by Mia R Kleve
Set the Terms
Book Three of The Rise of the Peacemakers
Edited by
Mia R. Kleve & Kevin Ikenberry
Set the Terms
Edited by Mia R. Kleve & Kevin Ikenberry
Published by Theogony Books
Virginia Beach, VA, USA
www.chriskennedypublishing.com
This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States’ copyright law.
The stories in this collection are works of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and are used in a fictitious manner. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.
Cover Art by Ricky Ryan
Cover Design by Brenda Mihalko
Copyright © 2020 by Mia R. Kleve & Kevin Ikenberry
All rights reserved.
The stories contained herein have never been previously published and are copyrighted as follows:
THAT THEY TOO SHALL KNOW PEACE by Mark Wandrey © 2020 by Mark Wandrey
WHEN PIGS FLY by Terry Mixon © 2020 by Terry Mixon
RECOVERY by Casey Moores © 2020 by Casey Moores
UNFORCED ERRORS by Marisa Wolf © 2020 by Marisa Wolf
JURISDICTION by Jon R. Osborne © 2020 by Jon R. Osborne
STARS OR BARS by Jamie Ibson © 2020 by Jamie Ibson
A NATURAL SELECTION by Kevin Ikenberry & Peter J. Aldin © 2020 Kevin Ikenberry & Peter J. Aldin
GUMBO by Matt Novotny © 2020 by Matt Novotny
HOW TO TRAIN YOUR CANAVAR by Marie Whittaker © 2020 by Marie Whittaker
SHADOWS IN THE KEY OF FEAR by William Alan Webb © 2020 by William Alan Webb
TANGENT ORANGE by Mark Stallings © 2020 by Mark Stallings
CURIOSITY KILLED THE PUSHTAL by Chris Kennedy © 2020 by Chris Kennedy
WE ARE NOT HEROES by Quincy J. Allen © 2020 by Quincy J. Allen
LAST by Kevin Steverson © 2020 by Kevin Steverson
* * * * *
Get the free Four Horsemen prelude story “Shattered Crucible”
and discover other Seventh Seal Press titles at:
http://chriskennedypublishing.com/
* * * * *
For My Girls. – Kevin Ikenberry
For Matt; who always believes in me. – Mia R. Kleve
Contents
Foreword by Kacey Ezell
That They Too Shall Know Peace by Mark Wandrey
When Pigs Fly by Terry Mixon
Recovery by Casey Moores
Unforced Errors by Marisa Wolf
Jurisdiction by Jon R. Osborne
Stars or Bars by Jamie Ibson
A Natural Selection by Kevin Ikenberry & Peter J. Aldin
Gumbo by Matt Novotny
How to Train Your Canavar by Marie Whittaker
Shadows in the Key of Fear by William Alan Webb
Tangent Orange by Mark Stallings
Curiosity Killed the Pushtal by Chris Kennedy
We Are Not Heroes by Quincy J. Allen
Last by Kevin Steverson
About Mia R. Kleve
About Kevin Ikenberry
Excerpt from Book One of the Salvage Title Trilogy
Excerpt from Book One of The Progenitors’ War
Excerpt from Devil Calls the Tune
* * * * *
Foreword by Kacey Ezell
What Price Peace?
This is a question that has haunted humankind since the first of us clashed with members of neighboring families. Violence, for better or for worse, seems to be an essential component of the Human experience. We are creatures of will, and when our will conflicts with the will of another, we fight. That is, after all, the basis of the Four Horsemen Universe (4HU). It is this capacity to fight that made us useful and interesting to the denizens of the Galactic Union. Violence makes us valuable.
And yet, as a species, we have a long, distinguished history of striving not to fight. How many quests, how many crusades have begun in the name of establishing peace? How many times have people allowed themselves to be slowly subjugated, all because some despot promised peace and delivered only control? We long for peace; we yearn for it.
In what has to be one of the best ironic twists of all time, we Humans often find ourselves fighting…for peace.
So, as we make our way in a galaxy that values the ability to make war, how can anyone ever know peace?
Enter the Peacemakers.
When Mark Wandrey and Chris Kennedy first invited other writers into their universe, the concept of the Peacemaker Guild was by far the most popular. I think Chris told me once that no less than four authors pitched stories about this tiny guild that travels the galaxy and enforces the few ironclad laws in existence. I know that I was one of them, but Chris told me Kevin Ikenberry had gotten there first with his brilliant story “Stand on It.” So, I focused on felinoid alien assassins, and Kevin gave us Jessica Francis.
Jessica Francis is by far one of my favorite characters in the Four Horsemen Universe. Neither Mark, Chris, nor Kevin is into pandering (nor is anyone else published in the 4HU, for that matter!) to any particular demographic, but I really feel as if she could have been written just for me. Jessica is a tough girl with a brilliant, complicated mind and complex emotions. She’s unapologetically feminine, and yet is at home with hard core tough guys of all species. She’ll make her mission happen come hell or high water, but she’s going to do it her way, all the way. For all of these reasons, she resonates with me to my core. Jessica could be any one of my sisters-in-arms. I read her story, and I feel seen, which honestly isn’t the case for most “strong female characters” in fiction.
And Jessica isn’t alone! Over the course of her books, Jessica pulls together a team that is as much family as anything else. Much like the way the 4HU has developed, honestly. Jessica and her Peacemaker (and non-Peacemaker!) family have shaped the story of the Galactic Union in a myriad of ways. And now, Kevin has opened the guild doors to let us see deeper into this most mysterious of guilds.
Whether you’re a longstanding fan of the series or a newcomer to the 4HU, you’ll find that the Peacemakers in this volume have the eternal task of answering the question: What price, peace? And you’ll find that though their answers vary, they’re always accompanied by a damn good story.
So welcome, I hope you enjoy your visit to the guild.
Kacey Ezell
February 2020
That They Too Shall Know Peace by Mark Wandrey
Chapter 1
You couldn’t escape the smell of corruption, no matter where you went. It permeated the streets, the bars, the restaurants, and the hospitals. The last two were abandoned or choked to overflowing. Jondar was in the first establishment, a bar within a kilometer of the starport just managing to stay in business. They even had some food, if you didn’t think too hard about where it might have come from. Being an omnivore capable of consuming a wide variety of proteins and carbohydrates often had its own advantages.
“Do you want another portion?”
Jondar’s antenna lifted at the voice, spoken in his own language. The bar’s AI was smart enough to tell what race a patron was and speak in its own language, of course. Feesta had once been the crown jewel of the Cimaron, one of the galaxy’s top five trading worlds and arguably the most beautiful to behold. Many came just to see the architectural and natural wonders.
But those times were gone. Gone forever.
He used his Mesh to check his account balance then click
ed his mandibles in consternation. The service bot waited patiently. There were only three other customers, and two of them appeared unconscious. The last was greedily consuming a tube cake, the only substantial protein still on the menu.
“Yes,” he said finally.
The bot beeped in understanding and a serving pipette extruded from the bar pouring 50 milliliters of greenish fluid into his glass. Jondar’s taste receptors suggested it was based on a fungus of some kind. The taste wasn’t unpleasant, not that a bad taste would have stopped him from going for the alcohol content. The feeling of the drink entering his bloodstream dulled the impact of another 200 RC gone. He shrugged his middle arms.
“What difference? Republic coin is worthless soon anyway.”
“Party while you can, yes, Altar?”
Jondar’s tiny black refractory eyes realigned toward the voice at the same time his off hand grasped the tiny laser derringer he kept in a tool belt. It was good for four shots, max. Better than empty hands.
“There is no need for weapons.” The stranger was a TriRusk, and a big one, too. Jondar’s strained Mesh said the being’s build suggested male. He had a huge head that came to an armored beak and terminated in a short horn at the end. Large eyes were heavily shielded by a bone crest, which sloped back over its shoulders. He held up both hands to show he wasn’t armed.
As if he would need a weapon. Jondar took his hand away from the gun. He could fire all four shots into the newcomer’s open mouth and probably just piss him off. “I am not partying,” he said.
“I was passing, saw the bar was still serving. I was amazed, so I came in.” The TriRusk turned his huge head and examined the other patrons.
“It is a free bar, help yourself.” Jondar doubted the massive herbivore would find anything appealing from the limited selection.
“To my knowledge, I am the only one of my kind on Feesta. The planet is divided, starving, and angry.” He spread his powerful arms. “Our people have no quarrel of which I am aware?”
“No,” Jondar agreed, sipping his drink. “The Altar and TriRusk were both citizens of the Republic, not servitors.”
“Yes, yes!” the TriRusk happily agreed.
The alien who’d been chewing on the tube cake at the other side of the bar stopped and his furry head came up. Jondar silently cursed. He hadn’t realized it was a Pushtal. Fantastic.
“What is your problem with a servitor, bug?” the feline growled.
Jondar’s Mesh again responded sluggishly, only rendering the Pushtal’s words into Altar after Jondar forced a manual operation. Since the Failing, nothing worked correctly anymore.
“Just that we were not slaves, like you,” the newcomer said.
“I don’t share his words,” Jondar said, but his comment was swallowed up by the angry, hissing roar from the Pushtal.
“We were not slaves! We served the Kahraman proudly.”
“Enjoyed the caress of their Genomancers, didn’t you Pushtal. Or shouldn’t it be PusSha?”
That did it, the felinoid uncoiled from the chair and leaped at the TriRusk in one incredibly fluid motion. Jondar marveled at the movement even as he realized he should be taking cover, especially since he was between the two. The power and grace of the Pushtal were in full display and showed why the Kahraman enjoyed using them in urban combat environments.
The Pushtal was halfway through its leap when the TriRusk took a long, booming step forward and caught it in one massive, gloved hand. The blade the Pushtal had been drawing fumbled in his grasp and fell onto the bar, shattering part of the glass top.
“No violence, please!” the bar’s robotic voice cried out. “I will summon peacekeepers!”
“Gahk!” the Pushtal cried in alarm as the TriRusk swung him sideways, away from Jondar, who was incredibly grateful. The Pushtal had long, sharp claws on all four limbs, and Altar were neither armored, nor possessed thick fur to protect them. His skin was a light chiton. It didn’t cut or puncture, it broke. His partially open circulatory system didn’t help such wounds much either. His people had evolved to burrow and climb trees, not fight other predators for food.
“There are a still a few hundred of these Pekah controlling the industrial sector like little cat warlords,” the TriRusk said to Jondar. “They’re stealing what they can, killing, and generally skulking around hoping their Kahraman masters come back.”
The Pushtal was clawing at the TriRusk’s arm in vain. Clearly the armored limb was far too tough, even for the feline’s claws. The TriRusk looked back at the Pushtal and laughed in his booming laugh. “Your time is up.” With a grunt, he crushed the Pushtal’s neck.
Jondar cringed at the sound of crunching bone. The Pushtal’s eyes bugged out, and, despite the grip, a squeal still escaped its throat before it was completely crushed. With a grunt of contempt, the TriRusk tossed the not-quite-dead Pushtal into a heap by the door where it jerked and slowly died. Jondar looked in horror at the dead Pushtal then at the TriRusk.
The TriRusk noticed some blood on his big pawlike hands and rubbed them on his jacket. “Well, my Altar friend, I’m hungry.”
The bar’s operating system, likely once a capable AI, was trying to deal with the homicide which had just occurred within. Jondar could see several of its service bots and tentacled working units moving about uncertainly. It had threatened to call peacekeepers earlier, hadn’t it? Then Jondar remembered, there were no peacekeepers anymore.
“You want to order something?” the bar asked the TriRusk.
“This is what I always loved about Feesta, the service!” the TriRusk said with a loud roaring laugh. He ordered four of the tube cakes and a drink before using a manual input to program the seat to his massive anatomy. “Sit, finish your drink.”
Jondar looked at the dead Pushtal then at the TriRusk, who followed his gaze.
“You have nothing to fear from me,” he assured Jondar, who didn’t feel reassured. “This planet is a sea of tranquility compared to the rest of the galaxy.” A bot delivered his food, and the TriRusk ate quickly and efficiently.
“That’s difficult to believe,” Jondar said. “I’m a ship’s captain, transport. The Dusman commandeered my vessel over a year ago.”
“You too, eh?” the TriRusk asked. “My name is Qorr. Sorry, I should have introduced myself sooner.” He glanced at the still dead Pushtal and grunted. “I owned a lifter. Not a big one, of course. The Dusman commandeered it, and me, months ago in the Core. The world doesn’t matter; I don’t think it exists anymore.”
“Lifter, huh? Those portable mining systems are amazing.”
“They are!” Qorr agreed. “Made a lot of Republic coin with that machine. Paid a lot to buy and configure it. Sure, I admit I did it during the war. A being has to make a living, and I have hungry families. Well, anyway, I finished a contract five weeks ago and was moving out of the area. A big engagement was going to happen around there. Everyone knew it, so I was getting out.
“A cursed KloSha unit charged with finding available assets scooped me up and I was commandeered. They let me keep running my lifter and promised payment after the war.”
“Sounds familiar,” Jondar said. Despite the horror he’d just seen, it was impossible to not commiserate with the TriRusk.
“Right? Well, they dragged me here and there for a time. I extracted as much as I could so they could ship it off to their Arsenals.”
“If they exist,” Jondar said.
“Oh, the Arsenals exist.”
“Have you seen one?” he asked.
“No, but I knew me a Vaga who once knew this disgraced Sumatozou who said he was taken to one.”
The Altar nodded. It was the kind of story you heard about Arsenals. The secret hidden bases of the Dusman, where they made their war fleets, drone swarms, and Raknar. Some said they were around neutron stars or hidden deep in nebulae. He’d spoken to a B’pho once who swore they were located in Nulspace. It was ridiculous, of course. Might as well claim it was Dedspace and make a more
interesting lie of it. Qorr continued talking.
“…yet another system. We come here and jump out right into the middle of their battle. Dusman fleet. Kahraman fleet…” He gestured expansively with his powerful arms. “Space looked like the kinds of battles they make Tri-Vs about, you know? We knew the fighting was getting desperate. No more stick and move, they were slugging it out for real, now.” He shook his massive head. “The dying never stopped.
“Well, some coordinator had me set down my lifter on one of the small moons of the gas giant further out in the system, and I set to extracting. A couple weeks ago, my lifter develops a problem. So, I have to leave and come talk to a Dusman servitor coordinator, see about having the repair parts fabricated. Only a Pushtal strike team found the moon and my lifter.” He pointed at the dead Pushtal and smashed the table with a hand. “Boom! and Qorr don’t own no lifter no more.”
He shrugged and gobbled his last tube cake, washing it down with the drink. “Was it him? Probably not…but maybe.” He shrugged again. “I spent the end of the war in my little shuttle trying to get a ride out and not get killed. Then the war was over. The Failing happened, and I landed here.”
“Sorry about your lifter,” Jondar said.
“You still have your ship?”
“Yes,” he admitted. “My F11 is shot, though. I might make it one jump, but with the screwed up jump speeds, how far could I get? I can’t even find out if my world still exists.”
“You Altar have colonies?”
“Only little ones. Almost all of us live on our home world.”
“Well, little one, I hope it still lives.”
Jondar ended up exchanging contact codes with the TriRusk. He didn’t think the alien would be of any help to him. He partly did it just in case a peacekeeper showed up at his ship asking about a dead Pushtal.