Asbaran Solutions (The Revelations Cycle Book 2) Page 12

  “Does this creature belong to you?” roared one of the genSha in a deep voice as it sat on the Besquith’s head.

  “Uh, yeah, sort of, I guess,” Nigel said. The Besquith had ceased struggling and gone limp. “Maybe you should get up before you kill him.”

  “He has caused a number of injuries to my friends. Who is going to pay for their treatment? Are you?”

  “Um, well, you see, I don’t have a lot of money at the moment…”

  “Oh, for the love of Golban!” Breetar squeaked, pulling a pouch from his belt. “Here! There are enough credits in here to pay for all of your bills as well as plenty left over. Just get off the stupid thing before you kill it.”

  Breetar handed the money pouch to the lead genSha, who got up, then Breetar came to stand next to Nigel. “I can’t believe I’m saving a Besquith’s life,” he said, looking up at Nigel. “You owe me for what I just paid him, plus interest. A lot of interest.”

  “Did you have to shoot him though?” Nigel asked. “What if he’s dead?”

  “Oh, he’s not dead. I shot him in the leg. That’s probably going to be broken, and maybe separated from his body, but I didn’t kill him. He’s probably just unconscious; I would be if one of those things farted in my face.”

  Nigel looked up. “Umm, the cow things may be gone, but we seem to be attracting a lot of other attention.” Not only was everyone walking by looking at them, some of the aliens had also stopped to watch.

  “Keep moving!” Mason yelled. “We’re bounty hunters completing a contract!” He rolled the Besquith over, and Nigel could see the creature’s leg was definitely broken; a piece of bone stuck through its hide. “Give me a hand, Nigel,” Mason said with a grunt as he shifted the creature prior to lifting it. “This damn thing weighs a fucking ton, and I doubt the rodent is going to be much help.”

  “‘The rodent’ is the only reason the Besquith didn’t get away,” Breetar said. “Perhaps you should shut your mouth before ‘the rodent’ shoots you too.”

  “Stop it, both of you,” Nigel said. He helped shoulder the body. Mason had about 200 pounds of it…which still left another 100 unwieldy pounds for Nigel. “Oof…damn thing…is heavy. Where…where do we have to go…with it?”

  “There’s a hotel I know nearby that doesn’t ask a lot of questions. We can take it there and have the platoon’s medic come meet us, along with a couple platoon members. We’re going to need some gear to restrain it.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter Fifteen

  Hotel Crash and Burn, Orbital Transfer Station, Karma VI

  “That’s the best I can do,” Corporal Cindy ‘Shrewlet’ Epard said. “I’m a human medic, not some sort of exo-species veterinarian.”

  The Besquith lay strapped to the bed in the ill-kept flophouse. It was the only choice; there was no other furniture in the tiny room. Faded stains covered the floor, the walls, and the bed in a variety of sizes, colors, and shapes; Nigel really didn’t want to know what most of them were. The latest ones were blood stains from the Besquith on the bed. Mason had tipped the hotel staff substantially, though, and had said the staff wouldn’t mind the blood stains, as long as no blood leaked through the floorboards into the room below.

  Nigel didn’t want to know how Mason knew that, either.

  “Is it going to live?” Mason asked.

  “I think so,” Shrewlet said. “Most of the major damage was confined to its right leg. Whatever hit it tore out a big chunk of meat, shattered the bone, and almost tore it right off. If it had hit the bone, it probably would have. I can’t fix the bone—that’s going to take some reconstructive surgery or time in the regen tank—but I did set it where the shards are all mostly aligned and sprayed it with the nanite med spray. There are some other signs of trauma, although they’re a lot more minor than the leg wound. What did you say it was called?”

  “It’s a Besquith,” Mason replied.

  “Well, the med spray is certified to work on over 500 species. If ‘Besquith’ is one of them, he should be all right in a while. He’s going to hurt like a son of a bitch when he wakes up, but he isn’t going to die. I don’t think so, anyway.”

  “Okay, thanks,” Mason said. “Did you give him a stimulant?”

  “Yeah, he should be awake shortly.”

  “Great. Why don’t you go join the rest of the squad outside?” Even Nigel could tell from the tone of voice it wasn’t a request.

  The trooper departed, leaving Nigel, Mason, and Breetar alone with the Besquith. It wasn’t long before the creature started moving, and its eyes popped open.

  “I look forward to eating your young,” it growled.

  “Hurts, don’t it?” Mason asked. He sat down on the bed, and the Besquith flinched and growled as its leg shifted. “Oops, sorry.” He smiled. “Here’s the deal. We want to know who your employer is. If you tell us that, we’ll let you go. Otherwise, I can’t imagine that this conversation is going to be much fun for you.” He leaned over, placing his left hand on the bandaged leg. “So, what’s it going to be?”

  The Besquith opened its mouth and howled.

  Mason jammed his pistol into the beast’s mouth, and the howl ceased.

  “See now, there wasn’t any need for that,” Mason said as he removed the pistol and inspected it critically. “Now you’ve gone and gotten slobber on my pistol. Next time, I’ll just shoot you and be done with it. I hate having to clean my pistol without actually getting to shoot someone with it first.”

  The Besquith surveyed the room as best it could while strapped to the bed, its eyes stopping on Breetar. “You’re dead. When I get out of here, you’re the first one I’m going to kill.”

  “Good luck with that,” the Flatar replied. “You may not be aware, but things aren’t looking so good for you at the moment.”

  “Things change,” the Besquith said. “I’m going to eat you first.”

  “If you’d like, I can finish you now,” Breetar said. “I’m the one who shot you; I can certainly do it again.” He hopped onto the bed and drew his pistol. “It won’t hurt. Much.”

  The Besquith shifted and lunged, its giant mouth open, but Breetar jumped back nimbly. “You’re going to have to be faster than that.”

  “Okay, this is fun and all, but we don’t have a lot of time,” Nigel said. “Just tell us who hired you, and we’ll be on our way.”

  “Yes, must go save your sister, right?”

  “What do you know about that?”

  “Oh, nothing. Just that your time is running out. If you’re not there soon, she will be dead.”

  “Why is that? Why are you doing this?”

  “Me? I’m not doing anything, and I have no idea. Nor do I care. I was hired to do something and I did it, unlike the Flatar here. I’ve changed my mind…must be the pain…if you let me go now, I won’t kill you. Well, except for the Flatar. He dies. No one shoots me and gets away with it. And he broke his word, so he’s going to have to die for that, too. But the rest of you can leave. If you go now.”

  “Tell me who hired you, and we will.”

  “I don’t know.”

  Mason leaned a little harder on the bandaged leg. “I think you do,” he said.

  The Besquith gasped and squinted its eyes. “Okay…Mason,” the creature said with a grunt, “you’re dead, too.”

  Mason flinched backward. “You know me?”

  “Of course, you stupid bastard. Both of our companies were hired to track down the F11 thief on Septan-7. I was a squad leader for the group that brought him back, or what was left of him, anyway. I believe your company was still wandering around in the forest for several days after that. I’m sure it was just because the view was good, and not due to your utter lack of competence.”

  “I remember you now, you sick bastard. What you guys did to him was...” his voice trailed off and Mason chewed on his lip, thinking. “Let’s see….your name was… Brel-Al?”

  “It still is. That was a nice contract to collect on. Too
bad you didn’t get any of the payout because you were lost in the jungle.”

  “Well, you little asshole,” Mason said, slapping the bandage on the Besquith’s leg, hard. “It’s so good to see you again. I didn’t recognize the pelt, but I should have recognized the smell.”

  “Oh, don’t worry; I recognized your scent immediately. Failure. It suits you. I’m not surprised you’re helping this loser.” Brel-Al nodded toward Nigel.

  “Enough of this shit,” Nigel interrupted. “You two can discuss old times later. If you won’t tell us who your employer is, how about telling us where Amanda Spivey is being held?”

  “Who is that?” Brel-Al asked.

  “She’s the daughter of one of my employees. You have been using her as leverage to get the employee to do what you wanted.”

  “Oh, is that her name? When I last saw her, they were calling her something else.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Dinner.”

  Nigel leaned forward and put his elbow on the alien’s bandaged leg and stared into Brel-Al’s eyes. “By the mercy of God, if you have harmed her, I will track you down and make sure you die however she did.”

  “Good luck eating me. Our flesh is toxic to most of the other species in the galaxy.”

  Nigel stood up and leveled his pistol at the Besquith. “If you would like, I can do it right now…”

  “Go ahead,” the alien replied. “I don’t think you have the guts.”

  Nigel flipped the safety off. “Oh, no?”

  Mason waved a hand in Nigel’s line of sight, distracting him. “If I may, sir?”

  Nigel lowered the weapon. “Go ahead; I can always kill him later.”

  “Okay,” Mason said, leaning forward again onto the alien’s leg. “Here’s the deal. Play time is pretty much over. Either you tell us what we want to know, or I’m going to let Breetar shoot you again. This close, it will probably tear off whatever he shoots. Maybe a foot…maybe a hand…something that gives you a little time to think while you bleed out. Just like you did to the thief on Septan-7. So, what’s it going to be? Who hired you?”

  The Besquith shut its mouth with an audible snap. Mason leaned down harder on the Besquith’s leg with an elbow.

  “I…don’t…know,” he ground out.

  “Who hired you?” Nigel yelled.

  “I…don’t …know!”

  “If you don’t know who he is, describe him. What race is he?”

  “I…don’t …know!”

  “Hey guys,” Turk called over the platoon’s radio frequency. “I don’t know what you’re doing in there, but you better hurry up. There is a platoon of Lumar forming up out here, led by a Jivool. Looks like some of the passers-by are pointing you out.”

  “Meet us around back,” Mason replied. “We don’t have time to go through a security interview.”

  “Okay,” Mason said; “it’s going to get crowded in here fast. Time to go.” He pushed down the Besquith’s leg to get up, eliciting another growl.

  “I know the Jivool is a giant bear-like thing, but what are Lumar?” Nigel asked.

  “Big four-armed humanoids that like to brawl. They’re not particularly bright or fast, but they’re burly as hell and awfully tough in close quarters.”

  “Like here.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Should I kill him?” Breetar asked.

  “Nah,” Mason said. “I didn’t tip the staff enough to get rid of a body or fill in the hole in the wall your pistol will make.”

  “Too bad,” Breetar said, spinning the pistol once and sliding it into a holster on his belt. “I’ll have to kill you another time.” He bounced down off the bed.

  “Only if the Blood Drinkers don’t kill you first,” the Besquith replied.

  “They’re entering the hotel,” Turk reported. “Better hurry!”

  “Let’s go!” Mason ordered. “Follow me!”

  “See you soon!” the Besquith said.

  Mason ran out the door with Nigel and Breetar following close behind. As Nigel went through the door, he could hear a commotion from downstairs.

  “This way!” Mason urged, going in the opposite direction. He went to the last door on the right and tried the handle. Locked.

  Mason stepped back and kicked the door where it latched. It sprang inward with a crash, startling the…creatures…on the bed. There were tentacles everywhere and at least four bodies Nigel could see in the writhing mass.

  “Don’t stop for me,” Mason said as he crossed the room to a wardrobe against the back wall, notable in that it was the only non-bed furniture Nigel had seen in the hotel. Mason gave the wardrobe a shove and it slid to the side, revealing a small door. He looked back toward the bed and shuddered, then turned back to the door. “Let’s go,” he said over his shoulder as he vanished into the darkness.

  So’Kla’s Ship, Orbital Transfer Station, Karma VI

  “I’m the last,” Mason said as he came onboard. They had raced back to the ship with the Lumar in pursuit. Happily, the Lumar were better barroom bouncers and brawlers than they were sprinters. “Tell the flight station to detach and get us the hell out of here.”

  “I told them,” Corporal Vitali reported. “The Jehas want to know where we’re supposed to be heading, and if Mr. Nigel agrees to our early departure.”

  “Yes, I agree!” Nigel exclaimed. “Tell them to get going ASAP and head for the stargate.”

  “The Jehas want to know what ‘a sap’ is. It’s their understanding that sap moves slowly from trees. Especially during springtime.”

  “Just tell them to get going right fucking now, or we’re all going to be in big trouble. Tell them security is coming for us, and they’re going to get the foam treatment if we stay here one second longer!”

  “The flight station says we are detaching now and will make for the stargate at the ship’s best speed. They recommend securing all lose articles and getting strapped into your acceleration couches within the next five minutes, or you will become one with the bulkhead.”

  “That’s better.”

  “Where are we going?” Mason asked. “Unless I was listening to a different conversation than you, we didn’t get the info we were looking for. I hope you’re not planning on heading for Moorhouse.”

  “No, we didn’t get the info we were looking for on who hired Brel-Al. But we did get some info from him.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I think we know who’s guarding Moorhouse.”

  “I’m sorry, I must have missed that while restraining my xenocidal urges to kill the bastard. When did he tell us who was guarding Moorhouse?”

  “Remember when Breetar said he’d have to kill Brel-Al another time? Brel-Al said something like ‘Only if the Blood Drinkers don’t kill you first.’ Who are the Blood Drinkers?”

  “Oh, entropy,” Breetar replied. “That’s a Besquith merc unit. I’ve heard of them. They don’t work or play well with others. They usually only take contracts where they’re allowed to kill and dismember their enemies. The people who’ve worked with them say their unit’s name isn’t symbolic; they usually do drink the blood of their enemies…and often while they’re still alive.”

  “Yeah, Breetar’s right,” Mason said. “That’s who Brel-Al was with on Septan-7. The Blood Drinkers. What they did to the thief once they caught him…I saw pictures because the company we were working for wanted to make sure no one else got any ideas about stealing from them. They wanted everyone to see what happened to him…the pictures were everywhere; it was inescapable. I still have nightmares about that.”

  “So Brel-Al was a Blood Drinker?” Nigel asked.

  “Yeah, he was when we were on Septan-7 anyway; I don’t know if he still is.”

  “Huh. That complicates things.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I thought that Brel-Al was saying the Drinkers would kill us when we attacked Moorhouse, meaning they were the ones who had killed my family and were now garrisoning it.�
�

  “What changed?”

  “Well, if Brel-Al is still a member of the organization, maybe he was talking about them coming after us for revenge on what we did to him.”

  “We should have killed him,” Breetar noted.

  “Yeah, we probably should have,” Mason said, nodding his head. “But we would have had a harder time leaving the station; they probably would have locked down our ship. Also, we wouldn’t have been able to go back there again. As the majority of the merc contracts in this arm go through Karma VI, Nigel would have had a hard time getting work in the future.”

  “Either way, I wish I knew what Brel-Al meant when he said that the Drinkers would kill Breetar.”

  “I agree with your earlier assessment, sir,” Mason said. “They must be waiting for us at Moorhouse.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Well, first of all, there’s no profit in going after Breetar. No matter how big a pain in the ass he is—”

  “Pain in the ass?” Breetar squeaked. “Me?”

  “Yeah, you.” Mason turned back to Nigel. “No matter how big a pain in the ass he is, there isn’t any money in killing him. Sure, they might put out a contract on him, maybe, but they’re not going to go out of their way to find him and kill him. If they happened to be in the same place, they might kill him, but there’s no business case for tracking him down. If Brel-Al thought that the Drinkers were going to kill him, he meant they’d do it on Moorhouse.”

  “Perfect,” Nigel said; “that’s just what I was hoping you’d say.”

  “What? You still intend to go after Moorhouse, now that you know the Drinkers are there? Are you crazy? There may be other units I want to fight less, but there aren’t many of them. And even if I decided to go against them, there’s no profit in hitting them on Moorhouse. They’re wily; they will have a plan to kill your sister as soon as we show up. There’s no way we can save your sister. There may be some merc outfits we could hit and get her back, but if it’s the Drinkers? Forget it, she’s dead. We might as well cut our losses and return to Earth.”