“She needs a fucking tan?” Reilly laughed and shook his head. “Absolutely not.”
“We would keep her in the central compound,” Tirr said. “Under close guard.”
Reilly shook his head, but his eyes snapped into focus as if he were seriously considering it. “What are the implications if this thing doesn’t get any sun?”
“She won’t produce the same type of waste,” Tirr said. “Beyond that, her condition could deteriorate enough to risk pulmonary failure and a host of other complications. A little time in the sun will ensure her production rates stay the same.”
Reilly stepped back and drew his pistol, leveling it at the TriRusk child who screamed and recoiled against the far side of her pen as Tirr stepped between the human commander and the child. “I’ll just put it out of its misery, Tirr. We know their secret and will round up the rest of them in the next few days. This one means nothing to me.”
Tirr spoke slowly. “This one has produced many kilograms of synthetic diamonds you can sell beyond the scope of your contract. She is a valuable resource, and she is a child who cannot protect herself.”
“That’s why you’re between us? You think she’s worth dying for?”
Tirr met the human’s wild eyes. “Some things are worth protecting.”
Reilly stepped back and holstered his weapon without taking his eyes away from Tirr’s. He smiled and chuckled, but there was no mirth in the sound to Tirr’s ears. The human was unstable and dealing much more with him directly would be a significant risk to his plan. “Let me tell you a secret, Captain Tirr. There is nothing in this galaxy worth dying for except credits. The more of those I can get before I die, the better. That thing better keep producing like before, or I will kill it deader than hell. When that happens, you and the doctor will join it. You get me?”
Tirr nodded. “I will take her outside, myself. There may be some…vocalizing. It shouldn’t last longer than a few minutes. She will try to contact her species that way.”
Reilly grinned. “That might bring them in close enough for us to follow them. See where they’re going and where they’re hiding. That’s a good thing, Tirr.”
“Then I can start this immediately?”
Reilly was already walking back to the infirmary doors. He waved over his head but didn’t turn his face back to the MinSha guard. “Fine, fine. When they come for her, make sure I know. I’m not going to miss this opportunity.”
The doors opened and closed again, leaving Tirr and the young TriRusk alone. Tirr stepped over to the isolation chamber’s door controls and closed them. He turned and looked at the child. Gone was the fearful look and the trembling, exactly as expected. The military academies of Tirr’s youth taught things the archives failed to mention. One of those was the lost tribes of the galaxy, including the TriRusk. If he’d remembered his schooling correctly, and it appeared he had, the young TriRusk was much older and much more capable than everyone believed.
Tirr nodded at her. “Good. Shall we get started?”
* * *
Aboard the Macon
In Hyperspace
In the Cartography Guild’s records, there was no mention of roughly five hundred gates they’d established in the early days of the Galactic Union, including Marek 4. Most provided a return from worlds and ecosystems still being developed to handle potential colonists, which were only intermittently manned. Others were lost, for one reason or another. Some were designated as secrets to the guild, and their existence was disavowed. Snowman personally knew of four such systems and getting permission to use them as his ultimate exit strategy had been exceptionally difficult. Ten years before, he’d managed to make an arrangement with the Cartography Guild to set aside one of them for the Intergalactic Haulers as a remote rallying point in case of emergency. The standard operating procedure stated that surviving members of a tragedy would rally at the system they called Remote to determine their collective future. It was an awesome capability; however, less than a dozen of the Haulers remained in the aftermath of Shaw Outpost.
Remote was to have become the place where they could live in retirement, if they chose to do so. With every passing hour in transit, though, Snowman realized he would likely never see another human being at Remote. Maybe it was better if he never went there at all.
He sat in the command chair with the forward screens deactivated. In the near darkness, he could sit and play soft music and lose himself in thought. Drifting in his own consciousness, he kept returning to Ryu’s final words, that he’d betrayed humanity by selling scrap to the guild; that he was a traitor. The Mercenary Guild was the Haulers’ most frequent and most fiscally supportive customer. He’d turned over millions of tons of salvage for more than twenty years to the guild with the understanding that the leadership wanted to improve the capabilities of the Human mercenary companies, a program they said had been started in the aftermath of the Alpha Contracts. They’d promised to help humanity, and they had, with substantial upgrades in weapons and system performance.
But what if Ryu was right?
As painful as it was to contemplate, Snowman realized the guild had also systematically improved the non-human companies in much the same way. The Veetanho, Flatar, and Tortantula-based companies were easily the most lethal in the galaxy. Given the guild’s leadership, this should have raised a red flag the size of Texas, but he hadn’t considered anything amiss. The money had been too great.
“How could I have been so stupid?” he asked the darkness. There wasn’t a response other than the crushing feelings of incompetence and guilt. Mental agility had always been his strong point. Having the ability to pivot from one outcome to another initiative had always come easily. Yet, this time, nothing viable came to mind. The guild wanted him dead, and they’d sent Ryu to kill him. Ryu’s parents were likely already dead, too, and the sole allies he had in the galaxy were the ones onboard the Macon with him. When they reached port, they’d have to scatter to avoid capture by the guild, the Peacemakers, or anyone else who believed his company were the biggest traitors in the galaxy.
The bridge doors slid open and Pierre DuPont floated inside, pulled himself to his duty chair, and sat down. “You okay, Snowman?”
“No.”
DuPont nodded. “Me either. I keep wondering what’s going to happen when we get to the next system.”
Snowman sighed and thought for a moment. “Likely nothing. We’re going to have a day or so to move along and find another ship to keep moving.”
“Too bad we can’t change the transponders on the ship.”
Snowman snorted. “I tried a few years ago, but the Cartography Guild wouldn’t let me. We’re going to Karma, one of the larger starbases. We should be able to debark the Macon quickly, without being seen—that’s critical. Are the identity packets ready?”
DuPont grinned. “Yes, we’re set as far as that’s concerned. We’ll initiate those transfers as soon as we have a GalNet connection in port. As long as we’re not jumped in transit from the gate to the docks, we’re good to go.”
“There’s a lot of if in that statement.”
“You wouldn’t have it any other way.” DuPont grinned. “We sticking to SOP?”
Snowman looked at his oldest friend and allowed himself to nod. “Yeah, that’s the plan. I’ll be there within a few months at best. Then we can figure out how we’ll handle this war Ryu talked about.”
DuPont shrugged. “I don’t think it’s coming, boss. The guild has had our back before, they will this time, too.”
Snowman brushed aside the remark. “We ever figure out what happened to the CASPers?”
“The only thing we’ve been able to find is a system update command that places them into an emergency shutdown, which immobilizes the system. It was activated externally. At least, we think it was.”
Snowman nodded, remembering the camera feed from Ping’s helmet just before all connections were terminated. The Torts pointed an antenna at her. “The Torts did exactly that—
and it rendered our CASPers defenseless.”
Dupont grunted. “Each one would have had to have been plugged into the maintenance racks, rebooted, and reloaded with the previous system version. That would have taken hours.”
“Hours that our team didn’t have,” Snowman said. “It got all of the CASPers?”
“Everything. They had no chance against that many fucking spiders.”
“You ever figure out who they were? What company?”
DuPont shook his head. “No transponders. No communications. Nothing. The only thing I can think of is that the whole thing was a trap. I mean, with Max being dead for as long as it looked and all.”
In that moment, Snowman realized the truth. The rescue mission had been a ruse to get him separated from the rest of the galaxy, with the bulk of his forces, in one place and time. The guild set him up. Ryu was an insurance policy. If Snowman found a way to survive, he’d have the ability to ensure everything went as planned. He was right about everything, and not only was he a traitor, he was a criminal in the eyes of the law. He’d aided and abetted a hostile force. He’d practically given the Mercenary Guild all the secrets to human mercenary force development and their collective weapons and tactics.
“What are you thinking, boss?”
Snowman looked up at DuPont. “There’s no choice but to terminate the Haulers by our SOP. We’ll regroup in time and go from there.”
“What about that chip?” DuPont asked. “Seems like something the Cartography Guild would want. Might be enough for us to rebuild the Haulers in the deal.”
“Not going to risk that,” Snowman said. “I spaced it.”
“Bullshit,” DuPont said. There was something in his tone that sent an icy shot down Snowman’s spine. Even his closest friends might not be what they seemed.
“I did. You can check the airlock logs. Bay Fourteen Charlie six hours ago.” Snowman nodded at the panel. “I made sure anyone who wanted the chip would be able to see I got rid of it. The chip is gone, Pierre. Just like the Haulers.”
DuPont nodded and chuckled but didn’t say anything. They’d been friends for decades, and DuPont had never been a good card player. There was no one Snowman could trust except Jessica, but even she might not be enough to save him. DuPont finally caught his eye and asked, “That’s it, huh?”
“Yeah,” Snowman said. “Intergalactic Haulers as we know it is no more, Pierre. I’ll see you on Remote. Be there in six months’ time, and we’ll figure the rest of this out. If war’s coming, we’re going to have to be ready.”
DuPont grinned. “Still some credits to be made, then. You bet I’ll be there, Boss.” He played with his console and changed the music from baroque classical to the blues. For a while they sat and listened, just like old times. Snowman didn’t look at his friend and executive officer, though. He scanned the software logs, followed the trail of destruction wreaked on his company, and had to contain his shock when he saw where the finger of blame pointed. The trace of information led much further back than Nicholas Imports and the Science Guild laboratories at Ajax 4. The hardware profiles pointed to systems he’d scavenged and turned over in a lump to the Mercenary Guild. He was guilty as charged, and everything about the game had changed. Snowman sat the rest of the evening deep in thought, preparing to be anywhere other than Remote in the near future, and maybe never again.
His life depended on it.
* * * * *
Chapter Twenty-Three
Weqq
Outside the MinSha Compound
The MinSha compound appeared out of the thick mist across Tara’s front cameras, and the sight of the dingy gray walls, scarred black from battle, gave her a momentary feeling of euphoria. A break from the CASPer would be welcomed, even if the heat and humidity approached the awful end of her comfort spectrum. Oso took the lead, navigating them to an open loading gate on the southern end. There were CASPers all along the upper walls of the compound, and two stood at the gate. One of them raised a hand to Oso, as if waving, and gestured them inside. Their silent radio frequencies came to life a heartbeat later.
“Mason? What the fuck are you doing here?” Reilly’s voice held a barely-contained sneer.
Tara swallowed and tried to keep her voice measured. “We need ammunition and a squad of infantry. The natives aren’t happy about CASPers patrolling in the dark.”
Reilly laughed. “That was you two last night? I wondered who was trying to set fire to the jungle. You can have the ammunition, but why do you need infantry?”
She took a breath. “We found something that bears investigation. Looks like some caverns about forty kilometers east of here. They’re located on some high ground a CASPer can’t get to. No sooner had we found them than we got ambushed by a flock of those chicken-things. Both of us have systems damage, but we have a good INS fix. As soon as we get some ammunition and enough rifles to set up security around the caves and explore them, we’ll be on our way.”
“Permission granted. Get some food while you’re here. I’ll have twenty infantry volunteers ready to depart in fifteen minutes. Raider Six, out.”
Tara switched frequencies. “Oso? Did you catch all that?”
“Roger, 25,” He replied. She’d expected a clicking microphone or nothing at all. The change in his tone and response to her made her smile.
They maneuvered inside the compound and found a half-dozen combat maintenance racks. Oso parked his CASPer away from the racks and blatantly ignored the ground crewman trying to persuade him otherwise. Good call, Tara thought. How many combat sorties had been cut short by unexpected maintenance issues?
“You going to keep her running, 77?”
“Roger, 25. Not letting those fuckers touch my CASPer today,” Oso replied. “We’ve got some credits to make, you know?”
Tara grinned. She had a full-fledged wingman. “Roger that. Doing the same.”
She keyed off the radio and disabled the external sensors with a flurry of hand movements. She reached for the combat transfer checklist, a procedure they called “hot racking,” just like when people shared a bedroll in the field.
“Lucille?”
<
“Hot rack checklist. We’re not plugging into a maintenance rack, and I want to get going again ASAP.”
<< Copy. Without a direct connection, I cannot acquire any additional data or information in the Raider network.>>
Tara shrugged. “Can’t be helped, but scan what you can passively. We’ve got a position fix and a good wingman. We’ll be fine with more ammunition and some chow in my belly. You ready?”
<
“Cleared and safe.”
<
“Scopes are off and comms are down.”
<
“One percent and holding. Clear for exit. I’m on headset if you need me.”
<
She keyed the forward screens to standby and initiated the hatch opening sequence. As soon as the airtight seals broke, an awful wailing sound filled the space and threatened to make her eyes water.
“What is that?”
<
Gods, that’s horrible.
“Copy, Lucille. I’m going outside.”
<
“Copy, Lucille. I’m sure that Reilly knows. He never lets that stuff go for long.”
<
“Enough, Lucille.” Tara snapped. She took a breath. “Look, I’ll let them know, okay? I just need out of this CASPer for a bit.”
<
The morning air was cooler, but still humid against her skin. As the cockpit swung up, she looked across at Oso as he unstrapped from his CASPer. The older
man gave her a thumbs-up, and she returned it with a grin. The ground crewman brought over a portable ladder and propped it against the CASPer’s frame. “Thanks,” Tara called down.
“You’re supposed to fully shut down and put that thing on the rack, you know?”
Tara stared at the young man. “Noted. This is a combat pause. Get her loaded up with ammunition. You’ve got five minutes before I let Commander Reilly know I’m waiting for resupply.”
The young man disappeared around the legs of the CASPer, and she could hear him calling for the ammunition bearers. Maybe Reilly’s way of doing things wasn’t so bad after all. A little anger and intimidation went a long way in his world. If she was going to keep doing this—being a Raider—she’d have to fully commit to the idea.
Is that really what I want?
Tara decided for the moment, it was. If she and Oso could bring in the unknown creatures, it would be worth much more than simple credits. It would provide her a home, of sorts. She shook off the thoughts and climbed to the ladder, thankful for not having to bother with a haptic suit like Oso wore in his earlier model CASPer. There were certain advantages to having a Mk 8.
Her boots hit the compound’s flooring, and she turned toward the crying sound. Sure enough, it was the small beast standing like an ape, resting forward on its knuckles, bawling into the rising sun. She watched it for a moment, realizing she was pitying the poor thing and humanizing it. Whatever it was didn’t matter. The mission was more important—even more important than her future. That got her feet moving. Near the combat racks, she found hard cases of rations. She dug through the heavy plastic packaging and found two of her favorite spaghetti ones. She’d have one now and would take the other envelope into the CASPer with her. All she needed was the guns loaded and a stop by the latrine, and she’d be ready to go back out.
“Mason? Good work out there.” Reilly called from across the compound. He walked toward her with a genuine smile on his face. “Between your intelligence, which was by far the best I’ve had in two days, and Tirr’s suggestion to let our little friend out in the sun, we may have a chance of finding those bastards’ home and ending this mission with a substantial profit. That’s the start to a good day if I’ve ever heard one.”
Honor the Threat Page 25
