by Gavin Smith
‘I’m sure it’s in the best interests of the colonists,’ Miska snapped. Christ, I’m turning into Torricone.
‘And New Sun’s,’ Campbell said. It actually irritated Miska that he was agreeing with her. It went quiet in the drawing room.
‘I’m busy, so let’s get to it,’ Miska said. She was aware of Vido rolling his eyes next to her. ‘“The Bastards have been mean to us, they won two fights, captured a load of our stuff, took a load of our people prisoner, it’s not fair wah-wah-wah.” Is that about the sum of it?’
Duellona’s face had gone a funny shade of puce. Miska knew from experience that she didn’t like being spoken to this way, certainly not by a jumped-up corporal.
‘That should calm everything right down,’ Vido muttered.
‘I want my frigate, my mechs, the other vehicles, the weapons you stole and all my people—’
‘In that order?’ Miska asked.
‘—returned immediately,’ Duellona finished.
‘Yeah? Not really how this works,’ Miska told her. ‘You pay the repatriation costs to MACE, it’ll go towards the war effort but you get your people back. The rest of it belongs to me. You want it? Come and get it.’
Duellona opened her mouth to retort but Campbell held up his hand to quiet her. She looked just about ready to snap the hand off at the wrist and slap him to death with it.
‘Colonel Corbin,’ Uncle Vido started. Duellona snorted with derision, but he ploughed on. ‘May not have explained it in the most diplomatic of terms but she has the right of it. The Bastard Legion has not breached the terms of conflict in any way.’
‘The massacre!’ Duellona snapped.
‘Was nothing to do with us and you know it,’ Miska told her.
‘It’s out of our hands,’ Salik said. ‘The UN conflict inspector has stepped in. She’s sent an investigatory team down to the site.’
‘As have we,’ Duellona told her.
‘Fine, we’re getting accused, we’re sending investigators down as well,’ Vido said.
‘New Sun formally withdraws the accusation—’ Campbell started.
‘Should have thought of that before your PR team went to work,’ Vido told him.
‘What investigators?’ Duellona demanded.
‘With all due respect—’ Vido started.
‘Mind your own fucking business,’ Miska finished. Vido was shaking his head.
‘Who’re you going to send, your doctor? He was a serial killer!’ Duellona seemed angrier than the situation warranted.
‘Keen botanist, though,’ Miska told her. Nyukuti snorted with laughter and even Salik was struggling to hide a smile. Vido just shook his head and Duellona stared at her for a moment before turning to Salik.
‘This is a mockery.’
‘It’s fair. You made the accusation, and you made it publicly. They get the right of reply, which includes finding out what actually happened,’ he told her. Duellona stared at the mercenary broker as though she’d been slapped.
‘What about Ashmead?’ she demanded.
‘What’s Ashmead?’ Miska asked.
‘Captain Sophie Ashmead, Triple S (electronic),’ Vido supplied. ‘The officer in charge of network security for the mech base—’
‘—You hit,’ Duellona finished, glaring at Miska. Campbell, Salik and even Vido were all watching her carefully as well.
Fuck you, Raff, Miska thought. He had supplied her with the intelligence.
‘The intelligence was third party,’ Miska told them. It wasn’t a complete lie. ‘I didn’t order her mind-wipe. I won’t use them again.’
‘Where did the intel come from?’ Duellona demanded. Miska just shook her head. Duellona was on her feet. ‘I’ll crack your fucking skull open …’
‘Colonel Duellona!’ Campbell snapped. It was about the last thing that Miska had expected.
‘Is this the word?’ Nyukuti asked from the window. An obviously seething Duellona glanced round at him. Resnick looked the stand-over man’s way as well.
‘No!’ Miska and Vido said simultaneously. Miska noticed Salik watching the colonel warily.
‘Colonel,’ Campbell continued, ‘currently you are disgracing yourself, and your company, but what is worse you are disgracing me. This is not the way we expect our contractors to behave. I suggest you leave.’
Miska was staring at Campbell wide-eyed. She had assumed that he was completely smooth between the legs. This display of balls was so uncharacteristic as to be unprecedented. Duellona pointed at him. Her finger was shaking she was so angry.
‘Ma, please,’ Salik said. Miska was suddenly aware of the liveried servant drone standing in the doorway carrying her beer. The drone had to move quickly to clear the way as Duellona stormed out of the drawing room. Moments later Miska heard the front door slam. The pained expression was back on Salik’s face. The drone gave Miska her beer.
‘I apologise,’ Campbell told them.
‘Shit, you’re still here,’ Miska said, genuinely surprised. Vido chuckled, and even Salik was smiling again.
‘She has been under a great deal of strain recently. The reverses she has taken in the campaign, the murder of poor Sophie and now this massacre … well, they’ve all taken their toll.’
‘Who do you think killed your people?’ Miska asked. Campbell gave a somewhat pained smile but didn’t say anything. Miska wanted to push him further, ask why all his people were armed with slugthrowers, but she was pretty sure that she wouldn’t get anything useful from him. He wasn’t a useful type of person.
‘While I have a great deal of sympathy for the good colonel, we have our shareholders to think about. I feel that Colonel Corbin may have made a good point,’ Campbell continued. ‘I believe that Triple S may be too hidebound in the way that they do things. Too used to the “done thing”.’ He actually made the sign for inverted commas in the air as he said it. Miska suspected that she wasn’t the only person in the room who had a strong urge to grab his fingers and bend them back until they broke. ‘We’re starting to feel that Triple S aren’t aggressive enough, and that perhaps we might need some blue sky thinking on this particular problem.’
‘Blue sky thinking—’ Miska started.
‘What are we talking about here?’ Vido interrupted before she could say anything offensive. ‘Hiring us away from the Colonial Administration?’
Miska didn’t like the sound of this at all, mainly because she didn’t want to work with an asshat like Campbell.
‘We don’t have anything like the resources that Triple S do,’ Vido pointed out. Miska took a sip from her beer. It was one of the nicest beers she’d ever tasted. She stared down at the glass for a moment.
‘In part, Triple S have the resources they do because of our backing. You actually have a similar amount of personnel,’ Campbell explained.
But not all of them are prepared to volunteer for active service, Miska thought, though she saw no reason to share this with the corporate snake sitting opposite her.
‘But,’ Campbell continued, ‘it’s too early for us to make such a commitment, untested, to your organisation. I think perhaps a small job first, see if we’re compatible.’
‘Can we do that?’ Vido asked Salik. The mercenary broker gave it some thought.
‘It depends. It can’t contravene any of your current contractual obligations. Which means you can’t do anything down on Ephesus,’ Salik finally told them.
‘But what about one of the gas mining aerostats?’ Campbell enquired. Salik gave it some more thought.
‘I would have to check with my legal team. There would be a nominal administration fee, but my sense of it is that would probably be okay,’ he told the New Sun exec before turning to Miska. ‘You going to do this?’ he asked her.
Miska really didn’t want to. She had started the Bastard Legion determined that she would take work from whomever, but the truth of it was she didn’t like Campbell, didn’t like Triple S and preferred working for the CA.
&nb
sp; You’re starting to think like Torricone, she chided herself. That was the clincher.
‘If we can make it work,’ she said cautiously. Even as she said it she didn’t like the way it made her feel. Campbell held out his hand. Miska couldn’t help but stare at it as if it was made of live slugs. Vido had to shake Campbell’s hand for her.
‘I’m surprised you’re entertaining New Sun’s offer,’ Salik said, sipping from his coffee, after Campbell had left. Miska just shrugged.
‘Might I have a beer now as well, please?’ Vido asked. He was now slumped on the sofa. Miska had to resist the urge to apologise to him for her lack of diplomacy making his life more difficult than it needed to be.
‘What are they doing here?’ Miska asked Salik instead. ‘What’s this fight all about?’
Salik didn’t answer. She knew he couldn’t, it would be covered by client confidentiality, but something about his body language suggested that he didn’t know. Not knowing something like that could come back to bite Salik. New Sun must have paid him a great deal of money just for him not to ask questions.
‘This is the first time they’ve shown an interest in the gas mining operation,’ Vido pointed out.
Miska couldn’t shake the feeling that even with her Bastards’ ballsy successes, Triple S (elite) backed by a sizeable QRF from Triple S (conventional) were a better choice for physically taking the aerostats, but the real fight for the gas mining operation would take place in the net.
‘Will you check with your legal team and let us know?’ Miska asked.
Salik nodded.
‘You know this will sour things with MACE?’ he pointed out. Miska nodded.
‘I’ve never been popular,’ she told him, and drained her beer.
‘Hard to see why,’ Vido muttered. She glared at him. ‘Sorry, stressful couple of days.’
‘Why don’t you finish your beer and I’ll meet you back on the Daughter?’ she suggested.
Vido raised his glass in reply.
Miska stood up.
‘Sophie Ashmead,’ Salik said. Miska grimaced.
‘I get it,’ Miska said, ‘you can’t have that kind of thing on the station. Go after whoever brain-wiped her as aggressively as you like with my blessing. Beyond buying the intelligence I had nothing to do with it, but I can’t burn a source or nobody will work with me.’
Salik gave this some thought and then nodded.
‘Fair enough,’ he said. It was another thing that she liked about him. He was an adult. He understood the rules. He stood up and hugged her.
‘You be careful,’ he told her. It sounded like the sort of thing that people always said, a useless platitude to someone in her line of work. Miska just smiled and headed for the door, Nyukuti in tow. It was only when she was out on the Central Concourse that it occurred to her that he might have been trying to warn her about something in particular.
Chapter 7
Miska knew she didn’t want to get in bed with New Sun. She might try to take an amoral approach to choosing business but something about Campbell really bothered her. If Raff’s suspicions about them being a Martian shell company were correct then that was another mark against them, though when it came to old Earth nations, particularly developing nations like America, you had to take their perspective on Mars with a pinch of salt. Much of it was propaganda that justified defence and intelligence spending. That said, the Martian regime was not a nice one: a bad mix of monopoly capitalism and Small Gods’ cult-of-personality dictatorship.
It’s only oppressive when you disagree, Miska mused. She was wandering down the Central Concourse. Nyukuti was a few steps behind her putting his CP training, to use. She decided that she was going to see what the offer was from New Sun before she made a decision. She composed a few messages and sent them to the version of her dad who existed in the Hangman’s Daughter’s systems.
‘Corporal Corbin!’
It took Miska a moment or two to realise that someone had called out to her. It had been a really long time since anyone had called her that. Looking around at the various bars that opened out onto the Central Concourse she saw a hulking figure with a crew-cut in the kind of well-ironed shirt and slacks that suggested military personnel on a night out.
‘Jones?’ Miska asked grinning. ‘Hey!’ She crossed the distance and hugged the hulking figure. Even with her reinforced skeleton, the powerful return hug threatened to collapse her ribs. Jones released Miska and looked down at her. Jones still had the look of a fresh-faced farm boy, though Miska knew that she had to be in her mid-thirties by now, which still seemed old, somehow, to Miska.
‘It’s colonel now,’ Miska told her. Jones smiled, though it didn’t seem to quite make it to her eyes.
‘So I heard,’ she said, and again there was something in her voice. ‘How long’s it been? Four years? Just before you tried for selection.’
‘That’s right.’ Miska noticed that the four other soldiers who had been sitting with Jones were either studiously avoiding looking at her by staring at their drinks, or just openly glaring.
‘How’d that go for you?’ Jones asked.
‘Y’know,’ Miska said, shrugging, a little distracted by the glares she was receiving.
‘Don’t mind them,’ Jones said, taking Miska by the arm and steering her to a high stool just inside the bar proper, at the window. She concentrated for a moment and a serving drone turned up with two more beers almost as soon as they sat down.
‘What’s their problem?’ Miska said, nodding back to Jones’s table.
‘You killed some of their friends at Port Turquoise,’ Jones told her, grimacing slightly.
‘Some of yours as well?’ Miska asked.
Jones shrugged.
‘That’s why they pay us the big bucks, I guess.’ She looked down at her beer bottle, smearing the condensation on the glass around with her thumb.
‘You with Triple S?’ she asked.
Jones nodded. ‘Yeah,’ she said, ‘I am. That a problem?’ She looked Miska straight in the eyes.
‘Not for me. It’s just a pay packet. You up here on repatriation leave?’ Miska asked. When mercenaries were captured the victors rarely wanted the responsibility and cost of looking after prisoners. Most mercenaries had a clause written into their contract that the parent company would pay to have them repatriated. Part of the clause meant that the mercs were entitled to leave immediately after their repatriation.
Jones nodded.
‘You at Port Turquoise?’ Miska asked.
‘Yeah, I was there when your boys turned up,’ Jones told her.
‘Well I’m glad we didn’t kill you.’ Miska glanced at Jones’s angry comrades sat at the other table. ‘You got repatriated quickly.’
‘Triple S are pretty good about that. You’ve certainly shaken things up a bit.’
Miska shrugged again and took a sip from her beer.
‘We’re a new face, we’ve got to prove ourselves,’ she said.
‘The job’s a lot more dangerous now that you’re here.’
Miska leaned back on her high stool and studied Jones for a moment or two.
‘Like I told your boss, surrender faster or leave. I’m here to wage war, not dance around posturing.’
Jones held up her hands.
‘Hey, relax,’ she said.
Miska could make out the fading white of implant scars curling around Jones’s skull. It was good work, Triple S clearly paid well.
‘You got something to say?’ Miska asked.
Jones considered the question.
‘Yeah, yeah I do. You can’t blame us for wanting to minimise the risk, can you?’ she asked. Miska didn’t quite trust herself to answer. It sounded like rank hypocrisy to her ears. Profitable no-tears war. ‘But what you’re doing ain’t right, okay?’
‘Excuse me?’ Miska demanded. She was vaguely aware of Jones’s friends paying more attention, of Nyukuti shifting position slightly.
‘Sending criminals out to fight prof
essionals—’ Jones started.
‘They seemed to do all right against you guys,’ Miska said and knocked back the beer.
‘—slave labour to take our jobs.’
Miska had been pushing the stool back, sliding off it, as Jones said this.
‘Everyone who fights for me volunteers and is paid,’ Miska told her.
‘They volunteer because you put bombs in their heads.’
‘The bombs are the prison, the discipline …’
‘What discipline? They massacred a hundred—’ Jones started.
‘Triple S elite? Ex-special forces? Come on, you don’t believe that bullshit, do you?’ Miska snapped. She was more angry with herself for getting drawn into the argument than she was with Jones, but the whole propaganda element of the conflict pissed her off.
‘Good to see you again,’ Miska muttered and made for the door.
‘Miska!’ Jones called after her. Despite her better judgement Miska stopped and looked back. ‘I’m sorry about your dad. I liked him.’
Miska felt something in her chest. She swallowed hard but nodded.
‘Miska …’ It was Nyukuti. She could hear the urgency in his voice. Jones, her table of friends, and about three-quarters of the people in the bar suddenly jumped to their feet and snapped to attention. Miska felt a sinking sensation as she turned around to see Colonel Duellona standing inches away from her. Resnick was outside the bar, close to Nyukuti.
‘So you’re going to use slave labour to undercut real soldiers?’ Duellona asked loud enough for the crowd to hear. The hatred coming from the soldiers standing at attention was palpable. There was even angry muttering from the non-Triple S mercenaries in the bar.
‘We’re mercenaries, none of us are real … wait, how’d you—?’
‘Perhaps you and your scum need a lesson in the capabilities of real soldiers, Corporal Corbin.’ Duellona had really emphasised the corporal.
‘Wait, you’re going to start a—’ Miska began. She didn’t even see the kick that knocked her through the window. It was too fast. Too strong. Unnaturally so. Lying in the glass, out on the Central Concourse, her left arm felt broken. She knew it wasn’t, because of her bone reinforcements. But it still hurt like fuck, as did her side, and she didn’t think that she was going to be able to move it much.