No Remorse, page 1
NO
REMORSE
Decker’s War — Book 6
ERIC THOMSON
No Remorse
Copyright 2018 Eric Thomson
All rights reserved.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Published in Canada
By Sanddiver Books
ISBN: 978-1-775135-53-1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
— ONE —
— TWO —
— THREE —
— FOUR —
— FIVE —
— SIX —
— SEVEN —
— EIGHT —
— NINE —
— TEN —
— ELEVEN —
— TWELVE —
— THIRTEEN —
— FOURTEEN —
— FIFTEEN —
— SIXTEEN —
— SEVENTEEN —
— EIGHTEEN —
— NINETEEN —
— TWENTY —
— TWENTY-ONE —
— TWENTY-TWO —
— TWENTY-THREE —
— TWENTY-FOUR —
— TWENTY-FIVE —
— TWENTY-SIX —
— TWENTY-SEVEN —
— TWENTY-EIGHT —
— TWENTY-NINE —
— THIRTY —
— THIRTY-ONE —
— THIRTY-TWO —
— THIRTY-THREE —
About the Author
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— ONE —
The faint, almost imperceptible sound of muffled footsteps reached Major Zack Decker’s ears. Alone in a rundown part of the city teeming with danger, the Naval Intelligence operative stopped and listened, trying to find the source of the furtive noise.
Small, rat-like creatures scurried around in the shadows, occasionally emitting high-pitched squeals that triggered an instinctive revulsion. Or at least a queasy feeling all too common when faced with species native to ecosystems far different from Earth’s.
A thick, almost nauseating aroma of overripe sewers, rotting food and perhaps even rotting corpses assailed his nostrils. No matter where humanity settled, it seemed to keep its knack for taking the worst problems along and repeating the same mistakes on new worlds.
This slum might be anywhere on one of the twenty or so habitable planets colonized during the first wave of migration after the discovery of faster-than-light travel. But after almost four centuries of uncontrolled growth, those star systems were even now facing inevitable decay, especially in the social and political realms, since the two were always closely intertwined.
He heard the sound again, closer and distinct enough to tell him two humans were on his trail. Were they footpads, muggers, or something worse? Had he been spotted by an opposition ready to unleash assassins? They had tried often enough in recent times, especially since he and Talyn broke the Black Sword conspiracy wide open.
That she wasn’t here to watch his back made Decker more vulnerable. His enemies only needed to be lucky once. He needed to be lucky every time. Lucky and ready to terminate any threat with extreme prejudice, a fate about to befall the duo tracking him, even if they were merely after the contents of his pockets. The local police rarely ventured into dimly lit alleys and didn’t much care about lowlifes killing each other or visitors doing the same. It saved them the effort. A self-correcting problem, as some would call it.
The corrosion eating away at the Commonwealth’s core hadn’t quite reached the outer systems yet, those colonized in the second great migration wave. They had earned their right to self-rule two centuries earlier by winning a bloody war responsible for more deaths than every other human conflict since the dawn of time put together.
But the older worlds weren’t shy about exporting their undesirables to the more pristine frontier, whether or not settlers there were in agreement. And so the sickness spread, helped along by forces wanting to restore centralized authority and dispense with the niceties of an often chaotic confederation. Forces who’d prefer to see Decker and Talyn dead as punishment for thwarting them at every turn.
He slipped into a darkened doorway, careful not to touch the leprous concrete, so he didn’t leave traces for enemy hunters eager to spill his blood, and loosened the dagger strapped to his left forearm. In an era of ubiquitous power weapons, even here where the dispossessed eked out quiet lives of desperation, the Marine preferred a silent blade. Used by a master of the art, it could kill instantly and leave little, if any traces.
A hint of soft, human breathing came from around the corner, just beyond his reach, and he tensed. Then, he heard the rustle of clothes. Sloppy. How did they expect to creep up on him? Decker sensed, rather than saw the first of his two stalkers step into the filth-strewn alley where he’d taken shelter.
He freed his blade, reached out from the doorway with his left hand to grab hold of a tunic collar, and yanked the shadowy figure off its feet. The Marine’s dagger flashed in the dim light and the pursuer, a man, went limp. He dropped him and stepped out to confront the other stalker who briefly froze at the unexpected turn of events, torn between fight and flight. Decker struck again, relieving the second one, a woman, of the need to choose. Two for two.
“End scenario,” he shouted into the darkness.
Lights came on and his surroundings dissolved, leaving only tubular skeletons on which holographic projectors could build realistic scenes, such as an inner system slum.
The trainees at his feet looked up with sheepish expressions while they waited for their sim suits to reactivate so they might stand. Decker shoved his fake dagger, another simulation tool, back in its sheath, and headed for the control platform, where Command Sergeant Rolf Painter, his chief instructor, waited.
“No improvement,” the latter said when Decker came within earshot.
“None. Our friends Nikarov and Suli simply don’t have the right instincts, and I doubt they’ll ever develop them. You’ll do the debriefing?”
“In detail, Major. I took the most beautiful three-D rendering of their latest failed pursuit. They’ll wish you’d sliced them up for real once I’m done.”
“Try not to enjoy yourself too much.”
“No promises. Remember what you told the staff — if we can convince marginal cases to quit on their own, so much the better. And those two are the least capable candidates in the current draft. Best they figure it out themselves. The real world isn’t known for giving second chances.”
“Especially not these days.”
“Roger that, Major. I figure when they pull a guy like you from the field and make him teach the fine art of killing, it means the universe is giving birth to a whole new level of pain.” Painter tossed off a salute. “I’ll have an update for you later.”
— TWO —
A familiar voice cut through Decker’s empty-eyed stare at the training installation’s main quadrangle. “Wool-gathering on duty, Major? That’ll cost you.”
He turned away from the office window and gave his partner, Commander Hera Talyn, a mocking smile. “What are you now? The boss’ inspector general on top of being his temporary chief of staff? Or are you slumming with us field pigs?”
“I needed a breather, a little getaway from the fog of treason permeating HQ. So I figured why not visit my favorite Marine at Camp X where he’s having the time of his life while I’m trying to balance operations with rebuilding the division?”
“You could have taken a stroll through downtown Sanctum to clear your head instead of a long trip into the boonies.”
Talyn took the chair facing Decker’s desk and exhaled. “Sanctum is just as foggy as HQ’s corridors these days, Big Boy. You may recall we’re still hunting for Black Sword members on Caledonia. There’s no telling how many of them are wandering around the capital, pretending to be loyal members or employees of the Commonwealth Armed Services. At least here, I’m reasonably sure the air is clean and the people true to their oath.”
“We hope. Considering Manfred Yang turned traitor on us, I’d say our vetting process has been compromised and is still full of glaring holes. The only folks around here who clearly aren’t Black Sword come from the 1st Special Forces Regiment or the Pathfinder School.”
She gave him an ironic smile. “The great Pathfinder family.”
“To which you belong, honey.” His reply was devoid of its usual bantering tone.
Talyn examined him with concern in her eyes. “For a man who’s been teaching our next generation of special intelligence ops people to kill and keep from getting killed, your mood seems strangely subdued. This has to be a reasonably decent tour of duty, considering you could be riding a desk with me back at HQ. What gives?”
Decker grunted wordlessly, his eyes drawn back to the window overlooking Naval Intelligence’s remote and highly secret training facility. “Did I ever tell you that in my younger days, I nurtured delusions of familial adequacy?”
“No.” Talyn turned a curious stare on her partner, wondering where this was leading.
“A quarter-century ago, I married a lovely lady by the name Ingrid Lagman. Together w
“I’m aware of that. It’s in your file. By the way, your girl has a pretty name.”
“It’s what they called the Norse goddess of poetry and history. Ingrid always nurtured a deep attachment to her family’s ancestral culture. Her attachment to me proved a lot shallower. One year after I transferred to the 902nd Pathfinders, while the squadron was away on a six-month deployment, she packed everything up and took a starship home to Scandia with Saga in tow. I found out via subspace message she petitioned the Scandian courts for sole custody, based on my inability to parent my child while I was chasing rebel scum light years away. The courts, quite naturally, granted the motion, and Ingrid told me in crystal-clear terms I was to refrain from contacting my daughter — at least while she was still legally a minor.”
“Which she would no longer be today.”
Decker nodded. “Saga is twenty-five now, and since she took after her mother rather than me, she’ll be a true Scandian beauty.”
“And you didn’t reach out to her when she turned eighteen?”
“If you’ll recall, I was otherwise occupied playing janissary for alien slavers back then. After that,” he shrugged, “I was too busy keeping you out of trouble.”
“This is old news, Zack, yet you look as if it happened last night?”
Decker slumped in his chair, turned his gaze back on Talyn and let out an uncharacteristic sigh. “I received a subspace message from Ingrid this morning, the first since she told me to fuck off and die twenty years ago. Saga’s gone missing. She was preparing for her orals — believe it or not, my girl is doing a doctorate in pre-diaspora political history...”
Talyn gave him a crooked grin. “I can guess where she picked up that fixation.”
“But a week before defending her thesis, she simply vanished. That was almost two weeks ago. Neither Ingrid, nor Saga’s research supervisor, or her university colleagues for that matter, have seen her since then. There’s no trace of Saga on the entire damn planet.”
“Surely it’s a matter for the Scandian Police Authority.”
The Marine’s hand rose in a dismissive wave. “The cops are investigating. But so far, zip. They checked her apartment, and nothing was out of place. Their forensics people did a scan and found no evidence anyone had been there since she was last seen at the university. Her financial accounts remain untouched, and she’s not shown up on any surveillance sensors. It’s like she evaporated somewhere between the university gates and her home.”
A surprised frown creased Talyn’s forehead. “That doesn’t sound good, Zack.”
“Tell me about it. I’m worried this isn’t just an ordinary missing person case. Ingrid claims Saga is one of the most grounded people she knows and wouldn’t go walkabout on a whim, not with the culmination of her hard work in sight. She has no dodgy friends, bad habits, or anything else that might attract unwanted attention. Hard to believe she’s my daughter, but her studies are everything.”
“Why did your ex- contact you after such a long silence?”
“The inspector in charge of the investigation suggested advising me after he found out Saga’s biological father was a Marine. I suppose that’s in case her disappearance is related to my work for the Fleet, or she’s done a runner and wants to look me up. Never mind there’s been no contact in two decades, and Saga took on her mother’s last name. And before you ask, Ingrid has no idea what I’m doing these days. She addressed her message to the HQ communications center in the hope of them forwarding it as required. But she sounded scared.”
“And you’d like to ask permission for a trip to Scandia?” Talyn grimaced. “Until the next few trainee classes are ready to graduate, I can’t spare you.”
“What if it’s the Coalition, either through Black Sword or the Sécurité Spéciale, trying to draw me out? Draw us out? By now they’re aware we’re the ones who uncovered Black Sword’s existence and triggered the great cleanup. They’ll be looking for revenge. Yang would have known about Ingrid and Saga since he could access my personal file at will. Why not pass that sort of information to his asshole buddies?
“That’s the other reason I can’t spare you, let alone ask the boss to assign another victim as his temporary chief of staff. We are unquestionably the biggest targets for termination with extreme prejudice. The Coalition needs us dead yesterday, and to quote a certain Marine fond of historical trivia, eventually, even the most inept shooter will hit something. Until we’ve rebuilt the Special Operations Division’s strength and barring emergencies, you and I are benched, whether it’s business or personal.”
Decker gave his partner the mulish stare she expected, but he nodded once. “Got it.”
“Promise you won’t sneak off or go absent without authority?”
“Promised.”
Talyn examined her partner with sympathetic eyes.
“I understand you’re worried about Saga, even though you’ve not seen her for so long, but Scandia isn’t exactly next door. Then there’s the possibility she might simply be hiding because she couldn’t handle the pressure of defending her thesis. It happens to even the most grounded individuals. She’ll re-emerge once she’s dealt with her issues.” When he gave her a skeptical grunt, Talyn added, “Sure, sometimes paranoids have enemies, but most often, they only have fears. Let the Scandian cops deal with it. But if it makes you feel better, I can reach out to one of my contacts in the Constabulary and ask her to take a gander at the case.”
“How will your Professional Compliance Bureau friend on Cimmeria help?”
Talyn gave him a reassuring smile. “Scandia is part of Chief Superintendent Morrow’s jurisdiction. She’ll know who to ask and what to ask. Besides, she’s a sharp lady. You’d like her.”
“Fair enough. I suppose I should send Ingrid an acknowledgment. And then write the latest batch of evaluations. Sadly, the only ones in the current class ready for the next stage are Markku and Fresal. Unsurprising, I suppose, considering both came to us straight from the Special Forces and are already trained to fight dirty, unlike the desk analysts you recruited. At least two of them won’t pass, no matter what I do. They’re neither the right species of psychopath, or can’t shut out their emotions, which means they’ll always hesitate when it comes time to kill. And I’d rather not put them up against the opposition’s best cutthroats — they wouldn’t live long enough to justify the investment. The others will likely make it.”
“That’s precisely why I can’t cut you loose. You’re best placed to tell me who won’t survive under real conditions. Which two won’t pass your phase of the course?”
“Nikarov and Suli. They’re bright, eager, fit, but they lack the right temperament to develop a killer instinct. That’s not something I can teach. It’s either in you, or it isn’t. If it isn’t, I can’t help. My evaluation will recommend they cease training and return to their previous duties unless they withdraw on their own first.”
“You’re sure?”
Decker nodded. “I am. But if you’re about to say we should keep them at it for a while longer in case they suddenly discover their inner sociopath, don’t. We’ll only be wasting time and money.”
“Shame. Suli, in particular, struck me as the sort with enough wiles to infiltrate the Sécurité Spéciale.”
“And die the moment things go sideways. She’ll never get off the first shot or slit a throat before the other guy knows what’s up. I’ve seen her sort before. Their brains can’t override the social conditioning that says thou shalt not kill. They’re usually the ones who freeze in a firefight or can’t seem to hit the side of a starship even though they’re dead accurate during training.”
“What does Pavlik say?” Talyn asked.
“Commander Hineman and I don’t necessarily see eye to eye on certain matters, Hera. He’s not seen real action for years. The game has changed since he last ran a mission.”
Decker’s tone told Talyn everything she needed to know about her partner’s relationship with the man in charge of the division’s training wing.
“Maybe I should chat with Pavlik, old-timer to old-timer. What does he think about Nikarov and Suli not having the killer instinct, as you put it?”
“He hasn’t shared his opinion with me. But I’ve told him if he passes anyone I consider unfit, and they die in action, their blood will be on his hands.”
