The Dogs of God

by Chris Kennedy

  So to speak.

  Sitting at The Slate, a brand new western-themed bar on SCHQ’s flight deck, I nursed my first scotch and beer chaser. I do that when I’m more interested in thinking than drinking. And my brain, the damned teetotaler, wouldn’t stop obsessing over Barstow.

  With his dying breath, Trask had stymied my question about who’d ordered the hit.

  “You’ll never know, Fischer.”

  Again, I wondered—Trask’s bravado or true ignorance? If the former, I could appreciate client confidentiality; but something still scratched at the back of my brain.

  I was fairly sure one of the other factions hadn’t contracted the hit—didn’t feel right somehow. I’d twisted that knife in Trask pretty good. If he’d known, I was sure, he’d have talked. Call it a sixth sense based in experience. And then it hit me—so hard I shot the scotch, then slammed the beer in one long, marathon guzzle.

  “This is Sergeant Trask, my second-in-command,” Merida had said when introducing him. “Assigned from Mr. Taulke’s HQ staff for this trip.”

  Trask and I had both been working for the same man. Only…at cross-purposes?

  I found myself suddenly sinking into a quicksand of shock and awe.

  “Another round,” I called to the barkeep. “And keep the bottle handy.”

  Had Tony ordered the hit himself?

  But that didn’t make sense. Why would Tony want to kill the twins? A bit of history hopped into my head—the story of the Two Princes, Edward and Richard. Imprisoned in the Tower of London by their uncle, also named Richard—who’d been assigned to protect them—because he wanted the throne, and they were in the way. The boys were murdered and their bones buried in the Tower, the theory goes, to make sure Uncle Richie snagged the crown.

  Had Tony been trying to cement his hold on power by eliminating the twins, potential pretenders? Or was my theory about Lucius becoming an apprentice serial killer right after all? Had the kid been Trask’s only target, or had Ligeia been in the crosshairs, too? That got me to thinking on the why of that possibility.

  The way Ligeia managed her brother…the hairs on my arms prickled. Had she managed Barstow’s murder, too? Was she the brains directing Lucius’s brawn?

  “What’s it like to kill someone?”

  “It gets easier, kid. After the third or fourth time.”

  “So it’s like everything else, then.”

  A shiver wormed upward around the vertebrae of my spine until my neck tingled. My earlier sympathy for the devil curdled in my gut like chunky milk.

  But if that were true—if the twins were tag-team psychos, and Tony wanted shed of them, whatever the reason—why send me, his best enforcer, to guard them? It just didn’t make any sense!

  Until the last piece of the puzzle snapped into place.

  Marissa Taulke. His wife. Who still had a black blanket of mourning wrapped around her heart following her miscarriage. She doted on Lucius and Ligeia like a mother hen. Would Tony risk driving her off the deep end by killing her proxy children, too?

  A solemn Tony strolled onto the stage in my mind. His face was sad as he approached Marissa. His eyes full of solemn love—or his best approximation, anyway, award-caliber actor that he was.

  “I’m so sorry about the twins, honey. I even sent my best man to watch over them—but he’s dead now, too. I’m so sorry.”

  That sonofabitch! No wonder he’d wanted me to travel under my own name. Then, there wouldn’t be any doubt who was who when the dead were tallied. And Tony would make it the biggest story on CorpNet—it would gain him a goldmine of goodwill across the system. Two young siblings savagely murdered by a rival faction, despite Tony’s sending his top enforcer to protect them. Plus, my assignment as chaperone was Tony’s cover story at home, his insurance with Marissa. The detail that would sell the bigger lie when he broke the news to her about the twins.

  But I’d foiled Tony’s plans and done for Trask instead. No wonder he was in a shitty mood and drinking alone. I marveled at the scope of the man’s scheming. Sometimes I think there’s a black hole sucking in all life where Tony’s heart ought to be. A lack of regard for anything or anyone. Except Marissa.

  The barkeep placed the next shot and beer in front of me. I stared at them. I glanced at the mirror behind the bar, too, in case anyone had entered aiming for a target on the back of my head. The thought occurred to me: maybe I was a loose end Tony needed to tie up…

  But no, there wouldn’t have been a bonus, then. And for all his psychopathic tendencies, Tony’s a practical man. For one thing, he had no idea I’d figured out the truth. And he knew I was the best killer in the killing business. I’d just proven that to him, ironically. He’d accepted me back, and the bonus was his way of distracting me from Barstow. That he went to that much effort said he considered me useful for the future.

  Now that’s a businessman for you—always turning lemons into lemonade. And the twins? Well, they were Viktor Erkennen’s problem now. And maybe banishing them to Titan—far away from his power base and CorpNet’s public eye—had been Tony’s backup plan all along. Like I told you, he always thinks three moves ahead.

  My eyes returned to the untouched drinks in front of me. They looked lonely. And I was definitely in the mood for a threesome.

  I shot the scotch and motioned for a refill.

  And yet, one dead butler cried out for justice. Killing is one thing, but what had been done to Barstow…The old boy replaced Tony and Marissa in my mind. Barstow sat in that chair in the in-between, that rictus grin of maddened horror stretching his face in death.

  I blinked it away. No one was paying me to solve that mystery—even if I already had. So I took a sip of the beer and reminded myself how much richer I was. Not to mention still alive. And hey, another windfall beyond the doubled commission—I’d stuck a thumb in the eye of King Tony Two-point-oh, who’d wanted the kids dead and, for once, didn’t get his way. Maybe one of them even deserved to be dead. Maybe both of them did.

  Mother Universe is one sadistic bitch-puppeteer, yeah?

  “Another scotch?”

  I regarded the barkeep a moment. “What’s your name?”

  “Stotes,” he said, offering a cordial handshake. “Mickey Stotes.”

  “Another, Mr. Stotes,” I said, not taking his offer. “The good stuff this time.”

  Withdrawing his hand, Stotes lifted a wary eyebrow. “Good stuff ain’t cheap, y’know.”

  “Make it two, then,” I said. “No, make it three.”

  I had a bonus to burn.

  * * * * *

  Chris Pourteau Bio

  Chris Pourteau is the bestselling author of the sci-fi corporate thriller novels of The SynCorp Saga (https://chrispourteau.com/syncorp-saga), co-authored with David Bruns. If you enjoyed Stacks Fischer in “The Taulke Job,” he shows up as a major character in the Saga’s second trilogy, which begins with the novel Valhalla Station, winner of American Book Fest’s 2019 Best Book Award for Science Fiction. A full-length Stacks Fischer novel, Optional Retirement Plan, is also available (narrated by R.C. Bray.)

  Want to know more about Chris? Sign up for his newsletter (and get free stuff!) at https://chrispourteau.com/newsletter and join his Facebook fan page at https://www.facebook.com/groups/842647879401279/.

  Chris lives in College Station, Texas, with his wife, son, and their carnivorous zombie alert system (two dogs).

  # # # # #

  Chris Was Here by Kevin Steverson

  Chapter One

  Karbot Town, Darloog

  Darloog System

  “Chris will come back, and you’ll be sorry!” shouted Murline. He threw his metal cup at the door, and it bounced off with a clang.

  The small slot used for viewing opened, and Narlong peered in, his eyes nearly the color of the dark wooden door. “Chris managed to leave before I could put my plan in motion,” Narlong said. “If Chris comes back, Chris will be shown just what is what, and will be put back to work with the rest of y
ou. I can’t have all of you thinking there is hope.” The cover slammed into place.

  It suddenly opened again, startling the young Gilchen as he was beginning to curl into a tight ball so his fur would provide warmth to his face. He hadn’t bothered to retrieve the cup laying against the wall. Murline met Narlong’s eyes.

  “If I found out you sent a message when you were in my office…to Chris or anyone else, you might suffer a worse fate,” Narlong said with a sneer. “Maybe a week back here will teach you a lesson about going into rooms you aren’t supposed to be in.”

  Once again the cover slid into place. Murline sat with his paws wrapped around his knees and waited for the next time it would open. After a few moments he smiled slightly in the dark and whispered to himself. “Chris will come, I know Chris will come.”

  * * *

  Bank Town, Salvage

  Salvage System

  Harmon Tomeral turned when he heard his named called. Captain Ellotta walked into the office. Harmon was standing with Captain Nathan Brink in the Bolt’s headquarters. They were discussing the recruiting plan to grow the numbers of troops after recent losses. All of the system’s ground forces were vastly reduced, including the Bolts.

  “Hey, E,” Harmon said. “What’s up?”

  “Commodore, I have a Marine that needs a favor,” Ellotta answered.

  This piqued Harmon’s interest. As the president of Salvage System and the commander of all forces, a Marine asking him for a favor was unusual. Not that Harmon wouldn’t listen; he insisted on an open-door policy among his leaders. That policy extended all the way to him. If any of his fleet members, regardless of their branch, felt it could not be handled by their team, squad, section, unit, or ship commander, such as Captain Ellotta, his door was open.

  A quick glance over at Captain Brink let Harmon know the leader of the Bolts, the system’s specialty unit, was interested as well. The animated tattoo of shimmering lightning strikes on one side of his face didn’t mask it. The big man raised an eyebrow.

  “Do you need my office?” Nate asked.

  “No,” Ellotta assured him. “Not yet. I’d be interested in your thoughts as well.”

  “Talk to me, E,” Harmon said.

  “Well, sir,” the ship commander began, “we have a Marine, a corporal promoted before the last action in the Nazrooth System, requesting a couple weeks of leave.”

  “I mean…that’s not that unusual,” Harmon said. “We’re in the process of repairing ships, cleaning equipment, taking inventory, and recruiting, but there have been a few exceptions to the all-hands-on-deck period after returning to the system.”

  “Some births and things like that,” agreed Nate. “I let some of my troops take leave because their better halves gave birth. They’ll be back to work here in a week or two, once the physicians give the go-ahead. Really, it’ll be when their mates think they can manage. As far as I’m concerned, they can take all the time they need. They were both cesarean births, and the nanites need a little time to fix everything.”

  Ellotta nodded and continued, “Normally I wouldn’t even mention it and would just authorize it myself. The corporal performed exceptionally with all the emergency repairs happening onboard, and from the after-action reports, during the planet-side action. I spoke to Colonel Audell, since he is the actual commander of the Marines, including the ones assigned to my ship. He pointed me to the sergeant major and, to my surprise, he said to talk to you. I was only going to let them know the Marine had some sort of family issue and needed time off.”

  “Big Jon sent you to me?” Harmon asked. Now he was really interested. “Where is your Marine?”

  “Staying in Bank Town,” Ellotta answered. “I brought the corporal down to the planet with me. After the way everyone acted, something told me you would like to hear the story directly.”

  “Well,” Harmon said, “there must be something to this story that would cause the two of them to send you my way. One of them—or even Gunny, at his level—could have authorized the leave, and there would have been no issue. Message our Marine and let’s meet at Our Bar and Grill. I could do with a good Chinto Burger right about now. I’ll have Evelyn meet us there.”

  “I didn’t know she was planet-side,” Ellotta said, referring to Harmon’s fiancé, the Fleet’s fighter carrier commander.

  “She’s here getting upgrades on her Scout Mech,” Harmon said. “Clip, Marteen, and Zerith are over at Yatarward Industries today, too.”

  “For the life of me, I don’t know how you guys shut yourself into those things,” Ellotta said. “I can’t believe Evelyn finds time to stay proficient in a mech and command the fighter carrier.”

  “It’s not so bad.” Harmon laughed. “You get used to it. Come on, Nate, let’s go eat. It’s all on me.”

  “Hey, sir,” the large bald man grinned, “you don’t have to ask me twice.”

  Nate turned towards the desk in the front of the main room. “Corporal Zarmlon, hold down the fort. The commodore is treating us to lunch.”

  “Roger that, sir,” answered the purple-skinned troop manning the desk.

  She stood as they were leaving the building. Harmon noticed the glint of silver as one of her dangling earrings caught the blue light coming from her own shimmering lightning tattoo. Despite the typical white hair, cut short in the style of a female Pikith, he knew she was of mixed race. Full Pikith did not have outer ears. He shook his head and laughed when he heard what she said next.

  “You said ‘us,’” Zarmlon said, looking right at them. “I want a double burger, with an order of those winbog fries—you know, the red ones. Thanks, Commodore.”

  Captain Brink ducked his head. “Corporal, I didn’t mean…” he started to say.

  “I got you, Corporal,” Harmon said, interrupting her unit commander. “She’s a keeper,” he added after they were out of the building.

  “That’s what my first sergeant keeps telling me,” Nate admitted.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Two

  Our Bar and Grill

  Bank Town

  Corporal Chris was nervous. Asking for leave had turned into a lunch meeting with the commander of all of Salvage Fleet, not to mention the co-owner and president of the entire Salvage System. Realizing the need was more important than nerves, the corporal walked into the reserved back room in the establishment and took it all in with one long glance. It was fuller than expected.

  Captain Ellotta stood, motioned, and turned to Commodore Tomeral for the introduction. “Sir, this is Corporal Chris,” he said.

  “Pleased to meet you, sir.” Chris reached out her hand, and Harmon shook it with a firm grip. He was slightly taller than she expected him to be. Harmon introduced her to everyone else in the room. She was nearly at a loss for words. She managed a polite hello to everyone, until she got to Senior Chief Warrant Officer Farnog. Oddly enough, his golden eyes seemed to catch and hold her attention.

  He was a Prithmar; there were many in the fleet and living in Salvage System. His small scales were a dusty bronze color, slightly lighter on his face. She realized he was holding her hand while looking at her with a puzzled look of his own.

  “Alright, Zee,” Clip said, “you can let her hand go. It’s not like you’ve never met a Ta’Canet before.”

  “Pleassse, call me Zzerith,” Zerith said, stretching some of his sounds and ignoring his friend. He had actually never personally met a Ta’Canet, a race of lizard-like beings similar to his. Unlike the Prithmar race’s various colors, the Ta’Canet’s small scales were always a light green color, and their facial features were much closer to a human’s, allowing the females of the race to take advantage of lightly applied make-up.

  “If you’ll call me Chris,” she said. She couldn’t help smiling when she said it. He was the fleet’s senior technician, and an associate. Tomeral and Associates owned the entire system. She couldn’t believe the senior chief warrant officer insisted she use his given name, but she was good with it.<
br />
  The group found seats around a cluster of tables pushed together by the owners of the place. Even though Clip had teased his friend, he left a seat between them so Zerith could sit by her. She smiled inwardly at this gesture between friends.

  She ordered a large salad. While they ate, Harmon asked her if she needed to speak to him in private, or would she mind talking during the meal. She decided the favor she needed could be asked in the company of everyone present.

  “Sir, I would like to take two, perhaps three weeks leave.” Chris answered.

  “That’s all?” Harmon asked. “Just leave? There must be more to it for the sergeant major to send you my way.”

  “Well, sir,” Chris continued, “I would also like to ask for my next quarter’s pay in advance. I don’t have enough credit to get to where I need to go and back.”

  “Ok,” Harmon said, “that’s a little more than just asking for leave. Still, that can be approved way below me. Captain Ellotta can approve advance pay for anyone assigned to his ship.” He took another bite of his burger.

  “Tell him where you are going and why,” Ellotta prodded.

  “I need to get back to the home in Karbot Town on the Planet Darloog,” Chris said.

  Clip pulled out a small slate, checked something, looked up, and said, “That’s three days travel between gates.”

  Chis nodded, looked over at Harmon, and noticed the burger held in midair. She watched him slowly put it back on his plate. She had his full attention.

  “Did you say the home?” Harmon asked.

  “Yes sir, I did,” Chris answered. She was curious as to what the commodore had deduced.

  “Isn’t that a world that has a heavy concentration of some of the minerals for the improved clear-steel are mined?” Evelyn asked. “I’ve seen it on the news on the Galaxy Net. There has been some awful accidents with mines collapsing, resulting in loss of life.”