We all straighten our stiff backs when Surber’s luxury sled—gleaming black with tan accents from all the dust on the nose and lower carriage—speeds in to our midst. The repulsors flare as the sled comes to a stop, coating my sweat-drenched skin with the fine, inescapable, and ever-present Kublaren dirt.
Easy begins a slightly exaggerated cough as he fans the air in front of his face, sending the dust cloud swirling.
The saliva in my mouth seems to turn to gritty paste and I spit it out onto the unquenchable hardpan at my feet. It’s been drinking up koob blood all morning, and still wants more.
A hiss sounds from the sled, and its two rear doors flip open like an eagle stretching out its wings. A man in a luxuriously tailored black suit with a white shirt and coral tie steps out. He’s holding a slim, black leather briefcase.
Always that briefcase.
His hair is slicked back and shines beneath the Kublar sun overhead. His expression is hidden behind a pair of silvene-framed sunglasses.
Surber.
He adjusts his jacket with a roll of his shoulders and then tugs on his cuffs to straighten his sleeves. Behind him his two bodyguards—Errol and Wick—step out of the vehicle. They’re slightly less dressy than their boss, wearing black jeans and a polo shirt under a black leather jacket, but that’s far fancier than anything else you’ll find this far inland. Each man is carrying a modified N-4 rifle.
“Mr. Carter,” Surber says as he walks toward me, holding out his hand. “Nice work today.”
I hold up my hand to show the wine I’ve made from crushing koobs all this time. He nods and drops his arm, and then looks along the column.
“Nice work… although I’m a little surprised you haven’t managed to clear out all the vehicles.”
I pull off my ballcap and wipe my brow with the back of my forearm. “Yeah. It’s hot. Another five minutes and we’re golden.”
His face expressionless, Surber says, “In five minutes we’re already moving.”
He snaps his fingers and calls for one of his bodyguards, not bothering to look over his shoulder at the man. “Errol.”
The guard stoops down into the sled and mumbles something to the driver. A moment later the trunk opens. Errol goes around and pulls out a small shipping box. He brings it to Surber.
“What’s this?” I ask.
Surber smiles. Not in the friendly way, more like he’s amused at what he’s going to say next.
“Can’t wait to open your presents, Carter?” He looks around at my crew. “Patience is a reward all in itself. Wear these.”
Surber digs into the box and begins to toss what looks like silk clothing at each of us. I catch mine against my chest. Easy, Abers, and Lashley just let it hit the dirt as a rumpled pile.
Winters unrolls his and holds it out. “Koob clothing?” he asks.
Surber nods and then pulls out his own Kublaren robe and begins to put it on. It looks more than a little ridiculous hanging loosely around his suit.
Lana is still examining her robe. “All due respect, Mr. Surber, but you can’t believe that this is going to allow us to pass as Kublarens.”
“Of course not, Miss Romnova.” Surber looks around. No one else has moved. “Put them on. Hurry up.”
“Man,” Abers says, disgust evident in his voice. “I came out here to shoot koobs, not dress like them.”
Easy is already pulling his robe over his head, as is Winters and Lana. But he stops and brings his arms back down, the robe wrapped around them.
“C’mon, man,” Easy implores his fellow Marine. “Just embrace the suck and let’s do this.”
“Nah,” Abers says, shaking his head. “I didn’t sign up for crap like this. Find someone else, Surber.”
He tosses the robe back towards the man. It’s intercepted by Wick before it has a chance to fall at Surber’s feet.
I haven’t put mine on yet; it’s rolled up, ready to go over my head. But I freeze just like everyone else when I see what Abers did. I can’t really envision a scenario where this ends well.
Surber claps his man Wick on the shoulder, apparently commending him for the catch. Then he walks straight to me.
“Difficult group you have here, Carter.”
I shake my head. “Sir, it’s not that. It’s just—”
Surber turns.
“Elias Aguilar,” he says. Walking towards Easy. “Republic Marine for eight years. Multiple combat citations for valor. Even a Senate Star—back when there was still a Senate.”
Easy doesn’t say anything. I can see that he’s clamped his jaw shut. Just to make sure.
“Mr. Nilo understands why you left the Marines—things were going down hill rather swiftly once the Legion initiated Article Nineteen. But all things considered, you probably should have stayed in.”
Surber gets right in Easy’s face.
“Currently in debt to the ownership group at New Cassio Royale for three hundred and sixty-six thousand credits. With interest compounding daily. Mr. Nilo has generously negotiated a buyout on your behalf in exchange for your skills, Mr. Aguilar. But that investment is only as good as your word.”
Surber looks Easy up and down. “Finish putting on the robe.”
“Yes, sir,” Easy says. Quietly.
I can feel the sense of shame he feels from having his secrets outed like this. I had no idea. Probably no one else did either, except maybe for Abers.
Surber skips past Winters and approaches Lana.
“Miss Romnova…”
“Spare me,” Lana says. “I’ve already put it on.”
Surber leans in to whisper in her ear and says just loud enough for us to hear, “And we both know why that’s a good idea, now don’t we?”
“Mr. Abers,” Surber says, wheeling around on the Marine who kicked this little power trip of his off. Not that I don’t understand why he’s doing it. I just would have taken a different approach if it were up to me. “Lee. Or maybe I should call you by one of your other aliases?”
Abers, looks down. A mix of worry and anger knitted across his brow.
“Republic Marine for five years and then… an OTH discharge. Which wasn’t what was promised, was it? But it was better than what could have come out of a court-martial.”
“I got you, sir,” Abers says, a definite edge in his voice. “I’ll put it on.”
“You’re damn right you will,” Surber says. But then, for some reason, he keeps going. “Mix in with the Guild within two months of release. Those scout sniper awards ended up useful for something, didn’t they? Built a solid portfolio but… you couldn’t help yourself. Went off contract. Lost the Guild’s protection. And now you’re wanted in five systems with a fifty thousand credit bounty on your head.”
“Sir,” I try to interject, but Surber continues.
“Mr. Nilo paid that bounty on your behalf when you were trapped like a doro in a kennel. And while you’re free to leave at any time should this… job become something other than what you ‘signed up for,’ we would expect to be reimbursed for our initial investments. Which would mean taking you directly to the nearest guild marshal in exchange for that bounty. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” Abers mumbles.
“Good,” Surber says. He straightens up and speaks louder, as if he doesn’t know that we could already hear every word. Just power games. “I want to make another thing clear. What Mr. Nilo is doing on Kublar is nothing short of revolutionary. The fall of the Republic on Utopion will usher in a new age in the galaxy and we are all poised to make that happen. For the betterment of everyone. You are important pieces of this, but only in as much as you’re willing to do what is needed to achieve our goals. Mr. Nilo doesn’t ask that you see the big picture, just that you know there is one, and that what you’re asked to do—whether it’s a combat operation or putting on some koob garments�
��is a part of achieving that goal.”
“Yes, sir,” we all mumble. All except Lashley, who’s just holding his robe in a balled up fist.
Surber walks right by him and visits me again.
“Well, Carter, we’re going to have to hurry up if we’re going to be rolling when I said we needed to be.”
“Let’s put ’em on and get into the truck!” I shout.
Surber nods, a flat smile on his face. “And Carter, don’t make me have to do something like this again.”
He’s whispering, sparing me the embarrassment. I guess that’s welcome enough. It’s him not wanting to cut my balls off in front of my team.
“You need this job. Up to your eyeballs in debt, a marriage on the rocks, kids in private school, a house you can’t afford, and a nice, new family speeder parked in the driveway that’s always one bad decision away from repossession. And what will the neighbors in that exclusive little gated community you’ve set your family up in think when the tow sleds show up? And how will your wife handle the shame of that?”
I just stare at the man. But really, I’m looking at myself. Literally and figuratively. I can see my reflection in those black shades. And I’ve got no one to argue with and no one to answer to but myself. I made this. I thought everything Surber just named was what would fix all Mel and mine’s problems.
And now I’m too deep to back out. It would ruin what chances I have at working things out with Mel. It would disrupt my kids’ lives.
It is what it is.
“Understood, Mr. Surber.”
“I know.” He turns and steps back inside his speeder, pausing as his two bodyguards—dressed in their own koob robes—wait at the door for him to step inside. “You’ll all follow me.”
“How about these trucks, sir?” I ask.
“We’ll arrange cleanup from Command.”
I nod and then circle my finger in the air. “Figure out who’s driving in the cab and who’s bouncing on the cargo.”
Lana and Easy make directly for the cab, which means I’ll be in the back with the dead bodies for the trip. I don’t mind that, really. It’s not gonna make me smell any worse and I’ll have more room to stretch out.
Abers stands, watching Lana and Easy jump up into the cab. “That’s it? No discussion? No debate? I gotta ride with nasty-ass dead koobs?”
Our sniper follows Easy, who’s standing outside as his Marine buddy hops into the passenger side of the cab, leaving Lana to drive.
“Hey!” Abers says, a smile on his face. “How ‘bout we bet on it, Easy? Rock, datapad, lasers? That’s right up your alley, ain’t it?”
Easy slams the door and sticks his fist out the window, one prominent finger raised.
As Abers and Winters climb into the back of the truck, I approach Lashley. He’s just now putting on his robe, which seems way too small for his barrel chest and frame.
“So how come Surber didn’t bust your chops?”
Lashley rolls his shoulders and picks up his SAB again. “Man ain’t got nothin’ on me. I wanted to be here.”
04
It’s surprisingly comfortable to ride through the desert on a throne of your vanquished foes. I can’t believe it took me this many years to find out. Seems like things like this would have been part of Legion orientation when I was first assigned to the 42nd.
Stench aside, those guys don’t know what they’re missing. Actually, if I had a bucket on with filters running, this would be pretty sweet. As it stands, it’s enough that Winters is asking for a capture of the guys riding dirty in the back of the truck.
“I’ll take the holo,” I say, grabbing Winters’s datapad from his hand before he can answer.
He, Abers, and even Lashley pose at the height of the pile, right up next to the cab. I can see Lana and Easy through the windshield, so it’s a pretty good group shot. Easy makes sure to flip me off as I start the holo-recording.
This may seem a little macabre. And in truth, it is. Which is why I made sure not to be in the holo. Those things always seem to have a way of catching up with you, and I intend on having a life after all this.
But I did take the holo.
I did take the holo.
“I’m gonna see if I can get a connection with the missus,” I say, tossing the datapad back to Winters. I move to the end of the truck bed, close enough to the gate that the moving sun is flooding in underneath the synthweave fabric canopy over us. “And I swear to Oba, if any of you interrupt me if I get a solid link, I will bury you beneath the pile until you’re marinated in koob blood, and sell you to the donks as a meat stick at the nearest bazaar.”
“Rog, Carter.”
I sit down, my back facing the team and the desert in front of me. The shot-up caravan of white koob trucks we dispatched is shrinking in the distance as we roll. But the desert is flat, and you can see for miles. This view may not change for a while.
“I feel like we should have put these robes on after the ride,” Winters opines. “Seems kind of counterproductive to get all dressed up only to soak ourselves in gore.”
I hold up a finger and half-turn to face the man. “No. See… that’s what I’m talking about. No. Don’t do that. No conversation starters. I need you to shut up.”
“All right,” Winters says, holding his hands out and then pulling something up on his own datapad. “Sorry I said anything. It can wait. Still a bad idea, though. Surber should know better.”
“Surber speaks for Big Nee,” I remind the team. “And so if he says it, good or bad needs to go out the window. We do it. Unless it’s gonna get us needlessly killed.”
“Disagree,” Winters said, before hastily adding, “But! Not looking to keep you, sir.”
Abers drives an elbow into the kid. “Keep it clamped, son. Carter ain’t talked to his wife in a while. That’s toxic on a relationship, man.” He turns to me. “We’re pulling for your marriage, sir.”
“Your concern is touching,” I say as I navigate through comm channels, hoping to find the lucky winner that will get me through.
Kublar has changed a lot since Victory Company was murdifying (not a word, but oh well) the koobs. The atmospheric communication troubles have significantly abated through an influx of planetary comm stations and corresponding satellites. But most of these are along the coastline, so things still get a little spotty when you’re inland like us. And the mountains and valleys… well, you’re pretty much cut off beyond line-of-sight comm-to-comm efforts.
“I never got married,” Lashley says.
I want to nip this conversation in the bud, too. But it’s rare to hear anything from Lashley. And while I never imagined the big man to have a wife—or even a mother, for that matter—I’m piqued. Plus, Lash is not the kind of guy you want to tell to shut up.
Or at least not the type I want to.
We all wait to see if he’s going to elaborate, but after several seconds pass, it’s clear that those four words are all we’re getting on the subject.
Outside, a pair of featherless bird-things are following the truck, high in the currents of the air. Scavengers with black heads and brown bodies, using leathery, membrane-like wings to glide after us. I take a holo of them to send to the kids. They used to really like it when I sent them pictures of all the exotic animals and plants I saw firsthand courtesy of the Legion. Never saw a tyrannasquid, though. No matter how much they begged me to find one.
Miraculously, my datapad gets a connection. I wait, careful to keep the holocam pointing up at my face—even if it means a close-up of my nostrils—rather than the koob bodies all around me.
Melanie answers and I hear the audio switch to the comm in my ear.
“Carter?”
“Hey, babe.”
“Oba’s nose, Carter, are you okay?”
She sounds concerned. Really worried. In a way it’s refreshin
g to hear the care in her voice. But it’s also a bit confusing. I look at the mini-image of myself and see that I must have smeared koob-blood all over my forehead when I wiped my brow. Between that and the dust, I look pretty rough.
“Oh. I’m fine, babe. That’s nothing. Just some… fluid from a job.”
I hear Abers snicker in the background.
“Carter… where are you?”
I frown. “You know I can’t tell you that. You shouldn’t even ask, Mel.”
There’s an uncomfortable silence. And I wonder at it. At why I can’t think of anything to say to the woman I love. We used to talk for hours on end before we were married. Ending the comm transmission back then was akin to torture. And when I was in Legion training, she sent me more holos than I had time to even listen to.
But now…
“How’re the girls?”
Mel bites her lip, and then her expression turns into one of frustration.
“Your oldest got suspended for skipping class.”
“Why was Tria skipping school?”
Mel sighs. “She was making out with a boy in the janitor’s closet.”
“What the hell?” I explode in a controlled whisper, hopeful that the guys at the back of the truck don’t hear it. Visions of a visit to my gun safe and then to this little pissant’s house flash before my eyes. But I’m millions of miles away. So I lash out at Mel instead. “Seriously, Mel! What the hell? Get that kid under control!”
“Don’t put that on me, Carter!”
Here we go.
“She needs you here, right now. So does Annikah. The girls need a father in their lives.”
“Listen, Mel, I would love to be home right now. You know that.” I look around, so frustrated that I feel like chucking my datapad off the back of the truck. “But we don’t have a home or anything if I’m not working. And even with the restructures in place, Legion pay doesn’t come close to what I’m getting now.”
Galaxy's Edge: Takeover: Season Two: Book One Page 3