Earth (Harmony War Book 5)

by Michael Chatfield

  Moretti looked around and turned on his noise canceler.

  “He’s fighting a war on all sides. Harmony coming here makes him look weak. He needs to solidify his position. Showing that he has the EMF firmly on his side will go a long way to make sure that someone else doesn’t start getting ideas about cashing in their political chips and the generals they’ve been buying to go against Nivad. If we don’t show that Nivad has a grip on the EMF and the EHC, then we won’t be just facing the Slums gangs and Harmony, we’ll be dealing with the personal guards of the most powerful corporations in known existence,” Moretti said, becoming serious.

  “What does he need?” Mark asked.

  “Just wants you to go to a dinner with him where you’ll be wined and dined and generally shown off to make the EMF and Nivad look good. Then he wants to have a talk with you. There will be other Troopers that are going to different events, but this will be the biggest and it is just one thing. You pull it off, and then you go back to running your Division.”

  “I don’t know how to do parties or crap with higher-ups,” Mark growled.

  “Give me some credit, I don’t try sniffing vacuum. I’ll be in your ear the entire time, direct feed through a wearable, and your implants. It’ll be like on a mission, but micromanaging the shit out of you. Just so we’re on the same page, this is a battlefield like any other. Fuck, dinner parties have caused more bloodshed than anything else in the human race.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “With several different kinds of cutlery to eat food who wouldn’t snap? And there’s all those weapons right at your fingertips,” Moretti said with a smile.

  Mark laughed, spitting into his bottle. “Alright, I’ll go to this dinner thing and talk to him. I warn you that I give no promises I won’t try to use the cutlery to end my own suffering.”

  “Thanks,” Moretti said, his anxiousness falling away.

  “No worries, you’re one of us, I’m happy to do you a favor,” Mark said, holding Moretti’s eyes.

  “You big softie.” Moretti tapped Mark’s back.

  Mark laughed and they looked down at Earth, the sight blocked out as the arms of Resolute Station came into view.

  “I was able to find out some more information on the Westerly Three Complex,” Moretti said, his voice serious.

  “How bad?” Mark asked.

  “Drugs - the bad ones - slavery, not any of the good stuff, even some of the corporations are getting annoyed with them. The leader is a pig who cares nothing about the gang. He’s drug-addled and useless.”

  “Why are they still in power?”

  “She’s half metal and she’s not light on the whole killing off your enemies, or worse,” Moretti said.

  Mark spat into the bottle, anger making his back twitch and warmth spread through him. “Quentin Richter made that gang to give us the best chance in the EMF, and we survived because of him. He was a mediator, and he tried to do something good for the Slums. Sure, it was violent, but he got rid of the slavery and the bullshit that made the Slums a shit hole. He wasn’t the best of men, but he tried.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “We’re going to reform Westerly Three Complex,” Mark said, holding Moretti’s eyes.

  “It would be easier to band together with some of the other gangs.”

  “It would, but the Westerly Three’s are in position across Earth. Plus, I don’t have space on my duster for another patch,” Mark said, turning to Resolute, his mind made up.

  “Alright, then you’re going to have to get to know the rivals and the rest,” Moretti sighed.

  Mark looked at him in surprise.

  “Shut up, I’m not going to let you go in there without knowing a damned thing,” Moretti said.

  “Thanks,” Mark said smiling through his thick wad of chew.

  “Give me a cigar and I’ll get it done,” Moretti said.

  “I’ll get you a box,” Mark said, falling into silence as he thought. “You know that thing I asked you to sort out in Osdal?”

  “Yeah, the corporation, so that they might be able to support themselves later on instead of replying on the companies,” Moretti said.

  “Well there’s a little more to it,” Mark said. He flexed his arm, and one of his blades fell into his hand. He pulled a chip from the cloth wrapping on the blade and passed it quietly to Moretti.

  “Might need someone of your skills if you want to retire some time,” Mark said.

  Moretti’s eyes thinned as he hid the chip in his own sleeve. Mark scratched the back of his head, and the blade slipped back into place.

  “Now I have to go give a speech about not spending all your credits on hookers and booze, while also telling the others that they will get leave soon enough. You going to the briefing with Ortiz?” Mark started walking away from the observatory’s view screen.

  “Yeah, everyone ranked captain and above is supposed to be there.”

  “Regular circus, though their Troopers seem to be the decent sort.”

  “I’ve heard good things, but I’ve also heard that the Harmony ships are bigger than we thought.”

  “Shit,” Mark said.

  “Shit,” Moretti agreed.

  Chapter 14

  Tower

  Earth, Sol System

  11/3347

  “Mark Victor has agreed to the dinner and social event,” Dalia said, looking annoyed.

  “Something the matter?” Nivad asked.

  “Sir, he’s a Trooper. We can just order him to do it and he would have to.”

  “Yes, he would, he takes his duty very seriously, but if we have his active participation and if our agent has impressed on him the need to show that we are one united front, well, we will look all the stronger. Corporation heads might be all flare and gaudy fashion, but they have keen minds and they will know when someone is faking their interest in being there and when someone doesn’t really support us.”

  “I understand.” She was still not happy with it, but she would do as she was commanded.

  “Wallace, how are we looking on security?” Nivad asked.

  “Well, everyone is holding their breath as the Troopers are moving into Resolute Station. Dalia can tell you this, but we’ve been broadcasting them moving around the station in their Powered Armor, arming and reloading themselves. It makes for quite a sight. There have also been re-runs of various people and groups that have been in combat. It’s serving to make people wary.” Wallace sat down next to Dalia and lit a cigarette.

  “Good, and the Slums?” Nivad asked.

  “They are tense; it looks like there will be a gang war there some time in the future. General Ortiz is sending out feelers with his Troopers to check out their old gangs. He’s getting a good idea of what’s going on and our agent has been reporting it back to us. It is General Ortiz’s thoughts that he wants to crush any gang war before Harmony arrives. Fight one enemy instead of two,” Wallace said.

  “Good, how are the media outlets treating the Troopers?” Nivad looked at Dalia.

  “They are welcoming them back like conquering heroes. We have had many attempts by people to access the Troopers’ communications systems and try to get comments from various people,” Dalia said.

  “Has the security net held?” Nivad knew that Harmony would probably be listening to the media across Earth. They loved gossip. The Troopers’ arrival was big news and they were all over it.

  “We’ve kept the media in the dark about a number of things, and we’re hoping that the social events will keep them focused on Mega City and the war heroes we’ll be parading around, instead of the ones that are securing Earth and preparing for its defense.”

  “How long until the Powered Armor Forces are landed on Mega City?” Nivad asked.

  “Within the week,” Wallace replied.

  “Good, make sure they are treated well. We want them to defend this city and possibly lay down their lives for it. They’re going to be more willing to do that i
f we do something for them.”

  “I have seen to it,” Wallace promised.

  “Remember what we talked about, with regards recruiting a few of them for the ministry. They are capable men and women; there will be few like them in the coming years. It would be best if we kept them working for us, rather than the EMF,” Nivad said.

  “I have been studying them. I will have the suggestions after Earth is safe,” Wallace promised.

  “Good, am I forgetting anything?” Nivad asked.

  “The agent from Masoul will also be available for a meeting in a few weeks,” Dalia said.

  “Good, keep it quiet,” Nivad said.

  “The corporations are messing around with arming their people. I have been wondering if we might use some of the Troopers to instill the point that they work for us, and make certain people think about altering their plans,” Wallace said with a smile that didn’t reach his cold eyes.

  “Good idea,” Nivad said, remembering to smile. It’s so tiring to mimic others, though necessary, he thought, his mind already looking at the possibilities of having the Troopers send the message.

  “We should head over to the meeting,” Nivad stood.

  Wallace and Dalia did so as well, bowing and leaving. They would each go their own way; making one single target was just an easy way to behead the ministry’s leadership in one blow.

  Chapter 15

  Resolute Station

  Earth, Sol System

  11/3347

  “Well this ain’t bad,” Tyler said as he walked around Ortiz’s room. It looked like an entire apartment floor with a bath the size of a small pool, a kitchen with a chef, entertainment rooms, a bed that a whole section of Powered Armor could get lost in and an office with the kind of gadgets that people in the Slums couldn’t even dream of.

  The chef had been dismissed and, from the look of the couch, Ortiz hadn’t been getting lost in his bed much.

  Ortiz snorted. “It might not be bad, but it’s about as useless as a vacuum cleaner in space. The fuck do I need a shiatsu massaging bed that acts more like a freaking bouncy castle than an actual bed?” Ortiz asked.

  “To... play... in?” Tyler asked.

  Ortiz’s eyes thinned. “I am not going to play in my bed.”

  “You know, to each their own I guess,” Tyler shrugged.

  Ortiz held his head in his hand, sighing, though Tyler could see the smile on his leader’s face. The man was stressed out, a few jokes would do him some good.

  “You coming out this weekend? Gonna go get some drinks and see what an ass Mark makes of himself.”

  “I have...” Ortiz started.

  “We have fourteen months and you look like a paper bag that’s been used for a dozen people hyperventilating,” Tyler interjected.

  “Tyler,” Ortiz looked tired.

  “You don’t, and me and Jerome will haul your shiatsu, how ever the fuck do you say that, ass out.”

  Ortiz must have seen Tyler’s resolution to get him out of his living quarters and Resolute’s command center. That, or he kind of wanted to go have some fun. “Alright,” he agreed.

  “Good! Now, what did you want me here to talk about?” Tyler asked.

  A sound canceler went on and Tyler’s smile fell away.

  “I need to know if Mark is good, after Osdal he took a right bender. I need to know how he is,” Ortiz said, worried as a friend and as a commander.

  “I want to say that he’s fine, but I’m not sure,” Tyler leaned on the planning table between them. “He will carry out his duty, of that I have no question. He hides it, but he’s all screwed up inside. He wants to protect us all and will do everything to see that through, though Osdal and the war has shown him that he simply can’t sometimes. Once he defeats Harmony, I don’t think he can be a Trooper anymore. He got too close to the colonists. Honestly, I think I did too. I think we all did,” Tyler admitted.

  “Mark’s an angry man, and I need to know he has it under control.”

  “He’s close to the brink. If he loses too many people, you’re going to have to sedate him and pull him back. I’ve seen Mark snap a few times. He stops caring about himself, stops caring about anything but revenge. Though he’s been like that forever.”

  Ortiz rubbed the bridge of his nose.

  Tyler didn’t envy Ortiz at all.

  ***

  General Jones watched the four-man team enter his office. Two posted up at the doors, the other two moved to the seats in front of his table.

  “You understand your targets?” Jones asked.

  “The Victors.”

  “Good. I want you to kill them in battle. Then, when it’s all over, I want you to bring Mark Victor to me.”

  The assassins nodded. One held out a hand, and Jones passed over a credit chit.

  “Good doing business with you, general,” the one taking the credit stick said, the token disappearing into his wrappings as they left the room.

  General Jones had been relegated to a nobody who didn’t even have control of his own staff. Since Fernix, he had been left in his living quarters and told to not fuck anything else up.

  Ortiz, the piece of shit, had taken his position. The Victors, who should have given Jones credit for the exploits for living on his carrier and then taking his gear and weapons to Fearless, had taken their glory and rubbed it in his face.

  He should have been the one getting medals and being invited to parties with corporation heads. They were Slummers, nothing more. Jones had come from an educated and well-placed higher echelon Corporation Officer Family.

  He had held in his outrage, kept it to himself, and built up his power base. When it was announced that they would be heading for Earth, Jones had barely contained his joy.

  Mega City was his home. His contacts there would be more than capable of removing the Victors that had been a thorn in his side for so long.

  It will also do well to put Ortiz into his place and let the accolades go to his better, Jones thought with disgust.

  Chapter 16

  Dourven’s Bar

  Earth, Sol System

  11/3347

  “This is not a good idea,” Olly said. Mark was looking out of the small opening that allowed him to see the various Greenhouse managers that filled the bar’s underground complex. It was wall to wall with people. They had expanded a lot in the passing years, and they were not happy to be summoned to a meeting.

  The fact that a representative of the Westerly Three Complex gang didn’t know what the hell was going on was just making them more agitated and annoyed.

  If they were in gangs then they might have left sensing a trap. They were Greenhouse managers, which meant that no one was going to trust them. They fought among themselves, but you did not attack someone that worked in a Greenhouse. If you did, then you weren’t going to eat anything but the crap that came from the cities for the rest of your life.

  The gangs sure as hell didn’t mess with them; they were the power in the Slums.

  “It will be fine boy.” Mark assured him. He wore a robe and a mask so he could walk through the red-dust sandstorms of Earth.

  Olly had been with him in the Westerly Three Complex Gang. He was a capable boy who had grown into a man. He was a sergeant now, like his friend Kal, who was acting as security on the excursion.

  Mark knew about the Combat Shuttle of Powered Armor that was loaded up and ready on the citadel’s landing pads.

  Olly sighed, knowing he wouldn’t get through his obstinate leader’s head. “Stubborn bastard,” he muttered.

  Mark grinned as he moved for the entrance that would lead him into the basement.

  The bartender gave him and his two guards a nod as they walked past. Guards in the room checked them over, but continued to focus on what was going on outside of the bar.

  Kal and Olly went first, and conversations stopped as Mark reached the bottom of the stairs.

  “Who the hell are you?” someone called out as he started walking to the fr
ont of the room.

  Kal stayed at the stairs and Mark activated a noise canceler while Olly looked around for threats.

  Mark pulled down his hood and pulled his mask off.

  “Diablo,” someone said.

  “He’s been dead for years, died with Quentin,” someone else said.

  The W3C representative and his party looked concerned.

  “You know who I am,” Mark said, looking around.

  There were a few nods and a general murmur of discussion.

  “I am Mark Victor, of Earth’s Military Forces, and I am the ‘tax collector’ as some of you say.”

  This made the room’s volume rise.

  “Prove it!” someone challenged, spitting on the ground.

  Mark pulled out a holographic projector, and a signed document appeared in front of everyone.

  “The original managers,” someone said, almost reverently.

  “What the hell is this? We are the tax collectors, for the protection of the Greenhouses!” The W3C man was getting pissed.

  “The original agreement was for the seeds and information that my corporation and I gave to the Greenhouses. We did not ask for direct payment, but a small tithe of outputs. The security was thrown in to see that the Westerly Three Complex gang could provide for the Greenhouses’ needs,” Mark said.

  “How can we survive with the tax hikes you’ve added?” a Greenhouse manager asked.

  “I have not put in any tax hikes. We have kept to the agreement, not changing it once,” Mark said. “While we were gone, you have prospered and grown in a way that we had not imagined at all,” Mark smiled at the Greenhouse managers.

  “What about these taxes, up to thirty percent?” a manager asked.

  “They will be refunded to you by the Westerly Three Complex,” Mark said simply.

  That sent an excited murmur through the crowd.

  “We will do no such thing!” The W3C man spat.

  Mark’s hand moved so quickly it was hard to notice anything had happened, except that the man was screaming as blood ran down his face.