by B. V. Larson
Another skimmer arrived about two minutes later. It didn’t come right out and land next to us, however. Instead, it hovered a distance away over the Vents. I caught a flashing of lights between the aliens and the second skimmer.
Finally, cautiously, the second skimmer approached ours. It set down nearby—and crushed a breather callously.
“Did that pilot just kill a guy?” I asked Carlos.
“Yeah, I think so.”
Frowning, I watched as a second delegation of the Tau approached. They carried a single crate that was smaller than ours.
“I feel like I’m watching a ransom being paid,” I said.
“Maybe you are,” Carlos agreed.
The two groups of aliens met, and their clothing changed from one color to another in rapid succession. I knew they used these colors to communicate moods in subtle ways. It was almost subconscious behavior for them. For them, it was similar to our body language.
Finally, a signal was given. The bargain—whatever it was—had been approved. A group of figures carried the smaller crate closer at the same time we carried our larger boxes to them.
I got the surprise of my life when I recognized the people carrying the smaller crate. They were legionnaires—Germanica legionnaires.
-12-
The Germanica troops eyed us, and we returned their gaze levelly. There was only a single squad on their side whereas we had a full platoon. We stared at one another uncomfortably across big gaps between the crisscrossing steel roadways that made up the grate we were walking on. Thick vapors drifted around us before being sucked into the giant squares of the grate and down into a hot abyss below.
I could only imagine what it would be like to step off the side and fall into the oxygen reprocessing systems. I heard gears and grinding sounds down there on top of the bubbling of unknown liquids. Falling could only result in an unpleasant death.
The two groups of Tau were still talking, and their suits flashed displaying their excited moods. I hoped the negotiations were going well. I wasn’t about to shoot a Germanica trooper just because some alien had paid my team a few extra credits.
Fortunately, the deal went smoothly. Both sides parted, and we were left with the small crate. The other troops loaded our larger, heavier crates one at a time onto their skimmer.
“What the hell do you think is in these things, Carlos?” I asked.
He appeared thoughtful. “There are only a limited number of possibilities. It must be something valuable enough to be worth all this security and sneaking around. Probably something illegal—otherwise why are we doing the deal on the Vents?”
“Why indeed?” asked Adjunct Claver. He’d come up to us while we stood and talked. “I hope you two gentlemen are comfortable and well-rested.”
“As a matter of fact, I’m feeling a little sleepy, sir,” Carlos said. “Maybe we should all take five on this lovely—”
“Shut up and get up that ramp! You two are an embarrassment. Look at my troops over there! One single squad of my men from Germanica is shouldering that load without a complaint in the bunch. Now, those are what I call soldiers!”
“Sir?” I asked. “Did you say those men are under your command?”
He looked at me sharply. “Not right now. You rookies are my babysitting mission for the day. Get moving.”
The Tau rushed forward when the Germanica people retreated and were soon grunting and heaving with effort as they lifted the single, small crate. They didn’t let us help them. They loaded the small box by themselves.
The minute we were all back aboard the skimmer it took off with a sickening lurch. We didn’t even have the larger grav-locked crates to hold onto this time, but at least we knew we weren’t going to die—not unless the turtle screwed up.
We zoomed up the shaft until we popped out into the open again blinking in the artificial sunlight. I opened my visor and sucked in the relatively fresh air. We flew with relative grace toward the financial district. There, massive structures like pyramids stood in rows. I recognized them from Natasha’s discussion of landmarks. The buildings were the Imperial banking outlets.
Financial institutions were technically independent within the Empire, but the Galactics kept a pretty tight leash on them. All large credit transactions were recorded and reported back to the Core Systems. Or at least, that’s how it was supposed to work.
We landed at the foot of the largest pyramid. For the first time, I saw Old Silver was alert and even concerned. “Okay, look alive, troops. Circle up, guns pointed away from the cargo.”
“Are there any dangers we should be made aware of, Adjunct?” Leeson asked.
“No, nothing in particular, but this is the moment of truth. We’re earning our pay right here, right now.”
The aliens swarmed around the small crate on the skimmer and spread their hands out, urging us back with clicks and translated statements of “no”. They didn’t want any more help from us.
We let them circle around the small crate and watched them lift it with difficulty. I unlimbered my heavy cannon and put it on my shoulder. I wasn’t too worried as I watched the surrounding crowd. Some looked like your typical pack freaks that wandered the station’s streets, but most were Tau and there were plenty of them. In fact, most of the passersby wore rich shimmering clothing that dazzled the eye.
Natasha had spent most of the day with the auxiliary personnel. Techs and Bio Specialists usually didn’t carry crates and threaten people with guns. She had been apart from me, but now she came to my position and pointed into the crowds.
I followed her gesture, but didn’t see anything unusual. It was just a knot of Tau on a walk. Sure, the group she pointed to were moving in a pack of perhaps twenty individuals, but there was nothing unusual about that.
“Hi Tasha,” I said. “What’s wrong?”
She frowned at the group. “Their colors, that’s what’s wrong.”
I looked again and saw maroon bodies with silver shoes. I shrugged. “So they like purple. So what?”
“That’s not right for going to the bank. That’s a color worn at solemn events like funerals or weddings. And I don’t understand the silver shoes. That’s not even on the list.”
I laughed. “I can think of plenty of reasons to be depressed in front of a bank,” I said. “Maybe their apartments were foreclosed on.”
“I’m reporting it to Leeson anyway,” she said, activating her com link.
Just to be sure, I swung my weapon to cover the knot of Tau in question. They were approaching, walking down the street toward the same cavernous bank entrance that our charges were now heading toward.
“All right,” Veteran Harris shouted. “Our orders are to hold our ground. The Tau are going to carry their package into the bank. Once it’s there, we’ve completed our mission. Stand by.”
I clanked to the edge of the skimmer stepped over the low rail and hopped down onto the street. A few other troopers positioned themselves on the ground after I did. No one really wanted to be close to where they were just coming down the ramp. Our clients were straining, heaving—I wasn’t sure why they didn’t let us help them with their load. With exoskeletal strength and auto-assist servos in our arms, I was sure we could lift that box like it was nothing.
Perhaps it was chance, or maybe some part of me had done it on purpose, but I found myself positioned directly between the approaching group of locals and the struggling group carrying the crate.
Then I heard a cracking sound. I turned around, realizing it had come from the crate. The Tau had dropped it, and it was flat on the ground. One of them was screeching, and I saw his foot was pinned underneath. Syrupy black blood flowed.
“Help them out—McGill, lend a hand!” Adjunct Leeson called to me.
I was close, so I clanked over to them. I tossed a glance over my shoulder, and noticed the mob with the odd colors showing had halted. They’d stopped walking closer and were just standing there watching the spectacle.
The Tau
struggling with their box hissed at me but then waved me forward when I pantomimed lifting their box. I could tell they weren’t able to move it any further by themselves.
Heaving on the crate, I was shocked at how heavy it was. I grunted and strained, managing to get a corner up. The Tau who’s foot had been trapped managed to pull it out, but then I lost my grip and the crate slammed right down again. I braced myself and tried shoving it. I thought maybe it might be stuck on something. If I could slide the box to one side, it might come free. My suit registered three tons of lateral force, and I smelled a hot odor—then, finally, it shifted.
Like an object breaking free from a frictional hold, it slid about a meter forward. The Tau chattered with enthusiasm. One of them spoke to me.
“Big man, push more!”
I activated my headset. “I need a little help, Adjunct. This thing is stuck on something.”
“Right. Carlos, Kivi—get up there and push.”
“Sir!” I heard Sargon shout. “Request permission to man-handle that box. McGill is a known weakling.”
Sargon was the other weaponeer assigned to my platoon. He was large, strong and a terrible braggart.
“Denied. Stay here with me on the skimmer, Specialist. I don’t want both my weaponeers farting around with a box instead of manning their weapons.”
Kivi and Carlos arrived. Carlos kicked me in the ass as he stepped close, but I could hardly feel it through my armor.
“You’re like a mule put out to stud, McGill—useless,” he said.
I would have liked to kick him back, but there was a crowd forming now and I didn’t like it. Kivi and Carlos threw their shoulders into the effort, but the crate did little more than rock from side to side.
“Damn! What’s in this thing?” Carlos asked.
“It must be stuck on something,” Kivi said, getting down on her knees to look under it.
“That’s not it,” I said. “Seems like it’s gotten heavier, somehow…”
Using a private channel, I contacted Natasha. “Hey, could you see if there’s something wrong with these grav-clamps?” I asked her. “I think that’s what’s going on. They’ve malfunctioned and they’re trying to clamp the box down to the street.”
“Ah,” she said. “That would explain a lot.”
She asked permission to move forward to my position out in the open, and Leeson reluctantly gave it. After a second, she was running instruments over the box.
In the meantime, the Tau were losing patience. They were so close to their goal, and yet unable to reach it. I could tell they were debating among themselves and becoming increasingly nervous.
Claver, growling in frustration, marched down the ramp toward us.
“Great,” Carlos said, “look who’s coming. Maybe he’ll add a few ounces of lift and fix everything.”
Natasha looked up at me in bewilderment after she’d finished her examination. “You’re right,” she said. “The grav-clamps are active. This crate has been glued to the ground with about five thousand kilos of excess force.”
“Well, turn it off!” roared Old Silver. He now stood among us with his leathery hands on his hips. He was the only man not wearing armor in the unit. I wondered how he’d survived so very long with the kind of attitude he’d displayed thus far.
Carlos was ahead of me for once in his life. “We’ve got a local with a weapon, sirs!” he shouted. He lifted his rifle and directed it toward the group of Tau who were watching us intently.
“Sling guns!” shouted Claver. “No firing here, too many civvies!”
Reluctantly, we all slung our guns.
That was the moment they’d been waiting for, I think. Looking back, I figure they’d been worried about our presence and had been hoping we’d pull out and leave our clients struggling with their impossible burden on the steps of the bank.
The strangely colored Tau moved with sudden decision. They pulled out short-barreled stubby weapons and spread out, filtering into the crowd.
To my credit it wasn’t me who reacted first. Carlos had always been the jumpy sort. He unslung his weapon and aimed it in their direction. He didn’t fire—but he was clearly threatening them.
“Don’t shoot!” roared Claver. “I can talk to them! Leeson, control your men! We can’t afford to have an incident right here in the middle of—”
A shot rang out from the crowd, sparking and burning a scorch mark on Carlos’ armor. That was all it took to put everything into motion.
We were Legion Varus troops. That’s all I can say. We’re not like other legionnaires—I’d be the first to admit it. But I don’t blame our heritage or our training. We were so accustomed to deadly danger, so familiar with death, that in the thick of combat we obeyed animal instincts more than we did the orders of an officer. Especially orders from someone like Old Silver.
We unslung our weapons as a group and aimed them at the Tau that were moving to surround us. The crowds were surging away and trying to melt into side streets, but the bandits who’d pulled out their sub-machinegun-like weapons grabbed individuals to use as shields.
I can say with near certainty that it was their side that opened fire. A strange sound ripped the air. It wasn’t like a gun, not exactly. It was more like a rapid series of gas releases. A loud series of chuffing sounds that were quickly joined by many others.
Explosive pellets rained on my squad mates. Kivi spun around and fell, but got back up again. Her armor had taken the brunt of it, but she seemed to be moving slowly. Carlos took shelter behind the crate, laying his rifle over the top of it. Natasha was crawling on the ground.
I brought around my plasma weapon, but I didn’t fire. Claver was right on one count—the area was full of innocent bystanders. If I released a charge into the crowd, I’d splatter a dozen unfortunates.
On impulse, I aimed my belcher at the ground and discharged it. A blaze of light gleamed, and the puff-crete melted away. A smoking hole revealed the level below the street we stood on.
I’d been hoping that my display of firepower would cause our assailants to retreat, but it had the opposite effect. They seemed to believe the fight had turned into all-out war, and they all blazed away spamming us with pellets that popped and flared against my armor. Our Tau clients weren’t armored, and things went badly for them. A glance told me they were all down. Their shimmering, nonexistent clothing wavered and blurred over their bodies which lay all around their precious crate in various states of death.
“Return fire!” Leeson shouted. “Single-shots only, mark your target!”
“NO dammit!” shouted Claver.
I’d figured he was probably dead by now, but even without armor he’d scuttled like a rat and was lying at the bottom of the steps, sheltering between two dead Tau.
Once we were away from Earth, Legion Varus troops were only obligated to follow the orders of Galactics and our own officers. That’s what independence was all about, and we’d voted to keep it just a few weeks ago. Ignoring Claver, our troops shouldered their weapons and sighted carefully. They popped shots steadily into the enemy, who seemed like untrained amateur thugs to me. Six or seven of them went down, but there were plenty more, and they didn’t look like they were running away.
For me, the fight was frustrating. My big gun was anything but precise. All I could do was absorb fire. I decided to change tactics.
Slinging my cannon, I spread my arms wide and extended two force-blades, one from each wrist. Then, I charged the crowd.
This development startled everyone. I found I’d even surprised myself when I reached the lines of screaming civvies and thugs. I’m sure the innocents figured death itself was charging them in a metal cocoon with swords of fire in either hand.
I caught half a dozen pellets before I reached them, but I was still on my feet. As a weaponeer I’d been issued heavier armor than the rest of the unit, and I was relying on that extra layer of metal now.
Once into range, I cut and thrust. A force-blade is far from a pre
cision instrument, but it’s a lot cleaner than a plasma cannon. I jabbed into soft unarmored flesh, opening up chests and lopping off heads. Between my efforts and the careful marksmanship of my fellow squaddies, the enemy lost half their number and most of their nerve.
In a last act of defiance, one of them lobbed a brightly glowing, blue-white object toward the group huddling around the crate.
“Grenade!” I shouted.
Troops scrambled, crawling and dragging themselves away. The crate was left smoking and black.
Our assailants ran every which-way. I felt like chasing them down, but was ordered back to the skimmer. I rejoined Leeson there as he walked down the ramp to the broken crate.
“Let’s see what the hell we’ve been fighting over,” Leeson said, peering through the hole in the roof of the crate. “Holy crap…” he whispered.
I shouldered close to him and peered inside. “Disks of metal?” I asked. “What are those—wait a minute.”
It took me a second before I recalled a museum trip from long ago. “Those are Imperial coins. Galactic credit pieces.”
On Earth we still used cash in some cases for local commerce. But Galactic cash had been outlawed nearly a century back. All Imperial currency was accounted for in electronic form. Originally this had been sold to us as an economic and environmental boon. Over time, however, many had come to suspect that if all money was a figment inside a remote computer, it was all really under the control of Hegemony—and beyond them, the Galactics.
“That’s money—real money,” I said.
“That’s right, son,” Claver said, walking up to the crate and staring inside it with the rest of us. “Untraceable Imperial cash. Each of those coins is worth more than your annual pay, and they’re not ours. Keep your hands off.”
Leeson frowned at him. “You’re right of course, Claver. We’re not thieves.”
Claver gave a nasty laugh.
Leeson’s frown deepened. “Our clients are dead and we’re stuck out here in the street with this shattered box,” he snapped. “Do you want us to walk away?”
