Tartarus Trading Post, Neutral Space
The bar was unlike any place Xenophon had ever visited before. Creatures from every corner of the known Galaxy stood and drank, chatted, argued or flirted in the subdued lighting. Xenophon, Roxana and Glaucon sat in a quiet corner of the bar and huddled over their drinks. Their glasses were filled with a pungent green liquid that gave off an odd scent. From the top of the glass, an even stranger low-lying mist dripped down the sides and moved about the table. The effect was much like dry ice, but the smell and movement was very different.
“You recommend this stuff?” asked Glaucon.
“It’s their specialty, apparently,” Roxana answered. “Now, are you going to tell me why you’re here?”
Xenophon leaned in closer to her.
“We were in the capital when Crixus and the rest left. They just announced it, and then they were gone. It took less than an hour for every single Laconian civilian and soldier to leave the city.”
“Okay, that doesn’t tell me what you are both doing here though, does it?”
She turned to Glaucon who was already distracted by a number of dancers at the far end of the bar.
“Glaucon, what were you doing there? I thought you were the ardent democrat?”
He smiled back at her, and perhaps a little surprised she remembered anything about him, especially his political views.
“Well, until a few weeks ago, I was the most ardent democratic supporter of all. Hell, Xenophon and I met over a barricade. You know he was the Inner Ward Prefect in the city, right?”
“Prefect? Yes, I heard rumours that the son of Gryllus was working with the occupying government.”
“What was I supposed to do? They wanted to leave, but not if it meant leaving behind a pro war party in their place.”
“You believe that?” she replied sarcastically.
“Well, now that they’ve gone, what has happened on Attica? I will tell you what. The mob has forced a return to democracy, and the first thing they want already is revenge. I promise you, they will happily go to war over this perceived slight even if it means turning the planet to glass.”
Roxana placed her glass back onto the table. She appeared somewhat surprised at this loud and continuous outburst by her old friend.
“I’d forgotten how passionate you can get about certain subjects.”
“Glass?” asked Glaucon, genuinely confused.
“It’s Xenophon, just trying to be cryptic. Centuries ago, back when we were threatening each other with thermonuclear weapons, it was a common phrase. By using powerful hydrogen bombs, the thermal energy would literally boil people, objects and buildings.”
“Turning them to glass?” added Glaucon.
“Exactly. I think you’ll find it’s just Xenophon trying to be clever.”
Xenophon shook his head, evidently unimpressed by her comments.
“What about you then, Roxana? What are you doing in a place like this? And with such, well, colourful company?”
She leaned back and took a long draught from her glass. The alcohol was potent, and with each breath she was becoming less stern and a little merrier. With a clunk, she brought the glass down and glanced about the room. It truly was the most bohemian of locations, but nobody seemed to be particularly interested in the three Terrans.
“Okay, here it is. I met a group of Alliance officers who would be offered some security work on one of the colony freighters off-world. This was right after the surrender, and if you remember, at that point many Alliance military were being locked up. I joined a crew, and we spent the next three months guarding the convoys. Pretty easy work and the pay was good, really good.”
“You, a private security contractor?” asked Glaucon.
Roxana glanced at him and turned to Xenophon.
“Anyway, when we got back from the last job, I met this Imperial Army guy.”
“The one that was downstairs earlier?”
She nodded before continuing.
“He was with a group of Imperial agents, and they were moving between ships and the station to recruit all sorts of people. That’s when they offered me a three-month deal to help retrieve some items.”
“Retrieve?” asked Xenophon with a hint of irony.
“Yes, treasures stolen from the Emperor himself some twenty years ago. We did the job and came back here for payment.”
“Well?”
She pulled out her ID card and flashed it in front of him while at the same time hitting the credit button. The holographic display showed the credit state of her account.
“Wow, that’s a lot of credit. All of that from one job?”
Roxana nodded and then leaned in even closer.
“There’s more, though. Rumour has it that he is back and recruiting for an even bigger team for a special operation. They’re looking for all types, soldiers, engineers, techs, even translators.”
“What kind of a job would need all of that? Don’t they already have the manpower in the Empire? What do they want us for?” asked Glaucon.
Roxana took another sip from her glass and slid back into a more comfortable position in her chair. She was quiet for a moment, perhaps thinking about what to share, or it might have simply been the alcohol slowing her down.
“Why do you think there are so many Laconians here? He is offering them more money than an Alliance solider earns in a lifetime, for one job. How much does a Laconian soldier earn?”
Glaucon shrugged, and Xenophon shook his head in disappointment.
“Glaucon, you know full well that Laconians only train for war, and that is their sole role in life. The automatons provide the labour in the cities and fields so that they can work on their fighting skills. They earn nothing, and the state provides them with food, clothes and a home, nothing more.”
“Exactly, and this job can make every one of them rich beyond their wildest dreams.”
Xenophon threw back a sip of the liquid and instantly regretted it. The warm drink rushed down his throat and sat in his chest, burning hot and heavy inside. He coughed to try and clear it, but it didn’t help. After a few more seconds, the discomfort started to subside, and he tried to look as calm and comfortable as he could.
“So, you’re signing up for this adventure, then?” he asked.
“Definitely. You’ve seen the reports back home. I’m just as likely to be lynched as given a friendly welcome. This way, I get to keep away and have some money behind me.”
“What about afterwards? What will you do with the money?”
“Who cares?” she said with a cavalier tone. “You know how this works. Money makes life much easier. Maybe I’ll start my own agency, return, buy a farm. I’ll decide when I get to it. But for now, it is good money and guaranteed work for at least six months.”
“Six?” asked Glaucon.
“Yes, at least. That’s the rumour, anyway. You two thinking of coming along?”
The two young men looked at each other, both trying to gauge what the other thought. Xenophon was by far the most eager, but Glaucon looked confused. Xenophon looked back to her.
“There’s something else.”
“Go on.”
“My father. He was killed during the changeover.”
Roxana looked crestfallen. She had been a friend of the family for many years, and right back to when Xenophon had been a boy. She had known his father well, so her anguish was genuine and heartfelt.
“I’m so sorry, can you tell me what happened?” she asked quietly.
“It was murder. That bitch Montoya, one of the Thirty and her cronies, shot him in the back and left him to rot.”
“Why? What did she have to gain?” asked Roxana.
“We didn’t have the opportunity to find out. Half the city was trying to break through the perimeter, and as you can see, they are looking for anybody with links to the old regime with a vengeance. That’s one of the reasons we’re here.”
Roxana tapped the table and a computer display popped up, projected directly in front of her. With a few quick hand gestures, she brought up the latest public reports from Attica and the outlying worlds of the old Alliance. Page after page slid past until she stopped at one in particular. She stared for several seconds before turning to Xenophon.
“You have a problem. Have you not seen this?”
Xenophon stood up and moved around to sit beside her. He looked at the data, specifically the images and text on a publically issued police report. There was an attached warrant for both him and Glaucon.
“What does it say?” asked Glaucon, but his voice implied he already had a good idea what it was about.
“It’s my father. There’s a public warrant out for our arrest in any former Alliance territory.”
“What? That will be Montoya and her friends. What does it say we did?”
Roxana moved the page and brought up extra information from the local news sources. One image more than any caught her eye. It was of the civic buildings, each of them burning from the fires of public disorder. The old Ecclesia, a structure famed as the symbol of democracy, was heavily damaged. Multiple explosions had smashed the famous front facade, and much of its structure now lay in ruins. Large segments appeared untouched, but the information around the images explained it would probably need to be demolished and a new one built on the ruins.
“No, it can’t be. The reports say a group of hard-core supporters of the old regime refused to hand over power to the people. When the moderates in the Thirty tried to hand over power, this group tried to start a coup. It says Gryllus was the leader with military support from me and an underground revolutionary party led by you, Glaucon.”
“What? The group I was in was pushing for democratic change. It was a political protest movement. You’re telling me we’ve been blamed for the explosions, violence and carnage in the capital?”
Xenophon leaned back and shook his head.
“It’s worse than that. The official line is that we fought with my father over control and ended up killing him.”
“Bullshit!” snapped Glaucon in a rage.
He stood up, and Xenophon was forced to drag him back down before he drew too much attention to their quiet part of the bar. Two or three unsavoury characters were already watching them. Xenophon looked back to Roxana, and he was having a difficult time gauging her thoughts.
“You don’t believe this, do you?” he asked.
She smiled at him.
“Xenophon, I’ve known you and your father for years. I cannot see either of you doing anything other than what you might think is best for Attica. As for this trouble, and the death of your father, it is rubbish. But that’s not really the issue, is it?”
Xenophon nodded in agreement.
“Yes, you’re right. With the change of government, and this lie being told, we’re essentially outcasts from Attica. If we travel anywhere near there, we’ll be arrested and returned for a trial.”
And when I say trial, I actually mean a show trial where we all get strung up and left to rot. There’s no chance in hell we’d get a fair deal back home, not yet anyway.
Roxana turned the virtual display around so that it displayed correctly for the two men. The detail was impressive, and the quality good enough to read from where they sat.
“No, it is much worse than that. In the last hour, envoys have been sent to the old worlds of the Alliance. It looks like they are trying to draw up a new treaty arrangement.”
“Treaty?” asked Glaucon.
“The Alliance, they are going to try and rebuild it, and then make all the same mistakes they made last time. I warned them about this. Actually, Crixus and his people warned us as well. The only reason they stayed as long as they did was to try and persuade us to not go down this road again. You realise that the Laconians won’t let us off so lightly next time? I wouldn’t be surprised if they flattened Attica so as to make an example.”
A loud noise erupted from the right of the bar as a group of three people entered. They were all dressed in long flowing robes, and each was of a different colour and pattern. They moved with an elegance and grace that Xenophon assumed they were women. A number of the men in the bar were quite vulgar in their language towards them, yet they slipped past and made their way to a table. One by one, they removed their hoods to reveal their slender, smooth faces. Each was longhaired, with flowing locks that ran down past their shoulders. He almost forgot to swallow at the sight of such perfection.
“Ahem…” muttered Roxana, noticing the enthralled Xenophon and Glaucon, both busily watching the new party. Xenophon turned back sheepishly.
“Don’t you have better things to do right now?”
He said nothing but looked over to Glaucon who grinned, the tension of their conversation already starting to fade.
“Have you ever seen anything like them? You don’t see women on Attica like that now, do you?”
Roxana shook her head.
“You know I am still here?” she asked, feigning being insulted.
Glaucon looked back, but Xenophon continued to watch them. Roxana was about to speak again but noticed his body language. Something was up. She leaned towards him and whispered in his ear.
“What is it?”
“There’s something going on over there, near the doorway.” he replied quietly.
Roxana started to turn, but he grabbed her arm and held her still.
“Slowly, don’t draw any attention, something is about to happen.”
She tried to relax and looked past the group of women and to the bar. From the corner of her peripheral vision, she picked out the shadows Xenophon had been referring to.
“I see them. Who are they?” she whispered.
Xenophon watched them and managed to isolate two men in the shadows plus another two who looked like they were watching the entrance.
An ambush, it has to be.
He turned to Glaucon and Roxana and spoke as quietly as he could, yet still loud enough for them to hear him over the music.
“There’s going to be trouble. Four men, two at the side and two more at the entrance.”
Roxana nodded and waved her hand to control the computer display in front of her. She moved a number of news stories about to hide as much of the communication screen and log as possible before contacting the security desk on the ground floor of the mercenary recruitment centre.
“Yeah?” said the man on the display. He wore a dark uniform and armoured shoulder pads. He gave a rather poor impression of the security, but it was his job to help keep the place secure.
“There’s trouble in the high level bar, four intruders, possibly armed.”
“Armed?” answered the man. There was something about the word that forced him upright. He looked to his right and waved at somebody out of view. A moment later another man appeared. This one looked much more competent and wore the insignia of the station security on his chest.
“A team is on the way, but what is happening up there?”
Roxana tried to speak, but the display and a dozen similar ones instantly deactivated. It must have been one of the men that had just arrived. She looked to Xenophon and Glaucon who were already bracing themselves for trouble. The music cut abruptly, and in the brief moment of quiet, she whispered to them both.
“Stall for time, security is on the way.”
The lights flashed brightly and turned the bar from a dark and drab space to a bright place where nobody could hide. It was as though a great floodlight had been activated, causing instantaneous discomfort. As they tried to adjust their eyes, the group of men moved in. All wore civilian clothing and carried a rough looking firearm. It was larger than a pistol but looked crude and unsophisticated. One turned it towards Xenophon’s table and flicked it, indicating for them to move.
“Hands on the table,” he then moved into the centre of the room and raised his weapon to the ceiling. “Everybody cooperates and nobody gets hurt!” shouted the man.
From behind the bar emerged a tough, tattooed man brandishing a metal bat. It wasn’t the most sophisticated of weapons, and probably all he was allowed to carry in case of emergencies. One of the men threw back his hood to reveal the face of a Median civilian. He had the normal slender body and soft skin of his race, but his face was scarred; one of his eyes looked different, perhaps mechanical.
“Old man. Get back and drop your bat. We won’t tell you again,” he snapped.
He then clicked a button on his firearm and pointed it directly at the face of the barman. Even then he refused to drop it.
“What the hell is a Median mercenary doing making trouble in my bar? You know the penalty, right?”
Without a moment’s hesitation the man pulled the trigger. The blast was nothing like the pulse weapons used by the military. In fact, Xenophon was certain it was a simple projectile weapon, powered by a chemical process. It hurled a cloud of shot that slammed the man back two metres and into a stack of glasses and bottles. He crumpled to the floor, presumably dead. Several women at the fringe of the bar started to scream, but by simply pointing their weapons at them, the criminals soon quietened them down.
The largest of the group also threw back his hood, revealing a rough, almost reptilian face. He was of a similar build to a human but with a broader chest and substantially greater muscle mass. He wore some kind of respirator device built into a crude metal facemask.
“Mulacs,” whispered Xenophon.
The creature heard the sound but could not work out who had spoken.
“No more mistakes. Keep your hands where we can…see them,” he said, a slight pause mid-sentence at he hissed through his respirator.
Mulacs? What are they doing here? They’re nothing but petty criminals and slavers, thought Xenophon.
The creature moved to the group of newly arrived women. He seemed interested in them alone. The closer he moved the more they recoiled, as if they had been expecting trouble. From his position it was impossible to hear what he was saying, but it was clearly aggressive in tone. One of the women stood up, only to be struck in the face by the Mulac.
“Bastards!” swore Glaucon, his control starting to waver. Xenophon glanced towards his friend and tried to dissuade him from action. It was to no avail, the young man’s blood pressure seemed about to boil. One of the thugs spotted him and moved closer, his weapon aimed squarely at Glaucon’s chest.
“Don’t try and be a hero, Alliance boy,” he laughed.
Xenophon watched what was happening and could only pray that Glaucon didn’t do something stupid. Although they had much in common, there was a big difference when it came to situations like this. Where Xenophon was calm and also dispassionate, Glaucon was easily excited and prone to rushing in without thinking. When Xenophon had been reading or translating old texts, Glaucon had been playing at sports or hosting yet more parties. It was incredible they had become such good friends with them being so far apart.
“Hey!” shouted one of the men as he spotted a young woman entering the bar. She must have been in a side room as she stumbled in, half drunk and almost crashed into the bar. She wore old-fashioned denim trousers with a light blue top. Over the top was a rough but sturdy black leather jacket. Her hair was dyed a vivid blue colour.
“Uh, what’s going on?” she muttered and then flipped down onto the bar. One of the guards started to move towards her but stopped when it was clear she was either unconscious or asleep. Roxana tilted her head slightly and looked to the girl’s left leg. Xenophon followed her glance and spotted the item on her thigh. It looked like a black holster, and the young woman’s hand was moving towards it.
“That’s enough surprises, everybody show us those hands. You three are coming with us!” snarled the Median. One of his henchmen approached the three women and lifted them up, one at a time. He carried sets of manacles that he expertly placed on their forearms. One started to move, and in a flash the Mulac henchman struck her across the face, knocking her down but not hard enough to hurt her. It was then that Xenophon spotted her skin and face. He realised they weren’t women, not by the standards of the Terrans anyway. They were the androgynous automatons, the manufactured slaves of the Empire, and almost certainly from one of the many pleasure ships that ploughed the shipping lanes.
Incredible. They are supposed to be as beautiful and attractive to any man or woman that looks on them. I wonder if that is true.
Almost as soon as they had arrived, the group of criminals were making their way slowly to the door with their prize of imprisoned automatons. Glaucon turned to Xenophon and Roxana, a look of pleading and anger about his face.
“Wait for it…” whispered Xenophon, for he knew something explosive was about to happen. It was pointless jumping forward into the sights of a group of desperate criminals. He spotted a flick of movement from the blue-haired girl as she pulled an object from the holster. Without even checking around her, she slid back and tumbled out into the open. The criminal thugs watched open-mouthed as she raised a snub barrelled pistol and pointed it at the Mulac’s forehead. With a single flash, the back of the creature’s head exploded in a cloud of blood. He staggered back and dropped to the floor, killed instantly by the explosive power of the low velocity slug. The other three surged towards her with their weapons at the ready.
“Now!” cried Xenophon.
Both he and Glaucon were out from behind their table and lurched across the open space to tackle the Median thug. He was much stronger than he looked, but the impact caught him by surprise and threw him roughly to the ground. His firearm clattered away uselessly. For a second Xenophon thought they had him under control, but no sooner had they hit the ground, and he was rolling away. With a flick of his leg, he caught Glaucon hard in the stomach. He jumped ahead to Xenophon, but another blast from a different weapon struck him in the torso. The impact knocked him back to the floor, and a gaping wound on the front, the obvious sign of a violent blast wound. He rolled to the right and spotted Roxana on one knee, aiming the firearm that she must have taken from the fallen enemy. She took careful aim and loosed off another shot. Xenophon spun around and spotted a third of the gang drop down clutching at his leg. The girl with the blue hair slid along the floor and struck her weapon at the man’s head, knocking him out cold before he could respond. The bar was now completely silent as the fourth and final man stood and waited. He carried a larger weapon in his hands. It was multi-barrelled and looked like a heavily modified carbine. Roxana and the blue-haired woman aimed their weapon at him, but Xenophon and Glaucon were still unarmed. They stood and waited like the rest.
“Put down the weapon, Tamor!” shouted the girl.
The man laughed, evidently refusing to comply.
“We should have killed you when you first came to us,” he said bitterly.
It was a standoff, each waiting for the other to move first. The man wore crude looking armour, the kind a lot of mercs and freelancers used to get the rougher types of work. But no one needed to make a move as the reinforcements had arrived. The main doors burst open, and in walked a great hulk of a man. He was taller than any of those stood in the bar and almost as broad across the chest. He pointed his right hand at the man and spoke slowly but firmly.
“This is a public place, and I have Laconian troops on site. Drop your weapon, or face the consequences!”
The man gazed at the new arrival, trying to gauge whether he could shoot him down in the time it would take for him to draw his weapon. The wait seemed to last forever as the small group stared at each other, looking for the sign that would signal their intention. Either the stress or the fear finally took hold, but the man threw his weapon to the floor. The Laconian man stood and watched, still unmoving as he watched his target.
“Okay, you win,” he said nervously.
The tense standoff continued until a shake of the guard’s left hand brought in a group of six security men. Each wore body armour and carried electrified stun rods and riot pulse pistols. It was the kind of gear used by riot police for non-fatal confrontations. They rushed past him and grabbed the man, placing cuffs on him and then dragging him out. Two more grabbed the injured criminal and forced him to his feet so he could be removed, albeit in great pain. Only the leader of their unit remained, the tough looking Laconian.
“My apologies for the intrusion,” he said in a monotone voice and turned to leave.
“Wait!” called out Xenophon. He moved up to the man and stopped to speak with him. Next to each other they almost looked like a teenager and a middle-aged man. They were that apart in bulk and general build.
“Yes?” he asked.
“What about the bodies? Don’t you want to know why they were here?”
The Laconian looked throughout the room, glancing at the dozens of individuals as well as the casualties on the ground.
“They are dead, the suspects are in custody and the escapees are safe,” he said and left the room. Xenophon stood there, speechless and confused. He knew the Laconians were famed for their use of subtle language, but this seemed to be taking the idea to absurd levels. Glaucon and Roxana moved up to him, both as surprised at the events.
“You have to love the Laconians, they don’t waste their words do they?” said Roxana.
The group of automatons approached them and each bowed in turn. They were lithe and stunningly beautiful, nothing like Xenophon or Glaucon had expected. One, in a long black dress spoke with a smooth, gentle voice.
“Thank you, your assistance was not necessary. We are here only to serve.”
Xenophon reached out and touched her arm.
“Are you all unhurt? What did they want?” he asked.
The second automaton smiled at him, her skin barely moving as she spoke.
“We are exiles from the Cilician Gates, and they were bounty hunters.”
“Cilician Gates?” asked Glaucon.
“They’re the group of worlds clustered along the outer border of the Median Empire, not far from where Fort Plymouth was. It is the gateway to the Empire.”
“You’re Imperial slaves? I thought you were completely loyal, and that you had no free will?” Glaucon asked.
“Why would you think that? We are manufactured, but our lack of freewill comes from indoctrination and history, not mechanics or genetics.”
The first woman bowed again.
“We thank you, but we must leave. Our ship awaits us, and we wish to avoid further trouble.”
She turned and the others followed. The rest of the clientele in the bar watched them go with the same level of surprise and interest as Xenophon, Glaucon and Roxana. A medical team came through the door along with a station official, who headed directly for the injured, but still breathing, bar tender. Xenophon indicated back to the table.
“We need to talk,” he said quietly.
They moved to their table and leaned in closely.
“We don’t want any unnecessary attention from these people. Do you have somewhere we could crash for tonight?”
Roxana nodded. She turned her head slightly, spotting movement in the shadows near to their table. A man moved and sat down next to her. She lifted her left hand as though expecting trouble, but the stranger raised his hands in a peaceful, almost conciliatory gesture.
“I’m not looking for trouble. You’re not from around here are you?” he asked.
“Who is?” answered Roxana.
Xenophon glanced at the man; he was definitely not from Attica or any of the nearby worlds. His build and overall physique was that of a strong man, quite probably a warrior or perhaps a labourer of some kind. It was more likely to be the latter. Most of the physical work in the Laconian territories was undertaken by the slaves, or as they liked to call them, indentured workers. There was a chance he could be a worker from one of the Alliance worlds, somewhere where the use of slaves was still banned. His clothes were covered by a cloak-like robe and masking much of his torso. The man pulled his robe slightly to one side to reveal a metallic looking breastplate underneath.
“Another Laconian soldier,” muttered Xenophon.
“Hey, I’m looking for people with certain skills to sign up for this enterprise. I can see you can handle yourself in a fight. Nice work here. I take it you’ve heard about the operation?”
Roxana gave a subtle nod to Xenophon and Glaucon, and they both recognised the sign. Glaucon might not know her as well as Xenophon, but the body language was universal.
She wants us to keep quiet.
“Which one? We’re keeping our options open.”
The man scowled, unimpressed with their position on the subject.
“There’s only one job people are talking about, so what do you think everybody else is doing here?”
He pulled out a small device and placed it in the middle of the table. It was made from a dull black plastic and with a gently tap produced a detailed three-dimensional model of a starship. It wasn’t massive and looked civilian rather than the heavily armoured warships they had seen moored around the station.
“My ship is a scouting vessel. We’re looking for techs, engineers and software specialists to help crew her.”
“Why aren’t you recruiting like everybody else here?” asked Xenophon.
“Well, we run a special kind of ship. One where we don’t ask questions when we recruit or when we pay. You see, most of the captains that are taking on crew have to run them through the legal filters. If you are clear, you can join. If you can’t, well, you’re stuck here.”
Glaucon shook his head and pushed towards the man. He looked suspiciously at them and reached down, implying he was about to reach for a weapon.
“Look, friend, we’re not looking for trouble, and we’re not looking to sign up with freebooters.”
He looked at the three and then leaned back, putting his small projection device back inside his pocket. He lifted himself from his seat and took a step away before turning back.
“We have a room upstairs near the firing range. If you change your minds, come and find me, but don’t take too long. The recruitment fair will be over in less than three days, and then we move out. If you don’t find a ship, you won’t be coming, and everything here costs money. You don’t have work, so you’ll find yourself in somebody’s pocket, and fast.”
He nodded to them and slinked away into the darkness. No sooner had he left and Glaucon started talking excitedly.
“Less than three days? Are we staying here, or are we looking for work? What if he’s right? We could end up stuck in this place and with nothing to do. We used all our funds to get here. Something tells me we won’t be able to access any more money since the trouble back home.”
As he was talking, Roxana returned to the computer system and ran through the floor plan of the bar and recruitment part of the station. The larger agencies had permanent offices and rooms, but over half was reserved for part-time agencies or special events. She stopped and glanced at one section in particular, outlined in purple.
“This is interesting,” she said as she continued reading the screen.
“What is it?” asked Xenophon.
“Clearchus is here, and he is recruiting.”
“What?” demanded Glaucon in an almost angry tone.
“THE Clearchus? The Laconian General himself?” asked Xenophon. Roxana nodded at him, but said no more. Although the display was reversed, due to him looking at the back, he could make out the face of the old General, but the text was almost impossible to work out.
“That’s him. I’d know that face anywhere. He is one of the most famous Laconian soldiers we know of. If he’s here, it can only be for one of two reasons. Either he is recruiting for an operation of his own, or…”
“Or he is here for the same reason as the rest of us. He needs work,” added Roxana.
Xenophon nodded, “Exactly.”
“There is no way I am serving with a Laconian officer, especially one like him, forget it!” Glaucon snapped.
Roxana looked to Xenophon, lifting her eyebrows in a questioning expression. He didn’t need to explain as Glaucon continued his rant.
“You know that Clearchus and the troops aboard his Titan were responsible for the deaths of two of my brothers, don’t you? He might be a great hero to the Laconians, but he is a sworn enemy to my family. We lost almost an entire Alliance fleet to his forces, and a lot of good friends,” said Glaucon.
Clearchus. I’ve heard only the most experienced crew serve with him, but Glaucon will never go for it, Xenophon thought. Unless the rewards were too great to avoid, of course.
Xenophon turned to him.
“I know. I was there for the funeral. But that is for another day. Right now, all we can do is ensure we survive. We have to do something, and from what I’m seeing on the public broadcasts, somebody will be out looking for us. You saw those bounty hunters back on Attica. If the price is high enough, we could expect that in other places.”
“I’ve met him,” said Roxana, surprising both of them. Her announcement stopped them talking immediately. They both knew her reasonably well, but there was a time period they knew little of. It was mainly her military service that seemed to throw up all kind of odd anecdotes. Though Xenophon had served with her more recently, she had already spent time in the Navy. Even stranger were the contacts and experiences she had made since the surrender. Xenophon tried to imagine her as a mercenary or pirate, but it just didn’t seem to work in his head. He looked to her with a confused look.
“How is that possible?” he asked.
“Just after the surrender on Attica, he and a delegation of senior Laconian commanders surveyed the destruction of the rest of the Alliance Fleet. I was there when he arrived. A group of engineers were supposed to destroy the Valiant, and they were actually on board when he arrived. He stormed aboard and forced them out, even physically throwing one from the entrance when he refused.”
Xenophon took a sip from his drink and scratched at an itch on his eyelid.
“Why?”
“That is the interesting bit. He didn’t want to see the ship destroyed when it had performed so well in the battle. Trust me, you might have been out for the count, but she kept going. I’ve never seen a ship of the line take as much punishment and keep going.”
“The battle? You mean our last battle?”
”Exactly. It seems the Valiant has a bit of a reputation amongst the Laconians, probably not helped by the disdain they show for every other ship in the Armada. Actually, it was the only ship still fighting when the surrender order was given. Not that any of us knew that at the time.”
“I don’t remember. The last thing I saw was blackness.”
Glaucon sighed and made to leave them for the bar. Xenophon reached out for him.
“Hey, where are you going?”
“You two seem to be having a great time reminiscing about your glory days in the war. I’ll get a drink in the meantime.”
“Wait, why don’t we head down there now and see if they’re recruiting?”
“Are you mad? I doubt they’re recruiting, and if they are, why would they want us?” asked Glaucon.
Roxana stood up and shook her head, letting her hair flow more freely.
“Simple, we’re heroes from the Valiant. I bet I can get an audience with him. I tell him old stories, and you two put on your best charm.”
Glaucon shook his head.
“No way, I’m not serving under the man that saw my brothers killed. You two can go if you like, but I’d rather work with freebooters or people traffickers than with people like them.”
Roxana sighed angrily.
“Fair enough. What if we can’t get on with anybody else? You heard what the freebooter said. Time is limited, and if we get stuck here, we could end up in a world of trouble.”
Glaucon took a step away. He was looking angry, and Xenophon knew from experience that it was best to let it go. So he let him move a little further away before making his offer.
“I tell you what. First thing in the morning, we’ll hit every stand and find us a ship and crew we can fit in with. Clearchus and the freebooters are the last option, and the choice we will only turn to, only, and I mean only, if we have no other option. Deal?”
Glaucon grunted something at them and moved away. Xenophon looked at Roxana.
“Is he okay?” she asked.
He nodded slowly. “We’ve been through a lot, and the loss of his brothers hit him badly. Clearchus might be the perfect option, but it’s going to be hard, and I mean really hard, to persuade him.”
She smiled at him. A low buzz came from her communicator. She lifted it and checked the display. Her face turned from a gentle smile to one of annoyance.
“Dammit,” she muttered.
“What is it?”
“Prices on the market. They just went through the roof. The merc pay just doubled, seems they are extending the contract and limiting the field to experienced military personnel and technical crew only. It isn’t going to be easy finding a crew.”
“With our military records that should get us somewhere, right?” he asked.
Two Laconian men entered the bar and spotted a comrade. They marched past, and even their off-duty movement seemed militaristic.
“Have you seen how many Laconians there are here? How can we compete with them?”
Xenophon shrugged. He had no answers. Roxana watched them until they sat down with their friend. She turned back to Xenophon.
“Let’s get some rest, and I’ll meet both of you downstairs in six hours?”
“Why six?”
“That’s when they open the place back up. We can go down there now if you want, but last time I checked, it was full of drunken Laconian soldiers. A few more hours and the staff will clear up ready for the next batch of recruits. We need to be at the front of the pack.”
“Good idea,” replied Xenophon. He stood up and glanced over to Glaucon. He was already at the bar and throwing back a glass of some foul looking liquid. Xenophon knew well from experience that he needed to keep Glaucon as far away from women and drink as he could. The last thing they needed was a tab they couldn’t pay, or a woman chasing him for false promises.
“I’ll let Glaucon know. We’ll see you in six, then.”
“Don’t be late!” she said with a grin.