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“I have control of the elevator,” Mato said. “Our next stop will be the fifth floor. I have also installed the software package that will erase all of the recordings of our time here.”

“Good.” Zhoh drew his Kimer and turned to his warriors. “Kill the guards, but leave the Hoblei female to me.”

“Yes, Captain.” The warriors drew their weapons as well.

“Do you have the layout of the fifth floor, Mato?”

“I'm uploading it now to our HUDs.”

A moment later, the fifth floor blueprints overlaid Zhoh's faceshield. The elevator came up in the center of the building.

 

EIGHTEEN

“Old” Makaum

2143 Hours Zulu Time

Q
uass Leghef's home sat in a tiny glen near the center of what was becoming known as the “old” Makaum sprawl. With the onslaught of prefab buildings, the Terran Army fort, the various corps setting up shop, the (ta)Klar embassy, the Phrenorian embassy, and the growing assortment of offworlder shops showing up to snag profits and deals, the conservative member of the community had quickly imposed a separation of new and old.

The sprawl had grown 200 percent, and the offworlders now outnumbered the Makaum ­people two to one. “New” Makaum was a boom city of flashing lights, street vendors, and deals that attracted that section of the native populace who thought offworlders were bringing a new way of life.

Eventually, Sage knew, the boom would bust. If the Phrenorian War encroached on the planet, those corps and execs would pack up and Gate to their next providence. If the patents on new pharma products got too dicey, or the price of labor rose too much so that getting natural resources offplanet wasn't as profitable, they were just as gone.

Sage had seen it happen before. Planets that had been fat with credits got busted back to poverty almost overnight. They were left without technology to get into space because they hadn't had it before the arrival of the corps, and there had been no need of it as long as the offworlders were there.

Those economies went on for a time, but eventually they floundered. Then the tech went away because no one left behind could fix all the new toys. Crawlers that lacked power cells, comm devices that could no longer receive broadcast media, and energy infrastructures gave out because parts for hydroelectric engines and windmill generators couldn't be machined and were too costly to buy.

A way of life went away and the city additions built by the corps lasted only a little while, as long as renters could pay for them, and eventually became slums reclaimed by whatever environment surrounded them.

If the corps had been there too long, if they had made life too easy for the native ­people, too many of the old ways of living were forgotten. A generation or two were lost before they could pull out of a downward spiral. And sometimes that didn't happen.

“You with me, Top?”

Realizing that Halladay had been speaking to him, Sage replied, “Here, Colonel. Just didn't expect the Quass's house to be so small.” They both wore hardsuits under spidersilk coveralls that were more like serapes and were designed to keep bugs and lizards away. The oil worked into the cloth smelled a lot like the salve Jahup had used to keep them insect-­free in the jungle. They carried their rifles slung and their helmets at their hips, but wore earwigs to keep in touch with the eight-­person sec team that surrounded them fifty meters on all sides.

“You haven't met Quass Leghef?”

“No sir.”

Halladay smiled faintly. “I have. She's quite the lady, and I mean that with all due respect. She's got a lot of bark on her and doesn't take much off of anyone. That's why I'm glad she's on our side.”

“Yes sir.”

Sage walked beside Halladay as they entered the waist-­high gate to the Quass's house. The road that led to her house was covered in
lordina,
a thick, resilient moss that handled heavy foot traffic and kept the ground fairly solid during the rainy seasons. The fence was waist-­high as well, created by brambles a third of a meter thick that grew in perfectly straight lines. Spindly branches with tiny leaves wove in and out of the branches to create a solid barrier.

Flowering shrubs and trees filled the interior of the yard. The scent of dozens of sweet nectars assaulted Sage's nose and made the air almost too thick to breathe. Ripe fruit, like the
corok
melons he recognized by the small porch, hung ready for the picking.

Wide flagstones made of river rock created a forty-­meter pathway that led to the two-­story house under a sweeping arbor of tall trees. Four of the moons shone down through the branches. Some of the trees had been used to create the house, becoming the walls on all sides. Interlaced branches filled with moss created the peaked roof.

Sage had wondered how the houses stayed dry and Jahup had tried to explain it to him. Mostly it had to do with the absorbency of the moss and natural funnels grown from a type of hollow grass the Makaum called
fimus
. Building a house was an art, Jahup had said, and not every Makaum person could do it well. There were
stroitath
among the Makaum, ­people who could sense where roofs might leak, and who could influence
fimus
to grow there and control those areas. The excess water was carried away in the hollow grass and kept in rain barrels or ran into gardens.

As Sage looked at the home, he realized his mother would have loved to see something like Quass Leghef's house, but he couldn't help noticing how indefensible the structure was. A powersuit would tear through it like paper.

The house was a sanctuary, set off from the violence that surrounded it. New Makaum was a blot of light pollution in one corner of the sky, and only a few thrusters showed shuttles carrying cargo to the stars or landing with a new shipment of goods.

Sage hated the fact that he was bringing the war to Quass Leghef's door. But she had invited them there.

Halladay looked at a bell mounted by the door, hesitated, then lifted his hand to knock on the plain wood door, but it opened before his knuckles could make contact.

“Good eve, Colonel Halladay and Master Sergeant Sage. Won't you please come in? The Quass awaits you in the meeting room.” The speaker was as thin as a reed and withered. He had sad, small eyes set into a bony face. Scars had grayed with time and folded into wrinkles, but a trained eye could still see them. Sage knew the man must have been a warrior at one time. His hands were scarred too. He wore simple clothing and pulled his white hair back with a black beetle shell.

“Thank you, Pekoz. Is the Quass well?” Halladay asked.

“The Quass is always well, Colonel.” Pekoz smiled, but the effort didn't quite reach his eyes. “Please come this way.”

Sage followed Halladay and the old man through the house. The rooms were small but neat, and held mostly chairs where ­people could sit and talk. The walls were polished wood and held a layer of what smelled like beeswax. Branches created the roof overhead, all of them lying in a geometric pattern that supported the bright green moss that grew thick and heavy among them.

The Quass sat in front of a comm in one of the back rooms lit by a jar containing a chemical. The windows were covered by thick drapes so the outside insects wouldn't be attracted.

Leghef was small and commanding even sitting in the chair at a desk that grew out of a wall. She wore plain spidersilk robes and not one of the ceremonial suits she usually had on in public. Some kind of soft slippers covered her feet. Her black-­and-­gray hair hung down to her shoulders.

The walls around the room were heavy with books and bookshelves. One of the books lay open and Sage could see the neat lines of script that covered the pages. An inkwell and a slim wooden stylus sat beside it.

“Thank you, Pekoz,” the Quass said. “Please bring our guests some tea. And I would like a fresh cup myself.”

“Of course, mistress. Do you have a preference?”

“Surprise me. I have made far too many decisions this day, and I have one more yet to make.” The Quass turned from the comm.

Onscreen, a media piece about the Phrenorian War was airing. The drone view of the urban battle between the Phrenorians and the Terran Army whipped by at a dizzying speed. Toppled buildings lay everywhere. Powersuits fired cannons and machine guns as well as particle-­beam and laser weps, according to however their battle array was set up. Ground troops sprinted between the masses of plascrete, searching for fighting positions. Jumpcopters sailed by overhead, spewing death and dropping more troops in AKTIVsuits and powersuits.

The holo blanked for a moment, leaving the screen blank, and Sage realized the media drone had taken a direct hit. A moment later, another view of the battle filled the holo with violence as a Terran powersuit took a direct hit from a sabot round that first peeled the armor open, then pureed the soldier inside, leaving traces of the person outside the armor.

The Quass waved her hand over the comm and the screen blanked again. “We've never had a war on Makaum,” she said softly. “Not once. Our ship fled from a war back in our home system, whatever that was. Over the years the names have become jumbled or misinterpreted. You tend to lose the past when you are forced to deal with a hostile present.”

“You don't lose all of it,” Sage said before he knew he was going to speak. Halladay looked at him from the corner of his eye. Sage stopped himself. “Forgive me. I spoke out of turn.”

“Actually, you didn't, Sergeant Sage,” Leghef said. “My husband was an honest man. Always spoke his mind. So did my son. And—­well—­you know Jahup. As soon as he thinks something, he generally speaks what's on his mind.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Continue with what you were saying.” The Quass watched him with avid interest.

“There's not much else to say, ma'am. I just don't think you lose everything. Maybe you've forgotten what planet you came from, but the values you have here, the way you take care of one another, has to have been learned somewhere.”

“I don't know about that. The ease with which my ­people have picked up vices and criminal activity leads me to believe that we may have buried those things while we concentrated on survival.”

Sage didn't say anything.

“My husband always said that we were lucky to have such a small world to ourselves, and to be so dependent on one another. I was Quass during those times, having taken over from my grandmother when she died. I was young. I wanted to change the world. That's the folly of youth. Always wanting to change things when everything is all well and good. He and I used to have some long arguments about that. Now I imagine him sitting here in this room saying, ‘See, you have to be careful what you wish for.' ” The Quass quieted for a moment. “And I would have to tell him that he was right.”

Pekoz returned to the room carrying a clay teapot and cups on a tray. He set the tray down, then poured tea into each of the cups. “Would you like honey or berry juice?” he asked.

The Quass took honey, but Halladay and Sage both declined.

Sage sipped the tea and found it hot and strong.

“I'm not avoiding why you came here, Colonel,” Leghef said. “I'm just gathering my thoughts.” She waved at the comm. “This is the only piece of technology I have allowed into my house, and I hate it.”

Halladay looked uncomfortable. “I'm sorry you feel that way, Quass Leghef, but it is a necessary evil if you're going to communicate quickly with the fort. Plus, there is an added benefit that your medical ­people can be quickly called.”

“Oh, the medical ­people could be quickly called before so many ­people had these,” the Quass said. “Every house—­every house
we
make—­has a bell out front. As this one does. Perhaps you saw it when you came in.”

“Yes, Quass,” Halladay said.

“If we had a medical emergency, someone in the house simply rang the bell. Then the neighbor along the road would ring the bell, till a line of ringing bells led our physicians to the house that needed them. The same thing occurred when we had an occasional fire, which was a seldom thing before your arrival.”

Sage felt a twinge of guilt over the fire that had started when the DawnStar assassins had tried to kill Kiwanuka and him. He hadn't been able to control that, and a lot of damage had been done.

“Most of my ­people enjoy these things,” Leghef said. “They play games on them. They see entertainment they never dreamed of. Hardly anyone goes to the town square to listen to the musicians these days. Things have changed.” She paused and looked at them. “But you're not here to talk about how things have changed, or what my thoughts on that are. You're here to talk about arresting ­people you think attacked your fort, and possibly adding fuel to the fire of civil unrest among my ­people.”

And just like that, Sage knew they were in the middle of it with a hostile audience.

 

NINETEEN

Fifth Floor

Calthea Building

Makaum Sprawl

5943 Akej (Phrenorian Prime)

W
hen the elevator came to a stop, Mato held the doors closed for a moment and worked on his PAD. A moment later, he had a view of the foyer outside the elevator.

The foyer was small but ornate, covered in cycling holos that advertised goods and ser­vices.

“Do you have access to vid of the other rooms on this floor?” Zhoh asked.

“No. Those run on an internal security system. I've cut off all outgoing feeds, so no one outside these rooms can be contacted, but it will take longer to acquire the floor's private system. And I can't do that from here.”

“Can you find out which room the Hoblei female is in?” Zhoh asked.

“No. She's had the floor rented for months.” Mato checked his weapon. “There have been remodelers in, so I can't even guarantee that the blueprints I have shown you of this floor are the same.”

That was frustrating. Before stepping into a battle zone, Zhoh at least liked to have some idea of what was waiting for him. But he was adaptable, capable of evolving. That was the core statement of
lannig.

Zhoh held the Kimer pistol at the ready. “Open the doors.”

The elevator doors slid open with a liquid hiss and the cooler atmosphere of the fifth floor blew into the compartment. The holo ads kept cycling, showing tech products, bio mods, and resorts on other worlds.

Zhoh ordered one of the warriors to stay with the elevator while another covered the stairwell in the southeast corner. He, Mato, and the third warrior would search out the premises.

Once the elevator opened, Zhoh stepped out into the foyer, then into a large room filled with comfortable furniture for many different beings. There was even a large aquarium set up for (ta)Klar that occupied a central area in the room. One of the white-­furred blue aliens floated inside the tall aquarium and held a specially adapted comm unit in its hands.

The (ta)Klar glanced up as Zhoh entered the room, then froze as prey always froze in the hope that a predator would pass by if it didn't move. The (ta)Klar didn't have time to swim to the protective suit that sat on the aquarium floor, and living outside the water habitat would only extend life for minutes.

Feeling contemptuous of the being, Zhoh fired the Kimer instantly, not wanting to give the (ta)Klar the chance to warn anyone else at the other end of the comm link. The particle charge hummed shrilly as it released, then shattered the thick transplas holding the water. The beam caught the (ta)Klar in the chest and ripped the being open. The comm sank to the bottom of the aquarium as purple blood spread through the water remaining in the tank below the waterline where the hole was.

A wave of spilled water cascaded over Zhoh's feet as it rushed across the floor.

Knowing guards would attend the invasion immediately, Mato and the other warrior crouched and took cover beside large pieces of furniture.

A Dra'cerian guard peered around one of the three doorways leading out of the room. Dra'ceria was known for its hired muscle and turned out some of the best flesh-­and-­blood killing machines ever bred. They were lean and covered in tan-­ and brown-­splotched fur that lay smooth and shiny. Mostly, they reminded Zhoh of Terran cats he'd seen on ships with the soundless way they could move and the quickness they possessed. Their faces were pushed in, with useless noses, but they had sharp eyes and peaked ears and a hunter's instincts.

This one had scars on his face that showed below the protective red goggles that linked him to his weapon. He held a machine pistol in both hands as he swiveled around the corner to take in the room. He locked on Zhoh and fired immediately.

Zhoh stepped to the side and fired the Kimer, blasting a hole in the wall beside the Dra'cerian's head. Solid projectiles bounced off Zhoh's exoskeleton. He knew at once that the bullets were underpowered, designed to stop an intruder in a home, but not to penetrate the walls. Plascrete from the shattered wall showered the Dra'cerian and he shook his head and roared a savage challenge.

Before the guard could set up again, Mato's coilgun delivered an electric charge that burned his face off and fried his brain. The stench of charred flesh filled the floor as the Dra'cerian's loose body toppled to the floor.

“What about the emergency notification systems, Mato?” Zhoh asked as he went forward.

“They're off-­line as well. No one can send for help from this building.”

Mato and the other Phrenorian warrior dropped two more Dra'cerians who edged out of the two other doors leading from the reception room.

Three down. Zhoh kept count, then moved that total up to four when the warrior guarding the elevator let him know another guard had gone down beneath his weapon.

As Zhoh walked through the rooms filled with exotic goods from hundreds of worlds set on shelves and display cases, he cursed the extravagance. So many races were weak, trying to hold on to things they didn't need, wandering through life with no reason for being except accumulation.

One of the things he'd respected about the Makaum when he'd first arrived onplanet was that they had lived simple lives with modest pursuits. In those days, the Makaum had continued to gather in the town square to trade and feast and sing. Now many of them were as bad as the Terrans and the Hoblei and all of the others. They filled the bars and pleasure places chasing fantasies and momentary luxuries. Zhoh had no mercy for them now, but they were a resource he wanted to preserve. Slave labor was invaluable.

“Five are down,” Mato said.

Zhoh tracked his warriors through the overlay and saw that Mato was two rooms away. One Hoblei female lived here alone with all her treasures to impress others.

He stepped into another room, this one whose walls were covered in brocaded fabric and skins from large creatures that he could not identify. He smelled the faint trace of blood that hadn't been able to be removed from the skins. Vases filled with flowers and plants and spices sat around the room on small tables.

The Hoblei female lay on her side on a large couch in front of a fireplace on one wall. She was mammalian, with four breasts instead of two because Hoblei had multiple births, which explained why they spread through space like a virus. A golden coat of fine hair covered her curvaceous body and lay sculpted around her face.

Hoblei females were legendary lovers, and fetched high prices as slaves for races who wanted that kind of conquest. This one wore red clothing that barely covered her genitals. She held a glass of greenish liquid in one hand. As Zhoh watched, a small
ingokel
surfaced in the glass for a moment, then swam back down to join two of its fellows, kicking with its tiny arms and legs.

The creature was smaller than the Hoblei female's smallest talon and as black as space. The
ingokel
were native to Ratorenth but had spread to a number of planets that wanted them for the narcotic pleasure they gave when devoured whole. Some said that the
ingokel
were intelligent because they had limited tool application, and that eating them went against several protection-­of-­species acts. Trading in them was illegal on most planets.

“I suppose you're to blame for why my comm system has gone down?” the female asked in a low, unperturbed voice. She spoke the trade language, which Zhoh understood. She waved her free hand at the large holo screen covering the wall opposite the fireplace. A PAD lay on the couch beside her.

The holo screen had frozen in mid-­refreshing, showing stocks on one side and comm channels with six ­people in a two by three block on the other side.

Zhoh didn't answer her as he swept back his cloak. “You are Sazuma.” She looked like the image Mato had shown him, but many of these beings all looked the same.

“You interrupted an important trade talk,” Sazuma told him. “I've been negotiating this particular deal for the last three months and I had it to the point of culmination. I was set to make a fortune. A small fortune, but a fortune nonetheless.”

Despite the fact that he was in her home, that nearly all of her guards were dead, and that he held a weapon on her, Zhoh couldn't smell the fear stink on her. It was possible that she was too intoxicated to feel afraid, but he thought maybe it was because the Hoblei as a species believed there was no problem they couldn't deal their way out of.

“I came to talk to you,” Zhoh said.

The Hoblei female smiled and the effort looked far too predatory. “If you went to all this trouble to see me, there must be something I have that must be worth a lot to you. I don't mind making a profit, but I confess I have no idea what you have come here seeking.”

“The most valuable thing in all the worlds,” Zhoh answered.

Sazuma's eyes opened in mock surprise. “And what might that be?”

“Information.”

Sazuma shook her head. “You'll have to find someone else for that. I trade only in goods. Information is much too dangerous because you can sell it to one person, then another person you don't know can track you down and kill you for that. I'm not interested.” She drank from the glass, caught one of the
ingokel
in her tiny, sharp teeth and bit down. The small creature ruptured with a tiny shriek and a bright blossom of pale pink blood stained the Hoblei female's teeth and lips. She swallowed, then licked the residue away with a narrow black tongue.

“You have the information I seek,” Zhoh told her, “and you will give it to me.”

A red haze fogged through the trader's eyes as the narcotic from the
ingokel
fired through her brain. She seemed more removed from things, but she remained cognizant. “You've stated what you want, but what do I get out of this transaction?”

“A faster death.”

That caught her attention and some of the euphoria she was feeling cleared away. “I see no bargain here.”

“Have you ever seen someone take days to die?”

Sazuma's pointed ears dropped and curled in submissively. “If you are going to kill me, I will not tell you what you wish to know.”

“You will. Once you are broken, you will tell everything you know.”

The Hoblei female drew up into a tight ball on the couch, no longer feigning disinterest. Zhoh smelled the fear in her then, and it was as thick and cloying as a thing dead for days.

Mato called over the comm. “We have searched the rest of the rooms. The remaining guard isn't here. We're coming to you.”

“You are doing business with a Phrenorian general by the name of Rangha,” Zhoh said.

Sazuma hesitated, then she nodded weakly. “I am. He came to me months ago. It's not often I conduct trade with a Phrenorian. Usually your kind remains so virtuous that doing any kind of illegal business is impossible.”

Zhoh took some pride in that, but also felt excited as he wondered who else the Hoblei female had done business with. “What have you been doing with Rangha?”

Before she could reply, the sixth Dra'cerian slid down from his hiding spot in the chimney. Hanging upside down, framed in the fireplace, the bodyguard aimed and fired two shots. Both rounds hit Zhoh in the chest and caused him to stumble backward, but he pointed the Kimer and fired.

The particle beam blasted the Dra'cerian's head into blood and bone splinters and ruined flesh. Twitching in death spasms, the guard dropped from the chimney and landed in a loose-­limbed heap in the fireplace.

Sazuma leaped from the couch and tried to run, but Zhoh caught her by the scruff of her neck with his primary and lifted her from the ground. The drink spilled from her hand and the
ingokel
that survived hopped madly on the thick carpet.

Zhoh held her in his primary so that her feet dangled centimeters from the floor. He brought his tail up and stopped the sharp point ten centimeters from her face.

“We are going to talk, and you are going to tell me all that I want to know about General Rangha. If I believe you, I will grant you a simple, painless death.”

“Why can't you let me go?” she pleaded.

“As you said, information is a dangerous thing.” Zhoh thrust his face into hers and shoved his
chelicerae
into her features, then released enough poison to cause her sharp-­etched pain, but not enough to render her unconscious. “Now start talking. The agony only increases from this point on.”