From around her neck, the handmaiden removed an amulet hanging on a long, black chain. The ornament was an octagram, an eight-pointed star, made from a strange, dark metal. A black pearl was set in the center.
Chapter Two
On Aldorus, sub-basement 31 was over three hundred feet below the Regalis starport. Magnus Black found this useful for two reasons. First, it was too deep for someone to transmat in or out, including transmatting Magnus without his permission. Second, it was too deep for orbital bombardment to reach, even if someone wasn’t timid about destroying the thirty floors above sub-basement 31 and whatever happened to be sitting on the starport surface.
It was also dimly lit. Magnus liked that most of all.
Positioned in the shadow of a rusted storage container, Magnus waited. His head and face were shaved to a mere stubble and he wore a dark leather coat. Inside the coat, a blaster pistol hung by a shoulder holster.
Farther down the line of containers, an elevator door opened with a cheerful ding and a man in uniform stepped out. His name was Colonel Hugo Grausman, a man Magnus knew very well.
In his fifties, the colonel wore a green uniform with black, spit-shined boots. His brown hair was cut high and tight, revealing a large scar running along the side of his head.
Colonel Grausman held up his hands and turned completely around, showing that the holster at his hip was empty and no other obvious weapons were visible. Magnus let him stand there for a full minute before saying anything.
“I didn’t expect to see you again,” Magnus said, “unless I was going to kill you.”
Following the assassin’s voice, the colonel took several steps in that direction before stopping.
“I get that a lot,” he said.
“I hope this isn’t just the Intelligence Service luring me into a trap,” Magnus said, emerging from the shadow.
“They’re still looking for you?”
“If I’m still breathing, they’re still looking for me.”
“Maybe I can help you with that...”
“Is that why you’re here?” Magnus asked. “To do me a favor?”
“Not exactly.”
“I’m hurt,” Magnus replied.
“There’s been a terrorist attack on Marakata,” the colonel said.
Magnus shrugged. “That’s a daily occurrence...”
“A suicide bomber got into the green zone and blew himself up, taking out half the officers’ quarters,” the colonel went on.
“The Draconians aren’t going to stop until the Imperials leave their planet.”
“I know that!” the colonel said angrily. “I’ve been fighting them for twenty years.”
“So, why’s this attack different?”
“Because my wife and kids are dead! They died in the explosion!”
Magnus arched his eyebrow, but said nothing.
“We killed off the terrorist cell responsible,” the colonel continued after collecting himself, “but the leader’s still at large.”
“Who is it?”
“Do you still remember General Ekavir?”
Magnus glared. “You know damn well I do.”
“Then you won’t mind going after him for me.”
“He’s not my problem anymore,” Magnus replied.
“A lot has changed since you were there,” the colonel said. “Ekavir’s lost most of his people from reprisal raids. The rest don’t want to be anywhere near him. They say he’s lost his honor.”
“I guess killing kids will do that for a person.”
“The two of you have unfinished business. This is your opportunity to finish him off once and for all.”
“Are you sure he’s still on Marakata?” Magnus asked.
“The planet’s been under blockade since the attack,” Colonel Grausman replied. “I haven’t allowed anyone off the planet except myself to come here. He’s got to be in the jungle somewhere. It’s just a matter of finding him.”
“On a world covered in jungle. That shouldn’t be hard...”
“Some of your old contacts are still alive. I’ve made sure of that.”
“What about payment?”
“Five hundred thousand credits,” the colonel replied.
Magnus shook his head slowly. “Not enough.”
“Like I said, I can get the IS to stop looking for you.”
“Now, how would you do that?”
“I’ve made new friends,” the colonel said. “They might do me a favor if I ask nicely.”
“The IS was pretty pissed when I quit,” Magnus replied. “It didn’t help that I killed their agent on my way out the door...”
“Is that a yes?”
Magnus considered for a long minute but finally nodded. “Okay.”
When the expansion of the Imperium reached the Draconian home world Marakata, the humans found a race of fierce warriors who, even without advanced technology, resisted all attempts to subdue them. Taller than humans, these large reptiles were covered in thick green scales with wide, bone-like protrusions around the crown of their skulls. Although they had claws on both hands and feet, they were masters of bladed weapons including what the natives called the Draconian Battlestaff. At the end of a long pole, the head of the battlestaff combined a pointed side for stabbing and an axe side for slashing.
The Draconians did a lot of both.
Two hundred years and several revolts later, Marakata was a police state with Colonel Hugo Grausman as the military governor. Even with Imperial soldiers manning checkpoints throughout the main city of Sucikhata, attacks by Draconian separatists occurred so frequently that most governing offices, both civil and military, were located in an area of relative safety called the Green Zone.
Although the inhabitants of the city enjoyed all the modern amenities one would expect, the architecture of Sucikhata gave it an ancient appearance. Instead of concrete and plasteel, the buildings were constructed of stone blocks carefully fitted together without mortar or cement. Since most buildings were only a few stories tall, the city grew outward, forming a sprawling labyrinth of narrow alleys paved with large, flattened stones. Like everywhere else on the planet, vines and vegetation were prevalent throughout the city as the jungle attempted to take back what was rightfully its own.
Magnus checked into a hotel where he found his equipment waiting for him, courtesy of Colonel Grausman. Magnus lifted the blinds and stared at the jungle visible just outside the city. In the haze of the afternoon, a volcano rose from the leafy sea of green.
As a new recruit, barely in his twenties, Magnus learned all about Agniparvata, the name of the Draconians’ revered volcano. According to their legends, a two-headed dragon named Bonamalum lived inside the mountain. One of the heads, Bona, was good while his brother, Malum, was evil. One day, a hero climbed the mountain and challenged Malum to combat. The evil side agreed, attacking the hero, but after a battle lasting seven days and seven nights, Malum’s head lay severed on the ground. As the hero rejoiced in his victory, he noticed that Bona was bleeding to death from the wound that killed his evil brother. Powerless to help, the hero could do nothing as the good dragon collapsed and died.
Over the last two decades, most of the soldiers Magnus served with had either died or been transferred off-world. He hadn’t made many friends among the locals, because he was killing them most of the time. The few native contacts Magnus did make were usually uncovered by resistance groups and executed as traitors. Even so, there was one Draconian he was confident still lived. A quick search of the business registry confirmed it.
Despite the tropical heat, Magnus pulled on his leather overcoat and made his way down the streets of Sucikhata. Military checkpoints blocked most major arteries, but Magnus avoided them, preferring the narrow side streets. A group of Draconian children playing with a ball stopped, their jaws hanging open, as the strange human passed by. Most non-Dracs were too afraid of the dangers that dwelled in the alleyways. Besides regular gangs, thieves, and misfits, these were the p
assageways where true believers in Draconian freedom were found. For them, spilling human blood was a rite of passage.
Appearing oblivious, Magnus strolled undeterred except for the heavy sweat running down his face and neck.
Turning a corner, three young Draconians barred his way. Each carried a machete-sized blade.
“Lost?” one of them asked.
“You must have a death wish,” said another.
Magnus opened his coat, revealing a blaster rifle hanging from a shoulder harness.
“Go home,” he said.
“We’re not afraid of you!” the first youth replied defiantly.
“If you knew how many Dracs said that to me and ended up dead,” the assassin replied, “you’d already be gone.”
The Draconians traded nervous glances, but Magnus already knew what the consensus would be. Courage was no substitute for experience, and fear trumped them both.
Reluctantly, but still with an element of haste, the three stepped back and turned, making their way down a side alley and out of sight. Magnus closed his coat and continued on his way.
The Dragon’s Teeth was a shop far enough off the beaten path that only people who already knew it existed ever went there. The shop’s name, by law, was written in the human language, called Imperial Standard, while below in smaller script was the translation in Draconian cuneiform.
Magnus pushed the front door open and went in. If the hit man thought the air was hot on the outside, he was unpleasantly surprised to find it like a furnace on the inside.
At least it was a dry heat, he thought. Like sticking your head in a convection oven.
A bell over the door alerted the owner someone had entered. A tattered curtain covering an archway parted and a Draconian, hobbling on a peg leg, shuffled in. Seeing Magnus, the old Draconian swore something in the local language. Magnus could guess what it meant.
“Hello, Daaruk,” Magnus said. “How’s business?”
Daaruk swung his head toward the racks of swords hanging on the walls, a blanket of dust covering them.
“About as well as my leg,” he replied wryly. “The one you shot off as I recall.”
“That’s a shame,” Magnus replied. “You’re the best weaponsmith on Marakata.”
Daaruk chuckled. “Only because your people keep killing my competition.”
Magnus shrugged. “I guess it’s good to be the last one standing.”
The Draconian pivoted on his wooden leg and went back through the archway. Magnus followed.
In the next room, a forge filled the center, a well-worn anvil standing to one side. Daaruk took a pair of tongs and grabbed a piece of glowing-red metal from the burning forge. With a hammer, the Draconian struck the metal over the anvil a few times before shoving it back into the fire.
“So, you took my leg,” Daaruk said. “Did you come back to finish the job?”
“No,” Magnus replied. “I have a different job in mind.”
“What’s it got to do with me?”
“I’m looking for someone.”
“Unless he’s a customer, I don’t know him.”
“The Jade General?” Magnus asked.
Daaruk pulled the rod from the forge again, but instead of laying it across the anvil, he swung it around toward Magnus’ head. Anticipating the move, Magnus thrust his hand through the pocket of his coat, firing his blaster rifle through the lining. Daaruk’s peg leg disintegrated into ashes, leaving him off-balance. He fell heavily on his chest, the smoldering metal bar sliding across the floor.
Magnus removed the rifle from his coat and pointed it at the back of Daaruk’s head as the Draconian lay there gasping for breath.
“Was it something I said?” the assassin asked.
The weaponsmith rolled over, rubbing his shoulder where he had hit the floor.
“Barbarian,” he said.
“That’s funny,” Magnus replied. “That’s what Colonel Grausman calls you.”
“Humans think we’re primitive because we don’t use blasters,” Daaruk said, “but humans are the real barbarians because you have no honor.”
“Honor never stopped a man from dying,” Magnus said.
“Will you help me up?”
“No, I like you where you are just fine.”
“Are you really looking for Ekavir, the Jade General?”
“I am.”
“He is also without honor,” Daaruk said.
“That’s what I hear,” Magnus replied. “Why is that, by the way?”
“Do you know the story of the Dragon’s Tears?”
“It’s about the dragon, Bonamalum,” Magnus said, “or at least Bona, the good one. When his evil brother Malum was killed, Bona wept and where his tears fell, Draconian warriors sprang to life.”
Daaruk nodded. “They’re called Dragon Soldiers. They pledged to always serve their people, no matter the enemy.”
“What’s that got to do with Ekavir?” Magnus asked.
“He forgot about the pledge. He only cares about revenge against the human invaders, even when it means Draconians die in the process.”
“So, you abandoned him?”
“No, no. He abandoned us for his own selfish ambitions.”
“Alright,” Magnus said. “Where do I find him?”
“In the jungle...”
A blast of hot plasma leapt from the rifle, blowing a hole in the floor beside Daaruk’s head.
“I’m going to need specifics,” Magnus said.
Daaruk eyed the tiny crater, silently smoking, in the floor.
“I’ll see what I can do,” he replied.
The Draconian camp was well hidden inside the jungle, the huts huddled below the tree canopy hundreds of feet above. Cold blooded, the separatists might have needed a fire somewhere else, but not on Marakata where the air was heavy with a stifling, oppressive heat. Even if they had wanted to, the Draconians knew the Imperials used satellites to search for camp fires, always on the lookout for bivouacs like this one. There were stories of whole villages wiped out by orbital bombardment, simply because they looked suspicious.
These rebels were laying especially low. No electronic signals from communications or other equipment. Nothing to give their position away. They didn’t want to be found, certainly not by the human occupiers.
Unfortunately, KB-8E was not a human. He was a killbot designed to track and destroy.
Covered in emitters that mimicked the surroundings, giving him near-perfect camouflage, KB-8E lurked just outside the camp, watching the Draconians through spectra far outside human or Draconian perception.
The robot knelt behind the bush-like flora. His body, the surfaces reflecting an image of the bush, was armored and capable of withstanding both projectiles and energy weapons. On a spindly neck, KB-8E’s head didn’t have a face except for a bundle of sensors, all different sized, used to analyze a range of inputs including visual, sound, and even smells. It was precisely the latter that helped KB-8E find the separatist camp due to the Draconians’ particularly poor hygiene. Lastly, beside the bundle of sensors was a large red lens, the business end of a particle beam accelerator.
Taking aim, the killbot fired an invisible ray of subatomic particles at a separatist standing guard. The beam passed neatly through the Draconian’s chest, turning his heart and other internal organs into freshly warmed soup. Not aware he was dying until he was already dead, he dropped where he stood without making a sound.
KB-8E leapt from his hiding place and landed several yards away in the center of the camp where most of the other rebels were sleeping. Starting with the closest, the killbot began punching a Drac in the upper chest. With each punch, a long bayonet blade extended from the robot’s wrist, piercing the victim before retracting again as the arm pulled away. In this fashion, the killbot repeatedly skewered the Draconian until moving on to the next one.
By the time KB-8E reached the fourth rebel, the remaining three were sufficiently aware the night had gone terribly wrong that
they reached for their weapons. The robot jumped over their heads, landing behind them. KB-8E drove his blades into their spines, killing them one by one. Although the emitters on the robot’s frame attempted to keep mimicking the surroundings, they were covered by a thick and sticky layer of blood, making camouflage difficult.
When the last of the rebels was dead, the killbot stopped and surveyed the scene.
Although everyone was satisfactorily eliminated, the robot’s scan noted his intended target was not present. This disappointment was magnified when a projectile, fired from long range, pierced KB-8E’s neck, the only part of his body that was not armored with ballistic mesh. The killbot’s head popped into the air before landing, upside down, at the feet of one of the dead Draconians.
Magnus Black left the high-powered sniper rifle with the rest of his gear and walked into the rebels’ camp. He leveled his flashlight on each of the Draconian bodies, or what was left of them, until he was satisfied General Ekavir wasn’t present.
The beam of light landed on the killbot’s head, the severed neck pointing up. Cut off from the body’s main power supply, the particle gun was no longer operational, but Magnus kept out of his line of fire just in case.
“Even for a killbot,” he said, “that’s some impressive carnage.”
A light on the robot’s head blinked. “Thank you.”
“My contact told me General Ekavir was at this camp,” Magnus added.
“I, too, was hunting the general.”
“Did Colonel Grausman send you?”
“Indeed.”
“Me too.”
“Then why did you shoot me?” the killbot asked.
“I don’t like robots,” Magnus replied. After a pause, “What do they call you?”
“Unit KB-8E.”
“Not a proper name like Robert or Cuddles?”
“No.”
With a shrug, Magnus turned and started to walk away.
“Are you leaving me like this?” the killbot called after him.
Magnus looked over his shoulder. The light on the robot’s head was still blinking in the darkness.
“I was thinking about it,” he said.
“How do you intend to find General Ekavir now?” KB-8E asked.
Imperium Chronicles Box Set Page 30
