Hammer's War - Forging The Hammer Read online

  “You were always so arrogant. But I’m sorry Marcus you will never be leaving here,” he paused, “Well, maybe as a box of ashes.” Thorne waved to Jane, “Take him to the Inquisitor, he will know what to do. Oh, and when the good doctor is done, have him terminated right away. I don’t want to give him a chance to carry out any of his threats.”

  “You will regret this,” Marcus said, as his body seemed to relax all at once.

  Thorne misread his body language and took it as a sign of defeat. “I already do. You were the best that we ever made. Your termination will be a great loss. However, we made you and we will make more like you. Take him away,” he waved.

  As soon as the guards moved to grab him, Marcus threw an elbow straight up. It connected with Jane’s nasal bone, which shattered from the impact. A piece of bone was forced upwards until it pierced his brain, killing him instantly. As his body fell, Marcus held out his hands and snagged the remote transmitter from his belt. He pushed the release button and the cuffs popped open, freeing his hands.

  The other guard reached for his gun, but Marcus was faster and spun around him unholstering the side arm. The guard, so surprised at Marcus’s speed, just stood there with a shocked look on his face. Marcus, the gun now in hand, pressed it to the guard’s side and pulled the trigger. The laser bolt burned through the guard’s chest leaving a perfect hole as it passed through his heart and exited his left shoulder.

  The guard’s body was still falling to the ground when Marcus pointed the weapon at Thorne. He tried to pull the trigger, but couldn’t do it. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead as he tried and tried and tried to pull the trigger as if suddenly his hand was cruelly overriding his command.

  Thorne was completely calm, “You see I thought that this might happen someday so I had a little safety precaution programmed into the subconscious of all my assets. So try all you want, you can never hurt me.”

  Thorne smiled wickedly at Marcus, and then pushed another button on the desk display. When nothing seemed to happen, he looked stunned. Marcus spoke, this time, his face a mask of smug success. “What’s wrong Thorne? Your little kill chip not working. Yeah, I found it. I figured that’s how you found me, so before your goons got their hands on me I shorted it out. It hurt like a bitch, but on the flip side you can’t track me anymore, or better yet kill me remotely.”

  “Well I still have a few tricks left,” he reached into his desk to pull out an antique 45-caliber pistol that had been in his family for generations. Not able to kill Thorne, Marcus adjusted his aim slightly and pulled the trigger. The laser bolt passed so close to Thorne’s ear that it left him with a second-degree burn as it passed him and struck the window.

  His years of military training and experience kicked in, and without thinking about it, Thorne dove under his desk for cover. Laser bolt after laser bolt hit the glass window behind his desk. Marcus pulled the trigger as fast as he could. He jumped onto Thorne’s desk like a mad man possessed.

  Still caught up in the moment, Thorne called for help from under his desk. “Get your asses in here now, the bastard has gone mad, he’s shooting up my office!”

  Seconds later the door burst open and half a dozen guards flooded into the room. Marcus smiled at the guards who all were pointing guns at him. “Put your gun down,” one of the guards yelled at him.

  Marcus just laughed, “Go ahead, and point a gun at me if it makes you feel better!”

  Thorne yelled from under the desk, “What are you doing? Just fucking, shoot him!”

  Marcus dropped the weapon, “Thorne,” he yelled. “This is the only warning you get. Come after me again and it will be war. A war you will not win,” he roared.

  Before anyone else could move or say anything, Marcus dove at the window. The tempered glass had been weakened by the multiple laser bolts and easily shattered as he passed through it.

  The guards were stunned as they watched the madman throw himself out of a sixty-story window. From under his desk, Thorne watched Marcus go out the window and could not believe he would jump to his death.

  However, either Marcus was the luckiest man in the universe or somehow he had perfect timing. At that very moment, Betsy the cow was passing on the street, just below the building. A woman in the crowd happened to be looking up when she spotted Marcus’s falling body. “Oh my God, someone is falling!” she screamed, pointing to Marcus as he swan dived for the balloon.

  Marcus used his arms and legs to help steer his fall towards the big cow. He landed on the back of the balloon with a loud thumping, whooshing sound. The force of the impact forced the cow down to the street where its feet hit the ground.

  “Screw this!” One of the handlers yelled. He let go of his line and ran to avoid getting crushed. The increased pressure on the knees of Betsy’s front legs caused them to bend, throwing her head forward. Her nose smacked into the Dairy Day Queen’s float with such force it nearly knocked the Queen over the cheese and off the side of the float. Marcus slid down Betsy’s spotted back, over the top of the giant head, and finally down the nose. He landed on the float, still on his feet, just in the nick of time.

  He grabbed the sparkling Dairy Day Queen as she was falling backward. Having now escaped death twice in only the last few minutes, something incomprehensible surged within him. He smiled, pulling the girl into an embrace and tipped her back, her eyes fluttering as he felt her pulse quicken, and he kissed her deeply. After their lips parted, he said nothing, only pulled her to her feet, and then gave her a wink as he jumped off the float and disappeared into the crowd.

  An extremely shocked Dairy Day Queen yelled after him, “Call me,” her voice trailed off. After watching him disappear, she felt her knees weaken. She sat down and looked at her boyfriend who was driving the float, “How come you never do anything sexy like that?”

  Observing the unbelievable escape from above put Thorne in a killing mood. “You,” he pointed to the nearest guard, “Come here.” The man did as ordered and stood next to Thorne at the broken window. Thorne placed his hand on the guard’s shoulder and without saying a word, tossed the man out the window. He then turned on the remaining guards, “The rest of you fucking idiots let him escape! You better find him no matter what it takes or I’ll terminate the rest of you!”

  Chapter 2

  Considered by many to be the ass-end of the universe, on the outermost part of human controlled space, was a gas giant with a few moons. The smallest of which was Nome. It had once been home to a major mining operation, but now it was almost completely abandoned; the only things left being a small town and a few moisture farmers. The only real reason anyone would ever stop at such a place was to get fresh water or supplies. Nome was one of the only stops for cargo ships in this part of the universe so it saw enough traffic to keep it alive, but just barely. The remoteness and constantly shifting sands that covered most of the moon made it a hard place to live, but an easy place to disappear and this was the reason Nome was the perfect place for Marcus to hide.

  He walked down the cargo ramp and onto the dirty and crumbling landing pad. The only on-looker was the flight deck attendant who was more interested in hooking up the water and fuel lines than in who was coming or going. He left the spaceport in search of accommodations. There wasn’t much to the town of Nome, only a few blocks long and a few wide. Marcus felt like he had just stepped onto the main street of a western holo-set. He couldn’t believe it, but in standing front of the general store was a rusting metal robot Indian, complete with a headdress and cigars in one hand. At one time, the robot would wave at people passing by or dispense candies to children. However, now it stood silent and unmoving, a rusted reminder of better days. The dirt street had sidewalks that were honest-to-god wooden planks. The only thing missing was some tumbleweed to blow down the street.

  Marcus spotted a hotel at one end of town. However, on the other far side of the town was a strange looking building with a flashing sign, it read, Bob’s Fuel Tank Bar and Cantina. He was hung
ry and he couldn’t remember the last real meal he’d had, but for now, he chose to head for the hotel. Having been educated in all things including history, he just had to laugh at the name, “The Nymphia.” Someone knew his or her history as well. The Nymphia was the largest cathouse ever run in San Francisco, built in 1899 by the Twinkling Star Corporation. He wondered if the Twinkling Star wouldn’t have been a better name. He walked up the steps, grabbed the weathered brass door handle, opened one of the twin doors, and walked inside.

  The lobby was in much better condition than outside. The double grand staircase that split the lobby into two parts was wood and by the looks of it handmade, by humans! The more Marcus looked around the lobby, the more he saw hand craftsmanship in every part. This place was not built by any kind of construction bot, and that was exceptionally rare in the universe these days. One side of the lobby was a full bar which seemed devoid of a bartender at the moment. The other side included the hotel’s front desk, as well as what looked like a sitting area filled with finely crafted chairs and couches. However, what impressed Marcus most was the exquisite crystal chandelier. It was unlike any chandelier he had ever seen, as this one floated unsecured by any visible means. It had to be held up by some kind of antigravity field, but what he couldn’t figure out was what would keep it from crashing down if the power failed. Marcus stood there trying to figure out how it worked when it turned and shifted shape. The outermost part of the chandelier expanded and the third row of lights appeared making it a three-tiered light instead of a two-tiered. “Now there’s something you don’t see every day,” he said softly to himself.

  At the desk, Marcus was met by an older woman. Once upon a time, she must have been extremely attractive, but time and harsh living had washed most of that away. Her long gray hair was rolled up into a tight bun on the top of her head. Her body still had the curvy womanly shape of a younger woman, but Marcus wondered how much of that was due to body shaping lingerie he suspected she was wearing under her black and orange dress. One look at her attire and he got the picture, it was styled after the dresses of the 1890’s. It was clear that these people were trying to capture the feel of a long bye-gone era.

  The woman at the front desk smiled, “Welcome Sir, welcome to The Nymphia. So, tall dark and handsome, what can I do you for?”

  Tired from his long trek, he almost missed what she was asking him, “Ah,” he hesitated, while he struggled to find the right words.

  “Oh come on now, such a fine gentleman as yourself doesn’t come walking through my doors not looking for something.” She rang a bell and about a dozen girls of different ages and quality of looks filled the sitting area of the lobby. They were all in various stages of undress, some were adorned with short dresses and low cut tops, which revealed plenty of flesh. While others wore, short silk robes, thigh high stockings, and high-heeled shoes. “Take a good look, anyone of them is yours, for the right price of course. If you like, you can have more than one. It all depends on what you’re willing to pay. You can rest assured that they are all one hundred percent human girl, none of that love bot crap for my customers.” She could tell from his face that he was not particularly interested in the girls. “Or, if you prefer, I can round up a few boys for you.”

  “Ah, no! No, thank you. I’m not here for that, I just need a room for a few nights.”

  “Oh, okay. Pardon, my shock. We don’t get a lot of customers in here just looking for the room if ya catch my drift.” She winked, “I hope I haven’t offended you?” She waved the girls from the room.

  “No. Not at all,” he paused to look for something that had her name on it.

  “The name’s Xandra dear, as in Madam Xandra,” she said.

  “Xandra, a lovely name for a lovely lady. No offense taken, really. I just want to get a room,” he said with a warm, but tired smile.

  Instantly warming to the compliment, Xandra responded, “Not a problem Mr.,” pausing as she likewise waited for a reply.

  Not wanting to give any information that might lead to his real identity, he answered “Smith.”

  Xandra smiled, raising her eyebrows with mild appraisal at the gentleman standing before her, “Well okay Mr. Smith,” she laughed at the use of the name. “We get a lot of Smiths in here if you know what I mean.” Given the nature of the establishment, he understood perfectly.

  “Here is your key Sir.” She turned to a young blonde girl who seemed to appear out of nowhere, “Dorothy here will show you to your room.”

  He handed Xandra cash for a week’s lodging. “Thank you,” he said as he took his key.

  “Right this way Sir,” Dorothy said. She was pretty, if not plain. She wore a black one-piece dress that stopped just below her butt. The tight Lycra dress hugged her small rounded body, showing every curve in excruciating detail. It wasn’t the most flattering thing she could have worn, but given her business, and considering the message she was trying to send, the dress worked just fine. He followed her up the stairs to a second floor room where she used a master key to open his door for him. Walking past her into the room, he took a moment to take in the lodging.

  “Is the room okay?” She asked.

  “The room is fine,” he replied as he set his bag down on the bed.

  While he was looking over the room, she pulled down the top of her dress so that it was just barely covering her nipples. “Please let me know if there is anything else you need. By the way, I’m also a trained masseuse, and I give a really killer backrub.” She sauntered closer to Marcus as she altered her voice, trying to sound as sexually persuasive as possible, “and even better front ones.”

  He cracked a smile at the girl’s blatant attempt to gain his business. Marcus had never been with a woman outside of an operation, but now that he was self-retired, he wasn’t sure what it would be like to do it for fun. Fun, there was a new concept for him, one that he was going to have to get used to now that he was calling all the shots in his life. For a few seconds he contemplated having a little sampling of fun right then and there, but with a growling rumble, his stomach reminded him that although he might have momentarily forgotten his hunger, his stomach certainly had not.

  He turned to her and took her by shoulders, looking into her eyes, and said, “Dorothy, it is Dorothy right?” She nodded in the affirmative. “You really are sweet and maybe later I might take you up on your offer, but right now I’m tired and hungry and I would like to get a good meal.”

  Her shoulders slumped a bit, but she still managed a smiled, “I understand. Well, let’s see,” she put her finger on her cheek, “the best place in town to eat would be Bob’s.”

  He raised an eyebrow, “I saw that place from the spaceport, it looked pretty run down.”

  She laughed, “Everything in this town looks run down, this whole damn rock is run down, but the food is really good. Carl, the guy who runs it, had been some bigwig chef on Earth before he came here.”

  So, I wasn’t the only person to think this was a good place to disappear, he thought. “Thank you, I may call on you later.” He tipped her a large credit note, it was more than she would have made even if he had partaken, then he ensured he had his room key before heading toward the door.

  “Oh thank you, Sir, you’re too kind.” She beamed as she left the room, in a hurry to go show off the note to the other girls.

  “Oh that was smart, now every girl in this place will be after me for a tip. Ah, what the Hell. I’m sure they don’t make much here, and what am I going to do with money on a rock like this anyway?” He said to himself.

  Marcus left the room and locked the door behind him, but before leaving, he turned and placed a thin length of wire across the doorway. It was so thin that you would not see it unless you knew it was there. After he was satisfied that the room was taken care of he went down the stairs. In the lobby, he found all the girls waiting for him. They were all “oohing” and “aahing” for him. He just pushed on past their sexual advances and headed out the door.

&n
bsp; On the street, he noticed the few people that were walking about would stop and stare at him. He must have been a sight to look at. At six feet tall and dressed all in black with a long black coat, he looked like a gunfighter from the late 1800’s and strangely fit into the look of the town, wearing his large black brimmed hat that covered his jet-black hair. If someone were to take a closer look as he was walking by, they might even catch a glance of a pistol, one strapped to each of his well-defined legs.

  A sand storm was blowing into town making it hard to see and painful as the tiny particles battered his face. “Visor,” he said, and a visor promptly dropped down from his hat to cover his eyes. Once the sand was no longer assaulting his eyes, he reached into his coat and pulled out a breathing apparatus, which conveniently snapped into place under the visor. He pushed against the wind making his way toward the bar. Once he got there, he could see why it was called Bob’s Fuel Tank Bar and Cantina. The building was a converted old fuel tank from some ancient mining or cargo ship. It looked as if Bob had simply cut holes for a door and some windows. Why Bob added the windows at all he couldn’t understand, since they were so dirty no one could see out of them anyway.

  The sagging front porch had clearly been an afterthought, but the stairs seemed in good repair and showed signs of patchwork mending here and there. Marcus climbed the stairs and pulled on the door, expecting it to protest loudly. He was mildly amused and delighted when despite its rusty appearance, the door swung open with ease on well-oiled hinges.

  They say that one should not judge a book by its cover, he thought as he stepped inside. The interior was in stark contrast to the outside. Where the outside was dirty, rusting, and generally run down, the inside was spotless and looked well maintained. The owner had made it look like an old-time western saloon bar, complete with mirror, a plump Rubenesque nude painting, and every form of alcoholic beverage known to mankind, and not a few aliens besides.