Guerilla

by Mel Odom

  “I would make that same argument about Jahup.”

  And you would probably be right. Sage looked at the boy walking at his side. Jahup walked with purpose now that the stim had cleared his mind of the leftover sleep meds.

  “Jahup is going along at the insistence of Quass Leghef,” Sage said.

  “To take the edge off of his feelings. Sure, I get that. But if anyone needs some get-­back here, it’s Noojin. You made her feel helpless. And she probably saved the lives of those soldiers this morning.”

  And that was another truth. Kiwanuka wasn’t pulling any punches. Sage respected that about the woman. He would have done the same thing. He’d known the two of them might bond while Kiwanuka was watching over Noojin.

  The girl wasn’t from a world where litigators handled things. She was from Makaum, where ­people took care of their own needs. She did need to come if she wanted to. Sometimes he outsmarted himself.

  “How is she in an AKTIVsuit?” Sage asked. “I haven’t seen her latest drills.”

  “The reports are on your PAD,” Kiwanuka replied. “She’s good.”

  “She’ll be your responsibility, Sergeant.”

  “That’s fine with me. She’s spent more time in the jungle fighting for her life than most of the soldiers we have here. I don’t doubt that if things go sideways she’ll stick. She managed to warn those soldiers this morning, and get herself and Jahup’s little sister to safety before we killed her.”

  “You’ve made your case.”

  “I just wanted to make certain we were clear.”

  “Crystal,” Sage said. “Get her suited up and meet us out front. If you’re late, we’re leaving without you.”

  “We’re already suited up and waiting for you, Top.”

  Of course you are.

  Fort York

  2352 Hours Zulu Time

  Eight soldiers, including Kiwanuka and Noojin, stood out in front of the motor pool when Sage arrived with Jahup. Noojin’s hardsuit was the smallest among them. She stood to one side with her arms crossed, her Roley hanging over one shoulder and a Birkeland shoved into the hip holster. Sage couldn’t see through the faceshield, but he could recognize by her body language that she was angry.

  Beside Sage, Jahup was gesturing forcefully with one hand. Knowing what was going on, Sage overrode the private comm link between the two Makaum reserves.

  “—­should have told me,” Jahup was saying at the same time Noojin was saying, “—­same way you could have told me where you went with your lobufa when you left the fort.”

  Sage couldn’t remember exactly, but he thought lobufa was a crush or a new love.

  “I told you,” Jahup argued, “I was under orders to—­”

  “I was being held in an ‘interview’ room,” Noojin responded.

  “Enough,” Sage ordered. “This stops now or you’re both staying here. Do you read me?”

  “Yes, Top,” Jahup said.

  “Yes,” Noojin answered.

  Neither reply was heartfelt, but Sage wasn’t going to put up with distractions. “Those ­people this morning meant business. You’re wearing hardsuits tonight. Everyone is going to think you’re one of us, and they aren’t going to hesitate about shooting you if that’s where this goes.”

  Sage climbed into the passenger seat of one of the crawlers. The vehicle had six wheels and comfortably sat six passengers with full gear on. It had armor all the way around, bulletproof and beamproof windows, and a pop-­up mini-­turret particle-­charge cannon. They were designed for fast-­strike situations.

  Jahup and Noojin stopped beside Sage’s crawler for just a moment. Jahup plastered a stick-­on replica of the Makaum flag onto Noojin’s back. The red flag featured an ypheynte, an insect built along the lines of a Terran dragonfly, over a green disk that represented Makaum and the Quass. The ypheynte’s segmented wings glistened like jewels.

  Sage had never figured out why the ypheynte was so important to the Makaum ­people.

  Noojin turned around to put one of the flags on Jahup’s back.

  “Those are going to make you stick out,” Sage said.

  “You need us to be identified,” Jahup said. “Otherwise the ­people we meet tonight will think it’s just the Army taking the ambushers down. You don’t want them to think that.”

  “Many of our ­people want peace,” Noojin added. “They need to know that peace can still exist.” She pointed to symbols in the upper right corner of the flag. “That is Ja­hup’s name, and it lists him as a hunter. They will know us.”

  Kiwanuka cut in on a private comm channel. “They’re right, Top. With them accompanying us and easily identifiable, the innocents may get out of the way faster.”

  Jahup joined Sage in the seat that had been left in that crawler while Noojin joined Kiwanuka.

  Sage figured they were all right about the situation and identification, but he couldn’t help knowing that unique look might come back around to bite them. There was a reason soldiers all dressed the same, and it wasn’t just so they could identify each other. It was also so they looked the same to opposition.

  “Colonel Halladay,” Sage called over the comm.

  “Here, Top.” Halladay sounded a little anxious, and part of that was because he’d guaranteed General Whitcomb there would be no fallout. Sage had gathered from Halladay’s attitude after talking to the general that Whitcomb wasn’t a big supporter of the operation. Still, the Quass had “requested” intervention, and that had gone through channels as well.

  “We are go,” Sage said.

  “Then roll. Blue Jay Twelve and Blue Jay Fourteen are with you.”

  At the other end of the fort, two fully armed jumpcopters lit up their drives and ascended into the dark sky, standing out only briefly against the largest moon before rising into the clouds.

  “Roger that, Top,” a woman’s voice said. The comm link confirmed her as one of the jumpcopter pilots. “This is Blue Jay Twelve, and we’ll be standing by.”

  “We appreciate the support, Blue Jay Twelve.” Sage pointed toward the gates and the crawler pilot sped into motion. Now that they were moving, some of the tension that Sage felt started to drain away.

  TWENTY-­THREE

  Tanasam’s House of Luck!

  Makaum Sprawl

  6019 Akej (Phrenorian Prime)

  In addition to the large casino that had set up shop on Makaum, smaller clubs had been established as well. These were designed for the criminals because they had money to spend. Some of the proprietors of the big casinos owned dives too, in an effort to get all the creds they could.

  Some of those dives were merely fronts for other businesses.

  Zhoh walked in the shadows that lay across the narrow, rutted dirt road. The roads in Old Makaum neighborhoods were covered with moss, though many of the downtown areas had plascrete or were now worn down to hard-­packed earth.

  This road had been put in by offworlders too cheap to provide either a covering or improvement. Every time the rains came, more of the road washed away. Even now sewage drained down open ditches to great ponds that had been dug into low spots in the surrounding terrain. Not even Makaum’s voracious jungle tried to reclaim the area.

  The passersby wandered in twos or threes and wore cast-­off clothing and ragged bits of cloth. Most of them were offworlders who had gotten trapped, either by a vice or by bad luck, on the planet, or they were beings who operated much as the krayari did, picking up enough bits and pieces of garbage to keep them going. Occasionally they would attack a being smaller or weaker or alone and take what they wanted. Some of them begged for food and credits and medicine. Both genders sold themselves to get whatever fix they needed.

  A few of them were Makaum.

  Zhoh stared at the low-­tech sign that hung in front of Tanasam’s House of Luck! The identification was an i
con of a blue robot from Ytasi, a holo game that consisted of combat between two robotic armies. Players and onlookers wagered on the turn-­by-­turn play of the game.

  Vines and shrubs scaled the casino’s earthen walls. Construction cost of the structure had been minimal. Whoever had built it had simply cut chunks of earth with a vibro-­shovel, stood them up, and chem-­sealed the surface with a thin layer of plascrete to make it more durable. Most of the buildings along the road were the same, but some of them were merely large tents made of a variety of materials.

  A being wrapped in rags reached from one of the narrow alleys and grabbed Mato’s ankle. It was so shrouded in cloth and so disease-­ridden that Zhoh could not determine the gender. The stench was so bad that even that made determination impossible.

  It pleaded in a raspy voice and looked up at him with its one good eye.

  Mato stopped, looked around, and reached down for a broken branch almost two meters in length and at least five centimeters thick. With an economy of movement, he rammed the branch through the being’s head, putting it out of its misery. It only squeaked a little, shivered, and was still.

  Still using the branch, Mato shoved the body deeper into the alley, withdrew the makeshift weapon, and tossed it into the darkness as well. He cursed as he cleaned his exoskeleton with a handful of dirt.

  “Someone should go through here and eradicate these worthless beings,” Mato snarled. “They suck up resources and do nothing to give back to anyone. They don’t even make worthwhile slaves. You can’t teach them anything.”

  As they continued forward, two other beings dressed in rags quickly drew back into the shadows away from Mato.

  “They can be taught,” Zhoh commented. “With just one lesson, you have taught them to fear you.”

  “That is something that should not have to be taught. I am Phrenorian.” Mato slid a hand over his Kimer pistol. “I have to wonder, triarr, if the Hoblei woman has tried to send us to our doom by giving us the name of this place.”

  “You are concerned?”

  “Of pestilence and plague, yes. These beings can be carrying any number of things.”

  “Disease is not a problem for us. We are too different from these.”

  “I hope so. Still, the sooner we are gone from this place, the happier I will be.”

  “It won’t be long.” Zhoh stopped under the casino’s sign and peered at the casino.

  The carbo-­alloy door hung from simple hinges and opened easily. The sonics inside that were there to keep the local wildlife out were turned on so high that Zhoh felt uncomfortable entering the building. His insides shook and shivered as he continued through the door, and a pair of small lizards raced across the floor. Zhoh had barely enough room to stand under the low ceiling.

  Small flocks of insects hovered around the chem-­candles that hung on the wall and from the split logs that supported the roof that had been made the same way as the walls. The plascrete fixative that caked the walls, ceiling, and floor glistened in places and looked dull in others. Many branches and shrubs had torn through the walls and had been hacked off by sharp instruments. Other growth had small leaves that showed they’d come through recently.

  Tables scattered around the room were covered with card games, dice games, and holo projectors. Stacks of chips stood on a few of the tables and bright blue and red robots battled each other in games of Ytasi. The crowd noise brayed loudly inside the room. Human, humanoid, and other beings celebrated or wailed over the way the cards fell or the dice rolled or the combat sequences in Ytasi worked out.

  The stink that lay over the casino was oppressive, filled with the thick odor of human and humanoid sweat, smoke from various plant and chem products that provided hallucinogens, and alcohol.

  Zhoh was certain he had been in worse places on other planets, but he could not remember at the moment where that might have been. The players and guests of the establishment took him in, as well as Mato and the three warriors who accompanied them. Two other warriors stood outside the casino to assure a way out when the time came.

  Scanning the room, Zhoh spotted the being he was looking for at one of the Ytasi tables. A large group had gathered there, and that was where most of the cheers and curses flew from.

  Erque Ettor sat against the back wall of the building in the corner. He was from one of the Vorough clans, gypsies who hauled cargo from planet to planet. Some of them worked Makaum, hauling oxygen and water to miners working the asteroid belt out near Lodestone.

  Ettor was a tall, skinny being with pale white skin and arms and legs that looked too long and too frail. His clothing colors reflected those of his clan, bright and colorful and in layers. Voroughans were known as gluttons and loved to eat. Since they lived in space and generally didn’t spend any time in anything more than .3 gravity, none of them could afford to put on weight because their muscles and bones wouldn’t support them on a planet with a standard gravity. Makaum was .8 gravity, so being onplanet had to be painful for the being.

  Of course, Ettor was dirtside to make a profit, and part of those profits was funneling into General Rangha’s accounts.

  Zhoh crossed the room and beings stepped back from him, giving him room. As he neared the table, the final battle started. Robot warriors sped across the holo battlefield and went to pieces when hit by missiles, sniper fire, and land mines.

  Ettor’s opponent was a scruffy human with long hair and a beard. He wore an old Rodine Corp jacket and the patches indicated he worked on shuttle engines. He was missing a thumb and two fingers on his left hand, and the left side of his face was a mass of burn scarring that pulled at the corner of his mouth.

  When the last of the blue robots flew into pieces, the human cursed loudly and kicked the table.

  “Don’t be a sore loser, Bill,” Ettor said while laughing at the other being’s expense. “You can work off your debt by fixing my shuttle engines.”

  The human got up from the table and walked to the bar. “Stand me a beer, Erque. You’ve got all my credits.”

  Ettor called for the bartender’s attention and confirmed the order. He locked his pale silver eyes on Zhoh. “Do you fancy a game?”

  “I do.” Zhoh sat in the chair on the other side of the holo table. Those beings closest to him backed away, but that might have been because of Mato’s presence as well. The other three Phrenorian warriors spread out around the room.

  “It will cost you a hundred credits to play me.”

  The stakes were more than the last player had had showing on the table. Zhoh took a credstick from his Kimer pistol holster and slotted it in the table.

  Ettor waved a hand through the holo field and the robot warrior pieces lit up on the screen. “Did you bring your own cheering section, doqua?” The term was Voroughan clanspeak and loosely translated to “friend.”

  “I did.”

  “You’re the challenger, so I get to pick the armament.” Ettor made his selection quickly and a stockpile of bows and arrows, swords, and spears showed up on the holo. There was enough of each weapon to arm each warrior. “You pick the terrain.”

  Zhoh swept a primary through the holo and went through the menu of available terrains. Mountainous country, swampland, and deserts awaited selection. Zhoh selected an urban area with tall, closely packed buildings.

  The computer designated the engagement area, limiting it to a few blocks.

  Ettor grinned. “Not many ­people would pick an urban area with archaic weapons like these.”

  “I’m fine with blades and bows,” Zhoh replied as Ettor’s small army disappeared from the screen. He quickly assembled his own army and placed them in the buildings and on the street.

  “I didn’t know the Phrenorian military ever fought with bows.” Ettor took a sip from the bottle that sat at his left elbow.

  “I have trained to fight with every weapon I have ever encountered
.” Zhoh waited, and in his 360-­degree vision, two of the beings standing behind him made small signs to Ettor, who gave no indication that he had seen them, though Zhoh knew the being had.

  “This should be interesting then.” Ettor waved a hand through the holo again and part of the battlefield stood revealed. The first turn went to him. Three of his robots armed with bows shot one of Zhoh’s captains, which automatically caused a penalty for Zhoh’s team.

  “I’ve done most of my fighting in urban areas,” Zhoh said. “I’ve never lost.”

  Ettor smiled. “Maybe your luck will change.” Another battery of robot archers took out another of Zhoh’s captains.

  “The game could have been a true challenge,” Zhoh said. “I like to play. But I don’t like a cheater.”

  Ettor frowned. “I’d watch what you say, doqua. I’m not just a player in this bar. I own this place.”

  Zhoh moved his primary toward the screen, as if he were going to make an adjustment to his pieces, but his lesser hand stole down to free the Kimer from its holster. Aiming on the fly, he shot the two beings standing behind Ettor because both of them doubtlessly had weapons to protect their boss.

  Before those bodies could slide down to the floor, Mato and the two other warriors had opened fire as well. Mato blasted both of the beings who had signaled Ettor.

  Zhoh stood and shot the being to his left as he drew his patimong. The blade sliced the air, then whipped through the segmented thorax of the Gaedghan standing beside the table to the right just as she freed her particle beamer. She fell in pieces.

  Ettor got out of his seat, but Zhoh pinned him to the wall between his dead guards by holding the patimong to his throat. When he looked around, Zhoh saw that everyone else in the casino was dead.

  “What do you want?” Ettor asked. “I don’t even know you.”

  “You’ve been doing business with a Hoblei female named Sazuma,” Zhoh said.

  “Yes.”

  “I want you to tell me about the cargo you recently secured for her. A shipment of weapons.” According to what Sazuma had said, Rangha had put a lot of his credits into a weapons shipment, intending to turn a profit on them by selling them to pro-­Phrenorian Makaum ­people who wanted to arm themselves.