Timberwolf

by Tom Julian

  Sol straightened his helmet and repeated what he’d drilled into them while practicing the operation in the cargo bay. “Don’t mind the civilians. Focus on the security. Eyes up! Weapons hot!” He pulled a lever and the airlock parted.

  Michael and Sol led their teams in. The airlock was wide enough to go two by two. Everything on Noel was dark and the walls leaked smoke and vapor. The lamps in their helmets pierced the space, flashing off walls and ceilings as the men turned about. “It’s like a fun house over here,” Sol remarked.

  They were in a boarding area, with tables and chairs bolted to the floor. Noel twisted, its inertial gravity generators barely operating. A security guard appeared, stumbling and almost falling out of the darkness. He fired his pistol, plasma bursts zinging high. Sol lit the man up with a white-hot burst, spinning him in a circle, the discharge of his weapon deafeningly loud.

  Another security guard sprayed and prayed from around a corner. The bursts missed, but just then Noel’s gravity gave out completely. Michael found himself falling towards the guard. Landing hard against the wall of a corridor, he came face-to-face with the shooter. Michael must have looked like a demon in his fighting rig; his visor down and auto-camouflage flowing and changing as he moved.

  The security guard’s pistol cartwheeled weightless before him. He grabbed it, but had it backwards, with the barrel pointing at himself. Michael grabbed his hand and helped him pull the trigger, sending a plasma burst through his thigh. Just then the gravity returned, dropping them both to the deck. The guard writhed in pain and Michael smashed him in the chin with the butt of his rifle, knocking him out.

  Michael led his squad through the corridors, the heads-up display in his helmet showing him the way to the first-class cabins. He let himself be a little impressed by the men. They covered each other well and hadn’t panicked when those amateurs had opened fire. Sol came over his earpiece, “We’re blocking the starboard corridor near the evac bags.”

  “We’re getting Dacha,” Michael responded.

  Michael found the first-class passenger section. He sent a man to block the other end of the corridor and called back to Gray on Nemesis, “Come on in!”

  Clambering through the airlock, Wrath hissed and scraped the metal. Thomas led him with Gray behind. Wrath barreled around corners, a silver flash of teeth and claws. He went cabin to cabin in the first-class section, lightning fast, inspecting each door. Beams from flashlights trailed him as the men followed. He stopped at a specific door and waited patiently, poised and panting. The creature could sense the Dachas inherently. It was a familiar scent buried deep within his DNA. The men hung back, unsure what was next. “Wrath, drosh maik!” Thomas ordered.

  Wrath stood up to his full height. The Sabatin flexed for a moment like an armor-plated gargoyle and then pried the door open like it was tinfoil. His shoulders flexed with rippling muscle. Huddled atop a bed was Sergey Dacha. He was identical to his brothers but with a shock of white hair. At the sight of Wrath, a slight smile came over his face, like maybe this was a rescue? But no, the beast dashed away and was replaced by Gray. Sergey’s hopes faded as Gray gave him a warm and horrible smile. “I forgive you for all the things you’ve done. You’ll do your penance and take me to Highland.”

  “I can make you a rich man!” Sergey pleaded.

  “I am a rich man. I’ve felt the light of heaven,” Gray replied.

  Michael entered, concern wrinkling his brow. “Achilles ran for Timberwolf.” Gray nodded, digesting the complication as Michael showed him a message from Drogel on The Outpost.

  “Please, you don’t need my brother!” Sergey begged.

  “Sure I do. God needs everybody.”

  UNKNOWN MESSENGER

  Dr. Tier sat in her office on Archangel, pretending to scan through a chart. Conrad was there for his daily report. “There’s Assault Corps chatter cycling through Tach-One from up and down the line. I’m not picking up any code words that would signify an operation of any sort. Nothing indicating a high-alert level on Sec-Def Bozeman’s staff.”

  “I see.” Usually, Dr. Tier had a dozen piercing questions for Conrad, but today all she wanted him to do was leave.

  “I’m still finding the volume of chatter concerning…” He waited for the inquisition that didn’t come.

  “That’s fine. Thank you.” Confused and concerned, Conrad left Dr. Tier alone in her office. She breathed a sigh of relief when he was gone. There was something else on her mind, something that she couldn’t share with anyone. This morning, she had been shocked to receive a personal message from an unknown sender. It had been one line.

  Samar1483: Remember Jackhammer? Let’s talk soon.

  There were only a few people who had known the name of that operation and most of them were now dead. That was piled on top of the fact that she had received a total of zero updates from Timberwolf since he had gotten to The Outpost. Dr. Tier tended not to fret, but she didn’t believe in coincidences.

  Her personal account had the highest D.P.E. security protocols on it. She needed it to in order for her to speak securely with sources in the field through sub-light. In fact, anyone sending a message would have to have a digital key generator personally given to them by her in order for the message to get through. Someone had broken that security and she had no idea who or how.

  She felt a buzzing at her hip and pulled her smart-device from her pocket.

  Samar1483: Looks like we’re both waiting.

  TheaTier965: Who is this?

  Samar1483: I’m not a friend. Not sure if people like us have friends.

  TheaTier965: How did you get my private account?

  Samar1483: I know lots of things. Have access to lots of information. Too much, actually.

  TheaTier965: Goodbye.

  Samar1483: Please don’t go. I have news about the crusade.

  TheaTier965: ???

  Samar1483: That’s what we called it. Whatever he’s doing. I have news.

  TheaTier965: What news?

  Samar1483: About Emmanuel Gray.

  Dr. Tier held her response.

  Samar1483: Looks like the cat has your tongue. I understand if you don’t believe me. I also have news on Timberwolf Velez. He’s probably not been in touch, correct?

  TheaTier965: I will give you one more message.

  Samar1483: The score is Gray 2, Velez 1. I’m sure you know what that means and how much of a disadvantage that puts you in.

  TheaTier965: Who is this?

  Dr. Tier waited for a reply that didn’t come. She wasn’t sure of the game that was afoot, but she was not accustomed to being on the receiving end of dirty tricks. She needed to focus. She tapped out a quick message to Conrad.

  TheaTier965: Get back in here. I have a million questions about your report.

  THE KEY

  Like many things on The Outpost, the infirmary had multiple uses. One was to treat injured and sick visitors and crew; the other was to store Drogel’s private contraband. Against one wall, boxes of “vaccines” marked with a red D were piled neatly up to the ceiling. Achilles sat on an examination bed, wrinkling up the paper. His eyes darted around the room, to the collection of medical saws hanging on the walls. Soft, dreary elevator music played.

  Salla and Timberwolf observed Achilles through one-way glass from the pharmacy alcove. Timberwolf was letting him stew. The doctor had advised that Achilles was healthy a half hour ago, but Timberwolf needed him to be unsure of his intentions. “Has he sat long enough?” Salla asked.

  “In order for him to trust me, I need him not to trust me. First impressions are everything. Go ahead in, but don’t talk to him.” Timberwolf liked Salla, as much as he liked anyone. There was only one condition to Timberwolf’s authority on The Outpost and it was that whenever he interrogated anyone, he needed a Station Corps officer present. She was smart and efficient and didn’t get in the way.

  Salla entered, taking her place by the exterior door. Achilles, realizing Salla wasn’t there to talk,
hung his head and looked down. Okay, he’s ready to go in the oven now. Timberwolf took a step towards the room, but when he did he felt a presence in his head he hadn’t noticed for weeks. It was Kizik, the Arnock mind-bender, but there was something more—a lot more somethings.

  It was like Timberwolf had just walked out on stage in front of a packed house. He could feel the alien minds peering through him, rustling and impatient. He closed his eyes and pushed them away like he’d been able to do with Kizik before. He visualized them all in a theater before him, red Arnock eyes glowing and blinking. As he pushed them away, one by one, they got up and left, until only one remained. Of course it was Kizik, the unmistakable red blotch of color on its face. Timberwolf dug deep to push the alien away. He opened his eyes when Kizik was finally gone. Timberwolf gave it another minute to be sure and then walked in to see Achilles.

  “You could disappear. There’s no authority here but me,” he began, without even as much as a hello. He shot Salla a quick glance and she nodded with a slight smile. Nice opening line!

  “Oh no, you’re too interested in why I’m here. You won’t let me go.”

  Timberwolf shrugged, careless, and went for the door. “You have no value but what I give you.”

  “I broker for Highland. I can connect you. I know people!”

  “You know people? I think you are people! You hid in a box of bio-silicon, cozied up to a Sabatin. Someone who would do that is very scared.”

  “I came here to find you! He ordered all those Sabatin, was trying to lure me out. You could help. I knew that. But I panicked. I was stupid.”

  Timberwolf was silent and simply raised an eyebrow.

  “I can’t trust you!” Achilles burst.

  Timberwolf drew close. “Of course you can’t trust me. Who ordered them?”

  “Stop playing games. You know.”

  “Of course I know.”

  “You like our gift? It’s your size, right? You kept the box it came in?”

  “It’s a little cramped around the crotch.”

  Achilles rolled his eyes. “You want to override some of the sizing specs and spray in a little WD-40 if you’re bigger than average.”

  “Thanks, got it.”

  “What’s the name Emmanuel Gray mean to you?”

  Timberwolf paused. This had gotten to a place he wasn’t ready to go yet. “Vice. Out.”

  Salla hesitated for a second, and then slipped out, balling her fists.

  “Emmanuel Gray—the bishop of the Believers. Lo and behold his mighty crusade. Kill off all aliens. He wants to take over our factory at Highland. Build an army of Sabatin to use on the Arnock. Hypocrite. Guess what? Sabatin are made from alien DNA! He’s been trying to collect my brothers.”

  “So, you’re special?”

  “We’re the keys. I can’t begin, really.”

  “You were doing real good. You were looking for me, to protect you from Gray. You should just talk until I tell you to shut up.”

  Achilles looked down, collected himself. “My brothers and I…”

  Timberwolf interrupted, “Okay stop there. You don’t have any brothers. You guys are devices that download from the same hard drive.”

  “That’s rude!”

  “Don’t lie, Achilles. I met with you on Telock Sen and you gave me the box. I met with all of you. I’m meeting with Achilles and Sergey and Ivan right now.”

  Achilles rolled his eyes, like he was dealing with someone beyond ignorant. “It’s still in your head isn’t it? Kizik. His real name goes on for about a minute. Really doesn’t like you very much.”

  “And you…I mean your brother Sergey, promised to get it out. Instead, you just gave me a box.”

  “Yeah, we did and Kizik’s still there.” Achilles folded his small arms and grinned. “We have so much power you can’t even dream of. We can snap our fingers and all of this just gets wiped out; a storm to just clean away all of this and start over.”

  “That sounds great. Can I read your manifesto?” Timberwolf cracked.

  Achilles leaped up, with a swiftness that took Timberwolf by surprise. “We’d wipe you all away! The Arnock, the Devorin, Glox, Tiaski, Szykul…we like the Phaelon. We’ll keep the Phaelon. But first it’d be you. You humans have started all this trouble. Those others didn’t even know what interstellar war was until you came along.”

  “Us humans? You look sort of human. Did you forget that?”

  “I’ve never forgotten anything.”

  “So what’s the point?”

  “You’re the goddamned point! I am going to offer you a deal, friend.”

  “You’re scared,” Timberwolf said, knowing this would needle him.

  “Excuse me?”

  “If you’re so powerful, why do you want to deal? Why am I the point?” Achilles shuffled as Timberwolf went on. “The way I see it, you’ve gotten lost. Highland’s been on auto-pilot so long that you don’t have a reason for being. You’re trying to balance out all the species, assure stalemates, hold back the tide of war, but what for?”

  “Yeah, pax galactica. Try it sometime.”

  “You’re a copy of a copy of a copy. You work for a computer. I think perspective might be amiss in your family. You could wipe us all out, but Gray’s cracked your secret and the Arnock are not far behind. I may be the point and I’ll tell you what our deal’s going to be…”

  Achilles interrupted, “You take care of this Gray problem and Kizik’s gone. Wake up with a clear head. We’ll also funnel you whatever you need to keep the peace, but only to you. Not to that psycho Dr. Tier and certainly not to anyone in your military.”

  “Wrong! It’s Highland’s surrender. I’m not going to let you weasel out of this. You want this protection, I own you.”

  “You bastard,” Achilles hissed.

  “You showed me your whole hand!”

  Achilles laughed, throwing his head back. “For some reason, she trusts you. She likes you. I certainly don’t.”

  “She does, huh? What is she exactly?” Timberwolf asked, pretty sure he was referring to Highland’s A.I.

  Achilles was exasperated now. “Her name is Penny. She makes the product!” There was a silence between them as Timberwolf waited for more. “Like I said, me and my brothers are the keys. It takes two of us to access the control center. You want to meet Penny?”

  “Sure.”

  COMING ABOARD

  “Nemesis to Outpost Con, copy on CB4, port A.” Farrow, the pilot, confirmed the approach with The Outpost docking officer. His voice came over the intercom to those waiting near the airlock. The men were rigged up and assembled again near the breaching tube. This wasn’t a hostile breach and board, though Gray’s plan was to demonstrate an aggressive force so Drogel knew he meant business.

  Gray watched the approach to The Outpost with Sol. He noticed a familiar ship parked at Cargo Bay 1. “Is that the St. Francis?” he snapped. “The St. Francis?!” Sol didn’t get it at first and then put it together. St. Francis was the official diplomatic yacht of The Clergy. That meant Cardinal Jacob was here.

  “That change anything?” Sol asked.

  “Yes, it ruins my day.”

  Governor Drogel waited at the airlock on The Outpost. He could see Nemesis through the door, just a few yards away and inching closer. He promised subtle. No reason to draw attention. With a clang, Nemesis made contact and almost instantly the door spread open. Three men swarmed out, plasma rifles up and armor auto-camouflaging against the background.

  Drogel instinctively put his hands up as the men scanned the space. He noticed religious symbols stenciled onto the armor of the two supporting men. The lead man turned his attention to Drogel. There were no religious marks on his armor but, instead, the profile of a dragon, with its tongue extended and wings flexing. Michael opened his visor. Drogel couldn’t help but notice the burns on his face and the scar over his lip. “Clear,” Michael announced.

  Two dozen more men boarded, all with adorned armor—Believer mark
s, crosses, crescents, stars, and more. Grenades and knives hung from their waists. They formed a gauntlet in the hallway and through it walked Izabeck, his armor adorned with a feather on each shoulder. He scribbled in an electronic notebook, taking in the scene and mouthing the words he was writing.

  Finally Gray came aboard. “Where’s Timber?” he demanded of Drogel, without breaking stride.

  “With the prisoner. I don’t think this much firepower is necessary for just picking up one man!” Drogel complained.

  “One man who’s now in the custody of Timberwolf Velez! I haven’t brought enough firepower. I’ll hold back my backup, how’s that?”

  Drogel tilted his head quizzically, and then standing at the back of the airlock he saw Wrath. The Sabatin stood with its handler, hissing and trembling. “You brought a Sabatin?” Drogel asked, exasperated.

  “He’s on my crew.”

  “We just had a shipment come in, fifty-two of the things. Timberwolf confiscated it and…”

  “You’re not my favorite person right now, Governor.” Drogel’s face asked the question his mouth wasn’t brave enough to. “The St. Francis is here. How much did Jacob pay you not to tell me?”

  “Please, I didn’t have much choice.”

  Gray smiled understandingly and Drogel relaxed a bit. “Much choice? That means you had some choice. I would use that money to disappear. I have a lot of young men who are looking for reasons to shoot people.” Drogel’s face turned pale. “Something to keep in mind.” Drogel went to say something but Gray shut him down with a nod. “Let’s get us in and out of here.”

  VICE

  Timberwolf had been in the infirmary for over an hour with Achilles. Salla had been unable to leave the hall outside. She needed to know what was happening and how all these pieces fell together. She’d been incredibly excited to be named as vice governor to The Outpost a year ago. She had been twenty-four when she was appointed and it was only her second assignment out of basic. She quickly discovered the lofty title of vice governor was the only perk of the job. All day long, she waved cargo through, did errands for Drogel, and scheduled docking ports. That’s not even to mention all of the things Drogel asked her to do that were probably illegal. She feared the day all of the sketchy transactions with her thumbprint on them might come back to haunt her.