by Mark Wandrey
The elSha were at the processing plant evaluating the damage while Hargrave argued with administrator Grato about the contract details. The elSha wanted to take out the cost of repairing the processing facility, but Hargrave kept insisting that, since the Cavaliers were tasked with defense of the tank farms and city, the processing facility was considered collateral damage. The biggest thing in the Cavaliers’ favor was that reinforcements had arrived in the form of two merc units: one space defense and the other light assault.
With the loss of most of the ground units, the surviving aggressors had withdrawn, so the system was once again secure. Jim glanced down at the slate which held the unit’s TOE, Table of Organization and Equipment, as well as the personnel muster. It had been a costly, bloody affair. In addition to the loss of Traveler, they had twenty-one dead troopers and fourteen injured. Support personnel were eleven dead, two injured. And the crew of Traveler, all fifty-two, were missing and presumed lost.
Now that the space around Chimsa was secure, a search was underway. It had only been twenty hours since the ship was lost. The problem was that merc ships, as a general rule, didn’t use distress beacons. Many races did not consider it dishonorable to splash an escape pod, so better to be safe than sorry.
Adayn walked back from inspecting the Raknar, a swagger in her step, and a grin on her face.
“So, give me the news,” he said.
“It’s in pretty good shape, considering. I think we have enough parts from the other to fix this one. If you want, of course.”
“Absolutely,” he said and glanced at Splunk. The little Fae looked up, mouth stuffed with cured meat, and nodded her head. “See, there you go.” She gave a thumbs-up to her team who waved and went back to work on the Raknar. Gonna cost a shit load of credits to get it home without a ship, he lamented. One of their support people brought him a packet of field rations, and he dug in, surprised by how hungry he was. Splunk sidled over to investigate.
“They should pay more attention to their contract wording,” Hargrave said as he walked over, an ear-to-ear grin on his face.
“No penalty on the processing center I dinged up?”
“Dinged up? Kid, you went through that like a bull in a china shop.” He looked serious but his eyes were twinkling. “No, they can’t fine us. They hired nine merc companies, and we were the only ones to make landfall. That sort of collateral damage is in the contract.” He glanced at the elSha administrator and a bunch of his assistants. The tiny reptilians were already busily planning repairs. “They didn’t have it in them to bitch too much anyway. The storage facility was untouched and full of F11. Between that and the other mercs being no-shows, we hit the motherlode.”
“What do you mean?” Jim asked and finished his meal, minus several key bits of meat to his partner.
“Well, like many of these ground assault/defense contracts, there is a bonus based on combat action. That’s generally split between the participants.”
“Holy shit, so we get it all?” Jim crowed.
“Not quite. The space-based companies get their cut. They did their job, just didn’t have enough backup. But even with that in mind, yeah, we get a big extra payday.” Jim smiled and nodded, then sobered when he remembered the rolls of the dead.
“Be sure that all the casualties are paid out a percentage of the bonus, and that the survivors of those who died receive their full death benefit.” Hargrave nodded – his respect for the kid was growing daily. Many companies didn’t do it that way, but it had always been Cartwright’s practice. He was happy to see Jim carrying on the tradition.
Jim raised his voice. “Okay, team; let’s get this policed up and move it all back to the garrison. We’re still on contract here!” When most of the men had set about the task, he took Hargrave aside and spoke in a lower voice. “What about the damned Canavars?”
“What about them?” Hargrave asked. The planet wasn’t very hot, but already the titanic carcasses were beginning to smell. A couple thousand tons of dead insectoid monster were bound to do that. Thousands of rotting spiders added to the stink in a most unpleasant manner. Not far away a couple of heavy equipment operators were looking from their front loaders to one of the carcasses and back in stunned disbelief.
“Hargrave,” he said incredulously, “those things haven’t been seen in the galaxy for more than twenty-thousand years! The last time they appeared, it caused an interstellar war that ruined the previous government and killed billions.” Hargrave turned to look at the macabre scene.
“Huh,” he said noncommittally and shrugged. “What are you saying we should do about it, boss? We’re just mercs.”
“I think we should document this and send a message to the guild about it. The Union needs to be informed that someone out there is breeding Canavar. You can’t just buy a pack of monster seeds and grow them in your backyard. The history I read said they were produced on a planetary scale.” He pointed at the nearest one, the one he’d killed with the golf swing. “It took years – maybe even decades – to grow something this big. Decades and huge facilities.” Then he pointed at the still-burning transport. “And that ship was custom-made to move these fucking things.”
“Okay,” Hargrave said in a mollifying tone, “I see your point. But do we really want to get involved in this?”
“We already are,” Jim said. “And if the shit hits the fan about this on a major scale...” he looked around and retreated, “well, more major than this, I want everyone to know for damned sure that Cartwright’s Cavaliers didn’t have anything to do with them beyond ensuring they were completely destroyed.”
“Smash, adversary...
“What she said,” Jim said and rubbed her ears. The Fae trilled affectionately.
The barracks were mostly empty. Designed to accommodate many merc companies at once and only holding the Cavaliers now, the space seemed to echo. Another company would be landing within 24 hours to relieve them for a week while they did necessary repairs and got medical treatment for their injured. Jim’s office was standard fare in the Union for a merc commander: a room with a desk and a couple of chairs, a private bathroom, and a small bedroom. Of course, most of what he’d owned had been aboard Traveler. All he had now was a small day bag he’d kept with his CASPer, something most mercs tended to do, and a habit he’d picked up from them. Now he knew why they did it.
He’d placed his meager possessions in the office and made a comfy spot in a desk drawer where Splunk could crawl in to sleep when his door flew open. Hargrave came rushing in.
“You won’t believe it,” he said.
“At this point, you might be right,” Jim said, “but tell me anyway.”
“The commander of the Nightbirds just contacted us,” he panted, half out of breath from running to tell the news. The Nightbirds were the space-based defensive merc unit that had just arrived in system a few hours ago, “They found survivors.”
“Excellent!” Jim said and slapped his desk. Splunk grumbled from inside and he soothed her. “Any details?” Hargrave handed him a slate and Jim scanned the list, his eyes growing wider and his grin broader. “Holy shit, that’s most of them!” He checked for some names. “No one from the bridge of Traveler?” he asked. Hargrave looked down and shook his head. Still, most of the rest of the crew was there. Captain Winslow had done what every captain strived to do, keep most of his crew alive, even if it meant he went down with the ship.
Jim sat in his commander’s chair, nodded and grinned a little. It could have been worse, so much worse. Hargrave came forward and held out a hand. Jim looked a little confused then stood and shook the hand.
“Well done, sir,” Hargrave said.
“What was that for?” Jim asked.
“You’re the Commander of Cartwright’s Cavaliers,” Hargrave said and winked, “and you deserve it. Your father would be proud of you.” And he left Jim alone to smile and count his fortunes.
It was a
couple of hours later, and fatigue was finally catching up with him. Listening to Splunk’s gentle snores in the desk drawer wasn’t helping. His desk had several monitors running showing captured images of the Canavar, both assembled and disassembled. One particularly spectacular shot was the instant before he fired the battleship cannon and blew the first one all to hell. He smiled, thinking that would make a great poster, then scowled as he thought about the message he needed to send to the mercenary guild. There was a gentle knock at his door.
“Come,” he said and the door cracked open followed by a lovely woman’s head. “Adayn!” he said, his scowl turning into an ear-to-ear grin.
“Got time to see me, Commander?” she asked.
“Of course,” he said and used an expansive gesture to welcome her into his incredibly spartan quarters. “I was just going over the pictures we have of the Canavar.” She closed the door and crossed over to his desk. He was intensely aware of just how shapely she was, and how she kept her waist-length ponytail carefully braided so it didn’t get in the way of her armorer’s work. Several buttons of her uniform tunic were undone and showed off a modest amount of cleavage and a black, lacy bra. She spoke as she walked.
“The men say we’ll have your Raknar operational inside forty-eight hours. We’re even looking to see if we can salvage some of the weapons from that downed cruiser, to fit on your new toy.” He nodded absently, the swaying of her hips had pulled his eyes like a snake charmer. He swallowed and felt his blood racing. Suddenly he wasn’t at all tired. “All the CASPers we can field will be ready about the same time,” she finished and put a slate with the data on his desk. “Can I see?” she asked. He nodded, keenly aware that his extra chin kept nodding for a moment. He tried to suck his considerable gut in a bit as she came around the desk instead of turning to the display, but it was a hopeless endeavor.
Adayn looked through the various displayed images, leaning over his desk to tap at them for different views. Her breasts were inches from his face. Jim felt faint. He was breathing hard, he realized, and he forced himself to calm down. She clicked again and the poster image came up.
“Wow,” she said; “that’s spectacular!”
“It sure is,” he said. She turned to look at him, then down where he was looking. “Are you staring at my boobs, Commander?”
Jim turned three shades of red, then immediately blanched, sliding his chair back and jumping to his feet.
“I’m s-sorry,” he said and looked away. “That was uncool.”
“You remember what I said to you when we met after the crash?” Much like when he had first fired the battleship cannon, an explosion in the back of his mind rocked his being. He staggered a little and fortunately ended up against the wall before he could fall over. He couldn’t speak so he just nodded. “Well, I’ve been thinking about that...” He deflated like one of those big inflatable animals they use to advertise businesses on Earth when the power is unplugged.
“Yeah,” he said.
“It’s just that...” she started.
“You don’t have to say anything,” he told her, managing through a herculean effort to summon up the most half-assed smile any man who’d just been turned down had ever managed in the history of men and women. “It was an emotional moment; you might have spoken off-hand.”
“No, I...” she started but he held up a hand.
“No harm, no foul.” He shrugged. “I mean, I’m a nineteen-year-old kid, and your Commanding Officer. I know you’re much older, and there isn’t much I can offer you anyway. If you...” he choked a little, “. . . want to go, I understand.”
“Oh,” she said and nodded. Without saying anything else she went back around the desk and to the door. Jim felt like his heart was tied to her belt, and slowly being pulled out. She reached the door, grabbed the handle, and turned the lock. She turned around and walked right up to him. “Jim, you have everything I want, and I don’t care that you’re only nineteen, and I don’t care that you’re my Commander.” He looked down at his figure and sighed. “And I don’t care that you’re a big guy.”
“I’m fat,” Jim said plainly, “it doesn’t hurt anymore to hear it.”
“That’s a lie,” she said and came over to touch his cheek gently. “That’s a lie. It hurts you every time because people want it to hurt you. They don’t understand, and it’s a weapon, and you are tired of being hurt.” He gave a little choked sound and realized he was crying. “You are the kindest, most interesting, loving man I’ve ever worked for. Merc commanders seldom love their men like you do. When you saw that lost manpower report, I could see the pain it caused you.”
“I got twenty-six men and women killed,” he said, now crying even more and hating himself for it.
“No, dammit, you saved over 200! You and Captain Winslow, and you don’t do him any honor acting this way.” She leaned closer and wiped his tears away with her hand. “There is nothing wrong with you, Jim.” Her lips brushed his, and he shuddered. Her arms went over his shoulders, and he stiffened in surprise. “Absolutely nothing,” she said and kissed him full on. He knew the basics but had never done it before, so she gently guided him. His hands reached slowly to her waist, and she pressed even closer, encouraging his touch. When her tongue touched his lips, he opened his mouth and felt like he was flying as their tongues intertwined.
He realized she was breathing hard when she took his right hand from around her waist and put it on her breast. It was warm and giving, like he thought it would be. He could feel her nipple, hard under the bra. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. Being shot out of a dropship in his CASPer was the bravest thing he’d ever done in his life, but it was nothing compared to the effort it took to move his hand and slide it inside her bra and cup her breast. She moaned and rubbed against him.
All too soon she broke away, but took his hand and pulled him toward the tiny bedroom. He was shaking worse than when he’d been trying to put on his survival suit, nearly freezing to death on Kash-Kah. She looked back at him. The look on her face was beatific and inviting. It spoke of wonders undiscovered and desire for him.
At the door to his quarters, she stopped and slipped her tunic off, removing the bra as well in a move that left him almost as amazed as the view he now had. She held out her hand to him.
“I’ve never done this before,” he admitted. She giggled a little and blushed. She actually blushed.
“It’s okay, baby,” she said as he took her hand. “I have. Come on, this is going to be fun. I promise.” She guided him into the bedroom and flicked off the light. “And I’m thirty-two years old.”
Back in the office, a pair of dimly glowing eyes watched the closed bedroom door as gasps of delight and moans of pleasure came from inside. The sounds were strange, but the emotions were comforting. Satisfied that all was well, Splunk settled back into the comfy drawer and drifted off to sleep.
* * * * *
Chapter 44
Six months later, Cartwright’s Cavaliers arrived at Karma. Jim had managed to save almost a hundred thousand credits by bumming a ride with the Nightbirds who were heading in the same direction they were. It was an unspoken agreement between Earth merc units – you don’t leave your fellow humans stranded if you have room. Besides, their unit had blood between them.
“Thanks for the ride, Commander Shoji-san,” Jim said. He shook the man’s hand, then bowed. The Nightbirds’ commander returned the bow, lower and longer than Jim had held it.
“It was our honor,” he said in passable English with a thick accent. “Your father saved my brother once. Yoru no Tori is at your service, you only need to call!” Jim thanked him again, checking his pinplants to see that Yoru no Tori meant night bird. Ah, a literal translation.
It had been an enjoyable trip, and the food was wonderful. The best part had been that their transport had a massive gravity deck that included a sauna and hot tub! What a great ride. As he walked into the station and scanned his ID into the automated customs system, Adayn ran up and took
his hand. He smiled over at her as she entered her data as well. Splunk rode on her shoulder as often as his. Splunk had instantly accepted her, even when she moved into his quarters a week after that first night. The Fae was already in the station’s computer, registered as a pet. The system scanned Splunk, recognized her bio signs, and admitted them.
It was good to be back on Karma station. His quarters were familiar, and they were finally able to unwind completely. After meeting with his senior staff, Jim decided to give the company sixty days leave, owing to their need to return to Earth and bring in new equipment. Not to mention, they needed a new starship. That turned out to be one of the first things to be dealt with.
Two days after getting back, Jim and Hargrave traveled to Bartertown. The city hosted the regional headquarters of the Mercenary Guild, and he wanted to hand-deliver the message so he could be certain it reached their headquarters on planet Capital, where the minimal Union government sat. Hargrave had tried to suggest he wait to send that message until they knew more about the mystery of the Canavar, but Jim felt strongly that time was of the essence. So, they walked into the Grand Hall of the Mercenary Guild on a bright, sunny day.
“Can we help you?” asked a tiny little XenSha at the front counter. Its furry white nose twitched as it examined his uniform, apparently not recognizing it. Its ears were upright and curious, though.
“I’d like to speak with a Guild Master,” Jim said. Hargrave waited a few steps back.
“Guild Masters are quite busy. Who wishes to see one?”
“Jim Cartwright, Commander of Cartwright’s Cavaliers.” The XenSha’s eyes got a little wider as it finally placed the patch on Jim’s breast pocket.
