Endless Night (The Guild Wars Book 3) Page 12

  “My translation matrix is struggling with your nuance, but yes, I set tactical doctrine and provide strategic leadership for military operations.”

  “Then it is an honor to meet you, Admiral. However, my inadequate Human mouth parts find Goltar words tricky, so with your permission I should like to use the honored Terran name of Admiral Squidward.”

  “By all means.” Squidward bowed and performed an elaborate cat’s cradle gesture with his tentacle tips. Blue didn’t know how Goltar sexual identity operated, but she decided Squidward was definitely a he.

  “Do you, personally, wish to visit Earth?” Squidward asked her.

  Habit prompted Blue to scoff at the notion of returning to the planet whence she’d fled. But then she corrected herself and pictured her mother’s grave marker. “One time only. A brief stop and never to return. My sister, Major Sun, would give you the same answer.”

  “If Gloriana released your non-Goltar mercenaries from their contractual obligations, and they chose to leave, what would you do, Captain? Would you stay if you were the only one left?”

  “But it wouldn’t be just me, Admiral. It would be me and the ship. I’ll stick with Midnight Sun, come what may.”

  The Admiral flailed his limbs in what had to be the Goltar happy dance. “Splendid,” he said once he’d settled. “You are here in person not only because I wish to meet you in the physical realm, but because I need my technicians to construct a more detailed matrix of your physiological, mental, and spiritual configurations. This will lead to greater fidelity with your new combat simulations. For that, we need equipment only available aboard my flagship.”

  “Fine by me. Keep ’em coming. Not that I’m complaining about being given the ultimate gaming suite, but I don’t understand why you care so much. Wait, you haven’t wired me up for FTL telemetry, have you? When I’m running virtual combat simulations, I’m not really commanding a real space fleet somewhere else in the galaxy, am I?”

  The two Goltar froze, evidently stunned by the concept. “That is a powerful idea, worthy of a great military visionary. Did you just dream that up?”

  “Nah. It was in a storybook I read when I was a kid. Great book. I tell you, my boney Goltar chums, give me an imaginary galactic civilization with any set of technological constraints, and I’ll show you a library of stories Humans have written describing the optimum military strategy for that scenario.”

  “Fascinating.”

  Blue waited for more, but that was all Squidward had to say on the matter. Once again, the Goltar had completely ignored Blue’s questions. Blue wasn’t used to being ignored.

  “I tell you something else about Humans,” she said. “We don’t like being kept in the dark, and yet that’s still all we ever get from you. I suggested turning the company fully Goltar, or replenishing personnel from other races. Let me give you a third option. We’ll buy the company off you, Gloriana, and run it as a Human company. And, yes, we’ll buy the ship, too.”

  Gloriana set alternate arms trembling, a Goltar sign of amusement. “I pay you handsomely, Captain. But not that well. Cease this foolish line of thought.”

  “Don’t seek bad explanations for our secrecy,” said Squidward. “We have remained hidden for far longer than is truly healthy. I assume you are aware of how the Veetanho usurped our position in the Union.”

  “Sure. You were top dogs in the early Merc Guild. The Veetanho pulled off a coup that cast you to the shadows but couldn’t rid themselves of you altogether. So they used their influence with the Information Guild to suppress your existence from the GalNet. Worse than seen and not heard, you were unseen and never heard of. Quite the humiliation for a once-dominant race. You’ve been nursing your grudge ever since, accumulating resources over millennia, and now it’s payback time.”

  “Thousands of years of secrecy are not easily abandoned,” said Squidward.

  “Problem still stands, Admiral. Prying information out of you is like opening up a mussel with just fingernails. It’s a lot of fuss and bother, and the tiny thing inside just tastes like mucus.”

  “We are studying you,” said Squidward.

  “Oh.” Blue flashed the Goltar her sweetest smile. “Does that make me the humanoid poster girl? If I inspected the berths on your ship, would I see the bulkheads plastered with waterproof posters of me in flattering poses?”

  “If so, then I am not aware of it. You are inventive and unconventional, Blue. You think in ways that we do not, and Midnight Sun has capabilities that are equally unconventional in modern war. We learn from you both. Tactical innovation can be a tremendous asset, and we like what we see. Would you like to command a fleet comprised of scores of warships modelled on Midnight Sun?”

  Blue swallowed hard and hoped her little moan in pleasure hadn’t transmitted. “Yes,” she squeaked behind her mask.

  “Then follow the scenarios we will soon be giving you.”

  She collected herself and looked Squidward in his bone-shielded eyes. “I’m still responsible for the day-to-day operations of the company. Our non-Goltar marine mercenaries are handsomely paid, but they still need and deserve answers and direction. What is the point of retaining them when all you wish to do is watch my fancy flying? And what the hell are we doing in this dump, rather than returning to Tau-Rietzke?”

  “We have a…crisis,” said Gloriana. “I know you served aboard Unlikely Regret under Captain Jenkins for two years, plying the Spine Nebula trade routes. You understand that the people of the spine have always been poor. They inhabit failed star systems cut off from the wider galaxy because the only gate access to the nebula is here in the system of Beta-Caerelis. A dark force has emerged. The worlds here are being suppressed. Crushed.” She flailed her limbs in a violent outburst. “Good people are being murdered!”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” said Blue when Gloriana’s spasm of anger had calmed a little. “But explain this: You Goltar are busy after emerging from hiding. You remember? Veetanho, usurpers, manifest destiny, rightful place in the Union and all that? Why the hell should you care about the Spine Nebula?”

  “Commercial interests,” Squidward replied. The Goltar-Human translation matrix had progressed so far that Blue could detect nuance from the Goltar serving in her company. Thus far, Squidward had been impenetrable—perhaps he spoke in a different dialect?—but Blue had the sense that he had chosen his words with great care. Was he concealing something?

  As if, Blue sneered at herself. Might as well ask whether the Pope poops in the woods.

  Gloriana thrashed her limbs again and blew a stream of gas from her blowhole. “I am here due to personal interests. My former husband served here as Governor of the Infinite Flow. He was murdered by terrorists.”

  “Councilor!” snapped Squidward.

  “I failed my darling Xal-Ssap in life. I will not do so again in death.”

  “Once my technicians are finished with you, Captain,” Squidward said hurriedly, “I shall return with the bulk of the fleet to the coreward systems. The Earth has been liberated for now, but it is becoming clear that Peepo’s occupation of your home world was merely one aspect of a wider plan that affects all of us.”

  “And I,” announced Gloriana, “will lead a small element of two frigates deeper into the Spine Nebula to learn more of what is transpiring here. Meanwhile, Captain, you and Midnight Sun will remain docked at Station 5 while your personnel enjoy the rest and recuperation they deserve. Use this time to also recruit non-Goltar mercenaries. Initially, plan for two full companies, from which we will build multiple battalions as suits our timetable. Once the crisis in the nebula has been resolved, and the murderers exterminated, we shall return to Tau-Rietzke and see what state the galaxy is in at that point.”

  “My personnel must be allowed to visit Earth if they choose. I want a guarantee written into revised contracts for all of them. Same goes for personnel still at Kuber Park Base on Tau-Rietzke. In the next year, they will be offered one guaranteed three-month liberty
on Earth with transportation paid for.”

  “I can guarantee a three-month liberty on Earth, but only within the next eighteen months.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Good,” said Admiral Squidward. “This encounter has been highly productive. Follow me, Captain. My technicians are eager to get their limbs on you, and there is great urgency to all our tasks.”

  “Fine with me, Admiral. I love a good crisis, and Midnight Sun simply aches for them. Lead on, sweetie.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Ecliptic North Bar, Deck 12, Vane 3, Station 5

  Jex was about to get to the good part of the story, the bit where he got away with his life, the girl, the bike, and fifteen tons of fresh Cromer crab, but his audience was defecting, casting their attention on something unseen behind him.

  He twisted his stool around and saw Major Sun heading their way along with her bit of Danish bacon in a wheelchair.

  He smiled a greeting, along with everyone else at the table who seemed delighted at who was about to join them. Nonetheless, Jex was still trying to figure this woman out. She was the most diminutive CASPer pilot he’d ever seen, but she drove a Mk 8 like she’d been born in one. She carried the scars of an eventful life on her pretty face. And she was pretty. In affairs of the heart, senior officers were as out of bounds as cheap hookers at the Pope’s birthday party, but he could see why Branco hadn’t been able to help himself. Jex had never seen Sun’s smile reach the dark pools of her eyes, but he was sure it would be one of the most wondrous sights in the galaxy.

  Kenngar, the only surviving Zuul amongst the Midnighters, barked a happy greeting. “Hey, Sun. Good to see you back, Branco. You’ll never believe the half of what Jex has been telling us. Come on, Suffolk boy. Tell Sun and Branco how you managed to stomp around that battlecruiser at twelve Gs without passing out.”

  Jex’s eyes lingered on the major. Top had warned him that the major had recently started acting like she was one of the enlisted troopers. The Spaniard had explained that all the other non-Goltar officers had died during the Raknar job, the sister she’d been inseparable from had disappeared into her CIC command station, and the man she loved had been kept in a coma for the past six months on her orders. Albali said to cut the CO some slack and act like it was normal.

  Kenngar leaned over the table and slapped a hand down in front of Jex. “Let’s hear it, Suffolk.”

  “The secret,” Jex told them when Branco and Sun had settled beside him at the table and ordered drinks from the robo-waiter, “is speedway.”

  “Speedway?” Sun shook her head. “You mean sliding motorbikes around a dirt track?”

  “Not anymore, um…” What was he supposed to call her? Sun? Major? “Boss. Bike speedway still exists, but it was already a tired old sport back when the aliens first showed up in orbit and everything changed. Imagine what it must have been like back then. The world was busy fretting over its usual problems when suddenly aliens and spaceships are all over the news. A stargate suddenly meant something more than an old telly show. You could bloody well go through one for real. Well, compared with that, watching a 500cc dirt bike going round and round no longer cut the mustard.”

  He grinned at the man in the wheelchair. Branco didn’t strike Jex as a merc. Even stuck in that chair, he had a certain physical grace about him. A poise like a Danish James Bond.

  “Branco knows about that, don’t you, mate? Ultra Speedway is even bigger in Denmark than in England. I raced at the Vojens Stadium a few times. Still watch Dansk Liga matches on Tri-V.”

  Branco blinked, confused. He wasn’t bloomin’ 007 now. The poor bastard looked utterly lost.

  “Branco is on some strong medication,” Sun informed him, her dark eyes narrowed. “The doctors are still experimenting with the best dosages. His memories before joining the Midnighters are severely clouded.”

  “Sorry to hear that, mate. But everyone is mad for Ultra Speedway in Denmark. Maybe I’ll swing by some time and we can watch some old cup matches together. Might help you reconnect with your past.”

  “Maybe you should reconnect with your story,” warned Sun.

  Jex cleared his throat. “So…Speedway. To add to the thrills, they upgraded the bikes.”

  “They upgraded the bikes,” echoed Berenice Chappelle in a mocking voice. She went by the name of Turnaround, and Jex looked forward to learning why. She jumped around the table and squeezed between Branco and Sun so she could show them some Ultra Speedway footage on her slate.

  Jex grinned as Sun’s mouth dropped open. He grinned even more when Turnaround gave him a wink. It was a damn shame being in the same team put her completely out of bounds.

  “What are those things?” Sun asked, her gaze riveted to the slate.

  “Officially, they’re called dirigible rockets.” Jex shrugged. “But that’s just fancy London-speak. We call them ultra-bikes, but they’re more like sand yachts with rocket engines and—just like the old speedway bikes—they ain’t got no brakes.”

  Turnaround whistled, impressed. “That’s insanely dangerous.”

  “That’s true. And so is mercing. Figured that instead of risking life and limb for a decent income on the bikes, I’d rather wear a mechanized suit and do so for some really serious coin. So here I jolly well am.”

  Suddenly, Branco sprang to life, the confusion on his face suddenly replaced by mania. It was a look Jex had seen on the faces of men with nowhere left to run. “Hold fire on your story,” he told the Dane.

  “Sorry, Jex.”

  “No problem. I already know how it ends.”

  Laughing, Branco wheeled himself over to the neighboring table where the team Tortantula stood alone and brooding.

  It was Jex’s turn to let his jaw drop and allow the flies to escape, because Branco gave Betty a comradely slap on one of her foreleg joints, about the only place he could touch without impaling his hand on the needlelike hairs that covered her legs. “I’m sorry, pal,” he told the alien monster, “I suppose they’ve already told you that I’m dying.”

  “Yes, Branco,” Betty replied in the clicking of Tortantula speech. “It is a bitter disappointment for me.”

  “Yeah. Sucks for me, too. We had that crazy notion of us teaming up for a while. I would have tried it, too.”

  “A Human rider,” said Betty. She patted Branco’s head with one of her palps. “We would have been unique.”

  “We would. The slaughter would have been glorious. And the feasting better.” Branco winked at Sun as he whispered up toward Betty’s head. “I would never forbid you to eat those we vanquished.”

  The Tortantula rumbled deep inside her abdomen. Was that laughter? “You are my favorite Human, Branco, which is why I wish to ask you a favor. One that would come into effect when you die. Tatterjee is inside me. I know you think I’m strange to say that. I ate and digested my Flatar partner long ago, but the bond between Tort and rider is deeper than you can ever understand. If I ate you, you would also remain with me in spirit after your flesh has gone.”

  Branco slapped his friend’s leg again. “Of course, buddy. I’d like that. If you’re sure my illness wouldn’t make you sick, that is.”

  The look of horror on Sun’s face suggested it wasn’t the kind of funeral arrangement she had in mind.

  “You’re my friend,” said Betty. “You won’t make me sick.”

  “Good to hear.” Branco wheeled back to the humanoid table. “Sorry, Jex, but that couldn’t wait. Carry on.”

  How could Jex possibly follow that? “Mate, you just gave a Tortantula the okay to eat you.”

  Branco shrugged. “I’m dying. Makes me do weird shit.”

  “No.” Jex grinned; he decided he liked this guy. “Being Danish makes you do weird shit. I told you, I used to race in the land of Lego. You Danes are crazy.”

  Branco didn’t join in the banter. Instead, a vacant look smothered his face once more. Maybe talking about Denmark was not good for the poor guy. B
etter switch away from their pasts on Earth ASAP, then.

  “You asked how I kept going when the big Gs were crushing you lot onto the floor. Simple. My insides are filled with pipes and pumps so I can broadside round the bends of the track without passing out. Shame it only kicks in for the pro-level Gs. Didn’t even know it still worked.”

  “Intriguing,” said Turnaround. Jex wasn’t sure he liked the sly look in her eyes. “I’m sure Jenkins could rig up a high-G centrifuge for you, Sergeant Jex. We could test the clockwork parts to make sure they still do what they’re supposed to.”

  “Careful, Jex,” warned Cleggy. “Knowing Jenkins, he’ll rip open your chest and replace the gubbins inside with an upgrade of his own design.”

  Everyone laughed, Jex included. “This Jenkins sounds dangerous. Who is he?”

  “Alien super spy.”

  “Special projects engineer.”

  “Not what you want to find crawling under your prize cabbages.”

  “A cobbler’s dream.”

  “He saved all our lives,” said Cleggy. The others had snapped off their attempted witticisms so quick that Jex couldn’t tell who’d said what. Not so Cleggy. He’d spoken with feeling.

  “He did,” agreed Turnaround. “He’s a canny Jeha, and I’m glad he’s on our side. The boss sisters recruited him on this very station when they took command of the company. His real name is all clicks and clacks, of course, so Captain Blue named him Jenkins after the free trader they’d served under before washing up on Station 5. One of her little jokes.”

  “I don’t get it,” said Jex, looking anxiously at the boss sister sitting beside him. She didn’t seem to mind being talked about, though. “What’s so funny about calling him Jenkins?” he asked Turnaround, though keeping an eye on Sun.

  Sun replied. “It amused my sister to big up our former boss in the mind of our favorite millipede. She wove tales of this chivalrous hero, a warrior of the people who defended justice and mathematics, and all the other things our Jenkins admires.”