Sons of the Lion

by Jason Cordova

  The Besquith, however, was a terrifying example of evolution gone horribly wrong. Standing over two meters tall, it was a mass of fangs, fur, and rage. Peepo was well-aware every Human mythology on the planet whispered horror stories about creatures which resembled the Besquith. She was counting on this to subdue the Humans fully when the mercenaries attacked.

  “Commander Griss, do you have the new Mercenary Internment Facility ready?” Peepo asked the Zuul. Since they had been placed in charge of the captured prison the Kakata Korps had helpfully provided, Griss and her mercenaries had been given a total of thirteen prisoners so far. Peepo expected the number to climb sharply in the near future.

  “Yes, General,” the Zuul nodded. “It was fixed the way you asked, and I have dozens of guards posted there now.”

  “Good,” Peepo was pleased. “I’ve been following your progress reports with some interest. How are your mercenaries faring in the African heat?”

  “Summer is tolerable,” Commander Griss allowed, her eyes flitting occasionally to the towering Besquith. Peepo recognized the distrust for what it truly was: fear. At a core level, all Zuul distrusted the Besquith. “The winters are wet, but other than watching out for the ticks, it’s not bad.”

  “Ticks?” the Besquith laughed at her. “You’re bothered by ticks? In the United States District they have these horrible little things called chiggers. They get under your skin and cause you to itch all the time. Poor little pup. Maybe you need a flea bath?”

  “Enough,” Peepo commanded, interrupting the brewing fight before it could get going. The two rivals looked back to the guild leader. “You are wasting my time. This problem in Liberia needs to be shut down, hard.”

  “Liberia?” The Zuul cocked her head. “The Kakata Korps?”

  “Their country’s president, to be more precise,” Peepo continued. What passed for a very Human-like scowl crossed her features. “He is advocating for Earth to expel the ‘alien occupiers’ and is demanding the Secretary of the General Assembly be reinstated as custodian of Earth. The Mercenary Guild will not allow this, of course. However, there is newfound evidence the Kakata Korps have turned their backs on the guild, and we are left with no option but to subject them to guild justice. They have been tried and convicted. You are to carry out their sentencing.”

  “Which is?” the Besquith asked, though the expression on his face suggested he already knew.

  “Their complete and utter annihilation.”

  * * *

  Executive Presidential Mansion, Monrovia, Liberia District, Earth

  “I never thought I’d see fourteen different protective details working together to provide security at an event in Monrovia,” Mulbah stated as he scanned the gathered crowd. Diplomats from all over western Africa had gathered to discuss and sign onto the West Africa Defense League. Every diplomat appeared to have brought his or her own security detail as well, which Mulbah guessed had driven the presidential guard to distraction.

  Still, it could be far worse. The biggest issue thus far was the fight over who was going to be the second signatory on the document after President Justin Forh, the architect and primary force behind the agreement. Smart money suggested it would be the President of Burkina Faso, but Mulbah had his eye on the feisty president from Côte d’Ivoire. There was no way the former professional football player was going to allow his rival from Burkina Faso to sign above him.

  “Bass,” a timid sounding voice called over the secure radio. Mulbah pressed the earpiece in tighter and tried to keep his smile from his tone.

  “Yes, Lieutenant?”

  “These people”—she spat the word out like a curse—“trying to touch my suit, bass. One man ran his hand up my leg and I almost kick him out the building. If I weren’t in the suit, bass, I would have killed him.”

  Mulbah frowned at this little bit of news. It would be suicide for anyone not in armor to try and molest a woman in a CASPer, but apparently there were still some idiots who hadn’t been chlorinated from the gene pool just yet. He sighed.

  “Did you get a name?”

  “My Tri-V says he’s the Prime Minister of Mali,” she replied. “It’s why he still breathes.”

  “Thank you for not killing the prime minister, Lieutenant,” Mulbah said, loud enough to draw the attention of all the politicians within earshot. Pretending not to notice their sudden focus on his conversation, he continue, “However, the next time someone touches you, feel free to…oh, I don’t know, break their ribs or something.”

  “Got it, bass,” Sunshine said.

  Mulbah, now struggling to hide his smile, looked around the room and saw quite a few faces quickly turning away. Message sent, he headed toward President Forh, who was chatting up a tall, thin woman Mulbah didn’t immediately recognize.

  “There he is now, the man who made all of this possible,” President Forh said as Mulbah approached. The politician had a huge grin upon his face. “Colonel, have you met Siobhe Mwanza?”

  Mulbah’s eyes widened as he finally recognized the famous actress who had starred in a number of movies featured on the Tri-V in recent years, including one blockbuster that defied all expectations. Congolese by birth, but raised in America, her childhood was very similar to his own.

  “Charmed,” she smiled sweetly at him. “You are becoming very famous in the Congo. My mother speaks of you often.”

  “I’m flattered,” Mulbah bowed his head slightly. “I never wanted to be famous.”

  “No, but sometimes doing great things leads to fame,” she reminded him. “Mister President, Colonel Luo, it was a pleasure to meet you both.”

  “And you too, miss,” Mulbah replied and watched her for a very long time before he managed to tear his eyes away from her retreating form. He found the president smiling at him. Mulbah quirked an eyebrow. “What?”

  “I’ve never seen you flirt before,” the president admitted.

  “I didn’t flirt!”

  “Yes, you did.”

  “No.”

  “I watched you do it.”

  “That was being polite, not flirting,” Mulbah countered.

  “I beg to differ.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing, Colonel,” the president waved a hand dismissively. “You keep your wily ways a secret, old man.”

  “Old man?” Mulbah laughed. “Mister President, we’re the same age!”

  “In years, perhaps,” President Forh chuckled. “In terms of experience? You are fairly ancient.”

  “You have me there, sir,” Mulbah admitted as he looked around. “Almost time to sign, isn’t it?”

  “I think a few of the others are still jockeying for position,” President Forh said as he followed Mulbah’s gaze. “This is a truly historic event, and everyone wants their name at the top.”

  “Except the Nigerians,” Mulbah reminded the president, whose eyes narrowed at the reminder. “I had to threaten them just to come.”

  “But they came,” the Liberian president stated. “That’s all which matters. If they sign or not, it’s their problem. But their junta won’t want to lose any semblance of authority in the eyes of their people, so they’ll sign. They’ll complain later, stating we forced them into it, but for now we just need the appearance that our part of Africa is unified behind this.”

  A single bell chimed overhead, signaling the end of the reception. The president and Mulbah grinned at one another, both realizing the historic moment for what it was. They followed the group as the room began to empty into the larger conference room, where fourteen seats were lined up near a podium at the front of the room. Meanwhile, dozens more seats were set out for the audience. Mulbah was surprised at the lack of press attendance for the historic moment. While there were many recording devices out, Mulbah did not see any members of the press with an Information Guild mark on their ID badge.

  That’s weird, he thought as the leaders of the thirteen other African nations signing the accords took their seats at the front of the
crowd. Spontaneous applause broke out from those in attendance, and soon everyone was clapping and whistling. It was a joyous moment, even if the look on the Nigerian faces promised the future would be difficult.

  It always will be difficult, Mulbah thought as the applause began to die down. Africa was a continent of tribes, not countries. Forging a unified ideology might be next to impossible, but the Accords should strengthen the bonds between the various nations representing their tribes. At least, it would provide mutual defense should one of them try to attack another. And it had teeth since it would be enforced by the Kakata Korps.

  “I welcome you all to this summit,” President Forh said as he stood behind the podium. More applause, and Mulbah began to wonder if they were trying to outdo one another with their enthusiasm. He quickly squashed his inherently cynical line of thinking and leaned back, allowing his slate to record the speech to relay out to the rest of the Korps back at HQ.

  As the president continued his welcome speech, Mulbah’s mind drifted away to the problem which loomed over Earth as a whole. Fractious at best, humanity was known throughout the galaxy as a very chaotic and unpredictable species. He knew this was part of the reasoning behind the Mercenary Guild’s occupation. What he did not understand was just why the Galactic Union went along with it. Allowing 36 races to determine the fate of thousands, and possibly tens of thousands, of races was foolhardy.

  Might truly does make right, he thought and held back a chuckle. As much as Peepo and the rest of the Mercenary Guild liked to proclaim they were simply doing what was best for the galaxy, Mulbah had a sneaky suspicion it was more self-interest than anything else. Humans were too good at war, having practiced it on a large scale throughout history. Adapt and overcome should have been the moniker which all Human mercenary organizations operated under. No other description was closer to the truth.

  “In conclusion, we the people of Earth denounce those who would hold our world hostage at the point of a knife,” President Forh declared, slamming a clenched fist down upon the podium. Mulbah nodded, agreeing wholly with what the man was saying. “Throughout history, many foreigners have placed their boot upon the neck of the African. Even today, the aliens in the Mercenary Guild would try and stop the rise of a powerful and united Africa. Alien invader, foreign occupier, the neck cares not on which foot the boot is worn. We will fight to defend our lives, our homes, our very freedom!”

  Whoa, Mulbah silently whistled to himself, impressed. Didn’t see that coming. I wonder how Peepo’s going to take this?

  “Upon this document I sign my name, with the support of the people of Liberia, and we declare we shall no longer live in fear of the oppressor.” President Forh’s animated expressions would have made for excellent viewing upon a Tri-V. Mulbah was happy he was recording the speech. He couldn’t wait to hear the opinion of the other Korps mercenaries. This was how legacies were cemented. “I, President Justin Forh of Liberia, declare the occupation of Earth is illegal under Galactic Law and will sign this document in support of this claim. With the support of the newly created West Africa Defense League, we will take this claim to the ruling body of the Galactic Union with proof this is an illegal occupation.”

  Proof? Mulbah was curious. As far as he knew, there was no absolute proof, only hearsay and rumor, outside of what he himself had. If President Forh had other evidence that what the Mercenary Guild was doing violated Galactic Law, this was the first he’d heard of it.

  With a flourish, the president put pen to paper. The room broke out in fervent applause as the president of Côte d’Ivoire followed, practically elbowing the president of Burkina Faso out of the way in the process. Some good-natured laughter erupted, though Mulbah had seen the look the two had given one another beforehand.

  Suddenly, the familiar sound of a sonic boom ripped through the entire complex, shaking the windows and causing a few of the overhead fixtures to swing. Many of the politicians screamed and ducked while security forces rushed into the room, grabbing their charges but unsure where to take them. With no obvious signs of a threat, they were frozen, uncertain.

  “Leopard Six, Lion Six Actual, over,” Mulbah said as he covered the earpiece so he could hear better over the screams of guests and politicians alike. The timing sucked, but he had anticipated this. Aliens might be aliens, but they were often predictable as well. “Initiate Stonewall. I repeat, initiate Stonewall. Confirm, over.”

  “Stonewall is confirmed, Colonel,” Samson said a few seconds later. Like Mulbah, he had been waiting for this moment and was prepared. “Red building, three down from Parliament, south side of the street. Executing Stonewall now, Lion Six. Sunshine is already on location. ETA for the Leopards is eight minutes, Goshawks in ten.”

  “Copy, Leopard Six. Tell Zion to move his ass.”

  “Roger. Bass?”

  “Yes, Captain?”

  “It has been a big honor, bass.”

  “Same here, my friend. Lion Six Actual, out.”

  Mulbah closed his eyes and waited as the sea of people moved around him; the mass was buzzing with tension and energy. The inevitable was finally happening and he wasn’t sure how to take it. He should have been nervous or afraid, but all he felt was relief. Was the strike going to hit the mansion itself or were they going to try to take the politicians alive? Mulbah guessed alive, since they were still breathing, but he knew time was short.

  “Colonel, what’s going on?” President Forh asked as he managed to squeeze between a few of his presidential guards, a worried expression on his face. “The guards report that dozens of shuttles just appeared above the city. Your lieutenant just ran down the street and won’t let anybody come near a red brick building.”

  “The fight just came to us, Mister President,” Mulbah told him in a soft voice as he opened his eyes. He let out a weary sigh.

  “What? Who is attacking you?”

  “Not you, us,” Mulbah clarified. “I’m pretty sure it’s every alien merc still on Earth, sir.”

  * * * * *

  Part Three—A Mighty Roar

  Chapter Seven

  SOGA HQ, Sao Paolo, Brazil

  The small Veetanho took a calming breath and tried to stay focused on the task at hand. He had picked up reports the attacks had begun as his shuttle finished docking at the landing port, and instead of picking up a new contract, he would now try to stop the fight before it really got going. He paused as he was met by a group of MinSha at the office door.

  “I’m expected,” Thorpi said. The lead MinSha looked him over once and checked him for weapons, which was a first, before turning to allow him access to the Secretary’s former office. The door opened, and Thorpi strode into the room, followed closely by a MinSha guard who was eyeing the young officer warily. Seated behind the expansive desk was his high mother and the leader of the Mercenary Guild, General Peepo. She did not appear to be pleased at his arrival.

  “You utter fool,” she hissed, setting down the slate she was reading when he walked in. “You utter, pathetic waste of flesh and air.”

  “Good morning to you as well, mother,” Thorpi said with a gentle flick of his ear. It was subtle, but enough to convey either respect or derision. It was a risky and bold move, but he no longer cared. “How goes your plot against my employer?”

  “My…what are you talking about?” she demanded.

  “As we speak, the first assault shuttles are landing in Monrovia,” Thorpi said in a firm voice. “I was just wondering how well your attack is going.”

  “You already know,” Peepo growled dangerously. “How?”

  “Radio chatter got quiet about an hour ago,” Thorpi answered. “Which means an attack is imminent. Your favored daughter also did not tell me anything directly, but her comment about timing made me consider all the possibilities which could occur. Like all of her younger siblings, she underestimated this poor, sad excuse for a creche sister. For example, the probability you would seek to eliminate my employer once he completed your goals. But you u
nderestimated the resolve of the Liberians. Colonel Luo and his men know what you are planning and have adapted accordingly.”

  “Your insolence is noted,” Peepo stated. “Have you come to simply gloat about your intellectual prowess?”

  “I was here to meet with you and ask you to reconsider your plan, but I think that moment has passed,” Thorpi replied. “However, I did manage to prepare the Korps before your attack began. I saw what you were doing, prepared for it, and I was right, wasn’t I? The Korps was nothing more than another pawn in your long game.”

  “You have become too Human, creche daughter,” Peepo stated as she stood up from behind her desk. “Passing yourself off as male to appease your Humans, thinking you are more than you were born to be. I made you. I created you. You were supposed to be a favored daughter, but something went wrong. A genetic failure to our species. You weren’t good enough to be favored. You will never be good enough to be anything more than an aberration.”

  “I’m good enough to thwart your plans,” Thorpi answered in as calm of a voice as he could manage. One of them wasn’t walking out of the room alive, and Thorpi was not yet certain who it would be. “The Korps are ready for your attack. I know about the sickness with the Tortantulas and the Besquith. Your Zuul will suffer horribly at the hands of the Korps. The sky will be painted with their blood.”

  Quick as lightning Peepo snatched the smaller Veetanho by the throat, lifting him off his feet. Thorpi kicked and struggled, but the strength of the high mother was too great for him. She squeezed tighter, and Thorpi couldn’t breathe.

  “The ‘illness’ with the Besquith and Tortantula was dealt with months ago,” she informed him as his eyes began to burn from the lack of oxygen to his brain. “You’re behind on the times, creche daughter. I simply kept them out of the fight to continue this illusion. The Four Horsemen are planning to strike Earth soon. I know all that is going on. I know about your ‘plans.’ I’ve let you play in the shadows long enough, failed spawn. It is time for you to see the light.”