The War for Profit Series Omnibus

by Gideon Fleisher

  “I just wanted to make a point. So what would be a good application for this?”

  “Flying cars, I guess. Bulk cargo movement, things like that.”

  Robert said, “Suppose I wanted to keep it quiet?”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “Because of the way I found out about it.”

  Galen pretended to understand and just nodded knowingly, even though he didn’t know. He just wanted Robert to explain farther. Galen knew the feeling of having to tell somebody something, a great secret bottled up, a secret that would explode the person keeping it if it weren’t told to somebody.

  Robert said, “I found some compressed data.”

  Galen nodded and smiled.

  Robert opened the safe. Inside was a metal cylinder that looked like it had been five centimeters in diameter and twenty five centimeters long, before its contents had cause it to swell and burst. Robert pulled the ruined cylinder out of the safe. Something about the size of a cherry pit rattled inside and a single data cable dangled from one end.

  “This held my proteum, a cylinder I special ordered straight from Terra. You know, Hydrogen One, with no neutrons at all. Or I thought it was. I tried and tried, but there was one last neutron I couldn’t get rid of. Finally I tried moving it with intersecting laser beams, and the cylinder swelled up and burst right here on my work bench. Lost all my proteum.”

  “I see,” said Galen. He hoped this wouldn’t take much longer. Best to just listen, it would go faster that way.

  “Well it took me a while to figure out what happened. That neutron was no neutron. It was a data storage crystal folded in on its self and hidden in my proteum. Took me a week to put together a data reader, and then the data was hard to understand, much of it in ancient Common.”

  Galen decided to fold his arms across his chest, to convey skepticism. He hoped that would make Robert get to the point, thereby hurrying the conversation along to its end.

  Robert said, “That makes the information at least eleven hundred years old, before the fall of the Terran Empire. The only thing I’ve learned from it so far is how to alter the coefficient of gravity. But I don’t want to tell anyone what I have. You can imagine how that would disrupt my life. I’m retired, after all.”

  Galen saw his chance to end the discussion gracefully. He wanted to ask a question that implied understanding as a way to circumvent more explanation and give Robert the last word. “Your secret is safe with me, but why are you telling me this?”

  “I had to tell somebody. Thank you for listening.”

  Galen smiled, lips pressed tightly together. Then he followed Robert out of the work shop and into the living room.

  Karen and Nan were seated on the couch. Karen stood and said, “I’m ready for bed.”

  Nan stood and said, “I’ll show you to the apartment.”

  Nan led the way up the stairs and opened the apartment door. It had the same floor plan as Nan’s apartment, but was sparsely furnished. She handed the key to Galen. “Everything you need is here but food. Enjoy.”

  Nan left, closing the door behind her.

  Karen said, “She’s nice, I like her.”

  Galen led her to the bed room. “I think she likes you too.”

  Karen got undressed and got in bed. “This is comfortable.”

  Galen went to take a shower. “Good night.”

  When he returned, Karen was asleep already. Galen climbed into bed and dozed off moments later.

  Chapter Two

  Robert’s air car drove to the coliseum of the Ostwind Armor Academy and parked in a reserved spot in front of the main entrance. The senior staff of the Academy was there in full dress military uniform to greet VIPs, along with several members of the alumni board in civilian clothes. Most of the people in civilian clothes had miniature versions of their three highest military medals pinned over their hearts. The uniformed personnel gave Galen a group salute, which he returned before looking back to help his mother out of the air car. Robert came to Nan’s right side to stand directly behind Galen, Karen got on Galen’s left and they walked past the group and toward the coliseum’s main entrance. As an afterthought, Galen realized that the Academy Commandant had been with the welcoming committee, and he wore full Colonel rank as well, and in accordance with military tradition there should have been no salute, since everyone in that group was covered by the rank of the senior ranking member of their group. Add the fact that some of the alumni board members were retired General officers and the whole incident became a soup of vaguely violated military protocols.

  The door at the top of the steps slid open on its own and led into the foyer but the next set of doors at the opposite end of the foyer were opened and held by a pair of first-year cadets who said nothing and didn’t salute, indoors and enclosed on three sides, but wearing head gear none the less. Galen passed through and stopped just outside the doors and concentrated on the task at hand. Around the sides of the coliseum, cadets and faculty and family members and other civilians sat in the bleachers, filled to capacity, a few standing or milling around. On the athletic field ahead, rows of chairs held the Seniors, the cadets who were about to graduate. Right down the middle of the chairs was a gap four meters wide. Galen looked at the stage at the far end and waited. The university president was speaking, telling the crowd just how proud she was of all the students. Finally she raised her left hand, the signal for Galen to come forward.

  By this time the Commandant and the senior faculty and the alumni board members were lined up behind Galen’s family in a column of twos. Galen stepped off with his left foot and kept the pace slow. Karen, despite being in uniform, looped her right arm through his left, giving a clear signal that they were a couple.

  The academy president announced, “Ladies and Gentlemen, the Jasmine Panzer Brigade Commander, Colonel Galen Raper.”

  He angled to the left of the stage and climbed the six steps to get up on the stage and then took his place to stand at the lectern. A double row of seats were set up and Karen took the second one, leaving the first for Galen. Galen watched over his shoulder as Nan and Robert took the next two, and the rest of the retinue filled in the remaining seats. Then Galen looked forward and surveyed the crowd. He looked right to left, slowly, mechanically, wanting to give the crowd a sense of his discipline and self-control. The coliseum became quiet, almost silent. Galen took a deep breath and looked at the word machine that projected his speech in front of him, and him only, invisible to anyone not looking at it from just the right angle.

  He faced the crowd and began his speech.

  “It’s great to be here in the Coliseum of the Ostwind Armor Academy, of which I am a proud graduate, and the first thing I want to say is, Hell on Wheels!”

  The crowd responded with “Hell on wheels!”

  After the crowd quieted down, Galen began reading his prepared speech. Much of it came from the ‘suggested’ speech provided by the Academy, with only a few changes by Galen.

  “Good afternoon President Ross, Commandant Bolar, the Alumni Board, instructors, faculty, parents, family and friends, cadets and the graduating class seated in the field before me. Congratulations on your graduation, and thank you for allowing me the honor to be a part of it. Let me also acknowledge your planetary governor, Eric Johnson, your city’s mayor, Jay VanStry, and all the members of the Bonding Commission who are here with us today.

  “Since the days of our founding, mercenary work has never been a particularly nice business. And it’s always been a little less gentle during times of great change. Since the advent of the Mosh invasion, their hoards have been bent on invasion and raiding and conquest, prompting many inhabited worlds to raise their own indigenous, state-sponsored armies through conscription mostly, to counter the great numbers of the Mosh threat, not certain there are enough mercenaries to match their numbers. Some worlds have never seen real soldiers, other than the Mosh, and feel that we are cut from the same cloth as them.

  “More than
a thousand years ago, a news agency of those who opposed the creation of professional militaries once editorialized that if they were allowed, then murder, robbery, rape, adultery, and incest will be openly taught and practiced. The founder of this very city, Magdalene Ostwind her self, was often referred to by opponents to the professional mercenary industry as a common prostitute, which seems a bit exaggerated now. She was a slave prostitute before she escaped and became a soldier, then a professional mercenary, then a very wealthy mercenary general, and then the founder of this city and the regulating agency that evolved into today’s Bonding Commission. Sure, we still have arguments between commanders that are settled with duels. The point is, mercenary work has never been for the thin skinned or the faint of heart, and if you enter the arena, you should expect to get roughed up.

  “Seven hundred years ago, on the last day of the Mercenary Review and Bonding Commission’s Convention, the chairman was asked, ‘Well what do we have, an industry or a government?’ And the chairman said, ‘An industry, if you can keep it.’

  Galen paused for the laughter that made its way around the crowd.

  “For more than seven hundred years, we have kept it. Through revolution and civil war, our industry has survived by getting involved in those disputes. Through depression and galactic war, it has prevailed. Through periods of great social and economic unrest, from human rights to animal rights, it has allowed us slowly, and sometimes painfully, to move towards a more humane galaxy. We go in, fight professionally without hatred in our hearts, and then leave with agreed-upon compensation in our pockets. Our employers can then get back to the business of running their planets, un-encumbered by a large group of war veterans to care for, or war dead to bury, or grieving family members to compensate.

  “And now the question for your generation is this: how will you keep our industry going? At a moment when our challenges seem so big and our industry seems so small, how will you keep our industry alive and well in this century? I’m not here to offer some grand theory or detailed doctrine. I do know that increasing the number of mercenary units is not the answer because once the invasion is thwarted, there would be a lot of unemployed mercenaries left with nothing to do, and that would be more of a threat to peace in this galaxy than the Mosh. Let me offer some reflections based on my experience and the experiences of our industry over the last seven centuries.

  “First, the mercenary industry has thrived because we have recognized the need for a military force that, while limited, can still adapt to a changing galaxy. The industry designed by Magdalene Ostwind and the other founders was never intended to solve every problem with a new weapon or a new tactic. Having thrown off the tyranny of the Terran Empire, the first mercenaries were understandably skeptical of government. Ever since, we have held fast to the belief that government doesn’t have all the answers, and we have cherished and fiercely defended our individual freedom. That is a thread of our industries’ lineage.

  “Many of you already have contracts, and many more will seek out employment over the next few days. Whether you duties place you in an insertion team of four troops tasked with recruiting, training and providing leadership for an indigenous company, or you find yourself coordinating the maneuvers of an entire corps while employed as an operations officer, or anywhere in between, remember that the reputation of this entire industry rests on your shoulders.

  “Remember that you provide a professional model for indigenous soldiers to observe and emulate; lead by example means more than just leading your own troops. Remember too that you must bring decisive defeat to any Mosh you encounter, and don’t underestimate them. The blows you deliver to them must be greater, more decisive than anything an indigenous military could ever deliver. You must make sure your employers feel that they got way more than they paid for, that your service to them is priceless.

  “Because you are as willing, as past generations were willing, to contribute part of your life to the life of this industry, then I, like Magdalene Ostwind, still believe we can continue to ensure the proper conduct of warfare in this galaxy. Congratulations on your graduation. May God bless you, and may God bless the Mercenary Review and Bonding Commission.”

  Galen took one step backward and enjoyed the applause of the audience. The academy president gave him a gentle nudge to step sideways. Galen took his seat.

  The academy president addressed the crowd, “Thank you Colonel Raper for that inspiring speech…”

  Galen sat holding Karen’s hand, not paying much attention as three more speakers gave speeches, and then four hundred and twenty seven graduates marched across the stage to get their handshakes and diplomas from the Commandant and the President. The ceremony ended with the playing of the Academy song. At the first note of the song, Galen stood and moved to the base of the stage and the column of dignitaries formed up behind him and he led the procession out of the coliseum. As the end of the procession passed, the graduates stood row after row, faced inward and marched out through the main doors to leave the coliseum.

  Galen stood amongst the dignitaries and watched the graduates march by.

  “Nice speech,” said the Commandant.

  “Thank you, sir,” said Galen.

  “No need to call me that. We’re both Colonels here.”

  “Force of habit. I’ve only been an officer for a few days.” Galen smiled.

  The Commandant turned to talk to someone who was tugging at his sleeve. Galen slid open the door of Robert’s car and helped Nan and Karen in. After Robert took his seat, Galen faced the dignitaries and gave a proper hand salute and got in the car. The door slid shut and the car pulled away.

  Nan said, “I’m so proud of you, how do you feel?”

  “Disillusioned,” said Galen.

  “What do you mean?”

  Galen unbuttoned his jacket. “Well, it’s every cadet’s dream to come back to the Academy as a Colonel and give the graduation speech for convocation. But…”

  Karen said, “But what? It was marvelous.”

  Galen shook his head. “I barely graduated, and still owed eight demerits, which they waived so that I could graduate. And while giving the speech I felt like I was working off those demerits. The staff behind me, the instructors, the Commandant especially, they all seemed so soft, so small.”

  Karen said, “I don’t think they’ve been out on a contract lately.”

  Galen said, “But before, when I was a cadet, they seemed so hard. They were grizzled veterans in my eyes, and I tried hard to learn from them and copy them. I wanted to be just like them one day. But now I see them and they just look like puffy, slightly melted versions of the fresh-faced cadets. And fake, they look entirely fake.”

  Nan said, “Don’t let it bother you. You’re the seed that grew into a mighty oak; they were the fertilizer that got you started. That’s their job, they are fertilizer and the academy is a green house. It’s as simple as that.”

  Galen buttoned his coat. “We’re here.”

  “See you in a couple of hours,” said Robert.

  The car stopped and the door slid open and Galen stepped out in front of the building of the Association of Distinguished Colonels. The car door closed and it pulled away. The induction ceremony was closed to outsiders; his family would return to pick him up later.

  Galen stood on the wide sidewalk and looked at the front of the building. Thirteen steps as wide as the building led up to the entrance, and at the top of the steps four light gray stone columns held up the roof of the porch. At the base of each column a word was engraved in the stone: Courage, Competence, Candor, Commitment. At the outward facing edge of the porch roof were more words too small for Galen to read, and inset into the space above was a mural of knights on horseback trampling foot soldiers.

  Galen climbed the steps and walked up to the double bronze doors that covered an opening three meters wide and three meters high. He knocked and the doors slid to each side, pocket doors that recessed into the walls. He stepped forward into th
e hall. The floor was polished black-stained concrete, the walls wainscoted in beige stone a meter high, with recessed shelving set into the white painted walls along each side. The ceiling was six meters high, vaulted, and plastered white, windows above letting in natural light.

  In the recessed shelves were displays and pictures, with brief explanations engraved into bronze plaques. Galen looked over the first one on the right, a diorama, which showed a very tired man wearing blood-spattered armor, sitting on a blood-spattered horse, slumped over with the right side of his face pressed against the horse’s neck, his horses’ head slumped to the ground. The man had an arrow sticking out of his side, and two arrows were stuck in the horse, one in the flank and one in the rump. The horse held its left rear hoof off the ground, and the man had a dagger stuck in his left thigh. The man’s saber, shield and helmet lay on the ground next to the horse, scattered as though they had been dropped. Galen noticed in the background, amongst a field littered with the bodies of slain soldiers, there was a severed head with its golden and bejeweled crown still on it, staring at the man on the horse. The caption on the plaque at the bottom said, “End of the Contract.”

  “Hello.”

  Galen turned and saw a portly old man, tall, with a full head of gray hair and a gray beard twenty centimeters long. He wore a conservative black business smock, with a modest row of three miniature medals worn over his heart.

  “I enjoyed your speech, couldn’t have written a better one.” The old man winked. “Follow me.”

  He turned and Galen followed him to the end of the hall through the doors at the end and into a sitting room. Two dozen old men sat in comfortable chairs. Galen’s host said, “Gentlemen, I present Colonel Raper of the Jasmine Panzer Brigade.” Then the host leaned in close to Galen and whispered, “Just stand here, smile and shake hands.”

  The men in the room stood. Galen now noticed half a dozen were actually old women, but with good military posture. They filed past Galen and shook his hand, each saying something like, “congratulations” or “good job” or “welcome” or some such thing. One of the women looked him over, head to toe, before shaking his hand, and then winked at him but said nothing.