by Mia R Kleve
Called “fantastic” and “a great speaker,” he has coached hundreds of beginning authors and budding novelists on how to self-publish their stories at a variety of conferences, conventions and writing guild presentations. He is the author of the award-winning #1 bestseller, Self-Publishing for Profit: How to Get Your Book Out of Your Head and Into the Stores, as well as the leadership training book, Leadership from the Darkside.
Chris lives in Virginia Beach, Virginia, with his wife, and is the holder of a doctorate in educational leadership and master’s degrees in both business and public administration. Follow Chris on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/ckpublishing/.
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We Are Not Heroes by Quincy J. Allen
1
Fifteen Hundred Hours
The Day After Rsach Klixtylbyt Named Valedictorian
Peacemaker Academy, Ocono
“Good morning, everyone,” Master Instructor Droizhiun intoned as he entered the amphitheater-like classroom for Advanced Tactics Theory. The four dozen fresh seniors, from eleven different races, immediately went silent. Droizhiun was infamous for his intolerance of disruptions in his classes. There wasn’t a soul at the Academy who didn’t know or hadn’t heard he was as hard as titanium, and, more importantly, that no one on Ocono was more qualified to teach Advanced Tactics Theory than the aging Sumatozou. He moved with a slow but strong stride. His face was a picture of aged wisdom, with a wrinkled, bifurcated trunk, massive skull, and thick red-striped skin faded from age.
“I have a surprise for you today.” As Droizhiun reached the center of the floor, he brushed at the fabric of his star-speckled, black suit and adjusted the Peacemaker pin affixed to his collar. He met the expectant gazes of his students. “You’ll be happy to know that your exam on the liquidity of battlefield operations has been postponed until tomorrow.” He gave them a flash of thick, yellowed teeth, and there was a collective sigh of relief from the entire class. Droizhiun eyed a dark gray Jivool in the top row of the classroom. “That should give you one more opportunity to cram, Mr. Su Banai,” he added.
The young Jivool was embarrassed as a faint chuckle came from the other students.
Droizhiun motioned toward the door to his left. “How many of you paid attention during your tour of the Hall of Heroes when you first arrived at the Academy?”
A half-dozen hands, paws, and claws rose into the air.
“Not nearly enough,” Droizhiun lamented, “but not at all unexpected.” He narrowed his eyes and considered his audience. “As a result of your lack of attention, I am now assigning you all with a very simple task.” A collective groan passed through the class. “This weekend, you must all return to the Hall of Heroes and read every history listed there. It shouldn’t take you more than seven or eight hours. Yes, there will be a test. More importantly, during next week’s first class period, each of you will present to the class who you feel is the most significant Peacemaker honored there and why you feel he or she is deserving of the title. Know that there is no right answer to this particular quandary. What you will be graded upon is having a thorough understanding of the Peacemaker you choose and why you feel his, her, or its deeds are noteworthy.” Droizhiun drew in a slow, ponderous breath, a sound not unlike like a great bellows, and let it out even more slowly. “Those who fail to complete this exceedingly simple task will be expelled from this class and required to take the entire course during the next session. There will be no exceptions.”
Gasps erupted from several of the students, but Droizhiun’s quick eyes darted to each offender of his precious silence, holding the sternest of reprimands.
“The penalty is so severe because, in some respects, this may be the most important assignment I am ever likely to give you. Understanding the greatness that came before you may just instill within you an idea of what Peacemakers need to be capable of.” He cleared his throat. “Additionally, you may not select the Peacemaker you are about to meet.”
He motioned toward the door he had entered through, and all eyes turned in that direction.
“During last night’s graduation ceremony—where Rsach Klixtylbyt was named Valedictorian—I ran into an old friend whose image has been present in the Hall of Heroes for twenty-nine years. He was the oldest GenSha to graduate this Academy, doing so on his thirty-seventh birthday. It is my pleasure, and privilege, to introduce to you an old friend.” He let his eyes move across the expectant faces staring down at him. “Please welcome Retired Peacemaker, the honored Voth Kobun.”
As the students respectfully rapped their knuckles upon their desks, a GenSha slowly entered the room. The old bull’s fur was nearly white, an indication of exceedingly advanced age, and his stripes, normally green on a GenSha, were a dusty yellow. Had there been a Human in the room, he would have described the old Peacemaker as a hornless, great white buffalo on two legs.
Voth’s stride was firm and deliberate. Despite his advanced age, he carried himself with the sturdy poise and confidence of a being accustomed to respect. His countenance was calm. His dark, intelligent eyes, surrounded by deep wrinkles, took in every detail of the room and the beings therein with a glance. He paused to stare at a pair of young GenSha bulls sitting halfway up the auditorium. He gave them a brief nod and then looked over the rest of the students. For all his obvious years, he was still a formidable member of his race.
He wore a crimson Peacemaker sash of a style that had not seen active service in decades, with a “RETIRED” patch just below his Peacemaker badge. The badge was decorated with a skeletal tree adorned with GenSha skulls on every branch and a vertical string of alien letters running up the right side in two rows. The rest of the sash was covered with ribbons, citations, medals, and even two Apex Achievement Awards with the crossed daggers denoting Combat Operations. The Triple-A for Combat was the highest award a Peacemaker could receive, and very few were handed out. When they were, it was usually done posthumously. Above the awards and citations was a single, metallic disk a few centimeters across engraved with the simple depiction of an avian in flight. It was not of Peacemaker or GenSha origin, but it clearly held a place of honor for the old officer.
“Thank you, honored Droizhiun,” Voth said, giving his friend a smile. “It is, indeed, an honor to be here.” He raised his eyes once again to the cadets looking down at him. “And thank you all for your kind greeting.” He bowed his head slightly and then straightened his sash. “When we spoke last night, Droizhiun asked if I would be willing to relate to you the details of one of my missions. He did not specify which, out of respect, I imagine. However, I believe I know the one he has in mind.” A sad look flickered across Voth’s grizzled features. “It is not a story I like to tell, and I’ve only related those events completely a handful of times in the nearly thirty years that have passed since.” He drew in a long breath and let it out slowly. “Having thought the matter through, and particularly because of the nature of this course, I feel this is the right place, with the right audience, to tell this tale—perhaps for the last time.” He met the eyes of every student, and he could see curiosity and enthusiasm fixed in the young faces. He pointed to the Triple-A medallion immediately below the silver disk. “Can anyone tell me what this is?”
A number of limbs rose into the air, and Voth nodded to a young female Sidar with a thick crop of stiff, midnight-blue hairs running up the middle of her elongated head.
“You,” he said.
“It’s the Apex Achievement Award for Combat,” she said almost reverently.
“Correct,” Voth replied. “This is the reason my image adorns the Hall of Heroes.” He let his eyes move across the room. “And I don’t deserve it,” he said flatly.
The curiosity on each and every face was replaced by astonishment.
“In the Jesc arm of the galaxy, in the outer Crapti region, on a world called Sylphux, I encountered a group of Duplato that changed my life forever.”
* * *
2
Twenty-Nine Yea
rs Earlier
Sylphux Emergence Area: T-Plus Sixty Seconds
Aboard Peacemaker Ship Sarikon
The discomfort of shifting out of hyperspace made it feel like Voth’s molars were wiggling out of his skull.
After five years of service and more transitions through a gate than I can remember, you’d think I’d be accustomed to it, he thought.
Shaking his massive, furred head in a futile attempt to dislodge the buzzing, he did a quick post-transition systems check of his ship, the Sarikon, and found nominal readings across the board. He shifted in the acceleration couch of the cockpit and gazed at the star field outside the viewports. He’d requested a dorsal docking slot on the bow of the coreship, if for no other reason than the view. His credentials afforded him at least that one small privilege this far out from the core systems of the Jesc arm. By necessity, he was keeping a low profile. Peacemakers—especially those working solo—were often targets for less savory sorts this far out from the galactic center…and he was definitely working solo.
Centered in his view, above the curve of the massive coreship just visible at the bottom of the forward porthole, lay a tan, green, and blue world with white polar regions. He hoped this would be his last destination before heading back to the Peacemaker station on Kravuun 3. It had been two months, and he missed the comfort of his own bunk. He pulled up the automated course to Sylphux programmed into his navi-comp, and when he verified it was also nominal, he activated the comms.
“Gate control,” he said, his voice a low rumble, “this is the Sarikon on track for Sylphux. Disconnecting from the coreship in two minutes.”
He’d named his ship after a river that flowed through his ancestral home on Amberia. As a juvenile, he’d spent most of his free time running along the Sarikon river, stumbling from one adventure to the next, and generally getting into trouble and back out again through wits, will, and a good deal of fighting with whomever or whatever he encountered. It seemed only reasonable that he give that name to his first ship.
“Sarikon, we’re reading you and confirm detach in under two minutes,” an equally deep voice responded with the serene certainty of every gate controller Voth had ever encountered. “Orbital insertion in three hours seventeen minutes at current speed and projected entry point.”
“Copy that,” Voth replied.
“A bull of the GenSha?” the controller asked in Voth’s native tongue. The controller’s tone changed to one Voth recognized as a friendly greeting amongst his people. The question took Voth by surprise. He hadn’t expected to discover a GenSha working as a gate controller, especially not this far out.
“Affirmative,” Voth replied.
“Your ancestors have honored us with your presence,” the controller said.
The phrase made Voth smile. He hadn’t heard a formal GenSha greeting in over a year. His Peacemaker duties had mostly kept him on the periphery of the Galactic Union, and there weren’t any other GenSha stationed on Kravuun 3 where he’d been assigned two years earlier. His assignment had been a punishment of sorts, but not one he resented. He’d earned it for punching another Peacemaker who was about to get a lot of people killed unnecessarily. He’d been exonerated in the subsequent investigation, but the bloodied officer’s mentor had seen fit to reassign Voth for a tour in the boonies.
“It is good to hear a little bit of home,” Voth said with a smile. “It has been a while.”
“I know the feeling,” the controller replied. “I am the only one of us assigned to the gate, and I have another seven months out here before I can go home. What brings you to our dusty little corner of the galaxy?”
Voth tensed for a moment. He started to respond, but then realized he should probably remain anonymous. His target might have people monitoring the general in-system comm traffic, especially for anything coming through the gate. He quickly punched in a security code on the terminal beside him and sent a complex and highly encrypted signal to Gate Control.
“Message received,” the controller said, his voice returning to the serene, laconic cadence of a controller fulfilling his duties. “Standby to receive a new, pre-plotted course for your navi-comp that will take you through the asteroids of the Strahkos Belt and give you an orbital insertion for the major starport on Sylphux.
“Understood,” Voth replied as he watched his computer receive the data packet. “Disconnecting,” he said, and activated the sequence that would separate him from the coreship. There were several loud clunks that reverberated through his hull, and Sarikon floated free, drifting away from the behemoth ship that had carried him through hyperspace.
He accessed the file and input the data into his navi-comp. There were a few jerks of the hull as his thrusters adjusted course and he programmed the autopilot. “Data received and input,” Voth replied. “I did have two questions, Control.”
“Go ahead.”
“The Botai, a large cargo and passenger transport, passed through the system six days ago. Did it make any stops in-system before hitting Sylphux orbit, and has it passed through the gate since then?”
“Stand by.” Voth knew the controller was reviewing gate records. “Negative to both, Sarikon. She made orbit and Captain Yobovo set her down at the primary starport on Sylphux, where she still sits, according to our records.”
“Copy that,” Voth said. “Thank you for the information.”
“We are honored to serve. Ancestors keep you,” the controller added formally.
“And grant you longevity and peace,” Voth said, giving the traditional GenSha response. “Sarikon, out,” he added with a wistful smile.
He missed his people, missed the tranquility he always found in their company. But he had a job to do, and he’d chosen his path years earlier. He cut the comms and turned back to the terminal. There was time to kill before insertion, so he punched in several more commands, pulled up the official file on his quarry, and reread it for the hundredth time.
Dulk Tomar.
The big Lumar’s pale gray face glared up from the screen. The mugshot was eight months old, taken immediately after his initial arrest. Dulk’s thick forehead and perma-scowl shadowed deep-set purple eyes, larger than average canines, and a mottled pattern of scar tissue running from below his left ear and down across half of his neck where it disappeared beneath the collar of a light combat vest. The fabric on the right shoulder was torn, which coincided with swollen and bruised tissue around his right eye and a gash in his left cheek. His upper arms were cuffed behind his back and the lower ones in front, with stout cables running front to back around his waist, a standard setup for the four-armed races of the galaxy who were deemed dangerous, Lumar in particular. Dulk’s skin and vest were also spattered with the blue-green of MinSha blood. Apparently, he had murdered—torn apart, actually—a MinSha trader in the middle of the Pemmick starport on Odulan Prime and been sentenced to death for it. The judge, an elderly Jivool, hadn’t even allowed Dulk into the courtroom for the hearing. He merely watched the security video, saw Dulk attack the MinSha without provocation, and that was it: case closed.
Two months later—three weeks before Dulk’s scheduled execution—six Lumar broke him out of detention, killing three officers in the process. Six more were beaten and bound before the group made their escape into rainy Pemmick’s extensive storm drain system.
Why didn’t they kill the others? Voth thought. That one fact had troubled him since he had first read the file. During a breakout, criminals generally killed everyone in the area, and certainly any officers involved. It seemed peculiar to Voth, but he hadn’t been able to even formulate a theory.
His orders were simple, though: capture or kill the violent Lumar and any associates who had helped him.
Three months after Dulk’s escape, he and four associates were caught on surveillance robbing an armored truck full of weapons in Pemmick. The driver, as well as one security guard, were killed. Three others had been beaten, one severely, and locked in the truck for the authorities t
o find.
Voth, acting on intel from a local snitch provided by Pemmick law enforcement, was able to track the sale of several cases from the stolen shipment. This led to a small gang of Sidar working an extortion ring out of a warehouse at the Pemmick starport. Three days after Dulk sold the weapons, those very same Sidar made the mistake of shooting up the headquarters of a rival gang in broad daylight, losing two of their own in the process. Voth connected serial numbers of the weapons used by the Sidar back to Dulk’s robbery, and with the help of the Pemmick Police, managed to track down and kill two of the Sidar while arresting a third. The surviving Sidar, after a bit of heavy-handed convincing, admitted that Dulk had said he was headed for Sylphux with the bulk of the weapons. He also claimed he didn’t know what they were for.
For the next six days, Voth had done his best to identify the ship his quarry had taken. He finally confirmed Dulk had set off for Sylphux by himself, along with twenty-two unmarked crates on a transport named the Botai.
Voth boarded the Sarikon and fired up the engines, hitching a ride on the next outbound coreship headed for Sylphux. Although not hot on Dulk’s trail, he was as right behind the convict as was possible in interstellar space…which had brought him to the view that filled his viewscreen now.
Voth settled into the acceleration couch and spent the next couple of hours poring over Dulk’s file as he waited for the orbital entry alarm to go off.
* * *
3
Voth entered the Star Trixer and winced at the harsh music blaring from the overhead speakers.
He’d landed the Sarikon at the starport, disembarked, and made a few discreet inquiries regarding Dulk. The dock workers remembered the big, surly Lumar and his cargo, but none of them could, or would, say where Dulk was headed. Voth finally settled on the probable location of the transport ship’s captain, a Pendal named Yobovo.