by Matt Novotny
“Thank you,” she said.
The Torvasi nodded and gave her a slight smile that never reached his eyes.
“Waste of time,” said Yeorgi from the door to his compartment across the hall from theirs. He had moved after the first day. Bes was happy they didn’t have to share one of the tiny crew cabins with the casually brutal man, but the price was that they were locked in their room for all but a few hours each day, when they were allowed to use the facilities and exercise. “This—” he gestured at the toy and the Torvasi, “—accomplishes nothing. Do you think you are friends?” the Ukrainian asked. “That he will let you go?”
“Don’t you play with your children, Mr. Romanov?” said Bes.
“My children are silent, as they should be, and my women, too. Unless they are being useful,” Yeorgi said.
“What’s your pappy think of how you treat family?” Bes asked.
“I would kill him if I knew who he was,” he spat.
Bes was caught by a moment of sadness. She glanced at Sabine and missed her son, her Louie, more than ever. The boys all did their best, Amos in particular, in spite of…Well, that was water under the bridge. Even Jackson stepped up whenever he was home—but wasn’t none of them Sabine’s father.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Romanov. No one should have to grow up without a fath—”
Yeorgi crossed the hallway in two quick steps, surprising Bes, and caught her with a backhand that staggered her and sent her sprawling into their room.
Sabine ran to place herself in the doorway between Bes and Yeorgi.
“You leave my nana alone!” she screamed.
“If I want your pity, I will beat it out of you. I want nothing but your obedience,” he said.
Bes staggered to the door. Sabine looked from Yeorgi to the Torvasi guard, who was watching them.
“What? You think he will save you? He will do nothing unless you are truly harmed, and it is only a little pain.” Filled with adrenaline, Yeorgi stared the Torvasi in the eye. “Isn’t that right?”
The Torvasi became a blur of motion, grabbed Yeorgi by the throat, took three quick steps, and slammed the big Ukrainian against the wall of the corridor, pinning him there, looking at him as if he were no heavier than a picture that refused to hang straight. Yeorgi kicked out and hammered at the guard’s arm with his fists, but the blows made no impression whatsoever.
“No,” the Torvasi said. “The mistress has instructed that the hostages are not to be harmed upon pain of death. But because she has extended her grace to you, I will give you this one warning.”
The guard continued to squeeze. Yeorgi turned purple as he gasped and clawed ineffectually at the Torvasi’s hand.
“If the time comes when the mistress orders that the prisoners be killed, then it is a duty I will perform, but I will take no enjoyment in the task.”
Bes shivered, thinking of him playing with Sabine. It was the most she had heard the alien say.
“But if she were to withdraw her grace from you, yours would be a death I would savor. Return to your duty in service of the mistress and do only what that duty requires. Do you understand?”
Yeorgi nodded frantically. The Torvasi simply dropped him, then turned to Bes and Sabine. “Do you require medical attention?”
“No. No, I’m all right,” said Bes.
The Torvasi inclined his head in a sort of bow, then returned to his post.
Yeorgi, gasping and wheezing, climbed to his feet and walked slowly down the corridor, using the wall for support. The look of pure hatred he gave them said plainly that he would kill them, or worse, should they lose the Torvasi’s protection. Not because they had seen Yeorgi beaten, but because they had witnessed something far worse.
They had seen Yeorgi’s fear.
* * *
Shuttle, En Route to Survey Ship Ptolemy
Earth System
The shuttle trip to the Ptolemy was uneventful. Remmy whistled tunelessly, happy to be going off-world. It had been way too long since he had been on contract for the Intergalactic Haulers. Burton was unhappy at being left behind, but Remmy pointed out that someone needed to take care of the Besquith pups and help the Cajuns get back on track if they were going to be ready to deliver some payback.
Remmy reminded himself to pull down information on Besquith biology and upbringing to review during the upcoming jump into hyperspace. He set up a queue for queries in his pinplants. He added a query for Kleve and a download request for the next couple seasons of Passions Seven, the telenovela produced on the moon Eros. Man, the lead actress really could…act.
He glanced at Rains. He was sitting passively, eyes closed, in some sort of Peacemaker trance of mindfulness. It sounded a lot like the Japanese Ki meditation that old Kashuwaia Sensei would have them do. Anything that kept Rains on an even keel, Remmy was all for it.
Tia interrupted his reverie. “We’re approaching the Ptolemy. Docking in fifteen.”
Rains flicked the comm switch next to him. “Thank you, Tia.” He opened his eyes and met Remmy’s gaze.
“Did you have a nice nap?” Remmy asked with a smile.
Rains tipped his head to each side, like he was working out a kink. “Not hardly. I’ve been thinking about Kleve. The last report said minor gangs were running around setting themselves up as petty warlords.”
“What about the local authorities?” Remmy asked.
Tia interrupted them. “We are exiting atmo.”
Remmy felt the near weightlessness as they escaped Earth’s gravity. Only the shuttle’s thrust gave them any sense of weight and that was back, not down.
“I really missed this,” Remmy said. Rains looked a little green despite his dark skin. “Are you okay?” His concern was for the upcoming trip. They were going to be in space for a while and Rains couldn’t hide in the gravity section of the Ptolemy for the entire trip.
Rains took several deep breaths before answering. “Yeah, the transition throws me. I’ll get my space legs soon enough.” He smiled weakly. “To answer your question about locals, they only come out during the day. Or at night if the gangs start getting rough with civilians.”
“What about the Peacemakers? Did they leave a group on the planet?” Remmy asked. Surely there had to be some sort of order there.
Rains shook his head. “Any Peacemakers on the planet will be focused on protecting the data center only. Most pulled out, and that is what encouraged the gangs to act out. No one realized how much the Peacemakers propped up civility on the planet until they left. It turns out that the local government was slowly cutting the police force over several hundred years.” Rains shrugged then glanced up front. Remmy followed his gaze and saw they were approaching the Ptolemy.
The docking was smooth as silk, and, in no time, they were underway toward the gate. Once they stowed their gear, they met up in the galley. While they didn’t have a ton of space for luxurious cabins, the old Magellan-class survey ships did have a great galley. Remmy was poking at a coffee maker, trying to figure out how to select the roast, when Rains came in.
“Do you know how to work this thing?” Remmy asked.
Rains looked at the machine like he was seeing an old friend. “Oh yes, that is the most useful piece of equipment on the ship.” He poked two buttons, and, after a minute, a drink bulb popped out. Rains took it and grabbed a seat. Remmy repeated the sequence, and he was shortly sucking on a bulb.
“When the ship is in gravity, it will produce cups instead of bulbs,” Rains explained.
“Fantastic!” Remmy was impressed. He made a careful note of the model. “I’ll have to get me one.”
“Our first stop is Karma Station,” Rains said. “That’s where we will find my contact.”
“Then on to Karma itself. The best slice shops are planetside.” Remmy took a long pull of the coffee bulb. “Say, do you like telenovelas?” he asked.
They had time to kill, so Rains shrugged. “Sure, why not?”
* * * * *
Chapt
er Fourteen
Peacemaker Regional Headquarters
Houston, Texas, Earth
Amos walked up the ramp to the main entrance of the Houston Peacemaker HQ, stopping to turn and wave to Tia Clayton as she exited the shuttle. She waved back, gesturing for Race to follow her. When Race had heard Amos was going to Houston, he asked to come along to see the Peacemaker HQ. Amos didn’t have any objection, so they cleared the visit, and Tia offered to give Race a tour while they waited for him. Amos had taken the selector at his word and requested an appointment to talk about his transport problem. Rather than have him schedule a commercial flight, Hak-Chet had sent Tia with the Peacemaker shuttle to pick them up.
The last week had been especially tough, but with support pouring in, Amos and the Cajuns were finally regaining their footing. Amos had started telling people “No.”
Once word had gotten out through the Olympian network, half the mercs the Cajuns had worked with wanted to sign on for a chance to ship out. He kept explaining it wasn’t a contract job. The offers slowed a bit after that, but they kept coming. And unless this Sin’Kura had an army, they had more manpower than they needed and far more than they could move.
Amos couldn’t help being nervous. Everything was going better than he thought it would. Jackson was off on the trail. Sanctuary was back up and rolling. Bev was working with Babette and Greasy on the new haptic suits. Hell, even Lem had come out of his haze and was helping. But Amos just couldn’t stop feeling like the bottom was going to drop out again. He’d complained about it to Junkyard.
Nolan had set down his overpriced scotch and fixed Amos with his best concerned friend look. “Amos, how long have we been doing this? Forty years? You’re still in the game, though you haven’t been doing much but sitting on your ass out here in the swamp lately. In all that time, I’ve never seen you turn down a contract that came to you for the right reasons. Not once. And it ain’t like you needed the money. How many times has the Delacroix Foundation written a check for a merc’s family when they bought it?”
“Got no idea what you talkin’ about, Colonel,” said Amos.
“All right. Point taken. But the old timers know better, and the Olympians are full of old timers. This is a chance for them to revisit their glory days for the right reasons. Get back in for one more roll of the dice. Are you surprised they jumped at it?”
“I shouldn’t be, but I am.” Amos chuckled. The two men drank in silence for a while. “What are you going to do ‘bout that pup you’re babysitting?” Amos asked.
“Race?” asked Junkyard. “Roomeoo Bravoo’s in the house!” he teased. Then he got serious. “I don’t know. Race is a good kid, but he’s just starting to realize being a merc isn’t a game. He aced his VOWs and would have landed a great contract if his father hadn’t essentially had him blacklisted, but it probably would have gotten him killed. Everything is too easy for him.”
“Yeah, he’s cocky all right. You think he’s ready?”
“He took out some of your bad guys by throwing old appliances.” Nolan laughed. “Ready? I don’t know. Were we ready? He just got kicked in the teeth. It’s real now. It bleeds. I want that to settle in a bit, then I’ll talk to him. May be a moot point. Raul isn’t going to let him go.”
“Probably for the best.” Amos knocked back his drink and poured another. “Is Raul still mad?”
Nolan sipped his drink. “That you ran off with his wife? Yeah, probably not the sort of thing he’ll get over.”
“You know damn well I didn’t know she was married till it was too late. It was a long time ago, and she went back. Does Race know?”
“Nope.”
“Good.”
Time to quit chasing clouds and get back to work. Amos shook his head and came back to the present. He passed through security, and the Peacemakers checked his identification. Then his guide arrived, one of the Pushtal who had visited Sanctuary with the selector.
“This way.”
The Pushtal knocked twice, then stood aside as the door opened so Amos could enter. Hak-Chet said, “Welcome, Mr. Delacroix. I hope you don’t mind; I’ve asked Captain Lorm to join us.”
“Captain! This is a surprise! Good to see you. Your timing couldn’t be better. What brings you to our neck of the woods?” Amos stepped forward to shake the Cochkala’s hand.
“Peacemaker Rains, as it happens, but it seems we’re too late,” she said.
“Mr. Delacroix, before the attack on Sanctuary I’d intended to send Peacemaker Rains off-world on another matter, but since then we have been overtaken by events,” said Hak-Chet.
“Yeah, you can say that again. But that might work out anyway. Transport was what I came to see you about. Once Jac-son know where Bes and Sabine are, we need a way to get the boys into the action,” Amos said.
Captain Lorm gave Hak-Chet a look, and the selector nodded. “We’d be happy to take you on the Turunmaa once you have a destination. You have ten men, correct? It would be pretty tight, but we could load your CASPers into a cargo pod as long as you can have them ready,” she said.
Amos shook his head. “Do you have something bigger, or maybe a couple of ships? If credits are an issue I can pay. I tried looking for ships for hire first and there’s nothing commercial I’d trust right now. Turns out we have a bigger crew for this op. May turn into just us, but them as hit us don’t seem like the type to play around, and we’re loadin’ for bear.”
“What type of force are you looking to move, Mr. Delacroix?” asked the selector.
“As of now…” He thought for a moment. “Twelve squads of five, a Tort and two Flatar, an’ a mighty big Xiq’tal. Might be able to convert some of that to infantry, but I’d hate ta lose the options.”
“Are you going to war, Mr. Delacroix? Sixty CASPers seems extreme,” said Hak-Chet.
“Cajuns went to war the second they took one of ours, an no mistake. When it’s over ain’t no one gonna try it again. I gar-on-tee! The lord blessed us with a bunch of friends that want to come along.”
“I’d like to help,” said Captain Lorm, “but the Turunmaa is a corvette, not a battlewagon or cargo hauler. We just don’t have the space you need. If you find haulers, we’ll be happy to fly escort for you. Are you sure a smaller group won’t work?”
“I don’ know. It’s all in the wind right now. I’m just tryin’ to cover all the angles till we hear from Jac-son. Can I let you know?” Amos asked.
“If it’s soon,” Captain Lorm said. “I expect to be here a week, two at most.”
“Thank you both,” said Amos. “I’ll get back to you as soon as I have something.”
* * *
Karma Station
Rains and Remmy waited for the lift to deposit them on one of the quiet sub-levels of Karma Station. Rains shifted a small, heavy package from one arm to the other.
“I don’t understand why we’re going to see this guy at work, especially if he works for a security firm,” said Remmy.
“Because Bridgwater is going to keep tabs on him. If we meet him off the books, then they get curious about what he’s doing. By going in straight we provide camouflage. It’s the same reason I’m not wearing the uniform today. We’re also telling them that we have a problem we’d rather not have people know about, which means if word gets out, then Bridgwater’s reputation is at stake.”
Remmy shook his head. “If you say so. Makes no damn sense to me.”
Rains continued, “My friend is going to do us a favor. Bridgwater will file it in a deep, dark hole, but if an opportunity to fix the problem comes up, they’ll expect a seat at the table. Everyone wins.”
“Sounds like first class bullshit.”
“Mostly that’s how contracts work. We agree to a contract, sign, then we set it in the middle of the floor and try to piss on each other without getting the contract wet.”
“What happened to your word and a handshake?” Remmy asked with a smirk.
“That’s the trick to it, you have to know before
you start if the guy you’re dealing with is a shaker or a pisser.”
“What if you don’t?”
“Then you’re the guy who gets the contract wet,” Rains replied.
In an out of the way corner, away from the bars and merc pits, the gambling dens and other less savory amusements, one could find companies that handled the mundane but necessary tasks that pushed the bleeding edge forward. Behind the high profiles of mercenary companies, system spanning mega-corps, and Galaxy-spanning guilds were a world of small, specialized firms for just about any service someone might need. But it was a world that worked as much on favors and reputation as on cold, hard credits. Worked, surprisingly well, on the Human adage of “it’s not who you are, but who you know.” For systems security, those who knew and could afford it went to Bridgwater Security.
They entered the lobby and a tall mustached Human with brown hair and an easy smile came out of a side office to greet them. That earned him an arch look from the capable-looking woman sitting behind the reception desk.
“Peacemaker Rains, Mr. Bouchard. Welcome to Bridgwater Security. I’m Patrick Bridgwater. What can we do for you?” the man asked, offering his hand.
Rains stepped forward and shook it. “Good to meet you, Mr. Bridgwater. I’m afraid this isn’t an official visit; more of a scratch-and-sniff. We have an appointment to see Oberon. I have some questions for him on some consulting work he did before he came to Bridgwater.”
While Rains talked to Bridgwater, Remmy looked around, doing his usual scan of the local networks, wincing at the white noise he ran into when he passed from the station to the Bridgwater networks.
“Ah, I see, research and recommend. Fair enough. Do you have a timeline?” Patrick asked.
“That will depend on how long the assessment takes, but I’d expect no more than a year if anything comes of it,” said Rains.
Patrick’s smile widened a bit as he saw Remmy wince. “I’ll leave you to it then. We are, of course, familiar with your profiles, so feel free to contact me directly if you have future needs.”
