Guardian (War Angel Book 1) by David Hallquist (best contemporary novels .TXT) 📕

us, along with the scents of fresh food, both familiar and alien. Lighting is more subdued, with a slowly rotating holographic starscape on the ceiling, and advertisements for various brands of intoxicants glowing here and there. The walls themselves are hard to see in the crowded bar, but they’re slowly changing panels showing the scenes from various worlds—arcology towers of Terra, Lunar domes, the Martian towns of Valles Marineras, and the cloud cities of home.

As expected, the bar is full of spacers from all over the solar system. The few Terrans in the bar stand out, as so few leave humanity’s ancestral home world these days. Still, it’s easy to see how much we’ve changed upon seeing such examples of baseline humanity. A handful of Lunars are over there, tall, thin, expressionless, and austere in their light gray shipsuits. If they’re having fun, who can tell? Venusians in every possible variant cluster in the bar, probably from that large liner docked outside. In their goal of achieving their individual biological destinies, the Venusians sport hide, fur, scales, and feathers as they follow whatever bizarre genetic fads are currently in vogue on their cloudy home-world. Some Martians are down here in their gleaming cybernetic chases, as they’ve taken their own, mechanical approach to adapt to their harsh planet. Tall, thin Belters sporting garish, glowing tattoos on blue, radiation-protected skin are here and there.

Several other Jovians from the ship move through the crowds like giants. Looks like the Marines got a head start on the drinking. I don’t see the hovering black spheres of any Saturnine civilians here, and that’s good news. Everyone is on edge and we need to take it down a notch or two.

Up at the bar, I buy us a round of Ceresian Ale, the best way to start out the evening. Smooth, with a rich aftertaste—there’s a reason Ceres can sell this stuff around the whole solar system. I don’t know why it’s better on Ceres; it just is. We relax our chemical inhibitors enough to enjoy the buzz, and the rounds keep coming. The tension of the last few days begins to finally melt away and…

…a big, hairy paw lands on my shoulder. It’s a literal paw. A thick carpet of golden fur covers a pad the size of my face, and long, serrated talons the size of my fingers slowly extend from each digit to prick the skin of my upper arm and chest. Rank, hot breath blows on my back, and a series of low rumbling growls and snarls overpower the music from behind.

It looks like the Venusians want to play.

I turn around, ignoring the talons that are trying to force me down and pin me in place. My assailant is over three meters tall, built like a wedge of muscle, covered in heavy golden fur, topped off by a mane and a leonine face with snarling fangs and glaring, golden eyes. Beside him is a bigger one, four meters tall, with a massive, heavyset, ursine build, dark brown fur, and even larger claws. On his other side is a hulking green reptilian monstrosity about as tall as the ursine, but even more massively built, with metallic composites gleaming atop his interlocking scales and oversize talons.

I’d love to mix it up, but I’m supposed to keep my men out of trouble, so I say, “Can I help you with anything?”

“You Jovians need to stay out of the inner system. The future of the inner worlds is with Venus,” the cat growls out with reeking breath.

You’d think with all the genetic engineering Venus has available they’d have licked the problem of halitosis. Maybe they do it on purpose, or they keep it in pill-form for when they think it’s intimidating. Either way, he stinks.

It looks like I’ll be getting ready for a fight. My augments clear the alcoholic haze from my system immediately, and the world slows down and becomes clearer as additional relays boost my nervous system. Status signals from my men’s augments intricate they’re ready to go, too.

Still, even at this point, I might be able to calm things down…

“Maybe we could all go home if your forces here were actually able to accomplish anything,” Ford brings up. “We’re always in here cleaning up the messes you all leave.”

That’s true, but it isn’t helping…

“I heard the Venusians are good at one thing…surrendering.” Martin grins, standing up easily, even with the paw of the bear on his shoulder trying to force him back down.

“Look,” I say, “you’re obviously not looking for a challenge, and you thought we were just some sailors you could push around. You’re mistaken.” If they’d wanted a hard fight, they would have picked on the Marines drinking over there, eagerly watching the whole thing. Everyone knows Jovian Marines have full battle cyber augmentation. Maybe these idiots don’t know we’re Angel pilots, not regular spacers, and also fully combat augmented. They’re about to find out. “Besides, you didn’t bring enough for all of us.”

They hesitate. There’s no sign or scent of fear on any of us, and they’re wondering if they’ve bitten off more than they can chew.

“Tell me one thing,” Martin asks, “how do you say, ‘I surrender’ in every known language? I heard you were the experts.”

Thanks, Jack.

There’s this short pause that seems to take forever as their higher brain functions give way to unbridled rage.

The Venusians always wanted an inner system empire, and figured they had their chance after the State of Terra proved worthless and Mars collapsed. Then they lost to the Martian natives, lost the battle of Vesta to the Saturnine, lost the first battle of Ceres to the Belters, and lost the second battle of Ceres to us. There is a lot of frustrated anger and shame to work off, and they figure they can take it out on us.

When it finally breaks, all