The Starhawk Chronicles Read online

  Even in the darkness, Jesse could see that he had been wrong. A patch of blackened, scorched fur on the Raakshasian’s side told Jesse that one of his shots had indeed scored. From the labored sound of Feros’s breathing, it must have been more than just a glancing blow. “Kahrrr said to keep you alive forrr him,” the Raakshasian mewled, extending his claws as he scrutinized Jesse. “Did not say you had to be unharrrmed.”

  Jesse did a quick scan of the street. One of his pistols lay meters away, behind Feros. The other was out of sight completely. “Kahr wants me? Tell him to come and get me himself.”

  Feros leaped. Jesse dove back to the ground, the Raakshasian sailing overhead. Claws raked Jesse’s back, shredding through his jacket, but not deep enough to cut flesh. Jesse rolled to his feet again, his hand gripping his pistol as he came back up.

  Feros was on him before he could raise the weapon. One vice-like paw wrapped around his gun wrist and kept his arm extended so Jesse could not fire at him. Feros wrapped one leg around behind Jesse’s and flipped him onto the ground, hard onto his back. The air burst from Jesse’s lungs with the impact and he saw starbursts before his eyes. Feros held him down, his hot, rancid breath choking Jesse as he struggled to breathe.

  Feros grinned down at him, his face so close to Jesse’s that his whiskers tickled Jesse’s nose. “Should rrrip yourrr thrrroat out. But die too quick that way. Maybe slit belly open. Take longer to die. Then Kahrrr can still play with you.”

  Feros growled low in his throat and Jesse felt his weight shift for the blow. Taking advantage of the movement, Jesse brought his forehead up into the cat-creature’s snout, at the same time lifting a knee into Feros’s groin. Feros shrieked and leapt to his feet, staggering backward, one hand swatting at his nose, the other cupping his testicles.

  Raising the Colt, Jesse fired a burst through the Raakshasian’s chest. Feros stopped pawing, gaping stupidly at the smoldering hole in his chest. As he raised his eyes from his wound, Jesse feared the creature would still leap at him. Feros took two tottering steps forward before dropping to his knees. With a half-hearted swipe at Jesse, he fell face down in the dirt.

  Jesse stayed on the ground, still trying to slow his breathing, staring at the body for a long moment. “Sorry, pal. I guess I always just considered myself more of a dog person.”

  *

  Stepping through the shattered doorway of an abandoned housing unit, K’Tran had to suppress a shudder of dread. He wished he had brought some kind of illuminator with him, but odds were that it would just help to make him an easier target.

  Though he would never admit it to any of his companions, K’Tran feared dark, unfamiliar places. Ever since the day Thom died, he hated the darkness. There were even times when he was alone in his own familiar and comfortable cabin aboard the Starhawk that the darkness became too much for him and he would end up sleeping with a light on.

  Broken glass crunched under his boots as he entered the darkened entrance of the house. He could feel eyes, both real and imagined, following his progress.

  You’re being an old fool, he cursed himself, pressing further into the house. You can’t keep jumping at shadows your whole life.

  Beyond the main living area and kitchenette was a small corridor, off of which were three doors. In front of the closest door was a jumble of splintered wood. Looking to the ceiling, he saw that there had been a trap door with folding access ladder leading to the roof. It had been smashed inward from the outside, two rungs from the ladder hanging uselessly just out of arm’s reach. A shaft of moonlight from above created a pillar of soft light in the center of the hall. Here’s where they came in, K’Tran thought. Anyone caught in any of these rooms would have had a hard time getting clear before those dirt bags were on them.

  He opened the closest door leading into the bath area, a room so small it would have been impossible for even a small child to take refuge in, so he passed it by.

  The next door opened into what was apparently a nursery. Stuffed animals lay in tatters everywhere, fuzzy limbs ripped from bodies. A crib in one corner lay in pieces on the floor like so much firewood. A mural on the wall depicting a sunny scene with various cartoon characters was scarred with deep gouges from claws and bladed weapons.

  Seeing such destruction was worse for K’Tran sicker than seeing a dozen mutilated bodies. He prayed to all the gods in the universe that the child that had occupied the room was not a victim.

  The third and final door had holes burned into it from various laser weapons and still gave off the faint scent of ozone and charred wood. It swung open with the slightest squeal on its hinges, banging against the wall a little too loudly. Pulling back into the shadows, expecting some kind of response, K’Tran waited.

  When there was no immediate reaction, he stepped into the room. Moonlight streamed through the window on the far wall, its pane blasted outwards. The covers on the bed were rumpled and half strewn across the floor, as though someone had scurried over the bed in an escape attempt. Aside from that, the room was in relatively good order. A closet door stood open to his right and K’Tran approached cautiously, though even in the pale light he could see that there was nothing more sinister than shadows lurking within.

  It was the shadow that passed over him that gave him pause.

  There was the barest flicker of motion, but it was enough. Spinning on his heel, K’Tran swung his rifle muzzle in the direction of the window. Whatever had passed before the window had chosen not to stand around and investigate, but something in the pit of his stomach told K’Tran that it had not gone far.

  He rejected the notion of actually going to the window and peering out. The window frame would highlight him like a target in the crosshairs of the Starhawk’s gunnery chair. Instead, he backed out of the room, clinging to the shadows along the wall. He turned only when he had gone all the way through the house and reached the front door.

  K’Tran risked a quick look to either side of the street before stepping out of the house. The street looked as deserted as it had when he entered and he found some of his bravado returning as he abandoned the darkened house and stepped onto the front porch.

  The sound of boards creaking from the awning above gave him a full two seconds warning before a dark form suddenly swept down at him. Booted feet crashed into his chest, knocking the breath from his lungs and sending him flying back into the house again. Landing atop a small table, he slid halfway across it before it finally collapsed under his weight. The impact of hitting the floor expelled the little breath left in his lungs, and he lay on the ground gasping and writhing like a beached fish.

  He struggled to sit up, taking in breath in small gulps. The lack of air caused his vision to go black around the edges. Framed in the doorway, he could just see the being that attacked him.

  His assailant watched him for a moment before stooping to clear the doorframe. At first, upon seeing his attacker’s great height, K’Tran thought it might have been one of the Garrakis brothers, or even that idiot Simadrian, Trank. However, as the being stepped further into the room, K’Tran saw that it was too tall for either species. Straightening to its full height, K’Tran knew right away what it was. The frail, skeletal body and dark topknot told him for sure that his attacker was a Chinsharra.

  But, who, K’Tran wondered through the static clouding his brain. There had been no mention of any Chinsharra in Guildmaster Nord’s message, and K’Tran could think of none that ranked high within the Nexus. Then again, he was having trouble even thinking right now.

  The Chinsharra muttered something in his own language. K’Tran could not tell whether he was talking to him or itself. Sure don’t sound like an invite to tea. I know that much.

  K’Tran staggered backwards in a clumsy crab walk. His rifle had gone flying from his hand when the Chinsharra struck him. Shards of glass and slivers of broken wood sliced into his palms as he retreated. He pushed the pain away. Bleed a little now, he thought, or bleed a whole lot more later if this guy gets his p
aws on me.

  When his back touched the cabinets along one wall, he pulled himself to his feet. His legs still unsteady beneath him, he supported himself on the counter top. The Chinsharra made no further advances, choosing to stand near the doorway, blocking escape.

  As K’Tran slowly made his way along the counter away from the Chinsharra, he reached down, pulling his Bowie knife from his boot. He held it before him as if he was brandishing a four-foot broadsword, flicking the knife back and forth, daring the Chinsharra to make a move.

  The Chinsharra cocked its head to one side, regarding K’Tran’s newfound weapon. It made a chuffing sound—K’Tran assumed it was a laugh of some sort—and produced a crescent shaped blade three times the length of K’Tran’s weapon.

  K’Tran glanced from the Chinsharra’s blade and back to his own, then surreptitiously slid his knife back into his boot, sighing in disappointment when the Chinsharra did not do likewise.

  His escape route to the front of the dwelling blocked, K’Tran made a dash for the hall. Leaping over the piles of debris strewn in his path, he cleared the doorway into the hall and heard the Chinsharra starting after him. The light coming through the battered hatch in the ceiling beckoned to him, and he leapt, making a wild grab for the remains of the ladder.

  To his surprise, he had correctly calculated the jump and his hands wrapped around the lowest remaining rung. Pulling himself up, he was just levering himself through the splintered frame of the hatch when he heard the whoosh of the Chinsharra’s blade beneath him, barely missing his feet as he clambered up onto the roof.

  Stumbling as he came up into the cool night air, he rolled down the slight incline, coming to a stop against a vent pipe protruding through the metal sheeting of the roof. Head spinning from the adrenaline rush, K’Tran looked back the way he had come.

  The Chinsharra had already made it onto the roof. Again, it stood there, regarding him in silence. Sighing, K’Tran waved to his opponent. “C’mon big fella,” he said. “No time like the present.”

  He reached down and got a good hold on the cone-shaped cap to the vent pipe, pulling it free, holding it in one hand like a makeshift gladiators shield. He withdrew his knife from his boot once more.

  The Chinsharra eased forward, knife dangling casually from one hand. A grin spread across his lipless face. “It is an honor to be able to kill you this day,” the being said in heavily accented Basic.

  “I ain’t dead yet, pal.”

  The Chinsharra lashed out with his blade. K’Tran ducked, feeling the wind of its passing overhead. He brought his vent cap up just as the Chinsharra brought the blade black down. The weapon hit the shield with a loud clang, hard enough to send a fiery lance of pain down K’Tran’s arm, and he nearly dropped it. He slashed upwards with his knife, but the Chinsharra bounded nimbly out of the way.

  K’Tran lunged with the knife. The Chinsharra sidestepped, catching K’Tran’s arm by the wrist as he started to stumble forward. It looked down at him with a leer, and K’Tran rammed the vent cap into its face, taking delight in the sickening crunch he heard as he broke several of the Chinsharra’s teeth. It released its grip on his arm, staggering staggered backwards.

  The two regarded each other in silence, the Chinsharra taking advantage of the pause to spit out a glob of blood and broken teeth. Even in the dim light, K’Tran could see the look of animal hatred on his face.

  The Chinsharra charged. K’Tran staggered back, but not quick enough. The Chinsharra’s blade grazed him across his bare chest before the tip of it caught in his vest. The momentum of the Chinsharra’s swing lifted K’Tran off his feet and flung him several feet before the blade tore loose from his vest and he hit the roof hard, his back slamming into the vent pipe once more.

  K’Tran looked up to see the Chinsharra wiping the blood from his blade and smearing it across its chest. K’Tran pushed himself up to a crouch as the being stood over him.

  The Chinsharra made no pretense at any execution speech. It raised its blade high over its head, preparing to bring it down in one swift movement to separate K’Tran’s head from his neck.

  As the Chinsharra moved, so did K’Tran. He threw himself forward like a sprinter at the starting chocks, wrapping his arms around the Chinsharra’s legs. Lifting, rolling onto his back at the same time, he dragged the being over with him.

  The Chinsharra made no cry as it came down atop the open vent pipe. The shaft of the vent impaled him, protruding through his back by six centimeters by the time he came to rest. He sucked in a strangled gasp of breath once, and then lay still.

  K’Tran rolled out from beneath his opponent, gasping for breath of his own. He sat up, probing the laceration across his chest. The wound was not deep, but it hurt like hell. He would have to see if he could find a medical kit of some kind in the house below.

  Leaning over the Chinsharra’s body, he quickly went through the ritual of collecting its genetic template and disposing of the body. Though not on Guildmaster Nord’s original list, K’Tran was sure that this Chinsharra must have some kind of record. He would not have been the least bit surprised if he had a death mark on him already as well.

  As the body disintegrated to ash before him, K’Tran picked up and examined the alien’s blade. Make an interesting addition to Jesse’s collection, he thought, already picturing a spot on the wall in the training room. He nearly dropped the weapon when a voice startled him.

  “Not bad for an old man,” said the figure standing near the opening in the roof. The short stature and bald head immediately told K’Tran who it was even though he could make out no facial features in the pale light of the moon.

  “You don’t have to worry about his brother coming after you now, anyway,” Khyber stated. “Kahr took care of Gall a few days back.”

  K’Tran found himself thankful for the Harkonian’s admission. He knew of only one Chinsharra with a brother named Gall and that was the infamous Charris Bu’kel. He grinned at the new arrival. “Rahk’s found himself some Chinsharra to replace you Harkonian lapdogs, is that it?”

  The Harkonian stiffened at the jibe. His voice became a harsh rasp as he replied. “Harkonians are nobody’s lapdogs, Human.” Khyber spat the last word as if it left a foul taste in his mouth. “You got lucky with Bu’kel. You won’t get so lucky with me.”

  K’Tran slowly raised himself to a standing position. “I suppose we’ll see about that.”

  With a shout that took the Harkonian by surprise, K’Tran charged at Khyber, lowering his head and grabbing the Harkonian around the waist as they contacted. His momentum carried them both over the edge of the opening in the roof, and they tumbled back into the darkness below.

  Chapter Twenty

  Mopping sweat from her brow with the sleeve of her tunic Kayla let out a deep, breathy sigh. Two more Nexus members lay unconscious at her feet. These two had not been death-marked and she saw no point in doing more damage than necessary. As it was, a stun from her taser staff, even only on medium setting, was enough to fry the synapses of most beings. They would awaken with nasty headaches the next day.

  Kneeling over the nearest one, she pulled a pair of binders from her belt pack. “Sorry boys,” she said. “Guess I’m just too much woman for you to handle.”

  From somewhere in the darkness ahead of her came the sound laughter; a woman’s laugh, but the sound bore no humor. Rising slowly to a battle stance, holding her taser staff before her in defense, Kayla searched the shadows for the source.

  Her dark form melting from the shadows, Jahrna strode into view. Her midnight black hair and leather outfit almost a perfect camouflage until she decided to make her presence known. “All women are too much for men to handle, little kitten,” she said, sauntering close, making no threatening moves.

  Kayla found herself taking a cautious step backwards; her fingers playing at the staff’s power switch. Stories of Jahrna’s brutality ran through her mind. If even half of them were true, she was perhaps the most vicious of the Nexus Gang m
embers, more so than even the Garrakis brothers were.

  “Actually,” Jahrna said as she approached, looking down on the two forms sprawled on the ground. She kept a discrete distance, but being almost half a foot taller than Kayla, would have no trouble reaching out and grabbing at her. “I never did like these two anyway. You dishonor yourself by letting them live. What say we put them out of our misery right now, eh, little kitten?”

  Kayla bristled at the term of familiarity, making no attempt to hide the scowl that crossed her face. She powered up her taser staff, but kept her stance casual. “Do myself dishonor? Like you did those tourists on Arkus Prime?”

  Jahrna gave a lazy wave of one hand in dismissal. “Oh, you know how the media never gets the facts straight.” There was the slightest hint of a giggle. “I sent them on to a better place.”

  Kayla brought her staff up to full charge. “Which is where I’m sending you next, you sick bitch,” she said. “If anyone deserves to be put down, it’s you.”

  Jahrna gave her a bored look, but took a few steps back anyway. “I was hoping you’d be up to the challenge, little one,” From her hip, she unhooked a coiled whip. “I haven’t had a decent plaything in a while.”

  Kayla switched her gaze from Jahrna to the whip in her hand, and though it was only a momentary distraction, it was all Jahrna needed. Rather than use the whip, she flung herself directly at Kayla. Kayla brought her staff up to block, but Jahrna was already slamming into her.

  Kayla landed hard on her back, Jahrna atop her. The force of the blow stunned Kayla, and before she could regain her senses, Jahrna somersaulted from on top of her, her feet landing inches from Kayla’s head. As Kayla struggled to rise, Jahrna used her whip as a garrote, twisting it around Kayla’s throat.