by P. A. Piatt
When the ISMC had been formed from the elite military units from all over Terra Earth, many of those units had brought their cultural traditions with them. The kukri, a traditional weapon carried by the fierce Gurkha warriors from Nepal, was so deadly that the ISMC adopted it as their standard edged weapon, with one caveat: A Space Marine had to earn the right to carry a kukri by serving in combat.
Calcio Fiorentino was another cultural tradition that came to the Corps, this time by way of northern Italy. The game dated back many centuries and it is best described as a combination of basketball, bare-knuckle brawling, and rugby. It’s a violent sport that is not for the faint of heart. The ISMC required the rules be modified to prevent serious injury among the players.
The Marines had invited Fortis to join their game, but the lieutenant ducked the offer because of his strength enhancement workout requirements. He and Ystremski watched the game long enough to see the ball roll, unnoticed, from under the pile of battling Marines and into the far corner of the room.
“Those guys will kill each other,” Fortis observed. “Maybe we should stop them.”
The corporal shook his head. “Nah. They’ll be okay, sir. It’s good for them to roughhouse now and then; helps the cherries earn acceptance. It also sorts out the pecking order among the privates. They’ll fight like hell for an hour and be best friends afterwards. Good way to break in the new guys, too.”
“I appreciate you greasing the skids with the platoon,” Fortis said as they loaded heavy metal plates onto the weight bar. “It’s hard enough to give them bad news, but when it’s because of me, it sucks.”
“What are you talking about?” Ystremski positioned himself behind the bench as Fortis slipped under the bar.
“You gave them a heads up about our situation here, right?”
“Yeah, I did, but that’s not what I meant. The other, about you.”
Fortis exhaled heavily and sucked in a deep breath as he lifted the bar and held it above his chest. As he lowered it, he looked up at Ystremski. “We’re not here because of an administrative foul up. It was Reese.”
“No shit.” The corporal guided the bar up as Fortis strained under the weight. “What makes you think it’s because of you?”
Fortis hissed as he lowered the bar and pressed it up again. “Reese is pissed off at me, wouldn’t you say?”
“Meh, Reese is a petty, vindictive prick, sir. But it’s not just you. I slugged him, remember?”
Fortis lowered the bar onto the bar rest and sat up. Raw power surged through his chest and he gasped as he flexed his muscles.
Ystremski smiled. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”
“Best feeling in the world,” replied Fortis.
“Wait until you get to Level Ten.”
Ystremski added more weight plates and Fortis positioned himself back under the bar.
“They have to put up with a lot without me adding to it,” Fortis grunted through gritted teeth.
“Don’t worry, LT. Nobody is blaming you for this clusterfuck. In a couple days, they’ll be drunk as skunks and up to their asses in women on Eros-69, and this place will be a distant memory.” He put a hand on the bar and stopped Fortis from placing it back on the rest. “Now, why don’t you stop being a pussy and start lifting some real weight?”
* * *
Jandahl slipped through the door of the utilities room and it closed behind him with a click. Chive was already there, and his presence among the pipes and wiring runs unnerved Jandahl. He was a veteran of numerous undercover missions for the GRC, and he’d made his share of clandestine meetings with unsavory characters, but Chive was a different breed. The scarred mercenary exuded danger.
What scared Jandahl the most was the ease with which Chive had ferreted him out. Jandahl’s intelligence collection mission to Eros-28 had been planned and conducted in the strictest secrecy. He had arrived on a routine shuttle with the group of replacement workers and his cover as a logistics and transportation clerk was rock solid. Still, he was only on Eros-28 three days before the security director paid him a visit in the logistics section where he worked and made Jandahl an offer he couldn’t refuse: work with Chive to uncover the resistance or Chive would expose him and drive him from the colony in disgrace.
“What’s the news?” Chive demanded without any greeting. He was all business, the scars on his cheeks making him look angry, even when he smiled, which wasn’t often.
“Spears has gone to pieces since his wife went missing. He moved their son somewhere, but I stopped him before he could tell me.”
“Why? That would be good information to exploit.”
Jandahl shook his head. “Sometimes you forget yourself, Chive. These people are not the enemy. They’re GRC employees. Some of them conduct acts of vandalism, allegedly as part of a half-assed resistance movement, but we’re not at war with them. My directive from GRC headquarters was to investigate the overall situation here, not target the children of the workers. You can’t always break kneecaps and pull fingernails.”
“Where’s Raisa Spears?” Jandahl had hoped to provoke a reaction from Chive with his point-blank question, but the security chief didn’t flinch.
“I don’t know. I thought the colonial police had her.”
The spy stared into Chive’s eyes and searched for a flicker of prevarication, but he saw none.
“If the colonial police had her, I’d know about it.”
Chive shrugged. “Maybe your source cut you out of the loop.”
“I doubt it; he doesn’t know he’s a source. What have you found out about the Space Marines?”
“Their story appears to check out. They don’t have any weapons or explosives, and they seem as anxious to leave as we are to get rid of them.”
“What about the cartel? Any progress there?”
“Why are you asking me?” Chive scoffed. “You’re the intelligence operative. I just break kneecaps and pull fingernails, remember?”
Jandahl took a deep breath to calm himself and then headed for the door. He stopped and looked back. “You know, Chive, when this is all over, I’m going to remember moments like these when I write my final report.”
He opened the door a crack, looked up and down the passageway, and left.
The door clicked shut behind him.
* * *
Two hours after the Calcio Fiorentino game ended, Lieutenant Fortis stretched out on the weight room floor and groaned. Every muscle in his body was screaming, protesting at the punishment Corporal Ystremski had meted out during their workout. All Fortis could do was smile at the exquisite, full-body agony. Despite the pain, he felt great.
Ystremski had jumped into the exercise rotation when Fortis reached the upper limit of his own strength. The older man had lifted, pushed, and pulled more weight than Fortis could have imagined. Ystremski was not a large man with masses of bulging muscles, but the power he generated amazed Fortis.
He propped himself up on one elbow and watched as Ystremski curled a loaded bar with ease.
“What do you make of that security guy, Chive?”
The corporal set the bar down with a clank. “He doesn’t say much. Seems intense for a backwater place like this. It surprised me to see the corporate types had hired a mercenary to run their security.”
“Mercenary? How do you know he’s a mercenary? Do you know him?”
Ystremski shook his head and sat down on a bench next to Fortis. “No, I don’t know him, but I recognize the type.” He gestured to his face. “The scars gave him away.”
“Yeah, the scars. What about them?”
“They’re dueling scars. You saw his sword, right? He’s a Kuiper Knight.”
“What’s a Kuiper Knight?”
“Not what, who. The Kuiper Knights are a freelance group of general-purpose mercenary assholes who operate on the fringes of deep space. Dirty deeds done for the highest bidder. They’ll do anything for a handful of credits. I’ve heard they hire out as security forces for sur
vey missions and miners and then jump the profitable claims. A lot of ex-Space Marines and Fleet dropouts are Kuiper Knights. They follow their own weird pseudo-religion which basically means they’re a cult. A heavily armed cult.”
“Huh. I’ve never heard of them.”
“When I first joined the ISMC, we chased down a bunch who kidnapped an entire farming colony and sold them off as slaves.” Ystremski rubbed his hand together as if relishing the memory. “Killed every one of them.”
“What about the scars? They get them from dueling?”
Ystremski nodded. “The Knights are a meritocracy, so they have to fight their way up the ranks. They’d run out of guys if they fought to the death, so they duel with dull swords and don’t wear headgear. That dude Chive has been in a duel or two.”
“You think they’re making a move on Eros-28?”
Ystremski scoffed. “That would take some balls. Looting ore cars on some backwater planet is one thing, picking a fight with the GRC is a whole other matter. This place doesn’t look like much, but I don’t think the GRC would let it go without a fight.”
* * * * *
Chapter Six
Governor Czrk looked up in annoyance when Chive barged into his office without knocking.
“You want something, Governor?”
“Close the door.”
Chive pushed the door shut and the two men were alone.
“What are the results of your scan of the Space Marines. Anything of interest?”
The security chief shook his head. “No. My men didn’t detect anything significant. They have a mini satcom set and a medic bag. The only weapons they have are their kukris. No rifles or pistols, and no explosives.”
“Kukris? What are kukris?”
Chive struggled not to laugh at the concern on Czrk’s face.
“A kukri is a bladed weapon about this long.” He held up his hands about forty centimeters apart. “They’re standard Space Marine issue. Nothing fancy.”
“Are they dangerous?”
This time Chive did laugh.
“In the right hands, a kukri is lethal, and these guys are experts.”
Czrk’s eyes widened.
“Relax, Governor. They don’t have anything I wouldn’t expect them to have on a liberty run; I don’t think they’re a threat. As hard as it is to believe, I think they really are lost.”
* * *
Mandel Spears and his resistance cell, two men and two women, crouched in the dim light of a fluttering candle in the abandoned dome. After a sifter had buried the dome when it was half-finished, some of the colonists had quietly excavated a wide area under the intact roof. The wind whistled outside and dust swirled inside on unseen currents of air, but they were safe, and, to their experienced ears, the storm had begun to weaken.
“What news of Raisa?” asked Pai Choon, a grim-faced woman who wore her blonde hair tied back in a severe ponytail.
Spears pulled aside his dirty filter mask and spat a thick blob of muddy phlegm before he shook his head. “Nothing. It’s like she never existed.”
Glenn Deale, a hulking mechanic with a square head and flat nose, stood up and scoffed. “To the GRC, she didn’t.” The other members of the group shot him angry looks. “What? It’s true. She didn’t work for them, so, in their eyes, she was a freeloader. Not even human.”
“Doesn’t.” Spears rose to his feet and faced Deale. “She doesn’t work for them.”
Deale arched his eyebrows but said nothing.
The third man, Ben West, stood and insinuated himself between Shears and Deale.
“Guys, until we get some solid information on Raisa, I think we need to concentrate on what’s next. Is there a what’s next?”
Everyone looked at Spears.
“When the sifter lifts they’ll add shifts to excavate the garage Raisa blew up. That will give us an opportunity to track the China Mike back to the source. We have to find the lab if we want to put a stop to this.”
Deale shook his head. “Man, how many times have we tried this? Four? Five? Every time, it’s the same result. We spot the dealers, but they disappear before we can figure out who their suppliers are.”
“What would you have us do, Deale? Let’s hear your master plan.”
“It’s easy. We grab a GRC suit and make ’em talk.”
Spears scoffed. “Genius ‘Make ’em talk.’ How do you propose we do that?”
Deale shrugged. “Beat it out of them. Electric shock. Whatever it takes. It’s not like we don’t have people who have learned the hard way at the hands of those bastards. Let’s use their own methods against them.”
“That’s a brilliant plan.” Spears’ voice dripped with sarcasm. “Let’s grab a corporate executive and torture them. Who did you have in mind, the governor?”
Deale scowled at Spears. “What’s wrong with you? Don’t you want to stop those sons of bitches from poisoning us with their drug?”
“Of course I do, but we can’t do it if we torture a GRC exec, and they call the colonial police down on our heads. I heard they brought Space Marines in, too.”
“Space Marines? Why did they bring in Space Marines?”
“Probably because Space Marines kill people,” said Ben West. “We just blew up their garage and buried their drugs. They’re going to want revenge.” He wrung his hands. “This is getting out of hand.”
“What about the drugs hidden in the vehicles?” Choon asked.
“Leave it there and let them ship it off-world,” scoffed Deale. “We don’t want to hurt their feelings.”
Spears glared at him. “Dask has requested that we don’t interfere with it.”
Dask Finkle was the unofficial leader of the resistance—a loose network of colonists who were dissatisfied with GRC management of Eros-28. Resistance cells formed and dissolved at will, and they chose their own level of involvement in the ongoing unrest. Spears’ cell had formed early in the movement, but they’d been mostly talk until the highly addictive drug China Mike had spread through colony. The destruction of the garage was a big step up for them.
“What the hell? We’re supposed to let them have it back?”
“Deale, that’s what Dask said. I don’t know why, maybe he has something else planned. Either way, this group isn’t going to interfere. Got it?”
The other woman in the cell, Shelly Baird, stood up and stretched. “This is going nowhere. The sifter will end soon, and I need to get some sleep before the shift begins.” Baird was an electronics specialist, and her shop would be loaded with extra work once crews excavated the buried garage. “I’ll keep my eyes open and let you know what I find.”
Spears nodded, and she disappeared into the shadows.
The rest of the cell gave Spears similar assurances and vanished in different directions. The tunnel networks the colonists had dug by hand after the subway collapsed ran in all directions. It was only local knowledge that kept them from becoming hopelessly lost.
When Spears was alone, he slumped onto the dirt floor and stared at the flickering candle. Grief squeezed his chest until he couldn’t breathe and he groaned at the pain.
Deale is right. Raisa is gone.
He rolled onto his side and hugged his knees as deep sobs wracked his body. A sudden gust of wind blew the candle out as his anguished cries echoed in the lonely darkness.
* * * * *
Chapter Seven
“Lieutenant Fortis? Hey, LT.”
A hand was shaking Fortis’ shoulder, and he sat straight up out of a deep sleep.
“Wha-what?”
“Sir, it’s me, Private Boudreaux. The fire watch. That Drager guy is at the door. He wants to see you.”
Fortis swung his feet off his bunk and hissed when they hit the cold floor.
“What does he want?”
“He didn’t say, sir. He just said it was urgent.”
“Okay, I’m up.” The lieutenant stood on unsteady legs and stretched. The transient quarters were dark, the only l
ight the green glow of emergency exit signs at the doors. “What time is it?”
“0320. You want me to tell him to come back?”
“No, no.” Fortis reached for his uniform hanging on the end of his bunk. “Tell him I’ll be there in a second.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
“What’s going on?”
Fortis jumped at the voice close to his ear. He turned and saw Corporal Ystremski standing next to him, fully dressed.
“Geez, Corporal, don’t you ever sleep?” Ystremski snorted. Fortis fastened his belt and buttoned his shirt. “Drager, the corporate guy, wants to talk to me; said it was urgent.”
“Huh. Might be good news.”
“Yeah, maybe.” Fortis tied his boots and stood, stretching his arms overhead as far as he could. A slight groan escaped his lips.
A normal person would have been paralyzed by muscular soreness after a workout like the one Ystremski put Fortis through the previous day, but the strength enhancements inhibited muscle soreness by breaking down lactic acid and promoting muscle growth and repair, which allowed the Space Marines to string together days of intense workouts with no ill effects. All Fortis felt was mild stiffness that a good stretch would relieve.
Ystremski chuckled softly. “Go see what he wants, sir. I’ll be here.”
Fortis walked out and blinked in the glare of the lights in the passageway. “Good morning, Bob. What can I do for you?”
Drager gave him a big smile. “Sorry to wake you, Lieutenant, but I have good news. The sifter has passed. Come with me; we’ve got a carrier signal with the satellite, and you can message your boss.”
“Awesome!” Fortis was wide awake now. “Give me a sec to tell Ystremski.”
By the time he got back to Ystremski’s bunk, a knot of Space Marines had gathered.
“Good news, sir?” a voice from the group asked.
“At ease, numbnuts,” Ystremski growled. He put his hand on Fortis’ arm. “Let’s go over here so we can talk in private, sir.”
