Vengeance

By

UCSBdad

Disclaimer: For the last time! I do not own Castle. Rating: K Time: In an AU future.

The Transport Hyder Ali

Sergeant Saava stuck his furry face into Castle's tiny stateroom. "The general wants to see you, sir."

Castle sighed and rose from his bunk. "Any idea what he wants me for?"

Saava shrugged, a habit he'd picked up from his long association with humans. "He didn't tell me, sir."

Both had a very good idea of what the general wanted, but preferred not to mention it.

Castle maneuvered himself out of his stateroom, ducking his head to avoid the pipe he'd hit his head on a dozen times and made it to the cramped passageway. As he went down the passageway, he inhaled the odors of the ship: sweat; urine; machinery oil; fear; desperation and the odd aroma of non-humans.

He arrived at the general's office and went in. Sergeant Handley greeted him with a smile. "The general is expecting you, sir. Go right in."

He walked in, stopped in front of the general's desk and saluted. "Captain Richard Castle reporting as ordered, sir."

General Black Jacques Schram returned the salute and smiled at Castle through his trademark coal black beard. "Relax, Rick. Sit down and have a cup of coffee." He pointed to a self-heating cup sitting by the edge of his desk. Castle sat and drank.

"You've decided not to sign on for the next campaign? The Han Worlds are raising hell on Wend. It's just the place for a hard hitting, fast moving mercenary outfit like ours to kick their asses."

Castle shook his head. "You know my story, sir. They killed my whole family, killed or ran off our human friends and have enslaved the Tarkai. I have to do this and now is as good a time as any."

The Tarkai were long limbed and thick bodied, covered with short fur ranging from black to light grey. They had small noses, small external ears, and large front teeth. Some people said they looked like beavers. Rick, who had never seen that Earth animal, and who had grown up on Tark, thought they looked like Tarkai.

"So you're taking the cream of my scout company, and yourself, to form your own mercenary company with yourself as your employer. There's an old saying about lawyers who have themselves as a client. The same might apply to mercenaries."

"In this case, sir, we're not really mercenaries."

Schram shook his head. "How many people have you recruited?"

"Seventy-six, sir. Twelve humans and the rest are Tarkai."

"I did a little research, Rick. Golden Life Valley holds about thirty thousand humans. That's a lot of people to take on with seventy-six soldiers."

Rick nodded. "The Valley is divided into some four hundred plantations. Each plantation has perhaps ten to twenty armed men on the payroll. These men are not trained soldiers, and they're not as well armed or well equipped, or as well trained and led as my troops. Plus, each plantation owner sees himself as a little tin god, lording it over his own plantation. They fight each other as it is. The chance that even a portion of the plantation owners will be able to cooperate to any meaningful degree is minimal."

"And there's one more thing, sir. The plantation owners have been raiding for slaves to work the plantations since my family was slaughtered. Given leadership and weapons the tribes will fight. I've already purchased one hundred and eighty Model 71 carbines to arm them."

Schram smiled. "So, two hundred and fifty or so to take on a planet?"

"The enemy advances, we retreat. The enemy stops, we harass. The enemy retreats, we attack. It's worked before, sir."

"You've thought this out, Rick?"

"Yes, sir. I've made contact with a tramp freighter captain that calls at Tark. She lands away from the spaceport and trades with the tribes for Golden Life leaves. The tribes can't process the leaves as the plantation owners can, so a hundred pounds of leaves only yields about two pounds of refined product. She sells them weapons and ammo in return. Not many weapons or much ammo, but some. If we can stop the plantation owners from raiding for slaves and to steal Golden Life leaves from the tribes, and if we can raid the plantations to get the refined product, I can raise one hell of an army."

"You'll get there on this tramp ship?"

"Yes, sir. It' an old L 21 transport, but in good condition. I'm going to send a small force first. A six-man recon team, three four-man armed propaganda teams to prepare the tribes, and a small headquarters unit: A commander; an RTO; a medic; and an intel specialist. All Tarkai, of course."

"What'll do when you win?"

Castle laughed. "It looks like my enthusiasm is contagious, sir. But I haven't really thought that far ahead. The tribes will be strong enough to stand on their own then, and I really can't see myself as some sort of farmer. I imagine I'll look for some unit that needs a good Tarkai speaking recon officer."

Schram grabbed a sheaf of papers from his desk and looked at them. "Half the people in this brigade are refugees from someplace or another. And I can always use a good Tarkai speaking recon officer. How many officers do you have in your unit?"

"Aside from me, five, sir. Lieutenants Baratt and Popho, and Sub-Lieutenants Tarza, Maccik and Corroon. And there's Warrant Officer O'Neal, the medic, sir."

"I'm going to put you and your officers all on half pay. That way you won't all starve to death before you ever get this off the ground. You know what they say, if you want God to laugh, tell him your plans."

Castle took the contract with his name on it and signed it at once, then handed it back. "Thank you so very much, sir. I'll have the others sign their half pay contracts and return them to headquarters. Thank you again, sir."

"There are a lot of mercenary units that use Tarkai as scouts, Rick, since their senses are so damned good. I'll put the word out, maybe you'll get some more volunteers."

When Rick walked back to his quarters, the ship, although still jammed with people, didn't smell so bad.

Transit

Captain Rick Castle walked from the warmth of his headquarters tent and into the freezing wind of the planet Transit. The planet was in the middle of a millennia long ice age. Almost the entire planet was covered with glaciers that were miles thick. There were a few exceptions, such as the thousand or so square miles of land he was on now. He remembered the common complaint about the place: Transit has no gravity, the whole planet sucks.

What Transit lacked in amenities, it made up for with location. Seven major trade routes in the Europa Cluster ran right past Transit with a dozen more coming near to it. Major spacelines made Transit a major transshipment point. Soon, spacedocks orbited the planet, along with habitats for all manner of employees. First class hotels orbited the planet so that travelers could wait for their next ship in luxury, eating the finest food and quaffing the finest drinks. Orbital office buildings provided local headquarters for all manner of corporations. Decisions affecting millions of people were made in comfortable offices or in expensive restaurants. Crime was not unknown in those orbiting habitats, but it was a genteel sort of crime that affected large corporations or very wealthy individuals.

That was Spaceside Transit Port. Dirtside Transit Port was different. No one with any money or connections would ever want to live there, even temporarily. It was the home of third rate, fly by night spacelines and corporations whose dealings might not stand the light of day. Tramp ship captains made the rounds of businesses, looking for trade that was at least enough to pay for their fuel, even if it might see the ship impounded by officious planetary authorities elsewhere. Rowdy spacefarers from tramp ships came to Dirtside to spend their meager pay abusing substances and often, abusing prostitutes. The spacefarers were, of course, abused in turn. The food was usually rather basic, the booze cheap, the hookers cheaper and life could be the cheapest of all.

Dirtside also brought mercenaries. It was a good place to catch an overcrowded transport to some world in need of hired troops to fend off an aggressive neighbor, or invade a defenseless neighbor. Arms merchants, brokers and fixers of all kinds abounded. None of this attracted the attention of the authorities orbiting high above.

Castle walked down the company street, checking things out as he went. General Schram must have put the word out, for now he had a company one hundred and twenty-three strong, not counting the twenty five man party now on Tark.

He returned the salute of the guard at the end of the company street and walked to the jitney only a few yards away. As usual, the heat was focused on the driver, making the inside of the jitney as cold as the outside, but out of the wind.

His first stop was at the Transit Dirtside spaceport. It was by no means as grand as the one orbiting overhead, but it was warm and out of the wind. He pushed back his hood, took off his gloves and unzipped his heavy jacket. His face was warming up already.

He went first to the communications desk. The only way to communicate across interstellar distances was to put your message on a ship. He asked for both personal mail and for any mail addressed to his unit. There was none. However, he hadn't really expected any.

Next, he walked over to the incoming and outgoing shipping board, just out of curiosity. He vaguely recognized some of the ship's names, but nothing more.

He went to a public news kiosk and spent fifteen minutes scanning news stories. He identified three that interested him, but didn't down load any of them. He could do that later.

Walking out, he smelled the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. Although it was enticing, he could get that later as well.

Exiting the spaceport, he was accosted by two beggars. Both had their hoods down over their heads and were staring at his feet.

"Can you spare a few coins for two fellow humans, sir?" One asked.

The voice was definitely female as was the hand held out for coins. He thought the other one was probably female, or perhaps a young boy. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a few coins and dropped them into the woman's hand.

"Thank you, sir." She said and the two hurried off.

Beggars were uncommon on Transit, but hardly unheard of. For every elite mercenary unit that was based there, there were several mercenary units that were good for nothing more that extorting taxes from impoverished peasants on behalf of some warlord on some nearly forgotten agricultural colony. When their tours were up, they we're sent back to Transit. There they blew their pay and when that ran out, they usually sold any weapons or equipment they still had. When that ran out, they'd reenlist with another band of thugs, or turn to a life of crime on Transit, or they might beg. Nothing about the woman, or her companion, suggested she was a soldier. He shrugged. Just another mystery in a universe full of them.

The jitney next took him to Jules', a small-time weapons dealer.

TBC