Second Strike (Revenge Squad Book 2)

by Tim C. Taylor

  I grabbed the ancient Marine by the shoulders and tried to lift him out the way. He kneed me in the asteroids, and when I dropped him, he gave me an upper cut that made me see stars.

  Would I hit this old man? If it meant I could kill the guy who threatened my wife, then you bet I would.

  I gave him a warning, just letting him see the determination in my eyes. He’d still got a good fist on him but I was ready for him now. I didn’t know why the others weren’t swarming over me, but I didn’t care.

  I readied to spring at him.

  A doubt flickered through my mind. My aggression wasn’t mirrored in Caccamo’s eyes. The way he looked at me, it was as if the fight was already over.

  And I had lost.

  I bypassed my doubt and flung myself at the branch director, aiming a series of strikes and kicks that would let me barrel past him and out of the Slaughterhouse.

  I only managed a half step forward before my body locked and I was falling… falling into Caccamo’s arms.

  — CHAPTER 11 —

  I pushed Caccamo away… and had to fling myself forward to avoid overbalancing the chair I was in.

  A giddying lurch in my gut forced a girlish cry from my throat, and then I was back in the room.

  But which room? I wasn’t fighting with my boss near the Slaughterhouse entrance. I’d somehow materialized onto a chair looking into a bright light. Location: unknown.

  Regrettably, given what I was often given to eat in the Legion, my mouth was highly sensitive to six basic tastes: sour, sweet, salty, bitter, glutamate and toxin. I ran my tongue over the inner folds where upper lip joined my gums but I wasn’t tasting toxin. Nor were my limbs shaking, and I didn’t feel like I’d broken through the icy surface of the frozen wastes of hell.

  None of the tell-tale signs of being drugged were showing green, so how had I gotten from grappling Caccamo to sitting on a chair without anything in between? What was going on?

  My body might be undergoing general decay but my eyesight was still as good as the day my replacement eyeballs were slotted into the sockets of my new skull after the liberation of Maeroo-6. And that was very good indeed.

  Caccamo knew that, of course, but despite the array of high-powered beams flooding my sight, I could clearly see him standing behind the wall of illumination, and get a sense that I was in the middle of a well-stocked warehouse.

  I still had no idea where I was.

  Caccamo showed no obvious armament, nor was I restrained, but the old man had just demonstrated he could take me down with ease, so I let him say his piece.

  “You’re honored, NJ,” he told me. “I don’t invite many people to my shed.”

  “Your what?” I shook my head angrily. “Just tell me where we are.”

  “You are in a part of the Slaughterhouse not many know about. This is my shed. Where I go to escape the cares of the world, and to store things – both mine and on behalf of other people. Clutter, many might call it, but I don’t like to throw things away that might come in handy one day. Some would say that explains my interest in you, my boy.”

  The battered wooden desk I was sitting at was adorned with coffee stains, and digi-pics of Caccamo arm-in-arm with General McEwan and other dignitaries. There was a railgun dart in one display case, a scrap of twisted metal in another, and a score of other keepsakes from a long life. This was Caccamo’s desk, all right, his real den in the Slaughterhouse, not the fake carrier ready room we were encouraged to frequent.

  An hour ago, I would have been fascinated. But now? I didn’t give a shit.

  “Very nice,” I said. “Now let me go.”

  “Hear me out, please. The mayor hates us tonight because you blew up his ship, but he’s not the political boss of the region. That’s the governor.”

  I frowned. Caccamo wasn’t making sense.

  He grinned. “The governor is a Revenge Squad client, and she owes me a favor or three.”

  “I’m listening.”

  Caccamo regarded me thoughtfully before saying, “NJ, I do know of Silky’s delicate status. If I were married to a deserter, I would be petrified too, but I think it would be better if you let me talk with the governor first before you murder any senior elected officials, don’t you?”

  “Maybe you know the governor, sir, but she’ll still drop you like a bomb. It’s what politicians do. You’re a hero to many of us, sir, but in the eyes of the politicians we are only a handful of grubby for-profit vigilantes.”

  A fire burst from deep within Caccamo’s soul, lighting his body with an inner power. This man was a war hero. None of us would be alive if not for him and his like. Klin-Tula would still be a mining world, worked by Hardit slaves on behalf of their White Knight masters. I got a sense off him: danger. Caccamo might be old, but he was still the kind of person who could change history. I was glad he was on my side.

  “If the governor doesn’t help, then I’ll personally make sure that the mayor regrets his attack on us.”

  I thought it over. I admired Caccamo more than ever, but would he be enough? The advice from my ghosts was split, so I went with my gut. “Sorry, sir. I like a plan that’s simple and doesn’t rely on people I don’t know. I’m going to kill the mayor and that’s all there is to it. Now, let me go.”

  “And you killing the mayor – openly as a Revenge Squad employee – do you really think that will solve anything?”

  “It will buy Silky time to run.”

  “I see. Then you leave me no choice.”

  The lights came on, and I nearly checked the diagnostics on my eyeballs because I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

  For a start, this shed was so huge I couldn’t see its full extent. Then there were the contents. It was filled with military equipment. Much of it was crated, but not quite all. I saw endless rows of heavy ordnance lined up in the distance – tens of thousands of missiles and artillery shells. Maybe more. Somewhere inside the crates would be the means to fire them.

  Gun laws were strict on Klin-Tula. You could open carry in some regions, but never with military-spec weapons. Revenge Squad crossed that line on occasion, and relied on the blind eyes of the authorities to do so, but this wasn’t stepping over a line, this was driving over it with a squadron of heavy tanks while drunk on whiskey.

  “As you can see,” said Caccamo. “Enough to equip an army.”

  I thought of Zhakar-Ree, the Leveler leader who had tried to access the Revenge Squad armory the year before. I’d thought she had been referring to the modest armory up in the main building, but she must have guessed about this wonder. Mader zagh! This was serious, but why?

  I gave up and asked. “Whose army?”

  “Officially,” Caccamo said, “I’ve been ordered by the Main Board to warehouse this materiel in readiness for Revenge Squad expanding its operations.”

  I shook my head. “That’s bullshit. We would never need this much.”

  Caccamo fixed me with a stern look. “But you and I know of a secret organization pulling strings, don’t we? I believe these weapons of war are preparations for future operations of the Phoenix Cabal. And Revenge Squad will become one of many cadres for their future army.”

  Silky and I kept stumbling across hints of this shadowy cabal. Supposedly we were police informants tasked with learning all we could about the conspiracy. Yesterday this would have my rapt attention, but our complicated lives had just gotten much simpler. The cabal’s secrets weren’t going to kill the mayor, so they were of no interest to me now.

  Caccamo pressed on regardless. “We are Marines, you and I, NJ. We are trained and engineered to resist torture, but only when we know which pieces of information need locking away securely. Events are unfolding fast, and much as I’m fond of you and Silky, this matter is bigger than all of us. That’s why I’ve shown you this now. If you’re captured, reveal nothing about the Cabal. Deny you’ve heard of them. It’s vital if Klin-Tula is to escape tyranny. ”

  “I don’t disbelieve you.” I bega
n to slide my hand down my leg toward my knife sheath. “I just don’t care. Step aside, Caccamo.”

  I watched him intently. He saw me edging over the knife hilt but didn’t react other than to say, “Have you ever wondered how I get my hands on such cool toys as a submersible that folds up into a little box?” His face hardened into dangerous contours. “And have you considered how such gadgets might help you more than that knife?”

  I hesitated with my hand over the hilt. I didn’t want to hurt Caccamo, but I would if I had to.

  His eyes flickered, a tell-tale sign that he was hearing something through an implant. “Time is even shorter than I feared. Take your frakking hand away from that knife, McCall. I understand that you don’t care about the Cabal, but I’m trying to save your life and that of your wife. Even if you’re too stupid to listen, do it for her. Here–” he reached into a pouch and handed over a memory slug. “That’s the quickest way to learn what you need to know.”

  I looked suspiciously at the dull black data wafer. This was the guy who’d just switched me off like a light to bring me to this strange place, but Caccamo had saved my life several times already. I decided to put my trust in him one more time and inserted the slug under the flap of skin beneath my left ear…

  — CHAPTER 12 —

  “Laban Caccamo. Born Tranquility-4, 2515AD. Service record – Marine Private, 412th Tactical Marine Regiment. 2568, cross-trained to serve as shuttle pilot aboard Beowulf. 2593, promoted to Wing Commander, 2nd X-Boat Squadron, and then Squadron Leader for 3rd Squadron the year later. From 2598 served as CAG aboard Lance of Freedom. Do you swear to abide by the code and articles of the Legion Intelligence Security and Termination Service?”

  “LISTS?” I queried. “I don’t believe it. They’re just a story.”

  But no one would answer. I wasn’t here.

  “I do so swear,” I heard Caccamo’s voice say in reply to the human officer standing before him in dress uniform. More than heard: this was a recording taken from his memories. I felt the vibration in his larynx.

  I didn’t recognize the woman, and her rank insignia was nothing I’d ever seen before. Her epaulettes carried five crescent swords in gold braid, and the peak of her cap was heavy with decoration. Guess whatever her rank was, it meant she had weightier responsibilities than swabbing the deck.

  “Look upon your fellow agents and officers of the service. They will watch you and judge you today, and henceforth until you depart this life. Is there any reason – be it weakness, conflict of loyalty or dark secrets – why they should doubt you?”

  From his spot at the center of circular dais, Caccamo turned around and looked outward. He was surrounded by figures wearing a black and sky-blue harlequin uniform, which looked a ridiculous color combination to me. Caccamo looked upon humans, Littoranes, Pavnix, Jotuns, and more. Most wore sheer black hoods that completely covered their faces, but a scattering went uncovered.

  With a shock, I recognized General Rutherford. And that Jotun looked like Admiral Stonegaze. This wasn’t an elaborate game, this was real all right.

  Caccamo’s revolution came full circle, back to the presiding officer who was now holding a mirror up in front of his face.

  “This is the person who will judge you with the most constant gaze of all,” she told him. “Will you do this person proud?”

  Caccamo studied his reflection. He looked a little less wrinkled and liverworted, but not much. I got the idea. By looking so intently at his reflection there could be no doubt in anyone experiencing this memory that the person who recorded it was indeed Caccamo.

  “I shall fill my oath and obligation to LISTS, to the Human Legion, and the principle of tolerance and liberty for which they stand. I shall exercise the terrible authority invested in me for the benefit of the greater good, and never for personal gain.”

  The presiding officer nodded solemnly. “Then it is my duty and honor to admit you to the LISTer ranks.” She cracked a grin and extended her hand. “About frakking time, you old bastard.”

  Caccamo clapped his hand over hers and they shook vigorously. “I despair of your generation’s impatience, Joiedeeve. You’ve only been working on me to join up for ten years.”

  “Twenty.”

  I could feel Caccamo shrugging. “What can I say?” he said in a tone that hinted at glorious debaucheries. “I’ve been busy having a good time.”

  Joiedeeve came up close to look deeply into Caccamo’s eyes. Freckles sprinkled the bridge of her nose and disappeared beneath her eyes, and it was just as well that she had a dusting of cuteness because in every other respect she appeared about as soft as an armor-piercing railgun dart.

  Still up close and personal, the officer made me jump when she addressed me directly. “To anyone accessing these memories you should accept them as Laban Caccamo’s bona fides. Know also that if you mess with our man here, you frakk with the entire Human Legion. So don’t even think about it.”

  Her fierce stare held me in place for an age before I realized that the memory recording had finished. I pulled out the memory wafer and returned with a start into Caccamo’s shed.

  “By Horden’s hairy ass, you’re a frakking secret agent.”

  Caccamo raised an eyebrow in acknowledgment. “Indeed. Secret code phrases and gadgets. The works. It is abundantly cool but with one massive drawback. Being secret, I can’t dine out on it, and I can’t show off as much as I deserve to.”

  I remembered the cryptic note my Revenge Squad instructor at Camp Prelude had given to me before dispatching me to Port Zahir. Viktor Denisoff was his name, and he’d been digging up dirt on the Cabal. He’d told me to trust Caccamo. “Is Denisoff a LISTer?”

  “Perhaps. There are others on the planet. There are also walls of secrecy, a cell structure. I can’t tell you even if I wished to. NJ, will you listen to me now?”

  I hesitated. Caccamo had just beaten me over the head repeatedly with revelations, but did they change anything?

  “Yes, sir. You have official influence. Roger that. I’m a dumb drellock who hasn’t a clue what’s going on, and if I don’t pay attention to my betters, I’m going to run headlong into a minefield that will get us all killed. Roger that too. All that has brought you five minutes of my attention. Then I’m going to get out of here and kill Mayor Dutch.”

  — CHAPTER 13 —

  “I’ve bad news for you,” Caccamo told me, and he did, indeed, sound grim.

  “I don’t want news,” I replied as he put a comradely arm around my shoulders. “I want a workable plan.”

  I blinked – my eyes suddenly blurry – and the next thing I knew, I was hanging from Caccamo’s support as he helped me stumble into the Slaughterhouse bullpen.

  He’d done it again!

  Whatever he’d done to me meant I had no knowledge of how to access his shed, but my head was clearing just in time to watch in horror as the room flooded with heavily armed police officers.

  Adrenaline surged. My muscles heated. Time hesitated as I took in the situation.

  None of that helped.

  The last time I’d seen the Port Zahir Police Department out in force, they’d had to borrow half their gear from Revenge Squad.

  They had no need for us now, and didn’t they know it?

  A bulky human police sergeant barked at everyone to kneel down with hands on heads or face the consequences of resisting arrest. He sounded hopeful at meeting resistance, but I was the only one displaying any fight. Everything incriminating seemed to have been secured away while I had been in the shed, and my bemused comrades reacted as if they had no idea the police would come visiting.

  One by one, those with the appropriate body parts dropped to their knees, including Silky and Nolog-Ndacu, even Caccamo.

  The old man glanced up at me and cocked an eyebrow, while police officers with military-spec assault carbines surrounded me.

  If Caccamo had expected his example to take the fight out of me, it backfired. He was a war hero, for frakk’s
sake. He’d done far more than obey orders and watch his friends’ backs under fire. Caccamo was one of the band of renegades who had made the hard choices that led to the Human Legion. He had mutinied in the name of liberty.

  Everyone here owed Caccamo a debt we could never repay, He should be treated with respect, even though he would detest such pedestal treatment.

  This wasn’t right.

  Only Qyn and Siyuk stopped my resentment turning into a full-blown death wish. The Littoranes tried to comply with police instructions, but their physiology was not suited to kneeling. They balanced on their knees – precariously top heavy – but their stubby arms defeated their attempts to place hands on heads. After floundering like drowning men, they pitched over, flat onto their bellies.

  “I protest,” I said, as I too dropped to my knees.

  Officers rushed in behind me.

  “Your instructions discriminate against non-humanoids,” I continued.

  My arms were cuffed behind my back.

  “I shall complain directly to Mayor Dutch.”

  The sergeant kicked me in the side of my ribs. It wasn’t a punishing blow, but enough to send me toppling over onto my side.

  “That’s funny,” he sneered. “The mayor has a complaint about you.” He shouted orders. “Bring this one and the snake head freak. The rest of you vigilante scum keep your mouths shut while we process you. Your time is over, you chodders. Mayor Dutch is going to bring law, order, and decency to Port Zahir whether it wants it or not. Revenge Squad is finished.”

  — CHAPTER 14 —

  There was almost a comforting familiarity at being arrested and sent to the main police station house on Themistocles Avenue.

  In fact, on my first day in Port Zahir, I’d been arrested and interrogated here by Captain Rachel Silverberg.

  She’d loathed me on sight, blackmailed me, and displayed a shocking lack of inclusiveness. Despite all that, I couldn’t hate her as much as she deserved because she was an honest cop. And that honesty had gotten her busted down to lieutenant and made her so many enemies in the force that I didn’t think lieutenant would prove the last stop on her descent down the ranks.