Chronicles of a Space Mercenary

by Ronald Wintrick

  It took her a moment to figure out how to get into it, because there were no buttons, snaps or zippers. Finally, experimenting, she stretched the neck out and simply stepped into it. It sprang back into shape once she was installed without a single blemish in the material. It fit like a second skin and left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Then she went back into her closet and came out again with what was the feminine equivalent of the shit kicking boots I now wore. Heaven help the poor alien sod who fucked with the new and improved Tanya now.

  Our housing was seven rooms behind our bar, the ‘Eh Smargohm’. I had no idea what Smargohm stood for because it had not been in our memories, but Eh was the equivalent of ‘the’. I understood that not knowing what the name of my own bar meant could prove to be touch and go in the wrong circumstances, but there was little I could do about it. There were likely going to be many things I did not know that would lead to touch and go situations, and again, there just wasn’t anything I could do about it. It was what it was, and it would be what it would be. We would do the best we could and if it came down to it, we would fight. What else could an Alartaw do!

  “I think it’s best if we keep our mouths shut and just do a lot of listening.” I said as Meerla admired herself in a full length mirror. At least that much about her had not changed.

  “That’ll certainly be hard for you.” She said.

  I bit back my response and went back through the several rooms to the weapons room. Along the way I admired Brune’s dojo. It had a padded floor, walls and even the ceiling. In one corner of the dojo was a rack of some of the finest steel weapons I had ever seen. I hoped Brune's martial abilities had been passed along to me as well, they would be a welcome addition to the skills I had learned on the hard mean streets, but that were no match for trained artists. After a moment I went the rest of the way to my weapons room.

  I selected then strapped on a holster and put a de-atomizer into its frictionless embrace. There were myriads of this type of weapon but I chose the one I remembered as always using. Meerla came into the room as I was sliding it into its holster and I pretended not to hear her. Now that I was aware she might try to sneak up on me again something had clicked in my brain, some previously developed pathway recognizing her all but inaudible tread as she approached. I did not think she would ever be able to sneak up on me again. Alartaw senses were something to be appreciated, and no two ways about it.

  “What you got for me?” She asked and I acted startled, as if I hadn’t known she was there.

  “None of my memories ever show me you going armed.” I said. Nor had the real Meerla been armed when I had seen her outside the lift, but my impressed memories of other Alartaw women recalled to me that most Alartaw women did go armed. Still, it hadn’t been the real Meerla's habit. Meerla had seldom if ever gone carousing with . . me, I realized (confused for a moment), reality blurring with unreality, like other Alartaw couples who drank and fought together as partners. I didn’t know why and that wasn’t a good thing. Maybe it was just a personal preference on her part, but I did not know. I hoped it wouldn’t get us in trouble, because if there was one thing I was sure of, it was that Meerla would now be going armed, and armed to the teeth.

  “You’ll have new memories of it then.” Meerla said. “Now what you got for me?”

  “Take what you want.” I said. As if she wouldn’t anyway. “I guess I’d rather have you armed than not, as long as it doesn’t put you too far out of character.” I didn’t know if it would put her out of character as Meerla but it would have been a death sentence for Tanya. She had far too many enemies to ever be caught without weapons, and for her carrying a weapon was as second nature as it was to me. Never mind the gender thing. Tanya is a warrior.

  “This is far better than your own collection.” Meerla marveled as she paced the room, inspecting almost every weapon minutely, what were enough weapons to wage a small war.

  “This is my own collection.” I snarled. “Which, by the way, I’m taking with me when I go, so don’t be getting any funny ideas.”

  “I’ll grant that half of this is yours.” Meerla said, turning slit eyes upon me, no quirk on her lips now. How could I forget that Tanya loved weapons as much as she loved jewelry, and she murdered beings for her jewelry. Any that got in her way.

  Alartaw anger swam through me again. I turned fully towards her and saw then the turmoil my anger created within her. As Tanya struggled with Meerla for control. Alartaw women might be ferocious predators in their own rights, but they must have been genetically inclined to subservience to their men. Meerla broke under my anger and took a step back, but I cooled myself. Tanya was my partner and she could have as much of this collection as she wanted. It was the Alartaw within me now doing this, I having my own struggle as she hers.

  “Of course half is yours.” I said. “If we ever get out of here, that is. I think we need to be careful in how we act with one another. Our old patterns are going to get us in trouble without new instincts. I can’t seem to help getting angry over nothing.”

  “Not to mention that it could be unhealthy.” She said, but it was only half serious. Tanya had probably never backed down to anyone before, ever, and I doubted I would be a first, Alartaw instincts or not. I knew that we would have to be careful though. There was no telling how either of us might react when our alien chemistry mixed with our human memories and ideals of how things were supposed to be.

  “Just don’t hold it against me.” I said, just a hair sterner. “I can’t help the way I’m going to act, and this is just a taste of what’s to come. I don’t know why the Kievors had to actually give us the Alartaw DNA, as if the whole ordeal isn’t going to be hard enough as it is!”

  “Because this is the only way we have any real chance of succeeding.” Meerla said. “You’re right though, we need to be careful that we don’t lose our old selves to our new. Being Alartaw is . . . ”, she thought about it for a moment, “very satisfying.”

  “Heady.” I agreed.

  “Now help me choose a weapon.”

  I ransacked my brain for memories of other Alartaw using weapons I saw here; Brune had always worn the little de-atomizer.

  “That’s a blaster.” I said, pointing to a large hand held weapon. “This is a mass adjuster. It doesn’t kill, it just knocks your opponent aside . . . ”

  “I have all the same memories as you have, Brune, but I’d like to know what some of these other weapons do.”

  “You’re not testing them in here, if that’s what you’re thinking.” I said sharply, giving her a crazy look. There was no telling how powerful some of these things might be. I snatched a tiny laser I recognized from the wall that looked like a com unit and had a clip for belt attachment, and handed it to her. “Take this for beginners. Put a belt on. Maybe no one will notice that all of a sudden you’re going armed.”

  “Actually I quite like this.” Meerla said after taking and examining the innocuous little thing and getting the feel for it in her hand. She took the weapon with her and went to find a belt. I was assuming she would find one among all those clothes.

  I couldn’t help myself. I took down several of the shoulder fired weapons and looked them over. One was so large, weighing somewhere in the neighborhood of a hundred kilos, that I could barely lift and hold it to my shoulder, and actually, that estimation was based on what the weapon would weight on human muscles, so it could very well weigh considerably more. I know I am stronger now, but really hadn’t had the opportunity to discover just how much stronger.

  I went to the kitchen, the next room after the bedroom and also the room with the entrance to Eh Smorgohm, and began looking for something handy I might be able to stomach. The Alartaw foods were rich, pungent, strong. There was red meat in some kind of containment chamber, still as bloody and fresh as the moment it had been carved from its previous owner, but I wasn’t quite ready yet for raw meat. I’d let myself get protein starved a little longer before I tried that, but there was little d
oubt I would. My new Alartaw body would demand it and I would give it what it wanted.

  “Not eating?” Meerla asked as she walked into the kitchen behind me. She had found a thin, shiny black belt that fit her form well, accentuating her narrow waist esthetically. The small but deadly laser was clipped to her belt on her right side and looked easy enough to access. She went to a different storage unit and got out another of the pungent fruits, immediately biting into it with her too white teeth. The same meaty smell filled the kitchen, assailing my senses with its nauseous aroma.

  “I think these are genetically altered.” Meerla said after chewing and swallowing. “I think the Alartaw are strictly meat eaters, otherwise.”

  “It’ll take some getting used to.” I said. She looked at me like she didn’t understand what I was talking about. Maybe she didn’t. She wasn’t wasting any time on that fruit. That was for certain.

  The clock on the wall said we had to go prepare for the day if we were going to be ready to open on time, when our fist daily patrons arrived, who would be pounding on the door if we weren’t open on time, but I also knew that I had a bad habit of running late, so it wouldn’t be out of character if I was late. I was also known to drink during the day (and night) and I sure wasn’t going to change that. Thank the stars that fermented fruits were a nearly universal intoxicant. I wasn’t going to let anyone down who knew Brune as a drinker.

  I left Meerla to her putrid fruits and went through the kitchen entrance and into the bar. The design layout of the bar and our rooms behind it was a picture of simplicity. Having started out square, a wall sections off the rear rooms where we live, and this is our whole world. The bar itself was much like any human bar, or pretty much like any of the bars, saloons and watering holes you will find on any Kievor Trade Station. The only reason I felt out of place now was because I was behind the bar, not in front of it.

  I looked for and found the stuff most of the Alartaw drank, and Brune’s personal favorite, and got it down from the shelf. Brune’s crystal tumbler was where it was always at and I poured myself a liberal dose. The glasses the masses drank from were a carbon polymer that was all but unbreakable. ‘Harcled’ I read on the label. The closest Galacta interpretation I could summon to mind was ‘Boar’s Breath’, or maybe ‘Rotten Mouth’. I wasn’t sure of its literal translation, anyway, but this was the general idea that was conveyed to me in my limited knowledge. I swirled the liquor in the crystal tumbler several times, wondering at its deep purple color, thickness and strong smell, before downing the stuff. It turned out to be smooth and quite good.

  Meerla came into the bar in time to see me down the glass but she didn’t say anything. She was usually worse than me if she wasn’t on duty or about her nefarious occupations, or otherwise occupied, which really actually took very little of her time, and left her a lot of time to pollute her body. A temple one minute, the gutter the next. The liquor might have been smooth and easy going down but now that it was down suddenly it erupted within my stomach, trying to claw its way back up my throat.

  Meerla saw me gagging and came over to smell the opening of the bottle. She gave a little snort as the fumes burned into her.

  “Wicked!” She remarked and took the bottle to pour herself a large dose in my crystal tumbler, which she then downed with alacrity. There was no telling how the alien liquor would affect us, but I poured myself another anyway.

  “Tanya”, I said, thinking, “I don’t think Meerla ever drank. Actually, I’m positive she didn’t.”

  “Well she just started.”

  Ignoring my look, Meerla went around the bar and over to the front door, which unlocked and slid aside at her voice command. There was already a group of Alartaw waiting even though we were still a little early of our normal opening hour, but since we were the only Alartaw bar on the entire Station, I guess that wasn’t surprising.

  I watched the doorway as the first dozen or so customers came in, a mix of slinky, barely dressed women, off duty Alartaw soldiers, and what were either business men or the independently wealthy come to chase these women, and then I was too busy to notice.

  I had no idea what we had gotten ourselves into, what to expect, but I didn’t truly yet believe we were going to pull this off and I was half expecting a Squad of Alartaw Troopers to come rushing in to arrest us or maybe just shoot us down in cold blood, so though I was busy serving my customers, and noticing the looks the single girls were throwing my way, I also didn’t fail to notice the entrance of an old gentleman who stopped and said several conspiratorial words to Meerla on his way in, and, not recognizing him from any of my memories, had triggered a natural warning signal within me.

  What was immediately out of context was that this was the first older Alartaw I had ever seen. It was quite evident that the Alartaw must use rejuvenation as did every other race that came into contact with the Kievors (except that in the Alartaws case they had probably developed their own technology), so why this one case of older age in an individual that certainly looked financially able to afford rejuvenation. I surmised the extra age must be a sign of standing or importance. Personally, I would prefer to stay young. I never really liked to draw attention to myself anyway, but I supposed that had a lot to do with the life I lived. In my line of work it wasn’t always too healthy to go around drawing attention to myself.

  I may not have had a memory of the gentleman, but he certainly knew me, because when he was finished talking to Meerla he came straight over, and looked me nervously in the eyes.

  “What progress have you made?” He asked quietly, but pointed to the bottle of Harcled I had left sitting on the bar, as if he had asked for that and not a ‘progress report’.

  Of course I had no idea what so ever what he was talking about. To cover my indecision I got out a glass (a good one) and poured him a liberal dose and set it on the bar in front of him.

  “None.” I lied, wondering if my cover was now already blown. Was some progress expected? Had I contacted him and told him to come and get news I had for him? I was conscious of the de-atomizer on my hip as I looked into his yellow eyes.

  “I never thought this would work in the first place!” The old gentleman snapped. “Nothing but a waste of time. They have learned more about us than the reverse.”

  “They’ve learned nothing from me.” I countered.

  “You’ve done the best you could under difficult circumstances. No one will blame you. I for one cannot imagine how difficult it must be to live under a herbivore’s roof. I believe the Council will soon return you to your post, Commander. I’m working on that now.” With that said the old gentleman drank down his Harcled, without the accompanying gagging I had experienced, I might add, and slammed the empty glass on the bar.

  Meerla had come around the bar as we talked and now she picked up the second tumbler of Harcled I had not yet drank and downed it in one gulp. The old gentleman’s eyes widened just a trifle and I silently cursed her, turning away to serve the raucous patrons as they demanded more drinks.

  I could do little more than stare in silent horror as the old gentleman and Meerla carried on a conversation I could only wonder at, but I shouldn’t have worried. After a few moments he got up and left, apparently no wiser to us, and not bothering to offer his credit chip for the drink, either. That politically important people are arrogant all over seemed a universal standard, even here this far from home.

  “Apparently our friend thinks the assignment is getting to me.” Meerla said when I went up to question her about it. “He also called me a Princess, and he was quite deferential.”

  “That’s just great!” I cursed. “That’s all we need. I was worried we’d have a hard time pulling off pretending to be a couple lousy bartenders, and now we find out we’re actually double agents, and important ones at that. A Princess, for Jupiter’s sake!”

  “He called you Commander.”

  I left it at that. There was no point beating a dead horse. Maybe a Kievor, if I could get away with it.
Many of the Alartaw were already inebriated while more and more were coming in and getting down to the business of it. Many others were drinking a non-alcoholic beverage I thought must be much like coffee but which my ‘memories’ did not provide a clue. I hoped it was a stimulant because I would need one before too long.

  The crowd grew and soon had us both running, and yet I ‘knew’ it would get more crowded yet as the day progressed. I don’t know how the Kievors thought we would be able to do any spying while we were busy bar tending seven days a week, twenty hours a day. Double-double agents who were too busy being bartenders to do a damn thing.

  I now knew the rates of exchange for all the currencies in use on this Station and it soon became obvious we were making a hell of a lot of money. I wondered if I had been in the wrong business all along!

  Meerla appeared to be enjoying herself even though she was working, but a big part of that was the attention and deference she was getting from many of the men in the crowd. I doubted they realized what they would be getting themselves into with her, whether they would count themselves lucky afterward. Also, I noticed that several of the flirts strictly kept their eyes from my own, but I wasn’t interested in discouraging them. I had no interest in trying to control her and our little liaison would have to end. I still had my rule even though I had broken it. Except that, I supposed, we weren’t actually on Last Chance.

  When the place was literally jam packed with Alartaw I served a stern faced Alartaw Trooper a drink and, when he handed me his credit chip he also slipped a memory stick in my hand. I was startled but I didn’t let my expression change as I swiped his chip and passed it back, keeping the memory stick. Without so much as a flicker of recognition from the stern faced Trooper, he took his drink and sat at a table filled with other serious faced Troopers. I burned their faces into my memory for later, but didn’t have the time, at present, to wonder what this new intrigue was about.