“I’ve no idea. I don’t mean to be flippant, but I have no memory of boarding xTaur. I’m only now beginning to remember how I got this.” Steg touched the scar down the side of his face.
“If I can answer your questions about us—here, today—will you work for me?”
“Let’s discuss what you intend, first.”
“Good. I’m short of intelligent people who also can handle themselves. I can get plenty of general rankers; however, I need officers. My second in command, Major Fowler, wants to retire. When he does, it’ll leave me more than short-handed. I told you last night, we’re mercenaries, operating under a letter of marque. Legally, we’re an extension of the Siccan military, and while we can negotiate our own assignments, we’re accountable to them. One consequence of the arrangement is that we cannot contract against any of their allies.”
“I’ve some knowledge of Sicca. What kind of assignments do you look for?”
“Overall, we’re a small force and our mainstay activities are short-term missions, which can be financially rewarding. Sometimes it might be anti-piracy. Or other times we’re hired to knock sense into a small-time local terrorist-type uprising against a legitimate government. If the reward percentage is good, we may do a search and retrieval, say, if some general or politician has fled a planet with a case full of ill-gotten funds. Our typical involvement profile is intra-system, only rarely inter-system. We belong to a loose association of mercenaries, and we avoid conflicts with our associates. We’re able to call on another ten to twelve units, upwards of three thousand men, if needed. Finally, we’ve access to general infantry, a Siccan brigade group, up to a hundred thousand or so, supported by armored units, if we need lots of grunts on the ground.”
“The impression I’m gaining,” Steg said, “is you’re claiming a clean operation. You’re implying no piracy, no slave runs, no opportunistic raids, no ransom attacks? Your assignments are legitimate, always contracted, and supported by Sicca?”
“Precisely.” The colonel tapped his files. “We’d lose our letter of marque, and the authorities on Sicca would outlaw us, otherwise. Personally, I wouldn’t like to be pursued by Siccans if ever they proscribed me. They’re called War Merchants for a good reason, and we wouldn’t survive for long if we challenged them. If they didn’t kill us, they’d lock us up in a Siccan prison for the rest of our lives. Rest assured, we’re legitimate privateers, fully authorized by Sicca. I can show you our documentation, if you like.”
Steg nodded. “Very well. So what makes you stand out as mercenaries? Why should I join a small group of, to be blunt, near-pirates?”
“You need to take into account our successes. Our strategies. Our honor. Our armor. We have a trained and motivated force. Their earnings are high. I can let you have summary reports, copies of what we provide to the War Merchants.”
“I still have concerns,” Steg said. “So you take murderers and others, press-gang them, and expect they’ll fit into your way of fighting and support your letter of marque?”
“We look for potentially good recruits—people like yourself, for example. If they don’t accept our offer, we return them. Later, if anyone disobeys lawful commands or tries to mutiny, we hand the survivors over to Siccan authorities, who deal with them for us. Come with me. I’ll show you some of our set-up.” The colonel stood and headed for the door. Steg followed. He did not notice the sergeant smiling to himself.
*****
Chapter 7
Attwood led Steg further into the starship. They changed levels both up and down, as Steg followed the mercenary leader. He was surprised at the extent of core structural reinforcements, which appeared to have been installed in the last two or three years. The fullerene-steel was brighter and newer and, in places, sturdy beams had been added to the original construction of the starship.
At last they stopped outside a set of double doors, which was locked and secured electronically. A sign on the bulkhead threatened all kinds of penalties for anyone who attempted an unauthorized entry. The colonel keyed in numbers, provided a vocal response to a directed security question, and when the lock released, swung open one of the heavy doors. He stepped into the room first, signaling for Steg to follow.
“Hi, Monty,” Attwood said as he closed the door. “I’ve brought Steg de Coeur to meet you. He’s the one we offered a captaincy, as you suggested. How’s business?”
Steg was stunned to see a large, multi-tentacled, cephalopod-like alien located in a large glass-walled tank. The alien’s eyes were huge and round. He had no neck; his head was integrated with his body, forming a large bulbous base for all his tentacles. These, Steg guessed, were twelve feet long, and colored in bright, almost glowing, red and blue stripes. They were covered in small suckers and had sharp barbs distributed along each flexible limb. The reinforced glass front of the tank, he estimated, was twenty feet high, reaching to the ceiling, and a hundred feet across, stretching the width of the room. Shadows prevented Steg from seeing all the way into the tank although he suspected it stretched back some hundreds of feet. The alien, whom the colonel had addressed as Monty, was resting on a stone or coral bench at the front of the tank, and was working at what appeared to be an array of computers. He continued to enter commands, touch-typing with the tips of two of his tentacles while he spoke to his visitors.
“Excellent, thanks, Ryan,” replied Monty, waving three tentacles. “Hi, Steg. Welcome to my world.” The voice, a deep baritone, came from speakers set high on the glass wall.
Steg, unable to determine what generated the alien’s voice, was momentarily speechless.
The alien chuckled. “Yours is the typical reaction.”
“Sorry, Monty,” Steg said. “I was surprised. Colonel Attwood didn’t warn me. Thank you for your welcome.”
The alien waved a tentacle, indicating a set of chairs in front of his tank. “Sit down. Let’s talk for a minute or two.”
“I’ll leave Steg with you, Monty. All right?”
“Sure thing, Ryan. Come back in an hour. We’ll let you know if we finish earlier.”
A stunned de Coeur sat on one of the indicated chairs as the colonel departed, closing the heavy door behind him. Steg heard the locks click home.
“I hope your tank is waterproof,” Steg said.
“Ha. I hope yours is airproof,” returned Monty with the octopus equivalent of a chuckle. “Now tell me everything. I want to know all the details, in your own words, of what happened to you, since you arrived on xTaur. I need all the data you can provide. Let’s see if you can tell me anything of your memories prior to that temporal point. If it’s not an Imperial secret, of course. Dr. Yi seemed like an empathetic doctor, I’ve read her case notes. Talk to me.” Monty was persuasive and Steg found himself willing to talk, to consider and possibly disclose items he had not mentioned to the doctor or to the therapist. He did not remark on the alien’s ability to penetrate the hospital ship’s computer records—he was beyond surprise.
The discussion, or more like, the data transfer, lasted close to two hours. Monty listened to Steg’s narrative and every so often asked a detailed question, ensuring he had a complete description of place, people, and events. Towards the end of the second hour, Steg noted almost subconsciously Colonel Attwood’s return. The mercenary leader had seated himself on a chair beside the heavily reinforced external wall.
“I think I’ve covered all the details—at least those I can remember—until my arrival here,” Steg concluded. He hadn’t mentioned the date discrepancy, which continued to worry him. “Except I’m not sure yet, where ‘here’ is.”
“Good, good. You’ve been extremely helpful. My team will enjoy these details.”
“Your team? May I ask questions now?”
“Of course. My apologies, I didn’t think to provide opportunities for you to do so, I was so interested in your story. Yes, I have a team. They’re my wives, four of them. I don’t know how I survive their nagging, I really don’t.” Steg was now certa
in an octopus could shrug.
“Tell me about Colonel Attwood and his mercenaries.”
“First—Ryan, go away. I don’t want you to get too ego-boosted. We’ll let you know when we’re finished. It won’t be much longer.”
Steg turned to the colonel. “Sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”
Attwood waved a hand. “Don’t worry. I kept quiet; you both were engrossed. Monty, don’t keep him here all day; we’ve lots of work to do.”
“Very well. About another thirty minutes? We’ve things to cover, still. Steg, you can always come back, anytime, if you have more questions or want to talk about anything you like.”
“Yes,” agreed Steg. “As Monty said, as long as I can have follow-up discussions.”
Again the colonel securely closed the heavy door when he departed. Neither Steg nor Monty noticed.
“Where do you want to start?”
“Who—what are you? I have not heard of an intelligent cephalopod-like alien, what we would describe as an octopus. At least, not one who can talk, use a computer system …?”
“Ryan rescued me and my wives. Two starships—they were pirates, Rim-based—had attacked our starship, a small freighter. We would’ve defeated them except they had more missiles than we could defend against. Ryan and Wasp, this starship, destroyed the pirate ships and came alongside to provide assistance. After some hit and miss efforts, we established communication and described our oxygen and water requirements. Ryan arranged temporary quarters for us. It was difficult. At first we had only a small tank on Wasp, and it was cramped. It took some time to build our habitat to this size. We gradually increased our water environment, introduced some of our tools and technology, worked out how to have our computers connect to Wasp’s system, and well, there you are. I use a sound wave converter to produce a version of standard Anglo speech. I’ve improved it while I’ve been on board this starship.”
Steg was impressed. It was a short story covering what seemed to have been a fraught and dangerous time for the aliens. “Are you a member of his mercenaries?”
The alien considered the question. “A sub-contractor, more like. Once I understood what he did, we agreed, Ryan and I, we’d provide consultative services to his mercenary operations. We’re his strategy team. We get a share of his increased profits as our fee. In three years, we’ve paid for all the modified weapons and recovered the construction costs of our habitat. We used our technology to improve the starship’s shields, its beam weapons, and we added a rail gun, it’s a monster. We had to design and install some major reinforcements to Wasp’s structural infrastructure, to ensure we didn’t end up stressing the ship—we have to carry a heavy water load for our habitat. In turn, we’ve helped with other system, reactor, and s-t upgrades. Finally, we’ve earned almost enough to pay for repairs to our own starship.”
“So you’re his secret weapon?”
“Exactly.”
“Where do you expect me to figure in his mercenary team?”
“We saw your prison file when we were searching for more recruits. You were listed for execution and we decided to explore your background. We gathered some data—my wives have systems expertise. They penetrated the prison’s computers, and as a result, we all wanted to meet you. There’s something we can’t quite identify, which is why I sought so much detail from you. Something happened to our ship system, to a lot of ship systems, according to our investigations, in the minute or so preceding your arrival on board that Imperial hospital ship. A significant number of starship and planetary computer systems were subverted for a short period, after which their dynamic memories were cleansed of any details of the event. It was all extremely efficient. We suspect these events, the system activities, and your boarding of the hospital starship, are somehow related. We want to be around when you recover all your memories. Perhaps you’ll be able to help us solve this mystery. We encouraged Ryan to include you in his press gang recruiting and, well, here you are.”
“You’ve told me why you want me here, but why does Ryan want me?”
“It’s simple. He doesn’t have enough high quality leadership resources. He needs more support. We want to be more ambitious with our assignments. Unfortunately, he can’t take on a higher level of challenge without adding higher quality officers. We consider you to be an ideal recruit. He doesn’t have a capable deputy, and you are a candidate for the role, once you’ve settled in.”
“You made your assessment from Dr. Yi’s files?”
“Plus other data. The prison had copies of ImpSec files, and we accessed those, too. Imperial security is riven with holes.”
“Where are you from?”
The alien stilled the movement of his tentacles. A burst of bubbles covered his head. “Steg, we’re cautious about opening our space up to Terrans. We’ve told one person, the colonel, the location of our home system. If anything should happen to me, he’s promised to return my family there. With regret, I can’t say more, at least for now.”
“I understand. My kind can be overwhelming, in more ways than one.” Steg reflected for a moment. “Can you assure me Colonel Attwood’s mercenary activities are legitimate, in full compliance with the letter of marque? Confirm he has Siccan support, and he’s an honorable man?”
“We listened to everything he told you and guarantee its truth and accuracy. Oh, he’s a tough commander and won’t brook any breach of discipline, once someone’s agreed to serve with his force. A person can refuse to sign on, and he’ll return them to where he press-ganged them. So if you refused service now, he would smuggle you back to Diyark Prison. If you want to leave his mercenaries later, say after a year, his response would depend. He might release you, with pay. Or arrange for you to be held on Sicca, as a prisoner of the Merchants of War, if he thought you were a danger to his operations.”
“Monty, at the moment, I can’t think of any more questions. I’ll have some, I’m certain.”
“Good. Now, I’ve alerted Ryan, he’ll be here shortly. You’re welcome back, anytime. I might have more questions, too. Don’t hesitate to visit if you regain any of your missing memory.”
Steg nodded his agreement and added. “There’s one other item.”
“Yes?”
“I’d like to meet your family.”
“They’re shy. I’ll tell them, and in time, I’m sure they’ll make themselves known. When they’re ready—”
“Yes. I understand.”
###
Steg sat in the chair next to the colonel’s desk. Attwood moved folders away from the center of his workspace and looked at his recruit.
“Well, what do you think?”
“You definitely blindsided me. I never expected to talk to a water-resident alien, here, on your starship.”
“There are other things I’ll show you as you settle in. We’ve improved our defensive and offensive profiles with Monty’s guidance. He’s also helped us to improve our real-time communications, computer systems, and stealth shielding. He’s made design changes to our exo-armor and, as a result, my marines could out-fight any three or four armored Imperial marines; not that we plan to get into a dispute with Imperial forces. Monty takes delight in helping us make improvements and always searches for tougher assignments; they’re more rewarding, financially. Now there are people I want you to meet: the Wasp’s commander and her bridge crew, for example. Her Weapons team. Plus my other officers.” He paused. “What do you think? Are you in?”
“What about my obligation to report to the Agency?”
“I heard parts of your discussion with Monty. You don’t remember enough, yet, to contact your—what is it?—Imperial Intelligence Agency?”
“Correct.”
“When you regain your memory and if you still wish to make contact, to report in, we can determine how to proceed. I won’t block you without good reason—for example, if we’re in the middle of a mission. Will that be acceptable?”
Steg considered his other options and none
appealed. He could reject the offer and his return to prison would be inevitable, or he could say yes and risk contracting with illegal mercenaries. He did not take long to decide; returning to Diyark would result in his death. “Yes, I agree, I’ll sign on. Subject to the proviso we’ve agreed, I’ll work with you and accept responsibility as one of your captains.”
“Done. Sergeant Riddell, make out the contract, please. Include a clause to cover the point we agreed.”
“Yes, sir. Welcome, Captain de Coeur, to Wasp and to the Stingers.”
*****
Chapter 8
When Steg requested some workspace, Riddell pointed to the spare desk in the small office.
“Sir, you can use this desk for now. I’ll arrange another work cabin for you and I’ll also set up access to the shipcom and our computer systems. In the meantime, we’ve some hardcopy files on the latest recruits, which you can read.”
Steg read through the documents describing his potential company members. Wasp, with the second shuttle load of press-ganged prisoners, had collected forty potential recruits, extracted from two of the four jails on Centyr. His task was to prepare an initial assessment of each man, based on ImpSec and their records; he planned to refine those in face-to-face interviews. He rejected some of the prisoners based on his quick assessments. Ex-trooper Rippin was the first he nominated for return to Diyark. Others, apparent career criminals or outright thugs, he also rejected. Most of the remainder, he decided, were worth interviews. First, he needed support staff, at least one sergeant and two corporals. He waited for Sergeant Riddell to look up from his current task.
“Sergeant?”
“Yes, Captain?”
“Do we have any spare NCOs? Sergeant or corporal or rankers ready to be promoted?”
“Sir, if only—” The sergeant sighed. “Seriously, no. It’s one of our problems. We’re short-handed, as you’ll discover.”
“I’ll see who I can use in these new batches.”
Fracture Lines (The Glass Complex Book 2) Page 5
