Prodigal Son (Rise of the Peacemakers Book 5)

by Matt Novotny

  “No,” Hak-Chet agreed. He tilted his head as he watched Rains. “Do you remember our conversations when you first came back to Earth?”

  Rains’ gaze snapped back to the Selector. “I do.” Rains felt his face redden. He remembered how angry he had been that nothing was being done, and later, that Hak-Chet would put so many people at risk to draw the Equiri out. “I was wrong. I’m sorry.”

  “No, Jackson, almost everything you said was correct, but being correct is not the same as being right. Neither is it wrong. Sometimes we don’t get to do what is right, no matter how much we want to. Sometimes necessary is the best we can do. When you did what was necessary. You went all the way to Hope Station, regardless of the cost, regardless of the consequences, and for you, things will never be the same.”

  “Yes,” Jackson reluctantly agreed and dropped his gaze to his hands.

  “When I did what was necessary, Jackson, I sent you.”

  Jackson nodded, rubbing his eyes. The reaction to the release of stress was finally catching up to him. “I understand. There’s one last thing. Can you offer any help where Ellison Hatfield is concerned? Amos’ people were able to run down the others who attacked Sanctuary, but Hatfield is still in the wind.”

  “Ellison Hatfield is off planet. We have some leads, but it concerns another operation I can’t discuss at this time. However, I give you my word that matter will be taken care of,” Hak-Chet assured him.

  “Good enough. I’ll tell Amos. What’s next?”

  “Next, you take some leave, spend some time at home and recover your strength. While you are there, make sure your people are ready to go at a moment’s notice. When your leave is up, you will head back to Snowmass. Force 25 is in final preparations now. I’ll be in touch with you regarding your—and their—next mission soon,” Hak-Chet said rising and offering a hand. It was a dismissal.

  That suited Rains just fine.

  * * *

  Sanctuary Plantation

  Louisiana, Earth

  “Peacemaker?”

  Rains turned, and for a few seconds he didn’t recognize the man. Then he smiled. “Lem. Well met. It looks like the last few months have been good for you.”

  Clear eyes looked out from Lem’s ruddy face. What little hair Lem had left was neatly trimmed, a brown halo shot through with white and gray, and his wild beard had been tamed to a rough stubble. He wore clean coveralls with a plaid cotton shirt and nearly new work boots. He was clutching a battered paper bag in one hand so hard his knuckles were white.

  Lem nodded, looking around. “They have been. The attack on Sanctuary, seeing my friends die. It was terrible, but it made me think about how much I owed these people. They took me in when I had nothing left. Saved my life.” Lem stared off into the distance. “I’m not the man I used to be. I’m not!” he said desperately.

  “Lem, what’s this about?” Rains asked. He didn’t know much about the man other than Amos vouched for him.

  “Thank you for saving Sabine!” Lem blurted. “I’m sorry, Peacemaker, this is hard for me. I just want so much to help. I’ve done…terrible things. Things I’m ashamed of. Things I need to make right, if I can.” Tears welled up in his eyes.

  “Lem, it’s okay. Whatever it is, we can talk it through.” Rains couldn’t help but feel sorry for the man.

  “I want to believe that. I do. But I don’t deserve it. I need you to know how sorry I am.” Lem handed Rains the paper bag. “This is yours. When I saw you—when you came to help, I knew…and I’m sorry.”

  Rains reached into the bag and removed the contents. It was a small plastic case with a signed baseball.

  “Where did you get this?” Rains asked, his heart hammering in his chest. Emotions threatened to overwhelm him.

  “My name is—was, Arthwaite Lemburg. I worked as the personnel director for the Aces High mercenary company. I…ruined your life, and too many others. It was after your parents were killed that I—I quit. I hated them, and I hated myself for what I had become. I crawled into a bottle and stayed there. It let me forget. Sometimes. That baseball came in a box of personal effects. Your mother—your mother was killed before I could send it to her. I kept it to remind me of the lives I destroyed. I won’t ask you to forgive me. Nothing I can do will make up for what I’ve done. But you deserved to know.”

  Rains stared at the baseball, memories breaking on him like waves on a shore: his father, his mother, Arthwaite’s face from the call to his mother, the only time he’d seen the man. He could see it now, superimposed over the face of Lem, the broken, shaking man, waiting for Rains to save or damn him. He clenched the baseball, the case cutting into his fingers. He looked at Lem and wanted to hate him.

  He didn’t.

  Rains took a deep breath. “Lem, thank you for returning this, for keeping it safe all this time. My life wasn’t ruined. When I was a boy, I thought it was, but looking back…It was hard, and I wish that it had been different from what it was. I miss what I think it might have been, but the hard parts brought me here. The hard parts made me who I am, and without them, there are so many things, so many people, I would have missed.” He met Lem’s gaze. “And those I wouldn’t trade for anything.”

  Rains heard an echo of his father’s voice. You are what you do when it matters.

  Lem looked at Rains, hope in his eyes.

  “I’m sorry, Lem, I can’t forgive you,” Rains said.

  Lem looked down. His head bobbing. “I understand I just—”

  “I loved my parents, and they loved me. I don’t know what part you played in the things that led to their deaths. I doubt after all this time you do either. I do know that they both made choices. I can’t forgive you because I don’t blame you, and I don’t hate you, either.” As Rains said the words, he realized he believed them, that as hard as his life had been, he wouldn’t replace a moment, knowing it would change who he had become.

  Lem looked up again, startled.

  Rains offered his hand. Lem took it. “Thank you again,” said Rains. “For this.” He held up the baseball. “Whatever demons you are wrestling with, Lem, don’t let any of them stay on my account. I’d say you’ve already made a good start. Keep going.”

  “I will, Peacemaker. Thank you,” Lem said, tears of gratitude in his eyes.

  Rains watched him go, then turned and looked out over the water. A full moon was just starting to rise, shining through the trees. The sharp, piney smell of the cypress took him back.

  “That was good advice, partner. You should take it,” said Vannix. Rains looked down and saw her reflection in the water.

  “I’m working on it. Even though I’m learning to like having my demons around, I’m still not sure what to do without them,” Rains half-joked.

  Vannix snorted. “We both know that isn’t true. You’re doing well. You don’t need me hanging around anymore.”

  “Need and want are two different things. I miss my partner.”

  “Places to go. People to do.”

  “I love you, Vannix. I’m not going to say goodbye.”

  “I love you, Jackson, and you don’t have to, not completely. I’m always right here.” Rains felt her touch on his heart. “So maybe not goodbye. Maybe just farewell.”

  “What’s the difference?” Jackson asked. Tears streamed down his face, but he could still feel Vannix’s touch. It would stay with him for the rest of his life.

  “Love is forever,” Vannix said.

  Then she was gone.

  Rains took a few deep breaths. The cypress had one last message for him. “Be True,” it reminded him.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I’ve got this.”

  “Hey! Rains!” Bev yelled. He saw they had started a fire and music was starting to fill the air. “Come dance with me!”

  Rains gave a last look at the trees and the water and weighed the heft of his dad’s baseball. He had the perfect spot for it.

  “Hang on, Bev! I’m on my way!”

  # # # # #


  About Matt Novotny

  Matt Novotny is a writer of short fantasy, horror, and military science fiction, and he abuses the world of songwriting with Filks. He works professionally in the ARM industry where he has worn a variety of hats including Systems Administrator, IT Project Manager, and Corporate Trainer. He spends any spare time playing RPG’s, backpacking, or antiquing. Matt and his girlfriend make their home in Littleton, Colorado, surrounded by ever-increasing piles of books, creepy collectables, and unfinished home and garden projects.

  * * *

  About Mark Stallings

  Mark Stallings is a member of Pikes Peak Writers, speaks at international conferences on technology topics, is a writer of Wuxia, Fantasy, Thrillers, and Military Sci Fi. He is a competitive shooter, avid martial artist, drinker of craft beer, and motorcycle enthusiast. Mark is currently working on a fantasy trilogy due out later this year. You can find him at MarkStallings dot com.

  # # # # #

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  The following is an

  Excerpt from Book One of the Salvage Title Trilogy:

  Salvage Title

  ___________________

  Kevin Steverson

  Now Available from Theogony Books

  eBook, Paperback, and Audio

  Excerpt from “Salvage Title:”

  A steady beeping brought Harmon back to the present. Clip’s program had succeeded in unlocking the container. “Right on!” Clip exclaimed. He was always using expressions hundreds or more years out of style. “Let’s see what we have; I hope this one isn’t empty, too.” Last month they’d come across a smaller vault, but it had been empty.

  Harmon stepped up and wedged his hands into the small opening the door had made when it disengaged the locks. There wasn’t enough power in the small cells Clip used to open it any further. He put his weight into it, and the door opened enough for them to get inside. Before they went in, Harmon placed a piece of pipe in the doorway so it couldn’t close and lock on them, baking them alive before anyone realized they were missing.

  Daylight shone in through the doorway, and they both froze in place; the weapons vault was full. In it were two racks of rifles, stacked on top of each other. One held twenty magnetic kinetic rifles, and the other held some type of laser rifle. There was a rack of pistols of various types. There were three cases of flechette grenades and one of thermite. There were cases of ammunition and power clips for the rifles and pistols, and all the weapons looked to be in good shape, even if they were of a strange design and clearly not made in this system. Harmon couldn’t tell what system they had been made in, but he could tell what they were.

  There were three upright containers on one side and three more against the back wall that looked like lockers. Five of the containers were not locked, so Clip opened them. The first three each held two sets of light battle armor that looked like it was designed for a humanoid race with four arms. The helmets looked like the ones Harmon had worn at the academy, but they were a little long in the face. The next container held a heavy battle suit—one that could be sealed against vacuum. It was also designed for a being with four arms. All the armor showed signs of wear, with scuffed helmets. The fifth container held shelves with three sizes of power cells on them. The largest power cells—four of them—were big enough to run a mech.

  Harmon tried to force the handle open on the last container, thinking it may have gotten stuck over time, but it was locked and all he did was hurt his hand. The vault seemed like it had been closed for years.

  Clip laughed and said, “That won’t work. It’s not age or metal fatigue keeping the door closed. Look at this stuff. It may be old, but it has been sealed in for years. It’s all in great shape.”

  “Well, work some of your tech magic then, ‘Puter Boy,” Harmon said, shaking out his hand.

  Clip pulled out a small laser pen and went to work on the container. It took another ten minutes, but finally he was through to the locking mechanism. It didn’t take long after that to get it open.

  Inside, there were two items—an eight-inch cube on a shelf that looked like a hard drive or a computer and the large power cell it was connected to. Harmon reached for it, but Clip grabbed his arm.

  “Don’t! Let me check it before you move it. It’s hooked up to that power cell for a reason. I want to know why.”

  Harmon shrugged. “Okay, but I don’t see any lights; it has probably been dead for years.”

  Clip took a sensor reader out of his kit, one of the many tools he had improved. He checked the cell and the device. There was a faint amount of power running to it that barely registered on his screen. There were several ports on the back along with the slot where the power cell was hooked in. He checked to make sure the connections were tight, he then carried the two devices to the hovercraft.

  Clip then called Rinto’s personal comm from the communicator in the hovercraft. When Rinto answered, Clip looked at Harmon and winked. “Hey boss, we found some stuff worth a hovercraft full of credit…probably two. Can we have it?” he asked.

  * * * * *

  Get “Salvage Title” now at: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07H8Q3HBV.

  Find out more about Kevin Steverson and “Salvage Title” at: https://chriskennedypublishing.com/imprints-authors/kevin-steverson/.

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  The following is an

  Excerpt from Book One of the Singularity War:

  Warrior: Integration

  ___________________

  David Hallquist

  Now Available from Theogony Books

  eBook and Paperback

  Excerpt from “Warrior: Integration:”

  I leap into the pit. As I fall in the low gravity, I run my hands and feet along the rock walls, pushing from one side to another, slowing my descent. I hit the pool below and go under.

  I swim up through the greenish chemicals and breach the surface. I can see a human head silhouetted against the circle of light above. Time to go. I slide out of the pool quickly. The pool explodes behind me. Grenade, most likely. The tall geyser of steam and spray collapses as I glide into the darkness of the caves ahead.

  They are shooting to kill now.

  I glide deeper into the rough tunnels. Light grows dimmer. Soon, I can barely see the rock walls around me. I look back. I can see the light from the tunnel reflected upon the pool. They have not come down yet. They’re cautious; they won’t just rush in. I turn around a bend in the tunnel, and light is lost to absolute darkness.

  The darkness means little to me anymore. I can hear them talking as their voices echo off the rock. They are going to send remotes down first. They have also decided to kill me rather than capture me. They figure the docs can study whatever they scrape off the rock walls. That makes my choices simple. I figured I’d have to take out this team anyway.

  The remotes are on the way. I can hear the faint whine of micro-turbines. They will be using the sensors on the remotes and their armor, counting on the darkness blinding me. Their sensors against my monster. I wonder which will win.

  Everything becomes a kind of gray, blurry haze as my eyes adapt to the deep darkness. I
can see the tunnel from sound echoes as I glide down the dark paths. I’m also aware of the remotes spreading out in a search pattern in the tunnel complex.

  I’ll never outrun them. I need to hide, but I glow in infra-red. One of the remotes is closing, fast.

  I back up against a rock wall, and force the monster to hide me. It’s hard; it wants to fight, but I need to hide first. I feel the numbing cold return as my temperature drops, hiding my heat. I feel the monster come alive, feel it spread through my body and erupt out of my skin. Fibers spread over my skin, covering me completely in fibrous camouflage. They harden, fusing me to the wall, leaving me unable to move. I can’t see, and I can barely breathe. If the remotes find me here, I’m dead.

  The remote screams by. I can’t see through the fibers, but it sounds like an LB-24, basically a silver cigar equipped with a small laser.

  I can hear the remote hover nearby. Can it see me? It pauses and then circles the area. Somehow, the fibers hide me. It can’t see me, but it knows something is wrong. It drops on the floor to deposit a sensor package and continues on. Likely it signaled the men upstairs about an anomaly. They’ll come and check it out.

  The instant I move, the camera will see me. So I wait. I listen to the sounds of the drones moving and water running in the caves. These caves are not as lifeless as I thought; a spider crawls across my face. I’m as still as stone.