Enforcer

by Kevin Ikenberry

  “There are about 100 GenSha troops in and around the compound at any given time, and a lot of back and forth traffic between the facility and several nearby hotspots where the Veetanho have been pressing north and east with, as I said, mostly mortars and small arms deployed by squad- and platoon-strength units as well as a number of vehicles. We have a live camera feed from there, but that wasn’t worth much in the dark. Now that the sun has come up, we will be able to see something. How fast are you able to move?”

  “Not very. The suit’s legs are still healing. His buddy—I need to talk to you about him, by the way—gave this guy a nanite shot, and I’ve given him a couple of standard painkillers. He’s still slower than the glaciers back home, though.”

  One corner of Graa’vaa’s mouth raised in a half-smile. “That’s pretty slow.”

  “Yeah,” Hr’ent grumbled. “I’m thinking an hour or more, depending on whether we run into anything or anyone.”

  Hak frowned, catching Graa’vaa’s eyes. “I don’t know if our team has that kind of time.”

  “Any chance you can leave him?” Graa’vaa asked.

  “No,” Hr’ent said. “If I leave him out here, something is going to kill him, or he’ll alert the first patrol he runs into.”

  Graa’vaa nodded. “Care for those in distress.”

  “Exactly,” Hr’ent replied. “How is the team doing? Any idea?”

  “We had eyes on them a couple hours ago, but I haven’t checked recently. I’ve been gathering as much information about troop movements as I can in preparation for this communication.” She paused. “Rsach and the others have been tortured, Hr’ent. The GenSha are doing their best to break them, from all appearances. I’ll check on them shortly.”

  “Well, shit.”

  Graa’vaa glanced up at Hak, and he tapped his earpiece.

  “Hr’ent, it’s Hak.”

  “You start telling me what to do, and I’m off this connection. You hear me?”

  Hak sucked in a breath. “That’s why you disconnected?”

  “That’s right. I don’t need you telling me what to do and when to do it. The decision of those on the field is always correct. That’s what they teach us.”

  “You don’t have to quote curricula to me, Hr’ent.”

  “Then let me do my job.”

  Hak drummed his digits on the console. “You need us, Hr’ent. This isn’t an individual effort. Missions like this require coordination and information. We’re trying to help you accomplish this mission.”

  “I get that, Hak, but there’s a difference between being on a team and you mother-cubbing me every time you open your mouth,” Hr’ent snapped. “Just feed me what I need, and I’ll get the mission done.”

  “What do you think you need?” Graa’vaa snapped. “We’ve updated you on the enemy situation. You’ve updated us on your position and ETA. Our team is in bad shape, Hr’ent. I know you want to keep your prisoner, but you need to consider applying a sedation pack and moving toward that compound.”

  “Noted,” Hr’ent replied. “I’m going to keep this channel—”

  The comms went dead.

  Graa’vaa tapped the console. “Hr’ent? Hr’ent, come in?”

  Hak leaned over and saw that the beacon showing Hr’ent location was still flashing. He hadn’t disconnected the channel. There was nothing they could do and no sensors to bring to bear.

  “I’ve still got him, but he’s not talking,” Graa’vaa said. “Something’s not right.”

  “No.” Hak frowned at her. “Something has happened.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Godannii 2

  Two km Northwest of Emergency Relief Facility

  Hr’ent snapped off the conversation and cursed to himself as Venna lurched headlong through the brush. There seemed to be little Hr’ent could do to stop him. The combination of the nanite shot and the pain medication appeared to have given the injured Jivool an unexpected boost of energy. Yet, when Venna began to sing in a loud, slurred voice, Hr’ent understood the energy boost wasn’t that at all. Venna was intoxicated. The Jivool staggered ahead of Hr’ent and somehow found the strength to run.

  Shit!

  Venna’s words were unintelligible even to Hr’ent’s translator. The over-medicated Jivool bounced off trees and somehow managed to gracefully spin to avoid rocks and bushes as Hr’ent gave chase. He accelerated quickly and matched Venna’s bounding, stride-for-stride. Hr’ent closed the gap and reached out for Venna’s shoulder with his left paw when the Jivool spun wildly, giggling with sudden insanity, and jumped off a rock ledge Hr’ent almost didn’t see. Hr’ent jumped at the last second, reached out and caught the trunk of a tree in mid-flight, and controlled his descent to the forest floor. Venna lay on his side, laughing in the loamy soil, when Hr’ent landed beside him with a massive thud.

  Hr’ent snapped out a paw to the Jivool’s upper arm. “Get up, Venna.”

  “I can’t—” Venna’s words dissolved into laughter again. Hr’ent remembered the first time one of the Duplato consumed alcohol during a weekend pass at the Academy. The poor female laughed and giggled all through the evening only to be left outside the dormitory. When Hr’ent had returned, he’d found her lying in a puddle of her own vomit. He’d hauled her to the infirmary and ensured she would be okay before calling it a night. Three days later, he’d seen her on campus and waved, only to have her dismiss him with an embarrassed grimace. Helping the inebriated always turned out badly, somehow.

  “I said, get up!” Hr’ent yanked the giggling Jivool to his feet.

  Venna took a breath and raised a wobbling finger. “Don’t you grab me like that!”

  Hr’ent shifted his weight and settled the rucksack on his shoulders. “I’m prepared to carry you, Venna. Stop running and cooperate, or I’ll be—”

  “You’ll be what?” Venna raged. One hand rummaged inside his tattered pants. “Let me tell you something, Peacemaker. You don’t know who you’re dealing with.”

  Hr’ent rolled his eyes and shoved the Jivool’s left shoulder. “Turn around and start walking, Venna. Don’t make me regret helping you more than I already do.”

  The Jivool whirled around, both arms raised in something like a shrug when something fell to the ground at Hr’ent’s feet.

  Venna started talking, but Hr’ent wasn’t listening. Keeping his eyes on the Jivool, he bent quickly to pick up the small identification card and lanyard from the ground. He flipped it over and inspected it closely, looking at the picture and other information. He then raised his eyes to Venna, who was still blathering about the forest and how it was all his domain.

  Hr’ent looked at the picture again. It matched what he saw in front of him.

  “This yours, Venna?”

  The Jivool stopped talking and stood staring at the card in Hr’ent’s paw, mouth agape. In a subtle motion, Hr’ent let his paw fall to the grip of the PK-40 on his right hip. With his other paw he tapped his earpiece.

  “Graa’vaa? You there?”

  “What happened down there?” she asked.

  “My prisoner tried to run away. I caught him and learned something. He’s not who he says he is. Imagine that.” Hr’ent glanced at the identification card again. “Can you tell me who Dolamiir Ka Shien is in the ISMC hierarchy, please?”

  “What? Gods, Hr’ent! That’s the ISMC Director, himself. He runs Godannii 2,” Graa’vaa replied.

  “The director, huh?” Hr’ent smiled down at Dolamiir. “Well, isn’t this a surprise.”

  The Jivool’s countenance turned defiant in a heartbeat, despite the lingering over-medication. He snarled at Hr’ent.

  “Stupid Oogar,” Dolamiir spat. “You’ve poisoned me. Mistreated me. What makes you think I won’t pursue retribution to the very top of your guild, Peacemaker?”

  Hr’ent’s smile evaporated. “I suppose you’re not willing to meet with the GenSha and actually discuss peace as was intended?”

  Dol
amiir growled. “You imbecile! None of you were ever meant to succeed, here, Peacemaker Hr’ent. You were meant to die here.”

  “That’s Enforcer Hr’ent,” he growled.

  His paw was already thumbing the holster catch on his PK-40 when he smelled and heard another Jivool approaching quickly and quietly through the foliage. The stalker was good, but Hr’ent picked him up at the very edge of his senses, and there was no doubt who it was. He thought he’d killed the assailant from the night before, but the scent tickling his nostrils was something he would never forget, and his enhanced hearing was more than enough to hear the steady footfalls across the soft forest floor.

  His decision now was simple, immediate, and unavoidable. He couldn’t face both Jivool simultaneously. He couldn’t let Dolamiir run off into the forest as he battled the killer charging toward him, and Dolamiir had made it clear there would be no peace between ISMC and the GenSha—at least not with Dolamiir still alive. Dolamiir’s eyes held little more than loathing and contempt. He slid the PK-40 free of its holster and brought it up under Dolamiir’s chin. Hr’ent pulled the trigger. Half of Dolamiir’s face and the top of his skull evaporated in a heated blast, spattering Hr’ent’s fur with blood, meat, and bone. The Director of ISMC on Godannii 2 died instantly and fell backward in what appeared to be slow motion.

  Something heavy and hard smashed into the back of Hr’ent’s head, and a splash of shooting stars exploded before his eyes as fire coursed from the back of his head down his spine. Dazed, his instincts kicked in. He spun to face the second Jivool, his PK-40 coming around. Through a haze of dancing lights, he realized he’d misjudged his assailant’s speed. The Jivool’s arm jerked. An instant later, a lancing pain shot up Hr’ent’s arm, forcing the PK-40 to slip from his grasp.

  Hr’ent knew the Jivool’s thrown combat knife had gone straight through his forearm, and the wound burned.

  He only had an instant to react, for the Jivool was almost on him, a combat knife held low and coming up in a lightning-fast thrust at Hr’ent’s mid-section. Hr’ent slammed his good arm down to block the blow as he pivoted. The Jivool was incredibly strong. Hr’ent roared again as fire blazed along the side of his abdomen where the blade struck home. Hr’ent roared in pain, and he felt hot blood seeping into his fur just below where his tactical vest ended at his waist. His vision went red, and he felt the Feral break loose.

  Hr’ent’s free paw, the knife still stuck through his forearm, instinctively wrapped around the back of the Jivool’s head as he spun, throwing the Jivool forward using his own momentum. He extended his claws and raked them along the back of the Jivool’s neck as he heaved. He expected to slash through flesh, but he instead found a thick fabric wrapped around the Jivool’s neck that shredded in his claws.

  Rather than fighting the throw, the Jivool tumbled into it, cleared Dolamiir’s fallen body, and came up in a low combat stance. With a snarl, he charged at Hr’ent with an arm held high and the combat knife held low and back for another thrust.

  Hr’ent leapt back several meters, his paws held high in a defensive posture, with his claws fully extended. His assailant slowed his charge and paused just out of reach of Hr’ent’s claws. There was a puzzled expression on his face, as if he couldn’t believe Hr’ent was still combat aware.

  Hr’ent’s cranium still rang from whatever had smashed into the back of his head—presumably a rock—and he could see that the assailant’s blade had slipped between his radius and ulna, its gleaming metal covered in his blood. The Feral in him howled at the audacity. Without thinking, Hr’ent wrapped his good paw around the hilt and yanked the blade out with a splash of blood. As he pulled the knife free, he felt a strange burning inside the wound and a very different fire moving up his arm. His muzzle lifted into a snarl, and as he pulled the combat knife from the sheath on his right thigh, he ran his tongue along the blade that had gone through his arm. The taste of blood fueled his rage, but he also tasted something else, something bitter that made his tongue burn.

  With his arms held wide, he rose to his full three meters and let loose a bestial roar that echoed through the forest. Ignoring the wash of pain, he stretched his shoulders and cocked his head back and forth with loud popping noises as the bone and tendons loosened up. He tightened his grip on both knives, and the tendons in his paws popped like breaking lumber.

  “You just bit off more than you can chew,” he growled. His tongue felt thick and heavy in his mouth.

  He snapped his left wrist around, flipping the knife into a reverse grip so the point stuck out below his paw. Lowering himself into a combat stance that mirrored the Jivool’s, he moved forward slowly. As he did, he eyed the blade held in the Jivool’s paw. The entire blade was coated with a green, sticky substance, and he realized why his right arm and his tongue were burning more with each passing moment.

  Shit. The bastard poisoned me.

  He would have to move quickly. He tried to tighten his right paw around the grip of the knife and found he couldn’t tighten it as much as he should have been able to.

  It was the Jivool’s turn to smile.

  “Now which one of us is in trouble?” the Jivool asked with malice. “You’re already dead. Your body just doesn’t know it yet.”

  “Then I’m taking you with me,” Hr’ent said, and he moved forward with slow, steady steps, closing the distance quickly.

  The Jivool didn’t move; he simply tensed his body in preparation for Hr’ent’s attack.

  Hr’ent had the reach, but he could already feel the poison working its way through his body, slowing his muscles and burning anywhere it touched. His mouth was on fire, and he would swear his tongue was twice its normal size.

  He spat once and stepped in with the blade in his left paw held like a shield. He made a furtive thrust with his right. The Jivool shifted back in the blink of an eye and slapped the back of Hr’ent’s arm in an explosion of pain, but Hr’ent dropped his arm away before the Jivool could dig in with his claws.

  The Jivool thrust with his blade, aiming for the wound in Hr’ent’s side. Hr’ent blocked it low and saw an opening. His fist came up under the Jivool’s chin. His opponent shifted his head to the right, so it was only a glancing blow, but his head snapped around from the impact.

  Hr’ent didn’t hesitate. With still-lightning-fast reflexes, he brought up a knee as hard has he could into the Jivool’s mid-section, forcing a blast of air from his opponent’s lungs. Hr’ent could tell his strength and speed had suffered from the poison, but he was still a bit faster than his opponent. Amazingly, the Jivool slashed down as he flew backward, and Hr’ent felt a knife bite into his thigh. The burning sensation from the poison was immediate, and he knew he was running out of time.

  The Jivool sailed back a few meters, but managed to land on his feet, sliding to a stop before settling back into a combat stance.

  Hr’ent didn’t give him a chance to regain his breath.

  He leapt forward, feigning an attack at the Jivool’s torso, then dropped beneath the Jivool’s block and slash. He struck out with a leg sweep, caught his opponent’s legs and sent him tumbling sideways. Hr’ent rolled, bringing the combat knife in his right paw up and around to slam the point into the Jivool’s side, but the Jivool rolled away.

  Hr’ent tried to suck in air and found that his tongue had swollen so much, it almost blocked his air passage. Panic clutched at his brain, but the Feral forced it down. It was time to end this, even if it cost him his life. Hr’ent surged forward as the Jivool tried to roll away again. Hr’ent’s reach and speed were just enough.

  Hr’ent landed on top of the Jivool. Leaving his left side wide open—he raised the blade in his left paw as he released the combat dagger from his right. Putting all of his strength into it, he pinned his opponent’s shoulder to the ground and drove the blade down into the Jivool’s chest, just above the edge of his tactical vest.

  At the same time, the Jivool jammed his blade deep into Hr’ent’s abdomen.

  They
grunted together. They both twisted their blades. They howled in each other’s faces. And then the Jivool’s head and arms flopped to the ground. He hacked once, his body convulsing, and he blew out a gush of blood from his mouth and nose.

  Agony shot through Hr’ent’s belly, and he knew something was ruined inside him, but there was no doubt the Jivool was finished.

  Trying to gasp around a swollen tongue that burned as if he’d swallowed acid, Hr’ent heaved himself off the ground and staggered backward a few paces. His skin felt like it was on fire, and his right arm seemed to be made of wood. He sucked in air with desperate gasps, and he was certain he would asphyxiate soon, choked by his swollen tongue.

  But he’d won.

  Hr’ent stared down at the dying Jivool, who coughed up more blood as his body was wracked with another wave of convulsions. He rolled onto his side and vomited once, a gut-wrenching heave that sent a thick spray of blood and mucus across the forest floor.

  Hr’ent’s vision swam before his eyes, and the image of the dying Jivool went bleary for a moment. He staggered backward again, step after step, desperately trying to suck air into his lungs. Time seemed to stretch out, and as his vision cleared slightly, he saw the Jivool reach beneath the back of his tactical vest. He yanked something out and, with a dying gurgle, rolled it across the forest floor toward Hr’ent.

  Through the fog of poison, Hr’ent realized it was a Peacemaker frag grenade. The Feral in Hr’ent burned through the poison just enough to get his feet moving. He took two huge steps backward, covered his face with his arms, and then leapt backward with every ounce of energy he had left.

  The grenade went off.

  The concussion slammed into Hr’ent’s body, propelling him even further and faster through the forest. He felt slashes of pain across his extremities as shrapnel ripped into his arms and legs. Moments later he slammed into a tree, spun like a tossed rag doll, and tumbled across the forest floor for a few more meters.