The Girls From Alcyone (7 page)

May 3, 2346

The smoky air hung heavy in the dim light of The Prancing Beagle—one of the more popular watering holes of
Vincenze Station
in orbit above Crucis Prime. Major Karl Tarsus took another long gulp from his glass of ale, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve as he studied his companion. He didn't know the man's name, but that wasn't surprising; most of his clients preferred a degree of discretion. He'd worked for
Smith—
as he'd dubbed the man—on a number of occasions. Always the usual things: interdictions, search and seizures and the inevitable saber-rattling when the occasion called for it; but it was smalltime stuff.

Smalltime suited the major just fine. He wasn't an ambitious man. As long as he could maintain his small fleet of four ships and keep his levies paid to the Mercenary Guild, that was just fine. But what
Smith
proposed was so outlandish that, when the man proposed it, he'd spewed his last mouthful of ale across the small table, drenching the man's lapel and jacket sleeve.

"You want
me
to go after Kimura?" Tarsus asked. "You want me to attack one of the oldest private Mercenary organizations in the entire Federation." Tarsus could hold back no longer and he burst into uproarious laughter.
Smith
stared back at him, unblinking, while he used a handkerchief to clean the drops of ale from his jacket. "I'm sorry, but I think you've got the wrong man. We're a small operation. We have four ships—
when
they're all functioning. Kimura…well, let's just say they have a lot more."

Smith
pressed his thin lips together, clearly struggling with his patience. "We're not asking you to attack the entire Kimura Military, Mr. Tarsus—"

"Major," Tarsus corrected him.

Smith
gave him a dry look. "Major. I don't even want you to attack them at all. All we want is for you go to Alcyone—"

"Yes, yes—you want us to grab a bunch of schoolgirls off a Kimura Base. I know, Mr.…" Tarsus waited once more for
Smith
to offer up his name, but of course the man said nothing so he continued, "I assume you don't have a permit for this operation, either." Tarsus knew he didn't. By law, any military action, mercenary or otherwise, needed to be sanctioned by the CTF, otherwise known as the Council for Trade and Finance, the governing body of the Federation of Commercial Enterprises.

"No, Mr. Tarsus. We have no permit."

"Then I'm afraid there's nothing we can do for you. If my outfit gets caught operating without a permit…I'd lose my guild standing. Not to mention the retaliation from Kimura."

"Spare me the negotiation tactics, Mr. Tarsus. You have no compunction against unsanctioned operations. We're quite familiar with your organization—which is why we came to you."
Smith
leaned forward. "Tell me, Mr. Tarsus, are your guild levies in good standing?"

Of course, they weren't. Tarsus took a long pull on his ale.

"Your accounts are well in arrears, Mr. Tarsus. You'll lose your guild standing soon enough, and I don't see any other clients lining up to pay you the kind of sum I've just offered. Shall we dispense with the negotiation tactics, and cut to brass tacks?"

Tarsus waved him off. "I'd still be a fool to go up against Kimura. I have no ego in these matters. I know my organization's limits…and this is beyond ours."

"Thirty-two girls, six-point-two million dollars a head—surely that should be enough for you to take on any extra help you might need."

Tarsus mulled it over and took another pull on his ale, emptying the glass. $6.2 million was an extremely generous amount. There was obviously more to the job than
Smith
was letting on, but that wasn't surprising. He signaled the waitress over, ordered another and allowed himself a moment to appreciate the girl—all long legs and hips.
Smith
had a point and he knew it.

"Very well," Tarsus conceded, and grumbled, "I suppose we both knew I'd say yes the moment you sat down."

"Perhaps even before, Mr. Tarsus."
Smith
rose to his feet. "I'll transmit the particulars to your ship."

Tarsus waved his hand dismissively again. "Yes, yes—I'll have my man call your man…"

Smith
turned on his heels and departed. Only when Tarsus was sure the man had left the bar and no one else was paying attention to him did he call over his second in command. Lt. Commander Selene Tseng slid into the booth across from him. He looked admiringly at his 'second'. Her jet black hair curved in a flattering fashion around her strong face. Her tall, thin figure belied a raw energy he'd seen unleashed on unsuspecting attackers on many occasions. She was the most skilled pilot he'd ever encountered in his long career, and her steely, ice-cold nerves at the helm had delivered him from many a scrape over the years.

She was his protégé, even though she didn't know it. At twenty-seven, Tarsus worried she might be too young to be taken seriously in command of a ship of her own. But her time would come, and soon. He already relied on her a great deal. He could trust her, and that was why she was the only member of his organization that he'd ever brought with him when meeting
Smith
.

"Did you get him?" Tarsus asked.

Selene held up a small recording device. "Right here, Major."

Tarsus nodded, satisfied. "I think it's time we learned the identity of our benefactor, don't you?"

CHAPTER SIX

Upgrades

From The Journal of Dr. Lisa Garrett

September 14, 2346

RE: Project Andraste

Dear Hitomi-san,

I'm very pleased to report that we've reached the next milestone in the project. Today, we began the process of implanting the girls with the Primary Control Module. It shouldn't take more than a day or two to complete the procedure on all of them. This will be the foundation for the Artificial Neural Network that we discussed so many times.

I've decided to implant an Optical Module as well, along with a small test program—something Felix has suggested. I feel this will be a good benchmark for some of the other bionics and modifications we hope to introduce in the coming years.

It will take many months to monitor the effects, but early data suggests a 100% success rate—
no
signs of rejection or mutation.

As for the Genetic Modifications, the girls all show the same improvements in all aspects of their biology. It will be years more before we can consider adding any of the high-level programming, but we should be able to start working with basic bionics in short order. As per your recommendation, we'll stick with proven technology: optical implants, communication modules, etc., before introducing some of the more radical designs.

I wish very much that you could be here. Your expertise in nanotechnology would be most welcome and of great help.

Yours truly,

Lisa

CHAPTER SEVEN

War Games

November 17, 2346

"Gear up!" Chesna bellowed.

Sigrid grabbed the eSMG, checking the chamber and safety before strapping the gun to her back. The Markov XP 18 mm clipped to the holster at her hip, while the long bowie knife fitted neatly in the sheath in her tall boots. All of the girls had similar load-outs.

"That's right. You're all magnificent bitches," Chesna said, appraisingly, as she inspected their ranks.

Sigrid felt
magnificent.
Chesna had trained them hard for months. Each girl was now a crack shot, and they could field-strip any of their weapons in a matter of seconds. But it was more than that, more than just the training, and Sigrid knew it. Dr. Garrett’s treatments…

Sigrid ran her finger over the small access port of the Primary Control Module—or PCM—tucked behind her ear above her hairline. The skin around the small, two-millimeter-wide port was still raw and red where a small section of hair had been shaved from her head. But this was the only evidence of the surgery she'd recently undergone. Sigrid was still getting used to the idea of having a computer network wired into her head, and she couldn't stop touching the small opening.

The sun had already set behind the mountains and darkness was setting in fast. There would be no moon tonight—Rosa had chosen this night in particular to test their new upgrades. Dr. Garrett had implanted all of them with an optical implant. It gave the girls several different viewing options: infra red and night-vision. They could even see the chemical composition of the objects in their surroundings. Their genetically-enhanced vision already afforded them superior sight, but with the new optics they could see as clearly as in the light of day—albeit in a slightly hazy monochrome grey. It was jarring at first, but Sigrid had adapted to it quickly.

Across the compound, eight of the little T-48 VTOL transports sat parked in a row, waiting for the girls assembled in the field before them. The
Starlings
were small atmospheric flying craft, distinguished by their counter-rotating propellers mounted on each side of the fuselage. They were noisy and cramped, with barely enough room for four passengers in the rear compartment. The
Starlings
usually sported two 44 mm cannons mounted on each side, but those had been removed for the moment.

Sigrid caught the gleam in Suko's eyes as she surveyed the ships. "Where do you think we're headed?"

"As long as we get to fly, I don't care," Suko said.

The girls had been divided into eight fire-teams. Leta and Khepri joined Sigrid and Suko to complete their group. They gathered in front of Rosa and Chesna for the mission briefing.

Suko tossed a large, long-barreled sniper rifle to Sigrid. "Don't forget this."

Sigrid gripped the rifle, letting her hands play over its cool, smooth surface. It was surprisingly light and fitted well in her diminutive hands. Sigrid knew she was the smallest of the group, and certainly not the toughest or best fighter, but she was a dead-shot with anything that had a trigger.

The rifle spoke to her—literally. When Sigrid touched the weapon it scanned her implant for her preferences, automatically making adjustments to take into account her height, weight, grip-pressure and reach. It was engineered with much the same nanotechnology that the girls now shared, although on a much more primitive level.

After checking the chamber, Sigrid aimed down the sight, caressing the under-barrel.

"I think it's
love
,
"
Leta teased, and even Sigrid laughed at this.

"All right, girls. Listen up!" Rosa shouted. The girls became instantly silent. "Ms. Dubnov and I have something a little special prepared for you today—a little game we want you to play." He slapped the side of the 3'x3' cargo container he was sitting on. "This is a Mark Four military transport container. We've dropped four of these out there, about 150 kilometers from here. Your objective is to find and locate just
one
of these. There are two ways to win this scenario: one—locate the container, defend the target and await extraction; two—eliminate the other teams, preventing them from securing the target. I look forward to seeing which course of action wins out. Just so you're all properly motivated, winning teams will ride back in the transports; losing teams will enjoy a nice long walk back through the forest. It's lovely this time of year, though, so I'm sure you'll all enjoy yourselves, win or lose. Questions?"

A girl raised her hand, hesitantly. "Uh, how do we find the containers, sir?"

"I'm glad you asked that. Each target carries a tracking device. We've granted all of you network access to the Nav-Sats in orbit. Data will be displayed to you via the optical implant that Dr. Garrett has seen fit to equip you with. Next question?" Rosa scanned the girls, but no one else raised their hand.

"You may be wondering about the ordnance options," Chesna said. "For the duration of this exercise, you'll all be using shock-rounds."

The shock-rounds were non-lethal paper projectiles capable of delivering a jolt of electricity in the 300 kV range. Every girl there had endured being blasted with the little
stunners
; Sigrid rubbed reflexively at the spot on her rear thinking about it.

"Now, unless all you ladies want to be walking back," Rosa said, "I suggest you get underway before the other teams find their cargo first. Transport assignments are uploaded to your PCMs."

The girls didn't need any more prompting. They rose to their feet instantly, grabbing up their gear.

"
Rattle your dags
, ladies. Let's move it!" Suko shouted, and, as one, the girls leapt forward, charging for their transport.

* * *

The compact T-48 had just enough room on the four jump-seats for Sigrid, Suko, Khepri and Leta. There were no doors on the craft and the girls all sat sideways, facing out for a better view. Sigrid rested her foot on the mounting-step, her hand clutching the handrail on the roof. The rush of air was invigorating as they crested the treetops and climbed
quickly, high up and over the row of jagged mountains before them.

Their
Starling
pitched down sharply once it passed the last of the peaks, skimming dangerously close to the rocky cliffs. The night was black as pitch. Sigrid had only a vague sense of the rocky outcroppings dashing by, little more than a few feet away from her—a testament to the pilot's skill and daring. Sigrid flipped her optics to the new night-setting and her surroundings swam quickly into focus. She took a moment to adjust the sharpness until everything felt natural.

The pilot accelerated, shedding altitude quickly, sweeping down low over a grassy plain. Sigrid waited for her ears to pop after the distinct change in pressure, but her new systems made the transition smooth. The ground gave way abruptly as they came to an escarpment. Down below, stretching out for hundreds of hectares, lay a dense green jungle. The nose of the
Starling
dipped again as the pilot took them lower still. What Sigrid thought to be the ground turned out to be the heavy canopy of the jungle forest—it looked thick enough to build a house on, and topped out at nearly a hundred meters above the jungle floor.