"How many of your kind can I hire?"
Its glowing eyes narrowed. "You have no way to pay us." The demon's voice dripped like honey, an irresistible promise. It shifted its wings, chafing inside the pentagram's confines. It stared at its puny human captor dressed in fatigues and nodded at her tablet. "Your technology doesn't interest us." Fools wear name tags; names hold power. "Private Johnson."
She turned the tablet and showed an image of the alien ship covering half the city. "I can offer you Orichalcum." The demon's eyes widened involuntarily. "What would that buy you?"
"It's above us. Can't you smell it?" The demon looked up and flicked its forked tongue. "Now: How many?"
She remembered Sgt. Hammer's words, "Always find the advantage. Never bring a knife to a gun fight." Did bringing a demon army to an alien fight give her the advantage, or did she just shoot herself?
"I shall gather enough Ga'anri to win your glorious war."
"We have ten ships, once you clear them out."
She saw wheels spinning with greed behind its eyes. "Interesting..."
She sat and took notes on her tablet. "Let's talk terms for our glorious war..."