Guerilla by Mel Odom Page B

burst Morlortai’s heart with a bullet, but had paid for that with his head.
    Morlortai pulled up the map overlay of the sprawl and took the turn indicated to reach his destination. The alley was narrow and two stories tall, filled with roots that tore through the ground and branches that stood out from the sides of buildings constructed by the Makaum. The buildings had been evacuated once the offworlders had negotiated trade rights and dropped in around them. Morlortai ducked the branches and stepped over the exposed roots.
    No one followed him.
    At the other end of the alley, he didn’t break stride, but he took in the area in a sweeping glance. His contact had chosen well. The three-­story building had also been built by the Makaum and was festooned with growing vines, shrubs, and small trees. No Makaum lived there anymore. A group of Zukimther mercenaries had moved into it and used it as a headquarters while they “provided” protection to small merchants who couldn’t afford bashhounds.
    A few food carts dotted the open space in front of the building. Thieves, offworlder and Makaum—­though Morlortai saw few of those, came here to trade with the Zukimther. The mercs provided a small black market for goods, not enough for them to ship offworld, but enough to keep them living well.
    Morlortai figured the mercs were on Makaum because they were hiding out. The Zukimther fought for credits, usually only for whom they believed the winning side would be, but sometimes wars didn’t go the way they were supposed to go. Out of funds, temporarily on the run from hostile opponents, they holed up on backwater worlds until they could resupply themselves and build up another war chest by sponging off criminal activity.
    It wasn’t much different from what Morlortai did, but Morlortai always had another contract working and three or four set up in case that one went sideways.
    The Zukimther mercs stood almost three meters tall and were massive in armor designed to make them look even larger. Brown patches spotted their yellow skin where it was visible. Twin ridges of bone ran across their hairless heads, from just above their eyes to their shoulders, and provided a natural armor. More bone overlaid arteries in their four arms and both legs. Having those additional arms made them even more deadly, but they were strong, not quick. With the natural armor and the tactical gear they’d strapped on, they were hard to kill.
    Morlortai knew how to kill them, though he bore scars from his first encounter with a Zukimther merc. After nearly getting killed, he’d learned fast. He flexed his left wrist and brought the compact gauss cannon mounted under his arm online. The fingertips of his right hand grazed the waraw at his right hip. At the moment, the weapon resembled a black tube as thick as two of his fingers and no longer than his hand. It was something a trade courier might carry a datastick containing bills of lading in.
    â€œDid your contact mention anything about Zukimther mercs?” a quiet voice asked over the private comm link Morlortai had assigned for the meeting.
    â€œNo.” Morlortai pinged Turit’s position, and even then he had a hard time spotting the Angenen on a small balcony of a building that held an angled view of the rendezvous site.
    As an Angenen, Turit almost fit in on Makaum. His ­people were lizardlike, covered with gray and green scales. They tended to be long and thin, narrow shouldered and narrow hipped, but they were wiry and quick, so flexible as to be almost boneless. His face was elongated, framed around powerful jaws that jutted out twenty centimeters. Speech was hard for him, but the translator/enhancer he wore around his neck allowed him, once he had trained to use the device, to articulate well enough. His black reptilian eyes were close-­set like a human’s instead of on either side of his head.
    Turit sat at an uneven table and wore the