by Kacey Ezell
“Asash, take your element and sweep for unusual activity, confirm all drones are down and then return to base. All others, good work. RTB now.”
With a thought, she turned the Basreeni formation back toward home, and finally slow blinked a smile.
* * *
Her target died peacefully.
And then everything fell apart.
Technically, it blasted apart, a series of explosions starting between the walls of the target’s quarters and the hull of the ship, but it all meant the same to Silent Flame.
She was a successful Hunter, with an unparalleled stealth and an impressive number of successfully completed assassinations, but now a paranoid trader was going to be the death of her.
Silent Flame had stalked her target for months. Learned his habits, planned the rapid series of actions needed to disable and then re-enable his security systems to make his death look natural. The client required that no suspicion fall on them, and that no hint of an orchestrated death held up the distribution of his assets after death.
Invisible and undetectable in her quintessence field, Flame had even accompanied her target on a short trip from his large cargo vessel to Piquaw as he closed some sizable deal.
Her planning resulted in the sort of the death the client would likely pay extra for. The target regularly gave himself nanite shots, warding off surprise poisons or spontaneous diseases before they had a chance to root. An expensive hobby, but one that had served him well over his career. Flame doctored his shots, patient bit by patient bit, secure in her ability to remain hidden, until he ultimately poisoned himself so gradually it didn’t register in advance. The auto-reports his pinplant sent on his medical condition would confirm it, and only hindsight would show his mistake.
His paranoid attempts to pre-empt death had killed him. A neat closed-circle that appealed to her, and in the moments after it was done, she took a moment to congratulate her cleverness.
Which gave her the perfect opportunity to hear the first boom, echoing between the hull and his quarters.
A deadman’s switch, one she’d missed. She had been so thorough.
Entropy and waste, she thought as she ran. He’d been paranoid enough that blowing up part of his main ship had seemed a good idea, if he weren’t alive to deal with it. The ship was large enough that she could hope the entire thing wouldn’t crack open to the void, but one mistake was more than enough for one contract, and she wasn’t going to wait to find out.
Flame had no transport of her own here. She’d slipped onto the ship when they’d docked with another trader and had planned to slide out the same way.
“Are we under attack?” A frantic voice from further down the corridor told her the halls were about to get crowded with confused passengers and crew looking for answers. Panic occasionally kept beings from remembering things like comms and their slates. Some species liked crowding together in a crisis, as weird as it seemed.
Flame just wanted out. One of the first things she’d done upon arriving on board was to scout the dropship locations in case of emergency. Another explosion, and she snarled to herself.
That she hadn’t anticipated this one was annoying, but she would—
Everything brightened. Cold, then hot. Blindingly bright, and the bend of light that hid her in her quintessence field could not shield her from the blast.
* * *
Why was her face jammed into a wall? Where…
Right. Explosions. Ship. Escape route. She got up to continue her run and realized she hadn’t moved. Tried again.
Something had torn, or broken. Something was leaking. Something was imbedded in her side and she would not look to see what it was. Breathe. Again. Once more. Then, slowly, push away from the wall. Only one arm worked, only one side of her body responded to her commands, but that would have to be enough.
Move.
The cargo ship, too large to ever land itself, had several smaller craft tucked all around its bulk, to ease planetary travel and multiply docking options at various stations across the galaxy. Her target had liked to be prepared. They’d had that in common.
Her thoughts scattered, and she tried to pull them back together. Flame had a plan. She would execute the plan. Just get to a dropship. She could send a command that would release several of the ships, making tracking her impossible, given no one would look for her. Some other beings would panic and board their own craft, so it would be a mess of flight signatures away from this behemoth.
Flame had stalked other Hunters, for fun. Followed them to their dens to see them at ease, learn who they were. If her own kind couldn’t detect her, she could certainly weave through this bucking hallway, get to a ship, and get out.
Emergency supplies would keep her alive—blasted entropy. She couldn’t leave blood behind. Unlikely someone would go around testing all the DNA they could find, but she wouldn’t be responsible if they did.
This hallway was on fire, she noted calmly. Anything she’d already shed would burn away. Forcing each motion, she reached into a pouch on her belt, drew out a self-adhering bandage, and pressed it to her side so it would form around the wound. Smart enough to form around the shrapnel, too.
She didn’t waste time looking at the injury. There would be plenty of opportunity to keep herself alive on the trip home. She’d patch up enough to make it, heal a bit on the way, and get fixed in the den, with a medic she trusted and beings she loved around her. Susa would…
Flame had been drifting again, and she hissed between her teeth. Move. Commandeer ship. Home.
Target was dead, client would be happy, and she’d learn from this.
Next time would be cleaner.
* * *
Cunning Blade slept. At home, surrounded by his closest family, he allowed himself deep, boneless relaxation. He sprawled across a high perch, not a strand of fur twitching in the dim light from above.
Nothing else, not even the satisfaction after a well-planned and executed hunt, gave him the same refreshing rest, and yet he moved from sleep to alert awareness at the barest hiss of the door sliding open.
“Susa?” he asked, though he knew the answer. No other resident of the clan den would have made a noise, or allowed the scent of the air to change so quickly. Had it been Flame, he wouldn’t have known until she cuffed him or yanked his tail. Once he’d believed his youngest littermate would outgrow such habits, but he’d once been a mewling kit believing milk to be the most important thing in the world, and he’d long since left both beliefs behind.
Their clan’s Human molly tsked, but she didn’t sound truly disappointed. Though she’d grown remarkably quiet for a Human, she would never reach even Deluge’s level of stealth.
“You wanted to be sure to have time to review the contracts before meeting Dama ahead of the council,” she reminded, looking both fond and concerned. Clearly, she’d expected him to wake on his own, earlier than this.
Blade stretched, yawned, and snapped his jaws shut with a satisfyingly audible click.
“Thank you, Susa. I should come home more.”
“Why is that?” she asked, humoring him.
“I’m more rested from this nap than I’ve been for the last four months.”
“You were on a contract,” she said, wryly, then pointed at the food she’d brought. “And I do keep you well fed.”
He slow-blinked at her, grateful for the loving way she treated him and his littermates, even now that they were long grown. His affection for their molly remained unspoken, but his slow-blink conveyed it enough that he was comfortable changing the subject.
“Flame and Deluge will be available for new contracts soon, and I’d like to stagger where we’re going.” It wasn’t, technically, his job to do such things, but he’d never stop being the oldest, and he had a better eye for such things than most of his littermates. Not better than their Dama, but she was so busy that he was more than happy to help, and—usually—his siblings respected his opinions in these matters. Besides, Flame
’s last contract had taken the better part of a year, and though she’d earned a bonus for ensuring the target’s death appeared natural, she’d also come back with a new scar and several broken ribs. Her next contract needed to be something that would allow her to use her unmatched stealth skills more efficiently…and would hopefully keep her a little safer.
“I know,” Susa said, moving fully into fondness as the concern ebbed. She watched as he leapt down to take the snack she’d brought. “And they will appreciate your thoughts, as ever.” As often, at any rate. “Will you be home for the evening meal?”
“I should be,” he replied agreeably, turning from her to pick up his harness and work bag. Since he’d been barely weaned, Susa had been one of the few living beings he trusted deeply enough to turn his back on without any lingering wariness. “There shouldn’t be many new contracts to sort, and I only have a few errands to run before going to the council with Dama.” One of the metalsmiths had sent a message about a new batch of weapons, he needed to see a technician to be sure she’d truly fixed the catch in one of his guns’ trigger, and it never hurt to browse the merchandise. It would keep him plenty busy ahead of the council.
“Very well.” She paused, and he knew she wanted to hug him close, so he finished settling his straps and crossed close to her before leaving, rubbing his head against her hand as he passed by. Susa laughed at the extra fillip he gave his tail, and continued, “I’m sure Deluge will bring home enough from his hunt.”
Blade chuckled in reply. The next youngest of their litter had been deep in the jungles, and would likely return with impressive spoils to show for his efforts. No matter how foolish the other male chose to be, his skills were not in question.
“Blade?” Susa asked just before he left the room.
He paused—for Susa, he would always pause.
“What do you think the council will bring?” She wasn’t specific, but none of them were exactly sure what the council aimed for. Elders seemed to love their secrets.
“Interesting times for our clan,” he replied, glancing back at her with a small smile. “As ever.”
* * * * *
Interesting Times
A council of the galaxy’s deadliest assassins appeared much like a gathering of elders anywhere else. Damas and their trusted few gathered, gossiped, and watched. Some spoke in small groups, some held haughtily apart, some observed subtly, and some overtly gawked.
Blade had never been a gawker, but here among some of the most successful Hunters of Khatash his ears swiveled to catch every sound, his nose twitched slightly to catch the nuance of scent and emotion in the air around them, and the tip of his tail curled back as his interest caught. Each motion itself infinitesimal, perhaps, but in a room of trained killers, he couldn’t hope any of it went unmarked.
He was young still, compared to most in the large, rounded room, and he was among the least important, so perhaps his reaction would be taken as signs of deference and of knowing his place. Still, he waited until he had composed himself to glance at his dama, who moved through the collection of her elders and peers without hesitation.
And why not? Night Wind was still a new clan, rapidly growing and noticed at a planetary level. In a species that struggled with fertility, Reow had borne four living kits, all of whom had survived to adulthood, all of whom had become off-world Hunters of note in their turn. The odds of each part of that success were vanishingly small, and if that had been all that set the clan apart, still they be would be renowned.
Reow herself was an assassin in high demand; she had been the first to sigil a Human, making a pet and sponsored companion from the mercenary species, and she had taken increasingly higher value contracts over the years. Cunning Blade, as her oldest kit, had learned more by the time he’d been released from the den than many young Hunters learned their first year in the jungles.
Given all that, it was no surprise they’d been summoned to the council of elders to discuss a contract of importance to their entire species. The Governor for the Hunters had recently and unexpectedly died, and power and opportunities would always shuffle with such a significant loss. To Blade, it made utter sense that his dama would be counted as vital in a time of such movement.
“What do you see, my kit?” Reow murmured as they arrived at their assigned seating ledge. Though not as low as some of the larger, more powerful clans, Night Wind’s vantage point was flatteringly close to the central speaking area. She leapt up to the spot with one surge of her powerful hindquarters and waited for her son to join her and answer the question.
Blade followed without hesitation, turning his attention from the elders of their species to his dama. He considered his answer, still processing all that was and wasn’t on display in the interplays of clan and Hunter around them.
“Who believes they belong here and who does not,” he said, twitching one ear back to indicate he did not mean himself.
“And have you drawn any conclusions from this observation?” she murmured as she settled into a resting position, tucking her front legs under her chest and cocking her head to the side in interest.
“That the council likes the uncertainty and perhaps wants to see what we all think of our standing. Why else would they not tell us what we’re here to learn and leave us gathering time for such divisions to come clear?” Blade sat back on his hind legs, his usual thinking position, and curled his tail close around himself.
“The council is an interesting entity, my kit,” Reow said as she began lightly grooming her face. “Never forget what it is: a loose confederation of elders, and that only. Within the clans, a dama may do as she pleases—or what her elders let her get away with, at least. For most here, obedience to the council’s dictates are a matter of inconvenience at best, and pride-wounding at worst. They will obey, or at least give the appearance of obeying, because our place in the wider galaxy depends upon the council’s appearance of control. If the Galactic Union thought for a second that the Council of Elders was less than omnipotent upon our world, we would be so much dust, as quickly as you can say Mercenary Guild.
“They fear us, my kit. The other races. This is as it should be, for we are fearsome by design. But it is also a liability. One which we mitigate through politics and playing the games of the Union. For we are ever teetering on the brink of extinction. And likely, we ever will be.”
Blade was not one to dismiss something simply because it made him uncomfortable, and so the small noise he made in answer was less of protest and more a thoughtful sort of disgust, that they must placate lesser species and still their future balanced on the knife edge of fertility and risk.
“And the council knows well, this game they play?” Rarely had he met an elder or dama who did not take any and all control allowed, and he wondered how much the council believed in their control, rather than the appearance of same.
“Of course,” Reow said. “It is why we participate in the Union at all. And why the council is a council of elders, not just a council of damas. For a clan’s elder deos and damitas will have much influence over their clan’s actions…and having them know the will of the council is important for that reason.”
At that moment, a darkly-furred dama leapt up to the raised pedestal in the center of the room and sat, waiting for the conversations to die down, and the eyes to turn her way. Reow slow blinked a smile at her son and ceased speaking, turning her attention toward the waiting speaker.
Blade settled next to his dama, though his peripheral vision took in the reactions of the Hunters around them even as he turned attentively toward the older dama in front of them.
“There is a contract before us,” she said, not wasting time with greetings or formalities—all knew they were here for a reason, “which affects all the clans, and to which we have a recommendation. With Governor Sissisk’s sudden death, Peacemaker Hrusha will take the Governor contract.”
Several clan leaders shifted at that, and Blade turned his head slightly to better observe th
eir reactions. The Dama of Whispering Fear raised all the fur on her back before forcing herself back to stillness, and two of the elders of High Canopy let their jaws drop in disgust.
“The Peacemaker contract is therefore available.” The stir of interest that provoked was inaudible, but obvious. Elders repositioned themselves, or pricked forward their ears, or in one case reared back. Blade did not hide his interest in observing their reactions, which meant even he showed a measure of surprise when the dama continued.
“Peacemaker Hrusha and the council recommend Reow, Dama of Night Wind, accept the Peacemaker contract.”
Dama didn’t immediately react, which was an indicator of her surprise, but only to one who knew her extremely well. After a moment, she slow blinked and pushed up to a seated position.
“I thank the Peacemaker and the council for this recommendation,” she said.
“And the council is putting this to the gathered clans for discussion, rightfully.” The Dama of Whispering Fear stood, her tail straightened tensely behind her. It was not a question, and she did not dip her head to either Reow or the council dama to acknowledge her interruption for what it was.
“A nomination is not an assignment,” a deo from High Canopy said, lowering his head to Dirrys and the speaker in front of them all. “And Night Wind is still a small clan. What benefits us, in this recommendation?”
“Shall I speak in my own advocacy, then?” Reow asked, turning to look at the speaker. At her blink of assent, Reow flicked her ears and pushed up to her feet.
“A small clan might actually be an asset to a Peacemaker, if the clan is well-established. Small we may be, but Night Wind commands the fifth largest fortune of any clan on the planet, and each of my offspring has survived to adulthood and full Hunter status. One serves even now as a Basreeni pilot and commander of her Aerial Hunter unit. I, myself, am not beyond my fertile years, and either of my kitas may conceive at any time.