Master Sergeant

by Mel Odom

  “I’m sure I’m not running from that man.” Kos watched the club’s front door. He opened his jacket and loosened the Rudra Tech plasma burster in his holster, then pulled on special gloves that linked with his suit. Wires crawled from his jacket sleeves to seal the gloves seamlessly to them, then more joined those to reinforce the gloves. His suit was an advanced design from DawnStar’s fall fashion line and sported interlocking nano-armor weave that was something short of a powersuit. Kos played the corp man for the most part, but he didn’t stint when it came to personal weapons. Rudra Tech made excellent armament.

  Kiernan reached for his glass and finished off his drink. He was a corp drinker, swilling only DawnStar’s best. Tall and lean, but only because his nanobot-modified metabolism kept him from putting on extra weight, Kiernan looked both impressive and nonthreatening, a model specimen for the public-relations division. His brown hair was carefully coiffed and his skin held an unmistakable glow in spite of the fact that he was a heavy drinker, enjoyed drugs, and did nothing to take care of himself. His gold one-piece suit stood out in the club.

  Two beautiful women, one on either side of him, sat quietly, awaiting his attentions. They were the best in their particular fields too, and their scant clothing left little to the imagination. Kiernan had originally brought six women and two male counterparts with him. The others were now off with clients he’d been talking business with.

  “I heard this guy just survived an ambush out in the jungle that your people had set up for him.” Kiernan set his empty glass back on the table. “I’d say he’s pretty good at what he does.”

  “He was lucky.” Kos ignored the PR man and focused on the door. He subvocalized commands to the six bashhounds inside the club, calling them over from their various pursuits but telling them to give Sage room to move. Kos was interested in learning what Sage had planned, and in how far the sergeant would go. Kos didn’t plan on dying, but he would give Sage enough rope to hang himself.

  Kos intended to kill the man if the opportunity presented itself. He should have killed him two nights ago. The encounter in the Azure Mist still rankled Kos’s pride. No one in DawnStar’s sec forces dared stand up to Kos, and the man intended to keep it that way. The fact that the Terran sergeant had walked away from the encounter unscathed might send the wrong message.

  Not only that, but watching Frank Sage in action that night had revealed that the sergeant was a threat. Anyone who could move like that, take on those kinds of odds without blinking and come out on top, was either courting death or entirely convinced of his own prowess. Either way, Kos had resented the orders he’d gotten that night to allow Sage to walk away.

  His superior, Zahid Karzai, had ordered Kos to stand down instead of engaging Sage that night, thinking he was preventing the debacle from becoming worse. DawnStar liked to operate under the guise of working with the Terran military. General Whitcomb was a frequent guest at DawnStar functions and enjoyed exec privileges on the space station.

  Otherwise, Kos would have already dealt with Sage by now. Kos wished he could have taken part in the ambush that killed the previous first sergeant. Terracina had been a thorn in the side of the black-market ops. However, orders had come down from on high that Kos was supposed to stay free of such outlaw behavior so that he could remain working as a public force. Kos had considered ignoring the orders. Sometimes he did that, just to remind his employers he was there by choice. Knowing Sage was going to be there would have tipped the scales.

  Now Karzai was busy entertaining Makaum Quass, ensuring DawnStar’s representations at the local level, gently pulling them onboard with corp goals. Kos hadn’t been in the loop to deal with Sage. He looked forward to the confrontation.

  “Lucky or not, I’m not going to hang around. A guy like that has an agenda. I don’t want to be on it.” Kiernan stood and the women stood with him.

  “Giving up front-row seats?” Kos smiled.

  “Leaving fallout territory is how I see it.” Kiernan walked away. “Good luck, Kos.”

  “I don’t need luck.” Kos stared at the doorway as Sage arrived carrying a large bundle over one shoulder. Kos sneered. The idiot hadn’t even brought more than one weapon and wasn’t wearing much armor.

  This was going to be easy. Kos looked forward to it.

  “LOOK, JAHUP.”

  Seated at the bar and sipping a fruit drink that cost almost a week’s scouting trade chits in the Makaum markets, Jahup glanced over at Noojin, then followed the girl’s sharp gaze toward the club’s entrance.

  Jahup recognized the Terran sergeant immediately as the man who had been at the black-market site that morning. He even knew the man’s name. Frank Sage.

  Last night, Jahup had led his scouting party out into the jungle to search for offworlder drug labs. The Quass members, and his grandmother especially, didn’t want the scouts directly engaging with the offworlders because they were so outmatched when it came to firepower. But that didn’t stop Jahup from occasionally attacking and destroying small labs, material shipments, and killing personnel who worked at those enterprises. He had seen firsthand what the offworlder poisons could do to his people.

  He and his team made it a practice not to tell his grandmother or any of the other Quass members everything they did out in the jungle. There were some things the Quass didn’t need to know. He didn’t want to worry his grandmother, and he didn’t want to be pulled from his position on his scouting team. Not that he would give up his efforts against the offworlders. He would never do that.

  Standing idly by while the offworlders took over Makaum was impossible. He would sooner die. He and Noojin were here now as they often were in order to get to know the faces of the offworlders. They scouted in the club almost as much as they did in the jungle, and both environments were deadly. Knowing the faces of the offworlders helped paint a bigger picture of who was doing what in the jungle.

  “What do you think the sergeant is doing here?” Noojin stared raptly at the Terran military man.

  Young and pretty, Noojin had always captured Jahup’s attention, though he was not certain she was as attracted to him as he was to her. Her dark hair held a slight greenish tint, the product of their environment, and was cut short, lying against her head. She was slim-hipped and didn’t possess a woman’s full figure, which saved her from the attentions of many of the offworlders.

  Like Jahup, she wore casual clothing instead of her scouting clothes. She had two knives hidden somewhere on her person. She always went armed.

  Jahup wore long knives strapped to his calves that were hidden by the loose folds of his pants legs. He was certain the club’s guards knew that he had the weapons and had just discounted them as ineffectual against their armor and weapons. That was only because they had never seen Jahup use them.

  “I don’t know what he’s doing here, but don’t be staring so.” Jahup focused his attention on another group but kept the Terran sergeant in his peripheral vision. “You look like an euvi.”

  She grimaced at him, started to say something, then settled for looking away. The euvi was a squat amphibian as large as a man’s fists together with eyestalks that allowed it to peer above the water while submerged. Any kind of motion attracted an euvi’s attention, making it an easy target for uskit and other flying reptiles desperate for prey. Euvi didn’t taste good and they reproduced rapidly. The only reason they didn’t overpopulate was because they became cannibalistic if their food source ran short and they were reluctant to leave an established area.

  Jahup knew that he would pay for the comment. Noojin wasn’t known for her forgiving nature. She gave as good as she got.

  “The guards in this place will kill him if he tries anything.”

  “He’s not going to do anything here.” Jahup said that because engaging the enemy so openly while outnumbered was foolish. Still, part of him hoped that the Terran sergeant was there to get some kind of vengeance for the soldiers that he had lost. Jahup was certain the man knew the corp
s were behind the ambush. It would be interesting to see how far the man pushed the corps bashhounds.

  “He didn’t walk in here just to have a look around.”

  Jahup knew that was true too. After his return to the sprawl, he had heard stories of the combat that had happened at the lab, and of the ambush that had claimed Sergeant Terracina’s life. The Terran military didn’t know what to make of Sage.

  When Jahup had learned of Terracina’s death, he’d been saddened. Jahup had always liked Terracina and found him to be a fair and just man, for an offworlder. While hunting out in the jungle for meat to bring back to the families he served, Jahup had always told Terracina of discovered drug labs the scouts could do nothing about, and the sergeant had attacked and destroyed those illegal enterprises.

  In exchange, Terracina had helped Jahup and his people keep the offworlder weapons they’d claimed during their raids in top condition. The sergeant had never gone out of his way to promote friendship, always observing the line between the Terran Army and the Makaum people as he’d been instructed by both sides.

  Thirty meters away, Sage started forward, heading directly for Kos. There was no doubt about Sage’s destination. Jahup searched the rest of the bar to discover where the sergeant’s team might be. Surely the man did not intend to confront DawnStar on his own.

  But no one else moved in tangent to the sergeant. Jahup would have seen them. He was used to looking for flock and herd and other group movements out in the jungle. Frank Sage was there alone.

  “Fool.” The word escaped Jahup’s lips before he could stop it.

  “Why do you think he’s a fool?” Noojin narrowed her eyes at him reproachfully.

  “Because he’s going to get himself killed.” Jahup watched more openly now.

  “He’s not a fool. You saw what was left from the battle last night. A fool would not have survived that ambush.” Noojin smiled in appreciation. Her unfettered support of the sergeant’s actions irked Jahup. “He is here for revenge.”

  “He should not be here. If he had any sense, he would wait till Kos was out in the jungle and kill him there from a distance. Revenge should be a safe thing. This is suicide.” Jahup knew about killing. In the jungle he and his band often had to bring down large predators they could not afford to meet on equal terms. Sage was confronting DawnStar on less than equal terms.

  “Kos seldom goes out into the jungle.”

  That was true. Although Jahup knew that many of the men operating the drug labs and biopiracy camps out in the jungle worked for DawnStar under Kos’s direct supervision, Kos didn’t often leave the sprawl.

  Jahup watched and felt the tension ratchet up inside himself, making it feel like his heart was suddenly in a cage that was much too small.

  Noojin pointed her chin at the club’s security people. “Kos is keeping his guards back.”

  The bashhounds Jahup had identified as Kos’s personal sec team stood to the side and watched Sage approach their leader. The only way they would do that was at Kos’s direction. Jahup cursed his lack of attention. Noojin had seen whatever passed between the DawnStar bashhound leader and his guards.

  Jahup sat up straighter. “That’s because Kos wants the pleasure of killing the sergeant for himself.” He thought that was too bad because he’d liked the way the sergeant had handled himself.

  That morning he had watched the sergeant and observed how well the man commanded his troops, how thorough he’d been while investigating the lab, and the way he’d made certain his wounded soldiers had been cared for immediately. Jahup respected those things in a leader. Those skills were what kept a scout band alive and well.

  When he had learned Terracina was going to ship out from Makaum, Jahup had feared for his people. The Terran military was the only force capable of keeping the Makaum free. If they were not there, Jahup was certain the Phrenorians would already have conquered his people.

  Or they would have killed them so that the Terrans could not have worked out trade agreements for the bounty Makaum had to offer. Without Terracina, Jahup—and some of the Quass—had believed that no one would take up the fight on behalf of the Terran military.

  This morning, Jahup had been hopeful again after seeing Sage in action.

  Now he was certain he was only going to watch the man die.

  SIXTEEN

  Nelumbo

  Makaum Sprawl

  0028 Hours Zulu Time

  I’m not saying you overstepped yourself when you slew Yuburack yesterday. I only say that killing him might have come at a better time. Perhaps when there was less risk.”

  Feeling the effects of the native liquor coursing through his bloodstream, so much sharper since he had gone through lannig so recently, Zhoh GhiCemid gazed at Mato Orayva and grimaced. His chelicerae quivered in barely restrained rage. Only his kinship and years of friendship with the warrior stayed Zhoh’s hand from reaching for his patimong and spilling the other’s blood.

  “Have a care, Mato, that you do not overstep the bounds of our spyrl bond and risk insulting me.” Zhoh kept his voice level with effort. So soon after the lannig, his anger ran as an undercurrent through his body.

  “I would never do such a thing.” The statement was not an apology. Phrenorian warriors did not apologize. They did, however, reassess situations. “Our spyrl bond is a sacred thing. Your mother was sister to my mother.”

  Mato Orayva was tall and proud, a splendid example of Phrenorian warrior breeding. His scales held a variety of deeply purple hues, marking him as one of Raltu Eytuk’s lineage. Only that great warrior’s offspring bred so true. He got that on his father’s side and Zhoh couldn’t help but be envious of that breeding, though he would never tell Mato that.

  “Yuburack attacked me.” Zhoh twirled his empty glass and swished his poison-tipped tail in warning when one of the Makaum natives walked too closely behind him.

  The Makaum male ducked his head and darted away, momentarily drawing the attention of the people at the nearby tables. There were not many people nearby. Everyone in the club gave the Phrenorians a wide berth. The corps might have been inclined to bar Phrenorian attendance, but they didn’t because they knew that would have incited attacks. So now the corps tolerated Phrenorian presence and even tried to spy on them from time to time. That would not work because no Phrenorian warrior would ever speak of something that he was instructed not to. Failure to comply would result in death.

  “I know that he attacked you, but you could have let him live.”

  Zhoh fixed Mato with his gaze. “Would you have let Yuburack live had he attacked you?”

  Mato hesitated, then relaxed in his chair in disgust. “No. Of course not.”

  “Then why berate me?”

  “Because you are not me, triarr.”

  Triarr was a term of affection, family of my family, and recognized special relationships with the spyrl. Such a thing was not supposed to be so easily recognized while on a mission.

  Secretly, Zhoh appreciated the acknowledgment of their closeness, but he knew he should castigate Mato for such a transgression. He chose, instead, to sip his drink and pretend that the address had not happened.

  “I do not mean to offend.” Mato’s chelicerae curled and straightened irritably. “Nor do I wish to bring up unwelcome topics, but your star has diminished in the Empire. Everything that you do outside of given parameters comes with risk.”

  “Because that ang’pol’eag I was mated with is of inferior bloodstock and her sire had enough wealth and political pull to make those ther’ril’eel blighted spawn disappear before steps could be taken to denounce her as worthless to continue the Phrenorian race.” Zhoh finished his drink and felt the alcohol zip through his system. “Would that I had a chance to depart my home again, I would do so on different terms. Had I but known I would end up here, I would have slain that female and prevented a weakening of Phrenorian blood.”

  “I would encourage reticence on your part.”

  “To save me? Or to
save yourself?”

  Mato made no reply. He didn’t have to. Both of them knew that he was in good standing with the Empire, and that associating with Zhoh would not change that fact.

  Zhoh looked around for another server. The human waitstaff was notoriously lax in attending Phrenorian tables. “Trust me, Mato, there is not a member of our spyrl who does not know about my ill-fated match. Everything I tell you now was voiced in my defense. I spared no one my thoughts.”

  “What if the father of your mate decides to prevent you from talking about his daughter and of his own mistakes of family?”

  Zhoh laughed. “Do you think Yuburack attacked me only because he thought he would catch me in a moment of weakness?” His chelicerae snapped with pointed thrusts. “I talked to that stinking sulqua as I fed on him. Before he perished, he told me that Blaold Oldawe offered to advance him in rank after he killed me.”

  “And you told no one?”

  “Do you believe me as I tell you now?”

  “Yes.”

  That stopped Zhoh for a moment. He had forgotten what it was like to be around someone who would so easily voice support of him. “Do you think anyone else would?”

  Mato fell silent at that.

  That lack of response flattened Zhoh’s hopes. “No. No one would. All would insist that Yuburack told me the answer he thought I wanted in order that his death would come more quickly.” He flicked his tail in annoyance, drawing a squeal of alarm from one of the DawnStar female execs sitting at another table. She and her party got up and retreated to a more distant table though they clearly had not been within reach.

  “Lannig changes everything.”

  The saying was the oldest one of the Phrenorian Empire, and it cut both ways as hope and as a warning. Lannig could change things for the better, make a warrior stronger and faster and more invincible. But before the strength came the weakness and the vulnerability, an acknowledgment that what was once strong could be made weak.

  Zhoh knew that there would never be enough lannig phases in his life to give him back what his mate and her father had ripped from him. Only war and risk and triumph could return that to him, and they had made certain he was pushed back from the battles where he might achieve those successes.