Free Tinker's Justice by J.S. Morin

bit into my report,” Yurgen said. “Bad enough writin’ ‘em in the first place, without havin’ to write ‘em longer on account of yammer-mouths like yourself.”
    Yurgen turned his attention back to the action in the world-hole, where Corporal Oggit was still following behind the chasing soldiers. “Better’n crashball,” he muttered to himself, feeling his heart begin to race once more.

    In another viewframe, a far different scene played out. Kuduks lined the walls of a lavish antechamber, expensive furniture shoved into a corner so that they might all be bunched together under the watch of a single guard. They were bound at the wrists and gagged, the beards of the men shaved down to bloodied skin. By the door, two more humans stood with rifles in hand, peeking down the tunnel outside. Even through the viewframe, the fear in that room had a stench to it.
    General Bradet paced in front of his troops, standing between them and the scene in the Council Hall of Kupak Deep. Though Draksgollow’s army had given him a promotion to general, he was still a sergeant at heart, his beard frazzled and less impressive than any of the men in his command. He scratched an itch under his chin as he decided how long to let them stew, getting them riled up watching a bunch of helplesses being roughed over. With a curt nod, he decided that it had been long enough.
    “Listen up, washcloths, because I don’t want to go over this twice,” Bradet said, projecting his voice so that the soldiers in the back could hear him. “This is a rescue mission. Dead humans are acceptable; dead kuduks are not . Our number one priority is the safe retrieval of nine councilors from Kupak Deep. Not eight, not seven, and sure as shit not six. Nine. Count them up, if you sniffing flowers can count. I see nine, right plain as a plate in front of me. You’re going to go through there, put a bullet shield between those hostages and anything that might harm them, and get them the cracked, rusted bolts out of there. They ask you any questions, just tell them you’re here to rescue them, and that they’ve got to move. They get panicked or stupid, and don’t want to move, pick them up and carry them. Mind your hands with the lady councilors. I want two of you on the heavy one there at the end. Once they’re through, you bring them down to the barracks, get them something to eat and let them have a piss, whatever they need. We’re a hotel from that point, and they’re dignitaries. Until then, they’re sacks of the most expensive meat you’re ever going to haul, and I don’t want to see bruise nor blood on any of them. Any questions?”
    There was silence.
    “Phase two,” said Bradet, pointing to the console operator, who took the cue. The view shifted to the next room, where two dozen human rebels, armed for a war, were packed together, fidgeting, waiting for someone to answer their demands. Bradet knew that, because he read it in the newspaper; it had been the lead story. “We will re-open the hole, once the councilors are safe, and we will eliminate the rebel force. That part, at least, I think you whistle-ears can manage without too much fuss.” He grinned, and his soldiers chuckled with some reservation. They were good lads. Still had a bit of a shine on them, but they would scuff with experience.
    “First ones through, I want bullet shield mashed into the faces of those gun-toting humans, and I want both doors blocked off. Ready?”
    “Yes, sir!”
    Bradet grinned. It was good being general. “On the count of five!”
    At the end of Bradet’s countdown, the world-hole opened, and his troops sprang into action. He couldn’t see what went on outside the viewframe’s vantage, as they had brought it as close as possible to the hostages to speed the rescue without impeding the flow of troops to do the rescuing. Bradet kept out of his men’s way, standing at the world-hole and ushering frightened councilors through as his men shepherded