War Criminals, Gavin Smith [best novels for beginners .txt] 📗

his bit with a gun in his hand when the cluster had been well and truly fucked, back on Barney Prime.

‘Hey, boss,’ he said out loud. ‘Any chance I can do the talking?’ he subvocalised over an encrypted comms link. Over Vido’s shoulder she caught Salik frowning. He must have picked up the transmission. Vido let go of her and nodded at Nyukuti who’d wandered into the drawing room behind Miska, hands still on the PDW casually slung down his chest. Miska gestured at the stand-over man with her thumb.

‘This is Nyukuti, he’s my …’ she started. ‘Well I don’t really know, but he’s one of my guys.’

‘One of your slaves?’ suggested a statuesque woman sitting on one of the two antique sofas. Olive-skinned, long pitch-black hair tied back in ponytail, she, like Miska, wore fatigue trousers and combat boots. A black sleeveless T-shirt completed the ensemble. A sidearm was strapped to her leg in a smartgrip drop holster. Colonel ‘Ma’ Duellona, the commander of the Triple S forces in the Epsilon Eridani system.

‘Bodyguard,’ Nyukuti supplied. Duellona ignored him. She just glared at Miska. Miska grinned back at her.

‘Ma!’ she said excitedly. ‘Great to see you.’ She sat down opposite Duellona on the other sofa and then squirmed a little bit. She was sure all the antiques were very nice but frankly she had sat on more comfortable seats in military vehicles. Or perhaps you’re just getting too used to the comforts of stolen Martian Military Industries equipment. ‘And you brought your pet monkey!’

Standing behind the other sofa was a short, dark-haired man with a wiry build and a face covered in stubble. He was wearing a mixture of rugged civilian and military clothing that practically screamed special forces to Miska. She had no idea of Resnick’s rank, or even his first name, but she knew he was in charge of Triple S (elite) in the Epsilon Eridani system. Miska had never heard him talk at one of these meetings. She had, however, felt his cold appraising eyes run over her and Nyukuti when they entered.

Duellona opened her mouth to say something but the man next to her on the antique sofa put his manicured, long-fingered hand on her wrist. Duellona stared down at the hand as though a snake had just crawled over her arm and taken a shit on it. Miska could empathise. Tall, hawk-nosed, with slicked-back thinning blond hair that looked like a holdover from his youth as corporate young Turk, the word oily may well have been invented to describe Brennan Campbell. The highest-ranking New Sun corporate representative on the station, he had some complex job title that Miska had long since forgotten and replaced with ‘executive douchebag’. He struck her as someone with just enough power to be dangerous but not enough to be genuinely useful. The kind of middle management brown-nose who was a menace to his underlings. It was always a real effort not to break his nose every time he opened his mouth.

‘What I’m sure my colleague meant to say—’ he started. His voice was smooth and even, doubtless the product of corporate, by-the-number, neural linguistic programming training.

‘I’m sure Duellona is more than capable of speaking for herself,’ Salik said as he sat down on a high-backed chair between the two sofas. This was the reason Miska liked him. There was no doubt in her mind that he was just another snake oil salesman in a world of snake oil salesmen but, his polite facade aside, he did not suffer fools gladly.

Vido joined Miska on the sofa. Nyukuti went and sat by the window, which looked out over a holographic projection that Miska suspected was supposed to be some old Earth city in the nineteenth century. Duellona glanced over at Nyukuti. It was clear that she didn’t like the stand-over man sitting behind her. Resnick shifted slightly to get a better view of Nyukuti.

‘We were having coffee,’ Salik said. ‘Could I get you and Nyukuti … did I pronounce that correctly? … a cup?’

‘Have you got a beer?’ Miska asked. A pained expression momentarily flickered across Salik’s face.

‘I’m sure we can accommodate,’ he said, smiling again.

‘It’s not even ten a.m.,’ Vido pointed out.

‘I’ve no idea what the time is, I’ve had so little sleep over the last three days. Too busy upgrading the electronic security on all my new toys.’

‘Jesus Christ,’ Vido muttered.

‘And murdering more than a hundred of my people,’ Duellona spat with enough venom to make Miska wonder if she really believed their own bullshit propaganda.

‘Oh, come on!’ Vido started. ‘You wanna play the propaganda game with your PR company out there, that’s fine, but we’re all adults in here. Don’t piss on us and tell us it’s raining.’ Uncle V sounded uncharacteristically irritated. Miska suspected that dealing with Colonel Duellona’s truculence and Campbell’s bullshit was starting to tell on the consigliere. Her own behaviour wasn’t helping but she was tired, pissed off, hated these games, and her talk with Torricone hadn’t improved her demeanour.

‘They’re not soldiers, they’re animals,’ Duellona spat. She was pointing at Miska but talking to Salik. ‘You know as well as I do that they’ve got no place in any civilised conflict!’

‘Civilised conflict, will you fucking listen to yourself?’ Miska demanded. She knew Duellona was trying to get a rise out of her but didn’t care.

‘She’s too aggressive!’ Duellona snapped. ‘She kills too many people. That’s not how this game is …’

‘It’s not a game!’ Miska snapped, leaning forward in the sofa. ‘You really care about your people? Really!’ Duellona stared at her. ‘Get them to surrender faster. Better yet, pack them up and leave. See you at the next war.’

‘Miska,’ Salik said. He spoke quietly but it was enough for Miska to relent. ‘It is in nobody’s best interests that this conflict ends quickly.’

‘I’m sure it’s in the best interests of the colonists,’ Miska snapped. Christ, I’m turning into Torricone.

‘And New Sun’s,’ Campbell said. It actually irritated Miska that he was agreeing with her. It