by Thomas Webb
Steen seemed unusually cool until Ramsey spotted it. A single bead of sweat ran down Steen’s pale, chubby cheek, settling into the dark brown hairs of his new beard.
Steen licked his lips. “You know . . . all that stuff I conveyed to you from the board of directors . . . none of that was personal right?” He smiled. “Just business.”
Ramsey nodded. “Of course, Marty. Just business. I get it.” He smiled back. “We all follow orders, right?”
Steen brightened. “Right! I knew you of all people would understand. You were always fast to pick up on things. Hey,” he said, leaning in closer, as if the words he was about to speak were in the utmost confidence. “Listen Ramsey. . . we can work somethin’ out here. . . can’t we?”
Ramsey’s smile widened. Then he saw the Andarian girl’s eyes. The one from the Atwood Club last year. The one he’d abandoned to Steen’s sick appetites. He hadn’t been able to shake those eyes since then. He didn’t suspect he would ever be able to.
The smile faded.
“You know what Marty?” Ramsey raised the pistol, leveling it at a point on Steen’s head just between, and above, the former ULS exec’s eyes. “I don’t think we can.”
-29-
Shane folded the last of her clothes and closed the shell-backed suitcase. She picked up her pulse pistol, checked the charge level, then shoved it into the holster at the small of her back. She’d never travel without a weapon again, most likely. Even just for a personal trip.
Shane took a sip of her coffee, searching for her comm device.
“Dammit,” she said.
She’d just put the thing down a second ago and had already lost track of it. She looked for a moment before spotting it. There it sat in its customary place, on the nightstand on her side of the bed. Shane grabbed it and checked the time. Gina would probably be home any second now. She was swiping through her neglected holo messages when she heard the whir and clack of the apartment door unlocking.
Shane smiled as she listened to the familiar sounds. Gina walking in and immediately rumbling through the cabinets, looking for something to eat. It had been a few weeks since they’d returned from Kratos.
ULS’s hired guns and ships had put up a one hell of a fight. United Les Space had thrown everything at ASI’s off-the-books, United Nations backed force; experimental fighters, mechs, and, craziest of all, a Yurnai assassin who had damn near done Hale in. Had the assassin succeeded in killing Hale, there were contracts for the heads of Lima, Lash, Kris, Gina, and Shane herself.
Hence the pistol she now carried.
Hale had taken a hell of a beating during the attempted hit, but he’d made it out. Thanks in part to his own innate savagery, but also to the team being one step ahead of the Yurnai and her abilities. Shane felt a glow of pride that she’d been the one to catch on first.
X37 had been acting weird, since right after the attack on the hangar. The AI’s behavior had caught Shane’s attention, so she’d requested a full diagnostic run. When nothing was found, she’d demanded another, right up until they noticed the missing timestamp in X37’s databanks. The assassin—Kaizen was her name—was good. Better even than most of her fellow Yurnai. It turned out the Yurnai were technomancers—cyborg beings with the ability to communicate directly with AI’s and other cybernetic organisms. It was an ability developed over a millennium of evolution and further enhanced by the technology of their home world, the planet Dravis.
Apparently, the assassin had fulfilled dozens of contracts before Hale. She had never failed once. She’d almost maintained that perfect record, but instead she was now cooling her heels on a maximum-security prison asteroid in the Vega system.
With the assassin on ice and ULS’s paramilitary force neutralized, the ASI team and the UN had turned their attention to cleaning up. The UN, the Outer Colonies Council, and the Planetary Alliance had wasted little time in starting to round up United Les Space executives like a herd of errant cattle. Any they couldn’t get to by legal means they were contracting out to freelance professionals throughout the known worlds. Lima himself had snagged a few of the more choice contracts.
As their new contracts likely weren’t going anywhere anytime soon, Shane had insisted on some down time before getting back to work. With everyone preoccupied with the preliminary peace negotiations with the Separatists, Lima had no grounds to argue her request.
Talks were slated to formally begin in a day or two. There was an unofficial truce in place in the meantime, but with rogue factions and colonies spread out across so many worlds, the yet-unborn peace was as fragile as an eggshell. Still. . . talks and negotiations were light years from the conflict they’d been experiencing, even as recently as just one Earth year ago.
Shane breathed out a sigh. Maybe they’d finally reached that place she’d longed for? Maybe the meat grinder Separatist Wars were finally slowing to a stop. Maybe no more lives would have to be sacrificed to what had become a seemingly endless cycle of combat. She could only hope.
Lima had asked both her and Gina to attend the peace talks. He’d been appointed as special security envoy and had wanted the team behind him. Shane, having seen enough of it all for the time being, had declined. Gina followed her lead. Kris and Lash both begged off as well, with Lash going home to see his family and Kris going wherever it was the secretive Tauranian went on her own time.
For some reason Hale, beat to hell and all, had jumped on the chance to go. With all the security there, it was already the safest place in Allied Planetary space. Shane suspected Hale’s willingness to volunteer had more to do with something he was running from than anything he was rushing to protect. If she were betting on his reasons, her credits would have been on Anesu Chewasa.
Either way, she wanted no part of it. She’d done her part, and was perfectly willing to leave the handling of the details to someone else. Instead, she’d asked Lima to borrow a transport and decided to head to the North American west. To Montana.
To home.
It was high time she visited her family again. Eat a real, non-synthesized steak. Ride an honest-to-god horse in the honest-to-god mountains. Sleep for a week. Maybe two.
For the first time in too long a time, she was going home. She beamed at the thought of it.
“What are you smiling at?” Gina asked.
She swept into their bedroom and took Shane in her arms. Gina leaned down and kissed her. Shane tasted the sweetness of the protein bar Gina had just eaten on her lips. Gina’s eyes darted to the suitcase on the bed. Shane felt her girlfriend’s body tense.
Shane reached up and caressed Gina’s cheek.
“I’m just going on a little trip,” she assured her. “Nothing to worry about.”
“Ok,” Gina said, apprehensively. “Can I ask where?”
“Home,” Shane said.
Gina looked away before meeting Shane’s eyes. “Am—am I invited?”
Shane frowned. She’d been with Gina for some time now. They’d been through so much—the Wars, their work with ALS . . . and now?
Now it was about time Gina met her parents. All five of them.
Shane’s frown turned upward, transforming into a smile that could break hearts or send them soaring. “Of course you’re invited,” she said. This time, it was her turn to give Gina a wink. “I wouldn’t have mentioned it to you if you weren’t.”
-30-
“Never thought I’d see the day,” Hale said.
“I had only hoped I would,” Lima replied.
The halls of the Planetary Alliance Peace Dome seemed more fitting for housing royalty than governing. The dome rose majestically above them, with murals of the known worlds painted across its broad expanse. The floors glistened, the colors of the stone swirling and moving with an iridescence Hale had no idea how to even begin to explain. Gold-colored pillars marked a central. The space between the pillars was wide enough to accommodate the size of any number of a multitude of alien races.
And those races were certainl
y represented here. Hale had traveled to countless worlds in service to Earth, and in those travels he’d seen numerous types of beings. Hale couldn’t identify even half of the ones he saw now, all of them going about the business of governing hundreds of worlds.
Both the United Nations and the Outer Colonies council had deemed it best to hold the talks on neutral ground. The representatives of the Planetary Alliance governments had graciously offered the ancient meeting hall as a neutral space for both parties to convene. It seemed a fitting location to begin the long, fraught road toward a hopefully lasting peace.
“Ever been here before?” Hale asked.
Hale favored his right side a bit. The nanotech had done excellent work knitting together his two broken and six fractured ribs. Still, one side of his torso remained tender to the touch.
“Never,” Lima Replied. It was the first time Hale recalled seeing the old man in awe. “It is magnificent.”
Hale watched a winged being shimmer by, like an earth butterfly but whose wings were comprised of a myriad of colors. Lima wasn’t wrong. The place was magnificent.
The prior-service Marine shifted uncomfortably. The suit was a little constricting. He clutched at the tie, more like a garrote, around his neck. Wearing this stuff was turning into a regular occurrence. It wasn’t something he wanted to be making a habit of. Even Lima, always dapper with his shirts open at the collar, had put on a necktie today.
Hale and his boss were, officially, a part of the United Nations contingent. Today they were mere security attachés, assigned to accompany the UN Under Secretary negotiator and her team. The Allied Planetary ceremonial guard, a mixture of beings of various sizes and shapes and geared up in distinctive red armor, had the Peace Dome locked down tight. So there wasn’t much actual need for security. He and Lima’s true roles were more eyes and ears than anything else. Although Hale was always down for a scrap if it came to it, today he’d try to satisfy himself with simply following at the rear of the Under Secretary’s contingent.
“How many factions are considering signing on?” Hale asked as they walked. The old man was up to speed on the talks, but Hale hadn’t had the chance to get read in before they’d arrived at the Dome.
“Most of them are,” Lima answered. “There are still a few rogue actors that could cause trouble.”
“How much trouble?” Hale wondered aloud.
“Enough,” Lima answered. “A few small but very vocal and very radical groups. There may be some work for us there. We can discuss that later.”
Hale and Lima trailed the Under Secretary’s main group, joining in with a crowd of intergalactic dignitaries entering a space known as the Grand Hall. A ‘U’ shaped conference table had been set there, with at least a hundred seats around its perimeter.
The dignitaries filed in, while Hale and Lima remained standing. They positioned themselves just near the wall, far enough back to give the negotiators room to work, but close enough to hear what the people doing the actual talking were saying. Neither Hale nor Lima would be doing any talking today—they’d leave that to the professional diplomats.
Hale spotted a few United Nations and OC military uniforms coming in. Nothing short of a general or two from each of the negotiating parties was participating in the process, along with a slew of their adjutants mostly there for show. Outside of the formidable looking Allied Planetary ceremonial guard, military presence had been, by design, kept to a minimum.
The Separatist factions’ representatives entered next, followed by their contingents. Hale spotted an Outer Colonies general he knew of, but only by her reputation and holo image. From what he’d heard she was a straight shooter, and the architect of some of the OC’s most decisive victories. While still technically an enemy, General Hawley was at least someone Hale could understand. Perhaps even respect. The general’s senior adjutant followed close at her heels. Hale’s eyes went wide when he saw who it was.
Hale leaned down next to Lima’s ear. “Is that. . . ?”
“I see him,” Lima said.
“Did you know?” Hale demanded.
“No,” Lima replied evenly.
Hale knew the old man well enough to understand that his lack of reaction meant he was just as surprised as Hale was.
Jordan Ramsey took a seat next to General Hawley. He wore the muted greens of the Outer Colonies militia dress uniform. A gold starburst sat on either collar. The rank of Major. Ramsey caught Hale’s eye, a half-smile paying on his lips. He nodded.
Hale met his gaze but didn’t return the gesture. It was strange to him, how enemies behaved on the field of battle as opposed to how they acted in places like this. If he’d seen Ramsey anywhere else, they’d have already been at one another’s throats. Anger seethed inside Hale. He thought of all the friends he’d lost in the wars. Of the last two years, and all they’d endured because of the Separatist terrorist. Only the thin veneer of civility kept Hale from leaping across the gathered delegates and wrapping his hands around Ramsey’s neck.
Then, as if against his will, Hale considered all they’d done to Ramsey.
Is this what real peace means? he wondered.
Was it deciding which grudges to lay down, and which ones to hold? All while barely being able to restrain yourself from violence and revenge? Hale moved his head from left to right, as if the physical motion could shake the thoughts away. The idea of a possible peace with his enemies was uncharted territory for Hale. It was for all of them.
Almost at once, the hum of conversation inside the dome ceased. The parties-both United Nations and Outer Colonies—stood from their seats. The arbitrator from the Alliance of Planets, a purple, squid like creature from a world called Pithion 5R, floated into the room. The creature, an Inir, would be adjudicating the proceedings.
The Inir moved with an almost regal grace, in direct contrast to its bulbous size and shape. It floated behind an ornate bench set up at the end of the negotiating table. An odd rumbling issued forth through the enhanced audio, before the translation matrix kicked in.
“I am adjudicator Torgoth,” the being announced. The translator made the Inir sound upbeat. Hale hoped that was a good sign.
“We are here today to begin the negotiation of peace,” the adjudicator continued. “I say ‘begin,’ because peace is not a constant, as we would hope. The Planetary Alliance has existed for the equivalent of several human millennia, but the peace it maintains has not always been as you see it today. Such requires tremendous work, and great coordinated effort.
“I also use your word ‘begin” because it is our hope that peace between the worlds of the Outer Colonies and the United Nations can begin here, today.” Torgoth’s single eye moved about the room, taking them all in. “Let the talks come to order,” it said.
A hammer-like tool pounded the bench, signaling an official start to the talks, and making a moment Hale never thought he’d see a reality. He was witnessing the first steps of bringing the Separatist Wars to an end.
A vibration in Hale’s coat pocket buzzed against his chest. He looked down in annoyance, as if the device were sentient, and had the gall to interrupt such a historic moment for mankind. The fact that his comm device had done anything at all was odd, though. . . hadn’t he deactivated it before he came in? He ignored the buzzing, instead concentrating on the opening remarks of Earth’s representative.
The device vibrated again.
Lima shot him a nasty look. Hale ignored the old man and pulled his com device as discreetly as he could. He checked the source of the unanswered wave.
Anesu Chewasa.
What the hell?
He hadn’t heard from her in months. Had agonized over it, in matter of fact. He’d tried sending comm wave after comm wave, more times than he cared to remember or had the pride to admit. All were met with a definitive and deafening silence.
Until now. Until here, of all places. The woman’s timing was impeccable, in the worst possible way. The comm buzzed again, for the third time.
Well, she would just have to wait. Some things were bigger than her. He’d worked hard at convincing himself he was over Anesu, anyway. The fact that he’d failed so miserably at it was of little consequence now.
When the comm device buzzed a fourth time Hale mouthed a curse. What the hell was this woman’s problem? He pulled the device from his coat pocket again, intent on deactivating it once and for all. The display glowed a bright, ominous red. Hale frowned. It wasn’t programmed to do that.
Suddenly his screen began to flash, another function for which it hadn’t been programmed. Hale activated the device and checked the screen. The small holo image displayed three bright, unmistakable letters.
SOS.
The Separatist Wars
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You Can’t Keep a Good Marine Down
Did you know that Trace Hale once did a stint in the brig?
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Enemy Lines, prequel novella to the Separatist Wars series, details what went down on the black-ops mission that started it all.
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Also By Thomas Webb