Jethro 3: No Place Like Home (70 page)

“Shit,” Jethro said, looking around, now on alert. “We've got to get out of here,” he growled, noting people approaching their compartment.

“Why? What the hell's going on?” Hrriss demanded as the door behind him.

“Too late,” Jethro muttered, backing away warily. He could see most were human, but at least one was a Veraxin. He couldn't get a hard count though; the metal walls and close quarters in the corridor outside blended their heat signatures together. In a moment it didn't matter as the first stepped through the hatch.

“Well, what do we have here,” Miller said, grinning nastily. “Kitty, kitty, kitty,” he mocked. “Two kitties. This should be good,” he growled. He rubbed his hands together. “I've been looking forward to this,” he murmured.

“I still don't understand why I'm needed here,” a familiar human female voice complained.

“Shut up lady, just do as you’re told,” another voice hissed.

“Well!” The woman huffed. “You'd do well to recall I do outrank you PO,” she said primly as she entered. Jethro recognized Ensign Chelsi with a navy tech that pinged back as a third class PO named Baker in her wake pushing her along. The woman took one look at him and looked away, seemingly embarrassed and not at all happy about being there. She stunk of fear, so did the guy behind her. Not a good sign.

Behind them another group was forming up. Four humans, one of them female, and a Veraxin. Two more were behind them further back. He turned as Bast identified another exit to the room. Two more humans were there, both covering the door. He shook his head. “No, not good. Find cover and weapons,” he said softly. There were at least two covering the other exit to the room so escape was impossible. He didn't like what he was seeing. It wasn't his birthday, and with this crowd...

“What the hell? What's going on? What are you doing here Miller?” Jethro demanded as others came in behind him.

“I'm here with friends to see you go down,” Miller snarled, fists clenched as he stepped aside.

“Take them,” an Asian woman said in the center, obviously the leader.

Jethro moved instantly. He knew better than to hold still as a target. He was rewarded for his instinctive reaction when he dodged an incoming trank gun dart from his left flank. He deflected a second with a piece of metal he grabbed from the scrap pile nearby.

His instincts went into overdrive. “We're in trouble. Down!” Jethro snarled, ducking and covering. Eyes slitted, he looked around, in a half crouch as he looked for a weapon. He was a weapon, but he had to get in arms length to make a kill. That didn't seem likely with the other side carrying guns.

Bast immediately sent out an emergency distress signal only for it to be scrambled and reflected back. He felt Bast beat frantically at the block but ignored it. She'd either punch a signal out or not, he had other things to worry about. A pulse scan told him every exit was covered, and the firing angles didn't look good.

They were coming set up for a major fight Jethro realized with a sinking sensation. He heard Hrriss drop, then roll as weapons fired on the tables above. The tables were thick enough to deflect the rounds. They spanged around the room.

Hrriss covered his ears, roaring in pain and anger. Jethro knew they were in for it, and he also realized he'd have to fight. Hrriss tried to break for the door; he almost made it. Tranks tangled in his thick mane, unable to penetrate. The enemy switched to bullets though; he was cut down and riddled with rounds before he made it five meters. His body danced as he roared in pain and anger, then dropped. He coughed once and then was still.

Jethro realized his friend had been killed, and he could do nothing to stop it. Nothing but use the distraction to get revenge he thought, claws out as he came up with a plan. His hands reached for an open tool box.

“It wasn't supposed to happen this way!” The therapist babbled. “I'm not supposed to be here!” she said shaking her head. “
You
said this was a meeting!” she squealed in fear, voice rising into a shriek as she turned on Baker, hitting him repeatedly.

“Shut up, lady. Get down and you might survive this,” Baker snarled, crouching himself.

Chelsi turned to run, but a hammer thrown by the panther embedded itself into the back of her head. She slammed into the wall and then slumped to the ground dead or dying; he didn't care which.

He knew he was going for the soft targets, not taking out the ones that were the most dangerous. He also realized they were there for that reason, a distraction, so he tried to shift tactics.

Jethro realized that they had anticipated his abilities, most likely they had researched him thoroughly thanks to the traitors in the room. They had him boxed in a confined space and were using ranged weapons. Never bring a knife to a gun fight flashed through his mind briefly.

Thankfully they didn't know everything, and of course he had primitive ways to fall back on as well. He scented the air but realized their suits were killing their scent. From the look of the Asian woman, he knew it had to be her, the Reaper. He realized with a sinking heart it was the assassin's guild. He dearly regretted opening his mouth.

The assassins were ready for his cloak with shifting IR glasses Jethro realized. “What's the matter kitty, can't handle it?” a voice said in the darkness. Jethro localized it, turning his ears. Bast painted the sounds on his plot. He was grateful; it allowed him to focus on what to do next. Unfortunately, he was running low on options.

“Can't protect your friends can you? The lion, king of the jungle...what a joke,” the voice laughed, a cruel laugh designed to sting his pride. “You couldn't protect him could you?” the voice asked.

“Just like you couldn't protect your elder,” the Asian said. That made Jethro freeze. “Yes, that's right,” she whispered in the dark, shifting to his right. “She's with her ancestors now. She went with a whimper. I wonder if you'll do the same,” she said, voice sing songing tauntingly.

Jethro realized they were egging him on, trying to get under his skin and get to his temper, make him do something stupid. He realized he had to do two things to thwart them, stay free and alive, and get the word out. After that he could focus on revenge.

Still he fought though, he used tooth, claw, and improvised weapons. He used every trick he could think of to stay alive; he used everything at hand, not bothering to cloak since it would be useless. The panther knocked over a stack of tools. He crouched, and then came up throwing. He threw screwdrivers as the lights were cut. His implants and enhanced vision cut in immediately.

The female assassin used her whip to deflect things he threw at her or those near her. Jethro hit the traitor Baker in the arm with a screwdriver, impaling it and wounding the human. He hit another human assassin in the throat, killing him. Another got his feet entangled in a cable. The panther dragged him in and then ripped his throat out. The other assassins kept to the walls, firing in on him. He threw the body out, letting the riddle it with weapons fire as he found more weapons and cover.

He popped around a corner long enough to throw more improvised weapons. He used cutting wheels to make some duck. One assassin wasn't fast enough though, a wheel hit him in face, another assassin caught a wheel in the crotch. The panther's enhanced strength made the wheel embedded half way into the first guy's face, killing him in a welter of gore as he flew back and then flopped to the ground. The other guy bent over, screaming. The Asian woman pushed him over in disgust and then stepped on his neck, snapping it with a deft twist of her ankle.

Meanwhile, Jethro cut down the Veraxin assassin at the alien's joints. The bug immediately began to bleed out, clutching at his limbs in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding. Before he died he pulled out a control and activated a weapons drone on a cradle under a tarp. Jethro noted the led's coming on and took it out by smashing its optics with a thrown heavy object before it could get out of its cradle. It spun about and went wild, then crashed, smashing the Veraxin into gore.

Taking the bot out exposed the panther, however. It had been calculated; he had to take it out because it had posed the greatest threat. The Asian female flicked her whip. He ducked the leather cord, but the tip snagged him on the back. He cringed, expecting pain but something else hit him like heat and then ice throughout his nervous system, then something else. Something ominous, something he recognized he hated.

She'd hit him with some sort of patch on his neck. The mechanical thing was some sort of a clip device that pinched his fur and skin on back of his neck, kicking his instincts in to curl into a fetal ball. Despite his intelligence he was trapped.

“He's down,” the woman said with a growl. “You can get up now,” she said, straightening.

“Damn, the butcher's bill is heavy with this one,” one of the assassins said.

“You expected anything less?” Another said. “Come on, phase two. We've got a closing window,” he said.

“I always hate a fair fight,” the first grumbled, but he stuck to his zone and moved in warily.

“Do we take the DNA samples now? Can we transport him like that?” One of the assassins asked.

“You promised I'd be in to see him die,” Miller growled, cradling his arm. “Do it. Do it now. Damn this hurts,” he snarled.

“You can take the samples after you've secured him better. I honestly didn't think that would work so well,” the woman said, looking at the dead therapist. “Huh,” she said shaking her head. “I'll have to remember that trick. It's nice, but well, sort of cheating,” she mused.

“Cheating hell, did you see what he did to Ozzie?” One of the assassins growled, coming over to her side.

“Why aren't you killing him? Why the hell do you need his DNA? Hell, why bother at all?” Miller demanded. The assassins didn't answer, just smirked at him. They were good; the remaining two covered the doors after a moment. Most likely to keep anyone from walking into their little party Jethro realized.

“Miller shut up,” Baker snarled. “You ask too many stupid questions,” he growled.

“You shut it; I wasn't talking to you,” Miller said, eyes flashing with hate as he looked at the cat. “I'll do it,” he said picking up a hammer with his good hand.

“No one will kill him,” the lead assassin said, holding a restraining arm out to keep him from passing. “This one will serve his purpose. He'll be put on trial, then given his summary judgment. That must be witnessed by the guild to prevent others from talking out of turn again,” she growled.

The Reaper took her goggles off and tossed them aside. She shook her short black hair out. He looked into her eyes and saw empty pitiless death. She had doll eyes, black china doll eyes like a shark he'd seen. Lifeless and cold with deadly purpose. He knew now, knew that the others were as good as dead.

Miller snuffled, angry and cradling his arm. The Asian tisked, tisked. “Oh, you're hurt,” she said in a motherly voice dripping with concern and sympathy. “Let me take a look at that,” she said almost lovingly. One hand reached for him.

“No, I've got it. Stay away,” he said, backing up. He pulled it out, grimacing in pain. She kept coming closer. “I said stay the fuck away!” He snarled. When he brandished the screwdriver she stabbed him in the gut with a stiletto she had kept up her sleeve. The assassin's tool slid into his body, but his twisting away marred her kill. His eyes went wide as his body slumped.

“Wait! This wasn't part of the plan!” Baker said, eyes wide in fright, hands up. “I didn't sign on for this!” He said, drawing attention to himself from the Reaper.

Miller realized he was a dead man, so he tried to run. “You promised I'd get to see him die! That was the deal!” He snarled, dropping the hammer to clutch at the wound in his stomach. He got three steps.

He shouldn't have said anything Jethro realized; it drew attention to him. He was cut down for his trouble, chopped in the back of the head by an assassin and then double tapped in the back of the head. His body convulsed and then bled out.

The Reaper turned to look at the body. She smirked, and then poked the body with the toe of her shoe before she moved on, daintily avoiding the spreading pool of blood around his body.

Baker whimpered, begged and pleaded, “I did everything you wanted! Everything!” He said, hands up. His eyes darted about, looking for help or sympathy from the others. None was forthcoming.

“Yes, you've been a good little boy,” the Asian purred. One of her men chuckled. She looked over to him with a look, and he shut up abruptly. She reached out, gently touching the man as he froze. “Shhh...” The woman shushed him lovingly, stroked his cheek with the back of her fingers.

He babbled on about how he helped Walker and Madra, gave them what they wanted. “The shuttles, the information, I can still be of use!” he babbled. Jethro could smell the man's urine dampening his pants.

“I never said a word,” he said, shaking his head frantically no. “That dumb broad Nancy, Fernando, the information I've passed on all these years. The bitch I set up that had helped set up what's his name...Madra's link to the Horathians...” He shook his head frantically. “I'll never say anything.”

“I know,” the woman crooned lovingly, eyes cold. “You won't, will you.” She let the flicker of hope reach his eyes briefly before she smiled cruelly. “But you've served your purpose. Walker said no loose ends,” she said conversationally. He pushed a barrel at her but she flicked him with her whip. He screamed as it went across his eyes blinding him. Blood and tissue gushed as he wailed about his eyes and the pain.