Ships of Valor 1: Persona Non Grata

by Aaron Kennedy

  Persona Non Grata

  Persona Non Grata

  Aaron Kennedy

  E-book edition

  Published in the United States by Templar Press. Templar Press and the mounted Templar Knight colophon are registered trademarks and may not be reproduced.

  Persona Non Grata

  A Ships of Valor Novel

  Copyright © 2016 by Aaron M. Kennedy

  All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Registered with the Library of Congress

  ISBN-13: 978-0-692-77161-7

  ISBN-10: 0-692-77161-1

  Cover artwork, copyright © 2016 Jeffrey J. Burger

  Legionnaires logo, copyright © 2016 Jeffrey J. Burger

  www.shipsofvalorbooks.com

  For Emmy, with whom I share the grandest Adventures.

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you to all my beta-readers who helped refine this from a passion piece into something approaching what I hope is a good product. Thank you to my fellow authors Travis I. Sivart, Kevin Gardner, and Jeffrey Burger for all the advice along the way. Thank you to my friends for putting up with me for the last year as I plugged away at this.

  AK, Midsummer 2016

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Epilogue

  About the author

  Chapter 1

  There was almost no line for Terra, which I found was odd in itself. I would have expected it to be as packed as the Mars or outbound queues, but maybe I caught a lull. I made my way to the counter and the desk-jockey looked surprised to see someone wearing a scarlet Legion jacket.

  I've had this jacket going on twenty years. It was my first major investment after becoming a shareholder. Made from synth-leather and damn near indestructible. It's not exactly a flagrant display of being in the Legion, but the large gold chevrons on the right sleeve tend to draw attention even if the embossed club patch is missed. The jacket will survive temps ranging from stupid cold to insanely hot, and I'm not sure a knife can cut it. I know the seamstress had a hell of a time putting the stripes on it. She eventually gave up trying to sew them on and ended up moly-bonding them instead. Worth every credit I paid.

  The clerk looked at me as if I had grown a second head when I asked for a ride down to Terra two days hence. Kind of slack-jawed like I wasn't speaking Standard. At first, I assumed it was a clerk level issue. I’m not saying all clerks are on the low end of the intelligence spectrum, however, a great many people placed in public facing positions did not get there through feats of amazing competence. I showed my Terran passcard, and the rest of my idents, creating a reaction I hadn't expected. The security doors on his booth slammed shut. I stood there, somewhat shocked for a minute until I realized he still had my idents.

  I knocked gently on the partition a couple times, hoping maybe he hit the wrong button by mistake and waited. I slowly breathed in and out, counting to one hundred, willing myself not to rip the down the barrier. I wasn't sure I could, but I also wasn't sure I couldn't. Legionnaires go through some extensive genemod when we join. We're strong, and we're not affected by gravity the same way most folks are. I had recently come off a tour in one point two standard gravs and combined with this metal arm meant I had a lot of power.

  I felt it twinge as I actively thought about it. The Doc used to tell me it was phantom pain, all in my head. I told him a lot of things in response, little of which should be repeated in polite company. None of that changed the fact that I could feel the pain all the way from the top of my bicep through my deltoid and into my shoulder blade itself. My arm felt as if I had slept on it wrong. As though it were possible to sleep wrong. Then again, I had spent much of the last hour propped precariously in what passed for a chair with my head leaned back against the wall.

  Nothing brings pain about faster than thinking about the area where the pain might be. The doctors replaced most of the bone structure in my left arm a little over a decade ago. It was stronger and lighter than normal bone but made going through any kind of security checkpoint a nightmare. The alloy was military grade, instantly flagging me for additional screening even though my idents clearly exempted me for this specific reason. Maybe that was it.

  I stood there standing like a fool trying not to get too irate and agitate the Horin behind me. The last thing I wanted was some report saying I had gotten into an interspecies altercation. That would be just my luck. Horin are ugly sons of bitches. They're huge and scary being both taller than humans and double our mass. Although Horin walk on their rear legs like humans do, the majority of their muscle is in their shoulders and front arms, so when they aren’t moving, they lean forward on gigantic four-fingered hands. Add to that their resting state is sort of a shivering movement, in a fur covered aggressive red color three shades brighter than the scarlet jacket I was currently wearing. They draw attention to themselves, not because Horin want to, but because their natural camouflage makes them blend into their home world. That camouflage doesn't make them blend in anywhere else. Like right behind a comparatively small human trying to get through security in one of the drabbest buildings in this part of the sector.

  As I mulled this over and talked myself out of doing something idiotic this close to being home, two people dressed in dark navy business suits approached.

  "Lieutenant Gadsden?" the shorter asked cautiously. I corrected with sergeant, then corrected with mister saying I was retired. "Could you come with us, Sir?" He handed me my idents. I asked if there was a problem, and he shook his head but pointed towards a corridor that practically screamed official use only. I followed them to an ash gray runabout in the back where they sat me in the rear seat. Not a police model, at least. They did not speak, only escorted. Off we went making our way through side streets, and into access tunnels below the dome.

  I have a decent sense of direction, but combining vertical with lateral on a sphere things get
rough. I attribute it to some clerk’s idea of a joke. I think I made some receptionist mad when I joined, so the Legion loaded me up with data processing ware while in deep-sleep. Everyone in the Legion does a rotation, usually for five years. I was lucky, if that’s the right word, and ended up doing eight. We’re paid the same whether asleep or awake, so it doesn’t make much of a difference. Aging isn’t an issue, not that we do anyways, what with all the nanites, and they've got us plugged into the grid for auxiliary training. So my brain runs numbers fast. It's got some advantages, though. Anything dealing with math, I generally don't have to think about until it gets to levels requiring people with post-nominals. Unfortunately, the human brain has only so much storage space, so although I’m able to compute it fast I don't truly understand it. It's all instinct. I know the answer but not how I got to it.

  In this case, I estimated we were heading towards LC, and I knew we were heading deep, but I couldn't say how deep or how far in. Too many twists, too many turns. At a guess, I would say Central Administration, because we passed passenger vehicles often enough not to be deep mining.

  Chapter 2

  I was getting really sick of simply moving from point A to point B when I should already be at my destination. I had spent the last month on the Compass Rose, a five megatonne spaceliner. And before that, two of the longest weeks of my life on a dirtball of a planet called Nalath 4 watching the locals being exploited by the resident corporations.

  The Kabrins were dumb as a box of rocks. They were about eighteen to twenty-five kilos on average, topped out intelligence around a human toddler, and looked like a cat and a monkey had a love affair. They were beta level predators, communal, and not someone to piss off. They had a social memory that humans, like myself, have a hard time grasping. The little catmonkeys can be annoying at times, like a younger cousin, but will bend over backward if treated at least halfway right.

  When I left Nalath, they were playing at baggage jockeys and ironically doing a better job than most humans I had encountered. I wouldn’t trust the Kabrins with anything breakable, or that could get lost, but I knew they wouldn’t steal anything. They were honest to a fault. Their social memory bit bordered on telepathy making it impossible to lie to each other and hard for them to even understand the concept of deceit. However, they were predators and very good ones at that. If it wasn’t for their size, they would be really dangerous. Kabrins intuitively understood when someone was untruthful and it did not turn out well for those who took too much advantage of them.

  I wished I had a similar ability when we finally arrived at our destination. I doubted my escorts had come down there very often as they handed me off to a gray-suited lady who introduced herself as a functionary second class something-something. I stored the name for later and forgot it for the moment. She escorted me from the drop off to an elevator and made small talk. Nothing makes my battle senses tingle like small talk. I had already been on edge since the door slammed in my face and wherever I was going was significantly farther up the food chain than someone like me rated. Days like this I'm glad I wasn't a real officer. Something was off, really off, and I was lucky enough to be part of it.

  I probably should explain that last bit. I was a brevet Lieutenant. I wore bars but got paid stripes. In essence, not a real officer, but I played one in vids. The command decided to promote me to a staff position during my last tour. I think the idea was to keep me from getting killed so close to retirement more than anything else. Not that I really subscribed to gods or fate, but lady luck seemed to have watched over me a long time and made sure I’ve received equal doses of both her hands. Eventually, she would get tired of me, much like a cat tires of a mouse and just eat it. My leadership team seemed to be aware of my penchant for interesting situations and decided close supervision was needed. Either that or the brass wanted to give me a taste of power to keep me in. I'm not really sure actually.

  I’m getting ahead of myself, though, everyone in the Legion starts out the same. Based on skills, folks are promoted up the chain. We keep it fairly simple, and there's a lot of up and down based on needs of the service and the Peter principle. Nothing wrong with going back down if things didn’t work at the next rank up.

  Everyone is a Legionnaire first and foremost. That's the no stripe rank. We have corporals, then sergeants, then lieutenants, captains, colonels, and finally brigadiers. It’s a much more streamlined system than some of the traditional rank structures out there, lacking several intermediate ranks. A unit is small enough that everyone knows everyone else, and rank is never truly an issue. It’s more about pay and dealing with outsiders. A sergeant is a senior combat specialist and handles internal issues while being a lieutenant was more about dealing with planetary governments than anything. Had it not been a brevet promotion, I actually would have ended up with a pay cut. For whatever reason, saying Lieutenant Gadsden was more impressive than Sergeant Gadsden. I never actually understood that aspect.

  When we finally made our way down to the appropriate floor, she knocked once on the door and opened it, and ushered me in. Rising behind the desk was a woman in a severe cut indigo suit. Tall, probably had two centimeters on me, and I'm no slouch being over 185, but low-g grows people tall. Not pretty but striking. Couldn't guess age, but mature. At least as old as me. Brows were brunette but the hair was auburn so guessed dyed. She exuded confidence and power through crisp blue eyes the same color as the Terra sky. She was in charge, and in charge of a lot. All of this was secondary thoughts that flashed through my head and I shoved back down almost as quickly. I only wanted to find out why I was here.

  The functionary disappeared by the time I was in the room. "Ari Gadsden, right. Pleasure to meet you. Sorry under these circumstances. Please have a seat. Would you like a drink?" I shook my head, but thanked her, and took a seat in what was an amazingly comfortable chair. A man could retire in a chair like this.

  "My name is Lysha Kellinger. I'm Managing Director of Luna Corporation." All right then. My original assessment of being in charge was correct. I guessed low, by a lot. When estimating her being in charge, I figured a large company, in the realm of several thousand. Luna Corporation was several million. In actuality, the moon was a sovereign nation, but legally couldn't be called one.

  Nobody owns the moon. The big thing to remember is the moon is free territory. People control it, but no single country owns it. Luna Corp. controls it, at least, the side facing Terra. There are smaller subsidiaries controlling other sections, but in reality, it was Luna Corp.

  "I understand you just got back to Sol. I hope the trip wasn't too unpleasant." Statements, not questions. It was easy to understand why she was in charge. Her presence was comparable to anything I saw in the Legion. She would have put a couple brigadiers to shame honestly. "How familiar are you with the current political realities on Terra?"

  I replied that I had never tracked politics at home, and she gave me a rundown of the last three decades. The situation was frankly disconcerting. A lot of this won't make sense without a history lesson, but here's the down and dirty.

  The Sol System consists mainly of Terra, Luna, Mars, and the outlying moons. Terra and Mars have independent governments. Luna is a Corporate Trust, and each of the outlying planetary moons like Ganymede and Titan are properties of those three. Fairly simple. Outside Sol, everything works pretty much the same. Each system has its own government or corporate set up that works best for them.

  Luna is effectively the Galactic Seat. The Luna Corporation makes sure the moon stays free territory. They're greedy bastards but they're fair greedy bastards. Seems strange, I know. They’d been around in one way or another since we started colonizing. Originally, a construction company they expanded into frankly everything, but on the moon they were management. Luna Corp kept the population breathing, working, and running.

  The Legion, my organization, is a peacekeeping force. We don't get involved in politics. We actually don't care about politics at all. What we do care abo
ut is galactic stability. The last thing anyone needs is some knucklehead with atomics killing off settlers, or some pirate causing people to have a bad day. So we stop those kinds of shenanigans. When each new government or corp joins up, they apply for Galactic Citizenship. All that means is ships can travel to and from those planets’ space-ways unmolested and the Legion can patrol that region of space. If someone wants to join the Legion more the better, but we don't conscript. It's actually against our charter.

  It's a voluntary arrangement. Planets can leave anytime, and some do but normally not for very long, because trade routes are what keep planets alive. Most new places aren't self-sufficient, at least not for a hundred years or so. They don't have the tech or the people.

  But what happens if an old planet pulls the plug? That's what Terra did. It left the Galactic Union. I didn't understand all the complexities of what Lysha was telling me, but I was getting the gist of why this was bad. The major problem with this was that Luna was Terra's Moon. This created a major pissing contest, having since been resolved with some very large military and financial threats, but one of the sticking points was that Legion wasn't allowed on Terra. I was Legion. I wasn't allowed home. I was persona non grata.

  I asked if the offer for a drink was still open, and received some very good rye. We sat there talking over several other details including things like my existing holdings, the status of my Terran Citizenship, all of which blurred past me until I finally excused myself and Lysha escorted me up and out. “Ari, I know this is a shock. If there’s anything I can do to help or just talk, please call. You have my direct number.”

  The return from central admin dragged as I tried to work out exactly what had happened. Ms. Kellinger’s explanation was simple and straightforward, but it didn’t explain why. I think my escorts saw my frustration peak and let me out sooner than was absolutely necessary as I found myself in the center of Luna City in a bit of a fog and decided to make my way to the closest thing I had left to a home, White Caps.