Sacremon (Harmony War Series Book 1)

by Michael Chatfield

Sacremon supplied food across the EHC. Every planet was useful to the EHC but not all of them could make food in numbers that the workforce could live off of.

  Nivad continued to go through the information on his desk, pressing a button on it absently.

  It only took a few moments until the head of the EMF answered.

  “Sir?” The man asked, as Nivad flipped through pages.

  “Do we have any Carriers capable of taking down a small rebellion, might be good to bloody a new Carrier,” Nivad said, only half-paying attention to the man’s response.

  “Yes sir, the carrier Reclaimer is just about to take on personnel for training purposes, they’ve been in limbo for fifteen years,” the head of the EMF said.

  ‘In limbo’ meant all of the troopers and non-essential personnel for keeping the ship in working order had been in cryo, not earning time on their forty-year contract.

  If the troopers were up and walking around then Nivad was taking a loss, well not him personally, but he could funnel the money taken from the minimal taxes on companies into other pursuits. Only waking them when he needed to train them, or give them leave after a battle was better for the bottom line and kept them effective.

  Too much free time after war and they could lose their edge and will to fight. Too soon and they would resent the EMF for not giving them time to mourn.

  “How long would it take for the carrier to be ready for a mission to Sacremon?” Nivad asked.

  “Couple of days, no more than a week,” the man said on the other side of the line.

  Nivad saw the CEO’s right index finger twitch even as the rest of her face stayed completely unaffected. Many wouldn't have even caught the twitch, but it was those kinds of things that made him get his position.

  “You show here a three percent share, if it was say seven, then I could possibly have a carrier dispatched today,” Nivad looked to her, putting the surface down, seeing the same finger twitch.

  “While we do appreciate the offer, seven percent is just too much Mr. Selvra, five percent would be an agreeable number to the Sacremon partnership,” she said, excreting hormones that were supposed to make Nivad sexually responsive to her.

  Interesting implant, but useless, Nivad thought, ignoring the hormone and pheromone release.

  “Seven is the best I can do Ms. Sioux,” Nivad said, giving her a smile that never reached his eyes.

  Her finger twitched sideways this time, her smile never fading, it actually only increased in intensity. Even when her tactics didn’t work she didn’t lose composure.

  “Might I be able to get you to six?” She asked.

  Nivad let his smile slip for a second, he saw her eyes widen in fear.

  “I really must push on seven,” he said the smile coming back. His momentarily loss of composure showing who was the lone piranha and who was the real shark.

  “Very well mister Selvra, we have a deal,” she said, rising and offering her hand over the desk.

  “Thank you Ms. Sioux I hope that we are able to meet again in the future,” Nivad said, standing and shaking her hand, she really was a stunning woman but he had the company of many stunning women. Credits, now that was the tally of a true winner.

  He let go of her hand, her eyes unfocused, using her internal implants and hands to move in quick precise motions.

  Nivads’ table registered an incoming contract, he checked it, and agreed to it.

  Seven percent didn’t sound like much but it added thirteen billion to his portfolio, with the stock tanked and still at that number, when he sent the EMF to clear the system of Rebels, stocks would again rise.

  If the stocks dropped anymore then he could pick those up as well. Making him a tidy profit when he wanted to sell.

  “Have Reclaimer depart at its earliest convenience,” Nivad said, pressing a button on his desk, ending the channel to the head of the EMF.

  Chapter 3

  Westerly Three Complex compound

  Earth, Sol System

  Citadel, Mega City-Central Complex

  Earth, Sol System

  6/3136

  “So we've been able to get quite a bit of information from Alexis,” Richter said, seeing Mark’s confusion he sighed and looked to Tyler who shrugged. Obviously he’d forgotten to tell his brother something important again.

  “Icy as you’ve been calling her. Her real name is Alexis. Anyway, it seems that she has a lot more information on Hell's own than we initially thought. With that information I'm already looking at new locations for our outpost.” The boss said to Mark and Tyler who sat in the two chairs opposite him.

  He'd asked for them to come and have a private meeting with him before they left for the EMF. Holding them back would only create animosity between them and the gang, plus those that came back from the EMF to the gang were some of the hardest bastards out there, the boss was a clear example of this.

  “When I talked to her she was as stiff lipped about anything Hell's own as a gardener is protective of their plants.” Mark said, wondering just how in the hell the boss had got her talking.

  “Well it looks like we got lucky with the information about her sign-up date. She cut a deal with us, we're going to make sure that she gets to the Citadel, with you two, and when she's in the EMF we said that you would look out for her if you can,” The boss said, his eyes level with us,

  “I know that you might get separated into different regiments, but it's unlikely. EMF ships don't usually overlap too much.”

  So we should look to keeping her on our good side instead of having a blade at our backs, got it. The EMF frowned on things like killing those that joined up with you. If the enemy killed you then it was fine, that was just numbers, having someone kill their teammate made things like morale come into the equation. The EMF didn't like it when their equations were messed up, so if you killed someone, and it was deemed intentional, well you would be catching a round to the back of your skull.

  “Understood boss,” Mark said.

  “Good,” The boss opened a drawer and pulled out two boxes the size of a person's thumb. “Now these are worth more than all of Westerly Sector's greenhouses. They're augments.”

  We recoiled, it was hard not to, augment users were the hardest bastards to fight. Not many gangs had many augments. The people that came back from the EMF usually had augments of some kind or another, people that got augments out in the slums usually had large units that were cobbled together and not all that safe.

  They changed their look with every process, combat pumps that flooded the human body with endorphins, adrenaline and hormones that looked like a small sac with hair-thin wires sprouting from it.

  Most of them were small units that fit inside the body with thin leads that were grafted to the interior. They had to be surgically implanted and were supposed to work for a lifetime.

  As Mark looked closer it was hard to see anything that looked cobbled together about these units.

  This one had a sleek black finish to it, it was a few centimeters thick and fit in their palms comfortably.

  Thin connectors were wrapped up behind it with gold and silver lines showing nano-circuitry etched into the stones exterior. Making it both expensive and high quality. It even had serial numbers and Guaranaks’ brand on it.

  The entire planet was devoted to making medical devices and aids, they were the only planet to sell anti-aging treatments.

  They look brand fucking new!

  “These units are from tower dwellers, they're the latest in injury repair systems. Once in your bodies they use your movements and your food to keep themselves running. They'll accelerate your healing, look after your wounds a hell of a lot faster than a medic will and they'll get better with time. As more information on wounds is uploaded, these puppies will use that to heal you faster, or fix any issues you might have. It isn't no med-unit, but it'll give you a damned good chance to keep alive.” The boss pushed the units over to Mark and Tyler who took them.

  “Put them with y
our personal kit and get them installed as soon as you've finished your time in medical. There's a ton of information you can gain access to through the EMF, look into augments, tactics...”

  “Battlefield medicine, history and sleep, eat and train like your life depends on it, because it will,” Mark and Tyler said, getting a grin from Quentin.

  “Seems that my lessons didn't fall on deaf ears. That education is the best thing they can give you, know where you're going, know everything about the environment and train for it, learn everything about anything that could be useful to you. Once you're on the ground your mind is the most powerful thing you can use.” Quentin's grin was gone, his eyes searching Mark's and Tyler’s, as if checking that his words were getting through to them.

  “Assess, practice, execute,” Mark said, his memories of the training he had been put through to become a W3C now held a new importance in his mind.

  Quentin looked over them with something like, sadness passing over his features. The soft eyes and pressed lips disappeared as soon as they had appeared.

  “I hope to see you whenever you get back on leave.” That was going to be hard, even with the fastest ships the farthest systems were nearly fifty-five years away. Some, like Gliese would still take fifteen years to travel to it and another fifteen years back. With the augments and the condition Quentin was in, it was possible that they would be seeing him. The augments and medical treatments from the EMF would keep him active for a number of decades. Though living on Earth as a gang leader wasn’t the best way to live to an old age. While it was unlikely, Mark and Tyler held onto the hope that he would be alive.

  “Now let’s get you down to the citadel eh?” Quentin said, a mixture of sadness and pride in his voice. Clearly he could see the thoughts moving through their minds. It wasn't like he was their father or anything dumb like that, but the time that they had spent together in hard situations had made them closer than most. They would all miss each other and the comfortable stability they had within the gang.

  Mark and Tyler tucked the gadgets away with their account details that they had pulled out of storage. Having their account details on them when they went on patrols or through the slums was a good way to lose them and any real money that they had accrued.

  Quentin led the way out of the office and down the simple pole that ran down the length of the tower, yelling at people to get out of the way.

  People yelled their goodbyes to Mark and Tyler as they followed the boss, their faces hard as they hid their emotions. This place had given them a life, had turned them from nine year-old orphans into eighteen year olds with a reputation throughout Westerly Sector.

  I'm going to miss this place. Mark thought, knowing that Tyler was as well. I can't even imagine what other people thought when they went to their sign up date alone.

  Mark and Tyler dropped to the last floor their dusters flaring as they finally stopped. People hooted and hollered, making the two grin nervously as they followed in Quentin's wake.

  People yelled out to keep a place open for them when they joined up, or words of encouragement.

  A large security detail formed around them as Quentin ordered them to move out.

  Mark felt naked without his slew of weapons, he only had his two blades that lay under his arms. He hadn't walked out of the tower with anything less than a few blades and at least two guns.

  He stood straight in his duster, proudly displaying his W3C patch on his shoulder as Alexis looked around, confused by the celebration as they moved through the main gates and into the streets.

  People turned, smiles on their faces, shouting encouragement.

  “Why are we getting a guard and why are the people happy?” Alexis asked, perplexed by the whole situation.

  “In Westerly-three-complex we brought order and safety to the people, which was all because of Quentin, seeing us off to the Citadel shows that more of the crew could come back and keep that safety going. Instead of lording over the population, Quentin provides a policing force. We keep the peace and the people know how rare that is in the slums. It's why Westerly-three-complex is so big in population and why our people are less likely to turn on us,” Tyler said pulling his goggles and mask on. Mark had his on and was scanning for potential threats, it was hard not to.

  “But why the guard to the citadel?”

  “Cause we have to cross through nine territories to get to the citadel. You must know that a lot of people don't make it through those territories if they're from a rival gang,” Tyler continued.

  Mark saw her flinch slightly; she probably knew the truth but she'd hoped it wasn't true.

  They continued in silence, people waving and clapping as they moved to the air-transport-system.

  These places were neutral territory unofficially. People moved out of the way for the thirty or so Westerly-three-complex crew. They boarded the train, it was covered in grime and sand but it still ran. The windows looked out through the tube they were inside, accelerating away from the station, covering hundreds of miles in an hour.

  A gang member from the Three Skulls walked onto the train, he looked at the W3C crew with shock, the doors closed behind him before he could run.

  “Don't worry lad, neutral territory, going to the Cit,” Quentin said in calming tones.

  The boy nodded but his eyes looked over the weapons W3C were carrying warily.

  The train continued on until Mega-city came into view. That wasn't its official name, but the number of mega towers grouped together were the most on Earth, it was Capital City, but the people in the slums didn't like giving the CEO's their own city. So the slang Mega-City stuck.

  The dust seemed to stop as they passed through a thin blue line.

  There were sounds of amazement as people looked at the city that didn't have sand covering every surface.

  Mark and Tyler looked on with indifference; they had escorted more than one person to the citadel.

  I wonder if they do it just to impress us. Mark thought as air cars, hover-trains and even combat shuttles moved through the air between the mega-towers in apparent chaos. Everything was shiny silver; rust seemed reserved for the slums compared to these silver edifices.

  Mark looked to Tyler; his brother seemed to sense his stare.

  “It's finally here eh?” Tyler asked, Mark knew his brother was feeling the same nervous butterflies in his stomach.

  “Yeah,” Mark said, licking his lips, his mouth dry as the train continued towards its final destination.

  I’m more nervous than when I go out on a raid. He thought moving his shoulders in anticipation; the calming feel of his weapons against his body was gone.

  The train glided to its next stop as people started to pile out.

  Mark's eyes were immediately drawn to the tall sword looking building that dominated the courtyards in front of him. To either side of the sharp point of the building were the letters EMF.

  Quentin pushed on like he had been here a hundred times. He glanced over the decorative potted plants that lay through the courtyard.

  Mark had been told that weapons systems lay under those potted plants. He used that to draw his attention instead of thinking about what he was going to do. As soon as he and Tyler were signed up then their lives would change, the people they knew from before would probably be dead by the time that they got their first leave, their lives would never be there for them to come back to.

  Some people had even come back to their gangs being wiped out.

  He tried to push those thoughts from his mind as they pressed on.

  Mark didn't falter, remaining straight as they walked to the glass doors which lay open at the base of the Citadel.

  The group left dust trails behind them, robots followed cleaning up those trails.

  Quentin stopped, the detail stopping with him.

  “Alexis, Tyler, Mark, follow me, the rest of you stay here.” Quentin moved through the detail, the three mentioned following him.

  The citadel’s doors w
ere twenty-foot-tall and remained open, showing the burnished metal and high alcoves around the lobby.

  Mark was proud and awed to just be standing in it, a symbol of overwhelming power.

  To the left people in EMF uniforms walked through security checkpoints, not giving a second glance to the ragtag group of recruits that were heading up to the consoles at the center and right side of the citadel.

  Behind the main desk sitting ten feet up on the polished steel walls, was a massive emblem of the EMF. Earth rested in the background, stars for every system underneath it. An Earth Military Forces Carrier was in the foreground, Combat shuttle to its lower left and a trooper in armor to its lower right.

  The place was spotless, even with the slum dwellers looking to become troopers heading across its polished steel floors.

  There was no time to enjoy it as Quentin led the way to the front desk in the lobby.

  It was made of dark wood, glass fences breaking up the table as screens with the revolving EMF logo sat behind sturdy crystal matrix glass. On their side there was a simple scanner and a speaker. Quentin passed his hand over the scanner. The screen came to life with an androgynous looking man-woman smiling, their voice also carefully modulated to sound like all of Earth’s accents and none of them.

  “Hello Captain Richter, what can I help you with?” The brown skinned, brown hair brown eyes computer screen asked, its mouth even moved.

  “Three new ones for the troopers,” Quentin said, nodding for the three to come up beside him.

  “Will the applicants please press their tags under the scanner?” The computer said

  Mark did it without thinking.

  “Mark Victor, please look to the floor, do you see a red line leading to the left of this desk?” The robot asked.

  Mark looked down seeing that the floor around the lobby had different colored lines heading in different directions, like the lines in the private hospitals that led people to different sections.

  “Yeah I see it,” Mark said.

  “Good, please follow the red line for testing,” the robot said.

  “Tyler Victor, please follow the red line for testing,” the computer said, Tyler running his tag through the scanner.