The captain said something into his helmet, and the forcefield appeared. The process of restoring atmosphere to the hangar bay began. The people moved away from the edge as the massive hangar doors slid soundlessly into place.
Terry slapped Kaeden on the back. “Nice demo and thanks,” he told his son. Kaeden looked at his father’s new pistol. Terry took note. “The fewer there are of these in the galaxy, the better off we’ll be.”
“I think you’re probably right,” Kae replied.
Micky folded his helmet back and took a deep breath, signaling the others that the air was good enough. When the helmets were removed and the air once again transmitted sound, Terry and Micky stood side by side.
“First squad, first platoon, report to the chow hall and bring down the meal that our wonderful chef has prepared. Second platoon, join with the bridge crew and break out the tables and chairs.”
Micky cupped his hands around his mouth. He wasn’t used to projecting his voice as TH was so adept at doing. “Open locker seven and set up to welcome our guests!”
Terry and the captain showed a united front as they entered the crowd to make sure the two groups intermingled.
Terry found Lieutenant Kurtz, pulling him aside while greeting people. The colonel’s face turned sour. “You get those two stupid fuckers who didn’t get their helmets on quickly enough and get them to unfuck themselves. What an embarrassment, for fuck’s sake. There aren’t enough of us out here that we can afford for anyone to die stupid.”
The lieutenant had been thinking the same thing. He’d already talked with both during the weapons demonstration, but the colonel’s anger further drove the point home.
“Worst to first, sir. Their performance standard is that they’ll have their hoods up before anyone else next time. I would ask that any time you see them, make them pull their helmets on. It’ll be second nature to them,” Kurtz promised.
“It needs to be second nature to every warrior, Lieutenant. Me, you, the pack, the Vampires. All of us.”
Kurtz nodded once and hurried in search of the platoon leader and the offending members’ squad leaders. It was the FDG’s way. Everyone in the chain of command would suffer for the transgressions of the front lines. Terry insisted it was a training issue. If the warriors didn’t perform, it had to be because they weren’t trained well enough or they’d lost their focus. Both reflected more on the leadership than on the individuals.
In Kurtz’s mind, he just got his ass chewed up one side and down the other. In the immortal words of militaries throughout the ages, shit rolls downhill.
Yol Space
P’tok sat in the captain’s chair, anxiously clicking his mandibles. The Yollin manning the renegade ship were silent, afraid to move, careful breathing so they didn’t ignite the captain’s fire.
His volatility was well-known in their circles, but he delivered. In their loose conglomerate of thieves, he always returned with the most merchandise.
The civilized world called it plunder. Stolen goods. But as long as there was a market for it, there’d always be people like P’tok who would acquire it.
Plus there was always the gold. No matter where P’tok took his ship in the Federation, gold was legal tender. All ships carried it as the universal currency. He considered the gold as gravy. The cargo paid for the ship and its crew.
P’tok scratched around his carapace. Environmental controls had to be off or the chef was feeding them bad meat again. The Yollin stood, his two thick legs marking him as lower-class, but that only mattered were he a member of civilized society. In space, he was more mobile than his four-legged counterparts, a couple of which served as members of his crew.
He didn’t mind lording it over them, but they were outcasts, just like him, just like the entire crew.
P’tok had his mandibles surgically reduced to fit within an environmental suit. He wore a custom one at all times, because he never knew when they’d find new prey.
He hoped the next ship would wait to appear until after he carved a chunk out of the carapaces of his environmental chief and head cook. His face took on a grim air as he left his station. The bridge crew breathed a sigh of relief and returned to work.
The War Axe
“What do you think?” Terry asked. Char hung her head and nodded.
Lieutenant Kurtz nodded, too. “I say we make the offer.”
Terry chewed on his lip. This wasn’t something to be taken lightly. It was a one-way trip to a different place that Kurtz had yet to understand. He hadn’t changed into Pricolici form. He wasn’t afraid of losing control, but the colonels were.
Terry, Marcie, and Char were standing a little stiffly when Edwin, Samantha, and Nick entered. All four unenhanced members of the tac teams had the modified genetic makeup to create Pricolici. From Char and Terry, through Cory, when her blood mixed with the Vampire Akio’s created the conditions that changed those injured and repaired most often.
“You know why you’re here?” Terry started.
“We get some special skills?” Edwin asked with a grin.
“Something like that.” Terry hung his head for a moment before looking up and making eye contact with each of the three warriors. “You have the markers that the Pod Doc can use to turn each of you into Pricolici, Werewolves that walk upright. It’s very rare. Very. I know of three others, well, four--” He looked at Kurtz. “--in the known universe.”
“Damn straight!” Edwin exclaimed as he started to strip. Samantha turned around.
“Hang on,” Terry cautioned. “This comes with a lifetime of change. This isn’t for picking up girls after doing tricks at the local bar. Pricolici are bad-ass. But it makes you a target, too. You’ll have to control the rage that comes with the change. If you don’t, then you may lose yourself to the beast and won’t be able to change back.”
Char stepped forward. “This isn’t a game.” She glared at Edwin until he stopped smiling. “If you do it, you do it as volunteers with the understanding that you will be different. Your circle of friends will shrink, and our demands on you will grow. No normal human will be able to match your strength, but they will be able to blow you away. Take a round to the head? You die. Your body gets blown apart and your nanos can’t put you back together? You die. As Were, we’ll always be first into the breach. You’ve all been there. You know there will be pain. You know that you are going to get hurt, badly and often.”
Marcie nodded. “And you’ll get to see into the Etheric dimension, which will make you a valuable resource for rooting out others from the UnknownWorld, for finding your enemies before they find you.”
Edwin looked at the others. “What are we waiting for?”
Terry turned and spoke over his shoulder. “Ted, spin it up. We have three volunteers to become Pricolici. That’ll give us an entire fire team of them. Stand the fuck by, people. Your world is about to get rocked.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Terry stood in the back of the classroom. It had been seven days straight of classes on alien cultures throughout Federation space. Terry was fascinated by the variety and listened intently. He asked for extra material from Smedley and read late into the night, every night.
He also paid attention to the physics of space, as he expected to be involved in epic space battles. He spent time in the shuttle pods and was greatly relieved by their similarity to the pods that he’d gotten used to on Earth. He acclimated quickly, as he knew the others would.
“I dub thee, drop ships,” Terry had told the pods as they were racked in their launch positions at the side of the hangar bay. Terry was one of the most well-read people from Earth. He devoured books and loved anything by Andre Norton, Asimov, or Heinlein. The Mobile Infantry from Heinlein’s Starship Troopers used drop ships.
Terry thought it a fitting tribute. He had saluted the pods. It would have looked odd had anyone seen him, but it had been only him and Dokken.
With each new class on the cultures and wars that had been fought, Terry g
ained confidence that the universe preferred not to fight and when they did, they weren’t very good at it. He preferred not to fight, but if someone forced his hand, he made his enemies pay, making them suffer on the way to their demise.
Char squeezed Terry’s hand and his attention snapped back to the class.
“Where were you?” she asked, knowing her husband all too well. With the overload of information regarding alien cultures and space warfare, his imagination was running rampant as he wargamed all the scenarios for which he would have to train the FDG. Train them to be a viable business entity known as the Direct Action Branch of the Bad Company.
“Drop ships, my lover. It’s like the Marine Corps all over again, training for amphibious landings against a determined enemy, but they don’t have a chance because we’re us, we’re the baddest of the bad-asses. That’s what I see from everything I’m hearing,” Terry whispered.
He was not being arrogant. He didn’t do that with Char. TH was being honest. He thought back to the day they attacked a den of Weretigers. Outnumbered five to one, Terry’s tactical teams never lost a single warrior. He and his people had been hurt, but not killed. Only a few Weretigers escaped.
“That’s what I’m hearing, too, but do you see the cities on some of these planets? Cory, Felicity, and I are going shopping, so you better make lots of money at this,” she teased.
Terry started laughing until warriors in the back row of chairs turned to look at him. He quieted and apologized.
He had no doubt they’d make money. Terry was good at what he did.
The chairman of the Federation’s private conflict solution enterprise.
Delivering the right amount of violence at the right time and place, for the right price.
***
“Those fucking classes will be the end of me,” Valerie complained. Robin rolled her eyes, which started to lose focus as if she was falling asleep. Her mouth hung slack as if she was ready to pass out. “Stop it!”
Garcia looked like he had something to say. Valerie stared him down, but he waited. “Well?”
“Bloodsport is confirmed. I’ve got that big dude in round one,” Garcia said.
“That’s nice. Bloodsport. The death matches without the death part? Leave us out,” Valerie declared.
“But you’ll square off against the Weres and Colonel Walton himself.” Garcia showed his teeth. He loved watching Valerie fight. She was a demon.
He’d never seen the colonel fight, but had heard the stories from Kurtz about Terry soundly beating Forsaken in hand-to-hand combat. Of his epic leap into a pack of Weretigers.
He had learned from the Marines, from Kung Fu masters in China, and from Akio. And he had the experience of surviving countless battles.
“The colonel?” Valerie asked with a raised eyebrow. A hint of a smile formed. “I’m in.”
***
In between classes, they started the matches, using the rec room to hold five contests at a time. The rings were smaller than what they were used to, which gave an edge to the brawlers, but Terry didn’t care.
A warrior could try to choose their battlefield, but it wasn’t always possible. Terry had no sympathy.
He personally attended Garcia’s match. The sergeant nodded to Terry Henry before bowing to his opponent, the man who was the same size as Edwin before his conversion into a Pricolici.
Edwin was somewhat larger now, but he was away from the fights, training with Char and the other Pricolici. Learning to change and control their new bodies. Terry steered clear of the new Were, until they were better trained and he could incorporate them back into the FDG as a tactical team.
He would have to see them in action so he could best deploy them.
When the colonel returned his attention to the ring, the referee, one of the warriors, raised his hand and called, “Fight!”
Garcia immediately stalked sideways while the big man jumped back and forth, trying to trap the sergeant in a corner.
“You know what I love about a good fight?” Garcia said with a hint of smile that was clearly meant to taunt his opponent. “The taste of it the next day. When you wake up and taste the blood lingering. Better than a cup of coffee.”
The big man’s face scrunched up in confusion, then he let out a roar and charged.
Terry cringed as, even though Garcia had dodged out of the way, the big man snatched him by the edge of his uniform and flung him around. Both moved like a whirlwind, and then the big man landed on top of Garcia.
Damn, maybe the sergeant wasn’t the great fighter he had been built up as.
A laugh from Garcia made Terry wonder if it was too early to judge, however. Even more so when the sergeant had scissor-kicked his opponent, one leg to the side and one to sweep out his legs, and then he was on top.
“WOO!” Garcia shouted, then brought down two solid blows before the big man blocked and countered.
To his credit, the man was damn strong. He broke Garcia’s hold and was lifting him up to slam him into the wall before the other could react.
Strong, just not as tactical as Garcia. At the last minute, Garcia broke the grip by slamming down with his forearms, then had maneuvered around his opponent and locked him in an armbar that sent him face-first into the wall.
The big man stumbled back, fresh blood on the wall and his face, and growled.
“You toying with me, boy?” he shouted. “Fuck that!”
Again, the big man charged, but someone from the crowd said, “Stop trying to charge him!”
It actually worked, giving TH hope that this big man could be trained to fight the likes of Garcia. However, he clearly wasn’t ready quite yet, or Garcia really was just that good. Wide haymakers came Garcia’s way, and the more experienced fighter demonstrated his ability to bob and weave before finally coming back with a right cross that he immediately followed with a hook from the same hand.
The effect was that the big man went staggering backward, losing his balance. When Garcia came in with a side-kick to the guy’s gut, it did the job and the referee shouted, “That’s enough.”
He gave a look to TH, who nodded.
“Winner,” the referee announced, “you’re moving on to the next match. Loser, sorry, but remedial training.”
The big man stood, looking like he was about to curse out the referee, but instead turned and stomped out of there. Good. He had control. Not a lost cause at all.
***
The first UnknownWorld bout pitted Joseph against Timmons. The two had sparred for well over a hundred years, but it had been a while since their last match.
They bowed to each other and smiled as friends did. Joseph stripped out of his ship suit and wore shorts and a t-shirt. No one had seen him so casual before, but he was living his new life as a daywalking Vampire, never again to be Forsaken.
Petricia and Yanmei paired off in the next ring. Joseph had wanted to watch his bride, but he had his own fight to worry about.
Timmons was usually the aggressor, but he changed his tactics to be defensive and that threw Joseph for a loop. They circled, feinting and jabbing, neither landing a kick or a blow.
“Come on, pasty!” someone yelled at Joseph.
“You’d be pasty too, if your skin hadn’t seen the sun in four centuries!” he yelled back good-naturedly. Timmons dove forward in an uncharacteristic move to wrap up Joseph’s legs. Joseph sidestepped and launched a pile driver into the back of Timmons’s head. The Werewolf planted face-first into the padded deck and lay there, out cold.
“One and done!” the referee shouted, raising Joseph’s hand.
“Pasty’s got skills,” the same warrior called out. Joseph nodded to the man and walked from the ring without having broken a sweat. In the next ring over, Petricia and Yanmei were both sporting split lips. Yanmei complained that she never fought in human form.
“Change then, I don’t care,” Petricia said with bravado she usually reserved for her wrestling matches with her husband.
; Yanmei didn’t wait. She changed into a Weretiger and shrugged out of her clothes. The tiger reared back and screamed, and all other bouts stopped to watch.
Petricia danced and ducked, refusing to provide a stationary target for the creature. Weretigers were fast, but not as fast as Vampires, Petricia hoped.
The Weretiger lunged. Petricia stepped forward at vampiric speed and punched. Yanmei turned her head enough to deflect most of the blow. She twisted and lashed Petricia with a paw full of seven-inch claws. Petricia cried out in pain, the slashes across her arm and chest starting to rain blood onto the mat.
The Vampire stepped back, but Yanmei pounced. Unbalanced with three hundred pounds of great cat on her, Petricia fell over backwards, flailing to throw the Weretiger from her. Yanmei rode the Vampire to the ground, striking her head twice in less than the blink of an eye.
The Weretiger bared her fangs and screamed in Petricia’s face. Pinned, Petricia thought she was going to die.
“STOP!” Joseph yelled, charging in and hitting Yanmei with a body block. The Weretiger rolled aside and came to her feet with a snarl. Joseph held his hands out in surrender. Yanmei screamed one last time before changing into human form. Naked, she rushed to Petricia’s side, joining Joseph who was already there.
Aaron appeared with a towel to wrap around his wife, while Cory asked them all to step aside.
She laid her hands on the worst of the wounds. The familiar blue glow began, signaling the passage of nanocytes from Cory to the injured Vampire. Both hands glowed and Petricia visibly relaxed as the pain disappeared.
A few more seconds, and Cory pulled her hands away. She stood unsteadily. Ramses appeared and helped her to a seat.
***
Valerie watched it all with great interest. “Terry Henry jumped into the middle of a pack of those?” she whispered to Garcia.
“Yup, and those were mostly males twice Yanmei’s size,” Garcia replied, pursing his lips.
“Damn.” Valerie bit her lip, a crazy idea seeping into her mind. “I can’t wait to get a turn with the tiger. What do you bet I can get it by the tail and swing it around?”
Gateway To The Universe: In Bad Company Page 13