Do No Harm Read online

  Verne could see the rest of the Copperheads racing for the shuttle. Time was indeed of the essence.

  “Yes, I will be fine,” Verne said. “Especially if you have a medkit.”

  Triplett scooped Verne up. “I’ve got one in my CASPer.” He ran up the boarding ladder in the forward part of the shuttle and back to the cargo bay, where his mercs were already mounting their suits. He opened his suit’s leg compartment and pulled out the kit. “Here you go,” he said, setting Verne down and handing him the kit. “I hope you know how to use it, ’cause I have to go.”

  “Hey, Colonel?” one of the techs asked as Verne dialed the medkit to Wrogul. Verne saw the tech was manning up a suit.

  “Yeah?” Triplett asked as he dropped into his CASPer.

  “Verne here can run one of our suits,” the tech said. “And, being as how we’re already short-handed…”

  Triplett looked down at Verne. “That true?” he asked. “You can run a CASPer?”

  “I will be slow, probably, but yes, I can,” Verne said. He hosed off his arm with the medkit sprayer and twisted his two tentacles in pain as the nanites went to work.

  “Shit,” Triplett said, smiling. “Anyone that can spray that much onto a wound and not scream? That man…or whatever it is you are…deserves to be a Copperhead.” He pointed to an empty suit two over from him. “Take that one,” he said. “It’s a heavy assault model, so it can take more abuse than some of the others. Try to bring it back in one piece.”

  “Yes, sir!” Verne said, crawling to the CASPer.

  “Welcome to the Copperheads!” Triplett said. “Strike hard; strike fast!”

  “Strike fast!” the rest of the mercs in earshot echoed their company’s motto quietly.

  Verne plopped into the interior of the CASPer and realized he had a problem. He was so used to running his VASPer—which had been designed for him—he hadn’t thought about running a non-modified Human CASPer. He still had the modified operating system he’d been working on in one of his pinplants, though, and he clicked the mecha’s leads into his pinplants and began downloading it as he did what he could to strap in.

  By the time he was done interlacing the restraints into a web-like nest, the software had downloaded and begun rebooting. He looked around the cargo bay and saw he was alone; he needed to hurry. He unclipped the CASPer from the shuttle bulkhead, climbed into the CASPer and shut the canopy. As the system went operational, he could hear the platoon’s comms. He stepped forward, turned left and took two steps before he fell out of the hole where the ramp should have been.

  The sudden stop as he hit the ground did not hurt—compared with using a medkit anyway—but it made a crashing sound some of the Besquith apparently heard, because lights began illuminating.

  “Shit!” someone said on the platoon net. “They’ve heard us.”

  “This is Copperhead Actual. Weapons free! Tear them up, boys and girls!”

  “And whatever the hell that was that let us out of the pen!” someone added.

  “I am a Wrogul!” Verne said.

  “Shut up, newbie!” a number of voices roared. The Copperheads seemed to be in good spirits, Verne thought, as he stood up and looked at the tactical map. Someone had marked out the missile sites, and he could see teams of two going after each of them. The other nine CASPers were advancing on the Besquith buildings labeled as their HQ—and they were almost there! He was going to miss it!

  Without thinking about it, he toggled his jumpjets and roared through the sky toward the building. He realized quickly, though, that the CASPer’s jumpjets were a lot more powerful than the ones in his VASPer. Built to carry a fully grown Human and a load of weapons, the lightly-loaded heavy assault suit arced higher than Verne had intended, and he saw he was going to overshoot the merc assault. He decided to set down on the building’s roof. From there he could survey the assault and see where he needed to go.

  Unfortunately, the Besquith HQ was a light pre-fab building, and it was not meant to withstand a CASPer landing. With another crash, Verne’s CASPer fell through the roof and into the middle of a staff meeting.

  Maybe it wasn’t a staff meeting, maybe it was a gathering to determine how to repel the Human assault. Verne had no idea; all he knew was he was suddenly the focus of attention for ten very large, very angry Besquith. Well, nine, since the thousand-pound suit had come down on top of one of their heads. He wasn’t getting back up again.

  Verne flipped on his targeting system—too late, he noted—and saw he had rockets on his shoulder. The laser on his left arm was powering up, and the MAC on his right was showing empty—it hadn’t been loaded yet!

  But this time, he knew he had an arm blade—no, wait! He had two!—and they snapped out with a thought. He’d never actually used arm blades before, and he swung them back and forth, trying to catch some of the Besquith with them. He managed to slash two before the rest of them backed away and drew their laser pistols.

  I wish I had a laser shield! he thought. He’d read about them but had never installed one into his VASPer. But he was in a CASPer, and it was installed, and it deployed when the computer detected his thought. Several rounds reflected off it, then the door slammed open and several CASPers poured in, led by Colonel Triplett. Unlike Verne, the mercs knew how to use their suits and blades, and they advanced and struck down the remaining Besquith in seconds.

  “Couldn’t wait for us, huh?” Triplett asked. Verne couldn’t tell if the colonel was mad or not. “Just had to crash their party and get the glory, eh?”

  “Crash is right,” one of the other men said. “He crashed right through the roof. He was probably the person that crashed out on the tarmac, too, alerting them we were coming.”

  “Probably,” Triplett said. He scanned the room. “Well, way to go, Crash. Looks like you landed on their colonel. You’re in for the combat bonus we’re going to get, and you may even get an additional one for bagging their leader. I’d rather have had him alive to question, but Besquith are hard to capture, so it probably wouldn’t have worked anyway.” He chuckled. “We better get you some training in that suit before you crash into one of us!”

  He turned back to his troops. “What the hell is everyone looking at? There are more Besquith to kill and anteaters to save! And we need to find our pilots, too! Let’s go!”

  The mercs turned and raced from the building. Verne followed, tripping over the dead Besquith, and made it out the door, but by then the majority of the fighting was over.

  “Hey,” one of the platoon asked as the fighting wound down. “How the hell are we getting out of here? Who’s going to fix the shuttle so we can leave?”

  Verne flashed susulol, not sure he could be any happier, more confident, or satisfied. He was now a merc. And fix the shuttle? He could do that, too.

  * * * * *

  Intermezzo

  “He seems to be doing well. He survived Ak’La’Ka. I’ve heard that place was a meat grinder,” the Human said, sitting next to the klearplas barrier and pulling a beer from the refrigerator.

  “Verne? Yes, he will do well as long as he does not get too distracted doing the next exciting thing,” Todd replied, then flashed the pattern for sahila, the Wrogul equivalent of a sigh.

  “But now he’s a merc despite all of your efforts.”

  “Despite? You think it was despite my efforts? He was always going to become a merc. It will be good for him. Dangerous, but good.”

  “I don’t understand, you sent all of those messages, told me not to let him take his VOWs!” Graves’ face showed confusion. “It was all you could do to keep him from heading off world with Nemo!”

  “Patience, my friend, it was all about patience.” This time the translator emitted a sound like a hiss and crackle—the Wrogul equivalent of laughter.

  Graves frowned. “Now I really don’t understand.”

  Todd sighed again. “Verne was always what you Humans called ADHD—Attention Deficit Hyperactive Disorder. Although in truth there was
no deficit in his attention. He paid too much attention to the most trivial of things. It was bound to get him into trouble as a merc. There was also no way he would be accepted by a purely Human unit. And the Galactics? I do not trust them.” He pulled his body up over the ’plas wall of the tank and reached down to pull a beer out of the refrigerator, poured it into the water, then swam into the spreading cloud. “Ah, that’s good. It is nice to know the Roeder clan are keeping up Cavanaugh’s and Kazi’s good work.” He flashed susulol. “You cannot do that in a transit tank, or on Earth. The organics stick around too long, and the starship crews did not like it when I used their precious water to flush my tank even for routine reasons. On Earth they have rules about dumping organics into the ocean ecosystem. Indeed, what do they think that ecosystem is?”

  “I think I know where he gets it,” the Staff Sergeant smiled. “You realize you got off-topic, right?”

  “I suppose that is true. He does remind me of how I felt discovering this Human world.” The comm emitted another one of the laugh-equivalents. “It always amused me how he addressed me as Grandfather, just like a Human.”

  “I didn’t think Wrogul organized as families.”

  “We do not. But Verne is right about one thing, my descendants are growing up in a Human colony, exposed to Human values and culture. They have no memory of what it means to be Wrogul as the Galactics know them. Verne may simply have been the first to acknowledge it.”

  “Acknowledge what, that you are not true Wrogul?” asked Graves.

  “Yes, that,” answered Todd. He flashed a complex pattern of lights the Human had never seen before. “The truth is, despite our biology, we are Human. That is what Verne had to prove to really become a merc. He had to be accepted as who he really was.” Todd paused for a long time before continuing softly. “We all have to…and it will determine exactly what that means for our place in the Galactic Union.”

  * * * * *

  Part 3: Marinara

  Chapter One

  For Marinara, the holiday feasts on Azure were his favorite times. His passion was cooking, and he was taking culinary classes with his best friend, Meryll. Meryll was a few years older than him, but he believed that despite her handicap of only having two arms, the two of them made a great pair of chefs. She might not be as sharp in the kitchen as he was, but she was highly intelligent and complemented him in the culinary arts.

  For this Landing Day feast, the Wrogul had invited friends to help him celebrate. Six arms, plus his two smaller sensory tentacles were busy at various tasks, while the other two kept him balanced in his mobile tank.

  Meryll watched in amusement. Her short, brunette bob and flashing blue eyes gave her an elfin look. Marinara wheeled around the kitchen, hanging from his tank, twirling utensils and knives and spatulas. Cook pots sizzled and steamed. The fragrance of roasting fowl wafted through the air, and the heady aroma of bacon was coming from somewhere.

  “You know, Wrogul are known to be scientists and surgeons, not chefs,” she said as she caught the condiment jar about to topple over just as Marinara’s arm stretched past it.

  “Hah!” the bark of humor came from Marinara’s translator affixed to the side of his tank. He turned toward Meryll, and his turquoise eyes—rare compared to the rest of his Wrogul family’s usual green eyes—flashed. When he was in a cooking frenzy, his translator took on an accent unlike the regular speech of Azure. “Was Julia Child meant to be a surgeon? Was Édouard de Pomiane meant to be a scientist? Wait—he was… I, like Gordon Ramsey, am meant to be the greatest chef in the Galactic Union!” The Wrogul leaned toward one of the sauce pans and passed his arm over it. “Hand me that bottle of port, Meryll.”

  Meryll snickered. “For you or the sauce?”

  The cephalopod slowed his wheeled tank and turned to face her. His translator crackled. “For the sauce, of course. You know that. We Wrogul must stay attentive to our duties and not disturb our abilities with alcohol poisoning. Oh, wait…” He paused and took on a portentous tone. “We must pay attention to the creation of our masterpieces. We can imbibe only after others are laying in food comas on the floor.” The Wrogul startled. “The door. I think they are here…”

  * * *

  The first of Marinara’s guests greeted Meryll effusively and handed her bottles of drinks and plates of extra food. She staged everything on the counters near the long table they set up using planks and sawhorses.

  Several stared at the wall-length tank that was Marinara’s “refuge.” The long tank was a mixture of diluted salt water and sand replete with aquatic plants and darting tiny fish. Around the exterior of the tank was a Human sitting room with plush chairs and couches. A Tri-V screen was mounted to one broad wall.

  “Yum, smells great in here!” bellowed Marinara’s friend Corum Windalb. Windalb was the technician who had wired Marinara’s place for Tri-V, Aethernet, and translators. Like many of the younger Humans on Azure, Corum was what Marinara called bushy; bushy red beard and long red hair and a lanky body. Like Marinara he had blue-green eyes, which he claimed came from his ancient Earth German, Irish, and Viking ancestors. Marinara admired his friend for his technical skills and abilities to troubleshoot and solve almost any software problem handed to him. His wife JJ worked for the biochemical lab in town.

  One of the guests was unknown to Marinara. She had accompanied another lab worker, who had said she was family visiting from Earth. The newcomer looked around the cottage with a slight frown and pinched look. Marinara slowed wrangling pots and pans and caught Meryll’s eye. She hurried over.

  “Who is our unknown guest?” he asked quietly.

  “Umm, Yv’te, I think. Cousin of Wilfred. She’s visiting from Earth, and Wilfred thought she’d enjoy a good meal and the Landing Day celebration.”

  “Okay,” Marinara said slowly. “I hope she doesn’t have a problem with Wrogul. She doesn’t seem comfortable.”

  The guests mingled as Marinara completed his final preparations. Appetizers and canapés were quickly disappearing and alcohol was flowing freely. Marinara and Meryll moved trays and dishes to the overburdened table. A loud crackle sounded from Marinara’s translator.

  “Regarder-vu,” he shouted. “Que la fête commence!”

  * * *

  There was the usual murmur of dinner conversation along with the clatter of utensils against plates and requests for “pass that over here.” Marinara eyed his guests and most seemed content. There were a few loud belches followed by embarrassed glances. Corum turned to Marinara and gave him an enthusiastic thumbs up.

  A scream rang out and guests turned, startled, looking for the disruption. Wilfred’s cousin Yv’te threw her napkin on her plate and screamed once again, standing up abruptly. Meryll rushed to her side.

  “What is it, what’s wrong?” she asked solicitously.

  “There’s a tentacle in my salad,” the woman said through tears. She looked at Marinara in horror. “Check him,” she cried out again. “Is he…is he maimed?” she finished in a whisper.

  “Oh that. That’s just local squid,” Meryll said reassuringly. Corum started to guffaw and quickly raised his hand to cover his mouth. His wife JJ ducked her head and quietly snickered. Other guests started to chuckle and whisper. Wilfred simply stared at his cousin in embarrassment, a red flush creeping up his face.

  “But he’s a squid! Is he a cannibal?”

  Meryll spun quickly toward Marinara and patted an arm in the air, as if to say, “Let me handle this.”

  “No, no, dear. He’s not a squid. He’s a sentient cephalopod. Yes, he looks like an Earth octopus but he’s the not the same—”

  “I have eight arms and two sensory tentacles—” Marinara interjected, and Meryll shook her head at him.

  “Perhaps we should step away from the table, until you feel more comfortable…”

  But the woman kept shaking her head and moaning “tentacles…tentacles…”

  Corum looked up and swallowed a mouthful of food. “I personall
y like the bits of suckers on the tentacles in my salad. I guess you get used to it here in Styx Town…”

  Meryll glared at him as she escorted the whimpering woman to the outside porch.

  JJ gave an incredulous laugh. “Why would anyone get so upset over octopus and squid? You live on Azure, you eat sea creatures.”

  Marinara peered over the top of his mobile tank. “I believe it was a misunderstanding. She thought I had sliced my arms and left a piece in the green salad…”

  A wave of laughter swept over the table and Wilfred looked distinctly uncomfortable. He looked up as Meryll came to his side.

  “Wilfred, your cousin would like to go now. She says she is feeling quite ill.”

  Wilfred harrumphed and looked at the spread of food across the long table, then reluctantly folded his napkin. “I apologize for her behavior. I didn’t know she’d be such a ditz.” There were murmurs of condolences from his fellow guests. Wilfred stood up and looked longingly at the table of pastries.

  Marinara hung over the edge of his tank. “If you would like, Meryll and I can make you a plate to take with you. That way you can still feast at home.”

  Wilfred’s face lit up. “I’d like that,” he replied and looked longingly at the pastry table again.

  “But leave out the tentacles!” JJ quipped.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Two

  Another meal, another feast, and Meryll, Marinara, Corum, and JJ were relaxing with one last drink.

  “What a feast, Marinara. You really outdid yourself today,” Corum complimented the chef.

  “It was yummy,” JJ agreed. “You’re almost finished with your cooking classes at school, aren’t you? What are you going to do now?”

  Marinara was silent as the three Humans looked at him. He hesitated, then stated, “I want to go to Earth.”