by Mia R Kleve
“Secure?” the pilot queried.
Dani’po checked the other two and shouted, “Secure!”
Acceleration kicked in and jammed them into their seats, making it difficult to breathe. A rattle on the ship’s skin indicated ground fire from small arms, but no missiles. The acceleration forces intensified, and, with no warning, the shuttle shook violently. Dani’po’s muscles tensed as she fought to maintain consciousness. She forced a glimpse at the recovered Peacemaker. His eyes were closed, but he had a look of rage on his face, and he gave a low growl.
She was certain the shuttle would shake itself apart when it suddenly stopped. “We’re clear,” the HecSha said.
“What about Overwatch One?” she asked.
“They went down just before I landed to pick you up,” he replied.
“And our diplomats?”
“They have not responded.”
“Peacemaker Zelko, what’s your status?” Dani’po queried.
There was no answer. The G-forces prevented her from turning her head to check. It was nearly impossible to speak.
“Lieutenant, Peacemaker Zelko appears unconscious,” Ch’rli chimed in. Unable to do anything whatsoever to help him, Dani’po closed her eyes and focused on maintaining her own consciousness.
* * *
The Veetanho Peacemaker relaxed and held her breath as they escaped the atmosphere. She immediately contacted Flight Lead, who confirmed four nuclear detonations. One obliterated the city and three destroyed the entire area they had searched. Peacemakers Gormanlu and Bromli were presumed lost. All that remained of Blue Flight were the two lieutenants, Ch’rli, the HecSha pilot, and the crew of the Stryx Wunfyf. Most of Dani’po’s previous missions had been solo. She had never led this many. She had never lost this many.
An unidentified vessel had hidden in the shadow of one of the system’s moons. It had launched the missiles, immediately run for the stargate, and transitioned before the Stryx Wunfyf could intercept. Though Lieutenant Su Doens had ordered the stargate chief not to allow them to do so, the chief claimed the vessel threatened them with destruction. One could only assume the departing vessel had paid them handsomely, but the Peacemakers would start a war with the Cartography Guild if they tried to prove it.
Dani’po spent the remaining time before rendezvous attempting to revive their survivor. Frantically, she had given him another shot of nanites, followed by a dose of stimulants. Zelko gave no response whatsoever. He was alive, but she could not wake him up.
She buckled herself in as they approached the Blue Flight yacht. With a clang and a hiss, their shuttle docked. Five had gone out, but theirs was the only one to return.
As the airlock opened, the Buma and the Blue Flight medical chief, a Jeha, entered quickly. The large, segmented insect scuttled up and assessed the unconscious Peacemaker.
“I believe he is in a coma. I will do what I can,” the Jeha stated.
With the assistance of Ch’rli and the HecSha pilot, the pair prepared Peacemaker Zelko for transport to the infirmary. They strapped the patient to a litter and floated him into the yacht.
“Lerux,” Dani’po said. The HecSha stopped and looked at her. “Good job getting us out of there. You are a credit to your race.”
The HecSha nodded respectfully.
The Blue Flight Leader drew in a breath and gazed at Lieutenant Dani’po, who had not yet vacated her seat. The Veetanho Peacemaker found herself drained mentally, emotionally, and physically. She could not find the will to move. Su Doens pulled himself into the shuttle and pushed himself into a seat next to her, staring sympathetically with his enormous, saucer eyes.
“I imagine you did not plan for things to go this way.” Apparently, Buma were capable of understating things. She nodded and he continued, “This was certainly a mess, across the board. Preparation was almost non-existent—”
“Why was that?” she interjected. “You were assigned to this unit a year ago. Why was it not better prepared?”
“I was assigned administratively a year ago, but they awaited completion of my previous mission to inform me,” he clarified. “I was informed of the assignment the day before we left.”
Dani’po shook her head and took a small cloth out of her coveralls to clean her goggles. “This entire endeavor was a failure before we were even alerted. I thought I could compensate for the poor preparation, for the—please forgive me—what I had perceived as poor leadership. I understand now the leadership failure was mine. Even despite all that, we were almost accidentally successful. But with the area radioactive and the Peacemaker in a coma, we must assume that we will never know what was happening here.”
“That is…not entirely true,” Su Doens corrected.
She perked up, turned to regard him, and froze. “What do you mean?”
“I mean my backup plan succeeded. At great cost, but it succeeded. In fact, it may have triggered those missiles.”
“What are you talking about? The Avaka?”
“Bromli, yes. He was a truly gifted infiltrator. The guild lost an excellent Peacemaker there. And an Enforcer, as Gormanlu fought his way through to destroy a jammer so they could transmit the information to us. Bromli discovered their secret, despite their best efforts, and relayed the information to me. I believe they detected the transmission and realized they had failed to contain what they were doing here. So, they nuked the whole area and ran. My failure was in not stopping them.”
“Why did they not just nuke the place before we arrived?”
He shrugged. “I believe they were trying to exfiltrate the operation, but we arrived much earlier than they thought possible. I can only guess they hoped they could fool us, and the nuke-and-run plan was their contingency.”
Dani’po took a moment to process the information. “Then it seems you handled the operation as well as you could. May I ask, what did Peacemakers Bromli and Zelko discover?”
Lieutenant Su Doens raised up and prepared to leave the shuttle. “That is for the guild master and the guild master alone. If Peacemaker Zelko recovers, then we will inform him together. Though I doubt he will be the guild master much longer. This was the greatest disaster in guild history.
“In the meantime…You and I have discovered both the importance of this unit and the many ways in which the guild inadequately arranged and prepared it. Will you, Lieutenant Dani’po, please request to stay on and help me make Blue Flight what it should be?”
The Veetanho broke her ingrained stoicism and chuckled cynically. “After this great disaster, after my drastic failure, I would imagine you could only report me and relegate my career to inconsequence. Why would you want me to stay on?”
The Buma reached out a feathered arm and put a hand on her shoulder. “As I said, no one else in the guild truly understands what happened here. As you said, the guild, through neglect and insufficient planning, ensured failure long before they chose you or I for this assignment. I believe—I mean to say, I know you are the best possible choice in the entire guild to help me make Blue Flight what it should be. Do you think you can do that?”
She took an eternity to build up the courage to answer.
“I think I have no choice. Yes.”
* * * * *
Casey Moores Bio
Casey Moores was a USAF officer, as well as a rescue and special ops C-130 pilot for over 17 years, airdropping, air refueling, and flying in and out of tiny little blacked-out dirt airstrips in bad places using night vision goggles. He’s been to “those” places and done “those” things with “those” people. Now he is looking forward to a somewhat quieter life where he can translate those experiences to fiction.
He is a Colorado native and Air Force Academy graduate, but has also become a naturalized Burqueño, planning to live in New Mexico forever.
# # # # #
Unforced Errors by Marisa Wolf
Balin woke as he ever did, with a ripple of scales and an internal check on his dwindling life. His cells hadn’t tipped t
he balance into the long slide of molecular death, so he sat up and reached for his sharpening sheet. In the security of planet-side gravity, he didn’t have to worry about flakes from his claws winding up in any critical systems.
The long, smooth strokes of claw against sheet completed his waking up process, though he shifted each scale twice to ensure everything had survived the night. The genetic countdown of the Phidae ensured that each of his species had a general idea of when their life would wind to a close, but sense dictated they monitor other signs, nonetheless. How mitochondria measured time did not entirely align with the rest of the galaxy.
Scratching carefully under a few scales, he stood and padded across his small quarters to the cubby enclosing the sandblast, taking time to flare each thick plate for a thorough cleaning while he scrolled through his messages.
Nothing flagged immediate action, but Civix had sent a text instead of his usual video. It’s time. See me at 29:12.
Perhaps his Coordinator had finally reconsidered. Balin ran the tip of his longest claw through the smaller scales sweeping back over his head and bared his teeth to a final flurry of fine, fast sand.
Properly scoured, he closed off the sandblast closet and squatted comfortably to open the storage area under the alcove of his nested bedding. Balin lifted his favorite harness, securing it across his broad chest before buckling on belt and holsters. He unlocked and holstered his Peacemaker pistols and cupped his claws carefully around his badge before fastening it to the harness. Last, before leaving the safely dimmed light of his room, he scooped up his goggles and adjusted them carefully around the slightly flared scales of his audial conduits, tightening the strap under the base of his skull.
He took a cursory look in the mirror behind his desk, ensuring the metal-dipped tracings patterning his scales remained pristine. Tall, despite the curve to his spine that allowed him to curl defensively, broad shoulders, impeccable claws—he did not look like a being ready for death.
Ultimately, the inevitable winding down of his body’s systems didn’t mean he was ready for death, and he’d never believed in wandering around the arboreal walks or deep tunnels of his home planet waiting for that quiet end.
He stretched and sent a request to Civix, then considered giving his Coordinator time to reply before heading to his office. But if he gave Civix time to prepare, the Caroon might hide all his good snacks. Couldn’t have that.
Balin maneuvered through the halls, his size, long tail, and gleaming badge ensuring he had the space he needed. Safer that way—there were few enough of his kind off Adghalu or its moons, and he rarely spent any length of time here on Core. While strangers tended to give him space, it took only one raised scale and a being with soft skin, and it all turned to blood.
Sometimes he put protective clothing over his razor-edged scales, but that led to so many needed repairs, so he kept his scales tucked flat and figured anyone with sense would stay out of his way. Not his fault if someone wanted to shove through a Peacemaker and ended up unexpectedly bleeding through the hall.
His walk remained uneventful, and he made it to Civix’s office while the smell of the Caroon’s meal was still fresh.
“You have orders for me?” he asked as soon as the door opened, lifting his long nose to smell out the food.
“You mean do I have snacks for you, Balin?”
“You know I mean both.”
“Yes. Come in and stop sniffing. I got you your own tray.”
Balin made a low noise in his throat, somewhere between approval and amusement. He squatted comfortably in front of Civix’s desk, leaning on his thick tail rather than attempting to make the stool any kind of comfortable.
Civix turned from the display on the side wall and gestured with his own long snout to the far corner of the desk. Delighted, Balin shifted to better examine the arrangement of bowls, each filled with a different delicacy. Their species shared a love of small, crunchy insectoid treats, and had similar enough physiologies that they could eat many of the same creatures. Though the Caroon was furred and the Phidae armored, they shared a similar build and range of sizes, and their digestion proved equally able to handle scuttling creatures from an impressive spread of worlds. The wonders of the universe, demonstrated in many-legged snacks.
He carefully closed his claws around the spiciest-smelling assortment and busied himself by scooping out one at a time with his tongue as though he had come here for no reason except food.
Civix grumbled, as he always did, and sighed, also usual, then shuffled behind his desk and settled in with another sigh. A few clicks of his claws—similar to Balin’s own, though shorter and thicker—brought up the holographic screen between them. The Caroon remained outlined behind the pictures and reports that collected on the holo screen between them.
“We’ve lost three bounty hunters and run up a hell of a credit expenditure, and we’re still no closer to bringing this shit-digger in.” Civix grunted and snagged a bowl of his own, eyes fixed on the scrolling information. He enlarged a headshot of the Cochkala “shit-digger” in question, a former member of the Wathayat Trading Consortium now wanted by both the Trade and Cartography Guilds.
“So, it’s time to send a Peacemaker,” Balin said, knowing his coordinator’s mind. He’d asked for the contract the first time it had come around, but there had been more pressing work than one contract breaker, regardless of the size of the contracts and the complaints of two guilds.
“Sisseron was mostly a problem of the Wathayat Trading Consortium and not nearly at the level of a Peacemaker’s attention.”
“Not critiquing you, Civix. You’ve been trying to keep me on Core for rounds, and this runner ruined some paperwork. But now…”
“Now he’s blown up half a station and killed or somehow thoroughly waylaid three reliable guild bounty hunters. Including, I’m sorry to tell you, Cleric.”
Balin’s gaze jerked back to the holo screen, and he dialed his goggles in for better focus. Sisseron the Cochkala had killed a good alien—Cleric couldn’t be kept comms-silent while he lived. The Human had been the first of his kind Balin had ever met. Maybe all Humans were so, but Balin had been impressed with the being’s resourcefulness. The Cochkala had killed him and had decided to break far too many of the few laws of their Galaxy. Therefore, the threat would be honored, definitively. Balin was good at definitive.
“What are the orders?” he asked, after eating a few more insectoids one crunch at a time.
“Dead with proof of body to soothe the Trade Guild, alive for full value.” Civix sat with a thump. “I’ll warn you though, at least two of the bounty hunters got him tagged and secured, and he still managed to escape. I want you to go because I trust your judgement.”
“I don’t lose what I put claws on,” Balin replied, Cleric’s rounded Human face in his head. “Send me the last reports and any information we have about the bounty hunters’ ships, trajectories, contacts, in case there are any patterns that might help.”
“One more thing,” Civix added, without reacting to the request. They both knew granting it was a given. “I’m sending someone with you.”
Balin placed his bowl on the desk, tail tensing. “That’s not how I do things, Civix. I’ve had, what, two deputies in the eighty rounds I’ve been doing this?”
“Not a deputy.”
“Civix.” Balin straightened off his tail and leaned forward, claws carefully placed on the edge of his coordinator’s desk. “Don’t.”
“He’s been out of training for a year, Balin. He’s not a—”
“He’s a soft-clawed tree-rat in a bunker for the first time. I don’t want a—”
“—rookie. He isn’t. New, but not still shaking the earth off.” Civix relaxed his furred shoulders, his body the direct opposite of Balin’s tension. “And you’re taking him.”
“I don’t need backup.”
“Sisseron might take additional resources—”
“I’m not—”
“He’ll
lay false trails and you might need to split—”
“—taking a—”
“Teyhi is Phidae.”
Balin sat back against his tail with a grunt, jaw snapping shut.
“How much time do you have left on your countdown?” Civix’s tone had changed—not softened, as the Caroon never did soft of any kind—but less giving orders and more conversational.
“Time enough for closing out Sisseron.”
“That wasn’t why I asked, Balin. Teyhi is only the third Phidae I’ve met interested in the Peacemaker Guild, and only the second to complete training. There’s been a small handful through the guild in the last thousand years.”
“More than a handful.” Balin dialed his goggles to throw Civix into relief.
“Relatively speaking, a handful. He didn’t mention a countdown in his training, but I’ve never known a Phidae to come to the guild without a half-life to begin with.”
“There hasn’t been.” The words were easier when he couldn’t see the Caroon’s expression. “Phidae aren’t a warring race. Why leave the comfort of burrow or hollow when you have three-hundred rounds to enjoy the planet you were made for?” They’d had this conversation before, and Balin didn’t especially want to have it again. But now Teyhi existed, which changed things. Balin tried to silence himself by extending his tongue to grab a mouthful of crunch without taking the bowl back from the desk.
“But when you have a half-life?” Civix wouldn’t let it go. That’s what Balin got for not immediately agreeing to take on some dew-clawed infant.
“Why not spend it doing something exciting? Go out and explore. Fire a few weapons. Roll through some merc pits. I had an ancestor who went off planet to go through the Science Guild.” Balin flicked the edge of his goggles, silently explaining the existence of machinery so perfectly suited for an off-world Phidae.
