Sons of the Lion

by Jason Cordova

  Old rivalries died hard, though. The overworked police force in the capitol were barely keeping up with the arrival of over 800,000 new people. Knifings were becoming more and more common. Arrests were up, though, and the general feeling in the city as a whole was a positive one. It was something Mulbah, five years ago, would have given his left eye to achieve.

  Now, though? He wasn’t so sure. When theory met practice, oftentimes the results were far more dangerous than originally believed.

  “It’s not a problem at all, sir.” Mulbah nodded respectfully. The president stepped forward and embraced Mulbah in a giant hug. Surprised, Mulbah could do nothing as the man hoisted his feet off the ground a few centimeters before setting him back down.

  “Please, I know how busy you are,” President Forh stated and motioned for him to walk alongside him. Mulbah obediently complied and fell into step next to the man as they made their way to the spacious rear lawn behind the mansion. “Since the threats against me have multiplied in recent weeks, I’ve been forced to remain within the mansion more and more often. I hate this, because it deprives me of being able to walk among the citizens of this nation as one of them. Instead I am coddled, swaddled in protective layers, and cocooned. It’s very frustrating.”

  “I can only imagine,” Mulbah agreed. He’d been in a similar situation when former President Njie had been in charge.

  “I made certain I can enjoy my walks out in the garden at least,” President Forh stated as they walked down one of the wide stone paths.

  “It’s a lovely garden,” Mulbah said. The president laughed and gave him an amused look.

  “I admire your attempt to humor me,” President Forh stated. “This? This is pathetic. I’ve wanted to make this place beautiful, so I can spread this atmosphere out into Monrovia and beyond. This is a pale imitation of what a garden should look like, but a brilliant mind once remarked that all great journeys begin with a single step.”

  “I didn’t know you were a fan of Lao Tzu,” Mulbah admitted, impressed. The president looked at him in confusion.

  “Who? I read it on a fortune cookie one time when I visited Spain.”

  “Ahh…okay. Still, it’s a good quote.” Mulbah shrugged and smiled. “It’s fitting in these times.”

  “‘These times’ are precisely why I wanted to speak with you,” President Forh admitted as they passed one of the many stone benches which lined the path. Overhead the blue sky was bright. For once there was not a cloud in the sky, Mulbah noticed. The wet season might be at hand, but it still didn’t mean the sunny skies weren’t unwelcome every once in a while. The president paused and turned to look at Mulbah. “Let me ask you something. How hard would it be to roll the Korps into the Liberian National Army?”

  “I—huh?” Mulbah blinked. That wasn’t what he had expected the president to ask him. He slowly began to shake his head. “With all due respect, sir, the mercs under my command wouldn’t respect anyone who hadn’t passed their VOWs or attended an MST. Plus, the pay of the army doesn’t even come close to what I pay my mercs. I’m sorry, Mister President, but the idea wouldn’t work.”

  “I didn’t think it would, but the legislature has directed me to propose it to you anyway,” President Forh admitted, a sour tone in his voice. “In fact, they’re pressuring me to nationalize the Korps on the whole.”

  Mulbah nearly exploded. “Are they out of their freaking minds? The Korps alone provides almost fifteen percent of the nation’s taxable income! If they try to take my company I will take all our revenue and resettle somewhere else.”

  “That’s kinder than what I thought you’d say,” President Forh said calmly. “I figured you would simply launch a coup and kill the legislators.”

  “The thought did cross my mind,” Mulbah grumbled.

  President Forh held up a hand. “Which is why I’m the one talking to you. I feel we have mutual respect, and I greatly admire what you’ve done here. I feel an agreement of some sort might be reached, though it’s not the one the legislature thought of.”

  “What exactly were you thinking?” Mulbah asked, intrigued despite his earlier outburst. He knew the man before him had a cunning mind. One could even argue devious.

  “How hard would it be to roll the army into the Korps?”

  Mulbah started to reply off the cuff but paused, considering. Standard combat body armor was cheap, and he had thousands of sets laying around in his warehouse. One didn’t need to pass VOWs to attain a set. They also served well in case a riot broke out, except for knife attacks, as Zion had proven during his run-in with Major General Sparkles.

  “That’s…possible,” Mulbah allowed, mulling the idea over. “I would need some time to go over the numbers, as well as present the idea to Zion and Thorpi. Their advice is invaluable to me.”

  “Thorpi…is the alien who works for you, yes?”

  “Yeah, he’s a Veetanho,” Mulbah confirmed. “The only male I’ve ever heard of leaving their home world. Good worker, excellent planner.”

  “And he is the same race as the leader who occupies Earth?” President Forh asked, his voice clipped and short.

  “Well, from a certain point of view—” Mulbah tried to explain but the president cut him off.

  “They occupy the office of the Secretary General,” President Forh stated firmly. “It means we are being occupied.”

  “Well…yes, I guess so.”

  “Was that so hard to admit?” the president asked, slightly surprised.

  “Honestly? Yes,” Mulbah nodded.

  * * *

  Winners’ Chapel, Monrovia, Liberia District, Earth

  Perched atop the dome of a converted house of worship wasn’t where the Blevin assassin preferred to be, but it was the only structure within ten kilometers, not within the Kakata Korps’ compound, that was tall enough to see over the buildings between her and her target.

  The pay was bad, the timing was horrific, and Kl’arn couldn’t help but feel as though this was being ordered by someone other than General Peepo. While the missive had the general’s name attached to it, the Blevin had done some of Peepo’s wet-work in the past. This job felt rushed.

  There were better angles if the stupid Human would leave the compound, but recent events had increased security at the president’s residence. This alone would typically have prompted the Blevin to wait until a later date, when the target was out in the open and multiple firing angles could have masked the direction of the shot. If she took the shot now, it would be obvious from which direction it had come from.

  The order had been specific, though. It had to be today, which meant the Blevin had doubled her normal rate. The fact that it had been paid without even a quibble had alerted her that not all was right. However, the credits were in the account. Doubt only went so far, but then cold, hard currency took over.

  She stilled herself and entered xialintae, the trance-like state where a Blevin could temporarily cause both hearts to stop beating for up to ten minutes. It allowed the senses to sharpen and the muscles to go slack, as well as ensure there wasn’t so much as a tremble on the trigger of her rifle. Perfect, absolute stillness was only attained during xialintae.

  A slight gust of wind from the ocean drifted over her position, blowing the ghillie sheet slightly off her rifle. In her present state, however, she wasn’t aware the rifle’s long barrel was now exposed, as was her spotter’s scope, a sleek and ancient metallic tube which had been passed down in her family for generations. Sunlight reflected off the metal, a bright beacon nobody would have noticed unless they were looking right at it.

  However, at that precise moment, Mulbah Luo, CEO and Commanding Officer of the Kakata Korps, happened to be looking in that exact direction.

  * * *

  Executive Presidential Mansion, Monrovia, Liberia District, Earth

  Mulbah saw the flash of light and instinctively grabbed the president.

  “Down!” He roared as he pulled the president behind one of the many stone bench
es. A smoking hole appeared in the grass where the president had been standing a second before. Mulbah pushed the heavy stone bench onto its side and pulled the president behind the makeshift barricade. He immediately triggered an alert via his pinplants. “Active shooter! Position is atop the old Winners’ Chapel near the training pitch, one kilometer to the northwest. Korps, Lion Six Actual! Reactive response team to pinged location, now!”

  The Presidential Guards began hustling out onto the grounds as Mulbah risked a quick peek over the edge of the bench. Two more shots had struck the bench, but the five-inch-thick marble and the angle deflected them away, leaving nothing but a greasy burn mark in the stone. Mulbah’s eyes narrowed as he realized the burn pattern around the mark was similar to the one which had killed PFC Doré in Nigeria.

  “Stay down, Mister President,” Mulbah ordered as the Presidential Guard took up positions around the duo, their eyes scanning for threats. Mulbah pointed in the direction for them to look. “One known shooter, that direction. Possibly more. Keep him covered.”

  “What are you going to do?” the president asked, his eyes wide.

  “I’m going to hunt the bastard down,” Mulbah growled.

  * * *

  Winners’ Chapel, Monrovia, Liberia District, Earth

  “Well, that’s not good,” Kl’arn muttered to herself as the familiar whine of CASPer jumpjets filled her earhole. During her near-hypnotic state, her ghillie sheet had blown off, exposing her to the planet’s harsh sun. This in turn had somehow alerted the damnable Kakata Korps commander of her presence. Bad luck all around, but now was not the time to dwell upon the details of the blown op. It was time to leave.

  Unfortunately, she had not counted on the speed at which the Korps would respond to the shooting. She hadn’t planned for the possibility that she would be seen, considering how far away she was from the target. She glanced to the north and saw six CASPers bounding down the street. They would be on her in moments; there wasn’t nearly enough time for her ship to arrive and extract her.

  With no other options available, and a strong desire to continue to live, there was only one thing she could do. Sighing, she carefully packed away her equipment and climbed down into the old, abandoned chapel. She raised her long arms into the air in a position of surrender and walked out the front door.

  “I surrender,” the Blevin said meekly as she found herself staring down the barrel of a magnetic accelerator cannon. For once, she was glad she could not see the faces of those before her. There was very little evidence suggesting she would be comfortable with what she saw.

  * * *

  Kakata Korpa HQ, Freeport of Monrovia, Liberia District, Earth

  “We’ve never had a prisoner before,” Captain Antonious Karnga admitted to his boss as they led the alien into the converted holding cell. Originally intended to be used as a freezer by the warehouse’s previous owner, it now served as a temporary holding cell until Mulbah could figure out what to do with the alien Blevin.

  Mulbah had heard of the humanoid aliens before, though he’d never actually seen one. They were considered scum, ranking almost as low as the Pushtal or the Zuparti when it came to being a member of the criminal element. This one, though, did not come off as anything more than a hired gun. It was a strange distinction, but Mulbah had learned to trust his gut over the years. It had brought him mostly success.

  “Keep the zip ties on him,” Mulbah decided as two men from the rapid response team shoved the alien into the converted cell.

  “Her,” the Blevin corrected. “I’m a she.”

  “I could give a jungo about it,” Corporal Har Baranga spat. “You killed my friend. I hope you rot in there, asalewandi.”

  “My translator did not pick that up,” the Blevin said in a calm voice. “Will you re—”

  Corporal Baranga slammed the door in the alien’s face, cutting her off before she could finish the sentence. He looked at Colonel Luo before dipping his head.

  “Sorry, bass,” the young man apologized. “Won’t happen again.”

  “I know,” Mulbah said gently. “Go find First Sergeant Simbo and ask him to come down.”

  “Yes, bass, right away,” the corporal braced to attention before quickly striding away, leaving Mulbah alone with the alien.

  “Why did you send him when you could have used your pinplant to contact your first sergeant?” the Blevin asked through the thick door, her voice muffled. Mulbah walked to the comms button and flipped the switch to On.

  “It gives the young man something to do besides brood over the alien who killed his best friend,” Mulbah told her. He took a deep breath. “There are two ways this can go for you. One, you tell me who hired you to kill President Forh and why, and your death will be quick. Or two, I beat you senseless until you tell me who hired you to kill President Forh and why, and your death is slow and painful. Choose.”

  “There is no need for threats, Colonel,” the Blevin stated. “I am more than willing to share everything I know.”

  “You are?” Mulbah asked, incredulous. Could it really be this simple?

  “You let me leave here alive, and I will even give you the proof you would require upon hearing my accusations,” the Blevin continued. “My name is Kl’arn, and upon the memory of my ancestors I give you my word that I will share all…after, of course, a reasonable exchange.”

  “You killed one of my mercs,” Mulbah growled.

  “Humans are fragile things,” Kl’arn observed. “A Besquith might have been able to continue to fight with that shot. You see, my aim was off. I was five centimeters below the heart.”

  “You are not helping your case,” Mulbah said irritably.

  “I did not know I was on trial.”

  “It started the moment you were taken in custody,” Mulbah informed her. “You’re not ignorant of our customs, otherwise you wouldn’t have taken this job.”

  “You are observant,” the Blevin replied. “I applaud this.”

  “I’m recording this conversation via pinlink,” Mulbah informed her. “However, until First Sergeant Simbo arrives, this is nothing more than a very informal conversation. When the time comes, I will require your full confession.”

  “And then I walk away, never to return to your planet?” Kl’arn asked.

  “We’ll see,” Mulbah answered after a moment. “But not likely.”

  “Then we are at an impasse,” Kl’arn stated. “Until I have guaranteed safe passage off your world, I am unable to tell you the full depth of this conspiracy against your president. Or you. Or…Earth.”

  “I’ve never met a Blevin before,” Mulbah said as he ignored the alien’s lure for the moment. “Is it true you can enter some kind of trance and freeze your body for long periods of time?”

  “The xialintae, yes,” Kl’arn corrected for him. “It is a state of heightened awareness which sharpens a single sense, but also creates a blissful ignorance of the others. Both a blessing and a curse, as proven today. If I hadn’t been in xialintae I would have noticed the ghillie sheet had fallen off my old spotter scope. You would never have seen me otherwise.”

  “You made a mistake,” Mulbah shrugged. “You screwed up.”

  “Yes, I did,” the Blevin agreed. She did not sound angry at this fact, Mulbah noticed. It simply was. “You have not yet convinced me I will walk out of here alive.”

  “You haven’t convinced me you should,” Mulbah countered. “I know there are people who want to kill me. It’s a hazard of the job.”

  “It is a hazardous universe in which we live,” the alien agreed. “Everything is trying to kill us. Time, space, matter, oxygen, water…even now our bodies are fighting the entropic embrace of death.”

  “Very poetic,” Mulbah said. “For a Blevin.”

  “Our kind were artists of great renown for many years,” Kl’arn replied. “It’s genetic at this point in our existence.”

  First Sergeant Simbo arrived at last. “Sorry it took so long, bass.” The short, rotund NCO
was sweating slightly despite the cool air inside the warehouse. “I was moving equipment. What do you need, bass?”

  “A witness,” Mulbah told him after killing the speaker into the converted holding cell. “The Blevin inside has information that could be of use. Guild Law says for a valid confession to occur on a planet under guild administration, there must be two officers and an NCO present during the recorded confession, or their race’s equivalent. I already pinged Captain Tolbert.”

  “Got it, bass,” Simbo nodded. “You think he knows anything worth knowing?”

  “She, and possibly,” Mulbah corrected as he looked back at the jail. He wished he could see the Blevin’s face, though he really didn’t know why. It wasn’t as though he could read the alien’s features. Mulbah shook his head. For all I know, though, the Blevin could lie and say you ordered the assassination attempt on the president.”

  “If I had done it, bass, it would have been with a shaped IED alongside the road, two pronged,” Simbo stated in a quiet voice. “Or just hit the mansion with a missile. Alien sniper? That’s not how anyone we know thinks.”

  “I’m thinking the same thing,” Mulbah said nodding in agreement. “But again, there’s nothing firm until I have proof. She could lie in order to save her life.”

  “She better not survive this, bass,” Samson growled as he arrived. The 1st company captain appeared to be in a foul mood. Mulbah couldn’t blame him. “We know the alien in there killed Doré. Even if she told you the secrets to the Galactic Union, if you let her go free then all the boys will lose respect for you.”

  “I hadn’t planned on letting her go, even if she does have information we can use,” Mulbah said as he turned to look at his old friend. “But I won’t kill her just for the sake of it.”