Command Performance
A hard roll to the left took him out of the firing line of a third Ydrian that had shown up for the party. Apparently, Command was willing to make sure that he never made it off-planet alive, even going so far as to hire assassins.
Three years ago, Gil Morgan would have never believed that his own superiors would want him dead. Of course, three years ago he hadn't known their secret, and that ignorance kept him safe. Even now, it was hard to believe that they would sell tech secrets to the enemy, provide government info to those whose only goals were conquest or extermination – whichever was easier.
Meeting other members of the force, those more deeply affected by corruption at the top of the line, had shown him how much Command had changed from his ideal of it, from what he wanted it to be when he was a child, watching nu-vids and hoping that one day, he'd put a rank in front of his name.
Lieutenant - “Lu” - was good enough, though none of his men were left to call it out. Thoughts of Minni and Bagger gave him pause, and just enough time for one of the Ydrians to get off a lucky shot. Gil's force-shield took the brunt of it, but a red indicator on his wrist showed it was wearing thin. The thing could only withstand so much punishment, and had seen more than its fair share of fighting in the last month. Command wasn't exactly quick on issuing its members the newest and most effective technology, and his force-shield was two or three generations older than most of those used by ground troops. Theirs had issues with random failures and overheating, thanks to sloppy tech-codes, but when they worked they could take one hell of a pounding.
Gil was up and running for the relative safety of a nearby building's stone wall before the Ydrian had the chance to fire off another shot and before he started thinking too deeply again. Even his training officers had told him to act first and think later, something he could see the utility in but just couldn't bring himself to do. Right thought led to right action, and if that made him slower than those around him, so be it. Even with his “performance issue”, according to Service records, he made Lu in record time. Men followed him easily, and were glad to led him take the lead. He seemed confident, even when he wasn't, and that put those around him at ease.
“Come out, little one,” the largest of the Ydrian's called out. They were a simple species, perfect for brute force tasks and severe beatings. Their hierarchy was simple as well – the bigger a male, the more power he had, and the deeper his voice. The one talking to Gil sounded like a bag of rocks being pulled over a plate of plastiform sheet-metal, and looked about as appealing. That he'd lost three men already to Gil's blaster fire didn't bother him – he had a mission to see his quarry eliminated, and was going to carry it out or die trying.
Gil was hoping the last option was more viable, but found himself beginning to wonder just how he was going to make it happen. There were still five of them standing, and even if they brute-forced it and rushed the building, there was no way he could kill them all. He glanced around quickly; nothing environmental presented itself as a brilliant way to end his assassins lives, and negotiation wasn't exactly on the top of his list. Still...
“Let's make a deal, Ydrain!” He shouted around the corner. “I've had nowhere to spend my pay for three years – there's quite the bank account balance waiting for me on Crasso. Let me live and you'll get the whole thing!” It was a lie, of course – the Service paid him barely enough to live, let alone save. He did have a bank account on Crasso, but the monthly charges were enough to equal any money he deposited.
The Ydrian laughed, the bag of rocks slamming again and again into that metal plate, and it was all Gil could do not to cover his ears. They others might try to rush him during their leaders moment of entertainment, and he needed his senses and his blaster at the ready.
“I don't think so, little one. We were warned you might try such tricks, and know you are poor!” That stung – did the Service really have to talk about his financial futures? “And we would not take your money, regardless,” the leader went on. “We will finish our mission.”
Gil grit his teeth. He'd always wanted to go out in a blaze of glory, but not against killers sent by his own people. That didn't exactly fit his notion of a noble death.
“Men!” The leader barked. “We will – wait!” There was the sudden sound of heavy blaster fire, of Service-issued rifles slamming off round after round. “You! We were told -” Whatever the leader was told he never managed to get out, and Gil heard the distinct sound of high-vor bullets ripping into the Ydrian's body. Someone had decided to get involved, but who – and why?
He leveled his blaster as footsteps came close, but almost dropped it to the dirt as his eyes picked out familiar features.
“Greezl!” Gil had never been happier to see his third in command. “I thought you were -”
“Dead?” The smaller man smiled. “Not quite. Command hit us hard at the fore camp, but they're not so bright. Me and a few of the boys got away, figured you might want a hand up here. I know you were probably almost done with 'em, and we blundered in, but I just couldn't resist.” He laughed, a booming thing, surprising out of such a slight frame for those who didn't know him. “Hope you don't mind!”
Gil clapped a hand on Greezl's shoulder. “I think I'll let it pass, solider.” He grinned. “This time.”
“Thank you,” his third said with an absolutely straight face. “Now, let's get out of here.”
- D
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