Torian Reclamation 3: Test of Fortitude

by Andy Kasch

  “Glad to hear it,” Trodenmark said. “But I’m still unsettled. We’ll have to travel to Dirg in order to trade with them. There’s something about that whole region that doesn’t feel right. Don’t you think it’s odd that only the outer worlds have outright refused us?”

  “I suppose. Maybe their remote locations have something to do with it. I’m just happy we’ve set up a viable operation, and faster than expected. Now it’s time to start doing business. Speaking of which, you better prepare the landing party. We’ve done enough gawking here.”

  “The borer’s already on the shuttle. We’re ready when you are. When do you expect the Bolkans to deliver the rest of them?”

  “Soon.” Trodenjo flashed his corner teeth. “We’ll tell the Sulienites to expect them any day. As enthusiastic as the Bolkans are about this deal, I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if they beat us here.”

  Trodenjo turned back to the command pit.

  “All right, Admiral. We’re done. Pull us up to Hydro-Dwarf 28.”

  Camp Store Mercenary Course, C4 Banor

  Chapter One

  Alan sensed the second group of young Banorians was about to be ambushed. He remembered now, it was always the second group. The first group had already come up the front side of the trench and was crawling through the tall goliagrass towards the final target range.

  Which side the ambush would come from, and exactly who would get them, he couldn’t tell. Jumper and Kayla vanished in the far woods twenty minutes ago, so they could be anywhere by now. Their two assistants were positioned behind the rocks on this side of the field, below the observation platform, waiting to pick off any overanxious snipers.

  And then there was you-know-who, the x-factor, a foe who operated mostly by smell and had remarkable patience. Unless he lost interest and decided to take a bath.

  He didn’t this time. Alan detected an unnatural rustle in the brush just above the bend in the trench and knew he was in there, crouched like a compressed spring.

  “I think I saw some bushes above the ditch move against the wind,” Brandon said.

  Alan nodded. “I saw it, too. Hope these guys are tougher than they look.”

  The two of them watched as the three teenage natives rounded the bend in the trench below. One of them took off running ahead of the others. That must have been an inspired move. He scrambled up the embankment and wriggled into the goliagrass.

  His two companions were about to pay for their over-cautiousness. As they crept forward, the bushes on the ridge above them suddenly danced. A dark red blur flew forth and landed on the youth in the rear. His chilling scream echoed across the range. The victim’s remaining companion was so startled he fell and dropped his weapon. Alan couldn’t blame him for that. His friend sounded so horrified it even made Alan instinctively start to reach for a weapon he didn’t have. Brandon only laughed.

  The great cat then pounced on the companion, pinning him and bringing his large fangs close to his neck. Now Alan laughed. Casanova really did seem to enjoy these games every bit as much as Jumper and Kayla. Satisfied with his kill, Casanova sprang up from the trench and vanished in the tall grass. His two victims stayed in place, appearing resigned. One of them had his hands on his chest.

  A firefight then broke out in the rocky dunes beyond them. Jumper and Kayla must have located the third group. It was a running fight, moving forward towards the grassy field at the end of the course.

  The first group, well-hidden in the grass, seized the opportunity and revealed their position by taking shots at the final targets. Jumper’s assistants opened fire on them from behind the boulders on their right, but it was too late. The first group was good. They took out the targets, so now only needed to slink through the last patch of goliagrass without getting hit.

  “Come on,” Alan said to Brandon. “It’s about over.”

  Brandon followed him off the observation deck and back through the camp store. Alan stopped briefly before the front door to examine one of the float suits hanging on the wall. He brushed some dust off it before continuing.

  “How’s business?” Brandon asked when they were outside.

  “Steady. Busy enough to depress Derek, anyway.”

  “That was my next question.”

  “Yeah,” Alan said. “He prefers it slow. That’s when he gets to tinker with his other inventions. When we get a big float suit order, he starts mumbling about ‘the establishment’ and how he’s ashamed of himself for being a ‘sell-out.’ Sometimes I have to adjust his attitude by threatening to quit and come work here at the camp store.”

  “Would you ever really do that?”

  “No. I’m taking Jumper and Kayla in measured doses these days.”

  “How are they doing?” Brandon asked.

  Alan shrugged. “On again, I guess—for the last few months, anyway. Honestly, I get tired of keeping track. I think Jumper needs a break, though.” He chuckled. “That’s why I’m here. You?”

  Brandon’s expression turned serious. “I have an important bit of business to discuss with Jumper.”

  They turned the corner and started walking the path that led to the staging area for the mercenary course. The three natives from the first group had already come out of it and were standing above the final target range pointing to spots in the grass, probably where they thought their friends still were. They were laughing and seemed pleased with themselves.

  On the trail a ways behind them, two of their friends were slowly approaching. Those were the ones Casanova ambushed. They had taken the dead soldier’s path off the course.

  As Alan and Brandon joined the group of victorious youths, more laser fire came from the grass directed at the final targets. Crossfire then erupted from both sides of the field, attempting to pick off the snipers. A few minutes later, another youth emerged from the front side of the field with his hands victoriously held above his head. He was the one who ran ahead and left his two squad members to become Casanova’s lunch.

  One soldier from the last squad suddenly stood up in the field. His vest was lit up in red, and he began making his way towards the nearest trail.

  That left two.

  The laser fired stopped long enough for the three dead soldiers to all join them up top. Meanwhile, the calm of the field in the last stretch had become suspenseful. All eyes were upon it. Brandon really seemed to be enjoying himself. Even Alan had to admit to himself that this was still fun to watch.

  Sudden bustling erupted in the grass before the targets, in two places. The last two soldiers stood up from one of the disturbed patches and yelled, but they didn’t fire at the targets. Instead, they fired across the top of the goliagrass at the other busting patch and connected with Casanova just as he leapt from it. Casanova landed before them, sat, and licked his chops. The last two soldiers kept their red beams firing on him for good measure.

  Two lasers then came from the rocks and easily struck the last two mercenaries, who didn’t seem to care at this point. Their vests lit up in red. They finally shut their lasers off and gave Casanova a wide berth as they climbed the slope to the staging area—though Casanova had finally settled down to wash himself.

  A short while later, Jumper and Kayla emerged from trail in the tall grass and joined them. Their clothes were both covered in dust. Kayla’s long black hair was tucked up underneath her cap. Jumper rapidly swept the top of his uncovered head with his hand, causing a small dust storm but bringing most of the dark color of his hair back in the process.

  “Less than half of you made it,” Jumper said to the customers. They all turned and looked at him before Jumper continued.

  “That’s about average for a first-time run, though. And the first group to reach the final target range typically does best. Although you two,” he looked at the last two to come in, “would have made it as well, despite being last, had you not lost your cool at the end. You shot the beast, and probably could have then gotten those targets and scrambled your way out if you stayed with i
t.”

  The last two dead shoulders begrudgingly looked out at Casanova, who was still in the field licking himself. Kayla whistled for him and he started trotting up the slope.

  The four soldiers whose vests were not lit up in red slapped each other on the backs and shoulders.

  Kayla spoke. “Number five, I wouldn’t get too enthusiastic about your survival. Yours was a hollow victory at best.”

  The fifth mercenary frowned and cocked his head.

  “In military situations,” she explained, “it’s survival of your squad that matters, not everyone for themselves. In fact, a good soldier will readily sacrifice himself for the squad if the occasion calls for it. You left your brethren behind and escaped as the sole survivor. Good luck finding anyone who wants you in their squad after that.”

  The resulting dejection of mercenary number five seemed to resurrect his dead friends, who at least died honorably. That was suddenly meriting more respect than surviving at any cost. He slunk along behind the group as they filed to the equipment shack to return their vests and nondestructive hand lasers.

  After they settled their bill and left, Jumper ran up to Brandon and slapped hands with him in the air.

  “So glad you’re here,” Jumper said. “I was going to message you later and ask you to come. Alan and I are looking for a ride to Amulen.”

  Brandon looked at Alan. “Oh?”

  Alan shrugged.

  “Kayla too?” Brandon asked.

  “No,” Alan and Jumper both said. Alan’s response beat Jumper’s by a second, and Brandon’s resulting glance at Alan confirmed that he noticed it.

  “Are the public shuttles out of service?” Brandon said.

  “Oh, you know.” Jumper motioned towards the mountain peaks in the distance. “We want to get dropped off in a remote area. It’s hard to arrange that kind of transportation.”

  Brandon looked at the mountains Jumper pointed to and said, “What’s wrong with the Banorian wilderness?”

  “We’ve done most of that.” Jumper’s tone was beginning to sound like a plea. “And we feel we need to get away more. Everything on Banor is so …sedate.”

  Brandon rolled his eyes. “You mean not dangerous enough.”

  Alan laughed. Jumper shot him a stern glance before resuming his appeal.

  “What about it, Uncle Brandon? Can you take us?”

  “When?”

  “Right away. We can be outfitted within the hour.”

  “I don’t think so, guys. Sorry. I have …errands to run, and you know I’m not crazy about you being over there.”

  “I promise we’ll use plenty of skin protection, and we’re both in good shape. Oh, and no polwar. Still haven’t played it, and we won’t be around any population.”

  “That’s not it,” Brandon said. He looked around the parking lot and suddenly seemed a bit nervous. “Can we talk in your office?”

  A few minutes later, Jumper was behind his messy wooden desk with Brandon and Alan sitting in front of him. Casanova curled up in the corner next to his huge water bowl. Several Amulites had come in to the store and were browsing, so Kayla was out front.

  Jumper continued pleading with Brandon, begging for a ride, promising to stay at lower elevations in a relatively safe region. It was to no avail. Alan could tell Brandon was getting slightly irritated and had something on his mind that Jumper wasn’t giving him a chance to say.

  Kayla then popped her head in the office.

  “Honey, someone wants to buy a roll of canvas using EM’s. You want to just take it? I’d tell them no, but we’re overstocked on that stuff.”

  Everyone looked at Brandon, who appeared amused at being relegated temporary judge.

  “You may as well accept it,” Brandon finally said. “I can exchange it for if you like, as I’m on my way to see Belle-ub.”

  Kayla thanked Brandon and left.

  Jumper finally stopped jibber-jabbering and stared at Brandon the way a scolded zaboar looks at his master after getting smacked on the snout.

  “Good,” Brandon said. “My turn to talk.”

  Casanova got up, came over and placed his head in Alan’s lap. It was heavy, and the weight of those huge curved fangs hurt when they rested on Alan’s thigh bone. He shifted the cat’s head so it wasn’t directly tooth-on-bone. Alan wanted to hear what Brandon had to say without wincing in pain.

  “Jumper, why did you resign from the council?” Brandon asked. “The real reason, I mean.”

  Jumper frowned. “That was four years ago, Uncle Brandon.”

  “Yes,” Brandon said. “Four long years ago, and I’ve just learned something incredible about the Amulen council. Something I flat-out can’t believe was never made known to me.”

  Jumper exchanged confused looks with Alan before answering.

  “I was representing Amulen Earthlings, remember? When there were no more Amulen Earthlings, there was no need for a representative.”

  Brandon shook his head. “Yet you stayed on for a year after that. Belle-ub never asked you to leave. In fact, he considered you the Earthling representative for all of Tora, not just Amulen.”

  Alan decided to interrupt. “Isn’t it obvious? He quit because he lost in the second tournament.”

  Jumper gave him a look of feigned scorn. Alan could see right through it, and suspected Brandon could as well.

  “No,” Brandon said. “It’s not. And I’ve always had some reservations about the manner in which you lost that game.”

  “Hey, you guys were there.” Jumper turned his palms up. “You saw it. Sorry if I disappointed you. But I did make it all the way to the semi-finals again. Think that’s easy? Try it.”

  “Don’t get impish with me, Jumper. You know I’m extremely happy you quit the game, and I supported your decision to leave the council. It’s taken five years, but now Banor is finally recognizing Belle-ub’s government and sending a representative. I doubt Banor will ever embrace his new interstellar currency, but Cardinal-5 probably will out of economic necessity.”

  Jumper was wide-eyed and didn’t seem to know where Brandon was going with this. Alan was beginning to wonder the same thing.

  “What was it like that year you served in his council?” Brandon asked.

  “Well,” Jumper said as he leaned back in his chair and looked at the ceiling, “I was mostly an observer. I didn’t feel useful, nor did I think my presence was appreciated. It was like being somewhere where you don’t have any friends.”

  “That can’t be completely true,” Brandon said. “There was Hol4, and Belle-ub himself befriended you rather uncannily.”

  Jumper came forward again. “Yes. You’re right about that. And Belle-ub wasn’t happy when I left, either. But the others …the others weren’t so friendly. One in particular. It got to the point where I couldn’t take his attitude anymore. And since I wasn’t helping anyone in any meaningful way, so far as I could figure, I left. I didn’t need that.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Brandon asked.

  “I guess it never came up. Why is this important?”

  Brandon put his elbows on the desk and his head in his hands. “My fault,” he muttered. “This is my fault. He was right there before me all this time, and I didn’t see him because of my inexcusable lapse of diligence.”

  “What are you talking about?” Alan asked. “Who was right there? What is this incredible thing you’ve learned, that you should have known before?”

  “Director Markin1.”

  “Yeah, that’s him,” Jumper said. “I would have been okay with never hearing his name again. The Continent-2 representative. You know him?”

  Brandon stood up. “Yes. I meant to tell you about him. As you said, the occasion never ‘came up’ I guess. Now I’ve lost five years’ time as a result, unnecessarily.”

  Kayla came back in and handed Brandon a portable computer file before leaving again. Casanova meandered over to Brandon, stood up, placed his paws on Brandon’s shoulders, and licked his f
ace.

  Brandon wrestled Casanova back to the ground and began explaining that he had an appointment to appear before Belle-ub’s council meeting, under the pretext of seeking to establish a new human representative. But the real reason was to accuse Markin1 before the council. What for, he declined to say.

  When it was obvious Brandon had decided not to divulge any further information, Jumper went back to nagging him for a ride—or to at least let him and Alan tag along to the council meeting.

  “Come on, Uncle Brandon. Alan and I really need a vacation.”

  “No,” Brandon said. “Not this time.”

  *

  Brandon decided to park his shuttle a safe distance away and get some walking exercise. The new building next to Belle-ub’s arena was a busy place. The annual polwar tournament was still a few months away, but there was now a steady stream of alien visitors coming here year-round to engage in financial transactions. Belle-ub had created a center of commerce, albeit inadvertently. In the end it was one more thing he claimed would help bring about galactic peace. Both foreign and domestic customers were attracted to it, including some whom Brandon suspected to be unscrupulous speculators.

  It was, essentially, a currency exchange center. And it wasn’t the only one. Others had been established in various galactic locations and more were in the works, from what Brandon had heard. Participants could now exchange their own currencies at a fixed rate for the new Erobian mark, and/or for the global currencies of other worlds. The exchange rates were reevaluated and adjusted once per month by a special interstellar council, and then approved by Belle-ub’s council before taking final effect.

  That wasn’t all. Because some of the participating civilizations didn’t have a global currency, or used monetary systems that were too complicated to practically convert, trade goods could also be sold for Erobian marks. These transactions were conducted purely on a negotiated basis. As Brandon approached the exchange building, he walked through the outdoor barter market where those types of unofficial trades were done. It reminded him of a swap meet back in his Virginia days, only much more exotic.