Hurt U Back

by Tim C. Taylor

  We probably sound like a pair of right fools, but we were nervous. This was our first questioning as Revenge Squad agents (well, she was an agent and I was an unpaid hanger on). I had interrogated people before, many times. But that was different because those interrogations tended to involve knives, and pain, and a hose to sluice away the mess, and usually no results because most soldiers in the civil war had been hardened against interrogation.

  The laughter ebbed, leaving me with my hands on her shoulders and our lips just inches apart.

  I cleared my throat.

  “I don’t believe Okane’s warehouse was as damaged as he made out,” I said.

  “He lied at several points,” she added. “His mind confirmed it.”

  I hesitated, inexplicably fascinated by the way her fleshy, alien lips moved as she spoke.

  “NJ? Is something wrong?”

  I shook my head. “Okane sure as hell didn’t expect Revenge Squad to show up.” I dropped my hands from her shoulders – this was no time for… whatever the hell it was we were doing. “Okane thought Revenge Squad was out of action. All dead.”

  “We don’t know that for sure.”

  “True,” I said calmly. “But if someone has made a move to take out Revenge Squad, we should assume Caccamo and his team are dead.”

  “And if Branch Director Caccamo and his team have been murdered,” she replied with steel in her voice, “it is our responsibility to be Port Zahir’s Revenge Squad in their place.”

  I was surprised with the strength of her loyalty. I raised an eyebrow, but then lowered it, knowing she would have felt my surprise before I’d signaled it. “This is the same Revenge Squad, don’t forget, who don’t think I’m worth paying.”

  Silky smiled. “Can’t fault them there. Come on, let’s move out. If Caccamo is still alive, then every second counts. We haven’t the personnel strength to keep Okane under observation, but we’ll be back.”

  We’d only gone several steps when the comm devices in our ears chimed and Shahdi Mowad, our orphan who I thought was destined for great things, reported in. We kept moving.

  “The hit my team are investigating was made on a servicing business for star freighters,” said Shahdi. “The policyholder was reluctant to speak at first but I found an impressive tool of persuasion.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked, setting a pace that Silky with her short legs could just about keep up with.

  “César,” she replied. I understood the catch in her voice. I suppose the big Wolf with his multicolored armored skin, courtesy of an alien skin parasite, could cause a serious impression. I just hadn’t expected Shahdi to be the one impressed. That was bad. I didn’t trust César. I didn’t know for sure he was a bad man, but there were dark secrets buried within him.

  “Transport?” queried Silky.

  “They arrived on foot.”

  “Not in trucks?”

  “No, ma’am. Definitely on foot. They trashed the place and then painted HUB logos.”

  “Obviously a signal intended for us,” said Silky. “And one Caccamo acted upon. But was this really HUB, or someone wanting us to think they were responsible?” She chewed that over. Silky’s plan had been for each of our two mini-teams to work our way back through the most recent Revenge Squad cases, looking for connections. We’d each only investigated one site so far.

  “Our information is inadequate,” Silky announced. “Return to HQ. We need to find out more about this Hurt You Back organization.”

  “Wait,” I said. “Shahdi, did you see any pamphlets? Political paraphernalia?”

  “We did. A group calling themselves the Cooperative for Equality and Smoothed Prosperity.”

  “We found the same here,” said Silky. “That makes two leads to investigate. That’s good work but we need to act fast. Get back to base ASAP.”

  As soon as the comm link ended, Silky surprised me by coming to a halt.

  I stopped too. “What’s the matter?” I asked, trying to read her dark eyes against the deep black hollows of her eye sockets.

  “Nothing,” she replied. “Have a fruitful day,” she added teasingly, and then reached up to cup my jaw in her hands. “I wouldn’t have you any other way, NJ.”

  She released me and jogged off in the direction of the lot where we had left our truck.

  I watched for a few moments, shaking my head. Friendships will never work well between human and alien. The clue’s in that last word there. Aliens don’t make sense and they never will. By definition.

  I hurried off in pursuit, ignoring the ghostly jeers and catcalls in my head.

  — CHAPTER 6 —

  “Why don’t we hit those HUB vecks now?” César urged the moment we had all reassembled in the empty Revenge Squad HQ.

  The parasite infesting him had not only turned his human skin into armored scales that could deflect small arms fire, but had painted him in beguiling patterns that I wanted to reach out and trace with my fingers. My attention was drawn to the charcoal spirals emanating from his eyes. As the passion welled in him, the edges of these paw prints glowed a volcanic red. I’d never seen that in a Wolf, but then César wasn’t a true Wolf. I didn’t know his story, but I did know he was a liar.

  No one answered César. I wasn’t surprised; I was wondering why we didn’t pay HUB a visit myself.

  “The chance that Caccamo and his team are still alive is remote,” said César, “but we don’t know for sure that they’re dead. So I ask again. Why not hit HUB now?”

  “Because,” said Nolog, “we do not know whether they are instigators or victims of this affair. Why would HUB try to wipe out Revenge Squad?”

  “Are you serious?” Chikune exploded with rage, waving his heavy fists around with an accompaniment of snarling. I wasn’t buying it. Chikune’s emotions were as calculated as an accountant’s figures. “HUB has been established here for years now. Revenge Squad has been here six months. We are too small to be more than an irritation yet but if I ran HUB, I would crush us before we became a deadly rival.”

  “I do not like this rashness,” said Nolog.

  “Your kind never do,” spat back Chikune. “At the first sign of danger, a Tallerman buries himself in the ground and pretends to be a rock for a few years until the danger has passed.”

  Anger flared in my heart. I’d never sympathized with an alien before, but I’d seen Nolog-Ndacu’s squadron of Valiant-class aircraft fly down into the unknown defenses of the White Knight homeworld. If that wasn’t courage in the face of the unknown, I didn’t know what was.

  “Your prejudice is ill informed,” said Nolog, his voice synthesizer rendering his words into a neutral human form. Whether Nolog was actually seething inside was a mystery. “It is not the dangers we know about that tell my heart to advise caution. Rather it is the dangling threads we can perceive but cannot yet tie together. Acting Assistant Squad Leader Sylk-Peddembal says our clients in the space docks were hiding something. We do not yet know what. You yourself reported mysteries of your own, Mr. Chikune, and I have my own information to add that I have not yet had an opportunity to share with you.”

  I expected Nolog to continue. I didn’t know anyone on the planet who liked to talk more than Nolog. He said nothing but kept his gaze firmly on Chikune.

  “Okay,” said the former army sub-lieutenant (or so he claimed to be). “I apologize.”

  “I accept,” said the Tallerman. “A single individual human armed with a sniper rifle – she smells like a female – is well concealed in foliage on the far bank of the canal that runs along the back of our HQ. Three human males observe us from a building across the road. This second group lacks the skill of concealment. If I may be forgiven rash speculation given the urgency of our predicament, I suggest these observers represent two separate parties.”

  When Nolog ceased his report, silence came across the room, but it was not a neutral kind of quiet. It was concentrated anticipation, and it was focused keenly on Silky.

  She was
still learning about humans, and my gut told me she wasn’t learning fast enough. Why was she allowing us to debate our next move as if we were a cooperative of equals? I hesitated. Should I step in with my big hairy feet to back her up, or would that undermine her further?

  The person in charge of our group slowly cast a gaze around the room, the expression on her alien face unreadable to me but unhurried. “Chikune,” she said after a few moments, “repeat your report and this time I expect silence while I decide our course of action.”

  “You can’t be serious,” said Chikune. His eyes were wide with astonishment. I didn’t think he was acting. “If Caccamo is alive then the clock is ticking.”

  “Your opinion is noted, Auxiliary Chikune. However, I’m in command of this team and I say you will give your report.”

  Chikune’s eyes flashed with anger, and his nose flared as he considered how to make his report as brief as possible.

  “I’ve already beamed you the clips I’ve decrypted from the internal security cams. You can review them in your own time. I will tell you what I’ve learned about HUB. Revenge Squad isn’t the only organization operating in this market. The biggest player in the province of Hy-Nguay is Hurt U Back. Essentially it uses the same business model as ours. Clients pay through the nose for the right to plant a HUB logo in a prominent place on their person or property. If you mess with a HUB client, they will mess with you, and with interest. HUB does permit rivals so that they don’t look so much like a private militia threatening the civil authorities.”

  “Then why are you so sure HUB would crush us?” I asked.

  “Because HUB keeps rivals divided and limited. We’re small now but we are an offshoot of a global player. HUB doesn’t have operations beyond this province.”

  “And we know where they are based,” added César. “A disused military dump a few miles along the coast from here. We can be there in fifteen minutes.”

  “Wait…” I growled. “Their base is on the coast. On the beach?”

  “Yes,” replied César. “Caccamo… Ah, I see. Caccamo was wearing beach clothes. Was that a clue?”

  “That’s guesswork,” Shahdi replied. “Keep to facts and informed speculation. What do we know about the political agitators we heard about in the docks?”

  Chikune clenched his fists, but did reply. “The Cooperative for Equality and Smoothed Prosperity. More commonly known as the Levelers. Caccamo obviously regarded them as significant because he was spending valuable resources trying to understand them. They are popular with the space dockers and those whom wealth has passed by, particularly former service personnel in a bad place. Caccamo was particularly alarmed at Leveler infiltration of the local Civilian Defense Force ranks.”

  “Are we talking revolutionaries?” asked Silky. “Are these Levelers planning an armed rebellion?”

  “Who knows?” Chikune replied. “It’s easy to write slogans and grumble with like-minded people over a coffee. Armed conflict is a different matter.”

  “Revolution is their stated aim,” said Sel-en-Sek who rarely contributed to these group sessions, but you paid attention when he did. “They wrote it into their constitution.” The old sailor stroked his long, plaited beard, which dangled from his chin like an invitation to grip here while you punch my face. “I’m a docker, amongst other things. I haven’t worked these wharves but these are still my people. I recommend you discount the fact you found Leveler literature at both your sites. You walked into the Leveler heartlands. I would be suspicious if you didn’t see Leveler slogans on open display.”

  Chikune punched his palm in triumph. “There you have it, Acting ASL,” he said to Silky. “Let’s go pay HUB a visit.”

  “One more thing first,” Silky said. “I want to see the cry for help.”

  I watched the knuckles whiten on Chikune’s fists. “Very well,” he said, his voice cracking with suppressed tension. “What you call a cry for help was directed to this building around a day and a half ago. We don’t know whether anyone was here at the time to receive it.”

  A face appeared on a recording of a standard video call. Six black eyes topped the wedge-shaped face which colored through blue to red and back as we watched. Alongside the mouth was a pair of stubby appendages coated in hair and slime. I knew enough to say that these were its paps and the creature was a Pavnix. I didn’t know much more than that. I’d never spoken to one.

  “I don’t know who’s mad, who’s lying, and who is plain confused,” said the Pavnix through a voice synthesizer, and a good one because it conveyed some emotional dynamics in its translation. “This is mutual suicide.” The Pavnix was shouting by this point. “I’m hoping someone on your side has the brains to realize that. Contact me directly before it’s too late. You know how to reach me.”

  The problem, it transpired, was that we didn’t. If there were any records of this Pavnix’s identity, they were hidden from us. The unfortunate truth was that whether we were Tallerman, Kurlei, or human, none of us could tell one Pavnix from another. Even if we were familiar enough with them as individuals to see distinguishing characteristics, their bodies were in a constant state of flux. Their one constant was their scent, but even Nolog whose sense of smell was far superior to the rest of us, said all Pavnix smelled the same to him.

  “See?” sneered Chikune – almost begging me to split that curled lip of his with my fist – “we’re wasting time.”

  “The armory here is exceptionally well-stocked,” added César. “I mean, Caccamo’s got gear you wouldn’t believe. Let’s take it along to visit HUB. We know where they hang out. Let’s go.”

  “No.”

  Silky spoke softly but the effect was electric. I could see Chikune and César mutiny in their minds. Shahdi wavered, glancing across to César to take his lead. Sel-en-Sek looked about to hurl himself at Chikune. As for Nolog. Well, he was an alien… Who could possibly tell what he was thinking?

  Your girl’s in trouble, said Bahati. As if I didn’t know. Anyway, I thought to myself, she was hardly ‘my girl’.

  Maybe not, said Efia who could read my thoughts. But she is in trouble and she needs you.

  ‘My girl’ acted oblivious to the mutinous atmosphere and issued her orders. “Agent Sel-en-Sek, Acting Auxiliary McCall. We may be walking into a trap. If so then you have three hours to identify the trap and discover how to mitigate. Chikune, César, you’ve seen the armory. Prepare our team to move in a reconnaissance in force. Ignore legal restrictions on arms but don’t load the truck until I give my signal. Mowad, you’re with me. Nolog-Ndacu, you too. If our HQ is being watched, I want a word with our uninvited observers.”

  Chikune and César stood where they were.

  I took my place alongside Silky, shoulder to shoulder. “I’m with the boss,” I announced for the benefit of the non-humans and others who didn’t understand my gesture of support. I wasn’t with her at all in spirit. I desperately wanted to pay HUB a visit, but I would always back Silky against that slimy veck, Chikune.

  “There is a reason why Silky was appointed our leader,” I said. “She’s the boss because she’s the best we have. Now let’s start acting like a disciplined unit and obey her orders.”

  Still, no one moved.

  “If anyone has a problem obeying our commander, then they have a serious problem with me.”

  Still no movement.

  I red-lined my lungs to maximum inflation and then some. Then I let rip. “Nolog-Ndacu! Mowad! I want you by that door ready to move out in ten. César, get your scaly ass into that armory now!”

  I had been a sergeant for nearly two hundred years. On Klin-Tula that counted for very little but the farm girl, the young Wolf, and the Tallerman jumped to obey before their brains could remind them that they actually outranked me.

  Chikune decided this wasn’t the time and place of his choosing to defy me. He slouched off to join César.

  “You’ve got three hours, NJ,” said Silky. “Make them count.”

  I caug
ht the way Chikune was looking at us from across the room, calculating and resentful. “I think we’d better make it two,” I told her.

  Sel-en-Sek slapped me on the shoulder. “That’s all we’ll need, my friend. This is a port and I’m a sailor. Follow my lead.”

  — CHAPTER 7 —

  “I know you’re a wet sailor,” I told Sel-en-Sek as he drove the tuck at speed through the back streets of Port Zahir, “but I thought you were a mechanic, not a wharf rat.”

  “I was,” he replied, taking a turn so sharply I grabbed the bar set into the ceiling and held on tight. “But it’s fifteen years since I was in the Navy. NJ, there are many trades in the shipping industry, and I don’t have time to explain them. I suggest you use the term dock worker. It’s vague, but less likely to start a fight.”

  “And you know people here? Why didn’t you say earlier?”

  “I’ve never been to Port Zahir.” His face hardened into a mask of fury and, although he looked straight ahead, I began to worry that the old sailor wasn’t seeing the road.

  “Snap out of it, man!” I shouted. “Or pull over and let me drive.” I looked out through all the windows to assess the traffic situation, because I might have to grab the wheel any moment.

  Sel-en-Sek glanced at the rear camera feed, and I got the impression he saw something there that calmed him. “I’ll be fine,” he said.

  My Revenge Squad comrades had never come out and said it, but after I had something of a mental breakdown when we set off from Camp Prelude a few days ago, no one trusted me in command of a vehicle. I hadn’t expected Sel-en-Sek to have the same problem. This was ridiculous. If none of us could drive safely, we would have to use public transport to visit our revenge on the bad people of Port Zahir, and I couldn’t count on bus drivers letting me carry my SA-71 onto their vehicles.

  But the sailor was now back in control and, as he took a right at the intersection into the commercial district, he drove with his usual aggression but I no longer feared for my life. I noticed a gray four-wheeled car follow us out of the intersection. My memory had lost most of the enhancements I had taken for granted in my youth, but I felt sure the vehicle had been following us for a while now.