The other issue was the likelihood that their relationship was damaging to Chantrey’s career. Their involvement meant that any report she made on Maker was liable to be viewed with a jaundiced eye. That said, this was a topic that Maker actually fretted over more than Chantrey herself, as he didn’t like the possibility that he was tainting her in some way. Chantrey, on the other hand, seemed to view it as a non-issue.
Reflecting on his relationship with Chantrey, Maker considered how – just a few months earlier – both she and Browing had ranked near the top of his “Do not trust” list. (Truth be told, Maker had felt at one juncture that he’d probably have to kill Browing.) Glancing at the man now as they drove, Maker had to acknowledge that they had all come a long way since then. (As further proof of this, he had recently given Chantrey the passcode to his quarters, despite his misgivings about their relationship.)
“So,” Maker droned, “since you’re making me deviate from that fixed routine you just mentioned, do you want to tell me what this is about?”
“Sure,” Browing responded with a nod. “But I’d prefer only having to tell it once, so it would be great if you could wait until we get to my place – Ariel and Adames are meeting us there.”
“Fine by me,” Maker replied, then went back to staring out the window.
Chapter 5
They arrived at Browing’s place roughly fifteen minutes later. Unsurprising to Maker, it turned out to be the penthouse suite of a high-rise hotel. It was just another overt sign that Browing hailed from a family with money and connections.
As had been indicated, Adames and Chantrey were already inside when they arrived. Seated and chatting in the living room, they both rose when Maker and Browing came in.
“Hey,” Browing stated in greeting to Chantrey and Adames. “Any trouble getting in?”
Chantrey shook her head. “No, the temporary passcode you provided worked fine.”
“Excellent,” Browing declared with a nod as he took up a spot next to Adames, who had been sitting on the living room couch. (On his part, Maker joined Chantrey, who had been occupying a loveseat across from the master sergeant.)
“I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of helping myself,” Adames said, raising a tumbler full of burgundy-colored liquid that Maker hadn’t noticed before. With glass in hand and dressed in civilian attire, he looked more like he was unwinding at the end of the day as opposed to preparing to get his morning started.
“Not at all,” Browing assured him as they all sat down, “although – as your host – I would have let you sample my private stock rather than that swill the hotel keeps on hand and brazenly markets as liquor.”
“Thanks,” Adames said with a laugh, “but this is actually just juice from your fridge.”
“Well, let me know if you want something stronger,” Browing intoned.
“Maybe after the boss leaves,” Adames quipped, nodding towards Maker. “He’s a jerk about folks imbibing before the workday begins.”
Maker chuckled and was about to make a witty retort when movement in the corner of the room caught his eye. Turning in that direction, he saw a familiar shape rise lithely from the floor and stretch as if from a nap: Erlen.
Looking like the sleek, hybrid offspring of a salamander and a spider monkey (in addition to a few other species), the Niotan was about the size of a large canine. He yawned, and then began padding across the room in a beeline towards Maker.
“Sorry,” Chantrey muttered apologetically. “I didn’t know how long we’d be and didn’t like the idea of Erlen being cooped up for an indefinite period of time, so I brought him along.”
“No problem,” Maker assured her, “although he’s generally able to entertain himself if left on his own.”
At that point, Erlen had reached Maker, taking up a position next to where the latter was sitting. The Niotan seemed to give him a once-over, then made an odd rumbling sound.
“I’m fine,” Maker insisted, in response to an unasked question.
“Fine?” Chantrey echoed, raising an eyebrow. “Did something happen?”
“Just the usual,” Browing chimed in. “Maker had to show some folks why he was voted ‘Most Congenial.’”
“Another fight?” Chantrey murmured in surprise. For the first time, she seemed to notice that Maker had an odd assortment of bumps and bruises. “Was it about the Orpheus Moon again?”
Maker shrugged. “They didn’t really say, although that’s a fair guess.”
As he spoke, Maker reflected back on the incident in question. The Orpheus Moon was the ship he’d been on when mankind first encountered the Vacra. Unfortunately, first contact, in that particular instance, had not gone well. The Vacra had previously raided a sub rosa ship – a Gaian vessel full of secret (and in many cases banned) weapons and tech. The insectoid aliens had shown little compunction about using said weapons, and as a result Maker ultimately found himself the lone survivor of the Orpheus Moon (not counting Erlen).
Ironically, had he died like everyone else on board, Maker probably would have been hailed as a hero, along with his fallen comrades. Instead, surviving had made him not just infamous but also a scapegoat, with people generally blaming him for what had happened to the Orpheus Moon. (Ultimately, he had been drummed out of the Marines over the incident, although he was eventually reinstated with the specific mandate to hunt down the Vacra.) More to the point, the military was a lot smaller in a number of ways than the general public realized, and Maker typically couldn’t throw a rock without hitting someone with a connection to the Orpheus Moon: a friend, a relative, or the like. Thus it was that, wherever he went, stares and whispers usually followed, and it wasn’t uncommon for individuals – like the trio of special ops soldiers – to occasionally feel the need to punish the notorious “Madman” Maker.
The feel of something wet near his hand brought Maker back to himself. Looking down, he saw that Erlen had licked his wrist where the razor-wasp had stung him. The area was swollen and irritated (as were the stings to his back), but not debilitating in any way. In all honesty, Maker had essentially ignored the nicks and scratches he had received during the morning’s escapades, as they were small hurts that – in his opinion – didn’t require a great deal of attention.
With that in mind, and not wanting to make a mountain out of a molehill, Maker shooed Erlen away, watching as the Niotan padded softly back to the corner he had occupied earlier. It was then that Maker realized that Adames had been saying something to him.
“Excuse me?” Maker muttered, turning to his NCO.
“I said that your altercation this morning may not have been about the Orpheus Moon,” Adames repeated. “It may have been about the Hundred-and-Twelfth.”
Maker’s brow wrinkled in confusion. The Hundred-and-Twelfth Fleet had been part of the Star Forces, under the command of a bumbling general named Roche. Unfortunately, thanks to Roche’s incompetence and ineptitude (not to mention delusions of grandeur), the Hundred-and-Twelfth had been completely wiped out by the Vacra during their most recent skirmish. (Ironically – and as proof that there was no justice in the universe – Roche himself actually survived, as his flagship had been well to the rear of the action.)
Maker and his squad, aboard their own ship (the Black Pearl), had wound up with front-row seats to the entire episode. In fact, they themselves had only survived thanks to the efforts of the enigmatic alien entity they had dubbed Efferus.
“I don’t understand,” Maker finally said. “How does what happened to the Hundred-and-Twelfth result in people coming after me?”
“The same reason people come after you about the Orpheus Moon,” Adames answered. “You survived, while the rest of the fleet was annihilated.”
“Except that’s not true – the fleet wasn’t completely destroyed,” Maker pointed out. “Roche made it through unscathed. His flagship wasn’t even touched.”
“So riddle me this,” Adames said. “Which of these is more titillating: an idiotic n
o-name general who survives a skirmish because his flagship is so far to the rear that he’s never in danger, or the notorious Maniac Maker being on the front lines but somehow managing to cheat death once again – this time by being the sole survivor of the Hundred-and-Twelfth Fleet?”
“But the Pearl wasn’t even part of the Hundred-and-Twelfth,” Maker protested.
“Doesn’t matter,” Browing noted. “You were there.”
“Well, it wasn’t just me,” Maker insisted. “We were all there.”
This statement was met with a stony silence on the part of Maker’s companions. A moment later, the truth hit him.
“Wait a minute,” he blurted out. “Have you all been getting targeted in some way because of what happened to the Hundred-and-Twelfth?”
“‘Targeted’ is a strong word,” Chantrey noted. “But…” She let the rest go unsaid.
Maker shook his head in disbelief. “This is a bit beyond the pale.”
Browing raised an eyebrow. “Did you seriously not know this was happening?”
“How would I know?” Maker demanded. “People have been gunning for me over the Orpheus Moon for so long that I’ve incorporated it into my daily routine: shower, shave, fend off attack, go get breakfast…”
“Like the three this morning,” he went on. “These psychos don’t always convey their motivations. If a guy tries to knife me in the back in the locker room at the gym, he generally doesn’t shout ‘This is for the Hundred-and-Twelfth’ first. He just pulls out a blade and goes for my spine.”
“Wow,” Adames droned. “Sucks to be you.”
Maker simply stared at him for a moment, and then everyone burst into laughter. More importantly, tension Maker hadn’t even been aware of seemingly dissolved.
“Well, at least there’s a silver lining to this entire affair with the Hundred-and-Twelfth,” Chantrey intoned after regaining her composure a few seconds later. “Skullcap is dead.”
At the mention of the name, Maker sobered immediately. Skullcap was one of the Vacran leaders and the closest thing Maker had to a mortal enemy. Or rather, he had been. The insectoid commander had apparently been killed when the invading Vacra armada he was leading was “transitioned” – moved to a remote, unknown region of the cosmos by the mysterious entity Efferus. Once there, Efferus’s race had destroyed the entire Vacran fleet by essentially snuffing it out of existence.
Of course, “Skullcap” was just a nickname. The insectoid’s given name was actually Ni’xa Zru Vuqja. However, Maker had labeled him “Skullcap” due to the fact that the Vacran’s body armor had the skull of some alien animal grafted to the helmet. It had given Skullcap an imposing presence, which was fitting since he had been a formidable adversary. (And adding to his striking appearance was the fact that a ring of skulls, embedded in the breastplate of his armor, encircled his neck.)
The sound of Chantrey’s voice unexpectedly cut across Maker’s thoughts, snapping him out of his reverie.
“What’s on your mind?” she asked. “You look so serious all of a sudden.”
“I was just thinking about Skullcap,” he admitted. “It’s still hard to imagine him dead.”
“Well, he is,” Browing declared confidently. “We all watched his invading fleet get vaporized.”
Maker nodded in acknowledgment. When Efferus had transitioned the Vacran ships, he had also taken the Black Pearl, which was manned by Maker’s unit. Thus, they’d had ringside seats with respect to watching the insectoids get obliterated.
“I know what we saw,” Maker said, “but it just doesn’t feel like he’s dead. I can’t shake the sense that he’s still out there.”
“Come on, Gant,” Adames interjected. “You’re talking like the two of you are twins with some kind of psychic connection. I don’t often agree with Browing, but this time I think he’s got it right. Skullcap’s dead.”
Maker’s brow creased as he contemplated his friend’s words, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he glanced at Erlen. The Niotan’s uniqueness was known to the Vacra, and capturing him had been job one for them. Thus, even if Skullcap were truly gone, Maker didn’t imagine that the Vacra would give up their quest to capture his alien companion.
“Look,” Adames went on, “I know you expected Skullcap’s demise to herald the advent of a new era. The sun would shine brighter, the singing of birds would be sweeter, and so on. But the fact that the universe hasn’t acknowledged his death in some memorable fashion just means that, ultimately, he was nothing special – no different than bad guys that we put down before in skirmishes on a hundred different worlds.”
Maker didn’t immediately respond, choosing instead to sit quietly while he contemplated the NCO’s words. As usual, Adames made a lot of sense. The problem was that his instincts – his gut – were telling him something different.
After a few seconds of introspection, Maker sighed. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe Skullcap is dead, which would mean it’s time to move on to the next challenge. Speaking of which” – he looked in Browing’s direction – “I believe you said you had something important to discuss.”
Chapter 6
It didn’t take Browing long to bring the others up to speed on the meeting he’d had. They sat silently, but listened intently, as he relayed the conversation he’d been privy to earlier.
“So what – they plan on breaking up the band?” Adames asked when Browing was done. “Shipping everybody in the squad off to different units?”
Browing shrugged. “I don’t think that was their main area of concern, but it certainly seems to be something they’re considering.”
“Well, they can take their consideration and shove it,” the NCO uttered fiercely. “No one’s interested in a transfer.”
“Maybe it’s for the best,” Maker interjected unexpectedly. “I mean, let’s be honest. I’ve been toxic for years – ever since the Orpheus Moon. But now I’m radioactive, thanks to this thing with the Hundred-and-Twelfth. People have a tendency to paint with a broad brush – especially in the military – and anyone near me is going to get smeared. It’s going to cause them issues both personally and professionally. My people don’t deserve that, so maybe it’s in their best interest to serve with another commander.”
There was silence for a moment after Maker finished his impromptu speech. Needless to say, it wasn’t anything he’d planned or rehearsed, but the thought that his people were now experiencing the kind of persecution he’d endured for years was galling to him. However, before he could dwell too long on the issue, his thoughts were interrupted by his NCO.
“Well, if we’re being honest, let’s put all the cards on the table,” Adames stated. “Every member of our team was broken when you got them, Gant. The military had pretty much written them off as damaged goods. But you believed in them – found that busted thing in each one of them and fixed it.”
“I didn’t really fix anything,” Maker countered, shaking his head, “because they actually weren’t broken. They just needed a second chance.”
“However you style it, those people were able to get back on their feet again because of you,” Adames offered. “You’ve forged them into what’s probably the finest squad in uniform, and – despite the situation with the Hundred-and-Twelfth – there’s a host of soldiers out there who’d love to trade places with them.”
“I find that hard to believe,” Maker scoffed.
“Don’t take my word for it,” the NCO insisted. “I’ve got an inbox full of transfer requests, all asking to join our unit.”
“What?” Maker muttered, unable to hide his surprise.
“They started coming in a few days ago,” Adames said. “I was hoping for a chance to sort through them before bringing it to your attention, but just haven’t had a chance.”
“Hmmm,” Maker mused. “Kind of a coinky-dink that you start getting transfer requests around the same time Browing is quizzed about moving people from our unit.”
All eyes shifted to Browing, who sta
ted, “As I said, it just seemed to be something being considered – not anything set in stone.”
“Plus, that was just the undercard,” Maker noted, recalling what Browing had said earlier. “Let me guess: the main event was Erlen.”
At the mention of his name, Erlen suddenly sat up, at the same time emitting a low, rumbling growl.
“Yes,” Browing acknowledged. “Your Niotan buddy seemed to be the subject they were most interested in.”
Suddenly tense, Maker asked, “So, are they weighing the notion of handing him over to the Vacra?”
As he spoke, Maker felt anger flaring in him like a supernova. In the recent past, the powers that be had made secret compacts with the Vacra to hand over Erlen in exchange for the tech the insectoids had taken from the sub rosa ship. Ultimately, those efforts had been thwarted, but Maker still saw red every time he thought about it.
Browing shook his head in response to Maker’s question. “Unlikely. They understand that Erlen’s unique characteristics essentially make him a weapon, and an incredibly powerful one at that. Handing him over to an alien species – even for sub rosa tech – would be like trading a tactical nuke for a handful of magic beans.”
“Well, thank heaven for small favors,” Maker intoned mockingly.
Mentally, he let out a sigh of relief. It meant a lot to him to know for certain that Erlen was no longer on the auction block. Of course, Browing could be lying; the man had misled him before. However, the two of them had seemingly reached an understanding that, at the very least, involved open and honest communication. Thus, Maker felt that Browing was telling the truth. Still, there was obviously more to the story here.
“Anyway,” Maker continued, “if the top brass no longer plan to use Erlen for bartering and they also have an idea of what he can do, that seems to imply their next course of action.”
Adames frowned. “Which is what?”
“Taking custody of Erlen,” Chantrey said, essentially verbalizing what Maker had been thinking.
Ignotus Page 4