Chasing the Dragon (Tyrus Rechs

by Nick Cole

  The reward for striking the Dragon was to bear the brunt of an assault that was neither furious nor recklessly driven by pain. It might have looked that way to virtually everyone else in the arena… but not Rechs. The bounty hunter, observing from above, saw a man calibrating an offensive system in light of new data. Staff upside the head and seeing double? Switch to a rush of blows designed to move your opponent to the defensive. Make them withdraw. And if they don’t move, make them protect as they hold position.

  Which is perfect when you can’t see straight. Stand still so I can know where to hit you.

  Which was how it turned out.

  Savagely so.

  The last fighter went down hard, breathing heavily. For a moment it looked like the Dragon was going to let him lie there like a sack of forgotten laundry. Then, like a jackhammer, he raised one bare heel to just the height needed, and rammed it down onto the man’s exposed neck.

  Payback.

  Don’t hit the Dragon. That’s a free lesson. The dead guy paid with his life for it.

  Which was also part of a system. A plan. Did they hurt you? Never let your enemies know how badly. Teach them that hurting you makes them suffer more. The next bunch would remember that lesson for sure. Swings and attacks would come with the memory of a neck breaking with such a loud crack that Rechs heard it high above.

  Already a new batch with new colors and a new variety of weapons were coming out.

  Tyrus Rechs didn’t have all day to watch the spectacle.

  And evidently, neither did another team of bounty hunters. Newcomers.

  Bounty hunters generally worked alone. Teams were rare. And when well coordinated, they were incredible to behold. These arrived with shock and awe, going all out. A small section of the roof was blown open, sending teak shards raining down into the crowd. Immediately two massive repeating blasters opened up from the upper gallery. Support fire for the snatch team moving in. But where were they?

  Rechs covered himself behind a pillar-like cross-section of the catwalk, scanning the panicked and fleeing crowd through his blaster’s scope. He switched the optics from CQB to ranged.

  The hunter team’s heavy high-cycle blaster fire raked the crowd indiscriminately, doing horrible things to the Sinasians who were trampling each other as they ran for cover. Some remained in their seats, bewildered. Each heavy blaster worked a different side of the vast chamber.

  Eyes on the Dragon, Rechs reminded himself, and looked at his objective. The kid was running for an opening that must lead into locker rooms or a waiting area for the contestants beneath the pit of the arena.

  That was when the Dragon got nailed by a sniper with serious skills.

  It was a low-power shot that took him right in the leg. Professionally executed to stop him from moving.

  Mission accomplished. The Dragon tumbled end over end across the floor of the arena.

  Rechs spotted the sniper working from behind a grand and opulent coupling of intertwined golden dragons that was the centerpiece of the room, just below the roof and just above the highest tiers of seating. Rechs lined up a shot that knocked the man back into the shadows, then he squeezed off three more rounds where his HUD told him the man might be lying. Just for good measure. No sense in having a sniper with room to choose.

  One of the heavy gunners swiveled his weapon on its tripod, seeking to eliminate this new threat. The incoming blaster fire was overwhelming. Stone exploded, teak splintered, and the metal catwalk clanged and dented as blaster bolts rammed home. But Rechs was already moving. Shifting positions to get to the Dragon who lay wounded on the floor of the arena.

  Rechs heard the howl of reverse thrusters as a dropship came in close to the hole in the roof. It was a little too soon for a Legion QRF to already be responding to a shooting in this district. That meant it had to be the bounty hunters’ snatch team coming in for the grab. They didn’t want a kill. They wanted to see if they could get paid a little more for a live Dragon. Or perhaps they were hoping to bargain, threaten to let him go unless their price was met. Then they’d kill him.

  Three rappel lines uncurled and hit the floor with length to spare. A trio of armored players then fast-roped into the arena, two with blaster rifles slung over their shoulders and one with a stun pistol at the ready.

  Hidden among the gargoyles surrounding and obscuring the catwalk, Rechs fired at the ones with the more lethal weapons first, hitting one of the men and knocking him off the rope halfway through his descent. The fast-roping bounty hunter flailed in the air before landing face-first with a sickening thump on the arena floor, his corpse finding a home among those the Dragon had killed.

  The other two reached the bottom seconds later. Rechs took a second shot, going again for a hunter with a blaster rifle. He knocked the man to his back. He was down, and the smoking hole in his armor said he was hurt, but he still fired wildly back at Rechs while his partner moved toward the Dragon, who was still lying prone.

  Having revealed himself again, Rechs had to move once more as both heavy gunners swiveled their weapons and opened up. Rechs abandoned the catwalk, using his jets to hop down to the arena’s top seating tiers. Then he ran down the concrete steps, seeking the cover of the next gallery.

  The heavy blaster fire was leading him, sending explosive plumes of seating, concessions, and concrete flooring up in the air mere feet in front of him. He dove over a railing and landed out of the gunners’ line of sight in an access tunnel. Though he was still on the upper level, from here he could see the Dragon, and the gunners couldn’t see Rechs.

  The Dragon slithered on the ground like a snake, like you’d expect someone who’d been shot through the leg to do. The man with the stunner approached—almost arrogantly so. The conquering victor arriving to claim his prize.

  So much for this… Dragon.

  In a blur of motion, the Dragon whipped his legs into a scissor kick, sweeping the guy with the stunner off his feet and causing him to land unceremoniously on his back. The stun pistol clattered across the floor.

  All eyes were again on the arena, as though the bounty hunters who’d come to take the Dragon were now content to watch just what the man could do.

  Rechs decided to let the Dragon deal with the man in the arena. He seemed more than capable. Now was the best time for Rechs to take care of the mounted heavy gunners.

  The ancient bounty hunter ran for the next set of tiered seating and leapt, firing his jump jets to fly out above the arena. He moved quickly toward the gunners through the air. They opened up, jamming the butterfly triggers with their thumbs even as they tried to drag their heavy weapons and targeting reticules onto a flying, moving, closing target. The old blaster cannons, great for suppression and open warfare, were not ideal at close range.

  Rechs maintained altitude just long enough to fill both blaster gunners with at least three blaster bolts apiece. The gunners’ armor might have saved their lives—or it might not have—but either way, they were certainly wounded to the point where fighting was no longer an option.

  Rechs continued downward in a slow arc to the arena floor. Cutting the jets, he landed with a fury of grit among the corpses littering the arena. He was no more than twenty meters from the Dragon, who’d taken a blaster off one of the dead.

  The Dragon brought the blaster to bear faster than Rechs thought possible, aiming it him just as Rechs was about to say something… though he wasn’t sure what.

  Hold!

  Don’t fire!

  I’m here to rescue you!

  Something.

  The kid fired on full auto. Blaster fire slammed into Rechs’s armor and smashed into his medium blaster, knocking it from his hand. Each shot was like a jackhammer, driving Rechs to his knees. His HUD flared with emergency damage information and armor integrity warnings. And something had gotten through. He felt the hot sear of a bolt that had grazed his arm as he
tried to cover himself.

  On his knees and panting, his forearm on fire, Rechs watched as the kid turned and ran for a tunnel. More dropships were coming in overhead.

  Rechs picked himself up, shaking all over and breaking out into a cold sweat. Adrenaline pumped his body full of fight over flight. Getting shot that quickly with bolts on target had been no small thing. Even Tyrus Rechs wasn’t sure he could have made it look that easy.

  He looked down. His medium blaster was smashed and smoking from a shot through the energizing chamber. It was useless. And Rechs was lucky he hadn’t lost any fingers.

  He pulled his hand cannon and checked the load. He hadn’t wanted to use the slug thrower, because there was no way to dial a bullet down if he needed to, but now he would need it. It was fully loaded. Something he already knew. That was standard operating procedure before any op and every time he put on the armor. But his mind was trying to reboot. If the kid had kept firing instead of leaving to escape… Tyrus Rechs would be dead.

  “No time to think about that,” Rechs growled, sounding angry at himself. Which was how he’d dealt with all the other times he’d come within a razor’s edge of death. By yelling at himself to move or die. He’d learned a long time ago that to think too much about those times of near death was to go mad.

  And going mad wasn’t an option. Not for Rechs. Not with his mission to wait out along galaxy’s edge for…

  … for what?

  His mind asked such questions at the most random of times.

  For what?

  No time, he told himself. Move. Or don’t ever move again.

  Hand cannon out, he raced across the arena and into the darkness of the tunnel that had swallowed the Dragon. He was unsure whether his mission was still to save the kid, or if he was going to have to kill him.

  Save the Dragon…

  Kill the Dragon…

  [redacted]

  Operator 901 is assigned to Operation Cavalier. Reporting for duty [redacted] on Ruskatoon. Operator 901 shall conduct operations against the Masalorian Rebels by working with [redacted] Group under the guidance of LTC Ajax, commanding. Mission briefing and support shall come from [redacted].

  Orders are to [redacted] inhabitants of [redacted] and to neutralize [redacted] personnel operating in the [redacted] region. Assassination protocols in effect under [redacted].

  (Signature redacted)

  [redacted]

  Legion Personnel Assignment

  19

  The caverns below Chung’s Pit were dark and full of support pillars and wide-open spaces. Many of the combatants the Dragon had killed had been brought down here and left for someone else to clean up. Rechs switched to low light. He could see tunnels leading off in several directions. Some out of the building, no doubt. Others down into the superstructure of the old astrodrome.

  He heard boots coming down the ramp behind him. He spun, hand cannon at the ready as a woman shouted, “Tyrus Rechs!”

  It was the blonde. She had a heavy Python blaster out, and she followed the sights as she moved forward. In the darkness she switched on an ultra-beam.

  Rechs slipped behind a pillar as she came down into the darkness, calling his name.

  If she was Nether Ops, or even one of the new ones from Dark Ops who hadn’t been smartened up by the old vets, then she’d know how much the House of Reason wanted him dead. And executing that termination order, as it was called in certain government circles, meant that a whole new world would open up for her.

  “Rechs, I know that was you! I need you to come out so we can talk.”

  Still Rechs waited, hand cannon up and near his bucket. His finger moved the selector switch to single fire without even thinking. She wasn’t wearing any armor. One round would do the job if that’s what it came to.

  But, if he was being honest with himself, Rechs wasn’t exactly sure if what he was doing at that moment was the right thing. The Dragon’s blaster bolts, all on target, had rattled him—to say the least. Was the girl really the one he should be thinking about putting down?

  Was she here for the Dragon but willing to take Rechs as a consolation prize?

  And in either case, who was she with? The bounty hunters? A spotter?

  Someone had to have been inside before the hit team made their play. Someone had to have confirmed that the Dragon was in the building.

  Was…

  “Rechs, I’m here to save the Dragon!” she said breathlessly. “Just like you… General.”

  Her voice sounded lost and forlorn down in the caverns beneath Chung’s Pit. But how could any sound be anything but lost and forlorn in the miasma of the underfloor beneath an arena of death? The misery of this place was a palpable thing.

  “Or at least,” she continued, walking right past him, invisible in the dark, sounding almost as if talking to herself. “I think you’re trying to save him.”

  Rechs stepped out from behind her, his massive hand cannon pointing at her head.

  “Who are you?”

  The woman took a deep breath and lowered the snub-nosed Python she held with both hands.

  “Captain Wendy Jacobson. Republic Marines, discharged. Nether Ops.”

  Rechs raised his weapon to shoot.

  “It’s not like that!” she shouted in a last bid effort at self-preservation. “I’m Section Six.”

  Rechs pulled his finger off of the trigger, if only for a moment. “What’s a Section Six? Wasn’t a thing back in my day.”

  “No. It wasn’t. We’re black book funded. Private. Relatively new. About five years. Our purpose is to keep the Republic from hurting itself despite orders from the House of Reason. Not every corner of Nether Ops is corrupt. Not all of the House of Reason serves itself.”

  “Hmmmm…” hummed Rechs. What she was describing was technically treason. But it was the sort of treason that needed doing to keep the Republic from consuming itself.

  “General… you could have killed him, but you didn’t. I watched the whole firefight go down. You were trying to save him. We are too.”

  “We?”

  “Me. Really. Everyone else thinks he went out to the edge. Tusca was the last spot they were all focusing on. I went through his file and made a guess that he would… come home.”

  “Good guess. What was going on? Before they showed up?”

  By “they,” Rechs meant the bounty hunter hit team.

  “He was uniting the clans,” Jacobson said. “They’re all Sinasian, and that’s all they ever claim to be. But when you dig deep down, there are ancient clan loyalties—probably carried over from Asia, if that was a real place.”

  “It was.”

  Jacobson paused, as if considering whether she should ask how Rechs knew that. “Well, whatever the origin, these ancient tribal loyalties are strong, even if none of them know why.”

  “Why does that require a series of death fights?” Rechs asked. He was still so rattled that he couldn’t see how the pieces fit together.

  “In order to lead the tribes—there are over eight of them—you have to beat their best warriors. It’s the same thing Gatsu did back during the Savage Wars, when he brought all of Sinasia to the Savages.”

  “Okay. But he was fighting three and four men at a time.”

  “Yeah.” Jacobson smiled and looked down, as though taken with the Dragon’s otherworldly abilities. “He, uh, told them to bring their first, second… up to fifth best.”

  “And now the tribes are all behind him? Or has that not happened yet because those hunters interrupted the ceremony?”

  She made a face and holstered her weapon, slowing down when Rechs straightened his shooting arm. “Most of it already happened officially prior to today. He beat the vast majority of those who challenged his authority as khan. And even if he didn’t kill them all, I’m sure that the others are giving pray
ers of thanks that they didn’t have to go up against him. So my guess is… yeah. He’s the one. They’ll go for it with him in charge. All the worlds of Sinasia will rebel.”

  Rechs gave an imperceptible moan. “And the Legion will be sent in to kill everybody.”

  Jacobson nodded. “All the Sinasians need are military-grade arms. And the thing about that is—”

  An ominous howl filled the tunnels, like a jet engine suddenly humming to life, throbbing and pulsing, its energy levels rising.

  Rechs turned toward the noise. “That sounds like the engine system of a…”

  “Samurai,” Captain Jacobson finished while Rechs’s memory was still diving into the deep corners of his mind to find the word.

  A Samurai. He’d once faced them in a battle where, at its worst point, thousands died every second.

  “Word on the street is that they’ve resurrected their old tech.” Jacobson shook her head as she spoke. “But they’ve updated it. New components… materials… all new design.”

  “Who’s paying for that?”

  “We think it’s the Mid-Core Rebellion. They have… deep pockets. From somewhere. And they desperately want to make a name for themselves in the galaxy.”

  For all their bluster, the Mid-Core Rebellion wasn’t considered much of a threat. A nuisance to local planetary militias and police forces, sure. Good for an ambush that might drop a leej or two in exchange for thirty of their own. But if they managed to instigate the second coming of the Sinasian Conflict… that would raise their reputation in a heartbeat.

  Rechs was skeptical about what he was hearing. “There are monitors orbiting every planet. Advanced tech is forbidden. They can’t even have blasters.”

  “How many blasters have you seen them with today? Can’t and don’t are entirely different things on Sinasia, General.”

  A second hum entered the soundscape.

  “Twin engines,” muttered Rechs. “Just like the old Samurais. Guess some things don’t change.”