“Which makes us vulnerable,” the Flatar representative, Milaxxis, said. “We must move. The bulk of our operational forces. The Cartography Guild’s actions suggest they can be bought—that they can direct forces to follow us wherever we go.”
“Spreading out is the key.”
The voices mixed and rose in a swelling cloud of noise that Rsach tried to blink away. He cleared his airway, and the room fell silent. He looked at the passionate, trustworthy faces of the High Council and saw the one thing he never expected to see.
They are afraid.
As a young Peacemaker, after his failed mission on Godonni Two and the eventual loss of two classmates, Rsach had been called before a tribunal to determine who was at fault for the failure of the mission and the failure of diplomatic relations between the rioting GenSha and the multi-planetary corporation responsible for the colony. Prior to taking the stand, his oldest friend, Hak-Chet, had pulled him aside and whispered a few words of wisdom that had carried Rsach through not only the testimony, but the bulk of his career as a Peacemaker. When he’d assumed the mantel of Guild Master, his friend’s words had rung truer than ever before.
There are times for wise words and times for wise actions. A true leader, one who understands what it means to lead and to be led, understands such times rarely coordinate with each other. When they do, there is an opportunity not to be missed.
Rsach spoke slowly. “There are challenges and opportunities in our present situation. Our codicils and procedures for such an eventuality long suggested consolidation. Regrouping. Withdrawal to prepare counter operations. All of those are, pardon the Human expression, bullshit. We must do what we should have been doing all along, instead of collecting our forces where we are most vulnerable. We cannot allow ourselves to be eliminated in a single action by a guild that will stop at nothing for power. The very things we protect, the laws and policies that prevent one race or one empire from decapitating others for their gain, are the things we are expected to protect in the performance of our duties. That must not change.”
“But there are guilds that—” Wednayl started.
Rsach rippled forward. “They do not matter! We are the Peacemaker Guild! We, alone, are charged with upholding the few laws of the Union for the common good and decency of actions between species. We have risked our operations, our very interactions, knowing the Mercenary Guild could wipe us out with minimal effort. We have perpetuated weakness. We have allowed Peepo and her ilk to believe they can force us into inaction. That. Ends. Now.”
“The Cartography Guild has curtailed our one advantage. Without access to the higher levels of hyperspace, we cannot—”
“No!” Rsach pointed at Wednayl. “The Cartography Guild believes they have curtailed our advantage. They believe they have done something Peepo will approve of and something they can use to buy favors. In reality, they have done nothing to stop our guild from doing what we should have done from the moment this conflict raised its ugly head. We stand or we fall. We failed to stand once before, my friends. We cannot do so again.”
“And if the Cartography Guild has sold us out?” Graavvaa asked.
“Then the attacks will come any second. If they do, we will fight to the very last Peacemaker.” Rsach pointed at them. “All of us will fight. But every moment the attacks do not come is an opportunity for us to redeploy our forces and do our jobs! Our presence in the galaxy is not something that exists at the whim of the Mercenary Guild or any other. We were created to be those who brought not just order to the galaxy, but hope. Hope! When we run from the other guilds, we do not inspire hope. We inspire fear, which is exactly what Peepo wants.
“We will do so no longer,” Rsach said. “It’s time to do what Peepo fears, on every planet, in every system, in every galactic arm. We must redeploy our forces and give them license to engage and destroy threats. Honoring them is not enough. We must give them the ability to destroy attackers and assailants without reproach. We must open the armories and do what must be done to achieve peace. The risk to us will be great, but the risk of doing nothing is beyond measure.”
For a moment, there was silence in the chamber. After a dozen heartbeats, Rsach wondered if his words would create chaos. For thirteen years, he’d led the Guild without so much as raising his voice. He knew speaking in such a manner was uncharacteristic and shocking to the High Council. He watched their shock and acceptance of his words with curiosity and inquisitiveness. During their meetings, the voices of derision or support often came from the same suspects—those who postured and prepared for their chance to be the Guild Master when Rsach died from stress or walked away. There was no chance he would do either, and the voice that resounded in the chamber was the one he least expected to say anything.
“Where would you have us move the Guild?” Wednayl asked, her voice soft but direct. “We cannot risk the loss of this planet or the TriRusk.”
Rsach nodded. He’d thought the same thing before his plan reached fruition in his mind. “We will not stay here, not even the leadership. Nurr has asked that we not leave a security detail, and as much as I hesitate to do so, we know the TriRusk were here for years before they were found by the MinSha. We will respect her wishes to the extent we are able.”
“I respectfully disagree,” Graavvaa rumbled. “We need every being possible to augment our forces. The TriRusk must come with us for their safety and for our—”
“No.” Rsach sat forward. “Honored Graavvaa, you are the best of the Oogar, by far. Hr’ent gave his seat to you for good reason and with the highest merit. The TriRusk are their own. If they wish protection or service, they are granted those rights as citizens of the Union. They are welcome to serve alongside us, but they will not be ordered to do anything, nor will I allow any action against them. It is beneath our name.”
“That is not what I meant,” Graavvaa ceded. “I meant we cannot afford to lose them...again.”
“I agree, my friend.” Rsach nodded. “We will protect them as we are able, but we have other worries and vulnerabilities that must be addressed. This is how we will proceed.”
Rsach touched a control on the table, and a holographic projection appeared in the middle. The small monitors at each seat flickered on. Rsach waited until everyone adjusted the images for their visual range before continuing. The galactic map appeared, and gold, circular icons identified six systems, two in each of the populated arms of the galaxy.
“These are the forward locations for our operations. First, I believe they constitute the best places to mount defensive operations to protect our assets. I am concerned about our forward logistics bases in the Thoran and N’Ghanna systems. I am additionally concerned about our forward locations in the Bahn and Jacobian systems.” He paused and saw the High Council collectively nod their heads. The first four recommendations were easy. Each contained multiple planets for potential operating bases and the ability to maintain sustained defensive operations if attacked. He continued, “The same can be said for protecting the archives at Kleve and their supplementary position in the Dryod system. But I am most concerned about the Kleve detention facility. While it remains one of our most closely guarded secrets and has a separate protected agreement with the Cartography Guild, we must assume it will be a target. Its location is known to at least one...”
His voice trailed off, and he could see the looks of fear and discomfort cross the faces of his friends. In the two-hundred-year history of the Kleve detention facility, only one inmate had successfully escaped. That Kr’et’Socae was still on the run, uncaught and unseen for almost a year, gave them all pause. The former Enforcer was undoubtedly out there, and he was likely employed by the Mercenary Guild, and maybe even Peepo. Credits made the galaxy work, even for a wanted Equiri. The very real possibility existed that Kr’et’Socae’s doing nothing was a bargaining chip for some type of negotiation he could work in his favor. All things, especially in a time of war, had their price.
“If he comes for it, we wi
ll have to defend it,” Graavaa said. “I would imagine you are projecting each of these regions, these zones, will have Peacemaker leadership? You’ll ask us to spread ourselves out over these areas to provide leadership in the absence of a true Council?”
Rsach nodded. “We must do the good we can with the resources at our disposal. My trust and faith in each of you is great enough that I can ask you to do this without hesitation. I know you will succeed.”
There was a brief moment, clearly tangible to Rsach, where hope blossomed and fell over them like a gentle rain. It was a happy moment, and as fleeting as it was, Rsach wondered when the next one would come.
“There is one question that must be asked, Guild Master.”
Rsach turned to Milaxxis. The Flatar was always quiet, never one to question anything. In the course of a hundred High Council meetings, there were maybe ten or twelve instances of his speaking in the minutes. Before he could say anything, Milaxxis pointed at the objectives and the locations.
“Who are we defending against? No open warfare has been declared.” He paused. “We can move the guild, to be sure, but you propose we defend ourselves. Against whom? Do we have a declared enemy?”
“No, there is no declared enemy, Milaxxis. Nor do I expect there to be one for the duration of the conflict we foresee, that we are diligently preparing for.” Rsach took a breath and his lower jaw worked into the Jeha approximation of a smile. “We must prepare to stand against everyone, my friends. Everyone.”
* * *
Araf
The security system used to keep unauthorized personnel from getting near the ancient Raknar was a paltry, human-designed affair that took less than twenty seconds to disable. The armed security patrol amounted to four Altar circumnavigating the giant mecha every half hour which left more than enough time for his approach. Standing on the Raknar’s upper shoulder, the highest point of the rusting hulk as it lay on its side, Kr’et’Socae looked up into the ethereally dark night sky and snorted softly.
This was supposed to be much more difficult.
He knelt, wanting to keep a low-profile and not create a silhouette against the night sky, but based on his relative ease of movement and infiltration there seemed to be nothing to worry about. The security system appeared to be designed for their continued leeching of power off the Raknar’s dying batteries. Their new power station, cutely named after one of the Humans who died there, would be operational in a week or less. Geothermal energy was cheap and easy to get, especially with the large holes in the ground around Mount Klatk. Despite their backward inclinations, the Altar seemed ready to join the rest of the civilized galaxy. Not that it would matter. At their core, the Altar were weak. As were most of the species he’d known during his lifetime.
Yet the weak often bound themselves together into guilds, companies, and corporations. They sought places where their numbers and shared interests made them feel strong. Joining together, they found solidarity and common ground, but when push came to shove, they crumbled as easily as they’d formed. Sentient beings possessed a fight or flight response. All it took to trigger the latter was the fear of death.
Kr’et’Socae crept along the upper shoulder to the hinged joint. Placing his hoofed feet into the tight space, he wiggled his large frame down the Raknar’s shoulder until he reached the open cockpit section. Pausing at the cockpit rail, he lowered his snooper goggles from the top of his head to cover his wide, dark eyes, then swept the area for security devices and traps. Hidden in shadow, with at least fourteen minutes until the next Altar patrol wandered past, he took his time. Two proximity alarms and one infrared laser net guarded the cockpit entrance. They were of poor design, and he disabled them with relative ease. He checked for recording devices and microphones with his combat slate. Nothing in the cockpit was working on any known frequency—there were no more sensors. Destroying the sensors would have been satisfying to some, but Kr’et’Socae did not want the Altar or their new allies to know he’d been there. That he could get into the Raknar and get what he wanted without being discovered until it was too late was everything. When he finished, he would take the time to reinitialize the sensors. His elongated face twisted into a half-grin. That was the joke, after all. Satisfied, he swung a heavily muscled leg over the cockpit rail and stepped into the Raknar.
For a former Enforcer who’d seen a lot of the galaxy before running afoul of the Peacemaker Guild’s few general orders, Kr’et’Socae couldn’t help but feel awed as he stood inside the Raknar. The Dusman-built mecha was unlike anything he’d ever seen. While Human CASPers were smaller approximations of the Raknar, he doubted humanity would ever build something as grand or complex again.
The gentle buzzing of his wrist slate shook him away from the thoughts. He glanced down and frowned but transferred the call to his headset. Quann should have been off the planet by now.
Have they not completed the investigations at D’nart?
A second thought, one he snorted away with derision, came on its heels.
We had a timetable.
With a sharp twitch of his powerful neck, Kr’et’Socae activated the connection. “What is it?”
“Am I bothering you, sir?”
“This is not the best time, Quann.”
“You’re already inside? That didn’t take long.”
“If you have a point, please make it.” Kr’et’Socae frowned as he stepped cautiously across the angled wall of the control section. His target was a few meters away, and likely protected by another alarm. “I do not have time for your—”
“We are ready for liftoff within five minutes of your command. Gate clearance and a flight plan to Victoria Bravo have been approved. We will arrive within six hours of combat operations if you meet your timetable, sir.” Quann’s voice was soft, but confident. For all her annoyances, there was little doubt she was a professional. That she’d never seen the inside of a prison made her abilities more surprising. She knew the score better than most operatives he’d seen in his career. The young MinSha lieutenant would have made a phenomenal Enforcer. “The investigation at D’Nart has officially closed. There is no tie to you or the Mercenary Guild.”
“Good.” Kr’et’Socae focused on the primitive tripwire rigged over the communications station. It was the shoddy handiwork of amateurs, and in their ineptitude, they’d ultimately made the device less forgiving than usual. “Anything else?”
“I have reviewed Regaa and Thraff’s plan, as you asked. I believe it will succeed initially. How far we take combat operations will depend on how long the Humans can mount a coordinated defense. The shortcomings of the plan, as I expected, were Chinayl’s forces’ lack of high-altitude bombing capabilities and the Cochkala infantry’s establishing a beachhead on the tarmac. The concept of a stranded vessel sitting in the open is not something the Humans should overlook. Their history is full of such deceptions.”
“The Cochkala have kept to the timeline?” Kr’et’Socae asked. On the very unlikely chance someone with authority eavesdropped on their conversation, the coding was necessary. For two weeks, he’d paid for extended maintenance for two Cochkala cruisers in distant orbit around Victoria Bravo. Their manifests, which listed their cargo as radioactive organic waste, kept the customs inspectors, the Merchant Guild, and every other prying eye off them. All they had to do was remain quiet and follow the plan. The constant scurry of small orbital vehicles and personnel would be enough to show that their maintenance issues were real. In reality, they were fully prepared for battle with two battalions of Cochkala infantry skiffs and flyers each, enough to preoccupy the forces on Victoria Bravo and to allow the killing blow to sweep in when the main effort arrived in seven days.
“They are conducting deception operations now. They will request landing permissions on time. From there, it will depend on where the Humans berth the ship.” Combat power, the ability to synchronize and mass forces at a specific location at a particular time, was essential to eliminating the Victoria forces and F
orce 25 before Tara Mason could build too much of a following.
“Excellent,” he said, and he meant it. The plan was, so far, intact. “I’m almost done here. Be ready to move when I return.”
He snorted at the audacity of their communications. But the Altar and the Selroth wouldn’t know any better. The credentials he carried when he came to the planet identified him as a nuclear materials expert. A piece of plutonium, carried unprotected in his pocket for a very brief time, was enough to get him waved through customs without a thorough check of his biometrics. Fear had its purpose.
“Understood. Shall we plot a course for Victoria Bravo?”
If Tara Mason and her tiny force were able to defeat the Cochkala and continue their search for James Francis, he would find them. And, as long as Jackson Rains remained with Force 25, Kr’et’Socae could find him. But that wasn’t the issue.
“We will discuss our next target when I return.” He disconnected the call and carefully disarmed the tripwire device. With a flashlight clenched between his teeth, Kr’et’Socae leaned into the communications console and looked through the rack of components and chipsets. As expected, the console Jessica Francis had used was missing. That didn’t matter. Kr’et’Socae connected his slate to the master panel and quickly isolated the Raknar’s random access memory. Inside, he found the identification for the beacon Snowman left for Jessica along with a trove of fragmented data.
With the flashlight still between his teeth, the Equiri whinnied and watched as the fragmented data transferred onto his slate. When the progress indicator reached 100%, he checked the time. The Altar patrol would be outside, so instead of moving, he sat down to wait and scrolled through the data. A few familiar names popped out. Former Intergalactic Haulers employees, some former clients, and a few others. He paid them no attention. Next, he looked for system designations and destination codes. From there, he could piece together a log of Snowman’s transit through the galaxy to rescue Jessica Francis.
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