Zurra saw two new enforcers approaching him from behind, both indicating a spiral staircase behind the bar where beastwine was being served out of massive barrels. He ascended the stairs with both enforcers in tow, and found Rurekk sitting at a private table removed from the other patrons on the balcony. He was being massaged by two muunfi, one male and one female.
“Sit, please,” Rurekk said, looking over Zurra’s physique. “You are very fit. I trained for years when I was younger to be only half your size. How do you do it?”
“I have rigorous work. I am a builder here in the city, and I have labored on the brigs of space vessels in the Outer Ring.”
Rurekk nodded in approval. “Where did you learn to fight like that? You have reflexes most soldiers would envy.”
Zurra paused. “I grew up in a rough neighborhood. My comrades who could not defend themselves were killed. I am sure there are places like that in Ankina.”
There was a long pause. Rurekk motioned for one of his attendants to fetch him beastwine. “Would you like a drink?”
“I am fine, but thank you.”
“What did you say your name was again?”
“I do not believe I gave it.”
Rurekk seemed openly stunned that someone would brazenly defy him in such a way. His two thugs flanking Zurra stiffened and each took a step forward before Rurekk waved them down. He smiled with a hint of legitimacy and clear frustration. “I am impressed by how you handled those men downstairs. Do you know who I am?”
“Yes, I do. You are Fakkid Rurekk, and you used to play belekki over a decade ago. Now you own this establishment… and most of the men here, by appearances.”
“You did your research.”
Zurra shrugged. “I like to think of it more as being prepared.”
“You are awfully prepared for a builder and former ship-rat.”
“I will accept that as a compliment.”
Rurekk glanced at both of his thugs and took a small sip of beastwine, studying Zurra intently. “You come into my place here, refuse to bet on my hittik match, fight with my men and now you take a defiant tone with me. I have killed over less.”
“I apologize, then. I came here to speak to you, and being coerced by your thugs downstairs insults me. I represent very powerful people who have a business proposition for you.”
Rurekk waved his hand and one of the thugs stepped up behind Zurra and placed a knife to his throat. The other knocked his hat off, revealing his officer braids.
“If by powerful people you mean the Imperial Military, then yes, I suppose you do have strong friends. I have strong friends too, though. The Progressive leadership in this city fears me. One rogue soldier comes into my bar, and they will not bat an eyelash if he ends up dead in the catacombs.”
“You control nothing,” Zurra replied. “Kamaan Dakkal does. That is who I am here to find. I know who your friends are, Rurekk.”
Rurekk slammed his fist on the table. “I have had enough. Take him to the tunnels and kill him. I would die before betraying an ally like Dakkal to you, Imperial swine.”
Frusrand guide my path, Zurra thought as he grabbed the okka gun in the back of his sash and drew it out. He twisted it backwards and launched two needles straight into the thug’s abdomen. The knife fell to the floor as the krokator screamed in agony.
Zurra reached into the pocket of his tunic and pressed hard on the beacon. He spun around and slammed the butt of the okka gun into the face of the second thug, before throwing himself out of the chair and placing three needles in a stitched pattern across the massive thug’s chest.
Two more thugs materialized out of nowhere before he could turn his gun on Rurekk and slammed Zurra into the railing overlooking the hittik pit. Zurra reached back and grabbed the krokator’s face, pulling him directly into the path of the other thug’s knife thrust. He heard a grunt as the thug caught the knife in the arm. Zurra kicked his legs out from under him and bucked him over the edge of the railing.
The thug plunged down into the hittik pit, smashing through the bettor’s platform and rolling to stop in the middle of a seven-hittik match. The throng of snarling creatures spilled over onto him, and he screamed as their scissor-like claws slashed at his face, body and neck.
Zurra spun to face his second assailant, who had grabbed a beastwine cup as a weapon. He struck the hand Zurra was holding his gun with, sending the weapon clattering across the floor. His next swing, this one aimed for the head, missed.
Sensing his brief opportunity, Zurra threw himself to the floor, rolled to avoid another deadly swing and grabbed a three-legged stool. He swung it with force, and it cracked across the assailant’s upper torso and head. The dazed thug stumbled backwards, giving Zurra time to scramble over to his gun. He used the stool to deflect a misguided attack before firing a needle into the krokator’s throat.
With that, the doors in the back and front flew open and large krokator in full combat armor stormed in, okka guns and Obedience Sticks in hand.
The appearance of sukuda commandos sent the whole tavern into a commotion. There was a rush to the door, hands clawing after stray money falling to the floor. A few brave souls even dove into the hittik pit after loose coins, jumping back out just as quickly.
Out of the corner of his eye, Zurra spotted Rurekk pressing through the crowd with three of his bodyguards towards a door behind the bar – he was making a run for the catacombs. He vaulted himself over the railing, landing uncomfortably on two gamblers in the process. He managed to stagger up, pushed two chained pleasure slaves out of his way and set off at a sprint after Rurekk.
Rurekk disappeared down through the door, two bodyguards hot on his heels. The third turned, drawing an okka gun, aimed straight at Zurra. Before he could use it, he had been hit by needles from three sources – two of them sukuda, the third Zurra.
Zurra pushed the teetering corpse out of his way as the two sukuda pressed into the doorway to the catacombs. “We’ll follow Rurekk!” they cried.
“I will too. We split up and cover more ground,” Zurra said defiantly and squeezed past them both. “But I want him alive, he has information I need.”
The stairway led to a lower level that included another bar, but with the arrival of sukuda the patrons had already fled into the catacombs. Zurra stepped into the dimly lit, damp tunnel, trying to listen for footsteps.
To his left, he heard the distinct voice of Rurekk cry “Hurry!” to his guards. He motioned for the two sukuda to follow him as he set off down the tunnel at a breakneck pace.
The two bodyguards came into view after a few twists and turns. Zurra bounded up a staircase, aware that he was quicker and stronger than both of them would be. He pounced on one, tackling him to the ground.
“Keep an eye on him!” Zurra yelled, jumping up and continuing his pursuit. He could make out two forms in the dimness ahead. They suddenly split in two different directions.
“Ukkum strike me!” the sukuda agent still following Zurra cried. “I will go right, you go left!”
“Agreed,” Zurra called back and veered left, almost falling down a set of slick stairs. Footsteps echoed in the distance, and he sprinted on through the dark tunnel.
The shape he was following turned right and he did likewise. The tunnels were descending now. He took a hard left, nearly tripping again. The ground was covered in water, almost up to his ankles. The splashing of his prey resonated through the catacomb up ahead.
He could hear running water somewhere nearby, and the desperate footsteps had stopped. As he turned the corner of the tunnel, he saw an underground canal running along at a fast pace, disappearing into the darkness of a sewer drain up ahead.
Rurekk stood at the edge of the canal, staring into the water, surprised that he had been trapped. He turned and saw Zurra approaching, gun aimed directly at his head. “I thought I knew these tunnels better,” he finally said wearily. “Looks like I was wrong.”
“Where is Dakkal?”
“I will
never tell you,” Rurekk said. “You will have to kill me.”
Zurra fired a needle that zipped two inches from Rurekk’s face. The criminal jumped in surprise, nearly losing his footing.
“You are a coward. You claim to run a portion of this city but you are merely the front of a larger operation. An operation that is part of Hudda Kugrall.”
Rurekk shook his head. “There is nothing you can do to protect me. Dakkal is long gone, and once he learns you have been here to see me, I will be expendable. There is so much more going on than you realize. More going on than even I know about. Dakkal has been in something for years. I just run his taverns.”
“The Empire will protect you.”
Rurekk glanced back into the river. “The Emperor cannot even protect himself.”
“I will not ask you again.”
“I know nothing! Dakkal is gone, I already told you. Even if I knew where he was he would not stay long. He has powerful friends who will protect him, and guard him, and when he is ready Dakkal will give his life for their cause in repayment.”
“What is their cause? Is it the cause of the Hudda Kugrall?”
Rurekk paused before smiling. “The Empire’s days are numbered, and soon, the League of Planets will be ruled by someone, something much more potent. The day of reckoning approaches. And I will be with Kurkand while you rot in the Origin World.”
Zurra lowered the aim of his okka gun. “I will count to five. One.”
“It is futile. The next strike is already being prepared against your government. The masterstroke will not be long after.”
“Two.”
Rurekk laughed. “You will never find Dakkal!”
Zurra shot his foot. Rurekk roared in pain, bending over to clasp the needle.
Walking over to his prey, Zurra bent down close to Rurekk’s face. “Who are Dakkal’s friends? Where are they? You have less than a minute to live. Use it wisely.”
Rurekk’s eyes lost focus. “They are our greatest friends… amongst our greatest enemy… See you in the Origin World, hrain.”
The former belekki player thrust himself backwards into the river with his last ounce of strength and disappeared down the drainage pipe, and once he was gone, the water continued to flow merrily through the canal as if nothing had ever breached its brackish, foul surface.
Chapter Twelve: Lara
Los Angeles, Planet Terra, Sol System
Gresham stirred as images of the Dhruiz War disturbed his sleep. He saw the horrific dhzirs, swarming over hills, through defenses and into trenches like a horde of rancid rodents. Their damp hair flailed in the wind, their beady eyes soulless, toothy jaws snapping up and down like indecisive drawbridges.
One of the ferocious, miraculously sentient animals was clawing after Gresham’s ankle from below. He vividly experienced the sensation of pulling out his gun and shooting the alien right in the forehead. The dhzir shrieked as dark, almost black blood sprayed like a fountain from the hole and it toppled back.
Gresham saw fellow Marines have their heads blown off, their bowels ripped out, slaughtered by the dozens in close quarter combat and in the open field. The dhzirs were relentless, like cockroaches. When one died, two others took its place.
He was running again, carrying the dead weight of the wounded Julian Castor in his arms. Gresham dropped his friend, plunging forward, as dhzirs materialized out of the mist. The horde was endless. Gresham thrashed out, striking one, shooting another, screaming as they descended upon him, claws gleaming in the light of gunfire.
He woke up with a start, panting and sweating, lying bare-chested on a bed in a mess of navy blue sheets. The curtains to the room were drawn, yet he could make out the faint glow of twilight outside. He was wearing comfortable, civilian jeans and no socks.
From beyond a door, Gresham could hear the sound of running water. He rose out of bed, feeling weak and exhausted. He nudged the door open and was greeted by a gun barrel.
“You’re up, then,” Lara Taylor said. With one hand she held a towel wrapped around her body, with the other she was pointing a pistol at his face.
“Yes, I am,” Gresham said and took a step back. “Don’t let me interrupt your shower.”
“I just finished,” Lara replied curtly and flipped a strand of wet hair out of her eye. “Would you mind?”
Gresham closed the door and sat down on the bed. Where was his shirt? Where was he? And who was Lara Taylor?
The door opened a moment later and Lara emerged, wearing a white bathrobe. She was still holding the gun, but it was relaxed at her side. She glared at Gresham and angrily demanded, “Don’t you know how to knock?”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. Let’s go to the living room. Sam should be done with dinner.”
Gresham obliged and walked out the room’s other door, into a large, cozy space with plump couches and a massive screen. The home’s AI turned the lights up slightly from dim to luminous as he took a seat.
Lara sat down across from Gresham, placed the gun on the table and crossed her legs. “So, let’s talk. What were you doing in Jeff’s apartment?”
“So he’s Jeff to you now?”
“Please answer the question.”
“I was looking for clues.”
“Clues?”
“Yeah, clues to who attacked him. To what he was working on. His report was incomplete and there are inconsistencies in his investigation.”
Lara smirked. “Tell me about it.”
“There’s research unaccounted for in the report filed with Section One. No revelation as to how to track the authorization for the gun removal, why he volunteered for the assignment, and what he was working on previously.” Gresham paused and raised an eyebrow. “But you already know all this, don’t you? Are you the agent in charge of the Evans-Vance inquiry?”
Lara bit her lip. “No. I’m not.” She leaned over and picked up a pack of cigarettes by her gun, pulled one out and lit it. “Want one?”
“No thank you, I don’t smoke.”
Lara blew a smoke ring into the air. “How did you know I’m SIS?”
“If you weren’t I’d be dead already. You want to know how much I know, because I might know something you don’t already.”
“You’re a smart man, Gresham, clearly a good analyst. I read that report you put together analyzing the krokator military and internal Imperial politics using only budget math. I hate to say it, though; you’re not a smart field agent. Why the hell would you walk into the apartment of after you were let in the building? There could have been an army of Balgoshans waiting up there. And in uniform, too! You should be glad I wasn’t trying to kill you.”
“I am glad. Thanks.”
Lara shook her head. “I’m still stupefied. But yes, I am with Special Intelligence.”
“Information distribution, you mean.”
“It’s a vague enough cover.”
“Sure is,” Gresham chuckled. “Think I can get a shirt?”
“Not yet, I’m not done with you.”
“Alright.”
A short, stocky blond-haired man came through the opening to the kitchen carrying a tray with three plates of spaghetti. “Dinner’s done, Lara.”
“Thank you, Sam.” Lara looked at Gresham. “Major, I want you to meet Sam Troy, one of my fellow agents and most trusted friends.”
Gresham waved his hand nonchalantly. “Evening.”
“Here you are, Major,” Troy said and set the spaghetti down. “I hope you don’t mind the stun I gave you earlier… we had to be sure…”
“No harm, no foul,” Gresham grunted and picked up his fork. “So, Lara Taylor, I’ll play along with you – but I don’t like being in the dark. What do you have to do with Vance?”
Lara took a drag of her cigarette and looked at Troy briefly before returning her attention to Gresham. “I was working on an investigation with Vance.”
“So you were his SIS contact.”
“Exactly. Jeffrey
was a consummate professional who I had met a few years ago. He asked me for help and I went to Cray. Cray was… hesitant, to say the least, but finally approved of me lending unofficial counsel to Jeff. It wasn’t so much a joint effort between MID and SIS as a personal favor to a fellow agent.”
“What was the investigation about?”
“The ETZ, of course. For three months SIS had been monitoring smuggling in a new effort by the government to crack down on the proliferation of alien firearms. Something was up, but we couldn’t quite put our finger on what it was.”
Troy interjected. “Before he died, Carl Brighton organized a sting down in the ETZ, and we were coming up dry, beyond the usual suspects. Drug movers, gun-runners, and the like. We spent three months snooping around, and still we couldn’t figure out what it was that bothered us.”
“Then Vance came to me out of the blue,” Lara continued. “He’d caught wind of our investigation and we’d been in touch before. Said he’d been putting together a record of suspicious weapons going missing over the past six months or so. When he heard that we were looking at gun-runners, he wanted to see if anything we’d found contained what was missing. But the serial numbers on everything had been wiped.”
“Then,” Troy interrupted, “the depository was raided in Ventura. Not so much raided as pilfered. Someone authorized the whole thing. Probably a high-ranking Allied official. Who? We don’t know. But someone drove up to Ventura and picked up guns that were waiting for him. Not long after that we busted two punks with machine guns and thermal grenades, and the serial numbers matched the missing stock, so we called Vance. Somebody was selling the guns in the Zone and arms theft is MID’s jurisdiction.”
Gresham blinked and shook his head. “What kind of Alliance official would get himself involved with Zone scum, though? It doesn’t make any sense.”
“It’s actually not unprecedented,” Troy replied. “About ten years ago there was a Commissioner who was running an alien prostitution ring out of his basement. The ETZ is the galaxy’s most accessible subject pool of criminals-for-hire; the rich and powerful sometimes need assistance they can’t go around talking about.”