Courage For Profit Read online

Courage For Profit

  by

  John Leader

  Copyright 2016 by John Leader

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  STORY

  BY

  JOHN LEADER

  Table of Contents

  Courage For Profit

  About John Leader

  Courage For Profit

  by

  John Leader

  Peter Blunt policed for profit. Business had won out. Contract work lasted six months, max. No job security, pension, nor health care to argue about. The government, the protectors of the people had given the job of policing the civilians to the creeps.

  The old timers in the ranks saw it coming. Everyone, including the union efforts, fell, flat. In his favor, Peter Blunt figured as he looked over the next assignment, the company paid for all equipment and supplies he needed for the job.

  The catch, live to collect, die and you got squat. A crusty, dirty, business, dangerous for sure, but that’s why he took high pay, for the high risk. Most of the guys who started with Peter Blunt were dead. The long stretched corridor he cruised reminded him of other warriors gone before him. Maybe, he thought, a desk job? Heart attack, ulcers, or stroke, they were no worse than a ripped throat from a sneak attack. No, he figured, death from direct weapon’s fire seemed a better way to travel to the next world. Peter Blunt stepped square, shrugged his shoulders, his facial expression clicked in that human life follows its own cycle.

  It was war for the company and battle for Peter Blunt. One of the main communications command post under space pirate control was costing money, the share holders wanted to hang the corporate officers His job, wipe the pirates out, or force them to leave, In a few weeks they’d pick the base clean, sell the lute, and return for easy profits again and again unless they were stopped.

  Peter Blunt’s contract read clear. Get’m out, get one pay. Bring back dead bodies better pay, and, bring back the leader, highest risk pay. The dollars figures jumped out but it was mercenary pay for blood.

  His small passenger ship docked with the command cruiser orbiting the planet, “Ok, spacer warriors, find your quarters and stow your gear, ready your weapons, and report for briefing. The man has worked out a bang-up surprise for the raiders on asteroid 2054. Those on the smaller teams got the dirty part. We’ll block their escape and shave their throats all the way behind their ears. Oh! The company sent an extra bonus tag. They want the creeps buried as a free lesson for others that prey on the hard working.”

  Peter Blunt continued this weapon’s check. That meant two, three fighters aided by robot attackers that would plough the pirates onto the surface of the planet below. When had police work turned into military action? Blunt hated the word games.

  “Peter Blunt, report to the briefing room, the area chief want to meet you,” the chilling steady voice quickly ended. Peter returned with adjusted plans, boarded his disposable fighter, and checked the signal frequencies. The crew pulled into the second disposable, smaller, more of a gilder with a swollen hull and with six armed robots in the hatch belly. His main mission, kill any runners that tried to escape from the main battle, pirated always scattered. Instincts trained, reflexes ready, Peter Blunt hid behind the cover of a mountain peak. He followed the action on his screen. The pirate vessels boomeranged straight for the planet’s surface. It looked like they were headed for a rocky area and good cover! The attack robots waited like iron tigers to pounce on the unsuspecting pirates.

  “Peter, the pirate ships are headed your way, the company wants them stopped. It doesn’t want to deal with any of them!” said the commander of the policing action.

  Of the eight pirate ships three landed. Their belly doors fell open and the pirates

  ran as they flooded out in all directions. Some of the nearby rocky areas were riddled with deep and winding caverns.

  “Report!” the commander’s voice anxious.

  “They’re falling like popcorn! The robots are cutting them down! I’m moving in to finish the job!”

  “One last pass; back to the ship,” thought Peter Blunt.

  As he flew over a loud bang killed his engine. The unexpected had happened. Instantly he hit the eject button, automatically a distress signal shot to the command ship. Once before he’d been rescued within minutes after ejecting. He had eyed the medical rescue unit loading their ship as he left for the mission.

  His energy pack gave out as he reached the alien soil. Soft ground slanting from the cliff wall buckled under his descending force. As he tumbled he picked up a landslide made up loose wet dirt. The moist soil scooped into his ripped uniform as it forced into his mouth, nose and plugged his left ear.

  A rough stone scrapped his cheek leaving a small raw path. He staggered at the cliff base, his breath knocked out, he spit and shook bitter soil from his mouth and suit, and some gravel pits form his head. His eyes stung from the caustic soil but he scanned for the robots. They carried communications equipment, and Peter Blunt wanted off this useless and poisoned-puddle riddled planet.

  Cliff walls lined out in several directions. He had strategically placed the armed robots with that in mind.

  As he sat half buried to his hips in soil he sighted the robots heading for him from opposite directions. He felt relieved for he knew that eye and boot searches could take time.

  He pulled out his survival pack, provisions for one solar day, for a drink of water. A shaded mound along the cliff wall pulled him to it for comfort. In several minutes the robots would reach him as he rested and was rescued, it made perfect sense.

  With the hot sky perched above his body sagged back into the slanted dirt bank. From nowhere fire passed his face and over head. It narrowly missed him as his body moved back and pressed against his helmet and into the soil behind him.

  Spring loaded mechanized action shot him up and he glued his boot soles into the ground as he strained and crouched low. His head turned, his eyes strained, his body tensed, the pirate or pirates hid well. Peter Blunt flattened and squeezed down between irregular mounds of hot acrimonious soil.

  He peered carefully over the mounds, fear drenched his disbelief. The corporate robots had turned on him. Peter Blunt felt odd, and where was the rescue unit? His side arm ready, he fired an exact borage format with three expertly placed shot at each robot, not to stop them, but to jam their attack for a few desperate seconds. With their optic sensors out, Peter Blunt made his escape. He thrust hard and deep with his booted toes straight into the soft cliff wall, his hands speared for extra leverage. The robots below shot randomly to protect their perimeter as they replaced and recalibrated with spare parts and brought their optic sensor back into play.

  A long scrap of metal dangled in front of his Blunt’s face, he gripped it for life, and over the top he went too fast for his other hand to join his vise grip.

  The pirate leader stood tall, Blunt had dropped his weapon, and he stopped at the top of the cliff and moved away from the cliff’s edge and any possible laser fire from below. His midsection a clear and easy target as stood several steps away from the cliff edge.

  “Think you’re better than me?” said the pirate leader, the shattered visor on his face partially covered one eye; the other side of the visor had cracked and fallen off in battle.

  “Come, this way, before we’re sliced oriental style by your robots” Pop, t
he old pirate leader said, his eye on Bunt.

  “You haven’t got a chance. Give up. I’ll take you back alive,” Blunt looked at the dusty old pirate.

  “What makes you so stupid, space warrior? Your robots always turn on you? I wonder why they turned, don’t you?” said Pop as Peter looked back for an instant.

  “I guess they don’t want to pay you that high risk pay. And you’re not worth any money, either?” Pop said.

  Peter Blunt figured Pop would give up once the others found them.

  Pop replayed a message as they walked.

  “Now listen to this space warrior,” Pop said turning on the recorded message.

  “Blunt has reported. All the pirates on the planet are wiped out, confetti popcorn,” the voice said and continued.

  “The company has new replacements. They’ve ordered us to finish Blunt off, leave him pop corned on the planet. It’ll sure save them money; we get a bonus for the kill,” said the second voice.

  Peter Blunt recognized the voice. If he ever got off this planet, he knew what to do.

  “Why don’t you just leave me here?” asked Peter Blunt.

  “Your company, your police friends may well do that, not me. I wouldn’t leave my worst enemy on this poisoned planet. Poisoned by your company, your people, the civilized one!” Pop’s arm pointed the laser gun all over Blunt as he talked, his finger rested on the light gun trigger.

  “Get me off this planet, and I’ll owe you one,” Blunt said.

  “I’ll get you off, but you must do me a favor, not for free, but a favor. Is it a deal, Space Warrior?” said Pop.

  The deal sealed, Peter Blunt returned to the company. With his help top heads rolled, the guilty got life sentences, and he headed into the outskirts of space.

  He kept his word as he waited for Pop and sat at a table. Water filled his glass, worth more than alcohol in this out of the way shipping route.

  Pop arrived, laid out the plan, it meant big money, better than risk money. All they had to do was haul pure drinking water and special ordered materials to an outlaid area. The only glitch was staying alive to collect the fees. There were always pirates and marauders to deal with

  Peter Blunt was a space warrior. Pop needed someone who knew the ins and outs of law, and, who had experienced combat. Pop wanted to leave the business, his last legacy and fortune for his daughter.

  END LOG

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  About John Leader

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  If you like this story you will enjoy John Leader’s eBooks

  Blood Skull and other Sci-Fi ebooks.

  Find the eBook formats at your favorite EBook Store.

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