God's Dogs Book 2

It sounds mercenary and it smacks of rats leaving the sinking ship. But get real, when everyone is bailing out, you don’t want to be the last man standing.

Robbie Fowler

The response was as expected to a large degree. The Congress worlds benefitting from the insurance payments were in no hurry to end that revenue stream. They blocked Tau-14's bid to interdict the Cass system by calling for a committee to study the problem. The diplomatic contact with the Cass clan leaders, though, was livelier.

Consul Singh and a few aides, accompanied by Gautama’s team were assigned to deliver the ambassadorial message to the nine clan leaders on the planet. Each controlled a geographic area, and each specialized in a certain type of endeavor.

Even so, they were all mercenaries and went through a central selection and training process that was merit-based. The clans bid on the graduates of the training school, and once ‘bought,’ the graduates began working their way out of indentured servitude. This served as a right-of-passage into the mercenary ranks, and once the bill was paid, full citizenship was gained.

What passed for religion was battle-oriented, as Quinn’s team discovered during the bardo ritual. However, the Cass who were not mercenaries, which was the majority, followed a humorless religion of predestination and ancestor worship.

The society was somewhat feudal, in that the clan leaders were equivalent to regional warlords, but the ordinary people formed corporations to pursue various industries. Those were subsidized by the clans. As such, the Cass took care of their own race, but all the other races that lived with them were second-class citizens, and there was a lengthy code of conduct that did protect them from outright exploitation. As such, the society the Cass built was highly structured and workable.

“In position,” C-Sharp, the sniper, reported from a rooftop overlooking the clan headquarters of their first stop. She had infiltrated before dawn to maximize the stealth/camo feature of her armor. She set up on the nearest building to the headquarters building, which was still five hundred yards away.

Gautama clicked an acknowledgment and told Singh, “Let’s see how this goes.”

They climbed out of their rented vehicle and approached the gate of a sprawling compound in the medium-sized city. The architecture was, what Micki, the solidly built Latina called ‘uninspired utilitarian.’ Blockish and unadorned buildings set in neat rows was the theme throughout the city.

The compound followed that motif with a gated wall enclosing rectangular, two storey buildings.

The gate guards lounged outside on benches but alerted when Singh’s group approached.

Singh, in a blue robe, told them, “I am Singh, and I have an appointment with Clan Leader Rixal.”

The Cass were a swarthy, squat race, reticent and xenophobic. The three guards wore their version of light armor that was a dark copper in color. They carried rifles on their backs, sidearms and melee weapons at their waists.

The apparent leader spoke, “You can’t go in there with weapons.”

Gautama, Micki, and Saul, also in light armor with the helmets retracted, stood loosely around Singh and his two associates.

“We have diplomatic status,” Singh said with a tight smile. “Please announce our arrival to Clan Leader Rixal.”

The guard spoke into a wrist-comm. Then he opened the gate without another word. Singh’s group walked into the compound. It was devoid of greenery – hundreds of acres of concrete slab, dotted with barracks, mess hall, admin office, and apartments.

Across the yard, mercenaries drilled, workers hurried between buildings, and hovercars transported people. The burnt copper theme was also repeated in uniforms and insignias on the vehicles.

The main building was a short walk from the gate, and they entered through open double doors. Inside a squad of guards led them to a ground floor audience room. The drab, bleak décor, which was all they had seen so far, gave way to an overdone trophy room. Banners, pennants, mounted heads of animals, weapons of various kinds adorned the walls. A hardwood floor replaced the concrete ones, and a dais dominated the few tables and chairs before it.

Clan Leader Rixal entered through a side door and approached. “Consul Singh. You say you’re on urgent business.”

Singh stepped to a table and opened a folder. “Our case against Clan Odic is here for your perusal.” He offered Rixal a standard Congress tablet. “Before we instigate more precipitous action against them, we wanted to give the world leaders here the opportunity to handle this problem.”

Rixal glanced at the tablet but didn’t pick it up. “Their captives from the gas giant?”

“Children, actually, clan leader, that they torture to make them compliant.”

“It’s none of my business what they do.”

“It is our business. We will return these children to their people. The question that remains is how we accomplish this task.”

Rixal’s close-set eyes narrowed and he glanced at the Coyotes. “An attack on our world would be ill-advised.”

“Hence our appeal to your world leaders to fix this problem.”

“Who else have you contacted?”

“You’re the first on our list,” Singh answered. “Yours is the most powerful clan, and with your support we hope to conclude the negotiation with Clan Odic quickly.”

Rixal snorted. “What if I just take you hostage? It would make for a different negotiation.”

“That would involve the Congress, as we are here with diplomatic authority and protections.”

“I could just hand you over to Odic. You could negotiate directly with him.”

“As you mentioned, that would be ill-advised.”

Rixal was impressed with Singh’s calm, and the Coyotes stood quiet – no nervous shuffling or obvious signs they were getting ready for something.

His five guards were fanning out behind the group in case Rixal decided to take them hostage. Rixal studied these fighters and didn’t know what to do. He knew they completely commandeered a destroyer, but that fact was one he couldn’t believe. He continued to observe them and let the competing impulses battle within him.

Saul was the team’s empath. He was a wiry descendant of North African tribes. His ebony skin was smooth across delicate facial features. He felt the indecision in Rixal and patiently waited for it to resolve.

C-Sharp’s voice came over the tac-net. “Got movement. A couple of cars and a platoon of troops converging on the main house.”

Singh was tied into the net and offered a grim smile to Rixal. ’Your chance for survival is approaching zero, clan leader.”

“And you insult me with your offer,” Rixal shot back. “The Cass do not stab each other in the back.”

“Your history of internecine warfare would suggest otherwise. Especially so when the reward is resembles what we are offering.”

“What reward?”

“Not only will we return the children to their home, we will also blacklist Clan Odic. They will be bankrupt in a year.”

“Our allies wouldn’t allow that.”

“When the story comes out, it would be political suicide for them to oppose it. Clan Odic is finished – one way or another.”

Saul nearly smiled as Rixal’s indecision swung in more severe arcs within him. Then the bubbling predatory instincts surged from below to break the increasing contradictory tension. He was preparing to fight. Saul moved.

Coming from Rixal’s right side, Saul lunged with his left foot forward and clothes-lined the clan leader with a right ridge-hand to his throat and wrapped him up. Pulling a knife from his left leg sheath, Saul positioned the point behind Rixal’s ear.

“We would prefer to leave without violence,” Saul spoke into the same ear.

Gautama and Micki turned to face the guards and switched on their dimensional shields. Singh and his two aides positioned themselves behind the Coyotes.

Saul was monitoring Rixal’s confusion. The Cass didn’t value life as others did, and Saul taking Rixal hostage was a humiliation the clan leader might end his own life over.

The guards opened fire at some signal from Rixal that Saul didn't see. Gautama and Micki returned fire. Saul punched the knife through to Rixal’s brain.

“Outside,” Gautama ordered. “C-Sharp, do your thing.”

When a Coyote team entered combat, the implant A.I.s formed their own battle-net where they weren’t restricted by human time scales. They ran through scenarios and constantly updated options much faster than a human could compute. This was the ultimate expression of the symbiotic relationship that both humans and A.I.s developed over time. A.I.s processed data faster than humans; humans acted on data faster than A.I.s, as their decisions were more intuitive. As A.I.s achieved sentience, they saw no need to change this symbiotic relationship. Both humans and A.I.s benefitted. In the Coyote network of sentient implant A.I.s, one other feature was they linked their battle-net, when it came online, to any nearby Coyotes and their ships.

[Quinn, Gautama’s team is under fire. We’re his closest relief,] Shiva reported.

“Captain,” Quinn said from his bridge station.

“Ship is triangulating,” the captain replied, as he too had received the battle-net information from Satya. “We’re eight minutes out.”

Eight minutes out was a continent away from where Satya was scanning for evidence of the People in Odic’s domain from low orbit. All the ships, in fact, were seeking to confirm the data the Guardians gave them.

The team donned light armor and hustled to the assault shuttle, which was prepping for launch. The team ran up the ramp and secured themselves in combat harnesses.

“Cleared to launch,” Satya’s voice came over the tac-net.

“Launching,” the pilot replied, and the shuttle streaked for the ground.

Quinn, then, briefed the team, “Gautama’s team, along with Singh’s team, is taking fire at clan leader Rixal’s HQ.”

“Guess plan A is a bust,” Moss observed.

“Without the ship to boost comms, we won’t know the situation until we hit the ground,” Quinn went on. “The current situation is the main group is outside, and C-Sharp is on a rooftop picking off leaders.”

“How long until their shields fail?” Pax asked.

“Not long, and the diplomats don’t have dimensional shields. So we’ll drop from a thousand feet and direct the shuttle’s attack run.”

“What about their ship?” River asked.

“At the spaceport,” Quinn said. “Wylie’s team will deal with that.”

They released their restraints and donned the AG backpacks and prepared for a hot drop.

Soon the ramp opened, and they jumped out. Leading the group, River arrowed toward the ground. Her HUD populated with the tactical situation as she came within range.

The immediate threat was from the barracks. A company of troops aboard armored carriers was racing to the battle. The battle site was quiet but littered with bodies of the platoon and the wrecks of the two vehicles outside the HQ. Gautama was using the cars as cover from the sporadic fire coming from the headquarters building.

“AV1,” River called to their shuttle. “Take out the advancing APCs northeast of our location and land on Gautama’s beacon for pickup.”

“Strafing run and pickup,” the pilot confirmed. “Twenty seconds to contact.”

Quinn said, “River, help out C-Sharp. We’ll get you on our way out.”

River clicked a response and altered her course to land on the rooftop of a building to the southeast of the HQ.

The rest of them swooped in near Gautama’s position and assaulted the building. Because it was mostly an administration facility, there were few fighters. Those few were harassing the diplomatic team from windows overlooking the main entrance.

Using their anti-grav packs to hover, Quinn, Moss, and Pax shot at those windows and breached through to deal with any other threats.

River landed and canceled her stealth mode. C-Sharp didn’t look up from her firing position but said, “The ones coming out the back are non-combatants. Your boys are taking care of the combatants.”

Just then the shuttle began its run, and the enemy line abreast of eight APCs blew one after another.

C-Sharp said, “Looks like they’re scrambling fighters to the north.”

“Good catch,” River said.

“Satya,” River called the ship, “drop a rod on the airbase.”

“Dropping,” Satya reported. Then the ship told her, “There are a few combat shuttles at the civilian spaceport that are powering up.”

“What’s Wylie’s ETA?”

“He’s five minutes out.”

“Launch AV2 to neutralize their shuttles and let Wylie take tactical command when he arrives.”

“Aye, aye.”

Then there was the explosion and mushroom cloud indicative of an orbital kinetic strike at the fighter base. The rod dropped was actually a rail gun round fired as an orbital bombardment weapon. No ships had launched from the airfield, and that threat was neutralized.

“Coming in,” AV1 told the group on the ground as the stealth shield canceled from the ship. It flared behind the destroyed cars and dropped its ramp.

Gautama’s group jogged aboard as Quinn’s group disengaged and flew out the windows to follow.

“Headed your way, River,” the pilot said.