Hr’ent said nothing, but he nodded. His eyes downcast, he took several deep breaths before sitting down on the wet forest floor again. Hak-Chet wondered why, but he soon realized Hr’ent had done so to put their eyes on the same level.
“I get that, Hak. I do.” Hr’ent sighed, a great heaving sound that almost shook the ground. “If I do report back to Ocono, I’m going to be assigned to some shit-hole like Parmick and sit around waiting for mission assignments to be doled out. When I get one, it will be settling parking violations on Karma or something equally meaningless. Nothing as rewarding as what I did with the Pushtal, which the guild won’t even acknowledge.”
“The guild cannot officially acknowledge what you did, Hr’ent, even though we are in complete agreement with what you did and why. The guild cannot be seen as having a direct influence on anything outside the disagreements we are called in to investigate, mediate, and solve.”
Hr’ent looked up. “That’s my point, Hak. I can’t sit around hoping for a once-in-a-lifetime mission to happen again. I guess you’re right. I do want to be something more. Being a Peacemaker, especially one right out of the Academy in my standing, means I’ll sit on my ass. It seems so pointless.”
Hak-Chet leaned closer. His voice was low and firm. “I need you, right now, on Godannii 2. And by you, I mean the Enforcer I always believed you would become.”
“That’s where Rsach and the others went?” Hr’ent asked, searching Hak-Chet’s features. “Godannii 2?”
“Yes.” Hak-Chet nodded solemnly. “I need the Oogar who took out four well-trained Shadowclaw mercenaries. The one who controlled his temper enough to keep from killing his friend in cold blood. The one who tapped into his bloodlust, got the job done, and exercised restraint. That’s the Oogar I need to transition from Peacemaker to Enforcer. I won’t bore you with platitudes, Hr’ent. Your guild needs you, and nobody else will do.”
“I’m not as special as you say.”
“You’re not as special as you could be, no. But that requires going through the procedure and understanding what I’m asking from a physical perspective. You can sit here and cry in the rain all you want. If you really want to do more, if you really want to show the galaxy who you can be, you can’t be an Oogar First Claw of a Pushtal clan. You have to be more. Right now, your classmates are in trouble on Godannii 2. Some of them may be dead, I do not know. The situation deteriorated while I came here to get you.”
“You’re ordering me to do this?”
“Not at all. I can’t order you to do this, but I’m giving you a chance to do the two things you want to do: uphold your sworn duty as a Peacemaker and prove to everyone in the galaxy that you should have won the Apex Award. I cannot guarantee you will be recognized as the best Peacemaker out of your class, but I assure you that you will earn the mantle of best Enforcer. All you have to do is get up off your sorry, wet ass and say yes.”
Hr’ent looked away, into the dark forest, for a long moment.
Hak-Chet could sense the battle waging in the young Peacemaker’s head. Throughout his entire candidacy, Hr’ent had thrived on challenges from others, whether they were perceived or real. He’d shown, time and time again, his ability to overcome adversity. There was nothing the young Oogar couldn’t do, except make the tough decision.
“Okay,” Hr’ent said softly. He turned to Hak-Chet, and the wide-eyed look was gone. In its place was something like determination. “I’ll do it, Hak. But, I do have one question.”
“Yes?”
“What’s it like?”
Hak-Chet tilted his head to one side. “You mean the procedure?”
“Does it hurt?” Hr’ent asked. “Are there needles?”
“It doesn’t hurt. There’s one needle.” He laughed. “It’s not too bad. I’m certain the First Claw can handle it.”
Hr’ent snorted a laugh, and his maw curled slightly in a smile. “The First Claw can handle anything.”
“That’s why I’m here,” Hak-Chet said. “Let’s get to the shuttle. We need to get moving before the situation on Godannii 2 gets any worse.”
“You’re going to brief me on the way?”
Hak-Chet nodded. “Better yet, you’re going to have a team. The shuttle has two pilots who are trained in special operations and can fly a Blue Flight and a dropship pilot like no other I’ve ever seen. They’re specially chosen and trained for this kind of work. You’ll also have an intelligence specialist aboard the Blue Flight who’ll act as your eyes and ears. You’ll have a suite of sensors and equipment that can tap into the planet’s GalNet and Aethernet feeds and relay information to you in realtime. You’re not going into this alone. My rule is that an Enforcer never enters a situation alone again.”
“They have before?”
Hak-Chet nodded. “We’ve made a lot of mistakes in the past, Hr’ent. My job is to set about correcting those mistakes. I have lots of ideas.”
Hr’ent laughed and stood. He pushed the book into his pack, wiping off the raindrops, and then slung the pack over his shoulder.
“I’m sure you do. I’m trusting you, Hak.”
Hak-Chet looked up and met the Oogar’s suddenly intense stare. “I know you are, Hr’ent. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t believe in you. I’m not going to let you fail.”
Hr’ent took a deep breath and exhaled. The rain pattered softly, almost stopping as they stood and looked at each other. “Only one needle?”
“I promise.” Hak-Chet smiled. “Let’s get moving.”
“What about my bike? My stuff?”
Hak-Chet withdrew a slate from a bag under his arm and tapped a few buttons. “My team is collecting them. They’ll be aboard the shuttle before we depart.”
“It’s coded.” Hr’ent said.
Hak-Chet’s mouth drew up into what looked like a smile. “If you think that can stop an Enforcer team, Hr’ent, you have a lot to learn.”
* * *
Saasarra Spaceport
Peacemaker Blue Flight
They reached the spaceport an hour later. As they cleared the fixed base operations office and walked across the tarmac, Hr’ent counted four figures moving around the sleek Peacemaker shuttle. One of them appeared to be an Oogar female, but he couldn’t identify her at a distance. The Oogar moved inside, leaving the other three, and Hr’ent put it out of his mind as one of them approached. He smiled at the familiar face.
“Lieutenant Emonk.”
She nodded and smiled at him. “Peacemaker Hr’ent. I am glad to see you’ve taken this path. There are many others you could have chosen, though none like this.”
He nodded. “I’m not quite sure what to think about it.”
“We’ve got your back, Big Boy.” She grinned and turned, pointing into the cargo hold. “Your bike is stowed and strapped down, and we’ve moved your personal effects into your cabin. We took the liberty of sending your mother a message from your slate saying you’ve been recalled on orders. We made those up, too, but it works. No one is going to question your retrieval.”
“Thanks,” he replied with a shrug. While she wasn’t quite a friend, she was one of the first officers he’d known in the guild who seemed to operate without pretense. Everything Emonk did was genuine, and he appreciated that. “What are you doing here?”
“I heard you needed a dropship pilot. I’m the best in the guild.” Her eyes glittered in the lights of the tarmac. “Let’s get you aboard.”
They walked into the shuttle’s cargo hold, and Hr’ent saw Hak-Chet talking quietly with another Sidar in the open drop bay near his flightcycle. The two pilots, a Pendal and a Veetanho, nodded to him and scrambled toward the cockpit. Hr’ent turned to Emonk to ask who they were, but the hiss and sharp pain of a hypo-gun injecting his upper right arm stopped him.
“What the—” He tried to whirl to his right, but the world wobbled and fell on one side. Vaguely aware of the pain in his shoulder from falling to the deck, Hr’ent realized he’d been sedated about the time he lost
all feeling and control of his limbs. His eyes flashed up to Hak-Chet who held the hypo-gun and nodded at him.
“Sorry for the surprise, Hr’ent. You said you hated needles. I figured the last thing you’d want was to see it coming.”
Hr’ent tried to respond, but his mouth seemed to be filled with sand, and his tongue could no longer form sounds.
“What next?” the other Sidar asked. “We can’t move him to his quarters like this.”
“No, we’re going to finish the procedure here and strap him down with cargo restraints.”
“You want to strap him down here? Because he can’t handle the procedure or because of what he did to those Oogar?”
“Yes and no,” Hak-Chet replied. There was a buzz in Hr’ent’s ears as the sedative continued to take effect. He blinked once and forced his eyes open a second time. “They were well compensated for their injuries. Each of them knew the risks before doing what I required of them. Their accounts are fresh with the credits they’d earn from several missions for a single night’s work. If you’re worried about them pressing charges, don’t be.”
The doctor flinched. “But how can he handle both parts of the procedure in time for deployment? The first dose requires several weeks recovery time before the final sequence can be effective.”
Hak-Chet knelt down by Hr’ent and reached out to check the pulse in his neck. Hr’ent barely felt the pressure. He looked up and tried to speak to Hak but couldn’t. The Sidar patted the side of his face gently and stood, turning to his counterpart.
“He’s ready for the second dose. I ensured he had the first at the Academy six weeks ago, during his overnight stay in the infirmary. He’s been dealing with pain from the injection site ever since—as predicted—but there have been no other side effects. He is completely ready for the final injection and the next phase of his training. Prepare the final dose and get the simulation equipment ready with the agreed on protocols. The minute he starts to recover, the clock starts working against us. We cannot allow for any delays.”
“Understood, Deputy Selector.”
“Thank you, Doctor Avaj. I’ll get the restraints ready.” Hak-Chet looked down into Hr’ent’s eyes.
Hr’ent’s ability to focus was fading. He could only see a blurry Sidar face. He heard Hak-Chet whisper, “See you on the other side, Enforcer Hr’ent.”
* * * * *
Chapter Seventeen
Transit to Godannii 2 (26 Hours Remaining)
Peacemaker Blue Flight
Hr’ent woke abruptly and found himself in the very familiar surroundings of the gymnasium sequence built into the Peacemaker Simulations Library, or SimLib for short. He recognized the setting immediately, but it felt different from the last time he’d been inside—sharper somehow. In the past, he’d never really been able to notice the difference between the sim and reality. Now, for the first time, he could sense the difference. Just at the edge of his hearing, he picked up an ultra-high-frequency hum consistent with processing equipment, and there was a medicinal scent in the air he’d never noticed before, as if it had been cleansed, recycled, and then cleansed again. The simulation package worked to completely overwhelm a subject’s senses and create a perfect imitation of the real world, yet Hr’ent’s heightened perceptions could feel a barrier where before there had been a seamless environment for training.
For a moment, he did nothing but breathe slowly as he reached out with his senses. Their sharpness surprised him but did not cause any anxiety. It was almost a heady sensation, as if his whole life had been spent wrapped in cloth, and now he was fully experiencing the world. He centered his breathing with the first of the Peacemaker techniques, a simple inhale, inhale, long exhale, and allowed himself to relax. Most Peacemaker candidates spent their first simulation experiences doing something simple in the artificial environment. Exercise proved supremely efficient at mirroring physical response and mental control in an environment basically free of threats. As candidates progressed in their training, the simple cardio exercises—bike, treadmill, stationary row—transitioned to resistance machine work and ultimately the free weight exercises appropriate for their species.
The intent was simple. For long duration missions in hyperspace, carrying metric tons of weights for physical training made little sense. Even with high-performance engines, mass was mass. With a contained simulation event complex and appropriate crown and bodysuits, a host of options were available to keep Peacemakers from getting bored or sitting on their asses with nothing to do. Inactivity bred incompetence, and Hr’ent had often thought he got better muscle development from the sim-driven bodysuit stimulation of his musculature via electric impulses.
He sat up on the deck, looked around the gym, and smiled. It’d been far too long since he’d just pushed weights. In the effort, he knew he’d sweat, curse, hurt, and ultimately feel alive. He stood quickly, discovering a faint whisper from his vestibular system that indicated his body truly existed in a microgravity environment rather than the one before him. He grinned. Whatever they’d done to him allowed him to pick up even that faint sensation, giving him one more method by which to recognize the simulated environment.
He stretched his body and felt an almost nervous response through his limbs as they ached for tension and release. His eyes locked on the bench press, and he strode over to the massive weight sled and loaded 200 kilograms—his standard warm up—onto the bar.
He lay down, wrapped his paws around the bar, and inhaled sharply. With a grunt, he heaved up against the weight as he’d always done…and nearly tossed the bar up into the air. The weights rattled on the bar ends, and he felt his elbows hyper-extending with the momentum.
“Gods!” he exclaimed as he bobbled and steadied the bar before returning it gently to the rack. He sat up again, and a quick glance at the weights confirmed they were the same type and mass he’d used before. Even in the simulation, the taxing effect on his limbs should have been similar, but it wasn’t. Again, it felt artificial.
Like the hum.
With a shake of his head, Hr’ent stood and added 50 kilograms to either end of the bar before taking his place under it. Once more he pushed and the bar shot upward, but with a fraction of familiar resistance. Glancing again at the bar and loading additional weight, he pushed against 400 kilograms with barely an effort. The same happened with 600 kilograms. Finally, with 800 kilograms, the bar straining to remain rigid, Hr’ent felt the first real resistance as he grunted and pushed the weight through 10 repetitions.
Eight hundred kilograms! He sucked in a breath as he sat up in disbelief. A wicked grin split his face. He looked down at his arms. They looked the same—maybe a bit thicker, a little more defined. He clenched his fists with the oh-so-satisfying pop of knuckles and tightened the muscles all along his arm. It felt the same in many respects, but there was something there, just at the edge of his senses, that told him the power he could generate now far surpassed anything he had ever known—ever could have dreamed of.
Simulator or not, that felt…GOOD!
“Peacemaker.” The voice was deep—with subharmonics Hr’ent had never noticed before—and gruff, as if the speaker were pissed off and resented having to call out to him.
Hr’ent snapped his head to the right toward the all-too-familiar voice and took some comfort in the perma-scowl that greeted him.
“Hello, Instructor Davor,” Hr’ent said easily.
The Lumar drill instructor stood with one pair of arms akimbo while the others rested heavy fists on the instructor’s narrow hips. Hr’ent couldn’t help but grin at the computer-generated drill sergeant every Peacemaker candidate came to know very well—and hate—during the first year of their studies. Physical training was a litmus test for combat forces no matter the species, and those who fell outside the norms at the Peacemaker Academy were scheduled for regular bruisings with Instructor Davor.
There was no Instructor Davor in real-life, and while there were several Lumar Peacemakers in the guild, t
here were few who resembled the physical specimen Davor was, yet smart and articulate enough to get into and complete the program. Not that the Lumar were all dolts, of course, but those capable of higher callings seemed few and far between. Physicality, though, was not lost on them. From the first time he’d met the simulated instructor, Hr’ent recognized that the point of the exercises was much more than physical toughness.
In hindsight, being ostracized by the other cadets at the Academy had been a boon to his training. While they took time off for revelry, he’d logged into the SimLib. Once his mindset adjusted to the additional hour or two of training per day, it became easier, and he found he enjoyed it. As such, his physical examination scores soared. Unlike the other candidates, Hr’ent maintained a workout regimen with the Lumar instructor consisting of combatives drills and obstacle courses few candidates would ever see, much less conquer.
“About time you graduated.” Davor’s avatar gave a condescending grin in the peculiar almost-grimacing manner of the Lumar. “There are only two things left for you…one in here, and one out there.”
Hr’ent grinned. “The Gauntlet is next.”
“That’s right.” Davor said it as a challenge. “Your fastest time was 18:13. Have you gotten soft out there in the real world, Cub? Or are you going to show me you’re not a worthless, fat, pile of shit like the rest of them…just a dilettante fuck with a badge?”
Hr’ent wanted to laugh, but he kept his composure. “I’m stronger than ever, Davor.”
Leaving the instructor honorific out of his response caused no discernible change in the program. The instructor nodded. “Oh, we’re going to see about that, Peacemaker.”
“That’s Enforcer,” Hr’ent mumbled.
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