Body Count: Chapter 1

6 months later...

Fairchild woke in the sweltering dark, and for a long moment she could not remember where she had fallen asleep, or why. Sweat streaked down her bare torso, and the soaked sheets clung to her skin like some sort of parasitic monster. Her mouth tasted like she’d spent the night sucking on a used bar rag. Her brain fucking hurt.

It came back to her in bits and pieces. Bastion-9. Hotel. The cheapest she’d been able to find, right on the edge of the so-called Joy District. Pink neon filtered in through the half-closed blinds, an electric mockery of the sunrise that never touched this deep within the urban ravine. The clock by the bed informed her that it was 1100 hours on the dot. The fist slamming against the door was the reason she was awake at such an ungodly hour. From the sound of it, whoever was out there had been knocking for a while, and they were getting tired of waiting.

Fairchild grabbed her pistol from under the pillow and rolled off the bed.

The gun was a compact 10mm with ten in the mag and one in the pipe. Over the past six months, she’d pressed it to her own head more times than she cared to admit. Now she pressed it to the door as she unfastened the deadbolt. The door opened three or four inches before the chain caught. Fairchild peered through the gap, then gasped softly.

“Colonel?”

The man standing on the other side of the door was Col. Owain Barnes. He’d once been a Merc like herself before he’d finally gotten too old for it and taken an administrative role within the Guild. He was dressed today in a long olive drab coat and a matching beret that sat atop the earless mass of gristle and scar tissue that passed for his head. He could have gotten a new face graft easy enough--any damned face he wanted--but Barnes had never been one to care very much about appearances.

“Morning, Fairchild,” he said, flashing a crooked smile that would have sent most people running in terror. “Mind if I come inside?”

With a sigh, Fairchild lowered her weapon and slid back the chain holding the door. Not like it would have done much good against the Colonel anyway. Old bastard still had enough juice left in his bionics to kick through a hotel room door easy enough. She swung it open for him, not caring that the only thing she had on was a pair of panties. The Colonel didn’t even bat an eye.

“Make yourself at home,” she said.

She could feel Barnes’s eyes scanning the room as she searched the floor for her cleanest dirty clothes. Empty beer and liq bottles covered nearly every horizontal surface in the room, along with a few dozen amber pill tubes, also empty. Dead soldiers. Not that they’d done her much good. Her metabolism made it impossible to stay out of it for very long.

Fairchild pulled on a dingy tank top and a pair of wore-out jeans. A pack of tobac sticks was in the pocket. She fished one out and lit it, then offered the pack to the colonel.

“No thanks,” he said with a wave of one meaty hand. “I’ve got my own.”

He took a gnarled, half-smoked cigar from his pocket, stuck it in his jaw, lit it. Fairchild sat on the end of the bed and watched him as he puffed it back to life. The room filled with the pungent aroma.

“So,” Fairchild said at last. “To what do I owe the honor?”

“I wanted to see if you’re ready to come back to work,” Barnes said, breathing out smoke as he talked. “A mission’s come up. A big one. I think you’re a good fit.” When she didn’t answer, he swept his hand at the room. “This is no way for a Merc to be living.”

“With all due respect, sir, I’m not sure I should be living at all.”

Barnes grunted. “Can it with the survivor’s guilt, Fairchild. I know that business back on Thule hit you hard, but you’ve got to move on. It’s time to get that pretty little ass of yours back in the saddle.”

She shook her head. “I should have been the one to go back for Bryce,” she said. “I should have checked on Rook. I--”

Barnes cut her off: “You were following orders, Fairchild. It was your responsibility to get the package out safely, and that’s what you did.”

“Quale?” Fairchild said with a derisive snort. “I heard he’s made a full recovery and now he’s back to playing golf with his rich buddies. I hope that was worth losing three good Mercs over.”

The governor had taken a bit of shrapnel in the ass, but he’d survived. Fairchild had taken one to the head. A scar across her left cheek. The docs had offered to fix it, but she’d refused. She didn’t want to forget.

Barnes frowned and gnawed his cigar like a bulldog worrying a bone. “Listen, Fairchild. You weren’t the only one who lost friends back there on Thule. Hell, Dane was like a son to me. But he was also a Merc. He had a job to do. All of you did. End of goddamn story.”

Fairchild dropped her eyes and studied the pattern of the carpet for a moment.

“If that’s what being a Merc means, maybe I’m not cut out for it anymore.”

“Bullshit,” Barnes grumbled.

Fairchild shook her head again. She used to keep her hair short, but over the past six months she’d let it grow. Now the sweat-damp locks swept across her face and brushed her shoulders.

“Listen,” she said. “Colonel, I appreciate you thinking of me, I really do, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to decline.”

Barnes nodded thoughtfully. He took another big draw from his cigar, then exhaled a fork of pale smoke from his nostrils. It glowed pink in the neon seeping in from outside.

“Even if it’s a chance to get revenge?” he asked.

Fairchild sat up straighter. She shot him a questioning look. Barnes smiled coldly.

“Ah, I see I’ve got your attention.”

>> READ CHAPTER 2