Jethro 3: No Place Like Home

by Chris Hechtl

  He popped around a corner long enough to throw more improvised weapons. He used cutting wheels to make some duck. One assassin wasn't fast enough though, a wheel hit him in face, another assassin caught a wheel in the crotch. The panther's enhanced strength made the wheel embedded half way into the first guy's face, killing him in a welter of gore as he flew back and then flopped to the ground. The other guy bent over, screaming. The Asian woman pushed him over in disgust and then stepped on his neck, snapping it with a deft twist of her ankle.

  Meanwhile, Jethro cut down the Veraxin assassin at the alien's joints. The bug immediately began to bleed out, clutching at his limbs in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding. Before he died he pulled out a control and activated a weapons drone on a cradle under a tarp. Jethro noted the led's coming on and took it out by smashing its optics with a thrown heavy object before it could get out of its cradle. It spun about and went wild, then crashed, smashing the Veraxin into gore.

  Taking the bot out exposed the panther, however. It had been calculated; he had to take it out because it had posed the greatest threat. The Asian female flicked her whip. He ducked the leather cord, but the tip snagged him on the back. He cringed, expecting pain but something else hit him like heat and then ice throughout his nervous system, then something else. Something ominous, something he recognized he hated.

  She'd hit him with some sort of patch on his neck. The mechanical thing was some sort of a clip device that pinched his fur and skin on back of his neck, kicking his instincts in to curl into a fetal ball. Despite his intelligence he was trapped.

  “He's down,” the woman said with a growl. “You can get up now,” she said, straightening.

  “Damn, the butcher's bill is heavy with this one,” one of the assassins said.

  “You expected anything less?” Another said. “Come on, phase two. We've got a closing window,” he said.

  “I always hate a fair fight,” the first grumbled, but he stuck to his zone and moved in warily.

  “Do we take the DNA samples now? Can we transport him like that?” One of the assassins asked.

  “You promised I'd be in to see him die,” Miller growled, cradling his arm. “Do it. Do it now. Damn this hurts,” he snarled.

  “You can take the samples after you've secured him better. I honestly didn't think that would work so well,” the woman said, looking at the dead therapist. “Huh,” she said shaking her head. “I'll have to remember that trick. It's nice, but well, sort of cheating,” she mused.

  “Cheating hell, did you see what he did to Ozzie?” One of the assassins growled, coming over to her side.

  “Why aren't you killing him? Why the hell do you need his DNA? Hell, why bother at all?” Miller demanded. The assassins didn't answer, just smirked at him. They were good; the remaining two covered the doors after a moment. Most likely to keep anyone from walking into their little party Jethro realized.

  “Miller shut up,” Baker snarled. “You ask too many stupid questions,” he growled.

  “You shut it; I wasn't talking to you,” Miller said, eyes flashing with hate as he looked at the cat. “I'll do it,” he said picking up a hammer with his good hand.

  “No one will kill him,” the lead assassin said, holding a restraining arm out to keep him from passing. “This one will serve his purpose. He'll be put on trial, then given his summary judgment. That must be witnessed by the guild to prevent others from talking out of turn again,” she growled.

  The Reaper took her goggles off and tossed them aside. She shook her short black hair out. He looked into her eyes and saw empty pitiless death. She had doll eyes, black china doll eyes like a shark he'd seen. Lifeless and cold with deadly purpose. He knew now, knew that the others were as good as dead.

  Miller snuffled, angry and cradling his arm. The Asian tisked, tisked. “Oh, you're hurt,” she said in a motherly voice dripping with concern and sympathy. “Let me take a look at that,” she said almost lovingly. One hand reached for him.

  “No, I've got it. Stay away,” he said, backing up. He pulled it out, grimacing in pain. She kept coming closer. “I said stay the fuck away!” He snarled. When he brandished the screwdriver she stabbed him in the gut with a stiletto she had kept up her sleeve. The assassin's tool slid into his body, but his twisting away marred her kill. His eyes went wide as his body slumped.

  “Wait! This wasn't part of the plan!” Baker said, eyes wide in fright, hands up. “I didn't sign on for this!” He said, drawing attention to himself from the Reaper.

  Miller realized he was a dead man, so he tried to run. “You promised I'd get to see him die! That was the deal!” He snarled, dropping the hammer to clutch at the wound in his stomach. He got three steps.

  He shouldn't have said anything Jethro realized; it drew attention to him. He was cut down for his trouble, chopped in the back of the head by an assassin and then double tapped in the back of the head. His body convulsed and then bled out.

  The Reaper turned to look at the body. She smirked, and then poked the body with the toe of her shoe before she moved on, daintily avoiding the spreading pool of blood around his body.

  Baker whimpered, begged and pleaded, “I did everything you wanted! Everything!” He said, hands up. His eyes darted about, looking for help or sympathy from the others. None was forthcoming.

  “Yes, you've been a good little boy,” the Asian purred. One of her men chuckled. She looked over to him with a look, and he shut up abruptly. She reached out, gently touching the man as he froze. “Shhh...” The woman shushed him lovingly, stroked his cheek with the back of her fingers.

  He babbled on about how he helped Walker and Madra, gave them what they wanted. “The shuttles, the information, I can still be of use!” he babbled. Jethro could smell the man's urine dampening his pants.

  “I never said a word,” he said, shaking his head frantically no. “That dumb broad Nancy, Fernando, the information I've passed on all these years. The bitch I set up that had helped set up what's his name...Madra's link to the Horathians...” He shook his head frantically. “I'll never say anything.”

  “I know,” the woman crooned lovingly, eyes cold. “You won't, will you.” She let the flicker of hope reach his eyes briefly before she smiled cruelly. “But you've served your purpose. Walker said no loose ends,” she said conversationally. He pushed a barrel at her but she flicked him with her whip. He screamed as it went across his eyes blinding him. Blood and tissue gushed as he wailed about his eyes and the pain.

  She whipped him a second time. His body spasmed as he shrieked and collapsed. She kicked him, and he rolled, trying to protect his face with his hand. He laid face down, sobbing. She knelt on his back and grabbed his hair. He sobbed.

  “I'd make it quick but, really, that's not my thing,” she murmured. She wrapped the leather whip around his throat and slowly strangled him, softly telling him over and over to just give it up. His hands clawed at the thing around his neck slowing taking the life away from him. Finally he shook and then collapsed. She stroked his forehead and then let him down. Then she unwrapped the cord. She tasted her finger tips, shuddering. “Tears, oh so gooood,” she said softly. She licked her lips.

  Once the assassins were certain the neck pinch had worked to force Jethro into immobility they seemed to relax. Jethro knew it was his time; he'd not get another chance. The panther's legs and arms were curled though, his tail curled between legs. It was hard to move, impossible. He could think though. He knew it wasn't tonic immobility, but the damn ancient hard wired instincts that had kicked in. He knew his implants were recording everything. He also knew they would have to destroy him, most likely with a molecular furnace. He programmed his implants to upload everything the moment he hit a Wi-Fi hot spot.

  Bast raged at him to move with yowls, but he couldn't answer. He tried to respond to her, but she was frantic, not understanding why he couldn't move.

  Jethro raged at the helpless feeling. He tried to fight it. Manage to overcome it enough to roc
k side to side as the Reaper woman strangled the traitor. He twisted his head enough to brush the clip on the back of his neck loose. Bast was confused, but realized what he was attempting to do. She interfaced with his nervous system, and one hand moved on its own violation to reach up and take it off.

  The Reaper noticed he was moving out of the corner of her eye. She turned in a flash, whip snapping to him. The other assassins turned as well, but they didn't have the right angle. One moved to get around the table but her whip snapped forcing him back.

  Miss Persephone whipped Jethro over and over, striking him in the face, his body, arms and legs as he writhed in pain under her torture. The first blow had blinded him. He curled to protect his vitals and tried to roll to cover but she kept after him, moving with him.

  “You are a piece of work aren't you? So pathetic, sniveling there. So disappointing. I think I'm glad you didn't turn out like your father. He'd be so disappointed at how weak you are,” she said, ranting at him. She slashed at him again, making him writhe under the assault. “You should have done what you were told, finished what your father started, killed Horatio Logan. You know the rules.”

  She tisked, tisked as one of her cronies knocked over a stool. She turned, momentarily distracted. Jethro felt the whip on his back, resting there. “It's sad really, that you went into the light. That you went over to the wrong side. And you talked, which was a serious no-no,” she said shaking her head. “Oh, such a bad kitty,” she murmured. He felt the whip move off him and turned. He put an arm up to try to protect his face. She laughed at him.

  “My whip is a tool,” she murmured, crouching as she coiled it. “It's an extension of me, a tool my family has treasured these centuries. An antique really, over a thousand years old. I love it dearly. It can read my thoughts, with a thought I can reshape it or just the tip, turning it from a thin molecular blade to a chain saw or a mace. All at my whim,” she said, voice changing as she watched him.

  She took a deep breath and then let it out slowly. “It's soo...I don't know, intoxicating to know you have someone's life in your hands, don't you agree? To just feel their pulse, feel it slow...so satisfying when you hear the crunch or when they stop breathing. When you see the life just fading in their eyes. It's...orgasmic. I am embarrassed to admit, but I do get off on it,” she said with a wicked smile. She played with it in her hands, pretending to use it like a garret or flick it.

  He struck out with his hind leg but missed. His claws skittered against the metal, sounding like nails on a chalk board. She smirked. “It's really elegant you know, better, in some ways your style too I suppose,” she said in a little girl's voice as he wrapped his tail around a stool and flung it towards her.

  “My my, temper temper,” she teased mockingly. “I am supposed to take you alive; as a general rule, we like those who have betrayed the guild to suffer in front of witnesses. I do so like to play with my food, a failing I know. I've always been a sadist; it's such a rush to do what I do. You really should love your work right? I so enjoy it. But a professional, well, you know all about that don't you?” She asked whimsically. “A pro, a pro keeps themselves out of the work. They make the kill quick and clean, much like a predator. Not messy and long. It keeps the prey from causing trouble while they struggle, and reduces the chances of some busy body coming by.” She shrugged.

  “Now me, I don't like messy, but I do so much like to savor my kills. To make them suffer. It's a failing I know, but a sadist does need to get her kicks anyway she can I suppose,” she smirked.

  “But a traitor, a traitor like you deserves a long drawn out death.” She smiled cruelly. “Like that stupid slut Nancy, she'd thought blackmailing Walker would work. What a mistake. He had paid heavily to make her suffer a looong time before she died. That was fun. I haven't killed a pregnant woman in a long time. The way she begged...” she sucked in a greedy breath, sounding almost orgasmic as her eyes lit with fire.

  “We've got something special planned for you traitor. I'm going to enjoy it. That way you'll serve as a warning to others who would think to betray the brotherhood.” He snarled, lashing out again. “But, I suppose you are too dangerous to keep alive. They'll have to get over their disappointment,” she said as her little girl's voice faded into cold purpose.

  She whipped him, cutting and tormenting him. He caught the whip and wrapped it around his hand. She activated the molecular blade and cut him but he managed to wrap it around a leg of a chair. She snarled. “Going to be difficult. Fine. I can use a poison, I love those. I'm a master of them. Fernando learned that the hard way,” she said with a smirk. “Pity he didn't live long enough to truly...appreciate my efforts on his behalf. But the client did want it to be quick and quiet.”

  “Why?” Jethro snarled blindly. He could see through his implants to a degree, but the black outfit she was wearing fogged her image out somewhat. Only when she was close could he see her. He realized he needed to practice patience.

  “Why does a client ever want something done?” The woman replied with a shrug. She examined her nails briefly. “Damn, I broke one. You'll pay for that,” she said voice going from cool and professional to cold and angry in a second.

  “You are insane,” Jethro snarled.

  Miss Persephone shrugged theatrically. “Not insane, gifted. I'm the best little kitty; you should have realized that by now. I'm the number one in the system!” She said with a lazy grin. “And don't get me started on those worms I had to step on to get here. It's a pity your sire, Jet, never got the chance to keep you on the right path. Though, I am glad in a way, I'd always wanted to take one of you panthers down. A nice little trophy,” she said. “Maybe I'll use a tooth as a necklace? Or your balls?” she said, voice darkening.

  “Don't you know? The female of the species is always more dangerous than the male,” she teased.

  Jethro felt like his body was on fire, but it took him a moment to realize why. It wasn't pain, his implants were dealing with that. He felt a flash each time the whip cut him, but then it cooled. That was a problem he knew, but one for later...if there was a later.

  No this new pain was something else he realized, then noted the nanites in his body had activated. Jethro realized he could see to some degree; he could see the bullwhip as it changed form. He moved, dodging a three-tailed strike in time. Bast directed his attention to the window.

  Bast had gone berserk when Jethro had been attacked. She didn't know what she could do to help but scrambled to do something. She sent text messages to the authorities but found them blocked. She sent others to the military but none responded. Eventually she did the one thing she could think of to help him, call their armor. She noted the porthole to the station exterior. She formed a packet of nanites around his implant antenna and focused it on the window. She gathered her reserve power and punched a signal through to the suit, a scream for help.

  The suit came alive, coming together and then slamming the arms around it as it broke out of the armory. Its break out alerted others that something was wrong. Marines scrambled. “Oh hell, not again,” a private said, backing hastily up. “Someone...”

  “I'm here,” a gruff Tauren said. “Bast, stand down,” the Sergeant ordered. “Someone locate the Gunny. Get him here ASAP,” he ordered over his shoulder.

  The suit waved a hand. He turned back to it. “We'll get him here,” he said. Bast shook the suits helmet in a No. She growled, then sounded an alarm klaxon as she directed the suit to the nearest lock.

  “I'm guessing that's a no,” the private said. “Something's wrong, we can't find the Gunny.”

  “He was last reported on Anvil,” Ensign Barry said from the overhead. Bast looked up and shot data to the other AI.

  “Incoming file. The Gunny is under attack. I have a location. We need to get to him fast,” the AI said, voice dropping into a cool professional tone. “Dispatching the nearest Marines on the station and alerting station security now,” he said. “Bast, we're coming, stay alive. Keep him alive,” h
e said. “Alert medical he's injured,” the AI ordered. Bast yowled, still running to the lock. When she got there she paused. Unfortunately, the suit was in the Annex, not Anvil. That was a serious problem she realized. They were running out of time, and she didn't know what else to do.

  Jethro's implants dealt with the increasing damage to his body. Nanites formed an armor over the vitals of his body under his skin. They also healed some of the damage, clearing away some of the pain and allowing him to breathe. It felt like ants under and all over his skin.

  He changed tactics; he focused on Bast's objective, to go for something in room that could harm them as a group. Of course it would do harm to him too, possibly fatal.

  “Bast help,” he said, struggling to breathe, to think. It was hard, even though his implants were dealing with a lot of the pain and the lack of air, he still found it hard to think.

  “Bast?” The woman mocked. “There is no one to help you,” she laughed, tightening her grip. “I should cut your head off now,” she growled.

  Bast looked at him with pleading eyes, unsure what to do. Jethro's eyes cut to the robots in the room. He looked at each of them, waving a hand. There were robotic arms, drones and other mechs in the room. “Take your pick,” he gasped out.

  The cleaners arrived. They flinched at the mess. The woman looked over her shoulder with cold eyes. “Shut the damn hatch!” The Asian said over her shoulder to them. “You're early,” she growled, eyes returning to her prey.

  “You're late,” the leader replied setting his tool kit down. “We need to get this done now.”

  “Fine then, start over there; I'm almost done here,” she said with a smirk.

  “You should have gassed him,” One of the cleaners commented. “Done it right. There is a lot of breakage here. It's not like the old times when we could just kick them out into space. We're going to have a hell of a time getting all this to the nearest molecular furnace you know,” he complained.