A Fiery Sunset

by Chris Kennedy

It happened too fast for her to respond. Nigel grabbed her around the waist, and his lips were pressed to hers in a flash. She tried to push away, but he was strong, and warm, and flashes of light went off behind her eyes. Oh, holy hell, she thought as her body unconsciously molded itself to his.

  Then he let her go, and she pushed back, her cheeks and neck flushed red with excitement and anger. It was one of the downsides of her white hair; her complexion was extremely pale as well. “Who do you think you are?” she spluttered.

  “I like you,” he said, and threw in that infuriating grin again. “We’ll talk when I get back.” He caught a handhold and expertly flipped toward the waiting shuttle. Alexis smoothed her uniform and looked around. Nobody saw, thank god! Why, the nerve of that kid! She felt a flutter in her belly and a sigh slipped out completely against her will. She moved over to the door of the shuttle bay to see him holding onto the door of his shuttle, waving.

  “Be careful,” she mouthed. He smiled and nodded, then blew her a kiss. “Asshole,” she said. That was an easy word to understand without hearing. He laughed and boarded the shuttle. An hour later, the ship was gone through the stargate. Alexis buried herself in fleet mobilization and did her best not to think about the handsome Arab man, or just how good that kiss felt.

  * * *

  SOGA HQ, Sao Paulo, Brazil, Earth

  Peepo growled as she surveyed the conference room. Her staff had filled all the available seats when they’d first arrived on Earth, but now it was rare to have more than three-quarters of the seats occupied; today only 14 of the 30 seats were filled, an all-new low.

  Something was sickening them, and few of the personnel in attendance looked “healthy.” From the Tortantulas with stiff joints, to the Besquith whose teeth had become loose, nearly every race was experiencing some sort of malady. Except the Veetanho; for some reason, her race had been spared.

  “Let’s get started,” Peepo said, not wanting to dwell on it any further. She looked to the Besquith sitting on her left. “Brigadier General Sharith, how’s the recruiting going? Are you making your quotas yet?”

  “Unfortunately, no,” General Sharith replied. “When we first started recruiting for the new units, we couldn’t get anyone to come to the recruitment centers. After you announced there’d be reprisals if that continued, we began to get people coming in.”

  “So what’s the problem? Why aren’t you making your quotas?”

  “Because all the Humans are stupid!” the general exclaimed with such vehemence that a tooth flew out of his mouth, narrowly missing Lieutenant General Chirbayl across the table from him. The MinSha’s head twitched to the side, and the tooth flew past harmlessly.

  “What do you mean, ‘stupid?’” Peepo asked.

  “Less than one percent of them have been able to pass the VOWS assessment test that Humans use to screen their people for mercenary aptitude.”

  “They’re obviously not trying,” Peepo noted. “You need to motivate them.”

  “We’ve been trying!” General Sharith replied, a little less forcefully. “We offered platoon leader positions to anyone who could pass the VOWS assessment.”

  “Excellent,” Peepo said. “And what happened?”

  “The average score fell another 10 points.” He dropped his head in shame.

  “Well, it wouldn’t matter at the moment, anyway,” General Chirbayl said. “The production lines for their CASPers are currently stopped.”

  “What’s the problem there?” Peepo asked.

  “When we took over the plants, there’d been some widespread sabotage that destroyed the equipment used to produce the suits. After some of the saboteurs were made examples of, the line operators seemed motivated to get the lines running, but then they ran out of one of the components needed.”

  “What’s that?”

  “They’re currently waiting for a shipment of unobtanium dioxide from one of their suppliers. Apparently, that’s used for making some of the handwavium cabling inside it, and they can’t assemble any of the suits without it.”

  “And you’re sure this material is necessary?”

  “Yes,” General Chirbayl replied. “I looked at the production diagrams for the suit and the sales orders for the unobtanium. All the documentation was in order.”

  Peepo tapped on her slate, accessing the AetherNet, the local node of the GalNet, as she turned to Lieutenant General Beelel. “What’s the status on producing more weapons for their CASPers?”

  “We had to send back to our home world for replacements,” the Altar replied. “Their weapons are shoddily made. If they’re dropped, they fall apart. Most of them only get a few shots through them before they break. They fail all our criteria for functional weaponry, and we’re investigating how to adapt some of the other mercenary forces’ weapons to the suits. There have been significant interface issues.”

  The Altar’s antennas twitched. “Honestly, General Peepo, I have to say I don’t see what all the mystique is with this race. Their troops are substandard, their gear is crap, and they couldn’t organize a youth’s birthday party without outside assistance. How is it that they ever win, much less win as often as they have? Are they really that lucky?”

  “You’re all fools!” Peepo exclaimed as the information came up on her slate. She glared at General Chirbayl. “Did you even look to see what that unobtanium material was?”

  “Yes, General. The entry the Humans showed me indicated it was a highly desirable material that’s extremely rare and costly,” the MinSha replied.

  “It’s also one their writers use to denote something that’s scientifically impossible or fictional!” Peepo yelled. “They’re making it up to stall you!”

  General Chirbayl’s coloring went green. “I’ll handle this.”

  “See that you do.” Her eyes swept the table. “If they’re stalling with this, they’re likely stalling with other things. The VOWS assessments. Their weapons. For all I know, they may be behind the rash of diseases that seem to be sweeping through our ranks. I don’t know how, but we’ll investigate that, too. The Humans have achieved prominence not through luck, but through good equipment and leadership. Even though some of their leaders have escaped our claws for now, they didn’t take everyone with half a brain on the planet with them. There are people here who can fill out the new merc units we want to form. There are people who know how to make their CASPer suits and the weapons that go into them. Find these people! Make as many examples as you need to!”

  The assembled staff nodded or made their racial variant of affirmation.

  “Perhaps if we pulled back to space and were out of the toxic environment here, we could spend more time on strategy and less time trying to stay healthy,” the Flatar general noted. “Almost all the Tortantulas have come down with some sort of disease that’s stiffening their joints. When you have joints like they do, that’s an issue, and it makes them far less effective than normal. We were already undermanned, due to the losses at the Golden Horde compound; with fewer of them, and the ones we have handicapped, it’s hard to be everywhere we need to be.”

  “No,” Peepo stated flatly. “We will stay. We’ll stay on the planet, we’ll find out what’s making us sick, and we’ll put an end to it. The Union needs us to be successful here…and we shall!”

  * * * * *

  Chapter Twenty

  Karma Upsilon 4, Karma System

  They’d taken almost an entire day to reach Karma Upsilon 4. When the independently-registered merchant ship transitioned into the Karma system, it kicked loose half a dozen smaller ships, which had all come along for the ride. None of the traffic control people at Karma would give it a second thought, or realize it was actually the Winged Hussars Heaven-class transport ship Perseus, and all the smaller craft were dropships.

  The speed, ability, and creativity of the Winged Hussars’ shipwrights amazed Jim. They’d turned a vessel any merc in the galaxy would recognize as a dropship into a generic free trader in just a few hours, witho
ut affecting the function one bit. Then they did it again several more times. Two of the ships carried Commander Earl’s Bert’s Bees toward the parking orbits. Two more had Drake’s Rangers headed toward Karma station.

  By the time Jim’s ship docked at his station, he had to hurry. Nobody was there; they’d all been on Earth at the time of the invasion. Upsilon 4 was still in development. They had a lot of supplies there, but the living areas were in dire need of refurbishment before he’d trust them with the lives of his Cavaliers.

  The station’s power emanations were higher than he remembered, which was weird. The station’s slight yaw had been corrected, too, which was also strange. Splunk had assisted in fixing the station’s attitude control system, but Jim thought the computer had said it would take six months for the tiny thrusters to fix the movement. They’d only been gone a month.

  He didn’t have time to worry about it as they scrambled into the station and down the cavernous halls to his destination. “Everyone stick to the plan,” Jim said to the platoon as they scrambled to get into the unusual sets of restraints, making their CASPers do things they’d never done before. “Double check them all, Top!”

  “You betcha, Boss,” Buddha, his longtime friend and Top Sergeant, said.

  Jim’s radio gave a series of three beeps. Hargrave confirmed he was in position. They needed to move. “Splunk, fire her up!”

  “Here we go, ”

  “For sure,” Jim said and sealed the cockpit.

  * * *

  Commander Oda Shoji of Yoru no Tori, also known as the Night Birds, was more than tired of being under arrest. His crew was carefully shepherded at every moment by Maki jailers. He personally hated the little lemur-like aliens, and the disdain they treated his crew with didn’t help. They’d been captive for weeks now, but their jailers had said recently the Humans would be moved soon. There was no word of what that meant.

  During his captivity, he’d managed to get most of the lockouts on his systems removed. Shoji might be a pilot by profession, but computer technology was his personal passion. The family business was starships, so honor demanded he be where he was. It was an honorable profession, and he found happiness where he could. Hacking the ham-fisted attempts to lock him out of his own ship was one of those moments of happiness.

  Even though he could resume control of his ship whenever he wished, it did him no good. The Maki marines were all armed, his crew was carefully watched, and he hadn’t been able to crack the armory codes yet. He’d used his clandestine access to confirm his other four ships were all being held in the same manner. Acting now would be premature, so he bided his time.

  Learning to while away long hours was a skill all spacers learned early in their career, or they didn’t remain spacers. Shoji liked to play Mahjong against his crew when able, or the ship’s computer lately. It was a way to passively resist his jailers, using the computer he was supposed to be locked out of for simple amusements. That was how he happened to be in the computer when a warning system was triggered.

  A maintenance hatch on the ship’s engine room opened from the outside. The Maki marines had zero interest in doing routine maintenance, leaving such drudgery to Shoji’s crew. He knew the hatch hadn’t been opened by his people because they were seldom allowed outside for maintenance, and only then with careful escort. Plus, if it were the Maki, they’d have simply used an airlock. Shoji gave a curious little grunt. There was only one possible reason for this alarm; someone was boarding Naitoheron without his jailors’ authorization.

  He acted without further thought and disabled the alarm before any of the Maki in his CIC could notice. Then, using the same authorization he shouldn’t have had, he overrode his quarters’ door lockout. The Maki had taken all the weapons they could find. None of them considered his family’s swords, displayed on his cabin wall, as “weapons.” He carefully removed the wakizashi, choosing it for its maneuverability in cramped spaces, slid it through the belt on his uniform, and opened the door.

  The Maki marine tasked with guarding the ship’s captain and XO looked up from the slate he was using to write a letter to a girl back home and gawked in surprise as 60 centimeters of super-sharp carbon steel slid into his neck.

  Shoji quickly withdrew the blade and wrapped a towel around the dying Maki’s neck to keep the blood from going everywhere. The alien only struggled for a moment, and his XO’s door opened at the same time.

  “You noticed the alarm?” the man asked, noticing the dying Maki marine the same way you might take notice of a man swatting a fly.

  “Yes,” Shoji said. “Free the flight staff, kill only as necessary. I’m going aft.” The XO bowed in zero gravity, produced a pair of fighting knives, and floated toward the CIC.

  Ten minutes later the last bolt floated away from the service shaft and the hatch popped free. The man inside held a compact laser carbine, and it was pointed at his head.

  “Commander Oda Shoji?” the Human asked.

  “Yes, that is me. Who are you?”

  “Commander Frank Earl, Bert’s Bees. I request permission to come aboard, sir!”

  “Permission is happily granted.” The marine extracted himself from the access port, along with four other men dressed in combat armor. “Commander, I assume this is not an isolated action, or we have endangered many lives.”

  “No, all the Human ships are being boarded. We’re spread a little thin, but the aliens look to be caught with their pants down.”

  “Good,” Shoji said. He gestured to the four engineering staff floating nearby. One had a bandage seeping blood on one arm, another looked to have a laser burn on his leg. They all held either small swords or knives. “We require weapons to assist.”

  “I rather hoped you’d say that,” Earl said and handed over a spare laser pistol. “Let’s get these rat fuckers off your ship.”

  * * *

  Karma Station, Karma System

  Major Kleet walked into her office in a fine rage. She’d only been asleep for a few hours when her adjutant decided to wake her. A pissed off Veetanho, short on sleep and patience, wasn’t something you wanted to see.

  “What is it?” Kleet demanded of the elSha functionary she’d been saddled with. The reptilians made fair mechanics, but there were so many of them they tended to find their way into bureaucratic jobs as well.

  “Major,” the elSha squeaked, “we lost contact with one of the marine units holding the Human merc ships in parking orbit.”

  “Is that it?” Kleet said, her exasperation growing. “Is it the Maki marines?”

  “Yes, Major.”

  “They’re probably playing one of those tactical GalNet games they like so much.”

  “But sir, the communication cut off in mid-transmission.” Kleet was about to say that was still not a big deal when she continued. “And now I can’t raise any of the marines on the Evening Bird ships.”

  “Night Birds,” Kleet said. The elSha translators screwed up stuff like that all the time. “Raise the marine commander on their cruiser.”

  “Yes, Major,” the administrator said, visibly relieved that Kleet was no longer mad at her. Kleet wasn’t mad; she was too busy planning how she’d have the entropy-cursed little reptile reassigned to the worst job she could imagine once it was proven she’d been woken up for a false alarm. Then the major’s communicator went off.

  “Yes, what is it?” she asked while the elSha was trying to make the communications link.

  “Major, ships just transitioned in. Lots of ships.”

  “Whose?” she demanded, finally feeling some concern.

  “They’re from the Winged Hussars, sir! Listen.” There was a pop and a voice in English came on, which her translator rendered into Veetanho.

  “This is Commander Alexis Cromwell of the Winged Hussars. You’re holding Human mercs in violation of Merc Guild Law 109-2. If you stand down and release them, we’ll leave peacefully. Otherwise, there will be…trouble.”

  “Entropy!” Kleet ye
lled. “Contact Admiral Galopooka, quickly, while the Humans are still coming in from the transition point!”

  “Right away, sir!”

  * * *

  Admiral Galopooka had been bored stiff for weeks now. When the Humans simply surrendered without a fight, it had robbed him of the glory of smashing them. If the Winged Hussars had been there, he might’ve had a chance to exact revenge for his clan. His relative, Geshakooka, had died at the hands of the Hussars. Galopooka dearly wanted that opportunity. Despite being known as excellent ship builders and crews, Bakulu were also known for having a well-developed sense of vengeance.

  Galopooka had his foot stuck to the command podium of his battleship’s CIC when the call from Major Kleet came in. He didn’t care for Veetanho very much. The race put on airs. He considered allowing the rodents to gain control of the mercenary guild a serious error. He gestured to his comms officer to put the major on. The rat was, after all, nominally in charge of the operation keeping the Humans prisoners.

  “Why aren’t you getting underway!” Kleet demanded.

  “What are you blathering about?” he demanded.

  “Haven’t you been watching?” The entropy-cursed Veetanho looked like its eyes were about to explode out of its disgusting fluid-filled sack of a body.

  “Watching what?”

  “The emergence point. Look, you fool! It’s the Winged Hussars!”

  Galopooka looked with some alarm at his sensor tech. The battleship was in shutdown mode. After all, nothing had happened in weeks. In fact, since they’d taken the Humans and their ships captive, almost all the other mercs had left. Just the previous day, a dozen transports had taken off as if they’d suddenly decided they had urgent business in another galactic arm. Good riddance, he thought. The sensor controls came alive, and the Tri-V showed two large formations.

  “Confirmed,” the sensor tech said. “I show 2 battlecruisers, six cruisers, twelve various frigates, and two carriers. They’re identifying themselves as the Winged Hussars.” All three of Galopooka’s eyes stared in disbelief. He’d studied the Human merc company after they’d killed his family. They didn’t have that many ships. “They’re accelerating toward our threat box at four Gs.”