by Mark Wandrey
“You are well?” she asked, making a show of examining the room, which gave her the opportunity to see if Makori had leaned in to listen. The humans sat spread out in various poses—two on the table in the middle of the room, some against the walls between cells, others in the low chairs set around the common space. The leader stood when she spoke, and after a moment, her translator began.
“We’re as well as can be, when our allies take us prisoner.”
“You have been a member of the mercenary group longer than I have,” Veska said, angling toward the furthest reach of the room and keeping her eyes respectfully on him even as she walked. “You must know as well as I how important it is to adapt when a contract is in place.”
“A’kef said something very similar.”
Her shoulders tightened at his casual use of her Rei’shin’s name, but she hadn’t used whatever title the Human claimed in addressing him, either, so she supposed that was fair.
“Then I will not remind you of lessons the Guild teaches.” Her ears flattened, and she bit back the annoyance. She hadn’t come in here to shame the Humans, nor antagonize them. If only they made sense. Of course she understood why they would be upset, with such a drastic series of changes so quickly, but in the end, one handled the situation one was in, not what one had expected it to be. The Zuul would treat them with respect until the situation changed again. Why wasn’t that good enough?
But that wasn’t why she was here. She forced her ears upright and smoothed her hands down the fur of her face and neck, putting everything into its place.
“You are one of the Insho’Ze who have spent time with the Privates Porter,” the Human leader Trucker said, folding his hands behind his back.
Tension thrummed through her before she could check it. Humans were more often enemies than not, and clever ones, besides. Their powered armor was locked away, but Veska had heard enough stories of their wiliness to not underestimate them. Though likely they thought they knew what she was capable of, given they had fought alongside Zuul…but not Zuul who had been trained as she had, to the fullest capability of her larger, stronger body.
Coshke would not lead her astray.
“I am Veska of Insho’Ze,” she replied, knowing the short version of who she was to be more than enough for Humans. “I have enjoyed getting to know the Zuul who traveled with you, yes.”
“I remember you,” Tucker replied. “And yet you agree to holding us prisoner.”
“There are contracts,” she said, as gently as she would to a pup on his first mission. “Your other Humans have not reached out since joining the rest of your people on their contract.” She hoped the translator would relay her emphasis. “This is the life of the Mercenary Guild.”
“Barely a guild anymore, anyway.”
She shifted to regard the new Human who had spoken, the young one she knew was a friend of Sonya’s. She flicked her ears at him in acknowledgment, though his point made no difference. The moment they’d been pulled into the system, their circumstances had changed.
“We do not want this to end poorly. I add my request to that of my leaders, that you be patient until this is resolved. Zuul do not kill captured enemies.”
“The Pushtal do,” someone else said.
“Yes,” Veska was forced to agree. “However, you are not under their protection. You are under ours.”
“And if you’re ordered to fight our people?” the younger one asked, and Veska felt the attention of every Human in the room sharpen. Perhaps Makori’s, as well.
Something coiled and angry writhed through her gut, but she held ears and tail still, showing none of it.
“I will follow orders. Honor demands it.” Always that had been true, without question or doubt. Now the words, despite their confidence, grated in her ears, leaving a metallic taste in the back of her throat. The captain, her Rei’Shin, and Coshke would make the path clear. “What do you think your people will do if their contract-holders order them to attack?”
Coshke spoke into the moment, before any Human could bring themselves to form a word of truth or lie.
The repeating alarm of an incoming attack blared against her ears, and even the Humans around her winced.
“Coshke wills it so,” she whispered, then stared aggressively into the leader’s eyes. “And so it is answered.”
The noise she made might have been a growl caught on the ragged edge of a howl, but either way, she shoved it back and stalked out of the room, ignoring Humans and Makori alike.
She returned to her quarters and looked at the Insho’Ze’s data records again. Ever since the question of the five Human-raised Zuul had suggested they were Hosh, she’d been searching for some connection to the Humans. How had they ended up with them, and why? Without any kind of providence, the captain wouldn’t make a move against the contract, regardless of the evidence. It just wasn’t enough to outweigh honoring their contract.
She spent the time memorizing every detail about Krif’Hosh she could find from their final years. The time matched up with the age of the five, yet there was no record of their birth, and no last word of how Krif’Hosh had met their end. News of such a momentous calamity had shaken the Zuul to their core. For what were they with only two of the three Hosh? What kind of song could they make as a race? The last entry was their taking a contract on Gephard, an insignificant world in the Crapti region of the Jesc arm. A pitiful garrison contract, so low risk, they’d brought the whole clan. Then, nothing.
Cho’Hosh and Vo’Hosh had spent years trying to find them. No evidence could be found of them. It was discovered that the garrison contract had not been what it had seemed, and Besquith had been involved. Veska stopped in her reading, blinking and rereading. The contract Krif’Hosh had taken was with the Zuparti! How had she missed this fact? Could it be linked to what was happening here? Was this possible? Jesc was a long way from the Tolo arm, where they were. But since arriving, she’d learned how deeply involved the Zuparti were with galactic politics. They controlled a guild of their own. A tiny one, to be sure, though powerful because of a rare element only found on E’cop’k.
“There is no such thing as a coincidence,” she said in her empty room. The alarms had changed, and she needed to report to her squad. The rest would reveal itself in time. For now, battle called, and she would answer.
* * * * *
Chapter 11
Classified Engineering Guild Holding—E’cop’k System
Rex woke early, as he always did. His father said he had the mercs’ natural clock, awake before the action, grab a nap whenever you can. Within ten minutes of the briefing his father gave to the troopers the previous night, Rex was showered and in a bunk, fast asleep.
He didn’t dream often. Most nights he just slept and woke up. This time he was haunted by a vague memory. Something about three Zuul standing on a mountain top, enemies all around them. They fought for their lives, a triple moon in the sky above, until one fell—and he awoke.
“Stupid dream,” he mumbled as he rolled out of his cot and started to pull on a uniform. Then he remembered, stopped, and pulled on his haptic suit. Today, they did battle. That’s all the dream was, nervousness about the fight.
Drake dropped down in low gravity-induced slow motion from the bunk above, teeth showing in a big grin. “Time to kick some ass, mate,” he said.
Yeah, against our own, he thought. “Looking forward to it,” Rex replied. He left Drake pulling on his own haptic suit and moved into the squad bay, where the rest of Silent Night was gathering. Some looked at him and nodded or smiled, while others scowled. Shadow’s pep talk hadn’t stuck with all of them. Sonya was already there, talking with their father. Shadow came in at the same time as Drake. Then the door opened, and Ripley entered.
Almost immediately all conversation ended. She wore a standard Silent Night uniform cut for the Zuul, though bandages were just visible in the neck area. She stopped and looked around the bay. “What, you’ve never seen a Zuul before?”
Someone began applauding, and it spread around the room quickly. Even those who’d looked less than happy to see the Zuul mercs were visibly clapping and nodding in respect.
“Daughter, what are you doing out of sickbay?”
“Doc cleared me,” Ripley replied.
“After you threatened to bite her?” Sonya quipped, to more than a few chuckles.
“I’ll talk to doc later,” Alan said. “But for now, report to the artillery section.”
Ripley had been opening her locker to get a haptic suit and she froze, her head spun around, and eyes wide in surprise. “What? But we’re going to fight!”
“Yes, we are; you are not. Less than 24 hours ago, you were dead. Doc said you flatlined twice before the nanites did their magic.”
“I’m fine now,” she said, her voice small.
Alan walked over next to her and reached a hand out to push her in the ribs. It wasn’t a punch, but a gentle shove. She cringed and yipped, ears back and not making eye contact. “What do you think will happen the first time your CASPer takes a hard hit?” She wouldn’t meet his gaze. “Do as you’re ordered, merc. Report to the artillery section.”
“Yes, sir,” she said. Ears drooping and tail dragging, she turned and walked out.
“It’s okay, sis,” Sonya said as she went by.
“Glad you’re on your feet,” Shadow said.
“We got this,” Drake said. “Piece of piss.”
“I’ll bring back a Pushtal head for you,” Rex said. He got the barest hint of a flickering grin from Ripley as she walked out. He watched her go, partly annoyed at his father for being a hardass, and partly glad Ripley would sit this one out. She clearly wasn’t healed. Still, he felt for her. Halfway across the galaxy, trained to use the first ever CASPers made for non-Humans, and she was flying a desk for the first battle.
“At least she won’t have to fight our own kind,” Drake whispered to him.
Rex nodded in agreement. “Fuck me dead, it sucks.”
“Alright everyone, time to get our game faces on,” Sergeant Bana yelled at the troopers. “Five minutes to muster in the CASPer bay. Grab a meal bar and move your asses, shovel heads.”
Five minutes later to the second, Rex was finishing the power-up on his custom modified Mk 7 CASPer. As the computer finished its checklist, he scanned the status board to ensure all the links were in place on his haptic suit. Without those feedback connections, the suit wouldn’t act like a part of his body. The powered armor had been the critical edge Humans had enjoyed for more than half a century. Without them, the hominids were among the weakest and most vulnerable merc races. Tenacious, yes, just not physically up to their own natural ferocity.
“How’s your board?” Sergeant Bana asked in Rex’s ear via the individual privileged circuit.
“Look’s good, Sarge,” Rex replied. He knew the sergeant would know this as well. The same circuit allowed all the people above him to see the status boards of every CASPer in their command. He also knew the direct comms had a quality all their own, and served as a way to reinforce comradery within the unit. His own feelings on the matter suggested Zuul didn’t get as much from such small talk. Still, that was how he’d been trained.
“Excellent.” There was a tiny click, meaning the channels had shifted. “Second Squad, stand by.”
There was a woosh! as cold air rushed into the bay, and the doors began to roll up into the roof. He’d originally been a private in Second Battalion, A Company, Second Squad. But since First Squad were likely prisoners of the Zuul and Pushtal, the designation hadn’t made sense anymore. Instead, he and his siblings were rolled into First Battalion, A Company, Second Squad, to replace combat losses.
On E’cop’k, Silent Night had lost more suits than operators. Rex was glad his suit was unsuitable for a Human to operate, because there were highly experienced Humans sitting out the battle for lack of a functioning CASPer.
“Roll out!” Bana called, and Rex pushed his suit forward.
Internal systems had been programmed with E’cop’k’s fractional gravity. They would compensate for movements to some degree. As long as he didn’t get crazy, it would let him keep his feet under him. The jumpjets were likewise dialed back. The operators could override them and end up at escape velocity if they screwed up.
The Tri-V display in front of him and wrapping to both sides of his cockpit made it look like he was standing without a suit. It was the first time he’d done a formation in gravity, and in the open. There wasn’t nearly enough room on Paku for such things. Plus there’d only been 24 CASPers on Paku. Now he was in the midst of an entire battalion of a little over 100!
It was exciting and terrifying at the same time. Exciting because it made him feel like one of the Four Horsemen, amidst a crowd of powerful machines of war that could take on anything. Terrifying because Captain Anderle had had a battalion at her disposal for months and had been unable to secure victory.
They waited in the cold atmosphere, Rex listening to his suit’s heaters work against the bone-numbing chill. The CASPer’s hybrid fuel cells registered the load and told him how much long-term power use the heaters were consuming. His suit had a shoulder-mounted MAC—magnetic accelerator cannon—which drew a staggering 2-megawatts at peak charge. Compared to the weapon, his heaters were insignificant. Then his father, their commander, came on the all-hands circuit.
“The Lumar report they’re advancing on two flanks. All CASPers forward, quick step.”
Quick step called for a jog, no jumpjets. The enemy had radar, but with the dwarf planet’s tiny horizon, as long as the powered armor stayed more or less on the ground, they wouldn’t be detected until the attack force was almost on them.
“If we do this right,” his dad had said during the briefing last night, “we can quickly overwhelm their defenses and force a capitulation.”
Rex and his siblings weren’t so sure. From what they’d learned about their race, Zuul didn’t give up. It was a matter of honor to not surrender. He fell in with the rest of his squad as they advanced across the frozen, rocky landscape.
* * *
Ripley fumed as she entered the defense command post deep within the bowels of the Engineering Guild facility. I can’t believe Father did that! She was growling and chuffing all the way there, at one point nearly bowling over a phalanx of elSha who had a huge power distribution panel open. Exposed circuits hummed with megawatts of power as the elSha literally climbed the walls to get out of her way, watching from the ceiling as she passed.
“Excuse us,” one of the braver lizards snapped. Ripley didn’t look back. She was afraid if she did, she’d have elSha blood on her muzzle, then she’d really be in trouble.
The control room was manned by three Zuparti sitting at stations. Tri-Vs showed data being relayed from advancing forces, others listed ordnance at their disposal. But instead of preparing the attack, they were arguing over something.
“The attack begins in minutes, what’s going on here?” she demanded.
The trio of Zuparti continued yelling at each other for a second, then turned to stare at her in confusion. “Who are you?” one demanded.
“I am Private Ripley Porter; I’ve been put in charge of the artillery.”
“Ridiculous,” another Zuparti said and made a dismissive gesture. “This is our facility, and we are trying to decide who has the honor of pushing the fire button.”
“Push the bloody button? Who programmed the barrage?”
“The computer,” the third Zuparti said. “We picked one of the preprogrammed attacks.” He shrugged. “What difference does it make?”
Her tail dropped low and straight behind her, and the fur down her spine rose, bristling. “Get out,” Ripley said. The three gawked at her. It would have been funny, seeing a weasel gawk, if she hadn’t been so incensed. “Get out now!” She clawed her Ctech sidearm from its holster. She had just enough forethought remaining not to point the weapon. As it cleared the holster, the t
hree Zuparti screeched in terror and fled. One jumped over her, one scampered between her legs, and the last slid by, as careful as possible not to touch her. In seconds, she was alone.
Ripley slowly breathed to master her rage, her chest hurting with every breath, reminding her why she was there and not with her brothers and sister. After a couple seconds, she snorted, then laughed out loud. The look on the three Zuparti’s faces had been absolutely hilarious. Then she remembered she was there to do a job.
Ripley moved over and began examining the consoles. One was inventory, another was the ordnance management system, and the final was fire control. “Why are there three bloody stations for this?” she wondered aloud. After trying to move between them for a few minutes, she gave up, grabbed a slate, and configured it for networking. In no time, she had all three stations operating from her personal slate.
“Stupid non-merc races,” she mumbled as she began making sense of it. The management and inventory was simple enough; the fire control made use of a hundred files, all with intricate, complicated, and nonsensical firing patterns. Everything from area denial, to danger close, and rolling assault. Who wrote these scripts? She wondered at the work it took. Why not just design each missile sortie based on the situation instead of forcing the response based on what was written? It wasn’t like the system was that complicated.
Friendly forces were still an hour from the point they were certain to be identified. The Zuparti were going to launch now, way ahead of schedule. Stupidity. The one thing she had the most difficulty forgiving was stupidity.
Ripley loaded the enemy position maps, assembled from drone passes and previous attacks, and studied the situation. Despite her dislike of remote warfare, just like on the Phoenix, she was actually pretty good at it. Regardless, her stomach roiled at being stuck ‘in the rear with the gear,’ as Sergeant Bana called it.
The layout of the enemy base was simple, a mobile assault base set down from orbit so the enemy didn’t have to constantly risk ground fire every time they landed. Shaped somewhat like a star, each point had defensive lasers and the area between those had a rocket launcher on each side of the point. It looked like a grounded space station, which was kind of what it was. She could see why artillery hadn’t succeeded in overcoming it.