The Street Survivors (The Guild Wars Book 12) by Ian Malone (great books of all time TXT) 📕

a member of his own company. He’d read the file Stan had mentioned, and the Fart was right. Ron Carnegie’s own people had referenced Torrio’s lack of temperance on more than one occasion. Conversely, they’d also cited no less than a dozen instances where Torrio had excelled in the line of duty while in service to the company.

Part of Taylor had hoped to keep the brash New Yorker on staff a while just to see where things went. Inevitably, though, no amount of olive branches had been enough for Torrio to stick around.

We all make our choices. Taylor spotted a server bot rolling across the floor and tossed the machine a wave. “Another round please?”

* * * * *

Chapter 5: Distracted

The next five hours on Karma Station drew out like molasses as Taylor and the others waited out Kami’s call. For kicks, they tried any manner of ways to pass the time, most notably over cards while drilling the XO over his history with their Sirra’Kan host.

“Ah, c’mon, Major,” Jack groaned. “Out with it already! Were you two a thing back in Panama City or not?”

True to his gentleman’s reputation, Billy didn’t budge. He just sat there in his seat, grinning away like the cat who ate the canary from behind a trio of aces while the others went on spinning their wheels in search of answers.

Incoming communique from Eutowa K’Nami. Taylor keyed his pinplant comm and spoke aloud. “Hey, Kami. We were just talkin’ about you. What’s the verdict?”

“The Vuhov are going with River Hawk,” the Sirra’Kan said. “I’m sorry, Chief Van Zant. I swear I did everything I could.”

Disappointed though he was, Taylor didn’t doubt that. As Kami had noted in the pit, the final decision on who landed the Zuparti garrison contract had rested with her clients alone. This meant the aliens had every right to sign on with the outfit who’d promised to save them 20 million credits in combat bonuses if they so elected. Taylor just hoped it didn’t come at the expense of his fellow North Floridians.

Happy huntin’, Paulie. Keep your head on a swivel, and we’ll see you home soon.

With the Vuhov contract off the board, the Eagles shifted focus to their secondary option, a nine-week cadre contract with a group of Duplato out in the Jesc arm. Granted, the job didn’t pay nearly as well as the Zuparti gig. It was, however, a prime opportunity for Billy to shake down his final list of candidates to crew the EMS Stargell moving forward. The XO deployed from Earth 10 days later with Smitty and Quint for support, leaving Taylor, Frank, and the Farts to shore up other business around Jacksonville.

* * *

“I’m sorry, Taylor, but I gotta go.”

“Rita, wait.” Taylor put out his hand to stop his sister from leaving, but it was too late. Her mind had been made up. Seconds later, he found himself standing still on the tarmac, thoughts racing a million miles a minute as her cruiser lifted from its platform into the clear Jacksonville sky overhead.

Please don’t go.

A cascade of light crashed through the ship like a fireball.

“Rita!”

Pop, pop. Pop, pop, pop.

Taylor snapped out of his daydream and dove for a nearby cubical as a wave of laser fire sheared off the barrier above his head.

“Intruder!” the first of two Zuul announced.

So much for the element of surprise. Taylor got to his feet and returned fire with his JXR-14 carbine. Both aliens fell before either could render another protest. Four shooters down, three to go.

“Rebel to Tomahawk,” Stan’s voice chattered in Taylor’s head. “What in the hell’s goin’ on up there?”

“Sorry, Reb,” Taylor answered. “I ran into a few unwanted guests on level 13.”

The Mississippian grunted. “Yeah, well, kick it in the ass. I’ve got the lead mutt’s attention for now while we talk demands, but I can’t keep him on the line forever.”

“How much time do I have?” Taylor asked.

“Five minutes, tops,” Stan said. “I might can buy you an extra 10 if I grant the Zuul’s request for an armed transport, but my gut says the hostages won’t be invited on that trip. One way or another, they’re comin’ out of that office complex tonight. Whether it’s on their feet or in zipper bags rests entirely on you. So hurry.”

Now squarely immersed in a renewed sense of urgency, Taylor duck-walked to the hall’s end and found a stairwell entrance beside a painting of the Atlantic surf that ostensibly led upstairs to the tower’s east wing. According to Stan’s intel, that’s where eight hostages were being held in an executive suite just off the main atrium.

Come on, T. Focus. Reaching the door in a handful of steps, Taylor cleared the opposing space as best he could through the window, then pressed inside and cleared the space in earnest with a left-to-right sweep of his rifle. Tick, tick, tick.

Taylor hurried up the steps, mindful of his boot soles on the concrete under his feet, then paused outside the wing entrance just two flights up. There was no window this time at the entryway. Crap. A bloodcurdling scream ripped through Taylor’s earpiece.

“Hostage down!” Stan announced.

Taylor bolted from the stairwell, gun up and eyes wide.

“Kill him!” the first alien shouted.

A torrent of laser fire sizzled through the air as both Zuul opened fire, sending Taylor lunging for cover in an adjacent alcove. He regained his footing and returned fire.

Pop, pop. Pop, pop, pop.

One alien fell.

Pop, pop. Pop, pop, pop, pop.

The second alien fell.

Gotta hurry. Taylor barreled into the open and hurdled both corpses en route to the target as a chorus of new screams bellowed from the suite down the hall. No, no, no, no! Taylor wheeled past the corner and took aim.

Pop.