Mr. Burwell commented, “Your first contract. You must be proud.”
Galen said, “I’ve been on contracts before, you know that.”
“This is the first one you negotiated and signed. This is, for you, your first unit contract. Sort of changes the meaning, the context. Officially, you own it. Your name and your reputation are tied to it.”
“All right, my first contract. Let me explain it to you then.” Galen advanced to the next slide, a map of the Milky Way galaxy as viewed from directly above its center, laid out like a pancake. A big red arrow pointed to a spot about seven tenths of the way from the outer edge to the center. Next slide, zoomed all the way in to a star system, a red arrow pointing to the fourth planet. Next slide, a globe. A coppery green planet with a few small grey and blue splotches, blue great lakes draining eventually into small grey seas, the seas not interconnected. Mostly, dry land with tints of green throughout. The polar regions were capped with bright white. A red arrow pointed to a tiny dark splotch near the equator. Next slide, half a dozen overhead photographs pieced together to show an impact crater. Seventy five kilometers across from rim to rim, a peak in the middle of the crater, a landform just large enough to qualify as a mountain, ringed by a lake, making it an island. Most of the terrain in the bowl of the crater was dry, about thirty kilometers from the rim to the lakes’ shores.
Galen stood. “What we have here is an impact crater. The water got there later, after terraforming caused rain. The lake is large enough to serve as an energy dump for a space shield, which we will place on top of the mountain, along with the command center.”
Sevin spoke, “Well, that crater is too large for our Brigade to protect, and the rim of the crater will be outside the space shield’s protection.”
“Well that depends on who you’re fighting. Anyway, our job is to design and oversee the construction of the defenses, as well as train military and police forces to take over our job when the contract ends. As for the space shield, it’s a standard model but will be more effective on Juventud because of the planet’s strong magnetic fields.” Galen sat down.
The next slide showed the mountain and the lake around it, as viewed from a high point along the rim of the crater. Rounded like a scoop of chocolate ice cream in the middle of a blue lake with brown land laced with green, vegetation taking hold in the beds of intermittent streams draining into the lake.
“Lovely,” said Spike. “Good spot for a spaceport.”
Tad said, “Why do they call it Fuente de Juventud?”
“Ah, the Fountain of Youth.” Galen leaned back in his chair. “The gravity is only point eight G, and the air, although thinner than standard, has a higher oxygen level. People stepping off there feel a lot younger. The early terraforming crews came up with the name.”
“But there was no oxygen when they started,” said Sevin.
Galen nodded. “Right. But it’s been going on for about twelve hundred years. There are more than twenty sky factories, or air machines, or whatever you want to call them, still operating. Another interesting point, the machines also deflect new air in such a way as to slow the rotation of the planet. Not much, they only added a couple of minutes to a twenty three hour day. But the core is still turning faster than the crust, so the magnetic field is strong. Three times stronger than standard, therefore, the space shield is more effective.”
Sevin said, “Okay professor. Any of those sky machine people still there?”
“Yes. The descendants of the original factory crews, plus refugees from all around the galaxy, and squatters, add up to about eighty million people scattered all around the planet. But they are no concern of ours except to keep them away from the EugeneX facilities. Specifically, we keep them out of the crater.”
A knock came from the exterior door, the commander’s entrance. Galen got up and walked across the office to open the door. The junior executive from the board room was there. She said, “Hello.”
“Come on in,” said Galen.
She strode in and looked for an open seat, saw none, and waited.
“What can we do for you, Miss?”
“Well—”
Mr. Burwell cut her off, “She is slotted to be our logistics NCOIC. Non-commissioned officer in charge of logistics.”
“But, uh?” Galen stared.
“She’s a graduate of the Mandarin Military Academy’s Logistics Officer School. I signed her on as a Master Sergeant.” Mr. Burwell handed his electronic clipboard to Galen. “With your approval, of course.”
Galen looked at the clipboard, looked at her and said, “You know, I don’t have to approve this. No one can make me.” Then he signed, extended his right hand and said, “Welcome to the team. Introduce yourself.”
She shook his hand. “My name is Karen. Karen Mitchell. And I intend to accompany you on this contact.”
Galen ignored Sevin’s smirk. “Was that the board’s idea?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Chief Polar has been in charge of logistics and will continue the work along side you, and can answer all your questions and get you settled in to your new job.” Galen stepped back and addressed the entire room. “Everyone, be in uniform starting tomorrow morning. We blast out of here in three days, no excuses. Dismissed.”
Chapter Two
Galen stood in the auxiliary control tower of the operations center of the Mandarin spaceport, there to supervise the shift change of the logistics and operations team. He looked out the window at the marshalling yard of the spaceport, its back gate adjacent to the tarmac. Chief Polar stood next to him, studying an electronic clipboard. She turned to Galen and said, “Well Smaj, that’s about it. Loading will begin in about nine hours.”
Galen looked at her, a full twenty centimeters shorter than him. She was dressed in combat coveralls, the top down and tied around her waist. Her bob of light brown hair and straight bangs framed her round face, her ears poking out slightly, although covered for the most part. Her dark green t-shirt strained to hold back her ample chest.
“Don’t stare,” she said.
Galen had played this game before. He was so tall that looking at most women’s faces as they stood next to him meant their chests would be included in the range of his gaze. Embarrassment or apology was not an option, not for a leader. Not on the first day of a combat contract. Time to stamp this out. To fire back he said, “Well, those are the biggest breasts I’ve ever been in the same room with.”
“I thought about getting them reduced, but my husband seems to like them.”
“Well if you ever leave him, I love small breasts.”
Master Sergeant Karen Mitchell stood, moved next to Polar and stretched her arms over her head, facing Galen. She was a full head taller than Polar, but lean. And olive-skinned. She had dyed her hair back to its natural dark brown, pulled back in a high pony tail. Her coveralls were all the way on, but when she stretched, Galen could see that she had small breasts indeed. Lowering her arms to her sides, she turned to face out the window and said, “I’m still new at this. What am I looking at?”
Galen deliberately tilted his head down to look at her bottom, long enough to ensure Chief Polar noticed. “The marshalling yard. The Brigade’s vehicles are lined up by units, ready to load onto the drop boats.”
“We good?” said Polar.
“Sure. See you in twelve hours.”
“Eleven and a half,” she said as she left the control room.
Galen picked up the electronic clipboard she had left on the desk and handed it to Karen. “This might help. It’s the manifest.”