by Jake Bible
Angie was alone. And bleeding profusely from the stump that was her right leg.
She whipped off her belt and made a tourniquet. The pain almost made her pass out, but she fought it hard. She couldn’t afford to be unconscious. Not while the assassin was still out there.
Angie waited and after about five minutes, the sound of soft boots on plasticrete reached her ears. She watched them approach, slow, then stop at the end of the transport. The assassin knelt down and reached under the transport to drag Jorg’s mangled torso out. Angie could only see utility pants and gloved hands. Nothing distinguishing. The pants were generic, the gloves standard combat gloves that half a billion infantry troops and Fleet Marines brought back with them from the War.
Then the torso was out from under the transport and the assassin stood up. Angie watched the boots wait there for a minute or two. Then the assassin slowly walked off, Jorg’s blood dripping behind, leaving a nasty trail across the hangar for as far as Angie could see.
She didn’t hear a door open and close. No hatch unsealing or resealing. The assassin was simply no longer there after a while. Still, Angie waited another good half an hour before she attempted to crawl out from her hide.
The hangar was plastered in gore. There wasn’t a square meter that she could see where there wasn’t some being’s innards or blood. It hadn’t been only a hit. It was another message sent from the Willz Syndicate.
Except that itch was back and Angie wondered if she was wrong about Willz. That question bounced around in her head as the hangar was suddenly flooded with light and a Jafla PD tactical unit came rushing inside and straight for her as a second unit took up positions to secure the area.
Angie laughed. She’d witnessed a single assassin take out two FIS agents and a team of FIS shock troopers. The Jafla PD tactical units were only alive because they were late to the party and the host had already left.
Voices shouted down at her as people attended to her wound. The faces all swam together, all morphing into Etch Knowles’ face then Captain Jorg’s then Mess’a Tikk’s then Tipo S’lunn’s then back to Etch Knowles’.
“I’m sorry,” Angie whispered as she was lifted into an emergency med pod. That registered. She must have been hurt seriously if they were putting her directly into a med pod at the scene. Angie remembered something about her leg. Her right leg. It was all wrong. “I’m sorry.”
The med pod lid closed and a mist filled the space. Angie let that mist take her far, far away.
37.
The office had been repaired to its original state and Kalaka glanced around, nodding in approval.
“The place suits you,” he said, seated in front of the captain’s desk, his hands folded in his lap. “Could use some personal effects. Pictures of family, old Marine buddies, friends from previous assignments. That kind of stuff. Makes you more personable. The GVDs will relate better to you that way.”
“I don’t expect to be here long enough to care,” Angie said as she shifted uncomfortably in the Squad Captain’s chair behind the Squad Captain’s desk. Her chair, her desk now. “This is temporary.”
“You don’t believe that crap, McDade,” Kalaka said.
“Captain McDade.”
“We’ve been through the shit together, McDade. I’ll call you captain around the other GVDs, but in here, when it’s the two of us, you’re McDade. Shit, I might start calling you Angie, if I’m feeling cheeky.”
“Do that and you’ll lose those cheeks, asshole,” Angie said, but was smiling as she said it. “You chat with Gants yet?”
“No, not yet.”
“You’ve had six months, Kalaka,” Angie said. “Are you saying that while I was busy being told they couldn’t rebuild my leg and I’d have a cyber-prosthetic the rest of my life that you were too busy to do your job and talk with Gants? That’s what you’re telling me?”
“First day behind the desk and you’re already busting my gonads? Oh, yeah, you’ll fit in perfectly here at Jafla Squad. You’ve already found a groove. Shit on GVD Kalaka is in the Squad manual, I’m pretty fucking sure.”
“I didn’t ask for this gig.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“I was forced here or else. The else being fired with no pension and my record turned black.”
“No real choice.”
“Exactly. Yet, you know what?”
“I’m sure you’ll tell me.”
“I was still able to save your ass. Do you know why?”
“Because we shared a moment six months ago and you’re secretly in love with me?”
“Yes, that’s it exactly.”
“I thought so.”
“Want to know the real reason?”
“Is it because you know I’m corrupt as shit, but not on the take and you need someone to trust while we sort out who’s left and is still on the take?”
“And…?”
“Because of my connections with the syndicates here on Jafla can be useful even though no one from those connections are probably going to speak to me again?”
“And…?”
“All the Hells, McDade. Spit it out.”
“Because I am not convinced the Willz Syndicate was behind that whole mess six months ago. I have a sneaking suspicion it was Gants and the Collari the entire time. I don’t know why yet, though. I need to know why.”
Kalaka’s stomach dropped and he narrowed his eyes at Angie.
“You’re serious about me repairing my relationship with Gants,” Kalaka stated.
Angie nodded.
“You still owe favors,” Angie said. “And they haven’t killed you, so that means they will want those favors honored. Gants, and especially Schigg, still see value in you, Kalaka. I plan on exploiting that value as far as I can so I can get to the bottom of Knowles’ murder.”
Kalaka swallowed hard and returned the nod. “Yeah. I was afraid you were going to say that.”
“So, tell me why again that you wasted six months of opportunity to mend fences with Gants and his outfit?”
“Because I’m a coward that only cares about himself?”
“Nope. That moment we shared taught me you aren’t a coward and you aren’t that selfish.”
“Then my plan backfired. I was hoping for the opposite reaction.”
“You’re going to go have a chat with Gants and Schigg, Kalaka. Today.”
Kalaka brought up his chrono and grimaced. “Can’t today. I have a date this evening.”
“Then take her to the Club. Is it a her?”
“Not one hundred percent sure,” Kalaka admitted and grinned. “I forgot to ask what race she/he/it might be. Hot as all Hells, though, so who cares, right?”
“Take your date to the Club and have a sit down with Gants. If you can’t sit with Gants, then sit with Schigg. The man never leaves that bar, so you know where he’ll be.”
“I don’t have a choice in this, do I?”
“Just like I didn’t have a choice in being forced behind this fucking desk. Misery likes company, Kalaka. You want to be less miserable? Then make me less miserable. Get me answers.”
Kalaka thought on that. After a minute, he nodded up and down then shook his head back and forth before he said, “If you can’t beat ‘em, then join ‘em, right?”
Angie frowned.
“I don’t mean I’m joining Gants,” Kalaka said fast. “I mean that any intention I had at cleaning up my rep is on hold until I’m done with this. I’ll fix my shit with Gants.”
“Good,” Angie said.
“What kind of leeway are we talking?” Kalaka asked as he stood up. “I’m going to have to be somewhat my usual corrupt shit to make this work. This is undercover without the undercover. No fine line to be crossed. I’m walking the razor’s edge barefoot and every step is going to hurt like all the Hells.”
“No killing. No harm to other beings. And you don’t betray the Squad or the GV as a whole,” Angie stated. “Stay within those parameters and I’m giving you
full discretion on everything else.”
“Damn. That’s some solid leeway,” Kalaka said, surprised. “You sure you can authorize that?”
“Condition of my appointment to this post,” Angie said.
“Lu’Tes’Tu approved that? Wow.”
“Chokless.”
“Oh…” Kalaka replied as he let that revelation sink in. “This is Fleet level. Not Division.”
“I never said anything of the sort,” Angie said and activated a holo, turning away from Kalaka. “Now, get out and get to work, GVD Kalaka.”
“Yes, Captain.”
Kalaka left quickly. He’d gone into that office expecting to catch a whole ration of shit, but he never expected to walk out with an open-ended assignment to a Galactic Vice Fleet-level operation. That stomach-dropping feeling got worse as the implications hit him.
Kalaka said hello to those that greeted him as he crossed the Squad office. He cursed back at those that cursed him and quickly bantered with those that wanted to quickly banter. But it was all a daze as he worked his way out of the office and to the lift.
He remained in that daze on the ride down the lift. The doors opened and he almost didn’t see who was standing there.
“Hello, GVD Kalaka,” Poq said. “Off to serve justice to criminals?”
“Whatever you say, Poq,” Kalaka said, pushing past the android. He paused and turned around. Poq was stepping onto the lift along with half a dozen others that worked at various jobs in the municipal building. “Hey, Poq?”
“Yes, GVD Kalaka?” Poq responded.
“Welcome to the Jafla Squad. You’re going to do fine.”
Poq’s face was expressionless as he said, “Thank you for that. And good luck today on your hunt for justice.”
A million responses came to mind, but none of them made it to Kalaka’s lips before the lift doors closed. He stared at the closed doors for a few seconds then turned and walked across the wide lobby.
Outside, the day had turned a bright orange as the light through the dome was filtered through several meters of dust and sand. Kalaka looked up and squinted into the light of the oncoming storm. Then he closed his eyes and let the warmth from the light spread over his fur-covered skin.
“Move it, jackhole,” someone said and jostled him out of his reverie.
“Bite my dick,” Kalaka snapped back then shook his head and got himself together.
He stepped to the road and hailed a taxi as he activated a comm signature. Surprisingly, a roller pulled up almost immediately.
“Ellisa?” he asked when the comm was answered. “It’s Kalaka.”
“Where to?” the driver asked as Kalaka hopped into the rear seat of the roller.
Kalaka waved his wrist over the sensor on the back of the front seat and the driver grunted as the coordinates were loaded into the roller’s system. The taxi pulled out into traffic as Kalaka continued his comm call.
“Listen, maybe it’s too soon, but how do you feel about hitting the Club tonight? I know the bouncer and can get us in. I bet I can get us a nice table too, but if not, then I know there will be seats for us at the bar.”
Kalaka swallowed hard.
“The bartender and I are acquainted.”
He listened to the response and smiled.
“Good. Say ten? Any earlier and the Club will be dead. That too late for you?”
Kalaka nodded at the answer and turned to stare out the window as the taxi wove through afternoon traffic.
“Great. I’ll pick you up at ten. No, no, I’ll pick you up. Don’t want you standing alone outside the Club waiting for me. Plus, I look better with you on my arm when I walk up. See you at ten.”
He killed the comm and rested his head back on the seat.
“Big date? At the Club?” the driver asked. “I haven’t been there. Is it really as hard to get in as people say?”
“You have no clue, pal. Avoid the place if you can. It’s not worth the price.”
“Strange place to take a date then,” the driver muttered.
“Yeah. Yeah, it is.”
Kalaka took a couple deep breaths and closed his eyes for the rest of the ride, hoping his stomach would stop doing backflips. But he knew that it would be a long while before that happened. A long while…
The End
Read on for a free sample of Space Marine Ajax
Author Bio:
Jake Bible, Bram Stoker Award nominated-novelist, short story writer, independent screenwriter, podcaster, and inventor of the Drabble Novel, has entertained thousands with his horror, sci/fi, thriller, and adventure tales. He reaches audiences of all ages with his uncanny ability to write a wide range of characters and genres.
Jake is the author of the bestselling Z-Burbia series set in Asheville, NC, the bestselling Salvage Merc One, the Apex Trilogy (DEAD MECH, The Americans, Metal and Ash) and the Roak: Galactic Bounty Hunter series for Severed Press. He is also the author of the YA zombie novel, Little Dead Man, the Bram Stoker Award nominated Teen horror novel, Intentional Haunting, the ScareScapes series, and the Reign of Four series for Permuted Press, as well as Stone Cold Bastards and the Black Box, Inc. series for Bell Bridge Books.
Find Jake at jakebible.com. Join him on Twitter @jakebible and find him on Facebook.
Look for other novels in Jake’s Galactic Fleet universe:
Salvage Merc One
Salvage Merc One: The Daedalus System
Drop Team Zero
Outpost Hell
Roak: Galactic Bounty Hunter
Nebula Risen- A Roak: Galactic Bounty Hunter Novel
Razer Edge- A Roak: Galactic Bounty Hunter novel
TRENCH 16
The recon scouts had not returned and the defenders were instead met with an enemy force.
“Spores incoming!” bellowed the Watchman from his elevated vantage point on the hill just behind the earthen network of trenches. “Swarm advancing!”
Ajax cranked the knob of his respirator to maximum filtration the moment he heard the call, the training of countless artillery drills and endless hours of combat had made the action second nature to him. He then ejected the carbon magazine from his pulse rifle and tapped it against his helmet, settling the inert ammunition firmly in the casing, though functionally, it was more of a pre-battle ritual than a necessary action.
The marine thumbed the activator on the rifle and the weapon snarled to life in his hands, the unique sound of it echoing through the trench as dozens of other marines engaged in similar rituals.
After so many years of war, each soldier on the field had developed their own little ways of preparing for impending combat, each of their individual practices ending in the activation of their rifles.
The combined sound of so many weapons coming online was thrilling. Every soldier in Trench 16 felt the adrenaline pounding through their systems as they heard it. It was the sound of strength, of the power to take life, a burning fire in their hands to keep away the darkness that surged towards them.
With it ringing in his ears, Ajax found that he was not afraid. The marines were strong in their numbers, their weapons deadly in effect, and they held the high ground. In the back of his mind he knew that the horrific beasts that the marines had taken to calling ridgebacks were out there in the night, along with many other terrors, all of which wanted nothing more than to kill and consume every scrap of organic material on this pitiful forgotten planet. Ajax flexed his armored fingers around the grip of the rifle and took a slow, deep breath, knowing it would be the last easy one he’d have for a long while.
The other marines of Hydra Company that defended Trench 16 were taking up their fighting positions throughout the network. Most of them were rifles, like Ajax, though of the two hundred and fifty soldiers in the unit, there were several grenadiers as well.
One of the grenadiers, a man named Boone, stood next to Ajax on the right, his back against the reinforced dirt wall, tapping his fingers against the revolving cylinder of his ordinance l
auncher.
Rama, another rifle, climbed up from the bottom of the trench to join the other marines on the firing step near the top of the position.
“The Watchman has a keen eye tonight, usually we don’t have this much warning before impact,” observed Rama as he planted his feet and held his rifle to his shoulder, setting the wide-barrel on the shooting rest at the top of the trench so that he could crank the knob of his helmet’s filter. “We might get out of this brawl without any ragmen coming back to haunt us.”
“Your optimism is astounding, Rama,” snorted Boone. “There are always ragmen, but the warning did go up well in advance of impact, maybe there’ll just be a few this time.”
“Maybe the ridgebacks ate something that didn’t agree with them,” Ajax added with a hollow laugh. “Could be that the Watchman saw a muzzle flash.”
The marines shared a brief laugh, but were soon interrupted by the familiar whistling sound of incoming spores.
“Brace!” shouted the voices of several marines across the watch channel, and a moment later the first of the spores reached the trench.
There were LED stakes embedded in the ground and on the reinforced walls of the trench, giving enough ambient light for the marines to occupy their position without spotlighting any targets for the enemy that lurked in the darkness at the edges of the perimeter.
In the low light of the stakes, Ajax could see the semi-solid spore streak down from the sky and strike the trench wall opposite the marine.
The Garm ordinance was more like a hardened sack that was ejected with tremendous force from a barrel-like orifice that jutted up from the spine of the ridgebacks. When the sack struck the wall, it burst apart, spewing its contents in all directions.
The spores reminded Ajax of the heavy mists he had experienced in his youth, in some far away country on distant Earth. The spore cloud filled the trench but the marines had enough warning to crank their filters so the spores could only cling to the armor of the marines in hopes of a breach.
