The Gates of Hell

by Chris Kennedy

  He reached out and picked up his beer stein. The motion drew the old merc’s gaze, and Manning met it levelly. He held his drink up. “To Victory. And to the ones who paid the price.”

  * * * * *

  Zane Voss Bio

  Zane Voss holds bachelor’s and master’s degrees in engineering from the Missouri University of Science & Technology. His day job is working as a partner in an international consulting firm in the steel industry. If you’re interested, he will talk your ear off for hours about iron and steelmaking. “The Price of Victory” is his first piece of published fiction. He currently resides in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania with his wife and son.

  * * * * *

  The Bitter End by Mark Wandrey

  Chapter 1

  As soon as the transfer shuttle docked with Long March, Teik was moving his people through the connecting lock.

  “Go, go, go,” he snarled, snapping his sharp teeth at a female with her pups who was struggling to keep them in line. “The commander wants us off this tub in 15 minutes!”

  “Watch what you are calling a tub, Aposo,” the Maki crewmember yelled at him.

  “You don’t like it, make me stop,” Teik snarled and flexed his hands. The gleam of chromium alloy flashed from his hands, and the Maki’s eyes narrowed. Its tail reflexively gripped the nearest hold, freeing the little monkey-alien’s hands. Teik felt the blood rush and hoped, oh did he ever hope, the little Kafu would start something. The Maki’s whiskers flicked, but it remained silent. Comparing the Maki to one of the useless tree-dwelling rodents from his homeworld was an insult to the Kafu.

  “Yeah, I thought so. Hurry up!” he yelled at a technician moving equipment boxes. “The stench of this wreck is making me ill.”

  Fourteen minutes later the shuttle detached from Long March. The constantly spinning Behemoth-class transport gave them some free angular momentum, something the shuttle pilot took gratefully. Teik watched through his pinplants, linked to the shuttle’s freely accessible monitors, as the gigantic ball of Long March receded. Dozens of ships were in the process of docking or undocking with the transport, and would be almost to the last minute before it left the system via a stargate.

  “It was a comfortable ship,” one of the female creche mothers was saying to a breeder as Teik moved forward.

  “So is the grave,” Teik snapped. They both bowed their heads. Ignorant females.

  “Teik, update?” he heard relayed through his pinplants.

  “I have all the non-combat staff aboard, and we’re away on schedule.”

  “Well done. We’ll see you on the station in two hours, tops. Settle your charges in and take liberty. We’ll meet tomorrow.”

  “So it shall be,” Teik replied, and the comms were finished. His commander liked a tight operation, as any merc commander would. Inefficiency cost credits, bleeding credits resulted in losses, and losses led to a failed company. Lashku had been a merc company for 1,012 years. Teik wasn’t going to be the last XO of such a long-lived company.

  He relaxed in null-G as the shuttle drifted toward the distant space station. He wasn’t familiar with the location; his Aposo people didn’t have extensive ties in the Tolo arm. In particular, the Cresht region, where they were now, was well known as a backwater area. Few races of any significance called it home. As one of only 37 mercenary races out of untold thousands, his people were among the elite.

  Inside the forward cabin, a factor floated nearby and waited to be acknowledged. Teik ignored him for long enough to reinforce his status, then turned his reddish eyes to regard him. As all factors, he was small, with extremely light brown fur. His ears were short, showing he’d been through several companies. The practice of cutting back the ears prior to remarking went far back in his people’s history.

  “What do you want, Factor?”

  “I’ve been calculating,” the factor said.

  “That’s the reason we feed you.”

  “Yes, and I’m grateful.” He lowered his head below Teik’s, offering his ears. “May I proceed?” Teik gave the factor’s ear a perfunctory nip of acknowledgment. “Our credit situation is dire. We’re scheduled to send the required deposit back to Ap’apal in three weeks. I’m sorry; there aren’t enough credits in the general fund to cover the deposit.”

  “Is Commander Kloot aware?”

  “The last time I tried to discuss it with him, he threatened to space me.”

  Teik’s whiskers twitched, and he nodded his understanding. They’d passed up two contracts in the last system before jumping on Long March at the last possible minute. It was the typical situation they’d come to face as an Aposo company. In other words, a suicide mission. Entropy-cursed aliens.

  Teik looked to the rear of the highborns’ area of the shuttle, where the factors worked on their numbers. He despised them occupying the space, but what was to be done? Their caste was highborn, though only because of ancient times, before computers. Because of their tenuous hold on the highborn, they were abused incessantly.

  “Send me the data,” he said. The factor nodded and did the best thing possible; it left.

  Despite the annoying factor’s existence, it was correct. Their financial situation was becoming steadily worse. You didn’t have to be a factor to know how many credits were in their account. So how was he to discuss this with Kloot without ending up sucking vacuum?

  * * *

  Chapter 2

  Jandu Station was favorable for Lashku’s business interests for many reasons, not the least of which was that the owners simply didn’t care who did business there. From Pushtal and SleSha pirates, to questionable KzSha operations, the Bugitar were equal opportunity capitalists.

  “On docking approach,” the pilot announced.

  “Understood,” Teik said. He didn’t mind interacting with pilots; at least they belonged with the highborn.

  “The fixers say we need maintenance on both shuttles,” the pilot said.

  “Everyone wants credits,” Teik said.

  “I agree with the fixers this time.”

  Teik grunted and floated away from the pilot. The breeders were complaining through the creche mothers that the food was poor quality as well. Feeders, workers, breeders, all they do is complain.

  He used his pinplants to review some of the figures the fixer had sent to him. They were all carefully ordered, tabulated, and presented with clearly defined bottom lines. In short, Teik could easily tell why Kloot had threatened to space the factor. You never tell a leader the straight truth; they didn’t appreciate it.

  Having come up as a simple fighter to earn his position as a planner, Teik had made the climb because he understood how leaders thought. They were guided by only one goal, victory through battle, leading to profit and greater status for the Aposo.

  The shuttle bumped, and he verified his gear was in place. Jandu Station wasn’t the place you wanted to go without a gun, a knife, and maybe an extra gun or three. When the shuttle bumped again, the docking status light lit, and he moved to the rear.

  Of course, all the lowborn wanted out of the shuttle. The rear half was packed with breeders, workers, and feeders, all mewling about this or that, taking up space, and eating valuable food. Teik’s whiskers twitched at the stench they made. It was one of his jobs as a highborn planner, or XO, to deal with all these lowborns, which made his job disagreeable. The sooner he had them off and into the station, the sooner he could be out of their presence.

  The shuttle non-pilot crew, workers, opened the hatch and got out of Teik’s way. The station only had a small gravity deck. All docking was at the immobile part of the station in zero-gravity. That suited Teik just fine; unloading would be much faster.

  He cleared the hatch and went to the inner lock, then opened it, too. Station security was in the form of a pair of armed Lumar, who were waiting along with a single Bugitar. The simian Bugitar glanced up from the slate it held and examined Teik for a moment before speaking.

  “You’re Kloot of Lashku?”r />
  “I am Teik, XO of Lashku. Kloot is on the next shuttle.”

  The alien showed no sign of hearing or understanding him. He simply spoke again. “The two-spacecraft docking fee is 10 GCU per day, per vessel. Fuel at standard rates. Your personnel are charged at 1 GCU each, or a total of 500 GCU for however many occupants of the shuttles for the duration of your stay, whichever is more.”

  Teik held out his UAAC, or Yack. “Charge 500 GCU.”

  The Bugitar looked back up, it’s big, disconcerting simian eyes registering surprise. Their species had such expressive faces; Teik found it amusing to deal with them. He merely continued to hold the Yack out, finally releasing it to let the card float between them. Finally the Bugitar snatched the card and registered the transaction. The two Lumar looked on stupidly.

  “The rules are simple,” it explained. “You’re responsible for any damage to the station. Any weapons fire that compromises atmospheric or structural integrity will result on your ship being confiscated.”

  “You’re welcome to try,” Teik snarled.

  “Pay any fees you owe immediately,” it continued without seeming to notice Teik’s comment. “No credit, no exceptions. Finally, we, the management of Jandu Station, reserve the right to deny you service for any reason, at any time.”

  “Your station, your rules.”

  “Yes,” the Bugitar said and held out its slate for Teik to approve, which he did.

  “Are we done here?”

  “Yes,” the alien said, and made notes on its slate, glancing along the massive docking hallway for its next job.

  Teik used his pinplants to let the pilot know they were good. A second later, the shuttle disgorged the hundreds of lower-caste Aposo he’d been shepherding. The Lumar watched in surprise as they kept coming, while the Bugitar gawked in wide-mouthed shock. Its flattened teeth were as offensive as the simian stink.

  He made sure the shuttle was emptied of all the lowborn. If you didn’t watch them every moment, they would inevitably get themselves into trouble. He gave the creche mother a chip with the space they’d rented in the station, effectively giving her responsibility for the mid and lowborn, then headed for the central promenade of Jandu Station.

  He floated down the connectors away from where their shuttles had docked. All manner of aliens passed going in the opposite direction, while some followed him. None passed him; he was moving too quickly. Aposo were naturally adept in zero gravity.

  A few of the races were impossible to mistake, such as the MinSha. The massive insectoids were always trouble. He hated fighting them; they were difficult to kill. A big purple Oogar bowled past him, actually causing Teik to rebound off the connector’s wall. He hurled a curse after the retreating form. Then several more Oogar came afterward. He was glad to clear the connector and find a glideway to suck him down to the gravity deck.

  “What a dump,” he mumbled as the glideway deposited him into what felt like 1/3rd gravity. Every station with a gravity deck tended to cluster its trading and other businesses there. Most called this section of the station a promenade, despite the many varied forms it took. In Jandu Station, it was three small rings situated at one end of the main tube, which was the core. One was habitation for races dependent on gravity, the second was for businesses requiring gravity, and the last was entertainment, where he’d landed.

  The first thing he saw was the uncollected trash. What race runs a station without basic maintenance bots? The next thing was the homeless aliens basically camping in alcoves. Squatting. His whiskers twitched in disgust, lips skinning back to show his razor-sharp incisors. Who would tolerate this?

  He used his pinplants to interface with Jandu Station’s network and find his destination. He logged in and waited…and waited…and waited. As the network struggled to fulfill his simple request, he upped his opinion from dump to disaster, wondering if he should advise Kloot to pack up and head out.

  “Spare some credits?” a reptilian alien asked, its alcove full of eggs and filth.

  His pinplants translated the words, so it was a Union race. He snarled and kicked at the hand. The alien hissed and spat back at him as he moved away. A sound made him spin back around, one of his pistols in hand. The alien stopped, a knife in one of its own hands. “You decide, piteous creature.”

  With an untranslatable curse, it retreated.

  He watched it go before replacing the weapons and continuing on his way. The only reason he hadn’t killed the petulant being was simple; it wasn’t worth a single laser charge.

  Teik’s pinplants finally informed him of his simple request being fulfilled. The station’s public maps were now at his disposal. He realized he was going the wrong direction and was forced to turn around and come back the direction he’d come. As he passed the reptilian’s lair, he kept an eye on the occupant, who didn’t move as he went by. “The station should get some of these scum to clean it, if they can’t afford bots.”

  * * *

  Chapter 3

  “The Last Pit,” Teik said, reading the name through his translator. The area the merc pit was located in looked a little less filthy. There weren’t any of the homeless squatters he’d seen on the other end of the ring where he was accosted.

  Teik went to the door, which demanded his Yack. He slid the card across the scanner, and it admitted him, supposedly after verifying he was who the card said he was, and that he had a positive credit balance. He went inside and found, to his dismay, the pit was in the same poor condition as the rest of the station.

  Merc pits were the center of his industry, a place you could go to offer a contract, or where a merc would go to accept the contract. Many also used pits as an unofficial club where they could get together to celebrate completed contracts or party with other mercs. He had no interest in doing either. The only celebration he liked was large credit balances, and partying wasn’t something he ever did.

  Inside, Teik looked for any sign of their contact. It did have one thing in common with every other merc pit he’d ever been in; it was dark and loud. Being so far from any legitimate trading or merc hubs, he wasn’t surprised to see a group of seven Pushtal eyeing him suspiciously. He stood and stared back at them for the longest time until they fell into a hissing huddle.

  “Yes, you better look away,” he said and walked over to the bar. It was robotic, unlike most of the station around it. He used his pinplants to order Peef, an alcoholic, nut-based drink from Ap’apal. He smelled its rich aroma even before the little autochef popped it out. For a second, he was fresh out of the creche and tasting it for the first time. It was a delicious memory.

  As he waited for either a sign of his contact or Kloot to show up, he watched the clientele closely. The Pushtal were splitting their interest between a pair of Veetanho drinking in the corner and Teik. He casually wondered if the stupid felinoids wanted to fight. Despite the fact they were easily five times his size, he considered seven of the pathetic pirates less than a match for one Aposo.

  He also noted, interestingly, a pair of huge Tortantula taking up a vast amount of space at the far back corner of the pit. They were riderless and seemed to be sitting without doing much of anything. Curious. The other occupants of the pit were largely merc races like himself, with only a tiny handful of others. It confirmed something else Kloot had confided in him; contracts in the Tolo arm were highly contested.

  Teik was just considering another Peef when the door opened, and Kloot came in with an entire squad of midborn fighters. This was all to plan, and his commander spotted him immediately. The fighters headed for a table, while Kloot went to meet with Teik.

  “Any sign of the contact yet?” his commander asked immediately.

  “No, sir.”

  His nose twitched in agitation. “So much for their vaunted promptness. I’m not thrilled about taking a contract from them in the first place.”

  “Have you looked around?” Teik asked quietly. His commander glanced around the pit, his little eyes pausing for a moment
on the Pushtal, who’d stopped glaring at Teik when another 20 Aposo came in. He also noticed the Tortantula then the Veetanho. Of them all, he spent the most time examining the latter. Veetanho and Aposo were close enough in appearance, many races got them confused. Aposo were proud warriors; they didn’t hide behind other races and let them do the fighting.

  “What am I missing?” he asked finally.

  “Where are the clients? Merc pits often have as many clients as mercs.”

  Kloot looked around again, this time taking closer note. Teik saw him nod several times. “You’re correct, it’s unusual. However, we’re far from the busy areas of the galaxy. There aren’t as many lucrative contracts here.”

  Which is why we’re here. Teik nodded. “Do you want some Peef? The autochef makes a passable version.”

  They both sat and waited, watching the pit and sipping Peef. The squad stayed in a private cubicle, out of sight. It was unlikely anybody in the pit would remember they were there. He’d been there just over an hour when the door opened and in walked a Zuparti. Teik caught his commander’s eye and nodded toward the new arrival.

  “Got it,” Kloot said, and he raised a hand to get the Zuparti’s attention. The alien looked at him, around the room, then slinked toward their table. It’s elongated body and short legs produced a comical gate, not like the properly squat body of an Aposo.

  “You’re Lashku?” the Zuparti asked.

  “I’m Kloot, commander of Lashku; this is my executive officer, Teik.”

  “And I’m F’slan. Thank you for taking this contract.”

  “We haven’t taken the contract yet,” Kloot reminded the alien.

  “You said you’d take the contract.”

  “I said we’d review the contract and consider it.”