Masoul (Harmony War Series Book 2)

by Michael Chatfield

  Even though he was five-foot-five, that expression made Mark’s spine do everything it could to get just a bit taller and straighter.

  “Sergeant, I’m Master Corporal Mark,” he said, as he held his hand out to the Sergeant. The Sargeant’s brows came together at something he found odd in Mark’s words.

  “Don’t use your last name Victor?” Haas asked, as he gave him a firm handshake.

  “Ahh, well my brother has the same last name and the same rank. We’ve used our first names since basic so there isn’t any confusion. Plus he’s in two section,” Mark said.

  “Yes, that would get rather confusing,” Haas said. “You know what’s going on?”

  “Got a meeting with the Major at dinner and training will start tomorrow,” Mark said.

  “That’s going to be annoying,” Haas said, as he dropped his bag onto a bunk.

  “The Major won’t care if we’re eating or not, as long as we’re listening,” Mark shrugged.

  “What’s he like?” Haas said seriously. He wanted to gauge Mark’s reaction on Nerva to make an initial judgement.

  “He’s a good officer, leads from the front unlike most. He kept a lot of us alive on Sacremon, even in an NR situation,” Mark said. His face tightened as he remembered how it felt to be told that no reinforcements were coming. They didn’t come until the city was cleared enough to allow them to be safely inserted.

  Haas nodded. His approval or disapproval wasn’t clear. But he understood.

  “Well we’d best get there a bit early so we’re not stuck in a damned line for a few hours,” Haas said with a raised voice, so the rest of the section could hear him. “Get your shit stowed, or at least in the lockers, within ten minutes.”

  Haas looked around.

  “Yes, Sergeant,” the calls came back. They weren’t the scared shouts of recruits, but rather the respectful understanding of veterans.

  Haas looked to unpack his bag, and Mark went back to lying on his rack.

  When you can sit, sit, lie down, lie down, sleep, sleep. The age-old mantra went through his head, as he used his implants and the interactive paper to flick through his latest reading material that Nerva recommended.

  “You on Sacremon?” Haas asked, just as his last page appeared above him.

  “Yes, Sergeant,” Mark said, as he closed his hand. He tossed it sideways, removing the book from his view as he sat up.

  “What wave?” Haas said, as he pulled things out of his duffel and slid them into his locker.

  “First, on Growing City,” Mark said. He wasn’t able to keep his brow from pulling together in memory.

  Haas looked around, and some kind of mental tally moved behind his eyes.

  Thankfully, he left the subject alone after that.

  Mark couldn’t get back to his book, and thought of Growing City and Sacremon again. He laid back on his bed. He didn’t need to turn his implants on as memories shifted.

  He saw the faces of the rest of his section that were left on Sacremon in unmarked graves, so that the settlers wouldn’t screw with the troopers that were laid to rest.

  People moved to the doorway. Mark got to his feet, and followed them. There were only three types of layouts for the carriers in Earth’s Military Forces. The changes to the areas, which the troopers operated in, were the same in all three variants.

  Everyone knew where the mess hall was.

  Mark tilted, flicked his fingers, or grinned to greet other original members of Reclaimer in passing.

  Trays were grabbed, and food was slapped, poured, dropped and heaped onto them as troopers, medics, and techs filed through and took seats.

  Haas led the section to their assigned table. Everyone slotted into seats, and made chit chat. They tried to get to know the people who, ultimately, would have their lives in their hands.

  Nerva and a group of Captains sat at their own table. They ate, talked, and did the exact same thing as everyone else in the room.

  “You got any augments?” Cpl Dominguez asked Mark, as he grabbed his spoon.

  “Yep, why you ask?” Mark asked, curious rather than annoyed. A lot of people were freaked out by augments, but not Dominguez.

  Dominguez wasn’t the tallest or prettiest girl. She was almost as tanned as Jerome, and had a build that reminded Mark of his good friend.

  Definitely a fighter, Mark thought, as his eyes slid to her hands, arms and back to her face - which looked like it was put back in the correct order, unlike Jerome’s.

  “No offense meant. I’ve got four, myself,” she said. She took his glances to mean he was sizing her up for a fight. “I heard that higher is opening up the really good ones?”

  Her eyes held his in question.

  “I heard the same. I’m hoping they have the new sixth sense,” Mark said with a grin. It defused any possible tension, and she grinned with relief and happiness to know that she found someone with the same interests as her.

  “They might be doing the medical assists as well,” she said, as she dumped in a mouthful of food.

  “I got one of those, fifth gen,” Mark said, as he tapped where the implant Richter gave him resided.

  “Wah, ‘ow?” Dominguez asked through a mouthful of food.

  “Don’t mind her, Master Corporal. She usually doesn’t try to cover you with her food all the time,” Private Ko said. He had long brown hair, odd purple eyes, and a companionable smile on his face.

  Dominguez rolled her eyes, and her cheeks pulled back in a smile as she made sure to chew her food.

  “We aren’t all Southern complex pretty boys with dainty manners,” Dominguez shot back as soon as she could.

  The others watched the good-natured byplay with interest.

  “Well, just having some manners might do Westerly complex some good,” Ko said with a smile that made Mark’s own cheeks tighten.

  Before they could continue, there was a loud banging from Nerva’s table. The Major stood in the middle of the mess, rather than take the podium that was usually reserved for higher-ups who wanted to make speeches.

  “We’re here to become the EMF’s best damned sledge hammer. We’re going to train until we make Spartans look down on us in respect. We’re going to be put in some shitty spots, so don’t slack off. You do and then you, or the person next to you, will be staying on whatever planet we are sent to. Yes, we are all going to get a pay increase, but that is only if all of you meet the standards that I set. You don’t make the cut, then I will drop you faster than a Kinetic Energy Weapon hammering a colony. Others will take your place, you will lose the pay and have a mark on your record.”

  A mark on a person’s record was enough of a reason to get them kicked out well before they got to their retirement age.

  Mark saw the faces harden around the room, as the same thought passed through their minds in the few moments Nerva looked around.

  “This was not my recommendation, but I will not hesitate to get you the hell off of Reclaimer - for not only your health, but the health of your section.”

  Again, he let those words settle in the troopers’ minds around him.

  “Look after one another, and train like your lives depend on it. They will. I’ll be seeing you throughout training.” With that, Nerva took a seat and people began to talk again after a few seconds. It didn’t quite rise to its boisterous levels of before.

  “A mark if we don’t make the cut, damn that’s harsh,” Corporal Tal said.

  “All the more reason to make sure that we train like the devil himself was chasing us,” Sergeant Haas said. Officially, Earth and her Colonies were non-religious. Religion hurt the bottom line. It generally pissed off corporations because it caused bickering, and reinforced archaic thoughts.

  Happy workers not fighting over religion was a better working atmosphere. Every thing came down to cost and benefit ratios.

  Even with religion officially dead, someone that was around death so much always found a few religious sayings or sent silent plea bargains to
a few idols.

  A message pinged on Mark’s implants. He pulled out smart paper, and put it on the table as he ate.

  Haas did the same. Both of them read with one eye as they put food in their faces. The rest of the table quieted down, as their leaders finished their reading and looked to one another.

  Mark shrugged a shoulder and opened his hand, emphasizing ‘well it could be worse.’

  Haas nodded, clearing his throat.

  “Alright, we’ve got fifteen minutes before we’re due in medical. Then we’re over to the armory to get suited, booted and make sure everything is good to go. Then we’re on Resolute’s training grounds for the next week,” Sergeant Haas said, which was met with groans.

  “What are we doing in Resolute’s training grounds for a week?” Cpl Harris asked her epithanic folds, thinned in curiosity over her blue eyes which contrasted against her lightly tanned skin and black hair.

  “We’re going to be fighting the best troopers from EMFC Educator,” Sergeant Haas said.

  “Awesome,” Dominguez sighed, tossing food back.

  Mark’s eyes flickered over the mess and settled on Tyler, who was talking to his Sergeant Alvarez. She was built like a runner. Her blonde hair was cut shorter than Tyler’s, and her back was ramrod straight.

  Mark turned back to his paper. His implants were second-nature to him, now that he set the movements.

  He looked at Lucille’s message. She sent him a list of items that might interest him. He caught sight of optical implants – which allowed him to operate his implants without the use of his helmet or smart paper.

  I honestly don’t know why they didn’t have something like this before.

  He placed an order for them, and looked to Dominguez.

  “Looks like they have optical augments that allow you to use your HUD without your helmet or paper,” he said.

  “Put me in for a pair of those. Who’s your implanter?” Haas asked.

  “Lucille, sending contact info,” Mark said. His hand and fingers moved quickly for a half-second, and finished with a pushing motion towards Haas.

  “Got it,” he said, as one if his hands moved. He returned to eating.

  ***

  “So tell me about Mark Victor.” Lucille said, curled up in the crook of his arm as they sat in one of the observation lounges, looking at Earth.

  “What’s there to tell?” Mark smiled looking at her.

  “You always try to avoid making yourself seem anything less than the perfect trooper, why?” She asked.

  “I’m not perfect by any means,” Mark sighed, looking to Earth.

  “So tell me about you, I want to know,” She said.

  Mark thought about saying some flippant, trying to throw her off of her line of questioning. He looked at her and her curious eyes.

  She smiled and touched his face. There was comfort in those eyes and Mark felt his own heart start beating faster being around her.

  He smiled and then sighed.

  “Tyler and I are orphans. We’re brothers, but we didn’t start out that way. I first met Tyler when he was getting beaten up in a closet because the other kids saw he was different and picked on him. As you know Tyler and I are taller than average. People said that we were kicked out of the towers and all kids of shit. Kids are pretty vicious,” Mark said, his eyes unfocusing as Lucille just sat there, waiting and listening.

  “I stepped in, gave those kids a good ass kicking. Tyler helped me out, I’d charged in head first and I nearly ended up on the floor with him. At first I shook off his thanks and went our separate ways,” Mark laughed.

  “Though we got into too many fights and at one time liked the same girl, that was *interesting*.”

  Lucille poked him, her eyes thinning as she frowned.

  Mark kissed her, getting her smile back.

  “She didn’t go for any of us and she got her boyfriend to beat up the two Tower Trash. That was the worst beating I had ever been given as a kid. Tyler as well,” Mark rubbed a scar on his ribs absently.

  “So what, did you become brothers then?” She asked.

  “We were like seven at the time. We didn’t know what the hell was going on. Though we made sure that we were sent to the same places. We looked out for one another. After that beating we started training, doing everything we could to get bigger, stronger and learn how to fight other kids. Gave one another a few scars just from toussling. When we were eight people no longer screwed with us. We were given space. It was the day before we were to pick our last names when we decided to call ourselves Victors,” Mark shook his head.

  “What?”

  “We were so punch drunk from fighting one another that we were just spouting random crap. The next day we were both tired as hell, when they asked me for my last name I gave Victor without thinking. Tyler heard and copied. Big Ole fluke, but it was sealed, we were brothers.”

  “Classy,” Lucille laughed,

  “Maybe not classy, but the best mistake I’ve made so far,” Mark smiled.

  “So what about afterwards?”

  Mark took a moment before continuing. “We turned eight and we were taller than most kids that were eleven. Even the adults in the orphanage started taking interest,” Mark’s face turned cold and hard. “They might be working for the government but they were from the slums. Everyone *hates *people from the towers. I found Tyler beaten up in the study room, one of the adults had turned their head and let it happen. From then on we fought *anyone *that came at us. The kids, we could handle. Adults? They had batons and a lifetime of hate.”

  “What happened?” Lucille asked softly.

  “We had to escape, to get free of it all. Out in the slums wearing a mask and goggles, your anonymous. We wanted to be anonymous. Tyler and I planned for months before escaping. We ran into four slavers. Our freedom was about to get cut short when Quentin Richter, the leader of the Westerly Three Complex Crew helped us. He gave us weapons and told us to come and see him for a job if we wanted it,” Mark shook his head and looked at Lucille. “Tyler wanted to go right away. Took him a few months to convince me.”

  “So you were part of the Westerly Three Complex Crew at nine?” Lucille asked.

  “Yeah, they trained me up, Richter had been a trooper with Nerva. I went from being able to beat people a few years older than me, to those that were twice my age. Tyler was a damn good shot. We found a home among the enforcers and killers of the crew,” Mark said.

  “Wow, you must care a lot for Tyler,” Lucille said.

  “Well he is my brother, even if it was a fluke at the start of it all,” Mark smiled.

  Lucille hugged him.

  “What’s this for?” Mark asked, wrapping his arms around her.

  She pulled back a bit, her eyes watery.

  “You’ve had such a hard life already and you’re just going to go charging into fight after fight while your here. It scares me that you won’t be coming back,” She said.

  “Come here babe, I’ll do everything in my power to come back to you, if you want me to,” Mark said, pulling her to him.

  “You better,” She said, her voice shaky with emotion.

  Mark kissed the top of her head as she pulled him tight.

  After a few minutes she reached up and kissed him.

  “That’s the first time you’ve said that,” She said with a smile, wiping her eyes.

  “What?”

  “Babe,” Lucille kissed Mark. “I like it.”

  Chapter 9

  Tower

  Earth, Sol System

  5/3206

  Dalia rushed in Nivad’s office, and kicked the door shut as she flicked items from her paper onto the various view screens.

  The view of mega city fell away as the windows automatically polarized.

  Nivad’s eyes flicked to the view screen. One showed a space map. One system was highlighted in red, and the other showed a report from Masoul Prime.

  “We just got a report from our person on Masoul. It looks
like they’re going to blow up the cryopod bunkers. They also seem confident that they are going to be able to damage Strike station,” Dalia said.

  Nivad would have killed most others on the spot for charging into his office.

  Instead, his mind worked with the problem in front of him. He looked to balance the universe - now someone was messing with his games, and throwing everything into chaos.

  “What else?” Nivad asked. He made sure he knew everything before he acted.

  “They reported that the religious group was much more extensive than they first thought. They think that the group is linked to other systems. They have weaponry that he would have found if it was actually made on the planet. He also reports that they expect ‘tools’ to help with their rebellion on an incoming freighter,” Dalia said, as she looked up from her surface.

  “Activate our agents. I want to know more about this group, and which other systems they might come from. Trace the freighter, and see if you can see where they’re making weapons,” Nivad said, as his face tightened and he clasped his hands together. Anger rippled through him, honest-to-god anger. He hadn’t felt it in ages. He felt its seduction to cause pain, and wreak havoc.

  He restrained his emotions, and knew how it would feel once he crushed Masoul and all those that tried to go against him.

  “Have the Carrier Fearless leave port. Every hour, I want another carrier to act as if they are moving to another system. We’ll say that they’re on a training exercise. Write something up to the affect, and make it look like we’ve been planning this for months. I’m guessing that there is no way to stop them from blowing up the bunkers,” Nivad said as he looked to Dalia, who gave him a terse nod.

  “Very well, draft a letter to the Masoul partnership. Also, pull up our old files on colonization. We best have a group of people from somewhere ready to fill their positions. Masoul keeps the sphere flying. Removing it will bring instability to the rest of the sphere. I want to have the latest numbers on the EMF’s refueling stations,” Nivad said. He wanted to prepare for every eventuality. The refuelling stations’ locations were top secret. They were only used in emergencies. It spoke to the trust Nivad had in Dalia’s assessment to go that far. The stations were only used if the normal fueling systems were in revolt.