The Golden Horde (The Revelations Cycle Book 4)

by Chris Kennedy

  “We have learned much about harvesting minerals underwater,” the alien said. “Unfortunately, we are still somewhat naïve in how the galaxy works. We took our first mining contract recently, which was new territory for us. The world we’re mining is part of a dual-planet system. Because the two planets orbit each other in close proximity, both are geologically active, and both have large deposits of heavy minerals near the surface that were brought up by volcanic activity.”

  “Okay,” Sansar said. “I’m not sure what we can do to help you. While I do have some engineers, we are not really equipped for underwater ore extraction.”

  “That is not the problem,” Thron Sheel said; “we are quite well equipped to handle the underwater excavation. The problem is our neighbors. You will remember I said it is a dual-planet world?”

  Sansar nodded. When the alien didn’t continue, she said, “Yes, I remember.”

  “A different race, the Caroon, secured the mining rights for that world. That planet is unsuitable for us; while the planet we are mining is mostly water, its twin planet is mostly desert.”

  Sansar called up her data on the Caroon. The race looked a lot like anteaters; they had long, sharp claws and were excellent miners. They were also extremely pacifistic in nature.

  “I don’t see how the Caroon are a problem,” she said. “They aren’t a warlike race; if anything, they tend to flee from conflict.”

  “That is what we had heard, too. When we arrived at the planet we were to mine, though, we found they had hired a mercenary unit to defend their mines.”

  “And the mercenaries are causing you problems?”

  “We think so, yes. We only have one spaceship, so we are limited in what we can do. We thought we would be all right in close proximity to the Caroons, so we brought the first load of mining equipment and miners to the planet and dropped them off to begin operations. The ship returned to our home planet to pick up the second load of equipment and miners, but when it got back, all of our people were gone and our equipment destroyed. We believe the MinSha must have done that; they have a reputation of being predatory, and our small mining outpost would have been easy for them to conquer.”

  “Not that easy,” Sansar said. “I’m guessing your mine is underwater, correct? The MinSha aren’t noted for underwater operations.”

  “No, but they are noted for having bombs and bombers,” the alien replied. “The outpost looked like it had been hit with bombs; everything was destroyed and scattered about.”

  Sansar shrugged. “Okay, that’s possible,” she admitted. “So, what is it you want, exactly?”

  “We want to hire you to come to the planet and defend our mine while it is in operation. We have already lost a great deal of the time in which we had exclusive rights to the planet; we need to extract as much as we can in the time we have left, or we will go bankrupt and be unable to pay our bills.”

  “Well, I can tell you that’s not a good thing to do in the Union,” Sansar said. “There’s just one problem. We don’t have much of an underwater capability ourselves. We normally design defenses for land-based facilities.”

  “We do not perceive this to be an issue. There is a large island next to the largest concentrations of minerals. You can set up on the island and defend the mine from there. We just need you to keep the MinSha from bombing us or torpedoing our facilities. We were told you are the best mercenary firm to hire for defending facilities; we want…no, we need the best services we can purchase.”

  “So, we are only to defend against enemies from off-planet? There aren’t any enemies already on the planet?”

  “That is correct; we are looking for defense against external enemies. There are none indigenous to the planet.”

  “You were right about one thing,” Sansar said. “We are one of the leading companies for providing defense. Out of curiosity, though, who recommended us?”

  “One of our trading partners, the Altar, recommended you,” the alien said. “They said if anyone could keep the MinSha away, it would be you. They said if you came, the MinSha might be so afraid they wouldn’t even attack us anymore.”

  “Well, I don’t know if I’d totally agree with that. It has been my experience that if mercenaries are paid to do a job, they’re going to try to do it. If the MinSha have been contracted to stop you from mining the planet, and they don’t, they won’t get paid. As a mercenary service, we work hard for our money, but at the end of the day, we really like getting paid. Our history on this planet shows a number of conflicts which started when mercenaries were hired and then not paid after they provided the services for which they were contracted.”

  “I imagine it can be quite bad when the people with the weapons aren’t paid according to schedule,” the alien said. “Are you making that note for reference purposes or as a cautionary tale for me?”

  “A little of both, I suspect,” Sansar replied. “You are going to pay us if we take this contract, correct?”

  “Yes, we have some reserves left over after the purchase of the starship and some other stores we can tap into.”

  “I see,” Sansar said. She pursed her lips, not convinced. “Let me tell you a little story. My company, The Golden Horde, is named after a force that ruled this area of the planet for centuries. It was led by a person called the Khan. One of the greatest Khans said The Golden Horde was punishment sent from God, because his enemies had committed great sins. In the here and now, Credits and Vengeance move The Golden Horde to action. You should pray to your gods that you are never found on either list for sins you may have committed.”

  Sansar paused and then added, “Now, I’m not vindictive, but I do have to pay my people. I suspect if we’re on an island in the middle of a water world, there won’t be much in the way of entertainment. After six months with no entertainment, my people will be…cranky if they don’t get paid. I’m pretty sure you don’t want cranky mercenaries.”

  “No, indeed we do not,” the alien said. “We will ensure we have payment for you.”

  “How are you sure you’ll have it if we haven’t discussed how much it will be?”

  “We have done much research into the prevailing rates; we are sure we can arrive at a fee that is amenable to both parties.”

  “And how much would that be?”

  “We would like to purchase the services of a battalion of troops, outfitted as you see best, based on the threat as I have described it. As I understand, the prevailing rate is approximately a million credits per platoon, for a duration of six months or less. Two platoons per company, two companies per battalion. That would be four million. I need them immediately, so I am willing to throw in a signing and rush bonus of another million, bringing it to five million. As there are potential enemy forces in the area, I will raise this by 50 percent.”

  “Why don’t you just call it $10 million credits?” Sansar asked.

  “Done,” the alien agreed. “So we have a deal?”

  Although she wasn’t one of the company’s negotiators, Sansar knew the alien had given in far too easily, and her senses screamed at her to turn down the offer. “What aren’t you telling me?” she asked. “Why are you so quick to give me everything I asked for?”

  “Because I am in a bad place,” the Cartar replied. “Based on historical mining data, I have to leave within the next week in order to get there and have time to mine enough to pay off our bills by the end of six months. If you don’t do it, I don’t know who else to ask, and it’s probable that, if a Horseman can’t do it, none of the smaller firms will be able to do it either.”

  “We haven’t discussed a combat contingency clause. Say ten percent per occurrence for individual engagements up to fifty percent maximum.”

  “I am sorry; the most I can offer you for this contract is 13 million credits. How about six percent per occurrence, with a maximum of 30 percent? I believe the standard rate is approximately five percent.”

  “That’s fine,” Sansar said, embracing her destiny. “We wi
ll defend you from all off-planet assaults, based on those terms and conditions.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter 8

  CASPer Training Building, Golden Horde HQ, Uzbekistan, Earth

  There was a lull in the fighting; no more robots dropped from the floor above. Walker turned and ran up the boarding ramp into the dropship. He stopped in the cargo bay to climb out of his suit, leaving it running, then raced to the cockpit. It had been a while since he’d sat behind the controls, and he was sure he’d be rusty as shit, but he thought he could pull it off. He made a mental note to get a download of pilot manuals when he had the chance; the new version had a few knobs and buttons he didn’t recognize, and the countermeasures suite was completely new and incomprehensible.

  Hopefully the robot mother ship wouldn’t shoot at him. Right.

  “Hey…uh…Staff Sergeant Walker, where’d you go?” Private Allen asked. Walker was just close enough to his suit that it could relay for him. “I just looked in the passageway, and there’s a metric shit-ton of them headed this way.”

  “A metric shit-ton?” Walker asked, looking for the igniter switch. “Sounds like a lot. Can you give me a better contact report than that?” Good, there it was. He pushed it and heard the port motor roar to life; all the dials seemed to be where they were supposed to be.

  “Sighting,” Allen reported. “At least 50 robots in the passageway. They are moving to attack. I’m preparing to get my ass thoroughly kicked.”

  “Better,” Walker noted. “Not very optimistic, but at least that lets me know what’s coming.” He pushed the other igniter, and the starboard motor came to life. “I’m firing up the closest dropship. When I say go, haul ass for the ramp. We’re getting the hell out of here.”

  “Excellent plan, Staff Sergeant,” Loftis said. “Better hurry, though; they’re dropping from the overhead faster than I can kill them.”

  Walker looked up and saw he had even less time than he’d thought. The group at the hatch were about to be overrun. The robots in the second line were using the shattered remnants of the first rank to shield themselves from the incoming weapons and were pushing forward. A pair of grenades arced into the group from Allen and VVR, destroying the robots currently in the room.

  “Thirty seconds,” Walker said. “I’m spinning it around.” He pushed the levers forward and grimaced at the shrieking noise of metal on metal. “Now I’m spinning. Be ready; 20 seconds!”

  He moved the lever, changing the thrust vector, and looked out the cockpit as he advanced the throttles again. The robots were pushing in from the passageway. The ship lifted from the deck, and he started a slow turn to the right.

  “For the Legion!” Walker heard the Tortantula yell through Allen’s suit microphone as it vaulted forward. It had some sort of explosive device on it which detonated as the alien reached the passageway. There was a momentary reprieve as all of the robots nearby were shredded. Walker heard several pieces of metal ping off the dropship’s hull. He got the ship turned to where it was facing out and set it back down again.

  “Mount up!” Walker said. “Let me know when you’re clear!”

  Loftis’ suit went red in its left leg; one of its motors was out. “Can you make it, Sergeant?” Walker asked.

  “Yeah, I’m in and clear! Go! Go! Go!”

  Walker jammed the throttles to the stops, no longer worried about frying anyone outside the ship. As the ship lifted, he pushed the thrust vector forward and the ship transitioned into forward flight. Something slammed the hull several times as he shot through the hangar bay door.

  “Did anyone see what just hit us?” he asked.

  “Nope, we’re all buttoned up back here,” Sergeant Loftis reported.

  Walker flipped the radar to “Xmit” and simultaneously tried to fly the craft while looking for the enemy ship. “A damned copilot would be nice right about now,” he muttered.

  He glanced at the radar—there it was! Before he could report on it, there was a pounding on the hull, and a robot came into view on the exterior of the ship. The robot paused as it looked into the cockpit. Not being able to do anything else, Walker saluted the robot with an upraised middle finger.

  The robot responded by pulling out an item from a recessed compartment.

  “Oh, fucking wonderful,” Walker said. “Of course you have a cutting torch.” He yanked the ship back and forth, trying to dislodge the robot, but its magnetic boots kept it firmly attached. Sighing, he grabbed the emergency oxygen unit from its rack behind his seat and pulled it over his head.

  “Everyone stay buttoned up back there,” Walker said. “There’s a robot on the hull that’s trying to cut through. We’re probably going to lose pressurization here real soon.”

  “I heard something banging around back here, too,” VVR said. “There’s probably at least one more, if not two.”

  Awesome, Walker thought. He looked up; the robot had ignited the torch and was now cutting through the canopy. The craft had a pair of laser rifles in the cockpit; he could always strap in and wait for the robot to cut through and then shoot it once it made a hole. The problem was the other two robots. If they cut through the flight controls or the motors, the mercs would be screwed. He could envision the craft in a 10-g spin, with him pinned to the bulkhead for all eternity…or until they crashed into a star or planet or random piece of space junk and were put out of their miseries.

  That wasn’t how he was going out. He wouldn’t give the technician controlling the simulation the satisfaction of seeing him fail.

  He turned the dropship toward the robot mothership and pressed the throttles to the firewall.

  “Okay, here’s the plan,” he radioed the group as he typed into the computer. “I’m going to crash the dropship into the mothership. Hopefully, that will open a hole we can use for entry into the ship.”

  “Ouch,” Private Allen said. “That’s going to leave a mark.”

  “We aren’t going to be on it when it crashes. Before we hit, we’re going to jump out the back and fire our jumpjets to help brake our speed. I’m running the numbers up here.”

  “What are we going to do about the MinSha?” Sergeant Loftis asked.

  “The what?”

  “The MinSha from the hangar. It made it aboard with us, but it doesn’t have jumpjets.”

  Oh, for the love of…“I’ll jump with it,” Walker said. “It’s got a suit on, right?”

  “Sure does.”

  He re-ran the numbers; they were going too fast for him to jump with the extra mass of the bug. He could always leave it behind…but it was an ally. He sighed; he’d have to take it. Walker rotated the nozzles to start slowing the ship, but both motors cut out. Fuck; they were still going too fast, especially if they were going to bring the MinSha.

  “Put the ramp down before we lose battery power,” Walker ordered. “They just killed the motors.”

  “Ramp coming down,” VVR replied.

  Pressurization failed in the cockpit as the ramp came down and everything loose swirled around and flew aft; he had forgotten to seal the cockpit. At least he’d been smart enough to put on the emergency oxygen, or he’d have been sucking vacuum, which would have…sucked. His ears popped with the pressurization decrease.

  Walker couldn’t see the enemy ship yet, but the instruments told him he was on a collision course with the non-maneuvering vessel. He tweaked the solution with the battery-powered electric backups, then stood up as the battery power died. The dying phosphorescence from the dials and the exit stripes on the deck were the only illumination available. Well, that simplified his choices.

  The robot was almost through the canopy. He gave it the finger again, then he turned and raced for the back of the dropship. The cargo bay was illuminated by the exterior lights from the other suits, which made travel easier; he was up and into his CASPer in seconds.

  “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do,” Walker told the group once he was settled. “We’re going to link up together, with me h
olding the MinSha—”

  “My name is K’mto,” the MinSha interrupted.

  Great; someone had brought the alien into the net. “Your name is going be ‘left behind’ if you fucking interrupt me again,” Walker said. “Okay, so we’re going to link up, with me holding the MinSha, and I am going to command override all of our jumpjets so we all go at the same time. Any questions?”

  “How hard are we going to hit?” Sergeant Loftis asked.

  “Pretty damn hard,” Walker replied, “unless we miss it completely, in which case we’ll have a few hours to sing campfire songs in the black until our air runs out.”

  “I am thinking I would rather hit hard than miss,” VVR said, a trace of his Indian accent coming through the stress.

  Walker looked at the countdown timer running in his HUD view. “Everybody come together and latch onto each other.” He scooped up the MinSha, careful not to crush the insectoid alien, and interlocked his suit with the rest of the group. “Three…two…one…” As programmed, the group’s jumpjets fired, and the suits flew out of the cargo ramp. Walker monitored the program as it rotated the group so all the suits used up their jump juice without sending the group spinning out of control. The last two suits cut out; they were empty.

  He rotated his monitors and picked up their target. Crap. The enemy ship wasn’t directly beneath him. It was close, but it was slightly off. 89.99 degrees was almost perfect…but not quite. They were going to miss. He ran the math, and his heart dropped; they would pass 50 feet to the side. And then they would keep going.

  “Does anyone have any jump juice left?” he asked.

  “I’m out,” Loftis said.

  “Me, too,” Allen confirmed.

  “My left boot is out, but I have a have a touch in my right,” VVR said. “No more than one or two seconds.”

  Shit. It wasn’t enough to move the entire group the needed distance. It was, however, enough to move one...they still had a chance. “Loftis, take the alien,” he said, handing the MinSha to the trooper. Happily, it kept its mouth shut. Walker opened the storage compartment in his right leg and, after a couple seconds of frantic struggling, was able to get a hold of the 300-foot tow line stowed there. He glanced at the monitor. They were closing rapidly on the ship; they were almost out of time.