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

“For the most part, yeah,” the captain said. “Paulie decided about a decade ago that the Torrios needed a change of scenery, preferably someplace with warmer weather and lower taxes, where he could start his own business one day. He was high on South Florida, to be honest, but the whole tax thing pretty much cratered that idea.” The captain shifted onto his side. “With Orlando off the board, Paulie turned his attention to the next best thing here in North Florida. Shortly thereafter, a move was made, and the whole family’s been Duval ever since.”

“When did you arrive?” Taylor asked.

“About 18 months ago,” the captain said. “Things up north weren’t goin’ so great after the last election, plus Paulie had been houndin’ me for years to make the jump south anyway. So I figured what the hell? At the very least, I’d heard the food down here was good.”

“And how’d we stack up?” Taylor asked.

“You people know dick all about pizza.” The captain grunted. “I kid you not. Of all the pie joints in this town, I’ve found one—a little mom and pop shop over in San Marco—that slings a decent slice. Apparently, the owner imports his water from Brooklyn. That, in my experience, makes all the difference.”

“Amen to that,” Frank agreed.

Taylor cocked his head. “And Jax itself?”

The captain shrugged. “Jacksonville ain’t bad. Like every major city, it’s got its pluses and minuses. On one hand, it’s humid as hell and chockful of weirdos with strange accents and dumbass swear words like fargin.” He huffed. “Seriously, what does that even mean? It ain’t even a real word!”

Taylor chuckled.

“On the other hand,” the captain continued, “folks down here look out for each other. Whether you’re from here or someplace else, once you’re Duval, you’re Duval, and that’s that.” He patted his own chest. “I can appreciate that. Factor in how friendly North Florida is to the merc industry, and it’s easy to see why Paulie took that job with Steeldriver to move here.”

A nurse shuffled into the room and checked the captain’s vitals. Afterward, she asked if he needed anything before moving on with her rounds.

“So,” Taylor said once the trio was alone again, “you joined the River Hawks 18 months ago. Did you start out on Torrio’s command staff?”

“Command staff, yes, but not as Paulie’s XO,” the captain said. “I joined as a lieutenant commander with Gooden Company, then got bumped up to CO over Seaver Company about six months later. I’d only been there a few weeks when Paulie’s previous XO opted to follow Ron Carnegie into retirement. That opened a slot, and Paulie asked me to fill it. I’ve been by his side ever since.”

“Which outfits did you work for up north?” Frank asked. “The Bills? The Bombers?”

The captain retrieved his juice cup from a nearby tray and took a pull. “The Hawks were my first foray into the merc business, actually.”

“Really.” Taylor traded looks with his nav officer. “Are you ex-military?”

“Nope.”

“Ex-law enforcement or first responder?”

The captain shook his head.

 What the hell? Taylor pursed his lips. “No offense, Captain, but what exactly qualifies you to be an executive officer with an interstellar mercenary outfit tasked with goin’ into combat?”

The captain stifled a yawn. “I’m a needle mover.”

“A what?” Taylor asked.

“A guy who gets things done,” the captain clarified. “Long story short, if something needs to be handled—a job, a delivery, a meet with another party—I see to it that those things happen, as swiftly and efficiently as possible. I’m also extremely good with people.”

Taylor wasn’t sure how to take that, so he opted to move on. “Talk to me about Emza.”

The captain studied his guests for a long moment. “Everything was fine for most of the first week we were on-world. We set up shop, issued assignments. You know, all the usual shtick. Then, right around night six, they hit us with their first wave.”

“You mean the Vuhov clan’s attackers,” Taylor said.

“Yeah,” the captain said quietly.

Taylor waited for the captain to continue, but it didn’t happen. The man just sat there in his bed, staring at nothing and looking white as a ghost.

“These aliens you mentioned,” Frank said. “Did you get an ident on the species?”

The captain snapped back to reality. “They were insectoids. Beyond that, I got nothin’.”

“What about the others on your crew?” Taylor asked. “The veterans, for instance. Did any of them recognize the species?”

“No,” the captain replied. “Nobody had a clue. Whatever the things were, though, they were mean as shit. That surprised us, too, given how small they were.”

Taylor took a step forward. “Can you tell me anything else about them? About their anatomy, or their behavior even. Anything that could help us nail down who attacked you.”

“They hunt in swarms,” the captain said. “We’re talkin’ dozens, sometimes hundreds at a time. And they mostly came at night. As for their anatomy, it’s like I said. They’re insectoid, which is to say they could fly.” He paused and tilted his chin. “There was one thing about them that caught our attention.”

“And that was?” Frank asked.

“Their tails,” the captain said. “They had stingers on the end, like you’d find on a scorpion. One of our field medics theorized that the stringers secrete some kind of venom.”

“Why’s that?” Taylor asked.

“Because that’s how the aliens would take our people,” the captain said. “A horde of them would swarm a few of us and stun us with their stingers. Then, once our troops were paralyzed, they’d drag us off the battlefield to gods only know where.”

Taylor did a double take. “Are you sayin’ these insects were out for prisoners instead of enemy kills?”

“That’s certainly what it looked like. That’s also exactly why I’ve gotta get back