“Allowing you to unlock the secrets behind alien technology,” the President said. Once, Steve would have suspected the President hadn’t actually read his briefing notes. Now, he knew the man was far from stupid. “How long do you think it will be before you produce your own fabricator?”
“Probably several years,” Steve admitted. “Reassembling molecules is a little more complex than producing fusion power or even antigravity. But the new fabricators will allow us to expand by leaps and bounds. Unfortunately, it comes at a price.”
He paused, then explained about the alien demand for mercenaries.
“We don’t seem to have much else to market,” he concluded. “And we need your help.”
The President frowned. “I believe that much of your population is made up of ex-military personnel,” he said, after a moment. “It was one of your criteria for early recruitment.”
Steve nodded, remembering how the DHS had seen vanishing veterans and panicked over nothing. But then, he would probably have asked a few hard questions if he’d seen veterans disappearing without explanation.
“It is,” Steve said. “Their first request is for five thousand soldiers, Mr. President, but we believe they will want more. Hundreds of thousands more.”
The President’s eyes narrowed. “You want to borrow American military units.”
“Yes, Mr. President,” Steve said. “Maybe not for the first deployment, but certainly for others.”
“I have a feeling Congress will not be pleased,” the President said. “There was a reason mercenaries became so popular in Iraq.”
“Cowboys,” Steve muttered. The government had been worried about the effects of losing troops on American public opinion, so they’d hired mercenaries to fill some of the gaps. But the mercenaries had ranged from genuinely competent to idiots and they’d caused a lot of political problems for the government. He didn't blame the Iraqis for wanting to prosecute some of the former mercenaries. They’d killed people without any good cause. “But we’re going to do better than that, Mr. President.”
The President sighed. “And if I refuse?”
“We intend to recruit anyway,” Steve said. “But we won’t recruit from serving formations.”
He left unspoken the simple fact that quite a number of serving soldiers would consider moving to the mercenary force rather than reenlisting in the United States military. There were soldiers who had enlisted for adventure, rather than anything else, and what better adventure than fighting on a whole different world? And there would be a high rate of pay, generous benefits and other advantages, even if most of the alien currency they earned would be taxed heavily to help fund Earth’s expansion into the galaxy.
“I was also planning to buy up one of the private training complexes and turn it into a recruitment and training depot,” he continued. “But if you think that would cause political problems ...”
“It would,” the President said. “Unless, of course, we got something in exchange.”
Steve leaned forward. Now the bargaining could begin. “What do you want?”
The President studied him for a long moment. “Assistance in producing our own fusion reactors,” he said, simply. “And superconductor batteries.”
“American firms are already involved with the research efforts,” Steve pointed out. “And some of the components cannot be manufactured on Earth.”
“Then we would want additional supplies of both,” the President said. “And some military assistance.”
Steve lifted his eyebrows. International terrorism was reeling, both under the sudden loss of their leadership cadres and their financial backers. For once, the War on Terror had come genuinely close to being won. But there were growing problems in the Middle East and Pakistan, which was experiencing a terrifying level of civil unrest. It was quite likely, Steve knew, that the Pakistani Government would fall soon enough. And it wasn't the only major headache.
“What sort of assistance would you like?” He said, finally. “And why?”
“We believe that North Korea is undergoing severe economic problems,” the President said, softly. “Their Chinese patrons have been distracted and the Russians aren’t interested in feeding them these days. It is quite possible that their government will consider making a lunge for South Korea, unleashing a bloody war.”
Steve scowled. He hadn't seriously considered Korea, but he had to admit the President had a point. “We could wipe out their leadership too,” he said. “And yet that would certainly result in civil war.”
The President shook his head. “We would like some military assistance if the North Koreans do start attacking the South,” he said. “And we would like their nuclear program destroyed.”
Steve nodded. “Very well,” he said. “It will be done.”
***
“An approvable decision,” Romford said, four hours later. “Getting rid of North Korea as a nuclear power will definitely make the world safer.”
“I suppose,” Steve said. He looked around the training complex. It was surprisingly impressive, reminding him of Camp Pendleton. “These guys didn't miss much, did they?”
“I believe they were retired Marines,” Romford confirmed. “The training program had its limits, but it certainly did a good job at turning out cohesive teams. And they proved themselves in combat.”
Steve nodded. International Warriors had been one of the large private security companies in the world, recruiting soldiers from all over the world and hiring them out as everything from bodyguards to local police forces. Steve had met a couple of their recruiters back when he retired from the Marines and he had to admit that he had been seriously tempted. If he hadn't had the ranch, he might well have signed up and been deployed to Africa or the Middle East as part of a private bodyguard team.
But that might have gotten me killed, he thought. The last report from Saudi Arabia had suggested that a number of hired bodyguards had been slaughtered by the Saudi National Guard. No one was quite sure why. Or I might never have seen the starship.
He looked around the training complex, thoughtfully. The owners had designed it to simulate every possible field of combat, from house-to-house fighting to jungle or naval combat. It wasn't too surprising, he knew. They’d supplied guards for freighters cruising near the coast of Africa as well as private security teams. The former Marines or SEALs who made up such teams wouldn't want to let their skills slip. Besides, lacking the endless government bureaucracy, the company had been able to adapt, react and overcome quicker than some aspects of the Pentagon. Rumour had it that they even paid bonuses for soldiers who spoke foreign languages.
“So tell me,” he said. “Is this suitable for our purposes?”
“More or less,” Romford confirmed. “We can run basic medical checks here, give everyone a translation implant, then start running through training cycles until we get used to working as a team. We’ll probably run into problems when we start recruiting people from outside the United States, but we will overcome them. It will help, I think, that we won’t give a shit about political correctness.”
Steve nodded. The agreement with the President, which was currently being examined by a select group of American politicians, would effectively turn the training camp into a private fiefdom. As long as the soldiers entered willingly and signed the right contracts, they could be put through the most intensive training possible without worrying about bureaucratic rules and regulations. Knowing the dangers of abuse, Steve had been careful to hire training officers he knew and trusted ... with the private thought that he could do almost anything to a training officer who failed his trust.
Something lingering in boiling oil, perhaps, he thought. Or maybe simple exposure to hard vacuum.
“Give us a couple of months, I think, with the first volunteers,” Romford added. “Then we can start recruiting others. But we’re going to have to experiment a bit with the training programs.”
“True,” Steve agreed. This wasn't a standard mi
litary deployment, no matter what it looked like on the surface. The soldiers would be travelling to alien worlds and fighting there. “It wouldn't do to recruit an xenophobe.”
“Or someone with a deathly fear of little blue men,” Romford agreed. He smiled, brightly. “Anyone who read Green Lantern will probably be very suspicious of our ... noble benefactors.”
Steve gave him an odd look. “I would never have fingered you as a comics fan.”
“There was a kid who came to see his granddad in the damn residence,” Romford said. “I think he was bored out of his skull, so he used to show me the comics and try to read them to me. The last few issues had the Guardians creating a Borg rip-off and sending them to turn the entire universe into thoughtless monsters. And then they all died.”
“A likely story,” Steve said. It wasn't uncommon for soldiers to enjoy reading comics as a form of escape from their lives. Hell, he’d been a great fan of Doctor Who for precisely that reason. The episodes were unrealistic, but that was the point. War movies would have been a bit too close to home. “I think you bought them for yourself.”
Romford looked away. “Anyway, we will be watching for people with an adverse fear reaction,” he continued, changing the subject rapidly. “Part of the training program will include holograms of many of the nastier-looking alien races, particularly the ones that look like spiders or movie monsters.”
“Exposure will probably help,” Steve said.
He winced at an old memory. He’d once been deathly scared of scorpions, to the point where he hadn't even been able to look at the creatures. Iraq and its legions of deadly scorpions had cleared that right up, even though he still found them creepy. Hell, they’d spent the boring days before crossing the border capturing scorpions and watching them fight each other for entertainment. But what if there were soldiers who literally went to pieces when confronted with alien life forms?
“Let us hope so,” Romford said. He smiled, suddenly. “We’ve also started constructing a holographic training room, where we can test people to the limit. A few more days and we should be able to start offering training that is as close as possible to reality.”
“Good,” Steve said. He took one last look around the training field. “They’re willing to sell?”
“They’ve been having legal and financial problems lately,” Romford said. “There’s some problems with operating a mercenary company these days – and the UN really didn't help, when it bitched and moaned about guards doing their damn jobs. And yet, everyone in an unstable place wants trained bodyguards to watch their backs.”
He shrugged. “They’re willing to fold themselves completely into us,” he added, “or continue to operate, as long as they can base themselves on the moon. Our taxes are lower and our regulations pretty much non-existent.”
“It will do,” Steve said. The more businesses that had interests on the moon, the harder it would be for Earth-bound politicians to interfere with the settlers. “What about recruitment?”
“I will be going,” Romford said, shortly. His tone didn't invite disagreement. “I’m building an army here, sir. I’m damned if I won’t lead it into battle.”
“Or at least some elements of it into battle,” Steve commented. The aliens hadn't been too clear on what they actually wanted from their human mercenaries. Reading between the lines, Steve had a feeling they didn’t know themselves. “We still don't know precisely what they want from us.”
“Shock troops, I suspect,” Romford said. “I’ve studied recordings of enemy cyborgs in action, Steve. They’re hard to kill – they’re amazingly durable – but apart from that there doesn't seem to be much about them that an unaugmented soldier with intensive training couldn't duplicate.”
Steve frowned. “Implanted weapons and neural links?”
“The former we can match with handheld weapons, the latter we may not need,” Romford disagreed. “They also don’t seem to be long-term thinkers. I suspect they’re programmed to be instinctive fighters, but not to think past the current battle. Which could cause us problems, sir. They don’t seem to have any concern about committing small atrocities.”
Steve winced. “And we will get the blame?”
“Perhaps,” Romford said. He looked thoughtful for a long moment. “Or at least we will be considered tainted. But how much freedom of choice do they actually have?”
“Maybe too much,” Steve said, remembering just how close he’d come to committing genocide. “Or maybe they're just not programmed to give a damn about civilians in their way.”
The thought made him shudder. Someone who grew up in a brutal and ruthless society would probably become brutal and ruthless himself, but there would always be an element of free will. The cyborgs, on the other hand, might have certain fundamentals hardwired into their heads. They might not be able to question their orders, or hold doubts about the justice – or even the expediency – of mass slaughter of innocent civilians. Did that make them guilty? Or was it the aliens who bore the guilt? How could one blame a gun for firing when it was its user who pulled the trigger?
Didn't stop people being afraid of guns, he thought, cynically. Or trying to ban them ... and hanging out their own people for slaughter.
Romford cleared his throat. “We have two thousand volunteers so far from people who applied to join the lunar society,” he said. “Charles has sent out a general request to the other people waiting in line, with the promise of lunar citizenship for them and their families if they accept. Quite a few old-timers have accepted in exchange for rejuvenation treatments, so I’ve authorised them. I’ve limited recruitment to Americans, so far, but I would like to change for the second batch. There are quite a few potential recruits in other NATO countries. After that ...”
He shrugged. “We’ll have to start inviting Russian, Chinese and Indian soldiers,” he added. “And probably soldiers from quite a few other countries. There will be problems.”
“I know,” Steve said.
“But we’re not the UN,” Romford concluded. “Anyone who causes minor problems will be booted out – and sent back home, if they have been real assholes. And anyone who breaks the ROE will be interrogated, then summarily shot if they fucked up badly enough.”
“Just make sure you devise a sensible set of ROE,” Steve advised.
“The aliens might devise them for us,” Romford said. “But as long as we have a say in the decision, we shouldn't have a problem.”
Steve nodded. “Keep me informed,” he ordered. “I want to know about any problems as soon as they appear.”
“Understood,” Romford said.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Heinlein Colony, Luna
“You do realise,” Kevin said, “that this is still quite distressing.”
Steve looked unsurprised. He'd grown up a little in the last few weeks, Kevin noted, even though he was still being far too casual about his decisions. But at least this would – should - cause fewer immediate problems. The nanotech had hunted down North Korea’s stockpile of nuclear warheads and casually disarmed them. It would take a careful inspection to reveal there was a problem and, somehow, Kevin doubted the North Koreans would dare to report any problems if they found them. The Dearest Leader was far too fond of lopping off his subjects heads for them to dare to face him with bad news.
Idiot, he thought, as he stood up. If you kill the messenger, the only thing you get is less mail.
“But it’s done,” Kevin said. “The North Koreans will be unable to fire nukes in all directions, should war break out.”
The President had been right, he’d decided, after catching up with the torrent of information from Earth. North Korea was starving, there were threats of revolution and the Chinese were completely distracted. Why wouldn't the Dearest Leader gamble? Better to go out in fire than be torn apart by one’s own people. But now, between the nanotech and the handful of automated weapons platforms deployed to a position over North Korea, any major offensive across the DMZ w
ould become a squib.
And countless North Koreans will die because of their leader’s madness, he thought. It would be simple, almost too simple, to remove the Dearest Leader too. But it would almost certainly result in outright civil war and hundreds of thousands of refugees fleeing into the south. It could not be risked until war actually broke out. At that point, the Dearest Leader’s lifespan would be numbered in seconds.
He smiled, then led Steve through the network of corridors into the small factory complex. Building it up had required the dedicated use of four shuttles – and he was so glad they’d been able to obtain more shuttles on Ying – but it had been completely worthwhile. Now, they could start putting together a handful of nasty surprises for the next Hordesmen to come calling at Earth.
The nuclear techs looked up from their work, then nodded. Most of them had worked for the American government in one role or another, before being invited to come to the moon as part of the joint weapons research program. Not all of them were lunar citizens – they were still loyal to the United States – but as long as they worked on joint defence, no one actually minded. Besides, the more people involved in the theoretical part of the program, the greatest the chance of a significant development.
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