by B. V. Larson
I shook my head, annoyed. I hated cities in general, and this one was worse than any I’d ever seen. Alien-filled, noisy, overrun with traffic and confusion—and I was stuck here for an entire year. I was already missing home.
“Don’t tell me you’d rather be squatting in your shed drinking beer,” Natasha said.
With a shrug, I turned toward the looming interior of the barracks. I frowned, then stared, then finally cocked my head.
“Is this a joke?” I asked. “Don’t you think these modules are familiar-looking?”
They were, in fact, the same modular living quarters we’d left behind on Minotaur.
“Of course they are,” Natasha said. “That’s why we were shipped out here in these things. They unload the living modules here at headquarters and plug the habitats right in. It’s an instant home for our species. They’re preset for a comfortable temperature, air pressure—the works. Don’t tell me you were hoping to live like a native out on the streets.”
I turned to her in amazement. “But…why didn’t they just drop the modules off here with us in them?” I demanded. “That would have been so much easier. All these troops crossing Gelt Station on their own dime, getting lost, wasting time…”
Natasha laughed and shook her head. “I can see you have a lot to learn about this place. The Tau would never permit ten thousand suckers to slip by them like that. I’m sure they denied Minotaur landing permission for cargo and passengers at the same location. They probably directed them to let us off at customs then sent the ship around to unload our modules here—on the opposite end of the station.”
“Customs?” I asked. “I don’t remember much in the way of searching and document-checking.
“There’s none of that here. If you have enough money to get to the station, you belong here. That’s the Tau rule. They have a few automated weapons detectors and the like at the entrance, I’m sure, but that’s about it.”
I nodded slowly as we climbed a long flight of steps up to our unit module. “I’m beginning to get it. If they delivered us here efficiently, they’d have missed out on fleecing noobs at the door. This way, who knows how many turtles made a profit on pointless transportation alone. What a waste.”
“One creature’s waste is the next creature’s profit,” she said.
I frowned at her.
“It’s a local proverb,” she explained. “I’ve been reading up on these people since Turov announced our mission objective.”
“I can tell.”
When we found our way up to the unit module, I was recognized by the entry system and ordered by my tapper to head to a briefing in the wardroom. Natasha received the same orders, but Carlos and Kivi didn’t. We met up with them in the hallway and Carlos complained that someone should have warned him that his newly purchased “real life human sex partner” would be a balloon with feathers glued to it.
We headed to the meeting, and I realized by the nature of the crowd accompanying us that only the officers and noncoms had been summoned. Grunts hadn’t been invited. Lucky them.
When we’d all assembled, I half expected Turov to project herself on the wall again. But instead, Centurion Graves arrived last with someone I didn’t know in tow behind him.
The guest was an officer, and he was an old guy. Shockingly old. White hair frosted his naturally wrinkled skin and even his neatly trimmed fringe of a beard was a salt and pepper mix like my own granddad wore. I was fairly certain no one in Legion Varus was that old—at least not outwardly. His body was probably fifty-plus and we found it shocking to see someone that old in uniform. I saw the bullshead emblem of Taurus on his shoulder and realized he was a member of Legion Germanica.
We came to attention and saluted. Centurion Graves ordered us to stand at ease and introduced his guest.
“This is Adjunct Claver,” Graves said. “He’s been assigned to our unit during the handover of the mission from Legion Germanica to Legion Varus. Adjunct, if you please.”
Claver took a step forward and gazed at us with ice-blue eyes. His silver hair was cropped down to a square shape on his skull, and his heavy lips were drawn into a tight grin.
“Welcome to Tech World, troops,” he said in an alarming baritone with a mild Texan accent. His voice was one of those that naturally carried overriding all other speech in the room. “Most of my friends call me Old Silver—but you aren’t my friends so don’t bother. I’m here to explain your duties and help make this transition as easy as possible for all parties concerned. I’ve spent no less than nine tours here on Tau Ceti over the years, and I know how this place operates. Consider me to be your local guide.”
Claver made a little speech about avoiding certain regions of the station when alone and off-duty. The most prominent of these was a region known as “The Vents” which was apparently a low-oxygen region far down in the bowels of the station. He also told us that any bargain that seemed too good to be true definitely was on this planet.
When he finally got around to explaining our specific assignment, I was happily surprised.
“Light units are being assigned to police duties,” he said. “But the heavy troops are going to be hired out on an individual basis as bodyguards and for other special duties. The inhabitants of Gelt Station are an odd group. They’ll pinch a penny until it bleeds one minute, then blow a thousand credits on some extravagant display of wealth to impress their peers the next. Heavy troopers are our real cash cows in this system. With all that armor and weaponry, you don’t really fit in standing on street corners. But you look scary, and that’s worth credit!”
Claver laughed loudly and didn’t seem to notice or care that none of the rest of us were joining in.
“Honestly,” he continued, “for a heavy unit like this one, I’d recommend you invest in polish. Buff out every battle scar on your armor, and consider having it dipped in chrome. Down on violet deck they have some excellent metal smiths. They can do damn well anything.”
For the first time, I began to frown. This wasn’t what I’d been expecting. I’d been waiting for a list of active threats—for a battle plan, maybe. But it was sinking in that we weren’t here to fight anyone. We were here to babysit merchant princes and polish our armor. It was quite a letdown.
At last the question and answer session began. I immediately raised my armored hand high.
A long arm reached up behind me and gripped my shoulder, attempting to force my hand down. I resisted automatically, and due to my superior height and the whining power-assist motors in my suit, my assailant was unable to force me to comply with his wishes.
“Dammit McGill, put your friggin’ hand down!” Harris hissed in my ear.
“Oh, sorry Veteran,” I said, turning him a pleasant look of surprise. “I didn’t notice you there.”
Harris glowered at me, and I finally lowered my arm—but it was too late.
“Yes?” Claver asked loudly. “You there, that telephone pole of a man. Speak up.”
I turned back to the adjunct and I could feel Harris’ breath on the back of my head.
“Sir, could you do a rundown on local threats?”
“Local threats?”
“Yes sir. I understand we’re to bodyguard a local merchant princess. But who are we to protect her from?”
Claver chuckled. “A groper on the subway, maybe,” he said. “Or a bad piece of fruit she might purchase. Really, there aren’t any significant threats on this station. The Tau allowed to work and live here are the best of their species. There are no youths, no children. Only successful adults from below can reach this station if they meet the stringent qualifications. Even then, there are a few thieves and robbers around—nothing organized, however.”
I frowned, nodding. Claver turned to Centurion Graves, and I sensed they were about to wrap things up.
My hand rose again. I heard Harris make a choking sound behind me.
“Sir?” I asked. “What about down on the planet surface? Is there any trouble down there?”
“Ha!” Claver said. “Yes, loads of it. Rival gangs burn entire districts sometimes. Rebels hold chunks of land and even some of the underwater stations. Don’t know why they don’t just flush them all out into the ocean.”
I frowned. That didn’t sound like a trouble-free environment to me. But I guessed that if we’d been hired to guard people on this station only, we didn’t have much to worry about.
At least, that’s how things had worked out for Germanica whenever they’d been assigned out here for a long, dull year.
-10-
On our way to our new duty station that afternoon, Carlos fell into step beside me. We were marching down a very long, gently curving street. Only losers walked on Tech World, and we were right in the middle of them.
Aliens who resembled animals, insects, and just plain freaks hobbled by. All of them looked destitute and sour. They scuttled out of our way like cockroaches when we came near them in clanking armor.
As per Centurion Graves’ orders, 3rd Unit had split up into platoons. As I was part of Adjunct Leeson’s platoon, I followed him and Claver into the city.
“Can you believe this joker named Claver?” Carlos demanded, gesturing to the front of the column where the officers were walking. “Old Silver is a good nickname. He must be ninety-nine years old!”
“I bet you’re close to right,” I said, “at the very least, he must not have died for thirty years or so in order to look that old. No one in Varus has silver hair.”
“Might be kind of cool to get old,” said Carlos in an uncharacteristically thoughtful tone of voice. “I’d be willing to try it just once. Then I’d get myself killed at around forty to start over fresh.”
“I have to admit that sounds like more fun than dying all the time.”
“Platoon halt!” came the order from up ahead.
We all stopped marching and shuffled ourselves back into an organized column, two abreast. I was at the midpoint of the column, and I felt secure enough to do a little sightseeing.
Unfortunately, the best vistas were above us. On the street-level, I felt as if we were walking in the gutter. There was trash everywhere, and aliens slept in makeshift shelters against the foot of every towering building.
Tilting my head upward, things looked better. A false sky hung about two kilometers above our heads. Soaring structures loomed all around us reaching for that synthetic heavenly blue.
The buildings we passed were like buildings on Earth. They were more open than structures on my homeworld as they didn’t need to be completely sealed the way a building had to be when it was on a planetary surface.
The towering structures resembled networks of girders built with puff-crete and metal struts. There were gaps in the walls—big ones. Rather than going to the trouble of building a true window or door, the natives often just left a large square missing. These gaps were up to several meters wide and served the purpose of allowing entry, exit, and ventilation. There were a lot of balconies too, as there were great views to be had everywhere on the station.
In between these towering mountains of metal and puff-crete, vehicles buzzed. Walking on the street, we were a good fifty meters below the lowest echelon of air traffic. There was occasional ground traffic as well, mostly made up of cleaning machines and rickshaw-like carts pulled by the poorest of folks.
The column was called upon to halt, and we were left standing in line. Up ahead, Claver and Leeson were talking. As grunts, it was our job to stand around and wait for orders.
“Do you think it ever rains in here?” Carlos asked me.
I shrugged. “How the hell should I know? It’s plenty big enough to have water condense up high, I guess. But they might employ enough reprocessing systems to stop it.”
Carlos pointed to the structure we had halted at the foot of, and I saw what he was talking about. There was a large thick pipe that ran down from a kilometer or more above us. The pipe opened with a flared tip at the bottom. I could see liquid dribbling from it in a trail to the gutters and drains that lined the street.
“That pipe could be for rain,” I admitted. “Or, it could be a cheap, alien-waste removal system. We seem to be in the low-rent district.”
Carlos made a sound of disgust as he stepped gingerly out of the pools of unknown liquid his boots were soaking in.
“Back in line, Ortiz!” shouted Harris.
Grumbling, Carlos stood in the puddle again. “What the hell are they doing up at the front of the column?” he demanded.
Being a head taller than anyone else between ourselves and the officers, I was able to give him a report on the situation. “Looks like they’re arguing about something.”
“That’s great. I’m standing here in alien piss and Adjunct Leeson is bitching out Old Silver.”
“Shut up in the ranks!” shouted Harris.
Carlos and I both knew that the next step would involve Harris breaking ranks to come close and chew on us, so we fell silent. Staying quiet had always been hard on Carlos in particular, but fortunately, the line began moving again soon.
The column took a right-angle turn into the structure that loomed overhead. Old Silver seemed to have gotten his way as he was leading the platoon inside through a wide opening between two massive metal struts. The struts were rusty and thick liquids trickled down both of them onto the sidewalk from God knew where above.
“What is this place?” demanded Carlos. “An alien poorhouse?”
“Beats me,” I told him. “I thought we were supposed to be guarding a fancy-pants merchant prince.”
Things went from bad to worse once we were inside the building. It looked like an abandoned skyscraper, and we were on the ground floor. Things that must have passed for rodents hopped and scurried around us—but they weren’t mammals. They were more like beetles or cockroaches the size of rats. They had horns, too—honest to God horns on their heads—right between their feelers.
“Ugh,” Kivi said, pointing her weapon at one that reared up and gazed at us in silent, frank appraisal.
“You think you can take him, Kivi?” I asked. “I hear that’s a new kind of citizen down here.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“Yeah, I am.”
“Bastard.”
She moved off, and I shrugged my armored shoulders. I followed her with Carlos right behind me. Kivi and I had an on-again off-again thing that had been going on for years now. I knew I wasn’t the only man in that category, either. The nature of our interactions all depended on how annoyed she was with me on any given month or day. Taking her measure, I judged I was out of favor with her on this mission—but you couldn’t blame a guy for trying.
Water—or something worse—dribbled from the ceiling onto our heads. People cursed and flapped their gauntlets all up and down the line.
An order soon came down the column from the front: “Helmets on, visors open!”
Everyone complied quickly enough, but I adlibbed and slammed my visor down too. My suit air conditioners kicked in on automatic, and I felt better immediately. Being inside my suit was almost like driving a small car through the nasty building. It gave me a feeling of comfortable distance from the exterior world.
It got darker, and danker, and then we finally reached a downward slanting ramp.
“Oh, hell no!” Carlos exclaimed, echoing my own opinions. For once, Harris didn’t tell him to shut up.
Suit lights snapped on. My twin beams bracketed my helmet and shone brilliant light wherever I turned my head. Like most of the troops, I sent my lights stabbing down toward the bottom of that ramp.
We all stared down into what could only be described as a brownish-green river of slow-moving sludge.
Leeson must have sense our mood, so he clicked onto the general tactical channel and started talking. He spoke calmly and matter-of-factly sounding to me like an airline pilot discussing a passing cloud.
“What we have here is a mission-barrier,” he said. “Adjunct Claver has informed me we need to
cross this barrier in order to reach our objective.”
“Uh, sir?” came a voice. I recognized it as Veteran Harris. “Just what objective can be found on the other side of this shit-river, if you don’t mind my asking? Some of the boys were wondering.”
“Our clients are waiting on the far side,” Leeson said flatly.
We all looked at one another in surprise and confusion.
“Good thing I spent an hour polishing my armor,” Kivi said bitterly.
“Now this is Legion Varus’ luck in action, people,” Carlos said. “We got ourselves hired by some kind of sewer monster. I bet it wants us to lather up in this river of filth then it’ll ask us to escort its slimy butt to the fanciest hotel in town.”
“Shut up, Ortiz,” Harris ordered without conviction. We all knew Carlos could be right, and Legion Varus’ misfortunes were legendary.
How can I describe the next step of our mission? Crossing the shit-river was grotesque and humiliating. We held our weapons over our heads and waded in. Fortunately, the current was slow and no one got sucked under. They even ordered the troops to clamp their visors down tightly—mighty nice of them to think of that.
When we reached the far side there was a ramp going up and lights ahead too. We struggled out of the muck onto the ramp, cursing and slipping.
A gush of mist sprayed down onto us without warning. I wasn’t the only one who had his weapon out, aiming this way and that—but there were no enemies in sight. The spraying system seemed to be automated, and I had to admit it was cleaning off my armor.
“Keep moving! Up and off this ramp, people!” shouted a now-familiar voice. It was Old Silver himself.
We marched upward, and it was like walking through a carwash. At the top, we gathered and stood more or less in a square. Everyone had their weapons out and cradled. We weren’t aiming at every shadow, but we were alert. This wasn’t our first mission after all.
A hissing release of gas sounded, and a whirring sound followed. A large portion of the ceiling lowered itself slowly into our midst. We backed up, forming a circle around it. We watched these developing events with unblinking eyes.