by Thomas Webb
X37’s hacked database was feeding Kaizen intelligence in fine fashion, which was exactly how she’d found herself here. She’d downloaded the flight plan for the ASI gunship and followed it to this planet. If only she’d been a single jump point closer when the data came in, she would have been in perfect position to ambush Lima’s field team and take them all out at once.
No matter, she reassured herself. Soon enough.
Kaizen activated her ship’s security protocols and opened the cockpit. She leapt down from the pilot’s seat, landing in a nimble crouch in the deep sand near the jungle’s edge. Behind her, the sleek attack ship locked itself down. A low-resolution hum signified the ship was on auxiliary power, just in case she had to fire the engines and make a quick getaway. She turned and headed into the jungle without a backward glance.
The plant and animal life here reminded her of parts of her own planet. Much of her home world Dravis was pure desert, but not all of it. A few areas remained lush and green, while the planet’s teeming cities were living testaments to the merging of flesh and machine.
An insect with red gossamer wings floated past her, searching for a late afternoon meal. She took in the creature’s vibrant colors through her helmet’s viewscreen. Kaizen enjoyed these little platitudes, almost as much as the honor of killing. . .and the credits, of course.
A short hike up the jungle covering the cliffside brought her to the structure. The executive’s vacation home showed signs of what had occurred. A destroyed front door, pulse round burns, a blown-out side wall. The structure was abandoned now, except for the four fighters in black armor standing guard. Members of the kill team positioned here while ULS cleaned up any evidence of wrongdoing, no doubt. And in case anyone who wasn’t authorized came sniffing around.
Kaizen was too late for Silvio Lima’s team, but she surveyed the field of battle anyway. She remotely coopted X37’s files again, this time pulling Hale and the rest of the team’s AAR’s, or After-Action Reports. Much like the battle that occurred at the ASI headquarters on Earth, Kaizen was able to reconstruct the fight that occurred here. She viewed it all inside in her thoughts, right down to holo images of the dead executive on his bedroom floor. What little she couldn’t pull from the stolen image feeds in Hale’s FAST armor, she was able to deduce by way of educated guess.
As she saw it all unfold inside her positronic mind, Kaizen was forced to give the ASI people a nod of respect. The Marine named Hale and his team hadn’t done too badly. She saw also that, perhaps, ULS was overpaying the kill team mercenaries they’d hired.
Speaking of, she wasn’t sure if Steen had informed the mercenaries of her impending arrival. She assumed the polite approach would be a good first step toward establishing goodwill, and that once she explained who she was the mercenaries would stand down appropriately.
Kaizen emerged from the jungle, hands up and well away from her weapons. “Greetings,” she said, speaking intergalactic standard.
“Who are you?” One of the men shouted. Right away they shifted into an aggressive posture. Before she knew it, she had four pulse rifles trained at her armor’s chest plates.
That answered one of her questions. Steen had not told them about her. It brought to mind an old saying that was much favored by her war master instructors.
Something about what happened when one ‘assumed.’
Still, she resolved to give courtesy one more try. “I am in the employ of United Les Space,” Kaizen said, her hands still up. “The same as you. Now if you would lower your weapons—”
“Get on the ground!” one of them commanded.
“I don’t have time for this,” she said, more to herself than to anyone who may have been within earshot. She felt the heat rise to the flesh of her face. A quick check of her vitals registered a slight uptick in temperature. “If you would simply let me—”
“On the ground!” the mercenary barked. “NOW!”
Kaizen growled inside her helmet.
I suppose we’ll have to do this the hard way, then.
Time seemed to slow as she grabbed the barrel of the nearest pulse rifle. The black-clad mercenary fired, sending the shot into one of his fellow kill team members. Kaizen delivered a flat palm strike to the chest of his armor, sending a signal to its systems to shut down and rendering it inoperable. A leaping back kick sent the already-shot kill team member behind her flying. Kaizen then pivoted on one foot, extending her arm to the third mercenary and extending her opposite leg in a graceful movement that almost mimicked the dance known on Earth as ballet. A brush of Kaizen’s fingertips shut the third mercenary’s armor down as well, and the kick from her extended leg sent the fourth stumbling backward.
Kaizen’s next movement was nanosecond fast as she drew and slew in a single motion, her plasma blade separating the heads of mercenaries two and three from their respective sets of shoulders. She gave the last one credit for bravery. He recovered from her initial kick and came, running, straight at her. She flipped the sword hilt-first, so the spine of the blade rested against her forearm. She registered the surprise in his vitals as she charged toward him.
She swung in a delicate arc, her blade slicing cleanly through the pulse rifle barrel. Kaizen turned the blade, driving it deep into the sand. The Yurnai assassin moved into a spin, grabbing the surprised mercenary and executing a hip toss that sent him hurtling to the ground. She kept his arm, slid a knee across his chest, then slipped into a shoulder lock that pinned him to the jungle floor. Kaizen retrieved her blade and held it high above her head. She spun the blade in her hand until it hung, point down, poised above the mercenary’s chest.
“No!” the mercenary shouted.
With a cry, kaizen plunged the plasma blade hilt-deep into his chest. The energy weapon sizzled as it penetrated armor, flesh, and sand.
Kaizen withdrew the blade and stood to her feet in a single movement. She spun the blade a final time, a ceremonial motion that would have once upon a time removed an enemies’ blood from the weapon. She replaced it in its scabbard at her back, the blade sliding home with a smooth snick.
Slowly her breathing returned to normal. Her internal temperature ticked down to its optimum range. It wasn’t often that she lost patience like that. She shrugged. They should have asked her who she was before they attacked her. A fatal mistake on their part. United Les Space would just have to take the expense out of the credits they were paying her. She was certainly good for it.
She took a deep, cleansing breath.
“Some people are simply unable to take ‘no’ for an answer,” she said to the jungle.
She was too late to catch Hale and company here, but thanks to the data she’d pirated from their AI drone, Kaizen could make an educated guess as to ASI’s next move. She would be ready for them. Ready, and waiting. The hunter would set the perfect trap for her prey.
But first she had to place a communications wave to Steen. Kaizen looked at the carnage she’d so casually wreaked. She already knew the first thing she would tell Steen.
Yes, she thought to herself as she studied the dead mercenaries at her feet. ULS is most definitely overpaying.
-20-
“We’ll take two, please.”
Cynthia held up two fingers and smiled at the vendor. “And two beers as well.”
The portly man, sweating despite the crisp air of the North American Autumn, reached into his steaming cart. Two moist, pink hotdogs appeared from the steam as if by magic. The vendor placed them in a pair of buns. He slathered Cynthia’s dog with mustard, onions, and relish. Lima took his with chili and ketchup, hold the onions.
The vendor presented the hot dogs to them, as if they were royalty being handed the crown jewels of an empire. “That’ll be twelve credits,” he said, beaming throughout the entire exchange.
Lima looked to his former boss, his eyebrow raised. “Your treat?” he asked.
“Of course,” Cynthia replied. She actually pouted. “You wound me, Silvio.”
Cynthia pulled out her comm device and slid the credits, plus a generous tip, into the vendor cart’s account. The cart owner grinned and nodded his thanks.
Lima and Cynthia Brentforth took their hotdogs and beers and made their way through the throng of noonday New York foot traffic. They found some outdoor seating in a green space not far from Turtle Bay, just outside United Nations headquarters. Cynthia’s security detail hovered in the background, making themselves as inconspicuous as they could.
“My hat is off to your security team,” Lima said through a mouthful of chewy bun. “If I did not know what to look for, I would not have noticed them.”
Cynthia dabbed the corner of her mouth with a napkin, removing a spot of mustard. “My new team was hand-picked. Trained by some of the best. You know that.”
“It is an improvement over your last team,” Silvio deadpanned.
“No one hits a homerun their first time at bat,” she shot back.
“Maybe not. But these dogs are a homerun.” Lima took another bite of his dog, savoring the bun, the meat, and the sharp, sweet tang of the ketchup.
Cynthia nodded in agreement. “Cheatham’s cart is the best in town. His family’s run that thing for several hundred years.”
“I can tell.”
Silvio devoured the rest of his dog, chasing it with a swallow of the bland North American beer. He studied the synthetic cup and frowned at its contents, thinking how, for this meal at least, the hotdogs were definitely the stars of the show.
“So Karl got me up to speed,” Cynthia began. Lunch was now over. It was time to talk business. She touched her napkin to her lips, wiping away the last of the hotdog’s remnants. It was a surprisingly dainty gesture coming from the UNIA’s Director of Clandestine Operations, someone who dealt death daily. “He told me everything,” she said.
Silvio leaned back into his side of the bench. “And you verified it all, of course?”
“Of course. Who do you think you’re dealing with here?”
“Karl said something very similar,” Lima remarked with a chuckle. “I would expect nothing less. From either of you.”
“I’ve reviewed it all, which is why I thought it best we meet here in person. Thanks for coming up, by the way.”
“Thank you for footing the bill.” And for finally taking this threat seriously. Silvio took a second to appreciate the sun sparkling on the waters of the bay before he continued. “So what was it that convinced the Agency this was a genuine threat?”
“They didn’t want to share that with me,” Cynthia replied. “But after our last chat, I pushed your concerns up the chain of command. I’d like to think that had something to do with it. If you want my best guess, though? The mass disappearances of the executives is probably what cinched it.”
Lima laughed. “Of course.”
“When the entire leadership structure of a major intergalactic conglomerate goes on “vacation” at the same time? In the intelligence game, that’s what we call a red flag.”
Lima agreed. “An entire corporate leadership structure ghosting at the same time would indeed be a red flag. Especially after warrants were issued for their arrests.”
Cynthia nodded. “You bet your ass it was.”
That wasn’t news to Silvio. Some of the corporate heads making themselves scarce would have been expected. But all of them?
“As we speak, UN and Planetary Alliance authorities are rounding up all the lower-level execs they can get their hands on,” Cynthia continued. “With the Alliance now involved? This is huge.”
Lima refrained from the ‘I told you so’ he so desperately wanted to deliver, instead settling only for a humble nod. “They know we are coming for them now.”
“They do. Word is that United Les Space is prepping for us.”
“So the UN is going after them publicly, then?”
Cynthia shook her head. “No way. Can you imagine the PR nightmare that would cause?” She rubbed her temples. “Gives me the beginnings of a migraine just thinking about it.”
Lima crossed his arms. “This taking down ULS. . . it will be a considerable effort, I imagine. Who will lead it?”
“We’re outsourcing the effort.”
“An excellent call.”
Cynthia drained her cup of beer and turned to Lima. “Let’s not bullshit each other, Silvio. I trained you. I raised you. And let’s face it—they came for you and your people in Sao Paulo. You can’t let that go unanswered.” She paused. “I want you to lead the charge on this.”
There it was. He wasn’t surprised, although perhaps he should have been. He took a sip of his own weak lager. “It will not be cheap.”
She waved the statement away. “You’ll be well compensated for the revenge you would have taken even without my permission.” She laughed. “I raised you well.”
“You did,” Lima said. “We will need resources for this. And I must warn you—it will be difficult to keep this quiet. Much less make it all disappear when we are done.”
Cynthia looked out over the bay, seeing the same view of the noon sun shimmering off the water. “Space is big, Silvio. We can make a lot of things disappear.”
That was just what he wanted to hear. “What can you provide us?” he asked.
Cynthia shrugged. “Officially? We can feed you intel, provide tech support. . . the usual non-lethal stuff. But unofficially? That’s a different story. We’re prepared to provide military assets, SAD . . . you name it.”
Lima could hardly believe what he was hearing. “Wait,” he said. “Let me make certain I perfectly understand you. Are you saying that you would provide us with UNIA military support? As in enough to mount a full-on offensive posture?”
Cynthia didn’t blink. “I’m not telling you that,” she said. “Not officially. But what I am saying is that the candy store’s open. I’ll make sure you get whatever support you need. Anything.” She looked around before meeting his eyes. “Unofficially, of course.”
“Oh,” Lima said, still stunned. “Of course.”
“United Les Space has pissed off a lot of important people,” Cynthia said. “Make no mistake—Earth and the UNIA are not screwing around on this one. The shit’s about to hit the fan.”
-21-
After she’d separated from the UN Military, Shane had disturbing dreams.
Sometimes she’d be back at her old command, or off flying a mission. Once, she’d dreamed she was back in officer candidate school. A few of them had been real doozies. Friend’s had died in most of them. Gina died in a few, and Shane herself had died in others. The dreams were troublesome, for certain, but mostly they were just surreal.
Afterward she’d wake up next to Gina, a strange mixture of fear, anticipation, sadness, and nostalgia working its way through her gut. Then she’d nuzzle up next to the gently snoring Green Beret and drift back to sleep. She considered those dreams and what they meant as she walked the passageways of the UNS Libertas. For the first time in a long while she was onboard a United Nations vessel of war, and this time it wasn’t a dream.
Here she was, dressed in flight armor again (albeit black instead of the standard olive-drab green), strolling down the passageway of a small battle cruiser, en route to a mission briefing and about to launch with a squadron.
Her own squadron.
The sense of déjà vu overwhelmed her. Like all her missions, Shane took the walk to the briefing room alone. She wanted and very much needed that time to think the mission through, to walk it out in steps inside her mind. She needed to clear her head to prepare herself for what was coming.
After Silvio’s return from New York, things moved fast. The team mobilized right away, with less than a day to gear up and head out. Shane had shuttled them to a remote, abandoned United Nations base on Ceres. They’d found the run-down station humming with activity. A full contingent of UN forces bustled in preparation for the largest off-the books military operation in human history. The UNIA had thrown everything into this, including the small
battle cruiser Libertas, and an entire platoon’s worth of operators. North American Reconnaissance Marines and army, and Indian, French, and Japanese Spec Ops troops. Even the Kingdom of Kush had lent a couple of technological support elements.
No Anesu though, Shane noted with disappointment. They’d all been wondering where she’d gotten off to. They also now knew Hale well enough not to ask him about it.
The forces at their disposal sat poised and waiting. But the best thing of all, to Shane’s thinking at least, was the squadron of twenty-four newly broken Habu attack fighters. Even better than that was the fact that Shane, experienced combat and gunship pilot that she was, would be leading them. In all those strange dreams she’d had, she had never imagined herself flying into battle with a squadron again. Much less leading it.
Shane rounded the battle cruiser’s bulkhead, the tubing and piping running along it like angular snakes, and stepped into the briefing room. Everyone had taken their seats, but the briefing hadn’t yet begun. The ASI team was all there, as well as a sea of faces she didn’t know. Hale and Gina sat amongst the grunts they would be operating with—recon, army, and the other United Nations forces. Kris and Lash, who would be accompanying them, sat next to one another.
Gina winked at her as Shane moved up to the front to take a seat with the pilots. Her pilots. She took an open chair next to Pyro.
“Hey boss,” Pyro said.
Shane laughed. “Yeah-I guess I am your boss again. Even though you’ve got your own fight to lead.”
“See?” Pyro said. “It’s not always a bad thing keeping to some of those old habits.” Pyro’s excitement had always been contagious. A bright spot even in some very dark times. “I can’t tell you how stoked I am that you’re here.”
“Same,” Shane said.
Pyro would lead the second flight of Shane’s black ops squadron, which consisted of a mixture of seasoned active duty pilots on special assignment and UNIA flyers with previous military experience. Thanks to Lima, they’d been given some leeway in what they needed for the operation. Shane had asked for Pyro and a few others personally. She’d requested them from her old unit, the 566th.