Alpha Contracts

by Chris Kennedy

  Speaking of avoiding, I’ve been rambling, just to avoid going back to the ship. We just got a new contract, and I know I’ll be so busy planning when I get back to the ship that I won’t be able to get back out again before we leave. Although I need to go, I just can’t pull myself away—it always seems like I’m closer to you when I’m writing. Give my love to the family, but save a special piece for yourself.

  I love you!

  Captain John Pike,

  Avenging Angels

 

  * * * * *

  Letter Home from Sandy - 3

  Message Initially Received: A’Alledo System

  For Forwarding To: Earth System

  Dear Patricia,

  Richard asked me to marry him when we get home. We’ve only been together a month, but I said yes. Then we had a mission on the planet below us, a search and rescue after an environmental disaster. But it was terrorists, or something. Richard is dead. I wish I’d been on the boat with him. I wish we’d died together. We never got his body back, or Dr. Ezekiel Avander’s body either, who was our chief medical officer. He disappeared at the same time.

  I can’t write anymore. I’m sorry. There’s more credits enclosed. I updated my will to be sure you get my death bonus. I have to go on; the other Avenging Angels need me. So alone.

  Sandy

 

  * * * * *

  The Golden Horde - 1

  “I’m sorry,” the heroin dealer whined in the old, abandoned warehouse in the poor section of Tashkent, Uzbekistan. He looked up from the floor where he knelt, his hands tied behind his back. A tear rolled down his left cheek.

  “I know you are sorry,” Altan Enkh replied, his face a mask. “I’m sorry, too—you were one of the best producers the Gray Wolves had. But then you took my money and didn’t send the shipment you promised, and now I find out you were working for someone else. To hear all of this makes me very sad…you were one of my closest friends, and now I’m going to have to kill you.”

  “It was the Red Hawks!” the man cried, a tear rolling from his right eye to make a matching streak on his grimy face. “They took my wife! They said they would kill her if I didn’t give it to them. Please! I’ll do anything! I can make this right!”

  “I let you run all of the northern growing regions for the Gray Wolves, Mohsin,” Altan said, shaking his head. “There weren’t many people who were more valuable to me. You should have come to me—we would have taken her back for you.”

  “There’s nothing you—sniff—there’s nothing you could have done! They sent me her finger in a box and told me they’d cut up the rest of her if I told either you or the police.”

  The man fell over to the side and began to bawl. Altan shook his head again and leaned forward to look into the crying man’s eyes, his long, black hair nearly touching the man’s face. “You should have trusted me, Mohsin.”

  “I know.” He saw the pistol lined up between his eyes and closed them, resigned to his fate.

  Altan sighed and squeezed the trigger. The pistol’s report echoed in the empty warehouse. “Pity,” Altan said. “I really did like him.”

  “What are we going to do about it?” Yisu asked. As head of production, the loss of Mohsin and Mohsin’s territory hit him the hardest.

  “I have been working on an idea I need to go out of town to discuss,” Altan said. “It was an opportunity I saw on TV. We will all meet at my house in a week to discuss our future plans.”

  * * *

  “The loss of Mohsin’s territory is going to put a serious crimp in our operations,” Borte Enkh said as he looked around the table at Altan’s house the next week. Altan’s cousin and right-hand man, Borte had come up through the ranks to move beyond distribution and into operations. “More importantly, Boss, what are we going to do about it? That’s the third producer we’ve lost this month. The Red Hawks are making significant gains into our territory.”

  “We still own Tashkent, though, right?” Altan asked. “They haven’t made gains into the city yet, have they?”

  “They aren’t in the city yet, but they’re pushing in from the countryside,” Yisu Enkh replied.

  “It’s the lasers, boss,” Borte said. “The Red Hawks have the backing of a faction from within the Russian army. Someone in the Hawks has a contact with the Russians and was able to get a couple of their new alien-made laser rifles. Those rifles make them far more powerful than we are.”

  “Bah, what are a few rifles?”

  “They’re game changers, Boss,” Yisu explained. “Anytime there’s a conflict, the Hawks bring them in, and they’re unbeatable. We’re being pushed back from the suburbs on all sides. They’ve taken over nearly all of Kazakhstan, and everything to the east in Kyrgyzstan. The loss of Mohsin’s territory is going to cripple our operations, as he was our biggest grower. Our warehouses are full, but as we sell it, it’s going to be hard to replace. We either need to take on the Red Hawks, or we need new territory, both to grow and to distribute our products. With their army connections, we probably can’t take the Red Hawks on; we’d be slaughtered. We need to move somewhere we can compete on an equal footing.”

  Yisu looked to Altan for guidance, but the drug lord seemed distracted by something above Yisu’s shoulder. He turned around and saw that Altan was looking at the television. He coughed to get Altan’s attention. “Boss, what do you want us to do?”

  “I’m sorry,” Altan said, his eyes moving down to meet Yisu’s. “What were you saying?”

  “I was saying that we either need to declare war on the Red Hawks, which would be stupid since the Russian Army is arming them, or we need to find a new territory in which operate. We’re hemmed in on all sides, and the Red Hawks are gathering their forces for a final push to wipe us out.”

  “I see…”Altan muttered, his eyes going back to the TV. Yisu turned to find a news show rerunning the footage of the alien first contact from a few months previously. Some sort of giant owl was walking down a boarding ladder from their spaceship in New York City.

  Borte cleared his throat. “Boss, we’re in some real shit here. The Red Hawks are making the moves they are because they know everyone is focused on the aliens coming to the planet. While everyone’s attention is on New York, the Red Hawks are able to act with impunity. The aliens aren’t going to save us. If anything, they’re part of the problem.”

  “Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong,” Altan said. “The aliens are going to help us; in fact, they are going to be our salvation.”

  “How’s that?” Borte asked, sarcasm heavy in his voice. “Are you going to ask them to come relocate us to somewhere else?”

  “Yes,” Altan replied. “That is exactly what I have done.”

  “I don’t get it,” Borte replied. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that the aliens have begun offering military contracts, and I have decided to take one of them. As part of the contract, they will transport us to somewhere else—somewhere else on the other side of the galaxy!”

  “That’s crazy, Boss!” Jochi, the lieutenant who ran foreign distribution, said. “Those contracts are for military troops! With weapons. I’ve been in the military—that ain’t us!”

  Altan drew his pistol. “And what is this, if not a weapon?”

  “I mean heavy weapons, Boss. Besides, what do we know about military tactics?”

  “Not much,” Altan admitted. “But we don’t need to know much—I took a defensive contract.”

  “What?” Borte asked. “You’ve already taken it?”

  “Yes, I have,” Altan said, his voice smug. “I run this organization, and I didn’t need your permission to do so. I have already put down a retainer on the contract, and we have been chosen to complete it.”

  “A retainer?”

  “Yes, I had to put down a retainer as a sign of our intention to fulfill it. Our retainer was a fraction of the contract and was much lower than the retaine
rs on the other contracts.”

  “How much was it?” Torkan Enkh, the organization’s accountant, asked.

  “All of our liquid funds,” Altan replied. “It’s nonrefundable; we have to complete the contract in order to get our money back.”

  “Okay, so we have to do it,” Yisu said. He sighed and then asked, “What does it entail?”

  “We defend a facility making some new, next-generation, augmented reality combat game,” Altan explained. “I think it’s called, ‘Galactic Guardians 2,’ or something like that. The company is worried their competitors are going to try to steal it or get some of the cheat codes. We don’t have to do anything except protect the plant.”

  “That’s it?” Borte asked. The suspicious tone was still present.

  “Hey, I’ve played the first game in that series!” Jochi exclaimed. “It’s really good!”

  “Still,” Borte said. “It seems too easy. Is there something else?”

  “No, that’s it,” Altan replied. “All we have to do is guard the plant for two months, and we get 10 million credits. That’s nothing compared to the expected revenue of the game, which is supposed to be in the trillions of credits. Oh, we also all get licensed, individual copies of the game upon release, too.”

  “That sounds easy enough,” Borte said. “We could probably do it. I would say, though, we’d still probably want heavier weapons than just the light stuff we have.” Altan started to say something and Borte raised a hand, stopping him. “I do, however, have one more question.”

  Altan raised an eyebrow and waved for him to continue.

  “How did we get it over all of the other, real military units?”

  “Easy,” Altan said with a smile. “The military units were all focused on the contracts that involved combat operations. They wanted to test their capabilities against the aliens’ forces. Those contracts all paid better, of course, so the big nations were trying to gobble them up so they could get the big payoffs.”

  “I understand why we couldn’t get the big ones—not that we would have wanted them anyway,” Borte said. “But certainly, there had to have been smaller units who would have wanted this contract, too. Something that looks easy and has a decent payout? There had to have been at least some interest in it.”

  “Of course there was,” Altan said, his smile growing even wider. “I waited until the alien that was recruiting for this contract—a Zuparti—stepped away from the table and approached him one-on-one.”

  Altan paused, delighted in the enraptured looks on the faces around the table.

  “Then what?” Borte finally asked.

  “I waited until he went to the bathroom and approached him there. I offered him a five percent kickback on the contract if we won it, and he pulled it from consideration when he went back to the table. There were several generals who were unhappy with the news, but he turned off his translation pendant and refused to listen to them. Eventually, they went away, and I signed the contract. What the little weasel didn’t know was that I wasn’t as worried about the size of the kickback—I’d have given him a lot more—as we have another way of making a profit on this contract. Gentlemen, we are going to take our drug trade to the stars!”

  * * * * *

  The Golden Horde - 2

  “The Red Hawks killed another of our growers, Boss,” Borte announced at the next meeting.

  “Did we reply in kind?” Altan asked.

  “Yes, but they seem to have an unlimited supply of people. We kill one, and two more step up to fill his place. They are going to recruit us out of business. Also, we are now down to where we almost don’t have enough men to fill the alien contract you signed us up for. As a family business, there’s only so fast we can breed.”

  “Family is important. They are the people you can trust.” Altan said. He smiled. “I will take another wife if that is what we need.” He sighed theatrically. “Ah, the things I must do to help the business.”

  “That’s not funny, Boss,” Borte replied. “We need more people, and we need them on a recurring basis. If we don’t find some, we won’t have enough men to fulfill the off-world contract you signed us up for. Additionally, who is going to manage the business while we are gone?”

  Altan smiled. “More men can be acquired. I have already been giving this some thought, and I believe I have a solution. Is there anything else, while you are making demands?”

  “Sure, Boss, if you could have them come already trained, that would be even better.”

  “Done,” Altan said with a nod. “I know just the place; I have had my eye on it for a while.” He smiled broadly. “I think it’s time we expanded our operations.”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “Let’s go take a drive,” Altan said. “Trust me.”

  * * *

  “Sister Mary Margaret’s Orphanage and School for Wayward Children?” Borte asked with a raised eyebrow. He nodded at the 10-foot-high fence surrounding the complex of six dilapidated buildings. “The razor wire at the top is a nice touch and looks new. Do you suppose that is to keep the kids in or other people out?”

  “Maybe both,” Altan replied, getting out of the car. “You wanted more family, and you wanted them trained, right? Here is a place we can get more family, and since this is a school, they will come trained, too.” He walked up to the camera next to the gate and pushed the button.

  “That’s not what I meant,” Borte said. “Especially the training part. They’re not trained in the skills we need them to have.”

  “No, they aren’t,” Altan said, suddenly serious. “Not yet, anyway.”

  A bored female voice came over the intercom system. “Dropping off or picking up?”

  “Picking up.”

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “No, I was hoping to speak with Sister Mary Margaret.”

  “Well, you’re too late for that. She died 10 years ago, and the rest of the sisters got pulled back to their nunnery about five years ago.”

  “So who do I talk to about adopting children?”

  “You talk to me, but neither you nor your friend look like the child-rearing types.”

  “I assure you; I am here to adopt.”

  “You said ‘children,’” the voice said. “How many are you looking to adopt?”

  “At the moment, I’m not sure, but ultimately, I think I’d like to adopt all the ones you have.”

  There was a long pause. Altan couldn’t see the woman’s face, but he would have bet money it looked like Borte’s—shocked, with both mouth and eyes wide open.

  The gate unlocked with a metallic click, and a new, more businesslike voice came over the speaker. “Perhaps you men should come inside,” the voice said. “My name is Chagan; you can meet me in the Administration building.”

  * * *

  The two men drove into the compound, parked at the small building marked “Administration,” and walked in to find a secretary sitting at a desk. “Please go in,” the woman said, waving to a door behind her. Her voice marked her as the first person Altan had spoken to. “The school’s administrator, Chagan Arasen, will see you now.”

  Altan proceeded through the door to find a large office on the other side, with windows that looked out onto the play yard. A small, harried-looking woman sat behind a desk made for someone far larger. The woman rose and stepped forward to greet them.

  “So, how can I help you?” the woman asked after introductions had been made.

  “Before I tell you why I’m here,” Altan said, “why don’t you tell me about the school?”

  “What’s to tell? It used to be a great place for children who’d lost their parents. Then Sister Mary Margaret died, the rest of the sisters left, and the government has cut our funding every year since. See that ball out there?” She pointed to a soccer ball sitting at the end of the yard, sitting between two large sticks that marked the goal. Even from the office, Altan could tell the ball was flat. He nodded. “That’s the extent of o
ur physical education equipment. If it weren’t for donations from the local farmers, we wouldn’t be able to feed the children. They only provide it because we promised to keep the children out of their fields—they were so hungry they were breaking out at night to steal food. The few teachers we have can barely control the students. They break out nearly every night to cause mischief. The more children you take, the more supplies will be left for those who remain, and the more likely we’ll be able to control the remainder.”

  When Altan didn’t say anything, the woman sighed. “We’re hanging on by a thread here,” she finally added. “Every morning I expect to find the students have gone and not come back.” She sighed again. “Maybe that would even be best. We don’t have the staff to control them. It is impossible to teach them after a certain age, and when they are old enough to leave here, they don’t have any skills besides those necessary for a life of crime.”

  “I will be the judge of that,” Altan said. “I would like to see the classrooms.”

  “You won’t like them.”

  “Maybe we’ll both be surprised.”

  The woman led them to a two-story brick building marked “Classrooms.” Halfway across the parking lot, Altan could hear the sounds of shouting and laughter. The voices sounded young.