“Yeah, him. These are files on how the Mercenary Guild operates and what function it serves in the Galactic Union. No surprise the aliens don’t go in for asymmetrical warfare, we’re not fighting armies. Merc units aren’t very large, and don’t cover multiple theater doctrine. If an assault force needs to hold after success, a defensive contract is issued, and a specialist shows up. If they need to attack from space, an orbital drop merc unit is used. They don’t have armies. Nobody does, it’s too expensive. Easier to hire mercs.”
“Why did he send you all that?”
“He sent it to me when I said we were going to bid on a contract.” Ted looked at him, a grin spreading on his face.
“No shit?”
“No shit,” Jim agreed. “I think we might be able to play them at their own game. If we’re smart and don’t get in over our heads, that is.” He looked back at the files and slowly shook his head. “You know what?”
“What?”
“If the regular army units going for contracts don’t read this, there’s going to be a really high body count, and they’re going to be ours.”
* * * * *
Cartwright’s Cavaliers - 6
“You have got to be kidding me,” Jim said as he walked out of the terminal building to see the alien shuttle squatting in the Houston sun. A pair of alien lizards was using a truck with huge placards reading “Hydrogen—EXPLOSIVE” all over it to refuel the shuttle. What he hoped was just steam spurted out of several places.
“You didn’t think they were going to shoot us to orbit in a Soyuz, did you?” Ted looked entirely too at ease as he walked next to his boss, overnight bag swinging from his shoulder like he was catching a quick flight to Miami. They were only going a few hundred miles—a few hundred miles straight up.
“Of course not,” Jim said, trying to sound calmer than he was. “Besides, the Russians bought a couple shuttles just like that.”
“Ah been waitin’ to fly in one a’ those alien ships for months now,” Slim said, bringing up the rear. Jim had elected to bring him because he wanted someone along who’d been to space, and Slim had flown around the moon twice for SpaceX. “I wonder if the pilot’ll let me take the stick for a bit?”
At the boarding ramp, an Air Force major was checking IDs against a list. He looked each of them over carefully. After the incident in the UN, all security around the aliens was extra tight. No one else wanted their country turned into Trinitite.
Inside, an alien that looked a little like a humanoid rat checked their IDs again. When it spoke, a pendant it was wearing on its elaborate clothing spoke in clear, unaccented English.
“Take whatever seat you wish, and welcome on behalf of the Mercenary Guild.”
“Veetanho,” Ted said, “they’re pretty heavy hitters in the guild.” Jim nodded. A huge snail was stuck to the wall next to the entranceway. It had a slate, one of the alien computer tablets, held in a pseudopod, and was examining the display with three eyes on stalks. It smelled like…well, like a snail.
“Where’s the pilot?” Slim asked the Veetanho.
“He’s the pilot,” the alien said, pointing to the snail. One of the three eyes turned to regard the new arrivals.
“Can I help you?” it asked in identical English. Slim opened and closed his mouth several times, looking like a particularly big large-mouthed bass. He finally closed his mouth long enough to think of something to say.
“Y’all mind if I come up to the cockpit after takeoff?” All three eyes turned to regard the Human. Can a snail look amused? Jim wondered. “Ah’ve flown in space before,” Slim said. Jim didn’t think he’d ever heard the man sound defensive before.
“Have you now?” the alien replied.
“Yep, to orbit a dozen times and around the moon twice.”
“That far. Wow. Well, you are certainly qualified to see the cockpit.” Yes, Jim was sure that was amusement. “There is a little blue light above this door,” the alien said, extruding a pod which pointed. Slim nodded. “When it flashes, you may unbuckle and come up to the cockpit. Do not take too much time. We will only have a quarter of your hours in zero gravity before docking.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him puff up like that before,” Ted said after they’d taken seats. The accommodations weren’t perfect for Human anatomy but were surprisingly comfortable. There were connection points in a number of places that allowed the restraints to be disengaged and moved as necessary, and the seat itself was comprised of 4 moveable sections. Jim and the others stowed their minimal travel bags in an overhead compartment that locked much more securely than any airplane’s would.
“Be sure your restraints are snug,” a voice said over the intercom. It was impossible to know who was speaking. Jim looked around and saw about 20 more people seated in the shuttle. It was at least half full. He tried to imagine how cheap it must be to operate a ship if you could fly to orbit with only half a load.
“We have clearance from your space command, prepare for takeoff.” The cabin was filled with a rapidly growing buzz that changed to a scream and then to a roar. The ship rocked slightly, then they were going up like a helicopter.
“Well this isn’t too bad,” Jim said.
“Better hold that thought,” Slim suggested.
After a minute of going up, the entire ship tilted back so that the occupants were looking straight up.
“Oh shit,” Jim said a second before a horrendous roar and dreadful acceleration pushed them all back into their padded seats.
“I apologize for our Bakulu pilot,” someone said over the PA, “they are particularly G tolerant and figure everyone else is as well. The good news is we’ll be in orbit that much faster.” Jim gritted his teeth and felt the skin on his face stretch taut. He could have sworn someone was crying for their momma, but all he could hear was Slim’s roaring laughter and a hearty, “Yeeee-haw.” Ted was just bearing it.
The roaring engines quickly reduced in volume so the only sound was transmitted through the hull as they rocketed from the atmosphere and into low orbit. The thrust began to fall off to less than one-g a short time later, then it dropped off entirely. Jim’s stomach threatened to come out of his mouth.
“Son of a bitch,” Jim huffed.
“Yeah!” Slim said, not realized Jim’s mood. “Hell of a ride.” The little blue light flashed over the cockpit. “Oh, hey, I gotta go talk to the pilot!” Slim unbuckled and soared free, grabbed a seatback, and launched himself toward the front of the shuttle. The Veetanho who’d greeted them went sailing by in the opposite direction. Its whiskery face was screwed up in disgust and retching sounds were coming from somewhere aft.
“Damn it,” Jim said, continuing to swallow and feeling sicker by the minute. He reached into a pocket, took out one of the patches Slim had given him, peeled off the back, and slapped it on the underside of his left arm.
“Close your eyes,” Ted suggested, “it helps.”
“How the hell are you so fine?” Jim asked, closing his eyes as he’d been told.
“My friend, after you’ve jumped out of enough air planes, this ain’t so bad. At least the ground’s not rushing up to splatter you.”
Jim grunted. He was afraid for a minute he wouldn’t win the race against the sausage and eggs Lisa had fixed him, but then the drug finally started to kick in. He felt a little light-headed, but his stomach also stopped doing pushups. He gave a little sigh.
“Drugs working?” Ted asked.
“Yeah,” Jim said. Ted nodded in understanding. There was the sound of someone being violently ill again, and the Veetanho sailed by for a second time. The time passed quickly, and Slim came back.
“Docking in 5 minutes,” he said, flipping gracefully into his seat. Jim didn’t think someone as stocky as Slim had any right being that graceful. The pilot always reminded him of Major Kong from Dr. Strangelove, down to the cowboy hat, which he continued to wear in space.
“Have fun talking with Escargot?” Ted asked.
&n
bsp; Slim gave him a dirty look. “Bob? He’s a nice guy. Oh, he quizzed me a bit on how ships worked, and once he realized I had flown in space, he was nicer.”
“Bob?” Jim asked. “That big snail is named Bob?”
“I don’t know, he just kinda seems like a Bob to me. They’re not very impressed with our tech. There’s another ship in orbit just above the ISS. Bob said it’s a Jeha vessel. They stopped by to take pictures, like visiting a zoo, I guess.”
“Assholes,” Ted said. “What’s a Jeha?”
“Bob said they’re four-foot-long millipedes.”
“Fuck me,” Jim mumbled, reaching for some aspirin. When the docking came, it was so smooth even Slim didn’t notice.
“We have docked with GS Ghistel. You may disembark. Assistants will be inside to help you.”
It was a bit disorganized as everyone began to unbuckle and move toward the hatch. The range of skill ranged from several others just as fluid and practiced as Slim, through Jim’s somewhat bumbling moves, to one man who unbuckled and shot straight up to hit the ceiling, knocking himself unconscious. Slim was laughing and shaking his head all the way out the hatch.
In the other ship, a line of Veetanho were waiting for them, each holding a tablet and comparing what they saw to the people disembarking. As soon as Jim floated into view, one of them came forward.
“You are Jim Cartwright?” the alien’s translator spoke.
“Bingo,” he said. The alien cocked its head. “I mean, yes, I’m Cartwright, and these are my aides.”
“Very good. Do you need any medical assistance after the flight?”
“No, we’re fine.”
“Excellent. Please follow me.” The being grabbed the nearest handhold and pulled itself down the hall. Jim, Ted, and Slim quickly followed. They moved down two hallways, and up a tube. Through an open pressure door they came to a cylindrical room that was rotating. A tube exited on both sides. Their guide floated in and caught one of the rungs, gesturing for them to follow. Slim made the jump fine, while he and the alien helped Jim and Ted arrive. Once they were all there, it pointed at the rungs embedded in the wall. “Use these, they are a ladder. Be sure your head is pointed that way,” it said and pointed, “then proceed downward. You will feel gravity after a few rungs, and it will steadily increase.”
“A gravity deck,” Slim said. The alien nodded.
“Yes, this ship is often used for these types of functions, so it is equipped with a gravity deck. We’ve set it for ½ of your normal gravity, and hope that will be comfortable.”
“I’m sure it will be fine,” Jim said. Slim was already heading down, so he followed his pilot. Just as the alien said, he quickly felt himself getting heavier. There was a little sideways motion too as he was slowly accelerated during his descent, but after a bit, that was largely gone. When he felt his feet hit a floor, the gravity felt great. He looked around the space, a large open room shaped like a football with windows on all sides, and took a few steps. It was like being a kid; he had a real spring in his step. Ted joined them, and then their alien escort. “Will you stay with us during contract talks?”
“Yes. I have been assigned to you.” The alien gestured to a green- and blue-striped piece of fabric tied around its neck like a kerchief. “You can recognize me by this.” Jim glanced around, and sure enough, the other Veetanho wore different colored kerchiefs.
“I can’t keep calling you alien,” Jim pointed out.
“You could if you wanted, but it is also kind of you to realize it is rude.” The other bowed its head. “My name is Freet.”
“Pleased to meet you, Freet,” Jim said and offered his hand. Then he realized the aliens might not share that greeting. He turned out to be worrying about nothing; it took his hand immediately. Freet’s hand was half his size, but the grip was surprisingly strong. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but do you have sexes?”
Freet grinned, and Jim wondered if that was a mirthful smile or a threat display. “Yes, we do. All the Veetanho you will see here are females. Our males do not participate in mercenary activities.”
“We are all males,” Jim pointed out.
“I am aware of your race’s physiology, and did not detect any mammary glands on you or your comrades. Your stature is also more muscular. I realize that is not 100% indicative, but your dossier also states your sex.” Jim nodded; that made sense. “You will find a table with treats to your race’s appeal over there,” she gestured. “I am going to log your presence in with the Guild Master and will return shortly.”
“I wonder how fast this has to spin?” Ted asked.
“Go look and count,” Slim said, pointing to the pointy end of the deck. There the Earth was spinning around over and over. “Looks like about 3 RPM. That means these decks are extendable. Good solution.”
Jim was only half-listening to his men banter, the other half was taking everything in—how the room was laid out, how many Humans there were, and whether he recognized any of them. Almost right away he recognized a fellow contractor, who operated out of Puerto Rico. Then he saw a group of U.S. Marine officers, sticking together and looking surly. He saw at least a dozen nations’ uniforms, including French, German, Russian, and Canadian. Then he spotted people wearing Mexican and Brazilian uniforms, too.
“Welcome to space, my American friend.” Jim laughed and shook his head as he turned to look down and see Colonel Kuru Shirazi, who managed to make the Veetanho look tall. Then he noticed Kuru wasn’t wearing the Iranian uniform anymore. His was different, and it had a unit patch that looked a little like a sphinx.
“Thank you,” he said and offered his hand. Kuru considered it for a moment, then took it. “What is Asbaran Solutions?”
“The name of the mercenary unit I have formed with our new country. It has…historical significance to both me and my countrymen.” New country? Jim thought. He’d been so busy with preparation for this contract negotiation session that he’d failed to keep up with the news.
“Nice uniform. I wish you luck in the negotiations, and hope we won’t be enemies.”
“There isn’t much chance of that,” Kuru said with a predatory look at one of the Veetanho going by. “Although I have nothing against killing Americans, we’re here to kill aliens.” Jim nodded and took his leave. He could understand why the man felt the way he did, but was afraid that going into the mercenary business with that sort of attitude wouldn’t end well.
He wandered over to the snacks and helped himself to some cheese and crackers. It was all laid out well, and Jim guessed a caterer on Earth had probably put it together. It seemed unlikely space rats would pick the right food. He made pleasantries with a pair of French Foreign Legion captains he’d met in Haifa a couple years ago, then gawked when a display screen appeared in the center of the room above the refreshments—a three-dimensional screen viewable from any angle.
“Welcome, mercenaries from Earth,” it said in a dozen languages.
“Gentle beings,” a translated voice spoke. “If you will please move to the outside by the windows, we are about to begin.” Their handlers appeared and began moving everyone to the bulkheads by the windows. Jim caught a glimpse of Colonel Shirazi and his XO being gently redirected by their Veetanho. Kuru looked at the alien like it was a particularly mangy dog which had somehow gotten into the kitchen during dinner. “Thank you. Now, please, welcome Guild Master Cheshk of Veetanho.”
Cheshk was obviously a quite old Veetanho. Instead of the dark grey and brown fur the others of her kind possessed, she was mostly light grey to nearly white. Jim guessed it only made sense that the leader within an organization such as a galaxy-wide mercenary guild would be well seasoned.
“Welcome, Humans, to your first contract bids,” Cheshk said. “You’ve all read the briefings provided prior to being accepted as bidders on the 149 contracts selected for your race’s first entry. You may realize that many of these contracts are below prime. You must understand your race is unproven, and this is the nat
ural result of that fact.” Several of the serious SOCOM types in the room snorted. Jim heard that, but he also realized at the same moment that Cheshk was speaking English!
“Please be observant of the potential pay outs,” she continued, “as well as the requirements. Your briefings explained that contracts can be incredibly complicated, and I strongly advise you to have a Guild-trained intermediary review it before signing. If you cancel a contract after it is signed, you will not only lose your guild rating for five years, but you will lose your bond as well.” Jim swallowed at that. The bond had only been 1,000 galactic credits. However, at over 45,000 USD to GCs, the bond had cost him a cool $45 million. “The bidding is now open.” She gestured at the holographic display, and it began to fill with contracts.
“Here we go,” Ted said. Jim nodded and started reading.
* * * * *
Cartwright’s Cavaliers - 7
“Jim?”
“Yes, sweetie?” Jim looked up from the pair of alien slates he was using. One of them was equipped with a 3D projector, referred to as a Tri-V. His wife, Lisa, was standing in the office door yawning.
“It’s after 3:00; are you coming to bed soon?” He looked at the display of an alien vehicle floating above his desk, slowly rotating. Lisa seemed completely immune to the aliens’ amazing technology, except for the translator he’d bought her for roughly $400,000. Alex had programmed it with every Human dialect he could find, and now she had a universal translator. Well, at least close. She’d loved Star Trek, and she could relate to that. Now his lovely wife was spending her days wandering around Houston malls with her society friends, eavesdropping on conversations.
“Sure,” he said and yawned. She came over and grabbed his hand, trying gamely to tug him out of his chair. He managed to touch the ‘suspend’ button on both slates before she succeeded, powering them down. She wasn’t letting him sneak back into the office of their Kingwood estate either, and stood in the doorway while he brushed his teeth and slipped into pajamas. Then she walked him to bed and turned the light off. She surprised him by slipping a hand inside his pajamas and teasing him erect.
Alpha Contracts Page 4