Mack 'n' Me: The Wolves of Alpha 9

by C. M. Simpson

  It didn’t. I backed up, trying to work out how to get in to reach Mack. Couldn’t think of a way, except out the front through four ranks of really alert men.

  The first four guards didn’t take him on. They just split and started to move around him. Mack backed up some more, and then decided he didn’t want to get trapped against the back wall. I reached out and poked the wall, again, remembering what had happened last time.

  Mack feinted at the guard furthest from the divider, before turning and delivering a perfectly placed spinning back kick into the guard trying to slide by him with the divider at his back. The kick sent the man into the barrier, just as the charge leapt along the wall.

  I could have done without the screaming.

  That was all it took to bring down the wall in front of me, and I didn’t wait for the guards to cross. As far as I was concerned, there was only one person who needed to die today, and he was on the balcony above our heads.

  Which would do him little good if I could clear enough space for a run-up. Now, all I had to do was activate the nans to release the stim into my system—and the best way I knew how to do that was to start a fight. I looked at the soldiers, still lined up where the wall used to be.

  Nice of them to volunteer.

  I leapt forward, and watched their blasters come up. Bastards.

  It was enough for me to kick into a forward flip, glad Delight had insisted on gymnastics training with her crew. The flip created panic in the front rank, as I shortened the distance faster than they were expecting, and changed the trajectory in a way they hadn’t anticipated. I don’t think I’d shown them that trick the last time I was here. More fool them.

  The landing brought me down in the center of the middle rank, but it wasn’t clean. I clipped someone’s shoulder with my hip, on the way down, and jolted sideways into the man beside him. That was both good, and bad. I knocked the blaster out of the guy’s hand, which was good—but I failed to regain my balance enough to get my feet under me, which was very, very bad.

  I landed amidst a forest of boots and legs, with the blaster not far from my hand. It would have been better if these guys had been completely green, or of the same caliber as most of the house guards I’d encountered before, but they weren’t. They were combat veterans, something I was reminded of, when three booted feet came down on my arm, as I reached for the blaster.

  The boots that landed along my body and pinned it were an additional reminder, as were the blasters levelled in my direction from the front row, which had now turned and taken a few steps back to give their colleagues in the second row room to move. Except for the captain—and there was always gonna be one.

  He dropped into a crouch beside my head and smacked me hard in the jaw with a very solid fist. Well, fuck.

  I was cuffed and dragged to my feet in record-quick time, my ears still ringing from the blow. I didn’t know what to expect after that, maybe a thorough beating to teach me a lesson, or something similar. It didn’t happen. Instead, the captain pulled me across his chest, a beefy forearm curled around my throat. I waited for the nans to kick in, and realized I hadn’t given them enough time. Guess that was one of the bugs Mack and Doc were gonna have to iron out.

  Problem was, Mack was deep in the shit. Sure, he’d managed to throw another two guys into the forcefield, and then Barangail had turned it off, so his men now had the entire double cell to work with. It did the same for Mack, but there was only one of him, and he was hopelessly outnumbered. I watched as he moved among his foes and marveled that they hadn’t taken him down, yet.

  It took me a while to realize that a quick take-down wasn’t the aim. They moved around him, landing mid- to heavy-weight blows against his torso, and then switching out and in. They’d started with fists and boots, but, as Mack started to slow, they pulled stun sticks and used those, instead—unpowered, but effective nonetheless.

  By the time Mack hit the floor on all fours, I was willing to bet the worst bruises on his back wouldn’t be from the slugs he’d taken in the ambush outside the beanstalk. A well-placed kick to the gut sent him over on his side, and I watched as the soldiers took to him in as methodical a beating as any I’d seen. He tried, twice, to get back into the fight, and was put back down with calculated ferocity each time. The second time, he landed hard and didn’t get back up again.

  I tried to break free and reach him, kicking back in an attempt to bust a knee-cap, only to be reminded I had bare feet—and that was before the arm around my throat tightened in a simple flex. Spots danced before my eyes, and I forced myself to relax. When I got out of this, someone was going to pay. Until then, I could only watch as Mack curled into a ball and covered his head while the blows rained down.

  When he went limp the wall sprouted chains and shackles, and the squad hung him up like a slab of beef, stripping him bare-assed naked as they did so. When he was well and truly secured, I was turned so I could watch the balcony descend the wall, carrying Barangail down to my level. I forced myself to be quiet, and watched as the soldiers parted between us, to let him approach.

  “You try a kick, and I’ll break both your legs,” said a familiar voice in my ear—Captain Foksall.

  It was hard to keep myself relaxed as Barangail came to stand in front of me. If I hadn’t known better, I would have thought he was taunting me into trying to do something stupid. It was strangely satisfying to deny him the opportunity. Not so many years ago, I’d have fought him, until Foksall was forced to put me under. This time, I managed to stay still and conscious, until Barangail spoke, again.

  He indicated Mack.

  “My captain spoke out of turn,” he told me. “If you’d have tried a kick, we’d have broken both of his legs.”

  I felt my gut go cold, my eyes flicking to Mack and back to Barangail’s face. He would have, hey?

  “In fact, I still might.”

  I tensed, my muscles going rigid, as my eyes widened. I wanted to ask him for mercy, didn’t know if it would do an ounce of good. This was the real lord Barangail—and it didn’t take much to realize he was no puppet of the spiders; he’d probably invited them in, offered them a world in exchange for power. I swallowed, and saw him glance towards the captain of the other squad.

  “Please,” I managed, as he raised his hand.

  He turned his head.

  “Please what?”

  “Please, d... Please have mercy,” I said, having edited out the ‘don’t’ in case he took it as a challenge.

  I waited, my eyes on his upraised hand, knowing I was giving him more satisfaction than I wanted, but worried about Mack. He looked from his captain, and studied my face. I returned his gaze, trying hard not to challenge him, trying hard not to beg, but too anxious to hide my fear. Whatever he read in my eyes, it was enough. He lowered his hand.

  I took a breath, letting the tension ease out of my muscles. He watched me, and I closed my eyes to shut out the view of his face. No sooner had I done so, than I felt him turn, and opened my eyes to see what he was up to. I was horrified to see his hand once more upraised.

  “No!”

  But he didn’t spare me a glance, just snapped his fingers, caught his captain’s eye, and gave a single nod.

  The sound of bones cracking wasn’t new to me, but the sound of Mack’s bones breaking wasn’t something I was going to forget in a hurry. A terrible hollowness had settled within my chest, when he turned back to me, and I just stared at him.

  “Why?” I whispered, and he curled his forefinger and thumb under my chin, as he put his face close to mine.

  “So you understand,” he said, and anger flashed through me.

  Oh, I understood, all right. This asshole was going to die, just as soon as I could make it happen without risking Mack. He stared into my eyes, and I wondered if he’d caught that thought, but whatever he might have seen, he seemed satisfied.

  He let go of my chin, and backed up a step.

  “You’re the retrieval expert, I take it.”

/>   It wasn’t a question, but he seemed to be waiting for an answer. I nodded, my eyes straying to Mack. They’d made those breaks good ones, and I wondered how long he was gonna need in a tank, before he could walk, again. Swallowing against the dryness in my mouth, and the sudden feel of nausea, I let my gaze switch back and forward between Mack and Barangail.

  “And you’d rather your captain was in one piece instead of many.”

  Again, it wasn’t a question, but I froze, and looked into Barangail’s face.

  “Yes,” I managed, trying to ease the creakiness in my voice.

  I flicked another glance at Mack, saw the captain of the other squad looking back at Barangail, his shock stick held loosely in his hand. Cold dread settled just under my ribs, and I tried to focus on the lord. He took my chin and turned my head so he was all I could see.

  “I suppose you think the man needs a tank,” he said, and I grabbed hold of the instinctive affirmative I’d been about to utter. There were, after all, a number of different tanks in the universe, and not all of them were for healing. I’d seen tanks filled with the flesh-eating beetles on Hanovra, tanks of water, tanks of acid, and I figured now might be the time to be real specific.

  “He needs a regen tank,” I said, and kept my eyes on Barangail’s face.

  The man gave a bark of laughter, even though no merriment touched the rest of his expression.

  “Very good,” he said, cynicism and laughter licking at the edge of his words. He ducked his chin, and spoke into the comms unit tabbed into his collar. “Captain, put Captain Star in a regen tank—and make sure his legs are set correctly.”

  He cast a glance at my face.

  “He needs to be in the same condition as when he we put him in this cell.”

  Barangail must have caught the expression that said I was worried about the injuries Mack had been carrying when he’d been drugged, and he amended his words.

  “Make sure he heals all the injuries. I don’t want a scratch, bruise, or break on him—and keep him under; I don’t want him breaking out.”

  “Yessir,” came out in a tinny rattle from the collar tab, as well as across the floor in a quieter baritone, and I let out the breath I’d been holding.

  Barangail’s face was as cold and emotionless as stone, when he turned towards me.

  “And you,” he said, “have some retrieving to do.”

  I stared back into his eyes, and I waited. I was pretty sure the man wasn’t finished with me. He stared a little longer at me, and then he continued.

  “You know what the bracelet looks like?”

  I nodded, and he kept on.

  “And you know we last saw the woman in the mines.”

  Again, I nodded. Man didn’t seem to be interested in an answer.

  “So, what do you need to get started?”

  I shrugged, pulling at the cuffs around my wrists.

  “I need outta these, for a start,” I said, and he hesitated.

  I looked over towards Mack.

  “No sign of a tank, yet,” I said, “and I’m gonna need a map of the mines and the known caverns around it.”

  The man holding me, stirred restlessly, and Barangail looked past me, as though catching his eyes.

  “You’ll also need to be wearing a tracer,” he said, and I backed up—or I tried to.

  The movement caught his eye, and understanding lit his eyes.

  “Good point.” He turned to another man. “You the tagger?”

  The man shook his head, and looked towards another of his colleagues. The new guy stepped forward, taking what looked like a mutated blaster from the holster at his hip.

  “I’m the tagger,” he said. “How can I serve my lord?”

  Barangail made a brief gesture in my direction.

  “She needs something that’s not going to shake loose in a hurry.”

  “Shoulder tag could be lodged nice and deep,” the man said, tilting his head as he inspected me, “or I could slide one into a rib, snag it on the bone to make it harder to remove.”

  “Rib,” Barangail ordered, ignoring the way my feet were already trying to walk my body outta there. He paused. “Better stick her with two, one on either side.”

  And I started to struggle in earnest.

  All that earned me was a time out, as the big dude holding me squeezed until the spots returned in front of my eyes, and coalesced into darkness. My ribs were sore and both sides aching when I came round, and my corset was gone. I was still held—but my hands were free. That was a plus.

  Barangail was standing just out of arm’s reach, his blast-pistol drawn and pointing at my middle. That would hurt if it went off. I raised my hands, and hooked them over the arm that was, again, curving across my throat.

  “What else do you need,” Barangail asked.

  “Map?” I asked, and realized my implant was live, and there was a message waiting.

  Damn, it hadn’t taken them long to get my contact... or had they? It looked awfully like that message was stuck in Message Limbo until I let it in. Only problem was I couldn’t touch it. Yup, bastards had locked the implant down so I couldn’t go dancing through their systems, again.

  Well f...

  “Calm down, Cutter. We’re here.”

  And I’d never been so happy to hear Tens’s voice in my life. I stilled, watched as he reached out of my head, broke the barriers between me and Mack’s implant, and buffered me against the pain rolling through the man’s head.

  “I’ll be—"

  “No.” Mack’s voice might be kitten weak in my mind, but it was firm, and I realized he’d come round and was playing at still being out. “Cutter’s handling it. I’m just insurance. They’ll get a tank in here as soon as she’s en route.”

  I didn’t ask him how he could be so sure that was gonna happen, and he didn’t enlighten me. Instead, I turned back to Barangail. Before I could speak, though, Case cut through, dropping her news like a planet-buster, in our midst.

  “We’re locked into the docks,” she said. “I could bust us out, but...”

  “No.” Again, Mack’s answer was firm, even if his voice was not. “Just get your business done on world, and wait for me.”

  It made me wonder how he could be so sure he’d be making it back to the ship, but Barangail chose that moment to start talking, and I had to listen to what he said.

  “Will it suffice?” he demanded, and I knew he meant the map.

  Again, my eyes strayed to where Mack was hanging against the wall. Barangail followed my gaze.

  “Tank’s almost here,” he said. “I had to bring one up from the infirmary.”

  Made me wonder why, right up until the door slid open and the tank was guided through. Damn thing was levitating off the floor, and being guided by a couple of paramedics and a few soldiers. What was it with this man? How the fuck did he think Mack was going to be a menace in the shape he was in?

  “Man’s heard the stories,” Mack said, over comms.

  Well, at least he still had his sense of humor.

  I watched as they took him off the wall, wincing as a scream escaped both his lips, and echoed through the implant.

  “Easy, boss,” Tens said, but Mack didn’t respond.

  I hadn’t been able to suppress a flinch at Mack’s scream, and tears had sprung to my eyes. Of course, Barangail noticed.

  “You get the job done,” he said, tilting his jaw towards where a now-unconscious Mack was being loaded into the tank, his legs straightened and encased in air casts, “and you get him back.”

  I stifled the urge to cry, even if I couldn’t stop the tears from leaking from the edges of my eyes. Damn it! What the fuck was wrong with me?

  “I wonder,” Case said, and it was pretty damn clear that she didn’t, that she was convinced she knew exactly why Mack’s condition was causing me so much distress.

  Well, she could jam it.

  She laughed—and it was as unhappy a sound as I felt.

  “Focus, Cutter. Yo
u can’t afford to fuck it up, now.”

  She was right, much as I resented it. I cleared my throat, and turned back to Barangail. Tens opened the map in my head, and I noted the markers tracing the path the woman had taken to escape. Given the glimpse I’d just had of Barangail’s true nature, I was surprised it had been the maid who’d run away. Personally, I think the concubine would have been better off making the attempt herself.

  I shrugged the thought away, studied the map, and then focused on Barangail.

  “I’ll send you a list,” I said, using the map’s address of origin as a destination to do just that.

  It had been nice of Case to put the list together.

  I saw Barangail’s eyes temporarily widen as my list hit his implant, and then they narrowed, and he glared at me. I gave him my most innocent stare, and saw when he decided to ignore me. I was the servant and inconsequential.

  “I’ve locked your ship down on station,” he said. “She’ll be there, until you bring the bracelet back.”

  I just looked at him, waiting for the inevitable sting in the tail.

  “If you don’t return, I’ll take the ship as compensation.”

  I wondered briefly what would happen to the crew, but Barangail was happy to explain.

  “The crew will become my property.” He saw the look of concern cross my face, and smiled in mock reassurance. “Don’t worry, I’m sure I can put your people’s talents to good use.”

  I raised my eyebrows at that, since there were a couple of problems with his theory. The first one was that it wasn’t my crew. And the second was Mack.

  “I’ll be returning your Captain Star to his ship.”

  Well, that explained the floating regen tank. I tried not to think of what might happen if the convoy was ambushed on its return to the city. Mack might be lost forever. Barangail had an answer for that, too.

  “We won’t have any trouble on the way,” he said. “I’ll take him up by private shuttle.”

  Well, that sorted that, then. Time to get pushy.