Winged Hussars (The Revelations Cycle Book 3)

by Mark Wandrey

  “We like to keep supply caches in various places. This is a small one, but serviceable.” Rick shook his head.

  “How many are there like that?”

  “In the galaxy?” T’jto asked, and Rick nodded. “I don’t know, maybe 20 or more? They’re strategically located so a Hussars’ ship is never more than a transition away.”

  “You people like to be prepared.”

  “It’s a central tenet of the Winged Hussars, going back to the beginning. Plan, prepare, strike! That’s the company motto. You can’t exactly prepare if you don’t have supplies around.” Rick thought about how expensive it must be to have dozens of such caches around the galaxy. “Shall we proceed with your evaluations?”

  Rick spent the morning with four other Humans going through a series of physical tests, which varied from simple dexterity and strength, to familiarity and comfort with Union technology. He only struggled with the physical endurance part of the test. He figured it was the combination of spending so much time in space and an incomplete recovery from his injuries.

  Sergeant T’jto and two Human assistants reviewed the data and then provided them with lunch, a selection of roast beef, turkey, and tuna sandwiches. They were even offered Earth-manufactured sodas or beer.

  During lunch, Rick chatted with the other four applicants. Three were men, one from the United States, like himself, one from France, and another from Australia. The final one was a Canadian woman named Lynn Jordan. He hadn’t run into many female mercs since his time with Mickey Finn. They all had deployment experience. He was the only one who’d never fought as a merc; however, none of the others had marine training like he had.

  “How’d you end up here?” Jordan asked when the other three men left to use the restrooms. “I mean, we’re here because we stayed here after we left our companies. But you’ve never been out on a contract. It’s not cheap to fly here from Earth.”

  Rick nodded and shrugged. “I worked my way here on a freighter.” She looked at him with an appraising eye. “There were no jobs for inexperienced mercs on Earth—a down time, I guess—so I came here.” He shrugged.

  “Resourceful,” Lynn said.

  “Desperate,” Rick countered. Sergeant T’jto skittered into the room to see the two of them laughing. They both stopped when they saw her.

  “Did I interrupt some sort of Human mating ritual?” she asked. Both Rick and Lynn blushed, then laughed. T’jto cocked her head and regarded them with her huge eyes. “Please report for the next step of evaluation,” she said and instructed them where to go.

  They went together and rode a glideway down to the hub and into a zero-G work area. When they arrived at the Hussars facility, they found six CASPers waiting for them. Rick blinked when he saw them, gleaming in silver and gold paint, with the Winged Hussars logo on their shoulders.

  “Mark 8 suits,” he said as he floated over to examine one. There wasn’t a nick in the paint, a ding in the armor, or any signs of repairs. “They look new,” he said.

  “That is because they are.” Rick looked over and saw a small reptilian elSha perched on one of the CASPers, a slate sized to his race’s use held in one dexterous hand. “I’m Kleena, chief armorer and development specialist for the Hussars.” Rick and Lynn both said hello. “My two assistants here are T1 and T2.” A pair of red chitinous heads poked out of the armor suit Kleena was perched on. They had dangerous looking pinchers, tiny black eyes, and waving antenna. Rick had never seen Jeha before. One slithered its entire long length out, gripping the suit with a multitude of tiny legs that each ended with a pointy pincher. They resembled millipedes, but ones that were four feet long. “And Sato is the Human genius that keeps us busy.”

  “I prefer evil genius,” the man said. He floated amidst a swarm of mechanical parts and tools. He was young, and Rick guessed no more than 20 or so, probably Japanese based on the name and appearance. His head was shaved, and he had pinlinks clearly visible. Only, he had a third one over his left eye in addition to the ones above and behind his ear. That was something Rick had never seen before. He was dressed in rather common-looking coveralls, except they were covered in dozens of pockets. “Are you the new recruits?” he asked.

  “That’s us,” Lynn said. Rick nodded.

  “Want me to add some special modifications to these suits for you?”

  “Say no,” Kleena said without looking up from his work. Sato looked askance at the reptile and started assembling the parts. Rick leaned closer and whispered to Lynn.

  “He can’t be any older than I am.”

  “You’d be surprised how old I am,” Sato said without looking. “I’m older than Captain Cromwell.” Rick thought the Hussars commander was at least forty. “I know, doesn’t make sense, does it?”

  “Can you read minds?” Rick asked. Sato stopped in mid-assembly of his device and his eyebrows furrowed.

  “I’ve never tried,” he said. “Let me think about that.” And he went back to work.

  “Don’t forget the evil part,” Kleena said. A moment later Corporal Johansson floated in. She immediately noticed Sato floating in the middle of his constellation of parts and tools.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, then addressed Kleena. “You didn’t let him fuck with the suits, did you?”

  “No,” the elSha said. “We don’t want to kill the fresh meat before it’s had a chance to sign on the dotted line.” Both Rick’s and Lynn’s eyes got wide.

  “Don’t listen to our armorer,” Johansson said. “We call this crew the Geek Squad. A necessary evil, to keep us ahead of the game in the merc world.”

  “Is that what we’re doing?” Sato asked. He’d finished assembling the device and Rick was surprised to see it was just a little maintenance robot. They were everywhere in Karma Station. They could move along on four legs, had a pair of arms for repair and cleaning functions, and a set of ducted fans for maneuvering in zero-gravity areas. Sato deftly reached out, touched the robot, and it came alive. Its fans whined as it oriented, spun about, and shot away. In a moment, it was gone.

  “Sato,” Johansson said, “what did you do to that robot?”

  “Oh, nothing much,” Sato said as he stowed his tools in his pockets. Johansson looked from Sato in the direction of the departed robot, and her mouth became a thin line.

  “We don’t own any of those,” she said. Sato didn’t respond. Having finished putting away his tools, he now had a slate out and was doing something with it. Johansson sighed and floated over next to Rick and Lynn. “Are you two ready for your next tests?”

  Rick and Lynn were quickly fitted into two of the CASPers. Lynn did hers faster, while Rick struggled a bit. He’d never worn a MK 8 before. It was a tighter fit, and some of the connections were different. The biggest advantage he realized immediately was that the MK 8 had sensors built into the machine’s limbs and torso that took direct readings, and the helmet had a sensory halo that could read many of the Human nervous system’s muscular control impulse commands. This worked in concert with the haptic suit to provide much more precise, and dependable feedback. It was possible to operate the unit without a haptic suit at all if necessary, at least somewhat. He was immediately impressed with how much more advanced it was than the Mk 7 he’d trained on.

  Once they were suited up, Johansson donned one as well. Hers was obviously used, though in top condition. ‘Corporal Johansson’ was stenciled in green paint on the suit’s torso. Rick and Lynn went through a few minutes of orientation in the suits, then Johansson led them into the next room, where they found a large, empty, million-cubic-foot warehouse. A few crates were locked to points on the wall, and a few more floated around.

  “Okay,” Johansson said as she moved to the center of the space using her CASPer’s maneuvering jets with expert control. “Let’s see how fast you get to the other side. GO!” she yelled.

  Rick was a bit surprised when the corporal yelled, and he hesitated. Lynn didn’t, and she shot away on a short blast of her main jump
jets. Rick ground his teeth together and did the same, though with less of a push. He knew she’d beat him, but suspected it might not work out in her favor. Besides, the Mk 8 felt like it massed about 200 pounds less than the Mk 7. He wanted to be careful until he got the feel of the lighter, more maneuverable suit.

  When Rick was halfway across the room, he used the little maneuvering jets to flip. On marine equipped suits, they were basically compressed-gas nozzles. His was equipped with 24 of them, scattered around limbs and torso. He reoriented and used the suit’s variable HUD, its heads-up display, to check his position and proximity to the wall in time to see Lynn not brake in time and smack into the wall.

  Rick pulsed his jumpjet carefully, bent his knees, and landed on the wall perfectly. He engaged his suit’s magnetic grapples as soon as he made contact and expertly caught the flailing Lynn by a leg and pulled her back down next to him.

  “Thanks,” she said, but he could tell she was less than thankful.

  “Anytime,” he replied, glad she couldn’t see his ear-to-ear grin.

  Over the next hour, Johansson ran them through drills. Rebounding jumps, sliding along walls, simulated weapons’ fire while flying and dodging moving crates, running along a wall/floor/ceiling using the controls of the magnetic grapples. She finished with a little hand-to-hand. The only time Rick came up short was in the hand-to-hand portion. Corporal Johansson was way more familiar with the smaller, lighter suits. Rick kept trying to use the suit’s mass as an advantage, only to be beaten by judo-style throws and redirects. He had to admit, Johansson was a master with the Mk 8.

  “You have to get used to the fact that the Mk 8 isn’t the powerhouse the Mk 7 was,” she said as they were climbing out of the suits. Lynn was quiet, obviously chaffing under the fact that the much-younger Rick had shown her up time and time again. “And Jordan, you’re doing fine, considering you aren’t marine-qualified like Culper here.” The other woman nodded, though she still looked upset. “I’m going to put you two in the same squad so you can learn from each other’s strengths.”

  “That’s fine with me,” Lynn said.

  “What?” Rick asked.

  “You don’t want to work with her?” Johansson said.

  “No, I mean, that’s it? I’m in?”

  “Of course,” the corporal said. “Do you think you’d get to play with brand new suits if it was just a test?” Rick scratched his head, a big grin breaking out on his face. “Rookie,” Johansson said, then laughed. Rick blushed but laughed anyway. “Yeah,” she added; “we want to offer you a two-year contract. Welcome to the Winged Hussars.”

  * * *

  Alexis cursed and dropped the slate onto her desk. She was in the Hussars office in the 2nd ring, where she’d been stuck for three weeks since their arrival in Karma. It was supposed to have been a couple days’ stop to resupply, hire new personnel, and conduct a few repairs. Most of those objectives had turned to shit in rapid order. The reactor servicing facilities of the station were booked for the next month, minimum. Even the mechanics to help finish refitting the marine compartments were overbooked. Guylan and his DC teams had some help, but not enough. Everything was taking three times longer than it should.

  As for hiring, there weren’t nearly as many employable personnel as she’d like to have seen. Her encounter with Gukkal shortly after arriving had critically altered her thoughts on hiring people quickly and getting out of there. They needed to choose carefully. That meant more time to review candidates. Instead of waiting for the reactor-servicing contractors on Karma to come loose, she’d cleared Commander Long to take Reactor Two down to see if he could repair it. She’d just finished reading his preliminary report when her pinplant chirped for her attention.

  “Cromwell,” she said/thought.

  “Captain, it’s Breta from stores.”

  “Go ahead, Breta,” she said. She only knew the Cochkala by name because earlier that morning she’d set him to figuring out why the needed parts to finish repairs on the marines’ decks weren’t aboard yet.

  “I found the problem,” he said. “Logistics screwed the Zuul. Four pallets of interior fittings should have been put on a transfer shuttle to Pegasus yesterday, instead I found them in Warehouse Three down in Bartertown.”

  “What the fuck?” Alexis growled.

  “It was our Karma Station logistics head of staff,” Breta explained. “A specialist named Sommerkorn.” Alexis frowned. Now where had she heard that name before?

  “You’re certain?” she asked.

  “The orders were logged with his access ID,” Breta confirmed. “I’ll unscrew it,” he promised.

  “You do that,” Alexis said and immediately called Wendy on the intercom.

  “Yes, Captain?”

  “Can you come in here for a moment?”

  Wendy appeared in a couple of seconds. “Yes, ma’am?”

  “Who the fuck is this Sommerkorn?”

  Wendy sighed and bowed her head before replying. “I hired him, ma’am,” she said dejectedly. “About a week before you got back. We needed a new logistics head after another company hired ours. Sommerkorn turned up on Karma looking for work.”

  “You just hired some moron? Wendy, that doesn’t sound like you.”

  “I ran him through the guild, Captain,” she said, her cheeks coloring. “He’s worked for Cartwright’s and Asbaran, with letters of recommendation from both. I’m sorry, I didn’t notice at the time he only had a few weeks with each.”

  Shit, Alexis thought; one of those perpetual fuckups who kept getting passed around. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed,” Alexis said, and told Wendy about the misplaced shipment. She’d been digging with her pinplants ever since talking with Breta. She was finding Sommerkorn’s ID all over transfers that went the wrong way, or never arrived. Her eyes narrowed as she wondered if he was working for someone else. “Is he incompetent?” Alexis asked.

  “No, he’s pretty good, but too detail-oriented. That and he’s been space sick since he got here. The logistics office is in the hub.” Space sick, Alexis thought. Then she remembered where she’d seen him. He’d been in the employee lounge, looking like warmed-over shit. “No excuse, ma’am. I’m sorry.” Though she wasn’t in the Hussar’s combat arm, the girl stood almost at attention, ready for whatever her boss decided to do.

  “It’s okay, Wendy. Even the best of us screws up occasionally. Terminate him. Note the mistakes in his permanent file, and specifically note he is not suitable for space duty.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” She could tell Wendy felt sorry for him.

  “Give him an extra month’s pay.”

  “I will, and thanks.” Wendy left again, and Alexis moved on to other work. She only got a few minutes before her communicator buzzed again.

  “Captain,” Sergeant T’jto said. “We have filled out all three squads. I’m sending you the info now.” She felt the data arrive in her pinplant and with a thought, sent it to her slate. She’d never been a natural at sorting and reviewing lists in her mind. Her sister, on the other hand...she squelched that line of thought and began reviewing the new marines.

  “Wow,” she said after a moment. “After three weeks, this is the best you could do? Out of fourteen new hires, five have never been in a combat unit or seen action.”

  “Yes ma’am,” her command sergeant replied.

  “I’m not filled with confidence, Sergeant.”

  “It gets better, Captain, read on.” She scanned beyond service stars and noted races.

  “Good grief,” she moaned. “Two Oogar?”

  “They’ve veterans,” the sergeant said, “and they both have marine experience.”

  “Two Zuul, one a rookie. And you put them both in Raptor Squad?” The Zuul were like big fluffy dogs, but they were easy to get riled up and hard to reason with.

  “Their race works better in groups. I put them under Sergeant Jones. We got him after the Horde let him go.” That might or might not be a good point, Alexis
thought, remembering Sommerkorn.

  “And where in the hell did you dig up a Lumar?” While the huge, seven-foot-tall humanoids were immensely strong and notoriously difficult to kill, they were also about as smart as a malfunctioning missile.

  “He’s got a service record from several freelance companies. It’s the first time he’s worked for Humans, but I did his interview myself. He’ll make a good heavy entrance specialist. I put him under our new Zenith Squad commander, Sergeant Leshto.” A Veetanho, Alexis noted. Paka would be glad to hear that. There were no others of her kind aboard the Pegasus. She kept looking and found more gems.

  “A Pushtal? Did you run his records thoroughly?”

  “Yes,” the sergeant replied, “twice actually. No recorded instances of piracy and no accusations of wrongdoing. He’s one of the most experienced marines I hired, so I put him as corporal under Leshto.”

  “And an elSha. I don’t think I’ve ever seen more than a few in a combat arm.”

  “She’s an interesting type,” T’jto admitted. “Not much for weaponry, but cool under fire and one of the best code breakers and encryption specialists I’ve seen. I had Afeeko go over her qualifications, and he said she was top shelf.” Alexis shrugged. If Afeeko thought someone was good at something, she was more than willing to listen.

  “I see you spread out the inexperienced personnel among all three squads, except for Dragon, where you only put one.”

  “I didn’t want to slot in more than one with my squad because of Oort,” the MinSha sergeant admitted. Alexis could see that. She looked at the list one last time. To think, a few minutes ago, all she was worried about was one slightly-unbalanced Tortantula. The Oogar, Pushtal, and a pair of Zuul ought to make things quite interesting down on Deck 30.

  “Okay,” she said finally, “it is what it is. Guylan informs me the repairs on your deck are effectively completed, minus those misplaced fixtures. You won’t have a lot of privacy yet. Go ahead and move your new people aboard and start getting them familiar with Pegasus. I want them ready to rock and roll ASAP. We’ve been here too long already.”