New Praetorians 1 - Sienna McKnight

by R. K. Syrus

  His mottled index finger jabs down, making a soft pok sound.

  “A fishing village. I am blood-bound to their chief. Take me there. Inside the jail of that town, is a man. Farid. A disgusting man of abhorrent perversions.” Sidewinder makes to spit but has no saliva, or none he wants to spare.

  “This man Farid is wanted for a bombing in Madrid. Tourists died. Foreigners. Americans. Farid is a much bigger prize. You take him, you let me go.”

  This thread is going somewhere. Sidewinder’s life and lifestyle are too precious to him for him to be yanking her chain. Incoming militia will just as soon kill him for being a collaborator as try to fight the Dogs.

  “And they are going to hand over Farid?”

  “Ach!” Sidewinder releases a bit of precious spittle at last. “He is in jail for being khawal. A womanly man, uh huh. No one will miss him. His own father put him in jail for his unnatural crimes of man loving.”

  The house is crawling with scorpions. Large and small, they have found every crack and hole. One tentatively crawls onto the card table. It is only about half a finger’s length in size, but bold. Its movements are elegantly alien. Pausing to groom itself, its tail pulses steadily.

  “Right,” she says, rejecting the pig-in-a-poke trade. “Next you’re going to tell me that I have to trust you. After you give me Scythe’s location, we’ll have only minutes. As soon as we leave, your information turns out to be garbage and you’re gone. Uh huh?”

  Sidewinder contemplates their tiny cold-blooded observer. A third silent party to their parlay. He points his bound hands at the scorpion.

  “The young are born not out of eggs, but living. Like people. They can live for a year without eating. Three days without taking a breath.”

  Sidewinder puts his hands on his chest. “My heart. I keep them for their poison. It heals the heart and has, shall we say, other uses. Fascinating, isn’t it? How a little venom can keep one alive. Whereas too much…”

  Enough of the Nature Channel rerun. Sienna wants to skip to the good part. Where the lioness rips the jackal’s spine in half and has a snooze in the shade. “Give me what you have. If—if we get Scythe, maybe we can do something.”

  “Ha!” Sidewinder slaps his hand on the table. The scorpion’s tail twitches. It dives under the tabletop, scorning gravity.

  “I know lady-colonel is smarter than that. You can have him, your Scythe of Heaven”—he glances at the clock in the side of the elephant lamp—“in less than an hour. Thirty minutes, if you are quick. Your country’s operatives are very close to him, though they have no awareness of this.”

  “Hogwash.” This guy might as well have pulled five aces out of a deck. A sinking feeling scrabbles at her midsection. This is all for nothing! “For twenty years he’s been a ghost who knows how to stay hidden. You’re telling me you can just reach out and drop him in our laps? In thirty minutes?” Sienna stands and grabs him. “We’re out of here!”

  “No no no!” he squeals. “Leave me in the village until Scythe’s capture. The chieftain will fear your stealth drones. If I lie, he will give me back.”

  Her experience tells her to get more. Some small truth that will color the rest. The astute concierge of horrors anticipates her.

  “He is in France.”

  Her pupils react. Sidewinder notices. She doesn’t care.

  “Why there?” he asks, squirming his shoulders in a painful half shrug. “His end of the game he keeps to himself. They needed my help. As usual, I know more than anyone supposes. Asrah Qazi is out of his natural waters, working on something big. Working with new people. He takes chances for something he desires above all else.”

  Something icy hits at the back of her brain. France—Europe. We were supposed to be there. Coincidence?

  “Agreed,” Sienna says. Got to go for it. “With conditions. My government—”

  “No! Not with any government.” Wounded and bound, he feels in control enough to cut Sienna off. He looks up boldly. Now he is the man he was when they were introduced. The man with a sharp knife to a girl’s throat. The one who saw in front of him only a worthless bitch.

  “I am dealing with you. And I will set my condition. Only one. And you will give it. You are here for yourself. This deal I make, it is between us, like a special friendship, uh huh? Your codename is Snakecharmer. I am the snake and you have been so very charming to me. But I know you… Colonel Sienna Iðunn McKnight.”

  Before she realizes it, Sienna has Sidewinder by the throat with her left hand. Hovering in her right palm is a charged fléchette aimed at the man’s temple. Carbon-steel tines float on waves of electromagnetism.

  “I could make you tell me now, save an hour.”

  Alarm and cold fury compete inside Sienna. Stupid breach of protocol. If he’s an accomplice of Asrah’s, maybe he knows her face from a picture. Just before, when he saw the photograph. It wasn’t recognition of Asrah she saw in Sidewinder’s face. The thought of those two discussing her disturbs Sienna more than she wants to admit.

  “Yes, you could try brute violence,” he admits while getting a closer look at the RAPTEK, “but I am an old man. My heart, it may give out. Then you would be back to the square one?”

  Sienna decides. “If you’re lying, we’ll see how much your heart can stand. What is it? What do you want?”

  “A nothing. A trifle.” Sidewinder’s eyes, haggard, bloodshot, triumphant, meet Sienna’s once more. “The girl. She is called Anis. She has no relatives, not any longer. No one will miss her. I want her. She stays with me or no deal.”

  20

  Sidewinder’s demand hits her like a boot in the guts. Bartering the girl, Anis… Sienna didn’t even know her name until now. Trading Anis just like that goes against every single value Annalies and Bryan tried to instill in a wild, headstrong, often angry girl. It would defile the memory she has of Theodora McKnight. It would attaint Hamida’s sacrifices.

  It is easy for Sidewinder to think his offer is a great bargain. The lives of innocents, especially children, are traded and bartered and used here every day. The creation of Khorasan itself, for example. How many people starved and died of dehydration and heatstroke in the region before the powers built the TYR Lens desalination plant? How many thousands of refugees worldwide have been saved since? Here, individual lives are the lowest denomination of currency. Sienna can do nothing about that. But the girl. She is different. Sienna and the Dogs wrenched her out of this fiend’s grasp only minutes ago. Sidewinder expects them to put Anis back in his clutches.

  Sienna thinks fast. And decides.

  “If I thought for a moment you were what my man thinks you are, I’d try out rapid fire on this rig right here and now,” Sienna says, prodding his forehead with the hovering projectile. “Or better yet, leave you in a room with Petr.”

  That gets his attention. The only sound is the hissing kerosene lamp. The only movement is a trickle of blood from the end of Sidewinder’s nose. Whitebread’s evisceration tool must have just nicked it. Like a razor’s cut he probably doesn’t even feel. A fat droplet, colored extra red, wells up from an invisible fissure. It mixes with oily sweat. The globule grows fat, dilutes, and falls on the tabletop.

  “You’re sick. But not in that way. You are twisted. But not toward sexual depravity. Anis sleeps in a basket in your room because she’s valuable. You don’t trust anyone to watch her. Who is she? A hostage? An opium warlord’s daughter?”

  Sidewinder scoffs, “You know nothing. A girl before childbearing years, even from the wealthiest families, isn’t worth a herd of sickly goats. To you she is nothing. The little darling is all I have left. Since we are friends, even short-term partners, uh huh? I will tell you.”

  Sidewinder relaxes. Coming up is some version of the truth. Maybe there’s a third way.

  “In this pond called Khorasan, I am not the largest frog,” Sidewinder continu
es. “I am an old and smart one. Nothing occurs without word reaching my ear. For as long as I can remember, scientists have been looking for people, young people. Through DNA mapping. As they were stealing bits of blood and skin, I was waiting like the beautiful horned viper of my home country. They were close. But I got her first.”

  The fingernails of Sidewinder’s uninjured hand scrape the worn surface of the table.

  “Her parents are dead. Her future is greater than anything you could give her. Think of yourself. Only you can stop the mayhem your cousin Asrah is planning. We both know his ambition for atrocity has no bounds. What is one girl against all those lives? It may already be too late.”

  Sienna fingers the pouch of black opals.

  “Pah. If you offered me everything you have, it is not a tenth of a tenth of Anis’s price to the right parties. Make up your mind. In the Wandering Desert, all is sand and time. You do not belong here. Your time is running out.”

  Sienna’s head sinks between her shoulders.

  “Okay,” she hears her own ragged voice say.

  Sidewinder savors triumph. The old critter has the brass to say, “I think it is customary to shake on it.”

  21

  A minute later, Sienna motions to T-Rex. “All yours.”

  “Another satisfied customer.” He grabs Sidewinder’s collar. “Please step right this way, suh. Would y’all care fo’ some dessert now?”

  Not waiting for a response, T-Rex zip-ties a black hood over Sidewinder’s head with practiced ease. Their prisoner inhales dust, coughs, but is otherwise as complacent as someone resigned to flying coach.

  Sidewinder thinks he’s won. Good. Have to keep it that way.

  Sienna looks around, checks everyone. It’s been a decent op. Not a scratch on her people. No collateral damage. They got exactly what they came for. A damn near perfect mission. Her throat feels rough. Damn desert air.

  “Listen up!” Sienna says. “Let’s exfil this craphole, double-time!”

  As Sienna steps outside, a burst of static makes her wince. It’s Nightjar. That’s never good. The best pilots act like limo drivers in Mickey Spillane novels, you hardly know they are there.

  “Snakecharmer, this is Nightjar actual, we are engaged by hostiles. Stealth still thirty or forty percent non-functional. Fast movers a few klicks off and trying to paint us. My orders are not to return fire under any circumstances…”

  Then, the normally impassive pilot loses it.

  “Oh, shank it! Get out of there. This shit is getting real!”

  Sienna nods to Nobu. Her RTO replies, “Solid copy, Nightjar. Deploy countermeasures and jamming. We can exfil in 6-0 seconds. Snakecharmer, out.”

  “…and we can be broiled Spam in ten seconds if that doesn’t work,” the pilot mutters under his breath before he remembers to turn off his mic.

  With a small motion in her HUD, Sienna indicates a move to pick up zone Bravo. It’s a trickier spot for the copter, but more defensible if ground elements come looking for a fight. Sienna checks the RAPTEK. Magnetic fields feel like invisible squeeze balls in her palms.

  The Dogs, their hood-wearing guest Sidewinder, and the wide-eyed girl move out. Sienna curses Denbow under her breath as she sees half their ride hanging in the air. Only for a second. Then the hovercopter veers off rapidly. The pilot dashes straight away from them. In confusion, the girl Anis lets out a small cry.

  Sienna speaks Dari. She tells her the pilot is just playing a game and will come back shortly. He better.

  Her visor shows what Nightjar is up to. The copter opens its engine vents wide. In thermal view, heat rays scatter against stars winking on the horizon. The trail leads away from the new pickup zone. Nightjar baits the oncoming jets. And gets fast mover love.

  Two Khorasani birds, JF-17s or Eurofighters, come in low out of the horizon. Nightjar releases flares and metallic chaff. Like some early-morning mirage on the horizon, Nightjar and his big old hovercopter disappear. Their pilot has closed the craft’s heat sinks and veered off. Enemy missile mechBrains are completely taken in by the ruse. A string of orange and crimson pearls light up distant, dark hills, like match heads flaring one after the other.

  Moving sideways and keeping the jammed open door at a downward angle, the dragonfly-agile craft returns.

  “Gotta go, gotta go,” Nightjar squawks. “Fast movers coming in for another run.”

  Wash from plasma nacelles rolls warmly through Sienna’s and Anis’s hair. They climb in. She scans the command console feeds. Nothing moves in the streets. Everyone knows what’s happening and all are staying out of it. Had Sienna and the Dogs come in heavier with a bigger show of force, village elders might have taken it personally. In Khorasan, showing weakness means death. Here, warfare is life.

  This is the land where, in 1842, British General Elphinstone led 16,000 into a valley pass. Days later only one European, a badly wounded surgeon, rode out. Sienna is glad not to have to engage motivated local ground fighters on their home turf. One less complication standing between her and getting her people back home from a messed-up world.

  Denbow greets Sienna and the Dogs with a smug look. Their tagalong SEAL is way too pleased with himself, especially for someone whose screw-up nearly got him blown up by an air-to-air missile. He glances at the hooded Sidewinder, then goes back to looking at nothing in particular.

  Sienna makes a mental note to sort Denbow out. Later. Her job is getting her team to safe airspace and back to the Lee. After one stopover.

  She taps Bryan’s helmet.

  “I got a full count. Plus trip package. Plus…” Sienna pauses a second, looking down. The girl has latched onto her leg, probably because she is the only one who speaks the local language. “Plus a humanitarian medical refugee.”

  “Strap in, everyone,” Nightjar says calmly. “Not only is half of my helo’s stealth field offline, but my main hatchway will not close. Enjoy your flight!”

  Despite Bryan and Whitebread’s muscle power and Nobu’s tinkering, the doorway damaged by the errant bullet remains stuck open. Wind whistles through the cabin as the aircraft flies evasive patterns. Sienna learns that more hostile but untouchable local aircraft have joined the search for them. Thankfully, they are looking in the wrong direction. As long as their ride does not slow down, they will be fine.

  Sienna walks into the cockpit. She has a short and intense chat with the pilots. It takes some convincing, but being a colonel with a direct line to top-tier command at the Pentagon has its perks. The aircraft quietly veers away from its direct course back to the Lee. They are now headed to a place on the coast which does not have a name on their maps. It is a small fishing village.

  Inside the cabin, T-Rex stares at Snakelips’s back. She leans sideways toward a seated Anis, making certain the five-point harness fits the small girl.

  “Hey, woman,” T-Rex says. “You got cooties.”

  “Rex,” Snakelips says over her shoulder, “I’ve had just about enough—”

  Nobu interjects. “For a change, Rex is right.” Using a pair of metal throwing spikes like chopsticks, Nobu picks a baby scorpion off the back of the woman’s vest. “Gratz Corporal!” he says, grinning at her. “It’s a boy!”

  Snakelips is out of her seatbelts in a flash. She scowls and shakes down her uniform. With the hatch stuck open and the copter maneuvering, she makes sure to keep a grip on the webbing behind the row of seats.

  All we need, poisonous hitchhikers. Sienna looks sideways at Denbow. He’s tucked into his corner, away from everyone, watching the show. Sienna says to the others, “Those things were all through the house. Everyone check yourselves and each other.”

  Nobu flicks the eight-legged stowaway out the open door.

  “Not hungry?” T-Rex asks as he checks his friend’s kit.

  Sienna stands near a handhold on the other side of the wide central com
partment. She feels something uncomfortable and prickling on her back and neck, like a throbbing and a tingling all at once.

  No way it’s a scorpion. It might be the gel adhesive of the RAPTEK. She’s never worn it for so long. She ignores it. There’s enough to think about. It’d be a misstep to reveal any weakness, even fear of stinging arachnids, in front of strangers. Denbow. Sidewinder. Even with his head covered by a blackout hood, the Khorasani thug seems to be staring right at her.

  Everyone’s keeping an eye on Denbow. Truth be told, the SEAL creeps her out just a little. She doesn’t know exactly why. He’s an arrogant blockhead, but outside of her own hand-picked team, there is no shortage of those in the military.

  It’s more. Since they re-boarded the copter, Denbow has eyeballed all of them, including the hood-wearing Sidewinder. But he has not even glanced at the girl. Not even out of curiosity at an unexpected juvenile passenger accompanying the special operators home. Intentional disinterest? Probably nothing, just a feeling.

  Speaking of which… That creeping clammy feeling on Sienna’s back and arms really starts getting to her. It’s hot and cold at the same time. It’s probably sweat from the extra weight on her back. She cannot take it off with the hatch open. If this priceless hunk of DARPA hardware went whipping out into the dark rush just outside the door, she’d never hear the end of it.

  She disregards the sources of irritation and walks over to where Anis sits strapped in her seat. Bryan catches her arm before she gets there. He whispers. Which is strange. Normally for covert communications he’d text her wrist unit. Unless he doesn’t want a record in the system.

  “Pilot’s off course,” Sarge tells her. Sienna should have figured he’d notice. Bryan’s visual augments have some kind of built-in compass. “Said you ordered it.”

  Sienna coolly meets his questing, metallic-gold eyes. She does not even flinch in Sidewinder’s direction. Denbow is straight-up staring at them. “I’ll explain. Later,” she tells him firmly. “I have to do something.”