Troll was huffing like a freight train as he ran through the door into the converted dining room the Expendables used as an Operations center.

Looking up at the sudden intrusion, Vera was startled, rarely having seen the big man out of breath.

“What is it, Torkel?” she asked, knowing she was one of the few people Troll wouldn’t mind using his real name.

With his usual knack for brevity, Troll replied, “Lord Kalis is dead.”

“What!?”

“They found him in his study, with a bullet hole in his head. No one seems to have any idea as to who could have entered and killed him, as the security logs were hacked and only show reruns of the cartoon ‘Space Bunny’, set to endlessly loop on one episode.” Troll paused to catch his breath, and then, as though the simple act of stringing a few sentences together had started an irreversible process, more words began issuing from the usually taciturn mercenary.

“That’s not the worst of it, Vera. Lord Kalis’ staff say they not only have no records of our deal with Kalis, but that they’re also refusing to pay what he promised us. They have no record of the information we transmitted. Apparently he was keeping the entire affair to himself.” finished Troll at last.

“Dammit! The bastard was keeping the results secret from SuSAG. Probably going to have a bidding war, with the highest bidder getting the formula! SuSAG, Burnwell, whoever else was interested: who knows how high he could’ve driven the price.”

“Well,” Vera went on, “at least we made a backup copy of the formula. As much as it turns my stomach to consider it, maybe we should contact Burnwell? I’d rather we gave it to NavInt, but beggars can’t be choosers.”

Just then the opposite door to the Operations Center flew open, and the Third came flying in, his demeanor deadly serious.

Seeing Vera, he said, “We’ve been hacked.”

“What?!”

“We’ve been hacked and all our files corrupted.” the Third went on, “And now we can’t find our archived copy of Hamster’s moms Chili recipe. What are we going to do with all the Pinto Beans we had shipped in? What will we have for dinner?”

“Goddamn it!” yelled Vera, “What about our backup copies of the PDPT beta formula?”

“Oh yeah, those are gone too. But we didn’t need them to make the Chili.”

Shaking her head, Vera wondered if the day could get any worse. Suddenly the intercom buzzed, the light indicating the message was coming from the makeshift weapons lab they’d set up in one of the outbuildings.

Pressing the ‘answer’ button, Vera took a deep breath and asked, “Yes. What is it?”

Hamsters voice came over the line, “Vera, sweetie. You know how you told me not to mess with the backpack thingy on that badass Battle Dress Mr whatisname gave us? Remember how I got mad and told you I was a weapons Engineer and knew how to disarm a simple mini nuke? Well, I think I might owe you Dinner or some Chocolates or something. Also, we might want to evacuate the island. Not right away, ya know. But definitely within fifty six minutes and, er, let’s see…43…42…41 seconds. Well, you get the idea. Hamster out.”

Vera began to cry.

At that moment Vassily walked in, waving a piece of paper. Striding up to Vera he said “Vee are out of Vodka. Zees ees breech of contract. Da?”

“Da.” Vera repied as she brought her tears under control.

Sighing, she said, “I’ll come help you look for more.”

“Ees good. Ah, I almost forget to tell you. Hospital called. Zee doctors say Harpoon on his vay back.”

It was too much to take. Vera fainted.

“I’m gonna need a stiff drink for this” Vera says as she instinctively reaches for the crystal snifter of expensive whisky. Her hand stops mid-way. The news that she received in the Furingort hospital after she collapsed in the waiting room was enough to make anyone drink. Yet now she can’t…not for a few months.

With a sigh she reaches for her vid-corder and stares out into the night time sea of Pagaton. She reviewed all the feed from her team during the Sea Harvester mission and the last picture that was taken of the half kilometer ship being pulled down into the depths was enough to make her shudder and close the window blinds. She pressed the ON button.

“Log 14. Pagaton of the District 268 sector. The away team consisting of Ch’ur, The 3rd, Hamster, Troll and Vassily met our employer Mr. Burnwell just outside this manor house at approximately 07:15 AM. Mr Burnwell had just returned from the main land and brought the augmented Battle Dress. He seemed a bit hung over from the night before. He was a poor choice for my Teams transport driver, but he was very specific in our contract as to the point. Again I went over the details of the mission.
1). Fly into the unusually huge hurricane and activate the transports stealth equipment.
2). Land on top of the Bridge, enter the Sea Harvester. The transport will maintain contact from a safe distance.
3). Descend into the main frame computer.
4). Download all information into the Battle Dress which will instantly transmit to the Transport.
5). Exit and await pick-up.

I am now switching to Ch’ur’s verbal log from the ride to the mission site.

“Me not like the being called Vassily. He is rot with alcohol and his eyes are of despair. Only my tolerance training from the (cretch-ta) is keep me from tearing him apart. My eyes to the being called Troll. He is donned the fancy suit that the being called Burnwell offered. I see that the large un-removable back pack is making this bumpy ride painful for him. My ears to the (sogram-gah) as they whine to make this car fly in the powerful winds. Burnwell points to the screen as they clear image of our target. It is dark.

’I don’t like this one bit guys!’ say Burnwell. ‘Something has happened to the ship. All the lights have gone out…even the emergency lights. And see here…the escape boats are all gone. We’re not even being passively sensored. I don’t like this, not one bit.’ He talk to the being called The 3rd who look at him like he was playing a game of bluffing.

‘You want us to pull out then, El Capitaan?’ The 3rd asks in a way that make me feel that I already know the answer. Burnwell takes some time to look like he thinks about our safety then say-

‘Ahhh, I guess you boys know what you’re doing. I’d hate not to pay you!’ He laughs and grins in a way that reminds me of my home planets (Chuuud-Fha), vicious insects they are. Burnwell power dives against the cutting wind and the (sogram-gah) protests in reply. Burnwell mag-grapples the roof of the bridge and I am the first one out of the small, soft space of the transport. I land and immediately dig my claws into the metal. Then I feel it.

This ship is dead.

Vera shuts off Ch’urs voice feed and resumes the log.

“The team cracked a ceiling window and descended into the Bridge. Weapon logs show that every member had activated full auto on their various guns. They were expecting a storm tossed crew ready to repel invaders, but what they found was an abandoned station with smeared blood stains on the walls and floor. A two meter hole was bored into the Plasteel storm windows with an acid-like residue. The exit door was shut and locked from the Bridge side, as if to protect the Captain from someone from the other side.” Vera flips through the photos of the Bridge. Massive damage to the stations and bolted chairs. Everything looked tossed about. No humans but the walls looked as if something licked away most of the blood. Something huge.

“The following is the Logs of Captain Regus Chumsteed, acting commander of the Sea Harvester.”

Star date 34-4-B. Had to hold a court martial on two of my crew today. They said they were fighting because they both wanted the attentions of Professor Tern. When questioned, she said she knew nothing about it and locked herself in her lab. Women aboard a sea-going vessel are just bad news.

Star date 765-2. The reports of a hurricane forming in the east are disturbing. Usually they never come from there. Lord Kalis says to play it safe and head for Furingut harbor, but I will make preps to ride it out. Nothing can hurt my ship!

Star Date 6-71-G. Taught Mr. Skittles a new trick. When I snap my fingers twice he rolls over to have his belly rubbed. Silly little scamp!

Star Date 30-K-2. The Hurricane is a beast! It rocks my ship around like a toy boat in a bathtub full of blind lesbians. As I was overseeing the preps in cargo hold #6 I saw Prof. Tern walking around. The crew says she visits that area frequently. The continual lightning storm is like nothing I’d ever seen; outgoing communications are all but useless. Lord Kalis might have had a good idea there…

Star Date 1-3487-H-12. HOLY SHIT!! The main Pylon is down!! And the intercoms to the engineering decks are silent. I have started the emergency…… ((Here the recordings end))

Vera resumes the Log.

“With no power the Team had to open an elevator and descend down into the levels of the Main Pylon where the computer banks are housed. Via the military grade communications array in the Battle Dress back pack Mr. Burnwell said that the suit Troll wore had a source of energy that could power-up the main frame long enough for the team to down load all its information. Unfortunately the video feed being sent to the Grav-Limo showed that the main computer banks were totally fried by multiple lightning bolt strikes and now was completely worthless.”

“I then accessed the ships design plans here on the Island and deduced that there was a very good chance that a second computer frame was located in the far forward section of the ship. I relayed this via Mr Burnwells communications packet and the Team came up with a plan.”

They re-accessed the non-functioning elevator shaft and descended to the Engineering levels far below the water line. With no power, even emergency lighting, it was dark. They sideways accessed the Central Propulsion control room and were going to gain access to a custodial passage way that ran the spine of the ship, right to the Secondary Pylon when Troll saw something” Vera switches to the real-time recordings.

Troll “What the Fuck?”
Hamster “Huh?”
Troll “Here lookit here. This printout of the vibrations of the Main Engineering levels, all 6 levels. Here it’s normal, and then here it gets all shitty-like ‘cause of the storm. Then HERE it turns totally red like this ship was in an earthquake or some’in. Then here…nothing.”
Vassily “That’s ven they went uff line. Probably shuttered themselves to pieces.”
Troll “Yeah, but the emergency power was still functioning then, still printing off these sheets. And it shows NO vibrations coming from the sections just underneath us.”
Vassily “Well…”
The 3rd “Guys, come and look at this…”

Vera cuts to the shoulder cam on Trolls Battle Dress. The video shows Troll edging The 3rd aside and looking out a sound barrier window that partitioned the Central Engineering compartment. All that was viewable was water. Every once in a while an explosive burst of light would illuminate the murkiness. When this happened the watchers could see that there was no Central Engineering compartment.

It was gone. All 6 levels of it. Gone.

Vera resumes recording from her vid-corder.

“The team was… un-nerved by these events. With this huge of a portion of the ship torn away, it should have sunk hours ago. Yet the ship held is same geo-synchronous position in the center of a Force-10 hurricane with no apparent propulsion. I have to hand it to the boys. Either their sense of duty to the mission or their profound greed kept them going. The custodial passage way was dark and fairly straight. A few maintenance nooks cropped up here and there some with the signs of a bloody attack. Each murder site the same. Massive damage to near-by bulkheads and equipment, splattered blood on every surface nearby and the licking-like smear of the blood from the attacker.”

“As they neared the Secondary Pylon they were attacked by Lord Kalis’s security droids. 5 in all, they held to their prime directive- Protect the information of PDPT-beta . They attacked in force and The Expendables responded in kind. The 3rd secured himself partially behind a bulkhead and took careful aim and made strategic single shots to vulnerable areas of the oncoming security robots. Vassily was assisted by Ham as he un-loaded in automatic style upon the droids, sending massive amounts of damage to their entire system. Ch’ur advanced and engaged the enemy with his Aslan built Taoyuhrir sending alien death into the weak armour of terrain built automata. Then out of a service duct, Ch’ur was attacked in melee fashion. He then had to rely on his hand held Blooded Yu’hiah to do the job. Troll in his impregnable suit of Battle Dress charged past the sentinels and began to access the impregnable security door to the secondary computer room.”

“They were, of course, victorious; however, there was a problem. Troll realized that only one security robot held the code to access the computer room door. If they put in the wrong droids code to the door it would fuse-weld itself shut and the mission would fail. Vassily gathered the info-cores of the robots but found that they were so degraded that they held only 2 statements of info. One statement was true and one statement was false. They were as follows….

Robot-1—- Robot-5 does not have the Passcode…. Robot-2 has the Passcode.

Robot-2—- Robot-3 does not have the Passcode… Robot-5 does not have the Passcode.

Robot-3—- Robot-5 has the Passcode… Robot-1 does not have the Passcode.

Robot-4—- Robot-3 has the Passcode… Robot-2 has the Passcode.

Robot-5—- Robot-4 has the Passcode… Robot-1 does not have the Passcode

Vera switches to the vid-coder of Hamster.

Hamster: “Uh…guys…I think it’s…uh…the number 3 dude.”

Ch’ur: “I’m a friggin’ alien and even I think you are dumber than a (Chuur-tangi).”

Hamster: “No, listen…If the second statement of #4 is true, then…”

The vid-corder files are corrupted at this part. Massive data loss.

Vera resumes dictation.

“After Hamster types in the 3rd robots code, the doors swing open to show a powerless, yet undamaged computer core. The team gets to work, well everyone except Troll who has to stand and allow his Battle Dress back pack be hooked up to the main frame. It was then that the teams collective paranoia kicked in. The 3rd eventually pieced together that in order for me to communicate with Mr. Burnwell he’d have to be outside the hurricanes perimeter. Yet he said he’d only be 1 to 2 kilometers away from the ship. Upon investigation it showed he was 50 kilometers away and going further every moment. A renegotiation was in order.”

“Mr. Burnwell wanted the Team to transmit all the data THEN he’ll pick them up. The Team wanted pick–up THEN the info transmission. Mr. Burnwell did not take well to the new plan. As it turned out, when Ch’ur and Hamster pried open the titanium steel back pack lid it showed that the power source for the Battle Dress was in fact a Tactical Nuclear Warhead.”

“While in radio silence the Team crowed around Troll and his unfortunate load. Any attempts to take off the suit would alert Mr. Burnwell and he could trigger the device to explode from a distance. However the Dorrinian manufacturers put in a safety device, a shut-off switch that could only be activated by typing in one number from 0 to 9. Below the dial was this statement written in Dorrianese…

There are 3 different types of nuclear Cores in this back pack. How MANY nuclear cores are in this back pack is unknown. Logically deduce the number of cores in this back pack and dial in a number from 0 to 9 on the control panel to stop the reaction. A wrong answer will start a thermo-nuclear reaction. Good Luck.

All but two are Hydrogen Cores.
All but two are Gamma Cores.
All but two are Neutron Cores.

“Vassily came up with an answer and the team more or less agreed. He dialed in his answer and…the bomb was turned into only a power source. Nothing Mr. Burnwell could do would activate it. Resuming communications, the Team revealed that they knew he was going to blow up the ship (and them) but that plan has been stopped. The contract was successfully re-negotiated and Mr. Burnwell made the arduous trek back to the ship to pick them up. As they waited they perused the files of Professor Tern. It didn’t look good. Her records showed that the chemical was NOT as good as it was initially thought and further studies would be useless. SaSAG was going to take a big financial hit and all harvesting on Pagaton would come to a halt.”

“Further information and even samples were to be found in her laboratory near cargo hold #6. The Team makes a short journey through the gloomy hallways of the dead ship and finds Professor Terns office. They see a mahogany desk, obviously imported from off world with a personal computer on it. They hook up the Battle Dress’s power cord and activate the consul. But there is a catch. Before they can access all of her files they must read a sentence and type in how many letter F’s are in that sentence.

FINISHED FILES ARE THE RESULT OF YEARS OF SCIENTIFIC STUDY COMBINED WITH THE EXPERIENCE OF YEARS

Ch’ur: “Me have studied your Galanglic good…Me type in 4!”

“Just then a jolt of cryogenic liquid squirts at Ch’ur’s genitalia causing him massive damage that slowly decreases over time. As The 3rd and Vassily give aid to the howling Aslan, Troll types in the right number and two jars rise up out of hidden slots on the desk. There are two quart sized plastic jars filled with gooey jell. Each has a data stick attached to them. On each data stick is easily removable tape. One says fake and the other says real.”

Vera switches to the personal notes data file that was taken from Tern’s computer.

Professor Tern: “I have successfully repressed all the truthful research on PDPT-beta in the Main Pylon computer banks. I know Lord Kalis reads those. I have fabricated false data-strands and a sample of downgraded PTPD-beta for the Lord Manager to view. I suspect his displeasure in these fake reports will turn him away from his post on Pagaton and the eventual collapse of the Sea Harvester Company. I have turned the awesomeness of the chemical into awfulness.”

Professor Tern: “Once SuSAG turns its attentions away from here, my Ine Givar contacts will infiltrate the local political system and the Harvesting of the Dagasi will resume. I will then endeavor to find a way to have the aerosol based chemical target the nerve cells of only humans with strong Imperium genetic code. Oh how I laugh at the image of billions of Impies writhing for hours in ungodly pain before they all die.”

Professor Tern: “My secret lover and Ine Givar spy has promised me a great reward. If the Captain gets wise to my underhandedness I will gather the true samples of PDPT-beta and all the real information from this lab and fly away with him to the stars! We will be rich beyond counting and I will remain young forever!”

Vera stops the documentation and stretches her legs. She walks over to the contract desk and looks over the recent communications with the System Manager, Lord Kalis who represents SaSAG on Pagaton. His offer to reward the Expendables for the retrieval of the truthful information of the chemical and its real sample is worth a lot to him. Fourteen Million credits. She then glances at the last photo of the Sea Harvester and again, shudders. She re-starts her documenting.

“The team split and sent half into the newly arrived Grav-Limo with guns drawn and ready for any underhandedness from Mr. Burnwell. Once transport was secure they had Troll only send the false information to our client. As the fake data showed that the chemical he so avidly sought after was a useless, poor waste of time and money his demeanor went cold and sour as he waited for the remainder of the team to arrive and secure themselves.”

“The Team arrived at the island and Mr. Burnwell paid his remaining part of the fee for our services. With bitterness in his voice he said that the Battle Dress was hard-wired with the nuclear core and was built to be only useful once. Just before he slammed shut the door to his very battered Grav-Limo he said that he hoped that a few more bullet holes would trigger the bomb/power core and blow us all to Hell.”

“That’s when they told me of the fake data they gave to the Client and their plans to give the real information and samples to Lord Kalis. I mentioned that Lord Kalis would probably start harvesting the Daghasi at an accelerated rate and the entire eco-system of this tropical paradise would crash. My eyes welled up with tears, I had grown to love this place and maybe even start a family here. Then Hamster showed me the last picture of the Sea Harvester as the Grav-Limo flew away from it. The quality was poor due to the storm but the half kilometer long ship could be seen well enough. Just underneath the waterline. Just under the waves could be seen tentacles, hundreds of them. Each with a huge 2 meter wide acid spewing orifice at the tip of the writhing mass. One side of the tentacles was full of suction cups that held fast to the steel hull of the ship. The other side was black as night and covered with millions of phosphorescent dots, like stars in space.”

“Hamster said that right after that picture was taken the Sea Harvester cracked in the middle and was sucked down into the inky depths. He said that somehow this bottom dwelling beast sensed that the Sea Harvester was destroying the balance of life and it wanted revenge. At least that’s how he saw it. The others saw it as a win/win situation. Mr. Burnwell paid us for doing exactly what he wanted, Lord Kalis will pay us to give him the information Professor Tern hid from him and Pagaton has a new if somewhat horrible protector. Hamster kissed me and went to join the others in the bar lounge.”

“I awoke just a few hours ago and now it’s 04:15 in the AM. I believe I was screaming in my sleep. A few fragments of a nightmare were clinging to my memory and that got me to thinking. After this… this great one covered in stars finishes off the remaining 4 Sea Harvesters will it go back to sleep on the lightless ocean floor, or will it still hunger for revenge?”

Vera turns off the vid-corder and walks to the doorway overlooking the sea. She wraps her arms around her belly protectively.

Vera cleared her throat to signify that the meeting is to begin again. It was hard to grab the attentions of this core of hardened Mercenaries sitting at the dining room table during this morning. A light rain had just swept past it island and a fresh smell of paradise enveloped the room. She noticed that Harpoon was not present. Last nights events having taken its toll on the Avastani pirate.

“OK gents, a lot to go over today, but first any news on Harpoon and his surgery?” Vera asked.

“Ummm, last I heard from him was that the supposed ‘Doctor’ was still trying to merge his cybernetic left arm back into the shoulder socket.” Said Troll with a voice like it came from the bottom of a gravel pit. “He’s going to stay in Furingort City till he’s good enough to travel.” He takes a sideways glance at Ch’ur as he says this. No one especially liked to hang around the boisterous, drug addled, tin armed mercenary, but it was always nice to have him near during a job. He had a way to draw most of the enemy’s attention to him, giving the others a chance to fortify positions. He often accomplished this by running around and screaming.

A sad looking Ch’ur mumbles “I so sorry. I did not know that I should have refused to… play.”

“Which brings us to the next subject, Do Not arm-wrestle Ch’ur! Arm-wrestling an Aslan is –always- a bad idea.” Vera chides the group. She than looks to the dark haired guest who flew in this morning on a sleek black Grav-Limo. She nods. He stands up and preens his silk business suit/robe as he waits his turn to address the team.

“This is Mr. Burnwell of Burnwell Pharmaceuticals. He’d like to talk to us about a health plan he’d like us to invest in.” With that Vera lets the tall foreigner take a position at the head of the table. She goes to her set of portable sensor and communication jamming device, turns a few dials and then gives the speaker the thumbs up. The masking field was now in place.

“Gentlemen as thanks for letting me address you, I have brought in some foods from my native planet of Egypt, and my servants will set up breakfast as we discuss a mutually profitable union.” He grins and waves his women in from the kitchen. He pulls from his pocket a Holo-vid displayer and presses a button. As he speaks the holo images float above the table and add cadence to his words.

“Sea Harvester is a company that has 5 huge ships patrolling the Pagaton seas catching and killing the local giant whale that is native here. Each ship is self-sufficient and without a primary base this cuts costs for the company. My spies…er…researchers have determined that this one ship, commanded by Captain Regus Chumsteed is the informational hub of the operation. I suspect that is because of this girl, Professor Tern. She has her laboratory set up on Captain Chumsteeds’ ship and all other ships make periodic deliveries to it.” The images flow from one picture to the next.

“I’m interested in a natural chemical found in the brains of a few of the large whales they harvest. It’s called PDPT-beta and if I’m correct may just change the scope of modern medicines as we know it. Not to get too technical, but reports say that it can be programed to hunt and kill specific cells in a host body, like cancer and the cold virus. It may also be able to be in an aerosol form so mass portions of society can be cured all at once. Pretty big stuff, guys.” Lazurus grins at the merc’s in a well-rehearsed friendly manner. Perhaps in board rooms and in pick-up bars he would come off as ‘Just one of the Guys’, but the Expendables have seen too many snake-oil sales pitches to be fooled into thinking that Lazurus wants anything to do with them on a social level. He just wants their guns.

“I must warn you. The Sea Harvester Company is a subsidiary of the Schunamann und Shon AG Megacorporation. The most recent Manager, Lord Kalis, whose space going yacht has been detected in this system, has unending funds to throw into the ships internal defense system. He has centralized all information to Captain Chumsteeds ship in order to prevent any leaks. The other 4 ships have no information I need and this one will be loaded to the gills with security.”

“Vat do you vant us to do, Mr Burnwell?” Vassily lazily asks.

“Professor Tern has all of her research data stored in the Main computers located in the main Pylon just under the Bridge…here. I have had my men cobble together a data replicating computer that when plugged into the Pylons interface will quickly download all the information I need. After that, you leave and get paid. A cake walk!”

“How we gonna get there and back. You got a boat! Can I drive it?” Asks Hamm.

“My Grav-Limo is specially built to handle certain insertion missions. It can fly in and hang around at a distance till you’re done mostly undetected then pick you up again. Most sensors can’t pick it up…”

“I’ve done research into so-called Stealth Vehicles, ‘mostly undetected’ doesn’t cut it. What else you got?” asks The 3rd from his relaxed position behind his now empty plates while mentally fondling the serving girls.

“Ahhh here is a stroke of luck! An unusually powerful and unexpected Hurricane has swept in from the East and has swallowed the ship whole in 200 kilometer per hour gale force winds. Also the strangely increased lightning bolt activity within the storm has rendered their sensors somewhat useless. My limo can handle these conditions for a short time. Visual sighting of you would be minimal due to the torrential rain and the fact that nobody would be able to walk top side. The ship has been trapped in this freak storm for a day now and it could go away at any time. And so would your opportunity.”

“Vera mentioned you would give us a suit of Battle dress ?” Troll asks casually.

“Yes. Because my window to gain this information is very short, I thought I’d spice up your interest by giving you a specially made basic Battledress. The replicating computer and a powerfully enhanced communications suit has been added. From this armour I can keep in contact with you, even though the storm. Other equipment you’ll have to gain on your own” He looks to the hulking form of the Aslan. “It can be modified for different sizes, but at an armour reduction cost.”

“What about the Callios?” Vera asks, looking up from her de-bugging equipment.

“The who?” replies Lazurus.

“The native sea going nomads whose livelihoods depend on the daghadadedes that the Sea Harvester are slaughtering. Can they be contacted to give recognizance or back-up. I’m sure they’d like to strike a blow against SuSAG.”

“I’ve seen some articles in the local news about them. They are a powerless barbaric people and are of inconsequence to the mission.” Lazurus leans in closer to the team in a conspiratorial manner. “In fact, If PDPT-beta is as golden as the preliminary reports say it is, the age of the…what did you call them…Callios are at an end. Poor bastards.” He laughs.

“Damn, that was a fast transit Lynn arranged.” thought Vera, as she finished her morning ablutions. Turning, she admired her figure in the mirror. “A hair over three weeks to make 2 jumps in the transport and to set us up here.”

Finished dressing, Vera turned and strode out of the lavish quarters in the Overbluffs mansion that she had claimed for her own. Pausing at the door she mused, “I’m gonna see if the locals can get us some nicer furniture. The Baroque crap the Overbluff went for just makes me want to puke. I can’t believe the guy thought he was tasteful. A few fresh flowers wouldn’t hurt either.”

Continuing down the stairs, she entered the dining hall the Expendables had turned into a meeting room and stopped at the head of the table. She glanced at the assembled men before beginning to speak.

“Guys, as you know, Lynn has given us a 3 month ‘break’ from working for NavInt. They’ll continue to bankroll us during that time, and to supply us with gear and ammo, but she felt it would be good for our ‘cover’ to take on a few jobs that were obviously not related to NavInt or the Imperium.” she said.

Drawing a deep breath, she turned to Harpoon, “Harpoon, please stop pretending to pick your fingernails while you’re daydreaming of Pagatonian women. Since you don’t have the cosmetic fingernail implants, it just comes off as insulting. Now pay attention.”

Returning to the subject at hand, Vera went on, “We’ve been contacted by a Lazarus Burnwell, who wants our help acquiring an ‘asset’ from SuSAG. The job pays good money and he’ll be landing here first thing in the morning to give us a presentation. Lynn said we could take any jobs we want here on Pagaton as long as they don’t directly affect NavInt or it’s assets. The client will provide transport and supplies and has even offered the use of a suit of Battledress. Depending on what the details are I think we should take the job.”

As the assembled mercs began loudly debating the pros and cons of the mission, Vera interrupted once more, “I should also tell you that I won’t be going with you on this mission. Since we landed on Pagaton, I’ve been feeling a little ill. I suspect my system is taking a hit from the local food, so I’ll be helping Neb with logistics. The good news is that you won’t be shorthanded though. Just this morning a new recruit arrived. Please let me introduce you to Churweatalhootaskah’aralte’oiah, or Ch’ur, as he very fortunately prefers to be called.”

From the doorway behind her, one of the biggest Aslan warriors any of them had ever seen stepped into the room.

“You will have…a female…show me to…best warrior bunk. Top bunk, or I will be…displeased.” came the hesitant Galanglic in a basso profundo growl.

Looking around the room, the big alien’s eyes came to rest on Harpoon, his gaze fastened squarely on the man’s prosthetic arms. “I see you may already…tried to give…one of my brothers…lower bunk.” he chuckled, the sound more disturbing than his growl.

“You will be given accommodations suited to your high status.” Vera said firmly, but deferentially, "As your Krawtweetah, I stand behind your prowess. To these men also am I Krawtweetah, or ‘special foster mother’, so they are your new pack. At least until your oath of service is fulfilled.”

“As you say, Krawtweetah. I will await your guidance in things feminine.”

“Very well, this female will assist you in locating the barracks.” Vera said, turning to indicate a very frightened looking local servant, hired the day before.

Waiting until the two departed, Vera turned to look at the now silent Expendables.

“That was a big kitty cat.” muttered Ham, finally breaking the long silence.

“Yeah, and why did you hire him without asking the rest of us” added Neb.

“I didn’t. The night we landed at the starport I started drinking with the female Aslan of a small trader. After a while we broke out some cards and started a friendly game. By the end of the night I’d taken ‘em for everything they had. Or so I thought. As a final bid, one of them, a senior one, offers to square the debt with a single card draw. They win, we’re even. I win, I get their most valuable prize, a Gheetra’kkundarur. Well, it might’ve been the booze talking, but I just couldn’t refuse. I won. You can guess what a Gheetra’kkundarur is, right?”

Vera paused a minute.

“And the neat thing is, he’s ours to play with for a ‘term’ of ten years.”

Speaking again, Vera said, “Let’s adjourn the meeting and reconvene in the morning to decide if we’ll take the job.”

Watching as the mercs got up and left the room, Vera felt a wave of nausea hit her. She hoped it was her digestive system, still getting used to the fish heavy Pagatonian diet, but she was afraid it was dread. Dread tied to the vivid nightmares she’d been having since before they left Glisten. Nightmares she couldn’t remember, except in one detail: they’d featured water, roiling water…

With a shudder, Vera turned and headed towards the makeshift Operations center, already planning a mission she knew they wouldn’t turn down.

“Alright, we got lucky one more time.” admitted Lynn, though she was still fuming. “What Harpoon was doing with one of his arms detached when Ambassador Griffin caught him in bed with Mrs. Griffin, I’m sure I don’t want to know, but at least now they’re looking for a one armed man with an unintelligible accent for the assault, instead of our resident Rooster! Do you know how long his Eminence will be in medbay? Two weeks! The Emperor’s shiny new emissary to the Consulate, visiting Glisten on his way to his new post, is laid up for two weeks just when relations between the Imperium and the Consulate seem to be breaking down again! And what’s this I hear about Hamster? You’ve only been back from New Rome for a couple of weeks and he’s gotten himself into trouble too?” demanded Lynn.

“Well,” began Vera defensively, “that wasn’t entirely his fault. Those Assholes at the grocers shouldn’t have laughed when he counted out the change on his fingers! I told him to do that, too many merchants were taking advantage of him when I sent him shopping. You can’t blame him! When the leader asked him ‘How many fingers and toes do you need to count to stupid?’, it was only natural for Ham to make a fist and reply ’Let’s stick ‘em in your face and you can count for me, smart guy…’.”

“I wouldn’t have cared if it was a normal fight, Vera, but the report I got said the ‘leader’ was the twelve year old son of a local magistrate, and that the average age of the ‘Assholes’ was eleven!” thundered Lynn.

Holding up two fingers to silence Vera’s reply, Lynn continued, “I think I’ve found a solution. As you know, your cover has been that of an independent mercenary company. We’ve even provided you with a fully legal charter. But to continue to base you on Glisten risks both your cover and my sanity. So, for everybody’s peace of mind, I’ve decided to offer you some new digs. It recently came to my attention, through a trusted informant, that an island stronghold on Pagaton has just come on the market.”

Pausing for a moment to look meaningfully at Vera, Lynn went on, “You’ll be leaving on a fast chartered ship for that island tomorrow…”

‘The data we got from the lab on the rogue planet was good.’ thought Vera, as she did a final sweep of the executive suite on the top floor. Nicknamed ‘the Factory’ after its original use, the building housing the renegade executives had been a tough nut to crack, especially as it’s new use was part concert hall and bar, part hotel.

“No civilian casualties, no excessive structural damage, leave appropriate evidence that we were working for Sternmetal, blah, blah, blah.” muttered Vera under her breath.

“Vat’s dat?” came Vassily’s voice over the comms from the next room.

“Nothing, Vass. Keep searching, we’re almost done.” she sighed as she backed into the main room, almost tripping over the fallen enemy merc with ‘F. Mercury’ stenciled on his helmet.

“Oh, and good work on the idea of coming up the back staircase to enter the building, we avoided a lot of civvy deaths by skipping the dance floor and bar area.”

“Da. Vee should avoid killing the pretty girls, you said. Best to skip their natural habitat, da?” Vassily responded.

“Yes. Now keep searching for the files.”

“Got ’em.” came Bob’s voice over the comm. “Looks like we got what Lynn asked for Chief, er mam, er…”

“You’re new here Bob, so I won’t kill you for addressing me innapropriately. Just bring me the file and let’s get back to Glisten.”

From the adjoining room came a pained groan.

“Harpoon? Quit yer bitchin…”

Mohinder’s Fortune had taken out the two scout ships hiding behind the rogue planet after a brief but brutal fight. Both scouts had been completely destroyed, though not before damaging the Fortune. After the battle, scanners had picked up mining activity on the planet’s surface and a faint energy signature coming from deep underground. A ship’s boat was readied,and the Expendables were sent down to “investigate”…

“Got the Bastard!!” said Troll over comms. “Moving to clear the next room.”

“We’ve got two hostiles down here in the Control Room, Troll” came Vera’s staticky response from two rooms away, “Ours are wearing Combat Vaccs and have Gauss weapons, how is yours kitted up?”

Moving over to the still smoking hulk of the enemy combat robot, Troll examined it. “Looks like we might be facing Combat ‘droids, everybody be careful. Someone appears to have handpainted the name ’Benny’ across this ones chest and to have given it a broom, probably in hopes of concealing it’s true menace until it was too late, so everyone be on the lookout for fake Janitor ’bots.”

“Got it, Troll. We’re moving North.”

Bringing up his weapon, Troll continued moving East, towards the large door at the end of the room. Opening it carefully, he saw a trooper in a boarding Vacc crouching behind a barrel. Simultaneously the trooper spotted him, and quickly threw down his weapon.

“Don’t shoot, I’m your contact!” came the muffled shout from the trooper, now moving to a kneeling position.

Troll brought the weapon up to sight it on the trooper’s helmeted head, gently squeezing the trigger. At the last minute he released the tension in his fingers and keyed his comm.

“Hey Vera, were we expecting an inside contact? Or do we have to worry about ‘fake’ surrenders now too?”

Looking quickly around the room while he waited for a reply, Troll brought his attention back to the kneeling guard, “Hey you, turn around so I can see you’re not strapped with explosives like some kind of Jonkereen suicide bomber.”

“Do you want me to stand up?” asked the trooper.

“No, just lay down and roll around, so I can see you haven’t got…”

“Does nobody pay attention to my briefings anymore?” broke in Vera’s hissing, and hissed, response over the comm relay. “Ask him his name please. Then say ‘the Duke of Regina is very bold’. Patch me in so I can hear his response.”

Staring hard at the trooper rolling around on the floor in front of him, Troll said loudly “the Duke of Regina is very bold.”

The trooper stopped rolling around and, very carefully, sat up.

“It’s pronounced Duke of ‘Ri jahy nuh’.” he said.

Exasperated, Troll quickly brought his weapon up again, but before he could fire, Vera’s voice came over the comms, “That’s our man, Troll. Give him back his weapon and bring him to meet us at the stairwell, we’re heading down to the next level.”

Half an hour later, while Vass and Troll saw to the wounds of the party, Vera stopped by the guardsman to talk.

“You fight well, soldier. The Expenables could use a man like you. What’s your name?”

“Robert Wainwright the third. But my friends call me ‘Bob’. My enemies call me ‘English Bob’…”

The upgraded 400 dton merchant Mohinder’s Fortune was roomy enough, but everything smelled like FauxChicken™ Curry and the odor was making Vera nauseous.

‘Where the hell is the new guy?’ she thought angrily as she waited by the hatch. Almost the minute they landed on Glisten Neb had disappeared, claiming family issues. It was only after talking to Harpoon that Vera had learned Neb’s ‘family issues’ were actually a series of eleven different paternity lawsuits. There was no telling if he’d be able to rearrange his court appearances to avoid conflicting with the mission. To make matters worse, he’d agreed to let Harpoon provide him with legal assistance. Harpoon had gone to meet Neb at court that morning, crowing as he left that Neb would have “zee finest leegel mind in zee galaxy at hees deespozal!”

The whole affair had left Vera no choice but to place an add on MercList. Sure, the quality of MercList respondents was usually low, and occasionally they were conmen or outright criminals, but she hadn’t had the time to be fussy. Now, waiting by the hatch to see if Neb would return, and, more interestingly, to see what the new recruit would be like, Vera ran her fingers absentmindedly over the Sternmetal insignia on the fake uniform Lyn had provided…

Vera hurried through the rain, cursing under her breath as she shielded her new hairdo under a scavenged piece of plastic.

“What moron thought the simulating weather in a hab on Glisten was a good idea?” she muttered as she reached the hotel where the Expendables had set up their current headquarters.

Entering the building, she threw the piece of plastic aside and stopped at the foyer mirror to perform a quick damage assessment. Sighing at the sight of her drooping locks she thought, ‘It wasn’t meant to be. Doing my hair up to look like I had Hamster ears just to please Ham was a bad idea anyway.’ With another sad glance at the mirror, Vera reminded herself to call Alter Ego and cancel the giant rodent costume rental. Hopefully she could still get her cleaning deposit back.

Shrugging, Vera turned and moved across the lobby towards the stairs, meaning to jog the six flights down to their suite. As she neared the stairwell, the elevator doors to the left opened, revealing a handsome woman with a ramrod straight posture.

Seeing Vera, the woman smiled. “Hello Vera.” said Lyn, “You’re just the person I was looking for.”

“Reallly?” drawled Vera, “And why would that be?”

“I have a job for you.” Lyn said, as she fished a sheet of paper out of her bag and handed it to Vera.

Vera accepted the note, unfolding it to read it. 0404 – 6612 – 322 was all it had printed on it. “Let me guess, Stellar coordinates?” asked Vera.

“Yes, two parsecs galactic north of here.”

“But that’s empty space?” said Vera.

“That’s what we thought too, but a source tells us there’s something out there. Something that interests us. To avoid compromising our sources though, we’ve decided to subcontract this particular job to you and make it look like you’re freelancing. Let’s go someplace and talk out the details, eh?”

“Alright, but this one’ll cost a bit more, we’ve only just gotten back from Callia.”

“Don’t worry, Vera, you’ll be happy to know that high pay is part of your cover story. Now what do you say to Tea and Blintzes while we talk? There’s a great place in the next hab over…”

‘Damn, I just had this GelCloth BattleBlouse™ made!’ thought Vera, looking down at the dirty, scuffed crimson and lavender armor she had recently purchased at Glisten.

‘Now I’ll have to have it repaired. If that snotty, size 0, bottle blond of a salesgirl says anything snide, I’ll rip her head off and have one of the boys pee down her neck.’ Vera fumed as she remembered her last visit to Ensemble d’Guerre, Glisten’s answer to the infrequently asked question, “where can a real lady combine her love for fashion with her need for ballistic protection?”. The salesgirl, all 40 kilos of her, had rudely asked if Vera “wouldn’t like the waistline a bit less snug?”.

“Hmph!” Vera snorted, her attention returning to the present as another bullet ptanged off the rocks she was hiding among. She sighted in quickly on the crouching Jonkereen fighter, only to see his face explode in a burst of red mist as Vassily’s shot found its mark. Looking back over her shoulder, she glared at him through her night vision visor, hoping he could see her mouthing, ‘fuck off…my kill’.

The mission was going extremely well, she thought. Ham had started things off great with a stealthy recon of the ranch where the bad guys were holding the hostages and the Medusa. They’d decided on a night assault after her lover had mentioned the relative lack of what he termed “cheaters”, or nightvision goggles, for the Jonkereen fighters. He’d also spotted a few professionals, mercs like themselves, which had given the group pause, until it was determined they were just low level street thugs, probably hired for their fancy uniforms more than for any combat ability, and that they should be no match for the Expendables.

Now, with Vera sniping from the rocks to the south of the ranch, backed up by Vassily behind a low wall to her left flank, Ham and the butt pincher were trying to flank the enemy to the northwest. Troll was moving into position to cover them when her comm channel blared to life.

“I eez heet! Damn eeet! I eez…” came the call from Harpoon as his comm channnel went silent.

“What’s going on?” yelled Vera, her question punctuated by the thump of the mortar Neb had set up 30 meters behind her at the ruined farm.

“Uh, the Bionic Man is down.” came the laconic reply, “I’m, uh, moving to flank. Repeat, uh, moving to flank.”

“Gotcha, Rodent of Love!” Vera replied just as Neb’s mortar round finished it’s long trajectory, exploding with a roar in the bed of the lorry parked near the already burning Heli at the main ranch house.

A few minutes and a bit more ammunition later, the flaming truck and Heli now roaring blazes, the vast bulk of the enemy lay dead and the remaining, still conscious Expendables were gathered in a pit near the edge of the ranch’s orchard where they suspected the hostages were being held.

“The door is locked.” Said Neb, never one to belabor the obvious.

“We’ll have to blow it.” replied Vass, “Troll, why don’t you blow the hatch and I’ll lob in a flashbang, then a tranq?”

“No, maybe you should do it.” grumbled Troll.

“No, you do it.”

After a sharp rebuke about ‘wasting time’ from Vera, there followed several attempts, by both men, to blow the door, all failing until the fifth try, when the door simply creaked and fell off, as though teasing them the whole time. Vass, since Troll’s attempt had been the successful one, had dutifully lobbed the grenades through the entrance.

“BANG!”, and “Pop…hiss”, came the noises of the grenades, as a whispy cloud of tranq gas began seeping back out of the entrance.

Carefully fixing his respirator, Vass looked Troll in the eye and said, “You first?” in a muffled voice.

“Yoo furst.” came the equally muffled rumble.

Sensing more than comprehending the hesitant confusion among his fellows, Ham had grumbled, “Ah Fuck it.” and charged into the doorway.

“Always first into the hole!” sighed Vera, following.

Down below, there had raged a ferocious fight. Not just with the remaining Mercs the team had expected, but with two Zhodani mindrapists as well! After Vera was hurled through the air and knocked senseless by the Zho telekinetic, he’d gone down in a hail of Gauss projectiles when his psychic bullet shield had failed. And, when Vass was floored by a burst from one of the mercs Gauss rifle, the nearby team members were startled to see him leap right back up, a feat he later explained by telling them of his special stimpack implant.

Finally, there had been only the single Zhodani bitch left. Walking calmly towards Troll, as he raised his rifle to fire, she put her hands to her temples, screamed, and collapsed to the ground, dead.

“Saved us the trouble.” said Vass flatly.

“If you ignore the blood coming from her eyes,she’s kinda attractive.” mentioned Ham as he stood examining the body.

“Let’s go get the hostages.” said Vera in an exasperated voice, as she punched Ham in the shoulder. The only hostage they found in the cave though was the lone Delgado brother.

“Zees is for Cecilia!” said the now revived Harpoon, as he smacked Hernan Delgado across the face.

“Stop it! We’re here to rescue him!” shouted Vera, catching Harpoon’s shiny steel arm as he drew back for another blow."

“Yeah. Even I knew that.” said Ham.

As the team members variously questioned him, it soon became apparent that Delgado remembered almost nothing of the time that had passed since he and his brother had set out on the Medusa from Eca IV to retrieve Elliot from his temporary refuge on Callia.

Seeing they weren’t going to get any more info from him, the Expendables decided to call it a night and, after retrieving the Medusa from one lonely, scared, slightly stoned Jonkereen guard, they had their hired Engineer quickly perform the life support repairs the ship needed.

Then, they ordered their hired Pilot to “beat it, posthaste” out of Callia’s gravity well before the Jonkereen Water Enforcement Authority fighters could intercept them…