Mercenary Instinct (a science fiction romance)

by Ruby Lionsdrake

  “And where are your friends? We need all of you for Felgard’s bounty.”

  Keys looked too dazed to answer, but the man didn’t care. He growled, drew back his arm, and slammed the back of his hand into the side of her face. She flew away from him, landing in the mud.

  Viktor choked down the urge to charge in recklessly again, but he wasn’t going to dawdle, that was for damned sure. He crept forward, another knife in his hand. He almost threw it at the man hurling the woman around, but he was in the center, and everyone would see it land. He chose another man on the outskirts, targeting the side of his neck.

  “Don’t ugly ’em up too much, boss,” one of the bounty hunters said. “You said we could have our fun with ’em before dropping them off.”

  “Better find the others then,” someone else said with a laugh. “Gets a bit crowded with just one girl.”

  A frustrated screech came from the jungle, a raptor annoyed it had been denied its prey.

  “Aw, shut up,” one of the men yelled and fired into the trees.

  Taking advantage of their distraction, Viktor threw his third knife. The black-painted blade arrowed across the clearing without anyone glimpsing its passing, and it slammed into the man’s neck. This thug, too, fell without a sound.

  Viktor moved parallel to the group, trying to find another man on the outskirts that he might pick off while he waited for signs that Hazel and Tick were nearby. He kept the big wet fronds and leaves between him and the enemy, careful not to stir the foliage.

  “Watch where you’re firing,” someone growled from the trees behind the shuttle. “Some of us are out here working. Finding prizes.”

  Two new men in black squished through the mud, one of them holding another woman in front of him, shoving her so that she would have stumbled if he weren’t gripping her. That was the engineer, Flipkens, her pale blonde hair a snarled mess. Blood stained her torn clothes in several spots, and her eyes bulged with fear as she was forced to join the cluster of men.

  Viktor picked out his fourth target, a grizzled brute who had noticed he’d lost sight of one of his comrades, the first person Viktor had downed. He was walking in that direction.

  “Nice,” someone purred. “She’s prettier than the other.” The big man strode forward to paw at Flipkens’s hair, then run his hand down her chest. “We’ll have us some good fun before dropping ’em off.”

  The terror in the girl’s eyes and the leers on the faces of the men were too much. Anger overrode wisdom, and instead of hurling his weapon at his chosen target, Viktor flung the blade at the man pawing Flipkens. The knife struck true, landing in the bounty hunter’s eye. Nobody failed to see this attack, and the men spun in his direction, raising their rifles.

  Viktor was already on the move. Their lasers cut through nothing but leaves. Using a tree for cover, he fired into the camp, short accurate shots rather than indiscriminate blasts at anything that moved. Though anger might fuel his body, sending barely restrained energy coursing through his muscles, he kept his mind calm and analytical, as he’d been trained to do. He fired, ducked and moved, found a tree or boulder for cover, then fired again. The bounty hunters hustled for the protection of the jungle. Viktor had no problem shooting them in the back, so long as they weren’t near the women. Fortunately, Keys and Flipkens had been smart enough to fling themselves on the ground once the firefight started.

  “He’s over there,” someone yelled. “Get behind him, go.”

  Viktor shot two more men before the rest found cover behind the trees. He could hear them tramping through the brush, trying to find a path to him. He let his rifle fall about his chest on its harness and yanked out daggers. He could have waited for the men to approach him, but he went on the hunt himself. He picked his route more carefully, not making a sound as he chose logs over mud and took to the trees to keep him from squishing noisily on the damp ground.

  A bounty hunter leading with his rifle crept close below him. Viktor dropped down behind the figure, yanking his head back as he dropped and slicing a knife across the man’s throat. That had been the one who had struck Keys. Good.

  He cut down three more bounty hunters without them ever knowing he was there. He grabbed a fourth man, ready to take him down, too, but caught a whiff of strawberry gum at the last moment. Tick was whirling toward him, rifle in hand, but Viktor caught the weapon.

  “It’s me,” he breathed. “Fall in.”

  Without a word, Tick followed him, moving just as soundlessly in the jungle. They killed a trio of men hunting together, then a pained cry came from the clearing.

  “Mandrake, I know that’s you out there,” someone growled. “You kill any more of my men, and I’ll make sure you don’t get that bounty, either.”

  Viktor and Tick slipped through the brush, finding the trampled ground around the shuttle again. A burly man with a short gray beard stood with his back against the side of the craft and Flipkens pulled to his chest, a dagger to her throat.

  “That’s Captain Jarlboro,” Tick whispered.

  Viktor recognized him too. Not Goshawk after all. Another mercenary captain. How many people were after these women?

  “Meet up with Hazel,” Viktor whispered. “Clear out the rest of the woods. I’ll deal with him.”

  The Keys woman was on the ground, inching toward a fallen merc. Inching toward the laser rifle that had fallen beside him, rather. Good.

  “I’m not screwing around, Mandrake.” Jarlboro tightened the blade against Flipkens’s neck, and she gasped with pain. “Get out here. You want to make a deal, I’m listening, but you touch any more of my men, and I’m—”

  A shot fired from the captain’s side, from the trees behind the shuttle. It slammed into his helmet, and he staggered to the left, but his hand tightened on the dagger. Knowing that shot hadn’t done serious damage, not through the helmet, Viktor charged. He sprinted the intervening ten meters, launched himself off a log, and rammed into the other captain, tearing the girl away before Jarlboro could cut into her. The merc tried to turn the dagger on him, but Viktor twisted his torso away and slammed his own blade into the man’s gut. The fine mesh armor kept the point from piercing, but Jarlboro still grunted at the power of the blow, his shoulders jerking forward. Viktor shoved his head back, exposed his throat, and sliced through the jugular. Blood sprayed him, and he shoved the man to the side.

  “I don’t make deals,” he told the dying man.

  As he spoke, he was already turning to face the clearing again, to check for more danger while the shuttle protected his back. The sounds of fighting came from the trees, and he almost started for it, but he remembered the shot that had distracted Jarlboro. He looked that way, expecting Sergeant Hazel to step out of the shadows, but it was Ankari who walked hesitantly toward him, a laser pistol clenched in her grip, her face ashen but determined.

  For an instant, something between shame and uncertainty rushed into his chest, an unexpected feeling, a wish that she hadn’t seen him killing people and that he wasn’t standing over a body with blood painting his armor.

  Viktor pushed the feeling away and lifted a hand toward her. “Come check on your friends while we deal with the others.” Please. He should have said please. She wasn’t one of his soldiers.

  But she came, giving him a worried look he couldn’t decipher as she passed, then she dropped to her knees in the mud to check on her engineer. A twig snapped nearby, and Viktor jerked his rifle in that direction, holding his fire in case it was one of his people. The tip of a barrel pointed through the brush. Not one of his people. He fired, and the branches rattled, something slumped to the ground, then was quiet. He trusted his aim. Jarlboro’s men would likely lose their eagerness to fight when they realized their captain was dead, but it was dark and confusing out there. That information might not have percolated through the unit yet.

  Viktor touched Ankari’s shoulder, refusing to acknowledge that it stung when she flinched. “Take them in the shuttle for now. Please.”
>
  She looked up at him, maybe surprised by the word. Admittedly, it wasn’t one he used often or that flowed off his tongue. He patted her shoulder, then stepped past her, facing the trees.

  “Your captain is dead,” Viktor called. “Surrender or disappear if you want to live.”

  A fern shivered on the other side of the clearing, then a clang sounded as something struck the side of the shuttle. Guessing what it was instantly, Viktor pounced. He would only have a second. In the dim light, it was tough to spot the small grenade, but he’d heard it land. There. He snatched the explosive and hurled it back where it had come from, hoping it wouldn’t clank off a tree and bounce back.

  It parted the leaves and exploded with a blinding flash of light. Wood snapped, and trees heaved. Dirt and debris rained down all around the shuttle. Ankari had helped Flipkens inside and was going back for the biologist. Viktor grabbed the woman first, dropping his weapons to lift her in both arms and carry her inside.

  A short burst of laser fire came from the spot the grenade had been thrown from. A moment later, Sergeant Hazel walked out of the brush there, her rifle at her side. Broken twigs and leaves stuck out of the fasteners on her armor, but she appeared uninjured.

  “He didn’t want to surrender,” she said, her voice deadpan.

  “A mistake.” Viktor laid down Keys, then sighed as he looked around the dim interior of the shuttle. There was as much mud on the floor of the craft as there was outside, and it had more dents in it than the rusty, perforated tanks on the fleet artillery range.

  “Yes.”

  “Tick, you out there?” Viktor called over the sound of water running off leaves and splattering to the soggy ground. The rain had slowed earlier, but it was picking up again. The wind too. He had a feeling they were in the eye of the storm, and that it would continue to gust and rain all night.

  “Yup, we got all but two, I think. I was trying to get a count of how many we were dealing with when you blasted in there, blowing holes in people.” Tick stepped out of the trees behind the shuttle. “Want me to track the ones that took off? They’re heading for the mountains, it looks like.”

  “No.” Viktor eyed Jarlboro’s body. “I doubt they’ll trouble us again.”

  “There might be more,” a soft voice said from behind him. Ankari came to his shoulder, a battered and mud-splattered tablet in her hand. She brought up a message and handed it to him warily. Her calculating feistiness was nowhere to be seen on her face. Was she not sure where she stood with him at the moment? Or simply worn down by the events of the night? Even in the poor lighting, he could tell she hadn’t had a pleasurable last few hours. None of them had.

  Viktor wanted to give her a hug, to cradle her against his chest and protect her, but wasn’t sure if she would want it, so he simply accepted the tablet. “Sweet cakes?” he asked, reading the greeting aloud.

  Ankari snorted softly. “He calls everyone that. Everyone female, anyway.”

  His humor faded as he read further, about the increased bounty and that Felgard had apparently let everyone in the system know where to find the women in question. “I’m going to kill him,” Viktor growled.

  “Felgard?” Ankari watched his face, the faintest expression of hope dawning in her eyes. She had to be wondering if she still had prisoner status.

  “Listen, I’m not—”

  Lightning flashed, and Tick and Hazel ran inside as the rain went from hard to torrential.

  “Glad you didn’t send me to track anyone, Cap’n,” Tick said, shaking off like a dog and spraying water everywhere. “My gun would rust out in that. I might too.” He looked curiously at the women, Ankari standing at Viktor’s side and the other two slumped in chairs. “This all that came down?”

  “I don’t know,” Viktor said.

  “Oh, thought you might have, uhm, made inquiries.”

  Viktor snorted, though he was glad Tick had chosen those words instead of interrogated.

  Sergeant Hazel slapped at the auxiliary lighting panel, but nothing responded. “Fine, I’ll find the first-aid kit in the dark,” she grumbled, waving her flashlight around the interior. How had those vines gotten all the way up to the front? They were plastered across the control panel.

  “You injured, Sergeant?” Viktor asked.

  “Not seriously, but your prisoners are. Wouldn’t expect a man to notice such trite things as blood flowing from a woman’s head.”

  “It is dark in here,” Viktor said. “Must be your maternal instincts that let you sense such things.”

  Tick snorted. “Hazel? She’s about as maternal as a chicken. Chickens eat their own eggs, you know. Which is a real threat to mercenary rations. Can you imagine where we’d be without egg logs?”

  “Not even remotely.” Viktor caught Ankari and Flipkens looking back and forth at each other and wondered what they thought of their blood-covered saviors—or maybe they still saw Mandrake Company as their captors—tossing jabs at each other. He groped for a way to explain that Tick and Hazel came from his home world and had been with him since the beginning, but then Tick and Hazel would be wondering why he was explaining himself to people he hadn’t yet to claim as anything other than prisoners. Hazel had been there when the team had captured the women, but Tick had never met them, so he supposed introductions were in order. “Tick, this is Keys, Flipkens, and Markovich. Ladies, Heath ‘Tick’ Hawthorn. You ever get lost out in a jungle, he can help you find a way out. I believe you’ve all met Sergeant Hazel.”

  The sergeant had Flipkens holding her flashlight so she could apply a bandage to Keys’s cut temple. She had taken Ankari’s rifle and made sure her comrades weren’t armed, either. Practical, but it reminded Viktor that the rest of the crew would continue to think of the women as prisoners unless he said something to the contrary, and with such a huge reward attached to them, he didn’t know if he dared do that.

  “Which is the one that knocked out Striker?” Tick asked. “’Cause I’m already predisposed to liking her.”

  “That’s Markovich. The feisty one,” Viktor said. Ankari looked at him, brows raised, so he added, “She’s being quiet tonight. Might need some of your gum to perk her up, Tick.”

  “We all might, sir,” Hazel said, “if you’re planning to have us march farther tonight.”

  A distant screech sounded. If they stayed here, they would have to post guards all night. That was doable, but they had come far enough that they ought to only be a couple of miles from that Buddhist temple. That might make a desirable refuge, assuming it wasn’t already giving refuge to bounty hunters. He imagined the expressions on the faces of Jarlboro’s survivors if Viktor and the others strolled in after them. Refugees or not, the temple would be dry, something he wouldn’t mind being about now. Unless they could get one of the other squads to pick them up, it would be twice as far to walk back to the landing site.

  He tapped his comm. “Striker, report.”

  Lightning flashed outside. He wondered if he would get a response.

  A burst of static came over the comm, but Striker’s voice was clear enough when he spoke. “Just about done cleaning up, sir. We didn’t find Sisson Hood himself yet, but we’re hoping he’s in the compound here, already dead. There are a lot of bodies around. His men were dug in here good and put up a fight. This was definitely his lair. There’s some women locked up back here that are all roughed up. They identified him. There’s lots of loot too. I, ah, suppose we’ll be giving it back?”

  “Yes, we’re getting paid in aurums for our work. No need to make off with people’s silverware and antique andirons.” Viktor grumbled to himself. They needed Hood’s head.

  “It’s more like nice weapons and some diamonds pulled out of the mines, but understood, sir. We do have quite a few injuries and a couple of men who need to get back real quick to see Doc Zimonjic. Where are you? How much longer will you be? Should we wait?”

  “We found the missing shuttle. No sign of Tank or Rawlings.” Viktor looked at the women, won
dering if they had run into the missing soldiers.

  “One of your men...” Ankari pointed upward. “Your people killed everyone in that boarding party, it looked like, but one of your men was in the shuttle, already dead, I think.”

  Viktor growled at the situation. He hadn’t meant it to be an audible snarl, but Ankari stepped back. He lifted a hand in apology—and hoped she read it as such. He would get the rest of the story out of her later, but it could wait until they reached the temple and they could talk in private. “The shuttle’s not operable,” he told Striker, “at least not at the moment. One of the mechanics will have to take a look when it’s lighter. And drier.”

  “You want us to swing over and get you on the way up?”

  Yes. Going back to the ship now sounded quite appealing. But there was still the matter of the missing men and the tracks Tick had been following before the shuttle crashed. Not to mention that the other shuttles would struggle to find a landing spot that didn’t involve smashing every branch in a tree on the way to the ground.

  “Go up, drop off the sick, take care of everybody, and send a shuttle back down to pick us up at the temple in the morning. Send Bassman and Chen with spare parts. I’ll show them to the other shuttle. I expect it to be made operable again.”

  “What temple, sir?” Striker asked.

  “There’s a Buddhist monastery in those mountains. It’s on the map. Thomlin will know where it is.”

  “You’re sure you’ll be all right down here in the storm?”

  “We’re fine. Out.” Viktor faced the others. “Who’s up for a walk?”

  Nobody groaned out loud, but the women’s shoulders all slumped. Even Hazel’s might have drifted downward a hair.

  “Hand out the gum, Tick. Two miles, people, that’s it.”

  * * *

  If one more vine smacked Ankari in the face, she was going to let out a screech that would put those raptors to shame. With every step, her feet sank into the mud, and with every third one, she had to yank a stuck foot out of the mire. The caffeinated gum the tracker had shared had helped for the first hour of the march, but its effects had worn off, leaving nothing but weariness dragging down her limbs. Thorny branches clawed at her clothes, which were plastered to her body, the water adding at least ten pounds to their weight. She was still carrying two packs, because Lauren, despite the sergeant’s first-aid ministrations, could barely walk.