Decker's War Omnibus 1

by Eric Thomson

  “You’re an ass, Decker.”

  “And you’ve got a very nice one.”

  “Thanks – I think.” She shook her head. “It’s a good thing I know behind that leering grin sits a decent tactical mind. Otherwise, I’d despair.”

  “Decent?” He put on a mock-wounded look. “There’s absolutely nothing decent about me.”

  “Finally,” she snorted with suppressed laughter, “something we agree on. How about your indecent tactical mind finds us breakfast?”

  Twenty-Seven

  Hera Talyn’s first glimpse of a camelot nearly had her in stitches. As advertised, it had six legs which seemed to move independently of each other and of the rest of the body, which was long, thick and covered in purplish fur. A flat, wide-nostriled head sat atop a muscular neck, bulging eyes staring out on each side of a huge, rubbery-lipped mouth. And it stank.

  “Doesn’t look much like an Earth camel, does it?” She almost gagged on her food as the animal swayed by, a blue-clad Targi sitting on its back in a strange, saddle-like contraption that looked extremely uncomfortable.

  “No, but it does just about the same job.” Decker, still chewing his meat-filled bread pocket with gusto, seemed unaffected by the smell. “Apparently the buggers can go for weeks without water. There have been stories of caravans coming out of the deep desert with desiccated corpses in the saddles, but the critters still able to walk to the next oasis.”

  “Charming. I’m glad we don’t have to cross the entire Great Erg.” She suddenly stopped talking and quickly wrapped the bottom of her turban around her lower face, hissing at Decker. “Cover yourself.”

  A skimmer, much newer and in better condition than the one they’d abandoned the previous evening, was slowly making its way through the growing crowd. The two men sitting in the open compartment didn’t much look like Nabhkans. Clad in some sort of sand-colored battledress, wearing wide, polarized eye protectors and carrying a small arsenal on their persons, they could have passed for mercenaries anywhere.

  The two spies bowed their heads over their plates, to avoid attracting attention, but they watched the new arrivals from the corners of their eyes. The skimmer passed them and the food stand where they sat, stopping about fifty meters further down the side of the town square. Both occupants jumped out and scanned the crowd.

  “Amali’s men, do you think?”

  “Probably.” Zack watched them as they began to move about. “Trained in any case, and by professionals, so unless there’s a war going on that we haven’t heard about or a shayk living in these hinterlands who likes to pay a premium for off-world guards, I’d say there’s a good chance they’re looking for us. Or at least, doing due diligence by patrolling the town closest to the Nippur oasis.”

  “The hit squad liaison would have figured out by now that we got away. Someone might have reported the bodies we left at Girsu.”

  “Not necessarily. Like I said, a lot of folks try to avoid dealing with the police in these parts. The motto ‘serve and protect’ doesn’t exactly translate into the local lingo.”

  “Still, with no contact for a day, someone’s bound to get worried, especially since yesterday was intended to mark our demise.”

  The two men slowly made their way across the square, examining people, looking into tents, storefronts and under awnings. When they got to the cluster of parked ground vehicles, they stopped and examined the abandoned skimmer. One of them pulled out a pad and glanced at its screen, then back at the skimmer. Then, both turned and scanned the square with what seemed to be a greater sense of urgency.

  “They’ve made the damn clunker,” Decker swore under his breath. “We should have dumped it outside of town.”

  “Where it would have stuck out even more. What’s done is done. The real question is what do we do now?”

  “Stay right here, like good little Targi having a bit of a laugh before we head back into the desert.”

  “Your eyes will be a dead giveaway, Zack.”

  He chuckled.

  “You’d be surprised how many Targi have eyes like mine. No, the biggest giveaway is around them.”

  Talyn, head cocked to the side, stared at the little bit of his skin that remained visible, then bent over to grab a handful of the sandy dust that had accumulated at the base of the wall. With quick movements, her head turned away from the two armed men, she scrubbed her face beneath the veil. When she looked at Zack again, there was now nothing to identify her as an off-worlder. Decker nodded and quickly followed suit.

  “I have to say, the dirt around your eyes really brings out the blue.”

  “Simmer down, sweetie,” Decker growled. “Now’s not the time to get frisky.”

  “Nor the place.”

  Secure in their disguise, they watched the mercenaries take a greater interest than before in anyone who looked even the slightest bit out of place in the town of Assur on a hot and dusty morning.

  There were Targi going about their business and for a moment, Decker thought the men were going to force them to show their faces, but apart from a good hard look at the eyes and bit of skin open to the world, they didn’t bother the nomads.

  “Time to go,” he whispered. “We don’t want to be sitting down if they find us more fascinating than the rest.”

  They rose without haste, as if unconcerned with the world around them, and Zack led the way out of the square, heading towards the edge of town where the Targi caravan was forming.

  The Marine’s size must have triggered something because he heard a shout in a much-mangled version of the Nabhka patois ordering him to stop, just as they were about to slip down a narrow alley.

  “Crap.” He pulled Talyn deeper into the shadows. “The bastards aren’t going to let up, and Assur isn’t so big that we can vanish without a trace.”

  They ran around a corner and into a dead end strewn with broken crates, rusty parts from long dead machinery and other assorted debris. The moment Decker realized his mistake, he heard the pounding of booted feet echoing in the lane.

  “Let’s make like we’re digging through this garbage,” he whispered at Talyn, “but be ready for a quick draw.”

  They dropped into a crouch, sideways to where the dead-end joined the alley and began handling the parts strewn about. The men appeared, skidding to a halt when they saw two shapes in blue desert robes.

  “You there,” one of them snarled, in that same execrable pidgin he’d used to order them to stop. “Look at me.”

  Decker slowly turned his head and stared at the mercenary.

  “What do you want with a son of the Targi?” He demanded in a much better but by no means perfect rendition of Nabhkan. “We are free people and don’t like being ordered around by filthy ghareeb.”

  Zack met the man’s eyes and held them, displaying neither fear nor anger but, to the mercenary’s evident surprise, undisguised contempt.

  “Go back to your fornicating ghareeb shayk and leave the desert people alone.”

  The second man made as if to step forward and take Decker to task for his arrogant tone, but his companion restrained him. He’d seen danger in the Targi’s dark blue eyes and knew enough about the nomads to realize that pushing things any further would spark a fight that they might not win, especially if there were others of his clan nearby.

  “It’s not Decker,” he said in Anglic, eyes still on the big native. When he didn’t see a flicker of recognition at the name, he shrugged. “Our mistake.”

  The men made as if to turn and Zack began to relax, prematurely as it turned out. In a move almost too fast for the eye to register, the one who’d done all the talking whirled towards Zack, grabbed the end of his turban and yanked it away, his eyes widening in triumph as he saw that he had indeed cornered the right prey.

  Decker pulled his dagger from its forearm sheath and thrust upwards to bury it in the mercenary’s throat, just above his adam’s apple. The blade went deep into the brain, killing him instantly. Stunned, the second man didn�
��t react quickly enough when Talyn whipped out her blaster and drilled a small, smoking hole into his forehead.

  The entire fight had lasted mere seconds, not long enough or even noisy enough to attract the attention of passersby.

  “Let’s hide these morons behind the crates. They’ll start stinking in a few hours, but hopefully, we’ll be long gone by then. Strip off their weapons. I’d rather not be responsible for neighborhood toughs getting their hands on modern guns.”

  One passing local briefly stared at them as they dragged the second body behind the garbage pile but a hard look from the big, menacing tribesman sent him scurrying away.

  “I think that gent will be back soon enough with some pals to strip the bodies. Let’s get out of here.”

  “Should we take their skimmer? If they work for Amali, it’ll be keyed to whatever defensive system the compound’s got.”

  Decker thought about the suggestion for a moment, then shook his head.

  “Also too risky. We don’t know about passwords or recognition signs. A good security set-up doesn’t just rely on IFF signals. The plan to go with the Targi caravan is still the best alternative.”

  “At this point, with the trail of bodies we’ve left in our wake, a kinetic strike from orbit would have been the best alternative,” she replied, sounding uncharacteristically weary.

  “It wouldn’t quite have had the same effect on Amali’s buddies and the rest of his rotten clan. You want to send a message, you have to get up close and personal. Me, I don’t give a damn about messaging. I just need to collect a debt. But your boss at HQ seemed pretty insistent about it.”

  “He’s your boss too, Zack.”

  “For now.” With a last glance back at the dead-end alley, they walked away, hoping to shake Assur’s filth from their boots before the day was out.

  *

  The stench of a camelot herd was something that no amount of experience could prepare one for. The Targi milling about the cantankerous beasts seemed to have become so used to the smell that they didn’t notice it anymore. Talyn hoped that she would be able to imitate them quickly, otherwise eating might become a problem.

  Decker spent almost two hours in negotiations with a white-bearded nomad who didn’t seem put off by his obviously ghareeb face when he removed the veil. Between straining to understand the old man’s accent and drinking gallons of overly sweet tea, he had a pounding headache by the time he handed over a stack of cred chips.

  “We’re now the proud owners of two riding and one pack camelot, complete with saddles and tack. Since I gave Idriss – that’s his name - a satisfactory haggle and still left him with a good price, he’s more than happy to have us join his caravan until we pass near the evil ghareeb shayk’s fortress. He’ll even shift his route enough so that we can drop out at one of the rocky outcrops without being obvious about it.”

  “Mighty nice of him.” She looked at Zack strangely. “If I didn’t know you were a rock-hard and overly stoic fighter, I’d say you’re on the verge of doing the pee dance.”

  “Tea will do that to a body.”

  He glanced at the old man and motioned that he had to go. A dry, stick-like finger pointed towards a wall enclosing a manure pile.

  “Alfresco facilities, eh.” Zack shrugged. “When in Assur...”

  “That’s going to be so much fun for someone with my kind of plumbing,” Talyn muttered unenthusiastically.

  “Get used to it. It’s a day and a half to the Nippur oasis, and then however much time it takes me to figure out how to get inside.”

  “And then the trip back.”

  “I seem to recall you know how to pilot a shuttle. Did you really think that I’d planned to walk back once Amali had joined his cousin in the afterlife?”

  “A bit visible, no? The point of the operation is to get in, do it and get out without being spotted.”

  As Zack’s grin widened, she shook her head.

  “No. No way. Not on my watch, Chief Warrant Officer Decker. We’re not doing that. I’m still your commanding officer, even if you’ve got the lead for the mission.”

  “You don’t mind killing, but you balk at theft and piracy? I guess you really are nuts. We’ll have that conversation in a few days, commander, sir, and then we’ll see how you feel about it. There’s nothing like quality time in the back of beyond to make you appreciate convenience.”

  “Next, you’ll be telling me that we’ll hijack Amali’s yacht as well.”

  “Sure. No point in stealing his shuttle if we’re not going all the way. I’m surprised I have to spell this out for an agent of your advanced years and experience.”

  “I’ll get you for that one, Decker.”

  “Not until the mission’s done.”

  The sun vanished with the abruptness so common in the lower latitudes, though a soft purplish light still lingered on the far horizon when the long line of loaded beasts set out, Decker and Talyn among the last of the riders.

  They’d seen another skimmer appear from the general direction of Nippur late in the afternoon, but no one came to the Targi encampment looking for a big man with deep blue eyes who’d last been seen dragging a mercenary’s body behind a garbage pile in the souk.

  By the time full night had fallen and a sky filled with stars watched over Assur, quiet now that the day’s work was done, the caravan had vanished into the rocky landscape that bordered the vast desert.

  *

  “Any news, Lyle?” Harmon Amali looked up from his antipasto plate as the aide sat down.

  “Some. The liaison had promised an update, but she’s been strangely silent. It’s only been two days, but still. The relief team I sent to Assur found the skimmer, but they haven’t found the men yet. The local police are as useless as ever, and no one wants to talk much. Our guys were last seen chasing a pair of Targi nomads.”

  “Disquieting, don’t you think?” He took a sip of wine, hiding his sudden fear behind a calm expression while savoring the delicious taste. It had come from his family’s own vineyards, light years away from this dismal hole of a planet.

  “Not only is there no ‘mission accomplished’ from our very expensive contractors, but the regular patrol seems to have vanished. If I were to lay odds, I’d say our Mister Decker is behind both events.”

  The aide paled under his fresh Nabhka tan.

  “Do you mean he’s in Assur, sir?”

  “Possibly. Have surveillance of the area increased, Lyle. If that damned Marine is coming near, I want him intercepted and killed.”

  It was a measure of the man’s dread that he’d dropped his usual euphemisms in favor of an uncharacteristic directness.

  “Perhaps we should consider leaving.”

  “Why? Decker will never give up, and Nippur is the most inaccessible and most secure residence I own. Were I to ask asylum from anyone with better facilities, the inevitable questions would arise, and I can’t afford to be known publically as the man who’d arranged to sell a Marine into slavery. I’d be torn limb from limb by anyone in uniform. No. We stay here and let him come to us. He’ll be easier to exterminate if he’s close.”

  The little surge of bravado did raise Amali’s spirits, and he contemplated, as he popped another delicacy in his mouth, the possibility of shooting Decker himself in a desert hunt, an idea which sounded delicious. The smile that twisted his lips was of such cruelty that even Lyle, used to his master’s ways, felt an unaccustomed chill.

  He nodded politely at Amali and left the room, anxious to go outside and clear his head. Stepping through the airlock-like door opening onto an inner courtyard, he was struck again by the speed with which the desert cooled after sunset. A short flight of stairs led him up to the roof of the connected outbuildings that formed a sort of hollow wall around the mansion, giving Amali’s retreat the appearance of a small citadel.

  Here, standing alone above the oasis, he felt disconnected, almost lost in a dark world punctuated only by the occasional whisper of the wind over the du
nes. His eyes scanned the black, menacing fingers of the rocky outcrops surrounding Nippur, knowing that beyond the compound’s walls, they wouldn’t find a single sign of life, let alone civilization. Even Assur, somewhere to the north, didn’t leave the hint of a glow in the night air. It was too distant and too small.

  Lyle slowly paced the rooftop walk, stopping over an archway big enough to allow even sizeable skimmers through, and let his eyes drift up the barely discernable road.

  Beneath his feet, a thick door barred the entrance, watched over and controlled by a guard on duty in the neighboring security room. Made up entirely of off-worlders, Amali’s security detail had some of the finest hired muscle money could buy.

  Even if Decker were still alive and gunning for his employer, he’d have to get through not only the fortifications but also a wall of men paid handsomely to protect Amali, even sacrifice themselves for him if needed. The damned Marine might be good, but he wasn’t invincible.

  He stared up at the stars, as if looking for reassurance, but they gave him no answers. After a final glance at the still desert, he went back to the mansion, to make one more check of the communications log and see if someone had finally reported in.

  *

  “It’s pretty ironic, isn’t it?”

  “What is?” Zack shifted his eyes from the camelot dung fire to Talyn, who was squatting next to him.

  “We’ve traveled hundreds of light years on FTL capable starships to get at Amali and yet we’re making the final little bit of the trip on the back of a pack animal in what is probably the most primitive environment in human space. Look around: we’re in a nomad encampment in the lee of a sand dune, using a fire fueled by animal droppings, eating food that’s been cooked over that same fire in a simple iron pot. The contrast doesn’t get much starker than this.”

  He shrugged.

  “It is what it is. We could have used a modern skimmer, but in this case, primitive will work better. Besides, these are good folk who believe in their chosen lifestyle. We could do worse than hang out with them for a while. It makes a nice change from the scum we’ve dealt with recently.”