by Mia R Kleve
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Jessica smiled. “It’s standard operating procedure for me.”
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Dad always said you were the best friend I’d ever have.
She stood up from the console and walked for the first time in a couple of weeks. Despite having been on the ground for a while, she’d not left her post. Filing the mission reports and ensuring payment requests were transmitted and copied to the Mercenary Guild took time. While she worked on the administrivia of command functions, the company had inventoried stores, seen about refueling and rearmament requests, and prepared the ship for their short, but well-earned, shore leave. Before leaving the otherwise unoccupied bridge, she withdrew the master key and tucked it into the leg pocket of her green pilot’s coveralls. Langwarrin wasn’t known for violence or crime in any significant measure, but a careless mercenary company never made simple mistakes.
Trusting the wrong folks is always the first, and most costly, mistake.
Jessica bit her lower lip and sighed. Her father’s bits of wisdom floated up from her memories of him before he’d disappeared after her seventh birthday. His whereabouts were one thing she traced at every port of call, often to dead and cold endings. On those planets or outposts where an office of his company, Intergalactic Haulers, remained, she would always check in for messages or status updates. Her father was always on mission and unable to communicate. In the last few months, she’d stopped frequenting the offices. There was no change. If he was alive, he either wanted nothing to do with her, or his missions were too important. As much as she tried to believe the latter, she couldn’t help wondering what she’d done to push him away.
She stepped through the bridge hatch and heard the excited voices of Hex Alison and Maya Inoue. The young CASPer pilots were among her friends in the Marauders and they earnestly believed that no one knew the two of them were sleeping together and had been for months. Jessica had known and kept it from Marc as the Marauders’ first rule was no fraternization. Marc Lemieux, though, toed that line several times in various ports of call with women other than Jessica. His behavior away from her, especially in the last several ports of call, was dangerously close to infidelity. When she’d brought it to his attention, he’d glossed over the events saying that he was having fun and nothing serious had happened. She’d almost believed him.
His stress, however, was nearly constant. When not on missions, he gambled and drank, trying to be the life of whatever party he could find. In those environs, surrounded by people who didn’t know or depend upon him, he was free. That he owed more money than he had in his accounts didn’t matter for those brief bits of dopamine-laced freedom. People loved him and followed his irrational decisions in the pursuit of a good time. He reveled in the short bits of attention he could gain before falling back into the uncomfortable role of a mercenary company commander. Despite his father’s grooming attempts, it was a suit that Marc Lemieux could not wear.
“Hey, Jess!” Hex Alison called from the passageway. “Victory Twelve is in good hands. They seem to enjoy having a Haulers ship on their pad. Are we released for liberty?”
She nodded and smiled. With a tap on her wrist-mounted slate, she activated the speakers throughout the ship. “Marauders, this is liberty call. Departure in thirty-six hours. Miss movement and your contracts are cancelled. I will leave forfeited gear on the pad. Liberty call. Have a good time.”
Maya Inoue smiled over Hex’s shoulder. The Japanese-Hawaiian woman was Jessica’s wingman in the CASPer section. “Are you going to go find Hammer, or do you want to come with us?”
She would have loved to spend time with her friends. An hour’s head start meant bad things if she didn’t get to Marc before he negotiated another mission fee. Having the money and assets to command a company did not make one a commander. “Let me know where you are later. I’m going to join Marc and see about this mission and make sure, if we take it, we get the credits we deserve for a change.”
“Damn right,” Hex drawled in his Australian accent. He looked the part of a surfer, but was one of the best tactical minds in the company, if not most of the Human mercenary units Jessica had ever worked alongside. “We’re gonna go have some fun. Catch up with ya later, Bulldog.”
Jessica smiled at the two of them. “I’m sure you will. Dinner for sure.”
“It’s a date,” Maya said and waved as the two young lovers darted for the nearest outer hatch.
Instead of watching them, Jessica made her way to the quarters she shared with Marc and quickly brushed her hair and let it fall over her shoulders. Her wrist slate buzzed with a new GalNet message and she tapped the screen to open the message and scanned it quickly. Her mouth opened and closed with an audible pop before she spun on her heel and ran for Tossen’s Bar.
It’s happening! An interview for the Peacemaker Academy!
Sonuvabitch!
* * *
Langwarrin Mercenary Guild Building
The elevator was just large enough to accommodate Hahnu’s eleven-strong escort along with Razzik’s chair. As it left the rooftop, the airless box quickly filled with the scents of angry Zuul.
Gazing up at Hahnu, Razzik asked, “Are you sure it’s best for you to do the talking? Wouldn’t I…” The rest of his question vanished into a fit of weak coughing.
Hahnu maneuvered herself between the chair and the door, facing forward. As the elevator passed Level 3, she told him firmly, “I will definitely do the talking.” Her troops mumbled support for her decision.
She glanced back at Razzik’s slate. Either he or his shuttle pilot had jammed the device between his useless legs and the side of his chair.
“Perhaps, while I talk,” she said, “you could use that to write up a new contract for us. One in which we get the rest of the money from the Maulers. A contract with a big fat fee and an even fatter bonus.”
More mumbles of agreement. Razzik did not respond.
The elevator pinged. Hahnu tensed as the doors opened. She stepped onto the carpeted foyer.
Marrek Rooss stood six paces away, six of his mercs arranged behind him. She stepped closer, watching the reflection in the glass wall to her right as her own mercs fanned out around her. Razzik’s chair trundled to the side of the room. Hahnu opened her mouth to speak. Rooss did the same. And both of them said the same thing.
“Where’s the money?”
Hahnu blinked, snapped her jaw shut in surprise. What did he say!
“What did you say?” Rooss demanded. “Do you seriously expect me—?”
“Stop!” Hahnu barked. Something was wrong here. Very wrong. She leaned closer, lowering her voice. “You and me. In the lounge. Now.”
Rooss hesitated, eyes narrowing as he calculated. Her forces outnumbered his squad—and outclassed them, though he’d never admit it—so perhaps it was common sense that made him agree. “Very well. After you.”
“I’d prefer to walk together, Marrek.”
A huff of agreement, then he accompanied her to the lounge door. His men parted to let them through. Hahnu avoided eye contact with them, partly from disdain, partly so as not to inflame tensions further.
Without looking back, Hahnu called out to her senior lieutenant, “Keep things on ice, Bur.”
Bur replied, “Nothing to worry about here, sir.”
“I completely agree,” muttered a Mauler, Rooss’s own second, perhaps.
Rooss and Hahnu came to a stop in the middle of the lounge, far enough from the door that their voices wouldn’t carry. Rooss spoke again before she could.
“What’s he doing here?”
“The boss?” she replied, then snorted a wry laugh. “I’d say he wants his money back as much I do.”
“So you’re going to maintain the charade, uh?” His gaze returned to the glass, thoughts stuck on the Elder’s presence. “Is he sick or something?”
&
nbsp; “He’s old. And,” she added, bringing things back on topic, “he’s angry. What did you mean charade?”
“Come on, Ren. I know you’re surprised we’re here, but is playing dumb the best you can come up with on the spur of the moment?”
“I don’t think I’m the dumb one. You can’t smell something rotten here? We come here asking you for the money. You’re waiting outside the elevator, asking us the same thing. It stinks. It stinks bad.”
“The only thing that stinks is your treachery!” Rooss’s voice rose.
She made a suppressing motion with her forepaws. “Marrek. Listen to me. Who told you to expect us here?”
Hahnu heard growling and rising voices out in the foyer. Mostly Mauler ones. She kept her focus forward, watching Rooss’s face, watching his paws as they swung past his weapons while he gesticulated.
“Razzik’s secretary,” he replied. “Now I’m wondering if you didn’t just steal the old Zuul’s money, but kidnapped him, too!”
“Kidnapped? Razzik asked us to meet him here. He told us you took the money.”
“You’re the worst liar I’ve ever met. Now, come clean and tell me how we get it back or you won’t live long enough to regret it.”
Some of the growling had moved from the foyer and along the hallway. One of her people had shoved one of theirs into the corridor. Someone barked, “Thief!”
“Marrek!” she snapped. “This makes little sense. We need to sort this out before…”
The harsh clack of armor hitting the glass turned both their heads. A Hellchaser—Daran—was sliding down it, unbalanced. A Mauler loomed above him, forelegs outstretched after shoving him, teeth bared in challenge. Daran’s paw was pulling at his knife even as he slid down. Two other mercs were grappling in the foyer, others maneuvered for position. This was turning to shit and fast.
She started to say something, but caught Marrek’s movement from the corner of her eye. Her reflexes kicked in. She lashed out with a boot and drove his forepaw away from his pistol before he could get a grip. She swiped claws at his face, but he dodged, pedaling backwards.
They faced each other.
“This is how it ends, huh?” Marrek snarled.
“If that’s the way you want it,” Hahnu said.
Teeth bared and claws raised, they lunged at each other, for blood and pride. The growing chaos outside the room receded from their minds.
* * *
Tossen’s Bar
Langwarrin
“Message has been received and read.” Hr’ent tapped his slate and sent it into sleep mode. “I imagine she’ll make her way here quickly. To tell her husband the good news, that is.”
Hak-Chet shook his head and chuckled. He nodded toward the scene at a table in the center of the room. In plain sight of everyone in the bar, a Human male and female tossed back another shot of some clear liquid and pressed their faces together in a grotesque display of attraction. “You arranged all of this?”
“I merely set the conditions.” Hr’ent smiled with one corner of his maw. “She is the contact he’s been in touch with regarding a bogus operation to find a missing socialite. The one you’ve seen on the GalNet broadcasts?”
“I paid them no attention. I have no sympathy for anything celebrity.” Hak-Chet grinned. “But you’ve done that, too, haven’t you? Hid the socialite?”
“She’s enjoying Uuwato in the summer and hanging out with my mother and her friends. She finds the whole thing fascinating. She was more than willing to help. Turns out even celebrities need to ditch their entourage and unplug now and then.”
“Entourage? Is that French?” Hak-Chet laughed. “You’re getting soft, Hr’ent.”
“I prefer to think of it as cultured, Hak. You really should come to Earth and see Paris. It is beyond description.” Hr’ent waved a massive paw dismissively. “Anyway, I set up the missing socialite, and I maneuvered my chosen contact into being in charge of her recovery effort. Once our socialite’s team hired my contact, I instructed her to reach out to the Marauders foremost, which she did. From there, I let history and tendencies take over, exactly as I learned at the Academy. Given that both of those Humans like alcohol and the opposite sex? Well, I was hoping for some combustion, at the very least.”
Hak-Chet snorted and struggled to control his laughter. “They’re close to sexual intercourse right now. You’re certain this will push our prospective candidate to leave the glorious life of a mercenary behind?”
Hr’ent nodded solemnly, and the smile faded from his face. “I’m only accelerating something that has, by all accounts, already started. Hak, listen, selecting a Peacemaker is serious business. You look for what? Five or six primary criteria?”
“Six. Leadership, diplomacy, personal values and discipline, mental agility, personal fitness, and commitment to a higher ideal—be that citizenship or duty, it doesn’t matter.”
“My prospect has all of those traits,” Hr’ent said. “But you’re not going to interview her.”
Hak-Chet blinked several times. “What do you mean?”
“Well, not in the traditional way you interview a candidate.” Hr’ent leaned forward and smiled. He enjoyed the diminutive Sidar’s discomfort. “When you brought me into the Enforcers and enhanced me, you said you felt like you were losing control while you had to see just how far I would go. Do you remember that?”
“I do,” Hak-Chet replied. He nodded slowly as recognition dawned. “You sonuvabitch. You’ve set this little scene up to fire her up, but that’s not the only thing you’ve done, is it?”
Hr’ent tossed back his bourbon and caught the eye of the Veetanho bartender. He waved for a replacement beverage for each of them. “As a matter of fact, the shit should hit the fan any second now.”
“You really are enamored with Human culture, aren’t you?”
Hr’ent grinned and nodded at the door. A redheaded female in a green flight suit was approaching the outer doors. “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, Hak. Watch and learn.”
* * *
There were only two Humans in the bar and they sat at a table on the open floor sucking face with one another. Eight empty shot glasses adorned the tabletop in front of them. Slates for deal-making weren’t present and there wasn’t anything uploaded to the Mercenary Guild’s system to identify that Marc had bothered to actually sign a contract. He and his contact were too busy fondling each other between giddy bursts of laughter to notice her watching them from a few meters away.
The calmness of her mind surprised her. She’d melodramatically played out similar situations in her head long before, even during her days at the University of Georgia. There was also a monologue, and an argument. Maybe even a pleading request for another chance that she might demur against. Yet, in that moment, there was nothing in her mind but a dead calm. From that calm, a single plan of action emerged, and it was solid enough that she grasped it by the neck and brought it forth. There wasn’t any anger as she stepped forward toward the table. Nor was there remorse for what the last several years had brought her. In their place was a laundry list of items to do. She would leave Marc Lemieux, the Marauders, and mercenary life forever. Langwarrin was one of the few places she could do all of them, except for a full Human divorce. That could come quickly, though.
She stepped forward slowly, her hands clasped in front of her and gently wrenched the engagement ring and wedding band combination off her finger and palmed them. He’d proposed to her on a Hawaiian beach at sunset with some of their friends in attendance. The platinum band and one-carat diamond had sparkled like nothing she’d ever seen. In that moment, there had been nothing but joy and hope for the future. Clutched in her hand, the damned things seemed to burn with an unholy fire she wanted rid of, and fast. It took her only a minute to make her way through the crowded establishment and stand over the table. Marc and the blonde woman stopped laughing and stared up at her. His sleepy, drunken eyes searched her face and recognized her with a combination of shock and
happiness which ripped apart her last strands of hope for the relationship.
“Hey, Jess! This is Monica, and she’s our—”
“She not our anything, Marc,” Jessica said. She slammed the rings to the table in front of him. Not taking her eyes from him, she activated her slate and set it to record her words. “This is my resignation from the Marauders effective immediately. I’ll clear my belongings from the Trigger Happy and remove the Victory Twelve from her moorings ASAP. I am divesting my holdings from the Marauder’s Trust immediately and will file an injunction against any withdrawals placed upon my accounts through the Mercenary Guild at the nearest office.”
Marc Lemieux’s smiling face transitioned to full-fledged shock. “You…you can’t just quit on me, Jessica.”
“Like hell, Hammer. I can handle your incompetence. I can handle your inability to command troops in the field. And before today, I thought your little distractions—” she glared at Monica, whoever she was, “—were harmless. That ends now. As does my employment with the Marauders.”
Lemieux tried to summon anger. “You’ve put my company in horrible straits, Jessica. You’ve nearly bankrupted me.”
“No, Marc. You’ve spent your money chasing attention and the wrong kinds of friends. I just let go of the wheel. Where you end up on the rocks is your choice. Not mine.” Jessica turned. “You probably want to pawn my rings, too. If they’re real, you might get something out of them. Whatever you do, they mean nothing to me. Neither do you.”
Jessica turned and walked away from the table, her interview with the Peacemaker Guild forgotten. The muted conversations around her returned to their normal volume as she stalked to the door and out into the passageway. Her priority now was divesting herself from the Marauders, which meant the local Mercenary Guild’s office would be her next destination. She only hoped it would still be open so she could withdraw her holdings.
When they’d developed it into a starport, Jessica knew, space had been tight in this moon crater’s original township. Because of that, the port’s various berths and pads sat atop existing buildings. Maya’s berthing of the Victory Twelve hadn’t just saved money; it was about to save Jessica a long walk, since the guild office was right across the street.
