Galaxy's Edge: Takeover: Season Two: Book One

by Jason Anspach

  “I didn’t need convincing, babe. Nobody had to pull a fast one on me when it came to pickin’ you.”

  The smiles and grins keep on coming. I can’t remember the last time things were this light—this happy—between the two of us. Whoever said money won’t solve problems didn’t have any.

  “You got time to talk to the girls?”

  I lean back and look out the window of my mobile hab. The team is assembling. I check and my chrono… they’re right on time.

  “No. Sorry. Got a thing—a thing, not a fling, Mel.”

  She laughs. “Better not be. I’ll tell the girls you love them.”

  “Good, because I do. And, Mel, I love you, too.”

  “Same here, babe. Love you, too.”

  I kill the transmission and power down my datapad, then lean back in my seat, staring at the roof of the mobile hab. A long sigh escapes my lips because for the first time in a long time, all I want to do is be back home. With the girls. With Mel. A family.

  “And that’s what gets you killed,” I mumble to myself. “KTF, Carter. You only go home if they don’t.”

  Pep talk over, I get up and head to the flap of my hab. We’re about to visit a koob village who won’t want us there. And usually, that wouldn’t be a thing. But right now… I’m being sentimental. I don’t want this to go bad. I want to make it home alive.

  And over the next several days on Kublar, that’s hardly going to be a sure thing.

  39

  I jog out of my hab, kitted out and ready to roll as I attach my comm to my ear and pull my cap down over my hair. The call with Mel made me late, but I’m doing my best to act like I don’t know it. Mainly because that’s how every officer I ever knew always acted.

  Big Nee doesn’t have a proper military structure—we’re all on payroll and we’re all expected to do whatever job is presented us, which includes listening to whoever he tells us our supervisor is. My role now, as I understand it, is to be the big dog in combat; supervising my own team but with the authority to tell other teams—including Hopper’s—what I want done.

  So… Sergeant-General. I guess. General Sergeant maybe. But ultimately, I’m just…

  “Carter!”

  Easy has that smile on his face telling me that what he’s about to say isn’t important.

  “What is it, Easy?”

  “I thought we were supposed to fall in outside your hab five minutes ago. Only when we got here, you weren’t here. So, and I’m not sure about this, but does that make you… late?”

  Abers adds his own jab. “Were you hidin’, Carter? And we was supposed to find you? Oh!” he laughs. “My bad! I didn’t even look. I was just standing out here in the sun, sweating. Waiting for your ass.”

  Abers and Easy exchange fist bumps.

  Marines.

  “Actually, no,” I say, doing a quick inspection of everyone’s kit—not that I have any reason to doubt they’re prepared. “I wasn’t late. You all were early. As squad leader, it is impossible for me to be late. Because everything I do is on time and you are all on my time.”

  Lana cracks a half-smile. “Anyone else getting flashbacks to basic with that speech?”

  I wink and then look around the camp. Other teams are loading into transport sleds. There’s a steady stream of techs moving from the various habs to the secure command building where Brisco and nerds like him watch the battle from bots in the sky. Everything is pretty much in place and as I would expect it.

  Except for the hulking koob I see milling about on the other side of a hab about twenty meters away. He’s looking around, mildly disinterested. Kicking rocks and cradling a slug-throwing assault rifle with a wooden stock inlaid with a variety of etchings, runes, and colorful paintings.

  I’ve seen this guy before. He was at the chieftain’s home back in Pekk. The koob who wanted to know if we had the sitizt’ka necessary to be worthy of fighting alongside his tribe. As I recall, he spoke Standard.

  “You lost, big guy?” I call out.

  Lashley answers first, low enough for just me to hear. “Ain’t lost. Told me he was goin’ out on the op.”

  The koob does its hopping walk toward me, obviously not wanting to shout a conversation across the camp.

  I turn to Lash. “By himself?”

  Lash shrugs.

  The thought of a bunch of koobs wandering aimlessly through our camp isn’t particularly pleasant to me. Even if they are supposed to be our allies. So I make a note to kindly ask the big guy to round his team up. We’re supposed to roll inside the next twenty minutes.

  “I fight,” the koob says, adding the usual clicks from his airsac. “Big die this tribe. K’kk’kik. Bad tribe. Friend of zhee. Of Republic.”

  I nod. This much I already knew from speaking with Big Nee. With the exception of this particular tribal seat—whose name escapes me at the moment, which doesn’t matter because soon they won’t exist anymore—the entirety of the Kublaren tribal alliance outside the coastal cities have joined Nilo in his bid for an independent and self-governed Kublar.

  “Okay, well, you should find your warriors because we’re gonna be moving out before long.”

  The koob licks its eyeball and gives what passes for a smile and then shakes its head, along with the rest of its upper torso. “Pekk warriors ready. I fight with you.”

  Even though we’re outside, the koob’s comment feels like someone let the air out of the room. Everyone except Lashley has something to say. More like something to mumble.

  “Hell nah,” says Easy.

  Abers just gives a disapproving growl like a dad watching his daughter’s boyfriend snag the last steak off the grill without asking.

  Lana, at least, voices a legitimate concern. “Carter… I don’t know that I’m familiar enough with Kublaren physiology to treat any battlefield injuries…”

  “I no big die,” says the koob.

  Easy enough.

  “Good plan,” I tell him. “But I haven’t heard—”

  I’m not sure how I was going to finish that sentence. And the arrival of Big Nee’s black luxury sled prevents me from needing to.

  Surber emerges from the rear passenger side door and holds it open for his boss. The rest of the team watches as Big Nee gets out, looking sleek but solid in a perfectly tailored slim-cut suit. Hard to believe our boss was embedded with us as Winters. Harder still that he gave us the deal he did after some of the crap we gave him.

  Nilo went into that a little bit on the long ride from the zhee compound. How it was important that he participated in the fight, and how it didn’t bother him when the team busted his chops because he was aware of the difference in expertise.

  “You improve by acknowledging your deficiencies, Carter. Pretending that I’m better at something than I truly am—that I’m somehow immune to legitimate criticism because I don’t like the way it makes my ego feel—that’s a pathway to failure. Or worse: mediocrity.”

  I told him that he’d done pretty well, all things considered. He told me how many credits he’d sunk into training to be a warfighter. All the stuff the Legion puts you through free of charge, he paid for; learning at the feet of former leejes, Marines, and other Special Forces now in the private sector who made a career of selling their expertise to those who had the credits to pay for it. And Nilo isn’t short on credits.

  A human woman wearing a blue business dress slides out from the sled behind Nilo. It might be air conditioned inside the vic, but I see her wilt in the heat before my eyes not ten seconds after she emerges. Her makeup is starting to glisten and her carefully styled hair looks like it’s sticking to her head.

  “We have to make this quick,” she says to Nilo.

  Nilo smiles genially. “Of course. But the message will have more gravitas if Kublar is the backdrop. Even if the interior of the limousine is more comfortable. And
… you look amazing.”

  The woman gives a big smile at this, revealing perfectly white, perfectly straight teeth. She pulls out a holo cam and holds it ready in the palm of her hand.

  “Surber,” Nilo says motioning for his right-hand man to come closer. “Show Miss Striffler where to set up.”

  Nilo focuses his attention back to Miss Striffler. “We found an excellent view of the mountain range that will bring into focus the monumental achievement we’re on the verge of accomplishing here on Kublar.”

  “That sounds perfect,” Striffler answers. “And, Mister Nilo, please call me Shayla.”

  “Of course.” Nilo is dashing. Smiles to communicate a sort of wolfish knowledge. Not goofy. Friendly but not endearing. Like a powersmile. If that’s a word.

  As Surber leads Miss Striffler to wherever they’re going to film, Nilo walks to my team, hands in pockets.

  “How’s the best damn squad in this outfit?”

  The men shuffle somewhat uncomfortably. Easy answers for the group.

  “Uh, we’re good, Mister Nilo. Thank you.”

  Nilo nods, a smile still plastered to his face.

  “And, uh, thanks again for the raise, sir.”

  “Don’t mention it. You all deserve it. I’m relying on your team to see this project through. Kublar is step one in a reformation that will benefit the entire galaxy. And if there’s anything else you need, let me know.”

  Easy mumbles something that I can hear, which means Nilo can probably hear it, too. “Need to know if those rumors about you killin’ those tycoons is true.”

  Nilo laughs. Yep, he heard it.

  “Rumor mill reached the gunfighters?” Nilo asks, the smile still fixed to his face.

  Easy smiles back sheepishly, clearly not thinking his voice would carry the way it did.

  “Listen,” Nilo says. “I’m a regular guy who made wise financial decisions, was ruthless in business, and now wants to make use of what I’ve acquired to make the galaxy a better place. Which is where you come in. These sorts of rumors about fighting slavers, adventuring… me training to fight with your squad is as close as I’ve ever come to anything like that. But, you get enough intelligence officers packed into one room and it isn’t long before they start making up stories to pass the time. They’re a bunch of old women, really. Gossips.”

  Easy nods. It’s obvious he wants the conversation to end. He feels completely out of his element and uncomfortable chatting it up with a gazillionaire (I think that’s a real number).

  I step up and focus attention on the mission. Because, diversions aside, blood is being spilt before this day ends. And while there’s always some complications—especially in this outfit—I wasn’t planning on the fishy-smelling one standing in our ring.

  “Sir, I’m hoping you can clear something up for me. This Kublaren, uh, gentleman is saying he’s going on the op with us.”

  Nilo moves to the koob, takes both his hands, bows his head, and utters some koob greeting in their native language. “This is my fault,” he says. “I meant to tell you last night. Pikkek here is the Pekk tribe’s Tek’uma. The best warrior they have. Events now prevent me from fighting on your team, Carter, and the chieftains all felt that the only possible replacement was a Tek’uma, and Pikkek was selected after some debate. But this isn’t the Republic and Pikkek isn’t in like some appointed officer to make his chieftain feel good. He’s every bit the warrior as any of us.”

  Well… that’s settled, I guess.

  Pikkek steps forward. “I am ready to follow you… k’k’kik… into war, chief-killer.”

  “Chief killer?” asks Easy.

  Nilo looks over his shoulder back at the line. “That’s the Standard translation. In Kublaren, it’s mookta; the ultimate honor for a warrior is to kill a rival chieftain in combat. Pekk tribe was impressed at the team’s killing of Skagga. Since no one can say for sure who fired the shot that killed the chieftain, as team leader, Carter is given the honor.”

  “Well,” I say, motioning for Pikkek to fall in line, “I do what I can to keep the hostile koob chief population under control. So let’s make sure the next mookta comes from this team.”

  I get my usual assortment of battle noises from the team plus an excited clicking and hissing from Pikkek’s airsac. That’s gonna take some getting used to.

  “Looks like you’re good here, Carter,” Nilo says, leaving as he speaks, making it clear that his assessment is the only one he’s interested in. So, officially, we’re good. “We’ll circle back around after the op. Transport will pick you up in a few. Good luck.”

  As Big Nee jogs away to where Miss Striffler and Surber wait, holocam hovering behind them, Abers walks up to me.

  “Man, this is too weird. Winters? That’s Winters?”

  “Life lesson,” I say, watching the boss adjust his suit to get ready for the interview or whatever. “You never know who someone might be. So don’t be a dick all the time.”

  “Still tryin’ to learn that one, huh, Leej?”

  I turn my head and give Abers a death stare. And then raise my hand to reel out a middle finger. Abers laughs and the rest of the crew falls in to wait for the transport.

  “What is… k’kik… this hooman gesture, Leejonayer?” asks Pikkek.

  The holocam’s light goes on and to my surprise, I can hear the interview. The sound is carrying across the hardened dirt that is our camp.

  “Tell you later,” I say and then shush the others down. “Wanna hear this.”

  Nilo is wearing aviator sunglasses for the interview. They reflect the already harsh sunlight in a way that must dazzle the holocams fixed on him.

  His hair and suit are perfect, and the snowcapped mountains of inland Kublar look brilliant against a blue, cloudless sky. Miss Striffler is interviewing him. I never watch much news, but my guess is she’s with one of the big news orgs. She has that polished, almost too perfect look about her. The kind that bots holoproject for the newscasts from distant hellhole planets—like Kublar. Only she’s the real thing. Flesh and blood. Looks so good even Lana is staring.

  “Critics of your involvement in what has shaped up to be another Kublaren Civil War are saying that you’re an opportunist,” Striffler begins after some introductory pleasantries I can’t make out. “Is this a case of a galactic mega corporation trying to seize power now that the Republic is rebuilding following Article Nineteen?”

  “Not at all,” Nilo says, sounding light but committed to his response. “But as I told the Black Leaf board, this isn’t about turning a profit and it’s certainly not about exploiting Kublar or any planet and its people for resources—there was more than enough of that sort of thing done through the House of Reason. What you’re seeing is that the Kublarens who weren’t in bed with the House of Reason, they’re tired of it. And they’re, quite frankly, pushing back against those of their own kind who sold them out.”

  “And what is Black Leaf’s role in that ‘pushing back’?”

  “We were asked to provide military research and development, private security, and tactical training by the inland Kublaren chieftains.”

  “Which is in violation of Republic law.”

  “Republic law is tenuous at best, Shayla. Most of it deserves to be ignored, and a significant portion of the galaxy is fighting over what a post–Article Nineteen Republic should look like. Where it should meet… what, if any, remnants of the old House of Reason should remain… But Kublar is a free world and we aren’t violating any legitimate laws of this world.”

  “The governmental seat in Subiyook City would disagree with that assessment, and already they’ve made a call for Legion assistance as a representative planet of the Republic.”

  Nilo smiles again. “Kublar’s senators were both hung by the Kublarens upon returning to their home planet. That’s how ‘representative’ they were while on Uto
pion. And the human government controlling a Kublaren world stood in defiance of the Legion when it did call for Article Nineteen. The reality is that these are predators who have been growing fat off a planet and species not their own.”

  “You mentioned the Legion and Article Nineteen. Legion Commander Chhun is deliberating with his generals about whether the Legion should take action on Kublar, while the planets who have formally elected senators and delegates remain unable to agree on how to proceed. Are you concerned about what a Legion—invasion for lack of a better word—will mean for Kublar?”

  “Of course I’m concerned. But not for Black Leaf or for the private security who are keeping innocent Kublarens safe from… from what in reality is an incredibly hostile opposition from a puppet government that pretends to represent them, and zhee settlers who routinely rob and murder the Kublaren tribes unable to defend themselves.

  “But I have confidence that the Legion Commander will make the right call here and allow the Kublarens to make their own decision about how they should be governed. Maintaining an imperialist grip on this planet is morally indefensible, and given how hard the Legion fought to overthrow the so-called empire—and many of my contractors are former legionnaires here doing this because it’s the right thing—given all of that, I don’t see the Legion adding to the tragedy that is Kublaren history.”

  “You mentioned the zhee—”

  “I did and I want to get back to that, Shayna, but if I may…?”

  The reporter nods and Nilo continues. And I gotta say, he’s making sense to me.

  “The Kublarens have a remarkable history. They were one of the few species to fight off a Savage invasion without the Legion’s help. When we ‘found’ them, they had already annihilated a Savage hulk and were quick to send warriors off-world to bring the fight to the rest of the Savages when the opportunity arose. In spite of that, they were named a Republic protectorate without senators until just recently, and only because some Utopion scientists felt there were enough natural resources on Kublar that it would be worth asserting direct control over.