by Mark Wandrey
“Welcome to the Last Call merc company,” Tina said. Everyone raised a glass. Doc picked one up, apparently waiting for him, and raised it as well.
“Do I get a drink?” Terry asked with a mischievous grin.
“No!” they all barked. Terry turned red again, and they all laughed.
“Any word on that contract?” Doc asked after the laughter died out.
“Not yet,” Piano said, his voice rich with the accent of whatever Asian country he was from.
“You catch the spider just leaving?” Tina asked.
“Yeah, almost ran us over,” Doc said. All eyes turned to look out into the pit, searching. “Wonder what’s going on?” They looked at each other and nodded.
“Toothpick, see if the bar has something the kid can drink?”
“Sure, Captain,” the man said and got up to leave. “Whatcha like, kid?”
“Soda, or water is fine.”
“Be right back.”
“Pop a squat, Terry,” Tina said and patted the bench next to her. Terry sat down. It wasn’t comfortable, more like a padded steel plate, he guessed because the pit probably catered to dozens of different races. “Doc says you’re studying to be a marine biologist?”
“Not really,” Terry said, “but I’ve been studying pinplants.”
“No shit?” she said.
“Hey,” Doc growled.
“Crap, sorry kid. We’ve seen a lot of aliens with them, especially pilots. I heard some are researching making them work for Humans. Maybe you’ll figure it out?”
“I’d like to,” Terry said. “Our cetaceans all have them.”
“We know,” Honcho said and took a drink. “That’s why we’re all stuck out here.”
“I’m sorry about that,” Terry said, looking away from the man’s hard stare.
“It’s not the kid’s fault,” Doc reminded his man. “Not anyone’s fault, really. Aliens pulled one over on them, from what I hear.”
“Even the kid’s old man?” Honcho asked.
“Drop it,” Doc said.
“I was just—”
“I said drop it, Sergeant.”
“Yes, sir,” Honcho said and went back to his drink. It was uncomfortably quiet for a minute until Piano came back. He was carrying a bottle of Coca-Cola.
“Holy cow,” Doc said, “where the hell did you get that?”
“Bartender said it was stocked by Jim Cartwright!” Piano said and handed it to Terry.
It was a glass bottle. He’d never seen one like it. He looked at the label and saw it had been bottled in Saudi Arabia, and there was Arabic writing as well. He couldn’t figure out how to get the metal top off, either.
“Here,” Doc said and took the bottle. He pulled out a tool from his belt and pop, the top came off with a fizz. Terry took it back and drank.
“Holy shit!” he said as the carbonation and sugar went down.
“Hey!” Doc barked.
“Oops,” Terry said. The SEALs cheered and raised their drinks.
“To Terry,” Tina said, “we’ll make a no-shit SEAL out of you yet!”
“Salute!” they called out and downed their drinks. Even Honcho gave Terry a wink.
Doc did a facepalm. “Madison is going to kill me.”
Terry sat and listened as the seven mercs talked. They went from weather in Houston to scuba diving, parachuting, driving cars, and on to fighting aliens. He stayed quiet, and they almost forgot he was there. Until Tina let out a string of profanity, and Doc yelled at her.
Then Tina looked up and tapped her ear. Terry hadn’t even noticed she was wearing a radio. It was the tiniest thing he’d ever seen, and he wondered if it was alien origin like the laser pistols they all wore.
“Whatcha got?” Doc asked.
“Someone down at Peepo’s said she’s coming this way,” Tina said.
“Got it. Okay, Terry, someone’s coming I need to talk to. You can stay because there’s nowhere to stash you. So sit back there between Honcho and Piano and keep quiet, okay?” Terry nodded. “Cover him, okay?” he asked the two.
“Will do,” Piano said. Honcho just nodded.
Terry slipped around the rear of the crowded room and sat where he’d been told. Despite being surrounded by big armed men and women, he felt a jolt of fear.
“Don’t worry,” Honcho said in his gruff voice, “we got this, kid.”
Terry watched out the door into the Pit of Occo, breathing faster than he liked. After a few seconds he called on the dive training Doc had given him way back when they first met. “Never let fear win. If you do, you die.” He closed his eyes and took a deep calming breath, and it helped. When he opened his eyes, it was just as a dozen MinSha came into the pit.
Their red compound eyes moved as they spun their heart-shaped heads to take in their surroundings. They all wore black combat armor over their green chitin, the same as the ones who’d blown the hell out of the Middle East eleven years ago, within weeks of his birthday. The mercs around him didn’t so much as budge.
The leader of the MinSha looked directly at Doc, who was now standing in the doorway to their room, and pointed a viciously serrated arm at him. The others headed in the Humans’ direction. “You are the Last Call?”
“That’s us,” Doc said, his hand falling casually to his belt, mere centimeters from the holstered laser pistol. “Who are you?”
“We are Viscou Ak, and you killed our mercs on Shlee Prime!”
Doc looked at Toothpick, who was just to his side, his eyebrows going up. “Did we kill any bugs on that world?”
“Yeah, but I can’t be sure.”
Doc grunted and nodded before turning back to the MinSha. “Killing bugs is more of a hobby than a profession for us.”
The MinSha leader made a hideous rasping hiss and its troopers spread out to either side. They fairly bristled with weapons, but none were being aimed...yet.
“No fight in my pit!” an alien screeched and ran between the two sides. This alien looked a little like a sloth to Terry, and he wondered if it was a Caroon.
“Get out of the way, Occo,” the MinSha chittered.
“If the shooting starts, just dive behind these seats,” Honcho said to Terry.
Terry nodded in reply and began to wonder if his mom had been right. Staying on Teddy Roosevelt might have been a good idea after all.
“You Humans are in over your heads,” the MinSha said. “We should have sterilized your miserable world instead of a small part of it. Worthless, miserable mammals.”
“Here’s your chance to get rid of a few more mammals,” Doc said, patting his chest. “Your move, bug.”
“If you wish,” the MinSha said.
Oh, hell, Terry thought. Occo fled, squealing. The MinSha watched the pit owner go, then nodded to its partners.
“Is there a problem here?” said a woman’s voice behind the MinSha.
The alien’s head spun around to observe dozens of Human mercs spreading out behind them. Unlike Doc and his people, the newcomers wore light and efficient-looking combat armor, complete with helmets and tinted visors. They also carried short-barreled rifles that Terry suspected were lasers. Each of the MinSha had at least two pointed at them.
“This argument isn’t with your company,” the MinSha said, turning its head so it could see both groups of Humans. The armored antennae swung in a circle like helicopter blades.
“You aliens are going to have to figure something out about Humans.”
The MinSha snorted. “What do we need to figure out?”
“You mess with one of us, you mess with all of us.”
“Like I said,” Doc said, “your move, bug.”
“This isn’t over,” the MinSha said, and his team moved as one toward the door. The new arrivals closest to the exit moved aside just enough to let them through.
“Better hope it is,” said the woman who’d spoken as the alien leader left.
“Thank you!” Occo screeched, and Terry realized the screechi
ng was its normal way of speaking. “You drink on Occo.”
“With thanks,” the woman said and removed her helmet. Long hair as black as night fell down her back, and small but intense eyes examined the room. She’s beautiful! Terry thought. Hutch and Peyto picked up their cards and resumed the game where they’d left off.
The woman looked at one of her men. “Sergeant Chang, make sure our guests actually leave the vicinity.”
“Yes, Colonel,” a man said and bowed. Six others fell in with him as he exited.
And a colonel?!
“Terry,” Doc called. “Come on out here. You’ve met one of the Four Horsemen, meet another.”
As he came out from behind the table, Terry got a better look at one of the newcomers. She wore advanced camouflage fatigues, and all her equipment looked new. On her shoulder was a golden patch with a black embroidered horse archer charging.
“This is Colonel Tuya Enkh, commander of the Golden Horde. Tuya, this is Terry Clark, the son of the woman I told you about.”
Tuya’s eyes screwed up into a smile, the epicanthic fold turning her dark eyes into almost pinpricks. “I am pleased to meet you,” she said. “The Golden Horde is at your service.” She gave a little bow as she smiled at him. The helmet had modulated her voice so it sounded neutral. Now, without the effect, her accent was clearly Asian.
“Nice to meet you too, Colonel,” he said and awkwardly returned the bow. She grinned even wider. “Not to be rude, ma’am, but I thought a man was in charge of the Golden Horde.”
“Yes,” she said and shrugged. “Borte is no longer in command. A change in leadership was necessary for the Horde to thrive.” Terry wondered what she meant. “Now if you will excuse me, young man, I have need of Colonel Abercrombie.”
“Just Doc is fine,” he said, “you know that.” Doc turned to Tina. “Do me a favor and take Terry shopping?”
“Sure, Colonel,” Tina said, her voice full of amusement.
“Stow that shit right away,” Doc growled. All the other men snapped to attention and saluted. “Oh, for the love of God.”
* * * * *
Chapter 8
Karma Station, Karma Star System, Cresht Region, Tolo Arm
October 2nd, 2037
“Sergeant Tina?” Terry asked as they walked.
“Just Tina, kid.”
“Okay, Tina. What the hell was that all about?”
The older woman laughed and flipped her short blond hair over one shoulder before answering. “We—Humans, that is—and the MinSha don’t have a good relationship.”
“They blew up a lot of people,” Terry said.
“And not without provocation,” she agreed. “However, they lost two troopers; they didn’t have to kill a couple million. That kind of soured our relationship from the beginning. Well, since day one, Asbaran Solutions has taken every contract they can get that lets them kill MinSha, even if they lose money.”
“That’s just one Horseman though,” Terry pointed out.
“Aliens don’t differentiate one hairless ape from another very well.”
“Ah,” he said. They walked on for a bit before he said anything else. “Were we in danger? I mean, really?”
“Humans are always in danger off Earth, young man.” She looked down at him. “Don’t forget that, okay?” He nodded. “Seriously, most aliens don’t believe life is nearly as important as we do. To the bugs, glassing Iran was just tit-for-tat. We killed two of theirs, they killed two million of ours.”
“But aren’t we making it worse by being mercs?”
“Maybe,” she admitted, nodding slightly. “But some believe if we don’t learn to fight them, we might not be around for long.”
“We learned in school there are rules against that since we joined the Union.”
“Oh, yeah,” she said in mock seriousness. “Rules, right.”
“You’re making fun of me.”
“Maybe,” she said. “Sorry, but you have to understand that rules are made to be broken. You only get in trouble if you get caught.”
“Won’t the Peacemakers punish someone who kills us?”
“The Peacemaker Guild are a weird bunch,” Tina said. “Who’d have thought a libertarian society with fewer rules than a street fight would have all powerful law enforcement. Shit, kid, they don’t even have a single jail in the Union, did you know that?” He shook his head that he didn’t. “If you do something the Peacemakers can ding you for, you either pay a hefty price, or...”
“Or what, Tina?”
“You pay the ultimate price. All I know is, don’t even screw around when there’s a new rule.”
“What rule?”
“Well, the rules have always been; One, don’t step on Superman’s cape. Two, don’t piss into the wind.” Terry giggled at that. “Three, don’t take the mask off the Lone Ranger. Now the fourth rule is don’t piss off a Peacemaker.”
“I’ll remember that,” he said. She gave him a rueful grin that made him wonder if she meant it. He’d have to do some reading on the Peacemakers, now that he had a full GalNet node at his disposal.
They approached a long line of carts set up in the promenade. These weren’t permanent and weren’t selling big things. It looked like they were meant to deal with tourists. I’m a tourist, he decided, and he slowed down to look over each cart. Tina stayed within a few meters and let him find his own way.
The first few seemed to specialize in food and drinks. Terry knew so little of the written languages he had to go by what he heard from vendors or customers. His translator was on automatic, and it converted whatever it heard and was capable of rendering into English. The tiny device could translate more than 100 simultaneous conversations. He’d learned that from his studies on Union pinplants. If he possessed pinplants, he could have programmed them to sort the multitude of conversations to search for something he was interested in, like his name or species being mentioned.
Lacking pinplants, Terry was forced to use his own perception to pick up on what was being said. He knew most of the foods wouldn’t be palatable to him, or worse, could be poisonous. Human digestive systems were one of the most delicate, he’d heard.
He continued past those vendors and came across one selling guns. Right out in the open, racks upon racks of guns, ammo, and a case full of what looked like grenades! He stopped and stared. There wasn’t even a living attendant, just a robot and a slate to enter your order and pay. Tina noticed he’d stopped and looked at him.
“You’ve never seen a robot kiosk before?” she asked.
“Those are guns! And grenades!”
“Yup.”
“But what if I wanted to buy a gun, a kid?”
“Go for it.”
His jaw fell open and he gawked at her. “But...”
“But what, junior? This isn’t Earth, not everything is against the law, and there aren’t cameras on every street corner watching you. Karma Station is a trade zone and a merc zone. A lot like the startowns around starports; only Union laws hold sway, and there ain’t many of those. Don’t they teach you this in school?”
“Yeah, but...”
“But what?”
“I guess it’s not quite the same as seeing it for myself.”
“There have been people on Earth who think like this for a long time. They’re called libertarians. Whatever you want to do is okay, as long as you don’t try to hurt other people.”
“But if I buy that gun, I could hurt someone.”
“And you’d be shot dead in short order. Look around you, kid. I mean, really look.”
Terry made a face but looked around at all the aliens walking by. He wasn’t sure what Tina had expected him to see until he noticed one had a gun. Then another, and another, and another! It looked like more were armed than weren’t. A lot of them he was certain weren’t merc races. Maybe even most.
“It looks like almost everyone has a gun!”
“Bingo,” Tina said and mussed his hair. “I bet all of them d
o; you just can’t see the ones who conceal.”
“Aren’t there any cops at all?”
“Karma employs several merc companies for security,” she said, “though they’re only lightly armed. You don’t want anyone pulling off a major firefight inside a big pressurized tube in space.”
“What if those MinSha had attacked you back in the pit?”
“Then we would have fought, though only with small arms and laser pistols. Don’t want to piss off the neighbors.” She winked at him, and he shook his head.
“It doesn’t sound safe,” he said.
“Nowhere in the universe is safe, kid.”
Terry grunted. Doc had said the exact same thing quite a while ago. He’d shrugged it off, but it looked like the man had been more honest than Terry had thought.
Out of curiosity, he went to the kiosk and scrolled through the selections on the slate. He could read the numbers, though not most of the words. He recognized an ‘audible’ selection and pressed it. The slate spoke in various languages. When his translator understood one, he pressed the icon again.
“Welcome to Z’hhk’l’s Weapons Emporium. Please select your category of weapon.” It went on to list those categories: blade, blunt force, ballistic, energy weapon, high explosive, and a selection of defensive armors. The last was short.
Terry clicked on handgun, and pictures began to scroll by. Like Doc had said, their designs weren’t for Human hands. Far from it. He picked one anyway. The gun enlarged to take up the entire screen, and a Tri-V popped up showing the various features. The kiosk said it had three in inventory, and the price was 75 credits, or 110 including a hard-shell box, two extra magazines, and 150 rounds of armor-piercing ammunition.
“Thing has quite a kick,” Tina said over his shoulder.
“I was just curious,” Terry said, his face turning red.
“Don’t blame you. That gun is favored by the HecSha. They look a little like bipedal dinosaurs with flattened heads and a bad attitude.” She took out a slate and tapped on it. A second later the Tri-V came on with a HecSha displayed. Obviously a merc, the alien carried all manner of guns, knives, and explosive devices. It looked at him and sneered, its mouth full of blunt yellowed teeth.
