Decker's War Omnibus 1

by Eric Thomson

  “I’m glad to hear you say that,” she replied in a soft tone. “Like I said a few days ago, you’re no sociopath, and this proves it.”

  Idriss cleared his throat, and when Decker turned towards him, he asked for a translation. Upon hearing it, the chieftain nodded knowingly.

  “It speaks to your honor, Zachary Decker. This man,” he pointed at Amali, “deserves to die, but it has to be in a way that will not displease God. Shooting him in the heat of battle would have been fine, but now that he is a prisoner, he must be judged by the laws of the tribe. If you wish to take him to be judged by your laws, I will recognize your claim on him.”

  “That, I can’t do, Idriss. My law will be perverted to save his life. He’s rich and has powerful friends who’ll make sure that I die while he lives.”

  “So be it then. He shall be judged by the tribe for taking the waters of Nippur away from the nomadic clans, thereby causing the death of several of my kin until we could change our caravan routes.”

  “I’d like to witness that.”

  “You shall, Decker, but you and your companion must come with us to our destination, where my entire tribe is meeting for the lunar feast. There, you too will give testimony against this evil shayk before the elders. If found guilty, we will execute him in accordance with desert customs.”

  “If found guilty?”

  Decker immediately regretted the sarcastic edge to his tone.

  “All men are innocent before God until proven guilty under His laws, though, with the evidence against this one, I have no doubt he will not live to see the new moon.” There was no hint of reproach in his voice.

  Zack glanced at Talyn, giving her a quick translation back into Anglic and she smiled wanly.

  “A good solution, I think. You get to collect the debt Amali owes, the Targi get to collect theirs and regain the Nippur oasis, and we have clean hands in his upcoming death, something that will please our superiors to no end.”

  Decker nodded, understanding the additional, unspoken reason for her approval of the plan: the fact that he would not go further down the path of darkness by killing a man in cold blood to avenge himself.

  “We’re in agreement, Idriss. If I may make a proposal: the Nippur oasis is now yours again, and if you have the means to contact the other caravans of your people, you can hold the lunar feast here, within these walls.”

  The Targi tilted his head to the side as he studied Zack’s face, considering the proposal.

  “It can be done. Each caravan has an emergency radio.” He looked around the room. “If we can find a powerful transmitter, I should be able to call them to Nippur.”

  “You obviously have something else in that fertile tactical mind of yours, Zack,” Talyn said when they were alone in the office after they’d found the communications room and let Idriss call his kin.

  “There is that small matter of making sure we keep the other survivors under guard until the trial is over. It wouldn’t do to have anyone contacting the authorities and hunting us down before the bastard meets his maker, and none of them deserve to die. I also want to stay close to that shuttle.”

  A slow grin spread across his face as he saw her eyes harden.

  “You’re still thinking of taking Amali’s yacht, aren’t you? I thought I said no.”

  “We need a quick way home. Word of what happened here is bound to spread the moment we leave. Once that happens, the Coalition might just decide to shake off their cloak of secrecy and remove the major irritant we’ve become before we can report back to HQ. Think about it. Even taking a skimmer from this place, it’ll be a long time before we make Kish, and there’s no guarantee we can get off planet fast, let alone find a ship headed in the right direction.”

  “And how do you propose to get the yacht’s crew to let us come aboard.”

  “Simple. We spoof the comms. Once the shuttle’s in the hangar bay, there’s no reason why two superbly trained officers like you and me can’t seize it.”

  “Sailing it back to Caledonia might be another story.” She shook her head, still unconvinced.

  “You’re a Navy puke, Hera. I’m sure you can remember enough about astrogation to get us away from this system. After that, we call Uncle Josiah for help. No one will see a black ops ship pick us off the yacht in interstellar space. Heck, the service might even want to keep Amali’s toy. Once he’s gone to Targi hell, no one will be around to claim it.”

  “Always the optimist, aren’t you? Okay. We’ll try it your way.”

  “Excellent.” He rubbed his hands together. “Now that we’ve got the next steps settled, how about you and me find a couple-sized shower and scrub each other’s back.”

  She nodded.

  “At this point, I’ll be glad enough to get the camelot stench off me that I won’t make any cracks about playing hide the soap. I’ll even help you find some beer, Mister Marine with two obsessions.”

  Later, as they lay on Amali’s opulent bed, Decker staring at the ceiling and Hera Talyn half draped over his naked body, she absently ran her fingers through his chest hair as she studied his square profile.

  “Zack, if you really don’t want to stay in intelligence after this is over, I’ll see what I can do to get you sent to a regular Marine posting. The chief warrant officer’s bars are permanent, and I’m sure there are plenty of billets, even in a regiment, where someone will be glad to have you. But you could probably do a lot more for the Fleet by staying with us, with me. Naval intelligence operations are a hell of a force multiplier. One or two agents can put more bad guys away than several pathfinder squadrons.”

  He grunted wordlessly. After a moment, he turned towards her, their faces millimeters apart and leaned forward, cutting off any further attempt at conversation.

  Twenty-Nine

  The slow beat of camelot-skin drums echoed through the small fort, bouncing off stone walls again and again. Torches flickered all around the perimeter, casting an uncertain light over a solemn crowd sitting patiently along three sides of an open square.

  Beyond the dancing flames, out in the desert night, herds of the six-legged beasts snorted and brayed as they settled down for the evening, watched over by the unblooded boys of the tribe.

  Talyn and Decker, wearing their old clothes again in preparation for departure, watched from the doorway to the mansion as six chieftains, Idriss among them, marched in through the open gate to the sound of a soft chant that had begun the moment the eldest appeared.

  They slowly strolled around the u-shaped formation of their fellow clansmen and women, meeting the eyes of each and every one in a centuries-old ceremony that cemented the bond between them. Once the ritual completed, they sat down on thick pillows that had been laid on the ground facing the assembly. The drumming and chanting stopped.

  Prodded by jezail-wielding warriors, Amali was taken from the guardhouse and brought before the clan leaders, where they forced him to kneel. In the days it had taken to gather the tribe, his appearance had deteriorated alarmingly. Unshaven, unkempt and hollow-eyed, he bore little resemblance to the arrogant Coalition leader who’d condemned Decker to slavery and his wife to an early death.

  When he heard the tribal elder begin reciting the charges against Amali, Zack nudged Talyn.

  “It’s time for me to join them. They’ll want my testimony soon enough.”

  He walked up to the edge of the hollow square and waited politely, adopting the parade-rest position.

  “I summon the off-worlder Zachary Decker to tell his story,” Idriss called out soon after that.

  Zack came to attention and briskly marched into the square, wheeling with precision until he stood in front of the elders. He figured that this was the Targi version of a court-martial so going through the proper drill wouldn’t come amiss.

  At the tribe leader’s nod, he relaxed his stance and began speaking in his halting Nabhkan about how the accused had rightly held him responsible for his cousin’s death, but that the cousin had been an evil
man bent on enslaving humanity. He then told of his life as a trader, his love for his wife and the awful moment they were attacked by pirates, followed by her death and his enslavement.

  The audience was deathly still as his words rang out over the compound, the elders listening with fascination of a life and events beyond their experience. Zack must have spoken for a long time because when he fell silent, his mouth and throat were parched.

  “Thank you, Zachary Decker.” Idriss nodded. “You may go.”

  He snapped to attention again, did a quick right turn and marched off to the side, brushing by Talyn and into the darkness of the mansion door. Alarmed by the look on his face, she followed him while the Targi continued with their trial, calling on the survivors of the caravan denied water by Amali to testify.

  “Are you okay?” She asked softly, touching his shoulder.

  When he turned to face her, she could see the tears rolling down his grizzled cheeks and instinctively put her arms around him.

  “Let it go, Zack,” Talyn murmured. “You’ve held it in for so long that it had to come out eventually and tonight’s the night.”

  He was wracked with sobs for what seemed like a long time, but when he’d finally emptied his soul, the trial was still in full swing. Brushing away the last tears with a rough swipe, he gave her a weak grin.

  “Thanks, Hera. But let’s not speak of this again, shall we?”

  She shook her head.

  “Men! You never want to admit you have emotions.” After a long kiss, she let him go and stepped back. “Don’t worry. This’ll stay between us.”

  The beating of the drums suddenly resumed behind them.

  “I think we’re about to get a verdict,” he said. “Let’s go back out there.”

  They took up position on the flank of the open square, just in time to see the tribal eldest rise from his cushion and raise both gnarled hands in the air.

  “In the sight of God and the tribe, you, Harmon Amali, have been accused of causing the deaths of many, of stealing an oasis and denying water, of selling a man into slavery and when that failed, of attempting to have him murdered. The words spoken tonight were true testimony and prove your guilt beyond a shadow of a doubt. This council, therefore, condemns you to death in the traditional manner reserved for the worst criminals. Seize him and bring him to the execution grounds.”

  “Any idea how they’re going to do it?” Talyn’s whisper was loud enough to cut through the rhythmic ululating of the crowd at the verdict.

  “Not a clue. Idriss wouldn’t tell me in advance.”

  The clan chieftain, now standing along with his fellow elders and the entire tribe, made a come hither motion at the intelligence officers.

  “I guess we’re about to find out.”

  Half-carried and half-dragged by his guards, Amali was taken through the gate and out into the open desert, the procession swollen by torch-carrying Targi. At a safe distance from the fort, they staked him out spread-eagle and cut his clothes from his body. The tribe eldest pulled a curved dagger from the sheath at his hip and slashed each of Amali’s limbs, his torso, and his scalp so that blood dripped heavily and soaked the sand beneath him. Then, he stepped back, leaving the condemned man alone in the center of a wide, bare circle.

  Within moments, the sand stirred and a collective gasp escaped from the audience. Then, a grayish thing erupted between Amali’s legs and latched onto his thigh, drawing a scream of agony that reverberated against the rocky outcrops dotting the dunescape.

  When it vanished seconds later, there was a large, reddish gap where the flesh had been. As if the first strike were a long awaited signal, many more of the creatures came to the surface and began feeding off the writhing body, slowly reducing one of the richest and most powerful men in the Commonwealth to a bloody skeleton. Decker and Talyn watched the native Nabhkan desert predators strike time after time, encouraged by the continuous shouts of the tribesmen.

  When it was finished, Zack shook his head.

  “I don’t think I could have inflicted that much pain on him if I’d been his executioner,” he murmured, voice harsh to the point of sounding raw. “If it weren’t for losing face in front of the Targi, I’d probably puke right now.”

  “You and me both, lover-boy.” She gripped his arm as if to steady herself. “When can we bugger off and not seem rude? The bastard’s dead and that’s all we were waiting for. We can think about the rest of his rotten kin later.”

  Decker glanced over at Idriss. The old man’s face softened with compassion.

  “Revenge is one of the most difficult dishes to eat, whether hot or cold, Decker. It leaves no one untouched, but justice has been done tonight.” He lifted his hand to his brow and bowed. “God be with both of you in your travels. The tribe will be forever in your debt for returning the oasis to us.”

  Decker and Talyn imitated the gesture.

  “And we will forever be in yours. God watch over your people, Idriss.”

  They left the circle of torchlight and headed back to the compound in silence.

  “I can’t wait to see how you’re going to report this,” he finally said. “Target became sand shark food on Nabhka; operatives were not involved in the death.”

  “You’re the junior officer on this team, buddy. Doing your first mission write-up is going to be a good learning experience.”

  “Screw you, commander, sir.”

  “Not again, Zack. Aren’t you ever satisfied?”

  “Nope. Never. Now show me how well you can fly that shuttle.”

  *

  “Yacht Syrah, this is shuttle Amarone.” Decker shook his head. “The man had a drinking problem if he named everything after fancy wines.”

  “Amarone, this is Syrah. Is Mister Amali aboard?” A sharp female voice asked.

  “He is indeed.”

  “What happened to the usual warning?”

  They exchanged alarmed looks. If there was a verbal recognition signal, they were about to get burned.

  “The compound suffered a native incursion. We had to evacuate quickly for Mister Amali’s safety.”

  “May I speak with him?”

  Decker activated the computer routine that would transform his voice into Amali’s, something he’d prepared while waiting for the Targi clans to assemble.

  “This is Amali, captain. We were fortunate to get out in time. The contractors who warned me of the impending attack also helped me escape.”

  “Glad to hear you’re okay, sir. The hangar doors are open, and you’re cleared to land at your leisure. Let us know when you’re in a position to be tractored.”

  “Shuttle Amarone is on final approach,” Decker announced a few minutes later, staring at the compact starship ahead of them. It looked like a small sloop, with a full-sized sloop’s hyperdrive nacelles. Gun blisters dotted the pure white hull at regular intervals and, apart from the name and registration number, no other markings appeared, not even a corporate logo.

  Talyn was too busy to admire the ship. She had to make sure they matched Syrah’s velocity and were lined up perfectly with the bright square delineating the open hangar deck.

  “We’re in position, Syrah.”

  “We’ve got you,” a male voice replied. Slowly the shuttle was pulled up to and then through the opening. The tractor beam operator gently deposited them on the deck while a red light began to flash as the space doors slid shut. Then, the flashing changed rhythm, indicating that the hangar was being pressurized. It was the signal for Decker and Talyn to climb out of the cockpit and get ready. They’d have a few seconds at most to seize control of the situation. The yacht had a crew of ten, and even though they were better trained than any of them was likely to be, the odds were still a bit steep.

  “The captain’s there to greet Amali personally.” Hera pointed out the viewport at a short woman wearing a formal uniform with four gold stripes on the sleeves.

  “I figured she would. This will make it easier.” He touched the contr
ols, and the starboard door broke its airtight seal, swinging aside. Decker jumped out and smiled broadly at the yacht’s commander.

  “Pleasure to be aboard, captain.”

  “Do I know you?” She looked at him suspiciously. Talyn stepped out at that moment, diverting her attention just long enough for Zack to pull his blaster and stick it in the woman’s stomach.

  “You don’t, captain, but your former employer did. I suggest that you cooperate if you don’t want to join him.”

  “Former?” Her eyes widened in shock. “You mean Mister Amali is dead? But I spoke to him on the radio not five minutes ago.”

  “That was me.” Decker let a cruel smile play on his lips. “Amali died at the hands of natives he’d pissed off some time ago. We helped them take their revenge, and now we’ll be taking his ship, seeing as how he owes us a ride home.”

  “How’s that?” She’d quickly recovered her composure, and her eyes met the Marine’s with calm calculation.

  “He tried to have me assassinated. I figure for all the trouble he’s caused, I deserve compensation.”

  “You’re Decker,” she hissed, the fear coming back.

  “At your service. If you want to live, you’re going to do as you’re told. My problem was with your ex-boss, not you. All we need is transport away from this system, and you have no reason to hang around here anymore. We can help each other.”

  “What if I refuse?”

  “My colleague and I can sail an FTL starship. Besides, Syrah probably has the finest in automation. Tell you what, the way I see it, we have three options. One, we put the lot of you on this shuttle and drop you off far enough away from Nabhka that by the time you reach the orbital, we’ll have jumped out. Two, we lock you in a few compartments for the trip and shoot anyone trying to escape; or three, you can treat us as passengers, take us where we want to go and once we’re out of your hair, you’re free to go roaming the galaxy. Oh, before I forget, option three also comes with the caveat that we’ll shoot anyone buggering us about.”