Timberwolf: Wrath is Coming

by Tom Julian

  Wyatt led them to a storefront and stooped and entered. “Stay up here and out of sight,” Timberwolf told Salla. She went to protest. “I don’t want both of us in the same basket. If this goes bad, that could be used against us.” She nodded. It made sense. He handed her the nerve agent canister and a personal protection grenade. “These aren’t my style.”

  Wyatt took Timberwolf through the dark space and down a narrow staircase to the basement, removing his top hat under the low ceiling. He led Timberwolf to a room full of dozens of mismatched lamps, all giving off soft light, preferable to Glox eyes. Sitting at a table was Zoreshka or “the boss,” an old female Glox. Timberwolf hoped she would remember him. He helped her memory by showing her the wad of thousand-dollar bills Achilles had given him, laying out samples in front of her on the table.

  She made the Glox equivalent of a smile. “Velez?” she creaked. Timberwolf nodded. An attendant brought tea that smelled like battery acid. Timberwolf politely pretended to take a sip.

  “I need mercenaries,” he said slowly, picking words he knew Zoreshka would understand.

  “Number?”

  “All of them,” he replied, continuing to flatten out C-notes. “This is just a down payment. Ten percent. Once the mission is done, they get it all.”

  “Mission?” Zoreshka asked.

  “Stay home. Don’t work.”

  Zoreshka tilted her head, jerking her gaze around in a flitting insect fashion. Wyatt sensed her agitation and came to attention.

  “Stay home. Don’t work,” Timberwolf repeated, but it wasn’t his odd proposal that had concerned her. She looked to the ceiling. Someone else was here.

  Coming down the stairs, Timberwolf saw cream-colored pants and shiny black shoes. He leaped behind a cabinet, taking Salla’s sidearm from his jacket. Zoreshka and Wyatt slipped away and Timberwolf heard the booming, cheerful voice he’d been avoiding for twenty years. “Timberwolf Velez?” Heelo Tembe asked.

  Heelo was the head of security on Golgotha and was in the pocket of the bosses that ran the tower. Labor problem? Heelo’s men would handle it. Want to move some goods in? You better be ready to pay him a bribe. Twenty-two years before, Timberwolf had made a deal with Heelo that he would never come back after what had happened with the Racker family. That deal had just been broken.

  Timberwolf listened to the footsteps. There were four people, Heelo plus three others. He planned to push the cabinet over and…

  “Don’t be foolish, Timber. I have your friend here.” He looked out and saw Heelo. He had his large fleshy arm around Salla and held a pistol to her head. “I put in new security cameras. One of the first things I did was upload your face. I just want to talk and ask what you’re doing here.” He waved his hand over where Zoreshka had been sitting just moments before. The wad of money was missing. “Looks like Zoreshka’s made a profit.”

  Timberwolf set the sidearm on wide pulse. Heelo’s two men stood close together, almost casually so. He searched his mind for the grinding, the presence of Kizik, but there was nothing. “We had a bargain, Heelo. I broke it, but I need a pass. I’ll give you $20,000 if you forget you saw me today. Tomorrow, I’ll pay you again if I’m still here.”

  “Twenty-thousand dollars a day in rent. That’s tempting.”

  “Yeah, take it. Plus you get to live.”

  “We agreed that if you ever came back, Relaund would die. It does me no benefit to collect on this deal, Timber.” Heelo relaxed a bit and Salla breathed. “But if I break my deals, what kind of man am I?”

  “I won’t tell if you won’t,” Timberwolf replied.

  Heelo said something, with some sort of bluster. His wide belly shook and he and his men laughed, but Timberwolf couldn’t hear them. Kizik was here, rushing from the back of his mind. Time seemed to slow down. Timberwolf could see the moles on Heelo’s face and the veins on the thick neck of one of his men. Salla had her eyes closed and was standing in profile, holding her breath. She looked like a statue, the light of the room warming her silhouette. Remove her, he heard Kizik demand.

  Timberwolf’s arm holding the pistol began to rise. He couldn’t control it. It got halfway up, but he managed to stop himself. No! He fought back against Kizik.

  She is irrelevant to our ends.

  You’ve got to be kidding me.

  You have killed many. She is nothing.

  Pull your egg-mother’s arms off! Timberwolf threw back a deep Arnock insult.

  Why does she matter? Kizik was enjoying this. Timberwolf could sense the humor in him.

  She doesn’t. But I’m not giving you this.

  The grinding swept over him. Timberwolf felt the pistol rising. He knew there was only one way to stop this. He struggled to turn it towards himself, seeing nothing but an orange glow from a lamp in the corner. Firing, he felt the wide burst hit him in the forehead. He fell to his knees, Kizik dropping away from his mind. For an instant he saw his reflection in a small mirror against the wall. The pistol was venting plasma exhaust and was still pointed at his own face. Then he felt the darkness sweeping over him again.

  OVERHEAD

  Achilles always assumed he was in danger. It was something intrinsic in him and his brothers to be cautious to a fault. When Highland’s secrets were still secure, the caution had been an extra layer that protected them and the company. As they realized Gray and The Clergy were closing in though, they began to panic. Reaching out to Timberwolf for the meeting on Telock Sen and giving him the Sabatin armor had been incredibly dangerous. It set them down a path that was sure to lead out into the light.

  Achilles sat on bridge of Nina. He checked the scopes for the fifth time in ten minutes. There was nothing coming up from Golgotha and no ships breaking out of their orbit patterns to intersect them. Nina hid in plain sight amongst the dozens of other vessels currently parked above the world.

  “Good morning, Penny.” A monitor on the bridge of Nina sprang to life and glowed a warm orange.

  “Good morning, Achilles! I synced back to Highland just a few minutes ago,” Penny said cheerfully over the speakers. “Looks like you’re safe. Good to see!”

  “Thank you. I know you didn’t like that I disengaged the safety protocols.”

  “Of course I didn’t! And you left me with too many repairs to handle with the airlock. Lucky you didn’t bust the mech-mender generators or you’d be down there yourself with a wrench!”

  “I have to tell you something,” Achilles began. “I’ve lost contact with Ivan and Sergey. They’ve both been taken by Gray.”

  “I see,” Penny said with disappointment and concern in her voice. “And Timberwolf?”

  “He’s down below on Golgotha, pursuing Gray.”

  “I see,” she said sharply, her monitor a dark red. “And you’re up on the Nina alone? Very foolish, Achilles!”

  Achilles hung his head. She was right. “I…I don’t feel we have many safe choices, Penny. I wish we did and I am not even sure if I can trust Timberwolf.”

  “Trust is the point of this!”

  “He’s a decent man and understands the stakes here, but Kizik got into his mind like we never expected. Here’s the medical report.”

  It took Penny a millisecond to review the report, but it took her a long moment to process the information. “Kizik stimulated his adrenal gland and altered his brain chemistry? From light years away?”

  “Yes. It’s extraordinary. In all our experiments with the Arnock, we never would have guessed they could have done that. I have to assume they are following us. Looks like one more hound is in the chase!”

  “Please don’t joke, Achilles!” she scolded, her monitor growing redder still. “Is Timberwolf still viable?”

  “He’s what we’ve got right now. This is a dangerous game.”

  “This is a stupid game! I love you dearly, Achilles. Sergey and Ivan too, and the others who come along, but I am scared! We’re in danger!”

  Achilles coughed, unsure of how to proceed, so he just said it. �
��I have to kill Timberwolf.”

  “You mustn’t!” she said, sounding fragile and distant. “That’s cruel and it leaves us with nothing!”

  “If he becomes more compromised, I’ll have to kill him instantly.”

  Penny’s monitor darkened from red almost to black. Achilles knew she was angry and anger was rare for her. “I have to think,” she snapped. Without another word or sound, her monitor turned off.

  KEES LEEDY

  Michael slammed his fists on the bar. “Who?” he demanded. Outside the tavern, the white Golgotha sun faded behind the tower. Gray and Michael had come down to Golgotha unaccompanied, so as to not draw attention.

  The bartender was an old, tall, skinny transplant named Kees Leedy, who had grown up in the low gravity of Mars. He kept a breather around his neck that he took hits from every minute or so. He shook his head negatively, eyes apologizing.

  “No problem. I’ll have another drink.”

  Kees poured Michael a beer that smelled like gasoline and pushed it across the bar to him. When Kees leaned over to take the money, Michael snatched the breather from his neck. “Don’t be stupid, Kees,” he said quietly as the few patrons at the bar took the cue to move out to the front porch. “I’ve known you for years. We’ve been friends, right? You manage a stable of quality shooters.” The man nodded, reaching for the breather as his breath got short, but Michael held it out of reach. “Who hired out all your mercs?”

  “Fine!” Kees said hoarsely, his voice a scratchy whine. He wrote down something on the back of a coaster and slid it to Michael. It read t. velez.

  Michael and Gray had been to four other joints before going to see Kees. They had received the same answer everyplace else; all the mercenaries had just been hired out by someone who wished to remain anonymous. No one would talk until they’d reached Kees.

  Gray and Michael departed and pushed through the crowds outside. “Timberwolf is here,” Michael said. No elaboration was necessary.

  They had one more place to visit and it wasn’t a good option. “It’s a game of who has the will. I didn’t think I was worth this much to him,” Gray said.

  “Timberwolf is here?!” Michael said again, shaking his head. “I’ll tip off Heelo if he doesn’t know already.”

  “Go ahead. He’s probably gone by now,” Gray said. Michael tried reaching Heelo, but couldn’t get through. He watched every corner and shadow, moving like he was advancing through an enemy warren. Gray continued to walk along calmly and paid Michael no mind.

  “He’s hired every merc in town. You don’t think he’s going to come after us?” Michael asked.

  “He might, but I’d be more concerned if he was alone.”

  They arrived at the final establishment where they had any chance of hiring mercenaries. The Diablo was built out of an old central cargo hold from a Tiaski freighter turned upright. Its cylinder shape formed a fine theater in the round but it was used primarily for fighting matches. On its exterior, a neon sign buzzed and struggled to stay lit.

  They stepped inside to a place filled with smoke, bodies, and sweat. It smelled of stale beer and oil, and everything was metal. A sweating fat man sat in the corner holding a bloodied towel over his face. Nearby a woman swore at him and wielded a chair. At the bar, Michael saw two hired guns that he knew. They pounded shots like they’d just come back from a job, not like they were about to go out on one. “You just get hired out for a job?” Michael asked.

  “This is the job!” one of them responded, handing Michael a drink. He smirked, took a sip of the potent, local booze and put it down.

  Michael followed Gray through the bar. Around a chain link fence, a roaring crowd circled a fighting pit. They pushed through to see what was below.

  “Oh, Jesus Christ!” Michael huffed. He had expected to see men engaged in mixed-martial arts, but below them were two Phaelon warriors. Seven-foot-tall, bipedal lizards in red ceremonial armor squared off. They circled and howled at each other, the scales on their backs fanning out in brilliant shades of red. Gray looked over the scene with interest. The Phaelon put such a hurt on the Assault Corps during the war that they held a special place of distaste for many veterans, even after the survivors of their race had been consigned to slavery. But Gray had never felt that way. To him Phaelon were like sharks—good at killing and excellent hunters.

  The owner of the establishment sidled up to them. He was a hollow-cheeked man named Rain Saling who wore the Believer mark on his forehead. “Michael Solandro! General Gray!” Michael had made rounds on Golgotha for years. Gray never needed to introduce himself to any man who’d served. Rain shook their hands vigorously and instantly they both had drinks they hadn’t asked for.

  Gray handed his back. “I’ve got closed eyes now. Thank you.” Michael looked at him sideways. He had no reservations and sipped the whiskey, letting the fine off-world alcohol slide around his tongue.

  Ever since what happened on The Outpost, Michael had noticed a change in Gray. After he’d let the men have it and burned their religious totems, he’d calmed. He hadn’t spoken to anyone, actually. He’d sent written orders and stayed in his quarters. He had only emerged when they’d gotten to Golgotha and were about to descend. When he finally spoke again, his eyes were more at peace than at any time Michael could remember. His frantic energy and anger were gone. It seemed like something true pulsed through him. He spent the last hour or so before landing praying with Izabeck. Usually, he barely tolerated the man’s shadow.

  Gray took his finger and traced the Believer mark over his own forehead, not breaking eye contact with Rain. “You’ve got a rich interpretation of God’s Word here.” Gray smiled, nodding to the action below.

  Rain changed the subject, uncomfortable with Gray’s implication. “The Phaelon, they just want to die in battle. Since they’ve been under our thumbs, life’s not life.” Rain drained a bottle of beer.

  “I’ll attest to that,” Michael said. He knew the Phaelon well. He’d never fought against them, but he’d contracted out to work as a guard on a Phaelon labor camp that had been set up on the Glox homeworld after the war. He could speak bits of their language and knew their ways. He’d come to understand that the surviving Phaelon thought of themselves as husks and leftovers that looked to make their race whole again by dying in battle.

  Below, a huge female Phaelon named Droma tossed a metal ball from hand to hand. Her opponent glided back and forth on hover boots like an ice skater going nowhere. Droma tracked him and threw the ball. It missed and bounced back like rubber to her hand. Her opponent glided in and smashed Droma across the chest with a baton. It should have been enough to take her out, but she was made of harder stuff. As her opponent celebrated for the crowd, she dropped him with a ball to the back of the head. Gray raised an eyebrow as Droma ripped a ribbon from her fallen opponent’s chest.

  A master of ceremonies walked to the middle of the ring with a megaphone. “The winner is the new blood, Droma! Leader of Wessei Clan, warrior of the Red Forest from Phaelon Prime via the labor camp on Glox.” Droma continued to hiss for the crowd.

  Rain shook his head. “That one is a monster. Been holding her and her clan in reserve so they don’t wipe out all my fighters.”

  Gray nodded. “You know why we’re here…”

  “Yes, I’ve heard you’ve been looking to hire out. I was expecting you.”

  “But let me guess, you’ve just had all your shooters signed by an anonymous party within just the last hour.”

  Rain nodded. “That’s right. So what do you think? The Phaelon take orders blindly. They’re loyal. Fight until dead. Arnock can’t play mind games with them.”

  Michael choked on his drink. “Hire out a Phaelon clan? Thank you for the booze, but that’s insane.”

  Gray calmed him with a wave of his hand and Rain continued. “I would pray you’d put aside your distaste…”

  Gray interrupted him. “As Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, even so must the son of man be l
ifted up.” Gray looked down at Droma, the lizard locking eyes with him, the red scales on her back flaring. “The son of man must be lifted up.”

  “Emmanuel!” Michael drew close to Gray and hissed in his ear, “I know the Phaelon. They’re looking to die in battle, and they’re not picky about the fights they choose.”

  “We need what they can teach us, Michael.”

  “They might teach us how to get our throats slit while we sleep.”

  Gray turned to Rain. “I want the champion and her whole clan.”

  “That’s nine others.”

  Gray nodded, satisfied, noting Rain’s Believer symbol on his forehead once more. “You’ll be well paid, but you can care for my men. Some are badly wounded. It’ll be your penance for this.” Gray shook hands with Rain, handing him a credit card that was loaded with The Clergy’s money. Rain scanned it and handed it back.

  “Thank you, General.”

  “It’s Bishop Gray now and thank you, but one thing. You wear that symbol? Aren’t you ashamed? Have you considered maybe staying true to God?” Gray asked. Michael had to look away to avoid rolling his eyes.

  “If men like me were true to God, there’d be no Golgotha,” Rain responded. Gray nodded and turned to go, Michael following. “Faith’s a little different, here in the boondocks!” Rain called after him, daring a laugh.

  “I’ll be back to cleanse this place,” Gray said calmly, turning back with a smile. “Fire is a great antiseptic.” Rain cocked his head and watched them leave. “That’ll change Golgotha.”

  Michael followed Gray, taking uncertain steps. Gray stopped at the exit, looking at a message on his smart-device. Hiring out a Phaelon clan was madness, but what really disturbed Michael was the zealotry. Michael had always assumed Gray was faking his religious devotion—that he needed to say and do what The Clergy had wanted after what happened on Nova Turin. He had actually been impressed at how he had played them and bulldozed Cardinal Jacob into obscurity. But if Gray was embracing this faith now and it was sincere, then he couldn’t imagine a more dangerous man alive. He thought of a hundred worlds like Golgotha cleansed by God’s Word and burning.