Tech World (Undying Mercenaries Series) (11 page)

“Sorry sir,” I said. “I’m going to pass.”

Claver eyed me with a mix of surprise and disdain. “What do we have here? A boy scout who thinks he’s better than the rest of us?”

Carlos leaned forward extending his tapper suggestively. “He’s no scout—but he does think his crap is odorless. Can I have his share, sir? I’ll watch over him and make sure he doesn’t get into any trouble.”

Claver ignored Carlos entirely. His steely eyes were locked with mine.

“Two
thousand
credits,” he said, giving a whistle. “You can afford to pass that up? Maybe you’re one of those rich legionnaires I’m always hearing about. One that just joined up with Varus, the worst of the shit-outfits, to see the stars in style. Is that it, boy? Are you rich?”

“No sir,” I said. “I just don’t like taking money from people when I don’t know where it came from.”

He nodded slowly. “A rules-lawyer, eh? A stickler?”

Carlos laughed until he coughed.

“No sir,” I said to the Adjunct. “I’m going along, but I’m skipping my ‘tip’.”

Claver hesitated. The rest of them watched with interest. I’d half-expected Leeson or Harris to jump into the conversation, but they didn’t. They’d taken the money quietly, but maybe they were curious how a contest between me and Old Silver would go.

“All right,” he said at last. “But don’t come crawling back to me later for your share. And don’t think this will give you some kind of a lever over me. Hell, boy, we’re mercenary troops. That means we fight for pay. What difference does it make if your Tribune arranges a contract for your benefit, or I do?”

“Point taken, Adjunct,” I said.

Claver sighed and walked down the rest of the line, distributing funds. Natasha was the very last one in the group. She glanced at me then looked down as she extended her tapper. Claver touched his arm to hers, and the hot-link was formed. The funds were transferred instantly.

I knew that Natasha had money troubles back home. Her parents always needed cash for medicines and the like. She also had big ideas concerning what she might find here on Tech World to take home as a souvenir.

Deciding I wouldn’t hold anything against them, I put a smile on my face. But it didn’t come naturally to me. I didn’t like Claver, and I didn’t like anything about this little side job he had gotten us involved with.

-11-

Half an hour later we were back up on the streets marching in a square. In the midst of our formation were the Tau, protected by our armored shells.

Our employers had toned down their plumage. Their fancy illusionary garments had turned to muted colors—why, I wasn’t certain. Their projected outfits were supposed to depict their mood and demeanor. Right now, they were all grays, blacks and shiny copper. I wasn’t sure what that was supposed to mean, but they looked as if they didn’t want to be noticed. Maybe that was how one dressed when one was nervous on Tech World.

“That old buzzard is holding out on us,” Carlos complained.

“How much do you think Silver kept for himself?” I asked Carlos seriously.

“How should I know?”

“When it comes down to lies and bribery, you’re the closest thing the unit has to an expert.”

Carlos made a face, but he lowered his voice and whispered his answer. “Half,” he said. “That would make it easy to do the math. I bet
he paid out around fifty thousand and pocketed the rest.”

I whistled, impressed in spite of myself. No wonder Germanica had always come home to Earth
in finery with the best barely used equipment stowed aboard their ship. They’d found ways to supplement their budget that I’d never realized were possible until today.

We came to another ramp, but this time it didn’t lead us down into the sewers. Instead, it rose up and up at a steep, forty-five degree angle. As we came out onto a higher level street, I could tell right off we were in a nicer part of town. The streets weren’t dirty, they were shiny. There were a lot more garish lights flashing ads, and the buzzing air traffic was just over our heads instead of a kilometer above us.

We entered what looked to be a merchant warehouse. There were massive crates everywhere, reminding me of containers for mass-shipping back home. They stacked perfectly and even gripped one another when they came close with automated magnetic clamps. What surprised me, however, was that the crates didn’t appear to be made of metal. They were some kind of strong, lightweight polymer. Like puff-crete, but thinner and more uniform.

“What are these things?” I asked aloud.

Old Silver must have overhead me. He was walking down the line, instructing troopers to stand at each corner of a given crate and pick it up. Four men were enough to carry one, but they would have to shoulder their weapons while the rest stood guard.

“They use gravity adhesives,” he explained. “I don’t think we have that kind of technology back home. Think of a magnet that works on anything—like gravity. If you have two of them, they attract or repel each other depending on relative polarity. These crates are sealed closed by terrific gravitational force, and you have to be careful when you move them close to one another—they can crush you like bug.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, sir. What’s in these things?”

Old Silver’s smile faded instantly, turning into a frown. “That’s not for any of us to ask, son. The Tau have paid the freight. We’re going to move their shipment down to the Vents then escort them back to civilization. What they’re trading is their business. Understand?”

“Yes sir,” I said without conviction.

The adjunct moved away, exhorting more effort out of the next squad of troops. Several troops were assigned to each crate, and there were six of them in all. As a weaponeer, I was given the assignment of walking nearby and cradling my plasma tube.

Carlos wasn’t so lucky. He and Kivi were both tasked with carrying a corner of a crate. They staggered under the weight even with powered armor and gravity-assisted technology.

“This is bullshit,” Carlos complained. “Why do you get to parade around while we grunt and struggle, McGill?”

I shrugged. “I guess the officers can recognize a winner when they see one.”

We began a less comfortable part of the journey, escorting our cargo to a waiting skimmer. The skimmer was one of the open-air types, essentially a flying barge. The back was open and bigger than a freight car on an old railway. We loaded up the boxes and stood around them bracing our feet and looking worriedly at the railing. It was only about a half-meter high, not enough to keep a man safely on the back of this thing if it took a hard turn.

There wasn’t even a warning siren from the pilot when we took off. Worse, the initial launch was anything but smooth. We powered up into the air, swirled around, slewing and heaving, then leveled off and flew at great speed into the hurtling air traffic.

“What the hell is with this pilot?” Kivi shouted, coming to stand near me. She put a hand on my shoulder to steady herself. My heavier weaponeer’s suit was equipped with auto-levelers, and could serve a regular trooper as an anchor in a pinch.

“I don’t want to let my feet move,” I said. “You take a look…is he by any chance a bluish turtle-looking guy?”

Kivi stretched and leaned out to get a look at the creature at the helm up front. She nodded.

“Yeah,” she said. “Bluish, and that’s definitely a shell.”

“Crap. These guys are crazy drivers. Hang on everybody!”

I eyed our guests. It was better than looking down at the heaving streets a kilometer below. They seemed to be in a better mood now. The somber colors were gone. Their suits ran with rippling pinks and blues over their bodies, and their shoes were a distinctive shade of gold. I had no idea what any of that meant, but I surmised they were happier than they’d been when they were marching through the streets.

About then, everyone yelled in alarm in my headphones. A sickening feeling of falling had freaked out all of us. We plunged down, like a leaf dropped from a tree, directly toward the ground. We didn’t tip over or nose downward—it was more like we’d lost power.

“Platoon, brace yourselves!” Leeson ordered.

He needn’t have bothered. Both Kivi and Carlos had decided to hang onto me. Others had found cables, protruding equipment—anything. I didn’t think it was going to matter if we hit at this velocity.

Leeson came on platoon chat, and he sounded worried. “Can anyone raise Claver? I’m not sure if we’re out of control or what.”

We tried, but no one could connect with the Germanica Adjunct.

“Should we try to take over the helm, sir?” I asked on platoon chat.

“Can you fly this thing, McGill?” answered Adjunct Leeson.

“Probably better than that crazy turtle.”

“All right, if you can move without falling overboard, recon and take appropriate action. I’m down to crawling myself.”

Most of the troops were crawling. I commanded my feet to move and they did, dragging Carlos and Kivi with me.

“Let go, that’s an order,” I told them, and they reluctantly grabbed for less stable handholds. Strangely, the crates seemed glued into place as did the Tau. Kivi and Carlos along with most of the others had figured this out and began clinging to the crates.

I marched carefully in an effort to keep my magnetized feet close to the deck of the skimmer so they could clamp on with every step. Fortunately, it was made of metal unlike the crates. To speed things up, I grabbed the nearest crate and hand-over-handed my way toward the front of the vessel. As I came up to the last crate, I was surprised to see Old Silver standing there among the Tau. He seemed to be chatting unconcernedly with our employers.

“Sir?” I asked him. “Why are we falling like a stone?”

He craned his neck around and looked at me. His hair shone like liquid mercury in the artificial sunlight.

“What are you doing up here? Get back to your post, Specialist.”

I was confused, but I could see the blue turtle was still at the helm flying with vigor.

“The platoon commander sent me up here,” I said. “He thought something might be wrong with the helm controls.”

“Good lord, what a bunch of old women!” Claver said.

I blinked at him and frowned. “If you don’t need assistance, I’ll get back to the crates.”

“You do that—and tell Leeson I’ve got a spare set of balls he can use until he locates his own.”

“You can tell him that yourself, sir,” I suggested. “I’ll open a channel for you.”

He made a dismissive gesture, waving me off, then turned back to his alien buddies. I made a gesture of my own behind his back. Every time I interacted with this guy, I found I liked him less than before.

I’d no sooner turned around and taken my first step back toward the crates when the world was plunged into blackness.

My first thought was that we’d hit bottom but there was no impact, no screams—well, maybe there were a few of those from our less brave members, but we were definitely still flying.

I looked upward as my eyes were drawn by the only source of bright light. Above was a shrinking square of brilliance. We’d dropped into some kind of a shaft.

There was no sensation of slowing down. If anything, we were going down faster than before. It occurred to me then that after we were to pick up our cargo we were to transport it to the Vents. By all accounts, they were at the very bottom of the station. Suddenly, everything made sense—at least, it did if you were an insane turtle.

“Sir?” I said, linking with Leeson privately. “I think we’re okay. The pilot is taking us down a shaft to the bottom of the station.”

“Is that what Claver told you? He’s still ignoring my com requests.”

“Uh, more or less,” I answered. “He put it more colorfully, sir.”

“What does that mean?”

“He
mentioned your genitalia—making an unfavorable comparison with his.”

Leeson didn’t often show emotion of any kind, but I began sensing a current of anger.

“I see,” he said. “We took the money he arranged so now we’re his whipping boys. He’s having a laugh and taking us on a joyride. Fine.”

He gave a general order to seal our suits. Helmets were to stay on and visors were to stay shut. I recalled from the briefing that the air was bad down below the station’s street level, and I thought it was a sensible precaution.

We halted soon after that creating a mixture of relief and pain for everyone aboard. Relief because we were no longer rocketing down into darkness, and pain because the stop was so bone-shuddering hard that our legs barely supported our bodies when we hit bottom.

“Come on, come on!” shouted Claver, slamming his hands together and walking the length of the skimmer. “Get your crates off the skimmer, you lazy sons-of-bitches. We’ve got a schedule to keep!”

This was the first I’d heard of a schedule, but it made a kind of sense. We certainly seemed to be in a hurry.

“Are we late to meet the freighter, sir?” I asked.

Claver peered at me. “You again,” he said. “You ask too many questions, you know that? You’d never make rank in my outfit.”

It took a few minutes, but we managed to get the cargo off the skimmer. The aliens strolled down the ramp after their crates. They no longer seemed nervous. They were pleased with themselves instead. Most of them were wearing a shimmering green now—a favorite shade among their species.

I looked around, and the sights were indeed impressive. Massive machinery rotated and spun around us. Devices as huge as they were mysterious clanked and made pounding sounds. As far as my eyes could see, the equipment stood in ranks and rows. Between the machines were crisscrossing lines of metal as if terrifically huge grates covered the landscape.

“This is the Vents,” Claver said. “If you look closely down at the Vents themselves, you’ll find the most wretched members of society in the star
system. Those are what we call
breathers
.”

We looked, and indeed I did see individuals here and there. There were all sorts of creatures down here. The variety alone was impressive. Most were sitting along the metal walkways that I now realized made up the Vents themselves. Misty gasses gusted up now and then from the depths below them obscuring the unfortunates.

“You see, oxygen costs money,” Claver said. “Nothing is free on Tech World. If you hit rock-bottom, they let you come down here to breathe for free—but you won’t last too long.”

“What do they eat?” Carlos asked, fascinated by the pathetic breathers.

“Each other, mostly,” Claver said. Then he cackled. I wasn’t sure if he was joking or not, but he clearly thought his answer was hilarious.

Another skimmer arrived about two minutes later. It didn’t come right out and land next to us, however. Instead, it hovered a distance away over the Vents. I caught a flashing of lights between the aliens and the second skimmer.

Finally, cautiously, the second skimmer approached ours. It set down nearby—and crushed a breather callously.

“Did that pilot just kill a guy?” I asked Carlos.

“Yeah, I think so.”

Frowning, I watched as a second delegation of the Tau approached. They carried a single crate that was smaller than ours.

“I feel like I’m watching a ransom being paid,” I said.

“Maybe you are,” Carlos agreed.

The two groups of aliens met, and their clothing changed from one color to another in rapid succession. I knew they used these colors to communicate moods in subtle ways. It was almost subconscious behavior for them. For them, it was similar to our body language.