Barazani was down, with two MinSha standing above him. He’d deployed his laser shield and was rapidly spinning it around while a MinSha fired blast after blast at him with her laser, trying to burn through. On the other side of the trooper, a second MinSha changed out the battery in her laser rifle and powered it up; Nigel could see he wasn’t going to make it there in time. He brought up his railgun and fired several times. The rounds missed but hit in front of the MinSha and distracted it. The alien looked up as the battery slid into place, saw Nigel coming, and fired at him instead.
With a thought, Nigel deployed his shield and the first two bolts ricocheted off. He toggled his jumpjets to add a little more boost so he could land on the alien, but the jets cut out and a red light flashed; no more jump juice. Without the extra boost to right himself, Nigel landed short of the alien, crashing to the ground while leaning forward. He almost got his feet under him, but then he slammed into the MinSha, and they both went down in a pile.
Nigel started to slide over the alien, but he brought his knees up, trapping the MinSha under the belly of the CASPer, then allowed the suit to slam down on the alien. Based on the amount of blue that covered several of the cameras, he figured the MinSha was done.
Sliding to a stop, Nigel rolled back to face Barazani. Corporal Cody Sain was behind the second MinSha, and he swung his laser rifle like a club, bashing the MinSha’s head into its thorax. The alien dropped to the ground as the rifle snapped with an audible crack! The corporal dropped it and drew a laser pistol from his hip.
Nigel climbed to his feet to find the battle well in hand. There were only a few MinSha left, all of whom had thrown down their weapons and raised their top pair of hands. He walked over to Corporal Sain as the platoon’s medic, Sergeant Cindy ‘Shrewlet’ Epard, arrived to treat Barazani.
“Kinda hard on the equipment, Corporal,” Nigel noted.
“I used to play baseball growing up,” the corporal said. “I guess it was just kind of natural to swing it like that.”
Nigel extended his blade and held it up. A couple of blue drops glistened at the end. “This never runs out of ammo and keeps you from breaking your rifle.” He pointed at the pistol the corporal held. “That’s a poor substitute for a rifle.” The blade retracted with a click. “Besides, it’s awfully satisfying to stab a MinSha rather than shoot it from a distance, you know?”
* * *
A large group of locals came out to meet the troopers as they approached the gate. “Thank you very much for your assistance,” the man in front said. He wore a long white robe with embroidery down the front and a turban on his head. “I don’t know if we could’ve held them off much longer.” He bowed. “I am Imam Hasham Madani; welcome to New Chabahar,” he said, gesturing to the gate.
“Thank you,” Nigel said. He opened his canopy so the locals could see him. “I’m Nigel Shirazi.”
“Welcome to New Persia,” the imam said. “Your family has been very generous in the past, but never was its support as timely as today.”
“Thank you,” Nigel said, “but we won’t be here long. Do you know if the CASPer factory is operational?”
“Why yes, it’s been functional for several weeks now.”
Nigel climbed down from the CASPer. “Good. I’d like to see it.”
“Certainly,” the imam replied. “I can take you there myself; it isn’t far.” He walked back through the gates and into the town, adding, “The factory has been a mixed blessing to my people here.”
“A mixed blessing? Why do you say that?”
“While it provides a source of employment for many of the younger people, it removes them from the workforce needed to farm and provide food for our people here. Although the income from it is expected to be outstanding, I’d rather not depend on buying food from off-planet. Shipments are late or disappear sometimes; that can’t be allowed to happen where food is concerned. Also…” His voice trailed off.
“Also, what?”
“No disrespect meant, Mr. Shirazi, but having the factory here also has unfocused many of the younger generation. They see the metal suits the plant produces and dream of battle and war—of leaving this world—and it detracts from their religious studies. The point of establishing this colony was to learn and grow in the faith, not to have the youth immediately run off to fight in other peoples’ wars.”
Nigel stopped and turned to the imam, forcing him to stop as well. “Imam, I understand and respect your perspective, and in a perfect galaxy, you’d have my support in bringing your dream to fruition. Our galaxy, though, is far from perfect, and there are forces moving to crush humanity like the MinSha did to our homeland back on Earth.” He gestured back toward the city gates and the battlefield beyond it. “That should be pretty apparent to you, especially today.”
“I understand that it’s important for the city to have good defenses—”
“It’s bigger than the city!” Nigel exclaimed. “It’s the entire galaxy! While some of the aliens are okay with our presence, there are others who want to be rid of us, and we need to fight, or we’ll be annihilated! Earth has been invaded! The factory needs to continue to make CASPers so we can stand our ground and fight back. You think those MinSha out there today were just a random occurrence? They weren’t—and they’ll be back! If we don’t fight, humanity will be destroyed!”
“What is it you expect of me?”
“The battle lines have been drawn, and I expect you to join with your people in support of our war. Our fight has been declared just by the imam of old Chabahar, and he’s declared jihad against the races that seek to destroy us. There are only two sides in this fight. You’re either with us—with me—and will assist me in avenging my sister Parisa and protecting our way of life, or you’re with the infidels. Which is it?”
The imam looked around at the hundreds of people who’d stopped what they were doing to listen to their discussion. Nigel kept the grin from his face, though he knew there was only one way the imam could go, despite his pacifistic nature.
“I don’t like it,” the man said finally, “but I don’t see any way for us to do anything other than support the jihad. We’ll do our best to ensure the war factory runs at peak efficiency.”
“And any men who wish to join me in the fight?”
“Will leave with my blessing.”
A roar of approval rose from the crowd, and Nigel could see dozens of men cheering the proclamation. He finally allowed the smile to blossom. He hoped the factory would have enough CASPers for all his new recruits.
* * *
Nigel watched the two CASPers march up the loading ramp and into the dropship.
“Those are the last two,” First Sergeant Mason said. “Even if all the newbies pass their VOWS, we’ll still have a couple suits extra. We also got the Mk 9 prototype and all the schematics for making them.
“Great,” Nigel replied. “Hopefully, we’ll get a chance to come back after the next production run and pick up a load of Mk 9s.”
“Colonel Shirazi, Lieutenant Tweesoo,” the dropship pilot called.
“This is Colonel Shirazi. We’re loading the last two CASPers now.”
“Roger that, sir, but I have two messages for you. First, Commander Yoshuka sends his regards. They met the MinSha force just short of the stargate and destroyed them. They’re collecting the survivors, but there won’t be many.”
“Copy. And the other?”
“The other is a bit stranger, sir. We just had a ship transition into the system, and the pilot’s asking to talk to you.”
“What’s the ship doing?”
“Nothing hostile, sir. It entered the system and stopped, and the pilot asked to speak to you.”
“Who is it?”
“He wouldn’t say. All he’d say is, he told you that when you needed him, he’d know. He said you need him right now. He’s requesting to bring a shuttle down to talk to you.”
“Tell him I’ll meet him at the gates to the city, and please ask Co
mmander Yoshuka not to destroy their ship.”
“Wilco on both, sir. Lieutenant Tweesoo, out.”
“Shit,” Nigel said.
“What is it?” First Sergeant Mason asked.
“Remember the pilots we had when we went to Bestald?
“Yeah, the really creepy Pendal ones?”
“Those guys, yeah. Apparently they’re here and want to talk to me.”
“Why?”
“No idea.” Nigel turned and started walking toward the city gate. “Let’s go find out.”
* * *
Nigel stood outside the gates of the city waiting on the shuttle, but all he could think of was Alexis’ lips. It would be a gamble to kiss her—a big one—but if he was going to go die somewhere, he didn’t want to do it without at least seeing how they felt. They were glorious. There’d probably be hell to pay for it. Still…he smiled. It would be worth it, even if just for the look on her face. Judging from the way she carried herself, she obviously hadn’t been kissed in a long time.
The shuttle landed in a cloud of dust, and Nigel had to turn his head to avoid the sand blasting his face. When he was able to see again, a small ramp was coming down from the back of the craft, and a figure waited at the top of it—a Pendal. About five feet tall, the alien wore a large brown floor-length cape with a hood. Its face was hard to see within the folds, for which Nigel was extremely grateful. The Pendal had two independently-tracking eyes on either side of a gaping central mouth, and a third eye above it. Nigel was pretty sure the third eye independently tracked, also. It was like looking at some sort of lizard back on Earth…except the third eye gave him the shivers. That and the mouth full of teeth that showed the alien was not a vegetarian.
For all the creepiness, though—and the second set of arms the alien had did nothing to lessen it—the Pendal were great pilots and could manipulate several sets of controls simultaneously. Two of them had proven their worth when Nigel had attacked Bestald, the home world of the Besquith. They’d done as much, or more, as anyone to ensure the mission had been successful. The overall mission to save his sister had failed, but that hadn’t been the Pendal’s fault.
Also, they were functional empaths, if not full telepaths; he’d have to watch what he thought, not just what he said.
Nigel and Mason approached the shuttle, and the alien waved them into it. “Be at peace,” the Pendal said when they hesitated. “We intend you no harm; in fact, our mission here is just the opposite. It is, however, brighter than we like outside, and there are far too many eyes on us for our comfort.”
Nigel looked back to the city and could see dozens of people watching, both from the walls and through the gates. He shrugged and walked up the ramp, with Mason right behind him. Nigel nodded to the alien. “Good to see you again…I think?”
“Yes,” the alien said, its voice nothing more than a harsh whisper. “I was your pilot on that mission.” The way the creature’s mouth was moving—what little Nigel could see of it inside the folds of the hood—didn’t appear to be in synch with its voice, and Nigel had to stifle another shiver at the eeriness of it.
“Do you have a name?” Nigel asked. “I don’t think I ever got it, and I’m not sure what to call you.”
“My name is unpronounceable the way your mouth is made,” he said. “For ease of conversation, though, you may call me Smokey. Where there’s fire, there’s me.” The alien paused, as if expecting a response. “Sorry,” he added. “That was supposed to be a joke to lighten the mood. I forgot how serious you are.”
“Hey, I’m not super serious,” Nigel replied. “I like having fun as much as anyone else.”
“Sure you do, Boss,” Mason said, patting him on the shoulder. Nigel turned and frowned at the sarcasm, and Mason laughed. “Yup, that’s your easy-to-get-along-with face, all right.”
Nigel turned back to the alien with a rueful look on his face. “Okay, Smokey, what can we do for you?”
“I told you when we were last together that the enemy of my enemy wasn’t my friend, although it might be someone I could work with. The time has come for me to work with you. Despite our warnings to your race, you’re in great danger.”
One side of Nigel’s lips turned up in a half-smile. “Yeah, I think we’ve pretty much figured that out. The Merc Guild is out to get us.”
“When last we talked, I told you some races could be very subtle in achieving what they desired, and I encouraged you to look beyond what was visible—to see the plans within your adversaries’ plans. Not everyone in the Mercenary Guild is necessarily against you, although certain factions would like nothing more than to enslave your entire species and turn you into a race of shock troopers the guild can use when and how it wishes.”
“I don’t get it,” Nigel replied. “How is that good for business?”
“It’s not,” the Pendal stated, “which is why we find it…interesting. It’s not good for business, unless the key business principle they’re looking at is to turn you into a money-making machine for the guild itself, which would seem to be against the interests of some of the guild’s members. There are strange things going on within the Mercenary Guild.”
“I thought you were empaths, or telepaths, or something.”
“What we are is none of your business. What we are not, though, is a mercenary race. There are decisions being made and plans being formed that are outside our reach.”
“And you want us to get inside and find out what they are?”
“No, we’re working on that on our own. What I’m here for is to tell you the tribunal is a sham. The Merc Guild intends to kill Sansar Enkh once the proceedings are over, just as they intend to kill you, Alexis Cromwell, and Jim Cartwright at their earliest opportunities. Your families and friends, too. They tried to hire Depik assassins to do it, but the Depik refused. The Depik generally don’t do mass-slaughter contracts, and they were quite annoyed at the way they were treated by the Mercenary Guild.”
“Assassins? What have we ever done to the guild?”
“You exist. You lead. Their goal is to remove the leadership of the Human race so they can turn Earth into a world that produces mercenary forces that will do their bidding, and their bidding only.”
“They want to enslave us?”
“That’s exactly what they want to do, although it still doesn’t make sense to us why they want to do so. We know they had to act now, before you became full members in the Galactic Union, or it would’ve been too late…but we don’t know why. What we do know is the time you have remaining to save Sansar Enkh is getting smaller and smaller.”
“And you’re going to help us save her?”
“We don’t fight…but we may have some ideas how you can get close to her. There’ll be a window of opportunity in a few weeks when there won’t be any ships in the Capital Planet’s system. Beyond that, it’ll be up to you.”
“Why are you telling me this? Especially after all of that ‘enemy of my enemy’ crap?”
The Pendal pulled back his hood, and all three eyes focused on Nigel at once, and the hatred in the Pendal’s eyes hit him like a physical blow. “Sometimes,” the Pendal said, “the enemy of my enemy is my friend, and I’d do everything possible to save her.”
The Pendal pulled the hood back over his head, and Nigel took an involuntary step backward, as if released from an invisible hand that had been holding him. He shook his head to clear it. “Okay,” Nigel said after a moment, “you have ideas on how you can get us close. If you can do that, we’ll do the rest. I’ve never been to Capital Planet, so anything you can do to help us would be greatly appreciated. What have you got?”
“Come,” the Pendal said, waving him further into the ship. “We’ll sit and talk, and I’ll show you what we can do to help.”
* * *
Nigel and Mason watched as the shuttle blasted off and raced into the cloudless sky, leaving them on the dusty plain.
“Are you okay?” Mason asked. “You looked like Smokey hit you w
hen he pulled back his hood.”
“Yeah, that was odd,” Nigel replied, “and I don’t mean just the whole three-eye thing. I could feel the hatred he had for the Besquith and Veetanho.”
“So you think he’s on the level.”
“I do.”
“And you’re willing to try this crazy scheme? To do a no-shit assault on Capital Planet and into the Mercenary Guild headquarters?”
“Yeah, I am. It’s so crazy, it’s gotta work.”
“Boss, I’ve been doing this shit a lot longer than you have. Sometimes things are so crazy, there’s no way they can work.”
“This is going to work, but we’re going to need more troops. The new guys we got here have the desire, but they don’t have the experience. Even most of the ones we brought aren’t ready for an assault on Capital Planet and experienced mercs.”
“I have a feeling the Golden Horde forces, especially that Walker guy, would be interested in getting Sansar Enkh back.”
“They’d probably be pissed if we went after her without them.”
“I would be, if our positions were reversed.”
“I agree. Let’s get everyone back to the ship. We don’t have a lot of time if we’re going to get there before they kill her.”
* * * * *
Chapter Eighteen
Four Horsemen Tribunal, Capital Planet
Sansar finally got her chance to rebut the evidence against Cartwright’s Cavaliers four days later, after another two days of Jim-bashing and a day where Leeto presented the evidence that Cartwright’s Cavaliers had genetically engineered a Canavar. Although Alexis had wanted to scream that a series of Tri-V images of a Raknar and a Canavar together didn’t constitute ‘evidence’ as far as Human laws were concerned, it had only taken one try to make a point before she determined it was better to wait her turn; all it did was piss off the Oogar, who was increasingly angered as time went by.
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