Set the Terms

by Mia R Kleve

“Peacemaker Rains to Xiq’tal and Tortantula forces. Cease fire! I say again, cease fire! Under the Articles of War you are required to stand down from all hostile action and prepare for negotiation. Report your Unit, combat strength, and commanding officer for the record. Failure to comply will result in fines and censure.” Having got the officialese out of the way Rains looked directly at Captain Lorm before adding, “Further action against this vessel will result in an immediate and lethal response.”

  Not exactly by the book, but close enough, he thought. But if they wanted this by the book they should have sent someone else.

  Rains listened for a moment hoping Captain Lorm wouldn’t get the chance to exercise her more aggressive instincts. The responses came on separate channels.

  “CrRkkt of the Xiq’tal. Our force is three hundred.” The voice was low and sounded like rocks being ground together, but to Rains’ surprise, it also sounded…cheerful? “We will comply as soon as the Tortantula withdraw. Sending coordinates to our location. Your arrival works in their favor. We were about to crush them and give them to the sea.”

  By contrast the voice on the other channel was almost painfully high-pitched and angry.

  “You can’t pronounce my name. Call me Rikki. Calling in for the joint Flatar-Tortantula forces. We’re standing down. Our force size is 500. Tell crab-cakes he got saved by the bell! Welcome to Avbo.”

  Jackson smiled despite himself. Obviously “Rikki” had spent enough time around Humans to pick up some of the slang. He remembered one of his DIs telling him that the best way to shut up a Flatar was to pump the room full of helium because it raised the pitch of their voices higher than the translators could pick up.

  “Rains to combatants. I will hold formal negotiations within 96 hours as required by the Articles. You will be notified of time and place in advance. Acknowledge for the record.”

  “The Xiq’tal acknowledge,” replied CrRkkt.

  “Yeah, we’re in, too,” said Rikki.

  “Rains out.”

  Rains turned. “Captain Lorm, will you do a flyover of the coordinates the Xiq’tal sent and see if there is a good place to land? My brief said one of the beaches was the main area of engagement.”

  “You wouldn’t prefer to land at the starport at Durst?” asked Lorm, referring to the main Flatar-Tortantula settlement about 100 klicks inland.

  Rains shook his head. “No. The fighting is here. I’m not convinced the ceasefire will last without the Turunmaa on station to enforce it. We’ll set up a base camp here. After we meet with the Xiq’tal we can move the ship to Durst.”

  The helmsman interjected, “Captain, coming up on the Xiq’tal coordinates.”

  The Turunmaa flew over the coast. The coordinates were a low, rocky plateau bordered with trees that looked like the confused child of a palm tree and an evergreen. On one side were several kilometers of gently-sloping land covered with high, deep green grass that rippled in the offshore wind. The sunset left a path of gold that glittered over the sea and turned the few high clouds into streamers of light.

  The effect was lovely until one noticed that at least a half klick of white sandy beach had been churned into a morass of blood, ichor, and the shattered bodies of the Tortantula and Xiq’tal. At the edge of the water the corpses of several Flatar rolled in and out with the tide.

  Rains took in the scene. Even for someone used to carnage, it was hard to take; there wasn’t a single body on the beach that hadn’t been dismembered to some extent. He could see Xiq’tal sentries sitting farther out in the water.

  Rains shook his head. “Armageddon in paradise with too many legs.” He turned to the Cochkala who gave him the equivalent of a shrug.

  “The Xiq’tal and Tortantula both love to fight. I’d say most of what happened here was claw to claw.”

  “That plateau looks like a good place to land. Setting up a base camp there gives us a good vantage point and would be easier to defend in case of an attack. I don’t like being this close to the water. It’s too easy for the Xiq’tal to hide.”

  Rains nodded. “I agree, but I think this is our best bet. We can deploy drones to keep an eye on both fronts. We need information. Right now, nothing about this situation adds up.”

  Captain Lorm’s tail lashed from side to side. “Explain.”

  Rains began counting off points on his fingers.

  “One. We haven’t been given a clear answer on how this conflict started or why it seems to be growing so fast. Both species have troopships on the way, so the dispute has gone beyond a squabble between merc companies, which is probably why we were fired on despite the ceasefire broadcast.

  “Two. Avbo is a larder world administrated by Consolidated Agricultural. They subcontract to the Tortantula and Xiq’tal for space and the planet’s recreational opportunities. It has no strategic value, no unusual mineral deposits, and the soil won’t grow much without extensive bio-farming; food production is limited to native species and those that easily adapt. The place is a protein factory. My brief said the Tortantula ranch something called a gresh, and the Xiq’tal export large quantities of seafood. According to ConAg, there is nothing here worth fighting over.

  “Three. The request for Peacemaker intervention came from the Mercenary Guild, not from the Xiq’tal, the Flatar and Tortantulas, or from ConAg. The Mercenary Guild’s reasoning that the groups will probably fight to the last being seems valid enough, but no one is getting paid here. That means it’s personal.

  “Four. In spite of the fact that the Mercenary Guild filed the request, there hasn’t been any contact from the local guild representative in Durst, and we know there is a Veetanho administrative office there. So, why the silence?”

  “And five. The Veetanho specifically requested a Human Peacemaker. Even if one through four made sense, that alone would make me question why we’re here.”

  Lorm looked at Rains, considering. “So you’re convinced this is a trap? What are you going to do about it?”

  Rains smiled. “Spring it, of course.”

  * * *

  Amos Lacroix doesn’t look like a merc captain, thought Rains as he watched the man work. At 5’ 8” and 160-pounds Amos could best be described as wiry. He was an older man with thinning brown hair, a crooked nose, and watery blue eyes. He was the kind of man nobody looked at twice, until he spoke.

  Rains had met Amos in a dive bar on Luna playing cards and the first thing he heard was something like, “I call ‘em, you betcha. You be showin’ dem cards. I gar-on-tee!”

  The fight that started after had cleared the bar, and he and Rains had landed in another dive close by nursing their bruises. Amos explained that his mother was Creole and his father French-Canadian and laughed that his accent made him an embarrassment to both sides of his family. His outfit, the Rajin Cajuns, was a tight-knit unit of eleven men specializing in security. They mostly kept to themselves, which was good, because when they were speaking in their native dialect no one understood them anyway. They had a mix of Mk 7 and Mk 8 CASPers. When Rains had received the mission he’d contacted Amos. The Cajuns were between gigs and the Peacemaker Guild had approved a stipend for a security force.

  Amos loved his job, but more than anything, he loved to cook. He’d told Rains when he retired he planned to open a restaurant. Naturally, the first thing he had done after the Turunmaa had settled in was to get his crew working on the perimeter defenses and setting up his kitchen.

  After unloading an enormous cast iron cauldron, Amos had poured in a five-gallon bucket of “starter” and set to work filling the rest of the pot with “flavor.” Rains could see him cursing into a headset.

  “Goddam, Louie, get dat auto-MAC onlin’! Dat no on in five minit I gon’ kick your ass. I gar-on-tee! I no wan’ excuse an’ Jack-son no wan’ excuse from me no way neither. You wan’ make dem P-maker grouch?”

  Rains gave a last look over the preparations, gave Amos a thumbs up, and then headed back into the ship. The defenses were solid but even added to the
Turunmaa’s point defense if either group attacked, they were a delaying tactic at best.

  He entered the bridge and nodded to Captain Lorm. “We’re ready. The Cajuns are finishing up the perimeter defenses now. We have four CASPers on a six-on, six-off rotation. I’m going to grab a shower and a few hours’ sleep.”

  Rains turned to the comms officer. “Please notify the Xiq’tal I’ll meet with them on the beach in eight hours.”

  * * *

  The sun was making its way into the sky as Rains headed to the beach to meet with the Xiq’tal. He took Amos and one of his men as backup, and Captain Lorm had insisted on sending a drone to monitor. For most of his life Rains had found that the right application of force would fix most problems. One of his foster parents had been fond of saying, “When you’re a hammer, every problem looks like a nail.” She had been trying to tell him something important but he hadn’t understood until years later after spending too much time learning to be an efficient hammer. But here everybody had a bigger hammer than he did.

  Three Xiq’tal walked from the water onto the beach. The lead Xiq’tal was almost twice the size and a deeper blue than the other two. One had a piece of armor plate strapped to its shell. On the plate rested two-meter-wide balls of spikes similar to a giant sea urchin. Rains could see the spines flexing. The other had a rack of missiles and a pair of MACs wired onto its shell. The weapons tracked as the Xiq’tal moved its eyestalks.

  At 6’2” with a heavy build, Rains had grown up with the advantage of having a commanding physical presence, something that was both a help and a hindrance being passed from foster home to foster home. It was an advantage that evaporated during his Peacemaker training as many of the races he’d trained beside were bigger and faster than Humans, but it hadn’t done much to prepare him for this. Face to face talks with the Xiq’tal was like facing an angry APC. The BAMF armor he wore was good general protection, but it wasn’t up to the kind of firepower the troops on Avbo were throwing around. Rains stepped forward.

  “I am Peacemaker Jackson Rains, here to conduct negotiations to end the hostilities between the Xiq’tal and the Flatar-Tortantula forces. Are you CrRkkt?”

  The King Xiq’tal made a gesture with both enormous fighting claws. Rains tried not to flinch.

  “I am CrRkkt,” it said.

  Rains waited for it to continue.

  Silence.

  Rains tried again. “With me are Amos Delacroix of the Rajin Cajuns and two of his troopers, Hebert and Landry.” Rains gestured at the CASPers. “You’ll get to meet them more personally after we have an opportunity to talk.”

  More silence.

  So much for working on script, he thought.

  “Look, CrRkkt, work with me here. I’ll level with you. No one has seen fit to tell me what the problem is on Avbo. Care to tell me what’s going on so we can stop the fighting?”

  The Xiq’tal made the same gesture. “I will tell you, but it will change nothing.”

  “Why not?” asked Rains.

  “We enjoy the fighting. Before, we hunted. This world has worthy prey, but they have been made weak, so the Tortantula take their place.”

  “How did the Tortantula do that CrRkkt?”

  “Not the Tortantula. The Veetanho. But the Veetanho will not fight Xiq’tal, they send the Tortantula and Flatar, so we accept them as surrogates, because Avbo is boring.”

  “I still don’t understand what they are doing.”

  “Shit.”

  “Come again?”

  “The problem on Avbo is shit, Peacemaker. Everything flows to the sea, but not everything should. I suspected this would be difficult for you, so I have brought you echin to help you comprehend.”

  “What are echin?” asked Rains.

  The Xiq’tal pointed with a fighting claw at the urchins. “Those are echin. They are native to Avbo. Echin breed in the brine waters of the river deltas and migrate to the deep on reaching maturity. They are a sensitive species and all efforts to breed them in captivity have failed. Observe.”

  As CrRkkt moved toward the Xiq’tal with the echin strapped to its back, the other Xiq’tal lowered itself onto the sand. CrRkkt reached for the nearest with a claw. The echin responded by flexing its spines. Several extended nearly another meter to strike CrRkkt’s claw with enough force to chip the Xiq’tal’s tough shell. CrRkkt pinned one of the extended spines with its other claw and tugged. Orange ichor filled the wound where the spine was removed. On the base of the severed spine were a series of muscular nodules.

  CrRkkt passed the spine to Rains.

  “Don’t touch the sharp end of the spine. Echin secrete a neurotoxin, but the meat is safe. Eat one of the nodules.”

  Rains looked at CrRkkt dubiously. What the hell, he thought, and pulled the smallest nodule he could find off the severed spine and gingerly put it in his mouth.

  Rains’ mouth was filled with a sweet, buttery flavor. As he chewed, the rich taste became deeper. His mouth filled with a tingling sensation, not unlike the fugu fish he had once eaten. As he swallowed his bite, it burned all the way down like a fine whiskey, resting in his stomach and warming him from the center out.

  “That is echin, Peacemaker Rains. The effect is mildly narcotic but fades in a few minutes. This echin is tiny. There are echin in the deeps many times my size. In the water, they can move quickly by expelling water through the hollow spines. The large ones are very difficult to hunt, and they must be captured alive, as these were, for the meat to be at its best. The one you tasted is from down the coast. A prime echin can sell for tens of thousands of credits per kilo.

  “Now try this one.”

  CrRkkt repeated his harvest with the other echin. The second creature’s attack was slow and far less forceful. CrRkkt held out the spine and Rains took another small nodule and popped it into his mouth. His stomach heaved. Rains bent over and violently lost everything he had eaten and dry heaved until his stomach cramped.

  CrRkkt waited for Rains to recover. “The Veetanho allow their waste treatment plant for Durst to empty into the river instead of using recycling technology. It carries the waste of Durst and the byproducts from their harvest of gresh into the sea. The echin absorb the flavor through their spines. The second echin is what they taste like after. We petitioned the Veetanho to change the plant, but they refused. Do you understand now why we kill them?”

  Rains wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “You could have just told me.”

  CrRkkt replied, “Sometimes words lack proper impact.”

  “I see your point, CrRkkt, but there must be a way to resolve the issue. Financial compensation, help in reclamation. Who did you petition to have the plant modified?”

  “Consolidated Agricultural Administrator Gathis. We already cull the effected echin and move those we can to areas free of taint, but the echin of the delta may never recover. We require worthy prey. The insult can only be paid with blood.”

  Amos chose that moment to chime in. “So, what I hear is you mad ‘cause Vee-tan-oh mak’ your fish taste bad, but you madder ‘cause dey takes da fight out o’ you fish?”

  CrRkkt considered the voice coming from the CASPer. “If what my translator said is correct. Yes.”

  “Den Jack-son and ol’ Amos gonna look for you a madder fish. I gar-on-tee!”

  * * *

  Back at base, Rains watched Amos climb out of his CASPer and then rounded on him. He had been seething all the way back from the beach and had worked up a good head of steam.

  “A madder fish? Amos, what the fuck were you thinking? This whole thing is impossible already and you’re making it harder.”

  Amos stepped into his kitchen, checked on his cauldron, then reached into a cooler and held out a bottle of Abt to Rains. “Jack-son, you a city boy, no?”

  “Yeah, city kid. The closest thing to country I got was songs on the radio, and those weren’t exactly my style.” Rains took a swig of the rich, dark ale.

  Amos nodded and gestured at the
beach with his own bottle “What you got down there is a hunter. He mad an’ he bored an’ dem Vee-tan-oo mess up his hunt, and dey pick his pocket, too. Sound like all dem crabs like t’ hunt. I bet he no admit it but dey sent fish home ‘for dey know it taste bad.”

  Rains shook his head “Maybe, but you shouldn’t have—”

  Amos interrupted. “Course I should. You say an’ no do, that be a problem. I say an’ no do, you tell ‘im I not know what I speak ‘bout and you in the clear to try something else. Sometime dem dice, dey gotta roll. Ol’ Amos and his boys been all over. We find you something. If we don’t, we buy you time, or you jus’ mad it no your idea, eh?”

  Rains thought about that for a minute. He could hear Vannix in the back of his head telling him not to let his temper get in his way.

  Just then one of Amos’s men clomped past the kitchen.

  I don’t want to know, thought Rains.

  Amos yelled at him. “Hey, Louie! You no see I talkin’ with the P-maker?”

  Louie shouted back, “Sorry, boss, just coming off patrol. Why you call ‘im P-maker and not Peace-maker?”

  Amos gave Rains a sidelong glance “Because, Louie, I seen ‘im drink!”

  Rains choked on his beer.

  * * *

  Jackson headed back to the Turunmaa. He updated his report then went to the bridge to fill in Captain Lorm. The duty officer pointed to a small room off the bridge that served as the captain’s office. He knocked.

  “Come.”

  Rains found Lorm working on her own reports. She sat back from her terminal and waved Rains to a guest seat.

  “Well, Peacemaker Rains, were you able to make any headway with the Xiq’tal?”

  “If you mean did I get them to stop wanting to kill every Tortantula on the planet, then no,” said Rains. “But I did get some useful information. I’ve updated my report, and you have access in case something happens to me, but in a nutshell, the Xiq’tal are invested in hunting one of the native creatures. The settlement at Durst has a plant dumping waste into the river which taints the meat and ruins the value. It also makes the creatures sick, which ruins the hunt for the Xiq’tal.”