Hold the Line (Chimera Company Book 5)

by Tim C. Taylor

  People were important, too. After all, that was why she was here. She tried remembering the names and a detail about everyone in her party.

  She was flanked by her security guards: Steymer to her left, whose gaze caressed Wei’s form when he thought no one was looking, and Anson to her right, who aimed similar covert glances at Steymer. Both were all business at the moment. Good boys.

  “Who is this?” She waved her walking stick at three people who seemed to be in her party. A Human boy, a squid, and an Orsiric woman with a hunched back. Wei had probably explained who they were, but she’d forgotten. Other than the buried nightmares, her memory recall was perfect. The problem was forming new memories when nothing mattered anymore.

  Wei replied. “Their names are Burmina, Zaydok, and Zee.”

  “These are my freaks?”

  Wei quailed at Indiya’s choice of vocabulary. “Yes, ma’am,” she said. “A few of them.”

  The three mutants didn’t seem bothered by being called freaks.

  “Indigo Squad,” she barked at them. “To me.”

  The three came down the steps and regarded her nervously.

  “You ever wonder how I’m still alive?”

  “Yeah,” the boy said.

  “Good. You should. I’m the product of an experimental program carried out by Jotun scientists. I’m bioengineered. I have multiple nanite factory implants, and that’s just the headline act. A whole load of alien tech was planted within me before I was even born.”

  “You said you were part of a program,” he said. “Does that mean there are more like you?”

  “There were a few others like me, though each was a different variant, and none of us were designed to live so long. Our normal Human shipmates hated us. They called us freaks.”

  She winced in pain at the memory. Not because it was upsetting, but because it touched the past she had long buried.

  She evaded the anguish along with everything else and finished her story. “So when I call you freaks, it’s a term of honor. You three, Wei, and me, we’re all freaks, just in different ways.”

  “Why Indigo Squad?” the boy asked. “I thought we were supposed to be part of Chimera Company.”

  The Xhiunerite kicked him in the shins. Hard.

  “What?” He glared at the squid. “Indigo. Purple. I get the pigmentation connection with us mutants. It seemed too unsubtle for Lady Indiya.”

  “Name?” Indiya demanded.

  “Zaydok, ma’am.”

  “I’ve got an eye on you, Zaydok. I like you. I called you Indigo because…” She staggered under the weight of her past. “When I first met my husband, he was in Indigo Squad. He was your hundred times great granddaddy. Think on that.”

  Zaydok’s jaw dropped. “Azhanti! That’s freaking neat.”

  “It is. Now, Zaydok, I want no bullshit from you. Tell me straight; why are you three here?”

  “Burmina here foresaw a trap. Didn’t see who, where, why, or what, but we figured she might make a good early warning system. Me and Squids, we help Burmina to see things.”

  “Very good. Return to your positions, Indigo Squad. Let’s make history.”

  The ascent was harder than she’d ever imagined.

  With each step she took, the presence of her dead husband took firmer shape beside her. That hadn’t happened for at least a thousand years.

  “You choose your wixering time to show up,” she muttered bitterly, but with every step, it was harder to resist the temptation to offer her hand for him to take.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Forty-Two: Indiya

  The first thought that came to Indiya’s mind when she entered the Ibson Arena was fuck. She didn’t need her ancestors’ DNA spliced with the genetic material from alien goo balls to know something was wrong.

  At least her people were here, as per the plan. She spotted Sybutu, the Viking, and the tattooed woman with the troubled mind. She had no need to hear their thoughts to know that events had slipped from their control. It was written on their faces.

  No matter. If she willed it, Indiya could enter the minds of all the Humans and the Zhoogenes here and compel them to slit their own throats. The eleven other races she’d noted weren’t numerous enough to cause difficulty.

  She wasn’t ready to take the gloves off, so to speak, and go weapons free with her powers. After chalking up three-and-a-half millennia of restraint, it was a difficult chain to break.

  “Ma’am, we should leave.”

  Indiya smiled at Wei. “It’s all right, girl. I’m more than prepared.”

  She stretched out her arms and released squadrons of airborne nano fleets, microscopic infiltration warriors that would penetrate the brains of those around her and place their minds in thrall to her will.

  After eons of practice and enhancements to her own mind to control her nano armies, there was no need for detailed command and control.

  She willed it. Thus it would be. Magic, many called it. Long ago, she’d abandoned trying to explain to her followers that this was science, not magic, and, almost as long ago, she’d realized they weren’t wrong.

  She was a powerful sorcerer, and anyone who got in the way would be swept aside.

  She blinked. Her magic was misfiring. She was being…blocked!

  Blocked? That had never happened before. How could anyone defy her?

  “My lady?” Wei queried.

  “We are…anticipated. Contained.”

  Wei issued orders. Steymer and Anson reached inside their jackets for concealed weapons. Hjon hurried over, bringing the two Humans in her wake.

  “Trouble, ma’am?”

  “Nothing I can’t handle.” Indiya unleashed further microscopic armies and smashed away the blockage. The impediment was crude and not tailored for her. She blasted it away like a flamethrower burning through a plague of locusts, but there was so much blockage to burn through…

  She ceased her struggles. There was only one person who could have done this.

  “It’s my brother,” she gasped. “He’s here. Now. Lord Khallini.”

  With renewed vigor, she wrought destruction upon Khallini’s machinations while trying to remember whether he was biologically her brother.

  “It’s gonna be all right,” Indiya told her worried followers. “Keep me safe while I burn through these wixering blockages. It’ll take me a few minutes. No more.”

  As she worked, a stocky man walked over to the oval of sand and clapped his hands. The Arena fell silent. People shifted position to get a good view of the man.

  He raised his hands as if in victory. “Welcome to new guests and old sweats alike. I’m Renaud Ibson, and I ask you to give up your warmest welcome for our very special guest tonight. Lord Khallini.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter Forty-Three: Sergeant Meyasu

  Observation Team Gamma

  Knoxorre gasped. “You gotta be kidding!”

  Sergeant Meyasu looked across in alarm. Knoxorre wasn’t normally excitable. “What is it?” he demanded.

  “It’s Fitzwilliam. He’s right here, on the other side of the frakking door, waving at us.”

  Meyasu hooked into the same feed and verified Knoxorre’s claim. He couldn’t detect anyone else in the tunnel, but, all afternoon, the feed had grown patchier by the minute.

  “Chenkong, how did this man walk up to us without being apprehended?”

  The security sergeant bristled. “How come he knew our location, Meyasu? We don’t know the answer to either question.” Chenkong came over to Knoxorre’s station and pointed at the man in his viewscreen. “But I bet he does.”

  Meyasu looked for a reaction from Silasja and found her buried in her station, pretending not to notice.

  Not five minutes’ earlier, she’d asked whether the spreading gaps in their coverage might be an attack on them. On the station map, it did look as if a dark finger were reaching for their location, but he’d told her that was just a coincidence. Observation Team Gamma simply wasn
’t important enough. He’d almost added that similar coverage blackouts weren’t reaching for the other obs teams but caught himself in time. As far as Gamma was concerned, there were no other obs teams.

  Now he didn’t know what to believe.

  “What do we do?” Knoxorre asked.

  “For now, stay calm and carry on. Fitzwilliam can’t get inside.”

  Meyasu went inside the secure box and contacted the overseer.

  “Seize Fitzwilliam,” the overseer told him. “Incapacitate him, but don’t damage his brain or his voice—and make sure there is enough of him left to feel pain. If he has associates with him, kill them all.”

  * * *

  Vetch Arunsen

  Lord Khallini.

  For such a little old man, the way he instantly silenced the rowdy arena was impressive.

  This was the third time Vetch had encountered the sorcerer, and the tiny man did more than silence him. The mere mention of Khallini’s name sent spikes of terror through his body that fused his feet to the floor. When the crowd parted, and Vetch saw the man himself walk into the sand, his bowels turned to ice slurry.

  The fighting pit activated its desert planet configuration. From a complex rig of diffusers mounted in the ceiling came a dry, ruddy heat scented with desert herbs.

  It suited Khallini, who was outfitted as a gentleman adventurer. Sturdy soled leather boots rose to his knees. He was clad in loose fabrics in shades of tan and light teal. On his head he wore a muted red cap embroidered with priceless jewels. A ring of spherical miniature robots orbited about his head.

  With a gnarled hand wreathed in liver spots, he lifted his cane. Vetch flinched. What magic would this man unleash? Vetch and Khallini had been allies of a sort in their last encounter. That was little comfort now. Unimportant people like Vetch and his team were as dust to a man like this.

  Khallini cleared his throat, and Vetch pulled back from the brink of a panic-induced breakdown. The sorcerer had lifted his cane for emphasis, not to launch a spell.

  “Citizens of the Federation,” Khallini began.

  Oh, hell. He must have cameras that would take his message across the stars. He was trying to muscle in on Indiya’s operation. This could get ugly, fast.

  While the sorcerer explained to the crowd that the galaxy needed to help him to save itself, Vetch snapped out of his terror. “Boss, what’s our play?”

  Static was his only reply. Comms were out. Bloody typical. When Khallini was around, tech only worked with his say so.

  He spotted Lily near the entrance. She was close to Indiya, who was still playing the old woman with her vivid hair carefully concealed. Lily gestured to her team to stay alert and not to engage.

  That could change any moment. Vetch had Lucerne, his war hammer, in his hands. He’d felt so good when they’d managed to smuggle her in pieces past Ibson’s security, but he couldn’t take the usual comfort from her heft now. He’d unleashed a skull-crushing blow on Khallini in their first encounter. In response, the sorcerer had patted Vetch on the head and told him he was cute.

  Zavage was nearby. Vetch edged closer and whispered to the Kurlei, “Khallini controls minds. Human minds.”

  Zavage gave a bitter laugh. “So as an exotic alien, I might be immune from his mind control.”

  “That’s a possibility.”

  “He’ll probably eviscerate me with a single thought, instead. Slice open all the cells in my heart. That sort of thing.”

  “Probably. Just spitballing, pal.”

  A piercing scream interrupted Khallini’s speech. “It’s a trap!”

  Head on a swivel, Vetch tried to take in this latest onslaught of weirdness.

  All he saw was one of Indiya’s mutants screaming her head off. It was the gnomish alien, Burma or something.

  A sudden ripple in the crowd nearly pushed Vetch off his feet. The disruption came from a group of about a dozen who were dressed as fighters. Moments earlier, they’d stepped aside in a choreographed fashion to allow Khallini free passage to his sandy stage.

  Those same people were now rushing onto the pit, brandishing swords, axes, and gladiatorial nets. There was murder in their eyes, and their weapons weren’t the blunted replicas you normally got in the arena. They were wicked sharp.

  Fire surged through Vetch’s muscles. He lifted Lucerne to a low ready position, with an urge that someone should feel her kiss. But who? He roared in frustration. Whose skulls should he crush? The sorcerer or his assassins?

  Lily was now out of sight. Comms were unavailable.

  Of all people, it was Sybutu who made Vetch’s decision for him. The legionary’s voice rose from the far side of the pit.

  “They’re breaking the weapons code!” Sybutu yelled to the crowd. “Drentbag cheats! Get ’em!”

  Vetch joined in with the rest of the Ibson Arena as he rushed onto the sand, Lucerne held high.

  This time the arena fight would be very real.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Forty-Four: Sergeant Chenkong

  Observation Team Gamma

  Before opening the door, he swept the sensors one last time along the dimly lit tunnel outside. Fitzwilliam was waiting out there, hands on hips. In the infrared enhancement, his eyes were redacted behind impenetrable glasses.

  The Special Missions Executive didn’t go in for big armies and fleets. The rest of the Legion handled that. SpecMish teams were small and specialized. So long as they didn’t face overwhelming numbers, that suited its operatives just fine.

  Chenkong’s problem was that he didn’t know what he faced.

  Whatever was making the peepers nervous by taking out their spy cams was also playing havoc with his comms. Prestor and Ludwig were patrolling the tunnel, but he’d lost contact.

  Since the recent blackouts, this had happened several times. The fact they hadn’t checked in could mean nothing, or it could mean everything.

  Chenkong had his orders, though. Leaving Johnson and Eaglestone waiting with stun rounds just inside the door, and Cannock as reserve inside the monitoring room, Chenkong walked out, hand blaster ready.

  “I’m here to talk with someone,” Fitzwilliam said, standing in the light spilling through the open door. He was holding his fat pistol in one hand, pointed nonchalantly at the floor. The weapon looked fake, and his stance looked as tactical as a stale banana sandwich.

  The amateurish act didn’t convince Chenkong. Two seconds earlier, Fitzwilliam’s weapon had been holstered.

  “Suits me,” Chenkong said. “Drop the weapon and come inside. We’ll have ourselves a nice chat.”

  “What? This thing?”

  Fitzwilliam thumbed the grip. The air shimmered over the barrel.

  Keeping the muzzle pointed well away from Chenkong, Fitzwilliam glanced at the weapon’s holographic targeting.

  Chenkong lost patience and leveled his weapon, his finger on the trigger. “Drop it!”

  “Why? I’m not even pointing it at you.”

  “My orders are that you shouldn’t be permanently harmed. However, I’ve a team here to protect. Which means if you don’t drop that weapon, I’ll deem you a danger to those inside, and I will shoot you dead.”

  The asshole tutted.

  “Drop it and you can come inside and have the talk you asked for. Last chance.”

  “Come now. A nice chat over a tasty beverage isn’t what you have planned for me, is it?”

  Fitzwilliam threw himself sideways, firing two rounds as he sailed through the air in low-gee slow-mo. Both missed completely.

  Screams came from inside the door, from Johnson and Eaglestone.

  They’d been hit. Through the wall.

  Chenkong didn’t understand. He didn’t need to.

  Fitzwilliam was on the ground beyond the patch of light, in the process of drawing a bead on him.

  Chenkong didn’t hesitate. He pumped a nine-round burst into Fitzwilliam’s center mass and watched the induced plasma bolts smear over the target, strobing brilliant
colors onto the walls of the service tunnel for a transit line that was never built.

  The splash heat burned Chenkong’s legs, making him grunt.

  Keeping his weapon aimed at Fitzwilliam, he staggered back and felt his arms wrenched from behind.

  He got off one more shot before his blaster was taken from him. It bounced along the floor once, twice, then fizzled out in the darkness of the tunnel.

  Unable to see who was behind him, he lurched violently to one side to test their strength and was held easily. He conserved his energies and waited for his chance.

  Fitzwilliam was delighted with himself. “If it makes you feel better, I only fired shock rounds at your welcoming party. They’ll wake up. Eventually.”

  Chenkong looked at the wall where the rounds had hit. No holes. Not even scorching. How was that possible?

  He stared at the strange weapon Fitzwilliam spun around his finger and then returned to its holster.

  “You would not believe how expensive this thing is to fire.” Fitzwilliam sighed mournfully. “Which is why you don’t get the honor of feeling its kiss.”

  As Fitzwilliam and two of his fighters penetrated the facility Chenkong was assigned to protect, a Lungwoman came into view, waving a bundle of restraints. She was dressed expensively in a shimmering turquoise tunic under a tailored brown leather jacket. She wouldn’t have looked out of place at a swanky Solera Sector party. She secured his wrists behind him and hobbled his ankles. Walking was tricky, but possible.

  Most of his captors looked like they were on vacation. The remainder were playing desperado dress ups. He spotted a mature woman wearing expensive smuggler chic, and a bearded giant carrying a huge custom minigun. The man looked as if he was having the time of his life.

  One of the few who had a military bearing took charge of him. “You held the line,” the green man told him. “No one could ask more of you.”