Stars And Scales

Low drumbeats thrummed from the speakers of the club, sending a little tingle through my lithe body with each successive

boom

. If I hadn't been on the hunt for another job, I'd have rushed into the crowd of dancers who writhed and pulsated to the electronic beat. Dancers of a dozen different species were all tangled together: squid-faced Norothi, insectile Gavkiir, the amorphous and blob-like Bahuul, and humans with so many body mods that they might as well have been a different species.

Nearly as tempting as the dance-floor was the bar itself: an arachnoid robot tended to the mob of drunken customers, doling out glowing beer, bubbling liquor, and vials of shimmering red powder. As much as I longed to take the edge off with a bit of booze or blitz-dust, I had to stay sober for this meeting.

Ignoring the leering eyes of the patrons, I brushed past the bar towards the shadowy booths nestled against the back wall. Seated in one of the cushioned seats and nursing a massive drink was Torbson, the man I'd traveled several light-years to see. Seated across from the short, burly man were two squid-like Norothi. Clad in sleek, battered black armor, each of them slurped on bowls filled with wriggling green paste. Judging by the small armory of blades affixed to their bodies, those two were mercenaries or bounty hunters like myself.

"Torbson," I said, beaming and ignoring the two Norothi who very well could have been rivals for the contract I hoped to claim. "How the hell have you been?"

Before the grizzled fixer could answer, one of the Norothi rose to his feet, his face-tentacles spreading out in a clear threat-display. I'd fought so many Norothi during my career that their expressions had become practically second nature to me.

"You interrupt," he said in a low, gurgling tone, the words wafting from a translation unit affixed beneath the mess of tendrils.

"No," said the second Norothi, his tentacles writhing together into a single mass, an expression which I recognized as one of lust. "Let her sit. Could use good company. A good suck after a long trip, too."

"Torbson," I said again, not taking my gaze from the old man. "I could grab your drink and smash it in this fucker's face and then tear out his horny little face-tentacles. Or you could save us all the trouble and explain to them exactly who the fuck I am."

The horny Norothi's tentacles writhed into a threat-display, spreading out to match the expression of his comrade. Their long, multi-jointed arms darted towards the multitude of blades sheathed upon their chests.

"Easy, easy," Torbson said, raising his mechanical hand towards the Norothi. "Been a quiet night here so far. Only one stabbing and only two brawls. Let's keep it that way. Besides...you two couldn't take her. This is Isako Yazzen."

One of the Norothi flinched, his tendrils wriggling back behind his head in a clear display of alarm. His one massive red eye twitched towards his comrade, who still glared at her despite Torbson's warning.

"This means nothing to me," he snarled.

"It should," Torbson continued. "Five years with Fleet Recon. Six years on the hunt. Ninety percent clearance rate."

"I appreciate the pep talk but it's actually eighty-nine now," I said with a cheeky grin. "That Gavkiir blitz-dealer got away last month, remember? Still..."

I turned and affixed the two Norothi with a cold stare.

"I sliced my way through a whole swarm of Norothi before that bastard gave me the slip. So piss off."

After giving Torbson a long stare, the two squid-faced aliens slinked off towards the bar. Still beaming, I brushed a short strand of dark hair out of my face and took a seat. I propped my booted feet up on the table and leaned back.

"I know I haven't done a job for you in a while but replacing me with Norothi goons? Damn, Torbson, that hurts."

"Feet off the table, Isako," he grumbled. "It's rude."

I kept them there for a few seconds longer to be a bit of a brat, then obeyed.

"And yeah, they might be muscling in on contracts in the system. Some new war over the rights to feed on the undersea vents of their homeworld has caused another exodus from of their warrior-caste. That means there's a whole lot more dangerous, desperate Norothi out here looking for work. Probably gonna drive rates down."

"But not yet, I hope."

Torbson tapped on his wrist-pad and opened up a hologram, displaying a bald, stern man in a black and orange uniform. A dizzying array of medals adorned his chest; deep, dark scars marred his wrinkled face.

I took in a deep breath. Admiral Gaius Ozerian. A master tactician, a genius strategist, and a callous butcher. Whatever people thought of the old bastard, he'd saved thousands of lives back during the war...mine included.

"No way," I murmured, eyes wide as I took in the sight of the coalition's most legendary commander. "This stone-cold killer saved my pretty little ass from the Zarshaan time and again during the war. Now you want me to hunt him down?"

The mere mention of the war sent a chill down my spine. I nearly shivered at the bloody memories of snarling aliens, the crackle of gunfire, the boom of explosions, the screams of wounded comrades, the bestial howls of Zarshaan berserkers...

Not even the nastiest bounty hunt could compare to the most trivial skirmish of that war.

How in the hell could I even dream of taking down the man who'd gotten me through that war?

"It's not a hunt. It's a rescue."

I breathed a sigh of relief, though I wondered who would be crazy enough to kidnap that living legend. A swipe of Torbson's metal fingers conjured another hologram, showing a smoldering log cabin upon a plain of red grass. A half dozen armored bodies were sprawled on the ground in front of the rubble.

"Three weeks ago, Ozerian's retirement cabin got hit, but the old man went down swinging. Since the colony was so remote, it took time for his old friends in the Fleet to piece together what happened. Satellite surveillance tracked the quantum-drive signatures of his kidnappers, which led to the Porschia system, and then to here. Two nights ago, a transport ship entered low orbit, and launched a single heavy shuttle, which landed here."

Another swipe of his hand displayed satellite footage of a sprawling complex of domes nestled within a violet jungle. Around it crackled an energy fence. Turret-studded towers loomed high above it.

It would take a damned army to get in there.

"This is an unregistered facility. None of my contacts at the colonial office can confirm who the hell built it," Torbson explained. "Nobody knows who they are or why they sent mercs after Ozerian, but he's in there somewhere. A mysterious benefactor has put together quite the prize for his safe return. Five hundred thousand units. Not sure who the client is, exactly, but I'd wager it's a bunch of his old pals from his military days."

My eyes widened, as shocked by that price as I was by the news of the old admiral's capture. Five hundred thousand units could have bought me a new ship or a cushy early retirement.

"Bloody hell," I murmured, raking my fingers through my short dark hair. I leaned in to inspect the complex, already assessing a dozen different potential means of ingress.

"Just me?"

"Yeah. The Norothi were interested, but I'm not sure they'll take it. They may have the numbers for a frontal assault on the outpost, but not the skill to actually pull it off. They're reckless and greedy, though. They might try for a rescue of their own, and cut me out of the deal so they can skip out on the finder's fee."

I leaned back in my chair, thinking back to when I and my squad had been pinned down on a hellish moon, running low on ammunition as colossal reptilian aliens swarmed our position. I could still hear the horrifying 'click' of my rifle as it had gone dry.

And then my memories conjured the whooshing of fighter engines as Ozerian's reinforcements had swept down from above, wiping out the rampaging Zarshaan and saving me from being ripped to pieces.

Given what Ozerian had done for me and my unit, I might have taken the job for free.

"I'm in," I said with a low, firm growl.

**

I wiped sweat from my pale brow as I crept deeper into the teeming, violet jungle. Winged worms darted about in the canopy above. Beetles with razor-sharp claws scurried over streams of murky, bubbling water. Dark yellow gel dripped from the thorns of tangled vines.

After another sweep of my surroundings, I glanced down at the sleek armored jumpsuit that clung to my lithe body. A tap of the controls activated the suit's camouflage, the armored fabric shifting to hues of purple and violet. Once I tugged the helmet over my face, I nearly blended in entirely with my hostile alien surroundings. Another tap of the controls activated the cooling pads that would not only keep the heat at bay, but mask my thermal signature from surveillance cameras and automated turrets.

Like a wraith I slipped further into the jungle, pistol at the ready. As I neared the compound's coordinates, I crouched low, crawling over the ground and doing my best to avoid the scurrying beetles and pools of toxic sap that dripped down from the trees. The last thing I needed was an errant beetle-bite to pierce my suit and blow my cover.

My long, careful crawl brought me to a fallen tree covered in ruptured egg sacs. Red liquid dripped down the log and my suit adjusted, blending in further with the stained bark. Deep breaths steadied my nerves as I reached into my pack, withdrawing my sniper rifle. The weapon hissed as it unfurled and deployed, expanding from a foot-long box into a lethal instrument of long-ranged death. The advanced polymers shifted colors as well, blending in with my surroundings just as well as my suit.

"Certainly a damned fine way to meet your hero," I murmured as I peered through the scope to assess my target.

About a hundred meters ahead was an expanse of scorched earth. No doubt Ozerian's captors had scourged the jungle with napalm to clear the way for their mysterious facility. Already the jungle was toiling to retake control, with little vines wriggling their way over the ashen patches of destroyed earth.

Half a kilometer beyond rested the compound itself: a half dozen domed structures, all ringed by a shimmering blue wall of lethal electricity. Every few moments a reckless beetle would fly into the fence, sending up a puff of bloody remains and a tendril of smoke.

I already had a plan in mind for the fence, but the automated turrets in the towers were a bigger concern. Even if I could take one tower out, the others would react and unleash hell on my position.

Through the scope I continued to survey the scene, taking note of the largest dome, which was guarded by four soldiers in thick, bulky armor. They wore no patches or insignia, so I assumed they were the same reckless hired guns who had dared to take on the kidnapping contract. The rifles were standard military issue: that was hardly a surprise, given how much surplus gear had hit the black market after Ozerian's tactics had defeated the Zarshaan hordes.

After another minute of assessing the monumental undertaking before me, I rested my rifle against the log and withdrew a vial from my pack. It had taken Torbson a day to make the arrangements with a local chemist. The chemical's cost paled in comparison to the windfall I'd make from Ozerian's rescue, so I'd been happy to make the investment.

I popped open the vial and waited until the wind shifted in my favor. A flick of my fingers sent the vial sailing through the air. It shattered against a scorched rock, unleashing a puff of green mist into the air. The wind caught the little puff of mist and carried it towards the facility.

Around me, the jungle writhed. Hundreds upon hundreds of razor-clawed beetles burst from the ground or from the canopies of the great trees. Entranced by the burst of artificial pheromones unleashed by that vial, they moved in great swarms towards the field of scorched earth.

As the wind carried the chemicals closer to the compound, the beetles continued to surge, hunting down what their minds thought was a willing and desperate mate. The chemist had warned me that the stench might attract every male beetle within five square miles. Given the abundance of life within the jungle, that could mean millions of the little bugs converging on my target.

The automated turrets whirled, tracking the approaching swarm. Long streams of bullets tore into the teeming masses of beetles. Orange and purple pulp rained down.

I grinned, knowing that the defensive instincts of the beetles would kick in. The big bugs were horny as hell, and something out there was killing them and getting in the way of their reproductive process. As the turrets shredded the beetles, more and more surged forward through the mist of pulp and ruptured exoskeletons.

Bewildered, confused, and eager to mate, the tide of beetles pressed on. They reached the edges of the energy fence. By the hundreds they slammed into it, turning themselves into smoky ash. But the continued discharges overtaxed the fence's capacitors. Red lights flashed from the spokes of the fence. Sparks erupted soon after; great sections of the fence pulsed and went out.

The beetles seized the breach, on the hunt for their mate and the mysterious foe that had slaughtered so many of them. The guards in front of the main facility opened fire in short, disciplined bursts. Every turret within the compound swiveled to chew up the great swarm.

And I had my opening.

I centered my scope on the turret that had the best potential angle on my position. After a slow, deep breath I gently squeezed the trigger. Careful. Precise. Controlled.

The heavy round's impact sent shrapnel spraying through the air, and the chaos in the compound masked the dull thud of my rifle's report. Two more rounds took out two more turrets, and with the others focused on the swarm, I had to seize my chance.

With a grunt I hopped over the log and broke into a sprint, dead beetles squelching beneath my boots. As I ran, I stowed the rifle; it shifted and shrank back down, then I snatched the pistol from its holster. After switching for a magazine of armor-piercing rounds, I leapt through the breach created by the beetles.

A nearby turret, its barrels smoking after unleashing so many rounds, swiveled to track me. A long burst chewed up the ground near my feet. I rolled into cover behind an all-terrain vehicle, scrambled underneath it, then popped out on the other side and put a burst of armor-piercing rounds straight into the base of the narrow tower.

Smoke belched forth and it tumbled, collapsing in a screeching heap. Its fall destroyed another section of the electrified fence, allowing in another tide of angry, confused beetles.

Flames roared through the air as one of the guards unleashed hellfire with a flamethrower. The beetles reeled back, shrieking and melting beneath the onslaught. The flames had the side-effect of burning through the lingering pheromones in the air.

Having been denied the chance to mate and having lost hundreds of their fellows, the beetles scattered in all directions.

"Thanks, lads," I murmured as I slid into cover behind another vehicle. "I'll raise a toast to your sacrifice after this."

I leaned out from cover. The guards shouted, turning their attention from the fading swarm. I sent the last of my armor-piercing rounds straight into the man with the flamethrower. The explosion of his pack ignited the grenades on his belt. The shockwave of fire and smoke pulverized him and the other guards, sending shrapnel spraying across the compound. The windows of the vehicles shattered. Alarms shrieked. A nearby turret swiveled and sputtered, having expended all of its ammunition against the swarm.

Reloading, I dashed across the compound, leapt across the smoldering remains of the guards, and approached the door leading to the largest structure. A storm of warnings greeted me as the door's systems demanded four different means of verification.

"Sure," I said with a snort as I reached for an explosive charge from my pack. "Here's your verification."

The shaped charge tore through the armored door in a storm of molten fury. I charged through the smoke, weapon at the ready, and emerged into a large chamber. Rising from the floor were dozens of servers and cylindrical computers, all churning and whirring. Given how powerful even a wrist-pad computer could be, those servers must have been dealing with an absurd amount of data.

Long cables ran from each tower, all coalescing in the center of the room. Two massive glass cylinders rested there, each one filled with bubbling green liquid. Within the left cylinder floated Ozerian: dressed in a white jumpsuit, he had a dozen tubes running in and out of his body, with a web of cables locked around his head. Judging by the occasional twitch, he was alive...but what the fuck were they doing to him?

My confusion only grew at the sight of the other prisoner.

Even unconscious and floating within that constricting gel, the Zarshaan cut an imposing figure. Nearly seven feet tall, its scaled body rippled with muscle, tail bobbing and twitching within the gel. Its hands and feet ended in razor-sharp talons. The scales were various hues of red and black, with a few spikes jutting from elbows and other joints. The jagged teeth and pronounced snout of the creature brought to mind the dinosaurs of Earth's ancient past, or the dragons of old myth.

A colossal beast of war and fury. A creature whose wrath had nearly shattered human civilization.

Other than a handful of in-passing sightings in bustling ports, I hadn't seen one since the war. Admiral Ozerian's callous tactics had broken the back of their empire and forced them into retreat and isolation, save for a few wandering mercenaries.

What the fuck was one doing here?

Footsteps thundered from behind me. I spun, diving for cover behind one of the server towers just as bullets tore through the air. Two heavily armored mercs stood in the smoldering doorway, unleashing a storm of bullets.

Before I could return fire, a series of hisses and clicks rippled from behind them. Little needles of light sliced into their backs, creating sizzling holes in their armor and sending them tumbling to the ground.

I'd recognize the sparks of Norothi beam-weapons anywhere. Those squid-faced fuckers had decided to crash my rescue. After I'd done all the hard work, they were going to sweep in, kill me, and claim the prize for themselves.

I tore a few proximity mines from my belt and tossed them towards the entrance. The devices thrummed and affixed themselves to the doorway. Hopefully they'd buy me some time to get Ozerian out.

As I ran over towards the gel-filled tanks, a blubbering sob echoed from behind one of the towers. Snarling, I spun to see a figure in a lab-coat ducking back down.

Convenient. Someone familiar with these systems could get Ozerian out faster than I could have by blundering with the controls. Handgun at the ready, I stalked over to the cowering figure.

He was a young man, with glittering cybernetic eyes and a tropical shirt under his labcoat.

"I'm just the neurologist!" he sputtered, throwing his hands high.

I glanced down, taking note of his nametag.

"Come on, Doctor Lawrence. Wake Ozerian up."

"I can't! The compiling isn't complete. We'll lose countless terabytes of data and-"

Growling, I tapped the muzzle of my handgun against his chin.

"You can lose terabytes of data or you can lose your fucking head. Wake. Him. Up."

Subsequent pokes of my gun against his chin emphasized each of those last three words.

Murmuring, he crawled across the floor to the central console.

Gunfire and explosions thundered from outside. More guards had likely joined the fray against the Norothi; hopefully the carnage would buy me enough time to extract the admiral.