Torian Reclamation 3: Test of Fortitude (10 page)

“If only things would always go as planned,” Brandon mumbled.

Olut6 heard him. “If only, yes. All right, that’s it. I’ll see you or your messenger back here in about a week. If not, I’ll send a full-sized fleet to come looking for you. Don’t let the Azaarians intimidate you. Remember, we’re the feared ones now.”

The High General signed off. Brandon and Perry stayed on the bridge while the flight crew locked in the targeting screen and engaged the dag. The stars began contracting, expanding, and zipping by as the Class-3 transport ship bent space away from Tora towards the outer edge of the Erobian Sphere.

Brandon and Perry hit the nearby lounge and sat down with two glasses of argim.

“I’m not sure if the High General grasps the inherent danger of being ‘the feared ones,’” Brandon said.

“I understand what you mean.”

“You do? That surprises me, to be honest.”

Perry took a sip of his drink and said, “When you’re the dominant force, you have a target on your back. There’s no denying that. Your security depends on your ability to justify your reputation. You actually need to be the toughest kid on the block when tested.”

“Are we the toughest kid on the block?”

Perry chuckled. “There’s no doubt about that. Especially with this super light weapon we’re supposed to possess.”

“Which we don’t actually have, which means we aren’t really that tough.”

“Aren’t we?” Perry asked. “Who’s tougher? Even without us having the light weapon?”

“The dark enemy, maybe.”

Perry shrugged. “I only said we were the toughest kid on our own block. When some unknown kids from some other block show up and want to fight, all bets are off.”

Brandon thought about that for a minute before responding.

“It seems to me that there’s always an unknown block nearby. When word gets out about a tough kid in another neighborhood, sooner or later the other toughest kid from across town is going to show up at his house to test him. And who knows what kind of gun the other kid might bring to the fight, especially if he’s heard we have a big gun.”

“What would you have us do?” Perry said. “We weren’t bothering anyone, and had no particular reputation for toughness before the dark enemy attacked. Would you have us roll over and be conquered or destroyed?”

“No,” Brandon confessed.

Perry nodded in appreciation. “It’s a wise parent who enrolls his kid in boxing lessons when a bully shows up in the neighborhood. With governments the scenario is predictable. They resist military spending until a threat presents itself. Suddenly, nothing else seems important. Self-preservation quickly becomes the highest priority when your way of life is in danger. Even I am impressed, though, at the speed of the Torian buildup after the politicians pulled their heads out of the sand.”

“Is that what happened on the Latia campaign?” Brandon asked. “The Latians were so fearful of our reputation they simply capitulated, and surrendered 75% of their fleet upon the asking?”

“Essentially, yes. We asked for 90% of their fleet in our initial terms. You should have been there. We showed up with an overwhelming force. There was nothing else for them to do.”

“They could have fought,” Brandon said. “Especially as ones defending their home soil. It may have been a more difficult battle than you suppose.”

“We came prepared for a hard fight.”

“I know. And I’m sure that coming prepared for a hard fight is a good way to prevent one. But I can’t help but wonder what role the light weapon played in their immediate surrender. The Latians had witnessed it twice already. That’s enough to put the fear of Erob in anyone.”

“We’ll take whatever breaks we can get.” Perry stretched and put his hands behind his back. “I’ll agree with you on one thing, though—maybe we are getting too old for this stuff. You know I’m 65 now, or close to it, as far as I can figure? That doesn’t even count my cryonic preservation time.”

Brandon did some quick calculating in his head.

“That means you’re 59 in Earth years, plus whatever the downtime did to you. So call it 65. I’m only a couple years younger than you. With a life expectancy of 150, we’re not even middle-aged yet.”

“Then why do I feel so much slower? It’s like gravity is starting to win the fight against my bones. Even the artificial gravity of this ship.”

Brandon laughed. “I know what you mean. Getting older is living up to its reputation. And we have a long ways to go, hopefully. Sometimes I feel like asking Derek to make a special lighter version of his float suit just to keep me on my feet all day. Give him another ten years to catch up to us and he’ll probably be all over the idea.”

Perry shook his head. “I still can’t believe he’s the inventor and manufacturer of those things. You know I take entire companies on exercises with them now?”

“What, like airborne divisions, jumping out of rotorcraft?”

“Right. That and scaling down rock faces in mountainous terrain. It’s invigorating training, and not without the occasional injury. But the suits work well, once you get the hang of them.”

Brandon finished his argim and set the empty glass down. “I’ll never know. It’d be a tough sell on me even if I was clueless to their origin. But knowing Derek made them—well, that completely kills any chance of me ever putting one on.”

Perry smiled. “Another round?”

“No,” Brandon said. “Not right now.”

Perry crossed his arms and cocked his head slightly. “You’re going to flight simulator 3, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I want to …get that out of the way. You heard the High General. He told me to get some training.”

Perry stayed in the same position for a minute, staring, making Brandon uncomfortable. Finally he spoke.

“He also said not to let it rob you of sleep. And you do want to get a lot of sleep on this flight, remember?”

“Of course,” Brandon said. “Don’t worry about me. I’m not as obsessive-compulsive as when I was young.”

*

“I told you not to let this game rob you of sleep,” Trodenmark said. “Maybe I should have come and turned it off. Too late now, I guess. We’ll be arriving shortly.”

“We slept.” Jumper sounded defensive. “I mean, we haven’t spent the whole flight here. We’ve been in our rooms, and eating meals, and in the lounge—”

“But mostly playing,” Alan said laughingly despite Jumper’s ensuing glare. “It sure made the flight go by fast. And since even when I was sleeping I was dreaming about playing it, we’ve pretty much been at this nonstop as far as my brain is concerned. Let’s shut it down and go join Kayla in the lounge, Jumper. I need to detox.”

“As soon as we finish this game,” Jumper said.

Alan looked at the situation. It was tempting to continue. The game was about even. His ship had nineteen supply contracts and a dozen active customers, plus he was on the verge of closing what looked like a highly profitable agricultural contract. Jumper had fewer contracts, but bigger customers who were buying higher-end goods. It would be a close finish. Unfortunately, Alan’s eyes were beginning to hurt and he felt a physical need to tear himself away.

Getting Jumper to agree to quit wasn’t going to happen. And it would be less than sporting to simply shut down and quit. Alan never did that to Jumper. For some reason, he could never bring himself to disappoint him.

Alan had an idea. Since Trodenmark was now back and observing them, maybe he could get him to shut the game off. Alan pointed his navigation controls at a planet near the edge of his territory. Instantly he was there, but he lost some points on the scoreboard for the long travel time it would have taken.

Jumper glanced at Alan’s end of the virtual game field and saw the holographic image of the planet his ship was next to.

“Isn’t that the place that drove you off earlier?”

Alan ignored him. Sure enough, several squadrons of small holographic fighters, along with two larger warships, appeared and began firing at Alan’s merchant ship. He activated the defenses and soon had a battle on his hands. The big guns that came out of his hull returned fire at the approaching warships, and his own fighters scrambled and engaged the attackers.

“What are you doing, man?” But the tone of Jumper’s voice, plus the fact he couldn’t look away from the simulated battle, told Alan he was secretly longing to do the same thing.

The dying sound of a large computer shutting down filled the room. The holographic images above the large game set flickered and vanished. The control panel screens and scoreboards went out. Alan and Jumper both looked to the side. Trodenmark had his hand on the main power switch and was shaking his head.

“I told you this isn’t a war game,” he said. “And I think you two have had enough of this. Why don’t you get a beverage and relax for the remainder of the trip?”

“Don’t think I don’t know what you did there,” Jumper said to Alan as they walked the corridor to the lounge. But again, his tone betrayed amusement so Alan knew he wasn’t too upset.

“Sorry, Jumper. Couldn’t resist. I’ll buy the drinks.”

“How nice of you, since they’re free.”

When they arrived at the lounge, Trodenjo was sitting and talking to Kayla. She had set Jumper’s lightpad down on the table between them and was slumping in her chair.

Jumper followed Alan to the bar. When the bitter argim-like drinks arrived, Jumper chugged down half of his.

“Whoa, easy there,” Alan said.

Jumper shook his head. “I can tell she’s upset. Whatever this is about, I have a feeling I’ll need a drink first.”

They cautiously approached Kayla and Trodenjo. Jumper consumed most of the rest of his drink by the time they got there. Kayla saw them and looked back and forth between their two drinks disapprovingly. Alan’s was still almost full.

“Do you want to tell them, or should I?” Trodenjo said.

“Tell us what?” Jumper asked. “What’s wrong, honey?”

A moment of silence passed while Kayla and Trodenjo stared at each other. The look of concern on Jumper’s face grew.

“I brought him,” Kayla finally said.

“What?” Jumper looked at Trodenjo in desperation before turning back at Kayla. “What are you talking about?”

“Yeah,” Alan said. “Brought who, where?”

“Him,” Kayla said. “Casanova. I brought him with us.”

The look of confusion on Jumper’s face was unprecedented. Alan suddenly felt his chest itch and grabbed ahold of the rock mounted on the necklace under his shirt.

“The crate,” Alan blurted.

Kayla looked at him and nodded.

“Oh, Erob no,” Jumper said. He dropped into an empty chair, put both hands around his glass, and stared into it. “Why? Why did you do this to us?”

“I didn’t want to leave him for so long, Jumper. And you know he’s not dangerous.”

Alan took a sip of his drink and then had to spit it out as he involuntarily laughed. Everyone looked at him.

“Sorry. But this is kind of classic. Guess we’ll have to burden our guests with one more mouth to feed. A big one. Hope he doesn’t scare the Mparians half to death. Maybe they have a kennel or zoo or someplace where we can lodge him?”

“He can’t come down,” Trodenjo said. “We have strict laws against the importation of foreign animals. And we have no facility on this ship which can accommodate such a creature. He must stay in the crate, which means we can’t accept delivery of your patch of goliagrass. And I have a bit of a job ahead of me in assuring our cargo handlers the other crates aren’t going to growl at them.”

That would have also been funny if Jumper didn’t look like he had turned to stone. He hadn’t moved, continuing to sit in the same position, peering at the last inch of his argim, expressionless.

“Can I go down and see him?” Kayla asked.

“You’ll have to wait until we’ve disembarked,” Trodenjo said. “We’ll be coming out of distorted space and establishing orbit at Mpar shortly. The cargo handlers are busy now. I might be able to arrange to keep that crate on the same shuttle, and swap it out for another for port proceedings. Meanwhile, I’ll round up some food that you can bring him. I assume he likes raw meat and water?”

“Yes,” Kayla said. “He’ll be getting hungry. I put a water dispenser in the crate with him, but it probably needs refilling by now.”

Jumper finally moved. He stood, drank the last swallow of his argim and poised as if to return to the bar.

“Well Alan, looks like we get to take that camping trip with just the two of us after all. Kayla obviously can’t bear to be without her cat for a few days, so she’ll have to stay on board with him.”

Kayla immediately responded. “Jumper, do you seriously think you’re going to leave me alone on an alien spacecraft?” Her completely new voice startled Alan. He had no idea she could talk so low, so coldly, and so bone-cuttingly direct. It sent chills up his spine. Jumper seemed surprised as well. He froze in his tracks.

Trodenjo stood up. “I’ll let you three work it out. I need to get back to the bridge. After we’ve disembarked the cargo and our first shift of shore leave, I’ll meet you back here and we can discuss options.”

“You know what?” Alan said. “I’m going to my room to take a nap. If I come back in a couple of hours, will that be okay?”

“That should be about perfect,” Trodenjo said. “See you then.”

They left Kayla and Jumper alone to have a much-needed private discussion. Trodenjo walked Alan partway to his room before getting on a lift.

Alan finished his drink in his cabin and fell on his bed. His dreams of the trading game returned, but were frequently interrupted by images of Casanova trapped in a grassy crate and the distant sounds of Jumper and Kayla arguing.