Asbaran Solutions (The Revelations Cycle Book 2) Read online

  “Welcome aboard,” Nigel said. “Mama?”

  “It’s short for Mama Bear, sir,” LT Seville said. “Excuse my language, but some of my contemporaries learned the hard way that you just don’t fuck with the mama bear.” She smiled. “Thanks for picking up our contracts. Top filled us in on the mission, but he didn’t have many details. Do we know anything else about our enemies or their capabilities?”

  “Unfortunately, no. I think our new allies are being straight with us—that they don’t know anything beyond what they’ve already told us.”

  “That isn’t a hell of a lot, sir.”

  “No, it’s not, but we’ll have to follow the trail and see what we can find. And fast.”

  “Well, I like fast. I’ll take Harv and we’ll go get our gear stowed. I understand we leave later today?”

  “That’s correct.”

  The two aviators left and Nigel turned to Steve with a raised eyebrow. “Where did you find them?”

  “Mason recommended them; he knew them from the Golden Horde. Apparently they took one of the Horde’s dropships joyriding one night.”

  “And?”

  “And they were doing some low-altitude stuff. Apparently the Uzbeckis had just put up some cabling to distribute power from their new fusion reactor. It hadn’t been added to the chart system yet, so they didn’t know it was there and flew right through it. I’m told there are still about a million people in Tashkent who are without power, and the authorities would really like to talk to LT Seville. She jumped at the chance to go off-world for a little while and brought the rest of the pilots with her.”

  “There going to be any problems with the Horde if we take them with us?”

  “No, I talked to Sansar Enkh, the head of the Horde. She said she’d appreciate it if we took Mama and Harv with us. The other two pilots weren’t with the Horde; they were just people LT Seville knew and could get here quickly.”

  “Was Sansar happy to be getting rid of them or was she trying to keep them out of trouble?”

  “A little of both, I think. Seville and Walsh are apparently rather colorful, and she was looking forward to a little ‘quiet time’ with them gone.” Mason looked at his watch. “Speaking of being gone, it’s time for us to head over and load up.”

  “Indeed it is,” Nigel said, rising and heading toward the door. “Good luck, Steve. Watch the store while we’re gone.”

  “You got it, boss,” Steve said from the couch. “Have fun storming the castle!”

  So’Kla’s Ship, Approaching the Orbital Transfer Station, Karma VI

  Mason floated in front of Nigel, who was cocooned to the bulkhead of the ship. They’d been coasting in null gravity for almost a week, and he had almost adjusted to the weightlessness. Almost. At least he didn’t want to throw up all the time now.

  “Have you ever been to Karma before?” the merc asked.

  “No,” Nigel replied, “but my grandfather talked about it a lot. He said the transfer station is…interesting. Especially Peepo’s Pit.”

  “Interesting is an understatement. It’s an explosion of color and noise that can be overwhelming the first time you experience it. Just seeing all the different aliens in one spot can be disconcerting. One thing you don’t want to do? Don’t stare. Ever.”

  “Why? Some races don’t want to be watched?”

  “Yeah, there are some that consider staring an insult, but more importantly, if you’re staring, you run the risk of walking into other aliens, and that can be fatal. Whether they have toxins on their skins or they decide bumping into them is an insult worth dueling over…it just ain’t worth it.”

  “That makes sense.”

  “But the worst thing about staring—”

  “There’s something worse than toxic aliens?”

  “Yeah, the worst thing about staring is you lose your situational awareness. Remember, there are probably entities on the station who want you dead. If you get hyper-focused on something, you’re not fulfilling your most important duty—you’re not watching my back.”

  “Your back? Shouldn’t I be watching my own?”

  “No, that’s my job.”

  Nigel raised an eyebrow.

  “Can you see behind yourself? How about doing it without walking into what’s in front of you? I’ve got your back; you’ve got mine.”

  Orbital Transfer Station, Karma VI

  Nigel, Mason, and Breetar entered the orbital transfer station, and Nigel was immediately struck by how much larger it was than he had expected. Corridors ran off into the distance in both directions, only starting to curve upward at the far horizons.

  “Fuuuuu…uck,” he mumbled, his mouth agape as his eyes scanned his new surroundings looking for something—anything—that would help him make sense of what he was seeing.

  “It does have that effect the first time you’re here,” Mason noted. “Remember, this is the merc guild headquarters for this entire arm of the galaxy. If you want to hire a merc unit, this is where you do it.”

  The group took the first glideway they came to down to the gravity ring. An oversized pneumatic pressure tube, it gently blew its occupants along until gravity was strong enough for them to walk/crawl/fly (or whatever else they did) on their own.

  Mason and Breetar turned right at the gravity ring like they knew where they were going, and Nigel hurried to catch up.

  “I see what you mean,” Nigel said as a caterpillar crawled by. It was the seventh race he had seen that he was completely unable to identify. “It would be easy to stare.”

  “Just stay at my side,” Mason said, “but not so close you block my gun arm.”

  “Or mine,” added Breetar. Against Mason’s better judgment, Nigel had given the Flatar his gun back.

  “You think someone will take a shot at me here?”

  “Not if it looks like we’re on guard. If it looks like they could take us unaware, though…you never know. I don’t want to give anyone any ideas.”

  Nigel’s eyes scanned the crowded tube, his eyes continually in motion. The constant need for vigilance made the journey to Peepo’s far less fun than his 15-year-old self had imagined it would be while listening to his grandfather relate the station’s sights and sounds.

  “I just can’t believe there are so many races I don’t recognize. I memorized every single one in the games I used to play.”

  Mason snorted. “There are thousands of races in the Union. The ones you probably saw were the mercs, of which there are only 37, counting us, and the ones who hire mercs, of which there are more, but probably not more than a few hundred. Most races are happy to keep to themselves or engage in honest trade with a few partners. It’s the ones who are more…active…that keep us in business.”

  “All right, we’re here,” Mason said, stopping in front of an otherwise nondescript door after about a 10-minute walk.

  “Doesn’t look like much,” Nigel noted.

  “Yeah, well, if you have to ask, then you don’t belong here.” He nodded to Breetar. “Why don’t you go in first, so you can judge everyone’s reactions when we walk in.”

  “Sure, but what if my former employers are there, and they recognize me?”

  “Pretend you’re someone else. All you rodents look the same to us. Now go, before we’re seen together.”

  “Sheesh,” the Flatar muttered as it stalked to the door. “Stupid humans look the same to us too. Especially lying dead on the ground with hypervelocity rounds through their big, stupid foreheads.” Breetar entered the establishment, using what looked like a small doggie door at the base of the main door.

  “You ready?” Mason asked after counting to twenty.

  Nigel nodded.

  “Good. Keep your head on a swivel. Let’s go.”

  Mason opened the door and walked in ahead of Nigel. Even though Nigel had known what to expect, the wall of random noise hit him as he entered, and he was forced to pause and take it all in before hurrying to catch up with Mason. Peepo’s Pit looked alm
ost like any of the huge sports bars he frequented back home. The place was packed, with patrons filling most of the space at the central bar and nearly all of the tables. Serving robots rolled back and forth across the floor, taking and filling orders, and hundreds of flat-panel Tri-V displays lined the walls.

  There were two main differences that made it obvious he wasn’t back in Houston. First, humans were a small minority in the establishment. The Pit was a microcosm of everything he had seen so far at the station; a huge variety of aliens talked and gestured in an assortment of languages, roaring their displeasure or agreement…it was hard to tell which in some cases. A number of individuals ran away from the tenants of one of the tables; that one looked like a disagreement. Nigel watched for a moment as the two individuals, both of whom looked like eight-foot-tall purple bears, screamed in an alien language and gestured at each other.

  Mason elbowed him in the stomach, not too gently. “Stop staring at the Oogar,” he ordered in a stage whisper. “Head on a swivel.”

  Nigel turned away as the two bears fell into each other’s arms and began licking and stroking their pelts, argument resolved. Nigel shook his head; that was an unwanted mental image he would be a long time getting rid of.

  The other difference Nigel noticed as he followed Mason was that the furniture was all wrong. The ‘chairs’ at each of the tables were a variety of sizes and styles to accommodate the multitude of clients; some were no more than posts to roost on or lean against. Some tables had no furniture next to them at all. There also weren’t any live-action sporting events on the screens on the walls; all of them had data scrolling across their faces in various directions and at differing speeds. Due to his eclectic childhood upbringing, Nigel recognized the lettering on a number of them, even if he couldn’t read the words.

  Mason led them to a table beneath a screen with English, the official language of Earth, running across it. Four human-sized and -shaped chairs sat around it. Nigel took a second to check out the data on the screen—merc contracts, as expected; some groups were paying exorbitant amounts of credits for successful completion. If the mercs survived.

  “I see new humans in my pit,” Nigel’s translator announced.

  Glancing down from the display, Nigel saw the speaker was a Veetanho, a female alien that looked like a giant albino mole and stood as tall as a fully-grown human. She had short arms and legs for her long body, and a huge pair of sunglasses hid her eyes. “I do not recognize one of these humans,” she continued, sniffing the air with her large, flared nose, “although the other I know. Welcome back to Peepo’s Pit, Sergeant Mason.”

  “Hi Peepo,” Mason replied. “That’s First Sergeant Mason now.”

  “Oooh…congratulations are in order. You have come a long way from when I saw you last as a guard for Sansar Enkh. Your first beverage is on the house.”

  “Thank you, Peepo; that is most kind of you. We are testing the waters to see what’s available.”

  “Who is testing the waters with you? I do not recognize him, and we have select clients here.”

  “I am very much aware of that,” Nigel said, reaching over to hand the Veetanho a coin. “My grandfather spoke very highly of you. I am Nigel Shirazi.”

  The alien held the coin close to her sunglasses to study it, then handed it back to Nigel. “I heard about your grandfather, and it saddened me…and your father and brother as well. The latter were not my favorite clients, perhaps, but your grandfather and I fought together once, a long time ago.”

  “He told me,” Nigel replied. “He said you were the only one to ever best him.”

  “Best him? I do not remember it that way. I believe we fought to a draw that made neither of our employers happy, but satisfied the terms of our contracts so we were both able to walk away with our honor intact. We never fought each other again, and that is probably fortunate for both of us.”

  The Veetanho put a hand on her chest, and reached out to put the other on Nigel’s chest. “Our fates are shared,” she intoned.

  “I mourn for our loss,” Nigel added, completing the ritual.

  “Peepo’s Pit will always welcome you, and I shall offer a toast to his memory.”

  “Thank you,” Nigel replied with a bow.

  “Will you be negotiating today?” Peepo asked, bring the conversation back to the present.

  “Perhaps,” Nigel said, his eyes sweeping the pit. “We are looking for a little more information first.”

  “Clients come to Peepo’s for information more often than contracts,” the alien noted, “but both come at a price.”

  “I understand.”

  “Good luck, grandson of my respected enemy. I hope you find what you are looking for, at a price you are willing to pay.”

  With that, the alien gave a small bow, turned, and left.

  “That went well,” Mason said.

  “Did it? I nearly wet my pants,” Nigel replied, “and I can’t remember half of what I said. Talking with Peepo in Peepo’s Pit? It’s déjà vu from my childhood. Grandfather said the only way to talk to Peepo was with confidence…but if only half of the stories Grandfather told me about Peepo were true…”

  “Probably all of them,” Mason replied. “She was one of the greatest merc commanders ever. Still is. The battlefield got a lot safer for everyone else when she retired. Employers have offered her a shitload of credits to come out of retirement and lead their troops, but she has always refused.”

  “Why is that?”

  “No one knows,” Mason replied, his eyes continuing to move about the room. “I’m sure she has her reasons, but she has never told anyone what they are. Not that I’ve ever heard anyway.”

  A robot approached the table. “Your beverage,” it said, handing a frosty mug to Mason. “It’s on the house.”

  The robot turned to depart, revealing Breetar, who had used the robot’s approach as cover. The alien hopped into the chair along the wall next to Nigel, where he was hidden from the view of most patrons.

  “Did Peepo tell you anything new?” Breetar asked.

  “No,” Mason replied. “Although she did mention something cryptic about the possibility of information being obtained here for a price.”

  “Do you suppose she was talking about something in particular?” Nigel asked. “Or was that just her general thoughts on the transactions that occur here?”

  “I don’t know,” Mason replied; “either is possible.”

  “Do you suppose she tapes conversations in here?” Nigel asked. “If she did, she may very well know what’s going on.”

  “There are probably more cameras here than most banks or high-security prisons have,” Breetar said. “Our speech is probably being recorded and continually analyzed for stress and any number of significant keywords.”

  “So I should watch what I say?”

  “Without a doubt.” Breetar’s head popped up. “He’s here!” he exclaimed. “The merc that hired me is here!”

  “Where, damn it?” Mason asked.

  “The Besquith that just walked in from the back rooms. He’s headed toward the bar. Shit! Don’t let it see me!”

  “Fuck!” Mason barked under his breath. “Hate those motherfuckers.”

  “Besquith?” Nigel asked, his eyes darting back and forth from alien to alien at the bar. He didn’t know what a Besquith was, but didn’t like the reactions it was receiving.

  “Big, hairy, wolf-looking thing headed toward the bar,” Mason said. “Look toward the Oogar and to the left. Mean as all shit.”

  Nigel’s eye’s opened wide as he found the alien. “Big” didn’t cover it. The alien was enormous, standing at least six feet tall with broad shoulders and long arms that ended in huge claws; it looked like something out of a nightmare. Its mouth hung open slightly, exposing a huge jaw full of the biggest teeth Nigel had seen. They probably would have been the envy of most of Earth’s sharks.

  “I see it,” Nigel said. “It looks like it could eat granny in a single bite.”r />
  “No shit,” Mason replied. “It probably would, too. Their digestive systems can break down a huge percentage of the galaxy’s life forms, and there isn’t a race that most of them wouldn’t try. The things are ferocious; it doesn’t matter if it’s a fight or a trade negotiation, intimidation is one of their favorite tactics.”

  “I’ll bet it works,” Nigel said, trying to hide a shudder. He looked out of the corner of his eye and could see Breetar cowering under the lip of the table.

  “Yeah, it—don’t move!” Mason exclaimed.

  Nigel looked back to the Besquith and saw the creature had its head held high. It sniffed the air, its nostrils wide, turning its head back and forth, looking for the source of the scent it had picked up.

  The Besquith’s head stopped rotating as it zeroed in on the smell and its head slowly turned to look at…Nigel. Nigel’s heart missed a beat as the alien’s lips pulled back from its teeth; they were even larger and sharper than he had imagined. The beast gathered itself and sprang toward him!

  Events seemed to slow in Nigel’s sight as the beast charged. Mason pushed away from the table, his gun already free of its holster as he rose. Nigel also rose, but bumped into the table and fell backward into his chair.

  “Pew—crack!” Breetar was the first to fire, but his shot went high and right of the sprinting alien, and the hypervelocity slug blew a hole through the wall on the other side of the bar.

  Mason realized he didn’t have time to fire and dove at the Besquith, but the creature bolted to the left, vaulted an empty table, and smashed through the door of the establishment.

  “Quick!” Mason yelled. “After it!”

  The three raced to the door to find the Besquith already a long way ahead of them, a trail of aliens on the ground in its wake.

  “Pew—crack!” Breetar’s pistol fired again and the Besquith went down, crashing out of control into a large group of genSha, massive creatures that resembled large bison and weighed nearly a ton in standard gravity.

  They also didn’t move very quickly, and Nigel’s group arrived to find two of them jumbled up with the Besquith in a tangle of claws, hooves, and teeth as it tried to break free. Before Nigel could do anything, a third genSha sat down on the Besquith’s head and a fourth on one of the Besquith’s legs, effectively pinning it to the ground.