by Rob Howell
“It’s hardly conclusive,” pointed out MacKenzie.
“Agreed, sir. It’s a mess, and we’re not entirely sure about Sidar family structures.” Her lips twisted. “Which is why I missed it. However, they have the means, motive, and opportunity. The Zuparti figure they profit while our opfor’s employers run this system. This Sidar shipping company could have shuttled down Jivool and hid them in warehouses. Once on the planet, they could transport them without anyone noticing anything.”
The S-3, Captain Ramsay McAlastair, leaned forward. “It’s tactically and strategically the sort of thing the Zuparti would do.”
“True.” MacKenzie scowled. “Get someone else to take the risks while they reap the rewards.”
“Good job picking these details out, Lieutenant.” Edmonds looked at her for a moment. “We know you didn’t sleep last night. When’s the last time you did?”
“Uh…” Okafor blinked and thought. “I got a couple of hours night before last.”
“That’s what I thought. Forward all your raw data and anything else you think is relevant to the major. Then get a sedative from the docs. I want you unconscious for the next twelve hours. Don’t let me see you awake before then. Understood?”
“I understand, sir. But—”
“Do you have something to add, Lieutenant?”
“No, sir.”
“Then I suggest you follow orders. I’ll let you run down the rabbit hole later. I promise, eh?”
The officers chuckled, and Okafor smiled wanly. She tapped her pad, then rose and left.
Edmonds turned to MacKenzie. “Major, go through all that data. See if you can find any more connections.” She turned to another officer. “Sparks, I want you to see if you can track down any communications between any of these companies, the Jivool, and the Zuparti.”
“Will do, sir.”
“Lieutenant Rutherford.” She looked at her supply officer. “In your copious spare time, after ensuring we have enough food, ammo, and fuel cells, I want you to search the transport routes. See if you can pin down exactly how the Jivool got to the battlefield.”
Rutherford wryly nodded. “I’ve got nothing better to do.”
“Didn’t think so,” said Edmonds with a chuckle.
MacKenzie glanced at the colonel. “I agree that we should find out who’s behind this, but what does it matter? We’ve fulfilled the terms of the contract.”
“Hold that thought, Major.” Edmonds glanced back at McAlastair. “Captain, give me a sitrep on Alfa Company.”
“Sir, we took heavy damage in each platoon. All told, we have twenty-three KIA and twelve wounded. That’s about a quarter of our line platoons. And we’re going to need a new platoon leader for Alfa First. We’ve probably got enough recruits sitting at West Rocks to replace them, but it’ll take at least three weeks to get them here. Probably a month.”
“And our CASPers?”
“They’re not in great shape either. I’ve no doubt Rutherford has enough fuel cells to keep them moving, and I don’t anticipate any real issues with ammo. However, their anti-laser ablative coatings took a beating.”
“I can arrange to get some of the most hammered CASPers recoated, but only a few.” Rutherford’s lips twisted. “However, we can scavenge enough parts from the casualties that all remaining troopers will have an operational Shovel Head.”
“About what I expected.” Edmonds nodded. She glanced around the table. “How do you think Cartwright’s Cavaliers would’ve fared in this battle, assuming they sent the same number of troopers we did?”
McAlastair leaned back and pondered the question. “Apples to oranges, sir. We fought in a forested area. It’s our specialty, not theirs.”
“Agreed. You’re saying they would’ve lost more than we did?”
He shook his head. “No, sir. They’d have lost much less. We’re essentially using Ma Deuces with solid projectiles. The Jivool soaked those up and kept shooting at us. We barely had enough K-bombs to make up the difference. Most importantly, the Cavaliers have CASPer Mk 6s. Our Mk 4s are limited. Fortunately, the Shovel Heads are good against lasers.”
“You’re absolutely correct, Captain.” Edmonds smiled harshly. “Ladies and gentlemen, have no doubts. We won because we faced the type of weapons least likely to hurt us and we were in our chosen terrain. Take either of those factors away, and we would have lost. Take both away, and we’d probably all be dead.”
The command staff of the Foresters contemplated the truth of that statement.
Edmonds continued, “Of course, everything would’ve been different if we were in Mk 6s, right?”
“Can’t afford them, sir,” interjected Rutherford. “Even with the combat and replacement bonuses in the contract, we won’t make enough. We can’t even afford Mk 5s.”
“Agreed.” She smiled nastily. “Major MacKenzie, you asked why we need to know who did what. If we can tie the Sidar shipping company to the Jivool and the Zuparti, we can claim they were active combatants. Our employers will support that, right?”
MacKenzie laughed. “Damn right they will. And, if we can prove the Jivool used those warehouses, they become legitimate targets.”
“Indeed. The Merc Guild will also support that claim. We’ll limit civilian casualties and that’ll keep the Peacemakers out of it.”
“That shipping company has hundreds of warehouses on Druant,” said Rutherford as a grin spread across his face. “Big ones. Klicks long. Even if they’re not full when we get there, there’ll still be millions of tonnes of parts. We can upgrade quite a few of our CASPers with that much. And that doesn’t include what we can take from the Zuparti or whoever is behind this trap.”
“Ah, yes. The Zuparti.” Edmonds’ eyes turned icy. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I wouldn’t mind taking a bit from them after all the trouble they’ve caused on Peninnah.”
The other officers nodded.
Edmonds turned back to her chief of staff. “So, yes, Hamish, I’d like you to be thorough. Make sure the proof is ironclad. I don’t want anyone to doubt we’re within our rights. And one other thing.”
“What?”
“Let’s make sure no one thinks they can trap the Queen Elizabeth’s Own without paying the ferryman one way or another.”
“Yes, sir!” snapped MacKenzie, his eyes alight.
* * * * *
Part I
Interesting Stuff, Blood
—The Return of Doctor X
Chapter 1 – Kal’shin Tahnerif
Karma Station, Karma-IV
A Veetanho secretary led four Zuul into a large, dimly lit boardroom. Across the room, another Veetanho rose from behind the polished bubinga table. In the gloom, the bubinga’s grain flowed rather than gleamed.
“Welcome, Tahnerif, Kal’shin of the Stalkers in the Stars. I am Streetho. Please, take your ease.” The Veetanho waved at four Zuul-designed chairs placed opposite a Tri-V panel showing the Tahveria-Sharan. The Tahverian Clan’s spaceflight memorial stretched toward the Great Hunter as he chased the Slyest Prey in the trackless night. The room’s gloomy lighting let the constellations shine. It also allowed Streetho to forgo goggles, and her eyes shone with the same welcome as the familiar stars.
And the same greedy fire that burns in a star’s core. Tahnerif hid his thought with a punctilious salute, which his subordinates copied. “Thank you, Streetho. Your courtesy is noted by the great pack.”
After the Zuul sat down, Tahnerif continued. “You requested this meeting. You must have discovered why the Tahrietha Trackers hunting pack never returned home.”
“Indeed I have.” Streetho gestured and a battle scene replaced the Tahveria-Sharan. The footage was grainy, static-filled, and jerky. It came from a camera attached to someone fighting against Zuul, and the badge of the Tarietha Trackers was clearly visible on them.
Tahnerif watched the battle quietly, no hint of emotion in his eyes or on his muzzle. His subordinates lacked his restraint, especially once the
tide of the battle turned against the Zuul. The Trackers fought well, but the Humans in powered armor greatly outnumbered them. The Zuul only surrendered after the tactical situation deteriorated so much that no one could question their honor. Even so, one of Tahnerif’s subordinates growled in anger.
The firing slacked and stopped. The Zuul commander stepped forward and laid down his arms, including a jeweled knife. Tahnerif recognized the leader, for he and Kal’shin Tahcarran came from the same litter.
Streetho paused the playback. “I formally notified the Mercenary Guild that the Tahrietha Trackers Zuul mercenary unit serving on Maquon fulfilled the terms of their contract. That decision is now on record with the Guild.”
“Thank you, Streetho. It is well that you wash away this stain upon my littermate’s honor,” Tahnerif paused, “but that cannot be what you called us here to see.”
“It is not.”
The video continued. The surviving Trackers stepped out from behind the spiny, slim trees and heavy, tall underbrush. They lined up in the clearing, placed their weapons on the ground, and assembled in parade formation.
The Human mercenary unit opened fire. The Zuul veterans had no time to react. A spray of blue blood and fur coated the trees behind them.
Tahnerif controlled his snarl. Barely.
One of his subordinates could not. “By the S—!”
The commander cut her off with a growl. “Don’t forget yourself, Rei’shin.” He stared at the company commander until she nodded. He turned back. “Play that again, Streetho,” he ordered.
Streetho complied.
“Pause!” snapped Tahnerif. “Can you zoom in?”
“On?”
“The symbol on the Human armor.”
“This video, as you can see, isn’t of the best quality. I believe it to be copied from copies.”
“Nevertheless.”
Streetho focused on the symbol. At first, it was merely a jumble of pixels. As the Veetanho manipulated the image, it shifted from a blur to an image of a badge with three leaves in a triangle. She gestured again, and after a moment, a caption appeared.
“According to the Mercenary Guild database, this badge matches that of the Queen Elizabeth’s Own Foresters.”
“This is certain?” asked Tahnerif.
“The Mercenary Guild database is unlikely to misidentify a registered badge,” replied Streetho stiffly.
“You have all the relevant symbols on record?”
“We do. Also, the Guild’s records list the Foresters as one of the units hired by the faction of Maquonese opposing your employer.”
Streetho tapped her controls and a basic intelligence analysis of the Foresters appeared on another screen. “The Humans have improved their powered armor over the years since their provisional admittance into the Galactic Union. The armor in this video wasn’t the current version even eight years ago when this battle occurred.”
“I’m aware of the differences in Human powered armor, Streetho,” said Tahnerif, a precise snap in his tone. “The armor in the video is what the humans call a CASPer, Mk 6.”
“You’re correct. As you’ll note from the roster on the screen, the Foresters have used that model for some time since they upgraded to it.”
“I see that. However, this isn’t conclusive.”
“You have seen the images,” replied Streetho.
“I have.” Tahnerif’s ears swiveled. “Has the video been edited or corrupted?”
“Corrupted? Yes, obviously, given its poor quality.”
“Edited?”
“Not that I know of. It’s exactly as I received it.”
“That isn’t a complete answer.”
“It is not, but it’s the most honest answer I can give you.” Streetho slid a data chip toward Tahnerif. “Here is the original I received. You’re welcome to have your technicians examine it.”
“I thank you.” Tahnerif slid the data chip to a subordinate. Then he pulled out a jeweled knife. Even in the dim light, the jewels glittered. The commander grasped it tightly by the blade in his left forepaw.
Streetho watched in fascination as blue Zuul blood dripped on the bubinga.
“It is important that we determine the truth of that video,” stated Tahnerif. “Those who have slaughtered our pack after they surrendered must be given their deserved reward. We would bring great shame to both ourselves and our kin should we mistake who that is.”
“Indeed.” Streetho paused. “However, since you’re here, should we not proceed as if the video hasn’t been edited? As representatives of the Mercenary Guild, we don’t wish to see such actions left unpunished. We could discuss plans for the Stalkers in the Stars that are contingent upon your examination of the video.”
Tahnerif stared at the blood on the table. “Very well, Streetho. First, tell me of these Foresters.”
“I’ll send you a complete dossier on the unit.”
“That is good, but without some immediate knowledge of them, I cannot continue this discussion. How large is the unit?”
“There are four companies, plus a number of support elements, including two lightly armed, obsolete destroyers converted to transport ships. Each of the three primary companies has approximately 150 soldiers, most fighting in powered armor. They use two of the companies to fulfill contracts. A third is a training command that never leaves Earth. Once they’ve completed training, which is more extensive than that of many units, new troopers are sent to Maquon to await their final assignments. The fourth company serves as security for the Maquon base.”
“And the support elements you mentioned? Heavy weapons?”
“They have little in the way of heavy weapons, in part because they specialize in fighting in forests and other cluttered terrain. They’ve got mortars, large rockets, and tripod-mounted MACs. No artillery or anything similar. They do, however, have a number of men skilled in demolitions, mines, and fortifications. They also have dropships capable of both CAS and air-to-air combat.”
“How long have they existed?”
“They were part of one of the Human national armies prior to First Contact. They aren’t one of the Four Horsemen. They applied to the Merc Guild not long after the Humans attempted their Alpha Contracts.” Streetho gestured. “They claim their lineage goes back to legendary Human outlaws in a place called Sherwood Forest, so their treachery is, perhaps, not surprising.”
“Perhaps. Why do they use the older armor?”
“As mercenary companies go, they’re poor and cannot afford the newest models. They also carry lighter, cheaper weapons than other Human units. Their primary armament, for example, is an adaptation of a weapon already over a Human century old at First Contact.”
“It is probably a good design, then, as are the Mk 6s.”
“There is no doubt the Foresters have consistently fulfilled their contracts.”
“It would be good to know why they murdered our brothers,” mused Tahnerif. “Did they do it in response to some specific event, or is it merely their standard procedure? Have they committed any other atrocities?”
“None that I’m aware of, though the Peacemakers might know differently. According to Peepo, it was a Peacemaker who brought the video to our attention.”
Tahnerif’s ears swiveled. “Which Peacemaker?”
“Peepo didn’t tell me. I don’t know if even she knows.”
Tahnerif wrinkled his muzzle. “Typical. We have often found the Peacemakers to be without honor.”
“As have we. They don’t always understand the codes and expectations of the Mercenary Guild and are arrogant enough not to care. They certainly don’t seem to have any interest in pursuing this matter.”
Tahnerif curled his lip. “Have you any information on the Nightprowler, the ship we sent to retrieve the Trackers?”
“I have none.”
“The system’s stargate logs show it arrived in the Maquon system on schedule. Those logs also show it departed, but not its cargo or destination.”
>
“I know nothing of the Nightprowler,” said Streetho. “I found this video and brought it to your attention immediately. I haven’t yet investigated thoroughly.”
Tahnerif’s ears swiveled. “We, perhaps, have more incentive to examine such things. Our clan checked those logs as soon as the ship didn’t return on schedule.”
“I apologize.”
“Think no more of it.” Tahnerif waved a paw. “Am I to assume that you have some suggestions about what to do, should our technicians find the video uncompromised?”
“Yes,” Streetho said. “Send in Kukuluki.”
After a moment a door opened, and a Zuparti warily entered. He stood across from the Zuul. His eyes flicked back and forth, and he seemed ready to flee. He saw the blood on the table and took an involuntary step back.
Truly a cowardly, useless species, thought Tahnerif. But we have honorably profited from their contracts before.
“I have long heard of the h-h-honor of the Zuul, and this m-m-massacre distresses me. I wish to h-h-help.”
“Indeed?”
Streetho motioned, and details of a small mining moon appeared on the Tri-V screen. “This is Cimaron 283133-6A. It’s a moon shared by the Zuparti and the Sidar. The Zuparti have hired a small unit of Foresters to serve as their guards. The Sidar wish to employ your company to protect their civilians on the moon.”
Tahnerif raised an ear. “Surely, in our pursuit of justice, we need more than a garrison contract?” He glanced at his subordinates. “I wouldn’t dishonor my rei’shin by tasking them with such a role.”
The rei’shin growled in agreement. The Zuparti took another step back, his forepaws fluttering.
“Maybe,” agreed Streetho with a sidelong glance at Kukuluki. “I suggested Kukuluki hire the Foresters because the Sidar would require a garrison there, which would allow you to study the Foresters up close.”