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

by Andy Peloquin

  Wolfe leaned in close, dropping his voice to a low hiss. “And this is for Ledren.”

  He dug the knife’s tip into Nolan’s gut. Slowly, one millimeter at a time, pushing so gently that Nolan could feel every fiber of his skin and muscle parting beneath that razor-sharp blade. This time, he couldn’t hold back the cries of pain as Wolfe drove the knife deep enough to inflict serious agony, then pulled it free just before damaging the organs.

  “A nice little appetizer, isn’t it?” A cruel grin broadened Wolfe’s tattooed face. “We’ve got to get you nice and warmed up for the main course.” Sheathing his knife, he reached into his pockets and drew out a pair of brass knuckles.

  He wound up and drove a vicious right hook into Nolan’s face. The impact snapped Nolan’s head around so hard a twinge ran up and down his neck, and agony coursed through his cheek and jaw. Wolfe’s next punch crashed into his gut, knocking the breath from his lungs and doubling him over.

  “Hah!” Laughing, Wolfe seized his hair and yanked his head up, driving a blow straight into his nose and mouth. “Let’s see how tough you really are, Ironhand!”

  At that moment, Nolan felt anything but tough. Pain surged through his face and blood coursed from a cut on his jaw, a split lip, and a nose that felt broken. The world spun around him so violently it set his stomach churning. He never saw Wolfe’s next blow coming.

  Darkness and stars exploded in his vision, and something slammed into his left shoulder and the side of his head. He found himself on the ground, still shackled to the chair, but he could see nothing through the dizziness that gripped him.

  A loud crackling echoed just above his head. This time, the sparks in his eyes weren’t the result of the blow, but a stun baton gripped in Wolfe’s hand.

  “Nolan!” Taia’s voice echoed in his ear. The AI was panicked. “You’ve got to get out of there!”

  “Easier said than done, at the moment!” Even just thinking the words hurt. Pain radiated from his gut, the cuts in his arms and stomach, and the bruised and lacerated flesh of his face.

  “Listen to me!” Taia flooded his mind with neurochemicals and adrenaline, momentarily pushing back the pain and dizziness enough to give him a heartbeat of clarity. “That stun baton generates more than a million volts of electricity. With that much, there’s a risk it’ll short out my circuits, so I can’t—“

  Lightning sizzled down his arm from the stun baton, searing every fiber and sending a sudden overwhelming surge of pain racing along every functioning nerve in his body. His muscles went rigid, clenching so tight he couldn’t move, couldn’t think, could barely breathe. The agony flooding him set his mind shrieking and retreating. Blackness surged in on him, threatening to drag him into unconsciousness.

  As quickly as it had come, the pain fled. Through the spasming, racking convulsions left by the electricity, Nolan barely registered Wolfe pulling back the stun baton.

  “Taia!” Nolan screamed in his mind.

  Another sudden jolt of agony, and Nolan’s arms, still handcuffed to the chair, writhed and jerked as the electrical current burned its way through him. His mind flickered out of consciousness and back again, so fast it felt like dying and being revived a hundred times in the space of a heartbeat.

  When Wolfe pulled the stun baton away, Nolan could feel nothing—no pain, no sensation, not even the rough texture of the permacrete beneath him. Only the twitching and jerking of his limbs as the electricity sizzled through his nerves.

  Panic and fear rose within him now. He managed to clear his mind, just enough to shout for Taia. “Talk to me!”

  Nothing but silence met his mental shout.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Nolan tasted real, genuine terror for his life. He was alone, unarmed, restrained, and at the mercy of the White Sharks—all of whom wanted him dead. If he didn’t find a way to escape, Wolfe would put a bullet—possibly a few dozen—in his head. Or something far worse, something excruciating that would send a message to everyone in New Avalon not to mess with the White Sharks.

  Worse, he had no Taia. The AI had been in his brain for years, a constant companion he’d come to rely on. Literally. Without her, he was nothing more than a paraplegic bound to a wheelchair. He had no way to move, no way to escape, to flee the danger surrounding him.

  “Taia!” He tried to connect to her via the mental commands. She couldn’t be gone. He couldn’t be alone and helpless. Not again. “Say something! Anything!”

  Again, silence was the only reply.

  Nolan’s heart hammered a frantic beat in his chest, and fear spiked within him as Wolfe sent another blast of electricity coursing through his limbs. Not enough to knock him out this time, just keep him writhing and in agony as the voltage seared pain through his muscles and nerves.

  “Come on, Taia!” Nolan screamed in his mind, helpless against the pain. But the AI didn’t answer him.

  “Wolfe!” A new voice, booming and commanding, resounded through the warehouse. “What did I tell you about killing him before I got here?”

  The pain cut off again, leaving Nolan gasping, every muscle in his body seizing up, his limbs jerking out of control. Through the spots of light whirling in his eyes, Nolan managed to fix his spinning gaze on the men striding out from the darkness of the warehouse. Gustav Wylun might have been shorter than Declan and the other goons at his back, but he loomed over everyone. Even Wolfe seemed to shrink in on himself in the face of his boss’ anger.

  “Don’t worry, boss! I’m just getting him warmed up for the main event.”

  Was it Nolan’s imagination, or did Wolfe actually sound hesitant, fearful? At the moment, it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but his own desperate attempts to regain control over his body—a body that refused to heed even the slightest command.

  Gustav Wylun strode past his lieutenant without a second glance, his disdain and dismissal evident in every contour of his face. He moved to stand over Nolan and fixed him with a hard glare. Once again, Nolan was struck by the utter absence of warmth and emotion in the man’s eyes—like the sharks from which the gang derived its name.

  He snapped fingers heavy with gemstone-encrusted gold and silver rings. “Up.”

  Wolfe’s thugs jumped into action without hesitation. Once again, Nolan was lifted from the floor—chair and all—and set back down facing Gustav Wylun. Nolan sagged, his limbs flopping weakly, his jaw muscles clamped too tight to form words. He could do nothing but stare up at the White Sharks’ leader.

  Unlike Wolfe, Gustav didn’t sit. Nor did he bother with any pretense of friendliness. He simply fixed Nolan with a hard glare, his face a stony mask.

  “Ledren was my son,” the White Sharks boss said in a quiet voice. “And you killed him.”

  There was no threat in the man’s voice, no question. Simply a statement, spoken with the same dispassion Nolan felt when staring through his scope at an enemy downrange. No anger blazed in his eyes or cracked his icy facade—if he felt the loss of his son, he hid it well.

  But as Nolan met the man’s gaze, he knew without a shred of doubt that Gustav planned to kill him. The only question was how and how long his death would take.

  “Come on, Taia!” He shouted at the AI in his mind. Silence answered.

  Panic dug into Nolan’s brain. He needed the AI—without her, he was at Gustav’s mercy. His mind raced and acid surged in his gut. He’d let himself be put in this situation; now, he had no way out.

  With slow, deliberate movements, Gustav shrugged out of his fancy, perfectly tailored overcoat and handed it to Declan. He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and, without looking away from Nolan, held out a hand. “Knuckles.”

  Wolfe drew out the bloodied brass knuckles and passed them to his boss. Still moving slowly, holding Nolan’s gaze without blinking, Gustav Wylun slid the knuckledusters onto his hands and loosened up his muscles.

  “What do you think happens when my body’s found?” Nolan asked. He h
ad to stall for time, buy himself a few more seconds. “The IAF’s going to dig into the murder of a veteran, and that’s not going to be good for your business.”

  “True.” Gustav Wylun inclined his head. “But no one’s going to find your body. Firedeep Canyon lives up to its name.” He flexed his huge hands and rolled his head, eliciting loud crackling from his neck joints. “Yours wouldn’t be the first corpse we send down to feed the scraprats.”

  Nolan grimaced at the mental image. Whoever had come up with the name “scraprat” had been cruel. Unlike their Old Terran rat counterparts, scraprats were tall enough to reach a grown man’s waist and had teeth and temperament akin to the wolverines that once roamed Old Terra. Scraprats made the giant razorfang lizards of Terra Omega look cuddly by comparison. They’d strip his body in a matter of minutes, then snap his bones to suck out the marrow. A gruesome fate, indeed.

  A blow from Gustav snapped Nolan’s head to the side and sent pain coursing through his face. He tasted blood and a new ache settled just below the one left by Wolfe’s blow. Blood pounded in his skull with such force he thought his brain would explode.

  “Taia!” Nolan called in his mind. “If you don’t WAKE UP, we’re seriously fucked!”

  No answer from the AI. Despair settled over Nolan, and for the first time, he began to struggle against the restraints. The handcuffs were strong and his muscles still weakened by the electricity’s after-effects. Though the chair creaked every time a punch set him reeling, it didn’t break.

  Panic washed over him, and instinct shrieked like a caged animal in his mind. He had to fight, had to find a way to get out of here now! The moment Gustav realized that his blows weren’t doing as much damage as he believed—that Nolan’s strange healing ability was already hard at work repairing the injuries—he’d change tactics. With his accelerated healing, he was a torturer’s dream victim. The White Sharks would keep him alive for days, weeks even, and find ways to make every second sheer misery. If he didn’t get out, he was—

  A blow to the face knocked him to the side and he toppled over once more, his head striking the ground with jarring force. The world spun around him until he saw three Gustavs crouching over him.

  Sweat streamed down the gang leader’s rotund face, but his voice was as cold as ever. “Ledren was a disappointment. As unreliable as the junkies who bought his product. But he was still my son, despite it all. You killed him. Your life is mine to end.”

  Nolan’s gaze slid past the White Sharks’ leader, toward Wolfe standing next to Declan, then the heavily armed goons standing around watching. His eyes fell on his wheelchair, his last hope of getting out of this alive.

  “Please, Taia!” he begged in his mind. “Please wake up!”

  Then he saw it. A flicker of motion, so faint it could have been his imagining. But he felt it, too. And that brought a massive grin to his face. Laughter bubbled up from Nolan’s bruised, aching chest, and he made no attempt to stifle it.

  “Laughter?” Gustav’s brow furrowed. He shot a glance over his shoulder. “Wolfe, is this another military thing? Black humor in the face of certain death?”

  “Oh, death is certain, all right!” Nolan spat a gob of bloody phlegm and lifted his head from the ground. “Taia’s going to make damned sure of that.”

  “Taia?” Confusion twisted Gustav Wylun’s pudgy face. He spun toward his White Sharks. “You said you searched the perimeter!”

  “It’s clear, boss, I swear!” Wolfe paled, his eyes going wide, and he fumbled for the golden pistols on his belt. “We cleared it out before you got here and there’s been no sign of anyone else.”

  “Then who the fuck is this Taia he’s babbling on about?” Gustav roared. “I want her hunted down and brought to me—“

  “You won’t find her.” Nolan’s grin broadened. “Not until it’s too late for you.” His gaze darted back toward his wheelchair. “Taia, activate Reinforcement Protocol.”

  There was no voice in his earpiece, but he didn’t need it. Taia was very much alive and kicking. The moment he gave the order, the wheelchair began to move. Like ripples across a pond, the steel smart cells suddenly shifted, collapsing from a solid frame and wheels to liquid metal that slithered along the permacrete floor. It all happened so fast the White Sharks had no time to raise their guns or fire at the puddle of fast-moving steel metal wending toward him with the speed of a darting rattlesnake.

  Cold metal clamped around Nolan’s wrists and expanded, shattering the handcuffs holding him bound. In the same instant, the serpentine steel filaments wrapped around his waist and seeped down his legs, encircling his thighs, knees, calves, ankles, and feet. The liquid hardened and formed a wire-thin framework of steel that ran from waist to heels.

  With a surge of biochemical energy drawn from within Nolan’s body, the framework brought him leaping to his feet, darting forward with impossible speed. His right hand closed around Gustav Wylun’s fat throat and his left dropped to the pistol holstered at the man’s rotund waist. Before Gustav could utter a sound, Nolan ripped the gun free and brought it whipping around to crack across the White Sharks leader’s skull. Bone shattered beneath the impact and Gustav Wylun fell, blood gushing from the deep laceration in the side of his head.

  One of the ex-IAF goons behind Nolan recovered enough to cry out. “Shit!”

  Nolan threw himself to the side, a heartbeat before a wave of Machnikov X-AR blaster fire tore through the warehouse. Bolts sizzled through the air where his head had been, punching into the permacrete floor and tearing Gustav Wylun a half-dozen new smoking holes.

  Even as he moved, Nolan cocked the pistol with the smooth, precise motion of a trained expert and brought the weapon up. This was no gold-plated handgun like Wolfe carried, but a cutting-edge blaster that fired bolts capable of punching through flesh and all but the thickest combat suit armor. Declan, clad in nothing but a tailored suit, stood no chance.

  Misfortune worked in the White Sharks lieutenant’s favor. The wire frame supporting Nolan’s legs suddenly wobbled, the metal going rigid and locking up. Nolan’s shot went wide and he fell, hard, but managed to drop into a forward roll. His shoulder slammed against the permacrete and the impact sent a new spike of agony rippling through his upper body, but as his forward motion brought him back up to his feet, Taia regained control of the steel cells and he managed to stay upright.

  “Kill him!” came Declan’s booming shout. “A hundred thousand credits to whoever takes him down!”

  Nolan couldn’t help his savage grin. Time to make them earn that money.

  He threw himself behind a pillar, just in time to avoid a wave of assault rifle fire. The Machnikov X-ARs spat blaster bolts capable of punching through metal and tearing flesh and bone to ribbons. Without his combat suit, just one shot could prove fatal. Even with his armor, he’d have been hard-pressed to walk away from this fight.

  But he’d come all this way to get his targets into position for the kill. Wolfe’s arrival at the Spacer’s Paradise had given him the perfect opportunity to lure Gustav out of hiding. He’d taken the boss down, but if Declan escaped, he’d go into hiding as well.

  That meant Nolan had to fight. Impossible odds or not, he couldn’t quit now.

  “Taia?” he asked in his mind.

  “No…lan.” Taia’s voice crackled between syllables. “…you…hear me?”

  Relief flooded Nolan, and a huge smile broadened his face. “Damn, Taia, but you gave me a scare!” He popped out from behind the pillar, sent a triplet of blaster bolts sizzling toward the White Sharks, and ducked back behind cover. “You up for this?”

  “Of course…I am!” The AI’s words filtered into his earpiece, growing clearer as she regained control of the chip in his brain and his framework combat suit. “You didn’t think something like that would put me down, did you?”

  “I never doubted you!” Nolan grimaced as another wave of blaster bolts tore massive chunks out of the pillar sheltering him. “Ready to do this?”
/>   “You lead, I follow, as always, boss!”

  Again, laughter bubbled up from Nolan’s chest. It didn’t matter that he was about to face near-certain death at the hands of the White Sharks—it was just so good to have Taia back.

  “Go!” He spun to the left, shot once, then pivoted and raced right. Assault rifles barked, sending a wave of bolts cutting through the spot where he’d been standing. Even as the permacrete pillar crumbled beneath the hailstorm, Nolan brought his gun up, aimed, and fired. His finger squeezed the trigger over and over again, sending bolt after bolt sizzling into the White Sharks. Screams and shouts of agony echoed over the firing guns and the enraged cries of “Kill him!” Four White Sharks dropped, smoking holes punched clean through them.

  Click. Nolan’s heart leapt into his throat as the blaster tried to fire on an empty magazine. He’d counted his shots, but it seemed Gustav hadn’t bothered to reload the gun’s eighteen-bolt clip since its last use.

  Damn it! He had no gun, no knife, nothing but empty hands to take on a whole lot of White Sharks.

  “Suck on this, you bastard!” Wolfe’s roar echoed through the warehouse.

  Nolan’s gaze darted toward the gangbanger.

  Wolfe stood thirty meters away, legs planted. He’d ditched the golden pistols, and in their place he held an M751 SAW light machine gun aimed right at Nolan’s chest. With a vicious grin, Wolfe pulled the trigger.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Time froze as the stream of steel-jacketed bullets hurtled toward Nolan like the spectral finger of death. Even with his Silverguard-honed reflexes, he had no chance of getting out of the way in time.

  But Taia did. Before he even had time to register the bullets’ trajectory or come up with an evasion plan, the AI snapped the legs of his framework combat suit into movement. The sudden sideways motion wrenched his spine and sent pain flaring through his back and neck, but saved his life. In the time it took his brain to catch up, Taia had carried him two meters away—out of the path of the machine gun fire.