2953-03-05 – Tales from the Inbox: The Treasure Hunter’s Secrecy 

As secrecy in mercenary contracts is nothing unusual, most of the breed is forced to become competent secret keepers by the strictures of the business. We get precious few submissions from mercenaries about their private contracts, with most mercenary accounts describing their war duty contracts, which are the farthest thing from secret at least after the fact. 

When we do get these stories sent to us, it is usually when the contract described has gone wrong in some way. This sort of occurrence is notably rare, but it does tend to absorb the lion’s share of the spotlight when one is discussing mercenary service, leading many to believe that double-crossing employers and being double-crossed is a regular part of the mercenary business. 

In turn, this over-focus makes both mercenaries and mercenary employers incredibly paranoid about conditions for a double-cross, which probably reduces the number of such betrayals yet further. 

“What is taking so long?” Derrick Kaluza paced up and down Sigismund’s cargo bay catwalk behind Judith Stirling and Harlan Zakharov as they watched the company stevedores shifting things around below. “We’re almost a day behind schedule.” 

“Things must be done properly.” Zakharov didn’t bother to turn around, but his deep, deliberate voice carried well over the whine of motors and the clamor of crew activity that rang the cargo bay. “We will need to unload quickly, so we must load slowly. Were it not for your lateness in delivering what you know of your foes, we could have been done three days ago.” 

Judith snuck a glance behind her at Kaluza, just enough to see his shoulders bunch up as this barb struck home. Kaluza was a regular employer of mercenaries, but that didn’t make him easy to deal with. The more she’d interacted with him in the last five days, the more she hoped the irritable salvage dealer would cancel the contract, pay them out their standard one-third no-fault fee, and go bother someone else. 

Unfortunately, Kaluza got control over himself before he turned around. “I cannot pass you intelligence I do not have, Captain Zakharov. Better to have it when we did.” 

“And better to leave three or four shifts late than to leave unprepared.” Zakharov gestured down toward the massive cargo airlock at the aft end of the bay. “Those three crate stacks will be sent to your vessel.” 

“Yes, yes.” Kaluza didn’t bother to look in the indicated direction. “Tarah has plenty of space for your spare baggage.” 

“It is not spare.” Zakharov finally turned toward Kaluza. “It will be needed, but not immediately.” 

As they glared at each other, Judith was, not for the first time, struck by how opposite they appeared; her boss was short and squat, with every facial feature round off like a stone outcrop weathered by eons of wind. By contrast, Kaluza was tall, slightly stooped, and angular in every sense of the word, with a sharp hawk’s-beak nose and high cheekbones. 

Kaluza sighed, but did not drop his glare. “Yes, yes, we will shuttle it over as soon as your bay has been unloaded on site.” 

Judith, who knew what was in at least some of those containers, looked away, lest her face betray something. Kaluza couldn’t be allowed to know that Zakharov had planned a rather significant failsafe into his own private plans for the operation. Hopefully, the failsafe would never need to be used, but Kaluza’s high-strung impatience had everyone in the know almost wishing it would be. 

“As long as you honor your end, we will honor ours.” Zakharov tapped on his slate. “We will be loaded and ready to depart in sixteen hours.” 

“It will have to do. What of your crew?”  

“Everyone who has read any of your sensitive information has not left Sigismund since doing so.” Zakharov spread his hands. “Some crew are completing shore leave, but these know only that we are in your employ. All will be aboard before we leave.” 

Judith wondered whether Kaluza knew enough about the euphemistic language of mercenaries to guess that several of the armored troopers in Zakharov’s combat detachment were at that moment sulking in the station brig. He probably did, but if so, he also knew this was fairly standard for mercenary grunts. Brawling with the locals, or drunkenness was the most common charge, but Zakharov’s troopers, being among the most unsubtle sapients in God’s creation, did sometimes get caught trying to purchase drugs or the services of a prostitute. They wouldn’t be released until the last possible moment before Sigismund departed. 

“Good. If any of them are approached by suspicious persons, let me know immediately.” Kaluza paused. “In the interim, I am going back to oversee preparations aboard Tarah.” 

“Of course.” Zakharov caught Judith’s eye and raised one heavy eyebrow, a glint of goblin mischief flitting across his lumpy face. “Do take Miss Stirling with you, in case there are other problems. She can access our comms-net and monitor progress without your needing to return before we depart.” 

Judith put on her best diplomatically neutral, helpful smile, but internally she knew she would have to find a way to make Zakharov pay for this. The man was as serious and businesslike as they came, but every so often, his sick, twisted sense of humor came out. 

Kaluza frowned. “A liaison? Shouldn’t I be leaving one with you, rather than the other way round?” 

“Send one of your people in exchange if you can spare.” Zakharov bowed slightly toward Judith. “But she knows how to help you monitor our operations.” 

“So I don’t need to ask you, eh?” Kaluza sniffed. “Well then, if you can keep me informed, Miss Stirling, come along. I’ll have someone prepare you a cabin aboard Tarah.” 

With one parting glare at her employer, Judith followed Kaluza toward the hatch leading toward Sigismund’s lift well.