by Matt Novotny
“Good. Here’s what we’ve got. The boys that hit us were hired hands, not mercs. By the body count, they had no idea what dey was walkin’ into. We only lost a few in spite of being hit with some heavy hardware, but that was still too many. A Sirra’Kan called Sin’Kura seems to be running the show.”
Amos nodded to BC, who brought up a holo-display. An image of Sin’Kura appeared, along with a stat sheet of all the information that could be found on the GalNet as well as some not so public databases. Alongside the image was footage from the cameras around the plantation. Babette highlighted the data node on the display so everyone could download the data as Amos continued.
“A few others of note.” Babette stopped the image on a burly, bearded man with close-cropped blond hair. “Yakov Smirnov of the Ukrainian Syndicate.” The display switched to a dark-haired man with pale eyes. “Hector Ramirez of the Bimbo Boyz; a group associated with several Mexican cartels, though neither of these groups has the financing to attract and field real mercs.”
Amos paused for a moment to let the scene play out. Bev gasped and turned away from the display as Ned Thomas was killed.
“This man,” Amos said, freezing on Ned’s killer, “is Ellison Hatfield. He’s a freelance fixer, and we think he’s the one dat hired the muscle. All four are priority targets, but we want ‘em alive till Bes and Sabine are safe.
“Last, Jac-son had a ship in orbit that was able to get a fix on a shuttle running for the belt and they went to run it down. We’re hopin’ dat the girls are on it, but it came out of the orbital clutter. We won’t count any chickens till dey in da pot. As soon as I know, den you know. Y’all’re gonna have your own sources, so get on ‘em. Coordinate anything you get back with BC—most of you know her. Those that don’t, BC handles our communications tech.” Amos nodded to Babette, and she waved.
“The Peacemakers have offered their support, but other than Jac-son, the best they can offer now is some help cutting red tape. Once we have more to go on, then it will be up to us to tell ‘em what we need. Any questions?”
“I got one!” Junkyard stood up. “We got a bunch of Olympians here and more coming, but we came loaded for a show, not combat. Right now, the most lethal thing we have with any range to it are the appliances Race was tossing around.” There was a general chuckle. “If we’re looking at real action, we’re going to need something better than the popguns we carry for the shows.”
“We thought about that,” said Amos. “Greasy, want to take that one?”
Greasy stepped up with Bev DiMara next to him. “That goin’ to give us some problems. Most of you have modified your CASPers so heavily that refitting them with a standard weapons load is going to be a pain.”
There was a general rumble of protest as all the Olympians tried to talk at once.
“All right now, settle down!” Greasy shouted, then gestured at Bev with his coffee cup. “This is Bev DiMara, she came in with Peacemaker Rains, and is a whiz at control systems. She’s offered to help if we aim in that direction. So, we have the bays and plenty of parts. I can handle the mechanical end as long as you folks remember how to turn a wrench.”
Remmy spoke up from the back. “I believe ah can help with that.”
“Bev, what do you need from us?” Greasy said.
Bev looked at the expectant faces. “Mostly what I’ll need is a recent system diagnostic. If you have those available for your CASPers that gets us a step closer. Greasy showed me the historical diagnostics for those of you participating in the Binnig program, but that’s geared for performance. If you don’t have one, we can run them, Ned and I—” Bev choked up for a moment, remembering Ned. “We brought our gear, and we can patch into the Cajuns’ equipment. Some customizations can’t be removed based on what I’ve seen, but resetting the control interfaces to handle standard MACs shouldn’t be too difficult. We should set up a grid to cross reference capabilities. What I really need is a program that can handle all the variables—”
“I believe I can help with that, too,” said Remmy again.
“All right, folks!” said Amos. “Let’s do what we can while we find out which way we need to jump. If no one has anything else?” The bay was silent. “Then let’s get to work!”
* * *
Peacemaker Regional Headquarters
Houston, Texas, Earth
“Look, Selector, I’m not sure how many ways you want me to say the same thing. I’m very tired of being ten steps behind. Access to Kr’et’Socae’s file may have something we’ve overlooked, something that will give us a clue as to where he’s taken them. I don’t see what the issue is.”
Rains leaned over the work surface that served Hak-Chet as a desk and glowered at his mentor.
“Jackson, I’m intimately familiar with that file, trust me when I tell you there isn’t.”
“Let me see for myself.”
“Those files were sealed for a reason.”
“Why?”
“Need to know,” he replied tersely.
“I do need to know,” Jackson said. “Frankly, if you had been more careful with my file, we wouldn’t have this issue. You told Amos you would help. So, help!”
Hak-Chet stepped from his perch and went to stare out the window at the Peacemaker Regional Headquarters, or PMRHQ, campus. Outside, the day was gray and glowering. Low clouds and fog moved across the Houston skyline. Rains watched as Hak-Chet stared out the window. Beads of moisture gathered and combined on the window, then ran down the glass as gravity pulled the larger drops down.
After a long moment, Hak-Chet finally spoke. “Very well. I will approve your access.”
“Thank you.” Rains approached the terminal.
“You won’t be able to access them here. Closed files are siloed,” Hak-Chet explained.
“Where then?” Jackson asked.
“The secure data center on Kleve.”
Jackson’s guts twisted into knots. That was what he’d expected, what he had hoped to hear. If there was any way to get at the files Kr’et’Socae wanted, the access would be in that facility, and Hak-Chet had just given him the opening he needed. Jackson felt a stab of conscience. It will be good to get a look at the Equiri’s file, though. And I have to get those files to get the girls’ location unless something else breaks loose.
Hak-Chet worked on his slate for a moment. Seconds later, Rains’ slate confirmed his access to the secure data center.
“Has your family come up with any new information?” Hak-Chet asked.
“They have lines on the two groups that attacked Sanctuary and on the leaders, Yakov Smirnov and Hector Ramirez. Both have gone to ground. Amos will be able to apply a lot of pressure, but when they realized they had started a war with a mercenary company they crawled into some deep, dark holes. I understand several of the Mexican cartels disavowed the Bimbo Boyz entirely. Amos wanted me to thank you for smoothing the road.”
“What do you expect he will do if he can’t find them?” asked Hak-Chet.
Jackson shrugged. “Whatever he has to. Whatever we have to. I think we’re going to have better luck finding Sin’Kura. She doesn’t seem the low-profile type. But the guys who did this are dead men. Amos and the boys have been in the game for a long time, and every one of them knows a guy, fought with a guy, or did a favor for a guy who owes them for something. It may take some time, but wherever they’re hiding, if it’s on Earth, eventually they’ll get dug out.”
“Will not Earth’s local authorities object?” Hak-Chet cocked his head in interest.
Rains shrugged. “Welcome to the Wild West,” he said. “They will. They may even appeal to the Mercenary Guild or to us if it goes too far. Earth was once full of conflicting laws, still is in many places. Entry into the Galactic Union changed a lot, but the concept of ‘might makes right’ wasn’t one of them. Neither is the idea that money talks, and a successful merc company makes a lot of it. Not to mention, Amos’ family isn’t exactly poor. There’s a lot more in those swamps than
alligator and crayfish. Besides, these are bad men associated with other bad men. The groups these people are a part of can cause smaller local governments problems. If the Cajuns take care of those problems, well, very few people complain when someone else shows up to take out the trash.”
“You sound like you approve,” Hak-Chet said.
“Whether I approve or not won’t stop the storm that’s coming. Just because the Cajuns claim me as family doesn’t change who they are. They respect the boundaries I work under. I return the favor by not expecting them to adopt them, and, as you said yourself, it’s personal.”
“Semantics,” said the selector. “Professor Flint would be proud, but it doesn’t change that what you are really saying is that the ends justify the means. I hope we have trained you better than to accept that.”
“Selector, I—”
Rains’ slate beeped. Jackson glanced at the message and nodded.
“I have to go, Selector. Time and launch windows wait for no one.”
“I understand, Jackson. Farewell.”
Rains headed for the door. “To answer your last question, I think there are times when the end does justify the means, but I think both the means and the end need to be considered carefully. I don’t think it’s ultimately about either the means or the end, it’s about judgement. So, I think you’re asking the wrong question.”
“Oh?” Hak-Chet said. “What question should I be asking?”
“When it’s all over, can you live with it?”
* * * * *
Chapter Thirteen
Remmy’s Workshop
New Orleans, Louisiana, Earth
Remmy slid a beer across the scarred steel worktable. Jackson ignored it for a moment, squinting at the man in the darkened shop.
“So, how do you propose we go about getting into the mainframe?” Jackson asked.
Remmy took a long pull of his Abita Andygator, savoring the full-bodied lager. He set it on the table, then leaned back in his chair and grinned. “Well, I plan on walking in the front door.”
“How do you plan to do that?” Jackson asked. He was trying hard not to let his irritation show. He needed Remmy to get this harebrained idea to work.
“Since we’re about to do this,” Remmy said, “and it doesn’t appear you’re afraid to get your hands dirty, I know some guys off-world who can get us some equipment to bypass security.”
“What kind of people?” Jackson asked, narrowing his eyes warily.
Remmy took another swig of his Abita and watched Jackson out of the corner of his eye. “Are you sure you want to know?”
He sat back and glanced around the shop. He could see parts from Binnig, boxes with elSha script, even some containers with Besquith markings. He looked back at Remmy and sighed. “Yeah, I want to know. I’m in this for the duration. So, no matter what we do, it’s going to come back on me.” Jackson finally reached for his beer and took a drink.
Remmy seemed satisfied with that. He took another drink of his beer and leaned forward in his chair.
Remmy held up three fingers. “We need three things. First, we need the schematics for the data warehouse in the Peacemaker facility.” He pulled down his index finger. “Next, we need to get the security access codes for the data warehouse itself.” He pulled down his ring finger leaving his middle finger extended. “And finally, I need to get a pinplant software upgrade.” He put down his last finger.
Rains cocked his head. “A pinplant upgrade? What for? Are you having an issue?”
Remmy laughed. “Nah. The Kali Boys have put out a new package for slicing ice.”
“Ice?” Rains looked confused. “Why would we want to slice ice?”
Remmy spit beer on the floor, laughing. “Ice. You know, computer security? Do you live under a rock? Have you never read William Gibson?” Remmy pulled out a shop towel and cleaned up the floor.
Rains squinted at Remmy. “You know I don’t have pinplants, right?”
Remmy shrugged. “I can’t help it if you’re handicapped,” he said with a grin. “You know, we can get that taken care of where we are goin’. I know a Wrogul—Squiddy does excellent work.”
Rains shook his head. “I like my brain exactly the way it is. I don’t need some alien in there monkeying around with me. Besides, guild policy for Humans is still no pinplants. I couldn’t get them if I wanted them. If I had ‘em they’d be disabled.”
“Suit yourself. I love my pinplants. I couldn’t imagine not having them. Especially when you can get augmented software packages. It’s like having a new set of eyes.”
“It’s no different than a slate or a good wrist comp,” Rains said.
Remmy held his hands up and rotated them to show there was nothing in his hands. The lights in the shop dimmed, a holo-projector came to life above the table showing Rains sitting in his chair holding a beer. The display was so crisp, Rains could see the condensation on his bottle. Remmy pointed his finger at Rains and his arm showed in the view. Rains was surprised. The image on the projection was coming from Remmy’s perspective. Then the image faded to a black and gray projection. A label appeared on the display. “UV only, 335-365 nanometers.” Then the image shifted to a mass of reds, purples, oranges, and yellows. The label changed to “IR only, 700-950 nanometers.” Then it turned off.
“See? Pinplants are useful.” Remmy snickered at his own joke.
“That’s fine for you. Can you really see in the UV and IR spectrums?” Rains asked.
“I had a nanite treatment after a mishap on a Haulers contract pulling some mercs out of a bad place a while back. Since then, I can process at either end of the visual spectrum. I don’t leave it on, as I lose depth perception on the IR side and UV-only makes me queasy, but both are whiz-bang in the shop. Nothing helps find a leak faster than looking at it in infrared,” Remmy explained. “And UV lets you highlight imperfections in materials that you can’t see in regular light. I have a flashlight that does IR only or UV only.”
“Seems useful,” Rains admitted. “But I can get some elSha glasses that do the same thing.”
Remmy shrugged. “It’s just one example. Pinplants speed up interfaces; they don’t make you superhuman. Besides, the average Joe can’t afford them.” Remmy took another pull of his beer. “So, where are we gonna find info on the security?” Remmy asked, bringing the conversation back to the plan.
“I have a line on a Peacemaker buddy who can probably get us the info we need for the data warehouse,” Rains said carefully. “We need to be careful about exposing my contact. I don’t want to get them in hock with the Peacemakers.”
Remmy gave his best imitation of a shark grin and held his hands up in mock surrender. “I’ll be careful, cher. Gar-on-tee.” He threw his empty bottle into the recycle bin. “You want another?” Remmy asked grabbing a fresh beer from the fridge.
Jackson held up his mostly full bottle. “I’m good.”
“So, your guy can get us the low-down on Kleve?”
“Yeah,” Rains said. “Since the rioting on Kleve, the Peacemaker facility there has been mostly empty. This guy helped design the security there.”
“Perfect,” Remmy said. “Once we get to the facility, you’ll go in. I just need to be able to get somewhere I can jack into their local network. Then we slice some ice,” he said, smiling.
They heard the sound of an approaching shuttle. Both men got up and headed out to see who was arriving. It was a Peacemaker shuttle. The back ramp dropped as soon as the landing struts settled, and a Pushtal carrying a bundle exited the shuttle. He looked around, and, as soon as he spotted Rains, he made a beeline for him.
“Well met, Peacemaker,” the Pushtal said to him.
“Well met,” Rains responded.
“Greetings. What brings you out here?” Remmy asked eyeing the bundle.
“I have Ravak’s pups. Her mate has been notified.” With that, the Pushtal set down the bundle and lifted the mesh lid. Inside were two Besquith pups. He handed Remmy a back
pack, nodded to Rains and returned to the shuttle.
The stunned men looked between the pups and the departing shuttle and then at each other.
“Congratulations, dad; it’s twins!” Remmy said with a grin.
Burton sauntered over to see what the commotion was about. As soon as he saw the Besquith pups, the big Lumar got down on his knees. He looked up at Remmy and Rains, his eyes wide.
“Can we keep them?”
* * *
Gendrus
‘Bastian slowly stalked down the hall toward the Torvasi guard. Sabine peeked around the doorway to their compartment to watch. She avoided being seen as the Xiq’tal skittered the last dozen feet and raised himself into firing position. The little mech fired, white LEDs flashing as its tiny autocannon shredded the Torvasi with imaginary lasers. The guard took a quick step toward the toy, then fell to the floor, sticking his tongue out and making a horrible face. ‘Bastian turned as Sabine ran into the hallway and tried to run past the guard station as the mech made a “TA-DA” sound.
The Torvasi jumped to his feet and intercepted the running girl, wheeling her around. Sabine shrieked with laughter. The guard aimed her firmly back toward their quarters, shaking his head.
“Okay,” said Sabine.
Bes held her hand out to the girl. “Come on, child, let’s get washed up and have something to eat.”
‘Bastian stepped up to the guard and held up both claws.
“He wants you to pick him up,” Sabine said.
The Torvasi regarded the toy, then stooped to pick it up. Sabine made a hugging motion. The guard held ‘Bastian in one arm and looked slightly surprised as the mech vibrated and made a purring noise. He set the crab back on the floor so it could run back to Sabine.
Bes regarded him as Sabine ran back to take her hand.