The War for Profit Series Omnibus (35 page)

Spike said, in a low voice, “Bunch of nerds.”

Sevin said, “This is bad. That crap never works.”

Galen said, “Hey, watch the table talk. I don’t care what they do as long as we get paid.”

The presentation showed people working in a lab. There were lab rats and monkeys and views of things squiggling under a microscope. Galen understood most of it and understood that they intended to not only halt the aging process by preventing the ends of DNA molecules from becoming frayed over time, but to also repair the damage and reverse the process. In the scenes of animals, the old animals of various sorts were returned to early adulthood, and retained the ability to still perform whatever tricks they had been taught. Rats made record time running through mazes, monkeys communicated faster with sign language, faster than a group of deaf humans. There were also amazing regenerative effects; a dog was stabbed in the side and then was completely healed in just three days. Finally there was a field of sheep and the viewers were challenge to tell the difference between the ones that were three years old and the ones that were fifteen years old. They all looked the same to Galen, but of course, he knew nothing about sheep anyway.

The presentation ended with the corporate logo and some upbeat music. When the full-D screen faded to black the lights came back up. Mike the Director stood behind the podium. “A big round of applause for Dr. Wythecombs and all the researchers here on Juventud. You deserve it.”

Applause rose and fell. Mike continued, “Okay, now let’s talk about work. The time for settling in is over; the time for work is now. It is my goal to have a batch of test serum large enough to inoculate thirty thousand people ready by the end of next week. I’ve seen the reports and I know we can do this.”

He smiled a big white-toothed smile. Galen noticed that maybe his upper lip was a little short for his face and wondered if it was done cosmetically or if Mike were born that way. The luncheon attendees continued eating. Mike worked his way around the room, stopping at each table to pat backs and shake hands and laugh at remarks or make a joke or two of his own. He came to Galen’s table last and sat right down at the one empty chair.

“Hello Mike,” said Galen.

Mike gave Sevin a hard stare. “Lighten up, Master Sergeant. I’m doing my job.”

Sevin cracked a smile. “You’re all right. I’m just not too sure about this research.”

Mike said, “Well I know your history. I read up on your experience on Dagstadt. You were the sole survivor.”

“That’s right. And it started out a lot like this. That planet is still quarantined.”

Mike leaned toward Sevin and said, “I’ll keep an eye on these egg heads, and you keep an eye out, and we’ll make sure that doesn’t happen here.”

Mike stood and put on a grin and stood by the dining room door and shook the hands of people as they left.

Galen said, “Sevin, what was that all about?”

“Sorry, Smaj. Non-disclosure agreement. So far I’ve been able to keep my mouth shut by staying out here in the military, where the subject never comes up. But trust me this much, as soon as I think you all need to know, I’ll let you know.”

“Can you give us a hint?”

“No.” Sevin took another bite of his lunch, “but you might want to brush up on your close-quarter battle head shots.”

Mr. Pedimore came over and sat at the table. “Hello Commandant, mercenaries. I’m Mr. Pedimore, your liaison officer.”

Tad said, “No offense, mister, but you are the EugeneX liaison. I am the Jasmine Panzer Brigade liaison officer. We have an office set up for you in my operations center.”

“Well allow me to take lunch here and I’ll follow you there and you can show me around.”

“All right,” said Galen. A server brought lunch for Mr. Pedimore and refilled the glasses of the rest of the staff. Galen and Tad ordered second servings. Sevin, Karen and Spike left, shaking hands with Mike on the way out. Mike took a quick glance around the room and noticed everyone else had gone. He sat at Galen’s table and the server brought him lunch as well.

“So,” said Mike, “how was the food?”

“Excellent,” said Tad.

“Very good, sir,” said Mr. Pedimore.

“Please, call me Mike.”

“Very good, Mike,” said Galen. Then he said to Mr. Pedimore, “John, it’s important that you call the director Mike. You’re the liaison, my line to him. So dealing with you has to be on the same level as dealing with him. You two have to relate on the same level or it hampers our relationship.”

Mr. Pedimore said, “Very well, but it will take some getting used to. And calling me John is a good start. Just give me some time to get familiar, please. I’m not used to this sort of thing.”

Tad cut into his second serving of cordon bleu. “Call me Tad, and call him Galen and we’ll all be one big happy family.”

Mike spoke as he ate. “I love this place already. They weren’t kidding, I feel twenty years younger.”

“It’s refreshing,” said Galen.

“So what do you guys do for fun around here?”

Tad said, “We have a little downtown area set up. Not as sordid as a usual party vill, but I’m sure you can find something you’d like to do down there.”

“I’ll be sure to check it out. John, you want to head down there this evening?”

“Yes sir, I mean, Mike. And Tad and Galen?”

“No, we have shifts to maintain. It would be bad for discipline anyway. In our military organization, senior staffers and commanders can’t be out in the same environment with off-duty troops. It would spoil their fun.”

“I see,” said Mike, “but they won’t mind my people hanging around?”

Galen said, “It would be a boost to their egos, partying on the same level as corporate big shots. But do me a favor and don’t actually interact with them too much. A couple of words or phrases from you, taken out of context, could really fire up the rumor mills. Have fun but keep the troops at arm’s length.”

“I understand.”

Tad said, “Well there is your high-end cocktail lounge and this restaurant, and a couple more clubs up here on the mountain. I can put them off-limits to my people.”

Mike smiled. “Okay. But don’t put this restaurant off limits. Since you have some troops working up here in the command center and the gun positions, your people can eat here for free, no questions asked.”

“I’ve got a question,” said Tad, “we need a midnight meal for night shift.”

John said, “I’ll make that happen.”

“Good.” Finished with his meal, Mike stood and left the dining room.

Tad, Galen and John went to the command center, opened the door on the right side of the back wall and stepped inside the liaison office.

Galen told John, “This is your office.”

John looked around and then sat at the chair behind the desk. In front of him were two couches backed up to the walls, a coffee table between them. On the wall opposite the desk was a meter-square flat screen. Tad showed him how the center portion of the desktop flipped up to become a control terminal, and how to make the flat screen the second monitor.

“This will do nicely, gentlemen,” said John.

“There’s a door behind you,” said Galen.

“Where does it go?”

“It’s a sleeping room. A cot, a sink, a toilet, a closet. It’s certainly not meant as a primary billet, but it’s good for short periods.”

John opened the door and looked in. “It’s a nice touch, a great place for power naps, and a great place to change clothes. Thank you.”

Galen and Tad sat on opposite couches, John sat at his desk.

Galen said, “So John, could you help us come up with a response to the challenge from the Twelfth Legion of Doom?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Tad said, “Fire up your terminal and I’ll show you how to watch it on your flat screen.”

John did as instructed. Soon the video played. John said, “That was rude. Are you going to fight them?”

Galen said, “There’s nothing in my contract about kicking their asses. As long as they stay away from this crater, I don’t care what they do.”

John looked at Tad. Tad said, “If EugeneX wants us to put down
Seventh City’s rebellion that is a matter of separate negotiation beyond this current contract. I’m sure Mike doesn’t want to stir up a pot of trouble just because someone was rude.”

“But,” said John, “we do need to send a response.”

Galen said, “Yes, and it has to be as insulting as theirs.”

“I think I can help you with that. I studied literature before taking a graduate degree from business school.” John typed on his terminal for a few minutes, and then displayed his work on the flat screen. “This is meant as script, to be read aloud.”

Galen looked it over and made a couple of changes. “Okay, let’s record this and send it out.”

John activated the sensor and Galen stood in front of it and read the script. “Hey Tribunus of the Dumb Legion of Elves, I think your message was cute. My first thought is to scorch your employer off the map before you arrive and blast your ship out of my space before you can land, but I really like your facial tattoo and your teeth; that shows a real desire on your part to seek social acceptance amongst your troops by mutilating yourself. Do you all look like that? It must work wonders for your reenlistment rate. Since they look like freaks they’re more likely to reenlist and less likely to have a go at civilian life. As for our position, just stay the hell away from my crater and I’ll be able to fulfill the obligations of my unit contract without killing you. As a good faith gesture on my part, if you decide to flee my planet, feel free to use my jump point, I won’t stop you. No need for you to spend a week in sub-light traveling to your own jump point when you don’t have to. And here’s another tip: if you’d like to lose two kilograms of ugly fat, cut off your head.”

Galen said, “Let me watch it.”

John played it again.

Galen considered for a moment then said, “I think it’s all right. Let’s watch it one more time out in the main room on the big screen.”

They went out to the conference room. Tad sat in the control chair and used its controls to bring up the message and played the video on the full-D screen. Karen laughed. The technician seated at the Guns terminal gave it a thumbs-up and a “hooah!”

“Okay. Send it, Tad.” Galen said.

“Roger,” Tad switched the view to the geosynchronous comms satellite sensor array and scanned around to get a lock on the approaching Twelfth Legion of Doom transport ship. Then he zoomed in until the transport ship filled half the screen. Next he brought up the tight-beam signal transmitter directional indicator, which looked very much like a weapon’s cross hairs, and laid it on their receiver dish. Tad loaded the message into the comms satellite transmitter and sent it to the Legion as a data burst.

Galen checked his wrist chronometer. “Well, it’s time to go back down the mountain.”

Tad said, “Why don’t you move up here? They have room in the executive suites building. That’s where I’d stay if I didn’t have a room in behind my office.”

Karen said, “You go ahead without me, I’ll get another ride down. I’m going to eat at the restaurant again.”

“I’ll think about those executive suites, but probably won’t take one. I’m all settled in down there.” Galen pulled out his personal communicator and buzzed the sedan driver. She buzzed back,
ready when you are
. Galen walked out of the command center bunker, down the steps to the parking garage and found the driver waiting with the engine running.

“You’re all right, driver,” Galen sat next to her. “Take me home.”

“Roger.”

Galen stood on the front porch of his hooch and looked toward the mountain that stood in the center of the crater. He couldn’t see the lake surrounding it from this low vantage point, but could see it from the window of his second floor bedroom. He turned and entered the hooch’s reception area, the conference room behind the door on his right, the kitchen and dining and latrine areas behind the three doors on his left. Straight ahead were the stairs and the back door to the left of the stairs. He went through the back door and stood on the meter-square concrete slab that served as the back porch. In front of him was his command tank, a fifty six ton monster, a Hercules Heavy Tank, like the other thirteen tanks of the Brigade HHC Company, except it had additional comms gear, sufficient to command the entire Brigade from that one tank. Spike’s tank to the left had the same setup, redundant, because Spike was filling the Brigade Executive Officer slot for this contract. The other twelve tanks of HHC were lined up, first platoon to the right, second and third platoon to the left. Their guns faced outward, across the tarmac of the spaceport, the crater’s outer rim beyond that. Quick-disconnect power cables came from the back of each tank and into the ground, their fusion engines collectively powering the electrical grid of the entire compound.

“Hey, Smaj.” It was Sevin’s voice, from behind, from inside the hooch.

Galen opened the door and Sevin stepped out.

Sevin spoke again. “Karen’s still up top and she’s looking at one of those executive suites. She’ll probably move in to one of them, they’re pretty nice. Like a fancy hotel.”

Galen sighed. “I’m not sure about that. I mean, right here I’m with my tank, where I belong. In case of emergency, you know.”

Sevin said, “I agree. Want to walk down town with me? I heard the Deluxe bar has some super-hot dancers.”

“I shouldn’t.”

Sevin stepped down off the porch and leaned his back against the tank. “Let me tell you something, and promise not to hit me.”

“Okay.” Galen sat on the little concrete slab.

“I think Karen’s a whore.”

Galen stared. Normally he’d… well, it was Sevin after all. He never talked to just hear himself make noise. He had his reasons, he wanted to help out. He was more than twice Galen’s age; he was wise in many ways. Okay, fair enough. Galen said, “I’m listening.”

“She’s got daddy abandonment issues; he was away on contracts most of the time and died when she was sixteen. She attended the Mandarin military academy but didn’t take a commission with them, so she wasn’t there to become an officer. Then she worked as a corporate executive assistant for the past couple of years. And through all that she had time to do this:”

Sevin showed his personal communicator’s screen to Galen. On it was a list of adult entertainment vids, Karen featured on them under more than a dozen different stage names. Sevin scrolled through page after page. “More than two hundred of them, my friend. More than four hundred hours of her performing various sex acts with and upon the persons of more than three hundred men, women, and trannys.”

Galen pushed the communicator away. “I get it, that’s enough. But the past is past.”

Sevin showed one file, the date. “This was made the same day we left Mandarin to come here. Two hours before we lifted.”

Galen looked.

Sevin put the device away. “I just want to make sure you know what you’re stepping in. Now the life cycle for a slutty whore is—”

Galen said, “Watch it, friend.”

“Okay. The life cycle of a slut is they whore around until they’re about twenty five, then they find the richest jackass they can get to marry them, and pay off their debts and buy them a house, and after they turn about thirty five or forty, they get divorced and go back to whoring around. Then after they turn about fifty five or sixty, they become judgmental church ladies and look down on everybody else while they whore around with the preachers.”

“So what are you trying to say?”

“I think Karen’s a whore. She latched on to you because you are the most eligible bachelor, naïve enough and rich enough, to take care of her for now. But guess what?”

“What?” said Galen.

“Right now she’s up on that mountain having dinner with the Director. Now that he’s the richest, most powerful man on this planet, she’s going after him.”

Galen said, “I think he’s as queer as an interior decorator. Did you see his eyebrows? Arched like nobody’s business. And he gave me that fruitcake eye thing, and with the lips pursed, and the slight head-bobble side to side when he shook my hand. Creeped me out.”

“Well,” said Sevin, “that makes them a good match. He’ll need an expensive trophy wife to bear him a couple of kids so his mother will get off his back about getting married and having kids. Better him than you, if you know what I mean.”

“Well thanks for sharing. I need some time alone.” Galen went back inside and up to his room. He looked out the window at the mountain, the lake around it, the sun setting, and the shadow of the crater rim rising up its side. He stared, for over two hours. He then looked at his personal communicator and his wrist chronometer. No messages, no calls. He buzzed Sevin:
Where you at?

Sevin:
The Deulxe
.

Galen:
On my way. I’m going to get tore up
.

Sevin:
Okay. Make sure Spike knows
.

Galen:
Roger
.

Galen called Spike, who happened to be in the command center on the mountaintop, and told him he’d be the boss for the next two days. Then he left his hooch, turned right and marched the full kilometer to the Deluxe Lounge. Outside it was just another simple metal building with some pipes and other metal scraps attached as decoration around the door. Galen studied the front of the building for a while and then realized the improvised artwork was supposed to be the hand grips and control arms of a civilian-style one-seat skimmer as viewed from the front, the building’s front door in place of the air intake. Two women walking together approached him. The one on the left said, “You want a date?”

“Maybe later.” Galen pulled open the door and stepped inside. There was an older woman at the far wall in a booth, managing the music. She looked up and recognized Galen and stopped the music and said over the speakers, “All rise and stand at ease for the Brigade Commander, Command Sergeant Major Galen Raper.”

The two dozen troops, a few of them EugeneX, and the half-dozen drinky girls and the three barmaids and the stage dancer all faced toward Galen. He stood at attention and bellowed, “Carry on!”

The music resumed; an easy-to-dance-to thump-thump-thump version of the Brigade’s anthem, not quite loud enough to cause hearing loss but loud enough to be heard by troops who had suffered ear damage in battle.

Sevin sat at a table in the second row back from the stage, a drinky girl on his left arm. He pulled out the chair to the right and said, “Have a seat, Smaj.”

Galen sat and ordered a pitcher of ale. A drinky girl sat with him.

“My name’s Destiny. Buy me a drink?”

Galen shrugged. “Sure, why not.”

The girl waved at a server, who brought a delicate, small-stemmed glass of red punch, mostly ice, for Destiny.

She took a sip and said, “So where are you from?”

“Ostreich. How about you?”

“I’m from Terra, New York City!”

Galen thought and said, “Sure you are, you all are. So what’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?”

“Oh, I’m saving up to go to medical school. Education is very important, you know.” She drained the liquid from her glass with her second sip. “Buy me another?”

“Sorry, doll. No thanks.”

Destiny pouted, then stood and moved to another table to talk to another troop. Galen finished his pitcher of ale and ordered another. He looked around. The women in their skimpy outfits, the large-breasted barmaids showing cleavage, the drinky girls in tight shorts and bikini tops and high heels, hair done up, makeup galore; the dancers, six of them rotating through one at a time, dancing, taking off clothes through three songs to end up topless, thongs the only thing left at the end of the show.

Galen watched as the first girl returned to the stage to dance and realized he’d seen the full rotation. He knew a corridor connected the three adjacent clubs, so that the dancers could rotate through them all. But in his state of mind, he didn’t appreciate the female form at all, not that night. He also realized that his second pitcher was empty. He stood, bid farewell to Sevin and left the club.

He walked back to his hooch and looked up at the sky full of stars and then back down the street, empty as he neared his building. His wrist chronometer said it was 02:41 local time as he went in and climbed the stairs and opened the door to his room and sat on his bed and took off his boots. He checked his personal communicator and there was a voice message from Karen.

He played it. Karen’s voice said, “I’m staying in my new executive suite tonight. See you in the morning, Galen. I love you so much!”

Galen flung the communicator as hard as he could against the wall. The rugged, combat-capable device made a dent in the metal of the wall and bounced back to skitter under the bed. Galen paced for a moment and glared out his window at the mountain, lights from the windows of some of the buildings on top shimmering in the distance. Then he flopped onto the bed face down and slept.

***

A knock came at the door and Karen walked in. “You missed staff call.”

Galen rolled over and sat up. “Not that it’s any of your business, Master Sergeant, but I’m taking today off.”

“Well,” said Karen as she sat in the desk chair, “Spike told me you weren’t feeling well. Out late last night, were we?”

“None of your damn business. How was your suite?”

Karen bit her lower lip. “It’s very nice, like a hotel. Clean and bright.”

Galen got up and said, “Let me show you something, then you can explain why I shouldn’t cash you out right now.”

She stared.

Galen said, “Get out of my chair, stand over there, at parade rest, and watch.”

Galen sat and turned on his flat screen. “According to the time stamp, when you were supposed to be on shift in the control tower, less than two hours from this units’ departure, you, the Brigade logistics officer, were engaged in other pursuits that clearly were not in the best interest of this Brigade and clearly prevented you from performing your assigned duties.”

“Please…”

“Since when do you run your mouth at parade rest?” Galen searched for the file.

“Don’t show it.” Karen stood hands at her side, shoulders slumped, head down.

“We have a lot to talk about, or maybe we don’t. You are relieved of duties effective immediately. Come see me at 1600 hours tomorrow in the conference room and we’ll talk about it. Until then you are dismissed.”

Karen turned slowly and walked down the hall, then down the stairs and out of the building. Galen went to his window and watched her walk away down the street. His chest tightened and a lump formed in is throat. He sat on his bunk, head in his hands, head pounding from the hangover.

***

Next day at 1530, Galen sat in the conference room with Spike, Chief Koa and Chief Polar, Commander of the Brigade Support Battalion.

“The reason I’ve asked you here is because I need to evaluate the duty performance of Master Sergeant Mitchell and I’m absolutely certain my judgment has been clouded by my own personal feelings.”

“Okay, so what’s the deal?” said Spike.

“Okay.” Galen leaned forward. “I have to decide whether or not to cash her out and send her home. But because of my relationship with her, I’ll have to pass that decision off to you, Spike. I’ll still sign off on everything, but I’m going to follow your recommendation.”

Spike said, “Okay, so I’ll just take control of this discussion right now. What are the grounds of dismissal?”

Galen said, “When she was on shift in the tower, within hours of the unit blasting off, she was making an adult film.”

Chief Polar said, “I was wondering where she went.”

Spike said, “Okay, dereliction of duty. Anything in the scene that gives away operationally sensitive information or just plain degrades the unit’s reputation?”

“Well, she starts off in uniform. And the others in the scenes… she takes on eight Mandarin men, spaceport cargo handlers. And through the windows in the background, our vehicles and drop boats can be seen.” Galen leaned back and folded his arms.

Spike said, “Chief Polar, what is your professional opinion, as a logistician, of Karen’s abilities as the Brigade logistics officer.”

Polar thought for a moment. “In that context, compared to all the other Brigade logistics officers I’ve had to deal with, she’s pretty damned good. She’s had some very good ideas, like parking logpacs in the tunnel, and she does her own work instead of dumping it on me. Plus, the little tiff with the nearby town was unforeseen and she got things hooked up with the town farther away very quickly, and now we have everything we were supposed to have, without violating the original time table. Honestly, she’s pretty damn good at her job.”