by S M Briscoe
“There’s no way I was tracked,” he concluded. “Durak isn’t that subtle. I would have seen them coming from a light year away.”
“Well, they’re here, aren’t they?” she retorted.
“Maybe it is just a routine patrol,” Kern suggested.
Jarred and Sierra both turned to look at Kern, incredulously.
“It’s possible,” he defended himself.
“And I guess the ship alarm is just a coincidence?” Sierra asked, as she moved towards the door with her disruptor raised, reaching out for the control pad. “We’ve got to get Orna out of here.” She punched the control pad and the door slid open to reveal a number of large Gnolith soldiers with plasma rifles at the ready, snarling back at her. Troops were moving back and forth behind them, securing the halls and other living modules.
Jarred’s growing anger and frustration with the situation had him more than ready to draw arms and unleash fury bolts of super charged energy at the familiar faces through the door, but that wouldn’t get him or anyone else out of here alive. It would probably be best to ride this one out and see where things went. If they were here for Orna, then they might just simply take her and that would be the end of it. Though he didn’t wish the strange being any ill will, he had no intention of sticking his neck out for her . . . again.
There was, of course, the possibility that they could decide to just arbitrarily exterminate everyone in the room and possibly the entire residence, eliminating all witnesses to the account. He had seen it done before, but his instincts still told him to wait.
Besides, if things went the bad way, he could always go back to his first option of burning some holes through a few of these troops before meeting his fate.
* * *
Durak was by far, the largest Gnolith Elora had ever seen, a fact that was greatly accentuated as he stood over Orna, glaring down at the much smaller being with a look that she couldn’t quite place, but seemed somewhere between curiosity and disgust. He seemed genuinely intrigued by Orna and yet his distaste for her was obvious, for whatever reason, Elora did not know.
All of the residence’s occupants, impoverished refugees from what she could tell, had been gathered into a large lobby area where they were ident scanned, and now sat huddled in crowded groups, being closely watched by their Sect guards. Once Orna had been identified, it had only taken a few minutes for the High Commander to arrive in person.
Elora noticed another small being, his noseless face, full dark lips and pointed ears identifying him as a Trill, lurking just behind Durak. He was eying the room’s occupants with a look of anticipation that caused a shiver to run up her spine. Her mind flashed back to an image of the bulk freighter that had been at the wasteland outpost, and she suddenly had the uncanny feeling that it and this Trill were somehow connected. What she could be certain of was the fact that he was not part of the military. It was no secret that Trills were, by nature, a greedy, credit oriented race that would sell their own kin if it meant making a profit. The fact that he was here now, in this room packed full of faceless refugees, who no one would miss if they simply disappeared, left a bad taste in her mouth.
Slavery was supposed to be outlawed, but every refugee knew that any law would be overlooked if the price was right, and since no one would miss them, refugees were an obvious target.
The thought of being sold into slavery didn’t sit very well with Elora and her mind began to race with possible ways of Ethan and herself escaping the fate, with their freedom and lives intact. She knew of course that Jarred, the man standing next to her, was their only real hope of making it out with either, but right now he seemed far less occupied with escaping than with observing the interaction between Orna and the High Commander. She turned back to them as well at hearing Durak’s low, rumbling voice as he finally began to speak.
“So, this is the elusive heretic,” began the High Commander. “I have been looking forward to meeting the infidel who has caused the Gods so much discomfort.” He eyed Orna for a moment, almost skeptically. “Having finally met you, I am curious as to how one so frail could constitute such a threat.” He leaned in to stare at her, menacingly. “You have lead me on quite a chase. I must admit to you that I am most tempted to crush your thin neck now where you stand, but it would seem the Gods have Their own plans for you. You will return to Gaia, where you will bare witness to the coming Awakening, and I shall be present when you are sacrificed in honor of the Gods’ return.”
Durak’s gaze remained on Orna for a long moment before he finally turned to look in Elora’s direction, focusing in on Sierra and Kern who were standing close by. “These are the conspirators?” he asked of an officer standing close by.
“Yes, High Commander,” the officer answered, stepping forward. “They were positively linked to the target vessel given to us by your . . . informant. The officer spared a glance towards the Trill who was still standing behind Durak.
The High Commander glared at Sierra and Kern. “Our interrogators are anxious to meet you. They have many questions about your . . . organization. Questions they will enjoy extracting from you.”
Elora grimaced at what that might imply, but was amazed by Sierra’s look of defiance. If it weren’t for the scores of troops that were spread over the room, she guessed the dangerous looking woman would be trying to claw the Gnolith’s eyes out.
“What of the rest?” Durak asked, his gaze falling on Elora, where Jarred and Ethan also stood.
“The female and child are tagged refugees, like the others here,” the officer answered.
“And this one?” the High Commander prodded, his harsh eyes falling on Jarred.
“His scan identified him as a bounty hunter.”
Elora felt like a small child as Durak took a step in her direction to stand in front of Jarred, and she pulled Ethan in close to her. Somehow, the massive Gnolith seemed to grow even larger. She couldn’t imagine how Jarred felt as the High Commander glared down at him, dwarfed like everyone else in the room. Suddenly the possibility of escape, even with Jarred’s help, seemed to evaporate before her.
“A bounty hunter?” Durak echoed, eyeing Jarred curiously.
“His hunting permit is legitimate, sir,” the officer replied, responding to Durak’s unasked question.
Durak kept his eyes locked on Jarred. “The Hunters’ Guild’s services have been greatly beneficial to us in the past. We could have used them here.” Durak leaned in closer to Jarred and his voice became a rumbling growl. “You are the one who evaded us on the Soltan moon . . . aided the heretic in her escape . . . killed my soldiers and destroyed my ships? You have caused me a great deal of aggravation, bounty hunter.”
For a long moment, it looked as if Durak would kill Jarred with his own hands, when another of his officers approached and saluted, waiting to be acknowledged.
Durak’s gaze stayed on Jarred. “What is it, lieutenant?”
“Sir,” the lieutenant began. “Communique from the command station. Your guests have arrived and . . . request your immediate presence.”
Durak’s expression darkened as he seemed to gaze off, straight through Jarred at nothing in particular, and Elora noticed only the faintest of facial twitches as his lip curled up into a snarl. Finally, he spun around and marched back towards his officers and the Trill, barking orders as he went.
“Take the heretic and conspirators to my command ship,” he demanded. “And prepare my shuttle. I will go to meet with our guests. I won’t have them claiming responsibility for this capture.” He stared down at the Trill.
“You will accompany me.” It didn’t seem to be a request.
“What of the others, sir?” the officer from earlier asked.
“Traug can take them,” Durak began, glancing briefly at his officer before returning his gaze to the Trill. “Along with the rest. To compensate in full for his services.”
Elora suddenly went cold at the statement and she realized that her suspicions about the nature of the myst
erious Trill, Traug the High Commander had called him, were correct. She immediately turned to Jarred for some sign of reassurance that he had a way out of this. He had to have a plan of some sort. He had to. Jarred looked back at her, but she received none of the reassurance she sought.
“And the bounty hunter?” the officer inquired of the High Commander.
Durak glanced over his shoulder at Jarred. “Kill him,” he ordered dismissively, turning to leave the room.
Elora looked up at Durak, her eyes widening at the order, and watched in horror as the officer took a step forward, drew his sidearm and fired. She turned in time to see Jarred fall backwards from the blast and crumble to the ground beside her, motionless, steam rising from the black scorch mark on his chest, accompanied by the nauseating smell of burned flesh.
Everything seemed to slow down as Durak and his officers marched from the room, soldiers stepping forward to round up the terrified refugees that filled the lobby, their cries of despair a distant echo in her ears. She stared down in disbelief at the man who had been her rescuer and was suddenly overtaken by despair.
Jarred was gone, and with him, any hope she had of survival.
Chapter 11
Sierra’s blood was boiling.
How could the Sect have uncovered their mission? They had planned every detail of the operation meticulously for months after being contacted by Orna. It was coordinated in total secrecy, only the highest levels of their intelligence faction being involved. Kam and Meera, two of their best operatives, had been chosen to bring Orna out from deep within the Sect infrastructure, traveling discreetly as refugees. They would change refugee freighters at numerous ports, all prearranged, to finally rendezvous with Kern and herself here, where they would complete the extraction.
She and Kern had been tracking Kam and Meera’s movements since having first set out, confirming each freighter’s departure and arrival as scheduled. Everything seemed to be going as planned and yet somehow they had been ambushed. At first, she had thought Jarred may have been involved, leading the Sect here and using Orna to draw Kern and herself out, but now he was dead, which suggested his story was true.
According to his account, the freighter Kam and Meera were supposed to arrive on had apparently broken down and landed short of Solta, on Isyss. Obviously, the Sect had orchestrated the early landing, since that was where they had attempted their first capture of Orna, which meant they hadn’t discovered the plot until then, otherwise they would have sprung their trap sooner.
Even so, that first attempt had failed due to Jarred’s interference at the Isyss outpost and the Sect had then tracked him here . . . or had they? Jarred had seemed so sure that they hadn’t, and even if he was wrong, that didn’t explain how they had managed to locate her docked ship. That fact alone suggested Durak somehow already knew where to find them. If he did, that meant that the Sect knew about their mission to bring Orna in, which wasn’t a stretch considering her suggested importance. Had they been on to the operation from the beginning, allowing Kam and Meera to bring her as far as they did? The only other possibility was that they had been given up, and if that were true it meant that somewhere within their faction there had to be a leak, a possibility that did not sit well with her at all.
Sierra felt a shove from behind and glared back at the soldier urging her forward with his rifle. They had been escorted, along with all of the refugee residents, up to the building’s docking platform where a number of Sect transports and a hover tram were waiting. Durak’s shuttle was just preparing to lift off with its patrol craft escort, to meet with whomever it was that had summoned him. For the life of her, Sierra couldn’t think of who would possibly have the authority to summon the High Commander, but it must have been someone important considering how his mood had changed upon hearing the news of their arrival, and how quickly he had departed afterwards.
Returning her attention to the landing deck, she watched as all of the refugees were being loaded into the cars of the hover tram, the boarding being supervised by the small Trill who had been at Durak’s side in the tavern lobby.
Traug. She knew his face. He brokered deals for one of the system’s largest development corporations, which dealt in everything from commercial and military ship and weapons contracts, to planetoid construction and terraforming. It had struck her as odd that someone of his high corporate stature would be present for this sort of siege, unless he had something substantial to gain from it. As the tram across the deck continued filling up with potential free labor, her questions on the matter were put to rest. She concluded that he was somehow, at least partially, responsible for leading the Sect to them and Orna, but how and to what extent, she did not know. In any case, she owed him one. Those faceless refugees now being stuffed into the hover tram were obviously some kind of payment from Durak to him, the idea of which only infuriated her more.
Sierra noticed the woman and boy who had been traveling with Jarred being herded into one of the tram cars with the remainder of the refugees. She felt bad for them, having been dragged into this mess, but there wasn’t anything she could do for them now. They would be taken off to one of the numerous manufacturing plants or mining stations throughout the system and forced into a life of expense free, slave labor. She grimaced at the thought and watched as Traug walked away from his new slave acquisitions to join Durak aboard his shuttle, and promised herself that, if she survived, she would make the time to pay him back for his part in all of this.
* * *
Jarred’s limp body was dragged through one of the, now abandoned, living block’s corridors by one of two Sumarian soldiers. The second followed further behind the first, examining the possessions he had seized from the dead bounty hunter.
He came to a stop as they rounded a bend in the corridor that led to the level’s disposal chute and grumbled for his counterpart to continue on while he waited. Being superior in rank to the other soldier, he felt it beneath him to handle this type of grunt work and had assumed a supervisory role in the matter, letting his inferior carry and dispose of the body.
While waiting, he continued inspecting the bounty hunter’s belongings, which he had of course claimed for himself. Another benefit of his rank. He looked over each of the numerous firearms, knives and grenades, stuffing them all into the pouches on his utility belt. Finally, he held the bounty hunter’s sheathed sword out in front of himself, pulling the short weapon free with his free hand. Examining the blade for a moment, he pressed the hilt’s actuator, causing it’s segments to shift and snap back into place, elongating the weapon’s overall length. Grunting to himself, he attempted a few unskilled swings, cutting the air clumsily. Such a weapon would do him no good in a fire fight and would violate proper soldier armament protocols, but he knew a number of antique vendors who would pay handsomely for it.
He heard a loud thud from down the hall and grunted impatiently for his counterpart to hurry up. Receiving no response, he stepped around the corner and was stunned and more than a bit confused to see the dead bounty hunter, instead of his counterpart, staring back at him.
Before he could do anything, the human moved in a blur of motion, striking him with something, and his body suddenly became numb and cold. He glanced down at the sword handle that was protruding from his chest armor and then to his empty hand which had only a moment earlier been holding it.
The confusion remained as his vision faded to black and in his last, dying moments, he found himself wondering how the dead bounty hunter had managed to move so quickly.
* * *
Jarred looked down at the blackened hole burned through the center of his vest, poking two fingers into the tender, scorched flesh of his wound. It was healing rapidly, but the plasma blast had still been enough to knock him unconscious. A few inches higher and he wouldn’t have been so lucky.
He had awoken only a moment before being shoved through the door of a disposal chute, the two Sect troopers who had been unlucky enough to be the ones trying to put h
im down it, taking his place instead. Durak obviously hadn’t wanted to leave a dead body behind as one more question for the local authorities to ask, and a murdered citizen with a legitimate working license would have raised a few. Not like the disappearance of a couple hundred nameless refugees.
He made his way discreetly out of the refugee block, finding the corridors and all of its living quarters deserted, as he had expected them to be. Durak had captured his quarry, so the Trill had obviously received his payment, confirming Jarred’s suspicions about his involvement in the sieges.
Coming to one of the building’s rear exits, he carefully surveyed the area for any sign of Sect activity. Finding none, he quickly moved out onto the busy walkway, blending into the crowds of pedestrians. Glancing upwards to the roof of the residential block, he spotted a number of small Sect troop transports with patrol escorts and a four car cargo tram just starting to depart. He imagined the tram would be packed, wall to wall, with the block’s unfortunate residents.
Jarred’s mind flashed to an image of Elora and Ethan mixed in with all the other refugees and the fate that awaited them. Cringing, he shook the thought from his mind. There wasn’t anything he could do for them now and dwelling on it wasn’t going to change that fact. He was lucky to have made it out of the whole mess with his own life and didn’t intend on risking it again.
Orna was no longer his problem, he had no more unwanted passengers, and a brand new ship was docked and waiting for him to get back to what he was doing before meeting any of them. From one point of view, he was actually better off for everything that had happened, coming out ahead with the new transport, though he would have to return it to Taliss at some point, with Mac in tow if he wanted to survive the exchange. He should have felt good, or at least better about the way things had turned out for him, but for some reason he couldn’t shake the hollow, cold feeling that was growing in the pit of his stomach.
