Taylor stroked his chin whiskers. “And you two believe this new Vuhov clan will consider us despite all that baggage?”
“We wouldn’t have pitched this otherwise,” Billy said. “Smitty’s right. Nobody knows Emza better than us. Couple that with our rebuilt resources via the Steeldriver deal, and the Eagles are hands-down the Zuparti’s best option at safeguarding their people against these attacks.”
Taylor drummed his fingers on the table. “All right, fine. Let’s throw our names into the hat once we reach Karma Station and see if we can pick up the contract. Billy.”
“Yes, sir,” the XO answered.
“I want you, Jack, and Stan ready to roll with me on the site team as soon as the Osyrys docks with the station,” Taylor said. “I mean to get down in that merc pit ASAP to see who we’re biddin’ against for this.”
“Ayew.” Billy turned to the old men. “Farts, you’re with me after church.”
The old men rolled their eyes at Smitty’s nickname for their duo which, much to their chagrin, had taken root throughout the crew over the last year.
“Smitty, you’re in command while we’re gone,” Taylor said. “Any questions?”
No one answered.
“Cool,” Taylor said. “Everybody return to your posts and begin your prep work to emerge from hyperspace. Church is dismissed.”
* * * * *
Chapter 4: Karma
Taylor felt the tiniest evidence of a bump, then Frank said, “We’re docked, kids. All ashore who’s goin’ ashore!”
Taylor raised an eyebrow at the Buma.
“What?” the pilot asked. “I heard it in one of those old movies at Hell House Throwback Night.”
Taylor shook his head and glanced to the tactical station. “C’mon, Billy, let’s go.”
The pair left the bridge, then pushed off through the ship until they reached Jack and Stan at the tube across to the station. Like Taylor and Billy, both men now wore Eagle-green BDUs and had clearly just come from the armory.
“We plannin’ to go huntin’ Sumatozou while we’re on the station?” Taylor asked.
Jack shook his head. “Not that I’m aware of. Otherwise, I’d have brought along something a little bigger.”
“Make that a lot bigger.” Stan chuckled, then handed a gun belt and a rifle to Taylor, while Jack handed the same items to Billy.
“All righty, then,” Taylor said. “Lead on, fellas.”
Jack led the group off the ship, followed by Taylor and Billy, with Stan in trail to cover their group’s rear. Once inside the station, Taylor paused to get reacquainted with his surroundings.
Corridors ran off into the distance in both directions, with only the smallest amount of curve to them at the far horizons. Shops and businesses lined the walls as far as he could see.
“Never fails to impress, does it?” Billy asked.
“No, it most certainly does not.” Taylor shouldn’t have been surprised. Karma Station was where most of the Merc Guild business for that arm of the galaxy was conducted. As such, it was anybody’s guess how many millions, if not tens of millions, of credits, flowed through these halls each and every day, especially now that—even if slow—contracts were flowing again.
“This way,” Jack said.
The group started forward to an oversized pressure tube—one of Karma’s “glideways”—and entered it, allowing the wind inside to gently blow them down to one of the gravity rings, where Jack got off. Taylor got off behind him and was immediately struck, as always, by the station’s diversity.
The half-gee of the ring allowed all manner of aliens to walk, crawl, or fly down the station’s massive passageway, and he could see easily 15 or 20 species with every glance he took. Nowhere, though, were any of the beings Human. The closest Taylor saw was a group of four Lumar—oversize humanoids with four arms—dressed in security uniforms and carrying their versions of billy clubs. When wielded by a Lumar, they’d be more than enough to crack someone’s skull…permanently.
Note to self. Never cross those guys if you can help it. Taylor acknowledged the leader with a nod, then rounded a corner and almost collided with three other aliens.
“Watch where you’re going, human,” the lead Zuul growled, head down and haunches up.
“Easy, friend.” Billy raised his palms. “We’re sorry about the misstep. You have our word we’ll be more cautious next time.”
Taylor studied the snarling canine and its two compatriots, hand steady at the sidearm holster on his right thigh. Don’t push it, pooch. Otherwise, I’ll be forced to fry your ugly mutt ass right here in front of all these nice people.
The muscular alien gave an audible huff, then stood down. “We go.”
Good boy. Taylor kept his eyes up and his palm down as the canine pack vanished into the crowd. I fargin hate Zuul.
“Well then.” Jack turned up the sidewalk. “Now that we’ve put that little bit of unpleasantness behind us, what say we get on about our business here?”
“Agreed.” Billy checked the time. “Let’s pick up the pace, gentlemen. We’re right on schedule, but I’m always a fan of making a meeting early if I can help it.”
The group proceeded down the passageway for a few more minutes before eventually halting outside a nondescript door marked with a line of alien text Taylor’s pinplants interpreted into English.
Sasha’s Services. His first time here, Taylor had wondered if his officers were pranking him with some sort of new command hazing ritual at an alien nudie joint. As it happened, though, Sasha was the pit’s new proprietor, a savvy Lumar who’d seized on the chance to commandeer one of the industry’s premiere merc pits when its previous owner, Peepo, had been unceremoniously…retired.
“Home, sweet home.” Jack pushed the door open, then led the group through a second, interior door into the wall of sound on the other side. The place was
