BRIGENDS
Copyright © 2015 Russell Krone
All rights reserved.
A Fly on the Hat Book
Cover Designed by Russell Krone
Original Art Illustrations licensed through FreeDigitalPhotos.net in accordance with their terms and conditions.
FreeDigitalPhotos.net
http://www.freedigitalphotos.net
http://www.facebook.com/freedigitalphotos
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination and are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author.
for my wife, my kids, and myself
Chapter 1 The boy Max
Chapter 2 The harbinger — Emil
Chapter 3 The brigend — Zoe
Chapter 4 The cabal gathers
Chapter 5 An unexpected encounter
Chapter 6 Emil’s mission
Chapter 7 Zoe’s choice
Chapter 8 Max faces the music
Chapter 9 Playing with the devil
Chapter 10 Max and Zoe
Chapter 11 A walk in the sky
Chapter 12 The princess in the tower
Chapter 13 The six
Chapter 14 Regrets
Chapter 15 Bringing down the house
Chapter 16 Hiding out
Chapter 17 Mending broken ties
Chapter 18 Escaping the hunters
Chapter 19 Another bad memory
Chapter 20 The end begins
Chapter 21 Welcome to agarha
Chapter 22 Hard choices
Chapter 23 Making a deal with the devil
Chapter 24 Second chances
Chapter 25 Consequences
Chapter 26 Corrupting
Chapter 27 Forgiving
Chapter 28 When all seems lost
Chapter 29 The devil’s due
Chapter 30 Cry havoc
Chapter 31 The truth revealed
Chapter 32 Stay with me
Chapter 33 Aftermath
ACKNOWLEDGEMENT
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
“The last thing in this miserable world I want to be is a hero. Heroes don't get paid.”
Chapter 1
The boy Max
Being from the Lo-5 meant you only had two choices: suffer in obscene poverty, or risk what little you had for the golden ticket upstairs. Sometimes you’d luck out, while other times, risk-taking was the key ingredient to an epic muck-up. This was why Max Zander found himself standing on the corner of Union not far from the Carroll slums.
He’d been there for what seemed hours, waiting for the Vega brothers. They were to meet him around midnight. Of course, true to their reputations, time was not a factor to them. He looked at his wrist chrono. It was a quarter to two already.
He tightened his jaw. Mucking muckers.
As if on cue, a cloudburst made the moment a tad more irritating. Caught in the open, he dashed to a nearby overhang for cover. There were a couple of working girls huddled inside a doorway to a trick house, sharing a single cigarette with guarded suspicions. The second he got close, they displayed the goods and vied for his consideration. Never one to pass on quality feminine wares, he looked at their ragged displays and gestured an easy no. There was no telling what contagions were festering beneath their scrawny, pale corpses. Returning to the cigarette, they chose to ignore his rejection.
He felt sorry for them. They were pitiful examples of what the Lo-5 could do to a person. They were no different from him... no different from Angelita.
He thought about her. Will she turn out like one of these girls?
To get his mind off Angie, he tickled the exterior of his tel-link earpiece, hoping his buddy would provide the mental distraction he needed. There was a connection. “Hey, Dinx. You there?”
A few seconds ticked by. The voice of an upset teenager answered, “Leave me alone.”
“What? You can’t still be mad at me?”
“Yes, I am. Leave me out of whatever it is you’re doing.”
“Don’t be such a spaz, Dinx. I need you in case these two crap-heads muck things up. That is, if they ever get here.”
“It’ll be a good thing if they don’t.”
“What’s wrong with you? This is a lot of money here... for the both of us.”
“Ha. You mean for you.”
“For both of us. It’s you and me, buddy, like always.”
“No, it’s never you and anyone else. It’s only you.”
The comeback hurt.
“Not fair, Dinx.”
“Not fair? You almost got me killed!”
“Really? You sound pretty alive for a dead guy.”
“That’s not funny.”
“I don’t know why you’re pissed. I’m the one Cho hates right now.”
“I told you going after that fruit shipment was dumb. But, did you listen? No.”
Dinx was right, as usual. Attempting to hijack Boss Jax’s property had to be the worst mistake he ever made.
“Hey, the plan was solid. It’s not my fault those guys weren’t mucking around. They wanted to kill me.”
That part wasn’t an exaggeration. When Boss Jax’s men shot at him, they did so with all the testosterone in their veins. Max had to make a choice between not killing and thus screwing the heist, or kill and successfully pull off the job. The later demanded he cross the blackest of lines, which is why he chose the former.
“You’re lucky Cho didn’t skin you this time.”
“Yeah, no shit.”
“How did he find out it was you, anyhow?”
Max didn’t want to say it. “Angie ratted.”
Pause. “That’s mucked up.”
The dumbest mistake had been trusting Angelita. If there was anything he had learned from his experiences on the street, it was to never trust a female when money was involved.
“It’s okay. You know Angie — it wasn’t personal. Besides, this job will set things right with her.”
“Forget about Angie; what about Cho? He’s the one you gotta fix things with.”
“If I pull this off, I won’t have to. With your help, I can —“
“I ain’t helping you again! Leave — me — alone!”
“Whatever. Just keep the channel open.”
Max switched the tel-link off almost hard enough to pull it from his ear. He wasn’t happy with his friend’s lack of compassion, in spite of the fact that everything the kid said was sort of true.
The rain stopped, giving him freedom to leave behind the noxious exhales of his shelter companions. His teeth chattered from the uncommon September cold front covering New York. This was not the best way for him to spend his night.
What he would’ve given to spend it with Angelita, instead of standing on the street like some dink. But, that wasn’t going to happen, especially after what she had done. In retrospect, he might have done the same in her shoes, so he was slowly making peace with it. After all, a lady in her line of work had to pay the bills, too. That was the Lo-5 way.
He ran his fingers through his thick wet hair, massaging the scalp at the same time. I’m too good-looking for this crap.
His belief wasn’t vanity, just a healthy opinion of his worth. For better or worse, his chiseled features and tall frame had always served as his free pass. Unfortunately, that charm was beginning to lose its luster. Growing up ten
ds to do that to a kid. One day you’re getting away with bloody murder, and then before you know it, you can’t seem to cut any breaks.
A whirling above caught his interest. He glanced up and saw several sleek aircraft levitating to and from the Hi-8. The Hi-risers were getting ready for their World First Celebration. He stared transfixed on the hovering crown that was the city above a city, imagining its opulence.
Oh, what it must be like to live as a rich man. Everything is yours for the taking and no one tells you no.
He could easily see himself living that lifestyle. The one obstacle keeping him from achieving his goal was the inescapable truth — he was a Lo-ender. Nothing good ever happens to his kind.
A familiar whiff of gun grease and repugnant body odor slapped his nose, interrupting the woe-fest.
“Finally,” he mumbled.
He turned to see Paz Vega stomping his hard boots as he walked. The thug’s twice as ugly brother, Paco, stayed a step behind.
The other guy in their parade was Cutter, a noob. No first or middle name, just Cutter. He was a few years older than Max, but not nearly as streetwise. The bloke was a perfect fit for this band of nitwits: dumb as a post and twice as smelly. Lashed to his back was a small duffle packed with the team’s data-plates, scopes, restraints, and body bags. Hanging by a flimsy tether was his hand-me-down gun. From the looks of it, it was probably loaned to him by one of the brothers.
Max had to give the guys credit; regardless of their tardiness, they came prepared. Each brother’s loadout consisted of three basic items: ammo, grenades, and stim pills. Outside of their primary weapons, that was all they needed to do a job. They didn’t even have backup pieces.
“You’re late.”
“Na, we’s on tim.”
To his relief, Paz wasn’t speaking Fraglish. That hodgepodge vocabulary of French-Spanish-English was near impossible to understand. Max usually avoided dealing with frag-heads, but this job left him with no other choice.
“Whatever. We gotta get going. Hopefully we didn’t miss them.”
“Yu beter be rite about dis, boy. I aint out heer fur my hell’t.”
“Don’t worry none. I’m right about this. I saw them again yesterday messing around the warehouses at the old wharf. There were three.”
“Yu git a look at dey brigen marks?”
“No, because I don’t have a scanner. But, judging from how they move, they’re probably military trained. That makes them brigends.”
“I dunno about dis. Dey cood be anyone, not jus brigens.”
“Yeah? And what bounty hunter moves like a soldier?”
He had a point, but the brute wasn’t as convinced.
“Oh, come on. You know I’m right. It’s a solid plan. We grab these brigends and collect the reward. What could go wrong?”
Anything as long as it involved partnering with the Vegas. Max hated using them, but he figured he needed more muscle to do a proper snatching. What he didn’t want to dwell on was the fact this would be an unsanctioned arrest. If Cho ever found out, he would have his balls.
Paz showed his rotted teeth and signaled for him to lead the way. Without wasting any more precious time, they headed in the direction of the waterfront.
If fortune was willing and no one screwed up, Max’s luck was about to finally change.
Chapter 2
The harbinger — Emil
Am I dead?
The need to know was meaningless as her soft lips rediscovered his lips. Her touch was profound and deliberate, like only a lover’s would to a longing soul.
Every time he reached for her, he found an emptiness where she existed. If he dared to open his eyes, there would be nothing.
Where are you?
I am here.
Why can’t I see you?
Do you need your eyes to know I am with you?
Please, let me see you.
He worked to make his pupils perceive what his heart wanted to accept. He saw something. It was faint, but the more he strained the stronger the image became. From this profound need, he could make out only the indistinct curves of her figure, not the woman he remembered her to be.
She came to him. Her fingers feathered his lips and he reacted. She was right, for he didn’t need his vision to feel her touching his body. Her perfume was a scent he knew too well. It swathed him, comforting his wounds.
Tears formed.
None of this is real. She is not real. She is dead.
I’m not dead!
His bizarre lover faded, leaving him interned once more in purgatory.
He laughed a sigh. There was no place in his life for delusions.
He opened his eyes to the intense glow of the euphemistically labeled therapy room. A blood bead dropped from the swollen point of his nose and resounded off the polish of the sterile floor. He strained to raise his head, but he was weak from the therapy his captors had recently given him. His right wrist rattled the brace as he moved to wipe the tinted sweat from his bruised face.
He remembered he was still in the prison camp.
Gradually, his focus returned. He could hear the mechanical breathing of the two cyborg guards standing near the entrance. Where was the Russian officer, he wondered. Surely, he hadn’t given up so easily. Maybe he stepped out for a smoke.
This scenario was nothing new. They would drag him from the mineshaft, bring him here, rough him up, ask questions, follow with more roughing, and afterwards return him to the drudgery of prison life. It was a silly routine, but they executed it daily with precision. He counted it as just one more checkmark on his day’s schedule.
The wait for the officer’s return seemed like an eternity. Just when he gave up pondering what was happening, every light except for the ugliest one turned off. He could no longer see the guards, but he knew they were there. This was a new tactic and it aroused his interest. Whatever was about to occur, he was not going to give these nemernici the satisfaction of knowing they had broken him.
No way. Never.
A gentle woman disturbed the darkness. “Good afternoon, Emil.” She spoke Romanian.
He craned his head to find the source of the alluring coo. It had been a long time since he heard his name spoken out loud, let alone with words from his native language.
“Is it afternoon?” he asked. “I can’t tell.”
“I thank you for seeing me.”
Her accent was mild, but from what he could hear, it was proof she wasn’t a Romanian or a Russian for that matter.
“You’re welcome, I guess. Can we hurry this up? I want to get back to my exercises.”
“It is refreshing to see your sense of humor has not diminished. How long have you been our guest?”
“Eleven hundred and thirty-two days, but who’s counting?”
He had been.
“It has been a long time. You have lost so many years. Years never to be replaced.”
The banter was becoming tedious. “Let’s get this over with. Come on and try your best to make me talk. I’ll say nothing like always.”
“Perhaps for me, you will.”
She emerged from the shadows. Slivers of white silk draped her long extremities, leaving most of her body exposed. A deluge of black hair cascaded over her smooth shoulders. Eyes of the earnest brown looked on him with relaxed amusement. He couldn’t help it, but the way she floated as she walked enthralled him. She didn’t hurry, yet there was a seductive purpose to her movements.
He didn’t sense her compromising his defenses until he noticed the large sapphire crystal hanging from a thin necklace around her slender neck. Emil regained control and revolted to the vile object nuzzled at the height of her demure cleavage. She enjoyed his reaction and a tiny smile formed on her dark lips.
“So, they finally called you guys in to break me.”
The predator caressed the crystal as she encircled him. “You know of this, do you not?”
He knew exactly what the crystal was, but he stayed silent out of cont
empt for the creature. She was a beautiful woman, but he knew she was not human, at least by his corrupted definition of the word. The creature was a Zolarian — a transhuman — a mutation — an abomination.
“You may talk with me. We are close, you and I.”
The crystal glimmered as she spoke. Her tenor soothed his fears even as he struggled to avoid her snare. She placed a hand on his shoulder. He wanted to shrug it off as she brushed away the dirt-matted hair on the base of his neck, exposing the dermo-glyth of his brigend mark.
“Do I know you?”
“It is me, Milari. Do you not remember what you and I have shared?” She ran the tips of her fingers along the length of his grimy neck.
“What we shared?” The rush flowed over him and his barricade faltered. He desired her touch.
“You are exhausted. Your suffering has been great.” She paused. “You know of these crystals?”
Her seduction evaporated and his mind was clear again. The witch was good at toying with him.
He looked at her. “Yeah, I know of them. It’s the reason you got these nemernici digging day and night. You’re whores for those mucking things.”
“What a delightful dialect you have.” Her fingertips tickled the spot between her breasts. “You and your comrades serve a greater good. For each ora crystallum recovered is yet one more step humanity takes toward perfection.”
He couldn’t help but laugh. His reaction offended her.
She moved to the center of the room. “Your scorn pierces me, Emil.”
She was genuinely hurt, as if he had rejected her love. He felt a trace of remorse. He didn’t know why, but he wanted to reach out, hold her, and say he was sorry for ridiculing her obsession.
He caught himself falling for her trick and clenched his teeth to the extreme of drawing blood from his lip.
“Woman, do you know how many of your kind I’ve killed? Release me and I’ll be happy to tell you about it.”
She smiled.
“You are a strong man, but even with your impressive resolve, you will not resist me for long. Why are you here, General Pavel?”
The question confused him. Was he not a prisoner of the Alliance? He searched for the answer, but drew a blank. “I don’t know.”
Brigends (The Final War Series Book 1) Page 1