by Richard Fox
Hale moved away. He found the stepped pyramid and walked toward it. Each stage held a different alien species, some with a single individual, others with dozens and dozens packed together. Toth overlords meandered among the stages, conferring with the oddly dressed menials attending to the edges.
“The bazaar doesn’t sell things,” Cortaro said. “The overlords are selling people to each other. Like a slave auction.”
“It’s not slaves they’re selling,” Hale said.
“And Mentiq’s in the middle of all of this,” Standish said. “Could you imagine what would’ve happened if the Toth got ahold of the proccie tech? There would be stages full of humans, marketing us like sides of beef.”
“Sir, I ever thank you for not giving us all up to the Toth?” Yarrow asked.
“It was never an option,” Hale said. Never for me, at least, he thought. He’d been humanity’s negotiator with the Toth overlord on Europa, and before the final cordial meeting, Captain Valdar instructed him to sign a treaty handing over all the proccies and the technology used in their creation. The order came straight from Earth high command, which baffled Hale. After the battle, and the sacrifice of so many proccies who died serving in Eighth Fleet, Ibarra’s and Admiral Garrett’s support of the program was adamant.
Hale knew politics was a factor once officers reached flag rank, but he couldn’t believe that Garrett could have been willing to throw the proccies to the wolves one minute, then become their biggest defender the next. The discontinuity had bugged him for weeks, like a pebble stuck in a boot that never seemed to go away.
“Those other cities,” Cortaro said, “the ones we saw from orbit, they’re just like Lilith’s village. They’re all…Mentiq’s gardens.”
“We’re going to put an end to this,” Hale said. “I don’t care if we have to burn it all down.” They stepped around an overlord haggling with a menial next to a stage full of furry aliens with bulbous eyes, none more than three feet tall. Their offspring, little more than puffs of fur with glistening eyes, reached into the air.
“There’s something weird around the stages,” Yarrow said. “My visor’s picking up some kind of distortion.”
“Force fields,” Lilith said, “and one-way holos. A friend of mine had the calling to recreate alien worlds, tranquil scenes. I wonder if he was out here, standing in the middle of his own creation, oblivious to the monsters salivating over him.”
“Stay focused. Almost there,” Hale said.
“Sir, you read me?” Bailey said through Hale’s earpiece.
“Go.”
“We’re about to start up. There’s some activity brewing at the main gate. We weapons free if we have a shot?”
“Give us two minutes to get to the objective building. Then you’re clear,” Hale said. They stepped past another pair of Kroar without being noticed and Hale saw the main entrance to the stepped pyramid, barred doors guarded by kadanu armed with shock sticks.
“I don’t recommend the front door, sir,” Cortaro said. “It looks fortified and I feel like I’m wearing damn pajamas.”
The pyramid was nearly a hundred yards long on a side. Higher tiers were slightly smaller than the lower levels, ending with a tenth level that looked like it was nothing more than a box barely large enough for a single person. Kadanu milled around the bottom few levels.
“We’ve got some eyes on us,” Standish said. He motioned to a nearby building with wooden tables in front and a few humans lounging nearby. “How about a drink?”
Hale led them into the establishment where the smell of spilled beer and sweat filled the air. Humans in coarse spun tunics and sandals backed away from Hale and the others.
“I’m paid up for the month.” An elderly woman behind a long wooden bar wagged a finger at Hale. “You tell Primus if he raises my rates again I’ll have to sell off my best waitress to the overlords to make my rent.”
Hale felt for a pouch of coins hanging from his belt and tossed it onto the bar.
“Four of whatever you’ve got, please,” he said as he sat on a stool. The old woman snatched the purse away and tossed a dirty bowl of what looked like roasted chickpeas in front of him. The rest of the Marines and Lilith sat at the bar with Hale.
“Yarrow,” Hale whispered. He felt two taps on his shoulder. “Go scout out an entrance, but stay close.” Two more taps and Hale heard the wood floors creak as Yarrow left the bar.
The bartender brought out four wooden flagons of sudsy beer and set one before each of the Marines. Hale ate one of the chickpeas, then tapped the wooden bowl against the bar. The old lady grumbled and walked off.
Standish grabbed his beer by the handle and was about to drink when Cortaro slammed his hand onto Standish’s forearm.
“Nurse it,” Cortaro growled.
“Add joy onto your list of confirmed kills, Gunney.” Standish let go of his beer and pat his hands against his thighs.
Hale reached into his tunic and tapped the data slate from his gauntlet.
“Breitenfeld, this is Hale. Do you read me?”
****
Hale shrugged the scaled armor over his shoulder and pulled at a strap against his waist to tighten it against his body. He hadn’t worn armor that wasn’t part of a self-supporting exoskeleton with integrated strength augmentations since he’d been to the Basic School in Quantico. The instructors had the new second lieutenants march, fight and practically live in old Kevlar vests with ceramic plate inserts so they’d “appreciate” the day they earned their more modern power armor.
After a week in the old stuff, he understood why his grandfather and so many older veterans of the wars around the turn of the century complained about bad backs and wobbly knees.
“We’re through to the ship, sir,” Egan said. The Marine had a small transceiver mounted on the roof of the shuttle and pointed at the Breitenfeld. “The energy shield will degrade the signal. At least the Toth figured out they need to let infrared energy escape, else this whole city would turn into an oven while the shield’s up.”
“Thank God for small favors,” Hale said. A static-filled image of Valdar appeared on the gauntlet held in Hale’s hands.
“Hale?” Valdar asked, his voice tinny. “What the hell are you wearing?”
“The cloak batteries aren’t holding up. They’re holding less of a charge each time we use them. We’re making do with uniforms the local guard force don’t need anymore,” Hale said.
“Risky. What’s the status on Mentiq or getting the shields down?”
“We’re moving into the city in a few more minutes. Egan will relay everything to you. We’ve got the location to the city’s defense center and Mentiq will make an appearance soon. We’ll get this done, one way or another.”
Valdar’s image waved from side to side “…situation from orbit. Working on our own solution to get…Karigole and the rest out.”
“You’re coming in broken. Egan and Lafayette think they can rig together a bunch of Toth shuttles, wagon train the civilians back up to orbit. Did you copy any of that?”
Valdar washed out in a sea of static.
“I bet it’s the auroras. Damn things play hell with reception,” Egan said. “I’m staying behind, sir. I’ll get your plan to the Breit once the sky’s clear.”
“Lots of moving parts. Lots can go wrong,” Hale said.
“A good plan, violently executed now, is better than a perfect plan next week,” Egan said.
“You keep quoting an army general and Gunney will scrape that globe and anchor off your armor,” Hale said.
“Truth is truth, so what if Patton said it?”
“I’ll tell Cortaro you’ve expanded your horizons.”
“Let’s not be hasty, sir. Oh look, something I need to fix.” Egan stepped away from the commo rig and went down the ladder to the cargo bay.
****
Egan drummed his fingers on the shuttle’s control panels. He’d been waiting in the same seat for over an hour, checking the IR relay
to the Breitenfeld and double-checking the slaver units he’d made from Lafayette’s instructions.
He’d used up all but two of his hacker spikes on the slavers, but installing them into the neighboring Toth shuttles required more technical know-how than he had.
Toth menials and a few warriors had passed by the shuttle bay, none showing much interest in his ship, which suited him just fine. He was armored and had a full charge to his cloak, but dancing around any security personnel while he was alone wasn’t high on his to-do list.
Someone cleared their throat and Egan jumped out of his seat. He drew his pistol and flipped the safety off.
“Damaging the only Toth shuttle a human can pilot will have a negative effect on our timeline,” a voice said.
“Lafayette?” Egan asked.
Orozco de-cloaked as did the two Karigole.
“You have the slaver units?” Lafayette picked one up and examined it.
“When did you guys get here?” Egan asked.
“About ten minutes ago. Had to take out a couple kadanu and two warriors back at the Karigole enclave,” Orozco said. “The rest was pretty easy.”
“What about the coffins? Did you send them to processing?” Egan asked.
“I’m certain Mentiq’s servants can tell the difference between a human and a Karigole,” Steuben said.
“Here’s what you do…” Egan laid out Standish’s quartermaster two-step scheme.
“That’s very clever. Did you come up with it on your own?” Steuben asked.
“Sure, yeah. I’ve got nothing but time on my hands since I finished making the slaver units,” Egan said with a straight face.
“You go back to our shuttle and send off the bodies as you described,” Lafayette said. “Steuben and I will install the slaver units in empty shuttles and wait for Hale to disable the city’s defenses.”
“How about I stay here while you three do all the smart-guy ninja stuff?” Orozco asked.
“When cloaked, Orozco has the finesse of a cow in a porcelain shop,” Steuben said.
“He was captured by Karigole children,” Lafayette said.
“How about we move on from that?” Orozco said, “What do I have to do, Egan?”
“Monitor the radio and patch through to Hale or the Breit if anyone calls. The dish is on the roof. Don’t touch it,” Egan said.
“Done. Now don’t you all have someplace else you’re supposed to be?”
CHAPTER 17
Bailey pulled herself over the edge of a terrace and cursed. Standing barely above five feet tall, the high walls of each successive steppe seemed designed to insult her vertically challenged nature.
She heard a scrape as Rohen climbed over the wall and saw a blur as his cloaking field adjusted.
“Grab my hand,” Rohen said.
“You know you’re invisible, right? We’ve got the location transmitters off to save power.”
Dust puffed the side of the wall where Rohen slapped.
“Coming.” Bailey ran toward the wall and jumped. One foot touched the wall and she pushed off it to go higher. She flailed her arms over her head and managed to link arms with Rohen. He hauled her over the edge and onto another flat roof covered in gravel. They were on the second-to-last building level. A single door was the only way in or out to the tier barely the size of a small apartment.
“This’ll do,” Rohen said. Gravel shifted aside as he went prone. Bailey looked across the city to the gilded gates between the palace and the bazaar. Menials crowded around the upper wall, all waving brightly colored flags.
“This guy likes to make an entrance,” she said. She laid down a few feet from Rohen and felt for her rail rifle attached to her back. She pulled the pieces off and reassembled the weapon. Strike Marine snipers trained to take apart and put their weapons together in complete darkness and by feel alone. Bailey had won several bets by reassembling her weapon in less than a minute, hitting a target at 800 meters and while somewhat inebriated. Readying her weapon while cloaked wasn’t a challenge.
“Wind’s steady,” Rohen said. “Relative humidity at seventy percent. Remember we’ve got to compensate for the gravity variance and the slower rotation.”
“Why don’t you remind me to pull the trigger while you’re at it?” Bailey took a tungsten dart from a felt bandolier attached to the side of the weapon’s butt stock and slid it into the chamber.
“You want to hit him as soon as the doors open or—” Rohen grunted in pain. Gravel shifted around beneath the sniper.
“Rohen? What’s wrong?” Bailey asked. When there was no answer, she stepped away from her weapon and felt around until she found Rohen. She tried to pin him down with one hand while the other ran up his shoulders. She found a small button by his right ear and pressed it.
Rohen rematerialized, his muscles contracted and pulling him into a fetal position. He slammed his head against the ground, his eyes tight with pain.
“’jectors,” he managed through grit teeth, “chest.”
Bailey found the clip of auto-injectors and tried to pull one out, but it fumbled in her fingers and went to the ground. She deactivated her cloak and had an easier time picking up the device once she could see her hands. She pressed it against the port on his neck guard and Rohen went slack.
“What the hell, Rohen?”
“Nerve damage,” he said. Rohen grabbed his right forearm and extended the limb out, shivering as his body came back under his control. “I had some void exposure on Ceres. The injections help.”
“Jesus, who decided to send you on this mission? You should be in a hospital if you’re this bad,” Bailey said.
“I volunteered,” Rohen said. He felt his chest and froze. “Where’s the rest of my injectors?”
“I think they fell—”
Bailey heard laughter and the thump of approaching footsteps from the door behind them. Her hand went to the handle of the wide-bladed Bowie knife she kept strapped to her thigh.
The door burst open and three kadanu stumbled onto the roof, the lead guard holding an open glass bottle. Their laughter cut off as they saw Bailey and Rohen.
Bailey flicked her knife up to hold it by the blade and reached behind her head. She hurled the blade with enough force that it buried itself into the lead guard’s chest up to the brass handguard. The guard clutched at the blade and backpedaled into his shocked companions.
Bailey didn’t waste any time. She charged the remaining two and dropped her shoulder. She plowed into a guard and sent him flying until his head came to a sudden stop against the open doorway.
The last guard jumped away from Bailey’s grasp and ran into the building. Inside was nothing but a bare room and a stairwell. The guard, screaming for help, took to the stairs. Bailey leaped across the opening and blocked the guard’s path.
The kadanu snapped out a punch and hit Bailey in the face. There was a crack of breaking knuckles as the armor designed to deflect gauss rounds proved stronger than flesh and blood. The guard reeled back, clutching his hand to his chest…and toppled over the railing. Bailey reached out and managed a tenuous grasp on the man’s ankle.
Gravity jerked him out of her hold, leaving her with nothing but a sandal.
She looked over the railing and watched as the guard slammed against the stairwell, bouncing against railing and stonework like a pinball, leaving smears of blood to mark his passage. The guard splattered against the bottom floor.
“Ah…fuck.” She tossed the sandal aside and ran back onto the roof, repeating the expletive with greater speed and intensity. She pulled her knife out of the dead man’s chest and slammed the door shut. She wedged her blade into the jamb and rammed it home with a slap to the pommel. Anyone coming to investigate would have a tough time getting through the door.
“Mentiq’s coming out!” Rohen said from behind his weapon. “How’d it go in there?”
“Bad. Very bad. We’re going to have company.” Bailey went onto her belly and pulled her rifle against her sho
ulder. She clicked a button to open a channel to Hale.
“Sir, we’re about to get started. Our position is compromised but we should have enough time to get off an effective shot on the target,” she said.
“The top of this pyramid is our extraction point,” Hale said. “Regroup with us once you’re done. Just run to the sound of gunfire.”
“Roger, sir. We’ll catch up.” Bailey closed the line.
“Here we go,” Rohen said.
The gates opened with a fanfare of horns, the tune replayed on speakers throughout the city. The discordant notes rumbled around the snipers’ perch. A shoulder-to-shoulder line of Toth warriors in gold-plated armor marched out, each holding an energy rifle against their chests.
Dozens of Toth overlords came next, their disembodied nervous systems floating in decorated tanks more elaborate than Bailey remembered from the overlord she encountered on the Naga.
Mentiq came through the gate, his immense form resting in a pile of pillows carried on an elaborate barque of precious metals and intricate jewel work.
Bailey lifted her head from her scope and blinked hard.
“I thought he was supposed to be a fish tank like the rest of the overlords,” she said.
“I think a bullet to his center mass will still kill it,” Rohen said. “Got a breeze kicking up, adjust three meters left.”
“It should be four meters with the—”
“Trust me!”
Bailey murmured and made the adjustment on her scope. She lined the crosshairs over a mass of gold necklaces around Mentiq’s flabby chest and let her breath seep out. She felt the beat of her heart against the tip of her trigger finger.
“Fire on my mark,” Rohen said.
Mentiq lazily raised a claw there and his barque glided forward toward a stage where five different alien species were chained to the white marble.
“Wait for him to stop,” Bailey whispered. Rohen made a tiny nod.
Mentiq waved a hand across the offerings, then pointed to a lanky alien with red fur and knees that bent backwards. Menials swarmed over the chosen one and pushed it toward Mentiq. He raised a hand covered by a golden gauntlet, and feeder tendrils snaked out of the fingertips.
