugged and shook her head.

  “What about the Marshall?” Sterling asked, trying a different line of attack. “Do you know where he is?”

  The old man’s eyes suddenly looked beyond Sterling then he shriveled into his chair and bowed his head low, covering his eyes with the brim of his hat.

  “Did I hear my name?”

  Sterling turned to see a man in a black frock coat, flanked by two associates in short, leather jackets. They had all just pushed through a side door and appeared to be on their way out of the trading post.

  “Are you the Marshall?” asked Sterling, looking the man over. The coat wouldn’t have looked out of place on his namesake from the eighteenth century, Sterling thought. However, the rest of the man’s outfit was far more modern. Beneath his coat, Sterling could see a combat vest, similar to the sort used by the Fleet a decade ago. His pants had been modified with armor plating that was clearly taken from a Sa’Nerran warrior.

  “You in need of my services, kid?” the Marshall replied, stepping closer and probing Sterling with his keen, narrow eyes.

  Sterling scowled back at him. The man was perhaps only in his early-forties, though he had the face of someone who enjoyed a hard life and hard drinking. Even so, it barely made the Marshall ten years Sterling’s senior and calling him “kid” just rubbed him up the wrong way.

  “I need some specific parts and supplies,” Sterling continued, trying to remain civil despite taking an instant dislike to the man. “The sort of thing that a travelling man such as yourself might be in possession of. Or could perhaps source.”

  “That’s not what I do, kid,” the Marshall replied, tossing a coin into the lap of the old man, who still hadn’t looked up from beneath his hat. “If you want to trade, go to the trading post.”

  The Marshall turned and started walking in the direction of the spaceport. Sterling felt his pulse quicken. Their entire plan relied on keeping the man distracted long enough for Shade’s commando team to steal the fuel from his ship. If he was heading back to it now then they’d have to quickly switch to plan B. And while Sterling didn’t have a problem with killing the Marshall if it came to it, the chances were high that others would get caught in the crossfire if a fight started. And the colonists of Hera 4ML had suffered enough at the hands of the Fleet.

  “How’s your man doing today?” asked Lieutenant Shade.

  The Marshall stopped and turned on his heels, the thick soles of his boots grinding the stony floor to dust. “He’s undefeated. As usual.” The Marshall took a couple of steps toward them, though this time he was focused on Shade. “Why? You looking to make a bet, or to challenge?”

  Sterling quietly observed the exchange, intrigued at what his weapons officer had in mind. Then he felt a neural link form and heard Banks in his head.

  “Do you know what she’s doing?” Banks asked.

  “Not nearly as often as I’d like,” Sterling replied, watching the Marshall and Lieutenant Shade square off.

  “I challenge,” said Shade, coolly. “If I win and beat your man then you get us the parts we need.”

  The corner of the Marshall’s mouth curled up. “And if my guy wins, little lady? What do I get?” The Marshall’s eyes washed over Shade in a way that make Sterling’s skin crawl and his stomach churn.

  “You don’t get that, asshole,” Shade replied, though the spirited manner of her reply only seemed to encourage the Marshall. “But if your guy beats me then I will join your crew. Willingly.”

  The Marshall’s eyes lit up. “Quite an offer, little lady.” Then he gestured to the two men behind him. “But as you can see, I already have a crew. And as pretty as you are, I can’t see what use I’d have for you, besides the one you already denied me.”

  Shade then grabbed the bottle of liquid from the arm of the old man’s chair and hurled it at one of the Marshall’s men. It struck the man on the bridge of his nose, shattering both bone and glass. Before the man had even begun to fall, Shade had launched herself at the second asso
ciate. This man reached inside his coat, and Sterling saw the flash of metal from a blade that had been concealed there. However, the deputy didn’t get a chance to use it. Shade landed blow after blow in a stunningly fluid and ferocious combination that was as elegant as it was devastating. The second man landed hard on the stony floor, blood pouring from his nose, mumbling curses and threats. Shade pressed the sole of her boot across the man’s throat and choked him into silence.

  The Marshall laughed heartily then began clapping. “Okay, little lady,” he said, flashing his eyes at Shade once again. “You just got yourself a deal.”

  Chapter 25

  Unexpected blood sports

  Sterling reached the bottom of a long flight of narrow, dimly-lit stairs and waited for Banks and Shade to catch him up. With each step further into the belly of the trading post at Hope Rises, the roar of a crowd grew louder. It was a roar that Sterling had heard many times before, sometimes even coming out of his own mouth. It was the primal scream a person uttered when they were clamoring for blood.

  “I applaud your quick thinking, Lieutenant, but do you know what you’ve gotten yourself in to here?” Sterling asked. He was speaking to his weapons officer through a neural connection so they couldn’t be overhead.

  “Aye, sir, these underground fighting rackets exist on many of the Void worlds,” replied Shade, who was limbering up her arms and legs while waiting for the Marshall to gain them entry. “I’m familiar with the rules, such as they are.”

  A burly seven-foot-tall monster of a man stood guarding the entrance to the fighting arena. Sterling scowled at the man, hoping that the competitors on the other side of the door were lesser in stature.

  “That’s not what I mean,” said Sterling, shuffling closer to the entrance. “These places aren’t for sparring. The fights only end when one of the two fighters can’t continue.” Sterling then forced Shade to meet his eyes. “People die in these rings, Lieutenant.”

  Shade did not flinch at Sterling’s statement. “I know Captain,” she replied, coolly. For once she had managed to hold his eyes for more than a few seconds. “I know what I’m getting into, sir.”

  The Marshall and his two goons, both of whom were looking at Shade with murderous glares, then removed weapons from inside their coats and placed them into a metal storage box. The Marshall’s weapon was a conventional firearm that had been discontinued from use by the Fleet a century ago.

  “Crap, that means we’re going to have to surrender our weapons too,” said Commander Banks. She was standing beside Sterling, her powerful arms folded tightly across her chest, with a pissed-off look on her face.

  “Don’t worry, we still have you, Commander,” said Sterling. “You’re a walking weapon, more dangerous than anything we’re likely to put in that metal box.”

  Banks was not amused. “Are you sure I can’t take your place, Lieutenant?” she said, flicking her eyes across to Shade.

  “I made the challenge, Commander, so it has to be me who steps into the ring,” said Shade. “Those are the rules in these places.”

  The Marshall appeared to be studying them more closely, perhaps wondering why they were all silent, yet still looking at one another. The practice of implanting neural technology at birth had steadily died out in the Void colonies, largely due to the lack of specialist medical equipment. However, even those who possessed neural implants, which included the Marshall, tended not to use them. There were many conspiracy theories concerning how neural communication had been devised by the United Governments as a means of monitoring people’s thoughts. As a result, most of the Void colonies snubbed the practice of neural conversation. Sterling had once thought this notion to be nonsense, but after having seen Admiral Griffin employ a now-banned neural scanning device, he wasn’t so sure.

  “Everything okay, Marshall?” Sterling asked out loud, if only as a way to break the silence and stop the suspicious Marshall from glaring at him.

  “You’ll need to check your weapons, if you’re carrying any,” the Marshall said out loud.

  Shade slipped her plasma pistol into a second metal box without complaint, then Sterling did the same. Banks unfolded her arms and pulled her pistol out from inside her jacket. Staring up at the seven-foot doorman she dropped the weapon into the box with a loud crash. The doorman simply peered down at her, his face every bit as surly as Lieutenant Shade’s expressions on a bad day.

  “I’ll be wanting that back,” Banks said, backing away. However, the giant man just closed the box and handed it to a woman who was waiting behind a cubby hole to his rear.

  “Nice collection of shooters you have there,” said the Marshall, as the box was taken into the cubby hole. “Fleet issue? New models too, by the looks of it. How did you come by them?”

  “There are plenty of dead Fleet personnel in the Void,” replied Sterling, shrugging off the Marshall’s probing question. However, the lawman continued to peer at him with narrow, suspicious eyes. “You’re not the only one flying around the Void, picking up salvage,” Sterling added, sensing that he needed to give the Marshall something more. “I bought them from another trader. He didn’t tell me how he got them, and I didn’t ask.”

  “I see,” said the Marshall, in a way that suggested he hadn’t bought into Sterling’s answer one bit. Then the lawman smiled and gestured to the door. “We’re all good to enter now. I’m going to enjoy seeing my guy whoop this little lady’s ass.” Then he paused and appeared to reconsider his statement. “Though not too badly, of course. I want her pretty little face to still be pretty when she starts working on my ship.”

  “I’d worry about the face of your man, instead,” said Banks, sticking up for Shade, whose ice-cold demeanor had meant she hadn’t risen to the bait. Banks, on the other hand, was far quicker to anger.

  “Oh, my guy can’t really get any uglier,” replied the Marshall, chuckling. The lawman’s deputies were also smirking, thought the mirthful expressions were more of a struggle for them on account of the damage Shade had done to their faces.

  Sterling was about to ask the Marshall what he’d meant by his statement when the door opened and the answer became apparent. Inside a caged ring across a narrow sea of baying fight fans was a Sa’Nerran warrior. The alien was pummeling a thick-set, three-hundred-pound brawler with its leathery fists, as if it were merely toying with its opponent. Each hard strike generated a roar from the crowd, which was chanting for it to hit harder and faster. However, as Sterling drew closer, it became obvious that this was no ordinary alien warrior. The Sa’Nerran was wearing what looked like gladiatorial armor from the times of ancient Rome. It had been decked out in a red tunic with leather shoulder pauldrons, although its mottled, barrel-shaped gray chest was bare. A spiked helmet sat on top of the warrior’s round head, which only seemed to accentuate its egg-shaped, yellow eyes. And, like the sizeable hulk that was manning the door to the arena, the Sa’Nerran was at least a foot taller than any warrior Sterling had seen before.

  “What the hell is that?” said Banks out loud, scowling at the alien. “It looks like some sort of beast from Greek Mythology.”

  “I found it inside a Sa’Nerran shipwreck that had drifted into orbit around New Gibraltar,” said the Marshall, with more than a hint of pride in his voice. “The thing was half-dead, and I almost put it out of its misery. Then I thought to myself, a Sa’Nerran cage fighter could be one hell of a thing.” The Marshall laughed and smiled. “I guess I was right. Fifty-two straight wins, so far.” He flashed his eyes at Shade. “Soon to be fifty-three.”

  Sterling turned to Lieutenant Shade, but his weapons officer had pre-empted his question. She scratched the side of her head, tapping her neural interface in the process.

  “I know their weaknesses, Captain. I can take it.” Shade said, the confidence in her voice filling Sterling’s mind. “The commando squad are almost done. I only need to keep them distracted for a few more minutes.”

  Sterling turned back to the caged ring just as the Sa�
��Nerran brute stomped its huge foot down across its opponent’s jaw, dislocating it savagely. There was a wave of “ooohs” from the crowd, many of whom recoiled, grasping their own jaws in sympathy. A referee, who had been officiating from way over the other side of the ring, called for the bell. However, this didn’t stop the Sa’Nerran from continuing to punish the thick set man, who was now either unconscious or dead.

  “This one is next!” The Marshall shouted out, grasping Shade’s wrist and thrusting her hand into the air alongside his.

  Shade tugged her arm free, glowering at the Marshall in the process. Opal Shade only had two expressions – blank or angry. The crowd turned and began to laugh and jeer, throwing beer cans and papers cups at Shade as she made her way to the ring, pushing through the baying mob. One man stood in her way, brown liquid from the bottle in his hand dribbling down his chin.

  “I’ll go a few rounds with yer, missy!” the drunk slurred, making a thrusting motion with his pelvis. The crowd roared with laughter and continued to roar as Shade punted the man in the groin then stepped over him to continue her path to the ring. The door to the cage had been opened to allow her in, and also to allow the body of the Sa’Nerran barbarian’s last victim to be dragged out.

  “I’m beginning to think we should have just seized the Marshall’s ship by force, and taken the fuel that way,” said Commander Banks, as they all took up prime positions in the crowd to watch the fight.

  “It would have required us to commit more of the crew, and likely just have started a riot,” Sterling replied, through their neural link. “Our numbers are thinned out as it is, and I need every able body out there fixing the Invictus.”

  “I just hope Shade can handle this monster,” said Banks, turning back to the caged ring. “She might be a little morose, but she’s damn good at her job. I’d hate to have to find another weapons officer.”

  Sterling thought back to when the subject of Opal Shade had come up during a call with Admiral Griffin. Griffin had said that Shade could be trusted, without revealing why, as was typical of the guarded flag officer. The fact she had been recruited straight out of Grimaldi Military Prison and had not undergone the rigors of an Omega Directive test had always given Sterling pause. Yet Shade had never let him down, and he believed she wouldn’t let him down now.