That the marines were looking for a fight.
Time to send a quick encrypted transmission to Mr. Zauro. There would be no reply. Zauro had been clear about his intention for this mission, and so far everything had played out just as planned.
A reply would mean problems.
Loth felt a sense of pride over his success to this point. He knew it wasn’t due to any genius on his own part. He’d merely done as he was told. But he’d executed flawlessly what felt like some grand operation mounted by the best psyops specialists money could buy. And money could buy a lot, with what Loth was being paid.
Zauro could afford it. He had a lot of credits. Loth had named a high price for his services and betrayal of the Guild, and the old man had accepted it so fast that Loth wondered whether he’d left too many credits on the table. Because there was no going back after this one.
But he wouldn’t need to. As it was, he’d already have more than enough to disappear out to the rumored pleasure worlds along the edge, where a lot of dark money got buried, and live quite comfortably on the interest. Or… well, there would no doubt be more big paydays from Mr. Zauro if this continued to go well. And why settle on a planet if you can just buy one instead?
No. There would be no reply from Mr. Zauro. Or the strange Tennarian lawyer he used for contracts and assignment briefings. Showtime was scheduled. And a horror show was what the galaxy would get in the next hour.
He commed the freighter captain at the docks. She too was getting well paid for what was going to be a tricky takeoff and a sketchy jump just to get them off the roof at the last second. Supposedly Zauro’s lawyer had put the fear in her, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t just quit town. Things were getting hairy, and once that freighter got picked up on the feeds, they’d have to dump it in a sun somewhere to make sure it never got found.
And of course Loth’s orders from the lawyer had been to make sure the crew was still aboard when that happened. Loose ends would all be tied up after this one.
Yeah, another dead leej was a bummer. Loth didn’t have anything against them, and the Legion would be pissed for sure. But neither did he fear their retribution. Once all the kids got killed in what was going to look like payback from the marines, according to rumors waiting to be transmitted to Dark Ops teams on the ground, there would be galactic hell to pay. And Loth’s team, the freighter, and the plan would get lost in the chaos. Media contacts would ensure that much.
“Send her in,” Loth bellowed to his lieutenant.
The Soshie that waited on him in the suite—his manservant, as Loth thought of him—stepped out and left Loth alone in what had once been the most grand and opulent room in the building. Now the paint was peeling and the carpet smelled of old smoke. The heyday of this place had ended long ago. When they’d commandeered it, they’d had to kick out some old crone who claimed to have once been the galaxy’s biggest entertainments star. Now she looked like a shriveled old witch in clothes that admittedly must have cost a pretty penny all those years ago. Her old bot—that was her last possession—loaded her into her hover chair and pushed her away. The last Loth had seen of them, they’d been walking down the street as dark came on. He’d watched them go from her very own penthouse.
Serves her right, he’d thought, though he didn’t bother to articulate why. In his mind it was just some kind of galactic justice for being stupid and weak.
He didn’t buy Zauro and the Soshies’ racket about wealth needing to end up in the right hands. He doubted even Zauro did. But Loth liked the justice part of things. Or rather, the act of what it took to make that happen. He liked that part.
They were bringing in one of the whiny brats who wanted to play head-chopper for the next legionnaire beheading stream. Apparently she’d done something to convince his lieutenants she would do better than the last girl had. Loth had been clear that she’d better.
“We need a nice clean cut,” he’d hectored his men. “Not a hack job! Made us look like a bunch of amateurs.”
They’d already killed that last girl. Her body would get found in the building with all the others. Another kid dead at the hands of the out-of-control military. Never mind that she’d cut the head off a legionnaire.
The floor of the building shook once. Like some distant tremor or low-grade earthquake.
Then again. Briefly.
Like it did when you had the misfortune to be in the presence of a wandering taurex looking for something to eat. You know, right before it charged, and your life ended.
Loth had been on a taurex hunt once. Security for some rich banker that wanted to bag one. Half the team had to shoot it just so the guy could say he killed one. Then they waited an hour just to make sure it was dead and sent men in to make sure it was safe before the banker would even get near it to get her picture taken with its massive corpse. Plus, she’d had to make sure her makeup and hair were done just right. She even changed hunting outfits twice.
But both the creature’s horns had been blown off, and that apparently ruined it for her. Or at least that had been the stated reason why no bonus was paid.
Crazy, thought Loth as he waited for the new head-chopper. Crazy what money does to people.
He wondered if he’d get crazy on the other side of this. When he was
