by Matt Novotny
Bev screeched as she ran back to Ned, pulling her shawl off to try and staunch the bleeding. “Help me!” she screamed.
Amos sat, blood from the vicious gash on his head flowing down his face, as he stared at Bev working frantically, futilely to save Ned’s life. “Bes?” he asked. “Where’s Bes?” He looked around blankly at the mayhem.
Race opened the canopy on Romeo Bravo. As he climbed out, he slipped on the gore coating his CASPer’s legs, and landed in the grass on his hands and knees. He vomited noisily onto the lawn.
* * * * *
Chapter Eight
Peacemaker Regional Headquarters
Houston, Texas, Earth
“What’s your status, Amos?” Rains forced himself to breathe through the adrenaline spike as he slipped into C&C mode. Peacemaker instructors called it “Command and Crisis.”
Rains remembered naively raising his hand the first time he heard the term. “Excuse me, Instructor, shouldn’t that be ‘Command and Control?’”
The Flatar instructor had walked over and hopped up on Rains’ desk, squinted down at him, and gave him a pitying look. “Rains, is it? Ever been in a crisis worth the name? Enemy on all sides? Plague and fire? Zuul and Depik living together?”
“No, Instructor,” Rains replied.
“You don’t get the call as a Peacemaker unless it’s a crisis. It has either hit the fan with wide distribution, or beings are queuing up to shovel it into the fan to make sure the supply doesn’t run out. At the beginning of a deployment you get to be in charge. That’s why you have the badge, but you aren’t in control of anything. If you act like you are, they are going to quit shoveling at the fan just long enough to bury you. Once you deal with the crisis, then you can worry about control. Understand?”
Rains thought about it. “No, Instructor, but I’ll remember.”
“Good. When you understand, then your current crisis will be dealt with.”
Rains mentally kicked himself for the split second of inattention and focused on Amos’ face on the slate.
Amos hadn’t noticed. Rains’ question had snapped him into merc protocols. “Jac-son, defenses are armed, four wounded, three dead, and two missing on our side. We pickin’ up da pieces! Last count was thirty-four dead on the other side. No immediate threat. I’ve got the boys out running recon. They had a shuttle out inna swamp. No transponder.”
“How long ago, Amos?” Rains asked.
“Less than an hour.”
“Amos, get me your surveillance footage, camera feeds, audio, whatever you have. I’ll see how fast I can get an analysis.”
“We’ll get it for you.”
“Standby.” Rains turned to Hak-Chet. “Selector, Sanctuary Plantation has been attacked by forces unknown. I need to go there immediately.” Rains felt protocol starting to crumble as Amos’ words sank in. “They have my niece and another captive. A shuttle would have left the vicinity within the last hour. Do we have any tracking in the area?”
“I’ll have the shuttle prep for launch and check on the tracking,” the Sidar responded, reaching for his own comm.
Rains nodded his thanks, then opened another channel.
“Ptolemy. Cargill here.”
“Captain Cargill, Peacemaker Rains, there was an attack on Sanctuary Plantation—those are the coordinates where your shuttle dropped off Bev and Ned. Will you check your logs and see if you recorded any traffic in that area? I don’t have a timeframe on the inbound traffic, but the outbound would have been in the last two hours.”
“I’m on it. Ptolemy out.”
Rains switched back to Amos. “Amos, we’re trying to see if anybody had eyes on that shuttle.”
“Thas righ’ Jac-son. There was a shuttle. You fin’ a shuttle? You…fin’…I…gar-on-t—” Amos’ words slurred and trailed off. There were indistinct sounds, then a new voice came on the line.
“Peacemaker Rains. It’s Bev DiMara. Amos was wounded in the fight; the medics are taking care of him now.”
“How bad?” asked Rains.
“It’s not good, Jackson. He looks like he’s lost a lot of blood. Who attacked us? How? Why? This is Earth! Not some backwater frontier world that—”
“Bev, I’m trying to find that out. Amos was working on getting the surveillance data for me. Can you see if it’s on his slate?”
“I think I—Yes,” she said.
Rains slate chimed. File received. “Thanks. Who is in charge there?”
“I don’t know. Amos was. They’ve sedated him. Maybe Greasy or Remmy,” she said.
“That’s good. Let them know I’ll be there in a couple of hours, and I’ll update you en route. Bev, tell them to make sure the IFF is set to transponder code two. Amos said the defenses were active.”
“I’ll tell them.”
“I’m on my way. Rains out.”
Rains heard Hak-Chet wrap up his own call. He activated one of the office’s screens then linked his slate and started scrolling through different feeds. He watched as the attack played out. Why weren’t Sanctuary’s defenses coming online? He saw the first shots fired, Humans in expensive armor. Heavy firepower, at least two crewed weapons. The attack was sloppy, though. Not Mercs then. Thugs. After the initial surprise, some of the drivers were in their CASPers. Not the regular units—the Olympian CASPers they used for exhibitions. He watched the mechs rip into the thugs. They didn’t stand off and obliterate them, it was all up close and personal. One fired a MAC barrage, striking a crewed weapon with—was that paint? There was a Lumar. That must be Remmy’s friend, Rains thought. Then he saw Sabine and Bes confront someone. He zoomed in.
Sin’Kura.
“I’m sorry, Peacemaker. They acted before we were ready. If you need to place blame, I accept it. This is my responsibility,” Hak-Chet said from behind him.
Rains turned on the Selector.
“Are you going to shoot me, Jackson?” Hak-Chet asked mildly.
Rains looked down and realized he had drawn his sidearm, though it was pointed at the floor. He thumbed the safety back on, then slammed the pistol into his holster.
“No, but you need to explain that. All of it this time.”
Hak-Chet crossed the room, settled wearily on his perch, and slumped. He was collecting his thoughts.
He looks as old as I feel, thought Rains.
“For some time,” Hak-Chet began, “the Peacemaker Council has been considering exactly the problem you wished to discuss. Like all organizations, we have made our share of mistakes. Usually, we learn from them, correct them whenever we can, and move on. In the case of Kr’et’Socae, this has been particularly…difficult. His position as an Enforcer gave him both access and leverage when dealing with some of the worst criminal elements in the Galactic Union. It was our failure that we were slow to recognize, and later slow in acting to counter, Kr’et’Socae’s ambition.”
Rains nodded. “Why wasn’t he stopped?”
Hak-Chet held up a hand to forestall his questions. “To a large extent, he was. The problem, Peacemaker, was belief. None of us wanted to admit the depth of our error. To believe that we had been so wrong as to create within our ranks an existential threat. The Peacemakers operate within a framework of freedom. We lead. We guide. Only when necessary do we correct. To make peace is to know the horror of war. To know its pain and its cost. There is no other way, and, as you so eloquently reminded me, Kr’et’Socae was also one of us. Our hesitation gave him time to secure vast resources, and his knowledge of our methods and capabilities has made tracking him nearly impossible. There was, and still is, the real probability of—” Hak-Chet paused to search for the right words, “—further contamination. We had to do something to draw him out. That was my mandate.”
“So I became the bait,” said Rains.
Hak-Chet shook his head. “Only as a side effect. Your interactions with Kr’et’Socae were a welcome addition to my strategy. After you killed his mate, you became the threat he cannot ignore; the itch he has to scra
tch. You honored the threat, Jackson. That is why you were sent to Force 25; you needed to be in a place where attacking you would leave him exposed. Snowmass fits that requirement perfectly, and it provided you with very capable allies. Once it was clear Kr’et’Socae had acted only by proxy, if you were indeed Thraff’s target, we had to remove you from Snowmass to protect Force 25’s mission.
“Peacemaker Ravak was overdue, so we presented you with the problem on Gorton Station knowing you would go. With Kr’et’Socae’s team nullified, the risk was acceptable.”
Over the Selector’s shoulder, Rains saw Vannix leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. The sunlight filtering through the windows of the Selector’s office made her fur glow. She shook her head at Hak-Chet’s words.
Rains swallowed the lump in his throat. “The cost was already too high, Selector.” Rains could see how every step made sense. Even how knowing about it could have derailed the plan.
“If I wasn’t the bait, what was?” Rains asked.
Hak-Chet paused, his expression drawn. “The data breach at the Nomis Relay Station was deliberate. We discovered Kr’et’Socae had an agent embedded with one of the maintenance teams. He was allowed to access the database in order to create an opening.”
* * *
Sanctuary Plantation
Louisiana, Earth
Amos’ world slowly came into existence around him. He felt the softness of his bed, the cool swirl of air from Sanctuary’s recyclers brushing over him. He tried to open his eyes but got only a soft gray and gold blur. He blinked to clear the fog, and the gold resolved into afternoon sunlight filtering through a window onto his desk.
Maybe I’ll jus’ rest a little longer, he thought.
He looked at the wall across from him, at the pictures of his friends. The original members of the Ragin’ Cajuns looked down at him from a frame hanging drunkenly from a corner. Several holes created a line of cracked plaster next to a picture of him and Louie standing beside a prize marlin they had caught, Sabine riding on Louie’s shoulders with her arms raised in triumph. That was a good trip, he thought. Sabine…
Sabine!
Adrenaline surged through him as the last few hours came crashing back. He surged out of bed and bent double as the pain in his chest nearly drove him back into unconsciousness. He looked down at his ribs, wrapped tight with bandages.
Might be startin’ to bleed through.
Across the room his comm chimed, using the tone reserved for the Cajuns’ broadcast channel. Amos staggered to grab it and a red indicator showed active encryption on the channel. Amos heard Greasy in the other room.
“—to hear from you, Peacemaker. You can put down in the arena and—”
“Jac-son! Dat you? Where you at?” Amos interrupted. At the same time, Amos felt Sanctuary vibrate as a loud rumble shook more plaster and paint chips from the crack in the wall. The chatter escalated on the broadcast.
“Did you see that lan—”
“Amos? You should still be out. Don’t get out of bed till I check—”
“Somebody open up a can o’ whup-ass, you’ll see!”
“Landing now, Amos. With you in five,” said Rains.
“I’ll be down presently.” Amos turned toward the door but was brought up short.
Fontenot was leaning against the door jamb, holding his kit. “Not right now, you ain’t. Have a set while I check that dressing, then you can go.”
“I don’t remember no one callin’ for a medic, Richard,” Amos said sourly, but sat on the edge of the bed.
“That’s because you damn near bled out and were unconscious. Be glad someone else had some sense, you stubborn old bastard. There was so much blood from that gash on your head we almost missed the chest wound,” explained Fontenot, checking Amos’ bandages, and then checking his vitals on his slate. For the first time, Amos noticed the med patches supplying the data. Fontenot scowled as he scrolled through the results.
“Bastard? Is that any way you talk to your CO? I’ll have you know Mamma and Pappa was married three whole months before I came along.” Amos tried to laugh, but it turned into a wet, wheezing cough.
“I’ll talk to you however I want ‘til you’re strong enough to make me stop. Now hold still.” Fontenot hit him with an injection that made Amos feel like his insides had filled with liquid nitrogen. He grunted. “Dammit, Richard. Warn a body.”
Fontenot grinned at him. “Had a bleeder. You’ll be okay now. You should take it easy, even though I know you won’t.”
Amos nodded. “We got anything more?”
“No,” said Fontenot. “Hopin’ Jackson has news for us. Greasy done good. Folks is warned off the party, those we could reach. We’ll see others trickle in, and we can either send ‘em off or put ‘em up. Most’ll be in the trade, so they know the score.”
As the two men talked, Amos made it down the stairs with Fontenot’s help. They stepped onto the porch in time to see Jackson heading across the common toward them. Next to the shuttle Amos saw a Sidar flanked by two Pushtal. Four of the company’s Mk 8s moved around the grounds, patrolling.
“Jac-son. You’re a sight for sore eyes, I gar-on-tee,” said Amos. The two shook hands which became a tight hug. Amos sensed how tense Jackson was. “You all right, Jac-son?”
Rains shook his head. “Not now. You’ve looked better. How are you holding up?” Jackson asked Amos, taking in the bandages.
“Ain’t nothin’ but a scratch. What the hell is going on? You know who these people are?”
“We have some idea, Amos. Is there somewhere we can talk?”
“Come on, Lem. Put your back into it!” Breaux barked as he hauled on a flatbed cart piled with body bags while Lem pushed from behind.
“What you doing, Henri?” Amos called over to the pair.
“Cleanin’ up the trash,” said Breaux, nodding to Amos and Jackson. “Good to have you home, Jackson. You met ol’ Lem yet? Makes the best moonshine this side of the Mississippi. Lem, meet Peacemaker Rains.”
Lem squinted at Rains, his glance darting everywhere at once. “Peacemaker?” Lem looked hard at Rains and went pale. “Rains? Rains, is it? No. No, no, no…” Lem muttered and wandered toward the maintenance bays and his still.
“Sorry, Jackson,” said Breaux. “Lem has good days and bad. This one’s bad. He’s been on the juice a long time. Probably thinks you’re after his still.”
“It’s okay, Henri. We’ll touch base later. Amos?”
“Yeah. We talk in my cookhouse.” Amos nodded toward the shuttle. “What they doin’?” The two Pushtal and the Sidar had almost reached them. At the shuttle, another group in Peacemaker blue were coming down the ramp and setting up equipment.
“Field team,” said Rains. “They’re here to see if we can get any additional information on our friends. I told them to coordinate with Greasy.”
“Good enough,” Amos said, turning as the Sidar arrived. “Who might you be?”
“Amos, meet Selector Hak-Chet.”
Hak-Chet inclined his head. “I regret your difficulties, Mr. Delacroix. We will provide what assistance we can.”
Amos gestured and moved toward his cookhouse. The door had been broken off its hinges and lay to one side, but otherwise everything seemed fine. “Hoping the coffee’s still good and—”
Amos’ dog Dewey hobbled out, holding up one of his front paws and yelping. He struggled toward Amos, leaving a thin trail of blood as he came.
“Dews!” exclaimed Amos, checking the dog. “You been shot. Hang on, boy.” Amos commed Fontenot. “Some bastard shot Dews.” It only took a moment for the medic to arrive.
Fontenot checked Dewey over and applied a patch to calm the dog. “Through and through, Amos. He’ll be fine. Missed the bone. You go on an’ I’ll patch ‘im up.”
“Thanks, Richard, much obliged.” Amos gave the now-sleeping dog a last scratch, then gestured again to the cookhouse while Fontenot picked up Dewey and headed for the house.
As t
he group entered the room, a holo-emitter on one of the tables sprang to life. Kr’et’Socae’s image looked down on the group.
“Peacemaker Jackson Rains!” said the Equiri. The gloating tones from the holo set Jackson’s teeth on edge. “I wanted to give you a personal greeting. As you took what was precious to me, in return, I have taken what is precious to you. Now you know that no matter where you are, you are always within my reach. I will allow you an opportunity to recover them. You will be sent instructions on what I require. Don’t allow your stupidity to cause a further loss of life.”
As the holo faded a loud beep started. Rains grabbed Amos and pushed him toward the open doorway.
“Bomb! Out, out, out!” Jackson yelled. Amos saw the two Pushtal grab the Sidar and hustle him out ahead of them.
They were ten meters from the building when the explosion hit, collapsing the roof and knocking the group to the ground.
Amos heard Jackson say, “What is it with Sin’Kura and bombs?”
* * *
Rains stared at the screen, then yanked the chip from the reader and threw it across the room.
“Does that help?” Vannix asked, watching as the chip bounced off the wall next to her to disappear around the foot of Rains’ bunk.
“Yes, it helps,” seethed Rains. “Someone needs to geld that horse.”
“That someone being you, partner? Think about it; this is exactly the reaction Kr’et’Socae wants. Don’t give it to him.” Vannix gestured toward where the chip had disappeared. “Good thing those are tough; sounds like you are going to need it.”
“Why are you here?”
“Because you need help and you are too stupid to ask for it. Because you are my friend, and you won’t let go. Because there are people who need you, and it’s time for you to be there for them. Because I love you.”
“When does it stop?”
“Never, if you are lucky. It stops when you do.”