The Thandrall drew a heavy blaster with one hand and held it inches from the kneeling man’s head. Using his free hand, he pulled the head-cover free, revealing Former Admiral Foster.
The former admiral tried to call out, but he’d been gagged. Grimshaw barely recognized the old man, his face was so badly swollen and bruised.
“You bastard,” Grimshaw muttered inside his head, somehow knowing the Thandrall would hear the thought. “What the hell do you want?”
His hand moved away from his gun. He didn’t want Admiral Foster’s brains added to the muck on the floor.
“You really do learn fast, Jason.” Though the Thandrall’s thoughts felt unwelcome and alien, they were well-spoken: crisp as ice, and to-the-point. Thought-words pulsed through Grimshaw’s mind much faster than spoken sentences. “Not only did you repel my control, but you can communicate via psi-link. And all without training. You are a curious one. No wonder the Primelord is so interested in you.”
“You suggested that we use first names, yet I don’t know yours,” Grimshaw pressed, feeling the Thandrall’s control prodding around the barrier that had erected itself around his mind.
“Ah, that’s the spirit. I do look forward to getting to know you more, Jason. My colleagues here call me Artax The Conqueror. It’s a silly title really. They came up with it. You can just call me Artax.”
Grimshaw pushed back Artax’s prodding mental claws. “You’re here for the Ministers?”
“That’s why we brought the old man. They say his son is a heartless bastard, but rich folks like to put on a show. I’m betting your Terran Minister will open that door before he lets anything happen to his father.”
“Minister Petter Foster has been injured,” Grimshaw thought, clutching for straws.
“Then whoever’s in that safe-room better make him un-injured, or the old man gets it. Then again, isn’t Minister Farmorai in there too. That spineless bastard would sell you all out in a second if it were up to him.”
Grimshaw tried not to let his shock show, but from Artax’s reaction, he suspected he’d failed on that front.
The Thandrall’s laugh echoed through the caverns in his head. “If he had any, that spineless coward would sell his own balls for a handful of credits.”
“You won’t be taking anyone,” Grimshaw said, trying to add some punch to the thought.
Artax’s helmet retracted into his TEK’s neck-brace, and he drew a deep breath as though savoring the stench of blood, entrails, and spent shells. “Do you plan on stopping me, Jason?”
“I plan on trying.”
“Good. I came here expecting a real fight.” Artax smiled menacingly and holstered his blaster. He pulled Foster senior to his feet with one hand and shoved him back toward one of the gray Chimera troops who’d brought him in. “Don’t be getting too cocky though, Captain. It’s rare to find a Terran mind that shines so brightly, but in Thandrall terms, you are little more than a moody teenager.”
“I know a moody teenager who can kick serious ass.”
Artax took a step forward, stretching his arms. “It has been a long time since I’ve had a good ass-kicking, Jason. Let’s make this fair. If you win, you and your men can leave. If you lose, we’ll have to…take care of business.”
“I won’t lose,” Grimshaw hissed.
“You talk the talk.” Artax cackled. “But please don’t disappoint me.”
Grimshaw drew his blaster and fired several rounds. Artax disappeared before his very eyes.
A micro-second later, he appeared right in front of Grimshaw, his powerful arm pushing his weapon away with ease.
Artax delivered a punch, throwing Grimshaw into the pile of splintered wood behind.
He’s too fast and too strong. The best I can do is slow him down.
24
An Old Enemy
Taza watched as another Tower Guard fell dead by the corridor junction.
“Fall back,” Assad ordered.
The three guards up ahead obeyed and retreated a dozen feet to join them behind the barrier.
“The longer we’re stuck in this stalemate, the greater the risk to the Ministers,” Taza said. He wasn’t going to admit to Assad that he was only interested in helping Grimshaw…that was if the Captain was even still alive. Going by the state of things on the seventh floor, that was unlikely.
“We aren’t getting past those heavy machine guns, and they blew a huge hole in the face of the Tower, blocking any approach from the left. There’s no other way through.”
“At least they’re dug in. It looks like they have no intentions of coming back this way. At least not yet.” Taza considered his options for a second. “I think I have an idea.”
Assad cocked an eyebrow in mock concern. “Why don’t I like that look you’ve got?”
“Just like old times,” Taza slapped the ambassador on the shoulder and turned to the guards taking up various positions around him. “We don’t have time. I’ll need someone to show me to the collapsed Tower face.”
Assad gave him an incredulous look. “Have you learned to fly since we last met?”
“I’d like to see it for myself before writing it off.”
Assad nodded. “Fair enough.” He lifted his SIG to his head. “Sankoh, get your ass over here.”
“Yes, sir,” a gruff voice answered over the short-band.
A moment later, a stout Yalore in a Tower Guard uniform approached. “Officer Sankoh, reporting, sir.”
“Take Agent Arkona here to the Tower face. Show him where these assholes caved the walls.”
“Sure, sir.” The Yalore gestured for Taza to follow.
Taza waved to Assad and followed the stout guard as he led him through a series of rooms and hallways until they arrived at a gaping hole where the end of a corridor should have been.”
Sankoh pointed to the yawning hole. “Bastards flew an airbus rigged with explosives straight into the sixth floor. Looks like it tore a hole through several floors. I’m surprised it didn’t do even more damage.”
A gust blew dust into Taza’s face as he approached the hole. Floor panels, chunks of tile, and twisted metal rods lined the opening like teeth. The ground fell away suddenly, giving a wide view of the Tower grounds below. Beyond that, he could see Sentinel Square. From what he could tell, much of the fighting had stopped. A thick plume of almost-black smoke arose from beyond the square. Taza couldn’t tell where it was coming from, but he had his suspicions. “They must have taken out Izmark Bridge.”
“It makes sense from a strategic point of view,” Sankoh said in disgust.
“I still don’t see any sign of reinforcements,” Taza said more to himself than to the Yalore.
Sankoh muttered curses. “One of our messengers reported that SenSec officer were holed up outside. Chimera must have gotten to them.”
Taza traced the edges of the hole in the wall and how it curved back in on the Tower’s face. Chunks of masonry and support beams jutted from the damaged building. There were plenty of hand and foot holds and even a few sunken areas that had formed narrow platforms. It wasn’t enough to get a squad across, but one person could probably make it.
An aircar approached from the right and they pulled behind cover, keeping their bodies pressed flat against the wall.
“Looks like they still have air support. Go back to Ambassador Assad,” Taza said. “Tell him to keep Chimera distracted. Make it look like you’re still holding back. When you see my signal, push forward.”
“Your signal?” Sankoh’s expression said that he thought Taza had gone insane, and Taza wondered whether the guard was right.
Taza waved him away. “I’ll toss a grenade or something. You’ll know it when you see it.”
“You Terrans are crazy,” the Yalore muttered. He hesitated then decided to do as Taza said. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” he called over his shoulder as he went back in the direction they had come.
So do I, Taza thought to himself.
He peeked outside again and saw that the aircar had vanished around the other side of the Tower. He checked one more time to make sure he was clear then reached out for an exposed metal support, pulling himself out into the open. His feet dangled in mid-air, but he refused to look down. He swung his body and caught onto a jutting pole. It shrieked under his weight, and he thought it was going to give way, but it held. He swung his feet onto the lip of a ledge and pushed himself onto the platform, stumbling forward and catching onto a dislodged pillar.
He gave way to temptation and looked to Sentinel Square far below. He immediately regretted the decision and brought his eyes up again, telling himself that being so high meant that even if the Chimera troops on the ground did see him, he was well out of range.
He hugged the pillar as he squeezed onto the edge of a floor that once belonged to a room. He prodded tentatively with a boot, feeling for stability before committing to a step. He looked to his left and saw that he had made little progress. It was taking too long. A crack issued below, and the tiles shifted under his boots. He sprinted, the remnants of the floor giving way under his back foot. A huge gap opened up before him, and before he could think, he leapt from the crumbling tiles.
His abdomen slammed against the edge of another ledge, and he pulled himself up, rolling onto his back and trying to catch his breath. He lay for longer than he would have liked. It had been a while since he’d had the air knocked out of him like that. Finally sucking air back into his lungs, he carefully climbed to his feet and pressed forward, his left shoulder pressing into the wall to stay as far away from the edge as possible.
He arrived at a part of the building that had caved inward, creating a shallow slope. He climbed onto the ramp and sped forward, making triple his previous progress in a fraction of the time. Toward the end of the collapsed section, he found a hole that led inside. He approached the opening slowly, pulling the semi-phase rifle’s strap from his shoulder. As he got within ten feet of the opening, he crouched low and listened for movement inside. He wasn’t about to blindly jump through the hole. Even during the lowest moments of his gambling problems, Russian Roulette held no appeal.
A constant drumming sounded from beyond the corner of the tower ahead. The Chimera aircar. Shit!
His plan depended on not being discovered. He quickly looked around for cover, and on finding none, ran for the hole, throwing himself through the opening head first.
Taza crashed into the dimly-lit area just as the air vehicle sped by. He clambered out of the pile of rubble and found himself in a restroom. Five stalls stretched off to his right and washing basins with high mirrors stood against the far wall. Tiles and chunks of plaster were strewn across the floor and the pipes in the wall closest to him lay bare. Hearing no movement nearby, he was satisfied that the enemy didn’t know he was there.
He quietly pushed the stalls open one by one, checking no one was inside. The last thing he needed was someone sneaking up on him from behind. The first four were clear. He sighed with relief as he reached for the fifth stall.
The door smashed into Taza, sending him stumbling back against the wall, tiles cracking against the MSU straps under his coat. A Varg stormed out of the stall, raising its fully-automatic weapon. Taza pulled his trigger, and an energy bolt slammed into the Chimera troop’s helmet. He spun around and smashed into the toilet, landing in a heap as his weapon skittered across the floor.
Taza scrambled back to his feet, watching the Varg climbing onto his hands and knees. Taza’s rifle pinged as its capacitors recharged, and he fired another bolt into the stall, pushing the Varg onto his chest, where it lay still.
Taza cautiously approached the stall, hoping other nearby Chimera soldiers hadn’t heard the commotion. By the sounds of battle in the corridors beyond, they were otherwise engaged. It looked like the Varg was down for good, smoke bellowing from where the last energy blast took him in the back.
Seeing the battery was only a quarter full, Taza shouldered the rifle and drew his blaster. He’d be needing what juice was left in the big gun to execute the rest of his plan.
As he aimed the blaster, the Varg rolled on his shoulder. Taza didn’t even see the blasts coming. Several smashed into his chest, throwing him back, and at least one struck his arm, disarming him.
He scrambled for the blaster on the floor, but the Chimera Varg charged, shouldering him back into the wall. It brought its blaster up to Taza’s temple and pulled the trigger.
Nothing happened.
Must have used all his rounds, Taza thought in his half-dazed state. Pain raked his body. Whether it was from the beating he’d taken from the Varg, he wasn’t sure, but he hoped the shield had absorbed most of the gunfire.
Taza shoved the Varg back, providing just enough room for him to bring his knees up and kick out at the towering brute. The Varg took several steps back and tore its fractured helmet free, throwing it to the ground.
Taza was surprised to be reunited with another old acquaintance. “Brutus?”
“You!” The Varg’s face twisted into what was probably meant to be a smile.
Taza was glad to find that no vital areas had been hit, but plasma had melted through his coat, burning his right fore-arm. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised with the White Dragons being in bed with Chimera and all. I thought you might try to take control of the gang after Cho iced Mr. Darcy. How is the kid anyway?” He asked, trying to buy time to think. His blaster was too far away, and Brutus was too close for him to draw his rifle in time. Besides, all he had to do was call for help on the SIG, though that was unlikely given the score Brutus wanted to settle. Calling for help would have appeared weak to his companions.
“Cho took control of the White Dragon’s after you cost me my honor,” he growled. “I will have your head this time, scum, and my honor will finally be restored.”
The Varg charged with renewed vigor, it’s giant gloved-fist sailing through the air like a hammer.
Taza ducked and heard the tiles behind smash and shatter on the floor. He also had no TEK the last time he fought with Brutus, and he muttered a curse. His only chance was to put some distance between himself and the hulking warrior-class Varg. In his crouching position, he kicked himself off the wall and rolled in the direction of his blaster. As his hand reached for the weapon, a heavy boot came down on his fingers.
Taza cried out in pain and tried to pull his hand free to no avail.
Brutus leaned down and forced him into a head lock, choking the air out of his throat. The Varg’s armored limb pushed against Taza’s neck, and he thought his wind pipe was about to crack. He fought for breath and pushed at the Varg with his one free arm, but it made no difference.
Brutus chuckled at his feeble attempts to break free. “There is no running this time, little Terran. Much honor.”
Taza cast his memory back to the fight they had in his humble apartment in the Underways. He remembered the weapons available to him at the time: the weapons he’d left under his bed.
Of course. The knife! Taza’s right arm curled around his back, and his fingertips brushed against the hilt of the Omnion blade. It was just out of reach. He pushed harder, trying to add another inch to his stretch, and burning pains shot up his arm and into his shoulder and neck. His palm touched the hilt, but Brutus twisted him before Taza could get a hold of it, making him miss. His vision swam, and he knew he only had one more chance. He gritted his teeth and reached again with every ounce of strength left in his bones. If he could have growled, he would have.
Taza’s hand grabbed the blade hilt, and he pulled it free. He swung his hand up behind his head, and the knife sank into something soft.
Brutus released and backed off. Taza launched for his blaster again and turned on his side, aiming several shots at the Varg’s knee, bringing it to the ground.
Taza lay, wheezing, struggling for air, his neck numb and the energy all but gone from his bones. Gradually, life seeped back into his limbs, but with feeling came pain. He winced and h
ad to stop himself from crying out when he climbed onto unsteady legs.
Brutus sat on the ground, his back against the tiled wall and one leg twisted at an unnatural angle. The Varg held the side of his neck, failing to stem the gushing black blood. Taza’s knife lay on the ground next to him.
Taza made his way to the Varg, trying not to wobble too much on his legs.
Brutus looked up at him with the same twisted smile he had before, but with blood dripping from his mouth.
Taza held the weapon’s muzzle against Brutus’s forehead. Vargs were resilient bastards. “I don’t suppose you know a Thandrall called Dryell?”
Brutus snorted. “Not Dryell. They call him Artax. Artax the Conqueror.”
“Artax,” Taza whispered, cocking his eyebrow. “I don’t suppose you met a Captain Grimshaw on your travels…He’s an Aegis.”
“No Aegis. Artax entered the chamber with his elites. We were ordered to guard the corridor outside.” Brutus coughed and blood spluttered on Taza’s coat. “If your Captain was in that chamber, I assure you he’s dead.”
Taza nodded. “How many?”
“A dozen in the corridor,” the Varg said weakly. “About half that inside the chamber.” His breathing slowed.
“You fought with honor.” It was Taza’s way of thanking the Varg for the information.
Brutus’s eyes lit up at the words, as though they meant a great deal to him. He pushed his head against the blaster, accepting his fate, then sighed, blood gurgling in the back of his throat. “Then give me an honorable death,” he croaked.
Taza pulled the trigger and part of the Vargs head splattered onto the white-tiled wall. His hulking frame slumped sideways and came to a rest on the floor.
Taza cleaned the gore from his gun and rubbed his sore neck as he fetched his knife. He wiped one side of the blade against his coat and turned it over to do the same with the other side, amazed at how shiny it still was. His coat was a right mess. It was one of his favorite garments. He told himself he’d just have to get another.
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