The clamor of the CASPers starting up and moving around was waking up people inside Alpha Sanctuary, and lights were coming on.
“Also, tell Father Powell not to worry,” Laybourne ordered Wagner. “We’ve got this.”
“Yes sir,” he heard Wagner respond. Laybourne’s CASPer took point, the others forming up on it, and the six mecha charged away from the city into the trees.
At max speed, it didn’t take long to reach what was left of Smith and Torgson. The front of Torgson’s CASPer was ripped open, and the suit’s fluids and Torgson’s blood were leaking out. Smith’s suit was in even worse shape. The entire upper half was gone. Blood smeared the jagged edges where it had been clawed in two. Whatever had taken out the two CASPers had done it tooth and nail.
Laybourne didn’t need to order the others to keep alert. They were vets and knew their business.
“Kaiju,” Akio muttered over the comm.
“What?” Laybourne raged. He was angry two of his men had been killed in such a horrid fashion, when there shouldn’t have been anything out here that could do more than scratch their suits.
“Nothing sir,” Akio answered at once.
“If you know something about what did this, Akio, spit it out, or I’ll have your arse up on charges when we get home,” Laybourne said, keeping his voice as calm and professional as he could.
“He means it might have been a Canavar, sir,” another voice answered.
The voice belonged to Chuck, Akio’s longtime friend.
Laybourne felt his eyes bugging out as he reacted to the word Canavar. He didn’t know much about them, except that they were bad mothers you never wanted to run across, and they were supposed to be extinct. He wasn’t too sure about the last part, but he said a silent prayer that it was true. There was no hope in Hell of six MK 7 CASPers being able to deal with a Canavar if that was what they were really facing out here.
“Everybody listen up!” Laybourne shouted over the comm. “The situation here has changed. We need to get the Hell out of here before we run into whatever it was that killed Smith and Torgson.”
“But what about the contract, LT?” Chuck asked.
“Our contract was to clear out the Cha-kichi,” Laybourne explained, “and we’ve done that as best we can. It didn’t include going up against some sort of monster that can do that to our suits.” He gestured with one of his arms at the remains of Smith and Torgson.
“Getting out of here sounds like a great plan to me,” Linda chimed in.
She was new to the Hell’s Banshees, but Laybourne knew she was one hell of a CASPer pilot. He had seen her tear her way through an entire platoon of aliens during their last job to save Smith from getting his butt hacked to pieces.
“This isn’t a democracy,” Laybourne reminded her, “but I’m glad you agree. Chuck, Akio, take the right. Linda, Jenkins, take the left. Steven, you’ve got the rear. I’ll take point. Let’s get moving in case whatever did this is still out here and hungry.”
“LT, I’m picking up something heading your way!” Munnie’s voice rang out. “The transport’s sensors are still a bit sketchy, but I think I’ve almost resolved the EM problem. Whatever is coming for you is moving in quickly from the south.”
“Understood,” Laybourne answered. “You heard the lady, folks. We’ve got company coming.”
The squad of CASPers kept moving quickly through the trees, running and bounding toward the transport outside Alpha Sanctuary.
“I’ve got movement on the right!” Chuck cried out.
On his tactical display, Laybourne saw Akio’s CASPer skid to a halt. It turned in the direction of the movement, and lit up the night as its weapons cut a swathe of destruction through the nearby trees.
“Akio!” Laybourne yelled. “What the Hell are you doing? Get back into formation! Now, trooper!”
If Akio heard him over the comm, the young man gave no indication of it. His CASPer’s weapons continued to boom and flash in the darkness. A missile from one of his shoulder launchers struck the trees and filled the air with shards of flaming debris.
Chuck’s CASPer came to a stop, as well.
“I can’t leave him, LT!” Chuck shouted over the comm.
“Mother fragger!” Laybourne wanted to strangle them both with his bare hands. “Everybody else, you bloody well better keeping moving. Do you hear me?”
Chuck screamed as the monster erupted from the trees, heading straight for Akio’s CASPer. The creature moved on two legs, like a man, but stood over 15 feet tall. Its eyes glowed a harsh shade of yellow in the darkness of the night, and a long tail slashed through the air above and behind its charging body. Each of its arms ended in a three-clawed hand poised to strike. Chuck opened fire on the monster, his MAC spraying it. Akio’s CASPer was already blazing away at it. The rounds from their MACs pinged and sparked away from the monster’s scale-covered form, not even slowing it down.
Akio died first, as the thing sunk its claws into his CASPer’s armor and lifted him up over its head. With a jerk, it tore Akio and his CASPer apart in an explosion of rending metal and blood.
Chuck switched to missiles as the thing dropped the two halves of Akio and turned its feral gaze on him. A missile flew from the shoulder launcher of Chuck’s suit. As the missile struck the monster and blossomed into a ball of flame and shrapnel, Laybourne heard Chuck grunt. The shockwave of the explosion knocked Chuck’s CASPer to the forest floor. He managed to roll the CASPer so that its gun was ready to fire at the monster as it bounded through the smoke toward him, but it was on him before he could open fire. The monster grabbed the CASPer’s right arm and tore it from Chuck’s suit, flinging it away into the trees. It lashed out with one of its massive feet and crumpled the front armor of Chuck’s CASPer, caving it in on him.
The monster left Chuck’s CASPer where it lay, racing on in pursuit of the rest of the squad. Laybourne saw it coming on his tactical display. The legs of Steven’s CASPer were pumping as he brought up the squad’s rear. The monster easily overtook him, sinking its claws into the shoulders of the CASPer. It was yanked to an abrupt halt as the monster ripped it open. Steven screamed as the armor of his suit was peeled back, and the monster bit off his head and a good portion of his upper body with it.
Laybourne realized they were never going to reach the transport and Alpha Sanctuary in time. The monster would take them all out one at a time if they didn’t stop and engage it. That option was likely just as fatal as fleeing, but Laybourne figured it was better to go out fighting than running like cowards.
“Okay people, it’s time we showed this thing that no one messes with the Hell’s Banshees!” Laybourne shouted over the comm. The remaining CASPers stopped and came about, forming a firing line with Laybourne’s CASPer at its center. The monster was too close for missiles, so Linda and Jenkins fired their CASPers’ shoulder lasers. Beams of pure energy flashed from the weapons, striking the monster full on. The monster shrieked in pain for the first time, as the lasers burned into its chest. The victory was a short-lived one. The monster’s thickly muscled legs propelled it upwards out of the laser fire, in a massive leap that carried it behind the CASPers’ firing line. One of its clawed fists smashed into Jenkins’ CASPer and emerged through the suit’s front. As Laybourne and Linda spun their CASPers toward the monster, it shook Jenkins’ CASPer free of its arm and snarled at them, showing the rows of razor-like teeth inside its mouth. Its yellow eyes blazed with fury as tendrils of smoke rose from the wounds on its chest where the lasers had scorched it.
“Die you mother…” Laybourne raged as he fired his CASPer’s laser at the monster. The monster swung up its hand in an effort to block the shot, and it shrieked in pain as the laser burnt a hole through its palm. Laybourne’s CASPer rushed forward as he tried to get a better shot at the monster. The monster lunged forward, catching the CASPer as it moved. The monster’s claws dug into the suit’s armor and flung it aside. Laybourne’s CASPer rolled across the forest floor, jarring him bef
ore the suit finally came to a stop as it slammed into the trunk of a tree at the edge of the clearing.
Laybourne didn’t see Linda die. He heard her terrified scream over his suit’s comm, and he knew she was gone. The icon representing her CASPer blinked out on his tactical display. Rolling his CASPer to its feet, Laybourne came up ready to face the monster. There were red and yellow lights all around him—his suit had taken more damage from the monster’s grip than he thought. His suit’s laser was offline and useless. He knew his MAC wasn’t going to stop the monster. Accepting his fate, Laybourne removed the safeties and primed his CASPer’s missiles for one all-out volley as he waited for the monster to attack. He didn’t have to wait long. The monster was on him in a heartbeat. As its clawed hands reached out for him, he fired all his missiles at point-blank range. The forest shook as the explosion lit the night, and Laybourne died in a blast of heat and flames.
* * *
Wagner’s shoulders slumped as he stood behind Munnie at the transport’s sensor console. It was impossible to tell if the creature was dead. The EM interference of the planet’s atmosphere had returned as the sun started to rise. But he knew for sure that Laybourne was gone and the rest of the squad of CASPers with him.
Father Powell and his bodyguards had joined them aboard the transport during the action. Wager saw the priest shaking his head sadly.
“I am sorry for the loss of your men,” Father Powell said, breaking the silence.
Wagner struck like lightning. He sprang forward, grabbed Father Powell and slammed him up against the wall of the ship behind him. The priest hit with enough force to knock the air from his lungs. As Father Powell struggled for breath, one of his bodyguards lashed out with the butt of his pistol, slamming it into Wagner’s face. Bone crunched as Wagner’s nose was shattered, and he toppled to the transport’s floor.
Munnie whirled about in her seat, attempting to come to Wagner’s aid, only to find herself staring down the barrel of the other bodyguard’s pistol.
“I wouldn’t if I were you,” the burly man told her, his finger on the trigger of the weapon.
Father Powell sucked in air, trying to refill his lungs, then collected himself, his hands smoothing the cloth of his shirt.
“I can see that hiring the Hell’s Banshees was a mistake. You have failed to insure the safety of my people,” Father Powell said. “Consider our contract forfeit. I expect you two to be off our world before the sun fully rises.”
With that, Father Powell and his two bodyguards departed from the transport, leaving a bleeding Wagner and a stunned Munnie staring after them.
“Bastard,” Wagner snarled as best as he could with his nose broken. Drops of blood ran through the fingers of the hand and splattered onto the floor.
“We best get moving, Sir,” Munnie urged him. “I don’t think we want to be here when the sun comes up.”
Wagner nodded. “Seal the exterior doors and start the prep for takeoff,” he ordered her.
“And get me a medkit!” he added as an afterthought before she dashed away, leaving him alone next to the sensor console. When she was gone, Wagner slumped into the console’s seat and cradled his head in his hands. It was just another day in Hell’s Banshees.
# # # # #
UNDER THE SKIN by Marisa Wolf
Arow had been an off-world hunter since before most of the clan was old enough to leave the safety of its den. Therefore, when the Dama sent an urgent summons, he made haste to arrive but didn’t rush to her side; instead, he took the time to walk the perimeter of the den, scenting who had arrived and the state of mind of the younger ones. Some showed interest and others slight concern, but none were worried. He might have wondered if that made him or them the biggest fools, but Arow hadn’t doubted his own judgement in quite some time.
Whispering Fear, a well-respected, ancient clan, had added to their den over generations, and even Arow was hard-pressed to remember all of the entrances and exits. Interchanging comfortably between four feet and two, he climbed and prowled, considering the Dama’s message. All clan hunters were to return to the den immediately, even if it meant closing out contracts more quickly than planned. When a dama called, the clan responded, knowing even their capricious Dama wouldn’t call hunters home needlessly.
Either a large contract had been requested, the Dama had borne more kits, or another clan had applied to merge with theirs. No, he corrected himself, leaping down off a long-weathered outcropping to examine a nearly-hidden entry. The latter two would have been an explanatory message or an all-clan call. As the call was only for hunters, either a large contract had been requested, or…
Or. Experience told him this was an ‘or.’ Good news did not require secrecy; their Dama enjoyed her little games, but she didn’t make hunters urgently jump through hoops for nothing. Clans were fiercely loyal, but not easily led by foolishness.
A hunter must have fallen in the course of completing an off-world contract. Unlikely—it was a circumstance so rare the contract allowed for either the clan to pay nine times the original price, or another hunter to complete it. Perhaps he misunderstood. Perhaps the younger hunters, without worry, were right, but Arow’s instincts were at least half the reason he’d reached elder status.
“There you are,” a rich voice purred from above, just neutral enough to make clear its owner was annoyed. A streak of black-tipped gray flashed, and then Dirrys, Dama of Whispering Fear, stood upright in front of him, ears turning idly as she curled her tail around her feet. “I wondered if you would take your time, as always.”
Arow paused, lifting a front leg as though surprised, then sat back comfortably, wrapping his tail around his haunches. This was not quite how one greeted a dama, but he had known her since she first left her den and had sired her first litter. She’d been too young to expect a successful pregnancy, and he too young to have had any business trying to sire one, so it hadn’t been a surprise when the litter hadn’t survived. Still, proof of fertility at such a young age had brought her notice in the clan, and the duration of the pregnancy solidified her case for being named heir. Why the pregnancy had solidified her hatred of him was a question Arow had never attempted to answer. Their previous Dama had encouraged them to try again, but Dirrys had not been interested. She had, instead, gone on to bear a live litter, sired by one of the older hunters. Though none of those kits had reached adulthood, her future, and that of the clan, became clear—especially as their previous Dama bore no further surviving female kits after Dirrys reached maturity. The security of her position meant Dirrys could take great joy in antagonizing him without any hint of repercussion—and, rather surprisingly, keep him from courting any other dama in the clan. He regretted the loss of their litter, though he had never gotten his hopes up, given their youth. He regretted far more the young dama’s attitude after their mating.
A more careful hunter may have sought refuge in another clan, but that was never Arow’s style. It was too much fun antagonizing her to the point of nearly lashing out at him—which, as Dama, she couldn’t do without just cause.
After all, a hunter who could no longer enjoy walking the claw edge of impossible danger had no business remaining part of any clan. So he told himself every time she taunted him, and so he repeated to himself here.
“An unusual message from you,” he said easily, lifting his front paw as though to groom himself. Her eyes widened slightly at the near insult, but he simply adjusted the leather straps across his chest and continued, “I thought it an appropriate time to ensure all was well outside the den.”
Her pupils contracted at his implication she could not secure her own residence, but her tone only warmed. “You wanted to see which of the young hunters had promptly responded to their Dama’s needs. All but one of those younger hunters did, elder.”
His instincts had been right. One of their hunters had died in pursuit of a contract. And since he’d already considered this, there was no reason to show surprise, even as rage tore through his
chest. He took a moment to compose himself, knowing how much she would enjoy his discomfort if she noticed it.
“Who?” he asked, because knowing mattered more than successfully provoking his dama.
“I suppose you’ll know soon enough,” she said, luminous green eyes flickering over the carved stone behind him, “Sisk.”
Arow’s ears flicked before he could stop himself. It wasn’t grief, not truly, but the loss of a capable hunter, far too soon. He was frustrated about the lessening of the clan, of the potential impact on their ability to take contracts. He had helped train Sisk when the young kit’s dama had died deep in the jungle, leaving a half-grown hunter with poorly-honed instincts and no discipline. Now Sisk was, mostly, vigilant. Arow knew it for a fact, given it had taken the younger hunter a long time to learn the benefits of cautiousness in any off-world hunt. Sisk had become cautious and successful. He had enough contracts under his claws for Arow to stop paying attention, and he thought of Sisk only as often as he thought of any other hunter in the clan.
First-time, off-world hunters almost always completed their contracts. They were too aware of their roles to leave room for carelessness or failure. The well-experienced failed even more rarely. But there was a tipping point, for some, when the thrill of the hunt and abundance of earned superiority led to mistakes. Perhaps there was some grief in there, for a hunter who could have been greater, and instead was simply...gone.
“The contract’s mark?” he asked, allowing her the satisfaction of surprising him by keeping his eyes lowered.
He could feel her gloating, though the loss of a young hunter was nothing to celebrate.
“A Human. Minor, wealthy, but no deep clan connections.” Her tone was just as dismissive as such an insignificant species deserved, but…there was something else in her voice, or perhaps a hint in her bearing.
She would never take joy in a hunter’s death, no matter how many grudges she held. Sisk had never offended her. And, a blow to the clan was a blow to her, which she would never allow to stand unanswered. He rarely succeeded in determining her true motives, but perhaps, this time, he understood.
The Good, the Bad, and the Merc: Even More Stories from the Four Horsemen Universe (The Revelations Cycle Book 8) Page 27
