Winged Hussars (The Revelations Cycle Book 3) Read online

  Now, the Hussars were different. They only survived because of their luck in finding that derelict ship. That, and they linked up with dozens of alien survivors from other merc companies caught up in the same disastrous contracts we were. Yeah, it’s a little-known fact we Humans weren’t the only ones who got our butts handed to us. A lot of the aliens blamed their losses on our inability to provide the support we were hired to give. They might have had a point. But the Hussars not only turned lemons into lemonade, they made a lemon meringue pie and put a slice on the glass of tequila, too! None of us are surprised they’re still the richest of us, and maybe the most arrogant.”

  Excerpt from “In Our Own Time – Dawning of the Horsemen”

  by Jimmy Cartwright, Sr.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 19

  Karma Station

  Karma System

  Being on Karma Station was almost like being in a large habitat over Earth. It was so large the only way to notice the curve of the rings was in one of the huge malls or numerous parks and promenades scattered about. Standing on the floor level, you could look into the distance and notice the slight upwards curve of the floor moving toward the roof. On the tiny Human habitats, that curve was profound. The other thing you noticed was the gravity was a bit heavier, about 1.1 gravities.

  Rick spent his first night playing tourist around the district where his hotel was located. Each district represented a pie-shaped slice of a ring, or about forty-five degrees. Each ring also had several stories, with the outer floor having the highest gravity (1.1 G) and the inner less (0.2 G).

  He visited a dozen casinos, saw hundreds of shops, private businesses, vendors selling all manner of goods, and even what looked like a small zoo. Six hours later, he gave up and returned to his hotel without ever leaving the floor of his district. The station was that big. The GalNet said it had a constant population of several million, but fluctuated greatly. In the hub were thousands of warehouses, industrial operations, and ship maintenance firms. He was further stunned when he considered that Karma was kind of a backwater location. There were trading stations coreward of Earth, in the highly-populated Gresht region, that were 20 times the size of Karma.

  Returning to his hotel, a modest affair with 120 rooms and a restaurant catering to Humans and similar humanoids, he had a nice meal of Chicago-style pizza and a reasonable imitation of Dr. Pepper. The food was made by a well-programmed autochef, and only cost him 2 credits, less than it would have on Earth. For that matter, the room was only 5 credits a day. He’d paid that much for the dump back in Houston. His room here was rather bare by Earth standards, but nicely accommodated. It included a large bathroom with programmable shower (no water limit, a luxury after weeks of shipboard life), a nice sitting area with a full-wall Tri-V, and a bed big enough for a merc company. There was even a programmable beverage dispenser (unlimited access included).

  The crew and Captain Holland had said their good byes at the hub where the Coronado docked. As Holland was shaking his hand, he pressed a small bag into Rick’s.

  “It’s from me and the crew, son. God only knows what would have happened to us without you.” Inside was his pay, just over 500 credits, but also a 2,000 credit chit.

  “Sir,” he complained, “that’s too much.” Rick tried to hand back the chit.

  “No,” Holland said sternly, “it sure isn’t. I would have lost 100 times that if they’d gotten away with the safe and wrecked our fusion drive. You take that and be careful. It’s enough to keep you fed and housed for a lot longer than your pay would have.” He looked Rick in the eye. “Don’t go signing with some nefarious sort. You sign on with a good company, or use the last to go home.”

  “Thank you,” Rick said. He wasn’t emotional about it. He was becoming increasingly convinced his emotions had been damaged along with some of his childhood memories.

  After spending a few dozen credits, he still had better than 2,000 credits to his name. When he’d checked in, Rick had inquired about long-term housing. The owner said it was 30 credits a week, or he could pay 50, and that included meals at the hotel restaurant and late-night access to the autochef. If he used the autochef, he had enough to live here for almost a year, if he wanted to. But he didn’t.

  The second morning on Karma Station Rick made his way to Ring Two, taking a transfer shuttle instead of travelling all the way to the hub, and riding a glideway back out. The shuttle cost a credit, the other way would have been free. Ring Two held commercial office space and permanent housing. He’d looked up his destination before leaving.

  On the fourth floor of the ring in District Four of Ring Two were a series of offices. After exiting the lift to that floor, he walked along the lines of offices until he found one with a simple circular logo of a winged helmet, the motto below; ‘Plan, Prepare, Strike.’ He pressed the announcement button and waited.

  “Can I help you?” asked a feminine voice in English.

  “I’m looking for work.”

  “Registered merc?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He took out his UAAC and held it up for the scanner to register. There was a moment while the woman on the other end read it, then the door slid aside. Rick walked in.

  It wasn’t at all what he’d expected from a Four Horsemen office. He’d visited the Golden Horde’s office in the merc tower back in Houston, and it was enormous. The Horsemen all had entire floors near the top. The smallest had been the Hussars, and that seemed to hold true here. There was a reception area with a single desk, with a woman sitting behind it. To either side were four exits, presumably to other offices, and a waiting area with room for about 10 people. There was no artwork or other decorations.

  “Welcome to the office of the Winged Hussars. My name is Jennifer.”

  “Nice to meet you ma’am, Rick Culper.”

  She gave him a patient, congenial smile and held out a small slate. “Please complete the questionnaire. Be sure to okay the authorization to access your merc guild records.”

  He thanked her and went to the waiting area. The space was almost full. To his surprise, a lot of them were aliens. There were only six, but two were Oogar. They were the size of a CASPer, almost eight feet tall, and they loosely resembled grizzly bears. The biggest differences were their smaller mouths, bigger eyes, longer arms…and their striking purple coloring. They also didn’t have what Human parents called indoor voices. They were whispering to each other—low shouts to everyone else—and held their slates in hands so big the devices looked like decks of playing cards.

  Besides the Oogar, there was a Zuul, a pair of little elSha sharing one seat, and something else. Rick almost tripped over one of the Oogar’s feet when he got a good look at the other being. It was as tall as a man, wore strange loose-fitting clothes, and sat hunched over a slate. Its hands were as dark as space, and when it looked up he saw two glowing red eyes and the glint of sparkling silver teeth. Rick half sat, half fell into an empty seat next to one of the pair of Humans.

  “Something got you spooked, kid?” asked a Human voice. He turned and saw a man in his forties grinning at him. Rick looked confusedly at the strange humanoid again. It looked at him and showed more teeth. Rick felt a shudder race up his spine.

  “Not really,” Rick said, trying to shake it off. “Just confused by that,” he stopped in mid-sentence. The strange black-skinned alien was gone. “Did you see a dark-skinned alien?” The other man looked where Rick was gesturing, and shook his head. “Weird,” Rick whispered. The other man shrugged and held out his hand.

  “Stan Jones,” he said by way of introduction.

  “Rick Culper.”

  “Good to meet you. Right out of cadre?” Rick nodded dejectedly. “Don’t worry about it, we all start somewhere.”

  “Thanks. Are you as intimidated by the possibility of working for a Horsemen as I am?”

  “Naw,” Stan said, though his face had a strange expression. “I worked for the Horde before they went crazy.”

  “Mr.
Jones?” the receptionist called, “Room Four, please.”

  “Good luck,” Rick said as the older man got up, nodded to him, and headed for his interview.

  It didn’t take Rick long to complete the questionnaire. Mostly details he couldn’t provide, such as deployments, bonuses, and awards given. Then it got to questions on familiarities, and he felt better. One of the first questions was zero-G operations and dropship operations. He clicked off on both of those. Then one he wasn’t surprised to see. ‘Are you comfortable working with aliens?’ He checked ‘Yes.’ It was the last question, so he pressed ‘Send.’

  “Your name will be called shortly,” the slate informed him. He put it back on Jennifer’s desk. She smiled and thanked him. The Oogar were still arguing over their own slates. One by one the others were called. When Rick’s name was called, the Oogar still hadn’t finished, and there was still no sign of the strange, black-skinned humanoid.

  “Mr. Culper?” Rick looked up. “Door One, please.”

  Rick went to the door and opened it. Inside was a small, unadorned office with a desk and a woman sitting behind it. She looked up from a slate and gestured for him to come in.

  “Mr. Culper?”

  “That’s me,” Rick said as he came over to the desk. She stood, and he was surprised by how tall she was, at least six-two. She had super-short, dark brown hair and matching eyes.

  “I’m Corporal Eva Johansson, Winged Hussars marine, and I understand you want a job.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She smirked. “Corporal is good enough, or Johansson.”

  “Call me Rick.”

  She nodded, and she looked down at her slate. “I see you haven’t done any combat deployments yet.”

  Rick gave a mental sigh. “That’s correct, Corporal.”

  “It’s okay, Rick, it’s not a requirement. In fact, we’ve found less experience can be a bonus. The Hussars are a non-standard sort of unit.”

  “After that crowd in the waiting room, I see what you mean,” Rick said.

  “Yes, we hire aliens.” She glanced at the slate. “You said that doesn’t bother you. Were you being honest?”

  “To be completely honest, I’ve never worked with them.” She grunted and made a note. “I have killed a few.” She looked back up at him, then at his face, cocking her head.

  “You know, I’ve lived with people with scars, so it didn’t even occur to me that you might have seen action without being active.” She pointed at the scar, almost casually. “Care to tell?”

  “The merchant ship I was on was attacked by pirates.” She set the slate down and sat up, gesturing for him to continue, so Rick told the whole story. She became increasingly interested as his tale unfolded.

  “Pushtal, eh?” she asked when he was finished.

  “Yes, Corporal.”

  “And you killed four of them.”

  He nodded, and put a hand up to the scar on the side of his face. “Got shot three times for my efforts.”

  She put the slate down and leaned back in her chair. “Any lasting effects from the head wound?”

  “Some long-term memory,” he said. She looked expectantly, but he didn’t add his concern about his emotionless state.

  “A condition of employment with the Winged Hussars is that you have to be pinned,” she said and turned her head slightly so he could see the pinlink behind her ear.

  “I don’t have that much cash,” he admitted.

  “We’d front the cost against your salary. Plus, we have our own medics, so it isn’t as much as you’d pay on Earth.”

  “That’s fine,” Rick said. “I’d be okay with it.”

  She nodded and looked him in the eye. “Are you ready to meet one of our sergeants?”

  “Sure,” he said. Johansson touched a control on her desk, and a side door appeared where there hadn’t been one before. It slid out of the way, and he heard the distinctive clicking gait of an insectoid race. The shining carapace of a MinSha walked in on its rear four legs. She, he remembered—nearly all the MinSha who served as mercs were female—was big for their race. She had double cross-body bandoliers holding laser rifle magazines, and the weapon they fit hung on a two-point sling. An equipment vest was also fit around her upper body, which held a slate and some other gear. On the vest was the winged helmet logo of their outfit.

  “Rick, this is Sergeant T’jto.” The sergeant’s huge multifaceted eyes glimmered as she nodded to Rick.

  “Good to meet you, trooper,” the MinSha sergeant’s clicks and scrapes were translated into English by Rick’s pendant. “Corporal Johansson says you might be a good addition to our marine contingent.”

  “Would I have to go back into cadre?” Rick asked hesitantly.

  “No,” T’jto said, “we don’t really believe in taking already trained mercs and sitting on them for months. It’s better to just add them to a squad so they can get up to speed.” Her head cocked, and she came closer, leaning toward him a bit. “Do you hold to Asbaran’s hatred of aliens, and my race, in particular?”

  “No,” Rick repeated. “I can see how some do, though; your people did glass an entire country.”

  “I wasn’t involved in that, and neither was my clan.”

  “I understand. To answer your question, I’m not too thrilled with the Pushtal specifically, but I hold no ill feelings about aliens in general.”

  “In the interest of full disclosure,” Sergeant T’jto said, “I know Captain Holland of the Coronado. He contacted me about you yesterday, just after he docked.” Rick stared, his mouth agape. “He also relayed the story of your valiant efforts against the Pushtal raiders.”

  Rick turned to look at Johansson in confusion. “And you let me sit here and tell the entire story?”

  She gave a sly smile and shrugged elegantly. “Yes, I did. You see, traders have a habit of embellishing their tales and exploits. Hearing it from the Equiri’s mouth was preferable.” Rick ground his teeth and narrowed his eyes. “Relax. We want to advance your application.”

  “Meaning?” he asked.

  “Meaning,” T’jto said, “come back tomorrow morning for some tests, and we’ll see.”

  “Fair enough,” Rick said. “Thanks for giving me a shot.” Johansson gave him a chit with appointment information and Rick turned to leave.

  The two mercs watched him leave, then Johansson spoke. “What do you think?”

  “I believe he is young, but worth a try,” T’jto admitted.

  “I agree. What about the other Human, Jones?”

  “He seems competent,” T’jto said. “His records indicated employment terminated with the Horde, but not a reason.”

  “That’s probably not good,” Johansson said, “or he wouldn’t have traveled to Karma to find work.”

  “You might well be correct.” She turned her heart shaped head toward the door. “Well, we shall find out more about this Mr. Culper tomorrow.”

  “We already know he’s tough,” Johansson said, “that laser scar was a hair’s breadth from being lethal.”

  “It takes more than an ability to soak up damage to be a merc with the Hussars,” T’jto reminded her and left. Out in the reception area she spoke to Jennifer. “Are there anymore today?”

  “The Oogar got in an argument over the application and left,” the receptionist said. “That only leaves…wait, where did it go?”

  “Who?” T’jto asked.

  “I’d swear there was another applicant.” She screwed up her face in concentration. T’jto was far from an expert on the expressive Human faces and their meanings, but she knew enough to know that Jennifer was confused. “I guess I was wrong. A few have come in and left without filling out an application.”

  “Very well,” T’jto said, “we will continue tomorrow morning. Corporal Johansson will handle primary interviews. The rest of my squad and I will be conducting follow-up evaluations on the five candidates who are not experienced.”

  “I understand,” Jennifer said and mad
e some notes as T’jto left. A short time later as she was working to secure the office for the afternoon, she found one of the questionnaire slates sitting on a chair. Her mind tried to come to grips with a memory of someone sitting there with the slate, but as she thought about it the memory fell apart. When she thought about it, all she saw was a hole where that person had been, as if there was nothing at all there. A true nothing. She felt dizzy.

  “I’m working too hard,” she grumbled and picked up the slate to return it to her desk. She was so busy trying to figure out why she felt so strange, Jennifer never noticed the extra ID card disappearing from her desk drawer.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 20

  The next morning Rick rose early, showered, and headed for his meeting with the Winged Hussars. Unlike the offices in the high gravity area of the 2nd ring, this appointment took place in the more industrial 1st ring. It turned out the Winged Hussars had a small complex there, including several warehouses, maintenance shops, and a small training area down by the central shaft in zero gravity.

  Rick arrived at the office right on time and was met by Sergeant T’jto. It reminded him of an office that had been thrown up on top of a warehouse, and, once inside, he saw he was right. The windows overlooked a floor filled with rack after rack of goods of all kinds.

  “Right on time,” T’jto said and nodded her head.

  “That’s a lot of stuff,” Rick said and gestured out the window.