Solar Kill

by Charles Ingrid

  “You don’t hire out much, do you?”

  This wasn’t the question. Tomcat was wondering why he hadn’t heard of Jack and the suit before. Jack nodded. “It was a personal matter.”

  “What kind of fighting have you done?”

  “I did some strikebusting.”

  Tomcat nodded abruptly, satisfied with Jack’s experience. As Jack looked past the commander, he saw other faces nod quickly back to their jobs at hand. He knew the men of the Montreal would have talked about him, but he also knew that mercenaries treated justice as a very personal and private matter. Even if his current crewmates were speculating if Jack had burned Marciane, that was his business. And if the dead man’s former crew wanted Jack, that was their business.

  Tomcat stuck his hand out. “Welcome aboard. Storm, isn’t it?”

  “Call me Jack,” he answered and took the shake. The man’s flesh was cool and firm, and callused across the palm. Tomcat was neither young, nor as pretty as he looked.

  They came for him shortly after he’d fallen asleep, in the middle of the night watch. Jack curbed the expression on his face as he saw the black man, Libya, and the redhead, Barney, fill the doorway to his cubby. Barney held a broom.

  “You’re on watch tonight, Jack,” Barney said soberly. He handed Jack the broom.

  “No kidding. Sorry, I missed the posting.”

  “Don’t worry about it. It’s light duty, Tomcat doesn’t post it.” Barney looked around. “It’s embarrassing really, but every ship has them, and we have to keep after them.”

  Jack took the broom. “Has what?”

  “Space rats. You’re to comb the holds, find the ones you can, and we’ll jettison ‘em with the waste tomorrow.”

  Libya said mellowly, “They’re fast, quick, and dangerous.”

  “Dangerous.”

  “Diseases and they like to chew. With all the wiring on board ship …” and his voice lowered and he shrugged eloquently.

  “Right.”

  Barney looked at Jack. “The broom should pick them up just fine.”

  “How’s that?”

  “We mixed bolts in with food we left out for them. Scavengers will eat anything. The broom’s magnetic—it picks up the metallic bolts. Doesn’t matter to it if a squirming, ugly space rat has swallowed the bolt or not. Ah—you know the areas to stay out of with the broom, right?”

  “Sure,” answered Jack solemnly. “Wouldn’t want to compromise any electromagnetic fields.”

  “That’s the idea. Okay. We’ll start in the rear cargo hold tonight. You’re on rotation, so you won’t have duty again for five or six more days.”

  Nodding, Jack followed the two men. As they approached the bulkhead leading to the hold, he asked, “How long’s my watch?” and stifled a yawn.

  Libya rolled an eye at Barney. The redhead smiled. “We have a quota. We figure, bring in a half a dozen of these babies a watch, and we’ll keep the population down.”

  “Six space rats and I can go back to bed, right?”

  “That’s right. Just bring your count to me—I’ll be in the forward galley, doing a stores report.”

  “And here’s a bag for ‘em,” added Libya, thrusting a net at him.

  “Right.” Jack stepped into the twilight of the cargo hold, and the two men swung the bulkhead shut behind them.

  As the hold closed, Jack sat down, dropping the broom and sack at his feet. Not that the ship didn’t have rats … it probably did. Rats seemed to have emigrated almost as far as men had. But Jack knew that the broom was no more metallic than he was and no rat had ever been caught with one. He’d been sent on the greenhorn’s legendary wild goose chase.

  It pleased him a little, actually. They’d sized him up as a young and innocent straight arrow. Others aboard the ship were probably getting different initiations according to the character assessment made of them. Greedy types were being offered deals too good to be true. Paranoids were being let in on fictitious plots.

  He could curl up and sleep until the end of his rest shift, when Barney and Libya would no doubt show up to rescue him, knowing he couldn’t possibly have made his quota, hoping he’d be red-eyed from lack of sleep and chasing impossible rats. That, however, would be letting it go a little too easy.

  Jack smiled in the dark of the hold, picked up his catch-sack, and stealthily moved forward.

  Barney looked at his cards. He glanced over the tops of them at Libya. “You’ve got to be bluffing.”

  The dark man showed his teeth. “Lay ‘em down and find out.”

  Barney shrugged. He did so, and watched Libya rack in another pot. His sole consolation lay in anticipating the look on the greenie’s face when they went to get him in the morning, and he had failed to bag his quota of space rats. Barney grunted in happy thought as Libya shuffled and redealt. The tawny-headed young man with washed-out eyes of blue had absorbed all they’d told him with a solemn air, as though knowing they’d told him the absolute truth, and the task was a sacred duty. The happiness turned into a grin. Barney remembered when he’d been put through the space rat chase.

  Libya cocked his head alertly. “Someone comin’.”

  It was far too early for their prey. Barney leaned back in his chair, listening to the plastic back creak. “Probably the commander for his mid-shift drink.”

  But the figure who loomed in the galley doorway was that of their greenie. He held up a bloodstained broom and bulging sack. “Here you go, Barney.” With a wink, he dropped the sack in Barney’s lap, upsetting the deck of cards. “I take it initiation’s over,” he said, and sauntered off.

  Barney looked in horror at the sack in his lap. Bulges squirmed and bubbled.

  “What is it?” Libya said, getting to his feet.

  Barney cautiously opened the mouth to look, and let out a bloodcurdling scream. “Oh, my god! It’s rats!”

  Jack paused in mid-stride, halfway back down the corridor, as the scream reached him. Only then he grinned.

  Chapter 12

  Let’s see what you’ve got.” Tomcat’s voice rang confidently in the metal confines of the staging area. “We won’t be putting an assault plan together until we know what we have to work with. Targeting is down there … be sure to aim so that the deflector shields are at the optimum.”

  Barney sat hunched down close to Jack and he caught the edge of his green-eyed stare.

  Other crewmen sat sprinkled amidst the mercenaries. Jack had met most of them in the shop, trading tools and working side by side in casual circumstances, the way Tomcat liked to have his crewmen mix. There was only one superior here. Of necessity, it was Tomcat himself.

  Jack watched the men get up one by one and demonstrate their weaponry in the designated area. The air crackled with the smell of explosives and spent cartridges, of energy beams and ozone, of hot metal as the shields were subjected to the firing power. He sat back, knowing that the shields couldn’t hold most of what he could do in the suit, and wondering how to demonstrate it. He wondered if his face showed his disapproval—most of the weapons being used violated the precepts of the “Pure” war—being indiscriminate as to whether a planet was being damaged or the enemy. Though, he supposed, in its way, the suit could do the same, but no wearer of a suit would. The world, its environs, were sacred; the enemy was not. This was a lesson hard learned long ago on Earth, where the opposite had been true—protect mankind, even your enemy. Dirt was not more valuable than flesh. Unfortunately, humans had learned, it was. Dirt, and atmosphere, and water, a closed cycle, infinitely more vulnerable than constantly renewing flesh.

  And that was why Jack doubly hated the Thraks and whoever had destroyed Claron.

  “Jack. You been chasing space rats again?”

  He realized the commander was, and had been, talking to him. In spite of himself, he flushed. “No, sir. Got my quota the first night, right, Barney?”

  It was the redhead’s turn to color as Jack stood up. Libya nudged Barney with a low chuckle.

&
nbsp; “What can you do for us?”

  “It’s more a matter of what I can’t do. The suit is fully armored, self-contained, weaponry is built in. I can suit up, but I’m afraid the shields in the targeting area aren’t sufficient to work with.” He grinned. “I don’t want to blast a hole in the side of the ship.”

  Tomcat frowned above the laughter. “I need to have an idea of your capabilities.”

  “I can give you some idea of the suit’s power.”

  “Firepower is what I want.”

  In the silence that fell, Jack locked stares with Tomcat. For the first time, he saw the hardness and determination behind the pretty boy face. The man was used to getting what he wanted … even if it wasn’t going to be good for him.

  He stirred. “How about a computer simulation?”

  “Can you do it?”

  “I’m not a programmer.”

  “Barney here is. The two of you can have free use of a terminal while the rest of us work.” With that, turning his back on Storm, Tomcat dismissed them. Barney got up with a glare and a heavy sigh.

  Barney led him to a terminal. It took him a while to find a suitable graphics and animation simulation program. Resentfully at first, and then with grudging admiration, he worked with Jack.

  An hour later he sat back and mopped the sweat off his forehead on the back of his muscled forearm. “You know this thing inside and out,” he said.

  “Almost.” Jack watched the graphic turn on the screen, thinking of the living organism hidden inside the suit. “Almost. Can we feed that to the staging area?”

  “No problem.”

  “Let’s get going then.”

  The room was thick with smoke and the smell of warfare. The men had broken into little groups, going over their weapons and speaking in quiet tones. Tomcat squatted by a harpooner, talking solemnly, and his forehead wrinkled as they came in. “We’re almost done.”

  “I’ll wait.”

  The commander nodded. The harpooner went down to the targets and put his lance three-quarters of the way through a four-inch metal plate. Wryly, Jack made a note not to stand between the man and his enemy. Even the suit couldn’t withstand that.

  Barney dimmed the lights and lit up the computer screen. Jack said nothing, but let the computer reveal the suit’s capabilities and extrapolate them to the screen. When it was finished, there was dead silence in the bay.

  Someone muttered, “Impossible.”

  “He’s a goddamn walking, tracking war.”

  Tomcat stood with his arms folded across his chest, his compactly muscled body straining the dark blue of his uniform. He ignored the comments drifting into the silence. Then he cleared his throat. “All right. I think we have an idea of our capabilities. I suggest you talk to one another and learn to respect one another’s skills. And remember … the man who’s fighting with you today may be fighting against you tomorrow. It pays to learn his weak spots as well as his strengths.”

  As the bay emptied, he signaled Barney to keep Jack at hand. When they were alone, the men looked at one another. “What the hell are you doing here,” said Tomcat. “I signed on as a free mercenary.” “That’s not what I meant. You’ve got enough firepower to take over your own planet.” “I’m not in the war business.” “Somebody should tell your suit.” Jack scuffed his boots uneasily. The metal plates hummed beneath him. Tomcat sighed. “I take it Sadie hasn’t seen you perform in person.”

  “No.”

  “Anyone else?”

  “Marciane,” Jack said after a slight hesitation. The babyblue eyes widened. “Then you’re the one responsible.”

  “I’d say it was self-defense.”

  Barney scratched his red head but kept his silence as Tomcat shifted. He looked back over his shoulder at the computer screen which still displayed a three-dimensional animation of the suit, revolving slowly in midair.

  “It’s nice to know what our Emperor has in mind for us,” Tomcat said dryly.

  Jack did not miss the sarcasm in the man’s voice.

  “With firepower like that, I have to send you in a point.” “I understand.”

  The Commander began to pivot away, then swivelled back. “What do you want out of this, Storm?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Tomcat jerked a thumb at Barney, who evaporated out the bulkhead, leaving them alone. He leaned back against a rib of the bay. “This is a relatively small operation. It has to be—send an armada against Gilgenbush, and he’ll wipe you out. The only chance we have of succeeding is that he won’t know we’re coming, and I’m not just talking about the stealth equipment. I’m talking about Sadie. She doesn’t send ’pay up or else’ notices. Your contract expires, and the money is due. She doesn’t even ask once, let alone twice. Gilgenbush has no notice we’re on our way, but if he’s smart, he’ll know because that’s the way Sadie operates. And, if the check’s in the mail, and we cross over … that’s too bad. We’re on radio silence now because that’s the only way we can sneak up. If Gilgenbush has paid up, consider the damage we’re going to do as ‘late charges’.” He shifted. “You could have your own ship. Want one … I’ll help you get it, provided you partner with me.”

  Jack shook his head. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m not looking for my own command.”

  “Then what are you doing here?”

  “Is this what happened to Claron? Nobody knew you were coming?”

  Tomcat’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”

  “You wanted to know what I’m doing here. I’ve got a couple of reasons, and the burn-off at Claron is one of the foremost.”

  Tomcat reached out suddenly, lightning fast, and grabbed Jack by the collar of his fatigues. Chin to chin, they glared at one another. Tomcat said slowly, spitting out each word, “I had nothing to do with Claron. Nor did any other free mercenary I know.”

  Jack didn’t let himself blink as the commander released him. “It’s a big, wide, galaxy. What about the mercenaries you don’t know?”

  Tomcat shook his head, violently. “Nobody would do that. Those were civilians … innocents, as it were.” He looked back to Jack. “What’s your interest in Claron?”

  “I was there.”

  The silence stretched. Then Tomcat took a step back. “Working?”

  “No. I was in settlement there.”

  “You’re lucky to be alive, then.”

  “If you call it that.”

  Tomcat looked back to the screen. He pointed. “What in the hell is a settler doing with that?”

  Jack shrugged, a ghost of a smile playing over his lips. “One of the mysteries of life, commander, that you’ll have to live with. We all have our little secrets.”

  “Yes, we do. And I have a feeling we haven’t even scratched the surface of yours. Just as well. Curiosity doesn’t pay in our business. The word on the street is that Claron was union business … the miners there weren’t, and the union thought they ought to be. The freebooters they hired got too enthusiastic.” Tomcat sighed, then. “I still need you on point.”

  “And I still understand. I want into Gilgenbush’s as bad as you do.”

  “Why?”

  “Why not?” Jack clicked the remote, killing the computer screen. As the room darkened, he added, “The suit and I are trying to build a a rep.

  “I would ask why,” said Tomcat slowly, “but I have a feeling I don’t want to know the reason. I’ll have battle plans worked out by tomorrow.”

  “Good night, sir,” Jack said, and left the commander alone in the bay. Ballard had raged at his naïveté—told him they’d burned an entire planet just to get him. Now Tomcat suggested it was a union matter. But unions didn’t lose control like that. And if Ballard was still right—who had enough power to nudge an entire union out of control and point it at a defenseless planet as if it was a weapon? Who the hell was Winton and where was he buried in the Triad bureaucracy?

  Assault morning. Jack sat in the staging area alone, smoking a stim ver
y leisurely, watching the red ash glow briefly in the darkness, before it deadened. The suit hung on the cherry picker, its opalescence catching the briefest glimpses of illumination in the bay, and reflecting back at Jack, as though trying to catch his attention.

  Or perhaps that was his imagination, fueled by the stim. He puffed it down to the last centimeters, then ground it out on the deck. Tomcat was creeping up on Gilgenbush’s space station from behind the inhospitable planet it orbited. Right now, they were on opposite sides. Soon, the commander would begin piloting toward the space station, using the bulk of the planet to shield him, and then the cloaking device. If all went well, they would be knocking on the rogue general’s door before he could possibly expect company.

  Which explained to Jack what Tomcat was doing there. As for himself … He ran a hand through his hair. If Amber were with him, she’d cluck and smooth it down. If she were with him, he wouldn’t be going through this. He had an obligation to her.

  But his obligation to himself came first, he guessed. If he survived the assault, he knew word of the suit and himself would go all the way to the Emperor. That was a front door he’d already knocked at once, and been admitted through, but the Emperor hadn’t been home, just some of his lesser counterparts. Jack intended to keep knocking until he found the right man home. It had to be Jack who did it—there was no one else.

  He stood up. He approached the suit and tentatively reached out to touch the crest on the chest, the crest which could no longer be seen, because Amber had painstakingly painted it out with fingernail polish she’d had that matched the Flexalinks. She’d wanted to strip the crest off entirely, but he hadn’t allowed her. He thought of Ballard. He was the last remaining Knight. It was his job to get the word through to the emperor about treachery and betrayal.

  “Sir!” Lights went on throughout the bay. It was Barney, anxious and eager in his own battle gear. “I thought I’d find you here, Storm. The commander told me to see if you needed help suiting up.”

  Jack dropped his hand. “Thanks.” He leaned over and stripped off his shirt.