Though the Night Be My Ally

Chapter 1 - An Evening Out

The camp was a small affair, four pre-fabricated buildings huddled together within the confines of a three-meter tall security fence topped with concertina wire. Steam and smoke rose from several spots within the camp itself. The outlines of decimated vehicles could be made out in the occasional fire that stayed active despite the rain. Other than these few lonely blazes only one light, coming from what had once been the administration building, pierced the darkness of the camp.

A single bulb dangling by its power cord lit the tiny one-room building that had served as the camp's nerve center. Once neat and efficient it now bristled with equipment backpacks, a cache of mud-covered weapons, and a laser-charred desk that had been hand-carved from one of the local blue palms.

The incessant, rhythmic clack of computer keys echoed off the thin pre-fab walls of the former office. A small portacomp, its power cord snaking up into the ceiling, was being savaged by a figure hunched over the desk. The noise stopped as the figure paused to peer more closely at the unit's small screen. ACCESS DENIED.

A tiny lightfly, attracted by the comp's display fluttered an intricate courtship dance across the screen. A trail of electric blue and neon red marked the insect's erratic path as manmade lighting and bioluminescence mingled.

Anyone else would have at least paused to appreciate the irony of the situation. Amidst all the chaos and carnage that had taken place at twilight, a fragile creature had come here, seeking solace in the warmth of what it could not know was a counterfeit mating call. But that would have required S'leth'siend to have compassion, feelings, the only possessions he did not lust after. Greenish pink fingers crushed the delicate winged creature then plopped it into a mouth ringed with rows of needle sharp teeth. S'leth's sighed in annoyance as he absent-mindedly chewed the tiny morsel. There had to be some way in. He tore his attentions away from the computer's taunting denials in order to think.

No place for a S'ssesu, this. It was hot and steamy enough, true. But this was not Phri'sk. Not by a long shot. He longed for the press of his brethren. The scent of his fellows seeking out their objectives. The intoxicating pheromones of dominance. He was leader here and he exuded the perfume of dominance in profusion, one of the few physical aspects that his colleagues found as reviling as his temperament. Well, at least he didn't have two tongues. Visions of the group's spider-limbed, ivory scaled physician's disgusting mouthparts had him racing headlong back to reality.

His gaze fell on the lifeless form of a Yazirian.

The begoggled corpse lay motionless on the floor next to the desk. The ape-like creature's final scowl already turning into an almost comical death rictus. Its remaining hand-paw clutched at a laser pistol, the powerclip still registering five remaining energy units. The unfired blast would have been enough to have boiled the liquid in S'leth's' hydrostatic skeleton, and then some. S'leth's turned a double-pupilled eye to the hole that had been burned in the near wall. Close. But as any cadidiot out of Gollwyn Academy could tell you, close only counted in slow dancing, hand grenades and kinetic strikes from orbiting platforms.

The big monkey had apparently been the second in command for this unit of corporate thugs, at least that was what his ID card said. S'leth's dispassionately eyed the severed limb lying beside the portacomp as he tried another algorithm. ACCESS DENIED. The comp had no retinal scanner so the dead merc's thumbprint and card should have been enough to get in to its files. But they hadn't been. That observation could have had multiple meanings. On one hand, the monkey might not have had access when he was alive, most unusual for such a high-ranking, though perhaps only locally high-ranking, corporate member. On the other hand and almost as unlikely, the comp's security included some means of detecting whether or not the user was alive.

Both eventualities drew an observer to the same conclusion. Whatever information the comp contained was important. Tarpane Corporation, whoever they were, had plopped a contingent of twenty or so mercs and techs down in the middle of an unknown jungle, on an unknown planet in the middle of an uncharted star system. S'leth's was willing to wager they had not done so simply for the sake of exploration.

The firepower they had installed on this little concertina-wired compound carried a little more kick than necessary to keep the local flora and fauna in line. As for the cost of some of that hardware, expensive wasn't even the word for it. Tarpco wanted this place kept hush-hush. And they planned on keeping it if anybody else showed up. Judging by the way they outfitted this operation, they had credits to burn or at least planned to have them in the future. This was not going to be your standard hit and run op, after all.

Chapter 2 - And the Mortars Red Glare

"Get ready to get out of there, S-s-slither,". It was Kijura, the team's Saurian pilot. She had remained airborne in the Quetzal along with Sadzit Lepnum, the team's Osakar physician, to serve as a mobile aid station and to keep their options open as far as pickup zones were concerned. Their resident tech expert and robotics wizard, a Zethra calling itself Darzenyoo, was also in the cloud flyer.

"We've got s-s-everal heat s-sources coming your way from the west about a klick out. They appear to be dismounted troops, a s-squad of ten or so. The ground clutter is too thick for me to get a better fix on them."

An explosion rocked the compound and S'leth's reeled as he fought to maintain his balance. Mortars. Probably preplotted. Dust poured from newly opened cracks in the ceiling and bits of dislodged roofing bounced here and there in the room. The light bulb, swaying with the motion of the blast, flickered for a moment, then died. Yanking the comp's cord from its makeshift power coupling in the ceiling, S'leth's quickly folded the miniconsole and slid it into his backpack. He threw the pack over his shoulder, then keyed his comm.

"Runt, what is the status of our parting gifts? We need to be leaving and soon," he said. A long minute of comm silence passed as he dragged the equipment packs to the door, cursing as he tripped over the Yazirian in the darkness. Even in death you still try to hinder me, Brave Warrior. He involuntarily hacked, the S'ssesu equivalent of laughter, at his contemptuous mockery of the Yazirian. His fingers found the transmit switch on the chronocom again. "Runt--

"Right behind you, Slime Face." An Ifshnit clad in a miniature military skeinsuit stood gasping in the doorway. The intricate weaves of his exposed body hair were soaked with rain and sweat. More than a few of the braids was charred to a crisp. The gyrojet pistol in his hands looked more like a rifle on his Lilliputian form. "Me and Varmint ran into a little problem with a Vrusk who got an omega bolt for his birthday." He fingered a blackened tuft that had once been reddish blonde hair. It crumbled at his touch. "He would have had me, too, if Vee hadn't landed on his back. Never saw him bite anyone like that before. Really kind of--"

The vermiform alien waved a dismissing tentacle at the small humanoid and passed him one of the equipment packs. "That's all well and good, but what about the charges?" The Ifshnit smiled, one of the few things, besides general body design, that Ifshnits shared with Humans. "Oh, we've got some lovely presents for them," he said in a mischievous, lilting voice as he shouldered his own customized framed pack. "Just lovely."

Another explosion jarred the ground. They both watched in stunned silence as the mortar blast flipped a Tarpane groundcar they had totaled during their big entrance earlier in the evening. Anything that would burn on the vehicle already had, but the clumps of wet grass where the car finally came to rest started to smolder.

"Three-thirties," Runt murmured.

"What?" S'leth's grunted as he collected the last of the packs.

"I said three-thirties. That's what those guns they're using are. Pretty heavy stuff, but they've got no range whatsoever. A couple of klicks at most."

"Could those infantry carry them?"

"Huh? No way! Those things weigh at least two hundred kilos each and they don't break down very well. This kind of country ain't exactly conducive to humping stuff, especially not--"

S'leth's held up a tentacle and keyed his comm. "Dragon Lady, Slither. I need you to run a counterbattery for us, buy us a little time. Are you picking up the heat signature from that indirect fire source?"

"Stand by, I need to get a little altitude." A precious half minute passed. "Okay, I have them. Two hovertruck signatures a couple of hills over. They look to be pretty well dug in. It would take every missile I have plus some to even scratch the paint."

"They've probably got albedo screens up, too," Runt interjected.

"Thrickt!" S'leth's cursed in Sathar. This was not going well.

"Sometimes you talk that lingo just a little too good, Slith," Runt whispered.

"Hold on. One miracle in the making here. I've got an idea that just might work," Kijura said. "Stand by for Operation: High Voltage."

Chapter 3 - Out of the Frying Pan

Darzenyoo simply sat there like a multi-tentacled lump until she at last had to go back to piloting again, as unsure as ever with the the Zethra if she had actually gotten through. Here, she thought as she looked back over her shoulder at the grey-green and orange mottled ball of arms, is a truly alien creature. From body configuration to societal norms, the Zethra sitting (standing?) half a meter behind her was a complete mystery.

From what she had knew about the Zethra, Darzenyoo was an enigma among even his own people. Its race's natural compulsive curiosity usually kept them from remaining long term members of any group. Yet Darzenyoo had been with Strife Force for almost a year now. So far, it had not given even the slightest hint that it planned to leave.

"I assent," came Darzenyoo's reply in the peculiar static ridden voice the polyvox gave it. Without hesitation or another word, it made its way back to the troop hatch at the rear of the Quetzal. Too far away from the cockpit for its 'vox to be heard, the Zethra contacted the hull with a tentacle. Kijura heard its quirky, expressionless voice over the cloud flyer's intercom, letting her know it was ready to initiate her plan.

The Saurian's eyes opened wide in concentration as she banked the flyer on to a new vector. She took the craft a couple of hundred meters higher and began a figure eight arc that would bring her directly over the mortar vehicles' positions. The Quetzal would be coming at the vehicles from behind, just in case they had surface to air missiles or any other sort of triple A waiting for her.

Kijura gunned the bird's triple turbine engines, exulting in their near silence as she climbed ever higher. The craft went from a 150 kilometers per hour to a nearly blinding 300 kph in under half a standard minute. At the apex of her climb and the center of her arc, Kijura rolled the Quetzal over in a corkscrew turn.

Dr. Lepnum, struggling to get back into her acceleration harness, used her knowledge of Yazirian vulgarities and her twin tongues to turn the cabin atmosphere blue with curses. Fortunately, she and Kijura had been friends long enough that the Saurian deigned to take the slur on her svik's lineage as a joke.

Lepnum hadn't been joking, though. She was as mad as a wet kwidge about a lot of things. This barnstorming stunt was simply the icing on the Panongila seed cake.

First of all, she was angry about the impromptu notice she had received to report for this mission with medkit in hand. She was not particularly thrilled at being ordered around like a Yazirian pup and she had to reschedule several of her clients for another time, inconvenient to both herself and to them. She also didn't like leaving Kompeet, her Dral physician's assistant, to take care of the clinic all by himself. It wasn't fair to Kompeet and frankly, she wasn't sure the Dral was up to the challenge.

To top that, her important mission had turned out to be staying aboard the Quetzal waiting for casualties. Add to that the fact that she had not, gods forbid, even seen the planet they had made six unlogged Void transits to reach. Other than making sure the team's first aid kits were current and complete, she had not done anything medical. She was sick of it, the whole thing. The short notice. The centi-credit ante tasks she was assigned. Flying around with a Saurian intent on turning the flight into a roller coaster ride. She was sick of it all.

Kijura turned her head to look back where Sadzit had strapped herself in. "Here goes, Doc. You better grab hold of something." With no more warning than that, Kijura dipped the flyer's nose sharply and began a hell-bent-for-leather dive. Dr. Lepnum reached for an airsick bag and remembered yet another thing she was sick of: her breakfast. Rainbow hued cereal rings spewed from her mouth into the waiting pouch. Twice. She marveled at how much the taste of lactate differed depending on whether it was coming up or going down.

A verdant spear of light flashed past their port side stabilizer. A very near miss, to be certain. Kijura jinked the flyer hard to starboard and tipped the craft up on its starboard wing. So they were duck hunters as well as mortar maggots.

"Get ready, Rolley," she yelled, unsure if the Zethra was still 'connected' to the intercom system. Another flash of green laser, this time a hit, arced across the flyer's nose. A wash of blue sparks flew over her instrument console. The air speed indicator shattered in its cubby and an angry Kijura took the opportunity to practice a little Yazirian of her own.

As quickly and as thoroughly as possible in the middle of a combat run, Kijura tested the main flight controls controls as she kept her course. Everything seemed to be responding properly. Kijura glanced up from her unplanned equipment checks and realized that she was mere seconds away from their objective. Waiting for another pass would just give the groundlings more time to prep.

They were committed. The Quetzal had taken a hit and come through it all right. They were going to pull this thing off, the first time around. Kijura pulled the handle to release the troop hatch at the rear of the flyer. The servos whined in an earnest attempt to comply, but the hatch did not budge.

The laser hit had damaged something, probably the circuitry.

“Open door" Darzenyoo said over the intercom.

"I can't, dammit," She tugged the lever a second time. "The gods-damned thing is stuck!"

"Understand." came the laconic reply. The green telltale that signaled that the rear hatch was secured, its proper position during flight, winked off. A red light next to it blinked momentarily then became inert again as the green light relit.

Using every gram of her strength, Kijura yanked the flight yoke back to her chest. The flyer responded magnificently, standing on its tail almost as if gravity meant nothing. She jammed the throttle to full military speed and heard Dr. Lepnum retch for a third time as Quetzal leaped skyward. The rear hatch dogged closed again, the flyer's interior began repressurizing. Her living payload had been delivered, more or less on target.

"Give 'em hell, Rolley Polley,"

Chapter 4 - Into the Fire

Darkness mattered little to a creature that perceived the world as patterns of heat and energy and nothing was beneath notice as it oriented itself to its new surroundings: the muddy, detritus-covered ground where it had landed; the trajectory of broken tree limbs and blue palm fronds overhead that had temporarily stood between it and the ground; the electromagnetic 'noise' of vehicle generators running nearby.

Extending all six of its locomotive tentacles, Darzenyoo quietly made its way toward the electrical disturbance it sensed coming from up the hill. A shaft of crimson flared from a group of trees up ahead, singing a blue palm off to Darzenyoo's right. The Zethra rolled farther up the hill between two fallen tree trunks. Another blast whizzed past, this time less than a meter above his round form. The Zethra stuck a pair of seefers over the logs. No enemy was visible.

Realizing that there was nothing to be accomplished by sitting around waiting, it grasped the closer of the trunks and yanked. Solid enough it thought. Another pair of tentacles secured a grip on the dead tree and then Darzenyoo was up, hauling itself over the barrier just in time for a third shot from the energy weapon. This time the rifleman found his mark.

A laser bolt slammed Darzenyoo center mast as it climbed clear of the improvised cover. A couple of tentacles tingled at the sensation. Darzenyoo checked himself, disturbed to think that he might have been hit with a solid projectile. But there was no projectile or wound to be found. The tingle was simply reflexive conduction of the excess energy to ground, not the telltale sign of shock as Darzenyoo had first feared. Feeling somewhat refreshed and reassured, the Zethra bounded up the hill, alternately rolling and lumbering on randomly chosen tentacles. Another shot caught it, this one a glancing strike that spun him around. That felt good!

Darz at last caught a glimpse of the sniper up the ridge. A Vrusk wearing some sort of goggles stood at the front of an open-bed hovertruck parked in the relative flat between two knolls. Apparently incredulous at Darzenyoo's continued survival, the big bug slammed another clip into his laser rifle's ammo port and shouldered the weapon for another shot

Again, the Vrusk made a bullseye. Again, the Zethra devoured what energy it desired and shunted the rest to ground. Darzenyoo decided that this game was no longer interesting. It jounced the twenty or so meters that separated them, absorbing another two shots in the process, before standing motionless less than a meter away from its attacker. The Vrusk, apparently never having heard of a Zethra or its unique abilities with electromagnetic energies, was more persistent than common sense should have allowed.

The bug slapped a third magazine into his rifle as the Zethra came within arm's reach. Darzenyoo simply tapped the disbelieving Vrusk with a tentacle and watched him collapse like so much stacked firewood. Sparks washed over the Vrusk and a crack like a balpeen hammer slamming on ferrocrete echoed off the armor of the hovertruck.

"Didja get 'im," asked a human sticking her head out of the vehicle's cargo hatch. A touch from an electrified tentacle was all the answer she received. Darzenyoo crawled around the other side of the vehicle and into the cargo area, but found no other sentients with whom it could discuss Ohm's law. As it studied the firing mechanisms and the range computers, it came up with what it thought was not a half bad plan.

It would take a good ten to fifteen minutes, maybe even half and hour to make it through the jungle to the other hover truck's position. A trip that, although Darz felt refreshed, was not one it really wanted to make. A mortar shell, on the other tentacle, only took ten to fifteen seconds to make that journey.

Linking to the truck's comset, Darzenyoo crackled "--commo check, over," on, hopefully, the same frequency the other mortar crew was using. A minute passed and still no response. Darz briefly considered firing randomly until it found the correct range. But that course of action would give the other team warning that their comrades had been captured.

They would have far too long to take action, maybe even successfully fire their own counterbattery, before Darz could be assured of a random hit on them. Random shots were not the answer. No. Darz would have to take care of them one on one. Just as the Zethra started climbing out of the vehicle, a voice came across the com unit.

"Dammit, Abby. Just because I didn't answer your stupid commo check doesn't mean you have to quit firing altogether. I read you loud and clear on that last trans. Now get those intruders' heads down for gods' sakes. Roland's guys are almost in position down there."

Darzenyoo's tentacles busily worked the range computer to locate the other truck's position using the last com signal detected. The comp was smarter than Darz had given it credit for and it tried its level best to filter out friendly signals as its defaults had ordered it to do. But initially underestimating a computer didn't make Darzenyoo an amateur on the subject.

Within thirty seconds, Darz quickly found the source of the range computer's reluctance, an anti-fratricide code which prevented it from calculating a firing solution for an ally. Within another five, Darz disabled the code. All told, by the time three minutes had passed, the computer had determined both the range and azimuth to the other hover-truck and had realigned the gun tube to match the new target. Darzenyoo ordered the computer to autoload shells until all rounds had been expended, then locked the system in an endless loop to prevent any unwanted interruptions. The Zethra climbed out of the truck and dropped to the ground with a plop.

Farther down the hill, where Kijura had dropped her package, Darz remembered seeing a bunch of very interesting fluorescent fungi. Darz wanted to get a closer look these, perhaps even take some samples back when the team returned from the mission. Darz also realized that if the other mortar crew survived long enough to get in any return punches, this hilltop was not the place to be twiddling one's tendrils. Retracting its tentacles, Darz braced against the h-truck's rearmost landing skid and gave itself a little shove down the hill.

Chapter 5 - Missing in Action

"Probably waiting for the mortars to finish up their job before they come nosing in," Runt vocalized S'leth's thoughts, almost to the word. Sometimes the diminutive humanoid startled him with his insight into situations. S'sessu were not known for their appreciation of other species' abilities. Insight perhaps, but not appreciations. His team members constantly gave him pause to consider the value that diversity brought to the group. Six S'sessu would never have been able to function for a unit as long as this team of misfits had. The competition among his kind would have been too keen.

The objectives too easily skirted as underlings scrambled to rise to new levels of power. Internal politics. Back stabbing. Toadyism. All of the social interactions that made him proud of his species, he realized, served to keep them from reaching many of their goals. Too much alike he thought as he eyed yet another of Runt's incinerated braids, this one on his back. Our differences make us reassess not only our views of one another, but of ourselves. Introspective ability insight, of a sort. This was neither the time nor place for such philosophical reflections.

"Where the hell is Sub-Lieutenant Varmitse," S'leth's said, punctuating his irritation by using the Humma's full title. He keyed the chronocom, attempting to contact the combat specialist. No response. Half a minute passed and again he signaled his missing myrmidon. Again there was no response.

"He had better be lying half-roasted in a mortar crater somewhere." S'leth's hissed his displeasure, then added. "I'm cutting his share by ten percent, if he's still alive."

Runt simply smiled as he pretended to check his pistol's magazine. He knew the worm was complaining about credits to hide his true concern. Most Un-S'sessu like, but unmistakably S'leth's. Runt chuckled to himself, choking his laughter to an obviously faked cough as he turned to find S'leth's staring at him. A long moment passed as four pupils bore into the Ifshnit like lasers. At last, S'leth's turned and tapped his chronocom again only to get another negative contact.

The Ifshnit warrior pensively ran a hand over the stubble on his cheekbones as he considered his team leader. S'leth's looked so much like a Sathar it gave him nightmares sometimes. The worm stank. He was slimy. He had the table manners of a megasaurus. But, for all his faults, and gods knew he had a freighter full of them, he had one ultimately redeeming quality. He actually gave a damn. Of course, he disguised it as a S'sessu of status worrying about his team members as mere assets, but deep down, everyone in the team knew the truth.

His thoughts wandered back to the day S'leth's took over Strife Force. Things had not looked at all promising back then. For starters, anyone, regardless of their standing would have had a hard time filling Budok's shoes, as good a leader as the Gorlian had been. But the worm had an extra challenge as he assumed command of the team: his genotype.

It was hard enough for most of the team to even say a civil word to a Sathar lookalike, much less work for one. Each team member's race had either been oppressed or slaughtered by the Sathar and many of them agreed with the general Frontier belief that the S'sessu were little better, if not worse in some instances, than their murderous cousins.

Several team members had quit on the spot, including Runt, when S'leth's was assigned as team leader. But Runt, like most of the other resignations had come back. Partly out of curiosity. Partly out of need. After all, where else was there for a half-liter demolitions specialist to go? Looking back, he did not regret his decision to return.

He had to hand it to the worm. Had it been any other S'sessu, things would likely not have held together as long as they had. No one understood exactly how, but in just three months S'leth's had succeeded in forming a cohesive group of professionals despite the initial resistance. In that three months he had Strife Force back together and back out on missions, successful missions, too. Sure he played the hardass. Sure he took a couple of percentage points of profit more than Budok had. But everyone knew the underlying truth.

That was all that mattered when you were sticking your neck out. If pretending that S'leth's would just as soon space them as look at them helped the team work together better, what was the harm? Budok himself had probably put it best, "There is no accounting for taste."

"I've got Darz's signal coming up that ridge to the south of the camp, Slither." That was Kijura on the chronocom again. "Looks like he'll be another half hour to your position. Whoa! Hold on, Doc!" The comm was silent for a moment.

"S-s-sorry about that, Boss. Looks like one of those gun tubes is active again. His triple-A is working overtime. Nearly got us with that volley. I'm picking up a lot of heat from the one where I dropped Darz. He must have not been able to take the other one out."

"Kijura, we have no response from Varmint. Have you had any contact?"

"Negative, S-s-slither. S-scan's useless at your position. The camp is too hot from our little gatecrashing party earlier on. I'm not picking up his chronocom signal either,"

"Understood. We still need more time. Can you do anything about that arty piece?"

"Blessed Ancestors be praised! You must be living right, Slither. The stupid bastard is moving, probably to a supplementary firing position. I'd better nab him while he's out in the open. Commencing strafing runs. Wish us luck."

S'leth's jerked a forelimb in the direction the troops Kijura had reported would be approaching from. "I suppose we will have to hold off these fools by ourselves, Runt."

The Ifshnit rubbed his hands together, as if anticipating a plate of Tapoffala, meatless, of course. "And here I thought this was going to be a boring outing." He put a gloved hand on his team leader's shoulder, actually where a shoulder would have been on virtually any other race. "C'mon, Boss. Let's go hurt some people. It'll make you feel better. Always works for me."

Chapter 6 - And Through the Woods

As Darz's first tentacle experience had confirmed, the plant's shiny blue fronds were the very definition of sharpness. Micron edged leaves turned every encounter with the ubiquitous bush into a fight with a multiple axe-wielding enemy. Annoyed with the myriad cuts and scratches it had already suffered, Darz had adopted a new strategy for dealing with the plant. The seared husks of several former blue palm bushes bore crackling testament to the new tactic's success.

Darz had tucked away several samples of the glowing fungus that had caught its attention earlier in the tiny pouch it customarily suspended crosswise around itself by a green leather thong. So much to perceive. So much to learn. The camp was not very far away now. Perhaps a half a kilometer or less and there would be lots of things to look at and experience once Darz arrived.

Movement on the trunk of a ennem tree caught Darz's attention. Darz froze in mid bound between two trees and waited to see if the movement was real or simply a misperception of its seefers. There it was again. Whatever it was, it reflected electromagnetic energy well, probably the only reason Darzenyoo had 'seen' it at all. Darz paused again, focusing all of its concentration on the tree trunk where the motion had been. Another flash of light from another ennem tree, this one nearly directly behind Darz. Another flash from a third tree, this one from another of those blasted blue palms. Whatever it was, it seemed to be bouncing from tree to tree. Scintillating!

The doctor had made no mention of this creature in her briefing. Perhaps it was some form of energy being. It certainly gave off a good deal of heat now that Darz had a better 'look' at it.

The sparkle, as Darz decided to call it for the moment, apparently wanted to play tag or some similar game. It buzzed behind another blue palm, then zipped across an opening in the foliage back to an ennem, this one nearly a hundred meters away. Darz paused for a couple of nanoseconds to consider its real purpose for being here. The others would doubtless be waiting at the camp and Darz did not over much wish to be stranded on this backwater world. Still, an interesting lifeform like this deserved to be studied.

Darz was certain S'leth's could figure out some way to make a profit from the creature, one way or another. That should be enough to appease the S'sessu. As long as the head honcho--as the humans liked to say--was happy, there should be no problems with delaying a little while longer. Darzenyoo experimentally discharged a miniature lightning bolt in the direction that the sparkle was traveling, but far enough away to be non-threatening, Darz hoped. The tiny glimmer whizzed over to the point where the discharge had gone to ground. Unexpectedly, the tiny creature spewed out a minute yellow arc of it own in another direction. Darzenyoo aped the smaller creature, investigating its effort's effect as it had done with its.

Darz was impressed by the creature's size to output ratio. Taking a cue, Darz fired another bolt in a randomly chosen direction. The sparkle repeated both its investigation and emission of golden energy in yet another direction. Comparing the events, Darz noted that the creature always fired at right angles to any Zethran trajectories.

Definitely a game! And games generally denoted at least a baseline intelligence. Each facet of the creature Darz observed posed more questions. Curiosity after curiosity. New information and experiences to acquire. Perhaps after we have played awhile, the creature will allow me to communicate with it directly. Of course, I will be careful to limit my voltage as not to injure this being. I am happy that Kijura NoJura decided to drop me on the ground, after all. Perhaps I will not let my boredom with her ideas be so evident next time she speaks.

A yellow speck zipped off into the distance and Darz hastened to keep up.

Chapter 7 - Soldier Slighted

Minas, a Yazirian automatic laser gunner on her Bravo team, had been particularly troublesome lately. The Yazirian had been with her team for a little over a year and doubtless, he thought it was time for him to make his move, to take over as the group's leader. Not the first time a Yazirian's eyes had been bigger than his fists, Savannah mused. Earlier in the week, she had as much as told the group that she alone decided when she was through being group leader. She just hoped the big monkey had more brains than rage hormones knocking around in that thick skull of his. The last thing she needed tonight was him to put up some bravado that she would have to shut down.

At the tender age of thirty one, she had been leading troops for over twelve years. She still recalled her first assignment as a platoon guide in boot camp with pride. Joining LandFleet as soon as she finished her final forms, then-Corporal Roland had later gone on to face the Sathar at the Siege of Outpost. She had made it through that hell, imagining that nothing could ever compare with that horrific experience. She had been wrong.

The drawdown following the Second Sathar War had not been kind to mid-ranking members of any of the services, LandFleet included. The brass had decided that there was too much deadwood in the middle ranks of their services, both officer and enlisted, and had voluntarily sacrificed many veteran spacers and groundpounders in order to guarantee their own retirement benefits. Within a couple of months after war's end, Savannah found herself just another of several million 'unskilled' dischargees. There were no jobs for combat specialists without special operations training in the civilian sector and her employment scores were only good enough to qualify her for security and combat type work. Catch-22.

Within a month and a half of leaving LandFleet, a senseless bar fight landed her in jail. The case ended with her pleading guilty for assault and battery charges in exchange for a suspended sentence. Her criminal record combined with her employment scores ensured that she could not even get a job at a fast food restaurant. As her savings quickly dwindled, she wondered how the two weeks' salary she had remaining would last until she found a paying job. That was when she discovered that criminals not only did not mind a person having a record, they considered it a plus.

Eight long years had passed since her career change. While she never regretted killing a single Sathar, she did not like to think about the things she had done in the course of her post-service employment. She was suddenly thankful for the darkness that enveloped her as she wiped away a single tear. There was not a day that passed when she failed to remember one old man in particular that she had been ordered to deal with early in her outlaw career.

"Not my fault," she muttered as she rose from her kneeling position and strode out to where both of her teams could hear her without difficulty. No chronocommed instructions from five meters away. She wanted to talk to her troops, the way she had back in LandFleet so many eons ago.

"Awright, My Little Monkeys! Charlie Team's got their hands full with whatever air support these bozos got going for them so our indirect fire support is basically scratched. I don't know about you, but I don't want to give the jerks in there time to build an atomic reactor to power their weapons," That got a laugh or two. "Here's the plan: Alpha Team's gonna lay down a base of fire--"

"That's funny," Minas croaked as he stood. Corking off during briefings was not only rude it was a direct challenge to her authority. She eyed the multi-hued image of the Yazirian through her IR specs. The monkey was feeling his oats all right. He was going to force her to resolve the situation here and now. Another possible no-win situation. Ignoring him would make her appear weak, while overreacting would make things worse as well.

"Shut the hell up, Minas." The Yazirian curled his lips in a snarl as Savannah stared at him for a moment, then continued.

"As I was saying--"

"Listen, Human Wench, I'm tired of you always staying back with fire support while everybody else puts their skins on the line," Minas made a motion with his rifle, whether to use it as a weapon or to make a point made no difference to Savannah. In one swift movement, she swept the monkey's legs out from under him. He landed on his back with a bone-jarring thump. An instant later Savannah had one of her thick-soled combat boots pressed against the prone Yazirian's windpipe. The barrel of her laser pistol clanked against Minas' teeth.

"I am tired of your insubordination! Minas here has just volunteered to make sure they've not placed any mines in the perimeter. Alpha Team will provide a base of fire. Bravo will flank with Mr. Mine Detector as point," She jerked the rifle out of Minas' hands and threw it over to Vallas, her Dralasite second in command. Next, she pulled the Yazirian's holdout needler, the one he kept in a secreted shoulder holster, and tossed it into the weeds.

Moving her foot off Minas' throat, she motioned for him to get up. The Yazirian gasped and coughed, feigning frailty as he gained his feet. He massaged his neck with both hands for a moment as though he had accepted his fate. Then, without warning, the ape jumped toward Savannah, trying to take her down.

She had been expecting the move. Had she not been wearing IRGs, Minas might have pulled it off. And, as the old saying went, 'if' a burrower snake had front limbs it wouldn't bust its mouth every time it jumped. Her blaster whined like a kicked puppy and Minas fell to the ground for the second time in as many minutes. This time he remained motionless.

Savannah turned around slowly to survey her troops' reactions. She wanted to appear ready for anything, not nervous or frightened by what had just happened. Everyone stayed put. Maybe, they thought the ape had it coming. Or maybe they would try to slit her throat later on. Never a dull moment working for the Malthar Dal.

"Bravo leave your packs here. Alpha will bring them up once you have the objective cleared. All right let's get moving. Dazzle me tonight, Folks. Most valuable player gets Minas' gear."

Chapter 8 - Death from Above

"Sorry, Doctor, but I've got a condition I've been meaning to talk to you about," She juked the craft hard to starboard, spiraled downward for three seconds, then banked back up to steadily regain altitude. "You s-see, I'm extremely uncomfortable around anti-aircraft artillery. Please accept my apologies if I my avoidance mechanisms s-seem too s-s-severe for you. Do you know any twelve-step programs I could enroll in?"

"Sarcasm is not your strongsuit, Dear Kijura. Stick to rudder pedals. They suit you better."

Dr. Lepnum moaned again as Kijura slammed the yoke forward just in time to avoid a burst of emerald energy just ahead of them. Quetzal dove like a starving cormorant after a fish. Nosing the craft over, Kijura brought the source of their anxiety up on the targeting computer. She had already scored half a dozen hits on the damnable howitzer with the flyer's beam cannon. The damage was definitely affecting her enemies' performance. Not to be outdone, the gun crew had managed to connect twice with the flyer using their own laser flak. Fortunately, most of the energy from those hits had been deflected by the flyer's albedo coating.

Kijura punched the keypad between her knees, locking the flyer's targeting computer on the h-truck, yet again. "Okay, two missiles left. Got to make them count. Pray to whatever gods you worship, Doctor. We're going in for the kill!"

Sadzit felt the cruel press of acceleration as the flyer plummeted like a stone toward its target. Kijura seemed to be holding her breath as they continued to plunge. Likely an unconscious action to help her focus on the task at hand, Sadzit observed, trying as best she could to divert her own attention from the suicidal dive they had entered.

Kijura stabbed the twin thumb buttons on the flight yoke and screamed, "Missiles away!" The tiny craft buffeted for a moment as it met turbulence and dodge intermittent bursts of lime-colored laser. Kijura quickly stabilized the situation, keeping one eye on the targeting computer's screen.

She cursed in a rare Talsoi dialect as watched the first missile slam impotent into the earth at least half a kilometer away from its intended target. Its sister, however, was right on the money. On the IR display, a splash of orange and red and white filled the lukewarm yellow spot that had once been a hovertruck-mounted cannon system.

"Ancestors avenged! We got them, Sadzit. We got them!"

"Wonderful," Sadzit clacked her double tongues against the roof of her mouth in satisfaction. "Now can we stop trying to kill the Doctor?"

Chapter 9 - The Best Defense

"Amazing what you can do with a little spit and bailing wire, Slimy." He pulled his gyrojet pistol from the holster on his back and checked its magazine. Satisfied, he set the weapon up on the improvised parapet in front of them. "I've got five mines set up on the perimeter. Gopher cricket model that me and Varmint modified. They burrow to follow unauthorized movement and BLAM!" He slammed a fist into his open hand. "Unauthorized, by the way, means not wearing a chronocom with our minitransponders." Smiling, the Ifshnit popped a pink gumball into his mouth and began to chew with vigor.

"Excellent," S'leth's answered, not really hearing the Ifshnit. His mind was still on Varmint. The Humma had done any number of irrational things in the past, but breaking contact was not one of them. There were two possibilities to consider. Either Varmint could not answer them or he would not answer them. If he could not, the problem could be as easy simple as a malfunctioning chronocom. Or it could mean he was lying injured somewhere.

Or dead.

Refusal to answer was another topic altogether. Did he actually think that there was a tactical value in not answering his com? Was he planning a secret ambush that no one, not even their S'sessu leader, could foresee? Or perhaps, as much as S'leth's did not wish to consider it, the Humma had at last gone rogue. Was he, even now, stalking the team? Lying in wait for them? If that was the case, the team had a second enemy as dangerous as any of the enemy mercs they had faced today, more so. Varmint knew their tactics, their methods of getting things done. In short, he knew them.

S'leth's kept these thoughts swimming like hungry jawfish at the back of his forebrain. There was nothing he could do to solve Varmint's disappearance until the enemy forces had been neutralized. Once that was done, they could set to work searching for the Humma. He checked his blaster clip. Fully charged.

An unheralded hail of yellowish-green blaster fire brutalized the ground ten meters in front of their improvised firing position. It was a heavy gun out there, roughly west of their position, to their front. Too far out for pistols to reach. Runt quickly pulled his gyrojet back from the berm and both of them held their fire. They were too seasoned to waste ammo on something they had such little chance of hitting. The listened and watched in silence as the enemy gunner continued his barrage. For some reason the yellow-green beams reminded S'leth's of the summer meteor showers back on his homeworld.

As the laser volley continued, Runt scrambled through the weapons they had carried with them to their little rastiehole. Pulling one, rather large rifle from the pile Runt suddenly gasped and held his breath.

"Other than the fact that someone out there is trying to turn this muddy patch into a glassworks, is there anything wrong," S'leth's asked, noticing his demolition expert's concerned expression.

Runt exhaled with a sigh as he patted a case dangling from the weapon's stock. "Other than me swallowing my gum? Nope. I thought we had lost it for a minute. That's the reason I swallowed my gum, you see. But we are good to go."

"Lost what?"

"I didn't have time to look through all the stuff we grabbed from the bodies before now. I found something that could be really good for our side, but only if we have the proper ammo for it. That was why I looked like I was about to have an aneurysm, just then. I thought this new sniper rifle didn't have any of the special rounds it needs with it and that would have been a real pity. It's a baby rail gun. A good one. One of WarTech's sub-companies makes it."

"I see. So this is--"

"Bad news for the guys out there with the auto laser," Runt grinned. "Just a jiffy and we'll be ready to hang some merc hides in the hurt locker," The Ifshnit set to work putting the relatively large weapon into operation. He extended the bipod legs and half-buried them in the mud of the berm to their front. S'leth's looked at him, puzzled by the tactic.

"Kicks like a bastard," Runt explained, clicking the magazine into place. S'leth's flicked his tongue out, a S'sessu-centric and wordless sign of his understanding. The rifle emitted a momentary high-pitched whine as the clip's battery seated and the breach chambered a round. "Heh, heh. Bring it on, Baby. Bring it on."

As if one cue, blue, violet and red laser beams ripped through the camp, this time from the northwest side. They were being flanked! S'leth's returned fire with his laser pistol, his first shot clipping a Dralasite's arm completely from its body. The blob crashed to the ground, wailing in pain and screaming for a medic. S'leth's watched the downed Dral, hoping someone would be foolish enough to come to its aid. He planned on slicing them up as well, but other matters soon caught his attention.

Two other attackers, a human and a Vrusk had made the mistake of flanking from Runt's side of the fighting position. Flipping his own goggles back to use the rifle's mounted scope, the Ifshnit quickly took aim on the advancing Vrusk. Mmmnnnnnn PheeeeeewwwwwwwwwwCRACK! The bug took another four or five steps then stopped. His abdomen slumped to the ground, but his legs remained tense as if he would start running again at any second.

But as Dr. Lepnum would have confirmed, that would have been medically impossible. The flechette that had made a mere three millimeter whole between the bug's eyes had made a significantly larger opening at the back of his skull. Three quarters of the Vrusk's brains lay spattered against the ground and surrounding foliage.

The advancing human fired two pistols as he ran recklessly toward the dug-in position. A gyrojet round slammed into the rear berm with a horrendous shock, burying Runt's little cache of weapons beneath heaping mounds of dirt. Almost simultaneously, a scarlet laser beam slashed the sniper rifle's barrel, throwing Runt unconscious against the pile of earth that had just collapsed at the rear of the hole.

S'leth's stooped to check Runt's vital signs. The Ifshnit was knocked cold. He had a busted lip and a couple of cuts on his scalp, but otherwise seemed to be all right.

"A worm! A friggin' Sathar," The goggled mercenary stood over the hole leveling his laser on S'leth's' crouched form. "Killing you will be a real pleasure, worm. I've lost a lot friends to your kind."

"I am really not what you think, human," S'leth's said as he slowly placed his pistol on the ground and held up both hands.

"Shut up! Shut up! I know you Sathar use some sort of mind control. None of your worm tricks are going to save you this time." He kept the blaster trained on S'leth's and keyed his headset's trans-switch. "Alpha Six. Bravo Two. I've got two prisoners. One of them's Sathar. I think he had the Ifshnit with him under mind control." A buzzing voice replied, but S'leth's could not make out what had been said.

"Awright, Worm. My boss wants to keep you around for questioning. But I'll drop you in a Port Loren minute if you so much as hiss wrong. You got me?"

S'leth's nodded. He knew the human would better understand that gesture than a flicking tongue. "Get outta there. Now," The man waved S'leth's in the direction he wanted him to exit the fighting position.

"Wooo-hoo! I am gonna be one rich dude when the Boss gets through with you. Probably get a nice bonus for your slimy hide, worm. I can't believe it," He poked S'leth's, now out of the hole, in the chest with the blaster.

Patience. Bide your time. S'leth's reminded himself that foolish heroics would only get him and Runt killed.

"Man, I cannot believe my luck," the man said again, his pistol still mere centimeters from the S'sessu's chest. A sudden, shrill sound split the air as something struck the human's head from the side. His blaster went off as he staggered from the blow, slicing a centimeter-deep furrow in the side of S'leth's neck.

The S'sessu clutched the wound, hissing in pain. Again, the unseen banshee wailed and a second blow landed squarely on the bridge of the human's nose. A sound like a crustacean shell bursting accompanied the sickly crunch of bone. The man hit the ground face first. He did not move.

"Hmmmph," whuffed Varmint, deactivating his force axe and IR screen. "Just like a human to bring a blaster to a force axe fight." Still clutching his neatly cauterized wound, S'leth's hissed the unmistakable rasp of S'sessu rage.

"Where have you been?" He climbed back down in the hole to retrieve his own blaster. "Damn you! We've been trying to reach you for the past half hour." S'leth's bandaged his neck as Varmint explained.

"Taking care of all the sundry snotnoses who still thought this was their camp. That's where. After Runt took off, I got jumped by a pair of fellow Hummas. They didn't want to let me go," He patted the force-axe now hanging in its sheath on his back, "So I had to give them a little workout with Tearjerker, here." S'leth's closed his first aid kit with a snap and stared, unspeaking, back at the Humma.

Varmint pursed his mouth, then pointed his tail at the inert Ifshnit down in the hole. "You planning on leaving him there all night?"

"I thought we would wait until all of our adversaries were taken care of first. If that's all right with you. You still haven't answered the question about why you ignored my com calls, Sub-Lieutenant,"

"Calls? What calls? My comm's been silent for the past," Varmint held his chrono up. The crystal and microphone plate were completely gone and most of the device's delicate interior was filled with mud. "Damn. That was my good one, too. The one with the poker game on it,"

KAWOOM! KAWOOM! KAWOOM!

Chapter 10 - Just Desserts

"This. This is too good to be true," Varmint said, crouching low before springing over to their stock-still enemies. He covered the distance in two bounds. Pacing among them, he scrutinized each one of captive, staring with the wild eyes that only a being who has met a Humma can appreciate. He got right in the Vrusk's face and growled. Low, throaty, threatening. The bug clicked its mandibles in frustration at its predicament, but otherwise remained silent.

"We surrender on the condition that you take us with you," The female human said to Varmint. The Humma swaggered over to where she stood, immobile. "So, you are the leader, Woman?"

"Yes. I'm their leader. Sergeant Savannah Roland, Tarpco Operations Division. Do you accept our terms?"

"You do not dictate terms, Whelp!" He thumped her chest with the tip of his tail. "Were it up to me, I would dine on your entrails for breakfast. We shall see if your capitulation is acceptable to my leader when he arrive." Varmint pointed with his tail to the approaching S'leth's.

"My God! You're working for-- It's a-a Sathar,"

"My employ is my own affair, Human. Besides, things are not always what they seem under night's dark cloak," He gave her a light shove as he turned and walked on the balls of his ski-like feet toward S'leth's.

A familiar chirping noise caught his attention, followed by a snapping sounds like a hundred dry twigs breaking. KAWOOM! Inky black tendrils held him in check just like their captured enemy. The sound had been the trip sensor of a gopher cricket mine activating. Varmint's blood boiled as he remembered blithely suggesting to Runt that the chronocom transponder be used as the trigger for the mines.

"Hoist on your own petard, I see," S'leth's hacked again in his incomprehensibly alien laughter. Clicking his chronocom he raised the Quetzal between gasps for air. "Kijura, anybody else we need to worry about?"

"Not unless they've got IR dampers, which is a possibility," the Saurian replied.

"I judge that risk minimal. Land at the base camp as soon as possible. The area appears secure and we've been here too long as it is. It looks like we at least have bounty prospects for shipment. Keep the engines running and the lasers armed, just in case."

"Understood. Anything else,"

"Yes. Tell the good doctor that I have an injured runt for her to tend to. Oh, and one more thing." He hacked again. "Tell Dr. Lepnum to bring the holo-cam with her. I've got a holo-moment to record, if ever there was one. Slither out."

Chapter 11 - Justifies the Means

S'leth's docked Varmint the ten percent just as he had promised. He also extorted him for an additional twenty percent for the original holograms he took of the Humma trussed up in tangler threads. The hacking sound that often comes from S'leth's stateroom is either the result of residual fungus infestation or from his laughter at copies of holos he kept of Varmint's captivating experience. Only the worm knows for sure.

Doctor Lepnum treated Runt for a mild concussion and multiple cuts, burns and bruises acquired during the mission. She gave S'leth's antibiotics for his laser wound, just to be on the safe side and prescribed herself motion sickness patches for any future flying she had to do with Kijura. Much to her surprise, Kompeet had done an outstanding job of running the clinic in her absence. As to her other complaints, she got over them. Well, most of them. Runt recovered nicely from the knocks and dings he collected on the jungle planet. He spent his share of the profits on bubble gum, TD-19, and figuring out a new way to set off the gopher cricket mines, in that order. He also got a nice temporary weave for the parts of his body hair that were burned during the assaults.

Kijura repaired the minor damage the Quetzal received during the operation. She paid S'leth's ten percent of her cut to get a copy of Varmint's tangler hologram. She still has not gotten over her aversion to flak guns and refuses to eat pizza with mushrooms after mucking out the vent systems.

The computer that S'leth's discovered did have a lock that required an authorized and living person to access it. It also contained a very big secret. Malthar Dal, the offspring of the original Malthar, had learned that a new drug which he named Apteeka could be produced by combining the ichor or spider-flies, lightflies and the sap from blue palm together in the proper proportions.

This was particularly distubring as Apteeka reputedly made Ixiol look like chocolate syrup for relative effects. Malthar Dal had sent his initial team in to secure a base camp which would later expand into a processing complex and a small starport. Strife Force found their base a mere two weeks before production was to begin. Later searches uncovered an underground drug laboratory and a transportation network branching throughout the Doppa Hills.

StarLaw paid Strife Force a handsome price for the computer, its evidence, and for the location of the uncharted planet. They codenamed the world: Tangle and mind-wiped its coordinates from Strife Force and their ship's computer.

Malthar Dal remained at large, his hopes for Tangle dashed as StarLaw set up a special contingent on that world to prevent its use as a production site for Apteeka. Needless to say Malthar Dal was not overly grateful for Strife Force's interference after he learned who had done him such a grand favor. He would figure prominently in later problems encountered by the team. Sergeant Savannah Roland regretted ever having gotten involved with the Malthar's scion, Dal. She cooperated fully with the authorities, accessed the locked computer files and was granted a pardon and several thousand credits for her part in cracking the Apteeka ring. Following that she made a large anonymous donation to a human family, not her own, presumably the relatives of someone she had wronged during her pirating days. Then she bought a ticket aboard a tramp freighter, overrode the elevator's controls in transit to her supposed destination and went EVA without a suit. Not all stories end happily.