Torkel's Chosen (12 page)

Chapter 17

Rydak’s intel put
the slavers in the upper level of the two story, abandoned plastic factory. Plastic
wasn’t considered worth the cost of mass production with more useable and
sustaining products on the market available for household and commercial use.
This place would sit empty until someone decided to move forward and demo it.

The low warble of
voices coming from the small office down the hall meant they were in the right
place. Torkel stayed low in the lead and hand signaled Jaron. His team lead
nodded and ducked to the left of the corridor. Another hand signal and Geile and
Gregir broke off to go right. Arak met his gaze across the hall and Torkel
nodded. They’d be together when they busted down the door where the supposed
slavers were meeting and negotiating prices with potential buyers.

“On my count,”
Torkel murmured. “One, two…” He adjusted his weapon and angled it up. “Three.”

Torkel hit the
door and rolled to the side as Arak rolled in the opposite direction. Someone
screamed and a laser blast fired above his head, hitting the paint-stained
wall. Glass shattered as Geile, Gregir and Jaron came through the back window
leading into the office. The three Marenians jumped to their feet, kicking the
round tables over to use for cover while the five potential buyers dove to the
floor, hands over their head.

It was five against
three but the slavers didn’t seem to care. Torkel kept his back up against the
wall and aimed for one of the screaming men on the floor. “Jutak warriors, drop
your weapons,” he yelled.

One of the
sniveling men put his hands out. His yellow skin turned green. A chamele. “Don’t
shoot, please.”

“On the floor,
hands behind your head,” Torkel ordered.

The buyers weren’t
the ones they had to worry about. Torkel made a gesture for Arak who nodded he
understood.

“Jutak scum!” One
of the Marenian called out.

Torkel turned in
his direction and the dark-haired Marenian smiled maliciously, aimed for the
crying buyer and shot him in the head.

“Fuck,” Torkel
gritted out as return laser fire blasted across the room from Geile and Gregir.
There were only four buyers left thanks to the large pool of blood forming
under the chamele’s head. He felt no remorse for the death since the man was
here to purchase illegal sex slaves but the Marenians actions pointed to this
not going down peacefully.

“Drop your
weapons!” Torkel repeated.

Jaron slid closer.
Arak rose, making himself a target and fired. The buyers screamed and scrambled
from the center of the room, seeking shelter. One of the Marenians, a big
bastard with a twisted horn, roared and recklessly started shooting at the buyers.

Jaron swore and
fired back, attempting cover for them but by the screams he knew it was too
late. They’d killed the four men.

“Now!” Jaron said
in his ear bud.

Geile and Gregir
erupted adding firepower to the amount lighting up the small room.

A man screamed in
agony.

“Save one,” Torkel
commanded. “We need one to take back.”

Arak cursed.
“Thanks, Torkel. Wish you’d have said something sooner.”

Torkel fought a
grim smile.

The remaining
Marenian kicked out a back door and fled down the hall in a bid to escape.

“Don’t lose him,”
Torkel called as he gave chase with Arak.

Jaron voice came
through his ear bud. “I’m heading him off from the back.”

Torkel knew the
Marenian focused on him and Arak so he had to give Jaron time to get into
position. A burst of fire rained behind his head.

“Drop
your
weapon, traitor.” The Marenian stopped at the end of the long hallway and aimed
at Torkel.

Torkel ducked into
a narrow alcove as laser fire came his way, narrowly missing him.

A crash then Jaron
yelled. Torkel kicked up his pace. The destroyed door hung from its hinges. He
and Arak jumped through the entrance at the same time. Abandoned tables and lab
equipment filled the room.

Torkel half
crawled half ran behind a low counter. He fired in the direction of the slaver.
A low grunt then groan echoed through the room. Not sure if he’d made any kill
shots, Torkel peered around the corner.

“Clear,” Jaron
called out.

Geile, Gregir and
Arak converged in the center of the room. Torkel approached as Jaron struggled
to subdue the one living Marenian. The slaver with the twisted horn. When he
spotted Torkel he went crazy, shouting obscenities.

Arak walked over
and lashed him over the head with the butt of his laser. The slaver slumped to
the floor unconscious. Jaron laughed outright. “Don’t kill mine just because
you killed yours.”

Geile shook his
head and Gregir crouched by Jaron and helped with the bonds they’d brought. Satisfaction
filled Torkel. “What about the slaves?”

Jaron shook his
head. “Spotted cages downstairs.”

A sinking feeling
hit Torkel. “And?”

“Empty,” Jaron
answered.

Torkel lit the air
with curses.

***

Exhaustion weighed
on Torkel as he pushed at the sweat soaked hair from his face but the night
wasn’t over. They needed answers and fast.

“Has he talked?”
Torkel glared through the two-way window at the prisoner cuffed to the single
chair in the detainment room.

Arak had worked
the Marenian over while questioning him. Surprisingly, he’d remained tight
lipped and hadn’t revealed anything they could use to hunt down Lothar.

Faruk cursed.
“Nothing. I think it’s time to let Kyele have a go at him.”

Torkel had to
agree. He’d hoped the prisoner would break before sending in the man who rode
the edge of danger on and off missions. “Fine. Let’s see what Kyele can get out
of him. Although, Arak usually makes groan men cry.”

He’d seen it
happen too many times to count. One flash of Arak’s canines and claws usually
had a prisoner spewing a wealth of information to the half Enotian.

“I’ll page him.
He, Jaron and Rydak planned to go over every step of the mission tonight and
see if there’s any hint on how the Marenians knew to move their cargo just minutes
before we arrived.”

Torkel nodded. It
puzzled him too. Their teams never had problems in the past yet now they
couldn’t catch a break no matter how much stealth they employed. No one should
have known about the time change on the critical mission.

He stared at the
Marenian they’d managed to capture. Arlo. His profile in the wanted system
database had given them his name and a load of charges but the slaver was
surprisingly tight lipped. Maybe he needed the right motivation to talk.

“I’m going in.
Send Kyele if I’m not finished.”

Faruk looked at
him askance. “You think he’ll spill to the unit leader of the Jutak warriors
his people hate?”

He knew Marenians
had a hard on for him. Torkel hoped to connect with him on that level. He
strode through the doors and entered the detainment room knowing Faruk could
hear and see everything discussed.

At Torkel’s
entrance, Arlo jerked in his restraints. His lips curled in a snarl. “Look who
decided to show. Traitor to your own people.”

“Slavery is
illegal off Marenia,” Torkel responded and leaned against the wall opposite the
lone chair where Arlo was bound to his seat. He was very aware of how Marenians
viewed him and his role with the Jutak warriors.

“The government
would make anything for profit illegal if they could,” Arlo sneered as he
leaned his head back in the chair. His black eyes burned with the desire to
strike at Torkel in some way. “You let them mutilate you. Have you no pride?”

Torkel let a
taunting smile play about his mouth and rubbed the smooth skin at his temples.
“Yeah, kinda nice that my parents cared enough about me to have the horns
removed.” He folded his arms over his chest. “This way I don’t have to walk
around with a reminder of my unfortunate heritage greeting me every morning
when I gaze in the mirror.”

Arlo roared and
rocked in the chairs as he struggled with the bonds. Torkel didn’t worry. The
cloth-covered, steel ropes were meant to hold an angry Marenian in full battle
mode with his muscles amped. Torkel had personally tested them.

When he settled,
Torkel shook his head as if disappointed. “See. That’s why I’m glad to claim
Enotia as my home.”

“Your birth mother
should have drowned you instead of leaving you out with the garbage.”

In his youth
Torkel had questioned that himself. Marenians weren’t known for mercy. Not only
had his mother not drowned him, she or his father had left him on the peaceful,
loving Enotia. A world full of people who valued children.

As an adult, he
didn’t worry much any more about the why and how of his life. Torkel shrugged
his shoulders. “I’m here now and you’re going to be locked up for a long time
unless you have something of interest to report about Lothar’s whereabouts.”

Arlo snorted then
chuckled. “Don’t you have it all figured out, Jutak?”

“Why don’t you
tell me?” he straightened from the wall and approached Arlo. “The government
can be convinced to go easy on you. Maybe twenty instead of a forty year stint
on the Dorlo prison colony.” Torkel tossed out the name of the roughest penal
system they had. The one where Arlo would surely be sent for his crimes against
the planetary alliance and violating slave laws in the Catlon area.

“Not everyone on
your precious Enotia loves having a Marenian on their elite Jutak forces,” Arlo
taunted.

Torkel let the
lazy smile play about his mouth. “Names, Arlo or you’re just flirting with me.”

The Marenian
turned red and jerked uselessly in the bindings. “Your days are numbered. When
it’s all over you’ll be the one dead. Or maybe they’ll let you live. To
suffer.” He relaxed in the chair with a laugh.

Torkel played over
the statement, looking for the answer to the hidden meaning. Arlo wanted to
tell. The urge to talk gleamed in his midnight eyes. He wanted to reveal who
the leak was if only to rub it in Torkel’s face. “I guess you’ll miss all my
struggling, seeing as how you’ll be spending your days at Dorlo.”

“Your government
and your laws can kiss my ass.”

“And a hairy one
it is, I’m sure.”

Torkel laughed at
the rejoinder and turned as Kyele strolled in flipping that damn knife of his
in the air.

“I’m told you
needed me to see what we could get out of the Marenian.” Kyele kept his eyes on
Arlo as he spoke to Torkel.

The Marenian stilled.
Torkel understood why. Danger circled the airspace around Kyele. The room
crackled with Kyele’s suppressed energy. His friend took the long way around
the table until he stood directly behind Arlo. He leaned over the Marenian’s
shoulder and set his knife on the edge of the table. Inches from Arlo’s reach.

Arlo’s gaze
shifted to the table, his fingers clenched in the ropes.

“I’ll let you have
a go at me with my favorite knife if you answer a few questions my friend and I
have,” Kyele said in a low voice, then straightened and came around the table.

“Jutak bastard,”
Arlo growled.

Kyele tapped a
single finger on the table between the two. “Lothar. Knife. Where is he? When
is he planning to show at the next slave auction?”

Arlo was almost
salivating. He wanted the knife badly. Torkel stared at Kyele but his friend
was in a stare off with the Marenian.

“Send the suare
out and I’ll talk.” Arlo licked his full lips and tipped his head in Torkel’s
direction.

Torkel bit back a
grin at the slur. Suare was Marenian slang for someone that accepted credits
for sex sharing. Name calling never bothered him and he’d heard worst from
other Marenians on raids when they recognized Torkel’s lineage. “I’m out.”

He offered Arlo a
jaunty wave and closed the door behind him, returning to the viewing room with
the two-way mirror.

“Faruk went to his
quarters,” were the first words Jaron muttered, eyes on the two men in the
room. “Kyele’s crazy as all get out.”

Torkel stood
beside him. “He’ll get answers though. Arlo’s dying to match arms with him.”

Jaron turned a
stunned look at him. “You think Kyele’s really going to let him get the knife.”

Torkel shrugged.
“He wouldn’t have offered if he didn’t mean it.” Plus, Torkel had no doubt
who’d win in a match between the two. Kyele was a deadly bastard who didn’t
believe in second chances. Arlo was a fool to think his size gave him an
advantage over the leaner Jutak warrior.

Kyele’s lips
moved. Arlo answered, his legs jittering on the floor. Kyele asked him
something else that had Arlo laughing when he replied. Next Kyele pushed the
knife closer then went behind Arlo to undo the ropes.

“He’s crazy,”
Jaron snapped, running toward the door.

Torkel grabbed his
arm, halting his flight. Arlo snatched the knife up as soon as he was free and
swiped at Kyele who stood within easy reach. One minute his friend was there
and the next he was behind the big Marenian, his arm around Arlo’s throat, the
knife’s edge at his jugular. The only sign of Kyele moving was the fading dark
swirl of black smoke.

“Okay. I’ve never
asked cause to each his own but what the…”

Torkel ignored
Jaron and leaned closer to the window.

Kyele whispered
something in Arlo’s ear that had his gold skin paling. He forced the Marenian back
into the chair and bound him in the ropes. Kyele tossed the knife in the air,
caught it by the hilt and strolled out.

“Crazy damn
bastard,” Jaron said in stunned surprise.

Kyele joined them.
“He claims not to know Lothar’s movements. Says none of them do.”

“Did you believe
him?” Torkel would take Kyele’s opinion any day.

“Yes.” Short and
sweet.

“What else?” There
had been more exchanged in there.