Hold the Line (Chimera Company Book 5)

by Tim C. Taylor

  “Don’t you dare say those words, or I’ll bite your throat out.”

  “Oh, I dare. We’re on the same side, Legionary, and I’ve been fighting this war longer than you. You don’t understand that yet, but you will. This isn’t over by a long shot.”

  “So, you’re Legion?

  “Sapper of the Legion Kosuda Urdizine, 27th Field Squadron. On special assignment.”

  Chenkong spat in his face. “Traitor!”

  Urdizine grunted sourly and pushed him into the observation station.

  * * *

  Vetch Arunsen

  Khallini’s would-be murderers didn’t have it all their own way. While their master stood slack jawed as he watched his plan come off its hinges, the robots orbiting his head shot projectiles into the front rank of attackers. They weren’t bullets, bolts, or lasers. Those who were shot carried on, heedless. Two steps later, though, blood geysered out their necks, and they toppled to the sand.

  Surrounded by regular arena fighters, Vetch crashed into the attackers’ rearguard. Waiting for him was a Zhoogene barbarian warrior with two long daggers and a buckler shield. Vetch planned to tap her with the upper head of his hammer. She read him and dodged sideways, lithe as a hyper-panther. She was a pro. Probably a better fighter than him.

  Swaying his weight onto his back foot, Vetch drew Lucerne’s haft across his body to parry her inevitable attacks, but the panther girl was overwhelmed by numbers. She was shoved in the back and fell onto the points of a trident.

  She gasped, but the trident was meant for arena fights, not war. The wound wasn’t deep. Nonetheless, she lost her footing.

  Vetch brought his hammer across his body in a low swing that shattered her leading ankle and hooked her up into the air, and she landed hard.

  He pushed further into the melee, but so many were involved that the numbers hampered him. He was caught in the crush of bodies, unable to swing his weapon. The best he could manage was to tap Lucerne down in a short arc in front of him.

  Everywhere there was confusion and shouting. Some of the fighters were laughing as they shouted barbaric war cries. They seemed to think this fight was all part of the act. Was that Sybutu on the other side of the sand? He couldn’t be sure amid the ebb and flow of faces.

  Cursing the stupidity of the situation, Vetch put his shoulder forward and barged his way to the front of the crush. He could see Khallini wielding his cane, using it to direct his magics. Vetch held back, questioning whether Sybutu had been right to send the crowd against Khallini’s attackers.

  Four of them had dropped their weapons and locked arms to form an unwilling living shield, blocking those who still wanted to kill their target. One of the latter squeezed off a pistol shot at Khallini.

  Mesmerized, Vetch saw the bullet gouge an ugly wound channel through the side of Khallini’s neck.

  Sheets of sorcerer’s blood fell from the angry tear. It was serious, yet he kept a tight mental grip on the people in the flesh shield.

  Then, before Vetch’s eyes, the sorcerer’s flesh knitted itself back together. The man who had shot him didn’t fare so well. Khallini leveled a curse at him in a language Vetch had never heard. The man’s head liquefied and dripped down the slumping torso that had once housed it.

  The attack faltered. Not just Khallini’s attackers, but the arena goers who’d run to defend him. No one believed it was entertainment now. That man’s head…it had looked like massively sped up footage of putrefying fruit. Some vomited onto the sand. Many looked aghast at Khallini, as if to ask who was the monster here?

  With the arena catching its breath, a second team of about a dozen attackers charged Khallini from behind. They threw short bolas at Vetch and his comrades, trying to wrap the weighted balls around their legs and trip them up.

  Enthree loved the weapon, which meant Vetch was used to training against them. He jumped up, partially evading the strike that clattered against one shin, wrenching a yelp of pain from his lips.

  Gods, how he’d love for Enthree to be here with her fancy swordplay. Indiya had forbidden her from being present for some reason.

  Zavage wasn’t so lucky. He was snared and went down hard.

  Vetch charged at the fresh attack, but the bolas had delayed him. Two more of the attackers had their heads pulped by Khallini’s sorcery, but the wizard hadn’t been able to prevent two weighted nets flying through the air from landing over him. Their weights glowed, and then began sparking with green fire.

  It must be delivering the sorcerous equivalent of EMP blasts, Vetch decided, because all the people Khallini had been controlling as shields fell to the ground. No one else’s heads exploded like overripe fruit. The orbiting mini-robots—which only seemed to have been equipped with one shot each—veered drunkenly away from their controller.

  A line of three men held Vetch at bay with spears. The men looked ridiculous, with furry short pants and Thracian helmets, but he could see in their eyes that these were killers.

  He tried smashing away the spears, but they easily dodged away from his hammer’s arc. They wouldn’t block him for long, though. While Sybutu made for Khallini, Bronze came at the spearmen with his replica bronze flail, but it was all far too late for the sorcerer.

  Trussed up by the nets like a bag of vegetables past their best, Khallini’s struggles were feeble. He was held aloft in a practiced maneuver. His arms were held to each side, his head pulled back and secured. A Xhiunerite woman with sharpened fangs for teeth held a long-hafted battle axe high and swung it down across Khallini’s neck.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Forty-Five: Silasja

  Observation Team Gamma

  Please don’t…Silasja prayed that reason would win the battle that must be raging in Cannock’s mind. Don’t make us die for nothing.

  The final member of the security team had his blaster rifle tucked in against his shoulder, leveled at Fitzwilliam’s chest. Silasja aimed her own hand blaster at a Human woman, Green Fish, the woman she was supposed to track.

  A score of weapons were aimed across the room, and she couldn’t be alone in being terrified. If any of them squeezed their trigger, she and many others would be fatally shot. That was why she ignored her training and aimed her blaster at the woman’s face rather than center mass. If she only had time for one shot, she’d better make it count.

  The only people she’d shot before had been woven by the range’s 3D looms. Cannock, don’t make me die a killer.

  The intruders brought in a cuffed and gagged Sergeant Chenkong. His eyes shot fury, but he was unharmed. Silasja cursed at herself for looking at him. She couldn’t afford to be distracted so easily.

  Next, Johnson and Eaglestone were dragged in. They were propped against a wall and guarded. Silasja couldn’t tell whether they were alive or dead without taking her eyes off Green Fish.

  Cannock’s head swiveled, taking in the updated scene. The tension rose. Silasja’s breathing rasped so loudly that she stopped altogether. She didn’t want to be the one to spark off an all-too-brief exchange of fire.

  A descending whine came from Cannock’s rifle as the charge level defused from the ready fire state. Smoothly, he placed his weapon on the floor.

  “We surrender,” Sergeant Meyasu said. The Zhoogene station chief sounded as relieved as she felt.

  * * *

  Vetch Arunsen

  Blue lightning flashed down from the fake desert sky and burned through the axe’s haft, cleaving it in two. It also severed one of the Xhiunerite’s arms, just below the shoulder. A blur of fur and claws followed the lightning down from the desert ceiling rig and plunged a glowing lance tip into the bodies of Khallini’s attempted killers.

  The lance head was twin tipped and carved with runes that glowed like an angry god’s soul. As it bit into the flesh of its victims, the weapon gave a supernatural scream, as if feasting on the lives it was taking. Vetch had seen a weapon like that before, though the demon scream was an awesome new feature.

  I
ts wielder wore twin bandoliers that carried knives, ammo, and other equipment. Otherwise, her lithe body was clothed only in fur. He’d definitely seen that before.

  “Orion’s arse!” Vetch growled. “Why can’t they leave me alone?”

  The cat woman’s opponents had rallied and were fighting back, hard.

  So was Bronze, who whipped his flail against the backs of the spear guard’s knees. The flail was only plastic coated in a bronze-effect finish, but the anger with which it licked around naked Human tendons made Vetch cringe.

  The spearmen fell to their knees. Vetch didn’t think they’d be running races any time soon. He smashed their spears into matchwood for good measure, then he jumped over them and got stuck in with hammer, boot, and fist, fighting alongside Lord Khallini’s feline savior.

  She immediately altered her tactics, using Vetch to distract the fighters while she darted between legs and lashed out with claws and knives at groins and hamstrings, having ditched her power lance.

  He watched her work and found himself admiring her, no matter how much he didn’t want to. These agile cat warriors of Kayrissa were the most irritating species in the galaxy, but they had the moves to turn the ugly business of killing into a graceful artform.

  Vetch was more of a skull crushing with a war hammer kind of guy, but he could appreciate alternate approaches.

  Killing was killing, though, and there was plenty of it about on the sands of the Ibson Arena. Soon, the fight was over, Sybutu was taking the anti-sorcery nets off Khallini, and Renaud Ibson was wandering around, dazed and totally confused.

  Vetch let all that play out. He had wary eyes only for the Kayrissan. For him, religion had faded away, ever since his first imprisonment as a boy. Now he wasn’t so sure, because surely there must be a supernatural power sending these Kayrissans to torment him, a divine being with an evil sense of humor.

  The cat woman stared at Vetch through slitted green eyes as she cooled down from her fighting mode with her arms spread wide as if inviting divine sanction. He’d seen this before. She was like a junky in the nadir of her need. Face sweat bathed, her dark fur rippling like a cornfield in a whirlwind, her nose and lips becoming plumper and glossier.

  She was also extremely vulnerable at this moment. Vetch wasn’t sure whether to feel honored that she trusted his people, or whether he should kill her now while he could. Besides, he decided, he wasn’t sure who this was.

  Her fur was striped dark and darker in the same pattern as Kaycey and Maycey, the sisters who’d seized him as a hostage to Nyluga Ree’s court. Theirs hadn’t been blue-black, though.

  Humans dyed their hair. Why not Kayrissans?

  Freed from his nets, Khallini had lost no time in engaging Indiya in a blazing row.

  “Are you with that old woman?” the Kayrissan asked Vetch, her voice unsteady.

  “We’re pledged to her, yes.” The rest of Chimera Company gathered ’round. “I’m not sure whether we’re enemies or not. Depends on whether the two oldsters sort out their shit.”

  She looked away and blinked slowly. “A truce, then. For now.”

  “Since we’re not killing each other at the moment,” Vetch said, “I’m gonna make a wild guess. You’re Laycey, aren’t you?”

  “That’s not much of a guess,” she sneered, her vigor returning fast. “You wear my sister’s claim marker.”

  “A sister who thinks you’re dead. And what the hell is a claim marker?”

  “Not dead. Deep cover asset. As for the other…”

  Laycey sniffed at Vetch’s beard. It was weird, but he figured with Kayrissans, it was simpler to let them get on with their strangeness. She lifted up his beard and flicked a claw painfully into the skin of his neck.

  He felt her draw something out of his flesh. She held it up for him to see. It looked like a bloodied thorn.

  “This is a claim dart that bears my sister’s scent. With this, Maycey asserts her right to you. Are you her plaything, Human?”

  Vetch rolled his eyes. “Hell, no. Maybe in Maycey’s demented mind, but not in the real universe.”

  “Have a care. Do not treat her so lightly. She has intricately woven many layers of her scents into this marker, taking great care in its fashioning. Clearly, you are important to her, though why is beyond me.”

  “At least on that, you and I can agree.”

  * * *

  Observation Team Gamma

  Silasja’s obs team were Legion specialists, not a last stand suicide squad. They handed over their weapons without resistance.

  “That’s better,” Fitzwilliam said.

  His broad smile should be irritating, but Silasja found him inexplicably charming. He felt dangerous, but in a good way.

  “What do you want?” Sergeant Meyasu asked of him.

  “To save the Federation.”

  “From what?”

  Fitzwilliam made a play of counting on his fingers. “Let’s see. First, we’ll save the Federation from itself. Then we’ll repulse the invasion from Andromeda. After that…? Let’s leave the rest of the wish list in reserve for now, because if we don’t deliver the first two, everyone in the Federation will be dead.”

  Meyasu gave Fitzwilliam the withering glare that haunted Silasja’s nightmares. “Even supposing I was dumb enough to buy into your conspiracy theory, what do you hope to achieve here? This is a monitoring station. We observe the orbital, keeping it safe. We watch people.” He threw his hands wide in despair. “Not even much of that. The cameras are failing. JSHC is growing dark, and it’s getting worse. Is that your doing?”

  “Yes. Some of it. How long’s this been going on?”

  “Eight days. It accelerated this morning.”

  The fish woman stepped forward with a knowing grin. “You can thank the Guild for today’s assault on your spy cameras. The rest has nothing to do with us, including whatever’s currently screwing with comms stationwide.”

  “Now our enemy reveals itself,” Meyasu said. “The Outer Torellian Commerce Guild.”

  The Lungwoman shook her head. “We’re bigger than the Guild, bigger than the Legion. We’re the best hope for the Federation.”

  “Save me your ludicrous speeches. Just tell me what you want of my team.”

  Fitzwilliam wore an embarrassed grin as he scratched behind his ear. “That’s the problem. We don’t know.”

  Silence enveloped the room once more. Although it lacked the electric tension of before, Silasja didn’t feel better. They’d trained for an attack by armed insurrectionists, not this bunch of rando crazies.

  While she was scanning the faces of the intruders in this new light, she realized one of them was staring intently at her. It was a boy. He should be at college, maybe cleaning out the inside of fuel scoops, or going on the virtual coffee run for a hive of low-grade data brokers. He shouldn’t be inside one of the hidden places of the Special Missions Executive.

  And he definitely shouldn’t be looking at her like that.

  “Hey!” she snapped at him. “Keep your eyes in your pants.”

  “Please don’t be cross, Silasja.”

  The marrow froze in her bones. “How…how do you know my name?”

  “I saw you in a…vision.”

  Like that makes it better.

  “No need to swoon on us,” Green Fish told her. “Molinjik here’s a bit backward. He’s got a teenage crush on you, but he’s completely harmless.”

  “I am not harmless,” Molinjik protested. Face hot, he bunched his fists at Green Fish. “I can be dangerous.”

  “No, you can’t. Don’t embarrass yourself, kid.”

  “We’re drifting off mission,” Fitzwilliam said firmly.

  “Is that a fact?” Meyasu sneered. “You said yourself you just turned up here on a whim.”

  Fitzwilliam took a step forward. “The whims of freaks like us are not to be discounted.” He took off his shades in a well-rehearsed maneuver and unleashed a smile that lit his handsome face.

  His eyes
were a purple radiance. Mutant.

  Silasja should be simultaneously wanting to punch that smug grin off his face and making him cover those revolting eyes. Instead, she felt herself giving half a smile back. What was it that made him so charming?

  Whatever help he needed, it would be her pleasure to offer it. Literally, physically satisfying.

  She gasped. His sick mutant mind magic was infecting her.

  Knowing that made no difference. Her smile deepened.

  Fitzwilliam gave an embarrassed laugh. “We weren’t expecting this to be a monitoring station. By the way, we made the acquaintance of two of your friends patrolling outside. They were unharmed when we left them, although we saw a lot of hungry giant rats. You should do something about the vermin in this place, you know. Anyway, we thought this was a base of operations for a group that’s really starting to piss me off. Any of you fine people know of Department 9?”

  Silasja had never heard of them, but it was obvious some had. Several of her colleagues stopped breathing when Fitzwilliam spoke the name. Silasja imagined, if they could, their hearts would cease pumping, their skin would cool to ambient temperature, and they would phase out of existence and disappear.

  “See?” Fitzwilliam said. “Right place, right time. There’s a reason we’re here.” He shrugged. “Just don’t rightly know what that is yet.”

  An older woman, who’d been standing at the back, stepped up to Silasja. The deep brown depths of her eyes gave her hope that this wasn’t another freak. The woman slow blinked and revealed glowing lilac eyes, just like Fitzwilliam’s. “You are the key,” the woman told her.

  “That’s utter drent. I just watch people from the shadows.”

  “The reason Molinjik saw you in his mind is because you’re important. The fate of many worlds is bending around your presence.”

  “I’m just…hellfire!”

  Fitzwilliam reached out a hand to her.