Deathangel

by Kevin Ikenberry

  Kurrang laughed. “Goose. A wild goose chase.”

  “Right. Oh, those beasts are insufferable! Dirty and obnoxious!” Dreel smiled. Gradually, it faded as the ship hummed through hyperspace. When he spoke again, his voice was low and serious. “What if Snowman doesn’t have anything more than a hunch? More than his knowledge?”

  Kurrang nodded. He’d felt the same way thinking through all the possible options. At their core, none made sense except for Peepo exterminating Snowman and humanity. Yet there was something more. Something he hadn’t considered until that very moment. “Maybe that’s the point, Dreel. Maybe there is something he knows, something he believes, that could change everything. And because of that knowledge, he’s a valuable commodity. That means Force 25 has to find him first. That means all the maneuvering we’ve done to help them has to continue.”

  “Our mission is far from over,” Dreel said. “I am more confident about our results than I was a few days ago. Seeing Force 25 in action, albeit in response to an attack, gave me hope. I imagine you felt much the same with Jessica Francis at your side.”

  Kurrang snorted. “I’ll tell you the whole story, if you like. But what matters is that I saw something in that young Human I hadn’t seen in the galaxy in more than three hundred years. Strength and compassion. There was no doubt she acted on her feelings of right and wrong, and justice was on her side.”

  “But justice is blind, right?”

  “No,” Kurrang said. “Justice is blind to those involved. Justice only cares about who was wronged and why. Jessica was different. When she walked into that compound, wounded, in her CASPer, she didn’t give a damn about the contract’s legality. She stopped what she believed, in her heart, was a crime. She succeeded and made allies from unlikely sources. That is something special, Dreel.”

  Dreel nodded. “You’re right and very wise, Kurrang. But do you really believe the MinSha will support us? Rumor says the ruling class is having difficulty with their outlying organizations and commanders. They are approaching a tipping point.”

  “Not the MinSha as a whole.” Kurrang smiled. “They will eventually police their own. You know the old rule about rebellion, right?”

  “It only takes one.” Dreel smiled. “The right one.”

  “And we’ve chosen the right one, my friend. Let’s hope Tirr’s mission finds success.”

  “And not just him. Set course for Ocono, my friend. There are others we must bring into the fold.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter Twelve

  Governor’s Mansion

  Victoria Bravo

  Newly-promoted Colonel Jamie Ibson, Commander of the Victoria Forces, walked up the stairs to the Governor’s Home and found a collection of his peers waiting. He’d raced back to Lovell City from the tank ranges at the governor’s request. From the look of things, all the subordinate commanders had received the same call. Based on their relaxed demeanors and the playful banter he heard as he approached, they weren’t under threat of attack.

  This time.

  Ibson caught the eye of Major Matt Novotny, his tank forces commander. “What gives?”

  Novotny shrugged. “Admin commander’s call.”

  Ibson frowned. “Again?”

  “Our governor, it would appear, wants to play with his troops rather than run a colony.” Major Vuong replied with a grin. “I cannot say I blame him. What we do is much more fun than dealing with tourists and entrepreneurs.”

  Captain Jennifer Rath burst out laughing. “You mean those assholes buying land from the government, then trying to sell it back to the tourists for three or four times its value?”

  Novotny nodded. “Long time ago, on Earth, a bunch like that gobbled up the land in Oklahoma. Called themselves ‘boomers,’ I think. They pretty much wrecked the native civilization and set up a grab for resources that lasted more than a few hundred years.”

  “Makes you wonder what’s out there under all that dirt.” Rath looked out at the three mesas dominating the northern wall of the grand valley. Recent rainfalls had swelled the Swigert River larger than any of them could remember seeing it. The valley floor blossomed, vibrant and green, almost completely erasing the reminders of recent conflict, except where the recovery crews worked in the warm spring sun. “Something valuable.”

  “Or nothing at all,” Lieutenant Whirr chirped. The MinSha field commander and her infantry were the sole survivors of the conflict ordered at Lieutenant General Chinayl’s whim. In disgrace, she’d surrendered to Peacemaker Francis, but the boldest move of the day went to then-commander-in-chief Watson. Recognizing an opportunity, he pardoned the MinSha if they promised to work to rebuild the colony. The partnership, thus far, had been miraculous. Aside from being disciplined soldiers, the MinSha’s abilities in engineering and agriculture far exceeded what the Humans could do with the limited resources. As such, Lovell City bloomed. “The greatest lie in history is that what remains undiscovered and unseen can be sold, without reproach, on the hunch of riches.”

  Ibson nodded. “I thought it was just politicians and other nutcases on Earth who pushed that sort of agenda, Whirr. You’ve restored my faith in the rest of the galaxy.”

  The MinSha’s antennae vibrated in amusement. “Or I’ve ensured we’re all equally damned from the start.”

  The group laughed. Ibson ran a hand through his short, black hair and winced at the dirt, cordite, and sweat left behind on his hand. He wiped it on his dark green coveralls as the front door to the house opened.

  A butler in a black jumpsuit adorned with the winged, dual-planet insignia of Victoria looked past them and spoke in a monotone that made Ibson grin. “His Honor, the Governor, will see you now.”

  His Honor?

  Ibson covered his smile with a hand and coughed twice. He looked up and saw Novotny wink at him. Rath simply shook her head and stepped through the door, into the Governor’s House. Vuong’s face was stony, and Ibson admired the smaller, older man for it. They filed into the main conference room on the first floor. Governor Watson was not there, nor were any of the typical administrative aides. An army of bureaucrats was nothing a soldier wanted to see, but when a leader went somewhere without their entourage, bad things tended to happen.

  “I think we’re on the menu,” Vuong said. “He hasn’t sat down alone with us since his appointment.”

  Rath spun one of the multi-species chairs around and touched the armrest-mounted control. The chair morphed into one roughly appropriate for a Human, and she flopped into it. “Change of mission. Guaranteed.”

  “To what?” Novotny asked. He moved to a chair next to Rath, programming it as he added, “We’re still on the hook for defending this planet. The colony charter forbids the hiring of mercenary companies for security missions. We are the defensive force.”

  Ibson took a breath. Novotny was right, but they were a volunteer force reporting to civilian leadership. While the style of leadership had been successful on Earth hundreds of years before, there was little recent experience saying bureaucrats could effectively run a military force, no matter how small it was. “Don’t read anything into this, guys. He might want to have a beer and ask us how things are going.”

  Whirr snapped his head toward Ibson. “I believe the Human word for that is bullshit, sir.”

  Ibson grinned at the taller MinSha. “You really do fit in with this bunch of ne’er-do-wells, Whirr.”

  Vuong moved quietly to a seat. His voice was low. “We aren’t all ne’er-do-wells, Colonel Ibson. Some of us are clearly in need of extra equipment to fight our battles.”

  Oh, here we go. Ibson fought a laugh. On cue, Novotny retorted.

  “Armor, huh? That’s the joke this time? That we need our protection instead of you guys running around in twenty-fourth century rock ‘em sock ‘em robot suits?”

  Whirr tapped furiously on his slate and made a rasping sound they all knew was a MinSha laugh. “Did you just compare the CASPer to a—”

  The far door flun
g open and Governor Watson strode in, red-faced and obviously upset. They stood quickly, out of long-ingrained respect. Watson waved them down and threw a leather-bound portfolio and a slate onto the table.

  “Sit down. Sit down.” Watson flopped into the chair at the head of the table. “You guys want a drink?”

  Before the group could answer, Watson stabbed a button and ordered bottles of cold water for everyone. The butler who’d met them at the door delivered their drinks. The Human-sized bottle of water looked positively awkward in Lieutenant Whirr’s clawed hand, but the young MinSha nodded appreciatively just the same.

  “So, how are things?” Watson sipped from his bottle and sat back in his chair. The smile on his face wasn’t authentic, though, and Ibson’s heart sank. They’d served together for more than a decade, building the force on Victoria together. The man at the end of the table only vaguely resembled his friend.

  Watson was tired. That was easy to see. But underneath the fatigue of his new office and new responsibilities was something else. His face wore the attentive but disinterested look of a politician. He’d traded his combat boots for hand-made loafers. That wasn’t the problem. All great leaders hung up their spurs at some point. Watson had simply forgotten how to walk in those combat boots in a very short time.

  Ibson cleared his throat and, hopefully, any pained expression off his face. “Victoria Forces are at eighty-one percent combat effectiveness and gaining every day. Intelligence shows there’s no immediate threat to our colony or our system. There are two mercenary companies, one a Cochkala-flagged organization we’re calling Pestilence, because it’s the nearest translation, and a ship we believed registered to the Pushtal at the gate. They are next in the queue and should depart within the hour, Governor.”

  “Can your combat forces increase the security patrols and countermeasures we discussed during the rebuilding conference?” Watson’s smile was gone, and his eyes stared holes through Ibson.

  It’s finally come down to this. You sonuvabitch.

  “With all due respect, sir, you know the Victoria Forces had the primary mission of defending the system from aggression and—”

  Watson raised a hand and shook his head. “Those laws, and I stress the word laws, were emplaced to maintain Human control of the colony. I have engaged with diplomatic parties of several guilds in the last several weeks who are intent on making Victoria Bravo one of their official free commerce and guild-level trade zones. There are several guilds interested in Victoria Bravo taking on additional opportunities. The commercial trade zone designation would be enough to double or triple the economy in a matter of months. There is also substantial interest in the mountains to the west and other unique geological locations—” Watson kept talking but Ibson was no longer listening.

  Rage filled Ibson’s vision. A tinge of red started at the periphery of his sight and narrowed down, slowing until it surrounded Watson’s still-talking head. After a moment, it was clear Watson had finished talking and was asking for a response.

  “Colonel Ibson? Did you hear what I said?” Watson squinted at him. “Your orders are to stand down the defense force and immediately begin security operations to satisfy the interested guilds.”

  Ibson brought a dirty hand to his face and rubbed the day’s growth of beard on his cheek. “I heard you. I can’t believe I’m hearing this from you, of all people.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Fresh anger appeared in Watson’s eyes. It was a good sign, but there was little chance anything said in the next few minutes would make a lasting impression. Ibson had no other choice.

  “You sack of shit.” Ibson shook his head sadly. “Take off your boots and slip your feet into nice shoes, and everything suddenly has a price. How much is the governor’s fee for establishing a commercial trade zone with the Merchant Guild? I expect you’re also negotiating a larger gate with the Cartography Guild. Is the Information Guild proposing a server farm? You’ve pretty much opened the fucking system to anyone with credits on their yack. You want me to secure it and not worry about the next bunch of aliens who want to run us down and profit from our loss?”

  “I think that’s a terrible way to speak when a valued member of your team is an alien, James.” Watson looked down the table at Lieutenant Whirr. “I must apologize—”

  “There is no need, Governor Watson. Colonel Ibson is quite correct in his assessment. There is a MinSha saying that life is—” the MinSha consulted her slate, “—that life is a scam and either the hive is aware of the action or it starves.”

  Watson’s face darkened. “You’re suggesting this office, to which I was duly appointed, is corrupt?”

  Committed, Ibson leaned forward and put his elbows on the table. “You’ve been asked to stand down a force capable of defending this planet. You’ve been asked to relegate the remainder of the force—what, fifteen percent of our total combat power—to security operations?”

  “Ten percent.”

  Ibson snorted. “For how much? How much are they paying you?”

  “The required transactions go to the public treasury of Victoria,” Watson said. “It will be established immediately and—”

  “You’ll use it for your own fucking bank?” Ibson bit his lip, considering his words, then looked up at his friend. “What the fuck happened to you? A few million credits are enough for you to turn your back on everything we fought to keep here?”

  Watson flared and shot out of his seat, pointing at Ibson. “You think I’m selling out the colony? You have no idea how hard I’ve had to work to get this done! In case you haven’t seen the GalNet feeds, Humans are being rounded up all over the galaxy. This is a Human colony without mercenary companies to guard it, Colonel. We need the protection the guilds can offer.”

  “We need more troops and better weapons,” Ibson shot back. “And that whole not hiring mercenary forces thing needs to be repealed immediately.”

  “It’s not that easy.”

  “The hell it isn’t, Brian.” Ibson shook his head. “What happens if the guilds sell us out to the Mercenary Guild? We’re a Human military force, like you just said. What’s stopping them from selling us out, even if you didn’t?”

  “That’s not fair,” Watson said. “There are many—”

  “Extenuating circumstances. Yeah, you’ve said that a lot over the years. I never realized it was a cover for the layer of bullshit you threw across yourself in times of trouble.” Ibson sighed. “You’ve made a poor decision, Brian. I’m assuming this standdown has to happen immediately?”

  Watson nodded. “I’ve assured the guilds our forces will transition to security operations within the next 170 hours. Most of them already have delegations on the way.”

  “And no one thought to tell you it might be a ruse?” Rath asked. “Begging your pardon, Colonel Ibson, but this smells an awful lot like a trap.”

  Novotny and Whirr nodded. Vuong, his voice low, looked at Watson. “Strip away the army, and the city falls faster, regardless of security forces.”

  Watson laughed. “Listen to you! There is no threat. These negotiations have been in the works for weeks. I have the assurance of Guild Masters. Their personal assurances.”

  “Makes me wonder if Earth had the personal assurance of the Mercenary Guild Master a few generations ago,” Ibson said. He sighed and shook his head a final time. “Brian, I cannot follow those orders. I can, however, provide a solution. Leave the Victoria Forces Command in place until such time as your guilds arrive. We’ll provide a security force immediately. They’ll look and act like Victoria Forces, but that’s the best you can get on short notice. The rest of the force goes to a yellow cycle. They’ll go into maintenance and other activities you can sell as preparing to auction equipment and materiel. But I cannot let a bunch of guilds come in carte blanche and catch you with your wallet out and your pants around your ankles.”

  Watson flushed, and his lips became a thin white line. “I’ve promised our full cooperation.”
<
br />   “And there’s nothing saying you haven’t given it. It takes time, money, and effort to tear a unit down.” Ibson smiled. “Did you think we were going to turn in our ammunition, clear our hand receipts, and go home before taps as though we were leaving our cushy office job, and pad upstairs to the comfortable bedroom and catered dinner?”

  “That’s a cheap shot, Jamie.”

  Ibson leaned forward and stared at his friend. “No, it’s the most real shot you’ve taken in a while, Governor. Since Chinayl, maybe. If that bitch didn’t get through to you, I don’t know what could have.”

  “I’m not trying to destroy Victoria.” Watson sighed. For the first time in the conversation he looked authentically Human. “We have so much potential.”

  No one spoke for a moment before Novotny said, “My old gunnery sergeant, a really long time ago, said potential isn’t what you waste. It’s what you realize you’re wasting. Colonel Ibson is right. We have to be prepared to fight, sir. Give us that chance. At least until we figure out what the guilds’ real intentions are and things settle down.”

  For a moment, no one spoke. Ibson made eye contact with Watson in the hopes of provoking further comment, but the governor looked away. Disappointed, Ibson and a few of the others drank from their water bottles. The local water was unlike anything he’d ever tasted—cold, crisp, and delicious. He risked a glance at Vuong, but the smaller man’s face was impassive and set in stone, as always. Across the table, Rath winked but kept the rest of her face still. Novotny found it an appropriate time to clean his eyeglasses.

  Whirr, though, stared back at him. The MinSha’s ruby red eyes sparkled in the conference room’s light. Though she was only a young infantry lieutenant, Whirr was still a female MinSha warrior. She dipped her chin, a tiny nod of approval, and turned her eyes back to Watson at the head of the table. Ibson did the same.