Tech World (Undying Mercenaries Series) (8 page)

-8-

A month passed before the big day came.
Minotaur
came out of warp, paused for a moment to get her bearings, and then glided like a stalking predator toward Tech World. Crawling across the star system in normal space, it took a full day to get from the designated warp-in point to the target planet.

During the final hour of the approach
, every trooper was on deck and wearing their full kit. A massive power pack humped my back like a bloated camel. On my shoulder rode my belcher, a venerable piece of legion armament. It was a powerful infantry weapon and the heaviest a single earthman could carry. But I had to wonder if a better heavy gun could be found somewhere else in the Empire.

Maybe, just maybe, we could find one and order it on a place like Tech World. If we could find a better weapon, shouldn’t we buy it and use it instead of these older weapons systems? We had the credits, I was sure of that. The belchers were reliable most of the time, but they had notorious problems with heat. They also took powerful hands and arms to operate which was why I suspected they were originally designed for much larger beings. Maybe my belcher was nothing more than a hunting rifle on its distant world of origin.

Schemes to gain better weaponry wormed in my head as I stood at the far left end of my unit’s third rank. Together, we formed ten ranks of ten troops each. A perfect square on parade.

My unit’s square was one of nearly a hundred such formations. There was only one chamber big enough to contain so many of us at once, and it wasn’t a spot I liked much. We were in the open hold standing on top of our unit modules. There were gaps between these modules—alarming crevasses five meters wide. Above us was the “roof” of the ship, the top of the main hold. Dull and crenulated with equipment, the roof was really the inside of the primary hull.
Beyond that was open space. Assembling our entire legion on top of these modules seemed dangerous to me. If there was a hull breach, we’d be hurled out into the void like so many motes of dust.

But no one had asked me about the pageantry of legion rotation. It was a tradition for the arriving legion and the legion being relieved to stand in full dress in a single area if at all possible. I knew our Tribune Drusus wasn’t about to let Germanica look more formal than we did.

There wasn’t any artificial gravity in the hold, so we had to use our magnetics to hold us down. We braced ourselves against the jolts of deceleration and course adjustments as we eased our way closer to the gigantic space station outside.

Throughout the lengthy docking process, the brass wanted us all on parade. There were camera drones buzzing everywhere. I had to smile at that. Drusus had even told us to hold up our unit flags. The rumpled banners displayed our Wolfshead emblem and our unit numbers, but the flags themselves hung oddly in null-G
, looking as if it was the most shockingly windless day in history.

All this sounded more exciting than it was. In practice, it meant standing around at attention on the flat roof of a module for an hour or two waiting for something,
anything
, to happen. I was left with plenty of time to think. I was excited to be arriving at Tech World. This would be my third visit to a new planet.

There was so little we knew about the Galactic Empire as a whole. I’d been impressed by the influx of funds, but so far I hadn’t heard much in the way of new information from the Empire
beyond Frontier 921. Natasha was excited by the new gadgets we’d gained access to, but I wanted something bigger. I wanted
information
—preferably in its rawest form.

I was jolted out of my reverie. Without warning, a tremendous clang rang out sweeping the hold. It was a sonic blast of such power it might have deafened the exposed troops if we hadn’t been sheltering inside helmets and suits. Even so, I saw men put their gauntlets up to the sides of their heads futilely trying to protect their ears.

Somehow, I knew what might happen next. I bent my knees and spread my feet a half-step wider. Even so, I was almost thrown flat by the rippling wave of vibration that swept through the ship. My feet felt like they were buzzing, and my head hurt.

“We’ve hit something!” Carlos shouted. I walked over to him, threw a hand out, and hauled him back to his feet.

Harris was marching the line, kicking and shoving troops back into line.

“Up, up!” he shouted. “It’s nothing—we’ve
arrived, that’s all. Get up off your cans! You look like a bunch of recruits crying for mama!”

Within seconds, we were back in formation, but we were wary now. Every helmet rotated to watch for cracks in the hull overhead.

My audio crackled, and Graves’ voice came into my helmet. “That was a dirty trick,” he said. “Germanica is operating that boom. I can almost hear their people laughing.”

I frowned. Could he be right? Legion rivalry had always been strong, and there was no legion more reviled than Varus. Germanica troops, on the other hand, had a pretty huge opinion of themselves. If they’d played a dangerous trick to knock us all on our butts while the cameras were running—well, that didn’t bode well for a smooth transition between the legions.

What felt like five minutes later, the ceiling lit up. We all gawked and stared. There they were, projected on the ceiling like a mirror in the sky, ten thousand strong. Legion Germanica in all its glory was displayed directly above us. I didn’t know where they’d managed to assemble, but they looked good.

Reluctantly, I had to admit they were sharp troops. Their blue-white flags fluttered majestically whereas our red and gold equivalents hung like limp towels. Every suit of armor shined like it’d been polished and dipped in chrome. Not a trooper was out of place. Not a hand or a helmet was out of alignment with the next man in line. In comparison, we were a ragged band of tarnished yokels.

“They must have fans or something to keep their banners up like that,” Carlos marveled. “Conceited bastards.”

“They’re pretty, aren’t they?” asked Veteran Harris loudly. He held the staff of our banner. As the senior non-com in the unit, the honor had fallen to him. “Their armor is unscratched because they never fight! They’d run like beetles if faced with a real battle.”

A roar of approval went up from our unit members, and I joined them. But I knew better. Germanica wasn’t as hard-scrabble as we were, and I’d bet our troops had twice the combat experience as their troops on average—but they were still the real deal. They were disciplined, organized, and deadly when a fight really came down.

All across the hold, Varus troops were waving fists and lofting weapons over their heads. Germanica troops stood in perfect ranks, motionless. They didn’t respond to our taunts which they were surely able to see. They stayed at attention and ignored us, and I came to understand we looked like so many apes making an embarrassing spectacle of ourselves.

The hullabaloo went on for a full minute before our officers roared for quiet. They got their wish, and we tightened up standing in silent neat rows again.

Above us, the projected image of shining ranks of ant-like troops was overlaid with another image. A huge, leering face appeared.

The face belonged to Germanica’s tribune, Maurice Armel. The first thing I noticed about him was that he was he looked like he smelled something bad. Real bad. His aristocratic nose was pinched up over pursed lips. His whisper of a mustache lay over his lip like a humped caterpillar, and his eyes were narrowed in disgust.

Carlos whistled. “That’s Armel all right,” he said. “I’ve read about him on the net. He thinks he’s pretty hot stuff.”

“That just means he’s soft,” I said without conviction.

Despite my words, those eyes didn’t look soft. They looked as hard as a man’s eyes could look. And considering that his face loomed directly above us like the very face of God himself, it was hard not to feel overawed by him.

“Legion Varus,” Tribune Armel began solemnly. “Legion Germanica welcomes you to our long-term station. May you perform your mission here as flawlessly as we have.”

Inside my helmet, my lips twisted themselves up like a pretzel. This guy sure did think a lot of himself. Standing watch at a quiet post didn’t indicate heroism—not in my book, anyway.

“Let’s play a game,” Carlos said. “Let’s count how many times Armel gives himself a compliment.”

I smiled despite myself. “I’d rather count how many times he slyly insults our legion.”

“Would you two shut up?” Harris demanded suddenly. “If I wasn’t standing in perfect ranks right now, I’d come down there and kick your butts off this module. Do you want to play that game?”

“No, Vet,” we muttered together. Others in the ranks chuckled at our expense.

The speech did go on for what I counted as twelve full minutes. Later, Carlos claimed it was fifteen. Whatever the case, he managed to pat himself and his legion on the back multiple times—while subtly suggesting we were substandard cretins barely capable of standing on two legs.

Finally, it was Tribune Drusus’ turn. His own face was alarmingly youthful and unimpressive in comparison to Armel’s, but I knew that wasn’t an accurate reflection of his capacities. He’d died a number of times in service to Legion Varus, and he wore his apparent youth like a badge.

His speech was blissfully brief and to the point. He accepted the mission from Germanica and formally requested permission to disembark. Armel gave it, and that was that.

The big screen overhead faded with the final images showing Germanica troops cheering and congratulating one another.

We were allowed to break ranks as well, and Natasha found her way to my side.

“They look pretty happy to be going home,” I remarked.

“They aren’t out of here yet,” Natasha said.

The ranks had broken as the cameras buzzed away, and we were left to file to the roof exits. I fell into step alongside her. I felt like an armored oaf clanking along beside the relatively tiny tech specialist.

“How long will the switchover take?” I asked her.

She shrugged. “A few weeks. Legion Germanica has to be satisfied that we’re capable of performing the mission then they’ll officially pass the duty to us.”

I snorted. “Compared to hot-dropping on a hostile world, this is a joke.”

“They don’t see it that way.”

Nearly ten long hours later, I was finally allowed off-ship and onto the massive space station named
Gelt
. There were several of these stations hanging in space over Tau Ceti. They were unbelievably huge and tethered permanently to the planet with an umbilical. The stations were called ‘megahabs,’ as they were capable of housing millions of humanoids each.

Transferring to
Gelt Station was a daunting experience. The structure was an amazing sight. Built like a spinning top, it had artificial gravity due to centrifugal force. The lower portion that hung down near the atmosphere contained all the machinery to keep the internals working. Power, water, atmosphere—it all came from the conical section at the bottom.

The planet had three small moons, the configuration of which allowed for La Grange points close to the planet. These were points where relatively stable orbits could be found for objects like this massive station.

The planet itself was almost as impressive as Gelt Station. Stretching out in an impossibly broad arc, the world was bigger than Earth, but due to a different composition, the gravity was reasonable. I wondered if I would ever get the opportunity to set foot on that gray-green, cloud-shrouded world.

Gliding aboard our lifter into a massive landing bay, we soon disembarked. Every head was craning and every mouth was gawking. The interior of the station was amazing. There were colored lights and holograms everywhere. The interior space was so vast it was as if we’d entered a new world. In a way, we had. T
he sheer number of galleries, holds, workshops, and massive cylindrical passageways we marched by kept everyone in awe.

The interior of
Gelt Station was a single massive city. It was probably the largest city I’d ever visited in my life. There were countless marvels to see. The transportation system by itself made me feel like a primitive.

By setting foot on a
broad flying disk, I was able to state my destination to the pilot, apply my tapper to a credit voucher to the console, and be whisked away to anywhere I cared to go.

The pilot was a
fast-talking guy who looked like a blue turtle. He gestured and chattered until I stumped up to try one of the disks. We’d been ordered to find our own way to our new quarters which were currently located on the sun-side of the station. Due to Gelt Station’s stable orbit, part of the megahab faced the planet while the other half faced the local star, but as the station rotated, everyone had a day-night cycle. As a species that preferred warmth, we’d been given living space on the upper rim, a region of the massive structure that tended to stay warmer.

Natasha caught me before I touched my credit voucher to the console.

“Just a minute,” she said. “How much is this little ride going to cost?”

The turtle-guy threw up two stump arms—or were they legs? “A pittance,
citizen. A pittance. The exact amount is impossible to calculate until you’ve arrived. Traffic conditions may lengthen the journey, you see.”