“He’s making this turn.”

Gareth ‘Gaz’ Slake watched the unmarked white van veer off down a side street ahead. He checked his side mirror, tapped the indicator, and steered the vehicle over into the turning lane. The atmosphere inside the SUV remained calm as the other men checked their weapons. Further down the road, the team’s lead car accelerated to find another turning, so it could circle back into contact with their quarry.

The van came back into view as Gaz span the wheel.

“Street ends at a warehouse,” his earpiece buzzed. “This could be it.”

He slowed the vehicle to a stop by the side of the road, and couldn’t stop his eyes flickering down to the photos he had pinned to the dash. Five hopeful teenage faces stared back at him.

“He’s going in,” said the radio. “All call-signs; Yorktown.”

A clatter of metal disturbed the quiet of the SUV as rifle bolts racked bullets into their chambers. Gaz reached for his own weapon by his leg and pulled on the charging handle. In the near distance, the white van disappeared into the building.

“Alpha, block the garage entrance. Bravo take the west loading bay.”

Gaz placed his thumb on a switch concealed beneath his jacket. “Copy that.” He donned the helmet passed to him by his fellow former marine, Sal Matuidi, then readied his foot on the accelerator. “Alpha is set.”

“All call-signs, I have control.”

The tail had begun that morning in the slumbering streets of Intaba’s capital city. Working from documents leaked by an ally in law enforcement, the group had needed two weeks to build up a picture of the starport’s trafficking network. Then, one of VennZech’s key contractors had gotten lazy and hinted on an unsecured call that he was ready to make a ‘special’ pickup. The operation had been planned at lightning speed before Gaz and the other shooters were jumping into vehicles.

Driving just over the legal speed limit, they had closed on the truck depot known to be connected to VennZech’s illegal operations. The caller had arrived after sunrise, been positively identified, and had steered his transport out into the light traffic, apparently without a care in the world.

Since the electronic intercept the night before, Gaz had shut out all his concerns about the world, his messy personal life, and the group’s questionable legal status on Intaba. He had taken pains to suppress all his doubts, fears, good memories and bad, to focus on the mission.

Now he didn’t have to. His whole existence congealed into the vehicle, the men by his side, the warehouse ahead, and the weapon at his leg. Beyond that there was nothing.

The earpiece buzzed again. “Standby, standby... Execute!”

Gaz sensed the others coil like snakes and he pushed the accelerator down to the floor. Ahead, a flimsy chain link gate closed the warehouse off from the street. The SUV smashed through, and the tires screeched as they brought it to a stop by the entrance.

He waited as the doors popped open and his passengers dismounted. They used the vehicle as cover while they scanned the yard for threats. A smatter of snaps in the near distance broke the silence—Bravo team making contact.

Sal turned back to Gaz, but as he raised his thumb a pair of craters erupted on the windshield. A silenced carbine whipped around and snapped off four shots. The silence returned, and Sal raised his thumb again, this time accompanied by an apologetic smile. Gaz span the SUV around, returning to the smashed entrance gate where he positioned it to block the exit.

He grabbed his rifle, jumped out and raced to catch up with the team as they entered the warehouse.

Sal and the others were already inside, mounting a stairwell as Gaz caught up. They moved quickly but kept their muzzles trained on every opening, ready for a threat. When they stepped off the warehouse’s upper walkway into the offices, bullets exploded the wall around them. Sal gasped and sank to the floor.

Almost out of sight around the corner, a terrified security guard was pointing his pistol at them. Gaz stepped through the doorway and flicked his carbine across the target, not even aligning the weapon’s holo-sight as he snatched at the trigger. A round caught the guard in the hip, and another punched through his chest. He collapsed in a heap and lay motionless.

Gaz reached down to check his friend as the two others pushed past them, moving quickly to the end of the corridor.

“Sal? Talk to me.”

“Got it in the leg, Gaz.”

His eyes were saucers as he watched Gaz feel around for the wound.

“Okay, yeah. It’s clean through the thigh. Not too much bleeding.”

Sal’s eyes closed and he sighed. “Keep going, I can bandage it.”

“You sure?”

“All good, brother. Go finish it.”

Gaz caught up with the others and they cleared the rest of the warehouse, killing anyone else who resisted and restraining those who surrendered. Once the call was made that the structure was clear, Gaz raced back to check up on Sal. He was a little dopey after the self-administered ketamine shot, but the bandage looked good, and he kept enough presence of mind to offer criticism.

“Won’t find anything around me!” he said with a grin. “Unless I’m sat on a bad guy.”

Then his expression turned to one of alarm, but he quickly calmed, and began chuckling to himself.

Gaz shook his head, and returned to the rest of the team to help search the structure. As usual, the obvious places—the bunk rooms, kitchen or offices—contained nothing of interest. Following his instinct, Gaz made for the basement. A janitor’s office caught his eye, and as he pushed open the door into the dark, musky room, his earpiece buzzed again.

“Police call has been made,” a female voice said. “Reports of a disturbance. A patrol car has been dispatched, but he isn’t hurrying.”

“Copy that, Rook. Do you have a location?” the voice of their controller replied.

“Passing sixth street. ETA ten minutes.”

“Bravo one, take your vehicle around to the main entrance. All elements, that is your extraction point.”

“Alpha one copies,” Gaz said and flicked a light switch on the wall. He scanned the office, noting the clutter of a lazy occupant, while his teammate’s acknowledgements buzzed in his ear.

A closet door rested in the far corner, and Gaz moved over to it. The handle stuck, but the keys hung from a nail by the desk, and he tried each of them until the lock clicked open.

He reached for his flashlight, and caught his breath as the beam played over pale white, then dark brown skin. Two faces—a boy’s and a girl’s—met his gaze with fear as they huddled against the wall, their arms cuffed to a pipe.

Gaz recognized them from the photographs, but their cheeks had hollowed, and their eye sockets looked grey. The bright t-shirts were now dark with filth and a few blood stains. Their eyes seemed devoid of light.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Gaz thumbed his radio switch and spoke softly. “This is Alpha one—Jackpot. Basement, North-East corner—janitor’s office.”

Without approaching the pair, he knelt down on the ground and smiled.

“Geroff, Esther?” he said. “I’m really happy I found you. Your parents sent me to take you home. Geroff, your mom says that Zipper had puppies and really misses you. Esther, your brother John’s been watering your desert cacti for you.”

The eyes blinked, but their owners didn’t move. They flinched when a woman entered the office, banging the desk as she rushed in.

“Awesome, Gaz,” she said, a little out of breath. “Don’t worry, I got this.”

Gaz got up and moved away as his teammate Rita—child psychologist, and combat medic— dropped to her knees in his place. She moved slowly, gently pushing closer to them while she explained in a soothing voice, what was going to happen, and where they were going to be taken before they could see their parents again. When she finally touched their shoulders, the sobbing began.

Gaz turned away and thumbed his mic. “We’re going to need the boltcutter.”

“Two weeks until I can walk again,” Sal said as he sat in the car at the edge of the starport’s loading area. The door was open, and they were facing the landing pad where a shuttle had just touched down.

“It’s cool mate,” Gaz said, leaning on the roof of the vehicle. “You’re little enough that I can carry you around on my shoulders.”

“That’s great, thanks bro. Actually, I need to take a shit, so if you would oblige...”

Gaz smiled and shook his head.

On the landing pad, the shuttle’s passenger door opened, and a wide-eyed woman stepped out followed by a blank-faced man. The SUV popped its doors and Esther stepped out onto the tarmac. Her mother sank to her knees as her father raced over to embrace her.

Gaz liked to watch the reunions. When he saw the joy of a life restored, his own anger softened. He liked to think that each rescue chipped away a piece of his cold hatred for whatever god or universal force had decided he would never get to experience the same thing.

He sighed. “Good feeling,” he said, and tried to find a way to mean it.

Sal nodded, but didn’t smile. “Two. Out of ten thousand a year.”

“Don’t fixate on the numbers, mate. You’ll lose yourself doing that.”

“And four dead bodies.”

Gaz sniffed. “Does that bother you?”

Sal shrugged. “Not that they died. They knew what was going on in that basement. But bodies mean trouble.”

“Nothing the boss can’t handle.”

“This is going to catch up with us eventually.”

“Sure.” Gaz slapped the car roof. “But it’s been worth it. You know, when we got out of the Marine Corps I was struggling to find a direction. Now I wake up every morning knowing what I have to do.”

Sal gave him a skeptical look. “I wouldn’t exactly call this moving on.”

“Well. One step at a time, I guess.”

“Earlier you mentioned something about the truck?”

“Oh yeah. The driver was a less than diligent employee of the shipping company, and had his travel plans on his phone. Turns out he had booked himself onto one of VennZech’s freighters, bound for Caldera.”

Sal looked up at him in surprise. “Are you serious? That’s huge.”

Gaz could only offer a disappointed shake of his head. “Afraid not. Turns out the ship jumped out a few hours before our man’s call was intercepted. No-one in the head-shed has any idea why, and gossip says that it dropped completely off the cluster’s traffic control logs.”

Sal scratched his stubbly jaw thoughtfully. “Probably someone tipped off the corpos and they wanted to destroy the evidence. Though it doesn’t make sense to me that they would forget to call off the pickup.”

“Who knows? Either way, Caldera is our only lead to find the others.”

“Yeah, I guess. What’s the turnaround time?”

“Couple of weeks,” Gaz said. “Caldera might be the wild west, but Rackeye is territory of the Helvetic League. You know how their die-hard believers set themselves up as missionaries on every new planet?”

Sal chuckled. “Yeah, hence why the colonists gave the first settlement that name.”

“What do you mean?”

“French for scum.”

Gaz laughed. “Seriously?”

“I think so, though I’m not fluent.”

“Anyway, it will take the boss time to build covers and make connections. Long enough for you to heal. Unfortunately, we got a call from a new client this morning; three more faces to add to the list.”

Sal rubbed his eyes and stared into the distance. “Stellar.”

They looked around as the whine of a car engine pierced the air. A blacked-out limousine raced up the taxiway and screeched to a halt right next to them. Out of the car stepped Dumi Sifiso, Intaba’s deputy chief of police.

“Where he is?” Sifiso snapped. “Your boss? Take me to him immediately.”

Gaz maneuvered himself to block the irate man as another officer joined them. He kept his smile friendly, but his hands raised, palms out.

“Easy there, fella. Sanchez is talking with a family right now. Why don’t you give them a moment?”

Sifiso glanced over at the shuttle, but relented. “I want you—all of your people—off Intaba as soon as possible.”

“What’s going on?”

“I just received a visit from a VennZech representative. He wanted to know why I haven’t put a stop to some of the… attacks on their buildings. When I gave him the usual line about gang violence, he rejected it.”

Gaz’s brow furrowed. “Why?”

“Another four dead workers? It looks like a lot more than coincidence. He was angry. Said that there were accusations of corruption being levelled at my office.”

“You’ve weathered that before.”

“He threatened my family!”

Gaz clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes. “Well maybe we can go and visit his.”

Sifiso spat on the ground. “Frontier Marines. You’re a gang, and that’s all you are. A bunch of washed-up has-beens clinging on to some forgotten dogma. And now you’ve made too many enemies.”

“You’re panicking. I’m sure Sanchez will figure something out.”

Sifiso smiled. “He won’t need to. Because you’ll be gone, or I’ll have you arrested and charged with murder.”

Gaz stepped to one side. “You see over there. The fourteen-year-old? See her parent’s faces?”

“Fourteen? That’s a nice number. Here’s another for you. Ten thousand. Ten thousand people, adults, and children are trafficked through this starport every year. Then there are the drugs, the smugglers, and everything else that goes on behind the scenes. And what do you think the galaxy wide total is?”

Gaz let his bitterness stew in silence.

“It’s too much,” Sifiso said, and his voice softened. “The payoffs aren’t working anymore. I…” he stopped. “I don’t regret helping your cause, but it’s over.”

“Oh sure,” Gaz raised said, raising his voice. “You look out for number one, mate. Keep it within the comfort zone. Wouldn’t want to mess with the old boy network, would we? And won’t someone please think of the paychecks?”

Sifiso’s face darkened. “It’s easy, I think, for a young man with no family and no community to support to say these things. To live in fantasy, rather than confront reality.”

“No community? Look around, I got mine right here, and I’ll have no problem keeping them safe, no matter who tries to get in the way.”

“Gaz,” Sal called in a warning tone.

In the near distance, another, much less expensive vehicle drove up and Gaz recognized the plate. He scowled at Sifiso. “If you don’t mind. I’ve got a client to attend to. And you’d just better pray they’ve already taken her child off the planet.”

He almost wanted to punch himself for such an unbelievably stupid comment, but enraged pride kept pushing him forward. Shoving his way past the chief, he left Sal, now hobbling onto the tarmac on crutches, to do damage control. Not that Gaz cared. If Sanchez really was looking to move on to Caldera, leaving a few burnt bridges behind was something he could live with.

Gaz took a deep breath and tried to decelerate. He opened the car door and slid into the front passenger seat. Behind the wheel, a middle-aged woman stared at him through eyes clouded by exhaustion. Her hair was a frayed mess, while reddened, irritated skin tinged her nose and eyes.

“How are you doing Ntsika?” he asked as gently as he could.

She ignored the question and nodded to the plane on the tarmac. “I heard about the rescue this morning. Is that them?”

“Yes.”

“They must be very happy.”

Her voice was both bitter and sympathetic. Gaz remembered when he had felt those same contradictory emotions. Now he only felt a predator’s hunger.

“They have happiness and pain,” he said. “A lot of pain to heal from, but a lot of hope as well.”

Ntsika sniffed and nodded. “My cousin works for the attorney’s office. He told me you would be kicked off Intaba.”

“That’s true, unfortunately,” Gaz said. “But we have a lead pointing us to Caldera. We’ll be heading there as soon as possible.”

“I see.” She picked a tissue out of the door and played with it. The movements had obviously become an unconscious habit.

“It’s only a matter of time, now, Ntsika. Once we start to get leads, we always run them down. Wherever they took your daughter, we will find her.”

She smiled at him, and he knew immediately that it was an expression of pity for his naivety.

“I think,” she said, “that the worst thing about you people, is that you keep offering hope. It is more painful than moving on.”

Gaz said farewell and left the car. While he watched the vehicle drive off the tarmac, he took a portrait photo out of his pocket and looked into the eyes of young Milani Mayosi. She had been a basketball player, hoping to study architecture. A lot like his sister when they had taken her, though she had preferred swimming.

He had been deployed when it happened. The Marines had given his life a greater meaning; serving the good of the League. But after eight years, he was forced to question what service they had rendered, holding back endless tribal conflicts while the Helvet governors only stewed the corrupt, incompetent mess. Meanwhile, the truly innocent, even his own family, were being preyed on by monsters.

Some nights the drink reminded him that tearful reunions meant nothing. What he really wanted was the excuse to kill evil men. To leave their bodies behind to inflict fear in their masters. Perhaps some of them would have nightmares as they imagined him coming for them too.

Milani would be rescued; he had no doubts about that. Sanchez had been a brilliant intelligence officer, and Caldera was so far beyond the League’s authority they could operate almost with impunity. But his sister would never come home, wherever she was, dead or alive. He could only avenge her, and that he could do with extreme prejudice.