The Shattered Stars: Breach of Contract

by Vance Huxley

  “See, that went better. You pinned him perfectly even weightless. Now why don’t you do it the rest of the time?” The instructor sounded almost plaintive.

  “Because it isn’t real, it’s a bledrin exercise.” Magpie flicked a knife down the room and nailed a floating dummy. “I can do that all day, because the dumb thing just floats.”

  Bells punched the wall, rebounding in a slow cartwheel. “We need opponents.”

  “More opponents you mean?” The instructor sounded downright savage now. “You crippled two instructors and the rest won’t spar full-out any more. Even your own Super won’t spar with you.”

  Bells grinned. “Not twice he won’t.”

  Though Bobby frowned. “So how do we learn?”

  “You want real practice? I’ll arrange some, and see how you like that!” As the weight started to come back on the instructor spoke into a sleeve mic. “Take us back. They’re bored.”

  “Me too.” The instructor glared in the direction of the cockpit while Beebi’s Basteds sniggered.

  * * *

  The trainer delivered a tirade along with the squad, finally leaving them with Smaj. He shook his head. “Don’t flick the trainers. You need to learn.”

  “So how come you don’t?” Bobby waited for the scowl at his usual flick but Smaj sighed.

  “I’m not coming. I’m to watch the training and take part in some, but then wave you goodbye. Then I get to train the rest of your TRRF.” Smaj beckoned. “Come on, we’ve got a mission profile at last.” Six big smiles followed him into the briefing room.

  Six glum faces and a smiling Siflis came out. The Super left immediately without speaking. Bells spoke first. “Six months? We have to lie in a coffin for six months?”

  Smaj shrugged. “You’ll be asleep most of it. You’ll wake up for a bit to do intensive exercises while the rocket sticks on another one gee, then it’ll cut again while you sleep.”

  “How come the trip takes six months if they’ve got an Alien Rocket? I understand the rocket bit. The nice Alien Wreckage that isn’t wrecked gave the boffins the plans.” Bells glared. “I know that Geek explained but can I have it without numbers and things?”

  “You’ll feel five times the weight until we get into space and on course, then you’ll be weightless. The rocket will accelerate at one gee so you feel your proper weight for an hour of exercise each time you wake up.” Siflis waited for Bells to nod understanding. “Eventually the one gee will be slowing us, but you’ll still feel the same weight because we’ll be going backwards. Then we exercise like maniacs for eighteen hours at the end until the rocket stops. If the fuel holds out.”

  They all stared at Siflis because that came close to waxing lyrical for him, or babbling. Then Magpie elbowed him in the ribs. “I understood that and felt better until the last bit. How come it makes sense to you?”

  “I told you, space games.” Siflis grinned. “This is sort of a dream come true, or a gamer obsession anyway.”

  “Can’t we go faster and get there sooner?” Bells snarled at Magpie when she went to elbow him.

  “Grouchy.” Magpie dodged a half-hearted swipe from Bells. “Even I understood that bit. If we go a lot faster, we get squished because the rocket can’t stand the strains of dodging any bits of rock at higher speeds. We can only go this fast because of the lovely Alien Space Rocket.”

  “Not a whole rocket, an Alien motor that uses less hydrogen or reuses or something. I got that. I don’t fancy the rest of the rocket. If five blocs are building it, it’ll be a bledrin disaster waiting to happen. It’ll break down and then we’re some impossible number of miles from home and completely pooched.” Bobby missed firing a pistol. “We can’t even shoot something to feel better.”

  “We’ll have plenty to shoot at the other end. Squads of Troopers from eight other blocs? I know it’s a joint exercise but we’ll end up fighting.” Hood grinned. “Do they really expect us to play nice together?”

  “We’ll know soon, when the other squads arrive. Maybe that’s what sour-puss meant by finding us someone to spar with?” Bobby sniggered. “If they let us all fight before leaving it’ll cut down on weight in the rocket. Half the squads won’t be going.”

  “I’m sort of curious about all the others. It’s not like Troopers ever get to meet, is it? Timers fight Timers, Squaddies fight Legion or Spetnaz or Sturmtroopers or whatever the hell bulsh name they’re called, but Troopers all stay at home.” Bells frowned. “I still don’t see why the blocs don’t send those, the Squaddies and the like.”

  “Maybe because they fight each other all the time and wouldn’t be able to resist. Maybe they reckon we are all friendly types.” Everyone laughed. “We’ll know soon, because the others will be here tomorrow.” Bobby sighed. “Then we get the lecture again. Maybe today’s was because we’ll be too busy fighting at the next one to pay attention?”

  * * *

  Though finding out more about the other squads came as a bit of a shock. “I want to spar with the Frogs. Please?”

  “You and nearly every other Trooper here, Bells. Did the instructions get lost in translation and they sent Divas?” Bobby looked at the five pretty women in short skirts with a Frog Super in charge, a man. He recognised that uniform.

  “Bang bang.” Hood grinned. “Last time I saw that uniform was through sights.”

  “One of that other squad is a woman I reckon, the Confeds, and maybe one of the SEPA though they’re dressed the same as the rest.” Siflis frowned. “Maybe SEPA, there’s four squads that are sort of deep tan.”

  “Could be Indies, Chinas, Amazons or Mexes. Maybe Sheiks, I don’t know the difference by sight, or what some of their corporations are.” Line Manager McKay must be in shock to join in the discussion, let alone admit ignorance. “Those aren’t Confeds, they’re from the north, the Yankees.” He laughed, the first time Bobby’s squad had ever heard him do so. “They’ll probably try to kill the Confeds.”

  “Are you sure none are the equivalent of Squaddies? There are some hard men there.” Bells eyed the other groups.

  The Supervisor laughed again, maybe it was hysteria? “Have you looked at yourselves lately? You scare me more than they do.” He suddenly seemed to get a grip. “What am I doing even talking to you assholes? Smarten up. You’re on parade.”

  Bobby didn’t even straighten up. “They aren’t, and their salutes are worse than mine. When do we meet?”

  The Super scowled, then abandoned trying to take control and answered. “As soon as all their weaponry is stowed. That’ll take a while.” The heaps growing on the tarmac in front of each squad compared favourably with what Beebi’s Basteds brought. “Nobody is allowed to take a weapon into the meeting.”

  “Those Frog Divas are bringing weapons, at least a pair each. Oomph!” Magpie smiled happily as Bells doubled up around her elbow.

  Bobby tutted. “Maybe that’s why they’re dangerous, Bells? You get looking at those weapons and forget the rest. Come on, let’s get the good seats.”

  * * *

  There wasn’t a fight because the canteen had one wall lined with Squaddies carrying real rifles, not flechette carbins. Beebi’s Basteds got the good seats, near the entrance to see everyone as they came in. The rest spread out to the other tables, one table per squad. The two North American squads sat at opposite sides of the canteen and glared at each other.

  All attention soon moved to the screen set up on a wall, showing pictures and then schematics of their transport. Though first the suit out front congratulated them all. The nine squads had been chosen by their blocs to take part in the greatest combined operation in mankind’s history. They would go to space, out to the far reaches of the solar system. The nine squads would investigate the source of the mystery alien signal and secure the transmitter for the good of all mankind.

  The suit turned to the drawings and pictures and explained how they’d get there, ignoring the sceptical glances or the glares between squads. When the survival and delivery
system had been explained the squads were allowed to talk among themselves, though Bells still had trouble concentrating. “I’m telling you, those Frogs are Divas. That one with the red streak in her hair just put her leg up so her stocking top showed, then winked at me.”

  “Which means you’ll be looking at her leg when she cuts your stupid throat.” Magpie rolled her eyes. “Hood will have to watch your back, instead of the other way round.”

  “Forget that. No backs need watching until we get to the target and then their legs will be in a spacesuit.” Bobby sighed. “The Director reckoned all our squads are allied, but the Confeds and Yankees are already a breath away from a fight. We consider the Krauts and Frogs natural enemies because we fight them as Timers and the rest must have the same problem.” Bobby thought quickly. He’d have to be polite to the dick and get him working in the team because some of those other officers looked hard nuts. “Sir, are you sure you can’t get extra weaponry stowed on the ship?”

  The Super stared for a moment, probably startled by the sir instead of the usual sluur. “I don’t know. We can only take a limited number of weapons and only plastic flechettes or plastic buckshot, the Directors out front all seem certain on that. There’s a weight limit and lead ammo is heavy, and so are extra weapons so there’s a list. Every bloc gets to inspect and supervise the others loading their capsules so I don’t see how we can get extras aboard.”

  “What about on the way?” Siflis smirked. “Every capsule is launched individually, then clamped to the rocket part in orbit. Can’t we have a few extras lurking up there with a sodin great magnet to tack them onto the side?”

  “With crews made up of a dozen blocs operating the docking gear?” The Super looked suddenly thoughtful. “I’m more interested in ways to make sure we’re connected properly, because our air and food must be in that rocket. I don’t like the idea someone might thin out the opposition by not connecting something up quite right.” Bobby noted that the Super hadn’t swallowed this alliance bulsh either.

  “The food? Nutritious liquid diet. I might consider it a mercy if that’s cut off.” Bells squirmed. “I don’t fancy the other part, the waste disposal.”

  “I’m not keen on having my tackle clamped in a tube for six months, but the tube up my ass worries me more.” Bobby grinned at Bells. “That’ll give you some idea of how the Divas feel, Bells.” Then he frowned. “Didn’t anyone else think the drawings and pictures of the capsules looked different to the cutaways. Shorter, and a bit fatter maybe.”

  The Super frowned. “Can’t see why they should be. I don’t like the plan for the other end.”

  “You mean the mad scramble to board whatever it is? If we’re all allied, there should be a planned approach and I didn’t hear even a hint. They’re even keeping each squad in a separate capsule. The rocket releases all the capsules well short of the target, then each capsule approaches the whatever and spits out the Troopers with their packs.” Bobby looked around the table. “Even if everyone plays nice, has it occurred to you that all our food and air is on that rocket, or in the capsule?”

  “Incentive scheme.” Super McKay looked sick. “We’ve got what’s in our suit tanks. If we haven’t got into the target, I doubt the rocket will let us resupply.”

  “It’ll know if we succeed, because that’s where all the coms are sent through.” Magpie paled. “If we’ve got in and sent all the information, will there be enough food or air for all the squads? What did Smaj say, he’d be training the rest of TRRF? It’ll take six months for them to get there once we’ve reported on what’s waiting.” The rest looked at each other and paled as well.

  “We might have to ally, unless management knows something we don’t. How do we know the whatever will be empty when we get there?” Siflis looked at faces showing expressions ranging from alarm to almost panic from Bells.

  “Aliens! Blood-sucking giant aliens with tentacles and disintegrator beams. Oh shite. No wonder the pay is so good, we’ll never get to spend it.” Bells looked from one to another, wild-eyed.

  “Bells!” Bells jerked at Bobby’s sharp tone and calmed a bit. “There’s no mention of aliens.”

  “Look on the bright side Bells, if they’ve got disintegrator rays you’ll have no left blood to be sucked.” Magpie smiled sweetly as Bells glared.

  Super McKay’s face twisted into a snarl. “So either a bloodbath, starvation or aliens. You finally did it, got me on a bledrin Gaza Taxi. Pooched, well and truly pooched.” He swallowed hard. “Now I know why you got me. We’re all expendable. Nobody wants us.”

  Bobby wanted to say no, that the Duchess wouldn’t do that, but this would be economics. Beebi’s Basteds made a small but reliable force, because she’d assume the dick would cark it in the first two minutes. Then she must think if anyone could get the job done, this squad would. Sometimes Bobby wished he’d been a crap Timer, and a crap Trooper, and never met Supervisor Curen. Though life would have been a lot more boring. Then he realised that there would be supplies, for one very simple reason.

  “There’ll be air and the rest because whoever secures the assets has to survive, though all of us are expendable and I mean all of the other squads are as well. We’ve got to remember that. We’re being sent out without a blind idea of what’s waiting, one way scouts. There’ll be a bit of extra food and water in each pack and capsule to make sure we get there and into the transmitter, and for any fight. Then with what’s on the rocket there’ll be enough to keep at least some of us going, to hold the objective until support arrives.” He locked eyes with each one in turn. “The alliance business might be complete bulsh, in which case there might only be enough for one squad. Our squad.” Bobby’s eyes stopped on Super McKay. “That means we need you lean, mean, and a fighting member, Mickey.”

  The Super bridled. “Don’t start that, it’s Supervisor McKay you cheeky basted.”

  Bobby pointed at each member in the squad. “Siflis, Bells, Magpie, Hood and I’m Beebi. Squad names.” He grinned. “Your squad name is Mickey and you are a basted, a Beebi’s Basted.”

  The Super hesitated, thought about it, then straightened. “In that case we should be Mickey’s Basteds.”

  “They’d call us Mickey’s Monkeys or some such and won’t give us any respect. We need that respect so they hesitate before attacking, set themselves properly, because then we get a bit of warning. I’ll bet their Managers have files about Beebi’s Basteds. You’ll get a file on each of the other squads, and it’ll show they’ve all got a name and a nasty rep back home.” Bobby shrugged. “If I’m wrong on that then we’re Mickey’s whatevers. Deal?”

  The hesitation went on longer this time, but in the end. “Deal.”

  “Welcome to the squad Mickey. Don’t make plans for your spare time, you won’t have any.” Bobby wasn’t sure if he could make the dick useful in the time left, but if he could make Mickey dangerous enough to attract some of the incoming that would help.

  * * *

  Though there seemed to be no time at all, because the following day every member of every squad had to report for a full medical. Though not Smaj, he bid them goodbye because he had to go and start training the rest up. Magpie hung back, staring at the medical centre. “Beebi, they’ll find out I’m a woman.” The Basteds’ own medic had been squared with threats and persuasion, but not the medics here.

  “So are a lot of the others Magpie. These are UKs’ medics, so tell them you’re undercover to catch the rest by surprise.” Bobby forced a grin. “Explain you’ll show your underwear at a strategic moment.”

  Magpie didn’t smile. “What if they throw me out?”

  “And replace you with who? You’re trained.” Bobby nodded towards the Super. “I’ll tell him. He won’t want to admit you’ve fooled him.”

  “Mickey? Shite, he’s an officer, he’ll expect me to bend over whenever he gets an itch.” Magpie looked a bit wild-eyed now and her sleeve knife slid into her hand.

  “No he won’t. I’ll tell him if h
e wants to pooch anyone, he should remember who’ll be teaching him knife fighting, and how much better than him our Magpie is.” Bobby sniggered. “He’d be safer going to the Frog Divas.” The files had been delivered to Mickey just as Bobby predicted. The Frog squad were called Les Putes which meant Divas. They weren’t really Divas because the squad had a reputation for killing Supers, usually enemy ones.

  At least that brought a smile to Magpie’s face. “If I have to fess up to them, we could compare Super scores.” She headed for the queue outside the medical centre.

  “Mickey.”

  “Sir out here, you bledrin eejit.”

  “That’s the least of your problems. You need a bit of background about Magpie.”

  When Bobby finished, the Super stared towards the medical block. “Too late now, she’s in there. So how long has your squad kept your own personal Diva?”

  “Not a Diva, Mickey. She’ll teach you how to use a knife, and can slice and dice you in her sleep.” Bobby smirked. “Anyone trying to pooch that one might find he’s missing the tackle to complete the job. All I’m asking is you keep quiet. If anyone official asks, you confirm she’s undercover.”

  “But she’s not.”

  “Yes she is. How do you think we got the jobs done, all those on the record? Most of the TRRF know, but nobody who’s been with us less than a year.” Bobby laughed. “Guns doesn’t know, though he might think she’s a bandit.”

  “That’s illegal, two Troopers. He should have investigated.”

  Bobby laughed again. “Which bit of our files said legal?” Then he leaned a bit closer and lowered his voice. “She really has killed Supers, so if one gets a bit nosy?”

  The Super blanched so he got the real message. Then a calculating look came over his face. “True. If we survive this, I might just find her a name to add to her score. If a Diva visits him and he carks it, they’d never look at me or for a Trooper. Deal?”

  Bobby blinked, then reassessed the Super a bit. Well, what was another Super more or less? Magpie wouldn’t mind. She had enough Pleb left to hate all Supers, and enough Trooper to do the job. “Deal. Let me have the name.” Bobby would have smiled at the next thought, that the Super probably wouldn’t live to collect, but it wasn’t funny because neither would Magpie.