“I am,” Hex said. “She saved my life on that last mission. But you already know that, don’t you?”
Hak-Chet nodded. “I am aware of that and of your own tactical abilities, that’s why I’m here, Mister Alison. You are currently in possession of the Peacemaker’s personal vessel and have filed a flight plan to Mars. You were planning on leaving when? Tomorrow? Or when you sober up enough to realize you did nothing wrong on your last mission and people died anyway?”
The words slapped Hex as effectively as if the Selector had punched him in the face. “I was thinking about visiting family.”
“Noble, yes. But what if I told you that your friend was going to need help? Would you be willing to go?”
“I’m one guy with a ship.” Hex bristled. “What can I do to help her? Besides, she’s a Peacemaker now and has way more power and authority than I could ever muster.”
“No,” Hak-Chet replied as if talking to a child. The effect was not lost on Hex. “You are one guy with a ship. I suggest you start there.”
Hex raised his beer and took a deep swig from the bottle. As he swallowed, the tumblers clicked into place. “Jessica is in danger?”
“More specifically, Earth’s first Peacemaker is in danger. There are those in and around the Guild that want her to fail. The leadership, and myself, do not. She is about to enter a three-way fight where two of the sides have retained mercenary forces to help achieve their goals. The third side has not. Knowing Miss Francis as well as I do, and as well as you do, I believe that’s precisely where she’ll align herself based on the situation. When the tactical situation deteriorates, as it inevitably will, she will be in need of assistance. I am prepared to ensure that she has what she needs. Given the resources, her actions will either confirm her place as a Peacemaker or render her another ineffective human candidate for Peacemaker.”
Hex turned one side of his mouth down. “She’s not the first candidate?”
“No. There have been several. None of her predecessors have passed a single confirmation mission. Jessica did, but the Guild was not ready to declare her a Peacemaker and have ordered her into a dispute that reeks of corporate infringement and proxy aggression. To be fair, Mister Alison, I cannot let her fail. It’s time for Earth to play a role in the Galactic Union other than slaughtering human soldiers in other people’s wars.”
Hex found himself nodding. “You think Jessica can solve this dispute?”
“In her own particular way, yes.” Hak-Chet drank again from his pint, nearly draining it. “Now, you are one man with a ship. I believe the tonnage and space inside the Victory Twelve will allow you some armor and a few more CASPers, am I right?”
“There’s room for a platoon of tanks and two fire teams of CASPers. It would be tight, but doable,” Hex said. He set the empty bottle down on the bar and looked up at Hak-Chet. “I don’t have the contacts here to create a unit from scratch.”
Hak-Chet polished off his cider and stood. “You won’t have to. Bay 12, Mister Alison.”
“What about the contract? The details?”
Hak-Chet smiled. “Bay 12, Mister Alison. You best hurry. Tchrt One is preparing to jump. I expect Peacemaker Francis to arrive in a hot landing zone at the very least. She’ll need friends in her corner.”
Hex nodded and stood. “I’m taking you at your word, Selector.”
“You are, Mister Alison.” Hak-Chet turned to walk away, but looked back over his shoulder. “Have you ever known the Peacemaker Guild to not make good on its promises?”
“No,” Hex said simply. “But would you go this far for any other Peacemaker, Selector?”
Hak-Chet grinned. “Who says I haven’t before, and that I won’t again, Mister Alison?”
* * * * *
Chapter Five
The Victory Twelve’s cargo hatch was open when Hex entered Bay Twelve. Three Mark Five assault tanks were already loaded, with a fourth being backed into position by a ground guide. A platform with six CASPers mounted on it rolled into position. All of it was a coordinated, professional effort that no one seemed to be leading. Hex marched into the center of the action and looked left and right for someone in charge.
“You’re Alison, right?” a female wearing green coveralls with red epaulets said. Her blonde hair was tied back in a ponytail at the base of her neck, and her eyes were hard and serious. “We’re almost loaded and ready to depart.”
“Who the hell are you?” Hex asked. “How did you get the hold open?”
The blonde’s brow furrowed. “Didn’t Selector Hak-Chet speak with you?”
“I just left him. There’s no way he could—” The thought died in Hex’s mouth. He’d left the bar not 10 minutes before. There was no way Hak-Chet could have started this process in the time they’d been apart. The Selector had started things well before talking to Hex knowing that the young mercenary would agree.
That sonuvabitch, Hex thought with a grin.
“The Selector gave us the order to move an hour ago.” The blonde extended a hand. “I’m Tara Mason. I’ve got four tanks that used to be part of Death On Tracks with me.”
Hex nodded. The armor-heavy mercenary force had attacked a fortified objective held by the Besquith in the Cimaron region. Outnumbered four to one, the mercenary armor commander decided to use nuclear weapons against the Besquith and paid the price. A full regiment of human armor fell in minutes. “You got out just in time?”
“Never deployed,” Tara said. “Drop ship couldn’t de-orbit. We watched the whole fucking regiment die in place.”
“Sorry to hear that,” Hex said as sincerely as he could. Human mercenary commanders were a dime a dozen, and there seemed to be more bad ones than good ones in the race for off-world contracts. As bad as Marc Lemieux had been as commander of the Marauders, even he wouldn’t have stooped to what that idiot Schwartz had done with Death On Tracks. The largest human mercenary armored force was gone. For a moment, Hex couldn’t help but wonder if the woman standing in front of him, or her tanks and crewmen, were lucky or good. He sincerely hoped for the latter. “Where are the CASPer troops?”
Tara shrugged. “On their way. There’s two squads straight from the academy from what I understand.”
Hex blinked and looked at the Mark Eight suits on the rolling racks. “Newbies?”
“Yeah,” Tara said. “At least they’ll have some good training.”
“There’s no time for re-training them.” Hex shook his head. “We’ll be fighting their bad habits from the schoolhouse the whole time. They always tend to teach the basics just wrong enough that bad things happen in combat.”
“You said we,” Tara curled up one side of her mouth. “You must think I’m experienced. We haven’t even played ‘where’ve you been and who do you know’ yet.”
Hex grinned. “We’ll have 170 hours to do that. You may not have made that last jump, but you’ve made more than your fair share.” Telling her that it was obvious she’d “seen the elephant” didn’t seem right. The evidence was in her eyes and her mannerisms. She’d taken control of the loading of a vessel she’d never seen before, expertly loaded her tanks and left more than enough room for the CASPers in the Victory Twelve’s hold. “I want you to be my XO, Tara. That good with you?”
“Absolutely,” she nodded. “You need to go to the bridge and change the flight plan. I’ll get the CASPers loaded and recall their owners. They’re probably all in the Class Six getting what they think they need for the trip.”
Hex laughed. A few years before, he’d have been right with the CASPer pilots hitting the base liquor store for liquid courage before heading out on his first mission. “You’re probably right.”
Tara gestured to the CASPer racks and yelled to someone behind him. “Let’s go! Get those things aboard!”
Hex turned and saw mobile racks moving forward. Behind them, through the main hangar door, came 11 fresh-faced kids no more than 20 years old. Five of them were men, the other six women. Women increasingly fou
nd their way into CASPers out of the Academy. They were better pilots, everyone knew, but the CASPers had been a man’s world for most of the last few decades.
Times are a’changing.
Tara met his eyes, then he turned around and headed for the bridge. She didn’t say anything, and she didn’t have to. She was all business, and that was just fine with Hex. For a split second, his heart fluttered as he thought of how Maya would have grabbed his arm or said something quick and gentle. He could find that again, but not now and not with Tara Mason. That was as obvious as her combat experience.
The Victory Twelve’s bridge was two decks above the main hold and roughly amidships on the long, sleek corvette. Hex climbed up the second ladder and stepped into the automated bridge. As his feet passed the bulkhead threshold into the room, a chime sounded from everywhere followed by a woman’s voice.
<
Hex smiled at the familiar voice. “Thank you, Lucille.”
There was no response. His assumption that the electronic voice on the bridge was Marc Lemieux’s nearly perfect, artificially-intelligent counterpart appeared to be inaccurate. That voice was identical to the voice on the Victory Twelve, but Lucille would have at least replied. Not that it mattered. Hex could fly the ship on his own. Of course, knowing a key word to activate it would have been nice to know.
Hex ran a hand through his hair. “Bulldog, what did you leave me?”
<
So it is Lucille. Weird.
“Lucille it is,” Hex said. “Connect me with departure control.”
<
Peacemaker (The Revelations Cycle Book 6) Page 6
