Sudden Death (A Military Sci Fi Thriller) (The Biogenesis War Files)

by L. L. Richman

  Thad mimed a shot through the heart. “I’m wounded, cher, that you’d side with these cretins.”

  A glimmer of amusement lit Gabe’s eyes. “It’s not always brute strength that wins the race. Sometimes cunning comes in smaller, more lethal packages.”

  Asha lifted her drink in silent agreement, and Alvarez saluted the medic back with his newly arrived brew.

  Thad sat back and let the good-natured ribbing wash over him. He realized his lethargy had lifted, and for the first time since completing the course, he could truly savor his success.

  It had been his goal for years. He was exactly where he wanted to be, and that felt good, damn good. He let the conversation flow over him as he looked around. He spotted several classmates—unsurprising, really, as the Thirsty Whale was one of the places those from Ouray Base liked to frequent.

  He was honestly glad Alvarez was among them, even though he was NCIC and not a proper warfighter, like the Marines or special forces. The two couldn’t be more different, but they’d found an instant rapport during that first day of the final qualification heat, when circumstance had forced them together.

  “So, when are you headed out?” Asha shot Gabe a questioning look, drawing Thad’s attention back to the present.

  The NCIC agent shrugged. “Since no one ever knows how long Hell Walk will take, the agency cleared my slate for two full weeks. I have to be back at headquarters on Ceriba in five days.”

  “Excellent.” Asha crossed her arms on the table and leaned forward. “I see a trip to a sky park in your future.”

  “A— What? Come again?”

  Rafe snorted. “Asha’s been saddled with taking her niece up to the Searcy Sky Park tomorrow, and she’s looking for any poor sucker who will go along with her.”

  “Do you blame me?” The medic shot him a black look. “You try to ride herd over four teenage girls. I’d rather face an Akkadian onslaught, head on.”

  “Aw, come on, cher, it can’t be that bad.”

  The medic angled a jaundiced eye his way. “You just got volunteered to keep me company, LT.”

  Rafe plucked the swizzle stick out of a rum and coke that had just arrived. Pointing it at Thad, he remarked, “Know for a fact that you aren’t due anywhere in the next couple of days, either.” He clamped the stick between his teeth, and then grinned an evil grin. “Now who’s laughing?”

  Thad shot Rafe a narrow-eyed look and then turned it on Asha. “How come you’re not wrangling this couyon into your posse for tomorrow’s excursion?”

  Asha sat back. “Because I know better than to piss off the Shadow Recon pilot and call him names.” She lifted a brow. “Something you forgot, maybe?”

  He started to snap off a reply, but then he got a good look at Asha’s face and saw behind her joking exterior to the barely concealed plea buried deep in her eyes. A quick glance over in Gabe’s direction told him the other man had seen it, too.

  “Ah, what the hell.”

  With the faintest of nods, the agent turned his attention back to Asha. “Okay, I’m in, too. We don’t have sky parks in Ceriba; it’ll be interesting to see what one of those things is like.”

  Thad saw tension flow from Asha’s shoulders, though the medic kept up her sardonic facade.

  She sat back. “Tomorrow morning it is, then. We’ll hang out by the pool, drink fancy drinks, and keep my niece from doing anything stupid.”

  Thad couldn’t help but needle her a bit. “Like platform diving, or bungee jumping?”

  She shot him a baleful glare. “Don’t even think that. My brother would kill me if he found out his daughter tried one of those rides.”

  “No worries, cher. After what we’ve been through? Shouldn’t be too much of a problem to keep four girls in line,” he said. “What kind of dangers could a sky platform offer? Biggest risk I see is we’ll die of boredom.”

  4: CLANDESTINE MEET

  Pelican Ocean

  Five kilometers offshore

  Port Defiance, Beryl

  Starlight glinted faintly off the small skiff as it pulled away from Port Defiance’s spaceport pier. It gained speed, angling out toward the open ocean and veering away from the Tanzanian Atoll with its standard trade routes. Its bow skipped across the waves, the sound of its motor and the slap of saltwater against the boat’s hull combining to make verbal conversation between the two onboard impractical. The wind alone was strong enough to snatch the very words from the air.

  Petra Cooke waited until she was certain they’d passed beyond Port Defiance’s surveillance ring before cutting the motor. The small speedboat settled into the water, swells gently lapping at its sides.

  “Are you—” the man seated across from Petra cut his words off when she raised her hand.

  With a mental command, Petra sent a puff of audio chaff into the air, providing an effective yet unobtrusive security screen. The colloids were held aloft by brownian motion; a magnetic field kept the chaff ensconced in a sphere around the boat’s two occupants.

  She let her hands drop when the app controlling the colloids indicated they were in place.

  “We’re clear,” she told him. “Want to tell me why you asked for this meeting?”

  The man leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “I was wondering if you had everything set for tomorrow,” he said.

  The ‘tomorrow’ he referenced was a heist, one Petra had been planning for the past three months. It was also one her bosses at the Mastai cartel knew nothing about, and she intended to keep it that way. Clandestine meets like this increased the chance of exposure. She knew it and so did he.

  Petra glared at him in disbelief. “You asked for a secured meet so you could satisfy your curiosity?”

  His brows drew together as if just realizing how inane his question had sounded. “No, of course not. I… had an idea, is all.”

  Petra’s eyes narrowed at his words, and she took a moment to study the man. Jay Henson was small, with features more refined than the average man. What he lacked in brute strength, though, he made up for in intellect and cunning. He’d only been with Mastai for six months, but he’d already proven himself to be far more than the average thug, so she’d let him say his piece.

  She motioned for him to continue.

  “Do you have buyers already lined up for the weapons?” he asked.

  Her expression must have telegraphed her annoyance. He lifted his hands in a placating gesture.

  “The only reason I ask is because those are Navy weapons in those cases you’re grabbing. They use a trapped-key biolock to prevent unauthorized use. It’s going to take time to crack that, and to scrub their serial numbers.”

  Petra’s voice dipped dangerously low. “You’d better have a reason other than this for dragging me out here, Henson…”

  Jay blew out a breath. “I do. Look, every minute that passes between the time you snatch those cases and the time they land in your buyer’s hands, you risk getting caught. We all do. Think of all the places where things can go south.” He made a wide gesture and then began ticking items off on one hand. “When you illegally enter the spaceport’s Military Operations Area. When you break open the cage where the cases are stored. Sneaking them out to the shuttle you’ve rented. Getting them up to the sky park—”

  “Enough! You’ve made your point.” Petra crossed her arms. “You said you had an idea. What is it?”

  “The weakest point, or at least the point where you’re the most vulnerable for the longest amount of time is while you’re up at the sky park, laundering the merch,” he said. “If you’re found out, you may need a little something on your side.”

  “I thought that’s what the swamper was for,” she pointed out, her tone sharp with exasperation. “And why you replaced one of their maintenance techs five days ago. Are you telling me you’re not up to the job?”

  Jay shook his head rapidly. “No, no. Everything’s all good on that end. The swamper’s ready to go, and I’m taking it up with me to Searcy
in the morning.”

  A swamper did exactly as the name implied; it could ‘swamp’ a local segment of the net, temporarily overloading it and causing a brief outage before the system rerouted itself.

  The net was too sophisticated for the overload to last very long; the error was corrected almost immediately. The swamper then attacked the newly segmented route, crashing it. This played out countless times each minute. It would continue to do so until authorities were sent to the scene to shut down the malicious and highly illegal device.

  “You anticipate any problems getting it installed?”

  He shook his head. “It’ll go in line with the network booster they have sitting on top of their tallest building. The thing’s isolated. No one will see me while I work.”

  “Good.” She studied the thin man. “So again, I’m forced to ask, why did you call this meeting?”

  A speculative gleam lit his eyes. “You say you know what’s inside those cases?”

  The question conjured a mental picture in Petra’s mind. Those cases were a gun merchant’s wet dream. They were packed with P-SCAR rifles, CUSP pistols, flechettes, even sniper weapon systems. One case alone held frag and sticky grenades. Another was filled with explosive devices and all the det nano a pyro could want. The cases even contained less deadly but highly useful tools like LockPiks, Zipties, and body armor.

  Something about the way Jay asked the question, though, had Petra’s guard up. “I do,” she drew the words out. “What are you thinking?”

  “Just a suggestion. An idea.” He paused, then shrugged. “Call it insurance, something a bit more substantial than the swamper, in case things go south during the op.”

  Petra stared at him for a beat. Then she nodded. “Go on.”

  He lifted a cautionary hand. “Just hear me out, okay? It might sound crazy, but… I’d like to borrow some of it.”

  “Borrow. Now, there’s an interesting turn of phrase.” For some reason, his choice of words amused Petra. She chuckled. “I’m not sure I’ve ever heard anyone say they want to borrow ammo. That’s not the kind of thing you usually return.”

  A grin crossed his lips. “Yeah, I’ll bet that sounds a bit strange,” he admitted. “But I mean it. I just want to borrow the stuff, nothing more.”

  Petra remained silent; she just continued to stare at him.

  “I can get them back to you after the park closes tomorrow so you’re not out anything if we don’t need them.”

  “Them,” she repeated, keeping her expression impassive.

  Jay’s deep intake of air warned Petra she might not like what the man was about to say. As he laid out his strategy, she realized he’d been right; she didn’t like it.

  Petra was used to working from the shadows. What Jay suggested would shine a very bright light on the location they’d chosen to launder the goods. But his reasoning was sound, and she found herself nodding in agreement, despite her misgivings.

  In the end, she gave him the green light to proceed…

  5: MEMORY LANE

  Ouray Base, Beryl

  Boone’s feet had taken him kilometers down the coastline as he turned his decision over in his mind yet again. It wasn’t until a familiar sign breached his consciousness that he realized he’d walked all the way back to Ouray.

  He was on the recruit side of the camp, the same stretch of beach where he’d pounded out countless kilometers of drills during his three-month training. He moved forward, through the shadows of the darkened training camp, the area awash in memories.

  He dropped into the sand pit, feet sinking deep into the soft amethyst grains. He reached down, fingers burrowing into its depths as he recalled the hours he’d spent sweating inside its confines.

  Straightening, he dusted off the sand, still warm with residual heat from the sun long after it had set, and continued on. He paused at its edge to glance around before stepping onto the parade deck that spanned the area between barracks and pit.

  Ouray Base was quiet now that the day’s ceremonies had ended. He kicked at a stray bit of litter, likely left over from some well-wisher who had come to see a friend or family member officially sworn in as a Marine.

  Cleaning bots would make short work of the debris. Graduation was one of the few times they were brought out and used. Normally, it fell to the recruits to keep the grounds spit-polished, ‘scuzzing’ the deck with one hand while the other remained at parade rest, behind their backs.

  His lip quirked in a half smile. Who the hell thought I’d ever feel nostalgic about that kind of shit?

  He glanced around, hearing very little in the still night air, the next crop of Marines-in-training enjoying their lone hour of rest before hitting their racks. The half-smile stretched into a full grin at the memory of lying at attention until given permission to relax into the thin mattress. So many nights he’d fallen asleep in that rigid position, too worn out from the day’s drills to do otherwise.

  The scuff of a boot sounded behind him and he pivoted to face the man who materialized out of the darkness. Habit had him straightening to attention.

  “At ease, Boone.” The sergeant’s eyes scanned the holopips that declared Boone’s rank, and then dipped farther down. “You’re tracking sand all over my deck.”

  Boone lifted his chin as he dropped into a modified parade rest. “Sorry, Sergeant.”

  Sergeant Salvatore Franco had been one of Boone’s toughest instructors during his thirteen-week stay at Ouray, but he’d also become both mentor and guide.

  His former drill instructor’s eyes made another critical sweep. Boone knew for a fact the man had taken in a mountain of information in that quick perusal, from the shine of his shoes to the crease of his collar.

  “What brings you back this way? One round through the Crucible not enough for you?”

  A smile ghosted Boone’s lips. “One round was plenty, thanks.”

  The sergeant crossed his arms and lowered his chin. “Spit it out. What’s bothering you, son?”

  Boone shook his head and a soft laugh escaped. “Are all DIs mind readers?”

  “Only the ones who care,” drawled Franco. “Now, spill it. I don’t have all night.”

  Boone drew in a breath, suddenly unsure about how much he wanted to share. “I’ve been offered my choice of two different ‘A’ schools.”

  Franco nodded sagely when it became evident Boone was done speaking. “You having trouble deciding?”

  Boone jerked his head to the side, the action both nonverbal and noncommittal at the same time.

  “Intelligence or Scout Sniper,” he listed them off. “One gets me off Beryl. The other keeps me here.”

  “Ahhhhh, now we’re getting somewhere. I take it you’re leaning toward the course that’ll get you off planet soonest.”

  “It’s not that,” Boone began to protest, but stopped when Franco dipped his head and gave him The Look.

  “Don’t feed me that bullshit.”

  Boone just shrugged.

  Franco must have found the unspoken admission funny. His eyes crinkled in sudden amusement. “Well, it’s good to know this Marine’s Navy at least had the good sense not to offer you something in Medical.”

  Boone resisted the urge to wince. Weapons, marksmanship, tracking—these were all things he’d excelled at in boot. Triage, on the other hand, was a thing he’d never been able to wrap his head around. He could feel embarrassment heating his cheeks at the memory of his failed attempts to pass basic field triage, and the extra ‘incentive training’ he’d earned in the pit, as a result.

  Franco waved a dismissive hand. “No shame in knowing your weaknesses, son. You’ve plenty going for you in other areas. It was just a matter of time before someone decided that raw ability you have with weapons should be honed.”

  He gave Boone a considering look. “Out of the two options, what’s your gut telling you?”

  “Sniper,” Boone admitted after a beat, and then closed his eyes as Franco began to chuckle.

  �
��Which won’t get you off this rock. I understand your dilemma. But allow me to point out, that school doesn’t last forever. I can assure you, the Geminate Navy won’t let you cool your heels on Beryl for long after you finish.”

  Boone pressed his lips together to cut off an incipient protest, and then nodded. “Appreciate the advice.”

  Wise eyes drilled into him. “Son, we’re going to keep your ass too busy for you to know or even care where you are. Go with your gut on this one. Now, get out of here, before I find myself a scuzz brush and order you to scrape all that sand you tracked back into the pit.”

  Boone braced. “Sergeant, yes, sergeant!”

  He and Franco exchanged a smile, and the sergeant extended a hand.

  “It was a pleasure having a role in your training, Boone. Just don’t embarrass me out there, y’heah?”

  “I hear.”

  Franco nodded. “Dismissed.”

  6: HEIST

  Port Defiance Spaceport

  Petra’s job with the Mastai Cartel didn’t usually require her to handle the merchandise. Mastai used cutouts for that, untraceable drones and the like that offered deniability should they be caught.

  Her department handled reconnaissance. Her people were the advance scouts that secured the area prior to any cartel action. They never touched the goods, and she liked it that way.

  As with most things, there were exceptions. Such had been the case earlier in the year when her job had brought her down to the spaceport to pick up an item for the Boss. The cartel’s leader had made a particularly sensitive acquisition and decided he wanted a human to handle it. Petra had drawn the short straw twice in a row.

  Interestingly, the task brought her somewhere she’d never been before: the spaceport’s lowest level. Someone within the organization had deemed the sea-level tier the least likely to draw curious eyes.

  They were sure right about that, Petra thought as she stepped from the lift. The carton-laden maglev hand truck that floated beside her hummed a dismal counterpoint to the dreary panorama that lay before her.