Tech World (Undying Mercenaries Series) (9 page)

I frowned. “You mean I’m paying for time spent in transit?”

“Of course, sir! Naturally! Would you deny my children their feed?”

People on Tech World
often talked like this according to the briefing. Anything you suggested that might lower a price was considered offensive and downright miserly. All the same, haggling was expected.

“Maybe you could share the fare,” I suggested to Natasha.

She shook her head. “How much per minute?” she asked.

“Always the questions! Always they doubt me,
they suspect me. Already I’ve lost a full credit’s worth of time talking to you two. Would you deny me my next meal just to stand here and chit-chat?”

“That’s what I thought,” she said. “Come on, James.”

“Wait! A credit, a single credit piece per minute! You’ll not find anything cheaper.”

“A full credit per minute?” I demanded incredulously. “You
are
a cheat.”

We turned to go. A
credit on Earth—a Galactic credit—was easily a full hour’s wage for a skilled human worker. You could rent an apartment for a ten credits a week—a good one.

“Wait!” cried the turtle again. “I give you bargain.
Five credits, whole trip. You can’t walk. It’s thirty kilometers at least.”

“All right,” Natasha said. “But we’re sharing the fare.”

The turtle grumbled, but at last we climbed aboard his disk and shot off, beginning the wildest ride I’ve ever been on. I can’t tell you what it was like because there aren’t any earthly equivalents. Imagine, if you will, a rollercoaster car without tracks that’s let loose in a modern major city—but this rollercoaster flies and is piloted by an insane blue turtle that moves like a mongoose.

We were almost sick by the time we arrived
at our quarters ten long minutes later. The turtle threw us out then shook a stumpy appendage at me.

“What?” I asked.

“A gratuity is customary in your culture,” he explained.

I scoffed. “You just got a
day’s wages off me for a ten minute flight. Here’s your tip: don’t gouge people.”

The turtle flew off in a huff, and we were blasted by a wash of ozone-tasting exhaust.

-9-

The majority of Tau Ceti’s population wasn’t made up of turtles, blue or otherwise. Most citizens were a humanoid race known as the Tau. They roughly matched the size and dimensions of an Asian person from Earth. That’s where the similarities stopped, however. Up close, they were pretty alien-looking. They had reddish-pink skin, black bug-eyes, and fringes of squirmy eating-tentacles that surrounded their mouths like a fleshy beard. Frankly, to me the tentacles were disgusting.

If you did
n’t look at their faces they looked human enough. But as I understood it, if you eyed them closely (something I’d never done) the differences became glaringly obvious. For one thing, they had a lot more visible ropy veins than we do. The bio people said that was because Tau stored their body fat internally rather than as an outer coating under the skin. When their muscles moved or their organs churned, you could watch the action right through their thin hides.

It was the Tau who had built this amazing space station. A megahab floating in orbit over the sole habitable planet in the Tau Ceti system,
Gelt Station was an amazing achievement by itself. The Tau had also developed the amazing level of commerce that trafficked here. As far as I could tell, every alien product that Earth purchased each year, plus our banking connection to the Core Systems, funneled through this single structure. As a result, the Gelt space station was the mercantile capital of Frontier 921 serving our local network of a few dozen inhabited star systems. For that achievement alone, I found the Tau to be an impressive species.

Unfortunately, their individual personalities were lacking. They were a universally self-serving and suspicious people. They fawned over anyone who had money and reviled those who didn’t. In their society, everything had a price with wealth being the sole indicator of social status.

The neighborhood surrounding our barracks was a case in point. There were countless salesmen manning booths as well as fully automated kiosks all of which relentlessly hawked all sorts of garbage to relieve the troops of any credits they may have brought with them. The products sold looked to be high quality at first glance, but a cursory inspection of “genuine saurian leather boots” turned up a cheap synthetic with bad stitching. Sexual aids shoved into boxes with human anatomical imagery on the label contained devices obviously incompatible with our physiology. The list went on.

Worse, the selling-machines were noisy. There seemed to be no limit to how gaudy, irritating and loud you could make an advertisement on Tech World. I had to push my way past a grasping mechanical hand that played loud discordant noises, which apparently passed for music somewhere in the universe, just to get into the lobby.

Inside the barracks, relative quiet reigned. I heaved a sigh and turned to Natasha.

“It’s hell out there,” I said. “I’m disappointed.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re stuck here in this loony bin for a whole year, that’s why.”

She seemed incredulous. “To me this place is
fantastic
,” she said with feeling. “I’m looking forward to searching every inch of Gelt Station for good products to take home. Don’t worry about those vendors at the door they’ll be gone in a few hours. Whoever owns them probably bought a short-term permit to catch newcomers. Every major Earth city has stuff like that to watch out for. You just have to keep your hand on your wallet—and don’t get too drunk.”

I shook my head, annoyed. I hated cities in general, and this one was worse than any I’d ever seen. Alien-filled, noisy, overrun with traffic and confusion—and I was stuck here for an entire year. I was already missing home.

“Don’t tell me you’d rather be squatting in your shed drinking beer,” Natasha said.

With a shrug, I turned toward the looming interior of the barracks. I frowned, then stared, then finally cocked my head.

“Is this a joke?” I asked. “Don’t you think these modules are familiar-looking?”

They were, in fact, the same modular living quarters we’d left behind on
Minotaur
.

“Of course they are,” Natasha said. “That’s why we were shipped out here in these things. They unload the living modules here at headquarters and plug the habitats right in. It’s an instant home for our species. They’re preset for a comfortable temperature, air pressure—the works. Don’t tell me you were hoping to live like a native out on the streets.”

I turned to her in amazement. “But…why didn’t they just drop the modules off here with us in them?” I demanded. “That would have been so much easier. All these troops crossing Gelt Station on their own dime, getting lost, wasting time…”

Natasha laughed and shook her head. “I can see you have a lot to learn about this place. The Tau would never permit ten thousand suckers to slip by them like that. I’m sure they denied
Minotaur
landing permission for cargo and passengers at the same location. They probably directed them to let us off at customs then sent the ship around to unload our modules here—on the opposite end of the station.”

“Customs?” I asked. “I don’t remember much in the way of searching and document-checking.

“There’s none of that here. If you have enough money to get to the station, you belong here. That’s the Tau rule. They have a few automated weapons detectors and the like at the entrance, I’m sure, but that’s about it.”

I nodded slowly as we climbed a long flight of steps up to our unit module. “I’m beginning to get it. If they delivered us here efficiently, they’d have missed out on fleecing noobs at the door. This way, who knows how many turtles made a profit on pointless transportation alone. What a waste.”

“One creature’s waste is the next creature’s profit,” she said.

I frowned at her.

“It’s a local proverb,” she explained. “I’ve been reading up on these people since Turov announced our mission objective.”

“I can tell.”

When we found our way up to the unit module, I was recognized by the entry system and ordered by my tapper to head to a briefing in the wardroom. Natasha received the same orders, but Carlos and Kivi didn’t. We met up with them in the hallway and Carlos complained that someone should have warned him that his newly purchased “real life human sex partner” would be a balloon with feathers glued to it.

We headed to the meeting, and I realized by the nature of the crowd accompanying us that only the officers and noncoms had been summoned. Grunts hadn’t been invited. Lucky them.

When we’d all assembled, I half expected Turov to project herself on the wall again. But instead, Centurion Graves arrived last with someone I didn’t know in tow behind him.

The guest was an officer, and he was an old guy. Shockingly old. White hair frosted his naturally wrinkled skin and even his neatly trimmed fringe of a beard was a salt and pepper mix like my own granddad wore. I was fairly certain no one in Legion Varus was that old—at least not outwardly. His body was probably fifty-plus and we found it shocking to see someone that old in uniform. I saw the bullshead emblem of Taurus on his shoulder and realized he was a member of Legion Germanica.

We came to attention and saluted. Centurion Graves ordered us to stand at ease and introduced his guest.

“This is Adjunct Claver,” Graves said. “He’s been assigned to our unit during the handover of the mission from Legion Germanica to Legion Varus. Adjunct, if you please.”

Claver took a step forward and gazed at us with ice-blue eyes. His silver hair was cropped down to a square shape on his skull, and his heavy lips were drawn into a tight grin.

“Welcome to Tech World, troops,” he said in an alarming baritone with a mild Texan accent. His voice was one of those that naturally carried overriding all other speech in the room. “Most of my friends call me Old Silver—but you aren’t my friends so don’t bother. I’m here to explain your duties and help make this transition as easy as possible for all parties concerned. I’ve spent no less than nine tours here on Tau Ceti over the years, and I know how this place operates.
Consider me to be your local guide.”

Claver made a little speech about avoiding certain regions of the station when alone and off-duty. The most prominent of these was a region known as “The Vents” which was apparently a low-oxygen region far down in the bowels of the station. He also told us that any bargain that seemed too good to be true definitely
was
on this planet.

When he finally got around to explaining our specific assignment, I was happily surprised.

“Light units are being assigned to police duties,” he said. “But the heavy troops are going to be hired out on an individual basis as bodyguards and for other special duties. The inhabitants of Gelt Station are an odd group. They’ll pinch a penny until it bleeds one minute, then blow a thousand credits on some extravagant display of wealth to impress their peers the next. Heavy troopers are our real cash cows in this system. With all that armor and weaponry, you don’t really fit in standing on street corners. But you
look
scary, and that’s worth credit!”

Claver laughed loudly and didn’t seem to notice or care that none of the rest of us were joining in.

“Honestly,” he continued, “for a heavy unit like this one, I’d recommend you invest in polish. Buff out every battle scar on your armor, and consider having it dipped in chrome. Down on violet deck they have some excellent metal smiths. They can do damn well anything.”

For the first time, I began to frown. This wasn’t what I’d been expecting. I’d been waiting for a list of active threats—for a battle plan, maybe. But it was sinking in that we weren’t here to fight anyone. We were here to babysit merchant princes and polish our armor. It was quite a letdown.

At last the question and answer session began. I immediately raised my armored hand high.

A long arm reached up behind me and gripped my shoulder, attempting to force my hand down. I resisted automatically, and due to my superior height and the whining power-assist motors in my suit, my assailant was unable to force me to comply with his wishes.

“Dammit McGill, put your friggin’ hand down!” Harris hissed in my ear.

“Oh, sorry Veteran,” I said, turning him a pleasant look of surprise. “I didn’t notice you there.”

Harris glowered at me, and I finally lowered my arm—but it was too late.

“Yes?” Claver asked loudly. “You there, that telephone pole of a man. Speak up.”

I turned back to the adjunct and I could feel Harris’ breath on the back of my head.

“Sir, could you do a rundown on local threats?”

“Local threats?”

“Yes sir. I understand we’re to bodyguard a local merchant princess. But who are we to protect her from?”

Claver chuckled. “A groper on the subway, maybe,” he said. “Or a bad piece of fruit she might purchase. Really, there aren’t any significant threats on this station. The Tau allowed to work and live here are the best of their species. There are no youths, no children. Only successful adults from below can reach this station if they meet the stringent qualifications. Even then, there are a few thieves and robbers around—nothing organized, however.”

I frowned, nodding. Claver turned to Centurion Graves, and I sensed they were about to wrap things up.

My hand rose again. I heard Harris make a choking sound behind me.

“Sir?” I asked. “What about down on the planet surface? Is there any trouble down there?”

“Ha!” Claver said. “Yes, loads of it. Rival gangs burn entire districts sometimes. Rebels hold chunks of land and even some of the underwater stations. Don’t know why they don’t just flush them all out into the ocean.”

I frowned. That didn’t sound like a trouble-free environment to me. But I guessed that if we’d been hired to guard people on this station only, we didn’t have much to worry about.

At least, that’s how things had worked out for Germanica whenever they’d been assigned out here for a long, dull year.