by Mia R Kleve
Voth didn’t get far before a half-dozen Lumar jumped into the other truck—four into the bed and two others into the cab. The driver fired up the vehicle and put it into motion.
Voth ducked down. One…two…three…
BA-BOOM!
A flash filled Voth’s cab as the grenade exploded and cooked off the other truck’s power plant. He glanced up and watched the truck flip through the air, flames and smoke spiraling after it. Lumar bodies soared in every direction. The truck slammed onto its roof, still on fire, and the ammunition for its machine gun started popping, sending hot metal everywhere. It was mostly just fragments of hot casings flying around, but it was enough to send several more Lumar to the ground, screaming.
Only one last bit, Voth thought as his truck raced backward.
He went about eighty meters, then lifted his foot off the accelerator and looked over his shoulder. Keeping his head low, he guided the truck straight into the ore processor. It slammed into the metal chassis of the twenty-meter structure with a crash, and the Lumar’s gunfire slowly stopped.
The Lumar couldn’t see him in the darkness, so they would have to approach the truck to see if he was dead. He only hoped none of them had grenades. There hadn’t been any in the stolen shipment, but that didn’t mean Dulk or somebody else hadn’t gotten their hands on some military-grade ordnance.
Voth left the truck running as a Lumar shouted orders.
Most of the Lumar were crouched behind cover, their pale, gray scalps poking up here and there. And then Dulk rose up on the porch.
“What are you all doing?” he screamed.
The night went silent as all the Lumar froze in place and stared at him in fear.
“Spread out!” he bellowed, pointing toward the ore processor. “There’s only one invader, you imbeciles, and I think you got him. Use those rifles I gave you and move up!” Dulk was clearly enraged, just as Voth had hoped for. “If he isn’t dead, then kill him!”
Lumar are big. They can be brutal, and they are dangerous. But once set into motion, they react with their hearts and the momentum of a juggernaut, not with their brains.
Voth didn’t wait to see what they were going to do. He knew. He grabbed the carbine, rolled as quietly as he could up and through the back window, and then stood in the bed of the truck where the machine gun waited. He checked the receiver and found it had already been chambered.
“Move it!” Dulk screamed.
Voth ducked down once again, peered through the back window, and waited for them to get closer. Slowly, they moved forward in groups of five and six.
When they had crossed about two-thirds of the distance, their weapons raised, Voth took a deep breath, stood, and opened fire.
THUDDA-THUDDA-THUDDA!
Flame spewed from the machine gun. Smoke poured from the barrel. Tracers shot into the night and pierced flesh and blood and bone. Working from the edge of the pit outward across the road, Voth cut into them. A half-dozen Lumar opened fire, while others ran for cover or dove sideways in a desperate attempt to stay alive, but it was all in vain. Voth had backed the truck up against the only cover nearby.
A round grazed Voth’s right shoulder.
He swiveled the weapon and killed the Lumar who had shot him. Another round nicked his left arm. He swiveled again and kept firing, focusing on any Lumar who had the sense—or was it stupidity?—to shoot back. Several managed to make it over the edge of the pit, but they looked like they were scrambling for their lives, not coming after him.
It was all over very quickly.
When the last Lumar before him fell, he aimed at their barracks and opened up again, riddling the building from one end to the other in case any hadn’t exited. When the belt feeder ran out of ammo, about three hundred rounds later, he released the thumb actuator and stared at the slaughter. There were Lumar bodies everywhere, from about twenty meters in front of the truck all the way up the road past the houses. The other truck was still on fire, as was the power generator. Thankfully, only a few small timbers inside the Duplato barracks were burning slightly.
The night went quiet as he took it all in.
His eyes drifted down to the red-hot barrel of the machine gun. He could hear the metal pinging as it cooled in the chilly night air. He pulled his pistol, winced at the gash in his arm, and dropped to the ground. As he did, he spotted movement in the Duplato barracks. They were shoving beds aside and emerging from the damaged building.
Voth peeked over the edge of the pit and saw the curving backs of three Lumar about ten meters down, hiding. He pulled off the hood of his infiltrator suit and exposed his badge. In a deep, booming voice he shouted, “By the authority of the Peacemakers, I order you to drop your weapons and come back up here. If you do not do so immediately, I will let these Duplato come down there and kill you with Dulk’s own weapons.”
A moment later, three rifles clattered down the steep incline. The three large, four-armed Lumar came scrambling back up the slope. Voth leveled his pistol, and their eyes went wide.
“Do not worry,” Voth said. “I’m arresting you, not executing you.” All three of them looked relieved and continued to scramble to the top. “Hands behind your heads and get moving.” He motioned toward the compound with his pistol. They did as they were instructed, and when they reached the Duplato barracks, Voth ordered them to sit on the ground with their legs crossed.
The Lumar took their seats as Ginkhur stepped through the shattered end of the building and dropped to the ground. A handful of Duplato stood behind him, wary looks upon their faces, but the others remained hidden behind the stacked bunks.
“Holy goddess,” Ginkhur said in a whisper as he scanned the compound. “It worked.”
“Indeed,” Voth said.
“All of you,” Ginkhur said, turning toward the other Duplato, “find some functional weapons and cover those Lumar. Everyone!” he shouted into the barracks. “Come on out. We have to get to the others in the mine!” The miners pushed the stacked beds away in an avalanche and came pouring out.
“What do you intend to do?” Voth asked as the Duplato dashed past them.
“If it’s all the same to you, we’d prefer to capture the remaining Lumar ourselves…assuming they’re willing to surrender. There’s only ten or so of them down below, and with all the rifles up here, they’ll be outnumbered about three or four to one.”
“What if they take hostages?” Voth asked.
“Then they won’t last long down there. Lumar don’t see well in the dark, and we do. It won’t be a problem. And if they surrender, we’ll take them to the constables back in the city. We’re miners, not killers, and, like I said, I sort of feel for why they were doing all this.”
Voth nodded. “Then be my guest,” he said.
* * *
6
Fifteen-Forty-Eight Hours
1 Day After Rsach Klixtylbyt Named Valedictorian
Peacemaker Academy, Ocono
His eyes cast downward, Voth let out a long breath, as if he’d just performed an impossibly difficult task. He raised his eyes and searched the faces of the students before him, one at a time. He found himself wondering if any had identified his sin, picked up on the terrible mistake that had haunted him for twenty-nine years.
Most of them had looks of awe on their faces. He’d expected that. His tactics had been sound. He’d been lucky. He’d single-handedly defeated sixty armed Lumar, including Dulk whose lifeless eyes still frequented Voth’s dreams from time to time.
On the surface, Voth’s actions were a feat worthy of the Triple-A for Combat.
But that’s not the whole story, Voth thought.
“The image of me you will find in the Hall of Heroes,” he said slowly, “is both the absolute truth and a complete lie. It shows me standing among a bunch of dead Lumar in bright sunshine holding a belt-fed machine gun in my hands. As I explained, that engagement was at night, the gun was mounted, and most of those Lumar never even saw me when I shot them down.�
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“A lie?” a green HecSha student blurted. “You can’t be serious?”
Voth smiled. “Do you really believe someone just happened to be standing there with a holocam?”
“You’re saying it’s all public relations garbage?” another student asked. “Propaganda?”
“No,” Voth said simply. “I did what I said I did, just as the other Peacemakers and Enforcers installed in the Hall of Heroes did. What you will find down there is…inspiration based on actual events. It inspired me when I was your age. And I know it will inspire you when you go there. Every story in the Hall of Heroes is true, at its heart. The details and the holos might be a little altered, but I assure you, the lives saved, and the lives lost—all of it is perfectly true.”
“So, why are you telling us this?” a pale Sidar said, her leather wings shifting uncomfortably.
“Because,” Voth intoned seriously, “it is imperative that each and every one of you understands that we are not heroes. None of us.” The room went completely silent.
“We are Peacemakers; police officers,” he continued. “We serve and we protect, and we stand or fall in the doing. But before you draw the weapon they will one day issue you, before you take the life of another being, engage your head. Do everything you can to see the whole picture. Understand what is driving those you pursue and those you protect. Such information is critical, especially when so many lives are on the line.” His eyes bored into them. “Let me say it again…” He paused as something akin to anger crossed his face. “We are not heroes. We exist to serve the public trust and protect the innocent, and, yes, that sometimes means protect them from evil…or even from themselves, which is, by its very nature, a slippery slope.” The anger faded, and a rueful smile crossed his lips. “So, what does this all have to do with my story? Well, you see, I made a mistake that night…one that nearly cost me my badge.” He saw confusion on their faces. “Can anyone tell me what my mistake was? And I must add that, in hindsight, it’s arguably the most dreadful mistake I’ve ever made.”
He heard them breathing. He watched as they poured over his story in their minds, but nobody seemed to have the slightest idea. And then, at the back of the room, the Jivool student Instructor Droizhiun had called out for cramming for exams raised a tentative paw.
Both Voth and Droizhiun looked up to the dark-furred claws pointing toward the ceiling.
“Mr. Su Banai,” Instructor Droizhiun said. “You have a theory?”
“I do, sir,” the Jivool said, though he sounded doubtful.
“Then, by all means, regale us with it.” There was no missing the doubt in Droizhiun’s voice.
“Peacemaker Voth,” Su Banai said almost apologetically, “you didn’t check the Duplato’s story…didn’t confirm that Dulk or his lackeys actually intended to kill all the miners.”
Both the Sumatozou instructor and the retired GenSha Peacemaker stared at the young Jivool with a good deal of astonishment and respect.
Voth took a deep breath, and he found himself feeling the same embarrassment he’d felt when his station chief had pointed out that fact on Pemmick a week later during his debrief.
“That is exactly correct.” Voth closed his eyes for a moment, remembering the dead Lumar scattered around that dirt road, illuminated by firelight. Opening them, he explained. “I killed fifty-seven Lumar—laborers and criminals alike—including Dulk, the one I had been after. However, as young Su Banai pointed out, I never confirmed that Dulk or anyone else actually intended to kill the Duplato. Especially since Dulk had gone out of his way on Pemmick to not kill when he could avoid it.” Voth paused as a wave of embarrassment washed over him. “I took the Duplato at his word, blindly, and he could very well have been manipulating me to kill the Lumar, just as the MinSha had killed the Lumar.”
Silence filled the room.
“So, did he?” a HecSha asked, sounding almost accusatory. “Did Ginkhur lie to you?”
“No,” Voth replied. “But that isn’t the point. In the morning, after the Duplato miners captured seven of the remaining Lumar and killed three, I inspected where the explosives had, in fact, already been set. I even questioned the Lumar prisoners, and one of them admitted it. It seems he had a conscience and didn’t agree with what several other Lumar intended. I even checked up on the rest of Ginkhur’s story regarding Dulk’s motivations. It took some digging—three months of it on my own time—and it turned out the MinSha had slaughtered a hundred and fifty Lumar miners and families in one of the asteroids of the Sylphux system. It was all a vendetta—a well-deserved one, I might add—against the MinSha trader Dulk had first killed in the starport on Pemmick. The MinSha simply didn’t want to pay them. I should point out that if I or any of my own people had been in Dulk’s shoes, we could just as easily have gotten caught up in something like those events.” Voth paused, his eyes bored into every student before him. “Who among us would not do anything to avenge the death of our families, our loved ones…our comrades? But that does not apply to Peacemakers, regardless of race. As Peacemakers, are we not held to a higher standard? Both of intention and action?” He took a deep breath. “That’s the question you need to ask yourselves, every single day. I can’t tell you if things would have gone differently if I’d had more information. I honestly don’t know, but my instincts tell me that what happened was the only way.” He looked up at the young enthusiastic faces that would, in all likelihood, be wearing a Peacemaker badge in a year. “But that does not negate my mistake. It does not absolve me—or any of you—from the obligation we have to understand why we are pulling a trigger before we do so. Just imagine if Ginkhur had been lying to me and all those deaths could have been avoided. Yes, it was unlikely in those circumstances, but you will face even more complex situations in the years ahead.” He looked at them imploringly. “Always remember: we are not heroes, and we cannot behave as if we are. We are Peacemakers. It is vital that you understand the difference before you wear the badge and carry the gun.”
Voth went silent. He could see that he’d had an impact, and it was as it should be.
“Thank you for the privilege of speaking to you today,” he said. Without another word, he turned and walked out the door as the students, and even Master Instructor Droizhiun, rapped knuckles on desks like thunder.
* * * * *
Quincy J. Allen Bio
National Bestselling Author Quincy J. Allen is a cross-genre author with a growing number of novels under his belt. In 2019, his media tie-in novel Colt the Outlander: Shadow of Ruin was a Scribe Award finalist, and his noir novel Chemical Burn became a Colorado Gold Award finalist in 2010. He co-authored the fantasy novel Reclaiming Honor with Marc Alan Edelheit, released October, 2019. In November of 2019, he and Kevin Ikenberry published the novel Enforcer, set in the Four Horsemen Universe. He also has a fantasy steampunk series, the Blood War Chronicles, and book four, entitled Blood World, is due out late 2020.
His short story publications are numerous, including an appearance in Larry Correia’s Monster Hunter: Files from Baen. He has a growing list of novelettes appearing in Chris Kennedy Publishing’s anthologies, both in and out of the Four Horsemen Universe. Additionally, he has two short story collections in his Out Through the Attic series, and he continues to add to his short-story credits with each passing year.
He works out of his home in Charlotte, North Carolina, and hopes to one day be a New York Times bestselling author.
# # # # #
Last by Kevin Steverson
Chapter One
Peacemaker Academy
Ocono
“I disagree,” argued Professor Zeemna. “He is barely passing. He does not deserve to go on a commissioning mission.”
“Respectfully,” Professor T’Lanon said, “I do not agree with Professor Zeemna. I am in favor of Millzak being assigned a commissioning mission like the rest of his class.”
“You would be,” sneered the Veetanho. “You have babied that…that substandard candida
te since the day he stepped foot on Academy grounds.”
“That candidate has a name, and it will be used when referring to him,” admonished Dean Krithnaim. “All candidates will be treated with equal respect, regardless of where they stand on the order of merit. I will not tell you again, Professor Zeemna.” A Maki, both tips of his tail rose over his shoulder and waved slowly behind him, letting all observing know he was truly agitated.
“Sir…I—” Professor Zeemna answered, “I apologize. You are correct, but Candidate Millzak is last in his class. Last.”
The dean turned to his left and spoke to Professor T’Lanon. She was in charge of the after-hours study hall for students having trouble with their academic assignments. “Has he ever failed a course?”
“No sir, he has not,” the MinSha answered, a small amount of pride showing through. “He has passed every course up to this point.” She glanced over to the other side of the table to ensure Zeemna heard it. “There are nights, late nights, I leave him in the study hall assured he will lock up when he leaves.”
“Ask her if the candidate has ever scored higher than a marginal rating in any course,” Zeemna suggested, unimpressed at the dedication the object of her displeasure showed.
“That will be enough, Professor,” the Dean said as his tail moved faster, impatience coming through in his tone. He turned to the others sitting around the conference table. “Opinions?”
Captain Mullnark volunteered, “He can fight; that cannot be denied. He has good instincts and countermoves. He doesn’t always plan ahead in his sparring, but he holds his own against even myself.” The large Besquith looked around daring anyone to disagree with his evaluation. A little long in the tooth, the older Peacemaker still welcomed all challengers.