WE HAVE CONTACT (The Kurtherian Gambit Book 12)

by Michael Anderle

  The Leopard Empress had provided a simple peasant to monitor his movements.

  There was no way, he figured, that she would have any idea of the more sophisticated discussions he might have with his contacts.

  QBS ArchAngel, The Bitches’ Workout Area

  The practice room was relatively large, with a viewing area protected with transparent, unbreakable glass off to one side for eight to sit and watch those fighting on the floor.

  But the whole room was empty save for two friends. Two friends who had been on a highway to hell tracking Forsaken and Nosferatu across the United States years back.

  That road ending in the Florida Everglades.

  Where John’s life had been ending rapidly, choking on blood. His knife jammed through his chest protection by the last Nosferatu the group had been fighting. The four of them had been able to handle one, but two Nosferatu had been one too many for everyone to survive the encounter.

  John had taken the hit, as he would have wanted it if any on his team was going to go down. These men had been his brothers, his kin, and he was ok if it was his blood that would be spilled to keep them alive.

  Until Bethany Anne.

  She had come in like a demon savior, eyes glowing red. His friend, Eric, standing in front of him, yanking the blade out of his chest as Bethany Anne provided her life-giving blood to heal him.

  Now, his friend wanted to do something dangerous, something John was trying desperately to talk him out of, “Are you nucking futs, Eric?” John asked him, shaking his head. “Of all the Gott Verdammt stupid ass ideas to get a woman’s attention, I cannot suggest kicking her ass as the one I would pick buddy.”

  Eric shrugged and grinned slightly, “I can’t say I’m looking forward to the meetings with Bethany Anne and Stephen after you, either.” Eric leaned to his side to stretch. “But I have to make sure she knows, deep in her bones, that the Eric I am now is not the Eric she helped save back in Costa Rica.”

  “Or the one with the puppy dog complex?” John asked, stretching as well.

  “Yeah, that one too,” Eric answered. “Look, I get it, she’s five centuries old. But think about it, the one thing I won’t need to worry about is forgetting her birthday. She won’t want to be reminded of her birthday at all.”

  John chuckled, “I guess that’s one way to think about it. But that probably means the other three hundred and sixty-four days are open for gifts, now.”

  “And I’m fine with that,” Eric replied as he stood up, “Now, other than telling me this is a bad idea, what can you do to help me prepare?”

  “Alright brother I’ll help, but half of this is going to be about you getting back up,” John said, and his face went from caring to maniacal. “Brother, you are going to meet my friends,” John said as he put up his left arm in a pose, “Pain,” John turned his head to his right arm striking a pose, his muscles glistening, “and destruction.”

  Eric shook his head at John’s playing around and decided to attack while John was unprepared.

  Seconds later two crewmen were walking the hall by the Bitch’s Workout area, and both jumped as a loud bang, shaking the wall right next to them. Both men looked to each other and moved quickly away.

  No one wanted to be in the hallway in case something came through the wall.

  Inside the room, Eric was picking himself up off the floor, a little groggy. “First lesson,” John told his friend, “Gabrielle is devious. She has hundreds of years of experience to fuck with her competitor's minds. If you think that sucked, think about having her beautiful laugh echoing in your mind right now … and how pissed off you would be.”

  Eric stood up and nodded to his friend who was saying something about something but wasn’t making sense. He put a hand up, “John, I’m sure that was a lovely speech, but I can’t hear shit right now.”

  John walked over to his friend, smiling.

  Then John slugged him.

  There wasn’t anyone in the hallway when the loud bang happened this time.

  ‘Fucking…prick…,” Eric got out as he started to stand back up on wobbly feet. “I’m going to rip your dick off and beat you senseless you finger-licking asswipe sniffer!” His healing was doing fine, but he had decided to see if he could lure John a little closer, “Jean is going to leave you after you sew it back on and need to use popsicle sticks wrapped with tape to prop it up!”

  John laughed but stayed right where he was. “Eric, you have to open yourself to all of the benefits that being a Queen’s Bitch provides. You have been lax, buddy.”

  Eric narrowed his eyes, “What do you mean?”

  “Why do you think I’ve asked Bethany Anne to spar with me?” John asked, walking to his left, trying to find a portion of the wall that had a little more cushion.

  “She likes to kick your ass, and you are a masochist?” Eric asked, walking two steps to his left since John obviously wasn’t going to come into his trap.

  “No, you diaper-wearing jizz collector, it’s because we can push our abilities above even the older vampires.” John retorted, “Except for Michael, I imagine. I don’t think we can go above that without a couple of decades against him to test ourselves.”

  “You think he is still alive?” Eric asked stopping his walking.

  John stopped and cocked his head, “Michael?”

  “Yeah, what if he is still out there, say in the Etheric, lost?” Eric asked, opening his hands in supplication, “It could be true.”

  John lifted his hand and scratched his chin, “I don’t know, I …”

  Eric stabbed across the intervening space, trying to catch John off guard.

  This time, the sound in the hallway was very muffled. Inside the room ... the cussing was long, loud and very fluid.

  “HOWTHEFUCKDIDYOUHITMEYOUASSTARDSOMMELIER!” Eric yelled from across the chamber.

  John, his eyes red, grinned as he opened his arms. His six foot four frame displaying an arm span which took up a significant amount of space, “Welcome to being a true BITCH, Eric.”

  Eric watched, his mouth dropping open, as John’s grin went wide, his eyes flaming red. “This is what we are Eric, and if you want Gabrielle, this is what you are going to have to embrace as your future!”

  Kaifeng, Henan Province

  Ting watched the General as they walked peacefully down the narrow alley between two buildings that had to have been built at least back in the 50’s. The smell, not pleasant, not unpleasant, was a mixture of food, scraps and the occasional drunk.

  This was the third meeting the General and Ting had attended in as many days.

  She followed all of their talk, and he never once mentioned the Sacred Clan, but he did speak of a new power player in China. Ting stayed a few feet back from the General, as someone who was his inferior might.

  Her hearing, however, was sufficient that she lost none of the conversation.

  “We are going in through the back,” Zedong spoke, his voice soft, to Ting, “I’m going to meet Si here. He is, or at least was, in charge of the intelligence group for this area.” She nodded her understanding as he opened the door, pushing it open enough that she could easily walk in behind him.

  The place was of medium size, and only partially busy. Ting noticed that there was one guy, rather large, sitting in a booth across from the bar. The wood floors were scarred by table and chairs over the many decades.

  And stained by dropped booze and food.

  The lingering scent of cigarettes overlaid with the fresh was annoying to Ting. She hated these old bars that sold food, the stench was beyond annoying to her. Her Empress hadn’t provided her an option to push the General to select better locations, so she had left the places to his discretion.

  General Sun, Ting noticed, shook hands in a particular way with this contact as well. She stopped watching the two of them and glanced about the establishment, noting the twelve other men and two women in the place. Most were drinking, a few smoking.

  Ting listened to the two
men as she watched everything else.

  “General, the news has a large price offered for your head. The Chairman is not pleased with your escape.”

  Zedong shrugged, “I was surprised at the intervention myself Si. However, the group which took over the plane is very powerful and are looking to form relationships with important people. People that will have good opportunities,” Zedong looked casually around the restaurant, “when upper management changes, Si.”

  Ting noted Si grab his little whiskey glass to lift it up in a toast as Zedong whispered her name, “Ting.” She turned to see them clink their glasses together.

  It was the click of a pistol being taken off of safety behind her that alerted her to the danger.

  Ting dropped in place, legs splitting as she laid her head down all the way, touching the floor. The first shot was fired over her head, the bullet embedding itself in the wood and clay wall, pieces blowing out, showering General Sun and his intelligence man. Ting’s eyes melted to yellow, her teeth changed.

  An ambush then? She might not know what to say in polite company, but Ting understood an ambush well enough. Her first responsibility would be to take the General with her. If that was not possible, then to make sure he couldn’t talk.

  Ting pushed off the floor with her arms, the claws on her hands already two inches long. She reached for the General’s neck as she looked to see where she could push off of the wall. The second shot hit the floor where she had been.

  Her right foot, nails grasping into the wood of the table, pushed off as Zedong started looking up, his hands covering his face as best as he could from the bullets flying, but all he could see was the two yellow eyes of death coming for him.

  Ting noticed he didn’t look afraid, more like a man who had previously accepted his fate.

  That meant she had failed her Empress as well. She reached down and sliced through Zedong’s neck with her right hand. Her left foot, with claws, used Si’s face and skull as a platform to push against as she turned around.

  She felt the burn of a bullet crease her leg.

  That tore it ... Ting changed.

  Her growl escaped her lips, her fury in the pain of her wounds making the sound echo loudly in the confined space. Her senses expanded, increasing her sensitivity to the sounds of heartbeats, people shouting, moving objects, guns being pulled and cocked, as Ting pushed off of the wall, aiming towards the middle of the floor.

  She bounded from the midst of the open space and jumped towards the bar where the barkeep was busy ducking as bullets started tracking her. Bottles exploded as she caught the edge of the counter top and started running down its length. A uniformed man came out from a side room, lifting his QBZ-95 as she bounded off of the bar. She landed on his chest, her claws ripping through his flesh as she pushed off. She felt another bullet hit her and snarled in pain.

  All of the shots and confusion did little to stop her from racing to the back entrance. She crashed through the door and tore off into the night. Hearing men rush out of the restaurant, she turned the corner, as those in the street recognized that a large cat had just run through the area, their shrieks following in her wake.

  A little over a mile away, Ting found a washateria that was closed. She changed back to her human form, used a nail to push a bullet out of her body to help heal faster, and stole a set of clothes.

  Ting considered the implications of the evening as she put on the clothes. While General Sun Zedong was no longer living, the Chinese Government obviously knew about the Sacred Clan now.

  The Leopard Empress was not going to be pleased.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Yollin Deep Space Ship - G’laxix Sphaea

  Captain Kael-ven T’chmon entered his quarters, his four crab-like legs making ‘thunk-thunk-thunk-thunk’ sounds over the metal as he reviewed the information provided him on his tablet.

  He used his right hand on the pressure plate to close the door. He reached down and slid his hand across the tablet, throwing the information up on the wall monitor. It was a large display, easily as big as his whole body. Sitting down on the chair designed for his form, he pulled a table in front of him to comfortably rest his arms as he studied the videos that his probes had brought back.

  This backward, end of nowhere solar system was building ships.

  “Information agent, highlight items in video two.”

  The second video showed sixteen objects that were separate from the background of space.

  “Turn off all but three, five, nine and thirteen.”

  He absent-mindedly scratched his shoulder, grabbed a large piece of dried skin that was flaking off and stuck it in his mouth to chew on it while he studied the video.

  “Enhance video two and spread it over all four areas.” He studied the objects in greater detail.

  “These beings are building ships. But, are they cargo or war vessels?” He cocked his head as he reached reflectively behind his back to scratch down his flank.

  There were four ships, large sharp angled ships in production. He noticed a glint off of a nearby asteroid. “Highlight object seven, magnify.”

  The asteroid grew larger on his screen, and he nodded.

  They had turrets protecting their ships. These were not defenseless creatures.

  Maybe this wasn’t a waste of his time, after all. If they understood war, then they most likely understood many of the additional requirements for war.

  Like technology.

  Kael-ven T’chmon reached over and punched a button on his table, and his interface for taking notes came up. It looked like he was going to be involved with his team for quite a few solar turns trying to decipher what everything was that they could see. Some were obviously mining, and he could see some locations that most likely represented manufacturing, ships and large living quarters of some sort.

  Puzzles, at the moment, all he had was puzzles and very few answers.

  That was ok, he had time before he needed to send an update torp through the Annex Gate.

  QBS ArchAngel, meeting room

  The pictures were arrayed across four monitors, four images of one of the guys on each. Cheryl Lynn fanned her face in the glare of the light.

  “You really catch their essence, don’t you?” she asked Mark Koeff. The ladies had been able to finally schedule a twenty-four-hour whirlwind effort to capture the guys on film in the last month and Mark had come back up to the ArchAngel to share his work.

  “I try. They are pretty photogenic guys in the first place, ready to smile or frown. They emote very nicely. The one with Scott and the kitten is a particular favorite of mine.” Mark pointed to the third monitor.

  “When did you take that?” Cheryl Lynn asked. She and the ladies had been busy trying to keep the overwhelming female fan base out of Mark’s hair, and did not have many chances to watch the men work. If you call walking around half naked, posing for pictures with food, cats, dogs and other animals, work. Cheryl Lynn noticed one of John’s photos. “Eeww, is that a snake?”

  “Yes, oh it is just a non-poisonous one that John grabbed in the bushes,” Mark exclaimed, thinking maybe the P.R. lady thought he had placed John in danger.

  “No, not worried about it being poisonous, I just find it a little creepy. You would swear there was a touch of red in John’s eyes,” she let her voice trail off when Mark hit a button on the keyboard, and a new set of images came up on each monitor. Cheryl Lynn’s eyes flicked to Scott’s screen and specifically the lower left-hand image.