Heretic

by Philip C. Quaintrell

  Jed met his commander’s eyes and held a silent conversation for a second. Sam was loathed to give them too much freedom. “That would be much appreciated.”

  Due to the Paladin’s size, it took the group almost fifteen minutes to reach the door that led to the engineering section of the ship. Jed had been careful to avoid any civilian areas. Several engineers were already outside, all dressed in overalls, having just come through the decontamination chamber and relinquished their hazmat suits for deep cleaning. Jed saw their look of shock and horror when the Shay became visible in their midst. The captain held up a hand to calm them and introduced the aliens to his new chief engineer, Aleksander Grenko.

  When Grenko remained in stunned silence, Jed said, “Report.”

  Grenko tore his eyes from the pale, cyborg-like aliens. “The rising levels are playing hell with our suits, sir. We’re going to have to make some adjustments before we go back in.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” the Shay replied.

  Jed understood every word, forgetting for the moment that Grenko and the other engineers had no clue.

  “We have already taken precautions,” the Shay continued. “Grant us access and we will begin our work.”

  “Stand aside, Chief,” Jed ordered.

  Colonel Ava Matthews stepped forward. “Sir. Recommend waiting until my team is suited up for escort.”

  Jed didn’t want to delay this any longer. “Denied.” Seeing the colonel’s anger reflect on her face, Jed explained, “If they don’t fix it we’re dead anyway, escort or no escort.” Captain Holt gestured for Grenko to open the door to the decontamination chamber.

  The four Shay entered the chamber without a word. Jed noticed the backpacks they all wore, coated in metal and full of attachments he couldn’t recognise. Two of them carried cases filled with who-knows-what, but the captain didn’t want to think about it. Let them fix his biggest problem while he dealt with the next one.

  “Sir?” Grenko looked confused.

  “I’ll explain soon. Commander Vale, have everyone gather in the central hold - I mean everyone. Captain Fey, would you accompany me? I have very important speech to make…”

  The driverless cab flew between the stalactites of The Cove, weaving in and out of traffic, as it climbed ever higher toward the rocky ceiling. Roland removed a small datapad from his waist and pulled the cord out of the end, inserting it into the exposed circuit board he had already ripped open. The datapad began its immediate hack of the vehicle using an algorithm designed by Ch’len - seconds later, Roland was in control of the cab’s flight systems.

  “You definitely installed the Laronian boots into the suit, right?” Roland checked the sole of his left foot.

  “Yes. You have to stop asking me that!” Ch’len, as usual, was sat nice and comfy in the Rackham’s bridge, monitoring Roland’s progress.

  “I just want to avoid breaking every bone in my body!” Roland navigated a particularly wide stalactite and kept the cab as close to the jagged ceiling as possible.

  “Starlight Apartments are coming up on your right,” Ch’len said through his mouthful of grub.

  Roland peered out of the window and looked down at the tower. The central structure was thin, resting on a tripod, and building up into a saucer-shaped head. The saucer was filled with penthouse apartments, two of which were owned by Hon Valorga.

  “Have you got access to the apartments security systems?” Roland asked as he lined the cab up, directly above the saucer.

  “I’m working on it,” Ch’len replied quickly. “The Laronian has had extra measures built into the firewalls. Hon must be quite the asset.”

  Roland would have preferred to have a better idea of awaited him inside, but he didn’t want to waste time. “Looks I’m doing this the old-fashioned way.”

  “You’re going in without recon?” Ch’len stopped chewing.

  “This isn’t my first rodeo, Len.”

  There was a pause on Ch’len’s end. “What’s a rodeo?”

  Roland ignored the alien. “I’m handing control of the cab over to you.”

  “Well be fast, the meter’s running…”

  Roland couldn’t help but smile, using an override to open the cab door, and leaping from the vehicle. The suit’s cloaking system kicked in, keeping his freefall undetectable to the eye. The helmet’s HUD measured the gap between the top of the apartments and himself, informing Roland of his speed and how long he had before contact. Most of the vehicles flying around were beneath the saucer section of Starlight Apartments, keeping his drop clear. At the last second, the bounty hunter lifted his knees and activated the boosters in his Laronian boots. The thrust was never enough to give the wearer the power of flight; they could only break the fall.

  Touching down on Starlight Apartments, Roland waited for a second to ensure his suit was still working. He looked around, impressed with how smooth everything had gone thus far. It had been a long time since he had put this much thought into a mission or catching a bounty.

  With his hacking device still fitted into the cab, Roland resorted to using his Terran blade to prise open the hatch covering the ventilation shaft. Within minutes he was silently dropping into the corridor between two of the penthouse apartments. Even the corridors were better decorated than most homes.

  A warning appeared in the corner of his HUD, alerting him to an imminent shutdown of the suit’s cloaking system. With no time to lose, Roland depressed a button on his waist and caught the metallic balls that fell out. Once released, the tiny spheres would seek out any lifeforms and collate their data to form a living map, allowing Roland to track his targets.

  The Translift pinged.

  Roland held his breath with nowhere to hide in the lit corridor. The warning inside his HUD brought up a countdown in human minutes, informing him of how long he had until the suit completely shut down. The bounty hunter replaced the tracking spheres and retrieved his Terran blade, hoping to God that it wasn’t going to be a Raalak that exited the Translift.

  The doors opened and seven female Laronians and two female Brenine entered the corridor. They were all accompanied by a male Brenine in a cheap suit. Roland could tell he was armed by the way he moved.

  Just another scumbag…

  The group looked right at the spot where Roland was standing, but none could see his form. The countdown inside his HUD was down to seconds now. The male Brenine waved a card in front of the panel beside one of the apartment doors, forcing it aside and allowing music to blare out, filling the corridor. The countdown was close to zero. The bounty hunter followed them inside and scanned the new environment as quickly as he could. He needed somewhere to hide for a minute, so the suit could cool down and recharge.

  “Bovaasi!” Hon Valorga greeted the male Brenine with a wide smile. “Bovaasi you have surpassed yourself with these fine specimen!” Hon examined the women as if they were a product.

  Roland ducked into the nearest room and placed his back flat against the wall. The suit powered down and the nanocelium returned to their original dormant state. A new countdown appeared inside his HUD, informing the bounty hunter of when he could next use the cloaking systems. Roland decided to take the time learn what he could.

  “I’m in.” Roland didn’t have to worry about the noise level, thanks to the overly loud music - not that any sound escaped the suit’s helmet.

  “Me too,” Ch’len replied. “Bad news is; there are no cameras inside any of the penthouses. I’m blind.”

  Roland’s training had provided him with reflexes he could no longer control. From his few seconds inside the penthouse, he had clocked five Brenine, including Hon and the male escort from the hallway. There were ten females, including the nine arrivals. He had seen all of the male Brenine packing weapons, as well as the female Trillik, who was relaxing on a sofa by the curving window that spanned the entire apartment.

  “I’m going silent for a minute.” Roland removed his helmet and peered around the door frame. />
  “What do you think, Darja?” Hon Valorga addressed the female Trillik. “Potential, yes?” The Brenine looked every bit the slimy bastard Roland had imagined him to.

  “We will have to put them through their paces, but yes, I see potential.” The Trillik looked at the girls with four black, hungry eyes.

  Hon laughed and poured himself a flute of golden liquid. “Bovaasi, Lago, take them through and get them ready.”

  Bovaasi and the one called Lago escorted the girls out of sight. Now there was only Hon, two male Brenine and Darja, the Trillik. They laughed at something Hon said and enjoyed a drink together. Beyond them, Roland could see vehicles of every size passing by the curved window, oblivious and ignorant of the crimes going on around them.

  Roland replaced his helmet and sighed. “I think they’re about to have some kind of orgy.”

  “Why do you sound so sad?” Ch’len’s tone was that of confusion.

  “Because I’m not here to watch live porn, nutsack! Gor-van could leave Byzantial any minute and Hon’s the only one who knows where he’s holding up. I need the information inside that fucker’s head and I need it now!”

  Ch’len’s munching came over the comm-link. “Just burst in and show them that hideous human face of yours. Most people think you guys can melt them with your mind!”

  “I need him on his own…” Roland was running through past missions, trying to think of different methods.

  Ch’len’s next outburst nearly burst Roland’s eardrum. “I know what to do!”

  Roland shook his head, wishing he could poke his ear through the helmet. “What?”

  “Give me a minute!” Ch’len’s comm went dead.

  Roland crouched down and looked around the door again. Bovaasi and Lago had reappeared with the Laronians and the two female Brenine. The new prostitutes had replaced their clothes with revealing lingerie and high heels. They might not be human, but Roland still found them attractive. He tried not to think about how long it had been since he had had sex. He could remember the faces of the women he had bedded aboard the Gommarian, during his brief time there, but found he couldn’t remember their names. The self-realisation that he was an asshole didn’t stop him from focusing on the mission.

  “What the hell are you doing, Len?”

  Ch’len’s comm crackled back to life. “Do you remember when The Laronian contacted us with all those threats after the incident at Protocorps? Well, the Rackham recorded the conversation.”

  “Great, my ship has an answer phone. How’s this going to help?” Roland looked back into the apartment as Hon Valorga was helping one of the female Brenine to lose her bra.

  “Watch…”

  The music suddenly died down when Hon’s apartment alerted him to an incoming call. The other Brenine ignored it, but Darja looked at Hon, indicating the glass table-top in the lounge, which informed them the call was originating from Vallara, the homeworld of all Laronians. Hon killed the music entirely and ushered everyone to be quiet.

  “There’s only one call I get from Vallara,” Hon said to Darja.

  After he accepted the call, the table projected a holographic square with the image of The Laronian, sitting at his desk. The crime lord’s unusual helmet covered his features, instead presenting them with a view of a swirling galaxy as if the spiral of stars were inside his head.

  “Are we alone?” The Laronian asked with a serious tone.

  Hon hesitated. Until a second ago, the Brenine had been the biggest, baddest criminal in the room. He clicked his fingers and ordered everyone to leave. Their speed was too slow, however, and the Brenine resorted to an outburst, while simultaneously pushing one of his guards in the direction of the door.

  The Laronian put his feet up on the desk, as he had when he threatened Roland three months ago. “This is all taking too long. I’m getting bored…”

  Hon wiped the sweat from his forehead, aware of what happened to people who bored the unstable crime boss. All the while, Ch’len was sniggering to himself down Roland’s comm-link.

  “What did you do; rearrange his words?” Roland sank back into the shadows, allowing the group to pass him in the hallway and leave the penthouse.

  Ch’len was still laughing. “It was so easy because of that stupid voice of his! All I had to do was trick his array into thinking the call was from Vallara.”

  The cloaking systems came back online. He activated them with his thumb and exited the room, entering the dim penthouse. Hon Valorga was standing opposite him, on the other side of the faint hologram.

  “Boss?” Hon looked frantically from the hologram to the table. “Are you there? Can you hear me?”

  The Laronian continued to move around and talk into the camera, but Ch’len had deactivated the message’s sound, leaving only the visual of the message. Hon tapped the menu on the glass table, trying to figure out what malfunction would be the death of him.

  Roland spoke into his comm-link. “End the call.”

  Ch’len did as he was asked, deactivating the hologram in front of the bounty hunter. Hon gasped, assured that he had just offended the scariest being in the galaxy. Roland decided to re-educate the Brenine and shut down the cloaking systems. Hon yelled in fright and jumped back, falling on to the sofa in a mad scramble to get away. His instinct was to run; that was a good thing, Roland could work with that.

  Without taking his red eyes off the menacing figure, clad in black, Hon reached for his gun on the table. Roland reacted without thought and kicked the edge of the table, causing Hon to overshoot his reach. There was no hesitation from Roland, who marched over the table and descended on the terrified Brenine. With rough hands, Hon was dragged off the sofa and flipped onto the glass table with enough force to shatter it.

  Roland took a breath and slowly walked around the bent frames of the low table. Hon was on all fours now, scurrying through the shards of glass, dazed and disorientated. His pale hand went for the fallen gun, but Roland was quick to stamp on the Brenine’s knuckles. Hon screamed before blood poured from under his hand, now impaled with a dozen shards of glass.

  “Who… are… you?” Hon looked up at the shiny black glass of Roland’s helmet.

  The bounty hunter pulled the helmet off with a gentle hiss and revealed his grizzled, human features. Hon Valorga’s terror became tenfold at the sight of him. His squirming only caused more pain in his hand, and Roland dug his heel in as a show of dominance. The Brenine’s strange tentacle-like tongue was visible, whipping around inside his mouth.

  Roland knew the pain would push adrenaline round the Brenine’s body, bringing his fight or flight response to the surface. As an expert in this particular field, the ex-agent knew that more pain was required to keep the victim terrified enough to be pliable, but awake enough to answer questions. To ensure there was no fight left in the pimp, Roland used his helmet as weapon and whipped it across Hon’s face. His thick tongue lashed out and sucked up the blood that spilled from his nose.

  Along with the pain, the victim had to feel a sense of helplessness. Hon had to know that Roland was his new god and that only he could grant the Brenine peace and freedom. To enforce this dominance, Roland released him from the grip of his boot and allowed Hon to crawl away, out of the glass. After a few seconds of freedom, the bounty hunter pounced again, this time flipping the Brenine onto his back and delivering a swift punch to the face. The moment of pain and disorientation was all Roland needed to drop his weight onto Hon, using both of his knees to trap the alien’s arms. In the same motion, Roland retrieved the Terran blade from the base of his back and activated the blade. Hon didn’t like what happened next.

  Roland covered the alien’s mouth, stifling his pain-filled scream. His wicked tongue probed at his gloved palm, desperate to find a gap and let out a cry. The Terran blade was firmly planted in Hon’s already cut and broken hand, nailing him to the polished floor.

  Bending down, Roland placed his mouth next to the Brenine’s ear. “Does that answer who I am?”


  Hon moaned and squirmed as tears ran down the sides of his face. The Brenine knew that death was sitting on top of him.

  Roland spoke in a quiet and calm voice, having learned years ago how menacing it made him sound. “I have questions. You have answers. Tell me the truth and you get to walk out of here with all your limbs.” Roland glanced at Hon’s mutilated hand. “Well, most of them. If you lie, I’ll take you apart piece by piece until you look more like a Shay than a Brenine. Question one,” Roland immediately placed his thumb over Hon’s left eye and pressed firmly. “Where is Gor-van Tanar hiding?”

  The Brenine was perfectly still, well aware that his answer determined whether he lost an eye or not. Roland carefully lifted his hand from the alien’s mouth and waited for the answer. It was sick, but a part of Roland hoped that Hon would lie, giving him cause to push his thumb into the pimp’s eye socket.

  “He’ll kill me…” Hon whispered, pleadingly.

  “Wrong answer.” Roland squeezed and didn’t stop until the joint of his thumb was inside Hon’s eye.

  Every part of the Brenine wriggled dramatically in agony, desperately fighting against Roland’s weight. With his hand once again covering the alien’s mouth, the shrieking was kept to a minimum. The bounty hunter finally removed his thumb and wiped the blood and juices on Hon’s suit jacket. The comm-link in his helmet went dead again as Ch’len disconnected.

  It took a minute before Hon’s attention could be focused again. Roland took the time to visualise Li’ara’s face and remember how helpless he felt when the chamber exploded at Protocorps. If she was truly still alive he would learn of it, and if that meant he carved a bloody path across the Conclave, then so be it. He had promised Kalian he would bring her back safely, and he failed. That sense of loss and failure drove his mind to bad places.

  The bounty hunter placed his other thumb over Hon’s remaining eye. “Question one,” Roland repeated aggressively. “Where is Gor-van Tanar hiding? I know you provide him with girls!”