The Price of Peace

by Mike Moscoe

  “Skipper, one last time. You sure you want to do this?”

  “Stan, your whole career’s been ship duty. I bet you’ve got a dozen different ideas on how to take a merchant ship out without harming a hair on anyone’s head.” Her XO didn’t argue.

  “Me, all my duty has been using ground-pounders to do unto others fast. I’m going where I can do the most good. You’re going where you can. If we weren’t so strapped for people, we wouldn’t be having to choose, but we are, and that’s that. See you when I see you.”

  “Yes ma’am.” He saluted.

  “Give ’em hell.” She saluted back.

  She was moving fast. They had no idea when the shanghai ship would jump in-system; the Patton had to be a hole in space when she did. Thunderstorms were moving through the mountains. With luck, they’d cover the launch’s approach. It did make for a rough ride down.

  Izzy joined most of the marines in sleeping through it.

  • • •

  They had just crossed a babbling brook when the boss decided to make camp. In the half hour it took to eat and set up camp, the stream went from babbling to roaring. The day’s rains had been plentiful in the foothills; higher up, they must have been real heavy. Trouble swung his folks around to the high side of the boss’s camp. While Ruth led the firewood collection detail, the marine tried to figure out where to put three fires; tonight would be a very rough triangle.

  It took him three matches to get the boss’s fire going. Damp wood contributed to his failure. The kindling and moss he’d picked up early in the day when the rains started had not helped. After he had sweated and been rained on, the stuff in his pocket was no drier than the punk around camp. Ruth had returned to camp about the time the second match flamed out. She hung around while he worked the third. Before she could open her mouth, the boss cut her off.

  “Three matches, girl. Three. And you didn’t find all that much fungus today. No fire.”

  “You kept us on rocky ground. Fungus doesn’t grow there.”

  “Find me fungus tomorrow, and maybe you’ll get a fire. Then again, maybe you’ll sleep on a nice warm ship. Go away, girl.”

  Ruth did; her eyes found Trouble. The question was plain. How important is fire?

  The marine kept his head down too, as submissive as he could force himself to be. Damned if I know was hardly something he could get his face around for a silent signal. Not worth you risking yourself was also beyond him. So he faced down and gave her no signal. In the failing light, they made lean-tos to keep some of the rain off, found ferns that weren’t too damp to give them some protection from the ground, and huddled together to keep warm.

  “Have we done enough?” Ruth whispered.

  Trouble was a twenty-third-century military officer, used to going into battle with a full suite of sensors and mayhem at his fingertips. The last few days had reduced him to his bare hands and one of man’s oldest tools, fire. Had someone up there spotted his fire signal and understood it? Was help on the way? If the boss wasn’t just throwing more smoke at them, and they were to be shipped off-planet tomorrow, time was running out. It was time to come up with his own plan.

  “These belts don’t have to keep us controlled if we don’t let them,” he started slowly.

  “What do you mean, sir?” Jagowski asked.

  “It will hurt like hell, but if I get a running start, I can smash into that shithead before I keel over. If I knock the control out of his hands, and if someone else kicks it out of his reach and away from us…”

  “Kind of like soccer,” a spacer put in.

  “Only the goal is to kick it just a little ways, not too far,” pointed out the petty officer. “Meanwhile, someone else has got to take out Clem and the cruds.”

  “A bit complicated,” Ruth noted dryly, rain dripping on her. “But Clem has a weakness. He wants us girls in the worst way.”

  “Honey, he is the worst way,” a woman spacer noted.

  “All we have to do is distract him. Get close to his pistol. Then, we could do…something.”

  “I hate to agree with Ruth,” Trouble said against his will, “but it’s time to try anything. As long as we’re on this planet, there’s hope. They ship us off, and it’s their ball game. We’ve got to do anything and everything before then.”

  • • •

  The morning was half gone before Zylon Plovdic put her finger on what was bothering her. The outer office was crowded, and getting more crowded. And too quiet.

  By the founder’s rules, anyone could volunteer to do anything for the common good. Indeed, those who didn’t volunteer were frowned upon. Early on she’d discovered how much fun it was to wear the security armband. She could haul people in for a night in the drunk tank. Occasionally, she even got to beat up a problem. Yes, security was the place for her, even before Big Al introduced her to the added perks. Since anyone could volunteer for any job, she just kept on volunteering for this one.

  And she knew all the regular volunteers. Several were very good friends. Most of the people working today in the outer office were new to her. Strange. Very strange.

  A quick check with Risa added another oddity. She hadn’t briefed Mikhail yet. He hadn’t come in.

  Maybe it was nothing. She checked the volunteer sign-in roster. Three names were familiar. She flipped through a couple more databases before she hit on the right one. Oh, shit! Missing people. Most of the unfamiliar sign-ins had relatives on the missing people list.

  A glance at the clock told her lunch was an hour away. Still, she grabbed her coat and headed for the door. “Bara, Din, how about an early lunch?” she called to the only two faces she trusted in the bullpen.

  “A bit early, but okay,” Din agreed, and Bara joined them. Zylon set a quick pace for the exit, turned left, then alternated lefts and rights at each block. By the fourth turn, she knew a couple was following her.

  “Team, I think we have a problem. Ever seen so many strange faces in the bullpen?” That got a rise from the two.

  “The city manager didn’t come in today. I think somebody’s trying to pull off something funny. Those two behind us have been following since we left the office. I need to find some Elders. At the next turn, I want you to wait for those two, detain them while I get lost. Can you do that?”

  “No problem,” Din agreed. Bara seemed a bit less sold, but she was willing to go along with Din. Zylon made the next turn. The two immediately stopped, backed up to the wall, and waited. Zylon took off running. She was to the next street, across it, and heading up it before her tails tripped into Din.

  Zylon needed to talk to someone, but it wasn’t an Elder. Maybe Big Al would talk to one or two that were in his pocket, but that was his call. Hers was to Big Al. Something was happening, and it wasn’t what they’d planned.

  • • •

  Izzy loved it when a plan came together; last night’s storm hadn’t dampened her spirits. What was a little rain among good people who loved their jobs? The chief from Igor’s team had griped a bit; deprive a spacer of a warm bunk and a full galley, and he tended to complain. She factored his noise out with the thunder and rain. God, it’s good to be back with the Joes.

  The Condor was at fifteen thousand meters, circling between three very solid targets. All three were supposed to be survey teams. All three had been cleared by the same official from Public Safety, a certain Zylon Plovdic. Izzy wanted to talk to that woman. First, she needed more evidence—and her people back. She would hit Trouble’s team, then backtrack and take out the others one at a time. She suspected Trouble would like it that way. After three days of taking whatever these dudes were dishing out, she wanted to put her officer back in the driver’s seat.

  • • •

  Trouble knew they were getting near the end of this hike. The mules’ packs were empty. Clem and his crowd were joking more among themselves. Even the boss seemed relaxed.

  All morning, the marine, the spacers and Ruth had hurried their pace, kept up with the bos
s. Close, but not too close. Ruth had identified several large clumps of fungus. The boss was happy; he’d even spotted one. Yes, the hike was about over, and everyone wanted to end on a happy note.

  Then the woods got awful quiet.

  Every forest has its sounds. The wind in the trees is a constant. There are always insects, or something small that makes its presence known by rubbing, pecking, or squawking. They might quiet down if Clem and company got to laughing it up too much, but they always came back. At the moment, the trees were making the only sound besides Clem’s weak effort at a long joke. Next to the marine, Ruth’s eyes were tight slits. She glanced around in swift, jerky movements. “Take it easy, Ruth,” Trouble whispered. “Heads up, crew, and eyes open. Something is going down.”

  Gut tightening, muscles tensing, Trouble walked along, head dutifully down, eyes searching the underbrush beside the trail. Hunting for something he wanted to find. Something that, if he found it, would result in some private getting a royal dressing-down.

  If they were out there, the camouflage was perfect.

  Maybe he was just fooling himself. Maybe he’d better make his own play next rest stop. He figured to plant himself on top of the boss. If the others didn’t manage to kick the control far enough away from him, he’d be very dead in sixty excruciatingly long seconds. Nice thing to think about for the next hour.

  “That’s far enough,” boomed a voice twice the size of any mountain this planet had. “Put your arms in the air, and no one gets hurt.”

  The shock was enough to knock Clem off his mule; his hands were going up even as he fell. The boss was another matter. He started going through his pockets.

  “Look out, everyone, he’s got a pain controller,” Trouble shouted, even as he realized the boss could have slapped the controller in a second. No, he was after his personal files. They had his contacts, contracts, everything. Trouble did not want those erased.

  “Follow me,” he shouted—and charged.

  Pain shot through him, lanced his consciousness with agony like a white-hot sun. His whole body wanted to ball up around the hell that was his gut—but his feet kept pumping, propelling him forward into flaming pits of yellow and red. The mule saw him coming and, like any smart animal, tried to get out of the way. Four legs went one way, the boss went another. With his last ounce of control, Trouble aimed for the boss’s hands and lunged. Black agony and lightning were all he knew as he lost consciousness.

  • • •

  Trouble was a long time coming back to awareness. From far off he heard a corpsman defend himself. “Captain, I’ve pumped every kind of pain reliever I’ve got, both the standard and restricted. He’s still shaking, but he’s still here.”

  “Are you sure?” Trouble mumbled. And immediately threw up.

  “Yes, I’m sure,” the skipper nudged him with her boot. “Want to go hunting for some more of these bastards?”

  “There’re more?” Trouble wiped vomit from his mouth. Gritting his teeth and squeezing his eyes shut, he managed to will back a wave of pain.

  “Damn it, sir. You just tossed half of the meds I gave you. Want another batch?”

  Very slightly, Trouble shook his head. “I’d rather go hunting. Where’re the bastards that were pulling my chain?”

  The skipper just grinned and pointed. Handcuffed together, they hugged two trees. Their shirttails were out; Trouble spotted the control pods. “Who’s got the controller?”

  “I do.” A man raised the console. “I’m Ruth’s pa, Joe.”

  “Where’s Ruth?”

  “With Gunny. Learning how to use an M-6.”

  Trouble struggled to his feet. The ground rolled out from underneath him, and pain washed over him like hell’s own baptism. One of the civilians handed him her walking stick. “You got any spare armor, skipper?” he asked.

  A private handed him his personal body armor and helmet. As Trouble slapped the armor tabs down, he activated his display. The location of his marines and the topography half a kilometer around him tinted his eyeball. Two flashing red triangles indicated targets off the map to the north. He zoomed out. A Condor had them spotted about ten klicks away. “Looks like we got business.” He grinned and stepped off to the north. His leg collapsed under him. The skipper caught him.

  “Ever heard about Captain Jinks of the horse marines?” she asked. “You’re riding, man.” Two privates helped him onto the boss’s mule. The skipper held the reins, then started walking north, leading his mount. “Don’t go telling me this is embarrassing, man. We got to get north, and I want you there. I got a phone call this morning.”

  “Phone call?” Trouble wasn’t sure he’d heard right.

  “Yeah, the Patton’s on emissions control, so I got myself an unlisted number on the local net. City manager is on our side, and they’re trying to sort out the rest of the sheep from the goats. I expect things will get wild sometime later today, and I want to settle up with everyone here in the woods before then.”

  “Sounds like fun. By the way, thanks for saving my ass.”

  “Trouble, that was about the most stupid thing I ever saw, you charging the guy with the pain controls, and, much as I’d like to take the credit, I didn’t save your hide.”

  “Who did?”

  “Your friend there.”

  Ruth waved. “Gunny’s been showing us how to use your rifles. Good stuff.”

  “Am I turning into a wimp? She drop-kicked the damn thing, and went on to rifle practice, and I can hardly stand.”

  “Wimp, maybe?” The captain gave him an imp’s grin. “’Course, it helped that two of her controllers were duds. All six of yours were working. Turns out a third of them were duds. Poor quality control.”

  Trouble glanced over his shoulder. “I hope you didn’t put any duds on that bunch.”

  “Oh, we tested them. Petty Officer Jagowski was quite insistent. Checked each one to see that the skin was reddening around the controller. Turned it on three times to make sure.”

  “Jagowski’s a good man.” He turned to Ruth. “Thanks for saving my life.”

  “None of us would be alive if you hadn’t been here. Izzy told me the fires were a signal. Glad I helped get them lit the second night.”

  Trouble gave Ruth a wink. So the skipper was Izzy to Ruth. She must have impressed the old lady. “Did you get the boss man’s data files?”

  “We got ’em,” the skipper said. “They’re locked down. If it takes the ship’s team and computers more than a day to unlock ’em, I’ll have somebody’s hide for a rug. I want these guys. Just a hunch, but I bet our pirates and these slavers are in cahoots. Maybe not, but I’m looking for evidence to prove it. Meanwhile, we got some folks to save. Let’s pick up the pace, Gunny.”

  Gunny repeated the captain’s orders. On his heads up, Trouble watched his teams, some spreading out to secure their advance, others coming together to concentrate their fire. They were a good crew. They knew their jobs. He’d trained them well, and they’d saved his bacon. Now, he had a few things he wanted to fry. Trouble kicked his mule for a bit more speed; the damn thing was falling behind the skipper.

  It was good to have places to go and things to do.

  • • •

  Zylon needed a phone, a place to hide, and a way off this planet. She’d start with a public phone. As usual, Big Al wasn’t answering. Zef swore it was just his way of showing how important he was. A computer asked her to leave a message. “Zylon here. I got lots of unknown volunteers today. Two tailed me when I went to lunch. Maybe nothing, but I ain’t betting on that. I’m going to ground. I’ll call you again in one hour.”

  She hung up and started walking. She ought to get off the streets, but she didn’t have a lot of choices. One or two places might be safe. She’d try them.

  • • •

  In an hour, the marines and the targets had closed to within two klicks. As the skipper expected, the slavers were headed for the beach. She and Trouble laid on quite a party for them. Then �
�I got a radio intercept. Passing it through” filled Trouble’s headphones, followed by hissing and crackling as the portable cracker decoded the message.

  “Bernie, Elm, and Maurice, we may have a problem.”

  “What d’ ya mean?”

  “What’s happening?”

  “Where’s Bernie?”

  “I don’t know” came in two flavors. The boss had never owned up to a name. Trouble suspected Bernie was tied to a tree, savoring a whole new meaning of pain.

  “He could be down in a valley. These mountains are hell on reception.”

  “We’ll see. In town, we have a problem. The locals are up in arms. They cannot void the mining contracts. If they look into the labor recruitment efforts, it could get inconvenient. You may have to dump your cargos in a hurry. Understood?”

  “Will we get paid?”

  “A reduced sum, but yes, you will be paid.”

  “Whatever you say, sir.”

  “I will get back to you when I know better what the situation is here. Try to raise Bernie. I must go now.”

  The skipper had called a halt while they listened. Now she stood facing the sensor chief. “How old’s that message?”

  “Almost real time, ma’am.”

  “Forget the planned ambush,” she said, turning to Trouble. “We got a meeting engagement ahead of us. I’ll take first and second squad. Trouble, you got third, fourth. We’ll split the civilians between the fire teams. Any questions?” There were none. “Move out on the double.”

  “Gunny, go with the skipper.”

  Gunny’s “Yessir” had serious doubts behind it, but when the lieutenant made a curt signal toward the CO, Gunny went.

  The scouts in the vanguard split, one group heading left, the other right. The two fire teams trotted past Trouble, one staying on the trail, the other heading off cross country to the right. If he was going to keep up with his team, Trouble needed to hustle; he kicked his mule for more speed.

  It stopped dead in its tracks right in the middle of the trail. He kicked it again. It turned to eye him dolefully, any thoughts of obedience far from its large brown eyes. The civilians had been trailing the marines; now they passed Trouble. “Blow in its ear,” Ruth suggested as she hurried by.