Fracture Lines (The Glass Complex Book 2) (6 page)

Steg opened the door a fraction and peered out through bleary eyes. It was the same corporal.

“Captain de Coeur?”

“Yes?”

“Sir, the colonel’d like to meet with you in an hour. Breakfast’s available in the officers’ mess.”

“Very good. Where’s the mess?”

“Head to your left, take the next corridor to the right, it’s the fifth door on the left.” The corporal indicated the general direction. “After you’ve eaten I’ll escort you to the colonel’s office.”

Steg nodded his assent. He showered and dressed in the mottled-green uniform provided to him by the corporal. It was better, Steg thought, than his prison garb. He dumped the gray clothing into a recycle bin. He followed the corporal’s directions to the mess where he sat and enjoyed his breakfast, a welcome change from the tasteless rations served in Diyark prison. He finished his meal and stepped out of the mess, looking for his escort; it was time to meet with the colonel.

As promised, the marine was waiting for him. He said. “It’s not far. The colonel’s office is along here.”

When they entered the same small office of the previous evening, the colonel dismissed the corporal and cleared a chair of paperwork. He indicated Steg should sit.

Steg waited for the colonel to begin their meeting; he was uncertain what direction the conversation would head. At last the officer closed the folder he had been reviewing and focused on Steg.

“No one ever told me there would be so much paperwork,” Attwood complained. “You’ll find out, I’m sure. Now, let me see. What the hell is the Imperial Intelligence Agency?”

“The Agency’s a small operation. It was established by the Emperor and fields about one hundred operatives, Drawn from Imperial Marines or Special Forces, senior, experienced, highly skilled. We operate a dreadnought and have another two available. Our focus is intelligence. However, it’s become apparent the agency’s even more secretive than I thought. I don’t understand why no one knows of its existence.” He did not mention the date discrepancy embedded in his memories.

“Interesting. You have an obligation to report to them?” A frown creased the colonel’s forehead.

“Yes. I’ve been kept away from all communication devices, so far.” He hid his suspicion that portals somehow had moved him back in time.

“How did you board the hospital starship while she was underway?”

“I’ve no idea. I don’t mean to be flippant, but I have no memory of boarding
xTaur
. I’m only now beginning to remember how I got this.” Steg touched the scar down the side of his face.

“If I can answer your questions about us—here, today—will you work for me?”

“Let’s discuss what you intend, first.”

“Good. I’m short of intelligent people who also can handle themselves. I can get plenty of general rankers; however, I need officers. My second in command, Major Fowler, wants to retire. When he does, it’ll leave me more than short-handed. I told you last night, we’re mercenaries, operating under a letter of marque. Legally, we’re an extension of the Siccan military, and while we can negotiate our own assignments, we’re accountable to them. One consequence of the arrangement is that we cannot contract against any of their allies.”

“I’ve some knowledge of Sicca. What kind of assignments do you look for?”

“Overall, we’re a small force and our mainstay activities are short-term missions, which can be financially rewarding. Sometimes it might be anti-piracy. Or other times we’re hired to knock sense into a small-time local terrorist-type uprising against a legitimate government. If the reward percentage is good, we may do a search and retrieval, say, if some general or politician has fled a planet with a case full of ill-gotten funds. Our typical involvement profile is intra-system, only rarely inter-system. We belong to a loose association of mercenaries, and we avoid conflicts with our associates. We’re able to call on another ten to twelve units, upwards of three thousand men, if needed. Finally, we’ve access to general infantry, a Siccan brigade group, up to a hundred thousand or so, supported by armored units, if we need lots of grunts on the ground.”

“The impression I’m gaining,” Steg said, “is you’re claiming a clean operation. You’re implying no piracy, no slave runs, no opportunistic raids, no ransom attacks? Your assignments are legitimate, always contracted, and supported by Sicca?”

“Precisely.” The colonel tapped his files. “We’d lose our letter of marque, and the authorities on Sicca would outlaw us, otherwise. Personally, I wouldn’t like to be pursued by Siccans if ever they proscribed me. They’re called War Merchants for a good reason, and we wouldn’t survive for long if we challenged them. If they didn’t kill us, they’d lock us up in a Siccan prison for the rest of our lives. Rest assured, we’re legitimate privateers, fully authorized by Sicca. I can show you our documentation, if you like.”

Steg nodded. “Very well. So what makes you stand out as mercenaries? Why should I join a small group of, to be blunt, near-pirates?”

“You need to take into account our successes. Our strategies. Our honor. Our armor. We have a trained and motivated force. Their earnings are high. I can let you have summary reports, copies of what we provide to the War Merchants.”

“I still have concerns,” Steg said. “So you take murderers and others, press-gang them, and expect they’ll fit into your way of fighting and support your letter of marque?”

“We look for potentially good recruits—people like yourself, for example. If they don’t accept our offer, we return them. Later, if anyone disobeys lawful commands or tries to mutiny, we hand the survivors over to Siccan authorities, who deal with them for us. Come with me. I’ll show you some of our set-up.” The colonel stood and headed for the door. Steg followed. He did not notice the sergeant smiling to himself.

Attwood led Steg further into the starship. They changed levels both up and down, as Steg followed the mercenary leader. He was surprised at the extent of core structural reinforcements, which appeared to have been installed in the last two or three years. The fullerene-steel was brighter and newer and, in places, sturdy beams had been added to the original construction of the starship.

At last they stopped outside a set of double doors, which was locked and secured electronically. A sign on the bulkhead threatened all kinds of penalties for anyone who attempted an unauthorized entry. The colonel keyed in numbers, provided a vocal response to a directed security question, and when the lock released, swung open one of the heavy doors. He stepped into the room first, signaling for Steg to follow.

“Hi, Monty,” Attwood said as he closed the door. “I’ve brought Steg de Coeur to meet you. He’s the one we offered a captaincy, as you suggested. How’s business?”

Steg was stunned to see a large, multi-tentacled, cephalopod-like alien located in a large glass-walled tank. The alien’s eyes were huge and round. He had no neck; his head was integrated with his body, forming a large bulbous base for all his tentacles. These, Steg guessed, were twelve feet long, and colored in bright, almost glowing, red and blue stripes. They were covered in small suckers and had sharp barbs distributed along each flexible limb. The reinforced glass front of the tank, he estimated, was twenty feet high, reaching to the ceiling, and a hundred feet across, stretching the width of the room. Shadows prevented Steg from seeing all the way into the tank although he suspected it stretched back some hundreds of feet. The alien, whom the colonel had addressed as Monty, was resting on a stone or coral bench at the front of the tank, and was working at what appeared to be an array of computers. He continued to enter commands, touch-typing with the tips of two of his tentacles while he spoke to his visitors.

“Excellent, thanks, Ryan,” replied Monty, waving three tentacles. “Hi, Steg. Welcome to my world.” The voice, a deep baritone, came from speakers set high on the glass wall.

Steg, unable to determine what generated the alien’s voice, was momentarily speechless.

The alien chuckled. “Yours is the typical reaction.”

“Sorry, Monty,” Steg said. “I was surprised. Colonel Attwood didn’t warn me. Thank you for your welcome.”

The alien waved a tentacle, indicating a set of chairs in front of his tank. “Sit down. Let’s talk for a minute or two.”

“I’ll leave Steg with you, Monty. All right?”

“Sure thing, Ryan. Come back in an hour. We’ll let you know if we finish earlier.”

A stunned de Coeur sat on one of the indicated chairs as the colonel departed, closing the heavy door behind him. Steg heard the locks click home.

“I hope your tank is waterproof,” Steg said.

“Ha. I hope yours is airproof,” returned Monty with the octopus equivalent of a chuckle. “Now tell me everything. I want to know all the details, in your own words, of what happened to you, since you arrived on
xTaur.
I need all the data you can provide. Let’s see if you can tell me anything of your memories prior to that temporal point. If it’s not an Imperial secret, of course. Dr. Yi seemed like an empathetic doctor, I’ve read her case notes. Talk to me.” Monty was persuasive and Steg found himself willing to talk, to consider and possibly disclose items he had not mentioned to the doctor or to the therapist. He did not remark on the alien’s ability to penetrate the hospital ship’s computer records—he was beyond surprise.

The discussion, or more like, the data transfer, lasted close to two hours. Monty listened to Steg’s narrative and every so often asked a detailed question, ensuring he had a complete description of place, people, and events. Towards the end of the second hour, Steg noted almost subconsciously Colonel Attwood’s return. The mercenary leader had seated himself on a chair beside the heavily reinforced external wall.

“I think I’ve covered all the details—at least those I can remember—until my arrival here,” Steg concluded. He hadn’t mentioned the date discrepancy, which continued to worry him. “Except I’m not sure yet, where ‘here’ is.”

“Good, good. You’ve been extremely helpful. My team will enjoy these details.”

“Your team? May I ask questions now?”

“Of course. My apologies, I didn’t think to provide opportunities for you to do so, I was so interested in your story. Yes, I have a team. They’re my wives, four of them. I don’t know how I survive their nagging, I really don’t.” Steg was now certain an octopus could shrug.

“Tell me about Colonel Attwood and his mercenaries.”

“First—Ryan, go away. I don’t want you to get too ego-boosted. We’ll let you know when we’re finished. It won’t be much longer.”

Steg turned to the colonel. “Sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”

Attwood waved a hand. “Don’t worry. I kept quiet; you both were engrossed. Monty, don’t keep him here all day; we’ve lots of work to do.”

“Very well. About another thirty minutes? We’ve things to cover, still. Steg, you can always come back, anytime, if you have more questions or want to talk about anything you like.”

“Yes,” agreed Steg. “As Monty said, as long as I can have follow-up discussions.”

Again the colonel securely closed the heavy door when he departed. Neither Steg nor Monty noticed.

“Where do you want to start?”

“Who—what are you? I have not heard of an intelligent cephalopod-like alien, what we would describe as an octopus. At least, not one who can talk, use a computer system …?”

“Ryan rescued me and my wives. Two starships—they were pirates, Rim-based—had attacked our starship, a small freighter. We would’ve defeated them except they had more missiles than we could defend against. Ryan and
Wasp
, this starship, destroyed the pirate ships and came alongside to provide assistance. After some hit and miss efforts, we established communication and described our oxygen and water requirements. Ryan arranged temporary quarters for us. It was difficult. At first we had only a small tank on
Wasp
, and it was cramped. It took some time to build our habitat to this size. We gradually increased our water environment, introduced some of our tools and technology, worked out how to have our computers connect to
Wasp’s
system, and well, there you are. I use a sound wave converter to produce a version of standard Anglo speech. I’ve improved it while I’ve been on board this starship.”

Steg was impressed. It was a short story covering what seemed to have been a fraught and dangerous time for the aliens. “Are you a member of his mercenaries?”

The alien considered the question. “A sub-contractor, more like. Once I understood what he did, we agreed, Ryan and I, we’d provide consultative services to his mercenary operations. We’re his strategy team. We get a share of his increased profits as our fee. In three years, we’ve paid for all the modified weapons and recovered the construction costs of our habitat. We used our technology to improve the starship’s shields, its beam weapons, and we added a rail gun, it’s a monster. We had to design and install some major reinforcements to
Wasp
’s structural infrastructure, to ensure we didn’t end up stressing the ship—we have to carry a heavy water load for our habitat. In turn, we’ve helped with other system, reactor, and s-t upgrades. Finally, we’ve earned almost enough to pay for repairs to our own starship.”

“So you’re his secret weapon?”

“Exactly.”

“Where do you expect me to figure in his mercenary team?”

“We saw your prison file when we were searching for more recruits. You were listed for execution and we decided to explore your background. We gathered some data—my wives have systems expertise. They penetrated the prison’s computers, and as a result, we all wanted to meet you. There’s something we can’t quite identify, which is why I sought so much detail from you. Something happened to our ship system, to a lot of ship systems, according to our investigations, in the minute or so preceding your arrival on board that Imperial hospital ship. A significant number of starship and planetary computer systems were subverted for a short period, after which their dynamic memories were cleansed of any details of the event. It was all extremely efficient. We suspect these events, the system activities, and your boarding of the hospital starship, are somehow related. We want to be around when you recover all your memories. Perhaps you’ll be able to help us solve this mystery. We encouraged Ryan to include you in his press gang recruiting and, well, here you are.”