The Harriers Book One: Of War and Honor

by S. N. Lewitt

  "Why should I?"

  "Well, because I had half my last paychit bet on you to beat Gonzo Gauthier for the title and I lost it when you got caught sleeping with Top Matron's husband and got sent here instead," Chan said. "You owe me."

  The woman called Rook shrugged. She looked at Gain as if he were a meal she was considering eating, then shook her head. Nope. Not on her diet. Too small to keep. Gain felt himself blush at being found wanting.

  "Rook here's okay," Chan said. "She does, however, have maybe too high an opinion of her sexual skills."

  "Whenever you're ready for a demonstration, Sub," Rook said, grinning and licking her lips.

  "No thanks, I still got fifteen years to go, I want to live long enough to draw my retirement pay."

  "Limp rod."

  "Better than having it worn off."

  Rook laughed. "Okay. Where we going?"

  "Into the Hot and Moist."

  "You're kidding, right? Who do I have to kill?"

  "It's a job, Rook, not a holiday."

  "Can't work all the time."

  "Maybe. We'll see."

  The final cell held an innocuous little man of maybe thirty, who had somehow managed to make the place look like a luxury cube. He had a holoproj, liquor dispense, and a feelofoam mattress humming under him.

  "This is Line Trooper Royal Tinner," Chan said.

  Tinner didn't bother to move from where he was stretched out. " 'Lo, Sub. You want a drink? Some smoke? I got a masseuse coming by later."

  "No, thanks, Tin. We—this is our new temporary LUC—we thought you might be willing to help us out on a small matter."

  "Maybe. What?"

  "Little trip to Fishtown. Visit with Limos Jaskeen at the Hot and Moist."

  "I don't think so. Bad odds."

  Chan turned to Gain. "Tin here is the best gambler in the Petits. He'll bet on anything he thinks he can win. Hardly ever backs a loser."

  That didn't make Gain feel any better.

  "Tin, what if we could cut you loose for a hour or two at Madam Howzu's?"

  The little man sat up on the humming mattress. "Three hours."

  "Two."

  "Done."

  "What was that all about?" Gain asked.

  "Fishtown's best gambling house, run by a borderline empath named Madam Howzu. The only person Tin can't yet beat consistently in a fair poker game. She's got him two rounds to one. He'd give his left testicle for another shot to even the score, and the other one to go one up."

  "Just out of curiosity, can he beat her?"

  "I wouldn't bet against him."

  Gain shook his head. A giant weight lifter, an oversexed combat artist, a compulsive gambler, and a noncom Sub busted from officer no less than three times. One hell of an operations unit there, Gain. Nobody ever told you about anything like this at the Academy.

  5

  The drophopper fell out of space into the atmosphere, piloted by somebody who obviously must be immune to any pull under three gees. Gain and his misfits wore cit clothes and had all been issued neural tanglers in hideaway holsters. Rook had also given Gain a short double-edged flexsteel knife in a slipskin sheath before they'd left.

  "What's this for?"

  "Knife doesn't run out of ammo or charge," she'd said. "Or, you never know, you might need to clean your fingernails or something."

  He'd tucked the knife into his boot.

  As the bone-bending drop continued toward planetfall, Gain reviewed what little he knew about where they were going. Feddalsi Oasis was a water-world; most of the human population lived in barge towns or man-made submarine cities. The land masses tended to have a lot of earthquakes and volcanic activity, so only a few hundred scientists spent any permanent time there. Boat towns and cities stayed in deep water, to avoid tsunami trouble. In the right seasons, local hurricanes sometimes carried winds topping three hundred kilometers an hour. Nice place to not-visit.

  Oondervatten was the largest of the submarine cities. It was more like an iceberg, in that some of it stuck up above the surface, but most of it stayed below. Fishtown itself was at the lowest inhabited level, just above the recycling plants and the sewage treaters, and the bar-slash-whorehouse belonging to one Limos Jaskeen was at the bottom of Fishtown. The name, Hot and Moist, could mean a couple things, Gain had learned. What went on, or the atmosphere itself, which shared the same air system as the main filter pumps. Before graduation, Gain had been in a few tough port bars, itching to try out his hand-to-hand, but this place made them seem like a meditation class.

  As the drophopper pulled a wide, face-stretching turn to land on the midsea non-commercial military pad, Gain said to Chan, "Tell me about this Limos Jaskeen."

  "You've never heard of him?"

  "No."

  "You ever heard of the Expeditionary Rangers?"

  "Yes, of course. I'm not totally stupid."

  "Jaskeen was a Ranger, just before they got busted up. Mean S.O.B. Had four combat duty stripes in three years."

  "I am given to understand that the ER was a pretty poor excuse for military. More thugs and crooks than real soldiers."

  "Maybe so. Can't say, I wasn't there. After they were disbanded, Jaskeen went into the Grands."

  "He's highborn?"

  "Oh, yeah, a great-great-uncle and great-great-grandfather founded some minor world, I forget which.

  "Jaskeen stayed in the Grands long enough to make it to Full Commander."

  "Then he retired?"

  "Not exactly. Deserted."

  "Juddah! You serious?"

  "Yep. Got tired of all the crap, he said. Too much talk, not enough action."

  "And the Grands just rolled over and let him go?"

  "He changed his name and ID." Chan grinned. "Then he joined the Petits."

  "Come on."

  "Yep. Only man to have served in all three, near as anybody can tell. Got to FC there, too, then retired."

  "Oh, man."

  "Along the way, he picked up a few pretty smooth moves in some esoteric martial arts, can pin a fly to a wall at ten paces with a needle gun, either hand, and eats trouble for breakfast without spices. He's about, oh, sixty, maybe, and the toughest man I ever met. Doesn't have much use for authority."

  "Wonderful," Gain said. Just what he needed to hear.

  The ship slewed through another turn, fast and hard enough to kick the safety cocoons into a brief lockmode. When the cocoon opened, Gain said, "No wonder you wanted the troops we brought."

  "I think Jaskeen could probably take the three of them, plus you and me, without working up a major sweat. They are just to get us to the place and back. Like I said, Fishtown is not exactly a stroll in the park, Luck. And if the courier ship was sabotaged, we might have other things to worry about, too."

  6

  As Gain and his irregulars stepped onto the landing pad's salty plastcrete, an insect buzzed past his left ear, moving at a good clip. Something spanged! against the side of the drophopper.

  "Down!" Chan yelled. He grabbed Gain's arm and dropped, pulling them both to the platform. Crusted salt and grit ground into Gain's hands as he broke his fall. The place stank of seaweed, too, he noticed, now that he had it practically shoved up his nose.

  Gain lifted his head. What was going on—?

  Shoulders, Rook and Tin were already prone, and each had a weapon in hand.

  "The control tower, about halfway up!" Rook said.

  Gain still wasn't sure what had happened, but he was a military officer and quick enough to guess. Not an insect. Somebody had shot at them. And whoever it was was supposed to be on the control tower, a good hundred meters away, and if he were halfway up, thirty meters above the platform. There was an old-style slide window there, partially opened, with a shadowy figure visible through the thick plastic. The sniper had the high ground, a perfect field of fire, and superior weaponry. Way out of range for a tangler, Gain knew. His gut twisted in sudden fear. They were wide open out here, they didn't have a prayer—
/>   Tin and Shoulders pointed their weapons at the tower and started firing. Wasting time, Gain thought, and none of us has any to waste, either. The noises were not the high-pitched squeal of neural tanglers, however. One of them went whoosh-boom! and the other sounded like heavy sheet brass being pierced with a sharp object, wraank!

  Rook came up and did a broken-step jerk 'n' jive across the platform, dodging and darting as she tacked toward the tower's base. She also fired as she ran, and her weapon went foing!

  The window halfway up the tower was bracketed by things pocking the wall. The metal chinged with the impacts. The heavy plastic of the half-opened window itself sprouted half a dozen punctures. That window, all of a moment, was a very dangerous place in which to find oneself, Gain saw.

  Chan had a heavy-looking gun pointed at the tower, an old flexmetal handcannon, it looked like. After a second, though, he tucked it back under his synlin coat.

  "They're gone,'' he said. He stood, and helped Gain to his feet.

  "Damn," Gain said, surprised and relieved to be alive. "What is that battery you're carrying? I thought you were issued a neural tangler."

  "A tangler is only good for short-range stuff; you that close, you might as well hit 'em with your fist. I left the thing under my mattress at the station. Old Bruce is my charged-particle pal, good for half a klick." He patted the weapon under his coat.

  Shoulders and Tin stood, dusting the salt and dirt from their clothes.

  "Shoulders, he carries an antique, an old Pinzer rocket launcher. Tin favors a Dagon boltslammer. Rook likes her pinwheel pistol, shoots those little electropoison corkscrews."

  "Am I the only one carrying my issue non-lethal hand weapon?"

  "I expect so. Pil allows us some leeway when it comes to, um, nonstandard missions. Whoever took a shot at us was probably using a sniper rifle. He could have plinked at us all day if all we'd had to wave back at him were tanglers. Sooner or later, he'd have hit us. Or you, anyhow."

  "Me?"

  "You're the LUC, Luck. Take you out, we have to go back and get ourselves another officer. Got to figure they know that much."

  Gain stared at the SUO. The Sub laughed. "Sorry, Luck, I don't make the rules. You got any idea who might be shooting at us? Anything you can tell a lowly SUO?"

  Gain shook his head. "I don't know for sure. Might be agents of—" He stopped and looked around.

  "Luck, we also got to assume they know who they are."

  "I suppose you're right. I'd bet money that they are either hired by one of the Twelve or special operatives of the Grand Harriers."

  "Oh, mama," Tin said from behind them. "What'd you get us into here, Sub?"

  "You know about as much as anybody," Chan said. "You got any discretion here, Luck, to tell us any more?"

  "Technically, no." He paused a few seconds. Somebody had just shot at him and his first command. That ought to mean something. Regulations notwithstanding, he figured his people had a right to know why. "Let's find a place to get out of the sun and I'll tell you what I was told."

  Regulations weren't doing so well these days.

  7

  The above-sea eatery was a fully-automated unit, and a few locals shuffled in front of the dispense trays, ordering food and drinks. The five Petits moved to an empty corner and sat at two of the scratched red lastever-plastic tables. Chan watched the nearest door, while Shoulders scanned the patrons. The place stank of curdled sofsoy and scorched cheese. Nothing to write home about.

  Gain told them what he'd been told.

  When he was done, Rook shook her head. "Man. We'd have been better off staying in the brig."

  "You said it, killer," Tin said. "I wouldn't want any piece of this, if I was covering bets. You got us into a bleeding duel between the MiC of the Petits and the MiC of the Grands."

  "Don't lets forget the drug-addicted One-of-the-Dozen," Rook said. "Man. You sure about that? One of the Twelve is on yadjak?"

  "I'm not sure of anything," Gain said. "I'm just following orders and you just heard what they were."

  Shoulders said, "Why'd one of the Twelve need to sky up on yadjak? They can do just about anything already, can't they?"

  "Don't ask me," Gain said. "What I know about people who walk those levels you can carve on your eyeball with an axe without feeling it."

  "Jaskeen is probably not gonna like it much," Chan said. "Yadjak comes from some kinda bug or plant that grows on the ocean bottom, and the local underlevel honchos don't like anybody fucking with it; it's a real expensive item. He has to live here; he probably won't want to step on any powerful toes."

  "Our MiC says if somebody is going to be controlling a member of the Twelve with an addictive, no-known-cure, Look-I'm-God drug, it isn't going to be the Grands," Gain said. "I think you can see where that leads."

  Chan shook his head. "Real can of ugly worms. Just as soon toss the suckers back into their hole and go home."

  "I don't see as how we have much choice," Gain said.

  "Kid's got a point," Tin said.

  Chan nodded. "Yeah. Well. Might as well get to it."

  The layout of Oondervatten was similar, if not identical, to other water-based cities Gain had seen. The basic shape was somewhat like a squashed diamond, flat on top and pointed on the deep end, thickest in the middle. It looked pretty much like a child's wooden spinning top. It did not bob in the water like a float, however, since most of its mass and weight were below the waterline.

  The dropchutes did not run in a straight path from top to bottom. Every dozen or so levels, passengers had to exit and take a slider a few meters to a different chute.

  "It's a pretty stupid system," Chan said, as the slider moved them over fairly bumpy rollers to the next set of chutes. "Some whizbrain somewhere decided that the city needed to be laid out so that in case there was a major breach in the outer hulls, the chutes wouldn't fill to the top. A hole that big would drown everybody anyhow, but the foofah designer had to have it his way."

  "How far is it to Fishtown?"

  "Eighty-six levels," Tin said. "Six chute changes. Last one is guarded by local cools."

  "To keep people out?"

  "Nah, to keep em in. Anybody with two demistads to rub together can get a riser pass, but everything below eighty-six runs on grease."

  "Bribes," Chan said, to Gain's puzzled look.

  Gain liked the sound of the place less and less. Maybe his uncle was right: he should have gone into the family business. Nothing wrong with the packaging trade. A little dull, maybe.

  The LUC was slightly ahead of the others when they reached the next series of dropchutes.

  The chute in front of them opened. Four men with arcnives leaped out and seemed intent on carving Gain into bloody tatters.

  The first man lunged straight at the LUC, the humming arcnife spitting blue sparks and the stink of ozone. Gain didn't have time to talk, but he could react. He twisted to his left and back, and the deadly line of bottle-blue energy stabbed the air a good centimeter away from his chest. Gain shot his right hand out, using the heel as he'd been taught, slamming it against the attacker's temple. The man stumbled, lost the arcnife as he tried to break his stunned fall, and skidded across the no-slip ridges of the slider on his face.

  As the downed man came to a stop, Chan kicked him upside the head.

  Rook spun toward the second attacker, smashed his throat with one elbow, grabbed his hair with her other hand, and slammed his face down onto her knee. He was still in the air and falling when she stepped into the third attacker, deftly avoided his panicked swipe with the humming weapon, and snap-kicked him square on the balls. That one wasn't going to be causing any more trouble, either.

  Shoulders dodged around the final attacker's fencing lunge, grabbed the man under the arms, and threw him across the corridor as if he weighed no more than a sack of air. The fourth man hit the wall face first, his feet a meter or so above the ground, and slid down, unconscious.

  Tin stood there, weapon held a
t the ready, but it was all over.

  No more than five seconds had passed.

  Startled locals made astonished noises as Chan and Shoulders bent to examine the stunned or unconscious attackers.

  "Nice move, Luck,'' Chan said, as he moved to collect and extinguish the arcnives. "Your hand-to-hand Sub would be pleased."

  "Should have followed up the first strike," Rook said. "Course, it gave Chan something to do." She turned to Tin. "I didn't see you working up any sweat, sucker bet."

  "Well, you hogged two of 'em," Tin said, grinning. "I didn't want to spoil your fun. If I'd shot one, you'd never let me hear the end of it."

  "True," Rook said.

  "Let's see can we find out who these clowns are," Chan said.

  8

  The local cools came and looked at Gain's ID and listened to his explanation of what had happened. The four were Fishtown muscle-for-hire, the cools said. Finding out who hired them would have to wait for the prosecutor to get a court order for a truthscan, and they'd all have legals who'd put that off for as long as possible. Might take a week.

  A week from now, Gain hoped to be done with all this.

  The cools had more questions, but the SUO pulled the officer in charge aside. Something unseen changed hands, and the cools went away.

  "Did you bribe him?" Gain asked.

  "Sure. Pil has a special fund, feelie money; I have a few platinum coins to spread around."

  Gain shook his head. He sure as hell was getting an initiation into how things were really done out here in the sparsely traveled spacelanes.

  "We haven't even gotten to Fishtown yet and already we're having to work to earn our pay. Hell of a thing," Chan said.

  9

  The final chute into Fishtown was indeed guarded, and more of Chan's bribe money got passed to the cools as the five Petits fell the final few levels.