They’d spotted me. They couldn’t identify me, but since I’d broken away from the herd, they sure as hell knew I wasn’t an MP. I stayed ahead of them, keeping my pace steady, watching them in the reflection of the windows alongside the street as they followed. They couldn’t fire on me yet; there were too many witnesses, most of them military personnel, and I was, on the surface at least, a Rigian soldier. They were pissed, but they weren’t stupid.
Now that my cover had been blown, the armor was something of a mixed blessing—I could move more quickly without it, but it offered better than average protection against hostile fire. Of which there would be plenty as soon as Jasser’s men ran out of patience. Being the stalkee had never much appealed to me. I had to find a way to even my odds.
I turned left into the nearest alley. It was ridiculously narrow, but it would force them to come at me one at a time. My boots crunched on broken glass, and empty crates and damaged boxes provided plenty of cover. Rats chittered in the filth. I breathed through my mouth, trying not to retch at the stench of rotten garbage and other shit I didn’t care to examine too closely. The light from the street didn’t penetrate very far and I groped about like a blind man, concealing myself behind an unsteady tower of busted pallets.
In the dark, the helmet’s visor made me almost blind, and I couldn’t see shit. Apparently the underfunded Rigian military couldn’t afford infrared filters. The armor’s bulk and extra weight played hell with my reflexes in the confined space. I removed the helmet and peeled off the armor, stuffing it behind the pallets. Extra protection be damned, at least now I could move and see.
I drew out my rifle and waited.
Voices approached the mouth of the alley. “See him?”
“No, but he’s in here somewhere.”
I stood dead still as footsteps crunched towards me. Slipping out from behind my cover, I fired. Two short bursts that caught the guy in the side, dropping him. I ducked back, but not quickly enough. A burst of laser fire tore a chunk out of the wall behind me, sending jagged fragments of splintered brick into the side of my face.
Fuck!
I touched my cheek. My hand came away bloody.
My eyes had adjusted to the near dark, and I scanned the alley for another way out. The cross street at the end was too distant for me to reach and there were no doorways I could duck into. A narrow fire escape ladder midway down offered the promise of salvation, but I’d have to cross the filth strewn urban canyon in order to reach it, thirty feet or more with no cover.
Sure, I have a death wish.
My cheek burned and blood ran down the side of my face as footsteps moved nearer. I pressed into the shadows.
Another of Jasser’s men entered the alley. I waited until he was almost directly in front of me, then fired, catching him in the lower back. My shot blew him almost in half.
One left.
Sounds drifted up from the street. Voices. The loudspeaker ordering the crowds to disperse. I checked the charge in my rifle. Enough for two, maybe three, shots.
I hoped I wouldn’t need them all.
Jasser’s driver moved warily into my line of vision. His two buddies had just been blown to shit, and yet, here he came. I couldn’t decide if he was determined or stupid. Then I decided he was just dead. I stepped out and fired. My shot caught him in the upper shoulder, spinning him around to face me. He fired as he fell. The tower of pallets I hid behind offered no room to maneuver. I twisted, attempting to dodge the blast.
Not fast enough.
It slammed me backwards as searing pain erupted beneath my ribs and my knees buckled. I sat, crumpled against the filthy wall, the rifle still in my hand as blood pooled around me.
That little voice in my head screamed at me to get up. To move. Run. My body refused to obey the command to rise.
So. This is it then.
I knew my life would end this way.
Occupational hazard.
My head fell forward onto my chest. Blood ran down the side of my face. Dripped onto my shirt.
I closed my eyes. Jesus, I hurt. It hurt to breathe. Hurt more to move.
Who knew death would hurt like this?
Footsteps approached and distant voices echoed down the alley. “Kondor’s Balls! They all kill each other?”
“Looks like it. These three are Sorrellian, what about him?”
“Terran, looks like.”
A soft whistle. “Look at that cannon. Bet we could get a credit or two for that.”
My pain fogged mind rebelled at the thought of dying weaponless in a filthy Rigian alley. I moaned, my fingers tightening around the gun.
“He’s alive!” came a startled reply.
“Not for long, by the look of him. Grab that cannon and let’s go.”
They couldn’t take my gun! That single thought ripped through my pain like lightning through the dark.
With the last of my strength I pulled the trigger. The muzzle flash erupted like a supernova through my head. The man taking the rifle would be dead before he hit the ground.
At least I’ll have company on the way to hell.
A distant roar filled my ears, and darkness stained the edges of my vision. It offered the promise of sleep with no pain. I surrendered to it, allowing it to swallow me up and carry me away.
So, this is what it feels like to die.
◆◆◆
Images. Fragments of images.
My father’s face, closed and cold in grief. “I’m sorry, boy, the transport crashed. There are no survivors.”
Tears and disbelief as I stand next to a single grave beneath a cold, Terran sky. Carol Brassan, loving wife and mother, gone but not forgotten.
Vague rumbles of sound without meaning. Pain. Motion.
Tension and anger. My father’s confusion. “The Galactic Security Force? No, Gage, I forbid it.”
“It’s too late, Dad, I’ve already enlisted. I report to the Academy at Lunar City in two weeks.”
Hands. Cool and soft, moving across bare skin. Words. Soothing. Distant.
Standing tall and proud in my dress grays as I graduate at the top of my class.
Perfume. Subtle and warm. Orange mist. Violet eyes. Fingers moving through my hair.
Exhilaration and fear as I lead what’s left of my unit through a blistering barrage of laser fire and plasma grenades. My shoulder hurts like a bitch, my right arm practically useless. I shift my weapon to my left hand. The charge is empty, but I can still use it as a club if I have to. I hope I won’t have to.
The evac ship swoops low over the battlefield, searchlights sweeping the bogs and trenches. Illuminating the dead and dying in stark relief. My squad leader is back there, somewhere. Parts of him, anyway. Fuck. What a disaster.
Shields flash and buzz, engines scream in protest as the pilot fights to hold the damaged ship steady so my men and I can scramble aboard.
“Shield integrity at forty eight percent and falling!” he yells. “How much longer?”
The flight sergeant and his crew haul us onto the ship: “...nine, ten, eleven—where are the rest?”
I shake my head; pain and exhaustion have stolen my voice.
He mutters a curse and looks back to the cockpit. “That’s it, we got ’em all! Up! Up! Let’s go!”
Colonel Morrison’s office: “Congratulations, Lieutenant Brassan. As a result of the exemplary performance of your duty during the Kressin Four campaign, you’ve been selected to command Special Forces unit Delta Six, of the elite Gold Band Strike Team, stationed at Lachra on Andros Prime. You will, of course, be promoted.”
Images. Voices. Fading into silence.
◆◆◆
I drifted up through the dark like a man underwater.
Am I dead?
I tried to move, gasping at the brilliant explosion of pain that ripped through me. It robbed me of breath, searing my lungs with fire, closing my throat.
Okay. Not dead.
The pain seeped away slowly. I tried to lie ver
y still. It didn’t hurt so much if I was still.
My face throbbed. I moved my hand, and my fingers brushed against the fabric wrapped around my stomach. Someone had plugged the hole in me and bandaged it up.
Sounds filtered into my fuzzy mind.
The soft creak of footsteps on a wooden floor. Glass rattling. I opened my eyes. Orange sunlight drifted through high windows, casting bars of color across the floor and walls. I blinked, my eyes tearing at the brightness. My vision cleared, revealing a table and two chairs. A low couch. A woman stood at the table, her back to me. Slender with long blue hair, she wore faded black pants and a loose gray shirt.
She turned from the table. Something about the way she looked tugged at my memory, but my pain-fogged mind refused to grasp it.
I swallowed and coughed, another burst of agony sweeping like fire through my blood. Every nerve ending in my body screamed at me to lay still.
I closed my eyes tight. Don’t move. Don’t cough. Don’t breathe.
The pain gradually withdrew, leaving me weak and nauseous.
I opened my eyes again. The woman sat next to me. She held a glass of water, and the cold liquid soothed my raw throat. Questions crowded one another in my head.
“Who...?”
My voice sounded odd. Rough. Like I hadn’t used it in a long time.
“I’m Wynn,” she said. “I’ve been caring for you.”
“How did...?”
“You get here?” she finished.
I tried to nod, but the effort made me dizzy.
“My husband’s men brought you here. You’re in the Iron District. You’ve been here ten days.”
I closed my eyes against the dread that twisted my gut. Ten days?
Ten whole days?
By now the Rigian security force would know the three guys in the alley hadn’t killed each other, and I dimly remembered the fool who tried to take my gun. There would have been a lot of blood in that alley, it wouldn’t take them long to add things up and figure out they were a body short.
They’d be looking for me.
I tried to sit up, panic momentarily overcoming my pain. “I can’t...stay here....”
She restrained me gently. “Lay still, you’ll open that wound up again.”
I shook my head. “I can’t...it’s not....”
The small rush of adrenaline withdrew, leaving exhaustion in its wake. I closed my eyes as unconsciousness swallowed me again.
◆◆◆
I woke to darkness and sounds drifting up from the street through the open window. The whine of a hover car. The rumble of the interplanetary shuttle.
I still hurt, but my head was clearer. At least I could think.
I wondered about my mysterious benefactor. A six foot three inch Terran with a hole in him big enough to fly a Renegade fighter through wasn’t something you normally carried home from work in the evenings. How had he gotten me up here without someone notifying the authorities? And whoever bandaged me up had obviously known what they were doing. Was he a physician?
Nagging questions chased one another through my head, but they were overshadowed by the bigger question looming on my mental horizon. Someone had gone to a considerable amount of trouble to save my sorry ass. Why would they do that?
I closed my eyes. All I could do was gather strength and wait. The whole picture would emerge eventually. As I drifted off to sleep, I wondered if I’d live long enough to see it.
◆◆◆
I woke late in the afternoon.
“He’s stronger,” I heard Wynn say, “but he’s still not in any condition to be moved.”
Another voice spoke. “The Security Forces are looking for him. I can only stall them for so long.”
Delaren?
“You’re the President, Vance,” said Wynn. “Won’t they do whatever you tell them?”
A pause. “Not with this. Jasser died in front of eight billion witnesses, and four men were blown to pieces in that alley. The new head of the civilian security patrol is determined to find out why. Since I was the one who impressed upon him the need for an open and impartial inquiry, I can hardly put a stop to it.”
“Then why go to the trouble of saving this man at all?”
“Because Jasser hired him to kill me, and he didn’t.”
I winced as I eased, carefully, into a sitting position. “Not the most promising way to begin your tenure. Harboring a fugitive.”
They turned to look at me, startled.
“How did you find me?” I asked.
“My security people recognized Jasser’s men and followed them from the theater. They were too late to help you but not to save you.”
“And my weapon?”
“It’s here,” said Wynn.
Fully charged, I hope.
I closed my eyes, struggling to maintain my focus. Had conversation always been this great a trial?
“Why didn’t you kill me?” Delaren asked at last.
“Temporary insanity,” I muttered. I nodded to Wynn. “Who’s she?”
Delaren hesitated. “Wynn is my wife.”
That got my attention. “I didn’t know you were married, and I checked you out pretty thoroughly.”
“Not many people do. Despite my personal popularity, not everyone welcomes my message. As you yourself have said, I’ve made many enemies. If Dorbrin Jasser had known about Wynn, your contract would have included her life in addition to mine. I will do everything in my power to keep her safe.”
“Then bringing me here wasn’t one of your brighter ideas. You might be able to stall the Security Forces, but you have no control over the Guilds. By now they’ll know I didn’t die in that alley. They’ll have their own men looking for me.”
“Thank you for your concern,” said Delaren with a small smile, “but my wife is never unguarded. And a new civilian security measure has been introduced which states that all laser and plasma weapons injuries must be reported to the authorities by law. My men could hardly take you to a medical facility.”
No, I guess not.
“Considering the circumstances,” he continued, “this was the safest and nearest alternative. I’ll arrange transportation for you off of Rigis Prime—”
“That’s not necessary,” I said, easing my legs off the bed, closing my eyes against the burst of pain, more manageable this time, and the massive head rush the movement caused. “I have my own ship, I just need to get to it.”
Delaren and Wynn exchanged glances. “Where is this ship?” Vance asked.
“A private air field west of the city.”
Delaren nodded. “Give my men the exact location, and I’ll make the arrangements.” He stood up, and after kissing Wynn goodbye, he left.
My legs felt like they were made of water; trying to walk promised to be quite the adventure. A single door to the left of the kitchen led to what I assumed was the bathroom. It looked a million miles away. Taking a leak had suddenly become something of a challenge. I gathered my strength, taking a few minutes to look around as Wynn busied herself at the stove.
She had furnished the loft simply but tastefully. Brightly colored rugs lay scattered on the wooden floor, and white cushions decorated the blue couch. There weren’t many pictures, just one blue and gold abstract painting above the bed, and no pictures of her or Delaren at all. She was his wife, he said. Shouldn’t there be at least one image of him somewhere? Or of the two of them together?
Something about her bothered me but I couldn’t put my finger on it. She reminded me of someone.
I chased the memory around my head as I watched her, trying to work out where I’d seen her before. As soon as I thought I had it, it skittered out of reach, leaving me irritated and frustrated.
I finally gave up, turning my thoughts back to my own immediate personal security. Most of my arsenal was stowed aboard my ship, but I still had the laser rifle, and even with its depleted charge it was better than nothing. Worst case scenario, I could use it as a club to knock the s
hit out of anyone stupid enough to come after me. Wynn passed it to me without comment when I asked for it, and I felt her eyes on me as I checked it over.
The charge was full. I looked at her in surprise, and she shrugged. “Rolan, my husband’s Chief of Security, cleaned it and replaced the charge.” She offered a wry smile. “He’s not easily impressed, but that weapon put a very covetous gleam in his eye.”
I mentally flipped through the faces of Delaren’s personal entourage, my mind coming to rest on the image of a big Androsian man with close-cropped, pale blue hair, and a face marred by a jagged scar that ran diagonally from just above his left eye to his right jaw-line.
“Yeah? I’ll have to thank him the next time I see him. Maybe I’ll pass along the name of my gun guy.”
I shifted back onto the bed, sitting with my back to the wall, closing my eyes. The familiar weight and feel of the rifle on my lap made me feel more secure. A little more in control. I heard the sound of running water and footsteps approached. I opened my eyes to find Wynn standing before me holding a bowl and a package of sterile dressings.
“I need to check your wound.”
She helped me take off my shirt, then unwound the bandages. I flinched as she removed the old dressing. The wound looked ugly: a long, angry red gash extended from just above my navel to below my right hip. The edges had been sealed closed with surgical adhesive. It would leave a very impressive scar.
“Will I live?” I asked, as she carefully wiped dried blood away. Her fingers were cool as they moved across my skin.
“I believe so.” She glanced at me with a small smile. “Although, you would be wise to avoid taking short cuts through Rigian alleys in future.”
It offended my professional pride to think she’d been hidden from me so completely. While she did the nurse thing, I took the opportunity to study her more closely.
Hunter Page 3
