Grendel Uprising: The Complete Series

by Scott Moon

  Someone popped a tear gas canister.

  She continued to fight, but the experience was even more miserable.

  Paul shouldered his way through the melee, blowing snot from the tear gas and coughing like a wounded bull. “So much for staying out of trouble until after your meeting with the general.”

  Yeah, she thought. Perfect.

  5

  A GENERAL & AN INFORMANT

  GRENDEL 0473829: ORBITAL STATION

  MISSION CLOCK: 00:00:00

  REAVERS left the service in one of two ways — getting blown to bits or resigning in a state of such untempered rage that the ensuing conversation resulted in a court martial before resignation was granted.

  “Paul, shut your mouth,” Cindy said as she stormed into General Friday “Nuclear” Jones’ office, legally known as Friday 59434. Her friend probably thought she could take the heat. How he managed to get her before she did was still a mystery to her. Last she knew, Paul didn’t know how to obtain a meeting this far outside the chain of command, unless he had just fought his way into the office.

  Which was possible, she realized.

  “Good to see you, Sergeant.” Friday ignored the extremely pissed off mountain of muscle standing at attention near his desk. With a wave of his hand, he dismissed the guards that had followed Cindy inside.

  “Sir! Permission to descend to the surface of Grendel 0473829!” Paul said.

  Cindy moved between Paul and the general’s desk with some difficulty. He was big, the desk was tall, and there wasn’t really enough room for her to stand between them with dignity. She bumped Paul with her butt and he took a tiny step back before resuming his attitude of attention.

  She snapped a salute.

  Friday returned it.

  “You don’t remember my name, do you, General Friday?”

  “71019. Do you want me to draw up your discharge papers as well?”

  “Sir, my unit has been under a lot of stress. I am sure there is a simple resolution to this problem.”

  “Other than returning to your quarters as ordered and awaiting further instruction?” Friday asked. “Or should I hand you the controls of the entire operation?”

  He didn’t seem as though he was being a hard-ass. Two years ago, Cindy had served on a committee headed by General Friday “Nuclear” Jones. All in all, it had been a good experience. She had learned things about the service that surprised her and Friday had proved to be a soldier’s general, despite his aristocratic background and looks.

  Cindy exhaled and waited until she was calm. “Sir, we have problems with other units spreading rumors about our lieutenant.” She held his gaze, although the throbbing in her swollen eye made her want to look away guiltily.

  “There was a report, I think. Quite a brawl. Was that about Aefel? Don’t answer that. I don’t need to be involved in platoon and squad level rivalries. I would mention that, as a general rule, the SALD doesn’t have discipline problems. You two are already so far out of the chain of command, your bosses should be in the brig with you.”

  “They are a bunch of pussies,” Paul said.

  General Friday looked from Paul to Cindy.

  “They’re pussies,” Cindy said. “What I need to know is what’s being done about Aefel?”

  “I think what you meant to ask is what’s being done to help Aefel,” Friday said.

  “Yes, sir. I can’t believe he’s a traitor.”

  “What if I sent you down there to take him out?” Friday asked.

  “Send me down. I’ll take care of it.”

  General Friday gave her a cold look. “You either think that I’m stupid or you’re more heartless than the traitor Seccon.”

  “General, the only way to know for certain is to send me to the surface.”

  “I suppose you want the rest of Aefel’s platoon as well.” General Friday didn’t move. “What would they do if I asked for Aefel’s proof of death?”

  “General, may I request leave and a pass to go planetside? I am going ship crazy,” Cindy said.

  Friday stood, then moved around the desk.

  Shorter than she was, the general looked like a child next to Paul. Jaw locked, his confidence never wavered. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back on his desk.

  Paul open his mouth to speak. Cindy hammer fisted him in the solar plexus, earning a grunt.

  “Why do they call me General “Nuclear” Friday?” the general asked.

  Cindy understood she was in trouble. “Because you never go nuclear. You always stay calm, even during a hot fight.”

  “Even when my troops embarrass the hell out of me in front of the other division leaders,” Friday said. “Why should I give you a vacation pass to the planet when all my peers think I should lock you up?”

  “We don’t want to go on vacation; we want to go on a mission to help Aefel,” Paul said.

  “Shut up, Paul,” Cindy said.

  “I like you, sergeant. You showed real promise during that committee. I thought you retained your soldier’s sense when others were maneuvering for political gain and promotions,” Friday said. “That doesn’t mean I work for you, understand.”

  Cindy wanted to punch herself in the face. This meeting had been a bad idea. She was pondering the depth of her folly when he handed her a sealed note.

  “Don’t open that until you are out of my office. I don’t want to know what it says.” Friday stood, walked to face his better-than-average window simulator, and clasped his hands behind his back. “Dismissed, sergeant. Take your tank with you.”

  She hesitated, annoyed the moment she allowed the stunning reversal of fortune to kill her momentum. In a gunfight, a slip like that got people killed. Of course, this wasn’t her normal battlefield.

  “Paul, let’s move,” she said.

  They strode from the command suite. She kept her eyes forward, realizing that Paul glared at everyone who dared notice them.

  “What are you looking at, pencil neck?” he said.

  Making him shut up wasn’t worth the effort, and to be honest, he probably needed to vent some frustration. Her thought went to the note in her shirt pocket and what it could mean. Written notes were uncommon. Those with a seal that even the general didn’t want to break were mythical.

  Unless he read it and re-sealed it, which was the most likely scenario.

  She strode along one of the station main concourses and stood under a hooded lamp that flickered. Other pedestrians ignored the spot. Those who chose to look at her reading habits quickly moved on after Paul growled low in his throat.

  Finished, she folded the note and put it back in her pocket.

  “Love letter from the general?” Paul asked, half joking.

  She gave him a sarcastic smile. “Not from the general or any general. Whoever wrote it claims to have information on Aefel’s situation. We’ll pick up Kate or anyone else not locked up in the brig or at sick call and check it out.”

  Paul’s excitement almost made her feel better.

  “Now we’re getting somewhere,” he said.

  She called Kate and met her just outside the military personnel section of the station. The mysterious informant had selected a boring apartment complex deep within the civilian area. Most of it was abandoned. She didn’t like the look of the true civilians she saw during their hike along poorly lit causeways between buildings and streets on the station’s “surface.”

  The locals had been here a long time and didn’t look right. They stared from shadows with eyes that rarely blinked.

  “I wonder what these folks think of us,” Kate said.

  Cindy shrugged. The station natives gave her the creeps, but she had other things on her mind. “Paul, I will go on alone, just like the contact demanded.”

  “No way, Cind,” Paul said.

  “Listen, I will order you to stay back if I have to.”

  Paul looked at Kate, then back to Cindy. “That’s why we brought her. She’s supposed to make me stay here.�
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  “Exactly,” Cindy said. “You got this, Kate.”

  “Can’t say I like it, but I got it,” the woman said.

  Cindy moved before either of them could argue.

  Her contact was exactly where the note described, a fortune teller’s booth at the edge of an abandoned carnival. The shell of an amusement park still had visitors. None of the rides worked, but the price was right. Deeper in the park were food vendors and musicians. A gang of local teenagers approached and watched Cindy as she ducked into the fortune teller’s booth.

  “Humans sit Humanum,” the fortune teller said.

  Cindy bent forward to peer through the dirty screen dividing the table. An old woman’s voice matched the silhouette, but she realized both could be faked. Whoever it was, she seemed to be waiting for a response. The phrase was a challenge, a password of sorts.

  “I don’t know the response. You sent for me, not the other way around,” Cindy said.

  “Hmmm,” the woman said, shifting in her seat.

  Cindy remained standing, even though it caused her to hunch down a bit in the tent-like room.

  “I do not know which side you are on, but the message I pass to you is not mine, so it doesn’t matter to me,” the old woman said.

  “Is that your real voice?” Cindy asked, instantly annoyed with her own impatience. All she had to do was piss this person off and the only lead she had on Aefel’s dark situation would vanish.

  “No, it is not, Reaver. Observant of you, and irrelevant,” the woman said. “In reality, I am a big strapping lad like the tank you brought with you. Or maybe I’m a twin to the woman you left to babysit him.”

  Cindy looked for exits, not to escape, but where the fake old woman might flee.

  “This information will only be presented once and you must act quickly,” the fortune teller said. “The New Galactic Order will rule where the Earth Systems Commonwealth once held sway, and they will see to Aefel’s death one way or another. The Secret Society of Zero Brigade continues to defy them but will fail. Do not ask the Emperor’s Strongarms for help, because they will only serve one man, be he living or dead.”

  Cindy repeated the information quickly, not wanting to forget it as questions burst into her head. “Who is the New Galactic Order and what do they have against Aefel?”

  The old woman chuckled. “Didn’t you expect chaos when Emperor Dan Uburt-Wesson was assassinated? Stop asking questions and be thankful there are not thousands of factions grasping for power.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  A moment passed before the woman pushed something across the table with a plastic rod, careful not to reveal her actual hand. “Take this coin. If you land on the winning side, I will call a favor with the one it matches.”

  Cindy asked several questions before she realized the fortune teller was gone, if she had ever been there before. She swept aside the curtain, expecting to see holographic projectors and a robotic hand. On the other side of the booth was only a curtain wall recently disturbed.

  She found Paul and Kate right where she left them. Neither spoke. She concentrated on remembering what she had learned and what to make of it.

  “We need to get out of here,” Paul said. “Kate and I saw several CMP patrols and at least two unfriendly looking tactical units. I wish I had my armor and weapons.”

  Cindy nodded, noticing Paul’s limp and Kate’s splinted index finger for the first time.

  “We’re a long way from home, unarmed, and banged up,” she said. “What could go wrong?”

  “The mess hall could be closed when we get there,” Paul said.

  6

  THE STRONGARMS

  GRENDEL 0473829: ORBITAL STATION

  MISSION CLOCK: 00:00:00

  “DON’T look back,” Kate said.

  Cindy had no intention of checking the corridor-like street behind them. Darkness slid between the light poles. This part of the station exuded odors of grinding gears and oil.

  She refused to look back. There was plenty to worry about straight ahead. “How are you feeling, Paul?”

  “Pissed off.”

  “I meant your leg,” Cindy said as she studied the unlit street ahead. Grendel Station wasn’t in the best condition. Not all of the lights worked. She didn’t like so many being out in one area.

  “Do you see me limping?” Paul asked.

  “Nope. But I saw you twist your knee during the brawl with SALD. Didn’t think you were going to get up,” she said.

  “You wound me.” Paul looked over his shoulder at the same time Kate did a double take. “I’m in the prime of youth. Virtually indestructible.”

  Kate snorted.

  Cindy waited until they were focused on the danger ahead before she took her turn to look back. Three figures moved in the gloom, keeping pace and not trying to hide. She couldn’t make out details, but their silent presence gave her chills.

  “All right. Here it is. Kate, you will keep tabs on the three behind us.”

  “Four,” Kate said.

  “Watch for ambush ahead. Watch your assigned zones and call out if you see something.”

  She led the way through the block where all the lights had been turned off or damaged. She concentrated on breathing and let her eyes move naturally.

  “The four that were following us broke off,” Kate said.

  “Okay,” Cindy said.

  Time and distance passed uneventfully. On the other side of the dark area, the buildings were almost too brightly lit.

  “I really thought we were going to get ambushed,” Cindy said.

  “The SALDs made their point,” Paul said. “Someone else is after us.”

  “Maybe.” Cindy signaled a halt, then examined several of the buildings that seemed to have been machine shops and electronic repair centers before the most of the station was put in mothballs. She wasn’t sure about the Seventh Armored-infantry Lightning Division. They’d always been rivals, but never blood enemies.

  “About that feeling we’re never supposed to talk about,” Paul said.

  As soon as he spoke the words, Cindy’s stomach fell into her pelvis and her throat constricted. “I’ve got it too. How bad is yours?”

  He didn’t answer at first but walked faster. “Like we aren’t all going to make it out of this one alive.”

  “All right, let’s double-time it,” Cindy said.

  “No,” Paul said.

  She was already running. Kate was right behind her, looking back frequently to monitor her assigned zone.

  Which was why the young noncom didn’t see the gunman pop around the corner ahead of them. She lost the time it took to look back and then return her attention to the direction she was running after Cindy. In that moment, she was the only one of the FALDs not scrambling for cover.

  The bullet took her between the eyes, jerking her head with less force than a large caliber combat round might. For three steps, she staggered forward, falling lower and lower as she went tumbling toward the old street.

  “Move, Paul. Kate is down. She’s DRT,” Cindy sprinted into the shelter of a shop door and looked across the narrow street-corridor. Under other circumstances, Paul’s situation would have been funny.

  He barely fit in the scant entryway as bullets ricocheted all around him.

  “Did you see who it is?” Cindy didn’t need his answer but wanted confirmation. Sometimes it was necessary to ask obvious questions to stall for time to think.

  “Looked like Strongarms without all their regalia,” Paul said.

  “That’s not right,” she said, having seen the Strongarms moving around the edge of the impromptu battlefield.

  “I saw what I saw,” Paul argued.

  Cindy cursed. The Strongarms were technically out of service until a new Emperor was selected by the House of Lords. “They shouldn’t be here. But I saw the shooter stand after he took out Kate.”

  “Maybe the Strongarms came to help Seccon. Maybe they’re going down to the surf
ace and we can steal their ship,” Paul said.

  “Forget about the Emperor’s Strongarms. That sniper was NGO, had to be,” she said. “They are going to flank us. Time to move.”

  “No go, Cind. We’re dead if we move.”

  “Okay, fine, big guy. Talk to them,” she said.

  “Yeah, right. That is my strongest skill set.”

  “Thunder and lightning, Paul,” Cindy said, breaking cover and sprinting across the street to contact a squad of Strongarms occupying the only real position of cover in the entire sorry event — an abandoned train tube with the door partially locked open.

  Paul came after her but was pinned down behind a loading truck covered in dust.

  Looking back, the distance Cindy had traversed to put herself at the mercy of an unknown squad left her breathless.

  “Come inside; my men will watch the door.” The Strongarm leader was ten years older than she was but still in his prime.

  “My heavy gunner is out there,” she said.

  “Without a gun, it seems,” the Strongarm said. “We will protect him.”

  As though to prove his words, he directed his team to fire on the enemy snipers. Cindy could not see the results through the darkness without optical enhancement, but no further attacks came from the sniper nests.

  “What’s your name?”

  “I am the Captain of the Strongarms,” he said. “We are suspended until a new emperor has been established. Our possession of weapons and participation in the power struggle is forbidden. With good reason. How easy would it be for us to make a new emperor?”

  Cindy formed several questions, then decided not to tip her hand. “Talk. Why are you helping us?”

  “We do not act in your favor. We act against the New Galactic Order because we believe they are responsible for the death of Our Emperor,” the leader said.

  “You can prove this?” She acted as though she understood everything about the New Galactic Order and the mess Aefel had somehow landed them in without being here.

  The Captain of the Strongarms studied her without answering.