“Just Lyon. Any time, and I mean that. Sorry I blew up at you, but I had to know. You guys really do think of yourselves as Human, don’t you?”
“We have a saying on Azure—what is the difference between a Human and a Human? One has eight arms, the other has two. As far as we are concerned, the only difference is the number of arms.”
Lyon laughed and held out his hand. “I don’t suppose you—”
He never finished before Ray extended an arm, wrapped the end twice around the man’s hand, and gave it a firm shake.
Lyon just laughed again. “‘Only difference is the number of arms.’ I like that.”
* * * * *
Chapter Eighteen
Guido and Ray arrived back at the old Post Office building without further incident. The evening dinner service was finished, and Mari was back in the apartment. Guido left to assist Nunzio in clean-up, but not before admonishing Ray, “Don’t be too mad at the Boss…I’d hate to have to rip off a tentacle.”
Ray’s translator emitted the hiss-click of a laugh. “You and what army, Big Guy?”
Guido grinned. “Well, I might have to go get Nunzio…”
“Go. He is my grandson, I cannot be too mad at him; this is probably all Lucky’s fault. It is always Lucky’s fault!”
“She swore me to secrecy, you know.” Mari flashed, having overheard the stage-whispers.
“…and she contacted you before or after she let Molina see the victim?” Ray asked. He settled back into the tank. It had been stocked with fresh brine shrimp, and he was hungry.
“After. She said there was no sense in both of you getting in trouble with the Guild. You had resigned, so there was actually nothing they could do if you decided to check things out on your own. She was disobeying a direct order, and if the Guild found out the two of you were in contact, then they would reactivate you and punish you both,” Mari said staying still in the farthest corner of the tank.
There is something bothering him, Ray thought, then verbalized it. “What is bothering you, Grandson?”
“I am,” came another voice. A wheeled water tank not unlike the one Ray had used to get from Luna sat in a shadowed corner of the apartment. A third Wrogul hung from a horizontal bar above the tank and dangled its arm tip into the water.
The Wrogul had blue eyes.
“Molina…or should I call you Octavius? Or maybe Squiddy?” Ray turned back to Mari. “How long has he been here?”
“Do not blame him, Nephew,” Molina interrupted. “He is not, and has not been, involved. The Peacemaker contacted him only to ensure you had not yet arrived. I am only here to provide information, and a caution about your quarry.”
“I should arrest you.”
“But your investigation so far would exonerate me.”
“It does not matter. You fled.”
“My life was in danger.”
Ray reached above the water, grasped a bar and pulled himself out to look at Molina from the same level. “Well, then, educate me.”
“Mengele is an ancient Wrogul from the Galactic home world, wherever that is,” Molina began. “He apparently never watched old Earth adventure movies, because he monologued as badly as a spy-movie villain while interrogating Ginzberg. We’ve heard that Wrogul can potentially live a thousand years, but he is much older than that. One thousand five hundred at best estimate. He claimed to know our progenitor Todd before he arrived on Azure. He also said he knew things about what Todd was doing before the accident that wiped his memory and made some claim about going places in hyperspace he was not supposed to.”
“I do not suppose he explained what that meant?”
“Of course not. Like a villain, right? Always cryptic. Anyway, he seemed to agree with quite a few Galactics that Humans are a danger—too chaotic—too uncontrolled. He is especially unhappy about us!”
“Us?” Ray had a suspicion he knew what came next.
“Wrogul. The ones from Azure. He said we were an abomination.” Molina’s answer was exactly what Ray thought it would be.
“So what exactly is he planning to do about us?”
“Capture us, interrogate us, try to use us against the Humans. He especially wanted Nemo or me. From studying what he did to Ginzberg, I think he has a way to extract information from us via our pinplants. Biologically Human brains are not set up that way, but our brains and pinplants are different. Nemo and I have done the most extensive study of Human brains, so it has something to do with that.”
“So, what, he tortured Ginzberg to get information, or to draw us out?” Ray asked. “By the way, how did you get all of this information? What is your source?”
Molina became somewhat agitated. “I examined Ginzberg. It was…uncomfortable. He was terrified of me and had to be sedated. I examined the broadband pinlink and the full-surrogacy neural mesh. Mengele burned out several of the brain centers associated with volition and probed the regions associated with aggression and emotion. However, I discovered the second pins I had implanted recorded everything—all sensory information. I had a complete record.”
“Where is that record?”
“Your former partner has it now. He would not let me keep it.” Molina made an odd flash pattern that Ray did not recognize.
“I cannot believe you do not have a backup.”
Molina laughed that odd, snickering laugh of his. “Of course, I do! I downloaded a copy to dear Mari’s little spy console and also sent a copy to Nemo.”
Ray laughed as well. “Very well, then. It is as I suspected. Mengele wants to turn Humans into slaves. He probably hates us for helping them. We need to find him and stop him.”
“I have found him, but there are several things you must know, first…” Molina began.
“Where?” Ray interrupted.
“…be patient, Nephew. He is in Innsbrück, Austria, but he is very well hidden and protected. He has backing and a very powerful patron. Someone he referred to as ‘The Boss’ or ‘The General.’”
“Send me the information. I will go there and root him out,” Ray said.
“I am sure you will, Harryhausen, and you may very well succeed. He is afraid of you. He is contemptuous of Verne and Marinara, he seeks Nemo and me for what we know—which, of course, is why I dare not go—but you, he actually seemed to be frightened by you and your Peacemaker Guild. Still, you must—” The apartment door opened, and Molina withdrew to the shadows.
“Boss! Boss!” Nunzio rushed into the room excited. “Boss, ya gotta see this.” He crossed to the Tri-V and activated it. On the screen a Veetanho was speaking “…As of now, the mercenary industry of Earth is under new management. All mercenary organizations will be subsumed as direct forces of the Mercenary Guild…” The screen was split, showing the Veetanho—identified as General Peepo—pictures of the sky, in which huge starships were visible even in daylight; and a scene showing a nuclear explosion that was identified as Tashkent. The news scrawl at the bottom read “Mercenary Guild leader says ‘Union made a mistake…Earth not ready for membership…’”
“Shit,” said Ray.
“Merde,” said Mari.
“Concordato,” agreed Nunzio. “Merda.”
* * * * *
Chapter Nineteen
I know, I know. It’s been too long since I talked with you. I blame it on the fact that I was not even talking to myself for a while there.
This was a bad situation. I needed to get to Austria, and Peepo shut down all commercial flights. Only air freight and ground transportation were still running. Crossing an ocean by air or suborbital was a terrible risk and ocean-surface conveyances were few and far between given Galactic transportation tech. I considered using Peacemaker credentials, but then the word got out about Peepo’s raid on the consulate on Luna.
I had wondered why Crom was sending everyone off-world—and why Weqq? It seems she and the guild knew something that had not filtered down to a lowly ex-investigator. The other problem with using guild credentials was that
Lucky was probably still on Earth, too, and possibly going after Mengele herself. Using my ident might cause her trouble.
This whole planetary situation was screwed up. Look, one hundred years ago Earth woke up to the existence of the Galactic Union. “Yay, the aliens are here, and they are friendly…Oh boy, they have tech and are willing to share…Oops, no we have to buy it…” Which is when we found out nothing was free, and Earth did not have much worth trading…except ourselves. Humans make good mercenaries, and the Union needed mercenaries.
Some Humans were thrilled to find the Galactic Union was an anarchist/libertarian dream—few rules and fewer laws—but those people didn’t think it through to the logical conclusion which meant this was a society in which Might makes Right. A society where production and even possession wasn’t enough, you had to be able to defend and hold.
However, most of the people on Earth were content to let others do the work, to live off the BLA—Basic Living Allowance—payments supported by taxation of the considerable income of the new mercenary companies. They never wondered how those mercs were viewed by the other Galactics. They did not see the mistrust of Humans and their relatively low status in the Guilds, nor the difficulty of getting Humans accepted into the Peacemaker Guild, the Science Guild, or the impossibility of breaking into the Cartography Guild.
They did not see the resentment by other species at this upstart not-even-a-full-member-of-the-Union world—particularly by the Veetanho who ran the Merc Guild, arguably the most powerful of the Union guilds. If a Human even knew of General Peepo, it was only because the rodent-like merc ran a Merc Pit—a location for finding and making connections and taking contracts for mercenary services.
The problem was that even a member of the Peacemaker Guild was not immune to Peepo’s interdiction of Earth. Our guild might have held the moral high ground, but Peepo controlled the literal high ground. I needed to come up with my own resources.
Fortunately, it seemed like I had just the solution at hand, but it would need a bit more work—and time. We did not have time, but we needed to proceed carefully. No plan was perfect, and this one was really risky, especially to Mari. We needed time to set it in motion, and we also needed to get him some additional support. I knew just where to start.
* * *
“Lyon,” said the voice on the other end of the comm.
“Mistah Lyon,” Ray used the Texan accent he had used—was it already a month ago? “Ah’m callin’ on b’half of Azure Arms…Would y’all be int’rested in sendin’ a representative an’ bein’ a sponsah fo’ Mastuh Chef Maury’s Celebritah Cookin’ Cruise?” He hoped the retired merc would get the underlying message and get back with him on the secured comm number he had shared during the visit to the bar.
After a few minutes of random pleasantries, Ray signed off the call and waited. Less than five minutes later the secured comm signaled an incoming call.
“Harryhausen,” Ray answered.
“Lyon. What cruise?”
“I need to get to Austria. I know where to find the rogue. Mari’s Tri-V show planned this cruise, we’re just shifting the date. I need to find some nondescript security.” Ray filled in the ex-merc.
“I didn’t know they still ran transatlantic cruises.”
“Only for special events. On the other hand, instead of fifteen days from Miami to Naples, it is now four-and-a-half by hydrofoil.”
“You want the Rächer, then. Jackson needs to get back to Wiesbaden to see to the security of their dependents. This will do for both of you.”
“You can put him in contact? He can use this number.” Ray had given them both his contact information, and hoped Jackson still had it.
“I will. Get that bastard,” Lyon said. “Oh, and when you get him, can you help our man?”
Ray thought for a moment. “To be honest, I do not know. I have consulted with…a brain specialist. Once we see the lab the rogue has set up, we may be able to effect some repairs. On the other hand, his mind has gone to a memory that makes him happy. He’s better off there than in the real world right now.”
“Understood. Do what you can, and if what you do will splash that rat bastard in orbit, all the better!” The call disconnected, and Ray sat back in contemplation.
Was there a connection between Mengele and Peepo? By now, he had reviewed the recordings from Ginzberg’s pinplant. The Wrogul did indeed mention a boss and “The General” many times. Could that be Peepo? She certainly had it in for Humans, and the claim the Guild was going to regulate and control Earth’s mercenaries sounded like what Mengele was doing.
The only way to find out was to dig him out of his hole.
* * * * *
Chapter Twenty
The ocean crossing was uneventful. Mari had a blast playing the Master Chef, judging a competition, creating new dishes, teaching classes, and posing with celebrities for the cameras. Ray felt really badly about the dangers of public exposure, but Mari assured him that in his role of “spy,” he was used to keeping secrets. The fact the whole event was just a cover to get a former Peacemaker and a platoon of mercs to Europe did nothing to dampen Mari’s enjoyment of the spotlight.
Ray wondered if he was even taking the danger seriously, but Guido and Nunzio set him straight on that. Apparently, things were pretty tough for aliens on Earth even one hundred years after First Contact. They were doubly tough for a non-Italian chef specializing in Italian cuisine. There had been an incident with one of the Families when Mari and his assistant Michael were touring Naples. Mari claimed it was all just an accident, but according to Nunzio, after the display of knife-work they witnessed, the Boss became one of Mari’s biggest fans, and offered to put quite a few resources at the Wrogul’s disposal. Nunzio and Guido volunteered, and the Boss sent them to work with the Master Chef both as students and bodyguards. Mari gained a powerful ally and expanded his network of information gathering, while the Capo gained a friend who prepared calamari just the way he liked it.
Eager as he was to be involved, Ray put his foot—or rather, several arms—down at the notion of Mari joining them for the trip to Innsbrück. The chef might be a decent spy, and he certainly could defend himself, but all-in-all, their cover was better served if Mari made a show of staying in Naples and visiting with his old friend Tony Gamboa. Ray certainly had no problems with the retired mobster; after all, under Galactic Union laws, he had done no wrong. As a matter of fact, the sheer number of people employed and supported by his network made him the equivalent of a regional government, and Ray’s operation had a much lower chance of success without the Capo’s support.
In fact, they would meet with members of that support network when the ship docked in Naples. Although the use of CASPers was illegal on Earth, outside the private merc training grounds, Jackson’s platoon of Rächer had a couple of shipping containers-worth of equipment, and the members of the Gamboa-backed Sicurezza Italia agency—SI—would be there to make up any gaps in both personnel or equipment.
Ray expected to have an argument trying to keep Mari out of the action, but Tony’s involvement again proved useful. As it turned out, his granddaughter was getting married in a few days, which was more than enough time for Mari to pull together a fantastic banquet—after all, the competition shows only allowed a few hours! Having the founder of Chez Marinara cater the wedding of the apple of his eye was something Tony had hoped for, even though he originally hadn’t expected his friend to be available.
Ray stood beside Hauptfeldwebel—Sergeant Major—Jackson as his men checked their gear. On the opposite side of the square, the Italians did the same. Between the two groups were the shipping containers that had been loaded onto flatbed trucks for transfer to and from the cruise ship.
It had been remarkably easy to covertly offload the containers. The cruise ship terminal was right on the edge of the Naples Harbor, and right under the walls of Castel Nuovo, a medieval fort that once guarded the bayside approach to the city-state which had once ruled the entire
region, and even earlier had served as the principal relay point between the Roman empire and Emperor Tiberius’ retreat on the nearby island of Capri. Naples was used to being a seat of power, and the Gamboa family had returned it to economic prosperity after First Contact.
The VIP welcome delegation had arrived for Mari several hours earlier; therefore, no one was paying much attention when several TG Shipping trucks showed up dockside just after dark. The containers were moved to the open square of the castle, while the men walked the short distance to the fort-now-art museum and festival venue.
Jackson told Ray at first he was nervous about assembling all of their gear in the middle of the central keep, until he observed the overhead mesh which not only offered a measure of shade from the midday sun, but also filtered visual, infrared, and electronic surveillance. Ray decided the Italians knew what they were doing, using a part-time tourist destination for their purposes provided cover from the prying eyes of Peepo’s orbital fleet. As long as there were no Human traitors reporting to the Merc Guild, they should escape notice. Ray saw Nunzio enter the square, and he commed the Italian squad leader so they could meet with Jackson to go over the latest intel.
“Octavius’ information seems to be correct,” began Nunzio. “Mister Gamboa’s people have been getting reports of disappearances and some strange accidents up in the Tyrol province of Austria.”
“Define strange,” said Lieutenant Ferrari, the SI leader.
“Road rage, fights, brawls, but all of the victims showed signs of a head injury and scarring.” Nunzio looked meaningfully at Ray. “The latest is a former merc by the name of Posthumus who went berserk in the Innsbrück Altstadt.”
“Posthumous? Was the person already dead?” Ray asked.
“No, P-O-S-T-H-U-M-U-S, it’s a Dutch name. I knew a guy in the Rächer in the early days, ‘Deadman’ Posthumus, who said the name was sometimes given to a child born after the father had died.”
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