“Just cool it,” said Spike, “you know that being a soldier means doing a lot of waiting, standing around. I’ve developed the skill of waiting to a fine art. I can wait as long as necessary for the right opportunity.”
“Right,” said Galen, “Not many units would agree to take three green academy grads together, so let’s play the waiting game. We should be grateful they even had us wait on them.”
Tad squirmed inside his clothes and said, “Yeah I know, but who ever heard of the Jasmine Panzer Brigade?”
“We have. The academy wouldn’t have listed them in our employment prospectus if they weren’t any good,” said Spike.
“Hey, there’s that old man! He’s waving to us, wants us to come in!” said Tad.
The three friends climbed the rest of the steps and entered the hiring hall through the door held open by the agent. He led them halfway down the hall to an interior stairwell and down three flights of steps and into a small, windowless office. The three warriors had to stand because there was only a desk, a computer terminal and a chair behind it. The portly old man, wearing a black business smock and soft-soled dress shoes, sank into the chair and pressed a key on the computer. As soon as a barely perceptible, but somewhat irritating, high-pitched noise filled the room he stood and extended a hand and a warm smile to the three friends.
“Glad you’re all here, I need all three of you.”
“Glad to be here,” said Galen. He had been drafted by Spike and Tad to do most of the talking.
“I’m Mister Burwell, your Designated Agent to hire personnel for Colonel Theil’s Panzer Brigade. Look at the plaques, degrees and certificates on the wall behind me. I’m trained at it and I’m good at it. I’m fully certified to take care of your employment needs as well as the needs of the units I represent. Yes, I do represent more than one unit, but that works to our advantage. If I see a better deal for you, I can let you know about it. So let’s talk. What kind of work do you young gentlemen want?”
“More than one unit? I mean, I thought…”
“Yes, it’s no problem at all.” A broad smile, arms open wide as he stood, “I’m an agent, your agent. The better the deal you get, the more money I make. The longer you live, the more money I make. Sure, I’m on retainer to recruit for the Panzers, and they do want three new recruits right now, but I’m flexible.”
Galen thought a moment too long before replying. Tad jumped right in and asked, “So what else, what’s better, I mean, what else have you got?”
Spike grabbed Tad by the arm and pulled him back. Tad remembered his promise to keep his mouth shut and stepped back to lean against the wall with Spike.
Galen nodded at Burwell, so he replied to Tad’s question. “Training cadre on a new settlement on the periphery. You’re green here but you’d be drill instructors out there. It’s a two year contract, starting as a Corporal with unlimited advancement potential. You’d provide basic training for their militia volunteers. Finish that assignment as a Sergeant or higher and you’ll have a handy entry on your resume.”
“Please, let’s skip anything that doesn’t include tanks,” said Galen.
“Okay. You three at a spaceport, maneuvering tanks around from cargo ships to storage bays. It’s a one year assignment with a great chance to get hands-on experience with all sorts of different fighting vehicles.”
“No.”
“Here’s another chance. Members of the police force on Kalidasa. Patrol the military factories to prevent industrial espionage, and then if the planet is attacked you jump into a tank and defend it.”
“Security guards? That’s no job for academy graduates; that’s where academy dropouts end up!”
Burwell winced at the criticism, “Listen, hotshot. I was quite the soldier myself for a while. So when I ask myself how I would do it, if I had it all to do over again, this is it. I’m trying to get you to ease into the system, get a feel for the mercenary business. Get you feet wet before you plunge in. Spend a year or two of your youth being young, find a woman, start a family before you throw your fortunes to the stars. Go into it with your head on straight and with someone to come home to.”
“Never mind that, mister. Tell us about the Panzers.”
Burwell waited a full minute before speaking. He hit a few keys on the computer; it spat out three sheets of auto-copy paper and he handed a sheet to each of them.
“That’s the standard contract, no flexibility for you guys. You sign away the next five years of your life, total loyalty to the Jasmine Panzer Brigade. Because of your status as academy graduates, you will enlist at the grade of Sergeant. However, if you are involved in disciplinary action your rank could go as low as nothing and you could spend your whole enlistment cleaning toilets. Good luck, gentlemen.”
Burwell handed them boarding passes to a ship leaving in less than three hours. “Now sign those pieces of trash, give me back the original and last copy, and get out of my office.”
Spike, Tad and Galen pressed their contracts against the wall and shared an ink stick to sign them. Just as they were leaving Mr. Burwell said, “When you look back on this day, and you will, remember that I gave you some good advice and you ignored it. Remember that!”
The three young mercenaries scurried down the hallway, went up the steps two and three at a time, strode out of the office building and walked briskly to the spaceport. They were now officially members of a recognized and active mercenary unit, eager to get to their first duty station.
They entered the spaceport, drawing icy and suspicious stares from the security guards. They seemed lost and had no luggage: obviously up to no good.
“So where’s our gate?” asked Tad.
“Section zulu one niner foxtrot.”
“Which is?”
“On this map somewhere. Hey, where’d Spike go?”
“Over here,” called Spike. “We got to get on the pedestrian skywalk, hit this shuttle here,” he indicated an obscure part of the spaceport map, “then walk to the edge of the tarmac, enter this building, check in on the…well, not the first floor… then board our drop boat.”
“Simple. We’ll follow you,” said Galen.
They walked about half a kilometer, the bustle of the main terminal dissipating into lonely walkways as they went. Soon they came to the automated monorail shuttle, waved their personal communicators past its toll sensor it and rode it to their destination.
“Hurry guys, we only got twenty five minutes left,” said Galen.
“I’m with you, brother,” said Tad.
“Don’t worry, we’ll make it,” said Spike. They found their terminal and gate and dropped their boarding passes on the counter for a bored attendant to examine.
“You got any luggage?” asked the thin man in his mid-thirties.
“No,” said Galen, unable to take his eyes off the man’s bald spot.
“Unusual. Oh well, your liftoff has been delayed about three hours.”
“So what do we do now?” asked Tad.
“Go up two levels to the lounge, and keep a close eye on the monitor, to be sure you don’t miss your liftoff,” said the attendant, as though the question were directed at him.
They took his advice. The lounge looked worn and overused and there were no other customers. The three mercenaries chose the corner booth nearest the bar.
“Three ales, barkeep,” ordered Galen,
“With you in a minute.” True to his word, the barkeep took at least a full minute to bring the drinks. “So, you young guns heading out into the big universe today?”