Guerilla

by Mel Odom

  Since the weapons had been black-­market stock robbed from the Pagor System by looters before it fell to the Phrenorians, they had been purchased cheaply enough through the Hoblei female. On Makaum, the weapons would sell for four and five times as much as he had given for them. The Hoblei female had taken a cut of the action and never had to invest a single credit.

  Ettor, with his connections among his clansfolk, had arranged the transportation of the weapons to Makaum.

  The Voroughan didn’t look happy as he considered his options.

  Zhoh thrust the patimong into Ettor’s body, purposefully missing vital organs. Ettor stumbled and would have gone down when his weak muscles betrayed him. Zhoh grabbed the being with his free primary and pressed him back against the bloodstained wall. He left the patimong in his side.

  “Okay,” Ettor gasped. “Okay. I brought the weapons down, but I don’t have them.”

  “Where are they?”

  “In the old market square. In a unit in Cheapdock. Sazuma arranged for the weapons to be sold to a Makaum man named Roddarsay.”

  “Tell me how to find the unit,” Zhoh ordered.

  Once Ettor had given up the location of the weapons cache, Zhoh quickly drew the patimong from the Voroughan and slammed it back though the being’s heart. Ettor gave a last cry of pain just before life left him.

  Zhoh paused long enough to clean his sword on the dead being’s colorful clothing, then gazed around the casino. He approached the bar and fired a particle-­beam blast into the rows of bottles behind the wooden counter. The alcohol spread quickly as he walked toward the door. Stopping at the entrance, he nodded to Mato, who took out a laser weapon and fired into the pooling alcohol.

  Soft blue and yellow flames manifested with a whumpf and ran back toward the bar, pushing heat back over Zhoh.

  “Now that you have this information,” Mato said, “what do you plan to do with it?”

  “I’m going to find evidence of Rangha’s profiteering and I’m going to prove him unfit to lead this command,” Zhoh said. “Then we’re going to take this planet.”

  TWENTY-­FOUR

  Red Light District

  New Makaum

  0028 Hours Zulu Time

  No matter how well planned, an op never ran smoothly after encountering the enemy. Sage reminded himself of that as the crawlers sped through the dark streets of “New” Makaum. He focused on the plan and on the options they had, and hoped for a good result. He had calculated for everything he and Kiwanuka could think of, given what they knew about the site, and he had a good team assembled. Still, once events were in action, things didn’t always go the way they were supposed to.

  The magnetic drives of the vehicles were silent, but the mil-­spec crawlers drew attention from the few ­people out braving the insects that leeched blood or feasted on flesh. The offworlders scattered first, knowing that anyone in the red light zone was fair game for the peacekeepers. The Makaum natives carousing a walk on the wild side were a second slower, but picked up the pace.

  According to Noojin’s intel, and that was corroborated by Jahup, the three men she had recognized from the ambush all frequented the same offworlder bars. Before the arrival of the corps, the Makaum populace usually gathered at ­people’s homes or around the well house in the town square. But the corps had dropped in plascrete rectangles with integrated plumbing, heat, air, and electricity generated by solar power and provided those ser­vices in exchange for the right to mine and for rights to biological products grown onplanet. The bars were just a sideline for the corps to recoup a few credits, provide entertainment for the imported labor, and spy on the local populace.

  Several of the bars had garish color schemes, patterns and images, infused by nano-­wiring that ran through the plascrete. Zorg’s Weeping Onion was a Lemylian bar that specialized in high-­octane drinks because it took a lot of alcohol to incapacitate a Lemylian. The intel packet indicated that the Lemylians had set up moonshine stills outside the sprawl to supplement their liquor stores.

  Lemyli was a poor world, harsh and unpredictable due to solar flares and high winds. The ­people had never achieved a technology that launched them into space, but their planet was rich in iron ore that was needed for the construction of space stations and starships, and it had been located on a major Gate path that had been laid in to take advantage of neighboring systems.

  For years, the cheap labor pool onplanet had been a major draw as well, but several of the Lemylians had chosen to become steelworkers in space as well as cargo handlers on corp docks on other worlds when the mining boom waned. Several areas on Lemyli were now biohazards and the Terran Alliance hadn’t been able to make the corps provide restitution in any form. Industry there had slowed and only corp outliers dug for the dregs of profits left there.

  Zorg’s Weeping Onion featured silhouettes of exotic dancers shimmering across the front wall of the building. There were at least a dozen different species in the mix, limned in emerald green, red, violet, and gold. Music blared from an exterior aud system, but it warred with the music of other bars along the same road.

  Sage had the crawlers park along the next road a block over from the bar. ­People who had been standing under the awnings in front of the buildings started walking away. Part of the Terran Army’s ser­vice contract with the Makaum ­people included policing the red light district. The Makaum had never needed personnel to handle the rough trade, and they weren’t equipped to combat the weapons the offworlders carried in, or the hostilities that broke out when sex, drink, or drugs were involved.

  One of the most frequently violated rules in the red light district concerned the carrying of weapons. Sec men and mercs carried all the time and were licensed to do so, but most of the offworld clientele in the area did too, illegally. The Makaum that ventured here these days tended to arm themselves.

  Sage pulled up a history of the times the Terran Army had been involved in businesses along the nearby roads. This was a high-­incident neighborhood, filled with violence and the occasional murder. Over the past three months, four Terran Army soldiers had sustained serious injuries during peacekeeping calls.

  “Dangerous place,” Sage commented to Kiwanuka over a private comm.

  “It is.”

  “You’ve been inside the Onion before.” Sage had picked that detail out of the reports that flashed across his faceshield.

  “Twice,” Kiwanuka said. “Last time was a little over a week before you arrived.”

  “The blueprints we have are solid?”

  “They were the last time I was here.”

  Sage flicked through the scans he’d pulled up. Zorg’s Weeping Onion had three exits, the double doors in the front and two doors in the back that led out to an alley. He assigned four of his team to the alley and they peeled off from the group, double-­timing through the neon-­lit shadows.

  “There’s also the hidden crawlspace behind the bar,” Kiwanuka said. “That wasn’t discovered until my second call out here. The bartender disappeared and I knew I hadn’t lost him in the confusion. It took me a while to find the door in the floor.”

  “A bug-­out tunnel?”

  “Yes. Like you noticed, the bar deals with the blue-­collar crowd. Some of the regulars come for a beer and to watch a fight, but they sell weapons under the table to the right clientele.”

  Sage knew the type of bar. He’d been in his first back in Juarez while in boot in Texas. His father had already spaced to fight the Phrenorian War and there hadn’t been anyone to go home to. The weekend pass had turned into a whirlwind of violence and narrow escapes. “Where does the tunnel go?”

  “Building to the east. It’s a brothel owned by the same ­people who own the bar.”

  “We’re not here for the bartender. Just make sure no one we’re looking for goes down the rabbit hole.”

  “Copy that. As soon as we’r
e inside, Noojin and I will cover the bar.”

  “You’re sure she’s going to be okay?” Sage was still undecided as to what he thought would happen when Noojin saw the men she had identified.

  “She’s solid, Top.” Kiwanuka used her sergeant’s voice, the one with the tone that ended all questioning.

  Sage hoped Noojin was ready and calm, then he put that thought out of his head and focused on the op as he closed on the bar’s double doors. Taking a room was all about concentration and reacting quickly, getting ahead of whatever play was made by the men they were there to apprehend.

  A Lemylian male stood sec at the door. Like all of his kind, he was mostly shoulders and chest, and the rest of his body tapered down to legs ridged with muscle. His features were narrow and pointed, his jaws wider than his forehead, and his eyes shone like crystal-­blue gems. He wore a reinforced combat helmet and lightweight armor and had a Rakan tranq pistol holstered on his hip. A shokton hung by a sling from his left wrist. Sage was sure the sec man carried a knife. Lemylians set a lot of store by knives.

  “Terran Army business,” Sage said. “You buying in or stepping off?”

  “Stepping off,” the Lemylian said in a deep voice. His right hand slid up to button at the waistline of his armored jacket. He started to walk away, but Sage caught the Lemylian’s hand and stopped him from touching the button.

  “We’ll announce ourselves,” Sage said. He pulsed a degaussing charge through his glove that rendered the electronics in the alert button inert.

  “Sure.” The Lemylian nodded and moved away when Sage released him. “I get paid to take out drunks, not stand up to the Army.”

  Sage pushed through the doors and stepped into the bar.

  The place covered a lot of square footage and was much bigger inside than the exterior advertised. Whirling, kaleidoscopic music from spinning broadcasting drones hammered Sage’s hearing till the helmet filtered them out. Lights swept the smoke-­drenched walls in neon rainbow hues. Dancers collided out on the dance floor, some of them weaving drunkenly while others battered each other in hyperkinetic oscillations, driven wild by drug-­fueled abandon.

  Lemylians partied hard, and there wasn’t much in the way of alcohol or stims that could harm them. Overdosing wasn’t a problem, with their enhanced constitutions, but they could get a full-­on crazy going.

  As he moved through the crowd, which parted reluctantly before him, Sage pulled Noojin’s vid feed into his HUD and overlaid to his right. Managing two feeds in close proximity was difficult for him and started a headache at the back of his skull.

  Your stress levels have risen. Do you wish a stim to be administered? the suit’s near-­AI asked.

  “No.” Sage kept circling.

  The bar occupied the wall to the left that abutted the brothel next door. The Lemylian bartender noticed the Terran Army and Sage’s suit picked up the recording equipment that suddenly flared to life at either corner of the room on that wall.

  “You’ve picked that up?” Kiwanuka asked Sage over their private comm.

  “Yes.” Sage magnified the vid equipment. “The hardware looks bigger than it needs to be.”

  “They’re packed with smoke and aud foolies. When they trigger, it sounds like ship-­to-­ship action in space. Loud and scary, and visibility goes to near zero when the smoke pours out. It gives the bartender time to grab the currency, the digital bank box, and scamper.”

  “Let the others know.”

  The plascrete floor felt uneven beneath Sage’s boots. His helmet cycled constantly, adapting to the rampant light show that slammed into his faceshield again and again. Dealing with twice the filtering because the same thing was going on with Noojin’s helmet, Sage ignored the assault as well as he could and kept moving. He hated looking for targets in a civilian populace. Things went sideways too quickly and the wrong ­people got hurt too often.

  I have found one of the subjects of your search, the near-­AI informed Sage. The face-­recog software matched a Makaum man in the corner to the three images Noojin had picked out from citizen records maintained in the fort’s database. All civilian workers and vendors had to have Terran Army identification to come on base.

  The targeting software outlined Vekaby in red and estimated the distance as thirteen meters to where he sat at a table between the two back doors. Stunning Vekaby at that distance would have been no problem if not for all the dancers in the way.

  Vekaby looked like he was in his late twenties. Shaggy black hair trailed down to his shoulders, looking out of place with the neatly trimmed beard that covered his rugged face. He wore a blue plasfab jacket and red plasfab pants that doubled as armor and provided cooling as well. He drank from a green bottle.

  The information the fort had on the Vekaby was sparse, only containing what Noojin had given them earlier. The man had visited the fort once on a tour pass, which was the only reason he was in the system. He had been the leader of another hunting group, but lately he’d been guiding drug traffickers out into the jungle.

  The other two subjects are verified as well, ­the hardsuit’s near-­AI informed Sage.

  Mosbur had burn scarring that marred the left side of his face and ear. According to what Noojin had said, Mosbur and Vekaby had been rivals in different hunting bands before the corps ships had hit dirtside. Like Vekaby, Mosbur wore offworlder clothing and armor.

  Delshy was an older man, heavier and more musclebound than the other two. His hair was gray and hacked off to an even length. Noojin had said Delshy was selfish and an outlier from most of the Makaum ­people. Maybe there hadn’t been much in the way of crime until the offworlders made planetfall, but there had been a few ­people who didn’t play nicely with others and insisted on walking a different path.

  “There they are!” Noojin called over the comm. She started to reach for her weapon.

  Kiwanuka stepped smoothly in front of the girl and blocked her from view, managing to throw an arm around her and keep her arms in without being noticed by the ambushers. Noojin calmed immediately and Sage suspected Kiwanuka was conversing with her over private comm.

  Sage clicked over to a private channel with Jahup. “You follow my lead. Understand?”

  “Yes sir.” Jahup’s voice was tightly controlled but he moved smoothly. The young man’s hardsuit told Sage his blood pressure was up, but he was keeping himself calm.

  “We need them alive,” Sage said, “and able to answer questions. The colonel and I want to know where the weapons came from, and we want to know if the ambush this morning was an isolated event or part of an organized movement.”

  Vekaby and his cronies watched Sage and grew restless in their chairs, shifting and trying not to make eye contact. Vekaby coughed into his hand as Sage headed in their direction.

  Sage came to a stop in front of Vekaby and the others. “Vekaby, I need to speak to you.”

  Before Vekaby could speak, Delshy erupted from his seat and shoved a Lemylian male dancing beside Sage. The Lemylian only staggered a little, probably more from drinking than from Delshy’s push, but he came around angrily and drove a hard left fist into Sage’s head, taking him for the person who jostled him.

  “Ril’eru!” the Lemylian shouted. The bright blue eyes narrowed in pools of inflamed red. “Orkim lorser!”

  Despite the armor’s strength and gyro-­aided balance, Sage stumbled sideways, striking another Lemylian and getting hit again instantly by that man. Lemylians were about as strong individually as any race Sage had ever encountered. The armor had taken some damage.

  With the Lemylians primed by drugs and alcohol and whatever brain stim software they favored, they had no problem throwing themselves into battle. On their planet, they’d had to fight the environment, Terra-­plus gravity, huge predators, and each other.

  Vekaby and his companions headed out the back door, plunging into the neon fluttering throu
gh the night outside.

  “Corporal Rasheed,” Sage called over his comm. The first Lemylian grinned broadly as he hurled more curse words in his language and threw another big punch. Sage caught his opponent’s fist in one hand and managed to stop the blow centimeters from his faceshield.

  “Yes, Sergeant,” Rasheed responded.

  “Five men just left this building headed your way. All are armed and presumed hostile.” Sage dodged the Lemylian’s blow with his other hand and still hung on to the one he had. The Lemylian jerked Sage off balance but Sage recovered.

  “There are more than five, Top.”

  Checking his HUD, Sage saw that a torrent of ­people was leaving the bar.

  The Lemylian behind Sage tried to hit him. He sidestepped the Lemylian’s blow by sliding, and shoved his gloved hand to his opponent’s throat. He pulsed an electric charge through his glove and watched the Lemylian jerk and stutter-­step backward, then fall to his knees gasping for air through his partially paralyzed throat.

  “Find them, Corporal. Don’t let them—­”

  A deafening explosion roared from outside, and the door Vekaby and his men had gone through blew into the bar in plasteel shards that struck Sage and the Lemylian he still held.

  TWENTY-­FIVE

  Zorg’s Weeping Onion

  Red Light District

  New Makaum

  0039 Hours Zulu Time

  Knocked off balance by the concussive wave and the debris, Sage tried to recover and got hammered again by the Lemylian he had hold of. The Lemylian didn’t seem to register the explosion. Sage was his total focus. The blow to his chest knocked Sage back and he lost his grip on his opponent.

  “Rasheed!”

  There was no answer.

  Armor has taken 13 percent damage, the near-­AI stated.