Honor the Threat (The Revelations Cycle Book 12)

by Kevin Ikenberry

  Psymrr nodded. “I can’t just process a report, though.”

  “No,” Tirr said. He knew the diplomatic channels as well as anyone. He’d chosen a career of military service over diplomacy and could have excelled at anything. “You have to contact the Peacemaker Guild directly. This information can only be entrusted to the Guild Master or their designate.”

  “What if the legends are true? What if they can produce synthetic diamonds?”

  “That’s why they need protection from anyone who’ll manipulate them.” Tirr said and gestured toward the medical facility. They fell into step as they walked across the inner compound. “We need to make sure the legends are real.”

  “And if they’re not?” Psymrr brushed at the dirt on his chiton and decided to leave it. He looked as if he’d done something meaningful for the first time in a month.

  Tirr smirked. “Then they’ll still need protection, because the Veetanho aren’t going to let a thousand-year-old grudge fade away. They don’t do that sort of thing. If they find out about the TriRusk being here, they’ll come with everything they can muster and wipe this planet clean. All the target practice in the world can’t prepare you for that.”

  * * *

  Psymrr sat at the terminal in his office as daylight faded outside. The constant mist gave way to a brisk evening rain that rattled the metal roof in a comforting rhythm. The TriRusk youngling was sedated and asleep. With the help of the Archives, Fuul had learned how to set its leg and treat its wounds effectively. Tirr’s estimate of its age had been off. The youngling appeared to be only three years old. According to archived data, it should have been able to vocalize something, but it had uttered nothing recognizable to either the medical staff or their electronic translators. The only thing causing concern for Fuul and her team was the youngling’s bowel movement. Legends are sometimes true.

  Psymrr studied the Archives for an hour before piecing together his message to the Peacemaker Guild. The confirmation that some genetic deviation in the TriRusk gave them the ability to synthesize carbon in its purest form caused little shock and much concern. Only the Veetanho surpassed the Humans in their desire for the gemstones. No wonder they’d warred for generations and millennia. To survive, the TriRusk had to run even before the Union could muster protection for them.

  But would a Peacemaker be enough? Or should they send a whole damned army?

  Psymrr shook away the thoughts. Diplomacy had taught him, among other things, how to convey a message without really saying much at all. Being a politician was akin to being a magician, except sleight of hand became a nuance of words. Composing the message took no more than a few minutes. He packaged it, along with the standard reports he sent to the council every day, and marked them for the Peacemaker Guild station at Dryod Four. The request was simple.

  >New species found that meets Class Zero criteria for observation and possible induction. Request Peacemaker verification at the earliest convenience.<

  Psymrr tapped the transmit button and keyed a program on the slate. A cargo sled would depart the nearest gate in three hours. The message would feed into the diplomatic hold aboard the ship. In 173 hours, it would arrive at the nearest Peacemaker station. Depending on the station chief, a response would come 170 hours or so after that. Roughly seventeen Weqq solar days would pass before he could expect to see or hear anything.

  That morning he’d walked outside believing their six-month mission was roughly half over. Discovery of the TriRusk would almost certainly change that. All he could do was wait. The rhythm of the rain took his mind off everything as he sat drinking in the near darkness, but for one recurrent thought.

  Who will they send?

  * * * * *

  Chapter Two

  Weqq

  Two Kilometers SE of the MinSha Compound

  Seventeen days later…

  Jessica Francis swatted away a mosquito-thing the size of her fist and cursed the oppressive heat and humidity. Had she not been at the central response desk when the priority call from Weqq arrived at the Dryod Four Peacemaker barracks, the likelihood of her being assigned to the case would have been much lower. For the last three months, she’d alternated twenty-hour shifts on the desk with two to three days of intense boredom. Lieutenant Pt-dah wouldn’t assign her to anything more complicated than flying a desk until a species-induction mission came along. Jessica guessed the only thing worse for a seasoned Peacemaker was serving as a staff duty officer. Pt-dah barely twitched one of his thousand Jeha millipedal limbs before ordering her to pack her bags. The 170-hour jump across the galaxy gave her time to review the societal codicils of the Galactic Union’s charter. For the life of her, she couldn’t remember anything from her classes, save for a Caroon telling the story of how he ended his day and did a dance to remind himself he’d secured his office safe. Even the acquisitions lectures were more entertaining, which said a lot for the second, and worst, year of Peacemaker U.

  They didn’t really call it Peacemaker U, and she’d gotten a few strange looks from her classmates when she’d attempted the humor. They gave her their species’ equivalents of eye rolls and left her out of future discussions. Still, an assignment was an assignment. Mammoth bugs, oppressive humidity, and potential reams of administrative paperwork beat watching day-old galactic journalism or trying to make sense of Besquith sporting events. Jessica swiped a lock of auburn hair from her eyes, then pried a tree branch down to observe the distant targets.

  The setting sun gave the dreary, mist-filled jungle an eerie glow. As darkness fell, she relaxed her gaze to let her eyes adjust to the change. Human eyes could pick up movement at night thanks to photoreceptors in the retina known as “rods and cones.” The first time she’d heard the term, a crusty, mercenary sergeant major had scared the new recruits with his survival stories. Most didn’t pay attention to what the slouching man with the paunch and white flat-top said. Within a few months, all those who hadn’t listened were dead.

  “Nature doesn’t care if you live or die,” the sergeant major had said. Gods, how he’d been right.

  A sudden rustle in the bushes next to her made Jessica turn her head. Weqq’s flora and fauna were unlike anything she’d ever seen before and, if the MinSha physician was to be believed, deadlier. Her escort regarded her with iridescent, red eyes.

  “Can I help you, Peacemaker?” Fuul asked through the translation device. “The TriRusk should start to appear within thirty minutes of sunset.”

  Jessica nodded. “This is a good observation point?”

  The expression on the MinSha’s face didn’t change, nor did her antennae sway. “There is a spring in the valley below. I have successfully observed them here every evening for the last six days, when there hasn’t been a torrential rain.”

  “Personally? Or via cameras?” Jessica tilted her chin toward the thermal camera systems. She’d wired them directly to her wrist slate so she could see the images more clearly. From a full two kilometers away, there was no way her night vision, good as it was, would be able to discern much.

  “Via the cameras. Psymrr is not fond of direct observation. He believes it is a safety risk for the MinSha to be outside the wire. There are many species we have not yet catalogued. Many are fatal to Minsha…and likely to Humans, too.”

  Which is why, she thought, the colony leader sent a full squad of armed MinSha for security.

  Jessica realized Fuul was staring at her. “Is something wrong?”

  “The arrangement of your sensory receptors make no reasonable sense, given the shape of your head and how you move,” Fuul said. “And there is the most peculiar odor coming from your epidermis.”

  Jessica bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. Aliens typically said something about the smell of Humans during their first encounters. More than a few fights raged at Peepo’s Pit and other dens of inequity between aliens and Humans because of improper responses. Saying that Fuul and her kind smelled like a combination of burnt hair and wasp killer wou
ld cause an inter-species incident. “I didn’t design it; I just have to live with it.”

  “You are at a serious disadvantage, Peacemaker.”

  Jessica smiled a little. “I’ll try to remember that, Fuul,” she said, turning away to look into the valley. She let the MinSha’s words tumble in her head. The rumblings from Earth were the opposite; Humans weren’t at a disadvantage according to her fellow mercenaries. They’d been successful since the return of the Four Horsemen. Alien mercenary companies had hired more Humans than any other race in the past ten years. While this was supposed to be good news, Jessica knew casualties were higher among Human mercenaries than ever before. Having more in the pipeline was one cause, most certainly, but Humans were either taking riskier and riskier missions, or their companies were willing to throw lives away for profit. As the most recent planet to enter the Union and the newest species in the Mercenary Guild, the value of a Human life was equivalent to something foul at the bottom of the ocean.

  Yet, there were bright spots. The Four Horsemen continued to be among the most respected mercenary companies in the Union, despite their Human leadership. Generations of stretching agriculture to the limit to support a booming population made Human farmers almost as sought after as mercenaries. She looked down at her chest, as she’d done more than a few times since her commissioning, at the platinum shield mounted on her combat vest. Humans had a Peacemaker now. That it was her didn’t seem real at times—it was like watching herself in a holomovie.

  “Contact,” Fuul whispered beside her. “Bearing of 172.”

  Jessica stared into the gathering darkness and saw something moving through the branches and vines. Aside from the TriRusk, most of the critters on Weqq were small, not much larger than dogs, according to the team’s documentation. According to the Union GalNet archives, TriRusk had an average height of two meters and weighed upwards of seven hundred and fifty kilograms. “I see them.”

  With every second of failing light, Jessica strained to see something she could use to confirm the missing species. A faint mist appeared in the lower valley, increasing opacity. Within a minute or so, she couldn’t see anything. Too far away to hear anything and too blind to see anything, Jessica sighed and looked at Fuul, only to find the MinSha physician staring at her.

  “Is there a problem, Physician Fuul?”

  The MinSha’s mantis head twitched from side to side. “No problem, Peacemaker. I’m simply wondering why your guild sent a Human.”

  Not this again. Shit.

  Jessica felt a smile creep across her lips, and she decided to let it come despite her training. The MinSha weren’t very trusting of Humans and referred to them as smiling idiots or far worse when the ale flowed. “You want to know why? I happened to be working the communications desk when your priority message came in, and that makes it my responsibility. So, my being here is simply blind luck, Fuul.”

  Fuul looked away for a moment then down at a slate in her left, front claw. “I have the infrared camera feed, Peacemaker. You should be able to get confirmation.”

  Jessica kept her eyes on Fuul’s face until the physician looked up at her. They both knew an infrared camera feed wasn’t good enough for confirmation. She needed visual evidence, and she needed to attempt actual contact. If the TriRusk were feral, that would be challenging. “Have you attempted to contact them?”

  Fuul flinched visibly. “Your initial briefing covered our full gamut of—”

  “Stop,” Jessica said. The MinSha’s jaw clicked shut. “Have you attempted contact?”

  “No. My instructions were to wait for a Peacemaker,” Fuul said. She turned as one of the larger MinSha guards rumbled through the brush toward them. Their clicks and squeals were indecipherable to Humans without a translator, but Jessica didn’t need one to detect the concern in the guard’s voice. “There are a lot of nocturnal species that are quite deadly. We’ve been asked to return to Sub-Bravo.”

  Jessica squinted. “Where?”

  Fuul paused and clicked a chuckle that made Jessica seethe. “You misunderstood our briefing. We are at Sub-Compound Bravo. The main compound is three hundred kilometers to the southeast, along the shoreline. Sub-Compound…is it Charlie?...is located in the mountains to the east, only about fifty kilometers away, but it’s a small detachment, much smaller than this location.”

  “I see.” Jessica nodded. She’d called them Main, Colony 2, and Colony 3 in her briefings. Making herself call them Sub-Compound’s would be easy enough, but the layout of the bases and their manning confused her. “So, the main compound is on the shoreline, this is the main research facility, and there’s another, smaller facility in the mountains. Do I have that right?”

  “Yes, Peacemaker.”

  “What’s in the mountains?”

  Fuul shook her head. “What did you ask?”

  “You’re here to study the flora and fauna in this tropical region. Some of the reports you sent over the last six months say you’re exploring that field pretty well. The main compound is on the shoreline, allowing you to research the ocean and the littoral waters nearby. I assumed the mountain facility was the same size and has a similar mission, but you said it’s smaller. That doesn’t make sense to me.”

  Fuul continued to gather her things. “We need to get moving.”

  A low, guttural sound filtered down from the canopy. Jessica got to her feet and pushed through the damp, heavy vegetation to the guard’s position. The MinSha stood, readied their long, laser rifles, and marched toward the compound. Jessica stayed close to the MinSha guard in front of her. They had about fifteen minutes of twilight remaining, and if they didn’t get back to the compound quickly enough, she wouldn’t be able to see a foot in front of her. The shorter day on Weqq played tricks on her ability to judge time. In her sparsely furnished quarters inside the compound, neatly tucked into her field kit, was a set of night vision glasses that would have been nice to have. She wouldn’t underestimate how long the daylight would last again.

  Rain splattered down through the canopy as they walked. At first, the cold drops felt glorious on her skin, but the more they walked, the more dreary and cold the precipitation became.

  My gloves are in my kit, too, she thought with a frown. Don’t do this again, Bulldog. Getting a quick look at the terrain is one thing. Doing it at a complete disadvantage to yourself is totally different.

  At least it’s warm enough that my hands won’t freeze.

  She snorted at the memory. When she’d first joined Marc Lemieux and his Marauders, they’d done all sorts of training in harsh environments to “toughen up the recruits.” More often than not, recruits were injured or killed in Lemieux’s crazy push for combat readiness. Common sense didn’t seem to factor into his plans. During a particularly awful training period in the Pacific Northwest, the cold and rain nagged at the company for more than three days. Warming tents that were supposed to have heaters didn’t, and even the coffee was cold. The land navigation course was hell.

  Marc sent them out with twenty-year-old maps, lensatic compasses purchased at a thrift store in downtown Fresno, and instructions not to use any roads or vehicle trails. They had to “break brush” to complete the course. Stepping off with a six-point course to complete in less than eight hours seemed like an easy thing to do, until the cold rain intensified, and she pushed through her first thicket. After a few hours of breaking brush, she had only found two of the six points, and her cold, shriveled hands had curled into useless fists. She’d quit trying and marched down the nearest road to the warming tents, only to find most of the company already there. Marc had even had the audacity to put on dry, warmer clothes. The “missing” heaters were there, running hot. As the new recruits came in, Marc and the others hooted and hollered at them for being stupid enough to stay out in the cold and rain.

  Jessica never bothered to enter the tent. When the trucks came to pick them up and return them to their temporary barracks, she stood by herself at the loading point as Lemieux an
d the others approached. His face broke when he saw her, the aw-shucks grin shattered by the disappointment on her face. He tried for years to make it up to her.

  Here, though, the weather was warm and the rain nowhere near as cold as that Oregon day. It matted her hair and ran down her neck under her coveralls, but Jessica didn’t really mind. It felt good as it cleaned off the feeling of helplessness from months at the staff duty desk. She was doing something again, and while it didn’t rate anywhere near what she’d done at Araf—

  The thought froze, and she stopped. The open gate to the compound was only fifteen meters away, and the MinSha swept past her, but she didn’t notice. Something was wrong. There were eyes on her, intelligent ones. Her skin crawled, and she looked over her shoulder into the darkness. She swept her hair behind her left ear and touched the earpiece.

  <>

  “Sensor sweep, Lucille. Tie into the MinSha’s network, if you can.”

  <>

  “Understood, enhance what you can. Something’s out there.” Jessica frowned. I can feel it.

  Lucille’s voice returned ten seconds later. <>

  “Acknowledged.”

  Jessica looked back at the looming darkness of the jungle. The cacophony of calls from unearthly species, on the ground and in the canopy, gave the oppressive night an eerie soundtrack. A chorus of hisses rose from the low brush, and two of the MinSha guards stepped forward, their rifles ready to fire.

  <>

  “Get inside, Peacemaker. Now!” one of them barked at her.