The War for Profit Series Omnibus (4 page)

“I share it with three other bar maids. They
’re still at work and won’t be here for a few minutes. But I do have my own room.”

Galen followed her into her room. Inside, she shut the door behind them and dimmed the lights and added a tinge of red.

She asked, “Have you been intimate before?”

“Sort of. Once.”

She sat on the bed and removed her shoes. “Tell me about it.”

“A couple of weeks ago I went to the red light district. I was on overnight pass and didn’t have much time.”

“And that was your first time?” She rolled her knee-high socks down and took them off.

“Yes.”

“How was it?” She stood directly in front of him and looked up into his eyes.

“Terrible. I had to do everything. What was I paying her for? All she did was complain. ‘It’s too big, it’s too hard, you’re taking too long, hurry up, please finish’ and that’s when I said, ‘you’re supposed to make me!’ and then I quit and got dressed and left.”

Olivia pressed her index finger against his lips. “Shhh. Forget about that. I’m going to show you how it’s done.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“I’m going to teach you all about it. We’re doing everything.”

Galen
put his arms around her. “Okay.”

“First of all, sex begins long before the clothes come off.
Put the palm of your left hand in the small of my back and pull me toward you gently. Good. Now, your right hand on the back of my neck, support my head as I tilt it back.”

Galen gazed down into her eyes, her bosom. Her mouth parted slightly.

“Now, lean in and down. Kiss me.”

Galen did, her tongue rubbing his, swirling in his mouth, then she sucked his tongue into her mouth and tickled it with hers. She pulled away. “Very good. Now relax, I’m going to get undressed. You too, while you watch me. Then we’ll get back to kissing.”

Galen sat in the desk chair and undressed and watched her undress in front of him.

Chapter
IV

Galen awoke on his back, Olivia snuggled up against his right side, her head resting on his shoulder. She was magnificent. All the things he heard about morning hair and morning breath, all the jokes he’d heard about going to bed with a beautiful woman and then waking up with an ugly one were all proven untrue to Galen. He liked the smells, the disheveled look. He pulled back the blanket and admired her nude figure. She stirred, kissed him on the cheek and looked at the clock.

She sat up. “Damn! I was going to teach you about morning sex but there’s no time.”

Galen saw the clock. “Crap.”

He dressed quickly and rushed down the stairs. He went through the bar, yelled “goodbye” to his mother on the way out to the street and caught the next airbus to the hiring hall. After he stepped off the bus he sat on the bench and wondered if he were doing the right thing. He could get a job a
t the bar, take a commission with the local reserve unit, and live happily ever after with Olivia.

He used his personal communicator to call
her.

“Olivia. I’m having second thoughts.”

“Galen, I love you in my own way.”

“Let’s stay together. We could get married!”

“Galen, don’t take this the wrong way. I love you as much as I have loved any man. But I don’t get married. I don’t. You can spend the night with me any time you want, but right now you have to go. Duty calls. Besides, your mother will kill me if you miss your appointment today.”

“I understand.” Galen didn’t like it but he understood it. “Goodbye.”

“Goodbye.”

He shut off the communicator and shoved it in his pocket and sat hunched over, head in his hands
, for half a minute.

Then he stood and walked toward the hiring hall.

First Contract: War for Profit Part One

by

Gideon Fleisher

Copyright © 2012 Gideon Fleisher

Kindle Edition

All rights reserved.

Galen would be a mercenary, as soon as he signed his first contract. He wanted to be successful enough to make his mother proud. She raised him and paid his way through the Ostwind Military Academy as she worked as a barmaid at the warrior base on Ostreich.

Galen didn’t know his deceased father, but knew he had been a mercenary in the Foreign Corps; that’s why Galen was two hundred and ten centimeters tall. His mother, she raised Galen to be a mighty and successful warrior. Galen had just graduated from the Ostwind Military Academy Armor School and it was time for him to do his part.

He sat at the bench on the sidewalk, hunched over, staring at his size fourteen combat boots and rubbed his large hands over his close-cropped brown hair. The mild headache was a reminder of last night’s graduation party. He stood to his full height, stretched, buttoned his grey full-length wool coat, stuffed his hands into his pockets--he could do that now, outside the Academy--and started walking toward the largest building in the city. It was where he would meet two of his academy classmates, to join the same unit with them.

He stopped fifty meters away from the steps of the building and scanned the three dozen or so groups of job-seeking warriors. When he picked out his two friends he stood watching them for a minute. Tad was almost two meters tall, of average build but not to be ignored. His scalp showed through his close-cropped academy haircut and added a slight touch of pink to his bright orange hair. He wore a rescue-yellow windbreaker and green-blue plaid parachute pants and gestured vigorously as he spoke to Spike.

Spike seemed to be leaning on something invisible, standing in his knee-high leather boots, dark blue pants tucked into them, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his black leather waist-length jacket. His conservative haircut was probably the longest allowed by the academy, and his hair’s blackness was made even darker by styling spray. With his thick moustache, the short and stocky Spike resembled an ancient fighter pilot.

Galen walked up to them and said, “Spike, Tad, how’s it going? Find us a job yet?”

“Sure!” said Tad, “as soon as the agent bothers to show up to work. We’ve been standing here through lunch, haven’t seen him yet. He’s supposed to poke his face out that door and wave us in, any time now. I’m tired of waiting. I want some action. I can’t stand all this waiting around!”

“Just cool it,” said Spike, “you know that being a soldier means doing a lot of waiting, standing around. I’ve developed the skill of waiting to a fine art. I can wait as long as necessary for the right opportunity.”

“Right,” said Galen, “Not many units would agree to take three green academy grads together, so let’s play the waiting game. We should be grateful they even had us wait on them.”

Tad squirmed inside his clothes and said, “Yeah I know, but who ever heard of the Jasmine Panzer Brigade?”

“We have. The academy wouldn’t have listed them in our employment prospectus if they weren’t any good,” said Spike.

“Hey, there’s that old man! He’s waving to us, wants us to come in!” said Tad.

The three friends climbed the rest of the steps and entered the hiring hall through the door held open by the agent. He led them halfway down the hall to an interior stairwell and down three flights of steps and into a small, windowless office. The three warriors had to stand because there was only a desk, a computer terminal and a chair behind it. The portly old man, wearing a black business smock and soft-soled dress shoes, sank into the chair and pressed a key on the computer. As soon as a barely perceptible, but somewhat irritating, high-pitched noise filled the room he stood and extended a hand and a warm smile to the three friends.

“Glad you’re all here, I need all three of you.”

“Glad to be here,” said Galen. He had been drafted by Spike and Tad to do most of the talking.

“I’m Mister Burwell, your Designated Agent to hire personnel for Colonel Theil’s Panzer Brigade. Look at the plaques, degrees and certificates on the wall behind me. I’m trained at it and I’m good at it. I’m fully certified to take care of your employment needs as well as the needs of the units I represent. Yes, I do represent more than one unit, but that works to our advantage. If I see a better deal for you, I can let you know about it. So let’s talk. What kind of work do you young gentlemen want?”

“More than one unit? I mean, I thought…”

“Yes, it’s no problem at all.” A broad smile, arms open wide as he stood, “I’m an agent, your agent. The better the deal you get, the more money I make. The longer you live, the more money I make. Sure, I’m on retainer to recruit for the Panzers, and they do want three new recruits right now, but I’m flexible.”

Galen thought a moment too long before replying. Tad jumped right in and asked, “So what else, what’s better, I mean, what else have you got?”

Spike grabbed Tad by the arm and pulled him back. Tad remembered his promise to keep his mouth shut and stepped back to lean against the wall with Spike.

Galen nodded at Burwell, so he replied to Tad’s question. “Training cadre on a new settlement on the periphery. You’re green here but you’d be drill instructors out there. It’s a two year contract, starting as a Corporal with unlimited advancement potential. You’d provide basic training for their militia volunteers. Finish that assignment as a Sergeant or higher and you’ll have a handy entry on your resume.”

“Please, let’s skip anything that doesn’t include tanks,” said Galen.

“Okay. You three at a spaceport, maneuvering tanks around from cargo ships to storage bays. It’s a one year assignment with a great chance to get hands-on experience with all sorts of different fighting vehicles.”

“No.”

“Here’s another chance. Members of the police force on Kalidasa. Patrol the military factories to prevent industrial espionage, and then if the planet is attacked you jump into a tank and defend it.”

“Security guards? That’s no job for academy graduates; that’s where academy dropouts end up!”

Burwell winced at the criticism, “Listen, hotshot. I was quite the soldier myself for a while. So when I ask myself how I would do it, if I had it all to do over again, this is it. I’m trying to get you to ease into the system, get a feel for the mercenary business. Get you feet wet before you plunge in. Spend a year or two of your youth being young, find a woman, start a family before you throw your fortunes to the stars. Go into it with your head on straight and with someone to come home to.”

“Never mind that, mister. Tell us about the Panzers.”

Burwell waited a full minute before speaking. He hit a few keys on the computer; it spat out three sheets of auto-copy paper and he handed a sheet to each of them.

“That’s the standard contract, no flexibility for you guys. You sign away the next five years of your life, total loyalty to the Jasmine Panzer Brigade. Because of your status as academy graduates, you will enlist at the grade of Sergeant. However, if you are involved in disciplinary action your rank could go as low as nothing and you could spend your whole enlistment cleaning toilets. Good luck, gentlemen.”

Burwell handed them boarding passes to a ship leaving in less than three hours. “Now sign those pieces of trash, give me back the original and last copy, and get out of my office.”

Spike, Tad and Galen pressed their contracts against the wall and shared an ink stick to sign them. Just as they were leaving Mr. Burwell said, “When you look back on this day, and you will, remember that I gave you some good advice and you ignored it. Remember that!”

The three young mercenaries scurried down the hallway, went up the steps two and three at a time, strode out of the office building and walked briskly to the spaceport. They were now officially members of a recognized and active mercenary unit, eager to get to their first duty station.

They entered the spaceport, drawing icy and suspicious stares from the security guards. They seemed lost and had no luggage: obviously up to no good.

“So where’s our gate?” asked Tad.

“Section zulu one niner foxtrot.”

“Which is?”

“On this map somewhere. Hey, where’d Spike go?”

“Over here,” called Spike. “We got to get on the pedestrian skywalk, hit this shuttle here,” he indicated an obscure part of the spaceport map, “then walk to the edge of the tarmac, enter this building, check in on the…well, not the first floor… then board our drop boat.”

“Simple. We’ll follow you,” said Galen.

They walked about half a kilometer, the bustle of the main terminal dissipating into lonely walkways as they went. Soon they came to the automated monorail shuttle, waved their personal communicators past its toll sensor it and rode it to their destination.

“Hurry guys, we only got twenty five minutes left,” said Galen.

“I’m with you, brother,” said Tad.

“Don’t worry, we’ll make it,” said Spike. They found their terminal and gate and dropped their boarding passes on the counter for a bored attendant to examine.

“You got any luggage?” asked the thin man in his mid-thirties.

“No,” said Galen, unable to take his eyes off the man’s bald spot.

“Unusual. Oh well, your liftoff has been delayed about three hours.”

“So what do we do now?” asked Tad.

“Go up two levels to the lounge, and keep a close eye on the monitor, to be sure you don’t miss your liftoff,” said the attendant, as though the question were directed at him.

They took his advice. The lounge looked worn and overused and there were no other customers. The three mercenaries chose the corner booth nearest the bar.

“Three ales, barkeep,” ordered Galen,

“With you in a minute.” True to his word, the barkeep took at least a full minute to bring the drinks. “So, you young guns heading out into the big universe today?”

“Yeah,” said Tad.

“Where to?”

The young men looked at one another, then at their boarding passes. Galen dug out his contract, scanned it for the name of some place, any place. The three young mercenaries honestly didn’t know where they were going. After a long pause the barkeep broke the tension, “Oh, a classified, secret destination. I understand.”

They drank their first ales in silence, brooding over their lack of knowledge about their future. When the barkeep finally returned with another round of ale Tad asked him, “You know anything about the Panzer Brigade commanded by Colonel Theil?”

“The Jasmine Panzers. Yes, I’ve heard of them.”

“Well? Where are they?”

“Mandarin Confederation space. If you’re lucky you’ll get stationed on Cyan. Beautiful world. Or maybe Ngsien. That rock is a great big ball of ore orbiting the fourth planet of the Drago star system.”

“We didn’t say we were going to the Jasmine Panzers,” said Galen, trying to preserve some semblance of operations security.

“No, I guess you didn’t.”

They left nine empty bottles and a reasonable tip when they went back down to their boarding gate. The balding attendant was talking with a loadmaster and a ship steward. They were welcoming civilian passengers and processing their paperwork when Galen and his two buddies arrived.

“Wait over there, gentlemen,” said the steward.

They watched nearly a hundred passengers pass through the boarding gate and guessed there were about twenty more waiting to board when the loadmaster called, “There any military out there? I’m supposed to pick up three tank jockeys.”

“Right here!” said Galen.

“Come over here.”

They pushed their way through the knot of civilians. The loadmaster gave them a skeptical look and said, “Show me some identification and some orders.”

They reached in their pockets and pulled out credit markers, academy graduate I.D.s and their mercenary contracts. The loadmaster read all the documents carefully and handed them back.

“Okay, get on.”

As he walked down the boarding gantry Galen heard the loadmaster tell the other waiting passengers, “Sorry folks, my boat’s full. Better luck catching the next one.”

The steward caught up to Galen and his two buddies and told them, “We’re really packing them in this time, what with that other ship breaking down. Anyhow, you three will ride in the upper weapons blister, for two reasons. One, you’re tank jockeys, so that means you know a thing or two about weapons. But we aren’t putting you there to use the damn things, understand that right now. The reason you’re being put there instead of civilians is so that if a weapon gets discharged, we can take legal action against you. You know enough about those weapons to make absolutely sure they don’t get fired. Or damaged. Remember that. Your cabin, gentlemen.”

“Do you think they wouldn’t call us ‘gentlemen’ if we weren’t academy graduates?” said Tad.

“I guess so,” said Spike. He strapped himself into the weapons control couch.

Galen said, “That loadmaster, he probably still thinks we’re impostors. Did you see the dirty look he gave us, like we insulted the whole universe by calling ourselves military?”

“No, spacers hate mercenaries. That’s what my uncle told me. He used to work at this spaceport,” said Spike.

“No wonder you found your way around here so well, it runs in your family,” said Tad.