The War for Profit Series Omnibus (3 page)

Done eating he yelled toward the kitchen door, “Thanks Mom!”

A muted reply from the kitchen area.

Galen left the bar by the back entrance and climbed the stair
s to the second floor and entered the apartment after the pass pad recognized his hand print and let him in. It was the same, unchanged, the apartment over the bar was where Galen grew up. He entered, hung his hat and jacket on a peg just inside the door and went into the living room and then into the hallway to the door of his room. He stopped and turned about and faced the door of his mother’s room. He went inside and looked at the one picture on her dresser. She stood with Galen’s father. It was their wedding picture, taken six months before Galen was born. Taken a year before his father was killed serving in the Foreign Corps.

Galen went back to his own room, removed his clothes, tossed the socks, underwear and t-shirt in the basket of the cleaner, the shirt and trousers
beside the basket, closed the lid of the cleaner. Then he looked in the closet. Civilian jacket, pants, walking shoes…from his academy civilian bag, cleaned and hung up already. And a new set of clothes hung next to that, including a full-length grey wool coat. The cleaner beeped. Galen removed the uniform and hung it up and put the machine-folded undergarments in the drawer of his dresser. Then he slid into bed and slept.

Chapter
III

“Wake up!” Mom shook Galen’s shoulder. She was sitting beside the bed.

“Hey.” Galen stretched and blinked and sat up. “Wow. That was a great nap.”

“I knocked and you didn’t answer.”

Galen yawned. “I’m still a heavy sleeper.”

Mom said, “Just don’t let that get you killed. Make sure there is always someone around to wake you up.”

“No problem. Tad and Spike are coming with me. Tad is a light sleeper and Spike is very reliable. What time is it?”

“It’s an hour before the party, plenty of time. I want to talk to you.”

“Sure.” Galen rolled his shoulders.

“Your father. He was in the Foreign Corps. He died with honor.”

“I know.”

“Well I want you back. Do what you must to meet the obligations of your contract, but when you find yourself in that grey area between duty and honor, try to put survival at the top of your list. I don’t need another posthumous medal.”

“I understand.”

“Okay, now that’s out of the way. You have a girlfriend?”

“No. I’ve been busy.”

“Right. You still plan to leave tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow afternoon I meet with a hiring agent. Most likely I’ll get hired and have to leave right away.”

“I wish you could stay longer.” Mom stood.

“No. He who hesitates is lost. A
ll the other grads are looking for jobs now. If I wait too long, even an extra day, all the good jobs will be gone. Besides, the sooner I leave the sooner I get back.”

“I like the way you think. Imagine, in just five short years you’ll be home for good with enough money to live well and never have to work another day in your life.”

Galen smiled. “Enough for you and me. I’m going into an armored brigade that stays busy. Unit contract shares will add up pretty quick.”

“Which unit?”

Galen struggled to remember. “The Jasmine Panzer Brigade.”

Mom frowned and patted Galen’s hand. “Just be careful.”

Galen said nothing. His mother left his room, closing the door behind as she left. Galen was glad she left because he was naked under his blanket. He got up and stepped into the body cleaner, got dressed and sat at his desk. He engaged the terminal and read the long list of missed messages on his flat screen. Most were more than a year old. He noticed that as time went on the fewer messages he had. The newest one was four months old. He simply deleted them all in one shot. Then he called Tad.

After a moment Tad’s face filled the screen. “What’s up?”

Galen smiled. “Ready to party?”

“You just woke me up. But yeah, I’ll be there. You call Spike yet?”

“Nope.”

“I’ll do it.” The screen went blank.

Galen shut off the terminal and stood, faced left and pulled back the curtain covering his window. An airbus went by, a hovercraft that moved along on a cushion of air that kept the bus twenty centimeters off the ground. It also sprayed a fine mist of water ahead of itself, to prevent dust. The overall effect kept the street clean. Across the street was a warehouse, thin steel walls thirty meters high. On the other side of the warehouse the control tower of the spaceport was clearly visible. Tomorrow he’d take a short bus ride and then walk to the hiring hall. Then walk from there to the spaceport, to travel to his unit. He realized he’d likely not see home again for at least five years. But that was the plan. This was his life plan. Five years as a mercenary, then come home with a pocket full of money.

He left the apartment and went down stairs and entered the bar through the back door.
The male and female bathrooms were on the left and right, and past them the hallway opened up into the main floor of the bar. The ceiling was four meters high, soft lighting strips arranged in a meandering grid pattern that varied in width and resembled the time-space distortion map of Osterich’s gravity well. To the left the wall was lined with booths with sturdy square tables, a larger horseshoe-shaped booth in the corner with a sturdy round table supported by a single center pole, more booths along the wall to the far left. Ahead was the dance floor, half a dozen tables along its left and forward edge, the bar itself along the right side wall, the entrance to the kitchen area behind it.

Galen stepped forward a couple of steps and looked up and behind over his left shoulder. A banner saying ‘Congratulations Graduates’ hung high on the back wall.
Danceable music just loud enough to mask conversation more than two meters away played. The bar was filling up, nearly half the seats taken already. Most of the customers were people Galen recognized from the Academy, there with family, friends and lovers. Nearly every table and booth had one graduate with three or four civilians there to celebrate.

Barmaids in bodices
laced up the front, peasant blouses bearing abundant cleavage, and short fluffy skirts with knee-high white stockings, sturdy shoes, they moved around carrying as many as four 2 liter ale mugs in each hand. Bus boys and girls dressed in subdued black and grey suits and hip aprons made their way around, clearing tables a bit at a time as each plate or mug became empty. Galen made his way along the space between the booths and tables, smiling, responding to greetings, waving back, shaking the occasional proffered hand, politely declining offers to join the groups.

Around to the far wall was the reserved table, a long table with seating for twelve. Tad and Spike were there,
seated to the immediate left and right of the head of the table, each with a girlfriend for the evening. Seated along with them were Galen’s paternal uncle and his wife, and his maternal aunt and her husband. They directed Galen to sit at the head of the table. His mother sat at the foot, dressed in a white blouse and black skirt that hung below her knees. For work she’d wear a barmaid uniform, but she took tonight off and dressed conservatively.

Barmaids brought mugs and Galen stood to make his toast. “I want to thank you all for coming here tonight and for all t
he help. I have to thank my mother, my family, my friends. I couldn’t have made it without each and every one of you. Left to my own devices, I’d probably be working in a spaceport gift shop right now.”

Galen took a long pull on his mug and sat down. The others also drank. A barmaid leaned in close over Galen’s right shoulder and whispered in his ear, “Please don’t get drunk.”

Galen looked. Raven hair pulled back in a high pony tail, round face with high, soft cheeks, a big smile as wide as her face.

Galen said, “Olivia!”

She leaned in again, her bosom against his shoulder. “I want to spend the night with you. Please don’t get drunk.”

Galen nodded and smiled. Olivia took his half-full ale mug and returned it a moment later, full. Galen took a sip and realized it had been watered but it still tasted good.

Bar maids came and placed steak and baked potatoes in front of them all. They bowed their heads and then looked up and started eating. Halfway through the steak Galen’s uncle asked, “They still run up Tank Hill?”

Galen swallowed. “Roger. Every damn time we did PT.”

“And the phase one FTX?”

Tad said, “It was cold. Too cold.”

Spike said, “We hiked thirty klicks up into the mountains for basic marksmanship.”

“In the middle of winter,” said Tad.

Galen’s uncle chuckled. “Good training.”

Galen said, “I learned a lot. Ballistic weapons, laser weapons, grenades. Shooting up hill, down hill, all different kinds of weapons. We even threw rocks.”

“What about at the end?”

Spike said, “The end was great. Heavy 20mm ballistic rifles, picking off targets at five klicks.”

Tad said, “The training was great, but it was cold. I was happy to get back to the academy after freezing my butt off for a month.”

Mom said, “But you’re okay now.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Tad took a drink of his ale.

Galen sipped his drink and watched Olivia as she walked past with a tray. Her hips swayed and then she looked over her left shoulder. Galen glimpsed her left eye a moment before she smiled and turned her head forward, walking off to the kitchen.

An alert bus girl snatched up Galen’s empty plate. Olivia returned and placed half a pumpkin pie in front of Galen and added colored water to his ale. He knew it was water but Olivia used the same sort of pitcher Ale came in so the other guests wouldn’t know.

Uncle asked, “I heard you shot a thousand.”

“On the tank range,” said Galen. “It was my proudest moment at the Academy.”

“That is no small feat.
Do they still make you operate everything yourself, in the tank alone, using commander’s override controls from the cupola to do it all?”

“
Yes. It all just came together. Felt as natural as if I were born to do it. I was in a zone where me and the tank and the main gun and the systems all felt like an extension of me. Or I felt like a part of the tank. I was the biological control component of a mechanical weapons system. I can’t wait to get back in a tank. It just feels so natural. It makes me feel complete.”

The guests all stared
at Galen, mouths partly open.

Mom broke the tension. “Hey, finish desert so we can have our shots.”

They finished their pie and bus boys took away the plates and forks. Olivia retuned with a tray full of shot glasses. Galen knew the other glasses contained Uzo, but his contained water. He stood, the guests stood and Galen said, “Success!”

“Success!” The guests drank their shots and set their glasses on the table and sat down in their chairs.

Olivia returned and set mugs of ale in front of each guest. Galen sipped his watered-down drink and listened to the conversation.

Tad said, “That hand to hand instructor, that guy taught me a lot. I love martial arts now.”

Spike nodded.

“Who’d have thought you could get out of being pinned? Everything I learned in
high school wrestling was not to get put on your back, but there I learned there is a lot you can do from that position.”

Galen said, “It was valuable training, but since I’m tall they kept calling me out for demonstration. That got old real quick.”

“Sure. But now you know you can get out of anything.”

Galen sipped his drink, Tad and Spike held up their empty mugs. Busboys removed the mugs, barmaids brought more. Then heaping plates of potatoes sliced and fried. They used forks and dipped the potatoes in little bowls of ketchup, or salsa, or mustard, each to their own taste. Galen ate nearly an entire plate himself, using up two bowls of ketchup as well. With the table cleared once again, the barmaids brought coffee and little squares of cinnamon coffee cakes.

Uncle spoke, “So where are you guys going tomorrow?”

Spike said, “The hiring hall. We have an appointment with the designated agent of the Jasmine Panzer Brigade.”

Tad said, “I hope they take us.”

Uncle said, “I’m sure they will. They’ve been rebuilding these past tw
o years and taking a lot of small contracts. You’ll have plenty of chances to make lots of money. And the door is wide open for advancement.”

Galen nodded. “And I’ll be back in five years, with a pocket full of money.”

“Your father—” Uncle stopped, changed the subject. “You’ll do well.”

Mom sat at her end of the table conversing with her sister and sister in law and brother
in law. Tad and Spike’s dates leaned forward and spoke to each other, laughing and pointing. Galen leaned back in his chair and saw Olivia waiting in line at the bar behind two other bar maids at the bar maid station to pick up more orders. She glanced back and noticed him looking and faced his direction and stood hipshot and smiled, then turned back toward the bar, rolling her hips as she did so.

The newly-graduated cadet sitting with his family in the corner booth directly behind Galen was talking loudly.

“And then instructor McPeeperton said, ‘Oh, and you just decided all on your own it was a good time to turn left.’”

His family laughed. The Cadet stood and gave a very convinc
ing impersonation of Instructor McPeeperton, matching the voice and mannerisms of the Academy’s Driver’s Training instructor perfectly. “You’re in the right lane! You must be turning right!”

Galen and Tad laughed.

Spike stood, his date along with him. “Ladies and gentlemen, we must be off.”

The gu
ests waved and said farewells. Galen shook Spike’s hand, and then Tad’s, who was leaving too. Aunts and Uncles bid farewell and Mom gave Galen a hug before leaving to her apartment. Alone, Galen waited.

Olivia came. “Wait for me outside, I’ll be there in a minute.”

Galen went out the back entrance of the bar and waited at the base of the inside stairs. Olivia came and smiled and took his hand and led him up the stairs, all the way to the third floor and into her apartment. She opened the door and gently pulled him in by the hand.

She hugged him, her bosom bulging. “Well, what do you think of my place?”

“This apartment is all yours?”