Recruiting

Nicolasi Mombasa was a compact woman, maybe 5 centimeters and 3 kilos bigger than I am. Short curly dark hair, dark eyes, and nearly as dark skin. Quite pretty, in a rugged, athletic, sort of way. We were much alike on some levels, from a lethality out of proportion to our compact size, to a military background neither of us publicly acknowledged. But we were also very, very, different.

Since leaving the service some years ago, she'd settled on Beaumonde and taken a job at a Tier II university as a Lacrosse coach. Kind of like me taking a job as a small town Mayor. No one would really look too deeply into that buried military background. Her affiliation with the university was, outwardly, the hook I'd used to arrange the meeting, claiming the local KHI parts warehouse was looking to get some advertising and good will by sponsoring the uni's Lacrosse program.

It was a thin cover, but plausible: something she'd see through but would hold up for the uni and anyone who asked.

"Miss Kawanishi, why are we really here? This isn't about new equipment and logo jerseys for the Lacrosse team."

She'd taken roughly fifteen minutes to get to the question, doing an excellent job of staying with her new identity the whole time. I smiled cheerfully and slid another couple of flimsies over to her across the table to join the list of gear and logo jerseys we'd been talking about. She gave it a cursory glance, then looked back over, trying to hide her recognition.

"Unit insignia and part of a tractor on a pallet? Not sure I understand."

ADG9, " The Chessmasters," were nearly as obscure as my own final unit had been, and their unit insignia was the kind of thing that showed up on Cortex shows about elite military units that were usually nothing more than rumors. Overall, the Advanced Defense Group was its own animal in the military. A combat evaluation unit specializing in exotic hardware, they tested new equipment and developed tactics to utilize it if it looked promising. The Chessmasters had been formed to test some very specific equipment, which was what had brought me to Beaumonde to meet Niki Mombasa.

She was doing a good job of concealing her reaction, but I could still tell what was going through her mind. I'd have been thinking much the same thing: how much does she know, and will I have to kill her? Not exactly a comfortable situation but one I was familiar with on either side of the table. It went with the job.

"Captain Mombasa. Let's just skip the rest of the game, OK? We're on the same side. At least were. I'm hoping we will be again. Give me a few more minutes of your time and, if you don't like what I have to say, we walk away. You go back to coaching Lacrosse and I try to find someone else who can do what you do."

"What is it exactly you think I do? And why the . . . ?" she replied, motioning to the images, deciding to not try and kill me for the time being.

I smiled faintly. She wanted to know ow much I really knew about her, the unit, and the piece of equipment on the pallet. All questions I'd be asking myself if our positions were reversed. "Captain, I know you recognize the unit insignia and the vehicle. At least by type."

She paused, then nodded towards the image. "Core of an AR3b. Minus the manipulators and legs. I'd guess it was Buskirk's rig from the partial markings, if Buskirk's rig wasn't in a warehouse. Where was this taken?"

"That was taken two weeks ago at a loading facility on Notterdam. Got loaded onto a small transport and shipped out here to the Kalidasa system, but it's not the only one that's missing."

She looked at me curiously for a long moment, then frowned, obviously not liking what I was implying. "Most of them got shipped back to the Fab when our mission ended and they idled the Chessmasters. They mothballed a Lance worth. Eight rigs."

"Yes. Four of them are missing from the warehouse. Dessault-Nissan can account for the rest of the ones that were returned, but there's four AR3b's on the loose. And you know the kind of threat that poses."

The AR3b "Archer" was, more or less, an anthropomorphic Roller. Based on a rough terrain construction vehicle, it had legs rather than tracks or wheels and manipulators for moving equipment. Unlike its marginally useful civilian kin, the AR3 mounted anti-personnel armaments, auto-cannon, and enough racked missiles to level several city blocks. As a military weapon, they weren't especially useful. More expensive and easier to hit than a Roller with the same firepower. But for pure shock value? An Archer shouldering a house out of the way was a good deal scarier than, say, a pack of Reavers.

"You're here because you want to get them back. I get it. But why me? Why not Buskirk or Sandoval?"

"Buskirk and Sandoval both have more covert operations experience than you do, true, but you've got as much experience piloting one of these things as anyone alive. Besides, Buskirk's on Sihnon and Sandoval's with another ADG unit. Who, I might add, doesn't know about this. Leaves you as my first and best choice for this recovery op. So. Are you in? You can say no, Captain. No threats. No coercion. You say no, I head to Sihnon and see if your old CO will come."

I'm sure her decision was made as soon as she realized why I was here. Lacrosse coach or not now, she was still a soldier at heart.

"I'm in. And call me Niki. Not active military any more so rank's don't matter. Just need to grab my jump pack and let the Uni know I'm taking some leave."

"OK, Niki. My boat's at the municipal pad. You be ready in eight hours?"

"I'll be ready in two. Just wonder where we're going."

Where we were going? First step was easy. Saule Silencieuse to get a final destination for the transport. Then? Then we would see.