Enforcer

by Kevin Ikenberry

  Hr’ent’s ears rang as he lay there. He blinked his eyes slowly. The world was a blurry swirl of green, gray, and charcoal. He tried to formulate a thought, even a single word, but all he could manage with his first attempt was an acknowledgment of pain; his life was pain. The world was pain. The entire universe was pain, and he existed in a single moment at its epicenter. The center stretched out and away from him. It became a shining river of agony that flowed from Hr’ent’s past and into the future.

  He found himself awash on that river, like a leaf on a mighty torrent he knew terminated over a great waterfall. He also knew beyond that precipice lay an ocean of oblivion from which there was no return…and it was calling to him.

  That realization, however, gave him something to latch onto, gave his burning brain a single rock in the torrent to wrap his claws around and halt his progress toward the gaping abyss of an oblivion he knew lay only a short distance ahead.

  Focus!

  It was a thought, an emotion, a voice of his will wordlessly flung up into his consciousness. Again, he attempted to formulate a cogent thought.

  I am not dead, but I will be soon.

  The phrase begged a question, demanded a solution. Through a haze of pain, Hr’ent willed his arms to move. He rolled onto his side and slipped the rucksack from his back. His breath was a sharp sucking sound that offered a harmonic contrast to the ringing that still assailed his ears. He fumbled with the pack, finally got it open, and watched as his paws, almost of their own volition, sorted through the contents and extracted an auto-injector. His brain couldn’t make any sense out of the label, but something inside him told him he needed to use it.

  His vision swam again as he tried to suck in air and found that nothing could get past his swollen tongue. With the very last erg of his strength, Hr’ent collapsed back onto the forest floor, raised the auto-injector, and slammed it into his chest. He never felt it pierce his skin. He never felt the burning as its contents flowed into his system.

  All he could do was watch himself float along the river, over the precipice, and into the abyss.

  * * *

  Godannii 2

  Emergency Relief Facility

  Rsach couldn’t help but think of their current location as anything but a nest. They’d ascended to the fourth floor of the building, avoiding several roaming patrols, to find it mostly vacant. In one corner of the area, a stout metal chair sat bolted to the floor surrounded by chains and tie-down points. Dried black blood surrounded it, and while they’d only made a cursory investigation of the site, it appeared to be a place where ISMC eliminated their enemies. The thought of it turned Rsach’s stomach, but he knew the galaxy was much more violent at its core than the Peacemakers wanted to believe. As the Mercenary Guild continued their ascent to power, corporations and consortiums manifested in every corner of the galaxy, each angling for power and credits. A secret floor used for eliminations? Rsach knew it came with the proverbial territory.

  Aside from the assassination platform and the remainder of the cavernous open space awaiting the installation of walls and fixtures, there were four large, identical storerooms on the far side which, on inspection, appeared to have not been entered or inventoried in years. The rooms held a plethora of civil emergency materials, items likely earmarked for the GenSha and hoarded by the ISMC. Stacked high and deep, the crates of materials sat covered in dust. With some effort and considerable noise discipline, the four Peacemakers were able to create a small space in the exact center of the room. The crates of emergency rations gave them fuel for their recovering bodies and the copious medical supplies, including basic, generic medical nanites, provided some relief to their wounds. With crates stacked to the ceiling around them, the four Peacemakers rested and healed.

  Every noise on the floors above or below brought almost instant panic during the first hour. Gradually, they realized that while the GenSha were undoubtedly looking for them, no one had yet given thought to the fourth floor. Their position was good from a recuperation standpoint, but in the event of a coordinated search by the GenSha, there was no place they could go.

  “What are you thinking, Rsach?” Ven asked as he inspected a bandage around one wrist.

  Rsach studied their position. “They’re going to come here eventually.” He rubbed the stump of his broken antenna. “We have to be ready for them, or we have to move.”

  “I’ve been through all the crates we can reach without risking noise,” Vresh chittered. “There are no weapons.”

  “It’s all disaster relief materiel,” Ven added. “Aside from some knives and digging tools, there’s not much we can use except the rations and medical supplies.”

  “It’s a good position for now,” Vresh said. “Rest is good.”

  Tyrn snorted. “We have to get out of here.”

  Rsach studied his friend. The Jivool sat hunched over a ration. “You were the one who recommended this as a position. What’s changed?”

  “We can’t stay in here forever.”

  “So now you want to go out there? Without any additional weapons?” Vresh asked. They all knew a pistol and rifle would not be enough to hold off even a handful of armed GenSha.

  “They are going to search this floor sooner or later.” Tyrn glanced up at the group, his dark eyes lingering on each of them. “When that happens, the only thing we’ll have going for us is that they’ll kill us on the spot. We won’t have to wait long for death.”

  “That’s enough,” Rsach snapped. “The minute we lose hope, we lose.”

  Tyrn’s gaze returned to his ration packet. Vresh looked into the corner of their little nest as if studying something very distant. Ven finished his field dressing and met Rsach’s eyes.

  “There’s no guarantee the guild knows what has happened here.” Ven’s voice was quiet and serious. “By the time they do, it could be too late.”

  “Then we have to get the word out,” Rsach said. “Vresh? Didn’t you say there were radios?”

  She turned to face him. “Crates in the upper level. The GenSha are jamming a whole bunch of the spectrum, Rsach. What are you thinking?”

  “Those radios? UHF/VHF or EHF and SATCOM capable?”

  Her eyes twinkled. “Mostly EHF and SATCOM stuff. Long distance.”

  “Any HF?”

  Vresh leaned forward. “Yes! Gods! I didn’t think of that.”

  “Of what?” Ven squinted. “Using HF comms?”

  “The GenSha aren’t likely to jam it,” Tyrn said, brightening. “It’s too low for their use, and Jivool haven’t used HF in 100 years or more.”

  “But there might be a way to get a signal out to friendlies—either ships transiting the atmosphere or friendlies in another city that aren’t experiencing the same interference,” Rsach said. “We just need one of those radios and high ground.”

  “I’ll get it,” Vresh said. Using her pincers, she climbed the wall of crates with ease and disappeared over the top.

  Rsach turned to Ven and Tyrn. “Round up whatever we can use as weapons. We’re moving out as soon as Vresh gets the radio. Grab those emergency packs and empty out whatever we don’t need. Take food, water, and basic survival gear.

  In 15 minutes, they were ready to move. Battered and bruised, the four Peacemakers pushed through the makeshift door of their nest. Rsach kept the others in front of him and took the rear guard as they moved swiftly across the open space, past the assassination platform, toward what they hoped were the stairs.

  A surprised GenSha guard whirled out from an exposed metal column to meet them, the barrel of his rifle rising. Without hesitation, Tyrn stepped in, grasped the barrel of the rifle in one paw, and ripped out the GenSha’s throat with the other, spraying the wall with a high, double fountain of gushing blood that sent a rainbow of crimson across a nearby wall. Before the heavy GenSha could fall, Tyrn grabbed the dead guard and dragged his body under the bloodied platform, and quickly searched the corpse. He returned with a combat knife, a radio handset, and a typ
e of sidearm modified for the GenSha’s hand.

  Rsach frowned. “Ditch that weapon. We’ll need to find ones we can use.”

  Tyrn handed the knife to Vresh. The Jeha rippled as she took the weapon in a set of pincers. “Thank you, Tyrn.”

  The Jivool nodded. “I’ll use my claws until we find better weapons.”

  “We have to keep moving,” Ven said. “That way.”

  Vresh rippled after him. “We need to find a safe way down to ground level and an egress point, and there are probably three levels of trouble between here and there.”

  Tyrn pointed with his bloodied claw. In the far corner were two doors. “Try down there on the left. I’ll check the door on the right.”

  “We should have studied the blueprints.” Rsach frowned, his antenna drooping. “Without our slates and network connections, we’re fucked.”

  “We do it how we were taught,” Ven growled. “It may take us longer, but—”

  “Wait!” Tyrn cried. He skidded to a stop at the right door, finding that it had been knocked askew and ajar, as if someone or something very large didn’t want to wait for the door to open before going through it. Without a word, or any sense of security, he ripped the door aside and barged into the room beyond.

  “Tyrn! What are you doing?” Rsach followed him through the door and found an obese, brown-furred Jivool lying on the ground, face-up. Much of his suit had been savagely cut and ripped away, leaving his heavy frame with barely a shred of clothing to protect his dignity. His face was even worse than when they’d seen him in the interrogation hallway, and his fur was matted with blood all down his chest and along several gashes in his arms and legs.

  Tyrn knelt over the still form for a moment and then looked up at Rsach.

  “It’s Korvan. He’s pretty badly hurt.”

  At his name, the Jivool groaned and sat up. Only some of his blunted and polished claws remained. The rest had been torn out, leaving blood-crusted wounds that had to be incredibly painful. His face was a mask of bruises and blood. One eye was completely swollen shut, while the other could only open a sliver.

  “What happened?” He looked up at Tyrn.

  “Can you move?” Tyrn asked. “We’re getting out of here.”

  “We don’t have time for this, Tyrn.” Rsach glanced anxiously at the door.

  “We can’t leave him,” Tyrn said. He moved into Korvan’s line of sight. “Can you move, Korvan?”

  Before Rsach could intervene, the executive scrambled to his feet. “I can, but not as fast as you. They will be coming for me.”

  Rsach frowned. The Jivool was one more unarmed body to move. He was also untrained and a liability if they were engaged by the GenSha. He glanced at Tyrn, then into the expectant face of the Jivool. “Come along, sir. We’ll at least get you to cover.”

  The Jivool executive limped toward the door with Tyrn at his side. Seeing the older Jivool’s limited movement, Tyrn took up a position under Korvan’s right arm to assist him. They went through the door with Rsach immediately behind them. Vresh and Ven had passed through the left door and were at the end of a short hallway. Ven pointed at the door excitedly and motioned for the others to follow. They’d found a way down.

  “Come on,” Rsach said and moved in front of the two Jivool. He reached the others. “Stairs?”

  Ven nodded, and his eyes widened. He gestured to the side of the door. Rsach moved himself into a position next to Vresh. Ven took the other side. The door swung open and two GenSha guards burst into the passageway. They locked eyes with the two Jivool limping toward them. Their ISMC rifles came up.

  Ven pushed off the doorway, needler in hand, and brought them down with two near-silent, point-blank shots to the backs of their heads. He stepped forward and immediately relieved the dead guards of their rifles and several power cells. “This is much better.”

  Vresh grabbed the other rifle and performed a quick function check. “Much better, indeed.”

  Rsach pointed at the bodies. “Search them and get them out of sight.”

  Vresh and Ven knelt by the GenSha and quickly rifled through their load-bearing equipment. Rsach saw two radio sets, several extra power cells, flashlights, and UACCs.

  “Grab their cards in case they have access codes.”

  “They won’t,” Korvan said as he and Tyrn joined the group. “Even if they took UACCs from the employees, they wouldn’t have access to the entire facility. All doors are coded and protected by paw prints.”

  Rsach gazed intently at each of their faces as he took the needler from Ven. “We go down. Ven and Vresh have point. Tyrn, you bring Korvan along next. I’ll keep the rear guard. Once we get to the ground level, we—”

  Korvan raised a paw. “Not ground level. Go all the way down to B2. This stairway connects to it. There’s a connection to the mine there. Emergency shaft and redundant ventilation. We can get out that way.”

  “Good.” Rsach nodded to Ven. “Let’s move. Fast as you can go, Korvan. You set the pace. Where does that shaft lead?”

  “North. It stops at some old ruins, about 2,000 meters outside the city.” Korvan shot Tyrn a glance, then returned his gaze to Rsach. “The ruins are on high ground. It would be a great extraction point.”

  Rsach squinted. “Why would we focus on extraction and not ending this conflict?”

  “Look at you,” Korvan replied. “Beaten and bruised. They don’t want to talk to you. And certainly not after you killed their guards. These terrorists are going to execute the lot of you. Your best chance is to run.”

  “And you’re comig with us, right?” Vresh asked. “Spoken like a true—”

  “Enough.” Rsach cut her off. “We have a way out. We follow that as far as we can. Stand or fall.”

  The others nodded and silently took their positions at the door. Vresh and Ven pushed through, found no one in the stairwell, and started down.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Godannii 2

  Two km Northwest of ERF

  Hr’ent opened his eyes to darkness as a lacework of agony coursed through his entire body. He gasped at the intensity of the pain that seemed to have soaked past every square inch of his skin and into his entire skeletal structure. He was soaking wet from the rain that fell through the canopy above. He groaned and let out a long, pained breath. His chest felt like someone had parked a car on top of him, and his pounding heart raced in his ears, as if he’d run a marathon at full speed.

  I can breathe, he thought. I’m alive, and I can breathe.

  For a long while, those were the only thoughts he could manage through the pain. He wrapped the words around him like a blanket, and they seemed to ease the agony enough for him to move, at least a little.

  He realized there was something in his paw. He raised his arm and looked at the object clenched in his fingers. His movement caused several small, wild animals nearby to scamper back into the forest. He had no idea what they were, but he sincerely hoped they wouldn’t be back to feed on his corpse at some point.

  The auto-injector had been fully expended, and on the label, he was able to pick out the words through a pain-filled haze: ADRENAL-HISTIMION (General antihistamine/antidox).

  Hr’ent had never felt so exhausted, drained, and beaten down in his entire life, and then the reality of his situation hit home.

  He’d failed.

  He had no idea how long he’d been unconscious, but the sun had gone down, so it had been no less than eight or nine hours. He was beat to shit, bloody, and broken. The Peacemakers he was supposed to be saving were probably dead. And in his condition, he couldn’t outmaneuver a plate of sandwiches.

  The way he felt, he was just about ready to chuck it all and cash out. At least it would stop the pain.

  He was probably bleeding out, slowly, and he knew there was something horribly wrong with his insides where the Jivool’s knife had opened him up. He ran his other paw along his abdomen, beneath the lip of his tactical vest. His paw bum
ped into something, and when he looked down, he saw that the combat knife was still sticking out of him. It was off to the side and seemed to be jammed straight through him rather than at an angle, deep into his abdomen. If his recollection of Oogar anatomy was accurate, there wasn’t anything over there that dealt with circulation or filtration. It was mostly ingestion and excretion.

  Of course, if he pulled the blade out, he’d probably have worse problems. The blade might be the only thing keeping a cork in the bottle. As he lay there, contemplating the harsh reality that he was about as fucked as he’d ever been, a shred of the Peacemaker protocols ingrained in his brain kicked in.

  He would have to try and pull himself together, but that would take time, and he didn’t know if he could. The mission was in jeopardy, and his life didn’t mean a thing, either way. All that mattered was the mission. That being the case, there really was only one thing for him to do.

  He lifted his arm again, said a prayer to the Five Elemental Gods of his people, and tapped the slate embedded in his arm. Either it would work, or it wouldn’t. Either it was still connected to a functional comms unit in the rucksack, or it wasn’t.

  The slate fired up, and he got a green light from the comms connection. Now for the real test. Would the comms unit still reach Blue Flight?

  “This is E-H-Actual for Blue One. Do you copy? Over.” His voice was a raspy whisper, and the sound of it in his ears sent a chill down his spine. He really was dying.

  “E-H-Actual for Blue One. Do you copy?” Over.”

  “Hr’ent!” Graa’vaa shouted. “Where in blazes have you been? Are you all right? You…you sound terrible.”

  “I imagine I do,” Hr’ent managed to croak out with what little humor he had left. “Look, Graa’vaa, I may not have much time. You’d better get Hak on the line as well.”

  “I’m here, Hr’ent.” Hak’s worried voice came in clearly. “Give me a status report, Enforcer. Stat.” The urgency in Hak’s voice was reminiscent of every drill sergeant Hr’ent had ever been abused by, and it had the desired effect. Despite a lance of pain, Hr’ent straightened his body, almost coming to attention where he lay on the ground.