Enforcer Page 2

  The door slid shut behind the Jivool, and they found Dolamiir standing in the hallway a short distance away. His features were calm, but there was no mistaking the smoldering anger in his eyes.

  “Get them back to their quarters at once and ensure they stay there,” he ordered two Jivool guards standing just outside the closed doors. He turned to Korvan. “Fumigate the room if you have to, but get that gods-awful smell out of there before our next meeting. I do not want the profit forecast meeting overshadowed by their stench.” Dolamiir grunted and looked at Satuur. “If the ground forces see any vandalism or violent acts, they are to shoot to kill. Is that clear? And if those three cause any issues, space them.”

  * * *

  The three GenSha reps sat in the shared quarters they had been provided aboard the Rumiar. Their quarters were simple, with gray walls, blue furniture, and only enough amenities to allow them the most basic of creature comforts. Even the beds were little more than camp cots.

  Bith pulled out a small, cubical device from his overalls, pressed a button, and set it in the middle of the table before them. Three lights flashed green in rapid succession.

  “There. We can speak without fear of surveillance,” he said with a relieved sigh.

  “I say we take to the streets with every weapon we can get our paws on,” Gorn growled.

  Bith shook his head. Gorn’s response was understandable and the very last thing Bith wanted. In any kind of revolt without the entire GenSha population involved, there was little hope of survival, let alone victory. As it stood, many of his people were unwilling to take up arms, and Dolamiir’s security troopers would have Gorn’s hot-heads outgunned. What was worse was it was likely ISMC would use it as an excuse to bring in mercenaries. It would be long odds at best, and the GenSha would take incalculable casualties—just like on Sabin 5.

  It’s happening all over again, he thought.

  “We need an arbitrator, Gorn,” Saul said with a good deal of urgency, “or at least someone with the muscle to force them to do the right thing and the clout to make it stick. On our own, we don’t have a hope in hell of mounting any sort of armed response unless the whole populace joins in. We’d very quickly be outnumbered and outgunned.”

  Bith was pleased the younger GenSha saw the challenges they were up against. Saul was particularly wise for one of his years.

  Gorn snorted. “We’re hungry. They’re not.”

  “What do you suggest?” Bith asked, ignoring Gorn. He hoped the young GenSha had something specific in mind.

  “We need a Peacemaker,” Saul said.

  Gorn’s eyes went wide at the suggestion, and Bith slowly nodded his head, seeing the truth of it. The Peacemakers certainly had the muscle, and they played neither politics nor favorites—at least in theory. There was little doubt in Bith’s mind that a reasonable Peacemaker would see ISMC’s efforts for what they were—slavery and abuse.

  “I can send a request to the guild and include all the gory details,” Bith said. A pang of doubt hit him as memories washed before his eyes. He trusted the Peacemaker Guild as a whole, but there were those in the Peacemaker ranks who might thwart their efforts. He could only hope that his request wouldn’t get swept under the rug. He decided to send several requests through different channels and to different contacts within the guild, just to make sure.

  “I just hope it’s not too late,” Saul replied.

  Bith looked at the young GenSha with increased respect. He would make a fine replacement once Bith was ready to retire.

  “There will be a river of blood if it is,” Gorn said quietly. Bith could not discern if the blood in question would be GenSha or Jivool, but the odds were it would be both.

  “We’ll take the shuttle back to Godannii 2 and postpone tomorrow’s meeting. We can say we need to be on hand to try and stop the attacks.”

  Saul nodded.

  “That makes sense, and I’m sure they’ll buy it. They didn’t want to have today’s conversation, so it’s safe to assume they don’t really want the one tomorrow.”

  “Then it’s agreed,” Bith said.

  “Yes.” Saul nodded.

  “I’ll agree, but with the caveat that, in the absence of a Peacemaker resolution, I will personally lead the revolt. I have reached my limit, Bith,” Gorn added, locking eyes with the older GenSha.

  Fear and despair clutched at Bith’s insides. It truly was happening all over again, but in those days, he had been in Gorn’s shoes.

  “Agreed,” he finally said.

  And so it begins, he thought.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Two

  Ocono

  Peacemaker Academy

  The graduation at Peacemaker Academy on Ocono held all the pomp and circumstance of any graduation proceeding in the Galactic Union. After a stiff ceremony, complete with a speaker whose words of wisdom were ultimately lost on the audience, graduates filed into an auditorium for a meal and presentation of the awards—all amid proud family, faculty, and alumni, not to mention prospective employers.

  Chatter filled the auxiliary gymnasium-turned-auditorium, the only indoor facility large enough to seat 400 graduates and their guests. In the 312 years of Peacemaker graduations on Ocono, only once before had the weather not cooperated for the event. Despite gray skies and incessant misting rains, the weather did not dampen the spirits of the graduates and newly commissioned Peacemakers.

  Save one—Hr’ent Golramm, a young Oogar, whose demeanor belied his discontent with the whole proceeding.

  A stage with a podium at its center and stairs at either end filled the front of the auditorium. Beside the podium sat a low dais with a single, blued-steel case, 25 centimeters on a side and 10 centimeters thick, on it. It held the accoutrements of whoever was about to be announced as class valedictorian. Just behind the podium lay a wide table with stacks and rows of blued-steel boxes, most of which were about 30 centimeters on a side and 10 centimeters thick. Each case contained a Peacemaker badge, patch, and sidearm suitable to the graduate’s species.

  The class president, an arrogant Jivool named Tyrn Govai, stood at the podium, droning on and on about inanities Hr’ent did his best to ignore. Tyrn was medium-sized for his species, with gray fur, a long snout full of flat teeth, and the distinctive retractable claws of his race. He was cunning and capable, and the sort who looked at everyone around him as if they were all one step beneath him.

  According to the event’s seating chart, the graduates and their proud families sat near the front of the auditorium, facing the stage. To the right and far back in the corner, near the food and beverage serving station staffed by underclass cadets, a table set for six held only two occupants: Hr’ent and his mother, Sv’rha. The two Oogar took up much of the space, regardless. Almost three meters tall and easily weighing well over 400 kilograms each, they were a study in emotions. The smaller female, her pale purple fur brushed and clean, wore a simple necklace of flowers around her neck, and she had a happy, proud expression illuminating features that would make any male Oogar pant. As she glanced around at the other graduates and their families, she picked up the scent of anger and frustration from her son. She turned her attention to him, and her smile faded quickly into concern.

  Something was wrong with her cub.

  Hr’ent’s eyes had hardly left the table in front of him since he and his mother had taken their seats. He was big for his species, well over three meters tall with deep purple fur that leaned toward black. It was obvious to even non-Oogar that his features did not hail from his maternal side, but from his father’s—a father Hr’ent had never met. The young Oogar wore a dark blue duty vest with the word Peacemaker stitched across the front and back. Staring beyond his half-eaten dinner, he brought up his left paw and scratched at the place where his Peacemaker badge would be pinned. Even though duly recognized at the graduation ceremony as a Peacemaker, it would not be official until the badge was affixed on his chest by the one Guild Master Breka announced as the class val
edictorian. And every graduate in the hall knew who that would be.

  Receiving his badge was the only reason Hr’ent had shown up for the ceremony. However, it meant he had to endure yet another ceremony, and that one would be a distinctly unpleasant affair for him. Whereas the official ceremony of the Peacemaker Guild was a solemn, dignified event, the pinning ceremony was typically anything but. As the last opportunity for the graduates to celebrate their commissions together, it usually took on a party atmosphere. Organized and run by the graduates, the only solemn moments were the last ones—the actual pinning of their badges. Everything else hovered on being decidedly dull, if not outright torturous.

  For Hr’ent, there would be no celebrating, and the pinning ceremony would tax his restraint to its limits. Having to sit through the pinning ceremony was bad enough, specifically because of who he knew would be tasked with the honor. But listening to his classmates blather about their commissioning missions and the great things they intended to do in the galaxy felt like an anvil strapped to his shoulders. The whole affair had him simmering, but his sense of pride kept him in his seat. He’d worked his guts out, surpassing the rest of his classmates in virtually every category. He’d sacrificed much and endured the insults and disdain of many of them, including the class president and the one who would soon be named valedictorian. In his heart, he knew he should have been the one selected to pin the badges on his classmates, but it had all been ripped away by a single calamity.

  His stomach churned with nausea and rage, but he couldn’t figure out what his body was telling him. Should he leave? Should he walk away from becoming a Peacemaker altogether? It would mean three years wasted, despite everything he had learned and what he was now capable of. It would also mean his sacrifices had all been in vain. He tried a breathing technique to calm himself, but like most of the Peacemaker’s prescribed self-control methods, it failed to soothe. The urge to vomit fought against the urge to stomp up to the stage, rip the microphone from Tyrn’s grasp, and rip his head off in one smooth motion. Hr’ent was capable of the feat, but the momentary satisfaction would fade quickly once they handcuffed and hauled him away for a life-sentence or execution.

  Hr’ent clenched his paws under the table with the sound of popping tendons like snapping planks. He closed his eyes and tried the calming technique again in the vain hope it would calm his simmering anger.

  “Is something wrong, Cub?” His mother placed a paw on his arm.

  Glancing at her painted and manicured claws, he grimaced and then met her eyes.

  “Please. Not here.”

  “You are my first and only cub, Hr’ent,” she said, sounding compassionate and hurt. “I shall call you that until the day I find the Path.” His mother frowned. “You’re sitting there like you’ve lost your pet instead of smiling and celebrating with your classmates. Three long years here are over, and you are a Peacemaker. This should fill you with pride, Cub, not anger and frustration.”

  “I am proud, Mamma.” His voice was little more than a whisper. Am I? He wasn’t so sure, and that thought alone made him feel even worse.

  A burst of applause filled the room, pushing Hr’ent’s emotions toward rage as he glared at the stage. He watched Tyrn step away from the podium as Guild Master Breka stepped up and crossed to the center of the stage. Breka carried a gleaming titanium case over a meter long and ten centimeters square in his tentacles. What lay within was the first of the graduate awards to be handed out. It was an honor bestowed on the chosen valedictorian at every graduation ceremony.

  The podium automatically lowered in Breka’s presence, for the Guild Master, a XenSha, was only a meter tall. The XenSha had a unique appearance among the races of the galaxy, given their height and their large ears. Squat in build with large twitching noses and wide eyes capable of seeing the visible and infrared spectrums, XenSha resembled the Leporidae genus Earthlings called rabbits. As silence settled over the proceedings, Breka placed the case on its end beside the podium and stepped up to the microphone.

  “Greetings and congratulations to the graduates of this year’s class of Peacemakers. You have proven yourselves to be the most capable and competent students at the Academy. You have succeeded where many others have failed. Regardless of what lies ahead in your futures, be proud of what you have achieved here.” He paused for emphasis, staring out at the assembled attendees. “For those of you who sit beside these fine examples of your species, know that the graduate beside you is someone to be proud of, respected, and revered. By the end of this ceremony, each graduate will have been inducted into a family of officers and warriors whose duty it is to hold the line against those who would flout the laws of the Galactic Union.”

  Breka’s eyes scanned the upturned faces of the graduates.

  “You came to this campus innocent to the ways of the galaxy, unaware of the constant storms that rage against our union. Never forget your charge. Never forget that your duties as a Peacemaker are to set the terms, honor the threat, and either stand or fall.”

  Breka paused again as a round of applause filled the room. When the applause died down, he flashed his long front teeth, his species’ version of a smile.

  “I know none of you came here to listen to the meanderings of a proud, aging Guild Master,” he said. There were a few soft chuckles in the audience. “This is a celebration, and therefore, a party. Far be it from me to stand unduly long between you and the libations I suspect are in your immediate futures.”

  A cheer rose from many of the tables.

  “So, without further ado, it is with great pride that I announce this year’s class valedictorian, a Peacemaker who has excelled at every step of his training and education, proving himself to be the finest example of what Peacemakers are supposed to be.”

  The words struck at Hr’ent’s heart. The urge to vomit surged within him, and it was all he could do to keep his gorge down.

  “Rsach Klixtylbyt of the Jeha,” Breka said in a serious tone, “please step forward and be recognized.” The Guild Master picked up the titanium case and stepped away from the podium. His eyes shifted to a point at the front of the auditorium.

  The whole of one table and the graduates from several other tables cheered, hooted, and barked their praise for their peer, and the sound of it turned Hr’ent’s nausea into boiling rage.

  Rsach—the object of Hr’ent’s ire.

  To the sound of growing applause, a single, blackish-gray Jeha, standing over a meter tall, rose to his many feet and strode toward the steps leading up to the stage. His multiple, clawed limbs flowed back and forth calmly, his movements full of confidence. The little insect had challenged Hr’ent at every step during their training. The two of them had bested each other time and time again during trials and exams, trading victories back and forth like pugilists in a fight.

  Hr’ent let out a long, weary breath, doing his best to let at least some of the anger flow with it.

  “I just don’t know if I want to do this anymore,” he said under his breath, but his mother heard him. He felt her silent eyes on him, concerned and uncomprehending at the same time. It should have been me up there, but nobody cares how Rsach beat me out. He had beaten them all at nearly every turn, but they still considered him the “big dumb Oogar.” He’d heard them say it often, whenever they thought he was out of earshot. And there were the practical jokes and the shunning—three long years of it. But he’d gotten through it all. Hr’ent was only the seventh Oogar to overcome the grueling regimen of becoming a Peacemaker, which was a tremendous achievement, but to have become valedictorian would have set him apart and proved to everyone, including himself, that he could be the best.

  He’d undertaken a commissioning mission of a breadth few in the history of the guild ever had and been successful. Unfortunately, a single moment of bad luck had cost him everything, but he pushed that memory away when his mother’s voice broke him out of his reverie.

  “I won’t lie and tell you I’d be disappointed if you l
eft,” she said slowly. “I’ve always said you could earn a much better living with an Oogar mercenary company, perhaps even create a company of your own someday. But I find it hard to believe you really don’t want to do this anymore.” She squeezed his arm. “You were so excited when you learned you’d been accepted. And in your communiques, you said you were on track to be valedictorian. Even though you didn’t make it, you have achieved so much, for you, your family, and your race. Could you really give it all up? Especially now, at the very end?”

  Hr’ent huffed, a low, grumbling grunt of a sound.

  “It’s so terribly complicated,” he said, pulling his eyes away, then drawing his arm away as well. He looked up at the stage where Rsach stood before the Guild Master.

  “Peacemaker Rsach,” Breka said in a firm, booming voice, “for your determination, skill, and achievement of paramount excellence, I do hereby name you class valedictorian and grant you the Silver Blade of the Peacemakers. It is the first of the Peacemaker Apex Achievement Awards, and I suspect it will not be your last.” He opened the box slowly and held it out. The lights from the ceiling reflected off the weapon within, casting a wide ray of light across Rsach’s multi-faceted eyes and making them sparkle like emeralds in sunshine.

  As he stared down into the box, his long, blue antennae quivered slightly with excitement and anticipation. He reached out, pulled the blade out of the box, and raised it over his head, held in two of his right arms. The meter-long combat sword looked almost white, and its brilliant surface reflected light like a polished mirror. The blade, itself, was a double-edge weapon with a tanto tip and a long, leather-bound haft that could be used one- and two-handed. The guard was a simple affair, with tangs about four centimeters long, curving forward toward the tip.

  “Thank you, Guild Master Breka,” Rsach said in a buzzing, high-pitched voice. “It is an honor and a privilege to be recognized here, today, for the sacrifices made in earning such an elegant symbol of the Peacemaker Guild. I do solemnly swear to uphold the laws of the Galactic Union and bring to justice all those who transgress them.”