A tall alien male—mostly Osirian in appearance, except the reptilian bone ridges lining his cheeks and neck—slips a forked tongue from his mouth to taste the air. His security stands some twenty to thirty feet from him, giving Amye the perfect opportunity. She should unsling the rifle, then target and eliminate him.
She can’t.
Surrounding him are dozens of children begging for the food bars he passes out.
Amye slips a sealed package from her jacket pocket. She unwraps a beef stick. The juices gather in the corner of her mouth. She slows her breathing.
The rifle stays slung on her shoulder.
No matter what. No matter how bad of a man he is or what he’s done to assist the Mokarran. I won’t shoot him while he feeds starving children.
“Unviable target,” she touches her commlink.
No response.
“Amye to Dragon.” She doesn’t take her eye off of him.
“Define?” crackles in her ear.
“I don’t have a shot.”
“Sensors show him in the open in public space.”
“Do they smerth’n show him surrounded by a few dozen hungry children?” she growls into the comm. “I don’t have a shot.”
“Move to your secondary location and wait for instructions.”
Her anger clouds her thoughts. She fails to notice Kymberlynn sneak up on her.
“Anyone could have tagged the princess for transport. Your impressive shot in the canyon will only take you so far. You turn down this mission, and he won’t want you to remain a part of the crew.”
“I won’t kill a child. A shell will tear through his chest like melting cream on a heater, and the round will kill children.”
“Calm down. Deep breath. Move to the secondary location and work on a better angle. Don’t lose the captain’s faith in you.”
“William would never want an innocent child to die.”
“Not respectful to call your captain and superior by his first name,” Kymberlynn scolds.
“I’m not in the military. And I like the way his name rolls off my tongue.”
“I’m sure that’s not the only thing of his you want to roll your tongue on.”
Amye scrambles down a ladder to a lower rooftop before snapping at her sister.
“I don’t need backup on this mission. Why are you here?”
“Well, Little Sis, you must, or the politician would already be dead. The child’s dead. Once you kill Micah Donkor, no one will be alive who cares to feed it. You should’ve taken the shot. It was merciful.”
Amye wishes Kymberlynn hadn’t put that thought in her head. Now she’s not sure about killing Micah Donkor. She won’t knowingly be a party to murdering children, especially through the slow pains of starvation.
“Could you pull the trigger?”
“I don’t have to. I’m a pilot. You’re the assassin in training—your job, now.”
Amye halts. Never the whole time she was learning the kind of rock miners dig through did she ever once envision her future behind an assassin’s trigger.
JOE SPINS ON his toes, continuing his kata form. His four arms twist as if defending against an invisible enemy. Reaching the end of his form, he continues in a seamless motion to perform it again. He never stops the flawless repeating of his defensive maneuver as he speaks. “You seem troubled, my sword brother.”
“Amye won’t pull the trigger on the politician.”
“Perplexing, since you have orders to assassinate him.”
“Admiral Maxtin recognizes his death will prevent the murder of millions by the Mokarran,” Reynard clarifies.
“You’re not convinced. You asked Australia to investigate this politician.”
“Standard. You have to know your target.”
“Know your enemy as you know yourself.” Joe’s kata never wavers from the perfect movement. His arms seem to maneuver into the exact same position with the origin of each new form. “You trust the Admiral; so why do you have doubts?”
“Just a feeling.”
“You should trust instinct.”
“You’re trained in—”
“The Old Maestro of my clan forbade us to join with off-worlders for this reason.” Joe discontinues his form as he interrupts his sword brother. “My people were desired for their ability to kill. We cultivated our skill to reach perfection with the universe, not lend ourselves to massacres. I will kill in battle, or to protect the weak, not murder. Not on the prediction someone says might cause the death of millions. Judge them on what they do, not what they might do.”
“Orders are expected to be followed.”
“You do not serve in his military. You’re a free warrior who does utilize Admiral Maxtin’s resources, but you are not bound by his code of service.”
“You’re wise, Joenerbrawl, my clan brother.”
“Wisdom comes from our experience, and you are asking Amye to do what you have yet to do.”
••••••
REYNARD KEEPS HIS magnum pointed at Micah Donkor. His two bodyguards lay supine on the floor. The politician raises his hands and holds them at a T inviting the shot.
“I won’t bow to you, Osirian.”
“You’re conspiring with the Mokarran,” Reynard accuses.
“Who told you?”
“Admiral Maxtin.”
Micah Donkor laughs. “A Zayar’s too young to understand the ramifications of my dealing with the Mokarran. What I do keeps their fish-ink off my planet.”
“He sent me to stop you from supplying the Mokarran with the raw materials to build new battle cruisers.”
Donkor lowers his arms. “Put your gun away, boy, you’re no assassin.”
“I’m the one with the gun.”
“You should have murdered me the moment you stepped into the room. You’re green. Or you have doubts about your assignment. Maybe you’ve never taken a life before?”
Reynard locks eyes with Donkor, unable to hide the truth. He fired on the invaders pursuing him on Earth. He knows one fell by his bullets but did they penetrate the armor and die? He was flash frozen so fast he never had a chance to consider the death. He fired on those preventing his escape with the Silver Dragon. Troops fell, but he again lacked confirmation of their fate. Earning his honor from the Calthos warriors was at the expense of two warriors’ deaths in which his actions were the direct result, but his hand was not on the death blade. Micah Donkor’s
