Chương 35: Chapter 27 Escalation arc

Credits are the universal currency of the galaxy, backed by Federation law, Theocracy assurances and Starspawn tradition. But it is the Free Companies that bind the galaxy together, and it is through them that humanity has spread so far among the stars. When you have left the hundred Federations worlds behind. When Toncon is gone, and even the Starspawn are a people rather than a government, you will find the Free Companies.

They are the backbone of humanity, and provide every single service and item one could ever need. Opening Issue of 'The Free Companies and You', by journalist Woe Jing. Heavily criticized for being owned by The Paper's Legacy, a subsidiary of LandTech. Mat almost hesitated before stepping off the ship. Technically he'd done so while speaking with the mercenaries, but not really. Now he walked over the connecting bridge between ship and station, and for the first time in a year, set foot on solid ground. Kind of.

This still wasn't a planet, though the stable gravity could have fooled just about anyone.

"Welcome to Last Point Station," Jason introduced, waving his arms as if to embrace it whole.

"A somewhat grandiose name, and utterly inaccurate. But still, it is home to just over a million people, controlled by the Starspawn government, and has a large LandTech presence. A dead average space station, in other words." Tobi snorted.

"If you've seen one, you've seen a thousand. Come on, I want some proper food. Mat's buying." Considering he'd stolen two million credits from Obedias, Mat supposed that was fair. Reg yawned, while Bea looked like she always did. Vaguely bored, and wholly unconcerned with reality. Through the hangar they walked, now once more filled with workers and travelers and the occasional guard. Techplants and biomods were everywhere, from shoulder mounted guns to unnaturally long necks.

Mat blinked at a man missing both his eyes, seemingly replaced wholesale by a metal plate. Fashion. He didn't understand it before, and he sure as hell didn't understand it now. One of the tunnels let them deeper into the station, and from there the crowds thickened. Local Omniscience had a field day, filling his head with a thousand useless tidbits. That woman had metal poles in her legs. Another man was missing his heart, and yet another seemed to have five of them.

Under their feet, the floor was filled with wires and pipes and sewage, and brushing past a store informed him there were actual human ears on sale. Fifty percent off, apparently. A sale due to the recent influx of body parts. Jason clapped him on the shoulder, his tone boisterous.

"It's been a while since we've been on a proper station, hasn't it?" Right. Stop acting like a fucking tourist.

"Yeah," Mat replied, clearing his throat. Nova sent him a vague feeling of mockery, but didn't deign to chip in.

"So where's this restaurant, then?"

"Friend of mine said it's over there-ish. We'll find it. They use real beef, too. Cloned, of course, but real. I know, I know, it's not real unless it involves the suffering of animals, but it tastes just the same, you know?" Mat rolled his eyes, shrugging the man's hand away. Tobi was trying in vain to get Bea to speak, and Mat stepped out of the way when someone came from behind. In a crowd this thick, it'd be his third close call. A hand snaked toward his belt, where Mat's moleknife sat flush against the hip.

Mat's hand snapped out, and the stranger tried to jerk back. Instinct more than reason made him act, and with one step, Mat closed the distance. The stranger flinched, and then Mat's hand closed around the wrist. Bones groaned as he applied pressure, and with a simple twist, the man was pulled off balance, the knife he'd tried to steal now resting against his throat. Mat glared down at the man, all but looming over the poor kid. A… kid?

Reg's hand closed over his own, and Mat shook his head, the immediate demand for action fading.

"Peace, brother," Reg soothed. Mat forced his fingers to unclench, and the kid scampered off, rubbing his wrist and shooting him a nasty glare. Mat pulled the knife back to its sheath, and the would-be thief ran off completely. Reg sighed, offering a mild smile.

"Let's not kill kids for being stupid, hmnn? The human race wouldn't survive it." Jason snorted, and Mat flexed his fingers, not liking how that had gone at all.

"Sorry."

"You're trained to react, because not reacting means death," Reg replied.

"But out here, not every attack is an attempt on your life. You will adjust, in time." Tobi cleared his throat, a forced cheer in his tone.

"I think I see the place, and no thief is gonna delay the first proper meal I've had in what feels like forever. Come on." Richard wasn't entirely sure if this was supposed to be some sort of joke, but he was experienced enough not to show it. So he sat down the plate of spiced beef, offered a polite smile, and turned back around to serve another table. Nineteen hours ago, a dataslad that he never used had pinged. Nineteen hours ago, he had been activated for the first time in four years. A simple track and trace.

Nobody had bothered to tell him he'd be spying on fucking bladeslaves. His primary target, one Matthias Brook, didn't so much as glance at him. Another one, one that his info request had informed him was called Tobi, very much did. And at everyone else, at that. Trained in counter observation, he was. Made sense for the man's background. It made his job ten times harder, and Richard had spent too damn long building a life for himself to be cut down by pissed-off bladeslaves.

Bladeslaves that, according to rumor, had violently overthrown their master. Considering that hundreds of the damn slaves were now running around the station, selling everything from moleblades to poorly extracted techplants, that rumor seemed to be correct. The door opened, sliding soundless to the side, and Richard offered a polite nod. The woman was one he didn't know, of course.

She most certainly wasn't the only other LandTech agent on the station, nor had they been working together for the better part of two decades. Nansy sat at the small bar, his bar, and Richard poured her a drink when requested. Just another customer. Don't show fear. Don't show nerves. Don't pay your target any special attention. By Toncon, he was rusty. One more year, and he would have been retired. His contract finished. But no one crossed LandTech and got a happy ending, and they had paid for the restaurant.

And his late wife's treatment, in vain though it had been. If the company wanted him to observe, he'd damn well observe.

"So what's new, Richy?" Nansy asked, taking a sip from her drink. Non-alcoholic, of course.

"Heard about those bladeslaves?" Richard didn't dare to glare, but he felt like it. Watch and observe, those were his orders. He was watching and observing. If Nansy felt like poking her nose deeper into this mess, she was more than welcome to, and to do so on her own. For a while afterwards, nothing of interest happened. He served customers, cleaned the countertop, mixed drinks and greeted regulars. Easy, normal, fulfilling work.

Then, as the group of bladeslaves finished their meal and were sipping on drinks, another one entered.

"Tim," one of the bladeslaves greeted, tone loud and boisterous. A few of the others glared, but no one complained. Not even the merc quietly eating his chicken sandwich.

"Sit, you slippery bastard. Haven't heard from you in days." Tim sat, and Richard moved over to clean one of the nearby tables. The stranger barked out a laugh, seeming in a great mood.

"Fuck off, Jason. I was busy selling enough shit to buy a ticket back home. Greetings, herald."

"Kill yourself," the so-called herald replied, flipping the new guy off. Richard resisted the urge to frown. Heralds, heralds. What the fuck was a herald? Matthias was, clearly.

"You're a shit fighter and bad friend, but I guess I'm happy you're going home."

"Yeah, yeah. I've got a long-distance call later today with my mom and sister. I haven't seen those two in what feels like forever. Probably lost my old job, but fuck'em. Anyway, I just came to say goodbye. Need to pawn off a few more things for some spending money." Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. Matthias grunted, paused, then jerked his head. Tim moved closer, and something passed that Richard didn't catch. Money, probably. People only got that shifty about money.

Not that anyone would be stupid enough to steal from a group of bladeslaves.

"—me up if you ever get out there," Tim finished, pulling away.

"Shit, I might upgrade the call to right the fuck now. Thanks, Mat. For everything. Wish I could have seen you cut off Obedias' head. That bastard deserved a death ten times as slow." His target clapped the man on the shoulder, and that was that. The group left soon after, and Richard jerked his head to the back room. Nansy rose, and Richard closed the door behind her. Their handler wasn't going to like this. Not at all. Mat ignored the jostling of Tobi and Jason, peering at the board.

A startling blend between old and new, it was crowded with bounties. Small, single target missions. Large jobs calling for independent transport and a minimum of five hundred men. Some of them paid next to nothing. Others paid very well indeed. A plan was forming. A rough, stupid, probably idiotic plan. Bea stepped up next to him, not really looking at anything in particular. Mat nodded to the board.

"Why were those mercs Obedias hired hard pressed for work when there's like two dozen jobs?"

"Anything worth their time required their own ship," Bea answered, offering a shrug.

"Having to hire one would gut their profit margins, since most warships are already on long-term contracts and civilian vessels charge through the nose."

"So you're saying that mercenary groups who own their own ships are in a vastly better position, and not starved for work?"

"In Starspawn territory, yes. Federation space relies much more on its own navy, and anyone stupid enough to make trouble in the Theocracy deserves the fate they get." Mat hummed, looking over the board again. No. It was a stupid idea. Downright foolish. And yet it would solve quite a few of his problems, wouldn't it? No more worrying about being caught on a ship, because he would own it. No more worrying about spooks in the night, because he'd be surrounded by hundreds of bladeslaves.

Reg appeared as if by magic, sliding up next to them both.

"Am I missing gossip? You may not know this, my friend, but I love gossip." Rolling her eyes, Bea walked away, and Mat didn't answer. Downsides, downsides. More risk, more danger, more death. He didn't know how to start a mercenary company, though admittedly that wasn't so much a downside as a lack of info. Uuuhm. Upsides? More opportunities to level. Being surrounded by trained, more-loyal-than-average fighters, and it would probably make good money. Money was always nice. What other skills did he have, anyway?

Even his back-up plan of becoming a thief relied on Nova's skill more than his own.

"It has crossed my own mind," Reg said, seemingly out of the blue. The man waved his hand at the board.

"Your thoughts are not so hard to guess. You own the ship more so than any law, especially in Starspawn space. You are a trained fighter with a solid grasp of tactics, though you tend to lead by instinct. You even have a ready base of potential recruits, alongside the funding to set up the venture." Mat sighed.

"Yeah. But I'm not sure that's what I want, you know? I like a good spar, and I can't lie and say I don't enjoy the adrenaline of a fight to the death, but to make that my whole life? To send others to die, and to do so for mere credits?"

"Do you really have a choice?" Reg asked.

"I say that not to be mean, my friend, but you can't run. I think you know that. Even if you could, I don't think you want to. And if you're worried about sending others to die, know that most of our brothers and sisters without a home to return to will end up in a mercenary company regardless. Might as well be you, so you can keep an eye on them."

"Never figured you for the devil on my shoulder." Reg raised an eyebrow, and Mat clicked his jaw shut. Right, not something people said around here. Until he was in a vastly better position, best not to make his otherness too obvious.

"I won't force you," Reg said.

"Of course I won't. But I think you'll be good at it, and I think you'll be good for our people. They need a purpose, and if we don't give them one, they'll find it elsewhere. Some will be fine regardless. Others won't be. A few won't find a purpose at all. This way they'll at least have some credits in their pocket."

"I don't even know how to start a mercenary company." Reg shrugged.

"Neither do I, but it seems we have the three most important things already; A ship, potential recruits, and money. Can't be that hard from there, could it?" Mat honestly didn't know, and that was that. Being out on the station was great, but paranoia was eating at him. It was stupid to think LandTech had eyes on him already, let alone ones who could realistically afford to move against him, but it felt like they had.

So, after dragging Jason away from a bar and having Reg distract Tobi so Bea wouldn't kill him, back to the ship they went. Stef had a group of guards on the entrance, clearly military, but those stepped aside easily enough. Inside he found a confused stupor. All that fury from the uprising had given way to a stagnant hesitation, amplified by the fact that those with something to return to were already gone. So Mat found nearly three hundred people back in his own domus, just kind of sitting around.

More were staggered throughout the ship, talking and playing poker and more. Some rare few were clearly busy. Stef's soldiers, for one, keeping the peace and shutting down fights between those from different domuses. Noah's engineers too, trying to stop the entire ship from falling apart. Most of the damage was cosmetic, or so Mat had been told, but Bea had been liberal with her grenades. So had others. It was a few hours later when Tobi strolled into the room, and Mat pushed himself up, finishing the situp.

Tobi grunted in greeting.

"Noah's people found something."

"And what," Mat replied, hopping up and taking a large gulp of water, "would this something be?"

"Best that you see for yourself." Cryptic. Mat rolled his shoulder, trying to loosen up a stiff muscle. Moments later, and without actually doing anything, it eased, his medibots clearly bored if they were bothering with something so small.

"I guess we'll find out." Tobi shrugged, and Mat followed as the man led them out. He would have preferred to take a shower first, but bladeslaves didn't tend to complain about smell. Once your nose got used to blood, sweat really isn't much to complain about. Down and down they went, until Mat was sure he'd never been in this part of the ship before. Man, having actually seen it from outside, the Challenger was big. Classified as a Massive Freighter—if only just—it stood at twenty five hundred feet in length.

That made it on equal size to the Burj Khalifa, or two and a half times the size of the eiffel tower. He'd read somewhere once that the Burj Khalifa held ten thousand people at once, or something insane like that. The Challenger didn't hold that many, but that was only because entire decks were for storage and commerce. Nearly a third of the ship, apparently.

With high-end, dedicated shielding—something that Noah had informed him was almost worth as much as the rest of the ship—and the legal limit of eight energy gun batteries, it was something Mat could barely wrap his head around. Through hallway after hallway they went, until finally Tobi slowed, and Mat craned his neck to take in the wide chamber. Two dozen people were already there, including both Noah and Stef. And along the wall, in rows of two dozen each, stood cryofreezers. Enough to hold two hundred souls.

All but eighteen of them were full. Both Noah and Stef moved once while Mat gawked, and Reg wasn't far behind. One hundred and eighty two people. One hundred and eighty two slaves. The replacements, to be sent to the domuses as bladeslaves died.

"It's a smart system," Noah explained, waving his hand to encompass the whole area.

"It has its own dedicated energy backup, and the pods are self managing. I guess Obedias picked up a large crop just before we killed him." Stef hummed.

"I guess so. What do we do with them?"

"We set them free," Mat replied, his tone unconsciously sharp. Stef raised her eyebrow, while Noah nodded. For once, the man actually seemed disgusted. Reg smiled sadly, still looking at all the prisoners.

"How long would that take?" Noah shrugged.

"A few hours. Realistically, a day or two. But they'll have nothing, and some of them have been here for years. Dumping them out onto the station would be cruel."

"I'll start a fund," Reg offered quietly.

"I know we're tight for money, but our would-be brothers and sisters don't deserve to live in abject poverty simply because Obedias snapped them up. Or because we can't be bothered to deal with them, for that matter." Mat grunted, craning his neck up to the top rows. How on earth did anyone even get those out?

"Fifty thousand will get it started, I think."

"Fifty thousand for them, but nothing for the men and women who fought with us during the uprising?" Stef asked, turning to him fully.

"Keeping the military happy is lesson one of rule, Matthias." He snorted.

"Those who were too late to sell the mercs' gear cut them open for their biomods and techplants. I've seen the bodies myself. Besides, I have something else in mind for them. Reg, you'll have the money by tonight." Noah raised an eyebrow, interested, and Stef folded her arms. Ah, fuck. Mat hadn't intended to tell them now, or had even fully decided on if he wanted to do this yet. Too late now. And Reg had been right, his own reluctance aside; It was an opportunity only fools would let pass.

He rolled his shoulder, and regarded the two most important people who he was going to need. Stef for her soldiers and personal military experience, Noah for his vast influence among the bladeslaves.

"I stole two million of Obedias' credits, and I'm going to use them to build a mercenary company. I'd like to hire the both of you as my lieutenants." Noah seemed thoroughly unsurprised, and Stef tapped her foot impatiently, a tick she swiftly killed. Well, at least they weren't laughing. That was a good sign. So Mat spoke, and wondered if every mercenary company started with their leader improvising his recruitment pitch. Afterword A definitely not pushy reminder to ask you to review, like and follow!

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