Chapter 22
Chapter
Twenty-Two
Never send transmission when angry
So the day’s training was an absolute disaster.
It was raining, no one seemed to have their heart in it, and so I ended it early, urging everyone to do some physical exercise to keep their bodies strong, and to work on some of the surveillance Maive and I had planned for the village.
That involved setting up concealed positions in the forest, arranging lookout spots, and installing the devices I had pulled from my own ship or purchased from the Durbok.
Not all preparation had to be combat. I was hoping to avoid that altogether.
Never before had I wished so much that I had not removed all of the heavy weaponry from the Andromeda.
I cast my line out as far as it could go.
I had a heavy sinker on it, and I was hoping to catch one of the blue-mouth fish that swam in the deeper water, with the hunk of clam I had attached as bait.
They froze very well, and if by some miracle we were able to drive off the Rivonok Alliance, perhaps I could make a meal for Maive one day.
I felt a tug on the line and set the hook. I was good at fishing by now. Even though I didn’t keep all the fish I caught, I enjoyed being able to provide my own food. I wanted to provide for Maive, too. But that was a dream for another day.
I reeled in whatever I had caught. It was putting up a fight, and by the time I got it onshore, I was tired and it was tired.
It was not the fish I was looking for. I picked it up, removed the hook, and carried it back out into the water, releasing it when I was waist-deep so it didn’t have to fight the tide.
Moments like this were rare for me now. Between training these people and planning their defenses, my days were filled.
I kept my head together the way I always had, and that was by staying focused on the problem rather than playing out every possible bad scenario that could happen.
I never would have survived if I’d done the latter during my mercenary years.
Never. And it was how I survived now, when the stakes for me personally had never been higher.
My wrist comm pinged. I went back to my house, set my fishing pole on the deck, and went inside, straight to my communications console. It was another message from the guild.
The message read: Rivonok activity paused in the Lesser Wafsel system, citing formal complaint from merchant regarding interrupted supply chain.
I replied, thanking them for the information and noting that it was very useful.
And useful, it was. The only merchant that could have lodged a complaint was the Durbok, whose “final” visit to Podnos-9 had been a week prior.
He’d been somber and subdued and had not blinked when I bought out his entire stock of weapons, along with every piece of surveillance equipment he had—gear I hoped would give us early warning of the enemy’s arrival.
Interestingly, the Durbok had given no indication that he had challenged, or was planning to challenge, the Rivonok Alliance’s impending claim on the junver syrup production and trade.
I was about to end the transmission when another message appeared from them.
The guild would like to know your investment in this trade enterprise.
I blinked at the screen, startled for a moment.
Investment? Enterprise? I hesitated, unsure what they meant, until it dawned on me in a sudden realization.
I slapped my palm against my forehead. How had I not put it together sooner?
The guild thought I had retired to become involved in the trade of junver syrup.
Sweet fleck, it was obvious now. That must have been why they were willing to help.
Before I could compose a reply, another message came through.
The guild expects monetary compensation for the information it has provided. As you were an honorable and high-ranked mercenary of the guild, we request only a twenty percent cut of all profits made from this venture.
Something boiled in my blood even though I knew their conclusion was a logical one. I would have assumed the same thing if I were an active guild member involved in these communications, and not here in the position I was in.
I probably should have walked away and let that information sit before I responded. That was the wisest course of action, and my usual one. But I didn’t. Maybe I’d been out of the game too long. Or maybe my emotions were just too strong to be pushed aside in the moment.
I responded: I am not involved in the trade of junver syrup.
My investment, if you would call it that, is personal.
Upon retiring from the guild, I was seeking a life free of fighting after all my years of service.
Podnos-9 appeared to be an ideal location due to its low level of inhabitants and because the fishing is good here.
I winced as I wrote that line. But frankly, it was true.
Upon making contact with the small contingent of Runam inhabitants, who had built a small settlement in the habitable zone of this planet, I became friends with them.
I fell in love with a woman here, and the only reason I reached out to you was to protect her and these people, whom have come to be important to me.
If you wish for monetary compensation, I can pay you from what is left of my saved credits.
The merchant operation you are referring to is not mine, but that of a Greblin trader who has been operating in this system for many years.
If you have further questions, ask. But to be clear, I have no financial interest in what happens here.
But I will fight to the death to save these people.
I hit send with a haze of red over my vision and both hearts beating faster than they should have been.
And then I thought about what I had just sent and wished I could rip it right back out of the air.
Or the void, which was where it was now, zipping through space toward its recipients, who would likely think that I had completely lost my mind.
Perhaps I had. I sighed and shut off the console.
I would likely never hear back from the guild again, but they had given me good information.
Perhaps we had a little more time, since obviously the Durbok was pushing back on the Rivonok’s push into the system.
I welcomed any small impediment to their progress.