Guerilla: The Makaum War: Book Two

by Mel Odom

“No. I won’t be here long. I came only to give you the name of the target you’re here for.”

  “And half of the agreed-­upon amount.”

  “Of course.” The Phrenorian extended a credstick and Morlortai pocketed it immediately.

  “You know if the credits are not all there, I will come looking for Blaold Oldawe.”

  The Phrenorian hissed angrily. “Have a care. Throwing names around like that can get you killed.”

  Morlortai shrugged. “I can promise, General Rangha, if I am betrayed, you will never live to see if I make good on my agreement to kill the target.”

  If the Phrenorian was rattled by all that Morlortai knew, he showed no signs of it.

  General Rangha produced a small datacube. “All the information you need is there. Do not fail in this.”

  “I never fail,” Morlortai said.

  The general left the table without another word. Morlortai didn’t worry because he knew Turit would keep the Phrenorian in his sights until he was out of the area.

  “So who is the target?” Turit asked.

  “Curious?” Morlortai loved tweaking the Angenen’s natural curiosity.

  “Yes.”

  Morlortai laid the datacube on his computer and brought up the holo. A single file was contained on the cube.

  “Captain Zhoh GhiCemid. Apparently Blaold Oldawe intends to get rid of his ex-­son-­in-­law.”

  “It’s a waste of credits. It would be better to see if Zhoh dies here.”

  Morlortai shut down his computer and pocketed it, finished his beer and got up to leave. “It’s a payday. A big one. I haven’t met many who have hated someone as much as Blaold Oldawe does.”

  THIRTY-­EIGHT

  Market Square

  Old Makaum

  2028 Zulu Hours

  The insects turned out to be a big part of the Festival of the Beginning.

  The Makaum ­people gathered in the town square near the partially rebuilt well house, which had been nearly destroyed by Velesko Kos’s kill team weeks ago. They lit the area by torches and lanterns instead of offworlder lamps and lights. Sweet-­smelling gray smoke drifted up from the flames.

  Standing there looking at the shattered pieces of the ypheynte, an insect that instantly reminded him of a Terran dragonfly, Sage felt guilty for his part in the near destruction of the historic monument.

  Most of the ypheynte’s body had been rebuilt and it stood on six arched legs over the cistern below, which reflected the lights. Vines grew over a structure made from bent trees specially shaped to create the ypheynte’s wings. At night, the vines, called irdenroth, glowed a soft blue when all five of the moons were visible, as they were now. The moons clustered above the sprawl, looking big and bright, and blossomed in pink, gold, green, yellow, and orange pastels. The night was lit almost well enough that the torches and lanterns weren’t needed.

  “What do you think, Top?” Clad in her hardsuit, Kiwanuka stood beside Sage and gazed at the moons-­filled sky.

  “I didn’t think the moons would all show up at once,” Sage replied.

  “It only happens every seven years. This is the first time offworlders have seen it. Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?”

  “No.” Sage felt a little uncomfortable around Kiwanuka. They’d slept together, and that was all that had happened, but he had really slept, trusting her. It was the first time in a long time that he’d let someone get that close to him. He suspected it was a first in a long time for her as well.

  Later, when they’d woken up, they’d separated as though nothing had happened. Sage wasn’t sure what he was supposed to think about that, and he didn’t want any distractions with everything that was going on between all the players on Makaum at the moment. The claws were out now, and things were only going to get bloodier.

  The Makaum ­people sat around the well house on spidersilk blankets and shared snacks they’d brought from home. They sang songs, with only a little accompaniment on instruments, and their voices lifted to fill the area.

  At first there were no insects and none of the small flying lizards that usually filled the nights in Makaum. Sage guessed that maybe the smoke kept them away. Then the winged creatures came and landed on the well house and the cistern and filled the trees that made up the nearby houses.

  As if in response to the songs the Makaum ­people sang, the insects lit up in waves of color and began crooning and buzzing, joining in at times.

  “Isn’t this lovely?”

  Hearing the soft voice beside him, Sage glanced down at Quass Leghef. He’d gotten so consumed by the show going on around him that he hadn’t seen her walk up to him. He resolved to be more attentive. He was here as security.

  “It is,” Sage said, meaning it.

  “Every day of our lives on Makaum, we live with the knowledge that this world is filled with predators that want only to kill us. Insects and lizards and spiders and aquatic creatures. And that’s not even mentioning the lethal plant life.” Leghef took in a deep breath of the smoke-­scented air and let it out. “But this one night, just after the sun sets and all five moons are in the sky, Makaum changes and provides a temporary sanctuary. I think that’s a fascinating thing.”

  “Yes, ma’am, it is.”

  “Our ancestors noticed that the predators don’t feed on these nights. None of them stalk prey. Once we discovered that, we made this a night that we did not kill either. Meals are made early, and they’re shared out here.”

  “When I was small,” Sage said, “our village used to have holidays and feasts like this. Everyone worked to provide something for the meals, and no one went away hungry those days.”

  “You’ll have to come by and visit me again, Master Sergeant. I’d like to hear more about your village and your life there, and what you think of our lives here.”

  “Yes, ma’am. As I get time.”

  “For tonight, though, would you be kind enough to walk me to the well house? I’ve got to offer a rebuttal to Wosesa Staumar tonight. He’s going to be lobbying for the Phrenorians and I want to make sure I get a chance to let everyone know what a fool he is.”

  “It would be my pleasure, ma’am.”

  Leghef took Sage by the arm and he carefully guided her through the thronging crowd to the well house. Kiwanuka followed him, acting as his wingman for the security assignment. Once they arrived at the well house, he stood by Leghef’s side. Pekoz stood a short distance away.

  “I’m fine here, Sergeant. Thank you, but isn’t there somewhere else you should be?” she asked.

  “No, ma’am. For right now, my job is to take care of you.”

  “I assure you, I can take care of myself.”

  “Yes, ma’am, but I was thinking maybe you could help me.”

  She smiled at him, then turned her attention to a heavy-­set Makaum man walking toward them. “Ah, here comes my sparring partner.”

  The Terran Army had a thick file on Staumar. When the military had first hit the dirt on Makaum, he had been one of the chief go-­to ­people onplanet. Then, as the corps, then the Phrenorian lobbying credits grew higher than the Terran Alliance was willing to pay, he’d gone over to the Sting-­Tails.

  Sage felt an instant dislike for the man. Staumar was an opportunist, ready to seize whatever deal best worked for him. He’d gotten fat since the arrival of the corps. His face was round and he wore the latest fashion in suits. He smelled of offworld products, not the herbal scents that Leghef and other Makaum ­people favored.

  “Quass Leghef,” Staumar said as he walked up to join her, “you’re looking well tonight.”

  “It’s because I’m here to bathe in the spirit of fellowship,” Leghef replied, “and in remembrance that our ­people have survived on Makaum against all odds because we learned to care for each other.”

  Staumar smiled, but there was no
warmth in his dark eyes. “We no longer have to survive on this planet, Quass. We can drift through space, the way the seeds of an ardenang ride breezes. There are whole worlds out there waiting for us to take root on them.”

  “I choose to keep myself rooted here. And you should find another comparison. Despite its proclivity for drifting to wide-­open places, no offworlder has successfully managed to grow ardenang anywhere else, and they want to because no one has ever found another spice like it in all the worlds. Many things are unique on Makaum, and I believe that her ­people are among them.”

  “I swear,” Kiwanuka said over a private comm to Sage, “the more I’m around this woman, the more I like her. I wish I’d been there in Whitcomb’s office. You have got to tell me about that. You owe me. I brought you lunch today.”

  “Maybe,” Sage replied. “In the meantime, look sharp. We don’t know if we took out all of the weapons any other anti-­Terran protestors might have access to.”

  “Copy that.”

  Sage scanned the surrounding houses and buildings. Behind the rows of Makaum ­people, there were rows of offworlders, all drawn like the insects and flying lizards by the music and the lights. Between them, a line of Terran Army soldiers was there to maintain order.

  As beautiful as the night and the festival was, Sage couldn’t wait for the event to be over.

  2037 Zulu Hours

  “You’re not wearing your suit.” Jahup felt betrayed as he stepped up behind Noojin.

  She sat on a blanket and wore one of the gowns his grandmother had helped her make this year. Since Noojin had no parents, Leghef had helped her spin the spidersilk and sew the clothing she needed. They had invited Jahup to help when he started complaining about the sewing getting in the way of hunting. He’d found other things to do, but he’d also noticed how beautiful Noojin looked in the gowns, though he wouldn’t tell her that because that would make him uncomfortable. And it would probably make her feel the same way.

  “No,” she responded in that warning voice, “I’m not wearing armor. This is only the second Festival that has occurred since I’ve been alive. You’re locked away inside that hardsuit and you’re cut off from the experience tonight that will not happen again for another seven years. Or ever.”

  Jahup didn’t want to fall into that argument again, about whether the Terran Army would be able to help them. So he stood nearby and watched Noojin talk and laugh with a ­couple of the girls she knew.

  Telilu came out of the crowd wearing one of the dresses Grandmother had made and a crown of light orange night blossoms wound through her hair. She stopped and gazed at Jahup hesitantly.

  “Jahup?”

  Grinning, Jahup popped his faceshield up and looked down at his little sister. “Hello, Twig.”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “All right.”

  “Why are you wearing that?”

  “So I can take care of you.”

  Fear rounded her eyes and the sight of it made Jahup instantly feel guilty.

  “Is something going to happen?” Telilu asked quietly.

  Noojin got to her feet and walked back to take Telilu by the hand. “Nothing is going to happen. He’s a boy. Sometimes boys say dumb things. Come up here with me. It’nyi brought some fresh corok melon and honey-­roasted tiarkal nuts she’ll share with us.”

  Jahup cursed himself for being a fool. He hadn’t even considered that what he’d said to Telilu might scare her.

  Noojin glared at him again, burning the feeling into his bones. She sat and placed Telilu in her lap, then talked softly to the girl and placed food in her hands.

  Sighing, Jahup continued on his rounds as Wosesa Staumar called for attention.

  2.6 kilometers West of Makaum

  2052 Zulu Hours

  Listening to Staumar ramble on over the drone relay that flew between the well house and the hide in the trees over two kilometers from the market square, Sytver Morlortai decided the man was a born politician. Staumar liked the sound of his own voice, and that had been immediately apparent.

  For the last fourteen minutes, the man had blathered on, recounting stories and jokes about past festivals. He showed no sign of slowing down, but Morlortai didn’t have a timetable for how long the man was going to speak.

  Nestled into the canopy of the tree, the mercenary had a clear line of sight through the scope of the Yqueu sniper rifle. The weapon fired a 50mm round, heavy enough to do impressive damage. The distance would allow him to get off a second shot, if it was needed, before the sound of the first shot rolled over the festival goers.

  It was also a round and rifle model favored by many of the Terran Army snipers.

  A wind speed and direction indicator hung from a nearby branch and showed digital displays.

  “Do you plan on camping in that tree overnight?” Turit asked over the comm.

  Morlortai laughed. “No. I’m just checking to see if I can bag both targets tonight at one time. Since Staumar is proselytizing for the Phrenorians, I figure there is a good chance Captain Zhoh GhiCemid will be there as well.”

  “Don’t get greedy.”

  “It’s just good business sense, my friend. Think about it. When I drop Staumar, the (ta)Klar pay us. If I tell them I dropped a Phrenorian captain too, in order to heighten the impression the targets were taken out by Terran gunners, I think I’ll be able to talk them into a bonus situation.”

  “Then get it done. Onineo is making dinner tonight at the ship and I don’t want it to get cold before we get back.”

  Morlortai searched the fringe crowd and spotted General Rangha in the group of Phrenorians. The general had not yet noticed the tracker Ny’age had planted on him after their meeting earlier. Morlortai had been hoping to take both targets at the same time from the beginning.

  He followed Rangha through the scope and saw another Phrenorian join him.

  “The general has just made contact with your second target,” Turit announced.

  “I told you I felt lucky.” Morlortai focused on Zhoh. Although he wasn’t an expert on Phrenorians, he was pretty sure the two Sting-­Tails were arguing. They stood by themselves a short distance away from the other warriors.

  Even though his heart rate hadn’t changed, Morlortai knew he was excited when the cool thrill of death washed over him. Since he’d left Fenipal, all he’d wanted to do was be able to decide his own fate. Now he decided the fates of others.

  He put the rifle’s reticule on Staumar’s chin and started taking up trigger slack till the rifle fired and smacked into his shoulder. He slid the scope over and readied his second shot.

  Market Square

  Old Makaum

  7516 Akej (Phrenorian Prime)

  Zhoh kept his hands, all of them, from his weapons because he sorely wanted to take one of them and kill General Rangha. He’d been surprised Rangha had turned out for the Makaum festival, even though Staumar was there to plead the Phrenorian case to his ­people.

  Then again, as a chosen hero of the Empire, politics was a skill Rangha would have learned as one of their pampered bloodline warriors. If the Empire primes only knew what they were holding so close, they would kill him.

  “You went up to the Hooded Vorol with the Terran sergeant,” Rangha said. This was the first he had talked of the action aboard the ship.

  Zhoh had known the confrontation was coming, but he hadn’t thought Rangha would presume to have it here. This choice didn’t make sense.

  “You consort with our enemy,” Rangha continued, “and you expect me to believe you have the interests of the Empire at heart?”

  The accusation stung. Zhoh’s wound still pained him and he had not slept since yesterday. There had been too many things for him to do once he returned to his base. He shouldn’t even have been here, and wouldn’t have been if he’d had a choice. The argument between the M
akaum ­people, the foolishness of them even thinking they had a choice in their future, was a waste of his time.

  Only Rangha had insisted Zhoh be here as a show of support.

  “What were you doing, Captain?” Rangha demanded.

  No longer wanting to take the abuse from Rangha, Zhoh took the white noise generator from his chest pouch and activated it, shutting down his and the general’s comms, leaving only the two of them talking.

  “I went with Sage this morning because you left a trail to that storage bay containing all the weapons you’ve been stealing from past campaigns,” Zhoh said in a tightly controlled voice. He couldn’t stop the words. They poured out of him. “Your partner, the human female Ellen Hodgkins, had a computer that named you as the seller of those weapons. She had a copy of every transaction you have made on this planet.”

  Rangha drew back from Zhoh’s wrath and his pheromones stank of fear and rage, but the fear was stronger. “You’re lying!”

  “I still have copies of those records.”

  “What are you going to do with them?”

  “I’m going to send them to the Empire.”

  Regaining his composure, Rangha stood taller. “Do that and I will tell the Empire you falsified those rec­ords, that you were the one doing business with the Hodgkins female. We’ll see if they take my word or that of a kalque.”

  Zhoh knew then that Rangha was speaking the truth. Given a choice of whom to believe, the Empire would side with their general and bloodline hero because it was in their interests to do so. The best that Zhoh could hope for in that instance was a quick, painless death.

  And he knew they wouldn’t give him that. Despair swept over him as he tried to figure out how he was going to fix his mistake.

  At that moment at the well house in front of the Makaum ­people, Staumar’s head exploded into bloody chunks.

  Zhoh moved, automatically seeking shelter, and he felt the wind of a large-­caliber bullet sizzle by, missing him by only millimeters.

  Rangha felt it too, and he gazed at Zhoh with fury in his eyes. “You should have been dead! He should have killed you! Try to hide! He’ll find you!”