Nathen sensed his stalker behind him, but he remained calm as he reached the door. He touched the controls, and the door slid aside. He took one step out the door before he heard the wail.
Like everybody else in the bar, Nathen whipped his head around toward the source of the sound. Besides the wail, there was the sound of tumbling chairs and smashing glass as the Squlasher’s drink hit the floor. And then Nathen saw why. His stalker, so focused on Nathen, hadn’t seen the crafty Squlasher soldier slide his tail under his foot. As soon as his foot stepped on the alien’s tail, the Squlasher had let loose a pained wail that Nathen suspected was only slightly exaggerated.
The stalker stumbled in surprise as the Squlasher rounded on him, tail whipping around and knocking over another chair. The unhappy Gaurdian waved an accusing hand at the Marine, spewing a torrent of Telecode that Nathen doubted the man could understand. The stalker looked around for support, but finding none, he pointed a finger at the alien.
“What the spit? That was your fault!”
The Squlasher didn’t agree, and let his opinion be openly known. The amphibian bipedal stepped forward and viciously slapped the Marine across the face. For a Human, a slap doesn’t mean much compared to a closed fist. But when your hand was a pair of short, rubbery, suction cup-covered tentacles, a slap carried a lot of unpleasantness with it. And the Marine caught it full in the face. Nathen’s stalker twisted with the blow, splattering blood from several deep cuts on his soon-to-be-bruised face. He staggered headlong into the table of Infantry, knocking over all their drinks with a smash.
The Infantry wouldn’t rush to help a Marine like they would for a fellow Infantryman, but the loss of their drinks was another matter altogether. For six action-craving half-drunks, it was more than enough to get involved. The Infantry leapt to their feet, some going after the Marine who had ruined their bar time, the rest going after the Squlasher who had slapped him down. The other two Squlashers stood to back their comrade up. Nathen didn’t wait around to see the rest. He suspected his stalker wouldn’t be distracted for long. He stepped out into the brighter light of Gladius Dome and let the door slide shut behind him. Just outside, the sentry twisted to look at the closed door.
“What in the blazes was that all about?” he asked, hands still clasped behind his back. Nathen shrugged as he walked toward the moving throng of people.
“Dunno,” he said over his shoulder. “You’ll have to ask them.”
And without offering further explanation, Nathen slipped into the crowd, heading for the Northwest terminal.
Chapter 6
Leaning against the side of the information booth, just outside the Northwest terminal, Nathen considered the humorous similarities between a spaceport terminal and a water spigot. Watching torrents of bodies come gushing from the spacecraft through the loading tunnel was like watching a floodgate opening to release a wave of water. They came in a rush, but after a while the flow tapered off and the stream would slow to a trickle. When Nathen had arrived, he’d been right in the middle of a rush as some civilian transport offloaded its passengers. Once the crowd thinned out, it would be just a matter of minutes before the next transport came in from orbit. According to the schedule, the next drop-off would be a military transport. Nathen checked his comm. unit.
05:59
Even as he put the comm. unit away inside his jacket, Nathen looked up and saw an overhead screen feeding live footage from outside the dome. Appearing in the sky and quickly approaching were the glows of three shuttle engines. In just seconds, the three shuttles, flying in a precise triangle formation came in and held their altitude at about thirty meters. By then they had bled off all their forward momentum and had switched off their main drives, maneuvering on repulsors alone. The trio of shuttles slowly hovered in, moving out of view of the camera. Nathen knew they were just outside now, moving into one of the three open dome hangars. He could just barely hear the three ion engines whining beyond the hangar door, several dozen meters inside the terminal umbilical tunnel.
Now there was nothing more to see on the overhead screen watching the approach vector. Nathen would just have to wait for the shuttle’s passengers to disembark. There were three docking domes linked to this particular terminal. Over the entrance to the umbilical tunnel were three indicator lights, with two messages that either read “Lockdown” or “Disembark”. At that moment, all lights were red, highlighting “Lockdown” on each one. Another minute passed, and as Nathen watched, the light for the right docking dome flickered from red to green, changing its status from “Lockdown” to “Disembark”.
Nathen nodded to himself.
Prompt, he thought. Excellent.
In a matter of minutes, the first of the passengers filed out into the umbilical, heading in Nathen’s direction. Nathen stayed where he was, watching from under the awning of the information booth. He could have gone over and sat down on one of the many benches, as several other people were doing, but he preferred staying where he was, where he had a full view of his surroundings.
A few more minutes passed, and at least a hundred uniformed soldiers came out of the umbilical, some wearing backpacks, some dragging luggage, others towing several packs on hover trolleys. The mobilization efforts were already taking effect, only a day after the unanimous re-activation order. Nathen just watched as the throng broke up, some heading off by themselves, others meeting up with waiting friends. He knew who he was looking for. There could only be about fifty more passengers who had not yet appeared. Each shuttle was capable of carrying roughly fifty soldiers each, so Nathen’s translator had to be coming soon.
Nathen’s eyes swept over the various faces in the crowd of soldiers. These were all Infantry. A large portion of Humanity’s armed forces were Infantry. Thought to be conquerors by their own ranks; considered to be cannon fodder by everyone else. Nathen examined the individuals who would be risking their lives soon. They were young. All recently enlisted, or drafted. Most were in their twenties, early to mid. Most had never seen combat, and those who had, hadn’t seen enough to be truly changed by it. Yet they were the ones who were going to plunge headfirst into inter-species conflict on a galactic scale. As hard as he looked, Nathen couldn’t see a seasoned veteran among them.
And Jason Denver found us an Elite in this group of green recruits?
Nathen closed his eyes and hung his head, hands on his hips. Maybe he still had a small bias about this. He didn’t want to seem morbid, but he had already seen his share of young, dead soldiers, and the war hadn’t even hit full swing. His attitude was more out of concern than disapproval. But then again, his approach was likely going to set the mood for the rest of the team. Perhaps a little optimism was in order? Yes. That couldn’t hurt. Nathen opened his eyes and looked up.
And there she was. In the slowly thinning crowd, Nathen picked her out almost instantly. She stood below most of the taller male soldiers by several inches, so she’d been almost impossible to spot before. But there was no missing her bright red hair, even under the beret. She stood just a little over five feet tall and couldn’t be more than a hundred and twenty pounds. In her left hand she grasped the handle of a duffel bag, and her right hand was holding the strap of what Nathen assumed was a backpack.
Nathen didn’t move in right away. He wanted to see what she would do for a moment. In the mingling crowd of soldiers, Nathen’s new translator took steady steps away from the umbilical, turning her head to one side, then the other, trying to absorb her surroundings. When she was about ten meters from the entrance, she stopped, turning a full 360 degrees, scanning her environment and those around her. Nathen could tell she was looking for him. She didn’t know it, though. Nathen took his hands off his hips, straightened the collar of his jacket, and started forward.
The crowd had thinned enough for him to walk freely without jostling anyone. Nathen strode casually, hands at his sides, heading straight through the crowd. She didn’t seem to notice him approach. Her head was turned to her r
ight, looking at several soldiers who were grouped near the benches. Nathen came up and stopped at arm's reach.
“Calico Trast?”
Her head snapped around in surprise, and then her surprise turned to confusion when she saw Nathen, the only person in the crowd without an Infantry uniform. She paused, sizing Nathen up.
“Yes?” she finally said.
Nathen held out his right hand. “Nathen Brampton.”
Calico blinked, frowning. “Is this a test?”
Nathen grinned. “No, it’s a handshake. You don’t shake?”
Calico paused, then tentatively let go of her shoulder strap and gripped Nathen’s outstretched hand. She acted like she was reaching out to pet a dog that might just as well bite her as sniff her. Her hand was quite a bit smaller than Nathen’s, but her grip, while at first hesitant, was strong. Nathen let go of her hand, which immediately flew back to her backpack’s strap.
“You seem a bit on edge,” Nathen commented. Calico shuffled her feet and glanced over her shoulder.
“Sorry. I’m a little off balance right now. I’m not sure what I should be doing. Should I be saluting you, sir?”
Nathen shook his head. “Probably not. Just what exactly were you told?”
Calico sighed and released her shoulder strap to massage the back of her neck.
“I was told I was being transferred to a new deployment.”
“That’s it?”
“Only that I was supposed to meet someone at the Northwest terminal on Port Ive at Oh-six hundred. They wouldn’t tell me anything beyond that.”
Nathen arched an eyebrow. “And that’s all the more you know?”
Calico nodded. “Yes.”
Nathen sighed. “Alright. We'd best start at the beginning then. Come on. We’ll talk while we walk. You want me to carry that?”
Nathen indicated the duffel bag in Calico’s left hand. Calico looked down, then looked back up. Her clear, emerald eyes were still wary.
“I can manage, sir.”
“I’m sure you can, but that’s not what I asked.”
Calico thought about it and colored slightly. “It… is a little heavy.”
Nathen reached out. “Here.” Calico handed him the bag and Nathen hefted it in his hand. It was cumbersome and awkward. “What’s in here?”
Calico cleared her throat and ticked the items off. “Spare uniform, boots…”
“Just basic gear, then?” said Nathen, hefting it again in his hand.
“I do have quite a few reference databooks. For my linguistic studies.”
“Alright. Follow me.”
“Yes sir.”
Nathen angled through the thinning crowd with Calico trailing behind him by two paces. Nathen had to steal another look to make sure he wasn’t imagining things. He’d thought the soldiers in their twenties had been young, but Calico Trast was young! She had to be late teens, no older than nineteen. That set off several more doubts in his mind, but he quickly set them all aside. As they walked, he looked over his shoulder.
“Something wrong or do you just like the view back there?” he asked, half-jokingly. Calico took several hurried steps to catch up, brushing a strand of red hair behind her ear so Nathen wouldn’t see her blush.
“Sorry. Jetlag.”
“Jetlag?”
“Uhm, yeah. Sorta.”
Nathen let that one go for the time being, changing the subject.
“So, let’s clear up some outstanding questions I’m sure you have.”
“That’d be great, sir.”
Nathen maneuvered around an oncoming luggage cart and picked up the conversation. “Alright. The one who gave you the transfer order was…?”
“An admiral,” Calico said. “I didn’t catch his name, and he wasn’t part of our regular division, I’m sure. But he had our CO with him, and that carried enough weight for me. But he wouldn’t tell me what division I was transferring to.”
“You’re not transferring to a division,” Nathen explained.
Calico gave a start. “I’m not? But, no! Sir, I, I specifically asked to be in the field! I qualified at everything! I don’t want a desk job!”
Nathen grinned. “Neither would I, so I don’t blame you. If that’s the case, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”
Calico seemed to calm down, but her eyes stayed a little wide. “I, I’m not sure… I’ve had to fight to stay in the field, with soldiers. They’ve tried to reassign me to analyst teams so many times…”
“Slow down.”
Calico took a deep breath. “Sorry. You… you said I wasn’t transferring to a new division. If I’m not joining an analyst team… Well, where else is there to go?”
Nathen turned his head and looked Calico up and down. Her Infantry uniform was pressed and perfect.
“Do you have any regular clothes? Non-uniform?”
Calico frowned, shaking her head. “No, I-…”
“That’s okay, we’ll fix that. So, you’ve made it clear you want to be in the trenches, so to speak. You’re sure about that?”
Calico nodded without hesitation. “I am. I can’t fight the war from behind a desk.”
Nathen smiled, glancing at Calico out of the corner of his eye. “Then you’re in for a big surprise.” Nathen fixed his eyes straight ahead. “You’re now part of the spearhead.”
Calico faltered in her pace, taken aback. “The… spearhead?”
Nathen nodded. “That’s right. The spearhead. The first strike, and last stand. The secret weapon.” Nathen narrowed his eyes, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “The ESCs.”
Calico frowned, but Nathen knew he had her attention.
“ESCs? I’m not familiar with that.”
“Few are. Very few,” Nathen explained, changing her duffel to his left hand. “The Elite Stellar Commandos are the best, and beyond.”
“So, what, you guys are like the SUNS?”
Nathen chuckled, causing Calico to cringe in embarrassment. The SUNS, Special Undercover Night Squads, were one of Humanity’s special forces teams. But that was just a title, and a special training program.
“No. Regular commando teams can’t even begin to accomplish what we do. With all due respect to the SUNS, they’re just not us.”
“How’s that?”
“For one thing, it’s like the difference between dogs and wolves. Which do you think is more dangerous?”
“Wolves.”
“Why’s that?”
“Well, ah, I dunno. They just seem more dangerous, I guess.”
“That’s because wolves are naturally deadly predators. Dogs are domesticated; they have to be trained. But wolves are born dangerous, and their instinct trumps training. The point being, training is a good refinement, but can it create raw talent? No.”
“So we’re the wolves. I’ve heard this metaphor before.”
“As told by the dogs, maybe,” Nathen chuckled.
Nathen came to a stop and looked around, taking note of his position. He wasn’t heading back to Docking Dome 12. Not yet. There was another stop he needed to make first, at the customs station. He turned to Calico.
“Have you eaten?” he asked.
Calico gritted her teeth. “No, I haven’t eaten in several hours.”
Nathen frowned. “Don’t they serve meals on those transports?”
Calico nodded. “They do.”
“And you didn’t eat?”
“I… wasn’t hungry.”
“Do want to grab something before we move on? There are a few restaurants around here to choose from. Gladius Dome has a good variety of food styles.”
Calico held up a hand. “I’m fine. Actually, I want to hear more.”
Nathen shrugged and jerked his head to the side. “Alright, let’s keep moving then.”
“Okay. Please go on.”
Nathen rolled his shoulder a little, feeling the weight of the duffel tug at his arm.
“You may not realize it yet, Miss Trast, but you
’ve been given a great honor. The ESC’s are not just some special-forces team, not as you know it. We’re sufficiently elite to the level of being beyond that classification. Actually, beyond any classification. We write our own rules. There’s no red tape, no being held back waiting for someone to figure out how to say ‘go’. We are not shackled to the chain of command. We do what the army, navy and special-forces can’t or won’t do.”
“Won’t do? Like what?”
Nathen slowed down and turned to face Calico, who looked a little uncomfortable. “Well, the first thing that comes to mind is we eliminated the desk job from the list of ‘Ways to Win a War’.”
“I like it better already,” Calico said, half-heartedly. A frown. “Sir, what you’re saying is fascinating… but what does it have to do with me?”
Nathen sighed. It hadn’t sunk in yet. “I need a new speaker.”
“A speaker?”
“A translator. Someone who is familiar in the field of xenolinguistics. The ability to understand or speak languages that aren’t Human.”
Calico’s green eyes narrowed. “Still sounds suspiciously like a desk job.”
Nathen shook his head. “There’s no such thing as a desk job in the ESCs.” He paused, running a hand through his hair, then suddenly gestured with his hand at Calico. “Zaifan. Vha korel dei torphen shai van shis-nai. Dera-xi-zefra.”
Calico seemed taken aback at first, but she quickly recovered and shot back an answer.
“Zaifan, krelor. Erun’ae cer vara tir cvik-tar fax. De-vor her sheque.”
Nathen smiled. “Not bad. What did I say?”
Calico cleared her throat. “The traditional honorary Vorch greeting and blood oath. Actually, your accent was pretty good.”
Nathen shrugged. “Well, that’s about the extent of my language skills, aside from the basic sentence structure. How fluently can you speak Vor?”
Prime Alpha (Planetary Powers Book 1) Page 7