One man ripped open a nicotine patch and slapped it on his arm. “After all these years, you would think they would find a way to make smoking in space safe by now.”
“You would think, after humans are dying off by the millions from smoking, you would have kicked the habit, by now,” another said.
The person at the head of the table drummed his fingers against his leg, a serious look in his eyes. The two at the end immediately ceased their banter, cleared their throats, and settled in their seats.
The leader of the meeting shifted his gaze around the table and let it settle briefly on each member before he began to speak. “If all of us fought as one, we still wouldn’t win. I, for one, would rather we take our place in power than being ground under their boot. In the first situation, we rule within the new Empire, subjugated, but free. Otherwise, our bones will fuel the fires that destroyed our worlds.”
The man beside him leaned back in his chair. “And the blame for it all still lies with the Dreth. They are already up in arms and have pushed forward. Last week, they shot down a Federation Naval ship when they looked like they’d been beaten.”
The leader gave a deep chuckle. “Idiots. They did it to themselves.”
Another of the men, smaller and older, shook his head before he raised his hand to get their attention. “This coalition has followed in the footsteps of some of the American greats. We will be compared to the British and the French who tried to make peace with the Nazis before World War Two—the ones who knew they’d lose more by fighting than giving in to their demands.”
He paused to watch his words sink in before he continued. “They were, in my eyes, the smart ones, exactly like we’re the smart ones. We are the ones in power who know the strength of what’s coming, and that neither we nor the Federation has any chance against it.”
The men all nodded in agreement.
“Yes, of course,” one murmured.
“That goes without saying,” another muttered.
The older gentleman sighed. “If you had seen what it was like when I was growing up—the way we sat silently while we were overlooked. In spite of how it appeared, the reality was that the power seeped slowly back to us.”
He glared around at the others, but none of them said a word. “This time,” he continued, “this time, it’s better to give in than to be destroyed and left with nothing and nobody, the last of an extinct species. The Federation thinks winning wars is something to be proud of, but survival is the cornerstone to the existence of every living thing in this universe. Survival.”
The man at the front agreed vehemently. “And right now, the Federation needs to be coached. They need to be ready to accept the defeat or the treaty presented in order to save humanity—now before billions are killed for some flight of fancy called ‘freedom.’ There is no such thing as freedom. It is an ideology. Freedom only exists when there is one single master. And in this universe, there are enough masters for each to have a single population.”
Another of the men clapped his hands. “When do we begin?”
The leader gave a thin smile that was almost a grimace. “My friend, we have already begun. In fact, others started the movement for us—the degradation of these planets, the loss of lives, the battles within the planet for territory. It started long before us and will continue long after. This is merely a tiny blip in the history of these things. Ultimately, what destroys a civilization are the people within it. We have seen that more times than we can count in foreign, domestic, and interplanetary histories than anything else. The time has come, my friends. We will see a future in the distrust, a future in the tyranny and agony, and it is always the patient ones who gain the prize when everyone else has long vanished, taking each other to the grave.”
The guy with the nicotine patch patted it fervently, his excitement rising. “This has been a long and painful trip, but those words make every agonizing, smokeless moment worth it.”
The one next to him sneered at him and shrugged, snatched his drink, and raised it. “To more painful moments for our friend here. The more there are, the better we will all be.”
The leader smiled as the men talked amongst themselves, a devious glint in his eye.
Chapter Fourteen
Thumping boots and a creaking floor could be heard clearly in the still, quiet air of a thicket of grossly undercut forest. The wooded area stood deep in the countryside. Old vines twisted through the trees to create interwoven walls almost too thick to hack through.
There, draped over the rickety branches of the trees, they died and left white shriveled nests of foliage. The once lively forest sprawled decrepit and fierce, and secrets traveled through its overgrown paths across the lightly swaying limbs of dead oak trees.
Tucked neatly in the thicket’s center, with no real way in or out, was a small wooden cabin that appeared to be abandoned from the outside and like it could simply collapse at any moment. The thumping steps came from within its walls, evidence of a man too lost to step beyond the thicket and back into the real world.
Watching him pace was a second man who held an old quarter-filled bottle of whiskey. He drank and stared at his companion a moment longer before he drifted his gaze to the wall on the other side of the room.
The man who paced, Beta, had led the attack at the Gala. The one watching was known as Crimson. Beta stopped pacing long enough to serve the food from an old wood-burning stove at the back of the hut. When he was done, he returned to the table, balancing the two plates as he yanked out the other old rickety chair.
He sat and shoved one of the plates across to his companion and a spoon a moment later. Crimson looked at the piece of meat, the slice of bread, and the pile of mashed potatoes. When he spoke, his accent was thick and rich with evidence of Russian descent, which denoted a heritage from a place that thrived outside Federation control.
“There has been a day when I looked forward to this type of meal. This is not one of them,” he said and poked at the potatoes with his spoon. “We need more to our power suppers than the same two meals.”
Beta looked at him. A new scar ran from one side of his face to the other and his left eye remained in its socket but had faded to a very light blue. “We eat what we get our hands on. Right now, we have to wait. I found us this secure location and there will be a drop of supplies and food later this week.”
Crimson sighed, picked up the hunk of meat, and bit into it. “Had you told me that by the end of our pursuit of the ambassador, I would live in shithole like this, I would have passed on the job and taken my chances in Russia.”
They both raised their spoons to take a mouthful and froze when something tapped on the front door. They looked at each other and Beta’s spoon shook slightly. Suddenly, a loud crash outside preceded the sound of their guards grunting in pain followed by the solid thump as they fell heavily.
Odd sliding and shuffling sounds indicated that their bodies were dragged away and finally broke through their shock. Crimson scrambled to his feet, retrieved his shotgun, and checked to make sure it was loaded. The cartridges were in place so he snapped it shut and turned toward the door.
“Knock, knock,” a voice called from the other side.
Beta slid his chair back carefully and walked forward with Crimson. Both men came to a halt a few feet from the door. Behind them, shadows danced as a figure lowered herself from the rafters before she dropped the last few feet onto the table. Her boots thudded on the wood and the two men spun and opened fire before they even registered an actual target. Their plates, steaks, and mashed potatoes erupted and smeared down Beta’s shirt.
When they ceased their fire, they stared blankly at their mess and the total absence of anybody. The target had left the table as they turned and now crept up behind them and deftly pounded their heads together.
The two men dropped their guns and the intruder snatched them up hurriedly and propped them against the dirty, rusty sink set against the cabin’s wall. The occupants stumbled back
and clutched onto one another as they tried to regain their balance.
Beta blinked his good eye and growled at their assailant. Their visitor was dressed in a tight spandex suit with a full face mask. From the curves of her hips and firm round breasts, it was obvious that a woman had attacked them. This alone was enough to drive the man nuts since his chauvinism knew no end.
She clicked her tongue, raised the shotgun, and aimed it in his direction. “I know you’re trying to hide it.”
He glanced at Crimson, who was clearly terrified. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
The woman giggled and swung the gun’s barrel in small circles. “You know, hiding the fact that you both worked to kill Stephanie Morgana. Trust me, the whole world felt that, and I can promise you that the intrusion on the sanctity of our heroes will not go unanswered.”
Beta sneered and his scar pulled on the side of his face. “So, you have come back to avenge yourself, have you, Stephanie? What’s wrong? You couldn’t get any of your so very brave guards to step up and do the dirty work for you?”
She tilted her head to one side and looked up swiftly as the front door opened and closed. The newcomer had been at the battle too but paid no attention when he walked in. “Hey, guys. I scored some carrots and some kind of mushroom. I’m not sure if we’ll get full or get high but what the hell? We’re stuck out here anyway.”
Laughing, he raised his head and his face paled in shock as he noticed the confrontation. “Who…who is that?”
Beta rolled his eyes. “Stephanie Morgana.”
The intruder laughed and shook her head. “Now, that would be nice and poetic, wouldn’t it? Except I am not Stephanie Morgana.”
His face paled. There was a big difference between revenge and someone sent to kill them. She walked toward the new arrival, raised the shotgun, and aimed it directly at his face. He immediately stilled and she looked curiously at him for a moment before she pulled the trigger. The blast caught him squarely in the center of his forehead. Before his body landed, she sashayed to where the stove stood at the back of the cabin.
She moved the scattered mashed potatoes and meat out of Crimson’s seat, turned the chair, and straddled it. After a moment, she used the shotgun to indicate the two men should sit. Crimson obeyed and immediately began to bargain. “I have much money back in Russia. If it is what you’re after, you can come with me home I will give you all of it.”
The woman put her chin on her hand. “Really? A lot of money, huh?”
He nodded. “Of course. Family fortune is all yours.”
She acted like she was really excited, then stood, brought her weapon up, and shot him between the eyes. The impact of the blast shoved him against his chair and rocked him back. When the chair stayed upright, the intruder gave an impatient grunt and marched around the table to kick him in the chest.
The well-placed kick launched Crimson’s body and the chair to the floor with a jarring crash. She sauntered back to her seat and focused on Beta. He swallowed hard but returned her stare. He somehow kept his cool fairly well given the circumstances. The only sign that he was afraid was the way he tapped the large gold ring on his forefinger against his belt buckle.
The woman smiled and her mask moved upward as if her mouth curved. “Okay, he bored me. What do you have to say?”
He moved uncomfortably in his chair but said nothing. She sighed and stood to remove a thermal grenade off a loop on her belt. She looked at it as she fiddled with the timing. “Sixty seconds? Ohhhh, wouldn’t want to accidentally be too close…let’s make this shit ninety seconds.”
She strolled across the room and climbed onto a low bookcase to place the ordnance on the rafter above. Her lithe jump from her perch ended in a swift kick to topple the bookcase before she aimed the shotgun at Beta. “I wouldn’t want anyone to reach it in time.”
The man started to stand but she shook her head. “Nah-ah-ah. I want you to know something before you die. That display of villainous treason with the human civilians at the Gala? That was really sloppy. You could have at least blown the ambassador up or something and made something cinematic out of it. But I guess you’ll have to wait until your next life, right?”
The man, grimy from weeks of hiding out, sneered and revealed his chipped and yellow teeth. “You’ll see this come back on your ass, I guarantee that.”
She giggled. “I doubt that, considering you’re out here in the middle of nowhere. Anyway, it’s been fun. I have to run—you know, what with the grenade and all. I’m sure I’ll see you in the streets of hell.”
In a single smooth motion, she pivoted swiftly, fired the shotgun, and dropped it as the window shattered. She made a run for it and dove through the ragged aperture bounded by chipped wood and glass shards. Her landing jarred her into an immediate roll across the clearing and into the brush. “Ouch. Oh. Damn. Ouch.”
She scrambled to her feet and raced deeper into the forest and as far away from the small cabin as she could. The countdown continued in her head as she flung herself behind a large mound of soil and fallen trees. Pressed against the barrier, she waited impatiently for the blast and was surprised when it didn’t come. With a frown, she used her fingers to count another ten seconds and reached zero in her mind before the detonation hurled wood, glass, furniture, and body parts spiraling from where the cabin had stood.
When the last of the debris settled, the woman raised her head, dusted small twigs from her shoulders, and wiped the dust off her mask. Satisfaction flooded through her as she scrutinized the glorious wreck, the building reduced to nothing but a smoldering pile of wood. With a triumphant chuckle, she pulled herself to her feet, stepped through the debris, and looked for any sign that the last man might have survived. All she found was his large gold ring with half a finger still inside it.
She grimaced but laughed almost immediately, shook her head, and clambered over the rubble. A few hundred feet away, she found the backpack she’d left and opened it to retrieve a towel.
After an instinctive glance around, even though she knew she was alone, she tugged the mask off. Her hair was matted with sweat and droplets trickled down her forehead. The afternoon light filtered through the trees and caught Elizabeth’s face as she wiped her face and shoved the towel and mask into her bag.
“That damn thing is sweaty. We’ll need to mod it. It simply won’t do as it is, not unless I want to shrivel up like a prune.”
Elizabeth hauled the pack onto her back and tightened the straps. With her compass, she marked her direction, knowing which way she needed to go to get the hell out of there. She paused for a final look at the rubble, shook her head, and muttered, “Sometimes in life, there is a job that’s priceless and you can’t outsource it.”
She located a stick she’d propped against a tree, drew her machete out of its sheath, and walked through the dark forest. It would be a long hike back to civilization, but no one except the three dead men and their guards would be any the wiser. Everyone underestimated Ms. E, but little did they know she might actually be the best warrior among them—or, at least, out of the ones without magic at their fingertips.
The woods returned to what they had been before her arrival, a graveyard of death. While the trees, shrubs, and animals had innocently died at the hands of man, the three men hiding in their shadows had died for the lives they’d taken, ruined, and changed for the worst.
Their bodies would never see the comfort of a burial plot or be visited by the families they’d left. Instead, their shattered and ashen remains would lie scattered in the barren, unkept forest for the rest of time. Eventually, something would grow there again, but the dust and dirt touched by their bodies would remain poisonous, exactly as they had been throughout their lives on Earth.
Some battles are won to great fanfare, while others are won in the silence of the night when no one is watching, their outcomes never known. This was one of the latter, and no one would ever look for them or grieve their loss. They were t
he enemy to Ms. E, and her conscience was clear.
Childers put her hand up to Wyld’s mouth and shook her head. She pointed at the medals on their chests and a look of comprehension eased across his face. They were both pissed and annoyed at what was happening, but they could only say so much where they were.
He bit the inside of his lip for a moment and came up with an idea. Carefully, he picked his duffel bag up and handed his colleague hers. “Why don’t we go for a walk and get some air? We’ve been dealing with this all day.”
She stared at him for a moment but gave him a thumbs-up. “Yeah, sure.”
They both headed into different rooms and changed their clothes, folded them neatly, and placed them at the bottom of their bags. With the bags zipped and in hand, they headed out to the lobby. Wyld wore a pair of khaki shorts, a button-up blue shirt, tennis shoes, and a baseball cap. She wore a pair of jeans, a light-gray sweater, and her Federation Navy baseball cap, now battered and worn-in from countless years of training.
“Good thinking,” Childers said. “I wasn’t sure how to get rid of any bugs that might be on us. I really need to get this shit off my chest.”
“Me too,” he replied. “Come on.”
They headed out of the building and over to his car to throw their bags into the trunk. He started it and they headed away from the base and out of the city to an abandoned warehouse miles away. As soon as the car stopped, they both slid out and checked for any listening devices on the car.
Wyld scanned the vehicle with his detector and shook his head. “We’re all clear.”
Childers put her hands in the air and yelled in frustration. “What the hell is going on with all this Stephanie Morgana stuff? Seriously. What is it about this case?”
He shook his head, removed his hat, and rubbed his hand through his hair. “I don’t know but it’s weird. We have higher ups in recruitment asking questions, R&D shoving its nose in, high-up political people who want to know what’s going on and ‘other players’ who are getting pushy about wanting to read reports.”
Witch Of The Federation (Federal Histories Book 2) Page 15
