Fracture Lines (The Glass Complex Book 2) (7 page)

“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.”

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.”

“I wish you luck. If you end up with a surplus, please let me know.”

Steg nodded and returned to his review. At last he selected three men whom he thought might meet his requirements. He spoke to the sergeant again.

“Riddell, can I borrow the corporal I met earlier? I need someone to act as guide and temporary support until I sort out these recruits. Perhaps after I have a meal break?”

This time Steg had a better opportunity to examine the officers’ mess. There was a chef and a steward plus a small serving staff. Steg sat with the captain who had removed him from the group of recruits after Rippin’s attack.

“So, de Coeur, what do you think so far?” The captain held out his hand. “By the way, I’m Dean, Hugh Dean. Call me Dean, everyone does.”

They shook hands. Steg was about to commence his lunch when he saw a large insect had climbed onto the table. It looked around for a moment and then headed directly towards him.

“What the frek—”

His companion laughed. “It’s one of Monty’s spies. He builds them. I suppose he wants you to carry it with you. Good afternoon, Monty.”

The metallic insect halted and, facing the captain, waved its frond-like feelers. It turned back towards Steg and crawled over to face him. Steg inspected the insect, still undecided whether he should swat it or greet it. The construct had a shiny red carapace under which he thought he discerned folded wings. Its body was about two inches long, and the feelers added another inch or so. Eight legs completed the structure. The result was somewhere between a vividly colored beetle and a starship croacher. Steg nudged the insect construct with his finger. It sat back and stared at him with multi-faceted blue eyes.

“You think Monty wants me to carry the darn thing?”

“Yes. At the moment he doesn’t have direct communication with you. Of course, he’s able to use
Wasp’s
system; however, it’s not private or secure. Pick it up and place it on your collar, behind your ear.”

Steg did as Dean suggested. He felt a soft touch of a feeler behind his ear and heard a tinny replication of Monty’s baritone.

“Thank you, Steg. I forgot to mention there’ll be occasions when I’ll need to communicate with you in private. Later we’ll arrange a small surgical implant for you. It’s a painless operation—well, almost. The implant will allow us to communicate whether you’re on or off
Wasp
, as long as you’re within a klick or so.”

Steg finished his meal, still bemused, which he thought was becoming a permanent state. Corporal Jones was waiting when he exited the mess.

“Corporal, I need somewhere to work with the recruits. A small interview room and a way to segregate accepted recruits from the rejects.”

“Yes, sir. I’ve reserved space. The recruits are waiting, now. They’re on D deck, section 23, room 25. Not far.”

Steg followed the corporal to where the forty press-ganged recruits were assembled. They still wore their gray uniforms and presented a mix of bored, curious, and frustrated faces as they turned towards Steg and the corporal.

“As you know, my name is de Coeur. I’ll be your captain, if you join
Wasp
’s mercenary force. I’ve been advised the starship and its mercenaries are an extension of the War Merchants of Sicca and have legal authorization for their operations. If, for any reason, you don’t wish to join the mercenary force or if I decide I don’t want you, you’ll be returned to your cells on Aluta. No one will believe any story you tell, so don’t think there’s any chance of blackmail. Those who don’t want to remain on board, please move to the left; others remain on my right.”

Three men moved to the left. Steg nodded at them and said. “We’ll arrange for your return.” He turned to the group on his right. “Corporal Jones will call you by name, and you’ll enter the interview room. I’ll decide whether I want to recruit you. Understood?”

No one objected. Steg entered the small room, sat at the desk and waited for the corporal to call the first name on his list. A burly man, middle-aged, in excellent physical condition, entered and stood at ease in front of Steg. The corporal followed, closed the door, and waited near the wall.

Steg read aloud from his notes. “Alexander Kirby. Imperial Marine. Sergeant. Sentenced to life for a serious assault on, and causing the death of, a senior officer while a state of war existed.”

The ex-Marine snapped to attention. “Yes, sir.” His face was expressionless.

“What’s the background to this? Tell me what happened and why you’d be a good recruit for me.”

“Sir. Yes, I killed an ImpSec major.” He looked at Steg. “I caught him sexually assaulting my wife when we were attending an official function. He was attempting to rape her, and when she protested, he broke her arm and her jaw. I broke his legs, his arms, and his nose. I also busted some of his ribs, and one penetrated a lung. The medics arrived too late to save him. I was found guilty of murder. The tribunal sentenced me to death.” He turned his attention to the far wall, behind Steg, his face still expressionless. “Sir.”

“Now, why would you be a good recruit?”

“Sir, I’ve over thirty years of experience in the Imperial Marines. I held the rank of senior sergeant, gunnery. I’m classed as expert in most Imperial weapons. I can pilot a shuttle, and I trained as an exo-armorer. I’ve had recent combat experience.”

“You’re willing to serve with a non-Imperial force?”

He smiled. “After my experiences with ImpSec, yes, sir.”

“Good. Corporal Jones, we need a uniform and sergeant’s strips for Kirby. Welcome to the team, Sergeant.”

“Thank you, sir. It’ll be a pleasure. I saw you take down Rippin. It was very professional.”

Steg had decided to accept men for Attwood’s mercenary force if he could identify at least some extenuating circumstances for their offenses. Prison and other records revealed all the press-ganged recruits had committed serious crimes, although there was a possibility ImpSec had railroaded some. He interviewed the next two candidates on his list and, based on their experience, background, charges, sentences, and personal details, he selected them to serve as corporals. He suspended further interviews until his recruits changed into their mercenary uniforms, after which he delegated the remaining assessments to the three men. They were to be his core NCOs and would need to live day-to-day with their decisions. Two days later, at the conclusion of the selection processes, Steg checked and confirmed their assessments and decided borderline cases.

Finally, Steg and his new NCOs approved thirty of the prisoners for addition to
Wasp’s
mercenary force. Colonel Attwood, after confirming their selections, made arrangements to return the rejected prisoners. The starship remained on station above Centyr, and its prisons were short shuttle flights away. There was a timing issue to resolve; the return would be carried out when there was a suitable transfer window.

Steg had no idea how the return would be handled; it seemed there was a vigorous black market in live bodies that the mercenary colonel tapped into when he needed additional men. It was one way to discover and recruit ex-military resources, thought Steg, although the method seemed to be fraught with high risks and was not something he would have considered.

After the selections were completed and final recruits approved, Steg sat with his new NCOs and discussed a training program.

He said, “We need to get these people to an acceptable fitness level, add weapons training, and conduct more realistic exercises—for example, starship boarding and defense.”

“We can commence with a fitness program whenever you want,” Kirby replied. “We need a large area, perhaps a shuttle or storage bay. It’ll take three, maybe four weeks, for everyone to reach a semblance of fitness. We’ll commence weapons training once the team settles down. Field exercises, I agree; they’ll be an interesting challenge.”

There was a faint whisper in Steg’s ear. It was Monty. “
Wasp
has an empty storage bay set up as a training area, with gravity set at plus 20 percent. It’s available ten hours a day. What will your schedule be?”

“Thanks, Monty. I’ll check,” Steg said. The three men stared at him, perhaps thinking their captain had taken leave of his senses. “Kirby, there’s a bay set up for fitness training. Gravity’s adjustable. We can have access up to ten hours a day. Oh, this little guy’s a communication device.” He tapped Monty’s construct, which was clutching his collar.