Set the Terms

by Mia R Kleve

  “What about those AI?” Qorr wondered during one meal session. Along with F11, Lossh had brought replenishments for the autochef, yet another handy provision for the trip.

  “The Dusman developed all the AI technology,” Lossh said. “They kept such innovations carefully secret. When the war ended, they took their technology with them.”

  “How was this even possible?” Jondar wondered.

  “The Dusman were jealous masters,” Lossh said. “They did not go gently from the stage.” She was unwilling to share anymore, so the trip continued.

  The two systems they passed through were horrors. The first had been a prosperous mining system with hundreds of asteroid bases where vast wealth flowed. There was no sign of life as Grand Za transited between emergence point and stargate. Likewise, there was no sign of what had happened to those who’d once lived there.

  The second system left no doubt to the former residents. A single planet had once been home to billions of beings, its surface covered in life and blue waters. Only a shattered ring remained. One of the many worlds killed in the long, senseless war. Of the life it had once harbored, there remained no traces. A few ships occupied the system, but none approached or contacted them.

  At the end of the third jump, they arrived in a strange non-viable star system. Jondar had never been in anything like it. An ancient red giant occupied the center of the system. There might have once been habitable planets, millions of years ago. Now there was only a trio of charred rocks slowly orbiting. Of asteroids there were only a small scattering. However, a space station orbited one planetoid, there was a stargate, and a considerable number of ships coming and going.

  “What is this place?” Jondar asked.

  “A forward operations base for my movement. From here we search for war criminals and try to aid rebuilding.”

  “Rebuilding what?” Qorr wondered.

  “Whatever comes next,” Lossh explained.

  They docked with the space station, but Jondar and Qorr weren’t allowed off. All the ships they could see were modern and in good repair. They were mostly small, though a few might have been the size of cruisers. The signs of organized activity somehow gave Jondar confidence. The entire galaxy hadn’t slipped into a morass. They were fighting against, what? Decay? Oblivion? Entropy?

  Lossh left the ship and returned with several of her fellows, all dressed in the same fancy green armor. One was another Equiri, and the other an insectoid like himself, though of a race he’d never seen before. The two newcomers examined the cargo on Grand Za. They seemed excited by what they found, and Jondar thought they would take it.

  “No,” Lossh said, “but we will pay you for it.” Payment offered was two full modules of nutrient solution for his autochef. Enough food to last him years. Since he had no use for a cargo hold full of ammunition, it was a no-brainer.

  “When do they offload it?”

  “Not here,” Jondar said. “At our next stop.”

  “How many more stops?”

  “Just one.”

  Just before they left, Qorr announced he was leaving. “These people have offered me some work, so I took them up on the offer.”

  “I wish you well,” Jondar said to the TriRusk. Despite the violent nature of their meeting, he’d come to like the big alien.

  “Maybe we’ll meet again.”

  “Could be.”

  Hours later, Grand Za pushed back from the space station and headed for the stargate.

  “The stargate is not new,” Jondar noted to his now-sole passenger.

  “No, it is not.”

  “Who used it before? The design is strange.”

  “This is one of the repositories of the Kut’oja,” she said. “One of hundreds across the galaxy.”

  “I’ve never heard of that race,” Jondar said. He manually searched his Mesh and found no reference.

  “No, you would not have. They were one of the Dusman’s tools. One which ultimately turned on them and gave birth to my order. Though not intentionally, of course.”

  “I do not understand.”

  “You are not meant to.”

  Jondar fumed at being treated like an ignorant grub. However, he had no way of rectifying it. Lossh and her fellows were organized and rich, at least in the meaning of rich in the new galaxy he found himself in. So, he went where he was ordered.

  Lossh had written an entire series of automation programs for Grand Za. They were elegant and worked so well Jondar almost didn’t miss the AI. He still had to manually instruct the ship but did not have to control every system. She programmed as well as any AI he’d ever seen. The ship was running so well Jondar was nervous as they made what she’d promised would be their final jump. After all, what assurance did he have she wouldn’t just shoot him when it was all over? The answer was none, of course.

  Only 70 hours into the jump his computer summoned them to the bridge. Jondar was shocked as he floated into the bridge and found Lossh waiting there, floating at her station, eyes closed.

  “Are we arriving?”

  “Yes,” she said without opening her eyes. For the first time he noticed she had some kind of implant at the base of her neck, under the bright mane of fur.

  “A 72-hour jump?” She nodded. “How do you know how to do those?”

  She opened her red eyes and stared at him. Jondar felt his chiton itch on the inside and shuddered. What have I brought onto my ship? he wondered. He went to his pilot’s station and tried to log into the computer, only to find he was blocked. “What happened to the computer?”

  “I am the computer now,” Lossh responded, not from her mouth, but through the computer interface.

  Jondar shuddered. If Lossh had linked with his computer, it only meant one thing: she had an AI. There was no other way to accomplish such an act. “W-what are you?”

  “Quiet,” she ordered. “We are emerging from hyperspace.”

  The telltale falling sensation announced the return to normal space. Jondar checked and saw he could still use regular instruments, it was only drive, nav, and comms he had no control over. He examined the data on the system they’d emerged into and his concern over Lossh taking over the ship’s computer turned to horror. There was no star, no planets, no station, and, most importantly, no stargate. The horror of any spacer, a dead-end star system.

  “You’ve killed us!” he howled in rage and reached for the laser pistol he’d carried since being attacked on Feesta.

  “Kill me and you will never leave here alive.”

  “We can’t leave, regardless. Grand Za doesn’t have shunts!” The barrel of the laser pistol was centered on Lossh’s big forehead. A kilogram of pressure and the strange alien would cease to exist. Lossh pointed, and the Tri-V came on. There was something nearby after all.

  Jondar glanced at the image, his antennae waving in alarm, unable to decide if he should kill the Equiri or not. He slowly sighed and put the weapon away. “It matters not,” he said. However, his gaze was drawn back to the Tri-V. Was it a space station? No, it was bigger. Not a planetoid, it was artificial, an irregular triangular shape several kilometers on a side, spinning on one axis. “What is it?”

  “The secret of the Dusman’s might.”

  “No,” Jondar said, shaking his head. “They don’t exist.”

  The ship’s engines came alive and they moved toward the construct. From what little Jondar could tell, they were lightyears from the nearest star, in a rift between two of the galactic arms. Voids where there were few stars. An ideal location for it.

  As they approached, Jondar noticed the radio was transmitting. Lossh was speaking to the construct. Seconds later, a pair of incredibly fast drones raced alongside, scanning Grand Za. In particular, the cargo hold. Whatever they were scanning for, they must have been satisfied. Jondar was sure they were armed, but they didn’t attack; they just flew off.

  They headed for the construct.

  * * *

  A bay big enough to devour a hundred Gran
d Za’s opened to admit them. Lossh expertly piloted the ship into the bay, oriented with the direction of rotation, and settled against the gravity side. There were a pair of heavy Dusman transports docked not far away, identical to the ones sitting abandoned back on Feesta. As soon as they were down, Lossh disengaged from the computer and left the bridge.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To enact justice,” she said.

  “What does that mean?” She didn’t answer. Jondar cursed at the retreating Equiri. Cursed the Dusman, cursed the Kahraman, and, most particularly, cursed the fates which put him there at that moment. Better to be taken by the slow, cruel entropy of the galaxy than the turn his life had taken. The bridge indicators said Lossh was opening the cargo doors. With another curse, Jondar headed aft.

  He was halfway to the cargo hold when he heard the gunfire and broke into a run. At the cargo door he found two ruined Dusman peacekeeper bots. The tall striding figure of Lossh was already at the far end of the bay, her handheld particle rifle held at hip level, gunning down peacekeeper bots as they appeared.

  “She’s crazy!” Jondar said. “They’re going to kill her.” But just as he spoke a peacekeeper fired a laser at the Equiri which was stopped by the flash of a force field. Lossh had a personal force field, something only the Dusman possessed.

  He didn’t know why he followed Lossh, he just had. Even though the Equiri quickly outpaced him, Jondar was able to follow using the dead bots left in her wake. The further he followed her, the fewer peacekeeper bots there were. Jondar saw maintenance and cargo handling bots of all kinds. It appeared whoever was handling the response was sending everything they had. What he didn’t see was anything living.

  The structure was massive, but the majority was not easily accessible. Lossh seemed to know exactly where she was going and Jondar caught up with her after about a kilometer of walking. She was at an armored door placing charges.

  “What is this place?” Jondar asked.

  She glanced over her shoulder at him and grunted. “You know what it is: a Dusman Arsenal.”

  “Nobody really believed they existed.”

  “Where do you think all the ships, Raknar, and other instruments of war were made? Weapons infrastructure on a planet is vulnerable. They moved it all to these mobile manufactories shortly after the war’s start. This way, no matter how many worlds, no matter how many trillions of their servitors were slaughtered, the war machine ground on. These are the worst war crimes imaginable, moving the means to make war out of reach of the very war they were waging.”

  “When would it have ended?” Jondar asked.

  “It would never have ended. These Arsenals would have continued to churn out weapons as long as supplies were delivered. Even then, they had reserves enough for years. The only way to end it was to end them and the ones who built these things.”

  “Who made them?” Jondar asked, his voice a whisper.

  “Do you really want to know?”

  He nodded.

  The Equiri’s lips peeled back from her teeth in a feral smile. “Then find out.” She backed away from the door and walked to him. He flinched as the tingling force field moved over him. The explosives detonated. He watched the shield shimmer as the blast effect and shrapnel hit it. There was a hole in the door.

  Inside was a command center designed for no more than a tiny handful of beings. A few configurable chairs were scattered around, all empty save one. The being stared at them with unmitigated hatred, its big eyes full of an inner rage Jondar would have recognized even if he didn’t know what race it was. “Simian,” he said.

  “Yes, this is a Biruda. They were the ones who made the engines of genocide for the Dusman.”

  The Biruda spoke. “We did as we were asked.” Jondar’s Mesh immediately translated the voice, which was speaking in Dusman. “We merely used our talents to help our allies.”

  “Helped your allies murder trillions,” Lossh said, stepping into the command center.

  Jondar stayed close behind so he remained within Lossh’s force field. Who knew what wondrous means of murder the Biruda would have at its disposal?

  “The Masters were cleansing a filth from the galaxy.” It pointed a hairless finger at Lossh. “You will be cleansed for your treason.”

  “Biruda, you have been judged guilty of war crimes.” Lossh went to the nearest wall and attached a cube to it. The device stuck where it was placed with no obvious means of attachment. “In the name of the Peacemaker, you and your creations are sentenced to entropy.” She turned and walked back to the shattered door.

  “You and your Peacemaker cannot stop us. Nothing can stop us!” Jondar rushed to keep up. A few steps outside the command center, a brilliant white light consumed it. Jondar covered his eyes and looked away. The force field shuddered, and he felt heat through it.

  “Shit!” Jondar yelled and tried to run.

  “Do not leave the shield,” Lossh warned, catching Jondar by a limb and restraining him. The white-hot blast washed around them, then dissipated. “It is done.”

  “W-what now?” Jondar asked.

  “I continue my search for the others.”

  “How many of these were there?”

  “As many as a hundred or more,” Lossh said.

  Jondar shook his head in disbelief. They walked back toward the landing bay. Soon Lossh told him it was safe to leave the shield. As they approached the bay Jondar could finally speak again.

  “What is the Peacemaker?”

  “The head of my order. We couldn’t stand by and let the Dusman and Kahraman end all life in the galaxy. Something had to be done.”

  “You stopped the war? How many Peacemakers are there?”

  “Just one, originally,” Lossh said. “The Peacemaker, we call it. Now there are hundreds. We’ve taken the name for ourselves, Peacemakers. Not like the Dusman’s bots keeping the peace, their peace. No, we make peace. Someday there will be thousands of us, spreading peace throughout the galaxy.”

  “How could one being stop a galaxy wide war?”

  “Do you really want to know?” Jondar nodded. “The only way to find out, is to become a Peacemaker. I’ve watched you, Jondar. You have the proper heart, and an anger at the destruction. Do you want to make it your life?”

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. “What do I have to do? What will it cost?”

  “Anything which needs to be done, and it will cost you everything. But it means thinking beyond your own hide. It means you must learn to honor the threat to all life, and, in the end, when it all comes down to one thing, you must stand or fall. Defeat it or be defeated.”

  They’d reached the landing bay where Grand Za waited. He’d worked his entire life to earn the ship and used it to make a modest living. Yet, to what end if such forces existed which could, for their own desires, extinguish all life? Wasn’t it more important to fight against this evil?

  “Qorr already joined, didn’t he?”

  “Yes, it is why he stayed behind, to help another Peacemaker mission.”

  “Okay, I will do it,” Jondar said. “I will be a Peacemaker, too.”

  “Very well,” Lossh said, and she put a hand on his shoulder. “Come, Peacemaker, we will install shunts on your ship so we can get out of here. There is much work to be done.”

  * * * * *

  Mark Wandrey Bio

  Living life as a full-time RV traveler with his wife Joy, Mark Wandrey is a bestselling author who has been creating new worlds since he was old enough to write. A three-time Dragon Award finalist, Mark has written dozens of books and short stories, and is working on more all the time. A prolific world builder, he created the wildly popular Four Horsemen Universe as well as the Earth Song series and Turning Point, a zombie apocalypse series. His favorite medium is military sci-fi, but he is always up to a new challenge.

  Sign up on his mailing list and get free stuff and updates! http://www.worldmaker.us/news-flash-sign-up-page/

  # # # # #


  When Pigs Fly by Terry Mixon

  Elgar Xarbon settled into his seat as the shuttle made its final approach to their destination on Jukus. Sadly, the cushions weren’t made for Gtandan posteriors, but that particular discomfort was something he’d grown used to over the years.

  His friend and fellow Peacemaker, Hetok Hosmir, had his face glued to the viewport, drinking in his home world. He’d been that way ever since they’d begun their descent.

  Staring out a viewport had never appealed to Elgar. Like all Gtandans, his eyesight was poor, which made sightseeing a futile pastime. Beyond a short distance, his vision was basically useless without technical enhancement.

  Gtandus was a world of deep forests, and his people had evolved to live under those constraints. Beneath the massive canopy, light was scarce. Even if there had been illumination, no straight line went more than a few dozen meters without one of the massive trees blocking what lay beyond it.

  In recompense for their weak eyes, evolution had blessed them with better hearing and an exceptional sense of smell. Elgar didn’t have his father’s eidetic olfactory senses, so he couldn’t remember people years after they’d met, but even with his eyes closed, he could tally which species were represented aboard the shuttle with no difficulty at all.

  Sadly, that also meant he could never escape the flat, recycled air on ships and shuttles. At least someone had done the necessary maintenance on the shuttle, and it didn’t have the faint sour note that was all too often present.

  With his observational skills thus limited, Elgar focused on his friend’s excitement. Like all Juks, Hetok was small and slight of frame. Whereas a Gtandan male stood over two meters tall and was quite muscular, his people were about a quarter that size and perhaps a tenth the mass.

  Their species had full-body fur that ran the gamut from silver to black. Hetok’s was faded, the brown of his youth replaced by the gray of age.

  It saddened him that Juks did not live as long as Gtandans, even with the full support of Union medical tech. Hetok was about Elgar’s father’s age, and already growing somewhat infirm. Not that that seemed to bother the ever-cheerful Juk. He was apparently content with the life that he’d lived.