Osdal (Harmony War Series Book 3) (12 page)

“Alright, looks like we’re probably going to get screwed for this haul because we don’t have any tokens, their version of creds. Though with the load we’ve got, we’ll have plenty of spending money. I’ve got a lead on a hotel and real food,” Moretti said. “Let’s get this stuff unloaded; I need two people to stay back with the gear and make sure everything goes smoothly.”

“I’ll stay,” Mark said.

“I’m the cargo master of this tub, so I’ll stay back.”

“Thank you gents, the rest of you are with me. If this thing isn’t unloaded in an hour we’ll send someone else out here to swap out,” Haas said. “Grab your gear bags and follow me.” Haas led the charge out of the airlock, the rear hatch to the freighter opening as robots started coming in and grabbing the containers holding barely processed compacted metals.

“I’m going to have a talk with the foreman, wanna come?” Bobbie asked.

“Sure,” Mark said, happy to stretch his legs.

The foreman watched her surface with interest. She looked up as Bobbie and Mark approached; she was a good-looking curvy woman, with blonde and brunette hair.

“That platinum?” She asked without preamble. Her eyes fell on Bobbie, staying there for a moment.

Probably that fine beard he loves, the ladies do seem to love the look of it,
Mark thought.

“Maybe,” Bobbie said, drawing the word out. “Name’s Bobbie, what’s your name?”

“Carly, nice to meet you,” she said with a smile. “Who’s your friend?”

“Mark,” he answered for himself, nodding to her and spitting into his squeeze bottle, moving his chewing tobacco around.

“Well, if that’s plat, you boys are in for one hell of a payday.”

“Hopefully it ain’t the only plat we pulled out of that damned thing. Our surveyor said it should make up for our bills and expenses,” Bobbie said, falling right into his role as asteroid miner.

“Yeah your Foreman was saying. Maybe you should spend less money on the wrong kinds of girls.” She smiled.

“Hmm, but you seem like my kind of wrong,” Bobbie countered.

“Tell me that again after a few beers when I’m off.”

Bobbie pulled out a surface. It was twenty years since Harmony had taken over, and Moretti had bet that, like Masoul, quite a number of people didn’t have implants, or their maintenance up to date, so everyone carried a surface.

“If you were able to send me your contact. then I could see about those beers,” Bobbie said.

“I’m going to check on the ‘bots,” Mark said, wandering around the back of the freighter. The door was closed and locked, and the robots were moving gear from the cargo bay as quickly as possible and Young had already checked the braces that connected the freighter’s struts to the landing pad.

Mark checked them again and left Bobbie and Carly to get acquainted as the robots reduced the freighter’s cargo hold down to the decking in a number of minutes. What had taken weeks to fill, took them less than a half hour to unload.

Mark grabbed his gear bag and Bobbie’s, then sealed up the ramp and checked everything was secure.

“Ship’s all locked up, I need a shower. You coming or want me to go on ahead?” Mark asked, giving Bobbie his gear bag.

“Go on ahead, I’ll catch up.”

“Alright, make sure you get a receipt, lover-boy!” Mark said, wandering off, pulling out his surface to checked where the hotel was supposed to be.

He got inside the station, and the airlocks automatically closed and opened, admitting him into one of the sleaziest stations he had ever had the pleasure of being inside.

A smile grew across his face as he saw the neon signs for beer, women, mining equipment, loans, food, hotels and everything in between.

Mark moved in through the busy open areas where people hawked their wares from their stores, whether that be actual gear, or themselves.

Mark pulled his helmet off and it smelt like fried food, cold air, perfume and mechanical machines.

He took in the sights, declining people’s wares and slapping two sets of pickpocketing hands away, then the third time he broke their pinkie. The word spread after that, and no one tried to steal from Mark.

Sure it would hurt but a splint and a few creds worth of medical aid, and they’d be fine.

Mark reached his hotel, and felt at home with the functional appearance of the place. He almost laughed at the bullet proof glass that surrounded the hotel’s front desk.

Shit it feels like Earth, minus the metal dust,
he thought as he walked up to the front desk.

“Mark, got a key? Crew of Bandit Two.”
“Two tokens,” the plump woman behind the counter said with a bored expression.

Mark frowned. He knew it was all paid for, and there were no extra charges; someone would have messaged him if that was the case.

“This ain’t my first rodeo. Key,” Mark said, his features hardening.

The woman seemed to think it over for a minutes before handing him a piece of plastic the size of a button.

“Thanks,” Mark said, flipping the button over to see his room number.

It was four to a room, and he was with Ko, Niemi and Dominguez. Already Niemi was towelling off, Dominguez was in the shower and Ko was stripped down to his pants, with a beer in hand.

Mark looked to Ko, raising an eyebrow.

“We’re supposed to blend in, I’m blending in,” Ko said.

“Not too much,” Mark warned, dumping his gear on a bed.

The shower stayed on, but Dominguez got out, steam coming from the bathroom as Ko rushed in. “Beer shower!”.

“S…, Mark,” Dominguez said, catching herself before she said Sarge.

“We’re all unloaded and Bobbie’s talking to the foreman,” Mark pulled off his boots and space suit.

He looked at his shoulder, and it was missing his tattoos; synth skin covered it up. Everyone’s Trooper tattoos were covered up.

“Will you please put some pants on, Niemi?” Mark sighed; Niemi seemed to be air drying.

“Stop staring then,” she said with a mischievous grin.

Mark shook his head, smiling as he pulled his wife beater off and lay on the bed. It felt like heaven compared to the decking they’d been sleeping on for the last two months.

“Beer shower, awesome idea,” Ko announced, grabbing a towel.

“Beer me,” Mark said, and a beer appeared from Ko’s bag and he tossed it to Mark.

“I owe you one,” Mark shut the bathroom door and washed two months of sweat and grime off. Wipes just weren’t enough.

He came out with a slight buzz and feeling like a million credits.

His implant pinged, letting him know that Haas wanted to have a meeting in his room in ten minutes.

In Haas’s room, the door was shut and a noise cancelling buzz filled the air.

“Alright, we’re in civilization and we’re supposed to be miners back from a massive haul. Moretti tells me that we’re going to have a good amount of tickets, and he’s even got an advance on some of it to line our pockets. We’re going to let you free, but stay in at least groups of two, don’t get stinking drunk, and look out for one another. Have fun, but remember the mission,” Haas said, looking to them all.

It was a hard order, letting them have fun and go drinking, yet trusting them to keep their mouths shut so they could continue with their mission.

“There aren’t that many Chosen around here, but they are here. They act as peace officers, though their version of peace is beating the shit out of you if you don’t follow their rules. Keep out of their way and live it up like miners back from a big score,” Moretti added.

“We’re going to have two weeks here, the first three nights go out, have fun, and build contacts, we might need them later. Work the station, then we’re going to do rotating shifts of mining. We need to figure out a way to Osdal Actual, that is our primary goal,” Haas said, making sure that sunk into everyone’s minds. “Now go have some fun, but not too much.”

There were whoops and cheers as they left the room in a rush, all grins and excitement of Troopers that hadn’t done anything but live with other Troopers for the last three years, with few chances to really let loose.

***

Tyler grabbed a few beers with everyone else at a food place that promised to be authentic East sector food.

Tyler didn’t know if their claims were true, but it was edible and the beer was better than what came out of Dashtund’s still.

They smoked, drank, ate and made plans, and as dinner was finished people started filing out, going to live it up on the town.

Haas was waving everyone on, until Young got a hold of his arm and dragged him out with her.

There were hoots and hollers as Haas went an interesting shade of red, only adding to the laughter of the others.

“We’re gonna go bar hopping,” Mark said to his group. “Wanna come?”

“Nah I’m good thanks, have fun,” Tyler said, waving them away.

“Will do,” Mark said, a smile spreading across his lined face.

Tyler would have found the adventures interesting when he’d joined the EMF, but without Alexis it wasn’t as exciting. He knew that he’d be thinking about her the entire time.

Since they’d been married he’d been on more ‘special’ missions than ever before, keeping them apart more than ever.

There were times when he wished that he didn’t have to go on these missions. Those thoughts were short lived though, this was his platoon and his people, and he wasn’t going to let them go into danger without him right by their side.

“I was going to take a wander of the place, grab some beers and then go back to the rooms and get some sleep,” Zukic offered. He seemed to be the only one not interested in going drinking and partying it up.

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Tyler said, pulling out the paper token money and putting it on his table. “Let’s hit the town.”

“I’m getting too old for this shit,” Zukic grumbled, shaking his head.

Tyler grinned as they walked out of the food stall and headed into the bustling station, lit up by garish neon signs as it entered its night cycle.

Tyler felt a hand reach for his tokens, and he absently hit the pickpocket in the ear, making them stumble and cry out in pain.

“Next time I’ll break your wrist,” Tyler said as he kept walking.

“Been some time since I dealt with pick pockets, want to hold onto this for me?” Zukic said, giving Tyler his money.

“Sure, I used to be one, though I lifted guns and weapons,” Tyler said, tucking the roll into his other pocket.

He remembered how scared he’d been the first dozen times he’d stolen, but then it became as easy as breathing.

Tyler let his fingers dance, stumbling into people and cursing others nearby as he took a mark’s cash roll.

He’d have an animated conversation about something with Zukic, waving his hands around, and a surface would appear in them.

“Will you look at that; it’s still linked to their implants, but they haven’t used them in years. Probably don’t want to draw attention, or know that they function. I wonder…” Tyler opened up the different signal bands on the surface and started to pick up dozens of implants that were working but unused.

Tyler sent a message using his own implants to Moretti; if the users weren’t using their implants then Tyler bet Moretti would be interested in them.

Tyler ditched the surface.

“Remind me to not be around you when you’re in a pick pocketing mood,” Zukic said, his voice low. Bars openly sold alcohol on the streets, and the entire place was getting their drink on.

Tyler whistled at a trio of good-looking women strutting their wares on the sidewalk. A group of big thugs who had been drinking earlier looked at them.

The trio caught Tyler’s eye, one of them winking and blowing him a kiss.

Tyler winked back, at just the right angle so one of the thugs thought she was looking at him.

I forgot the rush of stealing people’s shit,
Tyler thought, twitching his triceps, and dropping a blade into his right hand, cutting the thug’s sling off and catching the resulting machine gun in his left hand, swiftly tucking it into his own jacket.

Tyler brushed past the man and continued down the main way.

Zukic went a different route.

Tyler nodded to an alley and Zukic nodded, a beer in his hand, looking like a local.

Tyler scratched the back of his head, his blade sliding back into place.

In the alleyway he discarded the sling and checked the sub-machine gun. It didn’t have a magazine in its grip so Tyler twisted one of the three barrels, it clicked and he pulled it out, and the connector at the base of the barrel told him what he needed to know.

“Ah shit,” Zukic said, reaching the same conclusion.

“Metal storm tech,” Tyler agreed. The barrels were magazines as well; he didn’t know how many rounds were in each of the four barrels, but he knew their rate of fire was astronomical.

Electronic signals transmitted to the charge behind the round. The more barrels the greater rate of fire, and for the fist few seconds you could fire probably eight rounds before recoil started kicking you back. A four barrel didn’t have the ammunition capacity of an E-12 or a Repulsor, but if they went for punch over capacity then they might have a harder hitting weapon at an incredible rate of fire. Sure, they’d need to reload frequently, but have a few of them with a shooter and a loader…