Raenblaid sat on a row of the bleachers, inside one of the only Warball arenas on Handel. This particular arena was in Noorden, a middle class city that held the few people on the planet that could afford the time and credits for sport.
Raenblaid loved Warball, and was quite good at it as well. It was a simple game, get the ball through the opponents ring, but that was part of what Raen loved about it. Although the game was simple, the strategies were endless.
He watched a player with the ball sidestep a defender, throwing a pass to a teammate on the peak of the hill just before getting tackled. It was a good play, but taking hard hits like that will add up on your physical shape.
Each Warball playing area can be unique, and this one was no different; it had a sizeable hill taking up much of the center of the area. One team was trying to use it as a focus for the offense to play through, as passing to and from the hill was easier. In contrast, the other team didn’t even have a man on the hill. They appeared to be playing a counter, trying to fastbreak when they recovered possession with a man advantage while the opponent scrambled down the hill to help defend.
Raenblaid took his attention off the action, and focused on his mission. Two men, brothers, named Mgappe. His mission briefing stated they were good men, honest traders, trying to help smaller villages and farmers and craftsmen grow in prosperity by bringing their goods to new, wealthier markets, and returning with better or cheaper raw materials. Naturally, this meant they were the target of the S.T.A., The Sovereignty Trading Association, who wanted a monopoly on everything and everyone. Rarely did the S.T.A. resort to physical harm; they usually relied on crowding competitors out of markets or forcing them to use more expensive trade routes. But a source within the S.T.A. had leaked information that another S.T.A. officer had a personal vendetta against the Mgappe brothers and had sent a mercenary squad to cause problems. Probably nothing, probably a waste of time, but Raenblaid was the closest operative to Handel, so here he was. A silent protector for the two brothers. He watched as they laughed together. They raised glasses of ferment, clinked them together 'to hope', and drank. Several rows behind them, Raenblaid silently raised his own ferment 'to hope', and he drank as well. "Estel, my friends."
A horn drew Raen's attention back to the playing area. The team controlling the hill had entered the ringzone and triggered a set piece. They had a 3 on 2 man advantage. Their opponents must have lost possession on a counter attack, and been countered with a fast break themselves.
Raen watched as the ball carrier sprinted into the ringzone, a large muscular defender coming towards him. A rangy agile defender guarded the other two offensive players, who were trying to execute a crossing pattern to get open. One flashed across the ringzone. The ball carrier cocked his arm back to throw to the open man. The muscular defender stepped back away from the ball carrier, as if to guard the passing lane. The ball carrier hesitated, and the defender stopped his fake and launched towards the ball carrier. Before he could throw the ball, the defender leveled him with a forearm shove. Raen winced at the strength of the hit. Had to hurt, both his body and his pride.
The ball was now loose, and the muscular man pushed it forward, gaining possession, not wanting to lose momentum. A defender streamed towards him, and dove to touch the ball to take possession. The muscular man slid, kicking the ball forward at the last second. The ball flew past center, bounced off a side of the hill, and into the hands of a teammate standing near the opponents zone. It was a great, if not lucky, pass that gave the offensive team a 2 man advantage. They rushed into their ringzone, 4 on 2. They did not trigger a set piece. Raenblaid leaned forward in his seat. Fast breaks seem to be their specialty. One defender sagged back by the ring, one went after the ball. Bad decision. The ball carrier peeled off his run to the side, dragging the defender with him, before passing it over his head. A textbook 3 on 1.
An offensive player caught the ball on the run, and ran straight for the ring. The last defender, in a tough position, hesitated, not knowing who to guard. The ball carrier, in a violent act, didn't pass - he barreled straight through and over the defender and jammed the ball through the ring. Horns blared. He had scored.
The Mgappe brothers yelled and cheered, and Raenblaid smiled. It was a great offensive sequence. He always appreciated excellence. It appeared he would not be able to finish watching the game, however, as the brothers stood to leave. Raen waited a handful of pulsars until they were almost out of the section before standing, downing the rest of his ferment, and striding after them.
Raenblaid saw the mercenary group easily. They were not being very subtle, and they stood out starkly from the Noorden streets. Five of them, an odd lot. A small man, jittery, wearing what was formerly expensive clothing, though now dirty and worn. He did not carry himself like a fighter. Two other wiry men, not muscular, not fighters it would seem, although it looked like one carried a pistol in his waistband. Then the two problematic members of the group. One man, a smidge smaller than Raenblaid, but muscular, coordinated, and with a gait and attitude that reeked of violence. He carried a submachine gun beneath a jacket. And then a giant of a man. At least 9 centimeters taller than Raenblaid, and at least 20 kilograms heavier, he was a walking tank of muscle. Hopefully he had no technique or he could cause a lot of problems.
The Mgappe brothers seemed not to notice this motley group following them, or if they did, pretended not to care. They had turned down the street headed to their designated cargo area, where the goods from their ship were being offloaded. The mercenary gang turned down a side street and broke into a trot, presumably attempting to cut the Mgappe brothers off. Raenblaid stepped into the side street himself, made sure no one was watching, then took two running steps and launched upward.
As soon as his second foot hit the ground, Raenblaid sent a signal from his cyberneural to his dural network. At the same time he moved his leg to jump, an electric signal from his dural shocked the muscles in his calf, forcing them to fully contract - more fully than Raen could have through his normal jumping motion. Timed perfectly, the result was an almost 2 meter high jump. Raen moved the alloy, sima, to his hands, hardening it into a pick. He drove the pick into the wall, and pulled himself onto the roof, 5 meters high. The whole process took less than 3 pulsars. He took off running silently over the rooftops after the mercenaries.
"Hello, we are looking for some friends of ours, we were told someone by the name of Mgappe would know where to find them. Are you, are either of you, named Mgappe?" The mercenary carrying the SMG asked the Mgappe brothers. He had the gun beneath his jacket. Not well hidden to Raenblaid's trained eye, but he didn't know if the Mgappe brothers would notice. The three smaller mercenaries filed behind the speaker. The giant mercenary had taken a defensive stance to the side. Raenblaid, unseen, was on the rooftop above them.
The giant must have some military training, that's exactly where he should stand as primary backup. Not good.
The Mgappe brothers turned. They seemed unusually calm for the situation. Like some inner peace sprung from them. Or as if they had always expected something like this to happen. Raenblaid was unsure which.
"We have answered to many names, but that name is the one laden upon us the longest," one of the brothers said. "How can we assist you?"
The lean violent mercenary paused. Discussions were taking place behind him amongst the other mercenaries. From his perch above them, Raenblaid could overhear, though he doubted the Mgappe brothers could.
"Wha ar' the naymes o' our friends we sed we were lookin' fer?" The smallest man said in a high-hill accent.
"Say, what if… we just tell em… we're robbin em'?" Another of the smaller men replied in a slow farming accent.
"We aren't actually looking for friends, that was just to confirm they are the Mgappe brothers," the third replied.
The lean violent turned around and jumped in the argument. They were all speaking over each other, and seemed to have no plan thought out ahead. Raenblaid furrowed his brow. This was… a confusing grouping of mercenaries. Not only how they would fall in with each other as a unit, but also how they could have been competent enough to win a contract from the S.T.A.? The only reason they would come at the Mgappe brothers with zero plan would be if… they felt confident enough without one
This group must be either dumber than they sound, or very dangerous
The giant interrupted Raen's thoughts and the bickering behind him. He had a thick tundran accent, unusual in The Sovereignty. "Ve vish to purchase de shipment from you."
The lean violent stopped talking to the three other mercenaries mid sentence, and turned back toward the Mgappe brothers. He seemed aligned with whatever unspoken plan the giant had just begun.
The other Mgappe brother spoke up. "That's very generous of you, I'm terribly sorry but we already have a buyer arranged. We try never to short our deals, so regardless of the price you offer we will have to refuse."
The lean violent merc took his SMG out from his jacket. "We weren't asking," he snarled.
Raenblaid sensed violence about to begin, and got in a crouched ready position. He was carrying a compact semi-automatic rifle with a silencer and optics, plenty of the alloy sima, and light body armor. He could handle the whole group from the roof if need be.
But something unexpected happened. The lean violent's threat seemed to have displeased the giant. He subtly turned his head and hissed at the lean violent. "I said, der vould be no violence. You shall not harm dem."
More babbling amongst the other mercenaries. The Mgappe brothers had been quietly discussing things between themselves. Raenblaid found this one of the strangest robberies, or attempted robberies, he'd ever seen.
Not that I've seen that many, but still
He thought about just alerting the local police and letting them deal with the mercenaries. Yet... the giant's words echoed in his head. “You shall not harm them.” A pacifist mercenary?
The Mgappe brothers were the first to break the silence. "What is it you seek? We can try to assist you in ways that will not short our contract."
The lean violent retook his place as the voice of the mercenary group. "You are our entrance fee. We don't want you trading anymore. If you cease operations… we'll let you go without harm." He glanced at the giant. The giant did not react, apparently satisfied with this compromise.
"Ah, yes, showing your worth and valor to someone with power! Indeed, a tale as old as humanity itself. But, you did not answer the question! Surely your end goal isn't to become an… employee… of this powerful person. What you want is something the powerful person can provide, is it not?"
The words took effect on the giant. He turned, first to the lean violent a few meters beside him, then behind him to the rest of the group. Raenblaid did not see a sense of belonging on the giant's face when he viewed his companions.
There is something the giant wants much more than this mercenary life
Perhaps he is a decent person
The lean violent was unphased. "Power IS what I want. And to get it, I need either your cargo or the money you sell it for. So which is it going to be."
The giant turned wordlessly back to the brothers. He apparently wants something that is worth stealing from innocent people, but not worth physically hurting them
Interesting
The Mgappe brothers discussed between themselves, then spoke to the group. "We cannot guarantee you shall receive all of the money, but we will see if we can meet your demands. We shall leave now, but will return here to our ship in one cycle. If you meet us here, we will have the credits for you."
The lean violent mercenary laughed. “That’s ridiculous, like we’d let you just leave.”
The giant interrupted him. “Dey might need to arrange de sale and get credits. But, letting dem leave alone is risky. Vat if I accompany dem? Ensure der is no issue. It is only one cycle.”
The lean violent hesitated at this suggestion. He turned to the other three mercenaries, who had fallen silent. They turned to each other, bickered for a few moments, then one of them called out to the lean one, “that makes sense to us.”
The lean violent nodded, and turned to the giant. “Aleximov, make sure you don’t get into trouble.” He turned toward the Mgappe brothers, and his voice lowered into a sinister, malevolent snarl. “If you don’t return here in one cycle with our credits, I’ll make sure this is the last sale you ever get away with. But… if you do any harm to Aleximov here, I’ll make sure that’s the last action you ever do in your life. You got it?”
The Mgappe brothers once again seemed oddly peaceful considering the threats being guaranteed against them. They responded in a calm, measured tone. “We will get as much of the credits as we can. No harm will befall this man. Come now, Aleximov.”
Raenblaid shook his head, and holstered his compact rifle. He was not sure what he thought about the entire situation, beyond how odd it felt. There is one thing he knew, though. His mission was far from over. He had to protect the Mgappe brothers at least to the end of this deal. And he had to figure out what the giant Aleximov was truly up to.