by Marcus Sloss
A few minutes later, the Sluggero sister, Sally, hacked my Gpad and I got an ear full about how my life would be hell for the next season until they were resold. The only saving grace was that, by contract, they had to work a minimum of six point two hours per standard earth day. After that, they could tell me to bugger off.
Which is why they were so adamant to get me to talk with them, to try to kill time ‘on the clock’. Over the past five hours, it had become a tiresome game. I had a plan though and now it was time to see if it worked.
“Time for work starts now,” I said and their sour faced holograms became slightly less grumpy. “I need your help.”
“Obviously, you inbred degenerate. You literally sleep in the mud with the animals,” Sally said. I knew it was the older slugger because her green lips contrasted with her brother’s pink lips. “We are on the job, as required, what is your request?”
“To listen to my offer. I propose granting you freedom from the thousand years on your contract after three earth years,” I said and they blanched. Sluggeros born in captivity were probably never given an option like this. Their contracts were so long because of their insanely long natural lifespans. “To sweeten the deal, for everything you create and sell at the grand market, you will receive a ten percent royalty on. That way, after a few productive years working for me, you can build a fortress in the sky of your own one day and start a freed Sluggero community or something. The main points, however, are that I need you to work more, I need you to work hard, I require your best efforts, and I require you be a part of the team, starting today. I am prepared to pay for that effort by changing the terms in your contract to those I just mentioned.”
There were still plenty of Sluggero communities who were not subspecies. Perci mentioned how the siblings had filled her ears about how their race was still mighty because of its technology. If only their parents had not been captured … on and on they went. My connection closed. Those little shits. I still needed to get a different answer out of them about how best to deal with the Kerbians shooting at AC1’s hangar walls.
My Gpad rang with a call from Willow.
“What’s the plan with these prisoners below? They are recovering and a few have started firing their turret guns at the bay doors,” she said, the concern plain in her voice. “At least they have not consolidated … yet.”
I dialed into the command net. “Start staging octosuits around AC1. In five minutes, we open the doors and kill these assholes or force a surrender.”
My army adjusted to my orders. Tanks carrying infantry suits deposited their riders around AC1. Shield walls formed up in minutes. Right as I was about to order the assault, my Gpad was hacked—again. Somewhere, I knew, Perci was screaming in a fit of rage.
“Two years, fifteen percent, twelve Earth hours a day. We pick where we sleep, and we build us, as in all of Bastion community, a proper home. Not in the sky—at least not initially,” Willis offered.
“I can give you two years, but you get four hours of sleep. Make it sixteen hours of work a day and we have a deal at twelve percent royalties,” I countered.
“Two years, fifteen hours, fourteen percent.”
“Deal,” I said, tapping my translator. I pulled up the contract Perci had sent me and altered the agreement. They accepted. It was that simple. I had hopefully squelched the sassy attitude and insults. “I am considering taking AC1 into the upper atmosphere in the hopes that it will make these Kerbians pass out. Would that work?”
“No. The film in their lungs will convert to … they are high oxygen breathers, not that it matters. You will need to storm the survivors, I am afraid. When, or rather a big if more than a when, we have the right materials and manufacturing equipment, I could make sleeping bombs. Not anytime soon, though. We are scouring the databases now to -”
“Hold that thought,” I said and muted the conversation. I connect to the command channel. A part of me was sad I would not be fighting the good fight down below. “Open AC1’s hangar doors. Storm the survivors, kill all who resist or contract them if they surrender.”
The doors flipped open. I patched into Mclain’s octosuit sensors to watch the combat. The enemy still had a little fight in them. White fire from the few working cannons smacked into our shields. Mclain jumped in front of an orb to take the pressure off a soldier’s weakening shield. Another leaped ahead of him. Return fire silenced the cannon in short order. A few idiotic masked Kerbians charged forward to die a glorious death in battle. The octosuits granted their wish swiftly.
Roughly fifty Kerbians walked out without their weapons and their arms held wide over their heads. My Gpad gave an alert.
‘What terms are we enforcing?’ - Mclain
‘Moving to you, secure the hangar and remove all weapons from the area.’ - Cap
When I left to go down the tube my Gpad rang before I could shoot down the Goliath.
“Go for Cap.”
“One of those Boarzar aliens stepped out of its portal with its hands up. The drone reports that he is asking for the dead bodies… for protein,” Jevon said gruffly. “Eric, those words - they trigger memories of times I wish we’d never shared.”
“Yeah, those poor Iranians. Have him brought to me, please,” I ordered. “Cap out.”
My descent down the tube was pleasant, despite its brevity. A few moments of quiet in the storm that had become my existence. I walked out of the boot to find Bensen waiting for me. The moment I was out, he went into Goliath 1. As the mighty structure walked away, I stepped up the ramp to AC1.
The scene was … different; yeah, different worked here. A group of octosuits surrounded two groups of helmetless aliens. The one thing that immediately jumped out at me was that the smaller group of fifteen Kerbians stood grumpily, their every gesture and expression rife with anger. To the other side, however, stood the bigger group of around thirty-five clumped together in what I could only describe as a relaxed posture. This group consisted of ten-foot-tall gray aliens. Their heads were a faint purple with freckled black dots instead of hair and single eyed in their enlarged heads. The species reminded me of a Puroon, only much larger, with a single eye and heavily muscled. They had thrown some form of camouflaged suits into a pile. I was sure I would find out why soon enough. I went to Kerbians first.
“Who is your leader?” I asked the nasty looking humanoids. One’s double jaw opened to hiss at me. I held back my anger. There was a diplomat inside my little black heart … somewhere. “Hiss at me again and you die,” I growled, “Now, which of you is in charge.”
They simply glared at me. Hmm … how to get them to negotiate? A large muscled gray alien approached from the larger group.
“They will talk through me, if that is acceptable?” the new alien said. I input Jevian for their species title and named the individual Ralph.
“And why won’t they communicate with me directly?” I asked, restlessly. I folded my bulging arms, daring the Kerbians to make a hostile move.
“Your stature for one,” Ralph noted, “not to mention, the fact that you’re human. This faction of the Koovorin Nation typically roll over humans in the open. Defensively, it’s more of a fair fight. They are ashamed and had expected to see Svorin inside your tanks and mecha,” Ralph said, pointing to an octosuit. “The Svorin have eight legs after all and use similar blue weapons. We tried telling them that it was dense nitrogen, not corrosive plasma, but they refused to listen to slave soldiers.”
“So … do I just kill them and be done with it?” I asked with a shrug.
Ralph gave a jolly bark of laughter and his large singular eye rolled back to join in the expression of joy. “Their clan will trade to get them back and, even if their clan will not, the Koovorin council will. Both tend to readily exchange warriors below market value. That leads to the all-important question, what is it you want? If you do not want to swap these warriors for something and instead want to contract them, you should expect resistance. They are rewarded if they return bac
k on golden day for free.”
“We will get to that in a moment. I guess I need to understand who I would be trading with. You mention a nation, a council, and a faction. Which ones are sworn to whom?” I asked, walking over to the wreckage to inspect a ruined fortress tank. My soldiers were busy sorting the working items from the junk. Ralph followed me to watch the process.
“We are contracted warriors and have no allegiance to the Kerbians, their faction, the council, or the Koovorin nation,” Ralph said sternly. “Hence, why I am being so open with you. My contract is yours, should you claim it.”
“Well, what about you and your lot? Will their faction or council trade to get their ‘slave soldiers’ back?” I asked.
He shrugged. Ralph used his extra-long thumb to indicate the other Jevians. “We still have three years left on our contract, even with the fighting. We tried to raid another species and lost. When we surrendered, it was either death or conversion. We converted and were sold to the Kerbians, who constantly pillage through the portal to reinforce their forces. It is a vicious cycle that occasionally produces defeats like this. They’re the… hmm, this faction wars a lot. Our families will never see us again—we are dead to them. Half my tribe was lost due to our commanders’ poor decisions.”
I grunted while clenching my jaw. My gaze shot out beyond AC1 to see Mitchell racing forward on his hover device with the Boarzar. The odd duo slowed before gliding up on the sagging sled; the platform barely hovering over the spring flowers. Mitchell hopped off first, allowing the Boarzar to step forward with a nod and a bow of sorts.
“I am Snarltooth,” Snarltooth said and I gazed at Mitchell holding back a chuckle. ‘Snarltusk’ would have been more appropriate. “Our kind is facing a bitter, four-year winter. We are desperate for food and unfortunately, we have little to trade with.”
I folded my arms across my chest while we listened to the being’s plight. Oh, I guess that was it.
“Hmm. What can you trade? I have more food to trade than these dead Kerbians and Jevians. One moment, please.”
I turned back to Jevian. “Hey, Ralph, is either of your dead sacred or revered?” I asked.
Ralph shook his head no.
“Worth anything in trade to the Kerbian leadership?”
Again, another negative. A finger went up before Ralph asked, “Do you wish to speak of the bodies with this alien or have me tell you about my understanding of the Kerbian leaders?”
“Go ahead and tell me about the Kerbians, I am sure Snarltooth won’t mind waiting a few minutes,” I replied.
“It is important that you understand there is the council, which includes a myriad of species in a city with thousands of species. It is a mega city, where a collective haven has been established.”
“Understood. This guy's uncle,” I indicated the Kerbian who had hissed at me, “is not in charge of the city. His warring faction, though, may hold a key position on the council,” I said and that placated Ralph. I shouted over my shoulder, “Strip the dead and load them on a sled attached to a TP-63!”
I shifted to look at Snarltooth. “Either that feeds my hungry ramoths or you offer me a trade. I am a simple man; we are not in need of much. What is your planet like?”
“Caked in thick unforgiving ice and snow, though we will return to four years of warmth, soon. We manage, normally, by sneaking out and securing items to trade for food. The last month has been rough, with a blizzard for the ages. Things are getting dire,” Snarltooth said sadly. His long snouted faced tucked into his chin. I could see his hunger pains; even his stomach rumbled. “We can grant you access to study our planet, we can offer you some manual labor, assuming we increase our protein intake enough to justify the work.”
I nodded as if I needed either. “I appreciate you coming to me the way you have, Snarltooth. Normally, people looking to kill and not trade pour out of these portals. This would make two trading portals this season, and that makes me happy. To make up for our hostilities earlier, I will let you use my vehicle and sled to get these bodies home,” I said and he gave an excited snort. “Ah, don’t get too excited. I require that the vehicle and the both sled come back.”
He gave a loud grunt. “Understood, we will use it sparingly. I would not want to lead great warriors to my home. With your permission?” Snarltooth asked, pointing at the loaded bodies.
“You may, and Snarltooth … we have more food available to trade, but I will need to study your planet first. Even if we don’t find anything we need, we can work out a deal. No sense in your people dying in the snow when we have extra food,” I said and he snorted with a grin.
“That statement would normally lead me think you are weak, yet …” he looked at the pile of dead aliens. “Thank you.”
The human driver hopped out of the TP63 and Snarltooth stepped in. His large frame barely fit into the vehicle, the seat struggling to rotate forward. A moment later my tank was off for the Xgate, trailing blood as the bodies on the sled continued to leak their life juices.
“Ballsy,” Mitchell said and I laughed.
“Get the analyzer on that planet,” I commanded and Mitchell bellowed at Sergeant Mills. “See Ralph, a smart man has others go into the frigid wasteland for them. Of course, there is a tracker on the tank. So, what do I do with you and -”
“We are not Kerbians. Since you’re a powerful and wise leader, we ask that you break our contracts and send us home,” Ralph said with a bow.
A Kerbian went to smack him. My arm shot out and my cybernetic fist latched onto the Kerbian’s thick forearm.
We locked eyes as his arm fought my power. I squeezed until there was a snap, a loud crack, and the Kerbian screamed in pain while his wrist hung limp.
The Lexium must have triggered something, because the others expected a violent response. They immediately gave us space for a duel.
A roaring challenge was belched from the Kerbian’s dual-jointed maw. His eyes raged with an animalistic desire for blood. He crouched and then lunged his arms forward in a predictable manner.
My cross hook instantly smashed against the alien’s face so hard, the other side of his head bounced off his shoulder. I heard his neck break before the Kerbian crashed to the deck. The body tumbled twice to rest motionless in a sudden finality. That was the power of having a cybernetic arm.
“Bind that one,” I ordered.
Everly sauntered over to my side, her sexy purr at the violence aroused me. “You should bind them all, my king.”
“They are weak and pathetic,” I said, spitting on the corpse that twitched suddenly. “Ralph, go see what they want for these prisoners. Tell them my ramoths are hungry, but I am willing to trade for servants.”
Ralph glanced around confused.
“You want to trade warriors for servants? No one does that. The Koovorin council would even trade Jevians for servants,” Ralph said in a confused and frightened tone. “I don’t want you to think I am arguing. Should I run?”
Everly rolled her eyes at Ralph with disdain. There was a dominant twinkle in her gaze. “What do they use for servants?”
“The Koovorin council controls many cities with tens of thousands of species. I do not think you are grasping what they are,” Ralph said, his large eye seeing us both staring at him with a stern expression. “Regardless, the servile species are a very varied group and the options are many. I would spend a lot of time and the translator will struggle since you Earth Humans have not named them yet. There –”
“Okay, please explain more,” I asked, not enjoying his tone. Even if the information was vital, this being was my prisoner.
“This faction of Kerbians are effective raiders. This raid was a mistake on their part. They normally shift amongst their portals to find easy targets,” Ralph said, glancing around to see if he could see another Xgate on the horizon. “They have numerous cities that hold millions, so a loss that results in a decent trade may placate the Kerbian warlords or the council. Think of them as a large collective
that has established a series of massive bases far away from the majority of the Xgates on their planet. In this mighty hierarchy, I am but a lowly slave soldier, which should make for an interesting day for me. Is there a particular servant species you would like in exchange? I can always ask. That would make sense, if you were specific.”
I pinged his chest a list of our species. “Similar to this works. I will have you escorted to the portal. I don’t doubt they’re scouting the image. Oh, but I need to claim you first, correct?”
“It will matter little, they can claim me back when I return. Ah, I see … you have not conquered the conquered before. If you claim me, then my translator pings my location to my previous owner until the next golden gate. If you keep me alive until then, you inherit my contract. Which is why you should always be hesitant to accept a contract in the first place. Wise conquering leaders, when they capture contracted beings, tend to wait until the end of the season to steal them. There is no rebuttal challenge, then,” Ralph admitted in a dry tone.
I nodded my understanding. “Oh look,” I said, indicating the loser of our duel, “he is breathing. My mind is wondering if there will be any effects from his being brain dead for a while. I bet he thinks he is important, to lash out like that,” I said. The Kerbian my punch had killed had been revived by his lexium symbiote. “That is neat to see. Sorry … I’m easily distracted, back to the point. I want five servants for each Kerbian warrior. Three for your kind ... Unless you would prefer hard labor in our mines for six months.”
“You would give us a reduced contract for simple labor?” Ralph asked. I opened my mouth, then shut it. Everly chuckled at my slip. “We would take that,” he nodded rapidly, “sorry for questioning your most gracious offer.”
I glared sternly at Ralph. “It will be hard labor. If you work without complaint and keep your head down, then you can go home to your family. Get me a good deal for these fourteen, now fifteen Kerbians and I may be more lenient. Everly, have our guest escorted to the portal.”