by Mark Wandrey
He screamed as her teeth caught the edge of his eye and ripped, a pop of pressure signaling a worse injury than his nerves were ready to communicate.
Adrenaline and shock surged, and he freed an arm, digging claws deeply into her gut. He yanked upward, aiming for the chest wound he’d already given her, and she shoved back, both of her hands lifting the arm she still held.
“Burn,” she said, then clamped her metal teeth down on his arm. They were so sharp, he didn’t feel it, focused instead on digging his claws through her grievously injured body. Again his nervous system was delayed, until she reared back, his arm in her mouth, and slammed him in the face. With his own arm. Which was no longer attached to his body.
“DIE, YOU CURR,” he screamed, his own blood streaming into his mouth from his gouged eye socket.
“Come with,” she said, spitting out his arm. Her eyes were dulling, but she wouldn’t actually die, and he contorted desperately to get out from under her. She weighed more than she had any right to—was her entire body laced with metal? He dragged her intestines after him, and, as he scrambled away, four more shots lanced through her body, knocking her back to the bloody floor.
They lay there, separated by less than a meter. Her head moved to look at him and, by terrible entropy foul, she smiled. “Despair,” she said, almost a whisper. “Despair pitiful kitten…because…because…”
“Because what, filthy bitch?”
“Because Night Song has…re…turned…” The last was a sigh as her life left her, and still she smiled, red-stained metallic teeth gleaming in the harsh light of the bay.
Meesh growled and cursed at the dead Zuul. “Crazy old wretch,” he managed.
Finally his own people had noticed, and he was going to kill them all for taking so long. His breath shuddered through his chest, and the first burning streaks stabbed from the stump below his shoulder.
“Get me a medic.” His voice wavered, and he clenched his remaining hand, long ropes of corded organs oozing between his fingers. “Tell them to bring nanites. Someone call the entropy-cursed Engineering Guild; we need to talk about the agreement.” He saw his troopers moving to follow his orders and gritted his teeth, pain continuing to grow.
He swallowed back vomit, kicked Nillab to make sure she was dead, and bared his teeth. He would neither pass out nor vomit. He would win. Night Song? Was that some stupid Zuul battle strategy? Whatever. Burn, had Nillab said? Very well. He’d burn them all.
“Oh, and kill everything in this base. Leave no witnesses.”
* * *
Tucker picked up a couple of cards and checked his hand. There was nothing to do in the improvised prison except play cards or watch the same couple dozen videos the troopers had stored in pinplants or chips. Luckily something that hadn’t changed over centuries of combat was soldiers carrying means of simple entertainment. Among the 11 of them, they had six decks of cards, three sets of dice, and a miniature Scrabble game. The latter was from his squad sergeant, Bates, who’d always wanted to be a writer.
“You going to play or stare at the walls, Captain?” Private Hewers asked.
“They’re bloody fascinating walls, kid,” Tucker said.
“Nothing but exciting,” another man called from further back in the room.
The 11 men had made the best of their spaces in the days they’d occupied it, despite how boring it was. In fact, Hewers had been joking about painting a mural of cats fucking on one of the walls the other day.
Tucker made a play, his opponents moaned, and he smiled. A second later, the door suddenly opened, and everyone looked up. It was a pair of Vergola, and they looked…unsettled.
Tucker hadn’t spent any time around Vergola before getting stuck there. In fact, he’d only seen one, and that one from a distance. The one thing constant about them was their composure. Like aloof artists, or religious leaders, Vergola always moved about gracefully and seemed somehow immune from atmospheric effects or other things that bothered other races.
“You must assist us,” the first to enter the room said.
“What?” Tucker asked. “You have to be kidding me; we’re prisoners.”
“The Pushtal have gone insane; they’re killing everyone.”
“Well, that’s a surprise,” Sergeant Bates said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Yes, it was a complete surprise,” the second Vergola said. “We completed an agreement with the Engineers so the fighting was over.”
“Over?” Tucker asked. They’d been locked in the room with no outside communications, thus everything that had transpired was a surprise to them.
“Yes, there was a battle that ended without a decisive outcome. Then the Zuul figured out a loophole in their contract, so they were going to leave. We had no choice but to cut a deal. After the meeting, the Zuul were preparing to leave, and the Pushtal went berserk.”
“You weren’t watching them?” Tucker demanded.
“They weren’t complaining. In fact, they were quiet,” one of the Vergola explained.
“We were concerned about the Zuul because they believe they’ve been treated poorly,” the other said.
“A quiet Pushtal is planning murder,” Corporal Salerson mumbled.
Tucker nodded at the corporal’s observation. Indeed, when a Pushtal stopped blustering or threatening, it usually meant action was imminent. Somewhere outside, a booming shot echoed.
“Help us,” one of the Vergola said. Of course, it still sounded like an order.
“You have all our gear locked up,” Tucker reminded them. “What are we supposed to do, attack them with harsh language?” The Vergola stared back at him, confused, so he pointed at the heavy door at the other end of the room. “Unlock the bloody fucking door!”
The two Vergola blinked for another second, obviously unable to make up their minds. A muted, Zuul scream followed by a Pushtal roar made up at least one of their minds. A Vergola skittered, not glided, over to the door in question and slid in a data chip. It beeped and opened.
Tucker body-checked the alien out of his way and made sure the door couldn’t close again. “Move. Quickly,” he urged the squad, and his troopers poured through the door as quickly as possible. There was a bang at the prison door, making both Vergola spin in alarm.
“What do we do?” they asked Tucker.
“Try catnip,” Tucker said and slammed the door in their faces. Another trooper came up behind him with a metallic wedge they’d found somewhere and jammed it under the door, effectively blocking it, short of an explosive charge. “Get those CASPers up and running, fast!”
Out in the other room, a crashing sound announced the arrival of the Pushtal. Tucker pressed his ear against the door and listened.
“Where are the Humans?” a feline voice demanded.
“We are going to kill them!” another said excitedly.
“We already killed them,” one of the Vergola said.
“What? Why?”
“We were afraid they were going to rebel as well.”
Tucker glanced over his shoulder to confirm his men were following instructions, which they were, but he also confirmed their progress was too slow. However, he spotted a locker nearby, and opened it to find their small arms. “Grab guns,” he said to the two closest men as he found his own Ctech machine pistol and checked that the magazine was still loaded and the chamber full.
By the time he got back to the door, whatever conversation the Vergola and Pushtal had engaged in was over, as evident by the pink Vergola blood pooling under the door. Something crashed against the door, and Tucker uttered a quiet curse as he backed a meter away and leveled the gun at the door. The pounding continued.
* * *
“The Cartography Guild wants to talk again.” Ifka sat up from the console that served as her command center.
Alan grunted. “Didn’t they already agree to the terms?”
“They did.” Ifka twitched, wrinkling her muzzle. “They’re sending the Pushtal to discuss furth
er compensation for the forces that were…” her voice reeked with enough disapproval even the translator conveyed it, but she swallowed and continued, “so poorly used through the pretenses of our disagreement.” She lashed her tail and muttered, “As though we haven’t paid enough for this nonsense.”
“It’s still your base, Ifka.” Alan shrugged and paged through the repairs they still needed to make to the Starbright before they could leave. “Any word from the Vergola on our people?” They still hadn’t established a time for their release, as the aliens were nervous concerning the handoff.
“No, they didn’t mention it.”
Alan grunted again. He’d have to bring it up during negotiations. In the intervening time since the conflict had ended, he’d gotten in contact with his ship and the Zuul vessels Paku and Gheshu to see what they could spare before they left. If they could do enough to limp to another system, they could make further repairs before the jumps home. The credits from Ifka wouldn’t make them rich, but it was enough to make them whole, and with some to spare. He thought A’kef and I’kik would be willing to help now that the contracts were voided. At worst, he could strip their assault base for parts—as a matter of fact, he should send a message to Tucker to keep an eye out as the squad got ready to return.
Veska had volunteered to stay with Silent Night until the rest of the Humans were returned, and while Alan was more than smart enough to know that offer had as much to do with the sidelong looks she and Rex were exchanging, he still appreciated the offer. His fatherly instincts told him their brief time together had involved some sort of romantic encounter. Not knowing how that would work with Zuul, he decided to leave it for another time.
Realizing he’d been left uninterrupted long enough for his thoughts to wonder, he blinked and looked up to find Ifka staring at him.
“Do you still need something?” he asked.
“I understand you do not work for us,” she said, each word dragged out of her, “but will you and your company provide a guard for the meeting?” She twisted her tail behind her, then continued, “The Pushtal have been known to be…vehement in their requests, and I imagine you want to hear what the Vergola are trying to get for them and the Zuul anyway.”
Alan tilted his head back to examine the ceiling for a long moment, then stood and closed the documents on his slate. “Fine. We’ll charge per the hour, standard Mercenary Guild snap-contract rate. Cash. Our bill is non-negotiable.” That should provide even more incentive for the Zuparti to keep it short.
“Very well,” Ifka spat, typing furiously on her slate.
“Are you bringing them in here?”
“Pushtal, in here?” Ifka waved a hand and narrowed her eyes. “Hardly. I do not want to clean for the next week. We’ll use the bay your Silent Night has been preparing for your departure in. It is close enough to the entrance and has seats enough. This shouldn’t take long.”
“We’ll have an honor guard posted in the room, and meet you at the entrance with two mercenaries to make it look good. The rest of a squad will be armed up, just in case. Send me a message when you’re ready.” Alan stood, gave a half-bow, mostly to entertain himself, then turned sharply on his heels and marched out.
He sent a message to Bana as he walked to what had passed for a rec room for his company. It wouldn’t take much to ensure it was set up for the impending meeting, and he knew most of his people would be in there already.
His people and his children, it turned out, were so caught up in end-of-contract storytelling, no one noticed his entrance.
“—skull half blown off, and she still managed to drag him back to cover. That’s how she was contracted to the Hosh.” Veska clasped a fist to her heart, grinning. “No one will doubt her word about who you are.”
“She has you a little starstruck, eh, Veska?” Ripley asked, teasing the other female. “I guess I can see why.”
Veska tilted her head, weighing the translated phrase, then huffed a laugh. “She is ferocious and honorable. No one could not admire her. When I told her I would stay here until your Humans were returned, she said she would include your return in her report.”
“As soon as the gate’s unlocked, messages can start to move,” Shadow said, drumming his fingers against his leg. “It won’t be too long before the Zuul know, then.”
“Did you…want it another way?” Veska looked up at Rex, who laid his head against hers and said something too softly for Alan’s Human ears to pick up.
Something caught under his heart at the scene—more Zuul knowing about his kids, without him being able to warn Dana first that Krif’Hosh was apparently a big deal in Zuul circles. Would they want to come home, with something like that glory ahead of them? Would Rex want to bring Veska home to meet his mom? If it continued, did Zuul marry?
He cleared his throat to interrupt both them and his thoughts—the contract was over, but they shouldn’t let their guard down before they were out of this godforsaken system.
“Rex, Drake, get your light armor and weapons. The Pushtal are coming to call about more concessions, and the Zuparti want us looking sharp on their behalf. Chelsey,” he added, catching sight of the corporal just behind Shadow. “Bana’s going to set up in here, but I want you on lookout, too. We’re all agreed on the truce, so nothing too hot sauce, just enough to help them mind their manners. Shadow, you’re with Chelsey and Bana. Sonya, Ripley, I want you with Anderle, getting logistics ready for move-out. We don’t need the Pushtal desire for concessions to slow us down.”
“Dad.” Drake stood, shooting a commiserating look at Sonya’s gagging noise. “Let us wear our CASPers this time. The Pushtal really, really…stink.”
Alan bit back his smile and mock-glared at his son. “Keep it together, boyo. Last time we have to see them, and you have to smell them, before we get out of here.”
“Hopefully,” Sonya muttered, rubbing her nose dramatically until Ripley elbowed her.
* * *
Shadow held his posture at full attention as Ifka stomped into the room. Amazing that the Zuparti could manage a stomp in the light gravity, but that long body effected the emphatic step and long bounce with clear evidence of pique.
Five Pushtal followed, one ahead and four behind, in slightly puffy protective gear. The suits were bulky, but Shadow supposed they couldn’t afford anything too state of the art. He’d grown up around enough second-hand and rebuilt equipment to recognize the shape, though something was off in the leader’s suit. One of his arms was larger than the other, and didn’t move at all as he walked—maybe the suit had also malfunctioned? No wonder they were angling for more concessions.
Though why had they sent five transports for five Pushtal? Shadow had done some research on the race after their encounter in space. Anyone who had a Raknar automatically rose in Shadow’s interest. Clans often fought as fiercely with each other as they did with other races. Perhaps the Vergola had made deals with multiple Pushtal clans, and even in this phase of negotiations, the leaders couldn’t share space. Or maybe each had to travel with an honor guard of their own?
These didn’t seem particularly tense with each other, walking with easy strides through the room to settle at the long table set up for the meeting. As they entered and the doors closed, the heaters came on, and the Pushtal removed their helmets. The leader sat first, rubbing long claws through his yellow, orange, and black cheek fur. He tapped his eye patch, readjusting it, which Shadow found especially amusing from a member of a race that had basically become space pirates. He made a note to ask Rex if Space Pirates considered eye patches the height of fashion like the old Earth legends.
As Ifka gestured for the rest to sit, Shadow watched how the large beings moved and considered their past as a merc race. No wonder they were angling for more money, especially if they represented multiple clans. Without the backing of the Guild—no matter how precarious the Guild currently was—they wouldn’t have had the same strength of contract or weight of bigger consequences to back them up
after this mess of a situation in E’cop’k.
“After our conversations with the Vergola,” Eye Patch said, diving in without introductions or waiting for Ifka to speak. The Zuparti shivered all over in rage, and Shadow had to hide his amusement.
Then his legs staggered beneath him, and all amusement fled. The building groaned, and an alarm sounded from some distance away. After a moment, the faint sound strengthened as more alarms picked up throughout their base.
“Bana,” his father said, calm as ever, “take a squad and investigate.”
“Aye. Drake, Hill, Dyffid, Sauger, with me. Chelsey, you take over in here.” Bana didn’t pause to ensure his orders were followed, he pulled his gun and moved out of the room.
Shadow, still finding his balance, took a half-step after the sergeant before collecting himself. Had something exploded? A problem in the mines? He hoped Niss and the Aku were all right, but he hadn’t been selected to go see what the issue was, so hope was all he had at the moment.
The Pushtal looked around, seemingly unconcerned with the building moving around them. “Does this happen often on your base?” Eye Patch asked, one ear twitching.
“No,” Ifka snapped, her face bristling. “You were say—”
BOOM.
Shadow crouched automatically, ears twisting to locate the source of the sound. That had definitely been an explosion, and much closer than the first. Surely the Zuul hadn’t decided to attack after all this? What honor could there be in breaking an alliance, no matter how new it was?
“Speaking of concessions,” the Pushtal said, calmly unfastening his suit. “Where were we?”
Shadow blinked at him. How was the Pushtal not on edge from the explosion?
A dull alarm pulled at the back of his thoughts, a stale taste climbing the back of his throat, a creeping realization that the Pushtal weren’t on edge because they weren’t surprised.
