The War for Profit Series Omnibus

by Gideon Fleisher

“Considering the reason we called you here-”

  Galen raised his hands, formed into claws, quivering at either side of his face. “Chairman, I asked for this meeting five weeks ago and you kept blowing me off.” He put his hands down. “But suddenly you found time for me, when I suspended the quarterly dividend; that got your attention.”

  The chairman leaned back in his chair and smirked. “Your continued service as the commander of the Jasmine Panzer Brigade is tenuous at best.”

  Galen stood up straight and placed his hands on his hips as he spoke. “Let me make one thing perfectly clear. My enlistment in the Brigade expires in less than two months. If you wish to retain my services as Commandant, there are a few things we need to work out.”

  “Such as?”

  “You strongly suggest I take the Haden contract, which is a pre-staged battle between evenly matched forces, fought primarily for the amusement of spectators. I want nothing to do with it.”

  The chairman waved his left hand as though he were shooing away gnats. “That’s a serious charge, and very hard to prove. Besides, it pays very well.”

  “But it’s true none the less. I take my killing very seriously; I do not fight for fun. And one more thing you need to know about me. I have more money than I will ever need.” Galen reflected on that statement and realized it was true. He used about a third of his savings to purchase the bar where his mother worked, then deeded it to her. And still he had enough to live what he considered a comfortable life, just from the interest on what remained of his savings. Saved during the past five years while in the employ of the Brigade.

  The chairman was now standing. “Sergeant! Are you listening to me? I asked what contract you would prefer since you don’t want to take the Haden contract.”

  “I’m a Command Sergeant Major,” corrected Galen. “I want the Fuente de la Juventud contract.”

  A board member on the left snickered. Galen looked at him. Fat, old, scraggly grey eyebrows, a pencil-thin mustache and a severe overbite that suggested his chin may have been blown off by a laser bolt. Galen realized the man was born that way and almost felt sorry for him.

  The board member spoke, “That’s with EugeneX Corporation. Better get paid up front.”

  Galen cleared his throat. “It’s a one-year contract to set up a city’s defense infrastructure and establish and train a police and defense force for a new settlement, built from the ground up as settlers arrive. They want to establish new research facilities on Juventud.” Galen looked back at the chairman. “It pays just as much as Haden, and gives the Brigade a chance to train up new recruits, fill critical leadership slots and develop stronger bonds within the unit structure.”

  “Okay, that’s settled. Take the Fuente de la Juventud contract if you want. I can’t stop you anyway. Now, about our dividends.”

  “I suspended dividends last quarter to make payroll, hire and train replacements and make capital improvements to the units defending Alamo. Specifically, hiring a second battle cruiser and purchasing eight Interceptors to replace the ones we’d lost.”

  The chairman folded his arms across his chest, which made his belly look bigger. “Sergeant Major, those costs are less than half what the Brigade will realize as income from the sale of captured enemy equipment. Your suspension of the dividend was vindictive, and completely unnecessary.”

  “That income has not yet been realized. I would have had to borrow money in order to make the dividend payment, which clearly would reduce the Brigade’s profits over time. The expense of unnecessary borrowing is not justified, in my estimation.”

  “As I said before, your position as commander is tenuous at best.”

  Galen didn’t want to, but he smiled. “Look, gentlemen, and lady,” he looked at the junior executive in the corner, then back to the chairman. “The Brigade would suffer a brief period of unemployability while a new commander takes over. You’d have to find a Colonel, or a senior Lieutenant Colonel at least, and hire all his staff officers and any other old friends, commissioned officers most likely, that he wants to bring with him. Or her, depending on who you hire. The short-term costs would be enormous.”

  The chairman said, “The possibility of winding down this Brigade, disbanding the soldiers, selling off its property, is on the table.”

  “As it stands now, as long as I am the Commandant, because I assumed command in response to an act of treachery by the previous commander, the Bonding Commission has granted this Brigade an exception to policy that allows the Brigade to continue to function as a licensed and bonded unit, for up to sixteen more months, with no commissioned officers. But the moment I cease to be the Commandant, that loophole slams shut.” The board members all knew this. Galen wanted to make it clear he knew it too.

  The board member on the left said, “Will we get our dividend next quarter, or will something else come up?”

  Galen looked at the chairman and said, “Approve my request to extend my enlistment as Commandant for the next sixteen months, and I’ll see what I can do about paying dividends next quarter.”

  The chairman said, “Very well, that will be all, Sergeant Major. You may go now.”

  Galen gave an audible half-cough. “I have one more point to make.”

  The chairman stared, blinked once, sat down.

  “Good.” Galen looked around the room, then back at the chairman. “Now that I have your attention… I do recognize that each and every shareholder in this room has retired from mercenary service, and I respect that. Your money is invested and you want a return, a dividend. I invite each and every one of you to make use of your prior military experience and your social connections to add value to this Brigade. I ask that this board construct a plan for refilling the commissioned officer positions of the Brigade with capable men and women who will have the best interest of the Brigade foremost in their minds. I’m sacrificing more than a year of my life so you can have the time you need to do it right. I trust you to make the most of it.”

  Galen then stood at attention and waited.

  “Dismissed,” said the chairman.

  Galen executed an about-face and walked out of the board room.

  He walked past the elevators and took the stairs instead, down three flights to the first floor of the Jasmine Panzer Brigade business headquarters building. He left through the back entrance and walked across the lush grass of the quadrangle and kept walking until he came to the exterior door of his office, his Commander’s Entrance. He entered and sat at his desk. There were two couches, one either side of a sturdy coffee table, where four men sat waiting. Mr. Burwell, an aging businessman, was employed as the Brigade’s designated agent to recruit new members and handle personnel management; Sergeant Major Tad Miller, the Brigade’s operations non-commissioned officer, Sergeant Major Marion Spike, the executive non-commissioned officer, and Master Sergeant Sevin, the Brigade’s troubleshooter, for lack of a definable job description.

  Galen drummed his fingers on the desk. “Well, don’t talk all at once.”

  Sevin took his biker-booted feet off the coffee table and leaned forward and looked to his left toward Galen. He wore faded jeans and a plain white t-shirt under an epauletted brown leather jacket hung on broad shoulders. Long black hair pulled back in a ponytail, the goatee beard and mustache showing some grey. “You just came from the meeting, you tell us.”

  Galen said, “Fair enough. We’re taking the Juventud contract, and I’ll be Commandant for the next sixteen months. The board will coordinate with Burwell to get our officer slots filled, a process that will be finalized some time next year. Until then, we will continue to function as-is.”

  “Just like I wanted,” said Tad. His red hair was still cropped short, academy style. Multi-colored reflective running shoes, bright orange cargo pants and a light jacket, lime-green. Today he also wore oversized mirrored bronze-lens sunglasses with bright yellow plastic framing. And a tie-dyed t-shirt under the jacket, a counter-clockwise swirl pattern starting at the midp
oint between his belly button and chest.

  Spike said, “Any air assets for this contract?” He wore knee-high boots, dark blue wool trousers tucked into them, a brown flannel shirt under a black bomber jacket. His handlebar mustache and conservative haircut seemed almost plastic, held in place with styling spray.

  Galen nodded. “Nope. The air on Juventud is too thin for effective use of Helos. We’re taking everybody but the year-one troops and the training and admin staff. And Alamo, that’s a separate contract, and it ties up all our Interceptors.”

  Mr. Burwell chuckled. His white hair and dark grey business smock and soft-soled shoes made him the most respectable looking man in the room. With fingers interlaced, hands held with palms on his belly he said, “Well somebody will be busy, overseeing operations here on Mandarin.”

  Galen leaned back and rolled his shoulders. “I have retained the services of one Mister Ross, whom you all know as a former officer of this Brigade.”

  Sevin put his feet back on the coffee table. “He’s all right.”

  Mr. Burwell said, “I signed him as a Master Sergeant. I hope that’s okay?”

  Galen nodded. “He’ll do well, and I trust him. Where is he?”

  Master Sergeant Ross stepped into the office, wearing his class B garrison uniform. “Right here.”

  Galen stood. “Your timing is good, too good. Where have you been?”

  “I just got back from the bathroom, and then stood outside the door and listened when I realized you were talking about me.”

  Galen gestured at the overstuffed chair to the left of his desk. “Have a seat; we’ll talk about the Juventud contract.”

  Ross sat. Galen picked the remote control off the desk and said, “All right. Let me direct your attention to the flat screen at the end of the room.”

  “Okay,” Galen hit the power button and the red light at the bottom of the frame around the screen pulsed, then changed to orange and finally became a solid green indicator light. The screen illuminated, a field of sky blue, and then text of menu options appeared. Galen selected ‘Fuente de Juventud Presentation’ and waited as its cover slide appeared.

  Mr. Burwell commented, “Your first contract. You must be proud.”

  Galen said, “I’ve been on contracts before, you know that.”

  “This is the first one you negotiated and signed. This is, for you, your first unit contract. Sort of changes the meaning, the context. Officially, you own it. Your name and your reputation are tied to it.”

  “All right, my first contract. Let me explain it to you then.” Galen advanced to the next slide, a map of the Milky Way galaxy as viewed from directly above its center, laid out like a pancake. A big red arrow pointed to a spot about seven tenths of the way from the outer edge to the center. Next slide, zoomed all the way in to a star system, a red arrow pointing to the fourth planet. Next slide, a globe. A coppery green planet with a few small grey and blue splotches, blue great lakes draining eventually into small grey seas, the seas not interconnected. Mostly, dry land with tints of green throughout. The polar regions were capped with bright white. A red arrow pointed to a tiny dark splotch near the equator. Next slide, half a dozen overhead photographs pieced together to show an impact crater. Seventy five kilometers across from rim to rim, a peak in the middle of the crater, a landform just large enough to qualify as a mountain, ringed by a lake, making it an island. Most of the terrain in the bowl of the crater was dry, about thirty kilometers from the rim to the lakes’ shores.

  Galen stood. “What we have here is an impact crater. The water got there later, after terraforming caused rain. The lake is large enough to serve as an energy dump for a space shield, which we will place on top of the mountain, along with the command center.”

  Sevin spoke, “Well, that crater is too large for our Brigade to protect, and the rim of the crater will be outside the space shield’s protection.”

  “Well that depends on who you’re fighting. Anyway, our job is to design and oversee the construction of the defenses, as well as train military and police forces to take over our job when the contract ends. As for the space shield, it’s a standard model but will be more effective on Juventud because of the planet’s strong magnetic fields.” Galen sat down.

  The next slide showed the mountain and the lake around it, as viewed from a high point along the rim of the crater. Rounded like a scoop of chocolate ice cream in the middle of a blue lake with brown land laced with green, vegetation taking hold in the beds of intermittent streams draining into the lake.

  “Lovely,” said Spike. “Good spot for a spaceport.”

  Tad said, “Why do they call it Fuente de Juventud?”

  “Ah, the Fountain of Youth.” Galen leaned back in his chair. “The gravity is only point eight G, and the air, although thinner than standard, has a higher oxygen level. People stepping off there feel a lot younger. The early terraforming crews came up with the name.”

  “But there was no oxygen when they started,” said Sevin.

  Galen nodded. “Right. But it’s been going on for about twelve hundred years. There are more than twenty sky factories, or air machines, or whatever you want to call them, still operating. Another interesting point, the machines also deflect new air in such a way as to slow the rotation of the planet. Not much, they only added a couple of minutes to a twenty three hour day. But the core is still turning faster than the crust, so the magnetic field is strong. Three times stronger than standard, therefore, the space shield is more effective.”

  Sevin said, “Okay professor. Any of those sky machine people still there?”

  “Yes. The descendants of the original factory crews, plus refugees from all around the galaxy, and squatters, add up to about eighty million people scattered all around the planet. But they are no concern of ours except to keep them away from the EugeneX facilities. Specifically, we keep them out of the crater.”

  A knock came from the exterior door, the commander’s entrance. Galen got up and walked across the office to open the door. The junior executive from the board room was there. She said, “Hello.”

  “Come on in,” said Galen.

  She strode in and looked for an open seat, saw none, and waited.

  “What can we do for you, Miss?”

  “Well--”

  Mr. Burwell cut her off, “She is slotted to be our logistics NCOIC. Non-commissioned officer in charge of logistics.”

  “But, uh?” Galen stared.

  “She’s a graduate of the Mandarin Military Academy’s Logistics Officer School. I signed her on as a Master Sergeant.” Mr. Burwell handed his electronic clipboard to Galen. “With your approval, of course.”

  Galen looked at the clipboard, looked at her and said, “You know, I don’t have to approve this. No one can make me.” Then he signed, extended his right hand and said, “Welcome to the team. Introduce yourself.”

  She shook his hand. “My name is Karen. Karen Mitchell. And I intend to accompany you on this contact.”

  Galen ignored Sevin’s smirk. “Was that the board’s idea?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Chief Polar has been in charge of logistics and will continue the work along side you, and can answer all your questions and get you settled in to your new job.” Galen stepped back and addressed the entire room. “Everyone, be in uniform starting tomorrow morning. We blast out of here in three days, no excuses. Dismissed.”

  Chapter Two

  Galen stood in the auxiliary control tower of the operations center of the Mandarin spaceport, there to supervise the shift change of the logistics and operations team. He looked out the window at the marshalling yard of the spaceport, its back gate adjacent to the tarmac. Chief Polar stood next to him, studying an electronic clipboard. She turned to Galen and said, “Well Smaj, that’s about it. Loading will begin in about nine hours.”

  Galen looked at her, a full twenty centimeters shorter than him. She was dressed in combat coveralls, the top down and tied around her waist. Her
bob of light brown hair and straight bangs framed her round face, her ears poking out slightly, although covered for the most part. Her dark green t-shirt strained to hold back her ample chest.

  “Don’t stare,” she said.

  Galen had played this game before. He was so tall that looking at most women’s faces as they stood next to him meant their chests would be included in the range of his gaze. Embarrassment or apology was not an option, not for a leader. Not on the first day of a combat contract. Time to stamp this out. To fire back he said, “Well, those are the biggest breasts I’ve ever been in the same room with.”

  “I thought about getting them reduced, but my husband seems to like them.”

  “Well if you ever leave him, I love small breasts.”

  Master Sergeant Karen Mitchell stood, moved next to Polar and stretched her arms over her head, facing Galen. She was a full head taller than Polar, but lean. And olive-skinned. She had dyed her hair back to its natural dark brown, pulled back in a high pony tail. Her coveralls were all the way on, but when she stretched, Galen could see that she had small breasts indeed. Lowering her arms to her sides, she turned to face out the window and said, “I’m still new at this. What am I looking at?”

  Galen deliberately tilted his head down to look at her bottom, long enough to ensure Chief Polar noticed. “The marshalling yard. The Brigade’s vehicles are lined up by units, ready to load onto the drop boats.”

  “We good?” said Polar.

  “Sure. See you in twelve hours.”

  “Eleven and a half,” she said as she left the control room.

  Galen picked up the electronic clipboard she had left on the desk and handed it to Karen. “This might help. It’s the manifest.”

  Tad entered, sweating, out of breath. “Where’s Sevin? Can’t relieve him if I can’t find him.”

  Galen said, “I let him go about ten minutes ago. Anyway, you’re half a minute late.”

  “It’s not like there’s a battle going on right now.” Tad took a seat at the desk and turned on the flat screen. “Besides, the lift was out so I ran up the stairs.”