Jethro 3: No Place Like Home (71 page)

She whipped him a second time. His body spasmed as he shrieked and collapsed. She kicked him, and he rolled, trying to protect his face with his hand. He laid face down, sobbing. She knelt on his back and grabbed his hair. He sobbed.

“I'd make it quick but, really, that's not my thing,” she murmured. She wrapped the leather whip around his throat and slowly strangled him, softly telling him over and over to just give it up. His hands clawed at the thing around his neck slowing taking the life away from him. Finally he shook and then collapsed. She stroked his forehead and then let him down. Then she unwrapped the cord. She tasted her finger tips, shuddering. “Tears, oh so gooood,” she said softly. She licked her lips.

Once the assassins were certain the neck pinch had worked to force Jethro into immobility they seemed to relax. Jethro knew it was his time; he'd not get another chance. The panther's legs and arms were curled though, his tail curled between legs. It was hard to move, impossible. He could think though. He knew it wasn't tonic immobility, but the damn ancient hard wired instincts that had kicked in. He knew his implants were recording everything. He also knew they would have to destroy him, most likely with a molecular furnace. He programmed his implants to upload everything the moment he hit a Wi-Fi hot spot.

Bast raged at him to move with yowls, but he couldn't answer. He tried to respond to her, but she was frantic, not understanding why he couldn't move.

Jethro raged at the helpless feeling. He tried to fight it. Manage to overcome it enough to rock side to side as the Reaper woman strangled the traitor. He twisted his head enough to brush the clip on the back of his neck loose. Bast was confused, but realized what he was attempting to do. She interfaced with his nervous system, and one hand moved on its own violation to reach up and take it off.

The Reaper noticed he was moving out of the corner of her eye. She turned in a flash, whip snapping to him. The other assassins turned as well, but they didn't have the right angle. One moved to get around the table but her whip snapped forcing him back.

Miss Persephone whipped Jethro over and over, striking him in the face, his body, arms and legs as he writhed in pain under her torture. The first blow had blinded him. He curled to protect his vitals and tried to roll to cover but she kept after him, moving with him.

“You are a piece of work aren't you? So pathetic, sniveling there. So disappointing. I think I'm glad you didn't turn out like your father. He'd be so disappointed at how weak you are,” she said, ranting at him. She slashed at him again, making him writhe under the assault. “You should have done what you were told, finished what your father started, killed Horatio Logan. You know the rules.”

She tisked, tisked as one of her cronies knocked over a stool. She turned, momentarily distracted. Jethro felt the whip on his back, resting there. “It's sad really, that you went into the light. That you went over to the wrong side. And you talked, which was a serious no-no,” she said shaking her head. “Oh, such a bad kitty,” she murmured. He felt the whip move off him and turned. He put an arm up to try to protect his face. She laughed at him.

“My whip is a tool,” she murmured, crouching as she coiled it. “It's an extension of me, a tool my family has treasured these centuries. An antique really, over a thousand years old. I love it dearly. It can read my thoughts, with a thought I can reshape it or just the tip, turning it from a thin molecular blade to a chain saw or a mace. All at my whim,” she said, voice changing as she watched him.

She took a deep breath and then let it out slowly. “It's soo...I don't know, intoxicating to know you have someone's life in your hands, don't you agree? To just feel their pulse, feel it slow...so satisfying when you hear the crunch or when they stop breathing. When you see the life just fading in their eyes. It's...orgasmic. I am embarrassed to admit, but I do get off on it,” she said with a wicked smile. She played with it in her hands, pretending to use it like a garret or flick it.

He struck out with his hind leg but missed. His claws skittered against the metal, sounding like nails on a chalk board. She smirked. “It's really elegant you know, better, in some ways your style too I suppose,” she said in a little girl's voice as he wrapped his tail around a stool and flung it towards her.

“My my, temper temper,” she teased mockingly. “I am supposed to take you alive; as a general rule, we like those who have betrayed the guild to suffer in front of witnesses. I do so like to play with my food, a failing I know. I've always been a sadist; it's such a rush to do what I do. You really should love your work right? I so enjoy it. But a professional, well, you know all about that don't you?” She asked whimsically. “A pro, a pro keeps themselves out of the work. They make the kill quick and clean, much like a predator. Not messy and long. It keeps the prey from causing trouble while they struggle, and reduces the chances of some busy body coming by.” She shrugged.

“Now me, I don't like messy, but I do so much like to savor my kills. To make them suffer. It's a failing I know, but a sadist does need to get her kicks anyway she can I suppose,” she smirked.

“But a traitor, a traitor like you deserves a
long
drawn out death.” She smiled cruelly. “Like that stupid slut Nancy, she'd thought blackmailing Walker would work. What a mistake. He had paid heavily to make her suffer a looong time before she died. That was fun. I haven't killed a pregnant woman in a long time. The way she begged...” she sucked in a greedy breath, sounding almost orgasmic as her eyes lit with fire.

“We've got something special planned for you traitor. I'm going to enjoy it. That way you'll serve as a warning to others who would think to betray the brotherhood.” He snarled, lashing out again. “But, I suppose you are too dangerous to keep alive. They'll have to get over their disappointment,” she said as her little girl's voice faded into cold purpose.

She whipped him, cutting and tormenting him. He caught the whip and wrapped it around his hand. She activated the molecular blade and cut him but he managed to wrap it around a leg of a chair. She snarled. “Going to be difficult. Fine. I can use a poison, I love those. I'm a master of them. Fernando learned that the hard way,” she said with a smirk. “Pity he didn't live long enough to truly...appreciate my efforts on his behalf. But the client did want it to be quick and quiet.”

“Why?” Jethro snarled blindly. He could see through his implants to a degree, but the black outfit she was wearing fogged her image out somewhat. Only when she was close could he see her. He realized he needed to practice patience.

“Why does a client ever want something done?” The woman replied with a shrug. She examined her nails briefly. “Damn, I broke one. You'll pay for that,” she said voice going from cool and professional to cold and angry in a second.

“You are insane,” Jethro snarled.

Miss Persephone shrugged theatrically. “Not insane, gifted. I'm the best little kitty; you should have realized that by now. I'm the number one in the system!” She said with a lazy grin. “And don't get me started on those worms I had to step on to get here. It's a pity your sire, Jet, never got the chance to keep you on the right path. Though, I am glad in a way, I'd always wanted to take one of you panthers down. A nice little trophy,” she said. “Maybe I'll use a tooth as a necklace? Or your balls?” she said, voice darkening.

“Don't you know? The female of the species is always more dangerous than the male,” she teased.

Jethro felt like his body was on fire, but it took him a moment to realize why. It wasn't pain, his implants were dealing with that. He felt a flash each time the whip cut him, but then it cooled. That was a problem he knew, but one for later...if there was a later.

No this new pain was something else he realized, then noted the nanites in his body had activated. Jethro realized he could see to some degree; he could see the bullwhip as it changed form. He moved, dodging a three-tailed strike in time. Bast directed his attention to the window.

Bast had gone berserk when Jethro had been attacked. She didn't know what she could do to help but scrambled to do something. She sent text messages to the authorities but found them blocked. She sent others to the military but none responded. Eventually she did the one thing she could think of to help him, call their armor. She noted the porthole to the station exterior. She formed a packet of nanites around his implant antenna and focused it on the window. She gathered her reserve power and punched a signal through to the suit, a scream for help.

The suit came alive, coming together and then slamming the arms around it as it broke out of the armory. Its break out alerted others that something was wrong. Marines scrambled. “Oh hell, not again,” a private said, backing hastily up. “Someone...”

“I'm here,” a gruff Tauren said. “Bast, stand down,” the Sergeant ordered. “Someone locate the Gunny. Get him here ASAP,” he ordered over his shoulder.

The suit waved a hand. He turned back to it. “We'll get him here,” he said. Bast shook the suits helmet in a No. She growled, then sounded an alarm klaxon as she directed the suit to the nearest lock.

“I'm guessing that's a no,” the private said. “Something's wrong, we can't find the Gunny.”

“He was last reported on Anvil,” Ensign Barry said from the overhead. Bast looked up and shot data to the other AI.

“Incoming file. The Gunny is under attack. I have a location. We need to get to him fast,” the AI said, voice dropping into a cool professional tone. “Dispatching the nearest Marines on the station and alerting station security now,” he said. “Bast, we're coming, stay alive. Keep him alive,” he said. “Alert medical he's injured,” the AI ordered. Bast yowled, still running to the lock. When she got there she paused. Unfortunately, the suit was in the Annex, not Anvil. That was a serious problem she realized. They were running out of time, and she didn't know what else to do.

Jethro's implants dealt with the increasing damage to his body. Nanites formed an armor over the vitals of his body under his skin. They also healed some of the damage, clearing away some of the pain and allowing him to breathe. It felt like ants under and all over his skin.

He changed tactics; he focused on Bast's objective, to go for something in room that could harm them as a group. Of course it would do harm to him too, possibly fatal.

“Bast help,” he said, struggling to breathe, to think. It was hard, even though his implants were dealing with a lot of the pain and the lack of air, he still found it hard to think.

“Bast?” The woman mocked. “There is no one to help you,” she laughed, tightening her grip. “I should cut your head off now,” she growled.

Bast looked at him with pleading eyes, unsure what to do. Jethro's eyes cut to the robots in the room. He looked at each of them, waving a hand. There were robotic arms, drones and other mechs in the room. “Take your pick,” he gasped out.

The cleaners arrived. They flinched at the mess. The woman looked over her shoulder with cold eyes. “Shut the damn hatch!” The Asian said over her shoulder to them. “You're early,” she growled, eyes returning to her prey.

“You're late,” the leader replied setting his tool kit down. “We need to get this done now.”

“Fine then, start over there; I'm almost done here,” she said with a smirk.

“You should have gassed him,” One of the cleaners commented. “Done it right. There is a lot of breakage here. It's not like the old times when we could just kick them out into space. We're going to have a hell of a time getting all this to the nearest molecular furnace you know,” he complained.

Jethro frowned as the woman laid off for the moment. He had a breather, and he needed to recover and do something with it. He thought hard.

“No, that would have taken all the fun out of it,” the female assassin said. “And he wouldn't have had the time to appreciate it,” she said wickedly, dark eyes gleaming. “I'm savoring every moment,” she said with a grin as she licked her lips.

Bast helped him. She moved his head, then painted an arrow on his HUD. He couldn't see, but he could see the HUD through blinding white. She directed him to look out the view port window. He realized her intent at once and acted on it before the bitch killed him. He turned on the window, anchored himself.

The assassins looked up warily as the robots came alive. “What the hell?” one snarled. “Look out!” he said as a robotic arm swung his way. He ducked in time, but the AI had only used it as a distraction. The robotic arm nearest the outer hatch door had already come alive, and its plasma torch had heated up to a bright blinding white. She swung the arm away much like a round house punch then back with full force. The robotic arm slammed into the window, blowing it out with its super-heated cutting torch and a ton of force.

Jethro felt the rush of air and an impact as things flew towards the breach. He managed to stay alive, doing his best to wrap his injured arms and legs around the leg of an anchored drill press. But he knew he was seriously injured, if the vacuum didn't kill him he'd bleed out in seconds. He grunted as a stool hit him but grimly held on for his life.

The male assassins were killed in the explosive decompression, one had been sucked out the window and crushed, another had sucked into it head first and had been decapitated. His body floated off. The Asian female used her whip to try to secure herself, and then climb hand over hand. Jethro reached out and sliced it with his claws. He caught a claw, ripping it out, but the leather and metal parted under his withering strength. She screamed silently, and then slammed into the wall near the port hole. Her body was dragged to it until a massive bench slammed into the porthole blocking it.