“Jessica?”
She turned to Hak-Chet. He’d clearly said her name at least once, maybe twice before. “Sorry, Selector. My mind was elsewhere.”
Hak-Chet glanced at the Tri-V displays. “Our Guild Master wants you to feel at home, nothing more.”
It’s not that, she wanted to say. Earth is no more my home than a CASPer. You both know this. Why dangle Earth in front of me like a carrot, unless you expect me to fail?
The far door opened and Rsach entered alone. His body contorted and flowed with multiple pairs of arms waving gently. She’d been up close to a Jeha only once before and none with as much power as her Guild Master. Even standing in his presence was an honor. She bowed her head in respect. “Master Rsach.”
“Peacemaker Francis,” Rsach replied. “Won’t you and Selector Hak-Chet make yourselves comfortable?”
Jessica grabbed a high-backed chair, pulled it away from the table, sidestepped it, and sat down. Hak-Chet sat across from her, and Rsach sat in his position at the head of the table. “Thank you.”
“Selector Hak-Chet reported you completed your operational assignment as directed.” Rsach clasped two sets of arms on his chair’s armrests. “The undertaking, while successful and certainly of grave importance, did lack certain qualities necessary of the Guild’s members.”
Jessica shifted in her seat but said nothing. When she’d suggested the mission to Hak-Chet, his shocked reaction made her feel she’d struck something unique and different. He’d approved the mission, but it was obvious he’d known something at the time. Aware the Guild Master was looking at her, and not Hak-Chet, she said, “There was nothing in my mission briefing that was inferred to be missing, Master Rsach.”
“Miss Francis,” he said. “Your operational abilities were never in question. A Peacemaker with Union military and mercenary experience would be expected to excel at an operation such as you proposed and executed with distinction. Success, however, is not a measure of ability.” The Guild Master’s face was impassive, and his many arms were still. From her class on species interaction, she remembered it as a sign of resolution. Nothing was going to change his mind.
Her gut twisted in panic and she flinched. Taking a breath, she said, “Are you withdrawing my commission offer?”
Rsach replied, “No. I am concerned you cannot handle a discussion without reaching for the nearest weapon when the Peacemaker’s greatest weapon is patience.”
Jessica clenched her leg muscles under the table, but tried to keep her face relaxed. “But you’re hesitating, Master. Is it because I’m human?”
The Jeha bristled and leaned forward. “Absolutely not! Your species does not matter—it’s your performance and bearing when no one is watching, Miss Francis. I do not believe you can handle a diplomatic dispute without violence.”
Jessica snorted. “Are you taking away my commission or not?”
Hak-Chet leaned forward. “Peacemaker. Please?”
She looked at him for a moment. He slowly turned his head toward the Guild Master. “Master Rsach, as Jessica’s Selector I am empowered to ask what conditions you and the Guild have placed upon her commissioning.”
“Article Six, Section Four.”
Jessica closed her eyes as she heard Hak-Chet respond. “Any Peacemaker who completes a mission in sub-standard form may be required to complete a second mission prior to the receipt of an Enforcer’s commission.”
“Indeed,” Rsach said from the end of the table. The tone of his voice sounded like the crack of damnation.
“My mission wasn’t sub-standard!” Jessica opened her eyes and banged a fist on the table. “I stopped a gods-damned Canavar egg from being transported to Earth and hatched there!”
“And the Galactic Union is thankful for your work, Miss Francis,” Rsach said. “What matters is your bearing as a Peacemaker. You are the first candidate from Earth and, as such, you must understand that rigorous testing is required to ensure the Guild, and your planet, are best represented.”
“What mission is being proposed?” Hak-Chet said.
Rsach looked at them for a moment before speaking. “Are you familiar, Miss Francis, with the Dream World Consortium?”
* * *
“It’s not as bad as it sounds, Jessica.”
Hak-Chet sat across from her at a small table nursing what the station’s main watering hole called cider. The Sidar loved the sweet, strong brews of Earth. He swirled the chilled liquid twice and lowered his chin to get into her line of sight.
“Did you hear what I said?”
“I did,” Jessica sighed. “Araf sounds like a beautiful planet, Selector. But a conflict that’s gone on for two years? And getting worse? That’s where they want to send me?”
“It would appear so.”
“They want me to fail!” Jessica bit the inside of her lip. Anger was a waste of time and tears would be a mark against her bearing. Angry tears equaled disaster and there was no way in hell she’d cry in front of Hak-Chet. She took a breath and centered her thoughts. “Stopping that egg wasn’t enough for them. All the intelligence I had to gather—working with the Besquith and creeping back to Karma alone? None of that mattered. Why else would they give me a no-win situation that’s been lingering for years?”
“Perhaps it’s an opportunity.” Hak-Chet sipped from his glass and set it down on the dirty table with a clink. “A no-win situation depends greatly on who the players are and what it is they want to win. Understanding all sides is the key.”
“You’re telling me that like I don’t have a choice.”
Hak-Chet’s eyes widened in surprise. “Of course, you have a choice. Any choice other than acceptance of the mission will relinquish your commission opportunity. This mission, as difficult as it seems, is really dependent upon the Peacemaker assigned.”
“They don’t believe in me, Selector.” Her tone, she knew, was defeatist but she could not help it. Training had been hard enough. To even hold a provisional commission, as a human, was unheard of, and the Guild made her pay for it in lumps and bruises. Through it all, she focused on the platinum shield of a Peacemaker. Being the first human wasn’t as much a pride factor as people believed it to be. Ultimately, someone always had to be first. The journey of the second person, or the third, wouldn’t be that much different from hers. What would matter was that someone did go first and made things happen. “I don’t want to be a mercenary anymore.”
Hak-Chet laughed and reached out a clawed hand to touch her arm lightly. He seldom sought any type of physical interaction in the Sidar way, so the gesture’s unspoken message was clear. “You stopped being a mercenary when you began your training as a Peacemaker, Jessica. I think it’s time you finish it.”
She nodded. “And if I fail?”
“You won’t,” Hak-Chet said. “Under the codicils of the diplomatic code you are entitled to receive a mediation assistant. I’ve taken the liberty of arranging their passage with you.”
“You think I need an assistant?” Jessica fumbled in her pockets for a smoke that she hadn’t had in years and mentally slapped herself. “That tells me everything, huh?”
Hak-Chet tossed back the last of his cider and stood. “If you believe that, you’re not ready to be a Peacemaker, Jessica. Every advantage you can legally empower is worth the effort. Let me know your decision by midnight.”
She sighed. “I will.”
“Try to behave yourself, please?”
Jessica looked around the dingy bar. A few merc wannabes nursed shitty beers at the bar. She’d seen them looking at her a few times, behaving like they thought older, tougher mercs did. All sex, guns, and rock and roll. Pathetic. Older mercs never chased anything but a good stiff drink and a steady paycheck.
Gods help me.
“Don’t I always behave, Selector Hak-Chet?”
The Sidar smiled at her and nodded. “You do, Peacemaker Francis. Shall I tell the Guild you’ll take the mission so I can arrange your transport?”
&
nbsp; Fuck it.
“Please,” Jessica said and reached for her glass of Jack Daniels. She’d barely touched it for the last hour. The Tennessee whiskey bit through her doubt, as it always did. “I’ll take the mission, and thank you for arranging a mediation assistant.”
“I want to see you succeed, Jessica,” Hak-Chet said. “If not on the Guild’s terms, at least on your own.” The Sidar bowed gracefully, per his race’s customs, and walked slowly out of the bar, leaving Jessica alone with her half-full drink. She played with the glass for a moment, watching the amber liquid swirl. A fresh one appeared.
“I didn’t order this,” she said and looked up at the robot bartender.
The bartender looked to its right and Jessica followed its wide-lensed eyes. A young blonde woman wearing the olive drab coveralls of an armor crewman raised a glass to her. “Congratulations, Peacemaker.”
Jessica nodded a thank you, but didn’t speak. She sipped the new drink cautiously but did not look in the woman’s direction again. There wasn’t time or interest for a conversation or even a casual roll in the hay. That the drink could have been a simple gesture wasn’t lost on Jessica, but it was better to be safe than sorry. More so, casual flings went against her plans and aspirations, and nothing got in the way of those since Marc Lemieux did his best to fuck up her life.
Bringing down Ch’tek, with the unwitting help of her ex-husband, had taken nearly six months to plan and execute. For this new mission, she’d have no preparation time beyond the 170-hour transit from Sol to the Araf’s emergence point. Even with a mediator to assist with her lack of diplomatic aplomb, the situation couldn’t be worse.
Did you expect it to be easy?
She snorted at the thought and tapped the bulge in her breast pocket reassuringly. It had been worth it to finally get Elly and whatever secret her father left behind. Seven years old and cowering in the jamb of her bedroom door, she’d heard her father burst in from a mission two days early and rummage through the house collecting every spare weapon he could find. Her mother argued; her shrill voice rose in volume and pitch until it brought tears to Jessica’s eyes. Everyone outside their family called him Snowman. She didn’t know until years later it was a callsign.
James Edward Francis had been a decorated starship pilot with more than 2,000 interstellar jumps under his belt. She closed her eyes, every detail of last seeing him as vibrant as it had been 20 years before.
“I love you, bulldog,” he’d said. “You stay tough and I’ll be home soon.”
“Where are you going?”
His breath hitched. “Far away, Jess. And I’ll miss you, but I’ll be home soon.”
He’d squeezed her one last time. With her face pressed into his neck she could smell his Old Spice aftershave. His skin was always warm, and his beard tickled her ear. “Okay, Daddy.”
They separated, and he moved quickly to the door, leveling a finger at his estranged wife. “Make sure she gets Elly! When she’s ready!”
Jessica opened her eyes and tossed back a healthy swallow of whiskey. She’d been trying to get ready all her life. Whatever her Daddy left behind in that chipset was enough for her mother to fearfully hide for decades. The technology looked like nothing she’d ever seen.
Her wrist slate beeped. She looked down at it and frowned.
Transport to Araf arranged courtesy of the Dream World Consortium. Departs in four hours. Bay 7.
She watched a football game on the Tri-V for a moment and tried to relax. Ten minutes later, she gave up. Jessica polished off the rest of her drink and laid five credits on the table. The blonde wasn’t in the bar anymore so Jessica couldn’t say thanks for the drink. Again, it was just as well. She’d have just enough time to shower, pack, and grab a bite to eat. She could have Lucille research her father’s mystery gift while she packed, but first she needed to say goodbye to Hex.
* * * * *
Chapter Two
Dawn broke across the arid highlands of Araf. From the high ground of the Li Hills, the orb of the rising Nehra dappled the sandy, brown terrain in reddish gold light. Below the hills to the east lay a wide river valley. In the midst of the glacier-fed river, straddled across a sandbar, lay the wreckage of one of the largest Dusman Raknars, known in the Union’s records only as 6C8. The 200-foot-tall mecha last walked more than a century before at the hands of ill-trained Besquith mercenaries. Faulty servo motors were determined to be the cause of the giant’s eventual failure. Whatever the reason, its collapse had been a great boon for the Altar. Their continental dispute with two other races began almost from the moment of first landing.
South of the Altar’s high desert terrain, the GenSha held millions of acres of fertile grassy plains fed from small dams and aquifers laid just as the Dream World had been colonized. Ten generations of GenSha, though, had grown their colony 400 percent and more dams had been built. The once fertile river valley was narrower than it had been in the last 50 years. As the water receded from the giant Raknar, the Altar found the one thing they needed to grow their brood. Power.
Exposed motors below the Raknar’s waist gave them access to the mecha’s dwindling, but still capable, power source. The Altar believed wind and solar energy would be enough to power their generators and keep their incubators working year-round, but the weather on Araf had been anything other than what was advertised. Persistent clouds and lower than minimal winds left their solar arrays dormant and their windmills still. No amount of complaint or threat of adjudication could persuade the Consortium to adjust the manufactured planet’s weather. Contracts were contracts, the officers of the Consortium said. The Dream World had been offered “as-is” and that was all there was to it.
For 20 years, five whole generations, the Altar used the Raknar’s remaining power to fuel their incubators and help provide for their young. As the GenSha lowered the water level, the power plants in the Raknar’s wide legs were increasingly exposed. Without the water to cool them, the power source’s efficiency decreased with every centimeter of water lost. A meter more, and the power output would decrease enough that the Altar incubators would be unable to work. The less-than-promised Araf climate would decimate the Altar colony within 10 years. But the GenSha’s use of the river was only half the problem. Twenty kilometers to the north, at the river’s delta into the Great Sea lay a colony of Selroth. By rights, the Selroth had as much space as they wanted in Araf’s plentiful seas, but they preferred the freshwater deltas of the major rivers to the depths of Araf’s shallow oceans. Like the Altar, they wanted to raise their children in an environment that was more suited for them. The three colonies grew closer and closer to war with every passing day.
Feeling the warmth of the summer sunlight, Klatk sat down on the high spur of rocky ground and watched Nehra rise slowly in the east. Atop the ridge, she could see the Great Sea with the fertile grasslands on the periphery. Like her own colony, the others seemed slow to rise and begin their routines as the long, warm summer wore down. The rocks warmed her abdomen as she watched the day begin. Soon enough, her assistants would rise to look for her and ensure her safety. There had been too many attacks in recent weeks to allow for many unescorted excursions from the colony walls. A few years ago, she’d have roamed from the GenSha colony to the mouth of the river they called Choote without hesitation or risk of injury. The GenSha’s mercenary forces, recruited in the name of defense under Dream World policies, often patrolled well north of their lands into Altar property. In recent weeks, they’d fired on the fallen Raknar. Scare tactics, she’d told her council, but they’d called for emergency evacuation planning.
Founding the colony in the ragged ridges west of the Choote gave the Altar a place to mine for precious metals left behind in the terraforming process. The Consortium paid handsomely for gold and platinum pulled from the ground, and the Altar took to the work easily enough. But, as the Consortium wanted to go deeper, the Altar found tragedy. Below 250 meters, the ground grew unstable. Drilling more shafts only resulted in m
inimal gains of metals and brought the same results. Hundreds of lives were lost and without sustainable incubation, the colony’s population dwindled to just over a thousand. Her charter stipulated that a colony strength of 800 or less required evacuation to the Altar homeworld.
This is home. She thought. We wanted to be nowhere else but here. Returning home in shame is not an option.
A faint whiff of breeze tickled her antennae and she faced the breeze, looking toward the GenSha plains. A storm system hung over the southern part of the continent instead of over their lands during the summer months as was promised. Precipitation would come, the Consortium said, but the GenSha lands grew drier and the Choote receded even farther. A rising plume of dust caught her eyes, far down by the GenSha colony’s walls. Another joined it. As a third one rose, drifting slightly to the east, Klatk stood and moved to the edge of the escarpment. More plumes came up, consistent with vehicles picking up speed.
Half of the dust plumes cut toward the river and a wide sandbar the GenSha used for crossings. Her blood ran cold with realization and she scrambled down from the rocks and tapped the slate on her bandolier. “Raffa? Can you hear me?”
“Klatk? Where are you?”
She hustled down, four of her six legs working hard to maintain her balance as she sped toward the colony. “Sound the alert and get all crews to stations. The GenSha have sent another patrol. I want them stopped before they reach the outer boundaries.”
“What about the brood?”
Klatk scrambled over a boulder and onto flatter ground where she picked up speed through the low brush. “Set the defense around the incubators and the usual positions. Moving the brood to the shelters will take too long and leave gaps in the perimeter. Every able body to the perimeter.”
“But the council said—”
“I don’t care! Sound the alert! Now!”
Klatk moved lower, leaving the sharp-faced escarpment and entering the rolling hills next to the high ridgelines. She tore through a thicket at full speed and heard, at long last, the alarm siren bray from the walls of their colony. Risking a glance at the horizon, she saw the thickening plumes of the GenSha attack racing in from the southeast. Three bright spots of light arced up into long contrails. She slapped her slate again.
Peacemaker (The Revelations Cycle Book 6) Page 2
