Assassination Protocol: An Intergalactic Space Opera Adventure (Cerberus Book 1)

by Andy Peloquin

  He gripped the arms of his wheelchair, but it didn’t stop the shaking in his hands. “Keep working on the suit, and keep me updated on your scan for our hiding White Sharks. The moment we find them, I want to know.”

  “Will do, boss.” The robotic arms never stopped moving as Taia worked on his armor.

  “Until then, enable privacy mode.”

  For an instant, so fast he thought he was imagining it, the robotic arms seemed to falter mid-motion. Yet when Taia’s voice echoed through his earpiece, there was no hint that anything was amiss. “Privacy mode enabled.”

  There was no click, no sudden change to let Nolan know that the AI had shut off the cameras connected to his optic nerves. He couldn’t know for sure that Taia even had enabled privacy mode, but he trusted her as much as he could trust a programmed intelligence.

  That trust was why he didn’t want her to see what he was doing now.

  His mouth felt suddenly dry, his arms weak as he wheeled himself over to his combat suit’s pack. A tremor shook his hands as he drew out the applicator and the twin glass vials, and he felt a strange pressure on his chest. He found he was holding his breath—whether in anticipation or fear, he couldn’t tell.

  The Blitz shimmered and sparkled in the light of his workshop, like some strange fountain of magic that promised him hidden wonders when he plumbed their depths. The storm within him roiled so furiously he could not tell what he truly felt. All he knew was that he wanted the Blitz. More than anything else in the world.

  The world disappeared in an empty, silent blur. Nothing remained but the slow, steady beat of Nolan’s pulse thump, thump, thumping in his ears, the dancing lights reflected off the Blitz so dangerously, temptingly near.

  How long had it been since his last taste? He knew the answer—he’d repeated it to himself every day four years, ten months, three weeks, and three days. A long time to be clean. Too long.

  The sight of those bottles brought back all the memories. Memories of floating free in the hazy void of peace. Of feeling the agony of his injured spine slowly fading away, drowned beneath the blissful embrace of nothingness. Of knowing that he didn’t have to see those haunting faces again.

  There were just too many faces. More than he could possibly name—men and women in the wrong suit of armor on the wrong side of his rifle, or IAF soldiers cut down at his side. Too many that he could name. Tarumi Omishi, Adem Turren, Nalen Strachan, IAF grunts unlucky enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Natalya Alexandreva, call sign Thunderbird, gunned down hauling Warbeast Team to safety.

  Some hurt far more than the others. Erasmus Gull, call sign Ogre, torn to shreds by heavy machine gun fire—from a mech Nolan had seen too late. Tanis Janssen, call sign Cruella De Vil, shot down not ten meters from where he sat, taking the bullet meant for Nolan. Now Clive and Jadis, caught in the White Sharks’ drive-by shooting. His fault. All of them had died—or were dying—because of him. Because he was too slow, too high, or simply not there to keep them out of harm’s way.

  That had been his one job. Cerberus, Warbeast Team’s sniper, had been given the task of taking out the mech pilots. He’d had the weapons, the armor, the support, the tech, and the skill. Yet for every time he’d succeeded—he hadn’t bothered keeping count—there had been too many times when he’d failed. And when he did, people got hurt. People he cared about. People like Erasmus, Tanis, and Jadis.

  Every fiber of his being ached to forget those faces. To forget the crushing burden of guilt that accompanied them. Taia’s electrical surges could help, at least long enough for him to stay focused and on-mission. Long enough to pull the trigger. But all that did was lock the memories away for a few minutes. When they came back—and they always did—he couldn’t hide from them.

  Not for lack of trying. He’d done everything he could to wipe away the pain. The pain of losing friends and comrades, and of losing the one thing in the world that had mattered to him: the Silverguard. For those long, dark months after being medded out, he’d tried to drown it out with anything he got his hands on. Alcohol didn’t work, so he’d turned to stronger solutions. Yet none of them had worked, not long enough. A full dose of Blitz, Gunk, or whatever else had been available at the time would only keep him flying high for a few hours. When he inevitably came crashing down, the flood of painful memories would return.

  He’d try again, and again, and again, dose after dose, drug after drug. Nothing worked. Nothing kept the memories away. Nothing dulled the anguish of knowing he could never have the life he wanted above all else. The life of a Silverguard, surrounded by the closest thing he had to a family outside of Jared.

  Thoughts of Jared only made things worse. His brother had followed him into the IAF, but washed out of Silverguard training. After Nolan’s medical discharge, he’d lost contact with his brother. Next time he heard Jared’s name, it was spoken by Agent Styver and followed by a prisoner number. He hadn’t spoken to his brother for more than five years. Guilt compounded by more guilt knowing that he’d pushed Jared away when his brother came to him after his injury. Out of his rage and helplessness, Nolan had refused to let Jared see him in his condition. He’d never had a chance to speak to his brother again.

  Emotions surged over Nolan, a tidal wave that threatened to pull him under. He felt as if he was drowning beneath his remorse, loss, pain, and regret. It had gotten so bad he’d nearly ended it all five years earlier. That only brought more guilt and driven him to try something—anything—to make sure he never felt that way again. At least on Blitz, he felt good for a change. Or, he didn’t feel useless, worthless, and hopeless.

  Yet that hadn’t worked for long. It was as if the same thing that healed his wounds kept the drugs from giving him the relief and escape he needed. He’d tried everything, in larger and more dangerous quantities. Nothing worked.

  Until it did. Too well. Something someone had sold him—he’d been too focused on getting high to ask its name, and never managed to find the dealer again—had nearly killed him. Worse, it had killed Tanis. Killed her because he was so high he didn’t see the threat until it was too late. She’d taken a bullet saving his life, and he’d been so paralyzed by the drug’s effects he hadn’t been able to keep her from bleeding out.

  That was the day he'd vowed to quit. And quit he had. He’d gotten clean, pushed himself through the Heavy Detox protocol. He had forced himself to feel every shred of misery, to endure the torments to his body and mind as the detoxing process flushed all the chemicals from his bloodstream. He owed it to Tanis.

  He’d stayed clean for that reason, too. Almost as if feeling the pain of his wounds and memories was his way of atoning for his mistakes, his failings.

  But now, with a new name added to his list—Jadis’ name—he found the anguish growing once more, the tidal wave rising and threatening to crash down atop him. With trembling hands, he reached for one vial of Blitz. He cradled it in his palm, staring down at the shimmering pink liquid in the vial.

  It would be so easy. So easy to forget the pain. One quick press of the applicator button and he could forget about Jadis, fighting for her life on the operating table. He could forget about Tanis, Erasmus, and all the others. He could be free of the burden, if only for a few hours. Surely after all this time, the Blitz would be more potent. It would give him the escape he’d craved since the day he got clean.

  He picked up the applicator. Stared at it for long seconds. Taia wouldn’t see him do this, wouldn’t register the presence of Blitz in his bloodstream until he was already riding the high. No one would know. Better still, no one would be hurt by it. Here, alone in his workshop, he couldn’t fail anyone again. Tanis and Erasmus were already dead, and Jadis already lay on the table. Her survival was out of his hands. He could do nothing but sit here and wait. For his armor, for Taia to find his targets. He had time. Just time enough for a little dose.

  His finger went to the button. A shiver ran down his spine, electricity tingling in his nerves. He could alread
y feel the pleasure of the drug, even though he hadn’t injected it. That memory—the soft, soothing comfort of Blitz’ embrace—hadn’t dulled with the passage of the years.

  He blinked, licked his lips. His hands seemed to move of their own accord, going through motions as familiar as working the bolt-action lever of his rifle. Bringing the half-full applicator to his arm, putting the tip just above the vein the way he’d always done it to ensure it got into his bloodstream as quickly as possible.

  A tiny voice screamed in the back of his mind—begging him to remain focused, to keep their faces in his mind, to resist the urge to numb himself to the guilt and remorse—but he ignored it. The call of the Blitz was strong enough to drown it out.

  Drawing in a deep breath, Nolan prepared to press the button. One press, and the pain would go away. Simple and easy, and no one would get hurt because of—

  “Nolan!” Taia’s voice blared though the workshop speakers. “You need to get into the living room, now! It’s Bex!”

  Chapter Eighteen

  The voice of the AI jerked Nolan from his trance, so violently he dropped the applicator. Glass shattered and the contents of the half-full vial of Blitz splashed across the floor, a bright pink stain on the dark grey permacrete.

  Instantly, Nolan spun his chair away from the workshop table and headed toward the door. He had time only for the tiniest twinge—the junkie he’d been five years ago would have shrieked at seeing so much gone to waste—but his attention was immediately riveted on Bex the moment the workshop door slid open.

  The Silverguard was no longer on the couch. Instead, she lay writhing and jerking on the floor, racked by spasms that shook her entire body, set her arms and legs flailing. Her unintelligible screams echoed off the walls of his living room, and her wide-open eyes were locked on something on the roof.

  Nolan knew those invisible demons—or ghosts—all too well. He’d seen them the days he went through the Heavy Detox, too.

  “Shit!” Nolan hurtled toward Bex as fast as he could propel his wheelchair. “Situation update, Taia!”

  “I just administered the detox meds two minutes ago, but it seems they’re purging the Blitz from her system faster than I expected.” The AI’s voice was nearly panicked. “Her drug-dependent body is going haywire in the absence of its opioid of choice. But the real problem is her heart. She’s at risk of sudden cardiac arrest if I can’t get this cardioprotective sedative into her.”

  The problem became immediately apparent. Bex’s spasming movements had not only knocked her off the couch, they’d ripped the IV free of her arm. Blood pumped from the hole in Bex’s arm, and the IV tube itself waved in the air, like a snake looking for an opening to strike. Only this serpentine conduit held the medications Bex desperately needed to survive.

  “I’ve got her!” Nolan shouted. “Get ready to sedate her!”

  He wheeled toward the writhing, jerking woman as fast as he could, then threw himself out of his wheelchair. One of Bex’s thrashing hands struck him as he landed atop her, with force enough to set his head ringing. But he ignored the pain—he’d gotten good at that—and seized her arms. Right arm first, with a thumb clamped down over the bleeding wound. He squeezed, applying pressure to just the right spot on her ulnar nerve to momentarily render the limb motionless. As her arm flopped to the floor beside her jerking body, Nolan struggled to grab the other.

  “No!” Bex’s wide eyes suddenly locked on his face, a wild, manic light burning there. Her pale face contorted into a mask of rage and her left hand clamped around his throat. “No!” she screamed again. “Get away from us, you bastard!”

  Nolan tore her hand from his neck. “Bex! Bex, it’s Nolan.”

  “No, you don’t!” Bex shrieked. Again, her hand latched around his throat, squeezing with terrible force. She had the crushing strength of a Silverguard, even weakened by the muscle-wasting effects of Blitz. “You already took him from me. I won’t let you take her, too!”

  The pain, terror, and fury in Bex’s voice sent a shiver down Nolan’s spine. His efforts to break her grip on his neck proved fruitless; stuck in her drug-fueled nightmare, she was too strong.

  “Taia!” Nolan croaked. “Get…it…done!”

  “She’s still moving too much,” Taia replied. “You need to hold her still long enough for me to get this needle in without damaging her arm.”

  “Easier said than done!” Nolan grunted as the fingers around his throat tightened. He tried using the same nerve point grip on Bex’s arm, but even in her maddened state, she had combat reflexes enough to twist her elbow to shrug off his hand. A vicious punch to Nolan’s face rocked his head. He tasted blood and pain throbbed through his face.

  “Rosette!” Bex screamed in his face. “Rosette!” Another blow to the jaw snapped Nolan’s head to the side, and a knee slammed into his back. The combination of spasming and struggling nearly knocked him from atop Bex, and it took every shred of strength to cling to her arms as he tried to get her under control. “Please, bring her back!”

  Nolan clung to Bex’s flailing left arm with one hand, struggling to keep pressure on the puncture in her right arm. He’d just managed to grab her wrist when her right arm jerked. The return of sensation meant she’d recover use of her muscles. In seconds, she’d be back to flailing at him, punching at whatever monster she saw in her drug-induced hallucinations. He needed to get her sedated before she hurt herself seriously—or before her heart gave out.

  He gave up on trying to get her under control, but threw himself on her right arm, trapping it in a triangle shoulder lock. Shrieking and screaming incoherently, she struggled with such ferocity Nolan feared she’d pull her shoulder and elbow out of place. Yet he hung on, applying pressure to the puncture wound and fighting to hold the arm immobile.

  Just long enough for Taia’s robotic needle to dart in. Steel drove into flesh and, with a loud hiss, Taia injected the sedative into Bex’s system.

  Instantly, Nolan released his grip on Bex’s arm. The woman’s flailing began to slow, her writhing growing weaker one agonizing heartbeat at a time, until her arms dropped at her side and her legs stilled.

  Nolan let out a long, relieved gasp, and slumped atop the now-unconscious Bex. He drew in one ragged breath, then another, and wiped the sweat from his forehead. He hadn’t been in a fight like that in a damned long time.

  “How is she?” he finally managed to ask Taia.

  “Sedated,” the AI answered. “The opioid receptor antagonist I gave her is working, too. But I need you to check her airway, make sure she’s breathing.”

  Nolan pressed two fingers to her throat. Her pulse raced, though he could feel it begin to slow. But when he checked for any breath sounds, only silence greeted his ears.

  Damn it!

  “She’s not breathing! And I’ve lost her pulse.” Without his suit, Nolan couldn’t give her proper CPR. But he couldn’t just let her die. “What’s going on? What do I do?”

  “The sedative must have caused reduced respiration,” Taia told him. Her robotic arm snaked down from the ceiling, wielding a scalpel that sliced open two small slits in Bex’s shirt with dexterous precision. Another sinuous steel limb slid into the openings with more electrical leads connected to wires, which Taia placed on Bex’s chest and ribs. “I’m getting no pulse, either. Get clear. I need to shock her back into sinus rhythm.”

  Rolling over, Nolan dragged himself off Bex’s body, then twisted around until his head was level with hers.

  “I’m clear!” he called.

  “Shocking once.” A little whining hum ran through the robotic arm, and Bex’s upper body jerked as a wave of electricity coursed through her. “Administer rescue breaths.”

  Nolan pulled himself up and onto his elbows, tilted Bex’s head back, and pressed his mouth to hers for two long exhales. Done, he moved back, his ear hovering over her lips, and listened for any intake of oxygen. Silence.

  No! Helplessness washed over Nolan. He’d never felt so powerless, no
t even the day Ogre had died in his arms. Then, he’d had a chance, however slim, to try and stop the bleeding. Now, he could only check her pulse again. It had slowed…too much. Her heart was going sluggish. He had to get her breathing again.

  “Come on!” He pushed back away from her. “I’m clear!”

  “Shocking a second time,” Taia said in his earpiece.

  Again, the little whining hum of coursing electricity, and Bex’s body jerked, stronger this time.

  “More breaths!”

  Nolan crawled forward until he could position himself above Bex. Tilting her head back, he pinched her nostrils shut and covered her mouth. Come on, Bex! Fight, damn you!

  He blew. Once, twice, with force enough to inflate her lungs. This time, when he pulled back, he heard the blessed sound of her ragged breathing.

  “Move aside, Nolan!” Taia’s robotic arm slithered past his head. “I’ve got this.” This time, the AI-controlled limb held a needle, which she injected into Bex’s arm. “This will help to reverse some of the sedative’s effect.”

  Nolan rolled away from Bex and fell onto his back. He lay gasping, his upper body on fire and his face throbbing. Though his loud, panting breath echoed in the room, hope surged within him as he watched the steady rise and fall of Bex’s chest. Slowly, the pounding of his pulse quieted until he could hear her breathing. She lay still, sedated and resting peacefully—a welcome change after whatever torment she’d just endured in her hallucinations.

  Bloody hell! His hands trembled, this time from the adrenaline coursing through his veins. That was too damned close.

  “Nolan?” Taia’s voice echoed through the speaker implanted in his inner ear. “Are you okay?”

  “Just fine, Taia.” Nolan sat up, grunting with the effort, and hauled himself into his wheelchair. His arms and shoulders trembled, exhausted from the struggle, but he managed to pull his body into a half-twisted seated position. There he sat, gasping for breath, yet suddenly very aware of what had just happened. Or what had nearly happened.