SAGCON
DARKLANDING
Episode 6
By Craig Martelle and Scott Moon
This book is copyright © 2018 by Scott Moon and Craig Martelle
Darklanding Series is copyrighted ©2017 and ©2018 by Craig Martelle
All rights reserved.
Cover art by Kevin McLaughlin
Editing services provided by Mia Darien – miadarien.com
Formatting by James Baldwin – jamesosiris.com
Based on a concept by Diane Velasquez, Dorene Johnson, and Kat Lind who also provide developmental editing for the series
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Social Media for Craig Martelle
Author Notes: Scott Moon
Author Notes: Craig Martelle
CHAPTER ONE
An aircar flitted past. Sagittarian Conglomerate’s board of directors enjoyed the best of the best. Their meeting room looked out on the city, the view incomparable from one hundred stories up.
Tiberius Plastes, Tye to his friends, didn’t notice. He stared out, not seeing anything. His thoughts were on his daughter, on the edge of the frontier. Shaunte was the son he never had. Sink or swim, he had told her. She was stuck in Darklanding.
He was every bit as trapped as she was. Maybe her freedom was real and his, something else.
An illusion? A gilded cage?
Tye laughed to himself. Even the man with the power had to answer to someone.
The doors to the boardroom opened and the someones entered. A group of ten men and women, an odd number to eliminate the chance of a tie vote. Not that any votes were close. Nothing came to a vote unless they already knew what they wanted.
Unanimous. None of the real deals happened in that room, where everything was recorded, because that was SagCon policy.
The show must go on, Tye thought as he turned to face his fellow board members. He beamed his most winning smile as he approached them, hand outstretched. One by one, they stopped and shook before continuing to their seats.
“How are you?” As if any of them cared. Tye didn’t.
“You’re looking fit!” They all looked fit. Modern medicine kept all the wealthy in good health.
“My wife says, ‘hi’.” Of course she did.
With the unpleasantries out of the way, Tiberius Plastes took his new position at the head of the table. He was, after all, the Chairman of the Board. Chairman Stoddard had passed away during an anti-aging microsurgery. His vanity had killed him, some said. Others thought it had been Tiberius Plastes who had ordered the assassination.
But no one pushed, because sometimes, people lived too long and their bodies gave up.
A computer screen appeared before each of them, showing the agenda and links for more details about the items under discussion.
“A light agenda for this week,” Tye intoned. “Did everyone get a chance to review last week’s minutes?”
Polite nods. Tye bet heavily that none of them had read the minutes he sent to each member the previous day. “I submit the minutes for an approval vote. Do I have a second?”
Philbert Slog raised his hand instantly.
“All in favor?” Tye asked. He watched all the hands rise.
“Opposed?” Unanimous vote. His first action had passed the gauntlet unnoticed. Tye had been party to numerous shady activities, but those had always been on the side. He’d never done anything so brazen with his position, but she was his little girl, and she needed the cover that he was putting into place.
Because she was a good soul, unlike her old man. He had taught her the morals that he himself could never embrace.
CHAPTER TWO
Philbert remained behind following the weekly board meeting. He eyed the chairman from his seat.
Tye could feel the man’s eyes boring into his back. “What?” he wondered, never taking his gaze from the city below and its minions dependent upon SagCon and the other corporate powers.
“You are up to something,” Phil said softly.
The chairman froze. He forced himself to take a deep breath, letting it out slowly through his mouth. “What makes you say that?”
“I always think so, that’s why.” Phil laughed, planted his elbows firmly on the polished table, and steepled his fingers. “Because I know there has to be something going on. All of us are playing two games—the public one and the one behind the scenes.”
Tye looked at the ceiling, knowing that everything said in the room was recorded, even after the session was over.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” Tye turned away from the window and held a finger to his lips. “I think an early dinner is in order, and some bad whiskey. I’m trying to put myself in Shaunte’s shoes, but am having a difficult time. She wears a size seven.”
Phil tilted his head, before breaking into a broad grin. “Of course, Mister Chairman. May I recommend Greasy Gorgon’s Gollburgers? Everything goes down easier in that place. It’s how it comes back up that makes you wish you hadn’t gone there.”
“Why would you suggest such a place?” Tye knew exactly why, but wanted Phil to say it, for the record. Leverage was important in the big game.
“Low-tech.”
And there it was. No computers. No listening devices. No sensors. Just a grill, mostly clean tables, and a low-class of customers. It also meant that security would probably send a few of their people in to install a suite after the fact. Couldn’t have the board going off the grid.
“You mean, like Darklanding?”
“You wanted to get in the mood, Tye, so Gorgon’s is the closest to the frontier you can get without leaving the comfort of your own home.”
Ground Forces Headquarters, Planet Melborn
“Your orders?” the major asked. His dress uniform was immaculate, his medals perfectly aligned, his head upright, and his hair well within regulation length.
“I’m not sure, Bob. We need to rebuild a tactical force after that debacle in Alpha Centauri. The CPF, the Centauri Prime Fiasco. If we only had better troops. The Ground Forces let us down.”
“I’m confused. I thought we won that battle.” The major leaned against the wall, making himself comfortable.
The general looked at him until he straightened up, mumbling an apology.
“How many people do you know who lost their lives out there, Bob?”
The major shifted from one foot to the other. He looked down at his medals. Two of them were for supporting the action on Centauri Prime. He had never left home world. “I didn’t know any of them.” The admission came as a whisper.
“I didn’t know any, either. I sit in this office and make life and death decisions.” The general looked around the room, wondering if anyone else was listening. He decided that he didn’t care. “I’m going to change that. My orders are that first thing tomorrow morning, oh-four-hundred hours, we will be standing tall outside the recruit training barracks.”
The major raised one eyebrow as he resisted the urge to look at his watch, realizing that it was already evening. He’d have to be up at two-thirt
y, which wasn’t as far away as he would have liked.
“That’s the ticket. We’re going to find the best of the best and create a new standard. We’ll call them something elite and intimidating-sounding. Come on, Bob, give me a name, something that will strike fear into the hearts of our enemies!” The general glared at his aide de camp.
Bob locked his body at the position of attention and stared at the wall over the general’s head where a group picture hung, the general’s last combat command with signatures from his subordinate officers lining the mat behind the glass.
“The Marauders. The Waste-Layers. The Speartips.” Bob spit out titles as they popped into his mind. “TerriCom Force.”
The general held up his hand. “Terrors in Combat?”
“TerroCom Force, then.” The major emphasized the ‘o.’
“TerroCom it is, Bob. Thank you, well done. I’m not giving you a medal for that.” The general smiled and shook his head. Too many medals for the mundane. “Get me the budget numbers and let’s see how we can carve out some funds to get this unit trained. Have that packet ready when you pick me up at my quarters tomorrow morning, say, at oh-three-forty?”
“Oh-three-forty it is. I will order your car and see you there, General.”
“Sleep well, Bob, and thank you. I think this is the first step in reestablishing the glory of the Ground Forces.” The general stood and reached for his hat.
The meeting was over. Bob tried not to smirk at the general’s quip about sleep. Budget numbers in a packet and he had to put that together in the next seven hours. He needed to call his wife and tell her he’d cat nap at the office.
She probably thought he was having an affair, when he didn’t have time to get his next meal. Kill two birds with one stone, Bob, he told himself. Allay her concerns and ask her to bring dinner, maybe wear something that we don’t have to go through a lot to take off. Not optimal, but being the general’s aide is the way to promotion, more pay, and continued good assignments. We sacrifice now for our future…
***
“This was a good choice,” Tiberius Plastes said in a low voice that wouldn’t project beyond his own table.
“I thought it would work at least this one time, but there are thousands of dives in this city. We’ll move around.” Philbert talked with his hand in front of his mouth, his eyes shifting left and right.
“What makes you think this will be a regular thing? I’m pretty busy,” Tye countered in the mental chess match playing out.
“I saw what you did with the minutes.” Phil removed his hand after he finished his declaration, leaned back, and smiled.
There was lettuce wedged between his teeth.
“You have a little something going on there.” Tye pointed to the man’s mouth, then picked between his own teeth to clarify. The fact that someone found out wasn’t alarming, and neither was the fact that a fellow board member would try to use it as leverage.
The chairman snickered, then covered his mouth with his Gollburger. “You voted for it, without question. I think you’re on shaky ground, so you might want to tread carefully.” Tye took a bite of the burger, munching happily while his eyes stared ice daggers into the heart of the other man.
Phil’s smile disappeared, and he shivered. He was good at the game, but Tye was the master. He wondered what else the chairman had on him. He countered. “I put a note in there before the vote, highlighting my concern.”
Tye finished chewing and breathed a sigh of relief. “If you’re going to bluff, Phil, you have to do much better at it. That file was locked. Neither you nor anyone else changed anything,” the chairman said, barely above a whisper. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You and I will never meet again like this. You will approve the minutes next time just like last time. What I’ll do for you is support your proposal for a wind farm on the opposite side of the city from your mansion. You want something for your family. I want something for mine. Period. It’s all business.”
Phil sat back. The rumors about Chairman Stoddard’s death rushed to the forefront of his mind.
Odd how he hadn’t considered that before inviting the chairman to lunch. A wind farm was far more appealing than death.
“My apologies, Chairman. I should have started with that. My wife would string me up by my man-eggs if that wind farm was built where she could see it. You have saved my life. Thanks, Tye. I knew I could count on you.”
“Wasn’t that much easier?” The chairman studied his burger, torn between taking another bite and leaving it behind. He knew that he would pay later with indigestion, but his lunch suddenly tasted better than it should have.
The sweet taste of power.
CHAPTER THREE
The first recruit out of the barracks stopped. The second and third recruits promptly ran him over. One of the three on the ground attempted to salute. The general exercised the discipline of his station and kept from rolling his eyes. He was in search of the best of the best.
He started to rethink his strategy of starting with recruits that he hoped to hand over to battle-hardened veterans.
The general was on a mission to find those individuals, too. He expected a significant challenge in finding ones that weren’t alcoholics or suicidal.
Or both.
The general turned away before his emotions betrayed him. “Major, bring me the training sergeant as soon as this mob is in formation. Why don’t you brief the recruits while I talk to their trainer.”
“How much do you want me to tell them?” the major asked.
“Tell them about finding the best of the best. Pump them up. Josiah’s Flames, Bob! Take care of it.”
The major was too tired to wing it. He’d gotten two hours of sleep on the small couch in his undersized office.
“Yes, sir,” he replied firmly. Setting his jaw and nodding as he turned away. He closed his eyes as the group before him were bunched up and gawking. “Who’s in charge?”
“Sir, Recruit Platoon Sergeant Sampson reporting as ordered!” A raggedy-looking recruit excused himself from the mob and ran up to the major, barely stopping before the two bumped chests. Bob took a step back.
“Get this mob in formation, Recruit!” Bob snarled, his patience nearly gone.
“Yes, sir!” the recruit yelled, before running three steps to the mob and cupping his hands around his mouth. “Get in formation, you knuckle-dragging buffoons!”
Bob groaned and started rubbing his temples. The training sergeant appeared in the doorway. He was sipping from a cup of coffee as he watched the recruits getting into platoon formation.
One step ahead of me, he thought. He took one more step and then it dawned on him that he had visitors. The sergeant caught sight of the general glaring at him, and he froze mid-sip.
The man threw his cup behind a bush, saluted, and ran toward the general. As the sergeant ran past, the major stretched out his foot to take a step and hooked the sergeant’s back leg. He stumbled once and sprawled face-first at the general’s feet. He jumped up and turned, furious.
The major gave him a look that wondered, “what are you going to do?” The training sergeant rolled his head back, closed his eyes, and silently screamed at the sky. The platoon of recruits snickered.
“Shut your pie holes!” Bob yelled.
The training sergeant turned back to the general and saluted as he tried to regain his composure.
“Sergeant Craken, reporting as ordered.” The man waited for the general to return his salute.
The general studied the sergeant silently, letting time drag. He finally raised his hand, tipped the corner of his cover, and dropped his salute. The sergeant rocketed his hand downward and remained at the position of attention.
“I’m General Quincy, and I need a guinea pig. I thank you and your platoon for volunteering.” One side of the general’s mouth lifted in a weak attempt to smile, as if he was trying to soften the blow.
“But we didn’t volunteer for anything. This platoon has only bee
n training for a few days. They may not be the best for what you want,” the sergeant stammered.
“Volunteer does not have to start with the words I or we, Sergeant. How long have you been in the service?” The general leaned forward to stifle a rejoinder should the sergeant feel so obliged.
He didn’t. He continued to stand at attention while his platoon watched, wide-eyed and fearful.
The major looked over his shoulder. Bob and the general nodded slightly to each other. The platoon was in a more receptive position for the general’s proposal.
“What are you here for?” Bob asked the platoon as he started to pace in front of them.
“Pay off debt,” one man said softly.
“Free my brother and sisters from having to serve,” another said.
“Glory!” someone in the back shouted.
Bob held up a hand. The inner system planets didn’t have conscription, but there was a mandatory service requirement from each family. A man who would serve so his siblings wouldn’t have to was the type of man they wanted.
“You,” the major said, pointing to the selfless man. “Come up here.”
The man stepped backward and then ran between the rows of recruits, swinging around the end of the formation and running to the front. He saluted poorly, not waiting for the major to return it before dropping it and standing with his feet apart, his arms hanging loosely.
Bob clenched his jaw at the lack of military bearing, resisting the urge to flame the recruit.
“At ease, Private.” The man didn’t change position. The terms seemed to be meaningless to him.
“Combat,” Bob started, putting his hand on the man’s shoulder as he looked at the faces in the platoon. “There are three types of people. There are those who sharpen their knives and then howl at the moon. There are those who become catatonic, having thought that it would never happen to them. And there are those who make sure their gear is functional and prepare for the mission.
“The first group has little value to the Ground Forces. They tend to get themselves killed along with too many good people around them. The second group has no value whatsoever. They suck resources from us and if, stars forbid, they make it to the front lines, someone will end up carrying them, which gets people killed. Too many from those two groups have made it into combat. In extreme circumstances, they have even squared off against each other, fear driving both of them. I don’t want either of those kinds of people anywhere near me.
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