Asbaran Solutions (The Revelations Cycle Book 2)

by Chris Kennedy

  “I know a way we can hit them and not get Parisa killed,” Nigel stated.

  “It can’t be done.” Mason stated flatly.

  “Oh, I think it can,” Nigel said with a smile.

  “Please, sir, awe me with your mighty depth and breadth of merc knowledge. Show me how, on Day 1 of your merc career, you know more than I do, and you can do things I say are impossible. Please. Wow me.”

  “Okay, I will,” Nigel’s smile faded. “It all starts with the initial garrisoning of Moorhouse. How much do you know about that?”

  “None. I was on another planet; I only heard about it when your father got killed.”

  “Not only was the garrison contract hard for Asbaran because we generally don’t do much garrisoning and don’t have the gear, it was also hard because of the size of the contract. The contract was for four companies of troops. I know; I looked at the contract before we left.”

  “So?”

  “So, it was bigger than most contracts we ever take. Most merc outfits aren’t bigger than a couple of companies. Asbaran is no different; we normally only have two standing companies of troops; we had to hire an additional two companies to meet the specifications of the contract. This was obviously meant to draw in all of my family; we would have wanted to save money by leading the units ourselves, but Father didn’t initially send any of the family.”

  “So they weren’t able to kill any of you,” Mason added.

  “No, although the garrison was lost,” Nigel sighed. “I don’t know how the Drinkers, if indeed it was them, were able to overwhelm them, but somehow they did. I suspect they used some sort of trickery; hell, they may have had plants in the additional two companies of mercs we had to hire. I don’t know how they did it, but they did, and now they are in place to complete the contract themselves.”

  “Wait. The enemy in place on Moorhouse is going to get paid? You mean the Drinkers are going to fulfill the contract?”

  “I suspect so. The contract was to ensure the safety of the red diamond processing plant there. The contract had verbiage in it that allowed the contract to be assumed by other parties, as long as operations at the plant weren’t disrupted.”

  “Red diamonds?”

  “After F11 and maple syrup, red diamonds are the third most valuable resource in the galaxy. They can’t be reproduced in a lab, and only exist in extremely small quantities on a handful of planets. Moorhouse happens to be one of them; the plant there has a deep core miner and processes what is harvested. If the Besquith didn’t destroy the plant in the assault, they could have taken over the contract in place of Asbaran and would get paid at the end of it. There’s a huge price tag for completing the contract, too.”

  “And once they captured the planet?”

  Nigel shrugged. “I’m sure it was easy after that. They would have known from Spivey how many troops were coming and what their assault plan was. They would have had defenses in place and would have been ready for them. It would have been easy to shoot them all down. Parisa must have done something unexpected, though, because she was able to make it to the planet. She always was smarter than my brother.”

  “Why didn’t they just kill her then, too?”

  “They must have been afraid I wouldn’t come. After everyone else failed, I would have been tempted to write off the contract and cut our losses. Holding her for a ransom I didn’t have is the only way they could get me there too.”

  “But why do they want you there? What do they hope to gain from it? There must be some business decision that this supports. Companies don’t do things this big without a reason…something that will favorably affect the bottom line of their financial reports.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe we’ll find out when we get there.”

  “What? You expect to take on four companies of Besquith with a company of troops in older model CASPers? Do you have a freaking death wish?”

  “No, I do not have a death wish,” Nigel replied calmly. “And who said anything about taking on four companies of Besquith? Not initially anyway.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Remember I said that we had to hire additional troops to garrison Moorhouse?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ll bet they did too,” Nigel said, “and that means their home base is wide open. Or at least wide open enough that a company of troops with late model CASPers can take it.”

  Realization dawned on Mason’s face, followed by skepticism. “I see where you’re going sir, but that just isn’t done. Mercs don’t hit other mercs’ bases like that.”

  “They haven’t before,” Nigel replied, “which is why they’ll never expect us to do it now.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter Sixteen

  So’Kla’s Ship, Approaching the Free Trading Station, Grbow III

  “How much time do we have left before they execute your sister?” Mason asked.

  “Just over three weeks. Counting transit times, it’s going to be close.”

  “If time is so short, why did we come here? Don’t you think it’s time to let the rest of us in on your plan?” Mason asked. “We might be able to support you better if we knew what it was we were trying to accomplish.”

  “Yeah, it’s time,” Nigel agreed; “I just needed to work some things through in my own mind before I discussed them openly.”

  “You mean, like how we’re going to get away with hitting a merc base? That would be a good start.”

  “Well, I know how we’re going to get away with it; it has already been done before.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “About 20 years ago, Cartwright’s Cavaliers got a contract to remove some mercs that had gone native. The other company was originally brought in to provide security, but then decided it was easier to stay and extort ‘protection’ fees from the local populace than it was to go find a new contract.”

  “That happens, sometimes,” Mason allowed.

  “Yeah, well the Cavaliers got called in to remove them. Thaddeus Cartwright ghosted in and killed their entire command staff. When the new staff didn’t get the message, he did it again. After that, the rest of the group packed up and left. My intention is to do something similar to the Drinkers. We ghost in, wipe out whatever is at their home base, and take whatever intel we can find about their setup on Moorhouse.”

  “Still looking for your edge?” Mason asked.

  “I am. We’re still going to be way outnumbered on Moorhouse, even if we can get in there unscathed. We need something to even the odds.”

  “Okay, so how are we going to ghost into their base, which I believe is located on their home planet, and do all that shit?”

  “We’re going to have to…um…borrow a ship to get there.”

  “Borrow a ship?” Mason asked. “That doesn’t sound completely legal.”

  “It’s not going to be.”

  “I like it already!” Breetar exclaimed. “You guys were starting to bore me. Tell me more!”

  “The reason we came here to Grbow is that it’s the closest trading base to the Besquith’s home world of Bestald. I hope to find a ship going there, take it over, and use it as our assault ship.”

  “A Besquith ship?” Breetar asked.

  “What do you mean?” Nigel replied.

  “Well, most mercenary races usually aren’t traders, and vice versa. The Besquith are different. They are both mercs and traders. We may be able to find a Besquith ship here going to Bestald.”

  “It would be helpful if it were a Besquith ship,” Nigel replied. “That would simplify what to do with the crew of the ship. Once we’re done with it, we dump it into a star, and no one will be the wiser.”

  “Okay,” Mason said, “I see how that might work, and I do mean might. However, there are a number of things that could go wrong. How do you intend to get aboard? They’re never going to let humans aboard their ship.”

  “We’re going to need Breetar’s help with that…and we’ll probably need to hire a few
other mercenaries for the assault on Bestald.”

  “Hire a few mercenaries to hit the Besquith home world?” Mason asked. “Who’d be dumb enough to do that?”

  “I don’t know, Nigel said, “but judging from your reactions when we discussed them earlier, I’m betting there are a lot of folks who don’t like the Besquith in general and the Drinkers in specific. Maybe a few of them would like to participate in a smash-and-grab operation. I’m not interested in stealing from the Besquith; whatever they find, they can keep.”

  “Awesome!” Breetar exclaimed. “An opportunity for maximum carnage, a chance for treasure, and we get to kill all the Besquith we want in the process? I’m in. I don’t know who’ll be around on Grbow, but I know a number of folks who’d be interested in an operation like that. Let’s face it; who wouldn’t want to kill some Besquith?”

  Luscious Libations, Gravity Ring, Free Trading Station, Grbow III

  “See any likely candidates?” Nigel asked, looking around the bar. Unlike the outpost at Karma VI, which was a merc guild base, Grbow-3 was a Trader’s Guild base, and the races populating the station’s biggest bar were representative of that difference. Duplato and Zuparti traders took the place of human and Tortantula mercs, and the clientele were not as tough-looking, although most seemed to be armed.

  Many of the groups also had at least one member who was obviously there for security, including one group that had a MinSha standing nearby. The creature looked like an oversize bipedal praying mantis with iridescent blue chitin. Nigel had never seen one in real life before, and he felt shivers down his spine every time its ruby-red compound eyes swept across him. Creepy.

  “I don’t see anyone I know, unfortunately,” Mason replied. “The main security force for the station is another group of Lumar, and I’ve never served with any of them. They’re not the best troops so they get the shit jobs like guarding stations. We’re more likely to find someone doing personal security.”

  “I’ve never served with any of the Lumar either,” Breetar said, “and I don’t see anyone I recognize. We probably don’t want to stay much longer though; we’re starting to get some looks.”

  “Why’s that?” Nigel asked.

  “Well, we’re obviously not traders, especially since Flatar and humans don’t trade that much, so we look out of place. The longer we sit here, the more attention we’ll attract. As we don’t want anyone to remember us, we’ll need to leave soon. Maybe we can check out some of the other bars. I know this one bar where—hang on, there’s a Tortantula walking in I recognize. She is just the person we’re looking for. You guys head outside and I’ll go invite her to join us.”

  Breetar jumped down from his seat and headed in the direction of the enormous spider analogue.

  “Think he’s okay?” Nigel asked.

  “Probably more so than either of us,” Mason replied, getting up. He raised his voice a little to be heard by the neighboring tables. “C’mon, let’s go. This place sucks.”

  Nigel followed him out of the bar and to a side alley where Breetar and the Tortantula joined them a couple of minutes later. On seeing the humans waiting, the Tortantula drew two pistols and pointed one at each. “What is the meaning of this?” the creature asked. “What are they doing here?”

  “These are the employers I told you about,” Breetar said, coming to stand in front of the alien. Even on his tip toes, he couldn’t block the enormous spider’s pistols. Both humans raised their hands. “They’re okay,” he added.

  “You didn’t tell me your employers were humans,” the Tortantula said. The pistols didn’t flinch. “I didn’t think you worked with humans.”

  “I haven’t before,” the Flatar admitted, “but these two are kind of fun, despite what you hear about them. They have a proposal I think would be right up your alley.”

  “There’s a good opportunity to make some credits on it,” Nigel said.

  “Even better, the operation is a chance for wholesale slaughter,” Breetar added. “Kill everything that moves and take their shit. Best of all, it’s killing Besquith. All the ones you can find.”

  The Tortantula holstered her pistols. “Wholesale slaughter?” she asked. “Name’s Zzeldar. I’m in. I could probably find a few others of my kind on the station who would be interested, too.”

  “Don’t you want to know what it pays?” Nigel asked.

  “Not particularly,” Zzeldar replied. “If Breetar is in, it must be a paid gig, and there must be a plan to get back out again. I’m just in it for the destruction factor. Do we get to blow shit up, as well, or just shoot every Besquith we see?”

  “Does it matter?” Mason asked.

  “Not really,” Zzeldar said. “I just want to know what equipment to bring.”

  Loading Bay A-12, Free Trading Station, Grbow III

  “Move up!” Mason radioed, “but stay under cover!”

  Nigel checked the progress of the platoon as it advanced from one stack of crates to another across the crowded loading bay. The men and women of the platoon had assembled outside the dock after transiting the station in groups of twos and threes to avoid attracting unwanted attention. They had also left their CASPers behind on their ship for the same reason. Although Nigel had been worried about the loss of combat capability, Mason had assured him they would be all right without the CASPers for this operation.

  Mason had asked Nigel to remain at the back of the formation to provide overwatch for the platoon, so he had a great vantage point from which to observe the advance. While Mason’s request had seemed legitimate at the time, Nigel could now see it was meant to keep him behind the lines and out of harm’s way. Or to keep him from screwing things up; he wasn’t sure which. Probably both.

  “And no explosives either here or in the ship!” Mason ordered. “Got that, Zzeldar?”

  “We know,” the Tortantula replied. She didn’t sound happy about it.

  Nigel decided he liked the overwatch duty. The action was his first combat experience, and he knew he didn’t have the training required to direct the tactical action of the unit. Yet. He also didn’t particularly want to be in the middle of a firefight, anyway; he just wanted to be close enough to learn the tactics involved while he directed the strategic goals. This time.

  The platoon followed about 50 feet behind the three Tortantulas as they navigated the maze of stacked boxes and crates on the loading bay deck. Zzeldar operated the controls of the pallet jack she walked behind while the other two marched alongside, weapons drawn, as if guarding the crate it carried.

  Mason followed closest behind, no more than 30 feet behind the crate, darting from cover to cover. He was followed in turn by the other 19 members of First Platoon, then Nigel and the two new pilots. Zzeldar had been a great addition to the team; not only had she known someone in the security force who could disable the loading bay’s security cameras, she had also brought the two pilots to the team.

  Brown five-foot-tall humanoids, the two Pendals followed in Nigel’s shadow as if planning to use him for cover. They wore matching brown capes with large hoods that hid their faces. From what Nigel had seen of their faces, he was happy to have them out of sight; with two independently-tracking eyes on either side of a gaping central mouth, and a third eye above it, they were just plain creepy. Mason had told him the Pendals were excellent pilots due in part to their second set of arms that let them manipulate several controls simultaneously. That remained to be seen.

  “Hold up,” Mason transmitted. “Get ready; here we go.”

  Nigel peeked around the stack of crates he was hiding behind, and he could see the Tortantulas had reached the loading ramp of the ungainly looking freighter. Built for hauling the maximum amount of cargo, it was long and blocky, with a little bit of tapering in the front to allow it to operate more efficiently in atmosphere. A guard could be seen at the bottom of the ramp leading to the cargo bay, and another at the ramp leading up to the crew compartment.

  “Who are you guys?” the Besquith at
the cargo bay ramp asked as the procession approached.

  Nigel jumped at the voice in his ear, but then realized the Tortantulas had turned on their radios so the platoon could hear the exchange.

  “We’re delivering the cargo your captain purchased,” Zzeldar replied, sounding bored. She worked the controls of the pallet jack, and the crate settled to the deck.

  “I don’t know anything about a delivery,” the guard said. “I’ll have to check it out.”

  “Okay,” Zzeldar replied, “just don’t use your radio. This box is full of explosives, and I really don’t want you to set them off while we’re still here. Please feel free to do so after we leave, though. Give us about five minutes to get clear of the blast radius.”

  “No radio?”

  “Nah, this is a shipment of the new mines your captain ordered. These babies are sensitive to radio transmissions, so when your enemy tries to communicate nearby, boom! There’s a block of K2 explosive in each of them; if they all go off at once, you’re looking at an explosion that will wipe out a couple of miles of this station.”

  “What? Aren’t those illegal? How did you get them aboard this station?”

  “I told you; they’re a new type of mine, and they don’t look like mines. They’re for your conflict with the humans.”

  “Really, I heard that was going well—Hey! What do you know about that?”

  “The thing about operating cargo lifts is you always know what’s going on. Logistics, you know? Who’s getting the new stuff for the win and who is underprepared and going to get wiped out.”

  Zzeldar looked at her data pad. “Sorry, I’d love to stay and talk, but we’re running behind schedule. The boss has already docked my pay once this week for being late, and I can’t afford to let that happen again. Hundreds of little mouths to feed, you know? We were supposed to load these for you because they have some special handling procedures to protect them from kinetic detonation, but if it’s going to be a while for authorization, we’ll just leave them here.” Zzeldar turned to leave. “C’mon, girls, the sooner we put a couple of miles between us and these things, the better I’ll like it.”