at once, and I won’t do what my predecessors did—and gas everyone without their consent.
Change on this scale takes time.
Until we devise a solution, we’ll utilize guerilla strikes. Make this an uncomfortable place for Nicuan nobles to holiday. It’s not an ideal solution, but in a perfect universe, this never would’ve come to pass. Humans wouldn’t think they knew best—that their ways are superior—and it gives them the right to destroy somebody else’s culture.
Odd.
As I sprint from the scene, I realize I’ve usedthat pronoun for humans, as if I’m
not
one. I won’t think about that disconnect now. I have to focus on eluding the centurions pounding the pavement behind us. They’re fanning out to search the area, confident they’ll have the culprits in custody soon.
I slow enough for one of them to get a look at my back. A shout goes up from the centurion, and he fires. I slide around the corner of a building as chaos escalates. Breaking cover, Loras and Vel shoot back, but clumsily, permitting the two centurions to close. They think this fight will be over quickly.
And it will—for them.
As the centurions round the corner, I launch myself at one on the left and take out his kneecap with a ferocious kick. The patella pops, and his leg won’t hold him. I’m on him in a second. But then, if I meant to kill him, he’d already be dead.
I jab the hypo into his neck.
Bastard. I hope it hurts.
Within seconds, it’s lights out. Vel subdues the other one, then doses him. He hefts one; Loras shoulders the other, and I cut a path through the alley to where our shuttle awaits. Once Vel chucks his hostage in back, he slides into the pilot chair. He passed the pilot-training course. As of now, he has the credentials to fly any class of ship from shuttle all the way to M, which I secretly think stands for massive. The centurions are key to the next step in our plan: infiltration.
I tap the comm. “Mission accomplished. Red team Alpha, meet us at base.”
Before the attack commenced, we packed up and moved on. They’ll find no sign of where we’ve gone should they find the house. From here on out, we work from the hidden ops center or in the field.
“Acknowledged.” Zeeka’s voice is unmistakable, mostly because I picked out the tone of his vocalizer.
“You got away clean?” I ask.
I can’t help mothering him a little. I didn’t want to send him with the crew to plant the charges, but he feels like he has something to prove. Everyone else has been with me longer; they’ve done more. We have
history
, he says, like that’s a bad thing. But I guess you can expect that attitude from a young male of any species.
Zeeka replies, “No witnesses. RTA out.”
I glance back, checking on Loras and the prisoners. “They’re still unconscious?”
He inclines his head. “Should be for a while yet.”
As Vel powers up the shuttle, he says, “Strap in, Sirantha. Drones have locked on with instructions to prevent any air traffic by any means necessary.”
I comply, then flick a switch to take control of the guns. This is a sweet ride; without Dina, it took longer to whip it into shape, but Vel did a good job, and Zeeka was eager to learn. Vel finished it up last week, with Sasha and Z assisting.
“On ’em.”
Behind me, a captive whimpers, trapped in narcotic dreams. I don’t feel sorry for him. He made his choices. We all do.
From conversation with March, I recall that most Nicuan centurions start as mercs. After ten turns in service to the same noble, they receive a permanent assignment, a rank, and a retirement fund. That’s rarer than it sounds because so many soldiers die on Nicuan; they don’t survive long enough to become centurions, let alone get a cushy post on one of the colonies. In all official documents, they call this colony by its Imperial name, Nicu Quintus.
Which enrages the La’heng. But they can’t show it. Instead, they follow orders and hoard their hatred. When we work
Change on this scale takes time.
Until we devise a solution, we’ll utilize guerilla strikes. Make this an uncomfortable place for Nicuan nobles to holiday. It’s not an ideal solution, but in a perfect universe, this never would’ve come to pass. Humans wouldn’t think they knew best—that their ways are superior—and it gives them the right to destroy somebody else’s culture.
Odd.
As I sprint from the scene, I realize I’ve usedthat pronoun for humans, as if I’m
not
one. I won’t think about that disconnect now. I have to focus on eluding the centurions pounding the pavement behind us. They’re fanning out to search the area, confident they’ll have the culprits in custody soon.
I slow enough for one of them to get a look at my back. A shout goes up from the centurion, and he fires. I slide around the corner of a building as chaos escalates. Breaking cover, Loras and Vel shoot back, but clumsily, permitting the two centurions to close. They think this fight will be over quickly.
And it will—for them.
As the centurions round the corner, I launch myself at one on the left and take out his kneecap with a ferocious kick. The patella pops, and his leg won’t hold him. I’m on him in a second. But then, if I meant to kill him, he’d already be dead.
I jab the hypo into his neck.
Bastard. I hope it hurts.
Within seconds, it’s lights out. Vel subdues the other one, then doses him. He hefts one; Loras shoulders the other, and I cut a path through the alley to where our shuttle awaits. Once Vel chucks his hostage in back, he slides into the pilot chair. He passed the pilot-training course. As of now, he has the credentials to fly any class of ship from shuttle all the way to M, which I secretly think stands for massive. The centurions are key to the next step in our plan: infiltration.
I tap the comm. “Mission accomplished. Red team Alpha, meet us at base.”
Before the attack commenced, we packed up and moved on. They’ll find no sign of where we’ve gone should they find the house. From here on out, we work from the hidden ops center or in the field.
“Acknowledged.” Zeeka’s voice is unmistakable, mostly because I picked out the tone of his vocalizer.
“You got away clean?” I ask.
I can’t help mothering him a little. I didn’t want to send him with the crew to plant the charges, but he feels like he has something to prove. Everyone else has been with me longer; they’ve done more. We have
history
, he says, like that’s a bad thing. But I guess you can expect that attitude from a young male of any species.
Zeeka replies, “No witnesses. RTA out.”
I glance back, checking on Loras and the prisoners. “They’re still unconscious?”
He inclines his head. “Should be for a while yet.”
As Vel powers up the shuttle, he says, “Strap in, Sirantha. Drones have locked on with instructions to prevent any air traffic by any means necessary.”
I comply, then flick a switch to take control of the guns. This is a sweet ride; without Dina, it took longer to whip it into shape, but Vel did a good job, and Zeeka was eager to learn. Vel finished it up last week, with Sasha and Z assisting.
“On ’em.”
Behind me, a captive whimpers, trapped in narcotic dreams. I don’t feel sorry for him. He made his choices. We all do.
From conversation with March, I recall that most Nicuan centurions start as mercs. After ten turns in service to the same noble, they receive a permanent assignment, a rank, and a retirement fund. That’s rarer than it sounds because so many soldiers die on Nicuan; they don’t survive long enough to become centurions, let alone get a cushy post on one of the colonies. In all official documents, they call this colony by its Imperial name, Nicu Quintus.
Which enrages the La’heng. But they can’t show it. Instead, they follow orders and hoard their hatred. When we work
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