“Trade secret.” Graa’vaa grunted. She looked up from the slate and half-smiled at him. “Sorry, intelligence joke.”
Hak snorted and smiled in return. He shrugged his narrow shoulders and replied, “I wasn’t really joking.”
“I know, Hak.” Graa’vaa tapped several times on her slate, and the Tri-V closest to him flickered and changed images to show an orbital plot of communications satellites. “As we passed out of range of Moppicut City, the interference fields emanating from there diminished greatly. I was able to locate a ground control station for the ISMC satellite communications platform. They have four platforms spaced around the planet in the geostationary belt. I isolated a channel and got in that way—I’d tell you more, but you’re not cleared for that level of detail.”
Hak laughed. “Fair enough. I’ve always been of the opinion that the less I know or understand about what you intelligence specialists do the better.”
“Anyway,” she continued, her voice measured and business-like, “from there, I tunneled into the ISMC mainlines. These connect their sites across the planet for data transfer and reporting. The Moppicut one was offline until a few minutes ago. I tracked some communications between ISMC headquarters and some of the inbound mercenaries supporting them. The exchange was encrypted, but I was able to locate where the mercenary forces are and where the ISMC transmission emanated from.”
Hak nodded. “Locations are important, Graa’vaa, but—”
She raised one paw. “Once I separated those out, I was able to determine where the GenSha were operating on the radio frequency band. I started working on their communications’ encryption and the ISMC’s. I just broke the GenSha one.”
“Really?” Hak leaned toward the Tri-V as the view changed again. “Where are their command and control centers?”
“Moving,” Graa’vaa said. “Not surprising, given what they’re doing and who they’re fighting against. What’s not moving is this set of signals…and with a few more taps…”
The image flickered again and showed the signals inside a fortified ISMC building used to secure high-value equipment and materiel. Hak-Chet leaned closer. “What would you possibly hold in that building other than hostages?”
“My thoughts exactly,” Graa’vaa said. “It’s listed as an emergency relief facility. Let me see if they have an internal security system that’s still operational.”
The images and coding flashed faster than Hak could process, but highly technical pursuits had never been his calling, and that got him reminiscing as the data flew by.
* * *
As a youngling, his teachers often commented that his particular pursuits and interests seemed likely to lead him toward a life outside societal bounds. Had the Sidar known he would become what Humans called a confidence man, he would have agreed with them. None of them imagined he would attend the Peacemaker Academy. He hadn’t either and only applied for the coveted position to appease his parents. That he’d been chosen surprised no one but him. He’d flown through the entrance examination and interview process much faster than any of his classmates.
Once on the grounds at Ocono, he’d adapted to the life of a candidate almost as a game more than a serious pursuit. He’d quickly learned who among his classmates were legitimate and who only wanted to shine under the focus of the instructors. He did neither and strove for mediocrity in the physical and academic regimes of the first year. While the others ebbed and flowed through the rigors of the year, he strove to maintain an even, focused approach to everything they could throw at him until the end of the year. Before their four-month break between academic semesters, all of the candidates filled out a series of evaluations on their classmates.
This peer evaluation was a sizable portion of one academic grade and played toward the assignment of broadening experiences during the break. Like all of the candidates, Hak wanted an assignment, but he wasn’t willing to promote himself or distinguish himself above the others in his class for that type of gain. When he wasn’t selected for an assignment, he was neither satisfied nor disappointed with his performance, only the process he’d believed he’d solved before it ran its course.
As he packed his belongings for the break, there was a knock on his door. His roommate had caught a passing freighter for a ride home earlier in the day, as had most of his friends. Hak turned to the door and froze. His final interview for admission had been the toughest of the circuit, and he was convinced the Caroon who had grilled him not only did not like him but would never approve of his being a candidate at the Peacemaker Academy.
“Candidate Hak-Chet.” Deputy Selector Grektch leaned against the jamb. He stood a meter and a half tall, with charcoal and gray fur. His long, middle-aged face and tall ears were a picture of vigor, and his piercing green eyes seemed to take in Hak at a glance and size him up completely, right down to every single one of his personality quirks. “It seems I’m fortunate to have caught you before break.”
“Deputy Selector Grektch,” Hak said. An icy rivulet of surprise ran down his spine. He folded his arms across his chest. “What can I do for you?”
Grektch laughed once, stopped himself, then laughed again without holding back. “You really are something, Hak. You really are. I’ve seen so many candidates in the last 12 years, but you certainly are head and shoulders above the rest.”
“My performance indicators hardly show—”
“Cut the Izlian shit, Hak.” The Caroon’s smile was gone, replaced by a serious countenance that drew the young Sidar’s full attention, and his eyes bored into Hak like masonry drills. “You’re not going home for break. You’re coming to work with me.”
“In the Selector’s office?”
“No,” the Caroon’s smile returned. “Field work. We leave in three hours. Just enough time for you to message your parents and cancel your berth on that ship.”
Hak squinted at Grektch. “The Selector’s office had no open slots for broadening, if my memory is correct.”
“That’s right,” Grektch said flatly. “This isn’t a broadening assignment. You start on the road to Selector this day.”
“Why me?”
Grektch smiled. “Spend this break working with me, and you’ll be able to answer that question yourself.”
Grektch had been correct. At the end of the break, there had been no question Hak should be placed anywhere other than the Selector’s office after graduating from the Academy.
* * *
Graa’vaa tapped hard on the screen with a loud CLICK of her claws, as if she was trying to force a single byte of information through whatever channel it had gotten caught up in. A moment later, the view changed, and she sorted through one screen after another faster than he could follow. She was sifting through volumes of data and communications intricacies as he watched, and he knew he had made the correct choice.
“Got it,” Graa’vaa yelped. “Tunneling into the network. We’re going to see how well this new elSha coding works. We paid enough for it—it ought to cut through the firewall like a hot blade through kurka fat.”
Hak didn’t reply. Instead, he watched as she scrolled through a menu of options with names he’d never seen and selected one identified as a string of gibberish. Graa’vaa dragged the program’s icon into the executable window and clicked a button marked deploy. A flurry of coding filled the window, scrolling line after line from top to bottom, before a box appeared containing what appeared to be 12 different video feeds.
“We’re in,” she said. “Now to figure out—”
“There,” Hak said as he pointed a long digit at the upper right window. “There are guards there.”
Graa’vaa leaned forward. “The image is really pixelated, Hak. You can’t possibly think—”
“Do it, Graa’vaa.”
She engaged the feed and gasped. Not only were there two armed GenSha guards standing in the center of what appeared to be a vacated conference room, there were several different beings sitting on the floor with thei
r backs to the walls, including four Peacemakers.
“Can you get audio?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I’ll see what systems are in the room. If it was a conference room, there has to be an audio feed. There may be other sensors deployed. Diplomatic ones, you know? The ones that read heart-rates and biorhythms?”
Hak nodded. “I’m familiar with them, yes. Let’s see what you can grab, shall we?”
“On it,” Graa’vaa said. “You know what’s weird?” she asked, her eyes never leaving the screen.
“What’s that?”
“I don’t think the GenSha are monitoring these feeds.” She glanced at him. “I’m not reading any access to them but mine, and I’ve got that ghosted so it looks like a sys-check.”
“It’s an ISMC installation, so the GenSha probably aren’t familiar with the systems,” Hak speculated. “They may not even have access to the security annex.”
“Perhaps,” she said.
After about 10 more seconds of tapping and a few muted curses under her breath, she looked up at him. “No audio, but I’ve got the diplomatic channel. Our folks have accelerated heart rates but stable respirations.”
“Stress,” Hak said. “Perhaps some hunger and thirst.”
Graa’vaa nodded. “Fits the profile. I can see blood on Ven and Rsach, and there appears to be some swelling on Vresh’s upper cranium near the antennae.”
His stomach flipped and turned inside out. “They’ve been tortured.”
“More likely, they were just interrogated.” Graa’vaa turned to him. “All they know is what they were fed, which appears to be Izlian shit. They’ve graduated the Academy and know how to handle this situation. They won’t talk.”
“No, they won’t.” Hak frowned. “And that’s what I’m worried about.”
“At least we know where they are.”
“True enough,” Hak said. He let out a frustrated breath. “All right, cut the feed. We have what we were after.”
Graa’vaa hit a couple of commands, and the screen went back to a scrolling line of data.
“Now all we need is that lumbering Oogar clod to make contact.”
“He is that, isn’t he?” Hak said with a sigh.
“Sure seems like it.” She looked over her shoulder at him, a dubious expression on her face. “Still willing to bet our lives on him?”
“Yes,” Hak said without skipping a beat. He was capable of lying to her about it, if for no other reason than morale, but he truly had every confidence in Hr’ent, despite his frustrating methods. “He’ll get the job done.”
“It’s all our asses if he doesn’t,” she said before turning back to her screens.
* * * * *
Chapter Twenty-Five
Godannii 2
Fifteen km North of Moppicut City
Satuur waited, wondering if he was going to die. As the river carried him downstream, he closed his eyes and relaxed as much as possible. It didn’t feel like the slashes across his throat were mortal wounds, but being in the water would slow his healing. He was certain they would leave mighty scars, and his chest throbbed like he’d been hit by a car.
Who in the Seven Hells was that Oogar?
The rushing, cold water, as well as his bruised rib cage, made it difficult for him to hold his breath, but he’d been able to do it as a result of a lifetime of conditioning and a strong sense of pride. Nobody beat Satuur. Nobody. With the current as fast as it was, he would be out of the Enforcer’s sight in a matter of seconds, but he waited several minutes. The last thing he wanted was to face that Oogar again in open combat, and certainly not from such a disadvantageous position. He’d never faced an opponent like that. Nothing and no one in his experience had ever possessed such strength, speed, and reflexes. He’d grown accustomed to being the strongest, fastest, deadliest sentient in the room, but this was altogether different. The Oogar was severely enhanced, without a doubt. On their next meeting, Satuur would have to use stealth, guile, and every dirty trick he had to put the Enforcer down.
When the last of his breath finally ran out, he turned his head slowly to one side and drew a quick breath from just above the water and opened an eye. He’d traveled around the bend from where the fight ended and a considerable distance more. He let the river carry him for a while as he scanned the riverbank to make sure he wasn’t being followed, and, as he moved, he made slow paddling motions to drift closer to the riverbank.
When his hind legs finally found the rocky bottom near the bank, he stood slowly and ran a finger over the gouges in his throat. They’d mostly closed up, but he still felt a wet flow of blood. He let out a long sigh and then ripped off a portion of his pants. Making a quick compress, he held it to his neck to help the wounds close. Staring into the darkness where the Enforcer might be, he waited for some type of engagement, whether it was communication or a weapon.
Nothing came.
Satisfied that he had not been followed, he took several powerful strides to pull himself free of the river and climbed up the bank. He crept slowly and silently into the brush, making for the clearing where the Enforcer’s equipment lay. At the edge of the wood line, Satuur felt the breeze in his nose and caught a familiar scent. He squatted in the heavy brush and watched. A few seconds passed before he saw Dolamiir lurch from the brush on the opposite side of the clearing, limping slowly. A moment later, the hulking shadow of an Oogar broke through the brush behind the injured executive, and the glint of a heavy weapon flashed in his massive paw.
Bigger than I thought he was. Satuur watched the Oogar move and studied him. How could something that big be that fast?
Satuur had to begrudgingly approve of the Enforcer’s tactics. Always keep the enemy observed. His adversary had been taught well, and he moved with experience. He would be a very difficult target, perhaps the most difficult of Satuur’s career. But he’d never failed before, and there was no reason to think he would when the time came.
Dolamiir and his captor reached the equipment, and the Enforcer started searching through the shattered cases. As he worked, Satuur lost sight of Dolamiir and realized he’d probably sat down to rest on the far side of the pile.
He watched as the Enforcer pulled out one large case, then placed his pistol on top of the other cases. He stripped off his armor and some sort of undergarment. For a moment, Satuur considered sneaking up on his enemy, but a single sound would find that weapon boring a gigantic hole in his chest. He decided to wait.
The Enforcer pulled out combat fatigues and a tactical vest and put them on. When he was finished, he gathered a few more items from the crates. Some went into pouches around his belt and others were clipped on. It was too dark and too far to see what they were, but Satuur knew what he would take if he were in the Enforcer’s boots—power cells, grenades, and medical supplies.
The Enforcer pulled a small backpack out of a case, threw a few more items into it, then bent over on the far side of the pile. Satuur could only assume he was doing something to Dolamiir. Much sooner than he had guessed, the Enforcer completed whatever he was doing and helped Dolamiir to his feet. He motioned toward the forest, due south, and as the Jivool limped in that direction, Satuur caught a difference in the executive’s movements.
The Oogar had administered a pain killer. Very thoughtful. He’d also slowed them down even more.
“Now keep moving,” the Enforcer said, standing by the pile of crates. “I’ll be right behind you, and if you try to run, you’ll die trying.” He waited about 15 seconds, and then he pulled something out of a case on the ground at his feet. He stood up, fiddled with whatever he’d retrieved, then dropped it on top of the cases. He was moving before the object made contact, and Satuur realized what was about to happen.
He rolled to his side and put the bole of a nearby tree between himself and the equipment.
The explosion of a heavy-ordnance grenade rocked the forest with a blinding flash of light, and it was followed by a dozen sympathetic explosions as equi
pment and ordnance inside the cases cooked off from the heat and pressure. Shrapnel and debris flew in every direction, some of it whistling past Satuur’s cover. His ears rang from the explosions, and the concussions pulled at the air in his lungs. He saw smoking fragments of shattered cases stuck in the trunk of a nearby tree, and it looked like the forward half of an assault rifle had stuck into the tree as well.
Smart, he thought. Very smart.
Satuur shook his head. He’d have done the same thing, but it was still frustrating. He’d hoped to find something useful in the equipment, anything that might make it easier for him to kill the Enforcer. The flames licking over what remained of the burning equipment illuminated the entire area, so Satuur waited a few minutes for the fire to die down and to allow the Enforcer to put more distance between them. Even though the Enforcer had blown the pallet, there might still be something useful for him.
Satuur waited until he was satisfied that enough time had passed, and then he crept out from behind the tree and crawled across the grass, moving as silently as possible. As he crossed over to the wreckage, he found the remnants of a thermal suit—standard for a high-altitude parachute jump. That was how the Enforcer had penetrated the area. He had assumed the Enforcer and his equipment had come down together, but he’d heard the big Oogar moving through the forest when he and Dolamiir reached the area. That’s what had prompted him to come up with the ambush plan—a plan that obviously hadn’t been enough.
If only I’d had more time, he thought.
Maybe he’d come down first and reconnoitered the area before going through the gear? He looked around quickly for a stashed parachute and helmet but saw nothing. That didn’t make sense. If the Enforcer hadn’t executed a HALO jump, where had he landed?
Satuur shook off the question and dug into what was left of the burning cases. The weapons crates on top were ruined, so he pushed those aside and found a couple on the bottom that had only been scorched and pierced by shrapnel. He opened the first and found two short-bladed combat knives that he slipped into his belt. In the other case, he found several grenades. They were marked with letters he didn’t understand, but by feel he knew two of them were smoke grenades or some type of flash-bangs. Two others appeared to be standard anti-personnel grenades, and a much larger one had to be another type of smoke grenade—likely a gas grenade.
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