She didn’t reappear immediately and his Shrillexian officer looked around, caution in his eyes. “Where is the Witch, sir?” he asked, recognizing his boss.
A moment later a gun was tossed out and bounced across the ground.
A moment after that the Witch reappeared holding the ammunition cartridge in her hand, and eyed the Shrillexian with annoyance on her face. “Are you ready to act reasonably or am I going to have to stick my size-seven boots up your ass?”
The captain looked at his officer. “Be respectful,” he told him, a stern expression on his face.
“Don’t have to tell me twice.” He nodded to the Witch. “Can I have my weapon?”
“Of course, but if you aim in my direction I’ll assume you wish to become a target.” She turned to the captain, keeping the officer in her peripheral view, and pointed to the dead worm. “One Kurtherian, dead.” She pointed to Jermom. “One Queegert, alive.” She pulled the hood back up over her head as those around them started pointing up. “I’m leaving. That bastard didn’t know where his people went.”
“Off-planet,” the captain replied. “We traced them a few minutes ago.”
“Well, that pisses me off,” she ground out as she looked up. “My ride is here. Take care, Captain.” She smiled at him, her white teeth glistening in the light that made it under her cowl.
“Why don’t you…” he started, but she had vanished. He placed a hand over his eyes to block the light and saw what looked like a ship hovering above the buildings. A moment later the ship gracefully started moving up and turning to its left in the air before it disappeared, accelerating into the dark quickly enough to seem like it was there one moment, gone the next.
He sighed. “Come to the office and help me with the paperwork.” He looked down at the Queegert and wondered what kind of person gave a shit about a criminal on an out-of-the-way planet like Devon.
He looked at the burnt worm. She could have destroyed his body anytime she wanted to and saved herself the trouble of trying to keep Jermom alive.
He looked at his officer, who seemed to be settling down. “Next time you see her,” he nodded his head in the direction her ship had taken, “how about you don’t pull a weapon?”
“No shit,” the Shrillexian agreed. Then remembered who he was speaking to. “Sir,” he finished. He wouldn’t need either a battle or the Shrillexian medicine to calm his urges for a while. Being alone in that white milky dimension had taken care of his fighting needs, and frankly that bitch was scary enough to give him nightmares.
5
QBBS Meredith Reynolds
Lance scribbled his signature on the tablet and handed it back to Cheryl Lynn. “No,” he told her, his frown evident, “I don’t know where she is. You’ll have to deal with the requests for interviews, like I do.”
Cheryl Lynn eyed the General with absolutely no humor in her eyes. “And how do you propose I do that? Use a hologram?”
He snorted. “I wish. Wait,” he looked around before leaning in closer, “is that an option?” he asked, his voice low.
Cheryl Lynn shrugged as she considered his question. “Should I check into it?”
“Hell yes!” Lance leaned back and raised his voice to normal. “That all?”
“Yup,” she answered, turning around and waving the tablet. “I’ve got permission to rule the galaxy now.”
She stopped suddenly, her facial expression horrified as she looked back at Lance. “Forget I even said that.” Her eyes scanned those near Lance. “I don’t want it!”
“Damn,” he muttered with a straight face, “so close.”
She smiled and turned toward her office as Lance and those with him headed towards the military shuttle bays.
John Grimes leaned over. “You don’t want to leave my cousin in charge of the galaxy, Lance.”
Lance looked sideways at him for a moment and John shrugged before he continued, “Okay, I don’t want my cousin in charge of the galaxy. I love her, but ruling idiots isn’t a skill she has.”
Lance slowed down as Eric walked ahead of them, a smile on his face as he went to check out the shuttle. “Hell, ruling idiots isn’t a skill most people have, but manipulating idiots is.” He nodded towards Cheryl Lynn’s office. “She can manipulate idiots with the best of them.”
“She claims it comes from raising teenagers,” John told him. He caught Eric’s thumbs-up, then nodded for Lance to enter the shuttle. “All clear, so let’s get this zoot-suit boogie going,” John told him as the small group of support staff started up the gangway.
The voice of the pilot came over the speaker system, causing Lance to raise an eyebrow at John. He shrugged and replied, “Said he wanted to come back to the front seat because he didn’t trust the ‘young’uns’ to ferry around the most important man in the Empire.”
“That’s probably because he thought he might get the job if I croaked,” Lance retorted as he listened to the pilot.
“This is your pilot, Paul Jameson. Everyone needs to hold the hell on, because you are riding the Empress’ Express. We brake for no one.” There was a pause before he continued, “I didn’t come out of retirement to dither, and we got clearance.” His words filtered through the ship as they lifted off the bay floor and slid through the forcefield which kept the atmosphere inside the Meredith Reynolds. They were only a few feet outside before the shuttle made a sharp downward turn and sped away.
Lance noticed the divergence from standard flight path protocols. “He isn’t taking any chances with us, is he?”
“Nope,” John agreed. “I’m sure he filed about twenty different flight plans.”
“And none of them was the real one,” Lance surmised. He pressed a button on his armrest and started to lean back. “Shame they said we couldn’t use ArchAngel II,” he commented as he pushed his hat down over his eyes.
John smiled. “Well, technically they provided the specifications for the ship you had to travel in. It just so happens ArchAngel II is bigger than that specification.”
Lance moved his hat far enough over that one eye could stare at John. “Did I just hear a change in the plans?”
“There was no change of plans… exactly.” John murmured into a microphone on his lapel before looking at the General. “We are going to take a taxi from here to the meeting system, bypassing the normal gates, and then we will have the same taxi to bring us back.”
“We can only arrive in one ship…” Lance stopped speaking for a moment and thought back to his last communication with Admiral Thomas.
His eyes narrowed as he looked at John. “That ass is shipping this tuna can inside the ArchAngel II to gate to somewhere close, isn’t he? Then we pull out and close the final distance while ArchAngel II waits for us?”
“Got it in one,” John admitted. “A whole bunch of us want to make sure no hairs on your head are damaged.” He paused a moment. “Well, except those you pull out yourself.”
“Folks scared of having to become the figurehead while Bethany Anne is out?” Lance asked, the smile under his hat evident in his voice.
“Hell,” John answered, “I’m just scared of what Baba Yaga would do if I had to let her know her father was dead.”
Lance’s smile slowly faded as he considered the possibility that worlds might go up in flame and he shook his head. “John, she wouldn’t do that.”
“No,” John agreed. “Bethany Anne wouldn’t.”
The two men chose to look out their respective windows, each lost in thought as the shuttle raced to meet the looming Leviathan-class superdreadnought in space.
To head to the first meeting that could change the futures of trillions of people and whole solar systems.
If they were willing to play nice, that is.
Marquer’s World, Independent System, Allied with the Zhyn
Lance looked down at the purple-hued world crisscrossed with yellows, oranges, and the occasional green. The oceans were greenish-blue, but the clouds, at least, were white.
Thank God, Lance thought to himself. Otherwise it would have been a damned Escher painting brought to life. Lance turned to look at John, who was sitting next to him. “I can’t get over just how different these worlds can be.”
“Not exactly Earth,” John admitted, “although I believe the reason for that down there is the color of their star. Something to do with the red frequency.” He shrugged. “It was over my head. I’ve never cared too much about colors.” He nodded out the window of their shuttle. “Although I have to admit that is a little much. Purple ground? That is just seven different types of wrong.”
Paul Jameson’s voice came over the speakers. “This is the Captain speaking. Please be aware that everyone should keep all body parts inside the craft at all times. If not, I suspect any limbs will be violently ripped off and you will bleed out in mere seconds.” There was a click and a moment of dead air before he came back. “Sorry, I’ve been told that was an inappropriate safety message. I told the EI to go fuck itself. Now we’re having a discussion about crassness. Apparently telling an EI to do something anatomically impossible calls into question my ability to think rationally. As we land this little ship, I’m going to allow you to suffer along with me. Please enjoy the landing show brought to you by yours truly, the long-suffering pilot.”
There were a few chuckles from behind Lance when, sure enough, Paul piped in his conversation with the shuttle’s EI.
“No,” Paul said, “I did not mean that you should literally go fuck yourself. I’m aware that you have no body with which you could accomplish the act.”
“Then why would one say something so base and illogical?” the EI asked. Lance judged its voice to be somewhere between polite and confused.
“Because it allowed me to explain, in what I thought were no uncertain terms, that I didn’t care to hear your subjective opinion on my safety instructions to the passengers.”
“Have you considered the research which explains that describing violent results to humans can, and often will, stress them out?” the EI retorted. “Further, should something actually happen to this vessel, they would then be in a less-than-optimal mental state for working to support themselves and others to get through the emergency?”
There was a momentary pause before Paul came back, his voice sounding confused. “Whaaat? We have a full complement of military and other civilians in high-stress occupations who eat emergencies for breakfast and shit surviving-for-dummies books by mid-afternoon.”
The shuttle’s EI immediately replied, “I’m sorry, but that comment makes no logical sense. I know of no organic bodies that can consume an emergency in any of the seven definitions, including those which were brought along with the original Empire founders from Earth.”
This time there was a longer pause before Paul sighed and his voice, full of exasperation, replied, “Shuttle B-Seven-Two-Five?”
“Yes?”
“Go fuck yourself!”
The shuttle landed on the secured field, and John and Eric worked the outside security before Lance was allowed off the craft.
Lance walked a bit stiffly since he was wearing advanced malleable armor under his clothes. John and Eric had donned their dark-red armor, which immediately told anyone who was paying attention to the Empire which group they were part of.
Even though the Empress wasn’t here, her stamp would be noted. She would be at the talks in spirit, which was Lance’s intent.
“Think we will get attacked before or after we check in?” John asked Eric. The two stayed close to Lance, who was striding across the tarmac. No one had met Lance at the shuttle, which was fine with him.
However, he would use that little fact later during negotiations. Power plays annoyed him, but that didn’t mean he didn’t understand them.
“Savants,” Eric said aloud. Lance looked over his shoulder at the Empress’ Bitch as Eric kept watch around them. With his helmet on, Lance couldn’t see his eyes inside the faceplate.
“Do what?” Lance asked. “Was there a question to go along with that word?”
“Just thinking,” Eric replied as his head pivoted left, then right. “We have all sorts of savants in the Empire. Why don’t we see which ones we could use effectively and put them together on teams? I know we usually form a team around a particularly capable person, but what would happen if you brought together savants who complemented each other?”
John remarked as his head turned to the left, “Eric keeps his wits about him by allowing his subconscious to play. It’s safer to record his comments and come back to them later. It’s something he picked up from…”
John’s head jerked right to watch a floating vehicle making its way towards them. It slowed down when John knelt and brought his Jean Dukes pistol up, pointing it at the ground in front of the oncoming craft.
He wasn’t aiming at the aircar…yet.
It slowed to a crawl.
It was the size of a large van back on Earth, aerodynamic, and a ghastly shade of red to his eyes.
Rather like a muddy pink.
The van angled to stop about twenty paces away on the tarmac and two clear plastic-looking doors slid to the side midway.
A female Ixtali appeared and stepped to the tarmac, and John slid his pistol back into his holster as she nodded to him. “Hello, John Grimes. It is a pleasure to see you again.”
John just nodded and returned to scanning the field.
Lance couldn’t tell too many Ixtalis apart. He hadn’t interacted with them much when Bethany Anne had helped them decades ago.
This one, however, he did know. “Pleased to meet you, Senior Legate Addix.” His gruff voice was never pleasing, so he hoped the translation sounded better to her.
Each proffered a small bow to each other and she replied, “And a pleasure to meet you, General Reynolds of the Etheric Empire. I apologize that it took us so long to come out to your ship. I needed to get rid of two others who wished to politic with you on the ride back.”
The Empress’ Bitches went over to check out the vehicle.
John stepped into the van and inspected the inside before nodding for Lance to come aboard. He turned to Addix but she waved Lance forward, so he stepped in. Eric waited for Addix to join them.
Eric motioned to John. “Inside, outside, or on top?”
“On top,” John replied.
Eric nodded and pushed off, jumping easily to the top of the van. The three inside heard the clump that marked his landing.
Then a couple deep clicks.
Addix turned to John. “He will be all right up there?”
“He’s locked on,” John replied, his facemask reflecting her rather spider-like face back to her.
Although John had interacted with enough Ixtali to recognize a few of them, he always used the translation HUD to help him figure out what their various mandible movements meant.
Addix provided directions to another Ixtali in the front of the vehicle. “We are going to go closer to your ship, as if we were waiting for another person to emerge. That will allow me enough time to explain the dangerous and infested waters of this meeting to you.”
“I would appreciate it.” Lance looked around. The van had seating areas against all four walls, although a couple of the seats wouldn’t work well for humans. He raised an eye at one that looked like a torture device—a long cone with a point on the top, which was about a foot taller than the other seats. He wasn’t sure what kind of alien needed a cone up their ass, but it wasn’t him.
He took a seat and raised an eyebrow to Addix. “This van is clear of recording devices?”
“Yes,” Addix confirmed, moving her robes around to allow her to sit down as well.
Her four arachnoid legs were revealed as the robe rose a foot off the ground. “Thank you for attending this meeting. I know the Empire would like to move forward into a new agreement with other societies, planets, and systems, but most fear you. Now that the Leath have been beaten and you are requiring them to dismantle a fair amount of
their military infrastructure, there are many who wonder what the Empire will do with all your advanced ships.”
“Protect ourselves,” Lance grumped. “It seems every time we try to be left alone, some alien group or another either tries to attack us or subvert us, or asks for protection from other bullies.”
Addix nodded her head in understanding. She was old for an Ixtali—damn near ancient. She suspected that her extended life was due to something the Empress had done to her, whether because Bethany Anne appreciated the support Addix had provided in years past or wanted a voice supporting the Empire on the council, she had no idea.
“I am not much longer for this life, General Reynolds,” Addix gave him a slight bow of respect, “so I pulled in all my favors to be the representative for the Ixtalis to this conclave of peoples.”
“That sounds ominous,” John muttered. He became aware that both Senior Legate Addix and Lance were looking at him. “Shit! Sorry, I didn’t realize I could be heard.”
Lance turned back to Addix. “You are doing this for Bethany Anne?”
“No, for your people,” Addix replied. “However, while I am very appreciative that the Empress is not here for political reasons, I would have wished to see her one last time and personally thank her for how she has helped my people. I am doing what I think best to return the favor.”
“How so, and why is the Empress not wanted?” Lance asked.
“The Empress is impatient, and these events require the patience of the gods.” Addix seemed to be resigned to endless negotiations.
John chuckled. “That leaves you out, Lance.” Lance turned to stare at him again. “What? Oh, speaker still on?”
This time Lance was sure there had been no mistake. “John, would you like me to elevate you from Diplomatic Security to Diplomat?”
Inside his facemask, John’s smile disappeared and just a hint of sweat started on his brow. “No, no, I’m good. I’ll just turn around and make sure no inappropriate comments come out again.”
Kurtherian Gambit Boxed Set Three: Books 15-21, Never Submit, Never Surrender, Forever Defend, Might Makes Right, Ahead Full, Capture Death, Life Goes On (Kurtherian Gambit Boxed Sets Book 3) Page 121