Might Makes Right

by Michael Anderle

  All three lids slammed shut at the same time. Darryl flicked his eyes to the display that provided him access to the camera they had placed outside the door.

  The hallway was clear.

  Darryl exited first and took a right outside the door, then Bethany Anne and finally Scott left the room. All three ran down the hallway and did a quick jog through an “employees only” room to come out in a service hallway.

  “Left!” Bethany Anne called. She was connected to ADAM, who was monitoring the mercenary team through the hotel’s video and other security infrastructure. “Right, then two hallways and we’ll be in front of them!”

  The three raced through the concrete halls.

  —

  Kraaz felt the difference in the air and put up a fist to halt his team. He looked behind him, then down the hallway in front.

  Something didn’t feel right.

  “We got trouble?” P’kert asked from behind him.

  Kraaz nodded. “I don’t know what it is, but something is ahead of us.”

  “Shock?”

  “No.” Kraaz shook his head. “Trouble, and we’ll need to go through it.”

  “That’s why we are paid the big bucks,” P’kert commented, sliding his pistol into a holster and pulling out a larger beam weapon. It was a twenty-shot Kellen D3, and it could drill through walls and make organic life wish it had never been born.

  He loved this gun.

  Kraaz chuckled. “I’m pretty sure we’re being paid the big bucks because we have to jump out of a falling hotel and successfully not die at the end of the fall.”

  “That’s just a bonus,” P’kert told him. “Now get your Shrillexian ass moving.”

  Kraaz just nodded and flipped his own pistol’s safety off.

  —

  Sia was tucked behind a large potted plant, completely focused on the different video intakes from her four drones…

  Scratch that, three drones now. Someone took offense at one of them and shot it down.

  Still, she was giving all her attention to the video she was capturing in three different locations. One outside, and two here inside the hotel. She could feel Giannini’s body somewhere above her, protecting her this time as Sia captured as much good footage as possible.

  Sia could hear Giannini commentating, mumbling stuff—Sia didn’t know what, but it would be relevant when they put the video of this attack together and reported it.

  Provided they lived.

  —

  P’kert was damned handy with his Kellen D3. It wasn’t so much he saw something down the hall as the reflexes honed over multiple battles that told him he needed to fire. Kraaz had already confirmed he thought something was ahead of him.

  So P’kert stroked the trigger. He thought he saw a body come around the corner only to get tossed backward before a large red ball of energy streaked toward him. He spun to the side and tried to dive out of the way, but it was too late.

  Half of his body was ripped apart when the energy slammed into him, ending his life immediately.

  Behind him, Kraaz and the others dropped to the ground when two more flaming orbs of power came shooting down the hallway. One went past, exploding some thirty paces behind him, and the other caught Chr’stepf in the head, melting it immediately, his body convulsing.

  Kraaz was firing down the hallway when the floor and walls started exploding. He wasn’t sure what was being used, but the amount of destruction suggested some sort of tripod-mounted devices.

  Kraaz’ shoulder exploded in gore as something blew his arm apart, his weapon going who-knew-where as his pharmacope injected painkillers into his system so he could keep his wits and his focus.

  In the haze of his pain, he looked at his group and realized that every one of his men had been either killed or substantially wounded like himself. His enhanced healing couldn’t force a non-existent arm to regrow.

  “Control,” he snapped. There was no way his team was going to be successful. It was up to Bocklans to figure out what the team needed to do next.

  This operation was a bust.

  “There is no more Control,” a voice called to him.

  Kraaz slowly turned his head back around. The silence in the hallway after all the destruction sounded deafening to him and his heartbeat was louder in his ears than the hissing of the pipes spewing liquids somewhere behind him.

  Kraaz’ eyes opened as he fought through the pain to see a dark human, his chest a rumpled mess where P’kert’s beam had hit him, come out of the smoke first, before another figure came into view behind him.

  He saw the red glowing in the smoke and swallowed in understanding.

  Her eyes flamed red, her hair floating as energy crackled around her, and streaks of power were etched on her face. She wore a red armored jacket on her shoulders and held a helmet in her hand.

  Death had come, and he hadn’t even known who she was when he’d watched the Etheric Empire’s Empress for those three days.

  Death had been sitting there weaving a spell of confusion, just as she had sung a song of attraction to those who had courted her their whole lives.

  Now Death had come to reap their souls.

  “Forgive me,” Kraaz mumbled. “Forgive me, Death, for I knew not who I fought.”

  The Empress of Death stared at him as he lay on the ground bleeding from the shoulder where his arm has been blown off. Death’s voice was deep, without pity and without anger as she spoke to him in his own tongue.

  “Sleep,” Death commanded, and a blue ball of energy formed in her hand.

  Then Kraaz knew only darkness.

  —

  Across the systems, a second battle was being fought. This time it wasn’t with guns and explosives; it was with words and video, accusations, lies and press releases.

  It was a war for the hearts and minds of the empires who did not have a stake in the fight between the Etheric Empire and the Leath. In short, it was a fight to spin the truth of the battle on Sertjal and bring sympathy, or at least antipathy, to the conversations.

  The Noel-ni wanted to blame someone, anyone other than themselves for failing to provide the security they had promised. They accused unknown assailants even though they had the same proof in their possession as the Etheric Empire and the Leath did—the attack had been executed by a hired mercenary group.

  Leath reporters blamed the Etheric Empire for hiring the mercenary group that had successfully killed their highest ranking military officer after their own primary had mysteriously and miraculously dodged the assassin’s beam headed in her own direction.

  They pointed to the fact that the humans had been armored and had quickly acquired weapons during the fight and killed the mercenaries they had hired as proof that the Etheric Empire had engaged Darkness for Hire.

  The Leath had made a big production of the First Line Prime Commander’s funeral, sending video to nearby systems of the massive expense and respect they afforded their fallen hero. He had been a Leath of action, but had died trying to promote peace.

  While the Leath as a group hadn’t been much of a known factor before, they were now rapidly creating connections with news systems and businesses and courting relationships with high-ranking politicos in systems large and small.

  The Etheric Empire was busy distributing their video of the attacks, tracking back the proof, forcing the Noel-ni government to confirm their findings, and sharing video from the hotel’s own security cameras to counter the Leath’s “lies, lies and more lies,” as the reporters quoted some of the Etheric Empire’s people.

  The Leath accused the Etheric Empire of kidnapping their people when almost twenty of their delegates went missing.

  The Etheric Empire representatives had shrugged their shoulders and asked how they could misplace their own people.

  In secret, the Etheric Empire had accepted anyone from the Leath system who wished to seek asylum for political reasons, not trusting their own government.

  The others went back to thei
r planet—those who lived.

  Yollin System, Almost Three Years after the Noel-ni Peace Accord Debacle

  Admiral Thomas watched the stars from the two-story window in the upper room of All Guns Blazing as he puffed on a cigar.

  He was drinking a whisky made from a barley-type grain which was easily grown on one of the more underutilized Yollin land areas. The bar was branching out into manufacturing their own alcohol and brews, some of them directed at the different alien species. Yelena, Cheryl Lynn, and Stephen were diversifying the bar’s business.

  Bad Company was the exclusive wholesaler of their alcohol throughout the different systems. So far the venture had provided a nice profit, but nothing that would allow them to grow substantially.

  Yelena and Cheryl Lynn were often accompanied by Stephen and various members of Bad Company when they visited different worlds, finding out what crops they grew, and what crops were cheap or underutilized.

  Hell, on one world they had found a weed that produced a very mellow drink the Shrillexians found pleasant. It gave them a gentle buzz that didn’t cause them to lose situational awareness. Shi-tan started mixing it in his Pepsi at times.

  Nathan tested him: Shi-tan would drink ten of the concoctions and then they would spar. Shi-tan felt he was mentally tracking, and the tests confirmed he was fighting at about ninety percent of his top form.

  Plus, the buzz had worn off during the first two minutes of fighting.

  It wasn’t until the third week after Shi-tan had started consuming the drink that Bastek noticed he wasn’t as aggressive as normal.

  To test that theory, Bastek had Shi-tan drink the brew every time he felt like fighting. And almost every time, it had caused Shi-tan to mellow out and overcome the desire to fight.

  Now Shi-tan and Bastek wanted to negotiate with Bad Company for the rights to an extract. Bastek wanted to produce the product because it would allow the Shrillexian people a chance to stop sending their people off to fight. They had done this for generations, their people often coming back maimed or worse.

  Admiral Thomas heard the clop clop clop of a Yollin coming up the stairs. It was the middle of the third shift and there should only be one Yollin coming up now. He glanced to the side and nodded.

  “You humans,” Kael-ven waved a hand in the air to bat the smoke aside, “still confuse me with your desire to pollute the air around you with burnt dried vegetable matter.”

  “Normally,” the admiral turned and stubbed the cigar out in the ashtray he had brought up for the purpose, “I’d agree with you, but these are made of a sweet plant from God-knows-where on Straiphus.” He turned back and held out a hand to the previous Planetary President. “How are you doing, now that you’re retired?”

  “Huh,” Kael-ven grunted as he walked to the other side of the tall bar table the admiral was using. He shook Admiral Thomas’ hand and looked at the drink on the tabletop. “This for me?”

  “Of course.” The admiral nodded. “You see any other Yollins in here? You think I’d have a Yollin-designed mug filled with your favorite beverage ready for someone else?”

  Kael-ven stopped lifting the mug to his mouth, his mandibles frozen in the open position. He slowly closed them. “Admiral, tell me this drink won’t mess up my thinking processes when you hit me with the big job?”

  “I’m that transparent?” Admiral Thomas laughed. “And of course not. If I wanted to do something like that, I’d ask Bethany Anne to speak with you.”

  “She wouldn’t need to put anything funny in the drink,” Kael-ven told him, then took a sip of the beer. “Dark. I like it.”

  “That’s what Yelena said. Says you are one of the few Yollins she knows that really enjoys the dark stuff.”

  “Might be the reason I like it.” Kael-ven took another sip. “I don’t have to worry about sharing the personal stash at my house with anyone else.”

  Thomas chuckled. “I understand,” he glanced at Kael-ven’s mug, “and there is no way I would take your beer.”

  “Of course not,” Kael-ven agreed. “You are a discerning man, but you have yet to ask your question. Once you get your answer, then I will worry about you taking my drink away.”

  The admiral looked at Kael-ven, a small smile playing on his lips “Actually, I have a keg waiting for you downstairs for your return trip home.”

  “Ok, now you are scaring me,” Kael-ven admitted. “I won’t be able to enjoy this beer or the view,” he pointed to the window, “if you don’t alleviate my concern about whatever you are going to ask. How bad is it?”

  Thomas turned and grabbed his whisky, swirling it. “Depends on how much you enjoy ground-pounding.” He took a sip of his drink, his eyes observing Kael-ven’s mannerisms, watching him for any hint about his thoughts.

  Unfortunately for Admiral Thomas, multiple years as the Yollin in charge of the planet had trained Kael-ven to show nothing of his thoughts. “And if I am happy on the ground?” he asked.

  “I’ll give you two kegs of beer, but both of them will be on a ship you have to visit to retrieve them.” He let Kael-ven think about that for a moment before adding, “One at a time.”

  “And if this,” Kael-ven pointed to the stars outside the window, “appeals to me, what then?”

  “Then,” Admiral Thomas smiled, “I buy up the remaining kegs of dark, we ship your household lock, stock, and barrel—well, barrels—up here, and you join the Etheric Empire’s Navy, where,” Thomas looked sternly at Kael-ven, “you have always belonged anyway.”

  Kael-ven’s eyes narrowed. “How many kegs are available at the moment?”

  Thomas grunted. “None for you. I’ll buy them just so you can’t take them and go back to the planet.”

  Kael-ven’s mandibles tapped twice. “Smart, but not my question. I really want to know how many kegs we are talking about. Do they only have three, or are there more?”

  “Twelve dark, fifteen stout,” Thomas replied.

  “What’s the job?” Kael-ven asked.

  “I want you to work on building up the Navy and the armed troops. Engage with the fighting captains and those who are going to be stationed on the ground. Plus, we have new destroyers that need personal attention to figure out who gets what ship.”

  Kael-ven laughed, his “heh heh heh” both soft and raspy at the same time. “E’kolorn is wanting a big group?”

  “He wants them all,” Thomas told him.

  Kael-ven threw a hand out. “That’s because he figures that’s the place to start the negotiation. He probably has ample reasons why he needs them and sixteen different attack runs the enemy might use, and can tell you how those ships are the only way…” Kael-ven noticed the admiral’s narrowed eyes. “What?”

  “It just so happens,” Thomas tapped the table top, “that E’kolorn had exactly sixteen different scenarios.”

  Kael-ven grabbed his glass. “Oh.” He lifted his drink close to his mouth. “Imagine that,” he added before he took a drink.

  There was silence while Kael-ven finished his drink and put it down. “Good stuff, Admiral.” He looked out the window. “How many of the destroyers are online?”

  “Probably the exact amount E’kolorn told you when you helped him figure out his strategy.”

  Kael-ven clicked his mandibles in humor once more. “I can’t help it if friends ask me for my opinion. You didn’t get there first.”

  “You helped make it a pain in the ass for me.” Thomas nodded. “So, you in?”

  Kael-ven shrugged. “Of course, but I want all twenty-seven kegs.”

  “Done,” the admiral agreed.

  “When do you want me to start?” Kael-ven asked as he watched the admiral bend over and reach for something at his feet.

  Admiral Thomas lifted a leather satchel with a lock on the outside. “That lock will be opened as soon as you communicate with ADAM, and the answer is ‘right now.’ The kegs are ready to load on your ship.”

  Kael-ven reached for the pouch, and the lock clicked open
. Admiral Thomas was pleased Kael-ven didn’t balk at getting started. “Have them shipped to my personal warehouse here on Meredith Reynolds. It maintains the right temperature, and I keep my other kegs there as well.” He opened the briefing and started reading the overview. “I’m surprised you printed this stuff out.”

  “Old-school, your eyes only, blah blah blah. Plus, as soon as you touched it you agreed to the job.”

  Kael-ven nodded absently, still scanning the paperwork. Then his eyes opened wide. “This says my first project is to tell E’kolorn why he only gets twenty percent of the destroyers.” He looked at the human across the table from him.

  Admiral Thomas smiled. “Why, yes! Yes, it does. Imagine how pleased I am that you are already familiar with E’kolorn’s arguments, and are so practiced with the politics.”

  “Twenty-seven kegs,” Kael-ven muttered, looking at the rest of the tasks he had been assigned, “was not enough.”

  “Too bad, and welcome to the Navy. It’s good to have you here.”

  Kael-ven looked up, a twinkle in his eye. “If I’d had to spend another three months dirtside, I would have joined the Navy as a raw recruit. This way I’m twenty-seven kegs richer and have a better job.” He reached over to shake Thomas’s hand. “It’s damned good to be back where I belong.”

  Kael-ven kept looking through the document as the admiral took a few more moments to enjoy the view. When Kael-ven’s eyes grew large once again and he looked up at him, Thomas sent a special message and waited for Kael-ven’s next question with amusement on his face.

  Kael-ven pointed to the document. “It says here I’m going to have a co-member to whip the Marines we have coming into shape. Who is it? If I have to kick the ass of another hard-headed ground-pounder like Kiel, I may space myself.”

  Thomas chuckled. “That is a bit melodramatic.”

  “Says you!” Kael-ven shook his head. “They can be more obstinate than Bethany Anne.”

  This time it was Thomas who grunted, “Ok, I may decide to space myself if that’s the case. However, I think you might be ok with our pick. He’s a bit of a pain in the ass, I’ll grant you, but he only very recently retired, and he is coming up here now for you to interview.”