“There seemed to be a xenophobic attitude against beings of races other than human on Tretra,” the admiral continued. “I know it is not shared by everyone on the planet, but it is by a great many. I wondered when the clash would happen between Joth and Tretra. On Joth, all the beings have more rights, and they fight for them. We now understand that there have been major changes on Tretra, but time will tell.”
“The threat of complete annihilation is a great motivator,” Harmon agreed. He realized the admiral knew a great deal more about the internal politics and general feel of his home system than he had thought. Some of his crew may be reporting back.
“Are you familiar with the Rincah?” the admiral asked.
“I remember something about them in Galaxy History 101 at the Academy. Didn’t they overthrow their leadership on their home world about thirty years ago? From the way it was explained to us, a legal governing system was dismantled in a military coup. The instructor didn’t go into many details,” Harmon said.
“They probably glossed over it because the ruling class was similar to the one on Tretra and encouraged xenophobia among its citizens, only it had gone on for far longer,” Admiral Lucytileerlot said. “The Rincah system leadership brought in outside help to put the coup down. The help they brought in was a cruel race that thrived on war, the Belvakett. Thirty years ago, the Leethog came to the aid of the Rincah, desiring a better life, and helped the coup succeed. That was where I received my first combat experience. Our queen was young and newly crowned. She still believes she made the right decision, but is hesitant to risk the lives of so many of her beings now that she is older and wiser. She is the one who instructed me to allow the military to have leaves of absence to help you, once again proving she believes her subjects’ free will should be primary.”
Harmon thought about all she had told him as the shuttle took him to the large spaceport. If they could defend the system one more time, he felt that in time, the Leethog and the Tretrayons could form a great friendship. He would like to meet the queen one day. She impressed him, though he had never met her.
Harmon met Zerith and Clip in a bar on the port. They had reserved the back room to meet with mercenaries who would consider aiding their system’s defense. This was their fourth evening meeting there. Tomorrow, all the crew would be back aboard the ships. The Leethog had been given leave to visit their home planet, if desired.
They now had full crews on both ships, to include flight operations. Like on Salvage Title, Harmon had decided to hire extra crew for the SF Windswept, and the new crew members had been busy, taking apart and putting together systems all over the carrier. Kyla and Vera had stayed an extra couple of days on board to help Jayneen in her selections and had made sure all the male Leethog had sufficient supervision. Of course, their mates Hank and Stan were involved with the pilot selections and training for those two days, before the four of them went to the planet’s surface.
“Do you think anyone will show today?” Clip asked. He and Zerith were eating something he could not pronounce in Leethog and enjoying it immensely. It translated into fried mushrooms in Earth Common. There was nothing like them on the planet Joth.
“It iss not looking good,” Zerith said as he dipped a Leethog mushroom into a sauce so hot it made Harmon’s eyes water just smelling it.
“Well, I’m expecting to meet this ‘Rickkashka’ character,” Harmon said. “He messaged back about the ad and said he’d be here this evening. I have no idea what he has to offer.” Harmon waved his hand in front of his face. “Why can’t you use a mild sauce with those? I feel like I need to suit up.”
A few minutes later a man came in. He was dressed in a pressed grey uniform, shiny boots, and a belt with an antique projectile pistol in a holster. He was flanked by two large men, both of whom were in the same grey uniform, but were armed with more modern laser pistols. Both men carried themselves as if they knew how to use them.
“Are you Harmon Tomeral?” the man asked. He spoke with a bit of an accent that Harmon realized was different, even coming from Earth.
“I am,” Harmon said, standing. “And you are?”
The man looked at Harmon for a moment as if Harmon should have known who he was. “I am Jifton Gregor, of Gregor’s Consortium,” he said.
Harmon could hear the contempt in the way the man spoke. Harmon looked over at Clip and Zerith with a raised eyebrow.
“Never heard of it,” Zerith said and popped another mushroom in his mouth.
“A mercenary company from Earth,” Clip answered Harmon’s unspoken request. “Though I hear they’re not welcome there anymore.”
Harmon could see the man’s face redden, and the two goons with him tensed. “Are you answering the ad?” Harmon asked.
“I thought I would stop here and see if it was worth our time,” Gregor said. “What’s the pay, and what does it involve? My guy tells me it’s a defensive contract. What are you defending?”
“Your guy?” Harmon asked. “You didn’t read it yourself?”
“I have people for that,” Gregor said dismissively. “What’s the deal?”
“I don’t think it’s for you,” Harmon said. He already knew that this man’s leadership style and attitude was not something he wanted any part of. “We’re defending our entire system against the Squilla.”
“The Squilla?” Gregor said. Then he laughed. “Oh, yeah, the Tretrayon system. Yeah. No. I don’t take losing contracts, even if the credit is up front. You’re right, it’s not for me. Besides, I hear there won’t be a system left. Maybe we’ll wait and come claim some salvage after it’s all over. I hear there’s good credit in it.”
Harmon stared at the arrogant man and balled a fist. Clip and Zerith both stood quickly. They were small, but they both were ready, and if Harmon gave the slightest sign, they were in with everything they had.
Gregor kept smiling and raised his hands. “Hey, we don’t fight unless we get paid for it, and you won’t be around to pay the bill,” he said. “I would say good luck, but it won’t do you any good. You’ll need more than luck. I’m looking at dead men.” He turned and walked toward the entry, and both his bodyguards backed out of the room behind him.
Harmon sat back down with Clip and Zerith. “Man, if that’s how these mercenary dudes act, I wouldn’t hang out with them if you paid me,” Clip said.
“If that iss the way humanss from Earth are, then I don’t think I want to vissit,” Zerith said sincerely. “He sseemss worsse than you desscribed Marteen ussed to act.”
“He is,” Harmon agreed.
“Uhhh…look,” Clip said, nodding toward the doorway.
Harmon looked and saw a being in a tight-fitting space suit walk in. The suit didn’t appear to contain battle armor, though it did look tougher than a work suit. The helmet had a large clear-steel covering over most of it. The only part that was not was the very back of the being’s head.
Harmon observed, without trying to stare, that the being had two arms and two legs. It walked over to where he was sitting in the back of the room and held out it’s hand. Harmon stood up and shook it. Harmon could see it had two eyes, amber-colored with slits as pupils, a couple of long openings where a nose should be, and a mouth with small, sharp teeth. Its skin was a pale green color through the clear-steel.
“Hello. My name is Rick-k Kashka,” he said, part of his name stuttering out through a speaker on the upper right chest of the suit.
“Harmon, Harmon Tomeral,” Harmon said, and he introduced Clip and Zerith.
“I hear you are hiring,” he said. “I sent a message I would be here today.”
“I am. Did you read the entire ad? Do you know what’s involved?” Harmon asked.
“I did, and I do. I did some research,” the mercenary said. “We are looking for a contract. I have a heavy fighter carrier, two heavy battlecruisers, four medium battlec-c-cruisers, six destroyers, six frigates, and a mine layer, which is a destroyer we have modified.” The way he said it, i
t seemed as if he was laying it all out there and really needed the job.
“Far out!” Clip exclaimed.
“Impresssive,” agreed Zerith as he popped another mushroom into his mouth.
“There are some star systems that don’t have that many ships,” Harmon said. He was suspicious. “What’s your story?”
“Well, they were part of my original system’s ships,” he explained. “They are not new, but they have been well maintained. I also have two supply ships that serve as our research, ship repair, supply, and our family housing. They are about the size of a couple of modern dreadnoughts each,” the being said as he slumped back in his chair as if mentally exhausted.
“Look-k,” he said. “I need the contract. We are nearly out of credit, supplies, fuel, food, and gasses. We need it to keep pushing on through the galaxy on our quest. We have made some credit hiring out a ship or two lately protecting merchants, but this is the first time we have had an opportunity to hire all of them out in years.”
Clip sat up quickly; something had jarred a memory. “Wait, are you the Kashkal?” he asked. “The Kashkal?”
“I am. Rick-k Kashka, the last of the Kashkal,” the suited being said. “Those with me are the remains of our race. There are nine thousand two hundred and fifty-eight lives under my leadership. It all rests on my shoulders as their kashka.” he said. Even through the speaker, Harmon could hear the weight of the responsibility on the being.
“Frost! It’s true. The race of Kashkal are real. I thought it was just a story that was kicked around the Net, brought back up every now and then by conspiracy theorists,” Clip said in obvious awe.
“No, we are real. And we search evermore for something that most say cannot exist. A home,” the kashka said.
“What the frossst iss a kashka?” asked Zerith, putting down his mushroom. Harmon glanced over at his friend. Zerith must be really intrigued, he rarely ever uses that type of language.
“Thousands of years ago, we took-k to the stars,” the kashka explained. “There were hundreds of fleets like mine. We left a system that could no longer sustain us. The star was losing its energy and would soon cool down. Through the centuries, one by one, the fleets were destroyed, fighting to survive. In the past, several fleets combined after losses sustained. My small fleet is the last of them.”
“For the last two hundred years, there has been no mention of any others on the Net,” he continued. “I have even been to the Bith home world after my father passed, and I was told they have no records of any of our ships using a gate in those two hundred years, except for the ones in my fleet. I was grateful for the information; as you know, they do not entertain guests. An exception was made for me. Once, a fleet like mine defended their system, and they felt they owed me an answer.
“We have always been a race that fought. We defended our system, and we defended our neighbors, hiring out as a means of earning credit for our race, long before humans left their planet. When we left ours, we had nothing to trade but our fighting ability. When the fleets left our system for the last time, they took jobs all over the galaxy to earn credit and continue the search. Over the centuries it has come down to this—one fleet, one kashka…me,” the kashka said.
As he told the story of his race, something kept bothering Harmon. Something…at the back of his mind. He couldn’t pin it down, and the thought slipped away as he heard Clip ask, “Why haven’t the Kashkal been able to find a home?”
“This,” the kashka said. “This.” He pointed to his helmet and to the rebreather on the front of his suit. “We breathe an atmosphere unlike all other life in the galaxy. The levels of oxygen and other gasses on most habitable planets would kill us in minutes. We manufacture the mixture on one of our supply ships that allows us to breathe so some of us can leave the ships in suits such as this one. There are no known planets with an atmosphere we can survive in. The ones we have discovered to be close and perhaps modifiable do not have the temperatures and starlight that would sustain life such as ours, so we can grow food and raise livestock-k.
“I have known for years that it probably does not exist,” the kashka admitted. “Perhaps my race has been cheating extinction all these centuries; I don’t know. I just know we do what we must to survive. And that is fight. We fight so we can exist and continue the search.”
“Twenty warships,” Harmon said. “How much are we talking about?”
“It doess not matter. We will pay,” Zerith said. Harmon had never heard Zerith speak like that. There was a determination in his voice that would not be denied. Zerith looked at Clip and Harmon as if he dared them to argue.
“Thank-k you,” the kashka said. “Is eight hundred million credits and a complete resupply of gasses unreasonable for twenty warships and crews until the war is settled?”
“It iss not. It iss probably too low, but we must hire otherss and purchasse other sshipss ass well,” Zerith said.
Clip looked at Harmon and shrugged. He typed something into his slate and slid it over for the kashka to sign. The kashka filled in his portion, signed it, and then pulled out his own slate. He then watched as ten percent of the promised credit transferred into his account at the Bith Central Bank. The rest would come once his fleet entered the Tretrayon system. If his race survived the war, they would be able to continue the search until the credit came up short again.
“Thank-k you. I am here in a frigate,” the kashka said. “I could not afford to bring any more ships through the gates without knowing if the offer in the ad was legitimate. My fleet is nine gate days travel from the Tretrayon system, on the other side of the galaxy. I will return to them and be in your system in two weeks. Can you send me the code for our transponders so your defensive platforms do not fire on us as we enter?”
“Sure,” Clip said. He didn’t mention that they didn’t have any defensive platforms in their home system except for ruined warships. He knew by now there should be several repaired enough to perform that function, with all of the wrecks floating in the system.
“We will ssee you then. Oh, and we will call you Rick. Humans like to sshorten names,” Zerith said. Harmon and Clip had to laugh, even though Zerith had just spent more credit than they ever thought possible.
“What was that all about?” Harmon asked his friend after Rick had left. “We just gave him eighty million credits. On his word.”
“Yeah, what gives?” Clip asked. “Though the account the credit went to was actually in Bith Central Bank. They wouldn’t allow a con artist to use their banking system, so it was legit. I checked first.”
“Hiss racce hass no home. No world. My racce was oncce like theirss, until we were able to find a home on Joth. It iss my home world now, and I cannot imagine what it iss like to not have one. My ancesstorss knew, though. I would help them in any way I can,” Zerith said.
“What sucks is many of them may die fighting for us so they can continue their search,” Clip said as he pushed away his plate. “A type of anaerobic respiration in sentient beings isn’t something I ever thought I’d see. I don’t know of any other race that does it. There are a lot of different ratios of oxygen mixed with some strange gases…but I’ve never heard of a planet that had a truly unique one. I suppose they could live under a dome on some planet, but it wouldn’t be much different from life on a ship. Even with all the stars in our galaxy with habitable planets, I don’t think they’ll ever find another one with the type of atmosphere they need to survive unaided.”
“You know, he spoke pretty decent Earth Common,” Harmon remarked.
“If the rumors are true, the Kashkal have the ability to pick up languages at a remarkable rate. It may have been part of his research,” Clip said. “He seemed like a good dude.”
“If they’re willing to take our battle on as their own, and we survive this thing,” said Harmon, “maybe you and Jayneen can do some serious searching on the Net, and try and piece together any clues to see if we can at least point them in the right direction.”
“It’ll be a challenge; the galaxy is huge, but I’m sure there are files somewhere that have some clues,” Clip answered, clearly intrigued. His mind and fingers were already racing.
* * * * *
Chapter Twelve
The carrier disappeared through the gate, and Harmon watched it blink out of existence on the main screen. He had sent it to their home system with Evelyn still in command. He may change that later, since most of her time in the Fleet had been in the Marines as a scout, but he felt confident she could handle it with the help of their friends Twiggy and JoJo. The crew and pilots needed to get some serious training in with the other nine ships and the remains of the Tretrayon Defense Force. Harmon had messaged the system president beforehand to ensure he knew the carrier was not one of the ships he would lease to the system.
“There she goes,” said Marteen, standing beside Harmon on the bridge.
“Yeah, who would have thought the company would own a fighter carrier?” Harmon asked, smiling.
“Oh, yeah, the ship,” Marteen said absentmindedly.
Clip looked over at Zerith, and they both burst out laughing. They both knew Aleethra and Marteen had spent some time on the planet together. Aleethra could be a handful, but it was mostly funny to them, because Marteen had let them know it bothered him to be teased about it.
“Squat-heads,” Marteen said.
“Let me buy you a drink,” Zerith said as he reached up, put his arm around him, and walked him toward the lift. Clip grinned and waved at Harmon as he walked out with them.
Salvage Fleet Page 6