Alien Alliance (16 page)

It wasn’t fair he often thought. He was many
times better than Welkidlifim in military knowledge, training,
organisational ability, intellect and basic managerial and social
skills. He was respected and his ability was subtly acknowledged.
But his cut of the success of this Takeover would be one tenths of
Welkidlifim’s. He sternly told himself to stop wailing and get on
with it. And shut up. He was frustrated and exhausted, having been
working constantly with very little sleep. All superiors knew their
subordinates criticized them but if this doctor told Welkidlifim
what he had just said, it would be awkward to say the least.
Calling his superior incompetent, even though he was, could have
nasty consequences. Small problem of a difference in power. He
pulled his mind back to the current snafu.

There were many Races requiring different
sized planes with different speed and manoeuvrability. Speaking
different languages. And they were short of Translators. If he sat
and though about the logistics it would drive him nuts. He didn’t
have it as bad as his friend Tyrid. Tyrid had to wait till Lijfomid
left the bridge to get things better organized without Lijfomid’s
perpetual, incompetent interference. There were some things
Lijfomid was good at, of course, or he wouldn’t be here. It wasn’t
just bulk he was good at accumulating, he had an ample bank account
as well. It was just his annoying habit of thinking he was good at
some things that he was clueless about. A consequence of an ego as
big as his circumference. It wasn’t just Tyrid that had had to
suffer Lijfomid’s senseless orders. He had, too.

At least Welkidlifim left him alone to get
on with the job, Slirtmif thought as he went over his orders so now
he could reorganize the planes and get them matched up. Organizing
pilots that could actually fit into them would definitely be
helpful—a little problem Welkidlifim hadn’t remembered to factor
in. Different races required different-sized cockpits and different
control panels.

“Ah, we had to fail twenty-two pilots,”
commented the doctor, interrupting Slirtmif’s thoughts. “All but
one that failed have been in cold sleep.”

“Gee, what a surprise. That gives me only
three more to be failed for any reason and we will be unable to
keep up to schedule.”

“But at least now the action will start
soon?”

“Yeah, the troop ships are due in shortly
with most of the slaves. No problems are anticipated. I hear this
planet has a very small population.” Slirtmif headed for the pilot
crew’s quarters gesturing at the pilots to follow him. As they
headed down to the flight deck to do their checks and move the
planes around, they passed the decks where the slaves were that had
come out of cold sleep, sluggish and disorientated. Slirtmif nearly
gagged at the smell. There were always a lot of dead ones; the
sick, old, injured or those allergic to the drugs. Sometimes the
live ones smelled nearly as bad as the dead ones. Slirtmif hated
any of his pilots or mercenaries going into cold sleep but it sure
cut the food bill. Luckily, fighters, pilots etc only had to go
into cold sleep if the journey was over four months.

He tried not to be sympathetic towards the
slaves but he didn’t quite make it. They had three days to recover
before they would have to work, and work very hard. Most would be
so nauseous it would be at least a day before they could process
food and fluids. They might feel hungry, although it was doubtful,
but food or fluids would often sit in a sullen lump in a variety of
upset gastro-intestinal tracts that had no intention of working.
That usually left one inevitable consequence in two possible
directions depending on which eject button got pushed. The really
peeved stomaches ejected both ways. Slirtmif winced at the thought
with mortification of his own unhappy memory of coming out of cold
sleep. He had suffered it once and vowed never again. His stomaches
had taken umbrage and gone on strike for three full days resulting
in violent vomiting and diarrhoea. Usually at the same time. But
the difference was that he was given a bag to sleep on, an en-suite
with a bucket by the loo, nurses and doctors, a modicum of
sympathy, intravenous fluids and medication. The slaves would get
none of the above.

Slirtmif entered the hanger deck, which was
frantic with noise and preparations. The pilots coming in looked
unwell. He watched as they checked for the right-sized planes and
boarded. He said to the Flight Sergeant, “I’m sorry. I have tried
repeatedly to explain that it takes some pilots nearly a month to
regain any fitness after cold sleep. So putting them in it is
pretty pointless. The least time it takes some races to gain enough
fitness to function safely is two weeks. But the idiots in charge
can only see the immediate expenses like food and accommodation.
They cannot understand that unfit, disoriented pilots are not safe
ones. Nor are they effective.”

“You mean little problems like cold sleep
adversely affecting brain function?” she asked. “Minor things like
speed of thought which affects reaction time, reasoning ability,
eyesight, multitasking ability and spatial organization?”

“Yeah, and unhelpful side-effects like
vertigo, dizziness, nausea and fine motor tremors. Little things
which could result in a pilot being unable to pass the
medical.”

“And delayed symptoms,” said the sergeant,
“which can occur when the pilot is flying and can result in the
plane not continuing to fly in control, descending or spinning out
of control and landing with much more force than is recommended for
pilot or plane. Otherwise called crashing. So neither fly again.
Little symptoms of cold sleep.”

She continued, softly now so only Slirtmif
could hear, “What’s the point in trying to explain to people who
don’t want to hear? To the planners, these pilots are simply
expendable. A little fact some of these pilots and mercenaries
haven’t factored into their future goals. Much cheaper than paying
them. All our Keulfyd pilots will be well paid but some of the
other races will get a nasty surprise on payday.” Her tone revealed
her disapproval.

Slirtmif looked around but no one had heard.
He said softly, “This trip is a little different in other ways. I
sneaked in an extra twenty simulators from the hold. I’ve got
nearly a hold full of simulators removed from Oberterk!”

The sergeant’s eyes lit up. “What a gift!
That’ll help on the return journey!”

“Yep. That’ll keep the pilots trained, fit,
occupied, distracted, amused and competitive. There’s one for every
four pilots, plus some extras. I don’t care if they fly other
simulator programs for a variety. It’s the flying that counts, so
they can train and qualify at the same time.”

“But what puzzles me,” said the sergeant,
“is why were the Nashi such arrogant idiots as to attack Oberterk?
Even more than usually arrogant. As a mercenary recruiter, I could
have told them that the Zeobani are no pushover. I’ve frequently
worked with them.” She paused, acknowledging her pilots as they one
by one reported the status of their planes and their readiness.
“Any amphibian race that can accumulate five planets and superpower
status should not be taken lightly, despite their tiny size. But no
one asked me.”

Slirtmif grunted. “True. I was not in the
least surprised when the Nashi didn’t manage to defeat the Zeobani
and had to make a deal with us to get clandestine help.” They
looked at each other in amusement. “Very expensive clandestine
help. I arrived in time to watch the booty being stripped off
Oberterk. Like these simulators. Not the latest, but very good.
Especially for us. Their programs include almost every ship and
plane we use and their training programs are among the top group of
the Accepted Interplanetary Qualifiers. Most trainees go from
passing the simulator training, to three or four lessons on the
real thing, to co-pilot qualification or full qualification on
small private planes.”

“That good? That’s better than the ones I
trained on.”

“Yep. Normally, I have three or four to
train 135-odd pilots. Now, I have twenty-four, near latest models,
plus a lot more I can probably purloin later and I intend to. I’m
very good friends with the quartermaster and she owes me a favour.
They’re worth a small fortune.”

“But to me, they are worth even more to get
my pilots fit, happy and flying. Pity a lot of the pilots can’t be
reused. They will be very well trained already.” She and Slirtmif
looked at each other in silent acknowledgement.

She went on. “I can’t understand some of
those that volunteer for this. For cold sleep and unknown jobs. The
accident and death rate among those recently out of cold sleep is
three times that of fit pilots. And to me that’s a cost in planes
and pilots plus whatever they hit. To the pilots it’s playing with
their lives with poor odds. But there is no shortage of recruits.
Amazing how the promise of a large payout stops people thinking
about little things like security risk. How could most of the
non-Keulfyd even think they could be let loose on the galaxy with a
promise to shut up, with money for drugs and alcohol, a proven lack
of morals and very doubtful truthfulness? Yet they think they will
be able to collect their pay and leave? With what they know?
Idiots!” She moved off among her pilots, seeking out the seniors
and supervising. She too was very tired but now was her busiest
time until the pilots took off.

*

Up on the bridge, bored and with nothing to
do now, Tyrid stopped at a station and checked through the
computers. The planet was known only as Destination still. Only the
Navigators and Captain knew which planet it was for security
reasons. Until now. He keyed in his password and watched the
display. Torroxell. He read on. A thorough reconnaissance had been
done. Maps showed minerals, population centres, eight main
continents, and hundreds of smaller islands. Most of the planet was
ocean, nearly sixty percent. Only 130 odd cities. Almost all the
population confined to the cities. Roads for surface travel were
not built yet except for in the cities. Population very small;
estimated at less than 100 million at this time of year. Tyrid had
hoped he didn’t know the planet. He didn’t. This job did have its
risks. Attacking one of your own planets or its allies was one of
them if you were not Keulfyd. But Keulfyd, skilled professionals
and others, often worked and lived on many planets other than their
own as had Tyrid. He was born on Jaynar which was a Niseyen world.
He read on.

The Priskya were the registered owners, not
for much longer. Tyrid had never heard of them. Fish! Oh well that
explained it. And unaligned. Losers, literally in this case. They
deserved to forfeit it. He dismissed them as insignificant. He knew
no marine world that could fight and none that had any effective
allies. Here the Priskya had no military, few police and virtually
no security, and as he anticipated, were not aligned with any other
Race. He chuckled, immeasurably cheered up. Fish. What a laugh. No
possible opposition there. Wait till he told the others they were
going to fight fish!

He read on. The Ridianit had developed the
planet. They would be very unhappy. Tyrid read that Torroxell was
developed as primarily a combination teaching, medical and tourism
planet. So one could learn or sight see as an interesting
convalescence. It featured a lot of Okme Treatment Centres. Ahh,
that made sense. Convalescence spent learning. Given that some
convalescence could be rather embarrassing and up to six months
long, with greatly reduced mobility as the body was so slow to
rejuvenate, that made very good sense. Lots of peculiar looking
company that wouldn’t care what others looked like since they
looked the same. Tyrid read on, intrigued. This planet had been
very well set up. Tyrid was coming to the end of a long career (and
life) and had a number of annoying health problems but luckily a
rather large credit rating due to a lucrative career so this was a
very real possibility… In disgust and amusement Tyrid stopped
considering the alternative careers and training on offer given
that this whole planet was about to be abruptly depopulated and
looted. He’d gotten so enthused he’d forgotten that little
aftermath.

The Ridianit were no friends to the Keulfyd
so he had no sympathy. They did have some powerful allies but none
of them would dare to intervene. Not against the Keulfyd. Allies
wouldn’t have time to organise even if they wanted to help. This
development would soon be a write off for the Ridianit. They would
be very annoyed. They could yell all they liked. He read through
the military assessment. No one had even bothered to factor in the
Priskya. Fish! Tyrid had heard of marine planets but had never been
to one before. He was highly amused. He had factored in some
opposition, apart from the cities as he knew there would be an
indigenous Race. He had well trained mercenaries, regular soldiers
and pilots who were also trained to fight. Looks like they’d be
bored. He had thought it was going to be easy but it now looked
like it was going to be a pushover.

He suddenly realised the fish would see the
bodies that would be dumped. He paused, then realised all the
planes had no visible ID. And who would they tell? No Allies. They
might tell the Defence Force but without proof of identity, the
Keulfyd would not be implicated.

The new probe pictures were coming in. Tyrid
checked them carefully but could see no important changes. This was
excellent. The new orbital probes were a beautiful design, looking
like a rock and so well shielded that their cameras were all but
undetectable. The delay until the pictures came in was minimal.
Planning had timed the attack for winter on the main continent so
the terrestrial population should be reduced. They had had to move
their timetable forward as a Defence System had been ordered. That
would have been a disaster if it had been up and operational. Tyrid
wondered if the Priskya or Ridianit had ordered it. Probably the
Ridianit. At least that would be partially refunded so the Ridianit
wouldn’t lose everything.