by Matt Novotny
Dewey looked up and whined hopefully from his bed as Bes walked by. Amos grinned at the old dog. “You can’t sneak up on me, Bes, I have a ferocious guard dog to protect me.” Bes tossed the dog a bit of gator. Dewey made happy, slobbery chewing noises.
“Aw, Bes, gator make ‘im fart,” he complained.
“Serves you right,” Bes replied, tossing Dewey another bite on her way out. Dewey turned to Amos hopefully.
“Traitor,” Amos said. “Sold out for my own cooking.”
Bes continued her tour of the grounds. The boys had gone all-out, and colored streamers and birthday decorations lined all the walkways and buildings. In a few hours, the guests would arrive and Sabine would make her grand entrance. Sabine was convinced that she would grow up to be an Olympian, a merc, or, lord help them, a Peacemaker. One of the main reasons she was desperate for her uncle Jackson to be at her party was to wheedle him into sponsoring her for the Peacemaker Academy. Bes just hoped she could somehow get Sabine aimed at a safer profession.
Bes passed the CASPer maintenance bays; the old shed’s exterior was just the entrance. Like most of Sanctuary, the true facilities were underground. There were bays for the four Olympian CASPers and two shiny new Mk 8s the Cajuns maintained for practice and real demonstrations. Bes would never tell Amos, but she wasn’t fond of this Olympian business. It paid well, but it was too full of rich kids playing with expensive toys, not the honest work the Cajuns used to do. Not what her Louie died doing.
She caught a whiff of an acrid chemical smell. Looking into a maintenance bay she saw there was a disheveled closet in the back with a bunk and a rundown dresser. An old-style still filled the rest of the room, and it was from there the smell came. She wrinkled her nose. Old Lem was another of their strays, one of Greasy’s, but so far as she knew the only thing the man was good for was distilling a rank moonshine the boys mostly used to clean machine parts.
She stretched and looked around at the grounds. “Everything’s ready. This is gonna be a good time.”
Alarms blared as three pillars of fire arched across the sky toward Sanctuary.
“No!” Bes screamed, and ran toward the house.
Amos bolted from the cookhouse yelling orders. “Greasy, heat up the standby units! Breaux, Guidry, mount up!”
Amos passed her, aiming for the bays.
“What’s going on, Amos!”
“You’ll know when I know, Bes. Get everybody to the shelter!”
The whine of machinery filled the air as Sanctuary’s formidable defenses deployed. Hidden weaponry emerged from the landscape around the plantation and tracked the intruders. The façades of old stumps and birdhouses slid aside to reveal lasers, auto-MACs, and micro-missile pods.
Amos rounded the corner of the maintenance shed and ran full-tilt into Babette running the other direction.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
Amos thought furiously. There was no time for BC to reverse course.
“Grab Widow, BC. Breaux and Guidry will be on deck as fast as they can,” Amos said.
“Roger that!” BC ran for her Olympian mech.
Bes reached the porch. Sabine was party-ready. She had received Rains’ gift early, a Peacemaker uniform with the badge conspicuously absent, and a wide belt with a laser targeting pistol. Their friend Marcy had removed Sabine’s long hair and given her a spiky pixy cut that added years to the girl’s age. Both were looking through the door trying to see what was going on.
“Sabine, get to the shelter, and take Marcy with you!”
Bes turned to yell at Amos just as the three inbound trails of smoke and flame resolved into three CASPers. They each landed with a precision, superhero three-point landing in the center of the arena. Theme music blared from the external speakers of the trio as they made their grand entrance.
The lead CASPer, white with gold trim and exaggerated pauldrons that extended into shoulder mounted lasers, raised both arms as if playing to a full arena.
“Oh yeah!” it roared. “ROMEO BRAVO is in the HOOOUUSSEE!”
“Oh my God!” Sabine squealed. “It’s Race Romero in Romeo Bravo, and he brought Junkyard and Divot with him!” She shot out of the house, straight for the three newcomers.
“Sabine! You git back here this instant!” Bes yelled futilely.
Black Widow was on the move as Guidry and Breaux charged out of the bay in their Mk 8s. The group flanked Amos.
Bes watched as Amos input commands into his slate, and heard the defenses power down.
“I’m gonna kick Junkyard’s ass. He know better than that!” Amos fumed. “Nolan Reynolds! You get outta dat rust bucket afore I decide to turn the guns back on!”
The group watched as Race Romero lifted Sabine onto Romeo Bravo’s shoulder.
“Can I shoot him?” asked BC.
Amos stalked toward the three CASPers and growled over his shoulder, “I’m thinkin’ on it. I’ll let you know.”
* * *
Karma System
Sin’Kura strode past the pair of Torvasi guards. They stood still, their thick muscular arms crossed in front of them, and followed the Sirra’Kan’s movement with only their eyes. The Torvasi, bipedal and humanoid with dark gray to black skin, had many of the same characteristics as Humans, though their faces were shaped slightly different, which lent an exotic flair to the race. The two wore matching brown uniforms with equipment belts that bore all manner of items, including a holster for an exceptionally large handgun. These Torvasi had been with her since she returned from the Peacemaker prison.
Sin’Kura turned on a communications console. It flickered to life with an angry hiss, and within moments the image of a male Equiri flashed on the screen.
“Report.”
“Kr’et’Socae, the shipment has been arranged and ve are ready for phase three,” Sin’Kura said demurely. Kr’et’Socae was the only being the guards had seen Sin’Kura defer to.
“Very well. You may proceed,” he said and cut the transmission.
They watched as Sin’Kura stood staring at the now-dark monitor and tapping her lips with a finger. She shook herself then looked at the Torvasi. Her left eye glowed yellow. “Let’s go shopping,” she said with a feral grin and stepped lightly through the hatch.
The two guards glanced at each other nervously. Considering what happened last time, the two knew yellow was not a good color. The left one shrugged to his counterpart as they followed their mistress out of the room. The corridors of the ship were deserted; the crew were at their stations. Sin’Kura made her way to the bridge.
* * *
Gendrus
When Sin’Kura boldly strode onto the bridge, the captain involuntarily squeaked. While the Bakulu were one of the thirty-seven mercenary races, the giant slugs were excellent pilots and not known for bravery in the face of apex predator races like the Besquith or Sirra’Kan. Right then he wished he had listened to his mother and taken the job ferrying tourists to Azure.
“Captain Lakanto, we can leave for Sol System.” Her eye glowed a bright yellow. “Your factor on Earth, this…Ellison Hatfield will do the needful?” she asked.
He nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, mistress. Ellison has always been reliable. Everything will be as you requested.”
“That is good. I would hate to find another target for my wrath.” Sin’Kura smiled broadly so Captain Lakanto saw her pointed fangs.
“Yes, mistress. It is done.” Lakanto shuddered at the memory of what she had done to his first officer. When she left the bridge, he sagged into his chair in relief.
“Prepare hyperspace shunts and set course for Earth,” he told the bridge crew. He understood why they had been as quiet as a vontoo in a demrak nest while Sin’Kura was there. He hated being the only one to interact with Sin’Kura. He triggered the intercom. “Prepare for departure in five minutes.” He resolved to look into that tourist job if he made it out of this contract alive.
* * *
Juarez, Mexico, Earth
> The 95° heat of the day was sweltering, and the cool of the mostly empty warehouse was welcoming. Though she had grown up on a jungle planet, Sin’Kura wasn’t built for this kind of direct heat; she was a creature of the shadows. As such, she stood perfectly still, wrapped in an elSha-manufactured hooded robe. Its nanofibers were designed to capture light, making her nearly invisible in the shadows. The blazing light from outside flared through the door as it opened, and the last group arrived.
“Y’all stand over there, to the side,” ordered one man, pointing.
Ellison Hatfield was making a name for himself among the criminal organizations of the Galactic Union. On Earth, he catered to a wide variety of clients as a fixer and a broker for muscle for hire.
“None of your games, Hatfield,” said a blond man with icy blue eyes. “Where’s the client? You said nothing about other contractors!”
“Relax, Yakov,” Hatfield said in an exaggerated drawl that was pure West Virginia. “Don’t I always deliver? This one’s special, and the client needs more than regular muscle. All y’all will get what’s comin’ to you.”
Once they settled, Sin’Kura spoke. “Now you are all here, we may begin.”
Her words startled several members of the three different groups before her.
She stepped into the light and heard a soft “Madre de Dios!” from the group on her right. She surveyed the groups, each made up of fifteen men.
“You are here to fill out a working team. There is something I want and you will help me get it,” Sin’Kura stated.
There was some stirring at that. Sin’Kura smiled at their nervousness. These three groups were the apex predators in their regions of the world.
She pointed to the center group’s leader, a tall dark-skinned man dressed in a traditional galabiya. “You are al-Daib, the most successful of the Somali pirates.” He inclined his head. The other Somalis were lean and hard from years of operating on the Indian Ocean. A couple were even as dark as Sin’Kura. They eyeballed the groups on either side.
She moved her arm to the newly arrived group on her left. They were burly Caucasian men, bearded and wearing a mixed array of utility jumpsuits and pseudo-military garb. “You are Yakov Smirnov of the Ukrainian Syndicate. I saw the Tri-V of what you did to the Politsiya. It was…enthusiastic, which I can appreciate.”
She turned to the last group. They were all dark haired and dark eyed except for their leader. He had dark hair and pale eyes that almost shone in the dim light. There was nothing exceptional about their mode of dress, designed so they could blend into any crowd. “You are Hector Ramirez of the Bimbo Boyz, the local crew loosely affiliated with one of the Mexican cartels. I’ve been told you are the ones brought in to do the really dirty jobs.”
“You know us. Who are you?” someone asked from the Ukrainian group.
Sin’Kura pushed back the hood of her robe and turned to regard the left-hand group. Her eye glowed orange. There were several sharp intakes of breath and one “chingas tu alienigena,” which made her smile and her eye shift to yellow.
Her Torvasi bodyguards, also wearing the el-Sha light-absorbing clothing, now stepped forward, which made it seem as though they suddenly appeared in front of the unaugmented Humans. Several of the hardened criminals stepped back at the sight of the two massively built Torvasi.
Hector Ramirez held his ground. “We aren’t mercenaries to go off-world and fight alienigena, Señora.” He spread his arms and gestured to his crew. “We are very capable here in Juarez.”
Sin’Kura calmed herself, which caused her eye to shift back to orange. “You won’t be going off-world. What I need is here on Earth. You will be fighting other Humans.” She raised her voice a little to address everyone. “How you like that?”
That seemed to placate some of the assembled men and excite the others.
Sin’Kura narrowed her eyes. “I don’t need all of you, so let’s do this,” she said. “You, you, and you.” She pointed at a man from each group. “Come up here. The rest of you back up and give them room.” Everyone moved, and soon there was a ring around the three humans. They all looked at Sin’Kura expectantly.
“We are going to have tryouts.” She held a hand out to one of her guards and he gave her a long knife made from a strange blue-green metal. She looked at the knife then tossed it at the feet of the men. It landed on the concrete with a tinny clatter. “I only need two teams.” Her eye flashed red. “If you survive, your teams will get rich.”
The three men looked at each other, then glanced at their leaders.
“I don’t have a lot of time for this. Let’s go.” Sin’Kura barked at them.
The Somali man dove for the knife.
* * * * *
Chapter Seven
Sanctuary Plantation
Louisiana, Earth
Remmy leaned out of the truck’s cab to press the intercom’s call button. After a few minutes, the intercom crackled to life.
“Hello, y’all lost?”
“Hey, it’s Remmy. Can you let me in?” he asked.
“Remmy? Why don’t ya click on in?” the voice asked. It was garbled enough that Remmy couldn’t decide who was actually speaking.
“I left it at the shop,” Remmy explained. “Buzz me through.”
After a long moment, the gate opened.
“‘Bout time,” Remmy said quietly to Burton.
“Are there dogs here?” Burton asked. He was lounging in the passenger seat, both of his right arms hanging out the truck’s window.
Remmy glanced at Burton. “Don’t fret none. There are a couple hounds layin’ about, I’m sure.” He eased the truck into gear and rumbled down the gravel track, tires crunching.
They parked with the other vehicles along the side of the house. From the various trucks, rumblers, and dirt bikes, it appeared some of the Cajuns and Olympians had already arrived. “Can you grab the present, Burton?” he asked as he swung out of the cab.
“Yes, Remmy,” the big Lumar replied.
Remmy spotted Bes talking with Amos and Greasy by the shop, so he angled that way. Burton followed, carrying a large gray box topped with a giant pink bow.
“Remmy! Good t’see ya.” Greasy greeted them as he came up to the group.
“Greasy.” Remmy nodded, then turned to the other two. “Amos. And, Bes, what did you do with your hair? You’re prettier than a Pontchartrain Sunset,” he said, kissing Bes on the cheek.
She playfully swatted him on the arm, pleased at the compliment. “You silvered-tongued devil.”
Remmy smiled and looked around. “Where’s Sabine?” he asked. “I have her present.” He hooked a thumb at the box.
“She’s down at the tent.” Amos pointed at the large canvas structure near the gaming field. “Did you get it done?” he asked, looking at the box the Lumar was carrying.
“Oh yes. And it checks out, surprises and all,” Remmy said with a mischievous grin.
“What kind of surprises?” Bes asked. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion.
Remmy laughed lightly. “Don’t you worry yourself, chere. You’ll see soon enough.” He headed toward the tent, Burton in tow.
The grasshoppers chirped in the long grass next to the pavilion. As Remmy rounded the side, he saw tables and chairs set up inside to face the field beyond, providing a fantastic view of the arena, mechs, derelict vehicles, dead appliances, and all. Sabine was sitting on one of the chairs watching the antics on the far side of the arena as a couple of the Olympians got their CASPers ready for the games.
“Remmy!” Sabine squealed with delight and leapt up into his arms. He grunted at the assault.
“For a little thing you sure have a fierce hug.” He set her down and said, “I have something for you.” Remmy pointed at the package.
Burton set the box down so Sabine could look it over. She fingered the bow, then looked over her shoulder at Remmy.
“Can I open it?” she asked, her wide-eyed expression hopeful.
Remmy grinned.
“Absolutely, chere.”
He watched as she tried to decide the best way to open the box. Finally, shoulders set, she reached out a hand to one of the ribbons’ ends that made up the bow and gave it a firm yank, quickly unraveling the monstrosity. She gingerly pulled out the front edge of the box and opened the lid.
Birds erupted from the nearby trees, startled by the shriek that emanated from the little girl at the sight of what was in the box. She hurriedly reached in and lifted out the pale blue Xiq’tal, turned, and gingerly deposited it on the grass.
“Ohmygodhessocute!” she exclaimed, her eyes shining. “What’s his name?”
Remmy smiled. “Well, this here was named after his real-life counterpart.”
“‘Bastian!” she cried in glee. At the sound of his name, the miniature Xiq’tal got up on his legs and his eye stalks waved around until they oriented on Sabine. He walked over to her, clicked his primary claw twice, then held his arms up to Sabine.
“What does he want?” she asked Remmy out of the side of her mouth as she watched the little toy.
“He wants you to pick him up.”
Hurriedly, Sabine bent down and lifted ‘Bastian up. It buzzed lightly in her arms. “Oh, he buzzed!” she said. “What does that mean?”
“It means he’s happy. He can do other things, too. Set him down, and I’ll show you.”
Sabine reluctantly set the Xiq’tal down, then looked expectantly at Remmy.
“Ask him to play music,” Remmy said gently.
“‘Bastian, play music.” OK-POP blared from the little creature so loudly that Remmy clapped his hands over his ears. Sabine threw her hands up in the air, her scream lost in the music as she danced around. ‘Bastian was obviously enjoying the impromptu concert.
Remmy reached over and forced the left eyestalk down and the volume immediately dropped to a non-ear shattering level.
