Cover Page

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

ON TARGET

By

Mahlee Ashwynne

 

 

An assassin needs anonymity, loose ends tied up. Until one woman cracks his icy veneer.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

All rights reserved. This book or any portion, including original cover artwork, thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the copyright holder except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

 

Copyright © 2015 by M I P Marrier d’Unienville

 

This version Published by Bookrix http://www.bookrix.com/ 

 

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

 

Please note that this work is intended only for adults over the age of 18. It contains explicit sex scenes, violence (non-sexual). The sensuality level is 3.5 out of 5. 

Visit Mahlee Ashwynne’s website:

 

http://mahleeashwynne.webs.com/

 

 

and learn more about the eras and worlds her works take place in.

 

This is the prelude to the CHAMELEORDS series … the Chameleords are a vanished race, or so the galaxy thinks.

 

Cover concept by Mahlee Ashwynne

 

Cover artwork by Sophia Bilbao ….. and here's the link to her FB page

 

https://www.facebook.com/Book-Covers-by-Sophia-Bilbao-339796529527764/timeline/?ref=hl

 

 

 

 

PART ONE

 Chaz spun on her heel. Skin on her cheek flared, seared as the laser skimming her face hit the man behind her. Pandemonium dulled the zap of the weapon's impact. Her holocam man,Lurgo, fell at her feet. She didn't have to look. Dead. Charred flesh smoldered. The stench intensified. She snatched the micro-holocam strapped to the limp hand by her boot.

And then she ran.

 

PART ONE

 

Rain slicked the wall. Chaz slumped from exhaustion, her back smudging a glossy line downwards. She ran for hours after the assassination. All that dodging and weaving to avoid capture drained her into an exhaustion of nerves. This dark alley offered her some protection from eyes probing her identity.

Looking up she scanned the taller buildings towering over her refuge, as if they could answer her unvoiced questions. What in the frozen nyxstril had happened? One minute she was directing her holocam assistant and taking a wide shot of the crowd, the next she was running for her life.

A simple job, her bosses promised. On the planet Malthusen. Fly in fly out. Four days as field reporter to cover the betrothal of the crown prince to his Polindar bride. Boring assignment went from mundane to high adrenalin with the flash of a laser. The king had collapsed, slain. Hot news. And she was in the thick of it.

Every public street screen flashed her hazy face to crowds watching the repeated unfolding of events. Wanted. Why? She had no idea. Her distinct shoulder-length amber-red hair identified her as easily as her face would on a world of blonds, so she must keep moving with a low profile.

Jerking her jacket collar up to keep the wet out she reached into her pocket for the micro-holocam. The powercell held 50 per cent charge. More than enough for her to check the footage. Slotting in her own chip she watched all the captured visuals on the holoscreen. Great vision. It would boost her bosses’ broadcasting tekar credits.

A frown creased the bridge of her nose. Re-running the vision at half-speed she found what she almost missed the first time. Freezing an image she stared, transfixed. This was the money shot. The assassin? Most likely.

Pressing the double-over copy stud she waited two minutes for the micro-holocam to copy her chip into its memory and then copy onto the chip her assistant’s work. Detaching her chip she slid it into the tiny compartment hidden in her left boot. An insurance backup to the micro-holocam if forced to ditch it.

Her next problem was getting onto the star transport she was booked to fly out in 36 hours. Assuming they didn’t get a fix on her identity she might manage it. The hair could give the game away. Between now and then she needed to change the colour.

Leaning her head back on the rough wall she closed her eyes. Drizzling rain spattered her cheeks, gently soaking her hair to drip down the back of her neck. Catching a Malthusen virus would be the icing on the cake. Her immune system had been boosted for this trip but there were always numerous foreign minor ailments that could induce illness.

She sneezed.

Not that her family would be anxious if she came down with a contagion. Her father was always oblivious, enveloped in his ministerial role, while her socialite stepmother’s concern only went as far as to ensure she didn’t catch whatever Chaz might have. Her half-brother Querof, too busy in his own life as an aspiring military officer, rarely took an interest in his older sibling’s status. She’d be on her own if stricken by an off-world sickness. As always.

Her lips twisted in a mirthless laugh, forcing a deep dimple in her left cheek. Her family, for all its status and importance, wouldn’t stand by her or disrupt their lives for her well-being.

Chaz was the rebel for entering the information media industry, in the process abandoning family tradition by not advancing genetic links in marrying well and breeding future politicians and warriors. There were several years yet before being forced into a fusion ceremony. But the day would come. She tossed the can by her foot back into the alleyway in frustration.

A sharp hiss from deeper inside the alley snapped her to attention. Squinting into pooling shadows she didn’t blink. Nothing moved. Uneasiness shivered across her shoulders. It felt like eyes burned through her. The knot in her stomach tightened.

Above her lights flickered into life in the deepening twilight. They rose skyward on buildings shrouding the approach of night, blinking lights twinkling their peculiar pinkish glow. Many might think the view stunning, but to Chaz it gleamed haunting overtones. Kalkrid architecture was not unlike Malthusen. The lighting colour was different. On Kalkrid she was used to a silvery blue illumination rather than pink.

Out on the street the crowds were diminishing. A curfew was in place, if the public broadcasts were to be believed. Glancing over her shoulder back into the alley she took a deep breath. Time to move if she was to find a refuge for the night. Maybe do something about her hair.

Her muscles tightened in stiff protest as she got to her feet. Lifting her face into the light rain her eyes slitted and scanned the rooftops of the tall buildings for any security holocams. Showing up on them would be fatal. Somehow she needed to glide through the night, unrecognised, and make it to board the starflight home.

Reaching into her other jacket pocket she pulled out the cap she kept there for outdoor shoots. Twisting her damp hair into a wet bun she crammed it under the cap she pulled low over her brow. With a steady walk she stepped into the dwindling crowds hurrying along the slidewalks.

Stopping at a street food vendor to buy a meal she asked directions for a budget hotel. This spicy food was not really to her taste. Better than nothing. She hadn’t eaten since dawn. Dumping the empty container in a bin she took the route the vendor gave her. It wasn’t far.

But she felt eyes boring into her back. Frequent glances over her shoulder showed nothing out of the ordinary. The few people about were intent on getting indoors before curfew. No one spared her a look. Chaz quickened her steps. She was chilled to the bone and craved a hot bath.

***

He stealthily tracked her after she bolted from the betrothal celebrations. If she hadn’t moved at the last second she, instead of her assistant, would be dead. That micro-holocam in her possession pointing at him the second he eliminated the tyrant king marked her. He ensured her assistant would be hard to identify before he followed her. There was a two-fold purpose he needed to deal with. Her, and getting off Malthusen without detection.

But first it was imperative the holocam vision was erased. Then, after her usefulness became obsolete, she would be too. Evidence, all evidence, needed to be wiped. As a Svanger slayer he must preserve invisibility, nothing to connect him to a completed mission. A guarantee of high prices for his services.

It was a close call back there. His temple ached where the missile she lobbed into the alley hit him. Fortunately she didn’t have the eyes to see through his camouflage and left, with him in her wake. The injury meant reverting to his original form for a few hours. Still easy to tail her, keeping his face averted.

The street holoscreens broadcast her blurred image all day. Unfortunately he showed up directly behind her in those framed shots. Persons of interest for the wrong reasoning. Someone wrongly put two and two together to assume they were both participants. There were few survivors of Malthusen interrogation methods. His fists clenched. He doubted she would live, but if they analysed her holocam footage, his identity exposed, neither would he.

Entering the lobby of the cheap hotel he blended

Impressum

Verlag: BookRix GmbH & Co. KG

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 14.09.2015
ISBN: 978-3-7396-1350-5

Alle Rechte vorbehalten

Widmung:
To the two raconteurs in my life who inspired and instilled a love of storytelling, Georg Didus ( aka Yuri Didusenko), and my dad Georges. And to the army of friends over the years who have read and reread and beta read and suffered the countless retellings of plots and twists. You all know who you are. Without your support and help this story would not exist, even if it may not be quite to your reading tastes. Thank You.