Storm Clouds, page 27
part #1 of The Guild Wars Series
“Colonel Shirazi, if you would like to make your report?”
“I would,” Nigel said. He looked at the rest of the representatives with the exception of the Veetanho. Having to look at her sneering visage too often only increased his desire to punch her. Or strangle her to wipe the sneer off. Or something.
“I have taken the opportunity to look at all four of the remaining contracts. The representative who had been the proxy for the B’zong has disappeared and cannot be located. I don’t believe that looking at that contract would have provided any additional details, however. All four of the other contracts were nearly identical, and I suspect the B’zong contract would have been similar.”
“And what have you found?” the Speaker asked.
“I found that we’ve been taken advantage of by the Veetanho. All of the contracts send the race in question off to the front lines, never to be seen or heard from again. Meanwhile, the Veetanho get to vote for them, forever. With no way to communicate between here and the front lines, there’s no way to determine if the Veetanho are actually voting for what the race in question would have wanted or even to know what that would be. In essence, the Veetanho got five extra votes for three centuries, and have four extra votes going forward.” Nigel shrugged. “For all we know, the Veetanho killed off all five races to get their votes.”
“That is slander, Human!” the Veetanho rep exclaimed.
Nigel smiled and looked at the Veetanho for the first time. “No, those are the facts, as near as I have been able to determine them. You did ship them off, and nothing has been heard from them since. You have continued to vote for them, despite this lack of communication, for three centuries, including one case where you continued voting for the race in question even after they went extinct, something you never mentioned to the guild or the board. It appears, although I cannot confirm, that you would have continued to do so…forever. This leads me to conclude that it is possible that, for all we know, the others have gone extinct, too, and you are continuing to vote for them. All of that is true, to the best of my knowledge.”
Nigel turned to look at the Speaker. “What would have been slanderous would have been to say that I thought you had killed off all of the five races intentionally, so you could continue to vote for them and acquire more power for the Veetanho. You’ll note, however, that I never said it; I kept that thought to myself.”
Nigel smiled again as a number of the representatives looked at each other. He could tell the last thought was something a couple of them had already been thinking, but for a couple, it was clear that thought had never crossed their minds, and it led to some other very uncomfortable possibilities.
“I’m glad you didn’t actually voice that last one,” the Veetanho rep said, her translator more than adequately rendering the sarcasm in her voice, “or I would have had to kill you. As it stands, I am happy to say that we are still in communication with the races we are voting for and they are all in good health on the front lines, where they are holding back the Kahraman, something I think is of vital importance to not only the guild, but the galaxy as a whole. We don’t deserve ridicule or slander from a race that is still wet behind the ears; we deserve your gratitude for keeping you apes safe while you were still throwing your shit at each other. In fact—”
“The Goltar have been around a lot longer than the Humans,” the Speaker said, cutting off the tirade, “and I’m not sure that I would say we owe you anything for these ‘services’ you are supposedly performing on our behalf. In fact, I’m willing to bet that the overwhelming majority of the races in the galaxy would have been happier to have full disclosure on what is currently occurring at the Front, as well as some say in how those events are managed. The Veetanho have kept that from us, though, and they have used that control of information to gain extra votes in the guild, something I find reprehensible.”
“And yet, here we are,” the Veetanho rep said, “safe and sound, and able to cast aspersions on the race that made this all possible. I am not surprised to not have your respect, as you cannot understand what this has cost the Veetanho over the years, but a little bit of gratitude would be nice.”
“Gratitude, huh?” Nigel asked. “You know what I’d really be thankful for? A chance to talk to representatives from the missing four races. Would you be able to procure one of those?”
“It is unlikely; they are all embroiled in the conflict at the Front.”
“So much so that they couldn’t each send a single individual of their race to represent them?”
“They are very busy, keeping you safe,” the Veetanho rep said with a sneer.
“Okay, how about letting me go there to talk to them,” Nigel said, returning the sneer. “Just give me the coordinates of where to meet them, and I’ll make the journey, interview them, and report back to the council. I’m sure they’ll all say they’re happy with the contracts they have in place. I mean, if they weren’t, they would have said something somewhere along the line in the last three hundred years, right?”
“They are all completely happy with their contracts. As far as traveling there goes, I’m sorry, but that isn’t possible. The Weapons Conglomerate controls the coordinates for where the fighting is currently happening—to keep unauthorized people from accidentally wandering in and getting killed, of course—and I don’t have them to give you.”
Nigel looked to the head of the table. “Wait, there is a war going on—that the Merc Guild is financing—and we can’t go to inspect it? I understand about having to have your ship modified to travel there, like the Bakulu representative we sent there, but what if I wanted to go?”
“I am still trying to figure that out,” the Speaker replied, “but as it stands now, it appears the Veetanho representative is correct, you cannot go there of your own volition. The Weapons Conglomerate has to give you the coordinates. I have already asked them twice for the coordinates, but I have not received a reply.”
He tapped the tip of a tentacle on the table in front of him. “Here is what we will do,” he said after a few moments. “As it is impossible for us to travel to where the other races are, the Veetanho will provide representatives of the races in question, and will have them here, for questioning, within the period of three months, or sanctions will be applied to the Veetanho.”
“That will not be possible,” the Veetanho rep replied. “It will take longer than that to extricate them from the hostilities. Potentially, much longer.”
“You will have them within three months.”
* * * * *
Chapter Thirteen
Council Chambers, Merc Guild Headquarters, Capital Planet
Nigel and Alexis walked into the council chambers to find Thorb sitting in the visitors’ section. “Hi, Thorb,” Nigel said. “Where have you been?”
“Stupid bureaucracy,” Thorb replied. “It’s impossible to get anything done here. Did you know that an uplifted race can’t get certified as a merc race without having the Science Guild sign off that you are of an appropriate intelligence level? What the hell’s up with that? Apparently, they don’t want stupid people to have weapons. I’m not sure where that leaves the Lumar, but whatever. Seems like you’d want some races that are cannon fodder.
“In any event, I had to go get certified by the Science Guild. And what a pain in the ass that was. Literally. The poking…the prodding…I think they just wanted to see how much abuse I would take before I snapped and shot one of their stupid ‘minimally invasive’ robots.”
“How long did you last?” Alexis asked with a smile.
“About an hour,” Thorb replied. “On a related note, did you know a hypervelocity pistol will breach exterior building walls, even from an interior room?” He shrugged. “Turns out it will. That really pissed them off, but fuck them. They did it to me first.”
“But you got certified in the end?” Alexis asked.
“Yeah, after I paid them 100,000 credits for the certification, the bastards. Plus damages. But that was only part of it. Then I had to go to the Union Credit Exchange and get my race registered there.”
“You did? Why?”
“Because they had to create a new race identity for the ‘Race Field’ in their stupid forms. Can’t send money otherwise. Like we’re going to wake up one morning and go, ‘Wouldn’t it be great to send the Goka a million fucking credits? I think I should.’ Bastards. That was another 100,000 credits.”
Alexis chuckled. “Is that it?”
“No, of course not. Then I had to go to the Info Guild.”
“What?” Nigel asked. “Why?”
“Because they control everyone’s Universal Account Access Card. Once again, they had to add ‘SalSha’ as a legitimate race. And, of course, they turned off my Yack because it said I was Human, and I’m obviously not Human. Fuckers. My Yack won’t work until they upgrade the system, which won’t be until whenever the hell they get around to it. If it isn’t fixed by this afternoon, I’m going to go back over there and find out if their walls will stop hypervelocity slugs, too. Worthless pieces of grahp shit.
“And what the hell is up with having the stupid capital on a stupid fucking planet where you can’t even breathe the fucking air? Not just our race, but any race? Hey, I have an idea—let’s find a planet where no one can live, nuke it until it glows, and then make it our capital! What kind of fucking morons do that? Are you sure you really want to be part of a union that is this stupid? I’m not sure we do!”
Alexis tried to keep from smiling. “Well, what is our other choice?”
Thorb shrugged. “I don’t know. Develop the tech to go to another galaxy? An alternate universe? Somewhere where the people in charge are less stupid? And Goka and Besquith aren’t around? I wouldn’t put it past the Science Guild to try something like that—they have entire corridors in the building you can’t go down, guarded by big, combat robots with absolutely no sense of humor.”
“Is that it?”
“No. Then I had to go to the Trade Guild. They have a form for modifying seats to fit SalSha. And pay a fee. Then the Merchant Guild. And pay a fee. Everywhere a fucking fee! Even the damn Peacemakers, except they not only wanted a fee, they wanted to know when they could expect our representative to show up at the Academy for training. It’s almost like there was a spy watching me when Sansar gave me the pay for our services during the war. I started out with a million credits when I first got here; now, I’m down to less than a thousand. And that’s if my damn Yack was working, which it isn’t. Fuckers. By the way…what are you doing for lunch after the meeting? Want to buy me something? I promise to pay you back…sometime.”
“Sure,” Nigel said, taking pity on him. “I’ll treat. I don’t think the meeting will go on long. The only things on the agenda are your application and some of the members whining about not taking contracts at the moment.”
“That’s another thing!” Thorb exclaimed. “I heard about the moratorium on new contracts. What the hell’s up with that? How am I supposed to pay for all of this stupid shit if I can’t make any money? What kind of dumbass guild prohibits members from taking contracts and making money? This universe makes no damn sense.” He shook his head. “If I could just go back and say ‘no’ to the uplift…”
“You wouldn’t say ‘no,’ in spite of everything,” Nigel said with a laugh. “You like the excitement.”
Thorb sighed. “No, I wouldn’t; I would still take the uplift. In spite of the friends I lost in the war…and all the stupid shit this bureaucracy is putting me through, I would still take the red pill.”
“The what?” Alexis asked.
“Nothing,” Thorb replied. “It was an old movie we were watching on the way here. I just meant that I would take the uplift and learn the truth…no matter how absolutely moronic everyone on this stupid planet is!”
His voice rose until he was almost yelling at the end, and both Humans laughed.
“Who’s the squid?” Thorb asked, looking over Nigel’s shoulder.
“I’d watch who you called names,” Alexis replied. “That’s the Speaker of the Merc Guild.”
“That’s a Goltar? Looks like a baby grahp. I’m not impressed. I hope it doesn’t grow into one, or we’re going to have serious issues. Are you sure we can trust them?”
“Thorb, we can’t trust anyone here,” Alexis whispered. “If we’ve learned anything since we’ve been here, it’s that nothing is what it seems, and you can’t trust anyone.”
“And everyone’s pretty much in it for themselves,” Nigel added. Alexis nodded.
“So, capitalism on steroids?” Thorb asked.
“Yes,” Alexis replied. “And a turbo-boost.”
“Well, as long as we know that up front…” Thorb began rubbing his hands together. “As one trader said to the other, ‘Time to make some cash.’”
“What did the other trader say?” Alexis asked.
Thorb winked. “Nothing. He was crying too hard from being taken advantage of.”
Nigel shook his head with a smile. “Good luck with that.” He laughed once, then added, “Gotta go.” He left to take his seat as the Speaker called the meeting to order.
“Our first order of business,” the Speaker said, once everyone was seated, “is to vote on the petition from the Humans for probationary membership in the Merc Guild for the SalSha, their allies from the most recent conflict.”
“The ones they illegally uplifted,” the Veetanho rep said.
“Doesn’t matter how we got here, rat,” Thorb said from the visitors’ section. “All that matters is that I can kill people for money.” He looked to the membership at large. “Anyone need a contract to exterminate some annoying rats? I’ve got a special on them today.”
Nigel chuckled, along with a number of others, until he looked at the Veetanho next to him. She had gone dead still—even her whiskers weren’t moving—and he tensed, ready to disrupt an attack if she pulled a pistol.
“There will be no threatening the members,” Toyn-Zhyll said, slamming a tentacle onto the table with a slapping noise, “or we will look negatively on your application.”
“Sorry,” Thorb said, looking suitably abashed. Nigel could tell he wasn’t, though, as he smiled after a couple of seconds. The SalSha as a race just didn’t have it in them to be embarrassed. It wasn’t in their natures.
“Do you have any evidence as to your abilities as prospective members?” the Speaker asked.
“Yes, I do,” Thorb said. “I will send it to Colonel Shirazi.”
Nigel received a file from Thorb via his pinplants, and he put it on the room’s main Tri-V. The two-minute video showed footage of the SalSha conducting operations during the war. It was narrated by Thorb and well-produced, ending with their missile strike on the Merc Guild battleship New Era. Nigel recognized Sansar’s hand in putting it together; he doubted the SalSha had done it themselves.
“I feel we have adequately demonstrated our abilities as mercenaries,” Thorb said when it ended, “and we would like to respectfully request membership in the guild.”
Nigel smiled. It seemed both of them could learn tact…when they absolutely needed to. He wondered who’d been coaching Thorb. Whoever it was, they were good.
“Any discussion?” the Speaker asked.
“I would encourage the membership to vote for their inclusion,” Nigel said. “The SalSha were instrumental to our success—we couldn’t have won without them—and they more than proved their abilities as mercenaries. Thorb showed outstanding leadership qualities in directing their activities, and they would be welcome with me on any contract I take.”
“What were their scores?” the Veetanho asked.
“The Science Guild reports they are Sapient Stage 7.5,” the Speaker replied, “which is well within the range set for membership.”
“We were impressed with their abilities,” the Bakulu rep said.
“As were we,” the Maki rep agreed.
“I disagree,” the Veetanho rep said. “They are too recently uplifted. They must be studied for a while to determine if the uplift will hold.”
“You can study me up close while I’m kicking your ass,” Thorb said in a stage whisper that carried to the Inner Council table, and a couple of reps laughed.
“I feel that if left to the Veetanho, we would still be ‘under observation,’ too,” the MinSha rep noted. “We are for their inclusion.”
“It seems that, with one notable exception, the sentiment is generally favorable,” Toyn-Zhyll said. “Let us have a vote. All in favor?” Twenty-seven members voted for inclusion. “Against?” Ten voted against, including the Veetanho, Goka, Besquith, and their cronies.
“The application is approved,” the Speaker said. “The 100-year probationary period will start today, or as soon as the membership fee is paid by the SalSha. At that time, they will be eligible to begin taking contracts as a mercenary race.”
“What is the membership fee?” Thorb asked.
“A pittance really,” the Veetanho rep said before the Speaker could reply. “It’s nothing more than the matter of a million credits. That should be easy for someone like you, I’m sure.” The sneer in her voice came through the translator loud and clear.
Thorb sighed and rolled his eyes at having to pay another fee. “We will pay it…soon,” he finally said.
“And at that time, your probationary membership will be approved,” the Speaker said. “On to other business. We have several requests for terminating the moratorium on taking contracts.”
About time, Nigel thought. He’d asked about it several times since the message from Jim had come in, but had been told they were putting off discussion on it until they had a better idea what was happening at the Front.
