“You totally owe me 20 credits for that.” The Eagles’ press officer, Lisa Kouvaris, was leaning against a wall, arms folded across her chest, wearing jeans and a collared blouse, when Taylor re-entered the tunnel. “I was sure you’d at least one-hop it to the plate.”
“You do know I was all-county as a starter at Lee High, right?” Taylor headed for a nearby ice-tub filled with sports drinks.
“So I’ve heard,” Lisa said. “Regardless, I’d think splitting the zone with a fastball in front of 40,000 screaming rednecks, all hopped up on Long Branch beer and Chatham chili-cheese dogs in a big league stadium, might offer a slightly different experience.”
“Easy.” Taylor grinned. “You’re datin’ one of those rednecks, remember?”
Lisa shot him a sideways look.
“Any word from Billy?” Taylor twisted open a bottle and took a swig.
“Funny you should ask that,” Lisa said. “The Osyrys just emerged from hyperspace about 30 minutes ago. They’re inbound now and oughta be in orbit shortly.”
“Cool.” Taylor turned for the exit. “That gives me just enough time to return to campus and—”
“Oh, no you don’t.” Lisa grabbed his arm. “I know you’re anxious to ride off into the sunset after your moment of glory back there, but Billy and the crew will need at least a few hours to resupply the ship and get her prepped for redeployment. That gives us plenty of time to head upstairs to the mayor’s suite and shake some hands.”
Taylor dropped his head. “You could totally handle that without me, ya know.”
“I know I could,” Lisa said. “I also know you abhor schmoozing with celebrities and local politicians. That doesn’t change the fact that we need those permits to finish the restoration project on our old campus before we can turn that property to the NFMTA in time for fall semester. You’re the face of Swamp Eagle Security, Taylor. That’s why it’s gotta be you up there, not me.”
Taylor frowned at the wall, though, in truth, he took his press officer’s point. The entire state of North Florida had seen an explosion of growth in recent years, especially around Jacksonville. That meant more kids were entering the area’s school system, and a lot of them would look to go merc after graduation. They needed a place to train, hence why Taylor had agreed to donate the Eagles’ old campus out by the airfield to the local chapter of the North Florida Mercenary Training Academy.
“Okay, fine.” Taylor put up his hands. “We’ll head upstairs to the mayor’s suite and—”
“Osyrys to Van Zant.” The voice of the Eagles’ executive officer, Major Billy Dawson, registered via pinplant comms in Taylor’s head. “You got a copy?”
Taylor keyed open the channel and spoke aloud. “Your timin’ is impeccable, Billy. What’s your status?”
Lisa rolled her eyes.
“The ship and crew are standing by in orbit and ready to depart for Karma,” Billy said. “Be advised, the bidding for the contract I mentioned starts in less than a hundred eighty hours. That means we need to hit the road quick if we expect to get a crack at landing it.”
“Copy that,” Taylor said. “Radio ahead to Jack and tell him to prep the shuttle. I’m on my way to you now. Van Zant out.”
Lisa folded her arms while her boss wrapped his call. “So much for that resupply, huh?”
“What can I say?” Taylor shrugged. “My crew knows how to plan ahead.”
“Uh, huh.” Lisa smirked. “Tell that corn-fed XO of yours, he owes me one for this.”
Taylor leaned in and kissed his girlfriend’s cheek. “I and the future mercs of Duval County have every confidence you’ll close the deal, babe. I’ll call you as soon as we’re back from Karma.”
* * * * *
Chapter 2: Launch
Exiting the stadium into the northside parking lot, Taylor crossed the pavement toward the vintage Harley-Davidson Fat Boy sitting quietly beside the security station and threw his leg over the seat. He loved Frangie Field, always had. Even during his childhood, when his family had scarcely possessed the means to feed themselves, his mother had still found ways after their father passed to get her kids to the ballpark for at least one Generals’ game per season. Nowadays, the Van Zants were season ticket holders, although Taylor had resisted his sisters’ calls to spring for a luxury box.
“The game of baseball ain’t meant to be experienced indoors,” Taylor’s late father had said after a trip to Utah, where the home team played in a dome. “It’s too damn sensory. Take it that way, and all you’ve got left is a hyper-corporate tourist trap where they pedal soda pop and Tri-V shows to your kids between innings.”
A bat cracked in the distance as Taylor’s nostrils filled with the sweet gameday aromas of popcorn, beer, and fresh-grilled hot dogs. Yep. Gonna be a damn good summer.
Kickstarting the Harley’s engine with a single shove of his boot, Taylor leaned onto the accelerator and eased through the Frangie Field parking lot. From there, it was straight on to 295 South toward the Eagles’ main campus, located twenty minutes out from downtown Jax.
“Absolutely, Mayor Lamb. Demonstrating a commitment to the next generation of mercenaries from right here in Jacksonville is hands-down one of our top priorities at Swamp Eagle Security.”
Taylor smiled from behind his handlebars, imagining the speech his press officer girlfriend was laying on thick up in the luxury suite at that moment. Of course, that didn’t make the message any less true. He was just happy it was Lisa delivering the talking points instead of him.
A ninth-generation son of Duval County, Taylor had spent much of his life after age 16 doing whatever it took to provide for his mother and two
