“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.
<<Captain on the bridge.>>
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?”
<<Captain Francis is not aboard, sir. You are in command, and I will respond to Lucille or shipmind, whichever you prefer.>>
So it is Lucille. Weird.
“Lucille it is,” Hex said. “Connect me with departure control.”
<<Button two.>>
Hex found the communications console by his right hand and pressed the button. “Departure control, this is Victory Twelve with a change of flight plan notification.”
“Go ahead, Victory Twelve.” The voice on the other end sounded bored and half-asleep.
“Victory Twelve making way to Araf, Jesc arm and Craft region. We are not transiting to Mars, over,” Hex said. With a few taps of the control console, he verified the flight parameters that Lucille programmed based on his transmission. While not a conversational interface, the computer knew what it was doing.
Departure Control came back a few seconds later. “Victory Twelve, confirmed. You’re number six for the gate. Transition is in two point five hours, how copy? Over.”
Hex frowned. The Tchrt One had at least a two-and-a-half-hour head start on them, so they’d be going through the stargate at the same time, but a number of ships ahead of them. He wanted to make sure they stayed as close as they could to her—if they landed in a hot LZ, it could be an incredibly short mission for Hex and his new team. “Copy, Departure. Two point five hours. Victory Twelve standing by. Out.”
With time to kill, Hex moved back down to the bay and collected his personal belongings. Two immense duffel bags slung over his shoulders, Hex walked into the drop bay of the ship and saw his CASPer being loaded at the far end. Tara stood there supervising the loading as carefully as she had the other eleven. Hex walked the length of the bay past the four tanks hanging suspended in their drop racks and stopped at Tara’s side.
“She’s a little beat up, don’t you think?” Tara asked. She pointed to the large slash marks across the suit’s torso and arms. “That cosmetic or are you leaving it there to attract women?”
Hex shook his head. “It needs repairing. Offloaded it today to get it fixed. Now I’m right back on the ship and headed out again.”
“Doesn’t look too bad. We’ll get the newbies to do the maintenance—they love teaching that stuff in school. Will be good experience for them,” Tara said. “Once she’s aboard, we’re ready to push off.”
“We have some time—about two hours.” Hex shrugged. “Enough time to get the team together and brief them, I guess.”
“I’ve already scheduled a briefing for right after we hit the gate. As soon as the ship’s course is set, we can meet with them and start figuring out how to skin the cat as a group.” Tara said. “If we’ve got the time—I want to go back into the port for a bit and try to find us some air cover.”
Hex sighed. “I hadn’t even thought of that.”
Tara squared her shoulders to him. “I’m not trying to take charge of your mission, Hex. My instructions from Hak-Chet were to make sure Peacemaker Francis has the support she needs, and that you have the support you need. I know about your mission, okay? I’m here to help you as much as we need to help the Peacemaker.”
Her words didn’t feel that great, but Hex believed he understood. Hak-Chet wanted Jessica protected, but he knew that Hex wouldn’t be able to do it on his own. The sinking feeling that whatever waited them at Araf was much worse than Hak-Chet let on grew with every passing moment. “They’re going to be ahead of us at the gate, but we’ll be close.”
Tara answered, “Good. Then we won’t have any problems.”
Hex didn’t believe her for a second.
* * *
Jessica woke in the forced darkness of the ship and pushed herself upright, resting her back against the combination headboard and wall that encircled her bunk. Her wrist slate said the Tchrt One was 87 hours into the 170-hour transition from Earth to Araf. The last three days had been some of the worst days of her life. Each day brought a negotiation session, which Jessica immediately objected to because the other parties, specifically the Altar, Selroth, and GenSha, were not present at the table.
“It’s not fair to discuss the situation without talking to those on the ground. Especially if they’re fighting over it,” she said.
Kenos laughed. “Our agreements with the colonies and their home worlds are legally sound. You humans use the term airtight. That’s certainly what we’ve done. The Consortium will handle their differences. Your position, Peacemaker, is to force them to come to the table and discuss an end to hostilities.” Kenos sat back in his chair and lowered his dark eyes to her. “I can forgive your lack of policy understanding, Miss Francis, but I cannot forgive your inability to see that the Consortium handles its own policy.”
Taemin cleared his throat and spoke for the first time in two days. As a mediation assistant, she’d assumed he would do the lion’s share of the talking instead of remaining virtually silent. “The Altar specifically requested a Peacemaker, as is their right under the Consortium’s agreements. They believe the Consortium does not have the best interest of their colony in mind.”
Kenos chittered in disagreement. “There are fourteen colonies on Araf. Eleven of them live in peace. We, the Consortium, have all of their best interests in mind with everything we do.”
Jessica sat back against the chair, her thoughts racing. “The Altar have a legitimate complaint? About what?”
Taemin looked at Kenos for a long moment and then spoke. “There are three colonies along the Choote River on the largest southern continent. Inland are the GenSha who use the rolling plains for agriculture. The river flows through a desert region where the Altar set up their colony to mine precious metals. Where the Choote meets the Great Sea, the Selroth have a major colony. They take advantage of the fish and other fauna in the freshwater delta. The river’s flow rate is lower than promised, a part of the Consortium’s concessions regarding their climatological control system, and as such, all three colonies believe they are about to lose this resource because of the actions of the others.”
A Tri-V display snapped to life and Jessica could see the layout of the Choote River. Two long and wide sandbars appeared in the winding river as it flowed to the sea. “It’s not very deep, is it?”
“It still meets the required criteria,” Kenos said.
Taemin tilted his chin at her. “Every system on a Dream World is designed for certain criteria. Climate, hydrology, and soil are manufactured and terraformed to the specifications of the colonies. Ther
e are occasional problems. Araf is more problematic than the other worlds by fifteen percent in reported discrepancies.”
Kenos bristled. “An entire planet’s climate can only be jumpstarted, not controlled. Araf’s progress rested inside the 98th percentile for the last 150 Earth years of development. The recent fluctuations in weather and climate are within the projected norms, just at the low end.”
Jessica understood. “You have a drought in this area, and the three colonies who need water to survive are fighting over the river.”
Taemin shook his head. “The Altar do not need water.”
“Then why are they fighting the other two colonies? Or are they stuck in the middle?”
Kenos barked. “Hardly.”
“The GenSha want to use the water for agriculture. The Altar and the Selroth believe the wastewater will contaminate the Choote.” Taemin said.
“But the Altar do not need water. You just said that. Why would they care what the GenSha do?” Jessica asked.
Taemin sighed. “The Selroth believe the Altar are withholding underground water sources. Repeated efforts on the part of the Consortium have failed to bring the three sides to any agreement. The Altar refuse to give up their territory or the rights to the water found therein.”
“Is that allowed under their agreement with the Consortium?”
Kenos barked. “Of course it is! We want our colonies to be successful. We give them the rights to what they find on their lands so they can to use it or leverage it as necessary.”
“Then we have to have all three parties, plus the three of us, at the table. End of story,” Jessica said.
Taemin cleared his throat. “Administrator Kenos? Would you give us a moment?”
“Certainly,” the little Cochkala left the table and disappeared through a door.
Jessica turned in her chair to face the Caroon mediator. His longish face curled in a defiant smirk. “You are treading on dangerous ground, Peacemaker Francis.”