Enforcer

by Kevin Ikenberry

  Graa’vaa’s eyes stared holes through him like a sniper rifle. “I won’t get into your personal business,” she said, breaking him out of his thoughts, “but you turned down the Deputy Selector?”

  “Yeah.” Hr’ent looked at her closely. Her tone made it clear she couldn’t believe his decision.

  “You’re an idiot,” she said flatly. “I’d have done anything to make it through formal Peacemaker training, but I couldn’t make the cut. My application was rejected, and I remember feeling monumentally disappointed. The Peacemakers were all I’d thought about since I was a kid. I ended up finagling my way in as a contractor for the intelligence division. I’m not a true Peacemaker, but I gather the intel they use to execute their missions. And I’m proud of what I do…proud that I can serve, even in this fashion.” She eyed him, and it was clear she was trying to gauge just what sort of Oogar he was. “Did the Deputy Selector not go into detail about what he had in mind for you?”

  “He did. Not into deep detail, but I have a pretty good idea of what they want to do with me…and to me,” he replied. An almost embarrassed expression appeared on his face. “With all of the personal stuff I’m trying to sort out, it just wasn’t the right time.”

  “There is no perfect time,” Graa’vaa said with a strange sense of urgency. “The galaxy is full of reminders of beings who possessed tremendous potential and stood on the precipice of victory and hesitated. Whether they had personal baggage to offload or they wanted to wait for the right time, they ended up never completing anything.” Graa’vaa leaned toward him, her paw on the armrest as if she wanted to reach out to him. “Your leave better be spent doing the right things, because if it’s not, you may end up being the biggest idiot our people have ever known.”

  There was an audible click from the speaker above, and Hr’ent turned his gaze toward the cockpit, uncomfortable with how her words made him feel.

  “We’re docking with the Thrustcore. Please stay in your seats. The Core will be shunting into hyperspace 60 seconds after capture.”

  Hr’ent glanced out the small porthole beside him so he wouldn’t have to face Graa’vaa. She’d really set a hook in him. His mind racing with her comments and his own doubts, he sat unmoving through the entire docking maneuver. After the hard thump of the docking mechanism capturing the shuttle, he felt a rumble through his seat. He turned to look at her, but she was deep into her slate again, reading.

  Or ignoring the idiot, he thought.

  He leaned back against the uncomfortable seat and closed his eyes. Hyperspace transition was never something enjoyable for an Oogar, so he tried an old Peacemaker technique and thought of something positive to hold onto through the experience. His mind went back a few months and raced through his commissioning mission and his taking the pelt of the Clan Roxtador. He was a First Claw, an unusual accomplishment for an Oogar. He locked onto a certain moment and held onto a memory: his large finger dabbing in the blood of Meerwan, an adversary with whom he’d had more in common than he did with many of his friends, and touching the forehead of the young Pushtal who would become the Fangmaster.

  I didn’t hesitate. I made a difference.

  So why do I suddenly feel like I really am an idiot?

  * * *

  Transit to Godannii 2 (66 hours remaining)

  Peacemaker Blue Flight

  During hyperspace transition operations, the typical two-pilot crew of a Blue Flight kept the watch on alternating schedules. Most of the specially chosen pilots had little difficulty dealing with the requirements of the duty. After all, getting one’s body to ignore its own circadian rhythms was easy to do for some races. Pilots typically chose the shift they preferred ahead of time and were paired with co-pilots who preferred the opposite shift. For transitions and such, both pilots were available, but mid-flight, there was nothing more to do than ensure the power plants stayed online and monitor other vital systems.

  Most crews alleviated their boredom by watching simulations and training events their passengers initiated during the voyage. Blue Flight possessed a robust onboard simulation platform for weapons qualification exercises and other duty-focused events designed for Peacemakers to stay sharp. More often than not, Blue Flight pilots watched these exercises and even placed occasional wagers on them—betting on things like which Peacemaker would score the highest or lowest on a particular exercise.

  Anything to help pass time.

  As one crew member ended their shift and the other came on to replace them, they conducted a 15-minute handover where discussions about the ship’s condition and such were common. Far more likely were conversations about their passengers and their activities.

  Lieutenant Shild, a rugged-looking Pendal, glanced up from his slate as the cockpit door slid open. Only the other pilot had the code, so he knew it was Lieutenant Di-Po.

  “Good morning, Sleepyhead,” Shild said with a grin. The little Veetanho wiped her eyes as she entered the cockpit section and secured the door behind her. “The coffee is fresh.”

  “Wow. You’re three for three this trip. I’m touched by your generosity.” Di-Po smiled at him. “I never should have had it the first time. I’m definitely addicted to it now…as you predicted.”

  “There are worse things than a caffeine addiction,” Shild said with a smile. “Actually, coffee’s not too bad, despite being a Human concoction.”

  Di-Po took her seat and reviewed the instruments. “How’s our bird?”

  “Still the best one in the fleet. No issues or fluctuations.” Shild pointed at the control panel. “Powerplants are smooth and strong.”

  “And our passengers? Any sims?” she asked. “I have to make up for losing that bet on our last flight.”

  Shild leaned forward and touched a display. “No change,” he said with a good deal of disgust.

  Di-Po shook her head. “I know they’re young and all, but they’ve slept, watched old holos, and eaten almost everything they can get their hands on. No simulation work at all?”

  “Nothing. They haven’t even all been together to discuss the mission.” Shild shook his head. “I haven’t asked them about it—and even if I did, I doubt it would make a difference.”

  Di-Po nodded. “Probably not. These pups are pretty sure of themselves. I can’t believe they aren’t doing anything productive. Have you noted this in the log?”

  “In detail. I’m hopeful they’ve decided to rest a bit before settling into pre-mission checks and the like, but hope is not a strategy.” Shild shrugged.

  They watched their passengers in the common room on the lower deck. The four Peacemakers appeared to be watching a very old Earth movie from the ship’s catalog and throwing things at each other.

  Di-Po gasped. “Gods…they’re just fucking off.” She gave Shild a look of disgust. “They’re children.”

  Shild met his partner’s eyes. “I know it’s above my pay grade and all, but you have to wonder what Guild Master Breka was thinking deploying four fresh graduates from the Academy without an observer. I mean, a rookie team can be bad enough, but these morons? On their own? It defies belief.”

  Di-Po reached for a bulb of hot coffee and cradled it in her tiny paws. She sipped it carefully and sighed in appreciation. “Who knows what he was thinking? Regardless, we have to ensure it gets noted in the log just to cover our own asses.”

  “I’ve got that handled, partner.”

  “I know you do,” Di-Po said, “but those four don’t seem capable of handling anything right now, and that worries me.”

  “You and me both.” He turned to her. “Look on the bright side, at least we get to hightail it out of here on a short catenary.”

  “Any idea what for?”

  “He didn’t say. He just sent down orders to drop off those four carbon blobs and make all speed to Uuwato.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter Eight

  3,000 km Above Godannii 2

  ISMC Corporate Ship Rumiar

  Dolamiir Ka Shien kept
his eyes riveted to the view screen at the far end of the conference room as Korvan placed a large plate of bismiuth sandwiches before him. They were a favorite among his fellow cognoscente. The outer layers were thin wafers made of a purple grain indigenous to his homeworld, and the interior was a combination of fish-egg paste and a rare tuber found only in the forests ringing the Arctic Circle. They were expensive, delicate, difficult to come by, and a staple for him and his board of directors aboard the Rumiar. He sniffed once and swore he could still smell the disgusting union reps that had sat in the room only five days prior.

  The camera shot on the view screen, angled down from a rooftop or second story window, revealed a muddy street at dusk. Several mining vehicles, overturned and on fire, made for an ominous scene. Firelight licked against the dilapidated buildings lining the street, casting stark shadows and tricking the eye into thinking there was movement everywhere. In the distance, a number of GenSha in mining overalls poked their heads up over a barricade made from two ISMC trucks that had been tipped onto their sides across the street. In the foreground, two dozen Jivool security troopers wearing ISMC vests moved carefully up the muddy street, dashing forward in fire teams and quickly taking cover as they shot at anything that moved. A burst of incoming fire sent ricochets sparking off a hovertruck near several of the troopers, then three of them opened fire with a barrage of laser fire from heavy rifles.

  “This is Mult Bavere with the Galactic News Agency reporting live from the Blue Sector in Moppicut City on Godannii 2. The violence has escalated from simple rioting and sabotage to open, armed conflict.” The reporter’s nearly panicked voice came through the monitor speakers as if he were moving as he spoke. “It has become an open insurrection, with ISMC troopers dispatched throughout this small mining city and most of the others. We’ve learned that the GenSha rioting and violence that started suddenly over 24 hours ago has been met with increasing levels of military intervention across the entire planet. Additionally, our contacts in the GenSha Union have told us their actions were a direct result of failed negotiations meant to redress severe working conditions, a lack of supplies, and increased costs brought on by ISMC policies. As yet, we have not been provided with any official response from ISMC.”

  “That’s because you didn’t ask for one, you miserable wretch,” Korvan Di Mobiar said as he stared at the view screen, an open look of disgust and loathing on his face.

  “Would someone like to tell me how a GNA media team made their way to the surface?” Dolamiir asked, his voice as cold and menacing as he could manage. He took a sip from the water bottle in front of him, then let his eyes roll across the mostly blank faces of his executive board. He finally settled on a nervous-looking Jivool at the end of the table who had not touched the food set before him. “Venna,” Dolamiir said slowly, narrowing his eyes at the young, gray-furred Jivool. “I believe I made it clear that there were to be no reporters permitted on Godannii 2 until this situation was resolved.”

  Venna cleared his throat and raised his eyes to meet those of the director.

  “None have made it to the surface since you gave the order, sir,” Venna replied, his voice sounding a bit weak. “This team arrived last week to cover an environmental story on one of the southern continents.” He cleared his throat nervously. “Not to worry, though,” the nervous exec said with a confidence he clearly didn’t feel. “We control all the relay satellites in-system, and this signal is not getting beyond the planet. We have everything locked down.”

  “Locked down?” Korvan blurted with a good deal of disgust. “You don’t know the meaning of the phrase. This is being broadcast on the planetary network, and it is pouring fuel on the fires of a GenSha rebellion. Who knows how much of this could get smuggled out? Get it shut down,” Korvan ordered.

  Venna dropped his head, as if he were ducking incoming fire, and stared at the tabletop in front of him.

  “Go!” Korvan shouted. “Do it now, or you’ll find yourself on those very same streets in an ISMC vest with an unloaded weapon in your hands.”

  Venna leapt out of his chair like he’d been electrocuted and disappeared through the doors at the far side of the room. When the doors closed, Dolamiir turned down the volume on the monitor so the sounds of combat faded to silence. He scanned the faces of the remaining execs.

  “So, how do we spin these events to our advantage?” he asked. “The footage is bound to make its way off-planet, no matter what Venna thinks.”

  A middle-aged, dark-furred Jivool with an exceptionally fine suit and a manicured look about him raised a hand.

  “Zuryyl,” Dolamiir said, nodding.

  “Am I correct in assuming there have been trooper fatalities?”

  “Correct,” Korvan acknowledged. “We’ve suffered over 100 casualties thus far, most of them concentrated in Moppicut City. The death benefits to the trooper’s families are seriously impacting our bottom line, not to mention our productivity and damaged facilities.”

  “Then why don’t we take some of those bodies and manufacture a video of our own? Create a massacre of troopers who were asleep in their barracks. I suspect we can use it to reduce the amount of galactic attention that is likely to be focused on Godannii 2 in the foreseeable future.”

  Dolamiir raised an impressed eyebrow and placed Zuryyl on his list of potential successors.

  “An excellent idea,” Dolamiir said smoothly. “Add a time stamp that shows the massacre occurred at the outset of the GenSha attacks against us—perhaps even during that first meeting. Make sure the time is before that video of Bith carrying the child. If we show such a cowardly act as their opening move, we can certainly keep the other guilds from showing too much interest.”

  “Including the Peacemaker Guild?” Zuryyl asked, a twinge of worry coming through his voice.

  “Don’t worry about the Peacemaker Guild,” Dolamiir said evenly. “That has already been attended to.” Zuryyl’s features showed that he desperately wanted to ask the obvious question, but when Dolamiir made it clear he would broach no such inquiry, Zuryyl went quiet. “I want you to get that video produced by tomorrow morning for my review.”

  “Yes, Director,” Zuryyl said. “If I may be excused?”

  “Of course,” Dolamiir said. “In fact, the rest of you should go. I have some things to discuss with Korvan.” He eyed them. “And I want all of you to present to me any and all ideas you can come up with for spinning this to our advantage, as well as for how to get production back on track despite the GenSha sabotage. Just because those animals want to behave like vermin, there is no reason our shareholders should feel the effects.”

  “Yes, Director,” they all said, rising out of their chairs.

  Dolamiir picked up one of the bismiuth sandwiches, took a bite, and chewed thoughtfully. When the last of the board had left the room, Korvan closed the door and sat next to Dolamiir, an expectant look on his face.

  “Korvan,” the director said, placing what remained of the sandwich back on the plate. “I am particularly pleased with your idea about how to deal with Venna.”

  “Thank you, Director,” Korvan said with a smile.

  “See that it happens,” Dolamiir said calmly.

  “Understood,” Korvan replied.

  “Satuur,” Dolamiir said without turning.

  The big Jivool, who had been standing against the wall a moment before, was at Dolamiir’s elbow in an instant. He said nothing, but a presence such as his could be felt in a pitch-black room.

  “Ensure that the GNA team is unable to make any more broadcasts,” the director said evenly. “Make it look like the same GenSha rebels who killed our troopers in their sleep moved on to the reporters. And when you’re done with that, put together a team. Find Bith Sundo as well as those other two union reps and core their skulls with a laser pulse.”

  Satuur nodded and Dolamiir turned to face them.

  “You should know that there is a Peacemaker team en route to Godannii 2 as we speak.” Dolamiir said it
as if he were remarking on the weather. “The guild has dispatched a team of four.”

  “Peacemakers? Four of them?”

  “That is correct,” Dolamiir said evenly.

  “What should we do?” Korvan asked.

  “Nothing,” Dolamiir replied. “That is why I’m telling you. Neither of you is to take any action regarding the Peacemakers without speaking to me first. And when they arrive, treat them as you would any ISMC executive. They are to be considered VIPs of the highest order.”

  “Yes, sir,” Korvan said.

  “Now leave me,” he ordered. “I have much to contemplate.”

  Korvan and Satuur exited through the far door, intent on their separate objectives. There was no hesitation in their movements, and Dolamiir knew they would both be successful in the tasks assigned them. He did not tolerate failure, and neither of them had ever let him down, no matter what he’d told them to do.

  This must all be handled with the utmost care, he thought. He picked up the bismiuth sandwich and took another bite. He savored the crisp flavors and contemplated his home. If anything goes wrong, Venna’s fate will be merciful compared to what corporate does to me.

  But nothing would go wrong. He would see to it.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Nine

  Post-Transit through Godannii Gate

  Peacemaker Blue Flight

  A few minutes after transition into the Godannii system, Rsach slipped a bright yellow “see-me” strap with Peacemaker written across it over his Class 2 combat suit. He then pinned his Peacemaker badge into place on the upper left portion of the strap. The Jeha didn’t really have shoulders, so the strap served double duty. He secured the needler at his hip, shrugged into the form-fitting armor designed for his species, then turned to his team.