Nemesis (The MechaVerse Trilogy Book 2)

by Jeremy Cunkle

  2045 – The planet wide space tax is implemented.

  2046 – Construction of the space elevator begins, funded by the space tax.

  2048 – Corporation run colonization of the moon mining begins.

  2049 - The first successful asteroid mining operation results in large quantities of platinum and other highly valuable metals being sent to Earth.

  2051 – Space elevator construction is completed. Space station construction begins.

  2052 – The three largest fusion reactors ever created begin construction in space.

  2053 – Space station construction is completed. Construction of gates between Mars and Earth begins.

  With the completion of the gates, thereby linking Mars and Earth through a system of nearly instantaneous travel, the systemic raping of an entire planet’s mineral resources began. In order to fuel Earth’s insatiable appetite for resources and relieve it of its vast overpopulation, the largest migration in history began. The corporations built the Mass Cargo Transports, each capable of carrying ten thousand humans and supplies to Mars at a time, and then making the return journey with enough resources to build a small city. The space elevators were next, necessary in order to fill three Mass Cargo Transports a week. In the meantime, more Mass Cargo Transports continued to be built as new locations such as Titan, the largest moon around Saturn began accepting large amounts of immigrants as well. The off world migration only continued to increase after a gate system was created that linked Earth with Alpha Centauri.

  In the first decade of gate travel, forty million people were sent to new homes, and the pace only continued to accelerate. Between 2060 and 2065, over one hundred million humans migrated to other planets as the Mass Cargo Transports continued to increase in size.

  Thanks to the jump gate system, the number of immigrants fleeing from Earth doubled every five years. By 2075, over two hundred and fifty million humans had left Earth in order to begin colonizing the stars.

  CHAPTER ONE - AFTERMATH

  “There are those who prefer solitude, but there are none who can withstand it.”

  – Makarov Dreyar

  General Akari sat rigidly on the cold steel chair, disdainfully refusing use of its back, sharply outfitted in full dress uniform, perfectly starched and pressed. An array of polished medals and ribbons, from years of loyal service, weighed heavily on the breast of his uniform. Light glinted off the four golden stars adorning the collar, his close-cropped silver hair freshly cut.

  He was flanked on either side by a pair of heavily armed Marines that stood watch over him as his “honor” guard. He refused to acknowledge their existence, stoically waiting to be called in to hear the final determination of his Court Martial. The stark grey walls and narrow halls were poignant reminders of his location deep in the bowels of the Mars Industries infamous Hall of Justice.

  A door closed next to him, but General Akari refused to allow curiosity to reign, instead continuing to stare straight ahead, pride resonating through every inch of his frame. He did not allow the worry he felt to show as his longtime aide SGM Anderson, also in best dress uniform, was escorted by a second pair of heavily armed Marines out of the room he would soon enter. Several weeks previously at the start of the Court Martial, the two of them had been instructed several weeks previously not to speak with one another during the proceedings. Having to pass one another in the hallways without allowing them any verbal contact was supposed to be a form of humiliation; instead, each took solace in the presence of the other.

  This time was different, however. When SGM Anderson broke General Akari’s line of sight he suddenly stopped, heels locking side-by-side. He performed a perfect 90-degree turn, facing the General directly for the first time in weeks, bringing his arm up into a perfect salute. He held the salute as they made eye contact. Sensing the weight of his decision, this time the Marines waited patiently, pointedly ignoring the expression of loyalty and the breach of protocol it represented. SGM Anderson crisply dropped his arm back to his side, perfectly completed another 90-degree turn returning the way he had been facing moments earlier, and then continued marching under escort, out of sight around a corner, lost to the unknown future it represented.

  For the first time in his service career, General Akari was grateful for the slow pace of bureaucratic military operations as he fought back tears of gratitude at the fierce loyalty the SGM demonstrated. The aide was the closest thing to a son he had ever had. The young man’s faith in him was the greatest gift he could receive, faith that he was determined not to disappoint. The minutes passed in silence as he waited for his turn to be called into the hearing chambers, his guards inventing interesting points down the hallway to stare at as he slowly regained composure.

  A few minutes later, a pompous mouse of a man opened the door, greeting the General with an insinuative smile, clearly taking pleasure in the imminent humiliation of the, until recently, esteemed General now facing a Court Martial for incompetence in High-Command. “General, they are waiting for you,” he squeaked. Even the voice of the mouse man grated on his ears. It was high-pitched, as if stuck in a perpetual whine.

  General Akari stood, refusing to show the stiffness in his tired joints. He deliberately passed in front of the sycophant so closely that the mouse man was suddenly forced to take a step back to avoid being run over. The room he entered was windowless and murkily lit, occupied only by a long concrete bench set at its rear that was never intended for actual use. Shaded panes of glass masked seven of his peers looking down at him from their lofty perches behind a high wooden dais, peers that would soon pass their judgment upon him. General Akari marched silently to the center of the room, standing at attention exactly five feet in front of the dais as if a line had been drawn telling him precisely where to stop. He was first and foremost the epitome of the perfect General.

  A voice he did not recognize barked immediately in sharp reprimand. “Lieutenant Olson, leave the room.”

  The mouse man jerked as if from a physical blow then scurried from the room, the unexpected dismissal suddenly deflating his ego. The door shut behind him with a solid thump. There would be no witnesses to whatever happened next.

  The sound of shuffling paper broke the extended silence and a second voice said, “The Court has concluded our deliberations. Before we pass judgment, does the defendant have anything to say?”

  General Akari remained perfectly still, waiting silently.

  After a brief moment, the same voice continued. “Very well then. General Akari, this court has extensively reviewed the actions taken by the 7th, 9th, and 14th divisions under your command from the time of the first confirmed appearance of the Mech armor known as Starkindler until its destruction. We have heard extensive testimony of the men and women who served under your command as well as reviewed the data logs from your Command and Control Center. During the time of review several issues became exceedingly clear.

  “This court finds no fault in the decisions you employed to combat the terrorist insurgent formerly known as Starkindler. Its power and capability far surpassed anything that has previously come before it, and if anything; we would commend you for the flexibility shown in your strategies to eliminate it. However, we cannot let rest the fact that in the end, the unknown pilot’s body was never recovered or that your forces were never able to completely destroy the terrorist Mech armor. On top of those two unforgivable sins, the pieces of the frame were then stolen out from under the gaze of the single largest army ever assembled on this planet for a combat operation, all while under your command.

  “For the last charge, this court regretfully finds your actions to be justified in jailing and removing from office your fellow commanding officer General Afinger during the Tegra campaign for his commitment of fratricide.

  “As such, our judgment is as follows; you will be allowed to maintain your current rank should no further mishaps occur. Your past actions show that you are indeed a true son of Mars. In order to continue serving your pl
anet and the Congress you have sworn to protect and serve, you will be transferred to High Command in Hellas effective immediately. You are to assist the members of High Command with fighting the growing insurgent terrorist forces around the capitol, thereby regaining the peoples trust. After enough time has passed, you will be judged as to whether re-conditioning is needed. The alternative will be retirement.”

  “We serve.” The seven suddenly said together as one.

  The General blinked slowly, mulling over the words that for now dictated his future. “We serve.” He said reflexively. To many it would seem as if they were promoting him. The removal of his command was an embarrassment to be sure, but someone was making an effort to ensure the break from his old command was as clean as possible. On the one hand, he was reassured that he still had friends who were obviously willing to help him. On the other, specifically mentioning his retirement was as overt a threat as they would publicly say. He knew that in this instance the phrase retirement was simply a polite way to say unofficially executed. He could not help but wonder whose attention he had drawn to warrant such high-level interference.

  “Excuse me honored Council. What will happen to my aide? If possible I would like for him to transfer with me.” General Akari asked.

  A different voice answered, farther to the General’s right. “The Council has seen fit to remove the SGM from your command. He will soon be made aware of his promotion to First Lieutenant and sent to Mech combat school. Upon graduation, he will be given his own brigade. Also, regarding your previous assignment; the special task force known as the HellFire Brigade will remain active; they have been tasked with assisting the local forces with cleaning up the remaining terrorist activity in the Cerberus region. Extra consideration is being given that region due to its highly restive nature.”

  General Akari felt himself at a loss for words upon hearing the unasked for explanation. For one thing, he recognized the voice, matching it with the name of his friend and longtime mentor, General Baknon, Commander of the 18th Mechanized division. The fact that his friend had gone into such extra detail in reference to answer not only the question of his aide, but the unasked question of his former command spoke volumes about his friend’s misgivings about the current situation, as well as warnings about the different factions at play in deciding his future. The fact that the other members on the council remained silent while General Baknon did so effectively gave their approval to what was said. At this rate, there was as much communicated through what was left unsaid as through what was spoken aloud.

  When it was obvious the Council would add nothing else, the General saluted sharply, performed a drill team worthy about-face, then proceeded away from the Hall of Justice without escort for the first time in weeks. His thoughts raced, replaying the day’s events over and over, picking them apart for the smallest details that might give him more clues. The sun was setting, casting its last blue rays so unlike the Earth he barely remembered growing up on as he hailed an automated cab to the anti-grav station; the significance of the symbolism around him was not lost. He would not return to the barracks and pack, he needed to leave immediately for the capitol Hellas. There were wheels within wheels spinning and he would need all the time he could get if he was to understand them.

  * * * * *

  Dr. Hesken arrived to oversee the patient’s revival. This particular day had been two months in the making and everyone was eager to see their collective efforts towards their long sought after goal come to fruition. She picked up the data slate hanging off the foot of the occupied medical cot. Idly, she leafed through the copious amount of vital records and other pertinent medical data, including a detailed medical history from more operations and procedures than someone should ever have to endure in one lifetime, let alone the last eight months. Everything seemed to be in order. Several nurses were on hand to assist with the delicate processes about to be undertaken. The patient had suffered severe burns across large portions of his body, acute trauma in multiple places, crippling radiation poisoning that should have been fatal, and other smaller issues such as loss of hearing from ruptured eardrums that were still recovering, temporary blindness, and considerable muscle attrition from the lack of exercise while living in a reduced gravity atmosphere. He also suffered from multiple broken bones that were now nearly healed, as well as acute withdrawal symptoms from an array of habit-forming medicines and drugs.

  Dr. Hesken unconsciously shook her head as she read the list of remedies her staff had performed over the course of the last few weeks, all while her charge remained in an induced coma. It had taken four skin grafts to patch up the worst of the burns, the prognosis of which was very positive. Scarring would be inevitable, but medicine and procedures had advanced to the point that a casual observer would not be able to notice the patient’s new skin in casual passing. The broken bones were mostly healed; hard casts had been removed in favor of softer more flexible ones. Nurses were using electric stimulation and mechanical physical therapy machines multiple times a day on the inert form occupying the bed, reversing the effects of the muscle attrition to the point of moderately increasing overall muscle-mass to pre-incident amounts. The radiation poisoning and withdrawal symptoms were much harder to deal with. Treatments for both would be an ongoing process with frequent testing for a wide variety of cancers that would be recurring problems for the rest of his life.

  They would have to wait until he was stronger before they could finish transplanting the rest of his internal organs. A new liver and kidneys had been critically needed, and as such were the first organs to be replaced. Her team was still monitoring for possible rejection of the new organs but the window of time with the most danger had now passed. Regular stem cell treatments would be necessary for the foreseeable future just to keep his remaining organs functioning. Her team still needed months in order to finish growing the other organs still needing replaced from cultured samples. Physical therapy, cancer treatments, and additional stem cell treatments would likely be necessary for the rest of his life, a life-span that was now certainly diminished; although it was only by a series of miracles he was still alive in the first place.

  None of them believed the patient would live when he was returned to them. Indeed, it was as if his will had already left. They never thought of giving up though, making every effort around the clock to keep him alive. Their labors in combination with no expense spared cutting-edge technology and plenty of providence saw their patient through to this point.

  This would soon be the telling moment.

  The head nurse prepped a needle; placing its contents into the IV as another nurse removed the intubation tube that had been breathing for him. The patient’s vital signs slowly increased, brain activity picking up dramatically. Dr. Hesken willed life into him as his eyes began to flutter. The medical team anxiously watched his fists clench, back arch, and then listened as a long inhale filled his lungs with non-ventilated air for the first time in five weeks. The exhale sent him into an extreme coughing fit. The nurses were ready, a pair of them rolling him over onto his side into the fetal position, another holding an oxygen mask close enough to his face for him to receive a partial benefit of the higher oxygen content.

  Tears streamed down the patient’s cheeks as he curled into the fetal position, the bout of coughing wracking his entire body from the exertion. Finally the coughing fit passed. Their charge lay on his back, indolent, refusing to open his eyes or acknowledge the world’s intrusion on his solitary nothingness. A nurse pulled his jaw open. There was no resistance. She held it while another let water dribble into his mouth. Next, they spoon fed him, forcing him to chew and swallow the tasteless, semi-liquid nutrient meal.

  Dr. Hesken was taken aback by his utter indifference. He continued refusing to open his eyes as they shaved him, cut his hair, and then gave him a sponge bath. Through it all, he remained entirely limp. She doubted that at this point she could meaningfully declare him alive.

  Their tasks complete, the
nurses withdrew, leaving Dr. Hesken alone with him. A range of options presented themselves to her. Her rage at his sheer apathy momentarily allowed her to consider using shock therapy to see if he would respond to pain. She was still debating with herself how next to proceed when the hiss of the hydraulic door opening startled her.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt doctor, but I had to come see once I heard that you were going to revive him today.” She stopped abruptly, bringing a hand to her mouth as she looked at the bed where he lay. “My god.”

  Dr. Hesken could only sympathize with the sentiment and then realization struck. She looked at the figure next to her. Dressed in the uniform of a Mech Armor pilot, hair cut short to fit under a cap framing an attractive face and matching build, the young woman standing next to her could be the one thing able to restore the hope so entirely lost to the soulless husk occupying the medical bed. The good doctor muttered an unintelligible excuse and then backed out of the room. She would monitor what happened from the observation cameras at the nurse’s station. Despite her best intentions to allow them their privacy, her curiosity got the best of her and she rushed to the station, keying the rooms’ microphone. The other nurses huddled expectantly behind the doctor, all raptly fixated on the display.

  Alone with him for the first time in weeks, Eve slowly stepped forward, at once able to grasp how fully despair had destroyed Mikkhael Dreyfus, former pilot of Starkindler. To the PDF, he had become an invincible, unholy terror, his exploits becoming enshrined in timeless legends. To the rebels he had become the embodiment of epic myths, an immortal hero from ancient tales born again to aid their righteous cause in their hour of need. And here right in front of her, he was an inanimate shell, unable to muster the willpower to even open his eyes. Eve and Dr. Hesken were two of the rare few who knew just how fragile were the remains of their hero. His body endured, but the soul had long since fled.