Chronicles of a Space Mercenary

by Ronald Wintrick

  Only a firsthand encounter will clearly make you realize that a Kievor is truly intelligent, however, because your mind wants to rebel against any such thoughts. The Kievor did not look intelligent. Not by a long shot. It shouldn’t be intelligent, is what your mind wanted to say, but they were. The Kievor are possibly the most intelligent of all the races. If there was a species more so they were unknown to me.

  When I look at this creature I know why they seldom mix with the other species. Imagine the terror a zebra or gazelle would feel in a crowd of hungry lions, hyenas, bears, wolves and about a dozen other types of predators whom might enjoy the taste of zebra or gazelle, and you begin to see what I mean. Hell, I even get nervous upon occasion and I’m a premier predator myself. I couldn’t imagine the terror the Kievors must feel, yet they have overcome their fears to become the greatest traders in the Universe.

  “Well, shall we do business?” The Kievor asked.

  “At your pleasure.” I said.

  “I see here you have brought us a load of Trinium metal.” It nodded to the computer screen I couldn’t see, as if that explained how it could know what I carried in my holds. “The price of Trinium has risen extravagantly recently, as I am sure a being of your resources is aware.” At this statement its eyes flicked back to me from the computer screen, as if to judge my reaction to that statement. I could read nothing from those inscrutable eyes. I wouldn’t play poker with a Kievor, if a Kievor ever did such a thing.

  For myself, I am sure I did not let my thoughts cross my face. Past experience has proven my mastership of hiding my emotions, the poker table the surest judge of such reserve. Yet I couldn’t tell what, if anything, the Kievor was thinking. We were two beings trying to hide our feelings from the other. This might as well have been the poker table. Through wiles would the price be set. Through what one felt the other willing to give, and not give, would the final price be set.

  “Our offering price for Trinium, as of this moment,” and again it eyeballed its hidden computer screen, as if I should believe it needed to look to refresh its memory, or that the price might have gone down just since the last moment it had looked, “is twenty one point three Credits per kilogram.”

  If I showed my astonishment, the Kievor didn’t appear to notice. It went on; “You’ve brought in seven thousand, seven hundred twenty-nine kilograms. That comes to one hundred sixty-four thousand, six hundred twenty-seven point seven Credits.” Then the Kievor sat and waited for my response. Of course I did not ask how it knew how much I had brought, or even how it knew what I had brought. The Kievors simply always knew. They seemed to know everything. There was nothing ever they did not know. Their technology was like magic, so far ahead of ours to seem godlike.

  I couldn’t believe how much the Kievor had offered me.

  At this point in our negotiation I was supposed to haggle over the price, but I had no idea where to begin. The Kievor had just offered me twenty times what Trinium should have been worth and I did not know why. I certainly couldn’t ask the Kievor.

  I thought furiously back to my last transaction with the Kievors. I had brought them a simple load of iron ore and the price I had gotten from them after a solid day of haggling was double what they had initially offered me, and so, judging from that and other similar episodes of haggling with the tireless Kievor, I figured I should be able to get about double what it had offered. It was a good place to start anyway, and if I only got half of what I was asking, I would still be fabulously rich. I had no idea why they were offering so much, but I was willing to haggle for days for that extra amount. Months!

  “Three hundred and fifty thousand Kievor Credits and not a Credit less!” I said sternly, raising it a bit beyond the double I had figured, a nice round figure that would make me richer than I had ever imagined possible. Richer than my wildest dreams! Of course the Kievor would not agree to it. It was a fortune and I expected the Kievor to laugh in my face. Hell, Last Chance herself was only worth two hundred thousand, tops, and she was worth a whole hell of a lot more than any old load of Trinium.

  “Done.” The Kievor said without hesitation.

  “What?” I asked incredulously.

  “You have a deal. Your price has been accepted. Our negotiations are finished.” It said harshly for a Kievor. I was sure I had never heard a Kievor speak so authoritatively before. Coto chittered but I waved him to silence. The massive Kievor could stomp Coto to mud under those massive hooves if it ever came to that, but I also knew that it never would; they might not be visible, but the Kievor would be guarded by the most sophisticated weapons available. The slightest intimation that it was in danger would precipitate instant, deadly action. Deadly for us.

  Not that I wanted to turn down their offer. Only a madman would.

  “All right.” I said. “I was expecting a bit more of a struggle. Now that the deal is finished, tell me why Trinium is suddenly so valuable?”

  “It’s possible I will be able to answer that question for you after we discuss a mission we are interested in contracting you to do for us.” The Kievor said. “It would be worth a great deal more than three hundred and fifty thousand Credits if you could succeed in performing this for us.”

  “How much more?” I asked. I was always interested in money. Firstly, secondly, and lastly, I am interested in money. If the money was right, I’d charge hell with a bucket of water. There is nothing I would not do if the money was right.

  “Two million Credits.” The Kievor said.

  This time I knew my astonishment was visible because the Kievor flicked its ears, a sure sign of emotion in the Kievors I had come to associate with finding a price that was acceptable to the usually hard bargaining creatures. It was obviously content with my reaction. It thought it had me where it wanted me, but where was that? How improbable must my chances of success be for such an offer.

  “That’s a lot. What would I have to do for it?”

  “Steal information.”

  I sat there looking at the Kievor, waiting for the blow I knew was going to fall. The game stopper. Information is usually the easiest thing to steal. What was astonishing to me was that the Kievors couldn’t get this information themselves. How could I do what they could not?

  “What information?” I asked when I tired of waiting for the Kievor to elaborate. “Where’s it at? Who has it? And two million Kievor Credits is just our starting point, to be fully negotiated once I know all the details.

  “This information is conditional upon the acceptance of the assignment, I’m afraid.” The Kievor said. “Loose lips sink ships, as your own people once said. We have other operatives in mind if you do not work out, Mr. Deveroux, but we have agreed that you are the most qualified applicant. The applicant with the most probability of success. You have luck, if that is quantifiable. We think so, though we cannot prove it. If luck does exist, you possess it. We feel you are our best chance, thus the huge offer.”

  “You expect me to accept this assignment unconditionally? Without even knowing what it is?” I asked. “That’s crazy. Only a madman would accept under those conditions. I’m crazy, but I’m not that crazy! I’m sure,” I went on, “that for two million Credits you’ll be able to find someone crazy enough to accept under those conditions, but it won’t be me. I’m just not that crazy!

  “And anyway, what is this crap about loose lips? How long have I been dealing with you? I come here because we trust one another. Why would I do anything to jeopardize that relationship now? That’s the most disrespectful thing any of you have ever said to me. I am truly offended!”

  “Captain Deveroux!” The Kievor was agitated, like it wanted to act on its instincts and run. “It is not that we do not trust you. We do! This fact should be evident in our trust to offer you the assignment in the first place, an assignment that would put us in a bad light should you fail and our involvement become known. It is not that we do not trust you at all. It is that the technology of these others may even be beyond our own in some ways, way
s we do not fully understand. We can take no chances. The one thing I can tell you is that we would adapt you to fit in with them. It will be almost impossible for them to detect you once you have undergone this change, once you have infiltrated them. But until then . . . “

  “Just what do you mean,” I asked quietly, “when you say that you would have to adapt me?”

  The Kievor did not respond immediately. In fact, the way its ears were standing straight up, frozen immobile, I got the impression it didn’t want to answer at all, which meant, I must assume, that I wasn’t going to like what it was going to say.

  “By adapt we mean at the molecular level.” The Kievor said. That meant, literally, I understood, that I would be turned into an alien, right down to the molecular level. The DNA. I would be one of these aliens, whatever they were. I would no longer be human.

  I stood up so quickly that both the Kievor and Coto flinched back in surprise.

  “You have got to be out of your mind!” I said after I swallowed what I was going to say. I felt it burn all the way back down inside me.

  “There is no medical risk to you, Captain. This is proven technology.” The Kievor stuttered, no sign of the hard bargaining Kievors I was used to in the specimen in front of me. “We would change you back as soon as you returned. There is absolutely no risk to you at all. We guarantee it!”

  “Not a chance.” I said. “No way. Out of the question. Not happening. You are not changing me into any godforsaken alien for any amount of money. Good bye.” I turned and left, the door I hadn’t heard close behind me opening to allow me egress, Coto skittering out under my feet, not understanding what my agitation was about, only that I was.

  I hardly remembered the walk back to the lift. I kept thinking about all those Kievor Credits for one lousy load of Trinium, and whether they had just been part of the deal the Kievors must have felt certain I would accept. I had never known the Kievors to be treacherous but I no longer put it past them. I would feel better when the Trinium had been transferred and the Credits were in my account.

  What alien race did the Kievors fear so terribly? What information was so valuable that risking war was acceptable? I had no clue as to which race the Kievors could be referring to. As far as I knew the Kievors were the most technologically advanced race in the Universe. Apparently there was another!

  When the lift arrived Coto and I entered and rode it directly to Level Nine Hundred Fifty, the outermost level of this Station (some Stations were larger, some smaller), and were let out once again within sight of Last Chance’s docking bay. We walked into the dock, up to Last Chance and, the same as before, the platform rose out of the deck and lifted us to Last Chance’s air lock, all automatically. Last Chance accepted my vocal identity and we went aboard.

  The Trinium was unloaded a lot quicker than it had been loaded. I opened the cargo bay hatch and a probe of the trans-metal detached itself from the deck of the dock and like a large vacuum hose cleaned out my holds. Except that there was no vacuum. It absorbed the Trinium. Just as quickly as a vacuum hose, but no vacuum. Within minutes it had completely cleaned out my holds. I would never get used to it.

  After the trans-metal hose had cleaned out my holds and resealing the hatch, I went up to the Bridge and scanned Last Chance for heat signatures, but the only two present were Coto and I. I wished I knew what Melanie and Bren were up to, because it seemed as if things were happening that were beyond my control, things I did not understand, things I did not want to hang around and see through to completion. Now I just wanted to collect my pay, buy some supplies and trade goods, trade the rest of my Kievor Credits for some other stable currency (I had no idea what the Kievors had gotten themselves into and didn’t want to find out) and blow this place. After I saw Cheryl, of course. There would be no coming back if I blew her off again. I glanced at the ship’s clock. Ninety minutes yet.

  I could exchange my Kievor Credits for human currency, but I didn’t know which would be the most stable. There was no telling what instabilities would ensue now. Economies were sure to collapse. New squabbles would rise. Fortunes would be made, and lost. I would not allow that to happen to my new fortune, but I had new worries now. I have lived in space so long, counting on the reliability of Kievor currency, that I knew little of the stability of my own species worlds.

  I took a seat in my Captain’s Chair and requested a link to the Kievor’s data-base server, which connected immediately. A quick check showed that my account had been credited with the agreed upon sum, so at least they weren’t playing games with my money. It was hard to think about the Kievor’s problems when I had all those Credits in my account, but even these were as nothing compared to the millions they were offering me for whatever this mission was. I had never balked from a paying mission before, and the money was right as rain, I just couldn’t bring myself to accept the fact that I would be changed into an alien. I would no longer be human.

  Then again the sheer amount they were offering had as much to do with scaring me off as the damn thing with changing me into an alien. There couldn’t be much chance of succeeding. Not for that much money. The Kievors were only offering so much because they did not think it could be done. The Kievors had been too honest for their own good this one time.

  It was an interesting bit of information to know that the Kievors could literally change you from one type of being into a completely different one. I supposed if they could make metal transform itself like a living thing, they could transform something as simple as DNA. Only stood to reason. It meant I could never look at another being in the same way. I would always be wondering if I was seeing what my senses were telling me I was seeing.

  I drank the rest of my bottle of Old Home while killing the last little time before I was to leave to go to Cheryl, thinking about all the things I could buy with all those Credits sitting in my account. With thirty minutes to spare I left Last Chance again and headed for my rendezvous with Cheryl. I had no idea what tomorrow would bring, whether Cheryl would talk me into staying awhile (when I could certainly afford to) or whether I was going to heed good common sense and get out while the getting was good. Whatever tomorrow brought, I wasn’t going to worry about it tonight. Tonight was for tonight alone.

  Cheryl’s quarters were on Level Two Ninety Seven, Sector one hundred sixty four thousand, four hundred thirty seven. The Station’s outermost level, Nine Hundred Fifty, has over a million sectors. It can get confusing to someone who is unfamiliar with the system. The Kievor’s green arrow system will direct you anywhere you wish to go, merely by requesting the service, but there is a small service charge and I knew where I was going.

  Coto and I took the lift outside our dock and rode it down to Level One, to take the shortest route to Cheryl’s Sector. The arrows weren’t on the floor as I half expected them to be, so somehow they knew I wasn’t there to take them up on their offer. I took the first left, went three blocks, and walked onto the slide walk there. I had taken this route hundreds of times in the past. I could not get lost. Counting carefully, I traveled the seventy-five blocks necessary to take me to my designated lift, and exited the slide walk well ahead of Coto, who had balked at boarding the lift just the slightest and was thus behind me. Several minutes later Coto leapt off the walk at my side and chittered at me angrily in his way. I laughed at him, which only increased his vexation, but he didn’t hesitate to follow me as I walked on to my required lift. This lift took us to Level Two Ninety-Seven, Sector one hundred sixty four thousand, four hundred thirty-seven, and deposited us within sight of Cheryl’s door. It wasn’t until the lift door had closed, and presumably the lift traveled on somewhere else, that I noticed the Katon soldiers lounging just down the hall. They had also noticed me, which wasn’t surprising, since it was obvious they were here waiting for me.

  Now I’ve fought my way out of many a bad situation, so I am a fair judge of what constitutes a really bad situation, and this was my immediate thought once my mind registered the Katon uniforms on
the heavily armed soldiers. This was a really bad situation. About thirty meters separated us. Thirty short meters and none of the crowds you would find on many of the other levels. It was just Coto and I, and them, and Coto was no help in a blaster battle.

  I judged that the Katons weren’t here to reminisce over the good old days when we were still allies, or even to offer to pay me for the damages they had done Last Chance, the damage to the warp array so severe that Bren had said he couldn’t understand how we had even gotten into warp at all, just more Deveroux luck. It crossed my mind to wonder who had ratted out my connection to Cheryl, and whether or not Cheryl knew they had been out here for me, if she had seen them at all. These thoughts passed through my mind a lot faster than it took for you to read these words, faster than a blaster shot, and while thinking them my own blaster had leapt into my hand and was raining fire down on the much slower and still surprised Katons. I guessed they expected me to surrender so they could torture and kill me at their leisure.

  My first shot took the Katon Officer squarely in the chest. According to the ‘Rules of Engagement’ agreement humans had ratified amongst themselves officers were not supposed to be singularly targeted, but I wasn’t singularly targeting him. He had just been unfortunate enough to be standing in the forefront of the group. His whole chest evaporated and was blown all over the Troopers behind him, but I did not see that part, I was already running in the opposite direction.

  I had misjudged the reaction time of the Troopers because as I made ground down the corridor no shots immediately followed me; I probably could have gotten them all if I had continued firing! I hadn’t gotten far though before they got their wits about themselves and began shooting. Laser flashes scorched the trans-metal floor and walls around me. I dove to the floor rolling and twisting and sliding along on my left shoulder on the smooth floor, bringing my blaster around to bear even as I slid and loosing the Kiever blaster energy fury on the Katons now farther down the corridor, now more susceptible to the expanding blaster energy my weapon discharged. Twenty five years of practice sent my shots exactly where I meant them to go and as my weapon bucked in my hand on rapid fire, I wreaked havoc among the suddenly demoralized Katon Troopers.