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  “And?” Zerith asked around a mouthful.

  “Come on, man!” Clip said. “Spill it.”

  Nate continued, “Then I said after I’d fought Muraingo, I would have to fight the other five, and it would use up my whole morning and throw me off schedule.”

  “What the frost!” Clip exclaimed. “You’re crazy. Harmon, he’s crazy. We have a crazy man leading our specialty troops. If the rest start acting like him, we’ll have an entire unit of fools.”

  “Inssanity,” Zerith agreed after swallowing the piece of fruit he’d been chewing. He nodded slowly as if he’d realized something profound. “We are looking into the eyess of an inssane being. Do you hear voicess?”

  “Your thought process is kinda suspect right about now,” Harmon agreed with a smile. “Go on.”

  Nate grinned at their accusations. “Well, PFC Zarmlon was there with me. When their squad leader looked over at her in surprise, she backed me up with a serious look and a nod. I continued on in the interview process like the whole thing was behind us.”

  “You have no idea the kind of round you dodged!” Harmon laughed.

  “That’s what PFC Zarmlon said after Lieutenant Mayshire came to pick up her new troops,” Nate agreed. “Actually what she said was I dodged a bullet because that big Taylahh would have ripped one of my arms out of its socket and beat me to death with it.”

  “Dude, she’s right,” agreed Clip.

  “I could ssee that happening,” Zerith said, hissing with laughter.

  “At least she backed you up when you needed it,” Harmon remarked after he quit laughing.

  “Yeah,” Nate said. “She’s a good troop. She also said if the fight had happened, she’d have had my back and would’ve been right there with me swinging away even though we both might’ve been torn apart. I’m thinking about moving her to Headquarters Platoon as my driver, comms, and staff security. It’s time to promote her to corporal and give her some troops to lead; in fact, it’s past time. Somebody has to guard the command center when we deploy. She’s right for the job. If she’d quit handing me lava-hot cups of coffee in the morning, that is. I told her I can make my own. I think she likes watching me burn my tongue.”

  All three of them started laughing again.

  * * *

  Repair Bay

  Cube

  “Ok, Bradford,” Mike Melton said. “Show me what you got.”

  Mike Melton had been spending most of his time in the Combined Shipyards and not on the giant ship Cube, an old Merwick design. The ancient cube-shaped ship was three thousand meters wide per side, and it was a combination dry dock for repairs and defensive platform. Mike Bradford, his partner in Mike & Mike’s, had been spending his time on Cube, repairing the damaged ships in Salvage Fleet that would fit into its bay. Frigates, destroyers, light battlecruisers, and their fighters fit inside with no issues, allowing the clear-steel bay doors to close once the ships locked on with their magnetic struts. The bigger ships were repaired in the shipyards.

  Bradford grinned around the filter and thin cigar in his mouth and said, “Come on, it’s on the far side of the big bay.”

  They walked past two salvaged Gritloth frigates, now fully repaired and refitted to meet Commodore Tomeral and the Fleet’s needs. Mike noticed one had its ramp down, revealing a huge open cargo hold/bay. He was sure the refit plans hadn’t called for so much open room. The typical handful of fighters and small shuttle weren’t present.

  He began to wonder what Bradford had been up to the last month while he was overseeing repairs to the larger ships in the fleet, the new ships being built, and the changes made to the Withaloo shipyards intermixed with the two huge Kashkal Tenders. The replicators and work crews had been busy the last six months, and the system now had forty-five registered warships, not counting the Kashkal’s twenty-seven.

  There were parts and both small and large pieces of ten more ships tethered to an anchor on one side of the combined shipyards. Lieutenant Commander Jayneen, the artificial intelligence discovered by Commander Clip Kolget, had designed and programmed the central anchor and small attachable thruster units to keep them together without bumping and damaging each other any more than they were.

  Occasionally Mike used a part or a piece as mass to fill a replicator. The pieces had some of the rarer heavy metals, wiring, and pieces of computer systems required by the replicators to break down and use to produce parts to build or repair ships. The replicators were able to separate everything loaded into them for repurposing.

  Mining in the system was up and running strong, but the pieces made the repairs and new builds happen much sooner than planned or scheduled. It was a balancing act with several thousand employees, but Mike Melton had it all running like a well-built machine. He’d doubled the number of specialized replicators kicking out missiles for the fleet and also had the big replicators build smaller units to replicate the small stuff, saving even more time. He wasn’t going to tell Harmon his secret to getting things done earlier than scheduled.

  “There it is,” Bradford said proudly, pointing to the back corner of the bay.

  Mike stopped and stared. Past some of the scaffolds, mobile lifts for big parts, and parked movement skiffs he could see what his partner had been up to. Along with repairing and upgrading ships in the huge bay, Bradford and his team of Smilps had managed to build a decent-sized replicator.

  Mike watched as completion alarms went off and some the shimmering race of Smilps scrambled to receive the latest completed product from the huge machine. The front end of a tank, barrel facing forward, came out of the producing end, and three Smilps, two red and a yellow, scrambled into the open driver’s hatch. The beetle-like race stood three feet tall on their back two legs, and had surprising strength in their four arms and pincers. The tank came about three quarters of the way out of the hatch and stopped. A decent-sized slate was passed into the hatch, and presumably plugged in to the main operating computer to download the programs necessary to start the fusion plant and everything else.

  Mike turned to Bradford. “Alrighty then, I see you’ve taken a trick out of my book. You built another replicator. What made you decide to do that?”

  “The commodore said the Bolts needed more equipment. I got Bahroot to design a new tank. It’s based off the one they have now, but has more armor and laser reflective capabilities. It uses the same main rounds already in production for them by the Withaloo. I plan on hitting the commodore up on the ol’ comms and letting him see the first one.”

  “He doesn’t know you can produce them?” Mike asked, laughing. “What about the frigates? Are they the transport for the new tanks?”

  “Yep,” Bradford confirmed, pointing with the unlit cigar. “Those two can haul six tanks, four of the new ammo haulers, and their artillery pieces each in their cargo holds. They’re now capable of atmospheric flight and planet surface landing, too. Well, they will be. We’re not quite finished with them.”

  “I need to step up my game,” Mike said, shaking his head. “Two weeks early on a ship build-out might not equal mass production of tanks and artillery pieces. What did you use for the material?”

  “See the pile over there?” Bradford asked, pointing. “That’s the destroyed Gritloth tanks, vehicles, and equipment they brought back from the planet Barlat. Got a whole ‘nother load in the far frigate. We’re using that and raw material mined here in system. We might or might not have rerouted a load or two that was headed your way. I have to make several more of the mobile mech charging stations, too. Those are Smilp designed, so that’ll be easy.”

  “Well, let’s call the boss,” Mike said, reaching for his comms, “and deliver the good news.”

  Minutes later they were looking at Harmon on their small screen. “Hey guys, what’s up?”

  “Hey, sir,” Mike said. “We wanted to give you a call and show you what Bradford’s been up to.”

  “Should I be afraid?” Harmon grinned. “Bradford, what the frost have you do
ne with those diverted loads of raw? Not to mention the wrecked Gritloth equipment you acquired?”

  “Well, crap,” Bradford said, disappointed it wouldn’t be as big a surprise as he thought. “You knew about that?”

  “Word gets around, dude,” Clip said over Harmon’s shoulder. “Especially when my boy can observe all the system traffic.”

  “Check this out,” Bradford said. “I give you the Ground Forces Replicator.” Mike enabled the comms to show the replicator and tank to Harmon. Before Harmon could say anything, the tank fired up, and the small upper half of a shimmery blue Smilp popped up in the open driver’s hatch. The tank moved out of the delivery end of the replicator and stopped fifty feet away. No less than eight of the shimmering colored Smilps came out of the hatches and scrambled all over the tank, checking various portions.

  “Sweet!” Clip exclaimed. “Wait until Captain Brink hears about this.”

  “Outstanding job, Bradford,” Harmon said. “I was not expecting that. The Withaloo are producing equipment for them and the Bolts on the planet, but I have no doubt it takes them far longer to put the pieces of them together than a full replicator build. What do you have the schematics for so far?”

  “Right now it’s set up to create a newer design of the Bolts’ current tank, an ammo hauler for the artillery unit, and the same artillery piece they use now,” Bradford answered. “We’re going to build a few more of the Smilps’ mech-charging stompers, too. Speaking of Stompers, I bet we could come up with a better version of the big Stompers for the Heavy Armored Infantry troops.”

  “That’s great,” Harmon said. “Listen, I’m going to have Bahroot send you the schematics for the Withaloo’s equipment, too. Once you build what the Bolts need, we’ll help replenish them. There’s another project Clip will send your way as well. That replicator you built is going to be exactly what we’ll need to make them. Tell him, Clip.”

  “Hey, man,” Clip said, “we almost have the schematics and programming worked out on a new mech. The Yatarward replicator on Salvage isn’t big enough to do what we need.”

  “Not big enough?” Mike asked. “How big a mech are we talking about?”

  “One big enough for a male Taylahh,” Harmon said, sitting back and grinning.

  “The design will be a little over twenty feet tall standing upright,” Clip added. “It’ll incorporate their propensity to use all four limbs in movement, as well as their weight, strength, and center of gravity.”

  “Wow,” Bradford said. “Taylahhs? How many will we need to build?”

  “Six,” Harmon answered. “We’ll send Ferdinand up from Salvage to work with you once the design is complete. Bahroot will upload the programming and check for any issues.”

  “What kind of weapon systems will they have?” Mike asked.

  “Whatever we can get away with fitting on them,” Clip answered.

  “If these guys can get the power sources on them right,” Harmon said, “that one squad can have the fire power of a battalion-sized infantry element.”

  “Something that big will burn through power cells,” Mike advised.

  “Why can’t you use the small fusion plant design in the Smilps’ mech chargers?” Bradford asked.

  “Will that work?” Harmon asked Clip, now standing on one side of him.

  “I think so,” Clip said after thinking for a minute. “I’ll run it by Zee, but I think we could incorporate two of them. One to run the mech operating system, and one for weapons. The fusion plant they designed is only two feet by two feet, but the thing puts out enough power to charge at least four mech power cells at a time. We have to ensure the design provides plenty of armor around the plant like the small charging stompers. It’ll be heavy, so the servos have to be strong enough to compensate, but with the right design I think it can be done. Bradford, we may have to label you a genius, too.”

  “Great,” Mike said, slowly shaking his head. “Thanks for that, sir. Thanks a lot. I gotta work with the guy, and you just gave him a head bigger than the Taylahhs’.”

  “Hey!” Bradford said, running his hand over his smooth head. “I don’t have a big head. A bald head, but not a big head. You know women love it.” He grinned around his cigar.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Five

  Planet Bleeve

  Grant Lowantha checked the laser pistol in the holster strapped to his side. It was loose and ready to be drawn if this meeting didn’t go as planned. He glanced behind him, looking up, and caught a small glimpse of Hawthorne as he shifted and settled in under the thin layer of repro film. Once his partner stopped moving, the film picked up the surrounding area and mimicked it.

  Lowantha couldn’t really see him anymore, but he could tell by the outline of the boulder and shrubs the film reproduced on its surface he was there. If he hadn’t known exactly where Hawthorne was, he’d never have seen him. The film also kept Hawthorne from being picked up by infrared scanners or by any race with natural infra-vision. The film was a prototype they’d stolen on a mission right before everything had happened, and they became wanted men on Tretra. They’d never turned it over to intelligence. From the inside of the portable blind, Hawthorne could see fine, and would be able to shoot through with no issues.

  The former Tretrayon intelligence specialist sat on a rock and waited. He brushed long, jet-black hair out of his eyes—a disguise, along with the fake nose and cheek fillers. He hoped it wouldn’t be long. His contact had given an approximate meeting time, not an exact one. He still didn’t know why the alien had insisted on meeting in a secluded area like this valley. It was unusual for a human to be on the surface of the planet Bleeve, but it wasn’t completely unheard of.

  Zikorah was more paranoid than Lowantha and Hawthorne were, and he was on his own planet, so the two had decided one of them needed to be on overwatch with a rifle capable of killing the Bleeve with one accurate shot. Hawthorne could do that; he’d received sniper training while he was in the Tretrayon Marines. The unique rifle he was using sent a kinetic round at an incredible speed, and nothing but the heaviest battle armor could stop it. Lowantha didn’t think that type of armor was available in this system.

  Ten minutes later, a low, flat hovercraft made its way around and between boulders toward him. The intelligence specialist noted it was an extremely expensive model, made here on the planet. It stopped about twenty yards away, the top flipped back, and the eight-legged Bleeve climbed out and made its way to his rock. Inwardly, Lowantha shuddered. He always did when he was around species with extra limbs. Four limbs were enough for everyone. Why can’t every sentient race be bipedal? The Bleeve looked like a cross between a giant spider and a beetle. Its body was segmented, and the two multi-jointed limbs in the upper segment below its head ended with four digits. Bleeve were able to use them individually or together, making two pincers, unlike the other six with their single pincers.

  Lowantha stared at the newcomer. He was determined to look bored and uninterested in the clandestine meeting to make it appear as if it was normal business for the ex-Tretrayon military spy. Lowantha and Hawthorne now made a ridiculous living selling information to the highest bidder. Most of the time they did their own research and searched out potential buyers, knowing what they’d learned had value to the right individual. This time they’d been contacted shortly after leaving the Barlat System. On that deal, they’d made a fortune. It hadn’t ended well for their clients, but that was none of their concern. Besides, the contact who knew their faces had died in the battle.

  Someone had passed on the multilayered contact information to this Bleeve. It was untraceable to them due to the security involved, so they stayed safe, but it was still surprising to get the message six months ago. They’d spent the time since learning the information requested, and now it was time to relay it.

  Lowantha surmised it was probably the mercenary Micktorah. They’d met him almost two years ago, and he’d given their information to their latest client. He, too, was dead,
killed by the same forces that took out their last client. As much as he hated Harmon Tomeral and all those with him, he had helped make sure the ends were all tied up for the two information dealers. That was something, anyway.

  “Mr. Smith, I presume,” the Bleeve finally said as he hunched back on his four lower legs and raised his body up to appear almost like most sentient beings in the galaxy.

  “Zikorah,” Lowantha said.

  Zikorah reared up as if he had been struck and hissed. “So, you not only learned the information I requested, you took it upon yourself to learn more than you should. That is very dangerous for you, Human.”

  “If you say so, Bleeve,” Lowantha said, emphasizing the race of his contact and appearing to remain cool, though inside he was a nervous wreck. Hawthorne could take out Zikorah, but he couldn’t take out all the security that was undoubtedly in the area, probably right around the bend in the valley.

  This statement gave the Bleeve pause. He had no idea of the abilities of Lowantha or the backup measures he may have taken, and it showed. Lowantha knew the Bleeve was dying to find out how he’d reached the surface of the planet without being detected. The scout ship and its systems were undetectable by most surveillance systems in the galaxy. Some of the most advanced systems might catch them, but the two ex-spies stayed away from those systems.

  “Since you know who I am, perhaps you could tell me your real name,” Zikorah said.

  “Not a chance,” Lowantha countered. “I did my research; you do yours. You’re the intelligence adviser to the Bleeve queen, after all. What I want to know is, why all the secrecy? Why didn’t we meet in the capital? Or…do the queen and the rest of her advisors even know we’re meeting?”

  “Rest assured, she knows,” Zikorah said, settling back down. “I make no moves without advising her of them. This will be the start of her empire beyond our system. There are those in the House of Nobility and the House of Lessers who need not know of the actions taken. They will learn after the plan comes to fruition and cannot be argued against. Glory to the queen.”