Dubbed the Firestorm in homage to Jacksonville’s Great Fire of 1901, the JX-45 was a handheld laser-pistol driven by a chemical magazine, or chem mag, as opposed to a power cell. This gave the weapon a lighter all-around weight, while also creating a more sustained rate of fire per mag load. The Firestorm was produced by Hemming Arms, a local manufacturer founded in 2095 by twin brothers from Alabama known for their innovative design work with Springfield Armory.
You can do this. Taylor shoved his Firestorm into the concealed carry rig under his shirt and reached for his Generals cap, its familiar navy-blue fabric soft in his grasp. You’ve got to do this. The door to his apartment all but slammed from its hinges when he stormed out.
As was customary for anyone seeking to leave the solar system, the Eagles would need to book hyperspace passage through Earth’s stargate if they meant to fulfill the Sakall contract. That meant a trip to meet the gate master—the Elephant Man, as he was known around the Clubhouse.
Taylor’s jaw clenched as he boarded the shuttle to go off-world. He hated dealing with gate masters, in part for their legendary aura of xenophobia—a fancy word for arrogance—though mostly because he just didn’t trust them.
When Terry’s ship had failed to emerge from hyperspace after leaving Karma, Taylor’s family had petitioned both the Cartography Guild—the masters’ employer and lords of the gate network—as well as the Science Guild—makers of the navigational drives which guide ships through hyperspace—for a full enquiry into the accident. Each had initially declined, citing in not so many words that “shit happens” in hyperspace. That was true, for the most part. In the century since mankind had joined the Galactic Union and begun utilizing the gate system, multiple ships had gone missing, each one presumed lost in transition. Still, like Humans who swam in the ocean despite the threat of sharks, the number of ships lost paled in comparison to the legion who used the gates without issue every day. Couple that with the sheer volume of drives the Science Guild produced—each one costing a small fortune—and the Van Zants had been lucky to get a cursory glance at their case, much less a legit investigation.
‘Likely engine failure,’ my ass. Taylor grunted as he boarded the shuttle the Eagles’ chartered from Steeldriver for the stargate trek. From there, he stopped by the cockpit to greet the pilot before proceeding to the crew cabin, where he found Lisa Kouvaris already buckled in for launch.
“Early start this morning, huh?” she asked.
Taylor yawned and cinched up his safety belts.
“Thanks for letting me tag along on this,” Lisa said. “Normally I’ve gotta fight for this kind of access, so I really appreciate it.”
“It’s no problem,” Taylor said. In truth, he still wasn’t sure why he’d signed off on her coming, except that when one was entering the domain of a group as shady as the gate masters, it paid to have a member of the press in one’s entourage.
Several minutes of thunderous G forces and bone-jarring turbulence later, the shuttle broke free of Earth’s atmosphere and blasted toward the stargate near the system’s LaGrange point.
“Hey, can I ask you something?” Lisa brushed back a strand of her hair which hung suspended in null gravity before her eyes. “I’ve covered a ton of merc outfits over the years, from Cartwright’s Cavaliers in Houston to Virgil Caine’s Danville Express in Virginia. They all have their own way of doing things. Even still, the one commonality they share is that every single one of them seem to be a lot more…” she searched for the word, “formal than Swamp Eagle Security.”
Taylor shrugged. “How do you mean?”
“Well, for starters.” Lisa pointed to his hair. “Your dress code isn’t exactly regulation, nor is the first-name basis most of your people seem to keep with each other, regardless of rank. Your senior staff meetings are called ‘church,’ your command post is a full-blown party shack complete with bar, and, lest we forget, you drive a Harley to campus each day.” She cocked her head. “Maybe it’s me, but you guys feel more like a biker gang than a paramilitary merc outfit.”
Taylor chuckled. “What can I say? I like to promote a family-like work environment for my employees.”
“Yeah, about that.” Lisa fished a slate from her shoulder bag and keyed it on. “Why does everyone call you ‘chief?’”
Taylor made a face. “The phrase chief executive officer comes to mind.”
“You know what I mean,” Lisa said. “Most merc company owners I know have adopted a rank of some sort to signify their command status. Something like admiral or commandant. Hell, even your brother took the title of colonel. But you didn’t. You went with chief. Why?”
Taylor blew out a sigh. “Rank oughta be earned, not adopted. I realize some folks don’t see it that way, and that’s their prerogative. But I do. Everybody on my team who wears stripes came by them honest, be it Billy and Smitty in the Navy, or Quint with the three outfits he served in prior to ours. But me? The only placed I ever served before this was behind a bar in Cocktail Junction.”
Lisa flashed a wry smile. “The redneck bartender turned merc owner. Only in America, right?”
“Damn straight,” Taylor said. “Still the greatest country in the world, if you ask me.”
Lisa swiped open a fresh page on her screen. “You mentioned your XO, Captain Dawson, a second ago. He was one of the original Eagles, wasn’t he?”
“Yes, ma’am, he was. Billy founded this company as a minority owner right alongside my brother after they’d both done time in the Navy.”
“So they met in the military?”
“No, no,” Taylor said. “Billy and Terry met during sophomore year at Lee High School, when Billy’s family moved to Jax from Lincoln, Nebraska. They graduated in the same class, then made a pact to start their own merc outfit and strike it rich. Problem was, they had neither the training nor the capital to get started.”
“And enlisting was the answer to that?” Lisa asked.
“Joinin’ the Navy is the answer to a lot of things for a lot of kids in Duval County.” Taylor shifted in his seat. “In Terry and Billy’s case, that meant eight years of service while they squirreled away all the experience and cash they could. After that, they returned home to Jax, finalized their business plan, and began courtin’ investors. Swamp Eagle Security was born eight months later.”
Lisa whistled. “Wow, they didn’t waste any time.”
“No ma’am, they did not,” Taylor said. “But that was Terry and Billy. Apart, they were both solid troopers. Together, they were a force of nature, be that on the battlefield or the high school baseball diamond.”
“Sounds like they were pretty tight,” Lisa said.
Taylor adjusted his cap. “Put it to you this way. The first time Terry got busted by our old man drinkin’ beer underage, it’d been Billy who’d stolen the six-pack from the food mart down the street.”
“Nice.” Lisa started to say something else but paused. “Hold on a second. Captain Dawson is your XO.”
“That’s right.”
“Sooo…not an owner anymore?”
Taylor dropped his gaze. “No, ma’am. Captain Dawson no longer holds any ownership stake whatsoever in Swamp Eagle Security. He’s purely an employee.”
Lisa’s sea-green eyes cut left then right then back to her host. “Can I ask why?”
Taylor exhaled. “I’m sorry, Lisa, but that’s a private matter. Suffice it to say, Billy sold out and left the Eagles for a job with the Iron Conquistadors about a year before Terry’s passing. He bolted town after the news broke and spent the next five years abroad.”
“But he came back,” Lisa said. “He came back to work for you.”
Taylor nodded as his guest waited for him to elaborate. He didn’t oblige.
“Okay then.” Lisa coughed into her fist. “Moving on to Commander Smith. She served with Captain Dawson in the terrestrial navy, correct?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Taylor said. “You’d have to ask Smitty if you wanted to know any more abou
t her,” Taylor said. “She’s only been with us a short while, so I haven’t had a chance to really get to know her. I do know her folks moved her from Australia to North Carolina when she was a teenager, so she is a dual citizen. I also know Steeldriver offered her a job straight off her discharge, which is how she landed in Jax.”
“Steeldriver, huh?” Lisa pursed her lips. “I read about them, too. It’s a shame what happened to the owner’s kid. Sounds like he had some real potential.”
“He really did,” Taylor agreed.
“What about.” Lisa paused, presumably to sound out the name in her head. “Jisawa Dimune Mokeeto?”
“Keeto,” Taylor said.
“Right, Keeto. How in the world did you manage to land an Athal engineer on a Human merc team?”
Taylor dropped his gaze again. “Keeto is the lone survivor from the Athal colony on Xentu.”
Lisa snapped her head up. “The one wiped out by the Zuul? I thought all the colonists were killed.”
“They were,” Taylor said. “All but one. The Eagles were called in on a relief contract after the Zuul cleared out. That was our maiden gig back, actually, and the first under my command. Anyway, a squad of our troopers found Keeto buried in the rubble of what had formerly been his barracks. His family was there, too, only they didn’t make it.”
Lisa’s words trailed off into a murmur. “Dear Lord in Heaven. And he’s been with you ever since?”
“Yes ma’am. Our people gave Keeto food and medical attention, then offered to take him home. He wouldn’t go.”
Lisa looked away as a cloud of awkwardness fell over the cabin.
“For what it’s worth?” Taylor cleared his throat. “Keeto ain’t the down-and-outer you’d expect. To the contrary, he’s quite the chatterbox when you put a few shots of tequila in him.”
Lisa laughed, albeit weakly. “An ex-owner and Naval commander, an Australian operator from Tobacco Road, an exiled ballplayer turned mercenary, and an Athal outcast turned EMS engineer. I must say, Chief Van Zant. That’s one interesting crew of characters you’ve assembled.”
“Yes ma’am, they are that,” Taylor said. “They’re also the best damn command staff in the business as far as I’m concerned.”
“You sound pretty confident of that,” Lisa said.
“I better be.” Taylor grunted. “I lean on them every day to keep from lookin’ like an idiot as their leader.”
The duo continued swapping stories until eventually their conversation was interrupted by the crackle of static through the cabin’s intercom speakers.
“Excuse me, Chief?” the pilot asked. “It’s Morris up front. I thought you and Ms. Kouvaris might wanna know we’re entering visual range of the stargate.”
Taylor tapped his fist to the comm button on his chair arm. “Copy that, Morris. Thanks.”
Staring through the porthole ahead, Taylor watched the massive, cable-connected ring come into view. As best he could understand it, a stargate functioned as a sort of solar-powered conduit, or shunt, that allowed ships entrance into hyperspace. Some ships possessed shunts of their own. However, those were rare, to say the least.
Most gates were activated once per day on schedule, then occasionally by request when needed. That was provided, of course, that the gate had amassed the requisite charge for an unscheduled opening, and that the requesting company could pay the Cartography Guild’s fee, which was nothing shy of exorbitant.
Greedy fargin bastards.
Once the shuttle had docked alongside the stargate’s admin station, Taylor unfastened his belts and allowed himself to float out into the open. He then braced himself against one of the other seats and pushed off, soaring in zero G down the corridor toward the debarkation hatch.
“You ready?” Morris was already waiting, his magnetic boots holding him upright.
Taylor found his footing and engaged his own boots then waited for Lisa to the same. “Go for it.”
A gust of air rushed into the cabin from the docking collar’s jetway outside.
“One small step for mankind,” Lisa muttered.
Taylor shot her a grin, then strode into the tunnel as the hatch ahead spiraled open. Once through it, the trio trudged down into a dimly lit corridor of steel panels and exposed ventilation ducts, where a squat robot on treads waited to greet them.
“Chief Van Zant,” the robot said in a modulated voice. “Gate Master Haju is expecting you.”
“Thanks, but we’ll—” Taylor frowned in mid-sentence as the robot turned its back to lead them out. Rude much?
Grudgingly, the group fell in line behind their guide, mag boots clanking against metal-grated decks as they navigated the series of tunnels that would take them up to the gate master’s chamber.
And here I thought my apartment was spartan. Taylor studied the chamber’s industrial decor and found it equally as dank as the rest of the station. Cramped and cold, the lobby featured a small seating area with two sets of doors on opposing sides of the room. The first, to Taylor’s left, was a single door made of the same slate gray material as everything else on the station. The double doors to his right, however, were something very different. Comprised of rugged stone, the doors when closed featured an elaborate carving across most of the top section, depicting twin suns rising over what appeared to be a ruined landscape.
Taylor wasn’t sure what the depiction meant, just that it was old.
“Master Haju will see you now,” the machine said.
Morris stepped forward.
“It’s all right.” Taylor stayed him with a hand. “I’ve got it from here.”
Morris furrowed his eyebrows. “With respect, Chief, your XO was real clear that I’m not to leave your side.”
Taylor patted the pilot’s arm. “I’ll be fine. You wait here with Ms. Kouvaris. I don’t expect this to take long.”
Morris was clearly uneasy with the order, but he didn’t argue.
“Good luck,” Lisa said.
Taylor nodded his thanks, then took his cue from the robot to head for door one on the left. Once through it, he waited while the lights flickered active, though only to about half the brightness of those in the lobby.
“Communications offline,” read the words in his lower-right field of vision.
Dammit. Taylor had forgotten that part. The gate masters were nothing if not paranoid about privacy, so much so that some of them opted to have their stargate chambers fitted with signal dampeners that blocked all non-sanctioned communications from going in or out.
Whatever. Taylor shot a sardonic look to the ceiling, then surveyed his surroundings. The office before him wasn’t much larger than the room he’d just departed. On one side lay a desk space, complete with seating stools and an access terminal. On the other lay a small common area with a wall-mounted Tri-V unit.
“Chief Van Zant,” a baritone voice said. “I must confess, I was beginning to wonder if this meeting would ever truly happen, or if you’d be content sending your XO in your stead.”
Sorry, Hoss, but my douchebag tolerance hit zero when I quit tendin’ bar. Taylor kept that to himself as the massive alien emerged from the shadows.
Like most of the others in its occupation, Earth’s gate master was a member of the Sumatozou, a race of aliens that resembled in many ways small elephants who walked erect. Same wrinkled features. Same pitch-black eyes. Same mountainous gray frame. The major difference in the species came in the form of their trunks. Earth elephants had one, while the Sumatozou had two smaller trunks, each sporting green stripes down the center with red trim along the edges.
“Are you incapable of speech?” The gate master sauntered forward, embroidered robes swooshing at his ankles.
“No, Master Haju, I speak perfectly fine.” Taylor crossed his arms. “I just prefer to consider my words before lettin’ them spew out of my mouth.”
Haju’s trunks flopped with his snort. “How very…unexpected. If your brother was any indication, such a quality for temperance is
far from normal within your line.”
“What can I say? I’m full of surprises.”
Both beings stared at each other for a long moment.
“So.” Taylor tipped up his Generals cap. “Are we gonna stand around here waxin’ nostalgic all mornin’ or are we actually gonna do some business?”
Haju motioned his guest to a stool opposite the desk. “I understand you mean to make use of my stargate with a new ship. Is this correct?”
“It is.” Taylor produced a slate containing the Osyrys’s credentials and slid it over.
The Sumatozou studied the device’s contents. “Impressive. By Human standards, that is.”
“Thanks. We like her.”
Haju toggled via swipe from image to image. “Curious. In the decade since my assignment to this system by the Cartography Guild, I’ve never actually cleared one of John Navarro’s creations through my stargate. Intriguing ships, these cruisers. Tell me, where did you find this one?”
“Neighborhood garage sale,” Taylor said. “Turns out, folks really will throw anything out these days.”
The gate master glowered at his guest.
If this prick screws you out of gate access, you don’t get paid, genius. Taylor decided it best that he resume his think first strategy from earlier. “Terry bought her on a whim at an auction in Houston just before his last trip to Karma. Apparently she needed a lot of work. So he parked her off rotation until his crews could get her up to speed. She fell off the books during all the creditor stuff, which is why we’re just now learnin’ about her.”
“Interesting.” Haju drummed his sausage-like fingers on the desk. “I presume then, given the timing of these events, that your brother was unable to finish said repairs before his unexpected demise?”
Taylor was suddenly very cognizant of the loaded Firestorm under his shirt. “That’s right.”
“And you have?”
Taylor nodded.
Haju reclined his seat, his twitchy expression seeming to suggest that at least one question was hanging on the tip of his tongue. He didn’t ask it. Instead, the gate master resumed his study of the Navarro. “Perhaps the only thing more intriguing than the nature and history of your new ship is her name. Might I inquire as to the significance of…” He paused to sound out the words. “Ry-lee O-sy-ris?”
Free Bird Rising Page 6
