Read aHunter4Rescue (aHunter4Hire) Online
Authors: Cynthia Clement
aHunter4Rescue (aHunter4Hire)
aHunter4Rescue
By
Cynthia
A Clement
Text copyright © 2013
Cynthia A Clement
eBook
Edition
ISBN: 978-0-9920189-0-0
All Rights Reserved. No
part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a
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mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without prior written
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reviewer, brief passages may be quoted in a review to be printed in a
newspaper, magazine, or journal.
This book is a work of
fiction. The characters and incidents are from the author’s imagination. Any
resemblance to actual incidents or persons, living or dead, is coincidental and
unintentional.
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To
my husband and son, who supported my vision and put up with the clutter, late
meals, and take-out until I finished.
Ardal
had followed orders without question for thirty-five years, but not this time.
Bred to be a Hunter, he had always known death would be his reward. There was
no fear in death, but there should be honor. He scanned the prison cage, taking
a long look at each of his men. They were brothers and friends, and every one
of them had been slotted for execution. Since time began, Hunters had existed,
but now their breed was to be exterminated.
His
men deserved better.
They
deserved to die fighting.
He
was the last of the clan Rioge; the last leader. His men were the only Hunters
left. The rest of his race and brotherhood had been destroyed long before his
unit had returned from their covert mission. Torture and violence had not
elicited the information that the Holman wanted. He and his men would never
break, so their usefulness was at an end. Now all that remained was death.
Every
leader knew that the decision to risk lives must be weighed against the
likelihood of winning. Their chances of winning were slim. The confines of the
spacecraft and their chains almost guaranteed it. The time for a reprieve had
come and gone. Their jailors were preparing the tubes that would shoot them
into space to die a slow suffocating death. As resistors and convicted traitors,
they were not deserving of a more humane execution.
There
was only one decision.
They
would fight and die as Hunters.
Ardal
nodded at Garguin, who in turn passed the message down the line. Within seconds
his unit of warriors and elite Hunters were ready for his signal. As the leader
he would be the first to be executed. When they came for him he would make his
move. The others would follow their training. The clang of the metal door
opening sent icy resolve through his body.
The
moment had come.
Ardal
tightened his muscles and felt the familiar rush of adrenaline pulse through
his body. He was a finely tuned weapon. Centuries of genetic modification and
years of training had made him a formidable force. His jailors were no match
for him. They were of the slave race, thinner boned and slow witted. The Holman
had not seen the need for elite soldiers. They assumed a Hunter was incapable
of disobeying an order. That would be Ardal’s only advantage.
Three
men came for him. He eased his breathing and slowed his heart rate before
glancing once more at Garguin. He sent his orders. Only Hunters were capable of
mind connection and it was a well-guarded secret of the brotherhood.
“When
these are defeated, move the men from the cage. We fight until the last man is
dead. We will die as soldiers.”
“By
Cygnus and Warrior your orders will be obeyed. It is an honor serving with
you.”
Garguin turned away and nodded to the next in
command.
Ardal
moved his head from side to side, easing his muscles in preparation for battle.
It was done. There was no turning back. They were now truly traitors. He
focused on the men coming for him, complacent in their belief that they were in
control.
Fools.
No
man was safe from a Hunter.
Ardal
assessed the man nearest him as a muscle bound oaf. The next was slightly built
and walked with confidence. He had the look of one trained in hand to hand
combat. The last was the leader and a coward judging by the distance he was
careful to keep between him and the other jailors. He tightened his grip on the
chains holding his hands together.
The
oaf unlocked him from the cage.
“Not
so tough now,” his voice mocked before Ardal wrapped his chains around his neck
and silenced him. The keys dropped from the jailor’s hands. Ardal kicked them
toward Garguin before rushing forward against the other men. He moved beyond
the cage doors, leaving the way free for his men.
An
elbow strike to the head of the second man kept him at bay until he had broken
the neck of the oaf. Then he kicked free of the body and grappled with the next
combatant. He fielded the man’s hand chops, weaving and deflecting the blows
with ease. He did not have time for finesse. He leveled a bone breaking kick to
the man’s ribs and then a knee to his head before using his chains to twist his
neck and fling him at the last man.
A
gun fired red heat in his direction, but the aim was deflected by the oncoming
body. Ardal’s eyes narrowed. He had been right. The man was a coward hiding
behind his weapon. He pounced on the last jailor and forced the gun up against
the man’s chest just as he fired a second time. The man slumped against Ardal,
his eyes startled as pain convulsed his body. It was a look Ardal was all too
familiar with.
Death.
Gauguin
was at his side, unlocking the chains that still bound his hands together. “The
crew will be alerted now.”
“Divide
the men and move through the craft.” Ardal rubbed his wrists before bending to
pick up the gun. “Kill all you see. No one is to be left alive. Arm yourself as
you go.”
Garguin
nodded and motioned the men into separate groups before following Ardal. Their
footsteps were silent, but the alarm had been signaled. Pounding footfall came
toward them. Ardal moved into the shadows and braced for the fight.
They
fought their way through men and bodies until they reached the control center
of the craft. It was a modern ship, built for speed not battle. It was large
enough to transport several thousand troops, or prisoners. They had encountered
and defeated about six hundred men, a meagre amount for Ardal’s unit of two
hundred.
The
heart of the craft was different. It was guarded by doors and locks, not men.
“Find
explosives.” Ardal ordered before turning back to the sealed encasement of the
cockpit. “We need to gain control if there is any hope of survival.”
His
fingers moved over the grey metal of the massive security doors, exploring
every niche and crevice of its cold steel. There were secrets to find here.
Ardal followed a coated wire that lead from the door to the floor. He pulled on
it with no effect. If there was a way to open the doors without force, he
didn’t find it.
Garguin
returned and Ardal watched as Firbin, the youngest of his Hunters started
applying the molding explosives to the doors. His fingers moved sure and
confident, filling the cracks of the hinges and then across the opening seam.
The boy might only be twenty-two, but he was a genius with explosives.
The
blast ripped the doors apart with a force that shook the entire ship. Gunfire
from inside the cockpit filled the air. Ardal kept his men away from the ragged
opening until the shots stopped and then they went into the breach to fight.
One by one the soldiers defending the cockpit fell until there was only the
captain and his crew at the helm.
“Don’t
come any closer.” The Captain pointed a laser pistol at the control panel. “I
won’t have my ship taken by traitors.”
The
Captain was shorter and slighter built than the other men at the helm. He had
no facial hair, but his other features were similar to Hunters. His larger
eyes, narrow nose, and small mouth marked him as an Ancient. He was of the
ruling class on Cygnus, there before the Hunters and slave races. Some thought
of them as Gods, but Ardal knew differently. The Captain’s insignia proclaimed
that he was a Holman.
Ardal
tilted his head and glanced at the man’s nametag. “I am impressed Captain
Eamon. You are the first Holman I have met who is not a coward.”
“You
and your men are better dead. There is no place for you in the new regime.” The
Captain did not hide his disdain. “You were no better than slaves for the
Kaladin, and where are they now?
“You
would never have kept us alive this long unless you thought you could break
us.” Ardal took a step closer to the man. “You might hold us in contempt, but
even torture and death will not force us to tell you where the last of the high
council is hidden.”
“It
will do them no good.” The Captain tightened his grip on his pistol. “The
Holman have defeated the old ways. Now our people will have a chance to
flourish.”
“By
conquering other planets?”
Ardal watched Garguin
and his men spread out in the control center. “That way only leads to
destruction.”
“You
weren’t bred to think.” The Captain spat his scorn at Ardal. “You aren’t even
men in the truest sense of the word!”
Ardal
moved in unison with his men. They killed the rest of the crew as he grabbed
the Captain by the neck. He jerked him close, reaching for the pistol at the
same time. He was too late to stop the reflex action of his captive. The gun
fired at the bank of navigation computers. Exploding fragments and flames leapt
everywhere. He threw the Captain away from him.
“Can
you fix it Jehon?”
A
tall broad-shouldered Hunter stepped forward with an extinguisher and sprayed
the flaming bank of computers. Then he inspected the damage before shaking his
head and stepping back.
“We
are being pulled in by the gravity of that planet. We cannot avoid it.”
Ardal
nodded and looked through the floor-to-ceiling viewing window. A large planet
loomed close, its globe shape filling most of the viewing screen. You did not
have to be an expert in physics to know that the odds of survival were slim. He
grabbed the Captain. There was only one thing left to do.
“Now
you will see how real men die.”
Ardal
dragged Eamon out of the room. The rest of his men followed until they reached
the padded area of the launching chamber. This was where passengers strapped
themselves in for takeoff and landing of the spacecraft. It was built with heat
shields and heavier metal to cocoon and protect its occupants from rough
landings. He threw the Captain into one of the chairs and strapped him in.
“What
is this planet that we are going to collide with?”
“M212.
“I
have never heard of it.” Ardal took a seat and nodded for his men to follow.
Within seconds, everyone was secure.
“It’s
primitive, with numerous languages. Their technology is almost non-existent.
Hell, they’re still going to war against each other.”
“Jehon,
download a translator.”
Ardal’s
training kicked in. He slowed his breathing and allowed his body to relax. All
tension left his muscles as he prepared for a crash landing. Mentally he
commanded his men to do the same.