Without Mercy

by Eric Thomson

  “The airlock is clear. There’s a droid waiting for Captain O’Donnell.”

  Saari sent through another pair, then gestured at Guthren and Vincenzo to follow, after which he allowed his captain off the shuttle.

  Claustrophobes rarely lasted in the Navy, but even Dunmoore thought the tube was eerily confining. She wondered what a substantially larger Shrehari made of it. Perhaps they didn’t suffer from such a thing as fear of small spaces. They certainly seemed fearless in many other ways, although she’d noticed they were becoming more cautious in battle as the war dragged on with no end in sight.

  Dunmoore passed through an airlock barely large enough for four humans and stepped into a wide corridor lit by globes hanging at regular intervals. Its walls bore the marks of laser drills and the sheen of an atmospheric sealant blocking even the smallest pores that might let air escape.

  However, it was so cold she could see her breath. Station management wasn’t wasting much energy to heat the dockside spaces. Keeping them above the freezing point was enough.

  The droid mentioned by the point man sat patiently across from the airlock’s inner door. Short, round and built for functionality rather than esthetics, the little machine was covered in scratches, scars and dents, its once bright paint job dulled to a fading red. An upright display panel crowning the domed head showed her privateer name.

  “I’m Shannon O’Donnell.”

  The droid chirped as her name vanished, replaced by the words ‘please follow me.’ For a second or two, Dunmoore wondered why the droid didn’t speak. Then she realized that even among her own species, accents, pronunciations, and such could vary enough to make an artificial intelligence using the most basic form of spoken Anglic difficult to understand by some. Written Anglic, however, was the same no matter where.

  The corridor seemed as endless as it was cold, and they met no other visitors or station personnel along the way. Finally, the droid led them through an airlock spacious enough for forty humans, or perhaps thirty Shrehari if they were close friends, and out into the main habitat cavern.

  Almost as one, Dunmoore and her party checked their step, heads swiveling from side to side, eyes wide as they tried to absorb the strangeness of their surroundings.

  Whatever the cavern beneath Kilia’s surface looked like when the first entrepreneurs discovered it, decades of improvements created what was, in effect, a small city of two and three-story building clusters separated by broad streets crossing each other at ninety-degree angles.

  High above, an artificial sun, probably fed by its own fusion reactor, provided both light and heat. But the short and narrow horizon on either side curved upward as it crept along the asteroid’s inner diameter, and gave the scene a faintly surreal look, while both ends, the one they’d emerged from and the other, across town were abruptly vertical.

  “Not something you see every day,” one of Saari’s soldiers muttered. “Real estate prices here must be out of this universe.”

  The sergeant glanced at Dunmoore.

  “Haralson was in the property business before the war, sir. Even now, he can’t stop appraising every bit of real estate he sees.”

  “Professional deformation, Captain,” Haralson replied with an unapologetic grin. “Maybe after the war, I can set up shop here. Imagine what a four percent commission could bring in this place.”

  The droid tooted discretely, its display flashing for attention. Dunmoore gestured toward it.

  “I think our guide wants us to stop rubbernecking and get a move on.”

  She took a deep breath of the rather odd tasting air and wondered about its oxygen content.

  As most outposts on airless worlds do, this one would draw its water, its oxygen, the hydrogen for fusion reactors, and any other necessary gases from ice deposits. And that meant many boasted an atmosphere richer in oxygen than Earth. Perhaps the Kilia cavern itself had been at one time filled with ice, like the early Moon colonies, humanity’s first extra-planetary settlements.

  In contrast to the docking ring’s main corridor, the habitat teemed with life. Most of it was human, of all shapes, sizes, and descriptions, but there were many non-humans as well, from species endemic to the hinterlands neither the Commonwealth nor the Empire had as yet bothered taking for their own.

  Most were what the Navy called techno-barbarians, beings belonging to non-human civilizations that bought interstellar travel technology from unscrupulous merchants centuries if not millennia before they were ready, with the inevitable results.

  One of the soldiers growled something unintelligible and nodded at a side street. There, three Shrehari enjoying drinks at an outdoor table were talking in loud voices, and roaring with what was probably laughter. But the sound put Dunmoore in mind of a wounded beast spitting out its last defiance.

  “Ignore them, Knuth,” Saari muttered. “We’re mercenaries. We recognize no enemies but those we’re paid to fight. And their employers could become ours the next day if the price is right.”

  “I was merely pointing out a place that serves Shrehari ale, Sergeant.” Knuth sounded unrepentant. “It’s something I haven’t tasted since we kicked the boneheads off Scandia.”

  “And you won’t today either.”

  “You’re a hard man, Sergeant.”

  “But I’m good to find. Now can it.”

  Saari’s quip drew the expected chuckles and smoothed over any anger caused his soldiers’ first sighting in years of an enemy that tried to despoil their world.

  They emerged in a central plaza dominated by a structure that resembled nothing so much as an old Earth step pyramid. A sign above its door, in Anglic and several other languages, none of them intelligible to Dunmoore because of their alien origin, announced it as the Kilia Station Principal Management Office.

  A new message appeared on the droid’s display. ‘Shannon O’Donnell: your guards will wait outside; you will enter and turn left, into the harbormaster’s office.’

  “My two attendants,” she pointed at Guthren and Vincenzo in turn, “must come with me. They carry the fee I am to pay.”

  The display went blank as if the droid was thinking or asking for fresh orders. Then it showed, ‘Your attendants may go with you. Goodbye.’ And with that, the stubby little machine silently trundled off on its next mission.

  “We’ll still be on the landing party network, Sergeant,” Dunmoore said when Saari looked about to argue. “Besides, the cox’n and Vincenzo have been known to cause havoc. Enjoy the sights, but don’t stare at any passing Shrehari. They consider an inferior, meaning anyone other than a member of the Imperial race doing so to be an insult.”

  “We’ll just sneer behind their backs, Captain,” Vallin tossed back with a good-natured grin.

  “Not even,” Guthren growled before Saari could intervene. “As far as you’re concerned, there are no boneheads here.”

  Then, without waiting for an acknowledgment, he turned and led the way to the pyramid’s ground level door, which slid aside at his approach. Dunmoore took one last glance at their surroundings, then followed suit, Vincenzo hard on her heels.

  — Fifteen —

  The door closed behind them, cutting off the habitat’s insistent background buzz, a sound that seemed almost as if it was a living creature in its own right. A huge sign, again in many languages, dominated a lobby that reached right to the top of the structure like a broad chimney surrounded by walkways on each level. Here, silence reigned supreme even though Dunmoore sensed it was a hub of activity. As per the droid’s instructions, they turned left where a sign advertised the harbormaster’s office.

  More doors slid aside at their approach. These opened on a large square area lined with booths. It possessed all the charm of a starship’s engineering section and none of the energy. Dunmoore expected an AI projection to materialize, but a human in a cheap business suit stepped out of a side door and waved at them. He was cadaverously thin, with pinched, pale features and a shiny, receding hairline.

&
nbsp; “Captain O’Donnell and party. Welcome.”

  His insincere, oily smile was faintly nauseating, but Siobhan replied in kind.

  “I’m Shannon O’Donnell.”

  “Loris Horgan, assistant harbormaster. We prefer to greet first-time visitors personally rather than let our AIs take care of the various transactions.” He bestowed a puzzled gaze on Dunmoore’s companions. “And these are?”

  “Ser Guthren and Ser Vincenzo, my business managers. I never go ashore, nor do I engage in business transactions without them.”

  “I see.”

  Horgan’s expression betrayed disbelief, but he didn’t seem inclined to protest. She was unlikely to be the first visitor insistent on keeping a pair of bodyguards nearby. After a moment’s hesitation, Horgan waved toward the open door.

  “If you’ll come with me, we can register your ship, take care of the fees, and let you enjoy Kilia’s amenities in no time.”

  Dunmoore tilted her head to one side in acknowledgment.

  “Certainly.”

  They entered a corridor decorated in subdued pastels. Closed doors lined one side while poorly executed art, the sort beloved by those with more money and pretensions than taste, lined the other.

  “I understand you’re here looking for a private military contract.”

  “That’s the case.”

  “We never heard of a mercenary ship by the name Persephone in these parts.”

  “That’s because we used to operate in the Shield Sector area. But work dried up, so we came here at the recommendation of old acquaintances.”

  A knowing smirk creased Horgan’s face as he ushered them into his office.

  “Work dried up? Or is it more a matter of having crossed the wrong people?”

  Dunmoore gave him a lazy smile in return and shrugged.

  “Does it matter? No contract means no income. And that means changing your area of operations, right?”

  “As you say.” He slipped behind a metal desk and gestured at the only other chair. “Please sit, Captain.”

  “You’re most gracious.”

  “A good first impression is important. Without paying visitors, Kilia isn’t much of a business proposition, although we keep a low profile for obvious reasons. Which leads me to ask about the old acquaintances you mentioned. If the wrong people discovered our location, things might turn unpleasant.”

  “Who are the wrong people, Ser Horgan?”

  He waved his hand dismissively.

  “Surely you can guess. In this part of the galaxy, it would mean both Commonwealth and Shrehari naval forces.”

  Dunmoore repressed a smile. Did Horgan honestly believe those Shrehari corsairs drinking ale in his habitat were utterly unconnected to Imperial authorities? And surely Iolanthe wasn’t the first Fleet ship to come this far even though the navigation database made no mention of Kilia.

  “Of course. I certainly understand your concern. Our own dealings with the Navy aren’t always pleasant though I try to operate beyond their remit.”

  “And the old acquaintances?”

  “One of them is Aurelia Fennon, of Kattegat Maru.”

  Horgan’s expression didn’t change, though Dunmoore fancied she caught something in his shifty stare.

  “Aurelia Fennon. Yes, she’s a regular visitor. A fine starship captain and businesswoman. Pays in full every time and causes no problems. As a matter of fact, she came through here recently.”

  “Did she now? A shame I didn’t get here sooner. It would have been grand to meet her again.”

  Horgan’s head dipped.

  “No doubt. Captain Fennon is well regarded. She’ll be back, and if you make Kilia your newest base of operations, I’m sure you’ll cross paths. You said she was one of the acquaintances. How about the others?”

  “Why does that concern you, Ser Horgan?”

  “We wish to know with whom we’re dealing. I’m sure you understand.”

  “The other one who recommended Kilia was Kotto Piris.”

  Horgan’s expression briefly froze, but he didn’t miss a beat.

  “Another regular. He was here recently as well. Now how long did you intend to stay, and what amenities do you want to purchase for your business needs and your crew?”

  “Perhaps three days would be a good start, enough time to assess the market for my services. I not only own a ship able to support a full range of military operations, but I also carry an infantry unit, the Varangian Company. They’re as well trained as any Commonwealth Marines and have seen more combat than most. I wasn’t considering shore leave, but that might not be a bad idea.”

  “We offer a wide range of recreational possibilities, Captain O’Donnell. Your outlay would merely be for the shuttle docking costs and a per head fee to cover the expense of running Kilia’s environmental systems. Said fee is charged in twelve-hour increments. I can assure you we track arrivals and departures with complete accuracy and provide detailed invoices.”

  “That sounds acceptable. So I’ll pay for three days of orbit fees in advance, along with today’s shuttle docking and the rest later?”

  “Three days in orbit, plus a deposit to cover the fees for one hundred visitors times one twelve-hour increment each. Should the deposit not be fully spent, we will refund the balance.”

  “Why one hundred visitors, Ser Horgan?”

  “You mentioned Persephone carries a full infantry company. Thus I can only assume your entire complement is at least three hundred, if not more, considering her size. It being the case, a thirty percent deposit is reasonable, wouldn’t you say?”

  Dunmoore noted Horgan had not yet broached the subject of actual sums, and thirty percent of a fortune might strain her reserves, but if Kilia kept its costs too high, visitors would stop coming.

  “That sounds reasonable.”

  “I’m glad you agree. Some captains can be rather difficult, and we’re not in the habit of dickering.”

  “Bottom line, Ser Horgan?”

  He named a sum in Commonwealth creds that Dunmoore mentally converted to the value of the precious metals Guthren and Vincenzo carried. They had more than enough to cover the deposit, although Joelle would blanch at the expenditure.

  Dunmoore waved over her shoulder with the imperiousness she thought would fit a Shannon O’Donnell, mercenary and privateer.

  “Ser Guthren?”

  “Captain.” He stepped forward and handed her the small black pack with half of the precious metals they’d brought ashore. “This should cover Ser Horgan’s bottom line.”

  “Thank you.” Dunmoore opened the bag and produced a dozen small packages one after the other, each bearing a smelter’s seal, and placed them on Horgan’s desk in a neat row. “If you want to assay the contents, please do so, but I can assure you of their purity. This should cover the sum we discussed.”

  “In our business, we live by a motto, Captain. Trust but verify. If you’ll excuse me.”

  He picked up the first package, opened it, and place the contents, rare precious alloy bars, under the scanner sitting on a sideboard. After a few seconds, he put them aside and subjected the remaining packages, one by one, to the same treatment. Finally, he turned back toward Dunmoore and gave her another helping of his oily smile.

  “Your payment’s purity is confirmed. Thank you.”

  “I don’t cheat prospective business partners, Ser Horgan, nor do I play games with port authorities when I’m looking for a fresh base of operations.”

  “Not everyone thinks as you do, Captain O’Donnell, sadly. The stories I could tell... But a show of honesty during your first visit will stand you in good stead.” He gestured at the office door. “I’ll show you out. Now that your presence here has been regularized, I suggest you visit my colleague across the hall and register your business so you can advertise.”

  “For a fee, no doubt?”

  “Nothing here is free, Captain, and without registering, no one can solicit business on Kilia.”

  Hor
gan ushered Dunmoore and her companions back into the lobby, still oozing insincerity and left them in front of the business registration office. She glanced at Guthren.

  “Good?”

  He turned to Vincenzo who nodded once.

  “We’re in business, Captain.”

  It was his way of saying that between them, Guthren and Vincenzo seeded the assistant harbormaster’s office with tiny sound-activated pickups.

  If her mention of Aurelia Fennon and Kattegat Maru touched a raw nerve, they should get a reaction sooner rather than later.

  Dunmoore tapped the receiver in her pocket, linking her earbug with the listening devices and almost immediately heard Horgan’s voice say, “I need to see Enoc Tarrant right now.”

  — Sixteen —

  After dropping half of their remaining precious metals on an assistant business development manager’s desk, Dunmoore, Guthren, and Vincenzo rejoined Saari’s troopers on the plaza.

  “I see no dead Shrehari littering the grounds. Congratulations on your restraint.”

  “There’s no merit in it for us, Captain. None of the buggers came within sight. Where to now?”

  With the hook set, returning to Iolanthe would be the sensible thing, but Dunmoore’s instinct told her to loiter in Kilia for a while longer. Perhaps Horgan’s urgent meeting with the mysterious Enoc Tarrant who’d commissioned Kotto Piris to salvage Kattegat Maru might shake things loose.

  “Let’s take in the sights. Enjoy a drink. Non-alcoholic, of course.”

  A few of the soldiers gave her mock disappointed looks, but Saari merely nodded.

  “The sights it is. And in keeping with protocol, you, the cox’n and Vince can enjoy a drink. We’ll do what gorillas are supposed to do. Intimidate anyone who gets too nosy.”

  They slowly meandered around the plaza, stopping by various storefronts where everything imaginable was on offer, including undecipherable items of non-human origin.

  Dunmoore felt a bit like a celebrity accompanied by her entourage, or maybe an organized crime boss surrounded by hired muscle. But they attracted so little attention she decided it wasn’t an unusual sight here in the depths of the wild frontier.