aHunter4Rescue (aHunter4Hire)

by Clement, Cynthia

  aHunter4Rescue

  By

  Cynthia A Clement

  Text copyright © 2013 Cynthia A Clement

  eBook Edition

  ISBN: 978-0-9920189-0-0

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without prior written permission of the copyright owner and publisher. For the purposes of a reviewer, brief passages may be quoted in a review to be printed in a newspaper, magazine, or journal.

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters and incidents are from the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual incidents or persons, living or dead, is coincidental and unintentional.

  Book Cover designed by RomCon®

  Cover photo - © CURAphotography - Fotolia.com

  Dedication

  To my husband and son, who supported my vision and put up with the clutter, late meals, and take-out until I finished.

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Ardal had followed orders without question for thirty-five years, but not this time. Bred to be a Hunter, he had always known death would be his reward. There was no fear in death, but there should be honor. He scanned the prison cage, taking a long look at each of his men. They were brothers and friends, and every one of them had been slotted for execution. Since time began, Hunters had existed, but now their breed was to be exterminated.

  His men deserved better.

  They deserved to die fighting.

  He was the last of the clan Rioge; the last leader. His men were the only Hunters left. The rest of his race and brotherhood had been destroyed long before his unit had returned from their covert mission. Torture and violence had not elicited the information that the Holman wanted. He and his men would never break, so their usefulness was at an end. Now all that remained was death.

  Every leader knew that the decision to risk lives must be weighed against the likelihood of winning. Their chances of winning were slim. The confines of the spacecraft and their chains almost guaranteed it. The time for a reprieve had come and gone. Their jailors were preparing the tubes that would shoot them into space to die a slow suffocating death. As resistors and convicted traitors, they were not deserving of a more humane execution.

  There was only one decision.

  They would fight and die as Hunters.

  Ardal nodded at Garguin, who in turn passed the message down the line. Within seconds his unit of warriors and elite Hunters were ready for his signal. As the leader he would be the first to be executed. When they came for him he would make his move. The others would follow their training. The clang of the metal door opening sent icy resolve through his body.

  The moment had come.

  Ardal tightened his muscles and felt the familiar rush of adrenaline pulse through his body. He was a finely tuned weapon. Centuries of genetic modification and years of training had made him a formidable force. His jailors were no match for him. They were of the slave race, thinner boned and slow witted. The Holman had not seen the need for elite soldiers. They assumed a Hunter was incapable of disobeying an order. That would be Ardal’s only advantage.

  Three men came for him. He eased his breathing and slowed his heart rate before glancing once more at Garguin. He sent his orders. Only Hunters were capable of mind connection and it was a well-guarded secret of the brotherhood.

  “When these are defeated, move the men from the cage. We fight until the last man is dead. We will die as soldiers.”

  “By Cygnus and Warrior your orders will be obeyed. It is an honor serving with you.” Garguin turned away and nodded to the next in command.

  Ardal moved his head from side to side, easing his muscles in preparation for battle. It was done. There was no turning back. They were now truly traitors. He focused on the men coming for him, complacent in their belief that they were in control.

  Fools.

  No man was safe from a Hunter.

  Ardal assessed the man nearest him as a muscle bound oaf. The next was slightly built and walked with confidence. He had the look of one trained in hand to hand combat. The last was the leader and a coward judging by the distance he was careful to keep between him and the other jailors. He tightened his grip on the chains holding his hands together.

  The oaf unlocked him from the cage.

  “Not so tough now,” his voice mocked before Ardal wrapped his chains around his neck and silenced him. The keys dropped from the jailor’s hands. Ardal kicked them toward Garguin before rushing forward against the other men. He moved beyond the cage doors, leaving the way free for his men.

  An elbow strike to the head of the second man kept him at bay until he had broken the neck of the oaf. Then he kicked free of the body and grappled with the next combatant. He fielded the man’s hand chops, weaving and deflecting the blows with ease. He did not have time for finesse. He leveled a bone breaking kick to the man’s ribs and then a knee to his head before using his chains to twist his neck and fling him at the last man.

  A gun fired red heat in his direction, but the aim was deflected by the oncoming body. Ardal’s eyes narrowed. He had been right. The man was a coward hiding behind his weapon. He pounced on the last jailor and forced the gun up against the man’s chest just as he fired a second time. The man slumped against Ardal, his eyes startled as pain convulsed his body. It was a look Ardal was all too familiar with. Death.

  Gauguin was at his side, unlocking the chains that still bound his hands together. “The crew will be alerted now.”

  “Divide the men and move through the craft.” Ardal rubbed his wrists before bending to pick up the gun. “Kill all you see. No one is to be left alive. Arm yourself as you go.”

  Garguin nodded and motioned the men into separate groups before following Ardal. Their footsteps were silent, but the alarm had been signaled. Pounding footfall came toward them. Ardal moved into the shadows and braced for the fight.

  They fought their way through men and bodies until they reached the control center of the craft. It was a modern ship, built for speed not battle. It was large enough to transport several thousand troops, or prisoners. They had encountered and defeated about six hundred men, a meagre amount for Ardal’s unit of two hundred.

  The heart of the craft was different. It was guarded by doors and locks, not men.

  “Find explosives.” Ardal ordered before turning back to the sealed encasement of the cockpit. “We need to gain control if there is any hope of survival.”

  His fingers moved over the grey metal of the massive security doors, exploring every niche and crevice of its cold steel. There were secrets to find here. Ardal followed a coated wire that lead from the door to the floor. He pulled on it with no effect. If there was a way to open the doors without force, he didn’t find it.

  Garguin returned and Ardal watched as Firbin, the youngest of his Hunters sta
rted applying the molding explosives to the doors. His fingers moved sure and confident, filling the cracks of the hinges and then across the opening seam. The boy might only be twenty-two, but he was a genius with explosives.

  The blast ripped the doors apart with a force that shook the entire ship. Gunfire from inside the cockpit filled the air. Ardal kept his men away from the ragged opening until the shots stopped and then they went into the breach to fight. One by one the soldiers defending the cockpit fell until there was only the captain and his crew at the helm.

  “Don’t come any closer.” The Captain pointed a laser pistol at the control panel. “I won’t have my ship taken by traitors.”

  The Captain was shorter and slighter built than the other men at the helm. He had no facial hair, but his other features were similar to Hunters. His larger eyes, narrow nose, and small mouth marked him as an Ancient. He was of the ruling class on Cygnus, there before the Hunters and slave races. Some thought of them as Gods, but Ardal knew differently. The Captain’s insignia proclaimed that he was a Holman.

  Ardal tilted his head and glanced at the man’s nametag. “I am impressed Captain Eamon. You are the first Holman I have met who is not a coward.”

  “You and your men are better dead. There is no place for you in the new regime.” The Captain did not hide his disdain. “You were no better than slaves for the Kaladin, and where are they now?

  “You would never have kept us alive this long unless you thought you could break us.” Ardal took a step closer to the man. “You might hold us in contempt, but even torture and death will not force us to tell you where the last of the high council is hidden.”

  “It will do them no good.” The Captain tightened his grip on his pistol. “The Holman have defeated the old ways. Now our people will have a chance to flourish.”

  “By conquering other planets?” Ardal watched Garguin and his men spread out in the control center. “That way only leads to destruction.”

  “You weren’t bred to think.” The Captain spat his scorn at Ardal. “You aren’t even men in the truest sense of the word!”

  Ardal moved in unison with his men. They killed the rest of the crew as he grabbed the Captain by the neck. He jerked him close, reaching for the pistol at the same time. He was too late to stop the reflex action of his captive. The gun fired at the bank of navigation computers. Exploding fragments and flames leapt everywhere. He threw the Captain away from him.

  “Can you fix it Jehon?”

  A tall broad-shouldered Hunter stepped forward with an extinguisher and sprayed the flaming bank of computers. Then he inspected the damage before shaking his head and stepping back.

  “We are being pulled in by the gravity of that planet. We cannot avoid it.”

  Ardal nodded and looked through the floor-to-ceiling viewing window. A large planet loomed close, its globe shape filling most of the viewing screen. You did not have to be an expert in physics to know that the odds of survival were slim. He grabbed the Captain. There was only one thing left to do.

  “Now you will see how real men die.”

  Ardal dragged Eamon out of the room. The rest of his men followed until they reached the padded area of the launching chamber. This was where passengers strapped themselves in for takeoff and landing of the spacecraft. It was built with heat shields and heavier metal to cocoon and protect its occupants from rough landings. He threw the Captain into one of the chairs and strapped him in.

  “What is this planet that we are going to collide with?”

  “M212.

  “I have never heard of it.” Ardal took a seat and nodded for his men to follow. Within seconds, everyone was secure.

  “It’s primitive, with numerous languages. Their technology is almost non-existent. Hell, they’re still going to war against each other.”

  “Jehon, download a translator.”

  Ardal’s training kicked in. He slowed his breathing and allowed his body to relax. All tension left his muscles as he prepared for a crash landing. Mentally he commanded his men to do the same.

  The Captain’s hands gripped his seat. “There’s no chance we’ll live. Use the emergency capsules. We’d have a better chance of surviving entry.”

  Ardal raised an eyebrow. “Frightened?”

  “It’s foolish to sit here and wait for the end.” The Captain moved his hand to undo his straps, but Ardal stopped him.

  “A Captain goes down with his ship.” Ardal’s voice was neutral, his judgement suspended. He was a Hunter, bred to obey orders and ensure that others followed. The Captain would do his duty.

  Eamon’s voice rose in a high pitched whine. “My men are dead, what difference does it make now?”

  “Courage Captain. There is honor yet to be earned.”

  Jehon cleared his throat. “I’ve determined the most likely landing area and have the translator ready.”

  Ardal nodded. “Connect us. We may yet survive to fight another day. It has been a privilege leading you, Hunters true and right.”

  “By Cygnus and Warrior you have led us fine.” The men’s voices rose in unison.

  Pride surged through Ardal. His men had not failed him. Even as they faced certain death, they remained calm. The ship’s frame began to shake and the metal surrounding them glowed red. They were entering the atmosphere of the planet. They would probably perish in the air before a collision with the ground could kill them. Still, he could die in peace. He had given his men honor in their death. No greater duty did a leader have.

  Chapter 2

  The screeching roar of an explosion woke Fiona. The heavens were erupting into a million colors and dropping shards of flames around her. She had dozed off for a few minutes and now everything was burning bright. She glanced up. It was a crisp August night and the sky was bright and beautiful, perfect for viewing the Perseids.

  That’s why she’d come out to the center of her property to lie on the hood of her truck. She had watched the meteor shower until sleep had claimed her. It took a second to register that the stars were still in place. It was the ground around her that was consumed with fire and debris.

  A plane crash!

  Fiona jumped off her truck. The air smelled of burning fuel and the unmistakable odor of burnt flesh. It was a smell she’d hoped never to experience again, but here it was, all around her. The main crash was a distance away. If there were survivors, they’d need help.

  There was no time to waste.

  She grabbed the truck keys and took off over the field toward the red glow at the edge of the forest. If she’d lived in a city, thousands would have responded, but she was living in a remote part of Northern Canada and was probably the only one to see the crash.

  The truck bounced and rocked from side to side as she drove over rocks and twigs. The complete darkness of the bush meant the only thing visible was the bright flames of the crash site. An opening in the trees gave her a full view of the damage. The truck’s headlights illuminated the area.

  It was a scene straight from hell.

  Debris was scattered for acres. What had once been a field of small pine saplings, was now charred black. Flames leapt from sapling to sapling leaving black ash in their wake. Everywhere she looked was devastation. What had taken nature years to grow had been undone in seconds.

  Fiona closed her eyes and fought back the tears. The property had been a haven of peace for her. Now all she would see was the burnt and scorched ground. Almost as if God wanted to give her a constant reminder of what her life had become. She groaned and forced herself to look at the scene. There was no changing it. Thank God the pond would stop the spread of the fire. The ground had frost on it and it had been a wet summer, so she doubted she’d have to call for fire suppression. She turned her head away from the burning trees and then back toward the crash.

  Out of the flames came a man.

  A survivor!

  He was a giant of a man. He walked with a quick sure step. There was no hesitation or sign of injury in his pace. S
trength, power, and command were evident in every stride he took as he moved closer to the truck. This was a man to be obeyed. Fiona shivered. She should have gone back to the house and called for help.

  More men followed. People needed rescuing. The nearest town was at least thirty minutes away. She could help some, but the most serious would require a hospital. Even with four years of medical school and one year interning, she wasn’t equipped to handle more than basic first aid.

  She pulled the parking brake on the truck. The lead man was already at her vehicle and pulled the door open. Up close he was even more intimidating. Tall and broad shouldered, his hair and face were covered with soot and ash. He looked to be wearing a uniform, but half of his shirt was burned away. The other half did nothing to cover the ripples of muscles and raw strength of the man.

  Fear clawed at Fiona’s stomach.

  “Yarda.” His voice was hoarse and his face expressionless.

  Her breath caught in her throat and her body began to shake. Physically, this man could crush her. She’d spent the last year in hiding and now her worse nightmare had fallen into her life. There would be no escaping. Fiona took a deep breath and stilled her fear. She couldn’t assume every man meant to hurt her.

  “Do you speak English?” Her voice was a low whisper.

  “Versom.” The giant glared at her.

  Fiona put up her hand, ignoring the tremors. “I don’t understand. What language are you speaking?”

  The man pulled a small phone-like gadget from his pocket. He punched a few buttons and held it to her face. “Yarda.”

  “English.” Fiona enunciated in a clear voice. “I don’t understand your language.

  The man looked down at his machine and then shouted at the other men coming toward the truck. “Yarda som apta gurta.

  The men clustered around the giant and nodded. Their deference made it obvious that they considered him in control. They pushed buttons on a similar looking device, their brows furrowed in concentration. All of them had cuts and wounds, some even broken bones, but their focus was on the machine in their hand. Fiona had never seen anyone completely ignore what must have been huge physical pain. They needed immediate medical attention and her concerns forced her into action.