by Mia R Kleve
“I know…Do you want to hear what happened?”
“I do.”
The explosive device used C-4, widely available and untraceable. It was a timed device, which caused extensive destruction to the high-rise condominium building.
“It was there to kill you, Peacemaker.”
“So, the Human female named Chaarumathi was not behind the attack, as we believed.” It wasn’t a question.
“No, it appears not.”
“Have you ascertained who was?”
“I think so.”
Her lip rose just enough to display a sharp canine. “Please send me the data.”
* * *
Four Months Later, Dorka’s Dump, Orbiting Dorka Planet
All things considered, Rohit Qabba decided he had nothing to complain about. Granted, he’d been forced to avoid Karma Station because that damned Zuul Peacemaker had been sniffing around, which put him way out at the ass-end of nowhere in search of new business partners. But with enough credits, life could be good even out here. Nothing distinguished Dorka’s Dump from a thousand other seedy dives throughout the galaxy, which suited Qabba just fine.
He sat at a table in the darkest corner, facing away from the common room. The hooded coverall he wore couldn’t hide his basic bipedal, humanoid shape, but it did make it impossible to tell which bipedal humanoid race he was. A few hundred well-placed credit chits guaranteed that the ones who knew weren’t talking.
Assorted riffraff jammed the place, with a deafening noise level of shouted arguments, discordant music from a hundred cultures, and drunken singalongs in at least as many languages. Qabba disliked such places, despite the countless hours he’d spent in them, so he listened to his grand creation, Shadows in the Key of Fear, his eyes closed as he marveled at his own genius.
Only when he felt the small table tilt did he open his eyes, anticipating seeing whoever had requested the meeting. The mysterious contact came highly recommended from trusted sources, and the money involved was lucrative enough to bring Qabba to a public meeting place. Whoever it was promised a new enterprise that would bring him riches beyond his wildest dreams.
The reality was different.
“Greetings, Peacemaker,” he said, trying to keep the shock out of his voice. “To what do I owe this honor?”
“Greetings to you, Rohit Qabba,” Jaypaas said, leveling a laser pistol at his chest. “I wish to discuss Nepal.”
* * * * *
William Alan Webb Bio
Before he became the World’s Oldest Teenager, Bill had a pretty normal childhood growing up in West Tennessee. That is to say, he engaged in all kinds of high-risk behavior, such as drinking whole milk and eating eggs for breakfast, riding his bike without a helmet, and going to school when a classmate had a runny nose. An obsession with military history probably began before he was three years old; his earliest memory is of watching a TV show, Silent Service, that only ran for one season in the year he turned two.
At 13, the same fate befell him as so many of his generation, namely…he encountered a Besquith. The creature said it was a werewolf, but Bill knew better.
The evil monster forced him to read a Robert E. Howard “Conan” story, and from that moment on he was addicted. Unfortunately, Howard was just a gateway author that led to more and more stories and authors…Michael Moorcock, Roger Zelazny, Robert A. Heinlein…you’ve undoubtedly heard this sordid story before. And as with so many others before him, he hit rock bottom when someone passed him a 20-sided dice and said, “Here, roll this.”
After a lifelong struggle, during which he took up the vile habit of writing genre fiction, he has made huge progress in his fight against his demons when he encountered a shady figure in a dark alley, who brought him crashing down again with just two whispered words, “Four Horsemen.”
That was the end. Or the beginning, depending on your point of view.
# # # # #
Tangent Orange by Mark Stallings
The shuttle ramp dropped into a swirl of dust. “Man, this is an arid planet.” Reynor said with distaste as he tromped down the metal ramp and gazed out. All of a meter and a half tall, the Radskhat looked like a large raccoon. Dark brown fur covered his body. He had a short, pointed muzzle with light gray highlights and a short, ringed tail. Reynor was unusual for his kind; he had an ambition beyond stealing whatever he could lay his digits on.
The vista before him wasn’t inspiring. In the distance was a bluff or plateau. The dust made it difficult to judge distances, so it could have been a couple kilometers away or forty. Nearer stood the decrepit bones of industry of some sort; warehouses and towers, long disused. Reynor wondered what kind of product would have gone through them. The immediate vicinity was made up of an open saloon, an inn about midway down the street, and at the far end of the main street, a building with three times the neon signage necessary to tell non-existent customers about a casino. The rest of the buildings were closed shops with metal shutters over the windows and doors. As a Radskhat, his race was used to scavenging on the wrong side of the track, but this place looked too poor for even his kind.
“For someone so small, how do you manage to sound like a being thrice your size?” Sempay asked from next to him. It continually surprised Reynor how quiet the Besquith was. Sempay pulled his faded blue dust cloak over his wolfen ears and settled polarized goggles onto his eyes. “I dislike how the dust gets into my fur.”
The pair walked down the ramp and headed into the small town. Hardly any people moved around. They passed old buildings, the building materials long stained and eroded with the weather. It was obvious that upkeep hadn’t been a priority.
“This is the recreation spot the captain suggested?” Reynor asked in disgust. “Did we land at the wrong spot? Is there another place on Aztec we maybe missed?” Reynor chittered in disappointment. He had hoped his first trip out of the Academy as a badged Peacemaker would be more…interesting.
Sempay shrugged massive shoulders under his cloak. “Let’s go see what this place has to offer. We have three days, at least, before the transport’s drive is realigned.”
Reynor noticed curtains moving and blinds bending as the residents of the buildings along their path checked them out. “We are being watched,” he whispered to his companion.
Sempay just grunted and kept walking. “They are no threat; but keep your eyes open. This place doesn’t feel right.”
Reynor looked at him. “How so?”
“There is an air; people shouldn’t be this afraid of us,” he replied.
The door of the closest saloon opened, and a mixed group of thugs poured out into the street. There were thirteen of them wearing mismatched clothing. They were unkempt and bore a number of improvised weapons: clubs, a chair leg, and several long knives. They were from a mix of races, too. A couple Pushtal, some Zuul, HecSha—Reynor had no clue how the lizard people managed the arid climate—and wasp-like KzSha. Two Jivool pushed to the front. They wore matching harnesses from one of the mercenary companies, but the insignia had been removed. Both carried sidearms.
“What do we have here?” one Jivool asked looking at Sempay. “Looks like an old man walking his pet.” The ruffians laughed.
Sempay kept walking past the crew. “We aren’t looking for trouble here.”
The other Jivool stepped forward to block their path. “Well, what if we are?”
Reynor bristled at that, indignation flooding through him. He figured he’d set them straight and inhaled to speak while reaching for his pouch where his badge resided. Sempay’s vicelike grip grabbed his upper arm. Reynor stared up at him in astonishment.
Sempay bowed his head. “My good sir, we are simple and poor travelers and aren’t worth the effort.” He said it with a meek and ingratiating tone, completely unlike his Besquith kin. Reynor couldn’t believe the sounds coming from the senior Peacekeeper. “We will be on our way.” He guided Reynor around the bearlike alien that was more than double the Radskhat’s height and matched the hunched Bes
quith’s mass.
They continued down the street. Reynor opened his mouth to protest and Sempay whispered to him. “Not now.”
The inn keeper was standing in the open doorway of his establishment, so the pair steered for it. They stopped before the Jakota. “Are you open?” Sempay asked.
He stepped through the entrance and motioned for the two to follow him. Once they were through, the Jakota closed the door, then headed for the bar on the other side of the table-filled room. They were the only ones in the place and the low-pitched tick-tick of the air unit struggling with the heat rattled though the ceiling.
“You may call me Silver. What can I get you?” he asked the two from behind the bar.
Unsure as to what Sempay was doing, Reynor let him take the lead.
“Two drinks and some information?” Sempay asked. He pulled the hood off his head and removed the goggles.
Silver flashed a toothy grin. “All I have is Goka piss.”
Reynor jumped at the hearty laugh that erupted out of his partner. “That will be fine as long as it’s chilled.” Sempay sat on one of the stools at the bar and waved for Reynor to do the same.
Silver fetched a crystal bottle with a faded label and set it and three glasses on the bar top before he went into the back.
As soon as he left, Reynor turned to Sempay and hissed, “What are you doing?” They could hear Silver rattling around in the back.
Sempay shrugged. “Getting a bearing and finding out what is going on here. Relax and learn.”
Silver returned with an ice bucket and set it on the counter. “We have to keep it in the freezer, or it melts too fast,” he told them apologetically. Silver used some tongs to drop a cube into each of the glasses with a clink, then splashed some of the liquid over it. Finished, he passed each of the glasses out and raised his. “To fresh meat.”
Reynor picked up his own glass, raised it, then slugged back the liquid. It burned its way across his tongue, down his throat, and roiled in his stomach. His eyes watered and he coughed. “What was that?” he croaked.
Silver chuckled, and Sempay slapped his companion on the back.
“We used to have a distillery here. It shut down when we lost the mineral processing contract.” Silver lifted the bottle. “This is the last of it. What brings you two to the butthole of the universe?”
“Our transport’s fusion drives took on a flutter in hyper. While they re-tune the magnetic bottles, we had time to kill and the captain recommended this slice of heaven,” Reynor said bitterly.
Sempay nodded. “He painted a different picture than what we’ve found.” He pointed at his empty glass for a refill.
Silver grunted, “You both should finish up and head back to the transport. Things here have changed in the last year.” He poured them each another but skipped pouring one for himself this time.
Sempay took the glass and sipped a little. “Oh?”
“Yeah, two groups moved in and muscled their way into the lithium processing market. A lot of good people got pushed around, and one family disappeared.” Silver wiped his glass and put it under the bar. “You met one of the gangs. They treat the people of this town like slaves to work the processing.” He shook his head. “They are holding families hostage so the workers will finish and package the product without causing trouble.” Silver spat into the sink. “They’ve torn the soul out of this place, and with the fighting between the two groups, the people are crushed in the middle.”
Reynor stood up. “Well, we are—”
“We are looking to maybe help you out. Tell me about these two rivals,” Sempay interrupted, shaking his head slightly at Reynor.
Silver looked at the two sitting at his bar and narrowed his eyes. “I don’t know what you two are playing at but the only thing you will help is the body recycler. These gangs don’t care about people, and the local constable panders to both sides.”
Sempay cocked his head, his ears forward. “Which group is stronger?”
“That would be the one you ran into,” Silver said. “They call themselves the Orange Circle. I’m not sure why. There are three siblings that run the group, but Oladipo is the roughest.” He lifted the bottle and looked at Sempay.
Sempay shook his head. “What about the other crew?”
“Paper Hand hangs out down at the casino. The boss, a Jeha named Tivek, came here from one of the core worlds. They don’t have as many people, but their muscle is an Oogar named Graga,” Silver said. “I think Tivek’s waiting for the syndicate to send him more muscle.”
Sempay stood up.
“Where are you going?” Silver asked.
“I think I need to make some friends.” He looked at Reynor. “Let’s go see if they want to hire us.”
Astonished, Reynor stood up and followed his Besquith companion to the door.
Once they got outside, the Radskhat rounded on the Besquith. “What are you doing?” Reynor hissed.
Sempay flashed a toothy grin, making Reynor take an involuntary step back. “That’s twice now.”
Reynor’s Peacemaker training quickly asserted itself, and he straightened. “Apologies, I didn’t mean to question a superior.”
Sempay huffed. “You mistake my amusement for aggression, my young friend. Not everything is as it seems. At times, people see what they want to see. Look at this town. There is a cancer here. Well, two if you count the gangs separately.” His eyes narrowed as the constable stepped out of his office and leaned against the wall across the street from them. “Maybe three.”
Reynor followed his gaze. “Why don’t we just arrest the lot of them? We are Peacemakers after all.” He jumped at Sempay’s barking laugh.
“All new Peacemakers think that when they strap on their shield the universe will bend to them just because they wear a piece of metal in a particular shape.” Sempay chuckled. “Out here, with these thugs, flashing a badge will get you buried in a shallow grave out in the dust fields.”
Reynor was shocked. “But everyone knows what happens if you mess with a Peacemaker.”
“Yes, my friend. What happens exactly?” Sempay asked, eyes alight with mirth.
“Ah…” Reynor scratched his furred ear. “Well, the Enforcers are sent in to back up the Peacemakers.”
Sempay leaned in, “And why did Enforcers get sent in?” he prodded the junior officer.
Reynor wasn’t sure what he was after, then he started, eyes wide “Oh no!”
Sempay cackled. “Yup. They are sent in after we are dead and don’t report. They are sent in to avenge us.”
Reynor looked at the run-down town and pondered the implications. “So, we are on our own,” he said softly.
“Exactly. Which is why we can’t go at any of the problems straight-on. We need to come at it from a tangent.” Sempay pulled his dust cloak up and settled his goggles in place. “Now, let’s go cause some trouble.”
* * *
The pair of Peacemakers traveled down the dusty road. As they went, they could see movement in the second-floor curtains along the main avenue; locals too scared to come out. Once they reached the casino, two Zuuls standing outside straightened.
“What the black hole do you want?” one of the Zuul asked gruffly.
“I want to talk to your boss, Tivek,” Sempay said.
“You think you are the town princess?” the first Zuul asked.
Sempay pulled his hood back, revealing his Besquith visage and bared his fangs. “Yeah, I’m definitely your princess. Go get him before I decide to use my feminine wiles on you.”
The Zuul took a step back, hands up in mock surrender. “All right, I’ll get him.” He went inside.
Reynor snorted quietly and tried to look meek next to Sempay.
After a few minutes, more people came out. One was a meter and a quarter tall Jeha, his deep purple exoskeleton indicating he was from the home world.
“I’ve been told you want to see me. What on this planet makes you think you have anything I want to hear?” Tiv
ek said. His feet undulated, showing his agitation.
“I heard you might be interested in some muscle,” Sempay said. “Maybe you’d be interested in an audition?”
The Jeha looked up and down the street then back at Sempay. “Well, I don’t think you’re playing a prank on me, so what d’you have in mind?”
“I have a score to settle with your rivals,” Sempay told him. “If you like what you see, maybe we can come to an arrangement.”
The Jeha bounced with excitement. “If I like the show, you have a deal.”
Reynor watched the exchange with fascination. He had never seen his partner manipulate someone so well. It was obvious Tivek was buying everything Sempay was selling.
Sempay pulled his hood back up over his ears. “Then you might want to stay out here for a bit.” He turned, motioned for Reynor to follow, and headed back up the street. As they walked, Sempay whispered to Reynor, “When we get closer, I want you to deploy a hack drone so we can eavesdrop.”
Reynor whispered back, “I’m on it.” He fumbled at his belt for one of the micro drones that was standard equipment for Peacemakers.
As they approached the bar at the far end of the street, their movement caught the attention of the crew that had accosted them earlier.
Several of the crew rose from the steps in front of the building and approached the pair.
“What in entropy do you two want now? I thought we had sent you packing,” one of the Jivool growled.
In a flash, Sempay punched him in the snout. Few non-Jivool knew there was a nerve cluster in the nose. Hit it hard enough and it causes a brain blink—a momentary blackout preventing any reaction. The second strike was to the right side of the neck, precisely where the blood vessels fed the ear and brain, and the location of a second nerve cluster that transmitted a danger signal to the primitive part of the Jivool’s brain forcing its head to turn to protect that side. The third strike was a hard knee to the inside of the right thigh. This nexus caused the leg to collapse and the thug to fall. His journey was aided by a downward blast to the now exposed left side of the jaw. The sudden ferocity from a previously docile person overwhelmed the Jivool and stunned the three other toughs. It certainly surprised Reynor, even though he knew it was coming.
