Lunar Crisis: Age of Expansion - A Kurtherian Gambit Series (Shadow Vanguard Book 2)

by Tom Dublin

  "Not there!" barked Tc'aarlat, brushing Jack's hand away. "I'm talking about my shoulders. It just doesn't feel right without Mist up there. I'm used to her weight."

  "Would it help if I strapped a can of soup to your collar bone?"

  Tc'aarlat scowled. "You'd have to have it surgically removed from your ass first if you ever tried!" he warned.

  The Yollin turned to look out of the side window. He and Jack had rushed back to the ICS Fortitude and blasted off through Taglen's atmosphere toward the more fun-loving of the planet's moons.

  "Solo," called Jack.

  The EI's voice rang from speakers all around the plush cabin, blue LED lights pulsing in time with each syllable. "Yes, Captain?"

  "Have you managed to hack in to the Hann police computers yet?"

  "I'm running a cryptoanalysis program against their final layer of security as we speak, Captain. I estimate I will gain entry within the next sixty seconds."

  "Thank you."

  Tc'aarlat looked at Jack. "Do you think she'll be okay?"

  Jack nodded, his brow furrowing. "I don't see why not. She's hacked into secure systems before and it hasn't had any adverse effect."

  "Not Solo!" exclaimed Tc'aarlat. "Mist! Do you think she will be okay?!"

  "Why shouldn't she be?"

  Tc'aarlat shrugged once again, but this time his mandibles quivered, betraying his concern. "She turned green," he said quietly. "I've only ever seen her do that once before—back when I was running guns for the Gan'barlo family. Our truck was held up by a crew from the other side of the city. We fought back, but the other driver didn't make it."

  He turned to look into the darkness of space again.

  "Kinlort was my friend," he continued. "We met at boarding school and just hit it off, you know? I guess because we both came from families that didn't want us. When I quit school to join the mob, he came with me. We were like brothers."

  He sighed.

  "Some nights I can see him lying there in the pool of his own blood as it gets bigger and bigger, Mist shrieking in my ear. We only survived because the yellow fuckers ran when they heard sirens approaching."

  "I'm sorry," said Jack. "I didn't know."

  Tc'aarlat shrugged again, more gently this time. "Why would you? I don't normally talk about him. Even his parents didn't want to know when I went to tell them. They wouldn't see me. I had to leave a message with their fucking butler!"

  "And Mist?"

  "Her feathers turned green and stayed that way for weeks," Tc'aarlat explained. "In the wild, raal hawks only ever turn that color when they’re under extreme pressure, such as when their nests are attacked. But I've no idea why she'd do it now."

  "Excuse me for interrupting, Captain..." Solo's voice brought an end to the conversation. "I thought you'd like to know I've broken through the police server's firewall, and I now have full access to their system."

  "Find anything interesting?"

  "Possibly," replied Solo. "I located the names of the hostages who have been freed from the Casino. High Priest Jolio Phisk is not among them."

  "He's still inside," said Jack with a grim smile. "If we play it right, we can get both him and Malfic."

  Tc'aarlat nodded his agreement. "Kill two birds with one phone."

  Jack chuckled. "Exactly," he said, giving the Yollin a friendly slap on the shoulder where Mist usually sat. "Well said, my friend. Well said."

  Moon of Hann, Blue Diamond Casino

  Sergeant Randy Barber closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and thumb.

  He'd felt the headache begin to build earlier that evening and had made a mental note to grab some painkillers from the first aid kit when he next stopped off at the station.

  It didn't look as if that would be happening any time soon.

  Now he had the early stages of a cluster headache behind his left eye. If left unchecked it would only worsen, and more likely than not evolve into a full-blown migraine.

  Something he didn't want in his present situation.

  He and the rest of the hostages had been ordered to sit with their backs against the bar. Malfic had told warned them the first one to do or say something he didn't like would get a bullet through the brain.

  Aside from the constant chirping from the gaming machines, everything had been pretty quiet ever since.

  At one point Zalah Gilt had raised his hand to request a visit to the bathroom, something Malfic had unexpectedly allowed. Taking turns, they'd each been given exactly two minutes to get to the facilities, tend to their business, and return.

  If they took so much as a second longer, Malfic had promised to execute one of their fellow captives.

  Almost everyone had been back within the first minute.

  The felon had also permitted Nat to fetch small bottles of water from behind the bar and distribute them among the group.

  Thavo Domp had asked if he could switch his water for something a little stronger and had received a black eye for his troubles.

  Leaning back, Barber rested his head against the cool marbled side of the bar. Maybe if he could find a way to move away from the banks of flashing lights on the slot machines, he could—

  KSSSSTTTTT!

  Barber jumped as his radio hissed into life.

  "Sergeant Barber, this is Chief Bis Pargo," the cheap speaker squawked. "Are you receiving me, over?"

  "Give me that!" thundered a voice.

  Barber looked up to find the imposing of figure Vimor Malfic towering over him, hand outstretched.

  Blinking hard in an attempt to reduce the pain behind his eyes, he unclipped the radio from his belt and handed it over.

  "Sergeant Barber!" spat Pargo again. "Are you receiving me, over?"

  Malfic pressed the 'talk' button on his side of the device and growled into the microphone.

  "Sergeant Barber can't come to the phone right now," he rumbled. "You can talk to me."

  There was a slight pause, during which each of the remaining hostages turned to stare up at their captor as he began to pace back and forth.

  When Pargo spoke again his voice had changed. Gone was the sharp, angry tone he had used before. Instead, he now sounded quieter and less certain of himself.

  He sounded scared.

  "M-Mr. Malfic, this is Police Chief Pis Bargo, er... I mean, Bis Pargo."

  "I know who you are," Malfic snarled. "And I know where you are."

  "Y-you do?"

  Malfic glared through the casino's glass doors. In reality, all he could see were the flashing blue lights of the assembled police cars and little else, but he knew there were likely to be a couple of cameras out there as well, each providing a live video feed to the Chief wherever he was hiding. They would also be recording the entire siege for future tacticians to study, working out how they could operate differently the next time some bastard found himself in a similar position.

  Vimor Malfic, serial killer and case study for training purposes.

  The radio hissed with static again and Pargo spoke again. "Now that we've introduced ourselves, why don't you tell me what you want?"

  Malfic paused to think about this for a moment. What did he want?

  Before everything had gone tits-up his only plan had been to change his clothes, buy a stolen ship, and get the fuck off this rotting bistok bollock of a moon.

  He hadn’t even been sure where he would go.

  One of the five planets in the Ordanian Hub seemed to be the best bet. There, the worlds were ruled by criminals and gangs of every persuasion.

  Skolar Major and Talth were home to the most violent crime families the galaxy had ever seen, Skolar Minor was a haven for drug smugglers, and the residents of Beema trafficked in people for any number of despicable uses. Finally, the smallest world, Chakk, was in many ways similar to the Moon of Hann. It was where the criminals from the other worlds socialized, made deals, settled scores and engaged in any number of illegal pastimes.

  As far as Malfic w
as concerned, it didn't matter which of these five infamous planets he made his home. He'd be with his own kind once again.

  But first he'd need some form of transport.

  "You want these hostages alive?" he demanded into the radio.

  "Ideally, yes," replied Pargo. "That is, if you don't mind."

  At the bar, Sergeant Barber lowered his head and blew out his cheeks. Where the hell was the unit's negotiator?

  "Then I want a ship!" snarled Malfic. "Something able to get me out of this system, and no twatting tracking devices! Got it?"

  "No...twatting...devices..." repeated Pargo, obviously writing down the hostage-taker's demands. "Anything else?"

  "Yeah!" cried Thavo Domp. "I'm starving over here! We need food!"

  The rest of the hostages muttered their agreement, although not quite as forcefully as Domp.

  Malfic sneered at them. "Food?!"

  Domp nodded. "I'd kill for a pizza."

  Planet Taglen, Lymak City, Temple of Persha

  "Blessed is the Goddess Persha."

  Adina pressed the red button on the communicator's handset to end the call and turned to Draven and Callis. "We're on."

  "It worked?" asked the teenager.

  Adina nodded. "They believed I'm a warden, that we had a member of our congregation turn up unexpectedly to confess to being a sinner, and that he self-sacrificed by way of penance."

  "And they're coming for his body?" inquired Draven.

  "They said they'd be here in around twenty minutes," replied Adina. "We'd better get you ready."

  She took the golden box down from its shelf and lifted the lid. Inside on its velvet pillow sat the Dagger of Persha. Its blade was still smeared with blood from its last victim, Merfel Strumm.

  "Are you sure you want to go through with this?"

  "We don't have another option if we want to find this mysterious Plant where sinners' bodies are taken," Draven replied. "It'll hurt for a while afterwards, but like all Wechselbalg I heal quickly."

  Callis frowned. "Wechselbalg?"

  Draven raised his hands, fingers bent like claws. "I'm a werewolf!"

  "Oh, you mean like—”

  A sharp look from Adina cut off her sentence.

  Draven tilted his head slightly. "Like?"

  "Like...in old stories?" Callis finished, much to Adina's relief.

  "Sort of," said Draven. "Only without all the howling at the moon. Now, we'd better find one of those cheap caskets Dabriel told us about."

  "Won't they spot that you're still breathing?" the teenager asked.

  "It's possible," said Draven. "But luckily I've got these with me..."

  He produced a small bottle of pills and gave them a shake.

  "What are they?"

  "The eggheads at the forensic pharmacy on the Meredith Reynolds created them for field operatives to use in times of emergency. They'll drastically slow my heart rate and respiratory system, putting me into a kind of hibernation. Unless the staff at The Plant examine me with a stethoscope I'll appear to be utterly dead."

  "Isn't that dangerous?"

  "Possibly," said Draven, "but I have it on good authority from the guys in the lab that so long as I take the antidote within two hours I'll be absolutely fine. Now, let's find me somewhere to sleep."

  They found a storeroom filled with flimsy wooden coffins ten minutes later. Inside the room were boxes of several different sizes, from full-length adult caskets through smaller models for children, right down to tiny boxes that could only be there to hold infants.

  "How can they possibly be classed as sinners?" demanded Adina through clenched teeth. "I can't wait to get my hands on this ass-badger Phisk!"

  Choosing one of the longer boxes, they dragged it out into the central aisle of the temple. Draven lifted his leg to climb inside.

  Adina grabbed his arm. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

  Draven's eyes narrowed as he ran through their plan in his head. "No, I don't think so."

  "You're supposed to be a sinner," Adina reminded him.

  Draven beamed. "Really? You're going to make me commit a sin?"

  "Only if you want to do this properly..."

  "OK," laughed Draven. "So, which sin would you like me to choose?"

  "Corlon Strumm said his wife had blasphemed," Callis pointed out.

  Draven shrugged. "OK," he said, clearing his throat. "Here goes..."

  Tossing his head back, Draven stared up toward the vaulted ceiling of the vast temple. "Oi, Bitch-tits!"

  Callis snorted a noisy laugh. Adina shushed her, but she was giggling too.

  "Yeah, I'm talking to you Persha, you slack-minged rat-reamer! Why don't you take your three precious laws and stick 'em right up your love-trumpet, you floppy-knockered dick-faced piss-gargler! You've got a face like a smashed pie and you smell like a dead hobo's ballsack!"

  There were a few seconds of silence after Draven's words echoed and died, and for a brief moment the trio half-expected to be struck down by bolts of lightning from the heavens.

  But that didn't happen.

  Draven spun on the spot and took a deep, theatrical bow as Adina and Callis both clapped and cheered.

  "Reckon that will do?" he asked, climbing into the coffin and settling into position. He took a moment to shake out a pill and dry-swallow it.

  "Well, I can't see her putting any of that in her next lonely-hearts ad." Adina chuckled. "I think we're good to go."

  Laying his arms by his sides, Draven took a deep breath and smiled up at his new friend. "Whenever you're ready."

  Callis set the box down on a nearby bench and glanced over her shoulder. "Guys, I can hear a truck pulling up outside."

  "Are you sure?"

  Draven lifted his arm and took Adina's hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I trust you completely."

  Nodding, Adina reached inside the ornate golden box for the Dagger of Persha. Then she raised it high above her head, steeled her nerves, and plunged the glinting blade into Draven's chest

  17

  Moon of Hann, Deserted Parking Lot

  The Pegasus II landed smoothly in the deserted parking lot and the doors swung open to allow Jack and Tc'aarlat to climb out.

  While the lot's only lighting was a single buzzing bulb set high atop a rusting metal pole, the surrounding streets emitted a sheen of light that rendered nearby stars almost impossible to see in the night sky.

  Tc'aarlat frowned as a cacophony of sounds assaulted his ears. Pounding music from night clubs, the cries of street vendors hawking their wares, and drunken shouts of gangs of roving party-goers combined to create a hubbub of jarring noises that set his teeth on edge.

  Jack noticed his sour expression and smiled. "And you say I never take you anywhere nice!"

  Tc'aarlat's mandibles quivered. "What a shithole!" he spat. "Totally reminds me of home."

  Jack's eyebrows shot up. "This reminds you of Yoll?"

  Tc'aarlat nodded. "Despicable people with more money than sense wallowing in pure pleasure at the expense of those around them? My parents could well be sponsoring this place."

  Chuckling, Jack tapped his personal access code into the number pad on the secure weapons storage area at the rear of the shuttle. The glossy black cover slid back with a hiss.

  Inside, packed in specially-cut foam, was an assortment of weapons ranging from old-style projectile guns to huge anti-personnel-carrier blasters.

  Tc'aarlat whistled. "Nice! And here was me thinking we'd just need our Jean Dukes Specials."

  Jack snatched a pair of folding knives, handing one to the Yollin and tucking the other in his pocket. "That's what I'm hoping, but it doesn't hurt to have a little something in reserve."

  Closing the locker, Jack returned to the side door of the ship. "Solo," he said, leaning into the passenger area, "keep a close eye on the police comm channel. Let us know if the situation at the casino changes in any way."

  "Certainly, Captain," the EI replied. "May I be so bold as to
ask what you and Tc'aarlat are planning to do?"

  "Simple, really," Jack replied, winking at Tc'aarlat. "We're going to fuck up some bad guys."

  Planet Taglen, Lymak City, Highway 19

  Adina shifted the vehicle into fifth gear and stomped on the gas pedal in an effort to keep up with the truck containing Draven's casket.

  While the vehicle she'd borrowed from Dabriel might have been a perfectly efficient way to get around in day-to-day city traffic, it lacked the power required to come anywhere close to the speed limit of the highways leading out of town.

  Coupled with its flimsy frame and cramped interior, this was like chasing a eighteen-wheeler in a golf cart.

  Due to the numerous religious artifacts Dabriel had mounted inside the vehicle, Adina had taken to calling it “The Pershamobile.”

  "There!" cried Callis, pointing to the heavy evening traffic ahead of them. "There's the truck!"

  Adina squinted through the thick windshield, which felt as if it were made of transparent plastic rather than glass. The combination of the rear lights of other vehicles and the approaching dusk made keeping their target in sight difficult.

  Dabriel had insisted he didn't know the location of The Plant, so Adina knew if they lost sight of the transport they wouldn’t know where Draven was being taken.

  "They're turning off!" said Callis.

  "I see them!" confirmed Adina. She fumbled through an array of unmarked switches on the dash, looking for the one that would turn on her indicator. She found the right control on the third try, after first turning on the rear wiper and making both of them jump as some kind of kindergarten hip-hop song blasted from the speakers.

  Once they were off the highway it became easier to follow the truck. Although no one seemed to know the actual address of The Plant, the fact that it had taken approximately twenty minutes after Adina's call for the collection van to arrive gave her hope that it wasn't too far away.

  Adina kept eyeing the charge indicator warily as it crept closer and closer to empty.

  "They're turning again," said Callis as the truck slowed and illuminated its right blinker.

  Adina held back, switching off their headlights—first try!—and waiting until their prey had disappeared around the corner before moving on. The last thing she wanted was for the two men driving the vehicle to spot them in their rearview mirror.