Monster Hunter Legion

by Larry Correia

  Julie had been doing this for years and Earl had been doing this for a really long time, so between the two of them they knew almost everybody and kept up a running commentary as the other participants came in. “Those are the boys from Tokyo. They positively own the giant monster business. I’ll have to introduce you. They’re all right.”

  “Good to see French Hunters made it,” Julie said. “Is that Jean Darne’s son?”

  “I think so . . . I should probably avoid him. He might be a little sore since I beheaded his daddy.”

  “You did his dad a favor,” Julie said. “I’ll talk to him later. I can relate.”

  “Be good to keep up friendly relations.” Earl nodded. “Those French Hunters are all right.”

  There was a sudden flood of matching black polo shirts. They had even choreographed their arrival, with Armstrong in the lead. “Hey, Prehensile Tails got out of jail too.”

  “I thought it was Panoramic Toast.” Even Julie had decided to join in.

  Earl gave Paranormal Tactical Consulting the once-over. “Well, now it’s obvious why you kids wanted to hit them so bad. They look like assholes.”

  That went on for some time as Earl grouped all the newcomers into one of two categories. They were either assholes or all right. Because of his extraordinarily long career, Earl was like an encyclopedia of everyone in the business, and if he didn’t know them personally, they were more likely to fall into the asshole category. For Earl, everyone from the government automatically went into the first bucket until proven otherwise. By the time the lights dimmed we had seen Hunters from fifteen different countries, sometimes more than one team from the same country, with Earl praising one bunch and cursing the next.

  My phone buzzed with a text from Milo. Dude. SHOT is awesome. Our ammo mfg is loading our 30 cal silver bullets in 7.62x39 and 300 win mag now! I got free samples and a hat! That simply wasn’t fair.

  It took another fifteen minutes for everyone to come in. Many of the latecomers looked hung over and tired, but such was the nature of Vegas. A spotlight turned on over the speaker’s podium and the MC came out wearing a tuxedo. “How long is this going to take?” Earl leaned across me to ask Julie.

  She had thoughtfully grabbed a schedule. “Let’s see . . . Welcome, intros, some announcement from the MCB, a couple of keynote speeches . . . About two hours. Then the luncheon, then the panels start . . . And you two had damn well better be attending the ones I’m on. The keynote address is at six.”

  Earl and I groaned simultaneously. “I’m gonna need a smoke.” Earl got up to sneak out.

  “Bring me back a plate of those little sausages and some cheese balls, would you?” I asked.

  Regardless of what business you’re in, these sorts of things were always the same. Introduce yourself. Applause. Introduce everybody else. Applause. Tell a lame joke. Applause. Thank everyone and their dog . . . I mean, come on, the people in this room kill supernatural beings for a living . . . How could you possibly make that tedious? Yet somehow, they did. The master of ceremonies was long-winded and I was quickly bored. It didn’t help that Milo kept texting me every so often about something else that I was missing. Z! I met Ted Nugent and got his autograph! He was cool. Followed ten minutes later with Found secret killer robot company! Going for a test drive! LOL! If I hadn’t known Milo was such a nice guy I would’ve sworn that he was tormenting me on purpose. Picking up more awesome free samples! 20mm cannon! The number of bodies crammed in made it too warm, and per Julie’s insistence, I’d worn a tie, which made it more stuffy, all of which made me want to take a nap.

  When the MC introduced the guests of honor, he mentioned that an invitation had been extended to Raymond Shackleford the Third, owner of Monster Hunter International, but that he’d been unable to attend due to health reasons. Which was partially true, with the other part being that he’d simply thought the whole thing had sounded boring and being a guest of honor was pretentious. When they said the boss’s name, all of the members of MHI, myself included, gave him a standing ovation. I was happy to see that several members from some of the foreign teams stood up out of respect too. They should. He was a living legend.

  “Aw, Grandpa would’ve really liked that,” Julie said.

  That part was interesting, but then it was back to thanking the generous organizers of this illustrious secret gathering and all that jazz. I hadn’t gotten much sleep, so I think I might have nodded off for a minute or two when Julie elbowed me awake.

  “Huh? What?” Had I been snoring?

  “Did you catch that?”

  “What?” And then I noticed that there was a general murmur going through the audience.

  “The next speaker is the new director of the Monster Control Bureau, and it isn’t Myers.”

  Dwayne Myers had been running the MCB since right after I’d first been mauled by a werewolf, but he had only been the interim director, pending congressional approval. The previous real director had been run out because of some scandal. Myers had been running things for so long that I had always just assumed he would end up officially in charge. Myers was a complete jerk, but he was also a ruthlessly efficient jerk. I perked up. Hunters had no choice but to deal with the MCB, so this announcement could go either way.

  “What’s his name?”

  “Douglas Stark. Sounds familiar, but I can’t remember from where. Ringing any bells?”

  “Never heard of him.” I looked around for Earl, since he knew everybody, but he wasn’t back yet. “A new guy, huh? How bad could he be?”

  “Never say that about the MCB,” Julie hissed. “You’ll jinx us!”

  The MC got out of the way and a stocky man with bulldog jowls entered from behind the curtains. He walked across the stage with a swagger, took his place at the podium to sporadic and lackluster applause, reached into his suit, took out a piece of paper, cleared his throat, and began to read his speech. “Thank you, Ken. Thank you, everyone, for the warm welcome.” The dozen or so MCB agents that were actually clapping stopped. “I’m Special Agent Doug Stark and I am honored to be a guest here at the first annual International Conference of Monster Hunting Professionals. It is my goal to usher in a new era of cooperation between public sector and private sector Hunters.”

  “That’ll be the day.” Earl slid in next to me. He had neglected to bring me more snacks. “Why’s that jackass talking?”

  “That’s the new MCB director.”

  “You’re messing with me . . . Oh shit, you’re not. Him?” Earl’s eyes narrowed. “God help us . . . I should’ve killed that son of a bitch when I had the chance.”

  * * *

  After Director Stark’s incredibly self-aggrandizing speech, we broke for lunch, and the first thing Earl did was track down and corner Agent Franks to get an explanation. I followed along, mostly because I wanted to see what happened when the unstoppable force ran into the immovable object. We found the big agent in the hall outside the main room, frowning at the multitude of passing Hunters, surely bummed that he wasn’t allowed to hit them. “Franks. We need to talk.”

  “Harbinger.” Franks didn’t seem surprised to see us. “Pitt.”

  “What the hell happened to Myers?”

  “I’m unable to comment on personnel matters.” He said the words like they were memorized. I had a sneaky feeling that would be the standard line from any member of the MCB.

  “Come on. We both know this is a bad call. I can’t stand Dwayne, but he’s a strategic genius compared to Stark. What did they do with him?”

  The wheels turned, but apparently Franks had something to gain by not being a totally uncooperative dick. “Transferred. Agent Myers is over the Special Response Team.” To the best of my knowledge, the MCB’s Special Response Team were the ones that came swooping in with all of the big guns. It was a job that seemed a little too militaristic for Agent Myers.

  “That’s a demotion. Why in the world would they do that? Are their heads that far up their asses over there? Stark’s a
coward and a moron. We both know that.”

  Franks looked around to see who was listening, and for the very first time ever, I think he might have been uncomfortable. “I’m unable to comment on personnel mat—”

  “Cram your personnel matters. You unable to comment about what happened in Copper Lake? Or the Arbmunep? Or Lord Machado? Or all the other shit popping up around the world since then? Things are speeding up everywhere and your boss was throwing a fit about it. I know about you stopping something big in California recently.”

  Franks scowled, suspicious. “He told you?”

  “A little, because as much as me and Myers hate each other, that son of a bitch at least knew what was at stake. We had an understanding. Something’s coming. We can all feel it, and they put fucking Stark in charge? The man spent half a werewolf siege trying to throw children out of a bomb shelter so he could take a spot. What is wrong with you people?”

  Franks glanced around again, apparently didn’t see any of his men, then surprisingly, reached into his suit and shut his radio off. “Agent Myers was . . . opinionated.”

  “Dwayne rocked the boat.”

  Franks shrugged. “Over my pay grade.”

  I couldn’t help myself. “You get paid? I figured you were in this for the perks.”

  Franks had a real talent for ignoring me. “Agent Myers had some . . . disagreements . . . with the administration. Agent Stark . . .”

  “Is a bootlicking bureaucrat paper shuffler who’ll roll over and do whatever he’s told.”

  “I am unable to comment on personnel matters,” Franks said again, but I could’ve sworn that one sounded like a yes. “Agent Stark was cited for valor for stopping an outbreak in Michigan.” It was so very hard to tell when Franks was being sarcastic. “He likes you, Harbinger.” Okay, that time I could tell.

  “I bet he does . . . I’m the one that broke his fat nose. So someone in the government wants their strongest entity for dealing with the supernatural neutered and out of the way.” Earl leaned in really close and looked Franks square in the eye. “Unicorn is calling the shots again, ain’t they?” Earl said that with a lot of venom. Unicorn? I didn’t think he meant like an actual magic horse with a horn. Who the hell was unicorn?

  Whoever Unicorn was, Franks didn’t like hearing that word. Franks took an uncomfortably long time responding. “This conversation never happened.” He reached into his coat, turned his radio on, and went back to scanning the crowd, ignoring us completely.

  Earl stomped off and I followed him down the hall. “What’s he talking about? Uni—”

  My boss silenced me with a hard look. “Not now.” This had to be related to what had happened in Copper Lake, but Earl was in such a sour mood that I didn’t dare bring it up.

  Julie and Nate were at the luncheon, mingling and being social with some of our competitors. The two of them saw the look on Earl’s face and immediately knew something bad had happened. “You okay?” Julie asked as she excused herself from a red-faced Englishmen with a really big mustache.

  “We’ll talk about it later, but right now, do me a favor, talk to as many of the overseas Hunters as you can. I want to know what kind of activity they’ve been seeing lately, and especially if it seems to be on the rise.”

  “You want me to spread the word?” Julie pulled out her iPhone. “There’s a mess of us here.”

  “Get Holly. All she has to do is smile and any man will tell her whatever she wants to hear.” Earl thought about it for a second. “On second thought, ask everybody you think can play it close to the vest and talk to our competitors without getting into fistfights.” He glanced at me as he said that.

  “In my defense, I didn’t fight anyone from PT. I fought one of our Newbies.”

  “Skip Paranormal Testicles or whatever the hell their name is. I want to know about outside the country, areas where we don’t have a lot of contacts especially, and I don’t want this getting back to the MCB that we’re asking.”

  “You think something’s up?” Nate asked. He had a nasty black eye and a purple lump on his head from yesterday.

  “I’m looking for a pattern. Myers was worried the last time we talked, enough that his superiors were getting sick of him. If he was bugging them enough to get himself demoted out of their hair, then something must be up. But play it careful, there might be some other forces at play . . .” Earl trailed off, worried. “Keep it professional. Not everybody here likes us. We’re more successful than they are. Jealousy breeds contention.”

  “And don’t forget we’re also the reason all the other US Hunters got put out of business for a while too,” Julie muttered. The aftermath of MHI’s hundredth-anniversary Christmas party and Ray Shackleford’s craziness had gotten private Monster Hunting banned in the US for several years. “It’s easy to hold a grudge against the people that got your job declared illegal.”

  “I’m on good terms with the old school. I’ll take the Russians and the Japanese. Julie . . .”

  “I’ll talk to Pierre Darne,” Julie volunteered. “I really should anyway.”

  “Call Albert in, too. I think he speaks Chinese. Their team seems okay, but their government-provided translator is a prick. Oh, yeah, and Priest knows the South Africans. I think he’s talking to them now. And, Z . . .” Earl faced me.

  “Who do you want me to schmooze?”

  “Nobody you might piss off. I didn’t hire you for your diplomacy, and you tend to say things you shouldn’t, so just play it cool.”

  “I do okay—”

  Earl cut me off. “I’ve got one word to sum it up for you . . . gnomes.”

  Crap. He had me there.

  We broke up and moved off in different directions to mingle. I had no idea what Earl was concerned about. I could be social with the best of them. After all, these were fellow Monster Hunters, men and women with a higher, nobler calling. Defenders of the innocent, protectors of the good. Like Agent Stark had said, this was a new era of cooperation. This should be a piece of cake.

  And then the crowd parted and I was standing in front of three men from Paranormal Tactical, and judging from the scrapes and Band-Aids, they had been at dinner last night. All three of them gave me withering death glares. Earl had wanted discretion, I really didn’t want to go back to jail, and I was already paying for that frigging swan, so I turned and kept walking . . . only to have the chief jerk himself, Armstrong, step in front of me. I recognized the muscular man standing behind him as Ultimate Fighter, and despite beating the hell out of some of my guys—Melvin’s video confirmed at least two—he didn’t have a scratch on him.

  “Owen. I’m surprised to see you here. I heard you took a nasty spill.” The unctuous bastard just oozed sincerity. “Landed in a fountain, if I heard right.”

  “No biggie, Rick. The tile broke my fall.”

  He looked over my shoulder at his men. “I hope you boys are getting along better after last evening’s unpleasantness.”

  “Boys will be boys.”

  “I hear you there.” Even his laugh was annoying. It’s weird how some people can be perfectly polite, yet still be complete asshats at the same time. “It’s understandable that your men needed to blow off some steam, especially with all the stress MHI is under.”

  “What stress?”

  “MHI isn’t used to competition. You’ve got us taking business from you out west, the Vermont Stump Jumpers in the northeast. All these hungrier companies, and MHI is so old-fashioned and stuck in its glory days. It’s got to be tough for you.”

  My gosh, I hated this guy. I watched Ultimate Fighter. He seemed wary but relaxed. They weren’t stupid enough to do anything here, what with all of the hotel security being keyed up, not to mention Agent Franks. This was simple Type A personality posturing. Screw it. “Yeah, it is tough being the biggest and best in a world of fly-by-night wannabes, but you get used to it.”

  The friendly facade slipped just a little. “Some say the Shacklefords are dinosaurs.”

 
“Like a Tyrannosaurs Rex.” I laughed in his face. “Oh, I’m sorry . . .” I gestured at his men. “Was I supposed to be intimidated?”

  “Everybody knows the sun is setting on MHI.” Armstrong folded his arms. “But I didn’t come over here to trade barbs, hotshot. I’ve got something for you. Mr. Durant, if you would . . .” He stepped out of his way and Ultimate Fighter took his place.

  I sized him up. He was much smaller than I was, but this dude was cut, and judging from the videos, not somebody you wanted to tangle with. “So, I’m guessing you’re supposed to be PT’s tough guy.”

  He handed me an envelope. I took it without even thinking. “Everyone needs a hobby. I happen to enjoy competitive mixed martial arts. However, as a member of the bar, I’m also Paranormal Tactical’s legal advisor. I’m serving in the latter capacity today.”

  He was remarkably well spoken for a man who had choked Cooper unconscious. “You’re an attorney?” I opened the envelope, looked inside, read, blinked, reread, and still couldn’t believe my eyes. “This is a restraining order . . .”

  “Oh, you thought that you were the only ones that could call in favors on short notice. Last month we helped out a judge with a bad case of hobgoblins.” Ultimate Lawyer nodded at the other PT men. “You’ve been served in front of witnesses. Since we now fear for our safety, any MHI staff that was involved with last night’s altercation are required to stay at least one hundred yards from any employee of Paranormal Tactical Consulting at all times. The lawsuit paperwork for the injuries sustained by our employees during your company’s reckless and negligent rampage will be delivered to your Alabama office by certified mail.”

  The order looked legitimate. It even had each of our involved Hunters’ names on it, except for Holly, because she’d managed to avoid getting arrested. I couldn’t believe this. Slugging each other was one thing, but lawyers? That was just plain nasty. “You son of a bitch.”