When I was young I had nightmares, but now I nudge my dream center when the subject is getting uncomfortable and it changes the story line. This time I nudge the center a lot. Some of the faces are those that didn’t make it off the bus, and Chin is there telling me, “Now, Franky, now! Get off the bus now!”
I wake rested but I know there are a lot of tough choices coming.
John comes in with, surprise, our flyboy! Both are carrying boxes. The major speaks. “Now is a good time for introductions. I’m Major Sean Bourke Rufus, Concordian Air Force.” Then the hand salute again.
Once again I give a feeble imitation. “Good to meet you again, Sean.” Now that we’re really going to be on the same team, it’s time for first names. I’m thinking this when he suddenly grabs at my hand! And I’m out of my armor! I dodge, back up a step, look for a way to riposte … It’s a clumsy start for an attack, but I’ve seen worse.…
Wait, Sean is laughing silently. I sigh. “OK, how am I supposed to respond to this salute you’ve made me?” More when-in-Rome bullshit. Sean, slowly this time, grasps my hand with his, curls them between our shoulders, and slaps my shoulder with his hand. He waits until I slap his, then lets go. “Like that. It’s called a korlander. It’s a … salute, like you said, between friendly equals. Male equals, that is. Do that with a woman and she’ll fall into your arms, then drag you to the nearest bedroom, you handsome dog,” he laughs.
“Thank you, Sean.” I can’t tell what he means by laughing. Either I’m as dog-ugly to him as I think I am and this is an ironic laugh, or there’s a “beauty in the eye of the beholder” thing going on and he’s somewhat envious, or it may be some inside joke. “What can I do for you?”
“We’ve brought you the uniforms you requested, but after you see them, I’d like you to consider another choice.”
John opens a box revealing a one-piece jumpsuit in a pastel pink color. Considering the technology these people are working with it isn’t a bad cut, but the color seems odd. “For the woman, I’m afraid we have only two choices: A similar cut to the men’s uniform or a mid-length skirt cut. I’m sorry.”
“Nothing to apologize about. Considering the rush these could be a lot worse.” Chin is beside me looking at her options.
“Now that you’ve seen those, let me suggest these as an alternative,” says Sean. He opens one of his boxes. Inside is a sumptuous, almost garish, costume of thick cloth trimmed in metal and animal fur. It can’t possibly be a standard uniform. The other boxes contain similar but slightly less extravagant costumes—except for Chin’s. Hers is light and frilly, but so elaborate it’s not even clear how to put it on.
“Theater costumes,” says Sean. “King, queen, and advisors, from an imaginary kingdom. Minor characters from a dreadful play that only a handful of people saw.”
“Forget it.”
“Consider, sir, that you are Kull the Conqueror. You single-handedly defeated a federal army this morning. We haven’t won this war yet. If you go back to being just another mercenary, we lose—and you lose—a lot of prestige. Right now you’re larger than life, Kull, and you need to stay that way.”
“The name is Frank, and I am just another mercenary. Decapitating armies is a job for me. I’m good at it, mind you, just like you’re a good flyboy. But I’m nothing special.”
“Frank,” says Chin. “That was until this morning. Now you’re a ronin. You can’t go back to General Nolentov. Who are you going to go back to? If you remain just another mercenary right now, you’ll die. We’ll all die.”
I pick up the costume. “This? Wear this? I’ll look like a fool.”
“Better a live fool than a cooked demon … Kull,” says Sean. I scowl at him. “Seriously, Frank, that’s what I’m here for. The governor needs you as impressive as he can make you. He knows this is duty above and beyond, so he sent me to help. I can help you over the rough points on this showmanship stuff, as it applies to our world, anyway.”
“Franky-Kull the Conqueror, planet subduer and rewriter of mercenary procedure manuals … makes sense to me,” Al chuckles from where he’s working with Gunther.
“If it sounds that good, how about you do it?”
“Me? I signed on to march in this victory parade, not to lead it. Franky, just think of it as terrorizing people, in a nice way.”
“Chin?”
She holds up the frilly thing. “Does this look like the outfit of a queen who gives orders that are obeyed without question? Franky, this is a male-chauvinistic world. It’s not the time for a gender equality fight.” With that she drops the costume, and wraps around my arm in a way that drips of admiration. Instinctively my arm is around her back and I pull her close. Her body fits wonderfully under my arm. She runs her hand across my chest and gently lays her head on it while she looks up with those big, dark eyes. “You’re my man, honey, and it’s going to be the performance of a lifetime. Just how long you live will depend on how well you perform.” She squeezes me hard. She’s mine! I can feel that now! My heart, and other organs, are pounding furiously.
I have to sort of peel her off, and it’s not easy pulling off something that feels that good. In fact, I’m almost panting. “Chin, I didn’t know you could do that!”
Once I get her off my side, she’s back to business. “Neither did I, but it was really fun. Franky, make this happen. We’ve been mercs long enough. It’s time to move on.”
“All right,” I sigh as I mentally gird my loins. “Kull the Conqueror it is.”
“Excellent,” says Sean. “There are a couple of tailors waiting upstairs.”
With exaggerated flourish I say, “Lead on. We will follow in a couple minutes.” Sean laughs again. He and John head out.
I turn to Chin and Al. “I’m going to be practicing shovel work for the next few hours. Al, you need to find out who we can contact with off-planet pull. We’ve got to find a way off this planet, or we’ve got to find a way to get these suits reconditioned so we can keep some bite behind all this barking.”
“Right, chief.”
“Chin, I need you to keep up to date on what’s happening on-world. You seem to have a good feel for how these people think. Can you keep an eye on local news and see what kinds of local contacts you can make?”
“Got it.”
“Gunther, how’s the hookup coming?”
“It is completed, Commander.”
“Good, get on the communications network and see if you can determine the location of your hardware. I can bring that up during the party.”
“There is a problem, Commander. Johann is failing.”
“What?” we rush over and check his vital signs readouts on the suit.
“Shock?” Chin exclaims. She hits a few more buttons for more diagnostics. “His suit’s plasma supply is exhausted.”
“How could that be?” I ask.
Chin checks some more things out. “I guess he was burned worse in that fire than I thought. The suit has been pumping him full of fluids for a long time now; it’s run out. He should have been in a field hospital hours ago. Look, the suit’s been trying to locate one, but of course it hasn’t received any reply. None made it down.”
“Damn.”
“We never got around to reprogramming its command structure, so it’s never reported the problem to your suit.” Chin looks up. “The way he is now, he’s not going to make it.”
This is serious. Normally toasting isn’t critical to a merc. Sure, it hurts like hell and nobody enjoys it, but sufficient drugs and plasma will keep you in operation for the duration of the fight, and the field hospitals carry acres and acres of replacement skin. The problem once again is we have no “tail”. Johann should be strapped onto a med unit operating table right now and half his skin should be gone. There should be liters and liters of plasma available to him.
“How much plasma will he need?” I ask.
Chin looks at the readouts some more. “Second degree burns over 30% of his body. It’s cake for a field unit, but … he might survive with all the plasma we’ve got. Might. Frank, these suits aren’t equipped for this kind of thing.” There is frustration in her voice.
It’s worse than that. If we lose a man we’re no longer invulnerable. Right now we’re the Mercs from Hell; the longer it takes these people to realize we’re nothing without our support tail, the better. I suppose we could run his suit around in herd mode some more …Wait.
“Gunther, install your plasma unit on Stuka.”
“Commander, I protest!”
“Do it, Gunther. Then connect me with Rufus, fast.”
“Commander—”
“Gunther, think where you are,” intercedes Chin.
Gunther blushes. “At once, Commander!” The quick hands make the switch and in moments I hear “Rufus here” on the phone.
“Major, is this line secure?”
“In these times, who knows, but normally yes.”
“We’ve got a medical problem.”
“I’ll be down with some help, and I’ll keep it quiet.”
“Rufus is bringing some native help,” I say.
Gunther looks relieved, so does Chin. “When he’s on native support, Gunther, put the plasma unit back on your suit.”
In a bar up on the transport, Gunther can say anything he likes to me. He can curse me. He can say he slept with my mother, he can ask me if I squat to pee. But during combat there are no questions of authority. The problem is that here we aren’t on the transport or in combat. Where the hell are we? It’s somewhere I haven’t been for years.