Prodigal Son (Rise of the Peacemakers Book 5)

by Matt Novotny

  Rains considered what he’d said and came up with an idea. “Okay, this is going to be way more expensive than I like, but how’s this sound…”

  * * *

  Cargo Bay C on the REX was all but empty. Amos had called an all-hands, and they spent the shift sorting and re-staging supply and ordinance to fit the current battle plan. The refit and maintenance of the CASPers was smooth and by the numbers. At the end of the shift, they brought in a Mk 6 garage queen they’d brought along as a spare, and Nolan told everyone to inspect it to verify it was more or less battle ready, although short of ammo.

  “Attention on deck!” shouted Nolan as Rains and Amos entered the room. The mercs and former mercs snapped to from muscle memory, some allowing grins that they quickly hid as the rest of the Olympians made their best attempt at a military bearing.

  “All right! Now we gettin’ down to it!” Amos addressed the assembled crew. “We’ve come a long way, but we’ve still got a long way to go, and we’ve got a short time to get there. So, listen up. We’ve all been caught up, some for family, some for friends, some to prove we is and some to prove we ain’t. But first an’ foremost, I want you all to remember that this a rescue!”

  “Blood for Blood!” someone shouted.

  “You right!” Amos agreed. “But it needs to be their blood and not ours! Dat means doing this smart. So here how this works. Ms. DiMara and Mr. Bouchard put together performance numbers from all dat sim work you’ve been doin’, and dem numbers need to be better than they are, so I want you to look right and left and then decide who you gonna save and who you gonna let die ‘cause you’re too busy fuckin’ around.” Amos held up his slate. The whole room sounded with chimes.

  “What you just got was a one gig contract with the Ragin’ Cajuns! If you was a merc, you’re getting scale based on your last rank. If you weren’t, you’re a grunt and getting paid like one. But if any of you was here for the money, it was the wrong call anyhow. So, when you thumb that contract for this run, you’re a Cajun, even if you was born on the wrong side of da river, like Remmy was.” There was laughter, and Remmy mimed like he was straightening his hat and jacket. “Anyone who don’t sign gets to stay on the REX and clean the ship.

  “Next! You’re gonna be five-man platoons, and the ‘toon lead and second are gonna be mercs or former mercs and you’ll be assigned based on performance. Three divisions and cadre are Colonel Reynolds, Commander Rikki, and Sebastian.”

  “What’s his rank?”

  “I let you ask him, but it’s higher than yours!” Amos quipped to general laughter. “Call him ‘commander.’ They answer to me. The op is mine, and the mission belongs to Peacemaker Rains. To cover that base, the original Cajuns and your cadre have been deputized by Peacemaker Rains, so if I die, it’s still gonna roll downhill. I gar-on-tee!

  “Last thing! There been a lot of huntin’ for glory kills in da sims. That crap stops yesterday. This ain’t Saturday night fights. Some of you done fought against Xiq’tal and Tortantula on the field, so you know we’re lucky if there’s nothing on Hope Station that tough.” There were thoughtful nods and whispers from some of the older, wiser heads. “If not, well, we’ll show you. Commander Rikki! Commander Sebastian! Dat CASPer’s annoyin’ me! Git it off my deck!”

  Tavvi dropped from the ceiling, thirty meters from the suit, and charged. Training rounds from Rikki’s saddle-mounted hypervelocity mini-gun blossomed orange as the close-range assault stitched the armor like swiss cheese. Reaching the fallen CASPer, Tavvi punched through four of the bullet holes and ripped the hatch cover off, turning and kicking with three powerful legs to send the stricken machine across the deck. Sebastian stopped the skid of the machine with a leg, then lifted the CASPer, grasped a leg in each fighting claw and tore the big machine like a T-shirt, tossing it back toward the retreating Tavvi where Tikki put three carefully placed grenade rounds into the open cockpit from his tail-gunner’s spot. Each exploded with a wet pop that sprayed the bay with paint pellets.

  The wreckage slid to a stop next to Amos.

  “So much for the results of in-person combat with heavy shock troops. You all got range weapons for a reason. Now you’ll be usin’ ‘em till you’re out of options! Any questions?”

  Amos looked at the group. Those who hadn’t ever seen the ferocity of Tortantula-Flatar pairs and the extreme strength of a Xiq’tal sat slack jawed.

  The bay was silent.

  “Outstanding!” Amos broke the silence. “Get this mess cleaned up. Move!”

  * * *

  The transit clock updated on the mess hall display and flashed an alert. Conversations stopped, then picked up again as those on the REX acknowledged the display. In a little under twelve hours, they would finally see what they would be dealing with. Tonight was both a time for quiet celebration and the hardest part of the trip.

  With a little luck, the information the Cartography Guild had on the system and Hope Station hadn’t changed that much, but they weren’t going to take any chances. Captain Lorm had insisted, and Rains had concurred, that they would enter Hope system at battle stations. They had run their final drills. Their plans were as complete as they could be given the lack of current information. They had done all they could, and now they waited, or worked, or worried, but as Amos said, “Them dice, sometimes they gotta roll.”

  A few hours earlier, as Amos was busy arranging his kitchen for the evening meal, Remmy had come into the mess trailed by half a dozen Cajuns with several sealed fifty-five-gallon drums and a cart full of crates.

  “I hope I’m not interruptin’, Amos, but if you don’t have the menu set, I thought I’d see if you’d consider a change.”

  Amos stepped out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on his apron. “Oh, and what might you be up to, Remmy?” Amos asked suspiciously. “What exactly you got in mind?”

  “Nothing complicated; I just thought with this being our last calm night and all, you might cook us up a treat. And it just so happens I came across a few things I thought might help. Have a look.”

  Amos waited while Remmy popped the seal on a drum and pulled the lid aside. A little water spilled onto the floor. Amos reached in and winced as he pulled out his hand with a large crayfish hanging from a finger. He removed it and tossed it back in, his eyes lighting up.

  “Remmy Bouchard, where the fuck you find crayfish for a boil with the little bit of time we had?”

  Remmy smiled, spreading his hands. “Well, some of the boys out at World’s End owed me a favor, and Tia was already flying folks back and forth to Luna. With all the hurry and confusion, somebody might have loaded these by mistake along with the other supplies, and, now that they’ve been found, it’d be a shame to let ‘em go to waste, don’t you think?”

  “If you looked more like your mamma, I might kiss you, but you’re gonna have to settle for dinner. These are gonna cook up so fine, I gar-on-tee! Dey’s a lot here though, so I may need some help. You do remember how to boil a crayfish now, right?”

  Remmy looked at Amos, startled. “Cousin Amos, are you offering to share your kitchen? I never thought I’d see the day.”

  “I know it’s a lot to take in, but don’t let it go to your head. What do you say?” Amos scooted out of the way of the door and held out an inviting arm.

  “I’d say we got us a boil on,” Remmy announced with a grin.

  * * *

  Rains leaned back in his chair and looked at the carnage in the center of the table. Amos’ and Remmy’s crayfish boil had been a huge success. The mess had been set up with tables, each with huge piles of steaming crayfish and blue crab, potatoes, corn, onions, bottles of two kinds of sauce, and a pot to toss the shells in. They brought out the largest steam table tray they could find for Sebastian, and since he liked his with a bit more crunch, occasionally, someone would take him a fresh pot along with a double handful of live crayfish and the shells from the tables. The big Xiq’tal had eaten so much Cajun sauce with his meal that his shell was almost purple.
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  Captain Lorm and the transplanted crew from the Turunmaa had come through in shifts, and even Anderson had broken his solitude, coming down from the Ptolemy, which was currently attached to the superstructure of the REX for the trip through hyperspace, mainly to allow them some flexibility once they reached their destination.

  Captain Lorm leaned back contentedly, patting her stomach. “I had no idea Human food was this good, Peacemaker. I’ll have to see about adding some selections to the provisions on the Turunmaa.”

  “Amos and Remmy did a fine job. Amos loves to cook. I’m sure he’d be willing to set you up with a supplier, but you aren’t going to get this kind of meal unless it’s fresh,” Rains said.

  “What did you think, Chief?” Lorm asked.

  “I enjoyed the vegetables. The flavoring for the crayfish was lost on me, I’m afraid. Though Sebastian convinced me to try some fresh, and those were delicious,” Chief Achatina said.

  Rains lowered his voice. “I know neither of you would have signed off on the REX without being confident in it, but I’m looking for some perspective. What do you think of the ship?” he asked.

  Lorm wrinkled her nose and made lazy loops with her tail. “I find I’m not a fan of new ship smell. Ships should feel…lived in. From a command perspective, I’d say the performance, so far, matches what you would expect from the design specs. Mr. Romero was obviously incredibly careful in his selection of suppliers, and he built with the whole in mind rather than the parts: elSha electronics, Besquith armor, Izlian design architecture, Buma communications software. Humans have a love of redundancy that other races don’t. The controls are more or less standard, interfaces are easy to change and customize, and we can bring up the interface we want at any station, so efficiently arranging the crew isn’t a problem. The REX won’t compete with the older ships out there, but the design is solid. There is more automation than I’m comfortable with. Things go wrong in combat and a ship needs enough crew and expertise to fix those things when they happen,” explained Lorm.

  “The engineers and shipwrights I talked with on Luna know their business,” Chief Achatina pointed out. “I have quite a list of refinements for them, but nothing critical. Mostly it shows that the design is by people who work on ships, but not in them. There are rough edges other races have already smoothed over. One thing I was surprised by was the amount of extra control over the fusion torch. We can tune for power or efficiency fairly easily, and a lot of what has to be done using computer controls on more sophisticated ships can also be handled mechanically on the REX. I think the engineering layout needs some work for ease of use, but it’s a good start. If you are asking if we need to worry about a design failure, I’d say no. If anything, the REX is over engineered. Whether we are outmatched or not will depend on what we encounter,” said the Bakulu.

  Rains looked up when he heard Bev laugh across the room where she was sitting with Anderson and Rikki, Tikki, and Tavvi.

  “I also wanted to thank you both; we couldn’t have done this without you,” Rains said.

  “Thank Selector Hak-Chet for giving us this assignment, Peacemaker.” Captain Lorm said. “Though I have to admit, shaking down a new class of ship and running Kr’et’Socae to ground are both pleasures rather than duty. Dealing with him is something that’s long overdue. And as much as I love the Turunmaa, it feels good to command one of the big ships again.”

  “I have enjoyed the challenge as well,” said Chief Achatina. “I have some accumulated leave I’m going to have to use, and I’m hoping Mr. Romero will be interested in letting me collaborate on his prototype program.”

  Rains looked over at the countdown to emergence. “Whatever the reasons, we’re glad you’re both with us. As far as knowing what we are facing—” Jackson paused as the hour flipped over, “—we’ll find out in about nine hours.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter Twenty-One

  REX

  Hope System

  “Prepare for transition in one minute. All hands to battle stations.” Rains tightened the straps on his couch. “Twenty seconds…” The lights shifted to red. “Ten seconds…” The crew was tense, eager to deliver some payback. Rains echoed that sentiment as the universe lurched back into existence.

  “I hate that part,” Rains said. He heard someone throwing up and Captain Lorm shouted.

  “That had better be in a receptacle.” The Cochkala turned back to the display. “Bring up the optics on the station,” he ordered.

  “Line-of-sight is obscured from this location,” Lattimore reported. “Permission to launch a probe?” he glanced over his shoulder at the captain.

  “Do it,” Captain Lorm said.

  Lattimore tapped several commands and a tone sounded. “Probe away. Parameters are nominal.”

  “Put it up on the main display.”

  “One moment.” He swiped and the main display came to life with the image from the probe. “I have it oriented on where the station should be. The probe is set to come around the outside of the ellipse. It should be clear of the derelicts in a few seconds.”

  The image suddenly cleared up and zoomed in on the station. As the massive structure came into view, no one spoke.

  “What the heck?” Rains asked. “Daniel, can you overlay the schematic we have on that?” He sat forward as a blue wireframe was superimposed on the image of the station. The existing station was three times larger than what their most recent schematic showed.

  “Sacre boucane!” someone whispered. Rains agreed, Holy smoke indeed. It wasn’t just that the station was bigger, it was beefier, too. They could see that it had been armored, possibly using plating from the derelict ships. And he saw numerous weapons pods from a dozen different species scattered around the exterior of the station.

  “We’re going to need a new plan,” Rains said into the silence.

  Amos whistled. “It’s gonna need ta be a right smart one, or dis gator is goin’ to bite us.”

  “Not to be a wet rag,” Captain Lorm said, “but how do we know they are on that?” Everyone looked at her. “I said that correctly, yes?”

  Remmy chuckled. “Wet blanket, but close enough that we got your meaning.” He moved to the comms station. “Can you check for a carrier signal? Our inside man—” he winked at Rains, “—should have set something up for us by now.”

  “What are you playin’ at, Remington Bouchard?” Callista demanded.

  He held a hand to his chest and gave his best fake hurt expression.

  “Just tell her,” Rains said in an exasperated tone. He was working with children.

  Remmy flashed a grin. “Sabine’s birthday present has some extra…capabilities.” He held a hand up when Callista’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Nothing too crazy, just an enhanced intelligence, communications, a kickin’ stereo system, and maybe a couple of weapons.” He said the last bit very softly.

  “Ya put weapons into Sabine’s toy?” Amos sputtered.

  Remmy nodded solemnly. “Normally, I’d joke about how you can never be too cautious but…” he pointed at the nightmare space station. “Besides, it was all checked out. I had Lucille make sure of it.”

  That caused Rains to start. Lucille. The near-AI that Jessica Francis had. How on Earth did Remmy have a copy? Maybe it was a similar program? It had to be.

  “So, what’s this about a carrier signal? Surely ‘Bastian can’t have that powerful an array?”

  Remmy shook his head. “No, he would have to connect to the station’s systems, and it would have to be subtle. Something Kr’et’Socae’s crew won’t be monitoring or looking for.” He grinned. “I programmed ‘Bastian to be wily, like me.”

  “I think I have it. It is on one of the K-band waves. It is really garbled.” He held a hand to cup his earphone, listening carefully. “I can’t make out what it says.”

  Remmy leaned in, his hand hovering over the interface. “May I?” At Lattimore’s nod, Remmy tapped in several commands, squinted at what he saw, then poked
a switch and straightened up with a demonic grin as BlueNabi blared across the bridge speakers.

  The sound was suddenly cut off. Captain Lorm’s badger-like toothy grin revealed she was the one who’d saved everyone from the audio assault. “And that is proof?” she asked.

  “It be Sabine’s favorite,” Amos confessed.

  “All right, we know they are there.” Rains pointed at the image. “But there’s a lot of station. How do we narrow it down?” he asked.

  Remmy pointed at Lattimore. “Can you pull a location off that carrier signal?”

  Lattimore was surprised at first then nodded and began tapping furiously. “Of course.” Soon, a spot on the station glowed. Because the probe was moving at an angle around the station, the image was slowly filling in the 3-dimensional image. The arm of the station where Bes and Sabine were located was part of the original construction.

  “Does that label say brothel?” Rains asked.

  Remmy snapped his head around and squinted. “It sure does.”

  “Oh lord. Bes is gonna be havin’ kittens,” Callista said.

  “If there are girls in there, Bes will have them straightened out.” Amos chuckled. He sobered. “Jac-son, how’re we gettin’ in dat?”

  “Captain, may I?” At Lorm’s nod, Rains tapped his slate to take over the display and zoomed the view out to show the system. “Here is what I propose we do. First, we seed the debris field with ECM drones and decoys. We’ll use them like flashlights in the dark to hide the next two groups.” He highlighted a blue track to the left band of the belt, and an opposite track to the other band and tagged that red. “REX and the Olympians with General Solo—” he pointed at Remmy with a grin, who barked a laugh, “—will follow the blue path and leverage the drones and decoys and knock the shield generator down. The Cajuns and I will then glide down the red path and come around from the other side.” Rains looked at the assembled team. “Questions?”