Second Rain, chapter 1

         (The mistakes have been left in on purpose. The final edited chapter will only be available in the book. And there have been changes :) 

Chapter 1


         Her name was Isbeth. She was a prostitute whose life he had been a part of, on and off again, for the better part of ten years. She was a beautiful woman. Just not the kind who would be considered elegant. She was in her late twenties with shoulder length dark brown hair and bright green eyes. It had been almost two years since Placer last saw her. That had been thousands of light years from here and too many memories ago to recall.
         This time when he saw her she was seated on a bench, ticket in hand, waiting for an outbound shuttle at a transport station. At first, he wasn't sure he recognized her. She was dressed like all the other travelers. Simple and understated. He couldn't remember ever seeing her wear clothes like she had on. All earth tones. Several baggy layers that did nothing for her figure. It appeared she was trying not to draw attention to herself. Which was odd, because she usually wanted everyone in the room to know when she walked in. 
         He intended to pass her by quietly, without a word. But, from the corner of his eye, he caught a piercing green stare glance in his direction. The next thing he knew, Isbeth leaped to her feet as she called out his name. The bag in her lap quickly became forgotten and tumbled to the floor. Hurriedly, she sprinted down the aisle toward him.
         One of his security people drew their weapon and was about to step between them, when Placer waved him away.
         “She's fine,” he whispered.
         When Isbeth had closed the distance between the two of them, she made an excited leap into his arms. With an almost girlish laugh, she hugged him tight. “I can’t believe it's you!” Her desire to blend in had been forgotten, like the canvas bag she left behind on the floor.
         Gray put an arm around her to return the embrace. “You look good,” he told her. Any other time he would have been happy to see her. At this moment, in this place, his heart was not into their reunion.
         She leaned back, but kept her hands securely around his neck. “Damn, it’s good to see you,” she said with a wide, gleaming smile.
         Placer wanted to tell her it was good to see her too, but a little voice told him that was not the best idea. Instead, he asked, “what brings you out this far?”
         She cocked her head, like he had seen her do every time she wanted to avoid a question. Her smile changed from one of joy to a grin that was far too familiar. It was a grin that meant she didn't want to talk. And when she didn't want to talk, it was most likely because she was on the run from something or someone. Unfortunately, the someone in her case, was usually herself.
         “Does this have to do with a man?” he inquired. Why he bothered to ask, he wasn’t sure. There was no chance she would be honest.
         “Not exactly,” she returned coyly. “Just . . . . heading out to see new country. You know. Somewhere I haven't been.”
         Placer raised an eyebrow. “Yeah,” he said, as he let his hands slide down to her waist. “It isn't like you haven't done that before.”
         She never took her eyes off his. “I get restless. What can I say?”
         In the middle of a busy transport station, as throngs of people bustled by, they could still find a way to share a moment just between themselves. Isbeth let her hands slip from around his neck, to rest against his chest. “And I know why you’re here,” she said with a confident certainty.
         It seemed that word of his search had reached even her small, morally bankrupt corner of the universe. Then again, he would have been surprised if it hadn't. He had practically overturned every rock, shook every tree and peered around every corner. He had threatened, bribed, tortured, maimed, and left a path of nightmares in his wake for two months. The tales of which would be told for generations to come. If not longer.
         If what Isbeth had heard was true, his search could be a little closer to an end. It seemed there was a woman who showed up a month ago on a backwater world in an all but forgotten system. A woman she believed, could be the one he was looking for.
         His interest in their reunion suddenly became more genuine. “How long has it been since you were there?”
         “I haven’t been,” she replied. “I heard it from some traders that passed through a few weeks ago. You know the old story. They get a little ass, too much booze and they get all happy. Then they won’t shut up.”
         He placed his hands on hers. “Grab your bags.”
         “Why?” she inquired, not with any real curiosity. She knew Placer Gray too well to be surprised by him. His steel-gray eyes often said more than his words. “I have two bags. They’re both small.” She motioned back toward where she had been sitting. With a raised eyebrow of her own, she informed him demurely, “I'll even be a lady and let you carry them.”
         He gave her an inquiring look. One that made her chuckle. Then he walked over and picked them up.
         When he strolled back towards her, he handed the bags to Piper, his chief engineer. A thin man, six-foot tall, with a hawkish face. His hair was dark and unkempt. He looked like he had no idea what a comb was. “See to it the lady gets quarters,” he told him. Placer gestured to two of his security people to escort Piper and their new passenger back to the ship. “Find her a place close to mine. I want to keep an eye on her.”
         The engineer nodded his understanding. He transferred both bags to his left hand and put his right on the handle of his weapon. Then Isbeth and her new found guardians began their way back to the landing pads where the Dragon's shuttles were docked. 
         Placer called out from behind. “We're going to finish up down here. We should be back on board in a couple of hours.”
         A hand was set lightly on Placer's shoulder. When he turned, Rose gave him a look that burned with disapproval.
         “How many times are we going to do this?” She asked harshly. 
         Rose was his closest friend and the Captain of the Dragon's sister ship, The Unforgiven. She was a smaller, heavier set woman in her early fifties with short dark hair. She had an olive complexion and an overly protective attitude. He had known her longer than almost anyone else. She was his confidant, his conscience and one of the few reasons he still had any semblance of sanity left. Although many, including Rose, would disagree with the sanity part. Mostly because on more than one occasion, she had talked him back from the edge. Both literally and figuratively.
         “It'll be fine,” he reassured her. “Nothing is going to happen.”
         Rose raised an eyebrow. “Really?! Like nothing happened the last two times you and her got together?!”
         He did his best to ignore the rest of her lecture while he made his way through the crowd to the loading docks.
         Newton, his ship's best helmsmen, followed close behind. He'd volunteered to play the role of shuttle pilot on today's excursion. A younger man in his mid twenties, six-foot tall with short, light-colored hair. He always looked like he could use a good meal.
         To Placer's right was Nash, a larger, more intimidating man. He was head of security for The Dragon. Dark-haired with touches of gray over the temples. He stood six-foot four and was built like a chief of security should be. His eyes were as dark as Placer's but not nearly as tormented. They didn't hold the same ice-cold disregard for life.
         The business Placer had mentioned, was to arrange for delivery of supplies they'd bought from local growers. Mostly fruits and vegetables that the hydroponics gardens aboard his ship couldn't grow. Things like fire red melons that only came from forty-foot trees that grew on the side of active volcanoes. Or little blue berries that exploded with the most unbelievable flavors when baked into pies. They were only grown on the carcasses of dead whale like creatures on a world of mostly water. And then there was an assortment of meats. A staple of his crew's diet. Most of them had never gotten use to the taste of synthesized proteins. No matter how much gravy the cooks put on it. Fortunately, Placer wasn't one of them. He'd rather drink his meals from a cup. Taking time to sit down to eat always seemed like a waste.


*    *    *
         When Placer Gray stepped on the bridge a few hours later, the Dragon began the preparations for the jump to interspace. Shields flared brilliantly as Mason field generators accelerated h-boson particles in concentrated beams a few kilometers ahead of the ship. Holes were punched through the very fabric of normal space. One by one, his ships entered that strange emptiness between dimensions that allowed them to fold the universe in on itself. They could travel great distances in much shorter amounts of time than any speed outside of interspace could offer. There was also no danger of running into objects or colliding with planets. Anything that was not surrounded by a Mason field, could not pass through the barrier that separated the two realities. Without the field or velocity to maintain it, light speed travel through normal space was the best one could hope for.
         The Mason Field generator was a physics Placer himself wasn't sure he completely understood. But then again, he wasn't an engineer, he didn't have to. All he needed to know was that it got him where he wanted to go without taking years off his life to get there. Or worse yet, as earlier humans did, put themselves in stasis so they could sleep the years of travel away.
         Still, Placer's limited patients wouldn't accept trading a day of his life for each nine hundred and eighteen light years he traveled. Every now and again, he felt the need to bitch about how slow he had to go and how much faster he thought they should be. 
         Once on the bridge, he was met by Newton. “Estimated time to arrival is, . . . ten days,”  his helmsman reported. Then he paused, “Um, . . . Captain. Care if I ask where we're going?”
         Placer peered over at him as he rubbed a thumb along the edge of his nose. His expression was almost pained. “It's called Gan Haith. I'm told it's one of the last places you can go when you have nothing to lose.”
         Newton sighed heavily. “Sounds like fun.”          
         The captain patted his helmsman on the shoulder. “I think it might make a nice place for a summer home.” His tone didn't lead anyone to believe he was kidding, until he glanced down and smiled.
         Placer would have taken his seat in the command chair, but he'd promised Nash he'd meet him in the gym for a self-defense demonstration. Word had gotten back to him that some of the security personnel wanted to see if the Commander still had what it took. Since he hadn't done much training like that in the past couple of months, he thought it might be interesting to find out if they were right.          
         Six levels down and half-way across the ship. There were two dozen people who waited eagerly in the gym for his arrival. Nash had already run them through a series of warm ups to get them ready.
         “Nice to see we have so many dedicated people,” Placer commented as he walked around. He studied each and every one of them. Their height, their weight, their stance.
         Without warning, he stepped up and grabbed the biggest man. He took a hold of his wrist. Rotated it clockwise half a turn. Stuck his thumb in the back of his hand. Then he proceeded to force the younger man to his knees with almost no effort.
         “And that are what pressure points are for,” Placer announced as he let the trooper back up. “You all know what pain compliance is. What you're still learning is how to use it. I would tell you it's for disarming people, but it's not. If your opponent has a weapon and you don't, you screwed up. You didn't pay attention or got lazy. You're probably also dead.” He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “Pain compliance is to force someone to do what you want them to do. Sit down. Stand up. Roll over or find out where something is. Take your pick.” He started to walk around the circle. Each person was addressed as if he were talking directly to them. “You can even use it on your boyfriend or girlfriend if they get a little out of hand.” He glanced around at mostly unfamiliar faces. “And on this ship, that has been known to happen.”
         "But there's more than one way to defend yourself." Placer pulled his firearm from it's holster. He appeared to study it thoughtfully for a moment. “When you're given one of these,” he said. “You understand it was designed for one main reason. To keep you alive.” He peered around at the those who watched him intently. “These things were not invented to scare or maim. You don't wave them around in the air to make someone crap themselves." Then he paused. "They're like anything else. In order for these to work, you have  to hit what you're aiming at. The only way for you to do that is if you spend time in the shooting range. And I encourage you to spend as much down there as you like. The life you have to save someday may be mine, . . . . and I would appreciate it if you didn't miss.”
         Nash let out a chuckle.
        Gray gave him a sarcastic smirk. Then he wandered through the group standing on the mats. “Mr. Nash will tell you a lot of things and give you a lot of advice. Don't listen to half of it.” The corner of his mouth turned up in a wicked grin. “Some things he tells you, you should believe. It will keep you alive.” He walked up behind one of the women and threw an arm around her neck. He grabbed his own wrist and locked her in a choke hold. She, in turn, seized his wrist, took hold of his thumb, then proceeded to pry back until his grip was broken. She quickly twisted her hips, stepped back with her left leg, then slid under his arm. A split second later, she had his arm secured in a hammerlock behind his back. She applied just enough torque to make him reasonably uncomfortable.
         “Nice job,” he praised. “Gentlemen, did you pay attention?”
         The hold was quickly released.
          He turned to the young woman, who looked barely old enough to be his daughter, if he'd had one. “What's your name?”
         “Sabrina,” she replied as she pushed her ponytail back off her shoulders.
         “Ms. Sabrina here,” he said as he stood beside her, “survived because she knew what to do. She didn't have to stop to think about it or come up with a plan. She reacted. If you don't react with the same efficiency, we will leave your dead ass in a dirt pile on a shitty little planet for bugs to pick over. Is that clear? I will not risk one single life to recover a corpse. You're no use to me dead.”
         Every head nodded.
         “Good,” he responded. “Now that we understand each other, we can get back to training.”
         By the time Placer left the gym, he had worked up a sweat. His wrists were sore. His back ached from being thrown to the mats and he realized he wasn't twenty-five anymore. But he'd had a lot of fun.                    

         
*    *    *
         After a meal, a shower and too much time to think. Night found Placer sitting in his quarters, half asleep. Music echoed softly throughout the spacious half-dozen rooms. He felt the large, comfortable chair against his legs, his back and especially his shoulders. He inhaled deeply. He exhaled slowly, deliberately. He felt his lungs rise and fall. He listened to his heart beat. Sometimes, it even beat in rhythm with the music.
         He could feel air move across his face from the ship's ventilation. Air filtered so purely it even smelled clean. It reminded him of the last time he stood on a beach with the ocean winds blowing in his face. With his eyes closed he could envision the magnificent oranges of the rising sun over the rolling blue waves. It would have been like he was there, except for the low hum of the engines vibrations under his socked feet. It was subtle, but it was there. Always, it reminded him of where he was.
         “Maybe . . . ” he muttered under his breath. But before he could finish his thought, the door chimed.
         Out of instinct, his hand immediately went to his side to feel for the weapon that was always there. Always, except for tonight. He had laid it on the table in front of the couch. A sign of just how absent-minded he had become in recent weeks. That was one of the reasons why he rarely allowed himself to be alone. He felt more comfortable knowing someone else would be there to make decisions if he couldn't. Or worse yet, to correct him if he made the wrong one.
         The door chimed again.
         “Yes?” he called out.
         The door chimed a third time.
         “Shit,” he mumbled to himself.
         He rose to his feet. Crossed to the door. Then he palmed the pad, to let the door slide open.
         “I started to wonder if you were going to answer,” Isbeth scolded as she stood in the doorway.
         Her presence was not wholly unexpected. Neither was it unwelcomed. As guilty as it might make him feel later, he was glad to see her standing there.
         For months he hadn't felt anything but rage, fear, and loss. All of his relationships with his friends had suffered because of it. He hadn't tried to fill the void from the loss of Rain because he hoped, sooner or later, he would bring her back again.
         “Well, . . . You going to let me stand out here?” she asked. She put a hand on her hip in feigned disgust.
         With a gesture, he stepped aside to allow her in.
         The door slid closed.
         “This isn't even close to what I expected,” she proclaimed as she entered. “I thought you'd have a lot more gold and jewels and human heads hanging on the walls.”
         There actually were trophies of his adventures sitting around on shelves and tables. There were even a few that adorned the walls. Statues, paintings, fragments of twisted metal, various weapons seemed to be what he chose mostly to decorate with. But memories weren't always thing he liked to look at every day. Or be reminded of.
         With a forced smile, he replied, “I'm not a pirate.”
         Isbeth gave him a flirtatious smile. “Depends on who you ask. There are plenty of people out there who would disagree with that.”
         He stepped over to a panel of controls on the wall so he could turn off the music.
         She interrupted him. “Don't.”
         He peered back at her over his shoulder. 
         “Leave it. I'm curious what Placer Gray listens to when he's alone.”
         So, he let the music play. It wasn't any particular kind. I was a mix of genres and ages. Nothing classical or instrumental. He had always hated violins and trumpets.
         Politely, he offered her a drink.
         “I don't know,” she answered demurely. “Are you going to have one?”
         “Thought about it.”
         “Then I'll have one with you. I hate to see a man drink alone.”
         He walked across the room to a small inlet. Opened a cupboard and pulled out two glasses. “Any preferences?”
         She stepped over to stand beside him. More than a dozen bottles of various heights and colors sat on the shelves. She studied them for a minute. “What's that?” She pointed to a tall, thin bottle half filled with a pale blue liquid.
         He took it down. “Drujan brandy.” He pulled the stopper out and held it beneath her nose so she could smell it.
         It had a strong aroma of sweet berries that she couldn't recall ever having smelled before. She wasn't sure whether she liked it or not. But it piqued her curiosity. “Sure, I'll try it.”
         “You have to water it down,” he advised. “If you don't, it's way too sweet and syrupy. The sugar rush will kill ya tomorrow morning.”
         She gave him a curious look. “Already thinking about tomorrow morning?”
         He shook his head. “I'm not thinking about anything.”
         With glasses in hand, they moved back into the main room. Isbeth spun around and sat herself down lightly on the sofa. Placer returned to the chair he had been sitting in before someone came to his door.
         As they sat there next to each other, he took a minute to study her. Dark brown hair, entrancing green eyes and skin that had been spared from the harshness of a sun. She wore a pink top with short sleeves that had a touch of lace at the waist. It was just long enough that it almost covered her hips. Her pants, if that's what he wanted to call them, were faded denim. The legs barely covered her knees. Leaving her calves exposed. Which he had to notice were nicely shaped. Her shoes, she slipped off the instant she sat down. He recalled how she liked to be barefoot whenever she could. Gray thought it was one of her more adorable traits. There were others, but he couldn't remember them all at the moment. And he didn't want to. What he did notice, was something was different about her. He wasn't sure what. There was just a feeling in the pit of his stomach that told him this wasn't the same woman he knew from two years ago. He could have blamed it on the time that passed since he'd seen her. But he didn't think that was it. The longer he stared at her, the more certain he knew he was right. He just couldn't figure out what it was.
         She looked at him with genuine concern. “What's the matter? You're not acting like the old you.”
         Those closest to him knew he hadn't been the same for a while. “Just not myself much anymore,” he confessed. He tipped the glass up to take a drink of the rye whiskey he'd filled it with. There was a bite, followed by a burn that he found comfort in. A soothing sensation that warmed all the way down his throat and into his belly.
         Isbeth tucked one leg up under her. The other, she stretched out, as she let her bare foot rest on the coffee table. “I know what you mean,” she admitted. “Things haven't been great for me either.”
         Placer reached out to sit his glass down, close to her foot. “Dear,” he began. “I've known you long enough to know you're on the run from something.” He rested his elbows on his knees. His eyes locked on her's with a hard to meet stare. “Why don't you tell me what it is?”
         Isbeth took a drink of the sweet brandy. When she pulled the glass away from her lips, she ran a thin finger along its rim. Her eyes stayed fixed on the edge. Her mind played memories like a movie that only she could see. “Not tonight,” she said with a sadness in her voice. “I just want to keep moving for a while.” She took another drink. When the glass was tipped back down, it was almost empty.
         “It's funny,” he chuckled, more to himself than her. “How we run into each other in the middle of nowhere like this. What are the odds?”
         She looked at him with a somber curiosity. “What's so funny about it?”
         Gray shook his head. “Nothing.” He reached out to pick up his glass, while he let his hand brush lightly against the bottom of her foot. “We always seem to find each other that way, don't we?”
         “Is that a bad thing?”
         He took a drink. Then smiled. “No.”
         “Maybe the universe has a plan,” Isbeth chuckled.
         He watched her tip her head with a flash of her green eyes. “One it doesn't want to tell us about?” He inquired.
         She shrugged. “Who am I to question.” She drained her glass with one last swallow. “How about you make me another?” She held the empty glass out for him to take. “Maybe we're not supposed to know the plan,” she informed him with a large gleaming white smile. “Besides, if we knew what it was, we'd just screw it up.”
         Gray reached out to take her glass.
         She slid her foot out from under her, slipped her leg off the table then moved her way down the sofa until their knees were lightly touching.
         “I need another one too,” he announced.
         She pointed out that his glass wasn't empty yet.
         A problem he easily rectified with a single tip of his head. “Now it is,” he said, with a gasp. He stood up to return to the cabinet where he kept the alcohol. In his ears he could hear his heart beating. Something about this told him it was wrong. He knew he should ask her to leave. He felt too alone and maybe for the first time in his life, too vulnerable for her to be here. He stood in front of the bottles staring into their rainbow of colors. He was trying to convince himself of a lot of things. The problem was, every question he asked himself had an answer. Every answer had a reason. Every reason made sense. The reasons why he shouldn't do what he wanted to, were losing the battle in his head to the reasons it was okay.
         He poured two more glasses.
         When he handed Isbeth's back to her, their hands met. He looked down into the depths of her eyes. At first she stared back, then she turned her attention to the refilled glass.
         “Do you remember, . . . ” he started to ask.
         “The beach?” she interrupted.
         The expression on his face appeared to soften. “How did you know I was . . . .”
         “Going to ask?” She took a sip. Cleared her throat. Then bravely put a smile on her face. “Because there isn't a day goes by when I don't think about those two weeks.”
         “Really?”
         She nodded her head as her smile faded. “Don't you?”
         “Not every day,” he said.
         A feeling of melancholy washed over her. “Have you ever mentioned us to her?”
         “Rain? No.” He shook his head.
         She took another drink. “Ashamed?”
         He let out a little laugh. “Of you and me? No.”
         Isbeth stood up. She took a step forward until her chest pressed lightly against his. “Good,” she whispered. Her breath fell warm against his cheek. She slipped a hand into his. “Thanks for being there, . . . again.”
         “No big deal. You're the one doing me a favor.”
         She touched her nose to his. Her eyes closed. “Then what? Plan to drop me off somewhere?”
         “Isn't that what you want?”
         Her head fell gently against his shoulder. “I don't know what I want.”
         He put his head against hers. They stood there together, feeling the closeness they shared. They drew in the scent, the sounds, the energy of each other.
         Regretfully, he told her. “I can't do this.”
         With an understanding whisper, she replied. “I know.”
         The music played.
         He placed an arm around her waist.
         She pressed closer to him as she buried her face into his neck.
         Reluctantly he asked. “What if I said I need you?” In the back of his mind a little voice told him he didn't want to go down this road again. But his heart told him something different.
         The idea that Placer Gray needed anyone was beyond comprehension. Everything he was had been built on needing no one. He was the kind of man others only wished they could be. A man who stood alone against everything the universe threw at him and could throw it back without missing a step. When people thought of Placer, they envisioned him on a battlefield, strewn with the bodies of millions. The sole survivor. The last man standing. A smile on his blood smeared face.
         At this moment, he was none of those things. He was just a man. As vulnerable as any other. A man who had stumbled across a friend. Someone who could help him quiet his demons. Someone who could bring him relief from nightmares that hadn't let him sleep in months.
         A couple of drinks later found them laying on the couch together. Isbeth's legs were wrapped around him. His arms held her close. There were no words spoken between them. Just a woman and a man together. Each felt the other breathe. Their hearts beat in rhythm. Music played softly in the background, until their eyes grew heavy and sleep came to claim them both.
         The further Gray drifted under, the closer he got to a place he didn't want to be. His mind struggled. He fought against the dream that always came. The image of Rain's face that floated just out of reach. The sound of her voice calling his name. His heart felt like it was being ripped apart at the thought he couldn't get to her. No matter how hard he tried, she always drifted into the darkness and disappeared.
         Except tonight. Tonight, the dream changed.
         Suddenly, he spun around at the sound of shells going off around his head. The ping of metal striking stone. Where was he? What was going on? There was too much dark and haze to see through. Another round exploded by his head. A series of small arms fire chewed away at the wall he was hiding behind.
         What the fuck is going on?!
         Then the fog lifted. The darkness peeled back.
         Gray panted from exhaustion. He knew where he was. He could remember it all.
         For the last seven hours they had fought their way into the capital city. A couple hundred of the governors guards, along with the Governor and many of his cronies, had barricaded themselves in the capital building. Which also happened to be the Governor's mansion. This was the last push to take control from the government and secure the planet for it's people.
         In the midst of some of the heaviest fire, a slim, black clad figure, darted through the ruins of the buildings they had flattened on their march through the city. Like a serpent, the person wove their way in and out of places a man should never have been able to get through. The figure would vanish for seconds, then reappear twenty meters from where it had been. The last fifty meters the figure made an insane dash through a hail of resistance gunfire right toward him. 
         As Rain slid in behind the wall next to him he shouted. “What the hell are you doing?!”
         She laughed, almost completely out of breath. “Making sure . . . . you don't . . . . screw up.” She leaned over to give him a kiss just as a round exploded the stone above their heads. They were pelted with pieces of shale colored rock and dust.
         “Motherf . . . . ,” she exclaimed. She jumped up on one knee, leveled her rifle, then angrily emptied a magazine down range. She hit the release, the magazine rattled to the ground. She inserted another. When she let up on the trigger, sixty more rounds had found their way toward the defending forces around the capital building.
         To Placer's left, eight soldiers exchanged fire along with them. To Rain's right, another six. Behind them in the distance, he saw his troops take down the last monuments of a city's once great center. They fell without fanfare, one at a time, into piles of rubble. His troops moved as a unit; like a machine. More than a hundred of them, clad in black and gray armor reinforced positions, supported one another, and covered each others backs. Their helmets bore the insignia of a single twisted dragon. Faces were concealed behind infrared visors that guided them toward every moving target. In a city of two million people, everything that moved was potentially a target.
         Another thirty rounds later Rain exclaimed with genuine irritation. “This shit is pissing me off!”
         Blue eyes flashed wildly. Her nostrils flared. Her jaw clenched.
         “You need to learn a little patience,” he informed her with an air of sarcasm. “Just wait for . . . . .”
         She looked at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. “Seriously?”
         Two more enemy rounds showered more dust down on them. “Wait for . . . ? Fuck you!.”
         He raised a single finger, “Just shut up and . . . ”
         “Shut up?! You really want your damned ass kicked don't ya?” she replied without any hesitation.
         He calmly flashed her a smile. “Fine.” He tapped the side of his helmet. “Dole, bring'em up. The wife says your too slow.”
         Rain couldn't hear the reply. All she could hear were small rounds, heavy shells and the low rumble of something ominous as it approached from the distance. Fortunately, she knew what the “ominous” was.
         Placer glanced over at her.
         Impatiently she asked. “What did he say?”
         “He said you should sit down and shut up. He'll be here when he gets here.” He answered with a smile.
         She drew back with a heavy booted foot and kicked him soundly in the side of his knee. To which he let out a pained grunt. “You're an ass,” she growled.
         “And you have a pretty one,” he growled back, as he rubbed his knee. “That's why I keep you around.”
         A spark flashed in her blue eyes. “That's the reason?”
         “Yep,” he said jokingly. “Didn't think it was because you could cook did ya?”
         While the two of them bantered back and forth behind the cover of the carved stone wall, large armored tanks made their way up the broad city streets in their direction.
         “Bout damned time they got here!” Rain exclaimed. “Why didn't you let them go first?!” She snapped angrily, annoyed that he let Dole bring up the rear, again.
         Gray chuckled at her. “Because that would take all the fun out of it for the rest of us.”
         Her beautiful blue eyes narrowed to angry slits. “Can you tell me why I haven't fucking shot you yet? Because you're that close.” She made a little space between her thumb and forefinger about a quarter of an inch wide.
         He laughed, then he blew her a kiss. “You'd be the prettiest one to try.”
         In return, she flipped him the bird.
         “Is that an invitation?”
         “Really?! Just one in the fucking head,” she mumbled, half aloud. “One . . . . between the eyes. That's all it takes.”
         He couldn't help but laugh.
         It was only a minute or two later when seventy tons of pitted, pock-marked, black scarred, rolling alloy crushed the wall Gray had been using for cover.
         “Masks on!” He yelled into his headset.
         Visors that weren't down dropped quickly. Helmets that had been set aside were hurriedly retrieved. Placer pulled a small respirator out of his pocket. He placed it over his nose and mouth.
         From overhead came a sinister high-pitched scream that built in intensity until it became deafening. Almost like the gates of hell had erupted and released a flood of demons who shrieked with new-found freedoms. But it was nothing so arcane. Instead, a dark object, a hundred feet long and half that width tore through the heavy cover of black smoke that filled the sky from a city engulfed in flames.
         Once through, it paused for only an instant so it could hurl a barrage of small gleaming silver canisters to the ground. Erratically they bounced for several seconds before they erupted into a clamor of explosions. After the payload had been dropped, the ship rose back up through the clouds. Then, it was out of sight. The screaming stopped. Smoke and clouds rushed in to fill the hole it left behind.
         Across the ground, a green fog began to emanate from the ruptured canisters. At first it spread slowly. Then it began to swirl as if it were alive. Shades of yellows, blues and reds could be seen mingling with a sickening lime green. It seemed to cling to everything. The grass, the walls, the trees, the tanks. It even clung to the soldiers that it eerily appeared to stalk.
         It was only a matter of moments before men on the other side of the battlefield began falling. One by one they keeled over their turrets, their barriers and their guns. After only minutes, the shooting came to a stop.
         Placer said one word into the mic in his helmet, “MOVE!”
         Everything he had at his disposal headed toward the capital building. It's large gleaming white pillars stood as a monument to the inhabitants of the planet. The people who had paid to build them. The people who had sweat and toiled to stand them. The people who had died to defend the building of it. And now, the people who had paid him to liberate them from the government who controlled it.
         “I love my job,” he laughed as he stepped over the wall. He walked confidently in the deep, jagged tracks left by his massive assault vehicles. Vehicles he had overseen the construction of himself.
         He tapped the side of his helmet again. “Let's clean up. I want all aircraft brought down. I want all resistance broken. If it's wearing the wrong colored uniform . . . . kill it. We don't have time for prisoners.”
         Gray saw Rain step up next to him from the corner of his eye. Her rifle was on her right shoulder, finger still on the trigger. He turned toward her. She had taken off the respirator. The visor of her helmet was pushed up. She stared at him with eyes brighter than any sky he had ever seen. Locks of almost white blonde hair stuck out from beneath the dark, composite helmet. She had smudges of dirt on her cheek, above her lip and across her chin. Her alabaster neck was ringed with sweat. Tiny droplets ran down her cleavage, under her dull black polymer body armor. Every soldier's armor was custom fit specifically to them. But for Rain, custom fit wasn't enough. Her's had to be better. And it was.
         The stroll up the paseo to the large white governor's mansion and the seat of power for this little ball of dirt was almost a pleasant one. His troops were the ones who still stood. Only his machines rolled across the ground. His ships dominated the air. At this moment, he owned it all. If he wanted to, Placer could have kept it all too. There was nothing in his way.
         At the bottom of the steps that led up to the mansion's front doors, they were met by Rose and a man known as Nerafin Inger, the rebel leader. A man soon to be the temporary President, Governor or whatever he decided to call himself.
         “Thank you, Commander,” he said, gratefully. “You have no idea how much this means to the people of my world!”
         Placer paused. “Yes, I do.” He glanced around at the all the faces present for their little meeting. “It's worth what we agreed on.” He looked at Nerafin with a slight smile. He did it to lighten the mood of the moment. Rumors had it, Placer Gray never smiled.
         “I assume you and Ms. Rose here have concluded your part of the business?”
         Nerafin nodded, his hands clutched the belt buckle at his waist. He was very diligent not to let them wander toward the sidearm he wore. He was well aware of the reputation Placer's men had. He would have hated to be shot for a wrong move or a misunderstanding.
         Rose gave Placer a glance and a nod.
         “Good,” Rain chimed in. “Then we'll finish our part of this agreement so we can get the hell out of here. I have other places to be.”
         A group of twenty-eight soldiers, both Placer's and rebels, went into the capital building ahead of the rest. A precaution to make sure the new head of their ruling body wasn't assassinated before he could make the declaration of freedom to his people.
         Once inside, the opulence of the ruling class became almost overwhelming. There were trinkets, trophies, baubles and treasures that Gray himself found to be extravagant. The ceilings had been gilded with gold. The walls were draped with hundreds of meters of the most expensive, shimmering fabrics. Stone tiles containing some of the rarest fossils on the planet had been cut and laid on the floor. Then accented with gold and jeweled inlay. On the far end a continuous fountain of something resembling champagne flowed with platinum goblets sitting beneath it. This may not have been the most extravagant he had ever seen, but it was definitely above many. Even Rain cringed at the rarity of items that adorned the inside of the enormous palace like structure.
         Gray peered around with a look of disbelief. “I hope you're going to make sure this crap gets used for something other than to make your new office pretty?” He inquired of the new leader. “I'd hate to have to come back to do this again because you let a little power go to your head.”
         You could see the rebel commander's throat grow tight. The lump he tried to swallow was having trouble going down. “I assure you Mr. Gray, we have no intentions of seeing you or your people again.”
         Placer paused in mid stride. He gave Nerafin a hard look. “I didn't ask what your intentions are. I'm telling you how this works.”
         Rose leaned in toward the rebel leader. “If he has to come back to kick your ass out of here, he'll do it for free and he won't be nice about it.”
         They stepped through the heavy jewel encrusted steel doors of the Governors office. Neither the Governor nor his second in command were there.
         Impatiently, Placer called out. “There's supposed to be an asshole laying here unconscious. Does anybody know where he is?”
         It was about then the comm chirped in his ear.
         “Good,” he replied. “Get them up here. I'm waiting.”
         Inquiring looks fell on him like he was the oracle at Delphi. “Two floors down through a closet there's a safe room. Our guys picked it up on scans. And wouldn't you know it, everybody inside is still conscious.”
         He leaned closer to Rain. “I want to discuss this with someone when we get back,” he whispered. “I'm not happy.”
         Moments later the former leader, along with his vice president, were escorted into what use to be their office. The Governor bellowed like a wild creature that had his foot caught in a trap. He was everything someone would expect a leader with his reputation to be. He was fat, sweaty, loud and obnoxious.
         “YOU CAN'T DO THIS!” he ranted. “WE ARE A SOVEREIGN NATION! I WAS ELECTED BY THE PEOPLE!”
         Rain laughed. “Consider this a recall.” She gave him a shove toward the wall behind him. He almost fell over a small stand with a shimmering gold vase atop it. The latter of which fell to the floor where it rattled around at his chubby feet that were fitted with way too expensive shoes.
         “Mr. Nerafin,” Placer addressed. “Do you need any more help or are we good?”
         From somewhere else in the expansive manor, a series of shots rang out. “I believe we have everything under control here. You're free to leave at your earliest convenience.”
         With that, the men and women clad in dark armor made their way back through the halls toward the large glass doors of the entrance.
         About half way back, Rain paused. She stepped over to a small marble table with a beautiful figurine of an ancient beast engaged in battle with a male figure. It stood about a foot high on a jeweled and golden base. “This would look better on one of our tables,” she announced. “I'll consider it a bonus.” She proceeded to stick it in a pack one of their men carried.
         The rest of the group followed her out onto the promenade. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Rain removed her helmet. “I hate that fucking thing,” she said as she ran dirty fingers through her sweaty blonde hair. “They make my head itch.” Then she flung it at Placer.
         “SHIT,” he exclaimed as he tried to sit up. He was out of breath. There was pressure against his chest.
         He looked around, only to find himself still on the couch. It took a moment before he realized Isbeth was laying across his chest. Most of her weight was on him. With a sigh, he laid his head back down. He slipped an arm around her shoulders then closed his eyes.