The War for Profit Series Omnibus (73 page)

The boy stepped forward and said, “We will stay on Tumbler. No real man would abandon his home without a fight.” He turned and walked off into the darkness where his mother waited for him.

Gilani flicked his knife to stick in the ground. So did Coyote. He stepped toward Gilani, Gilani toward him. I looked across the circle and saw Major Deskavich in the background. He shrugged, palms up. Nothing yet.

Coyote moved forward, crouched, hands up and open. Kept his left foot forward, stepped carefully. Left foot forward a bit, drag the right foot up to the left heel, left foot forward some more. Gilani didn’t seem to care what happened, like he wanted to die. He casually walked forward, hands at his side, a smirk on his face. Coyote reached out with his left hand and snatched Gilani’s right forearm, easily. Too easy. Then it happened. Gilani brought his left knee right up into Coyote’s groin. Coyote fell on his right side, doubled up in pain. Gilani walked around to get behind Coyote, was about to wrap his arms around Coyote’s neck from behind. Then the work light went out. Bits of glass and glowing pieces of filament fell. The Major had shot out the light with his suppressed side arm. I heard a thump and an oof, then a body dragged toward me. Me and the Major draped an arm around each of our necks, hooked our arms to make a seat and lifted, ran carrying Coyote to the remaining drop boat. We dashed up the cargo ramp.

Major Deskavich yelled, “Pilot! Go! Go, damn you!”

The ramp started to raise, the boat started moving. The ramp closed just moments before the boat left the ground. I strapped Coyote into a cargo bay seat, then myself. The Major climbed up to the cockpit. The boat angled up and blasted its way toward space. I hate riding in drop boat cargo bay seats.

Coyote was feeling a little better. He said, “That old bastard cheated.”

I looked into his eyes and said, “Jackass.”

I sat in my room on the transport ship wearing my suit, waiting. The Task Force wasn’t going anywhere, just sitting on the ship. Accelerating and decelerating around in a box pattern at one G. All the Indigs were in the safe zone. If a group left, we’d skid-drop in and pay them a visit. So far, so good. My personal communicator vibrated on my wrist. I looked.
Let’s go
.

I stood, left my room and made my way down to the drop boat docking bay and walked toward the collar where Major Delagiacoma, Major Deskavich, Emily and Coyote waited.

Major D said, “Hello, Sergeant Slaughter.”

“Sir.” I rendered a proper hand salute, he returned it.

Then he said, “I thought we both have to be in uniform to exchange salutes.” He and Major Deskavich wore full dress uniforms, glittering with military awards and decorations. Emily wore a long blue business pants suit. Coyote wore his suit. Like mine but all brown.

“Yessir. Actually, we have to be outdoors as well. Unless reporting, or during a prescribed ceremony. It’s all very open to the situation, Sir.”

He nodded. The docking collar opened and we entered and took our seats behind the pilot and co-pilot. Major D said, “This should go well. I think they understand the gravity of their situation.”

The boat detached and headed for the
Acadia. Coyote said, “It’s been interesting but I think we’ve worked out our differences.”

Major Deskavich said, “They hand over what’s due and we’re out of here in a month.”

Emily said, “Or sooner, if all the Indigs come up here before that.”

Coyote said, “One can only hope.”

Major D said, “I saw a movement South across the wasteland.”

Coyote nodded. “Gilani and his clan. It makes no sense to me.”

I said, “You two certainly don’t see things the same way.”

Major Deskavich said, “They’re still within the prescribed longitudes. As long as they stay between them, I don’t care where they go.”

The boat backed into the landing bay of the Acadia. We floated to the exit hole and climbed down the ladder and took the elevator down. Victor met us and we walked with him to the Government building, entered the domed legislative chamber and sat before the Governor. Coyote took his place among the Representatives. Two more Indig Chiefs sat to his left.

The Governor banged his gavel. “This session will come to order.”

The various Representatives looked up from what they were doing on their terminals, or cut conversations short, or quit picking at their nails, to sit facing toward us. The Governor said, “Welcome, Major Delagiacoma. Did I say that right?”

Major D said, “Close enough, Governor.”

“Then pardon my Standard. I believe we have worked out the details of the resolution of this contract dispute in good faith and all that remains is for this legislature to approve it. This hearing is little more than a formality for the official record.”

The screens came on and displayed the official document of the settlement, several pages scrolling slowly. The Governor spoke, “Here we have the increase in original contract compensation from one hundred and thirteen tons of gold to four hundred and twenty tons of gold. The next page discusses the provision to make payment in kind with biologics in the form of seeds and embryos in stasis, for a variety of now-extinct species. That, and a good-faith payment to the families of the troops who died in battle of one hundred kilograms of silver, per troop. That, of course, will be paid in bullion. The next page describes the relationship between the Brigade and
Acadia, an extension of home world status. Major, perhaps you cold explain that in your own words?”

Major D stood. “Certainly, Governor. Ladies and gentlemen, what this provision means is the home world status of Mandarin will extend to
Acadia. Many of our troops and leaders come from Ostreich, the home planet of the Galaxy’s mercenary industry. However, we also have a high number of volunteer professionals who join from our home world where our unit is headquartered. This provision means your young men and women will have the opportunity to enlist in our unit exclusively. To enlist in another unit, they would have to travel to that unit’s home world first. Also, people could come here and enlist in our unit. Furthermore, it would mean leaving a small detachment here on the Acadia to enlist and process applicants who wish to enlist. It would prevent any other mercenary organization from recruiting here. But most importantly, it would mean the Brigade, any of its personnel present on the Acadia or Tumbler, and any forces reasonably able, would come to the defense of Acadia if attacked. This part of the settlement can be struck out of the agreement but I do see it as a good faith gesture on my part, an olive branch to you, so that you do get something out of this settlement.”

“Thank you, Major.” The governor gestured at the screens. “Here is the official transcript of the trial of our former Military Liaison and the part he played in the tragedy that befell the mercenaries, and an official apology from myself on behalf of the people of
Acadia. The guilt has been determined, but the sentencing phase of that trial has not yet taken place. Is that a problem?”

Major D said, “As much as I’d like to see that scoundrel suffer the insufferable, the terms of his sentence are of no consequence. The important thing was to assign blame outside the Brigade for the purpose of preserving the reputation of the unit, the officers and the troops. You can give him a slap on the wrist or have him drawn a quartered, just as long as he was found liable, accountable, and at fault.”

The Governor said, “Very well. Representatives, are there any questions?”

Silence. The Reps had all read the document. Some had participated in the negotiations that created it. And they all understood the consequences of not coming to a resolution. Ostracized from the rest of the Galaxy, up for grabs for whoever had the force necessary to take the
Acadia from them. But as a recognized home world of a licensed and bonded mercenary unit in good standing, they were becoming part of the interstellar community.

“Cast your votes.” The Governor looked at his terminal. “Vote is: twenty two for, one against. The motion carries. The settlement takes effect immediately.”

“Thank you.” Major D stood, we all stood. “By your leave, Governor?”

“Certainly.” He banged his gavel. We left, except for Coyote. The legislature had other items on the agenda and he was there as a representative, a voting member now. Each Clan that chose to move to the
Acadia now had one voting seat.

Victor met us on the steps of the Government building. I pointed across the street at the hotel and said, “Sir, you’ve got to try the chow here.”

Major D raised his wrist and checked the time on his personal communicator. He shrugged. “Sure, why not.”

Victor went with us and we sat together at an umbrella table on the balcony of the hotel restaurant. The air, the light, the food. Excellent. I sipped the tiny cup of coffee with desert, having learned from the last time. Major D burped. We stood and left, back to the elevator. I looked up. The sky. The clouds had a break in them and I could make out the vast expanse of land on the opposite side. Wide open nothing for now, undeveloped. Woodland I guessed, by the darkness of the green. Hard to tell, it was more than two hundred kilometers above my head.

Emily said, “What are you looking at?”

“Heaven.”

The elevator doors opened. We stepped inside. Acadia, I’ll miss you.

A month passed. We still had a couple of weeks left on the contract, still hung out on the troop transport watching to see if any Indigs would dare leave the safe zone. Most of them had either moved to
Acadia already or were making preparation to move, except for the Gilani Clan. They were still dicking around at the South Pole, the ice melting away. Soon they’d be sizzling like bacon in a pan if they didn’t do something. I left my room and headed to work, the temporary ops center for the Task Force, a corner of the rec room set aside for our use. I walked past the bay that housed some of the stasis pods and wished I were in one already, headed home. Some pods held troops wounded too badly for treatment aboard ship. Or just put in there to alleviate the workload of the ship’s medical staff. Either way, they were better off. Treatment back home would be much better. Some other pods held troops who were ‘exhibiting signs of combat stress.’ That really means they were unable to handle the dull routine of being cooped up on the ship and were acting like fools. But disciplinary problems take time and paperwork to process and that also leaves a skid mark on the troop’s record. Just stick ‘em in a stasis pod, problem solved.

I arrived in the ops center. Captain Blythe was in charge of my eight-hour shift and Major D was there to supervise the shift change. Corporal Parks stood next to the ground monitor station and said, “I stood up a couple of minutes ago so the chair can cool off for you, just like you asked.”

“Thanks.” I hate it when a chair is already warm. I sat.

Major Deskavich shook hands with Captain Blythe. “All yours. Nothing going on.”

“Good.” Captain Blythe sat.

Captain Thews replaced Captain Shuttler at the ALOC terminal. Major D said nothing, just turned and left.

I peered at the portion of Tumbler’s surface as viewed by the ship’s sensors. It was zoomed in on the Gilani tribe, parked at the edge of the receding ice cap. The wasteland was getting wider and I doubted they could get back across it again. I turned toward Captain Blythe.

“Hey Sir, what do you think they’re up to?”

He leaned toward the screen. “Not much. Think we should send some drop boats down to rescue them?”

“Hell no. They’re assholes. Their Chief is, any way. He tried to get me killed.”

“Huh.” Captain Blythe went back to skimming reports on his own monitor.

I zoomed in more. The image was grainy and blurry, but I could tell the Gilani Clan was blasting at the face of the ice. Making a tunnel that would melt in a couple of weeks anyway. But it kept them busy and inside the safe zone and that was fine by me. I read an ebook, its image projected from my personal communicator onto the wall by my desk. After each chapter I’d glance at the monitor and see what the Gilani Indigs were up to. Five hours into my shift, it happened.

The Indigs were nowhere to be seen. All of them had entered the ice tunnel an hour before. But a slice of ice had lifted to what had to be a hundred meters. Then the ice tilted to one side and slid away to reveal a floating disc. At the angle I was viewing from, it looked like a silver cigar but the secondary image from our remote sensor showed it was more like a dinner plate, shiny silver. And huge, five kilometers across at least.

I tapped Captain Blythe’s shoulder. “Sir, you don’t want to miss this.”

He looked. “Wow.”

Captain Thews said, “I don’t think they’re in the safe zone any more.”

The flying disc rose straight up, slowly. Well, when viewed from my monitor it looked slow. “How are they doing that?”

Captain Thews said, “If I had to guess, I’d say they were using magnetic levitation against the planet, rising above the pole.”

I looked. “They saved their old ship?”

Captain Blythe typed at his terminal. “Looks that way, Big Sarge.”

The silver disc hovered above the pole, just outside the atmosphere. We had a clearer view without the atmosphere in the way so I zoomed in so that the disc reached from side to side of my screen. It showed some dings and scratches, pitted in places, dark horizontal streaks from resting on the ground and under ice. But it was still functional, obviously, with a rugged, reliable look to its design.

Propulsion nacelles extended from under its belly and it tilted its top toward the jump point and began moving. Sensors tracked it and estimated its acceleration at half a G. Better than nothing. Besides, the ship had to be at least fifteen hundred years old.

I said, “Looks like somebody really hates the Frogs.”

Captain Thews said, “The important question is what are we supposed do about it? They are clearly outside the safe zone.”

Captain Blythe said, “Both of you, read this portion of our contract to make sure I have it right.”

We stood and read over his shoulder.

Captain Blythe said, “It designates the area we’re supposed to keep them out of, not the area we’re supposed to keep them in. Am I reading that right?”

Captain Thews said, “Yep. Otherwise, all the Indigs on the
Acadia would be in violation. Once they leave Tumbler’s atmosphere, they aren’t our problem any more.”

“Yessir, Ma’am, that’s how I read it.”

“All right then. I’m calling D.”

Major D came to the ops center a minute later. He looked at the information, listened to our best guesses. Re-read the contract and contacted the Acadians. Finally he said, “That’s it, folks. We’re heading home. We’ll follow them toward the jump point. In thirteen days this contract is officially closed.”

I stood, too excited to sit. Major D said to me, “It’ll take us four months to reach the jump point. Go find yourself a stasis pod, Sergeant Slaughter. If I need anything from you I’ll wake you up.”

Didn’t have to tell me twice. I went back to my room, woke up Emily and explained while I packed my bags. Then I moved with a purpose to the upper pod bay and stuffed my gear in the nearest pod’s foot locker and lay in the pod waiting for a technician to come by and put me under.

***

Major D woke me up. “Good morning, Sunshine.”

“Where are we?”

“One day out from Mandarin. I need your opinion on something.”

“Yessir.” I sat up, climbed out of the pod and followed him to the ops center. It was packed up except for the A-3’s terminal. He sat me in front of it and pointed at the screen.

“Well?”

It was an Op Order that contained lists of data, personnel slot vacancies and openings, school slot requests, crew qualifications tables, new-equipment fielding schedules, training land and ranges requirements, time tables for unit collective training…all packaged up nice and neat, all the considerations and finer points taken care of, each nuance of Schools, Tasking, Training and Movement wrapped up in the most beautiful Operations Order I had ever seen. A real work of art. I knew that commanders were supposed to have a working knowledge of these things, the theory that commanders needed Sergeants to handle these tasks because commanders simply didn’t have the time; that the Sergeant would naturally develop a higher degree of expertise through specialization. But this! This Op Order was magnificent. Every last detail of rebuilding both the Mech and Stallion battalions were covered, and in an achievable, realistic way. My chest tightened a bit to behold such beauty.

I turned to Major D and said, “Sir, I could not have done it better myself. It transcends perfection.”

He patted me on the shoulder. “Thank you, Sergeant Slaughter. That means a lot to me, coming from you.”

“Yessir.” My voice nearly squeaked. I could feel tears trying to get past my eyelids.

“Go revive the unit. We need them loaded up and ready to drop in eighteen hours.”

“Yessir.” I turned to go, stopped, glanced at the Op Order again, and then left.