Chris reached up and flipped her face shield. “Which one of you maintains contact with the house?”
The shorter guard looked at the human and said, “Him.”
“Yeah, me,” confirmed the guard. “What’s this all about? I don’t think you realize what you just did. This property belongs to Narlong, and he’s not going to let you live after this. Guards are headed this way. You don’t think he is up there by himself, do you?”
“No they’re not. Not yet, anyway,” Chris said. “Those in the house won’t know if that came from the mine or here. Whoever set up the security didn’t think about someone scrambling the cameras.” She held up a small device. “If you don’t have the right frequency, you can’t see anything.” She reached into a pouch and pulled out one of the drones. She stepped away from the transport, turned it on, and put it on the ground. “It’s ready, Yvonne,”
Moments later the propellers spun up, and the drone lifted and sped off towards the house. It was quickly out of sight.
Chris gestured to the guard and said, “Take out your comm. Slowly. Call Narlong.”
* * *
Foster Home
Narlong stood behind the chair as its occupant tried frantically to get the monitors working. Both screens showed a static-filled haze. In the corner of each screen, the words ‘camera restarting’ blinked over and over.
Narlong was furious. “I paid a lot of credit for the fence, the gate, and those stupid cameras. Get them working now!”
The technician worked harder, to no avail. He could see the reflection of his boss in one of the screens. Narlong, an Aarnib—a race of large bipedal beings with a long, flat face ending in a small round mouth—stood with his hands on his hips. Thankfully, the technician couldn’t see the dark brown eyes and their unfeeling glare.
Before Narlong could say anything, his comm chimed. After glancing at the screen to see who the caller was, he answered, “Paulo, what are you doing out there? Why are the cameras down?”
Paulo answered, “We’re not doing anything at the moment, sir. Uh, sir, there is someone here to see you.”
Narlong squinted his eyes. “What do you mean someone is here to see me? Who?” Narlong’s eyes widened when he heard the answer.
“She said to tell you, ‘Chris is here.’”
* * *
Zarmlon was back in the driver’s seat as the transport moved through the now opened gates. In one of the back seats, the two guards sat, gagged. Their hands were bound with a couple of powered cuffs. Each had a foot locked to the frame of the seats, as well. They weren’t going anywhere.
“We got a problem, Chris,” Yvonne called out. “It looks like at least ten goons just came out the front door and are headed down the drive. A couple of them are big as hell, too, like your friend at the bar.”
“I see them,” Chis confirmed. She had her visor down. “Step on it, Zarmlon. When you see the rocks to your right, stop. You and Pailoth take that side; we’ll take the other. We’ll go about fifty meters up towards the house. There are plenty of places inside the tree line to get down and get ready. They’ll think we are back here by the transport and behind the rocks. It will take them several minutes to get this far. The idiots didn’t bother taking the hovercraft near the house.”
“Speaking of hovercraft,” Yvonne said, “the two guards at the mine are in one and it’s headed to the house. I’ll make the drone stationary so we can see what they are doing.”
The four bailed out of the transport and slipped into the woods on both sides of the drive. They moved quickly between the trees towards the house. Near a bend, Chris called over the command net, “This is as far as we want to be. We’re about twenty meters from that bend. Where are you two?”
Pailoth answered, “About the same. I found a tree big enough to get behind. I’m going to take off my pack. Zarmlon is in a slight depression by a big rock.”
“Got it,” Chris answered. “I know right where she is.” She knew the spot, since it was one of her favorite places to sit and read from an old slate belonging to the small house library when she was young. Often, she read out loud to several of the younger residents as they sat against the other side of the depression, like she was on center stage in an amphitheater.
“Hey,” Zarmlon said, “I see your name etched into this rock.”
Chris smiled to herself in memory and said, “Yeah, when I was a youngling here, I put my name on a few things.”
Zarmlon asked, “Do we shoot to wound? Can we kill them? I mean…they don’t care if young ones die, obviously, sooo?”
“They’re armed, but it’s not like they are enemy soldiers,” Chris said. “We’ll give them a chance to surrender. What they decide will answer that question for us. I want Narlong alive so he can face the justice system. Even on this planet, he won’t get off easily. Something needs to happen to show them young ones are off limits.”
Ten guards came around the bend in a group. It was a mixture of races. Some were armed with rifles; most had pistols. There was no tactical formation. No one was running point. Chris shook her head in disgust.
“That’s far enough,” Chris shouted. “Drop your weapons, and we can do this the easy way.”
The guards stopped and looked all around for the one speaking. A small, four-armed being spotted her looking around a tree. He raised two hands holding pistols and burned the bark a foot above her head. The other shot hit in front of the tree. The guards ran for the trees, and several fired shots towards Chris and Yvonne, while others engaged the other side of the road.
The decision was made for Chris and her team. It didn’t take long for the seasoned troops to take out all ten guards. Pailoth took a hit on a shoulder, but the armor shrugged it off. Chris felt a little guilty, but the actions of the guards left them no choice.
Chris turned to Yvonne and asked, “Did you catch where the other two went?”
“Yeah,” Yvonne answered. “They went into the house.” She stopped to look at something on the tree she used for cover.
* * *
The transport came to a stop directly in front of the house. Chris stepped out and walked up on the porch. The door was open. She could see into the front room. Narlong stood there with a grip on Murline. The two guards were on either side of them.
“That’s far enough, Chris!” Narlong shouted. “Drop your rifle, or I’ll break his neck.”
Chris slowly squatted and placed her rifle on the porch. She backed away and down the two steps. Her eyes never left her foster brother’s.
“All right, Narlong,” Chris said. “You win. Let him go.”
“I don’t think so,” Narlong sneered. “Get out there, get her weapon, and grab her,” he ordered the guards.
They walked out of the door one after another, their eyes on Chris standing in the front yard. When the second was fully out of the house, Pailoth hit him in the side of his head, and he crumbled. At almost the same time, Zarmlon’s boot connected with the face of the first guard from her side of the door. Not only did it knock the ugly guard out, one of his tusks bounced off the porch into the grass. Their weapons clattered to the porch with them.
Chris stepped over the unconscious beings and walked up to Narlong. He stood in shock, the youngster in his grip forgotten. Without a word, Chris drew her pistol from its concealed slot on her leg armor and pointed it at his head. Pailoth grabbed his arms, and Zarmlon ensured he was not armed.
Murline hugged Chris’s waist. “I knew you would come!”
Chris ruffled the fur on his head. “I’m here buddy, and you won’t have to worry about Narlong anymore.”
Murline grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the hall. “Come on, Shamayet is sick.”
Chris glanced at Pailoth. Without hesitation, Pailoth ran out of the house and was back shortly wearing her pack. Inside were the tools of her trade as a combat medic. The big Withaloo followed Chris, the young Gilchen pulling her by her hand down the hall.
Forty minutes later,
the transport was back with nineteen orphans covered in dirt and grime occupying most of the seats. Yvonne made sure they left a row of seats between them and the two secured guards, and threatened the two with unspeakable pain if they so much as looked at the young ones.
A few minutes after that, they pulled away from the house with everyone, including Shamayet. The Bangolda was sore, but coherent, after Pailoth countered and flushed most of the sedatives from her system. The youngsters were thrilled to see her out of her room. Even the older ones dropped their tough facade and rushed to her.
Yvonne hit the brakes as the front of the transport came through the gate. Several hovercraft lined in the road, and there were at least fifty members of Banth’s consortium armed and waiting. Several with rifles were shielded by the vehicles. Banth himself stood in the road, smoking a cloud stick. He was tall and thin, like most of his race. He did not appear happy.
Chris stepped out of the transport; the young ones and her team remained behind. She walked towards the pale green Shinktolo, her hand near her side and the pistol concealed there. Every weapon followed her movement.
Banth blew a cloud of smoke up into the air and looked down on her. “Chris, I presume?”
Chris glanced over at her friend, Garn. He shrugged. She noticed his weapon wasn’t quite pointed at her. “Yeah,” she said.
“Simple. To the point. I like that,” Banth said. “I’ll keep it simple, too. We have a problem. And by that I mean you have a problem. You have interrupted a source of income for me.” He waved a hand in dismissal. “I know. I know. Narlong was using young ones as labor. It’s not a good look, but hey, who else is going to work the mine? The mine’s been condemned. Now, what you are going to do is turn that transport around and take them back after you release Narlong. I can’t have one of my under-bosses going to prison, now can I? Think of my reputation.”
“Think of mine,” a voice rang out, coming from everyone’s comms at the same time.
Everyone looked around, including Chris. She knew the voice, but had no idea where he was until a few seconds later.
“Who said that?” demanded Banth. He looked at his comm as if it was alive.
Seconds later, everyone flinched and ducked as the sound of rocket boosters igniting roared from above. The sound was deafening. No fewer than twenty mechs landed around the transport and the hovercraft.
None of the guards fired a shot. They were in shock. They had all seen mechs on the Galaxy Network, but had never been around ones like these. Unlike the ones used for construction or mining, these were war machines. Several were scarred from obvious action.
A unique mech, larger than the rest, stomped over to Chris and Banth. The cockpit opened, and Harmon Tomeral climbed down. He walked over to Chris and stood beside her. Banth stepped back a pace.
Harmon looked at him and crossed his arms. “Let’s talk about reputations. My name is Harmon Tomeral. You may have heard of me, or perhaps…Salvage System.”
Banth’s eyes widened. He had heard. The video of the battle still made its rounds on the Galaxy Network. Salvage System—and Harmon Tomeral, especially—were well known.
Harmon continued, “Chris is a sergeant in my Marines. As a member of my Fleet, she is a member of my family. That makes that transport full of young ones an extended part of my family. So we have a problem here. By that, I mean you have a problem. No one does that to my family.”
“I…I,” stammered Banth. He looked up and noticed the dropship circling slowly, lower and lower, the barrels on its quad guns never aiming away as it turned.
“Here is what is going to happen,” Harmon continued. “This Narlong guy is going to be turned over to the authorities. They will handle it accordingly. I’m going to buy this property.” Harmon paused listening to his earpiece, with a finger up. “Wait, scratch that. One of my associates just informed me I now own it. It seems the bank had no idea it had changed hands, and the previous loan was rendered null and void. Under the circumstances, the current, actual owner sold it to me instead of renegotiating the loan. How convenient.”
Harmon grinned at Chris. He turned back to the gangster. “I would advise you and everyone else in your line of business to steer clear of my property and anyone associated with it. Otherwise, I will send Sergeant Chris back here with a battalion of troops to take care of my business. And by that, I mean ending yours. Do I make myself clear?”
“Very,” answered Banth, his face pale. He was visibly shaken.
“Now if you will excuse me,” Harmon said, “I have a meeting planned with the planet’s prime minister, then I and a platoon of my troops will be going downtown to try our luck. They better hope the games aren’t rigged; Bahroot is riding with his minder, and he’ll know. You can’t get anything by an AI. We’ll be here all week. Oh, and clear the bodies off my property. Young ones don’t need to see that.”
* * *
A week later, Chris said her goodbyes and promised to visit when she could. She had spent the previous week spoiling her younger foster siblings. Pailoth had ensured they were all checked out by a local physician and kept an eye on Shamayet’s recovery. Zarmlon spent her time with the older orphans, teaching them self-defense and target shooting, all while answering questions about becoming a professional soldier.
Yvonne disabled the power source to the fence and saw to the repairs of the gate. She had a sign made. The sign on the gate read, ‘Salvage System Outreach Orphanage.’ Below it, at an angle, was a smaller sign, an exact replica of a young one’s handwriting that read, ‘Chris was here.’
* * * * *
Kevin Steverson Bio
Kevin Steverson is a retired veteran of the U.S. Army. He is a published songwriter as well as an author. He lives in the northeast Georgia foothills where he continues to refuse to shave ever again. Trim…maybe. Shave…never! When he is not on the road as a Tour Manager he can be found at home writing in one fashion or another.
* * * * *
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The Blast by Chris Kennedy
Operations, Psiclopes Lunar Research Station
“I was right,” I said, throwing a stack of images on Arges’ desk. “It is them.”
Arges frowned as he picked up the pictures with two fingers as if doing his best not to touch them. I tried not to smile. He flipped through them quickly, muttering disparaging comments as he looked through the pages. “Probably not…Could be anything…definitely not…” I could tell when he got to the last one, because his voice changed. “Shit.” He dropped it like it was contaminated with something nasty.
I pointed to the ship sitting in a forest clearing on the last picture. “We have Ware’Ulfs on the planet.” Even though he didn’t want to admit it, he had no choice; the Ware’Ulfs were the only ones who built square spaceships. Functionality meant nothing to them—they just liked the aesthetics.
“I thought we killed all of them,” Arges muttered.
“We did, the last time they came here.”
“No, I thought the Mrowry killed all of the ones loose in the galaxy.”
“Apparently not,” I said with a shrug. “Either that, or some more got loose.”
“Should have wiped them all out,” Arges said, barely audible. Me? I had no problem with it. I would have happily killed them off a long time ago if they’d let me. The race was far too smart and way too predatory to be allowed to exist. They were too clever to be quarantined on their planet. This was at least the third time I knew of where they had managed to slip past the warship in orbit that was supposed to keep the race from getting off-planet.
The last time, three civilizations had perished.
“So what are we going to do?” I finally asked, when it didn’t look like Arges was going to suggest anything on his own. I k
new what we needed to do—they all needed to be destroyed—but as the leader of our mission, it was Arges’ decision to make.
His shoulders slumped. “We’ll need to send for help. We’re going to need to sterilize the planet.”
Although I liked the, “Send away for help,” part of that—especially since there were only three of us watching over this world—the civilization on the planet below was just getting to be interesting. The colonization phase was mostly completed, and it was time for the individual nations to learn to deal with each other. Things were coming to a head, but would the planet’s leaders come together, or they would continue to be fragmented and go to war? Using other planets as indicators, the civilization on the planet below was within one of their centuries of being worthy of notice on the galactic scale…unless they fell into internecine warfare, which happened all too often. Either path would be interesting to watch.
“I’ve got nothing against killing all the Ware’Ulfs,” I said. “You know that. That said, I don’t see why all the humans have to die, too.”
“Nor do I,” added Brontes from the doorway behind me. I smiled; if his wife was on my side, the odds had just swung greatly in my favor.
“You know as well as I do what happened the last time they were here,” Arges said. “If we don’t sterilize the planet, we won’t know for sure that we got them all.”
“Well, they can’t have spread far yet,” I hedged. “I found the ship on today’s scan for power sources. It wasn’t there 23 hours ago, so they must have just landed. If we can destroy them now before they infect the planet, we won’t have to sterilize it. We have to act now, though, before they start spreading.”
The Dogs of God Page 13