Salvaging the Beast (The Fall and Rise of the Third Planet Book 1)

by John Marshall Davis

  SALVAGING THE BEAST

  The Fall and Rise of the Third Planet

  BOOK ONE

  JOHN MARSHALL DAVIS

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  SALVAGING THE BEAST

  Second Edition

  Copyright © 2016 by John Marshall Davis

  All rights reserved.

  www.johnmarshalldavis.com

  Cover art by SelfPubBookCovers.com/rgporter

  Cover typography by John Marshall Davis

  First Edition: 2015

  This one is for you, the reader. Thank you for giving my first book a chance. Enjoy the ride. I hope you stay with me for many more to come.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Our new flight surgeon graduated at the top of his class in medical school, followed by conscription into the the Earth Aerospace Guard. We fully expect to promote him quickly. However, when I dug into the lieutenant’s past, I ran straight into the roadblocks set up by our friends over at the Intelligence Corps. What wasn’t sealed off completely by the IC was heavily censored. I am certain he obtained military training prior to becoming a doctor. His credentials are suspect and I doubt he is using his real name.

  - LTC Sheila Nordstrom, EAG

  2290 AD, 26 years before Collision Event

  Sneaking away from his class undetected, Dean wanted to see things not included on the safe tour. His tenth birthday a month off, he was almost an adult, so what did it matter?

  Dean spotted a series of robotic trucks hauling crates through a gaping hatch in the wall. Following the last one, he made it just before the door slammed shut behind him. He liked to pretend service doors would cut him in half if he was too slow. That made going through them so exciting.

  The trucks rolled through another door and out of sight. The boy marveled at the strange room he had found. High above him, the entire ceiling was one enormous window, sectioned off into various shapes. Through each pane, he saw nothing but deep black.

  A tiny, shining object slid across the sky. That had to be an orbital station, maybe even the habitat where he lived.

  Bending his knees, Dean jumped as high as he could in the Moon’s low gravity. Sailing upwards, the boy smiled, opening his mouth wide and sucking in the air flowing past. He felt free.

  Nearing the ceiling, he could tell it was really a dome. Grabbing onto a light fixture, Dean planted his feet against the wall. It was a long way down, but maybe a fall in this gravity wouldn’t hurt so much.

  Dean kicked off from the wall. Landing on the ledge running around the base of the dome, he stood up carefully. Examining the landscape through the glass, he spotted a platform where a ship was landing.

  He would have stayed there for hours, but an alarm sounded. Darting his head around, he looked for the source. Tiny lights mounted inside the dome flashed rapidly. He saw no reason for the alarm. Then he looked up.

  A drone hovered high in the air. Underneath dangled a supply crate. It was getting closer. Dean realized what that meant. The machine was entering the base, and the dome was going to open. There was no time to think about it. He had to drop to the floor at once.

  Landing poorly, he twisted his ankle. Alarms wailed. He wasn’t sure what to do next, but he knew he had to get to his feet. Both doors were sealed shut with no controls that he could see. He noticed the drone was slowing, coming to a stop just outside the dome. The throbbing in his ankle subsided. Now Dean could feel something else. It was a growing pressure in his head, his ears popping. He had felt something like it before, but could not remember when. Out of options, he resigned himself to whatever would happen next.

  Something connected in his mind: he was standing at the bottom of an enormous airlock. The air was being sucked out, creating a vacuum to match that of the space outside. Otherwise, precious oxygen would escape every time the outer hatch was opened.

  Maybe someone would find him before all the air was gone. He could yell for help, but he decided to save his breath. These walls were too thick and no one would hear him.

  ***

  Eyes open, Dean was awake. Smothered by darkness, all he could see was the light from the computer displays surrounding him.

  Was he still on the Moon? He must have passed out in the airlock. Sitting up, he had to strain a little. Standard gravity. This was definitely not the Moon.

  Dean noticed faint sounds of voices coming from the next room. Something about it suggested a conversation or an argument. He withdrew his blanket only to find a mess of wires and tubes hooked up to his body. Carefully, he removed each one. It took a minute or two, and a lot of patience, but he managed to free himself.

  Reaching the doorway, Dean discovered the adjoining room was also empty. A monitor along the wall showed a news program. He recognized the faces. They were debating whether the nations of Earth would launch an attack on the Moon if it declared independence. He thought of his parents, who often argued over this very thing. He wished it would hurry up and happen so there would be nothing left to argue about.

  Dean changed the feed to something else. Anything but politics. He found a news report featuring a large space station that he recognized instantly.

  “Once considered a milestone in Earth’s journey into space,” the voiceover began, “Myracle Station, more commonly known as the Cage, is long overdue for renovation. Gravity plating is to be installed throughout, eliminating the need for rotation to simulate gravity. A new section is to be added, increasing productivity. In response to this announcement, the Lunar Industrial Authority has accused Myracle of conspiring with Earth leaders to form a central government.”

  A near-silent footstep made him turn. A tall man wearing a dark gray uniform and a black beret walked straight up to him.

  “Hello, Mr. Stratos,” the man said. Dean noticed a peculiar insignia on the beret: an open set of white teeth with no face. “Do you know who I am?”

  “Your uniform says your last name is Conrad,” Dean pointed out.

  “Yes, I am Lt. Colonel Conrad. Do you know what the Luna Maxillas are?”

  “I’ve heard of them. Are you a Maxilla?”

  “I am,” answered Conrad.

  “My mom says the Maxillas are thugs with uniforms. Dad always argues with her, saying you are Lunar patriots.”

  The officer smiled broadly. “Politics aren’t my specialty, but I’ll go with ‘patriot’ when pressed on the issue. As to your question…” Conrad said, pausing for a moment to brush a piece of lint from his decorations. “We are legal as far as the Lunar Federacy is concerned.”

  “But there is no Moon government,” Dean pointed out. “Not yet.”

  “Mr. Stratos, from here on out, you will find a lot of your information to be false.”

  Dean wondered what that meant. He looked back to the news program. Footage of riots on Earth proved things were getting worse there, not better. Everybody knew the planet was overcrowded, diseased, and backward.

  “Is there going to be a war?” Dean asked.

  “If there is, it will be short,” replied Conrad. “We have nuclear warheads now. Dropping them on Earth would be fast and efficient, and we could see their missiles coming a long way off while they struggle to reach escape velocity. The advantage is ours.”

  “We have nuclear weapons?” The people on television would never stop talking about how important it was for the Moon to develop atomic weaponry.

  The colonel nodded. “I just received word two hours ago. One of
our teams successfully raided the L3 Arsenal on the other side of the Sun. They were backed by our new wing of destroyers posing as mining freighters. The Earthworms thought they could hide their nukes from us. Though, to be fair, they were probably put there during the last Continental War.”

  “So what happens now?” Dean asked.

  “Hard to say. I do know that we will need people like you in the coming years. I am here to draft you, Mr. Stratos. Your little stunt in that airlock got our attention.”

  “But I can’t be drafted until I’m fifteen.” The local militia rules were clear on that.

  “That is normally how it works,” agreed Conrad. “We are not part of the regular militia. You are at just the right age to train as a Maxilla.”

  Dean pondered that for a moment. “What did I do that was so special? I almost got myself killed. I expected detention.”

  “Initiative, Mr. Stratos. Pure initiative,” Conrad remarked. “And, you kept your cool in the face of death. I’ve seen grunts twice your age piss themselves in easier situations. You are also brilliant, based on your test scores. The other kids have to study for hours, while you can read something once and wield that knowledge like a knife.”

  Looking around the room and feeling self-conscious, Dean added, “I guess I don’t have as much trouble in school as my friends do.”

  The officer straightened a little. “We will place you in Basic Training with the rest of the militia conscripts, all five years older. We expect you to rise to the top. Many of them will resent you. By the end, they’ll come to respect you or choose to stay out of your way. That is how you want it. After you graduate from Basic, you’ll train with us. From then on, we will watch your back, and you will watch ours.”

  The colonel stuck out his hand. Dean took it.

  “Do I go visit my family first, and pick up some things?”

  “No. Your mother broke your father’s nose, and he retaliated by strangling her to death. Habitat Security shot him while he resisted arrest.”

  That was all Lt. Colonel Conrad said before turning around and marching away.

  Dean lost the ability to stand.

  ***

  Having grown accustomed to the recovery room, Dean was now on his third visit to the infirmary aboard the LFS Boushey, an aging cruiser converted to accommodate training tours for cadets.

  Wrapped in blankets, he felt warm for the first time since he left his bunk that morning. They had refused his request for a mirror, but the cadet knew he was badly bruised. The obstacle course between his team and the objective was tough, but not half as tough as the beating Dean got when he finished first.

  At a nearby table sat a pair of nurses, a woman and a man, who looked to be on break, their packed lunches spread out in a pile between them.

  “Did you hear about the bomb?” one asked the other.

  “No. What happened?”

  “The news broke a half hour ago. The Federacy launched a neutron missile past Earth, ahead of her orbit, and exploded it,” she explained. “That should put a stop to all the chatter about us bluffing our way to independence.”

  Dean kept still, not wanting them to notice he had regained consciousness. He managed to open his eyes just enough to gauge the other nurse’s reaction, whose face froze, mouth full of food.

  “So it was a test or something?” he asked, resuming his chewing.

  “Yes,” his coworker replied. “It won’t harm anyone, but the Earthworms can detect the radiation, certainly.”

  The male nurse looked relieved.

  “Do you have family on Earth?” she asked.

  “Yes. I’m in favor of the Lunar Federacy and all, but I really don’t want a war,” he admitted.

  “Well, who does? This is all a political ploy. It keeps the EAG at bay.”

  Dean was reminded of the Earth Aerospace Guard, knowing he would go up against them someday.

  “Yeah, but it still makes me uneasy.”

  “Changing the subject,” the female nurse began, her voice lowering. “What do you think of Stratos over there? This is his third time being admitted.”

  “I think he is too small for Basic Training,” the male nurse answered. He took another bite of his sandwich.

  “If that kid is fifteen years old, I’m 50. Do I look 50?” she asked. Dean had just turned ten, and was small for his age at that.

  “No, not at all,” he answered quickly, his voice betraying something.

  He has a crush on her, the cadet decided.

  “You know what I think? I think he was recruited to become a Maxilla. I hear they take them a lot younger. Some wash out in Basic and the rest are given special training. They only want the best, right?”

  “Oh, I don’t know about all that. Seems farfetched to me,” said the male nurse.

  “Don’t tell me you are one of those deniers who refuse to believe the Moon runs black op missions.” The woman’s tone of voice suggested a zealous disdain for anyone who would disagree with her.

  “I don’t know what to believe.” The man lowered his head and began to pack up the remains of his meal.

  “Humph,” grunted the female. She sat back in her chair.

  He’s not getting any, thought Dean, who had learned the expression from one of the other cadets.

  They were all five years older, save one: a girl whom he guessed was closer to his age, though she was bigger. Her name was Kira Crowley.

  Dean smiled when he thought of Kira. One of the older kids had tried to make out with the girl against her clearly stated objections. The boy in question spent nearly two days in the infirmary as a result. No one bothered Kira again. Dean knew she was destined for Maxilla training too. He vowed to talk to her one day before Basic was over.

  The younger cadet was running out of patience and sick of losing fights because of his size. Maybe he should follow Kira’s example and discourage any further attacks. She had the muscle and stature to take down an older kid. He would have to find a different angle. In recovery, there was plenty of time to think.

  ***

  Raeger was a week shy of his sixteenth birthday. Behind his back people talked about how slow he was, but they wouldn’t dare say it to his face.

  The bully was the first one to punish Dean for overachieving. The second assault came from one of Raeger’s friends. Next, they joined forces to finish off the younger cadet on the third and final occasion.

  Now, Raeger and Dean were in the latrine. The older boy sat tied to a toilet. His captor stood close by, right hand grasping a shard of broken mirror. Finding rope had proven to be the hardest part. More than one cadet would be disciplined later for missing important climbing gear from their packs.

  Raeger’s eyes drifted open. The sedative Dean had lifted from the infirmary performed admirably. It was the middle of the night and the senior cadet had remained dormant while he was dragged from the bunk, placed on his throne, and thoroughly subdued.

  Dean pressed the shard against the other’s throat. Raeger opened his eyes as far as they would go. He moaned, but the rolled towel stretched between his jaws and wrapped around his head muffled any sound the older boy could muster.

  It was time for the speech Dean had written and rehearsed, over and over. He had to drive the necessary point home.

  Before he could speak, he heard a noise. Dean stepped back instinctively. Both he and Raeger turned their heads to see the intruder. It was Kira.

  Ignoring them, she walked straight to a toilet, pulled down her pants, sat, and relieved herself. Trickling water echoed throughout the latrine. She exhaled, then turned to look at them.

  “I was wondering when you would finally stand up for yourself, Dean.” Half her face allowed a grin, while the other remained flat, suggesting something was wrong with the muscles there. Dean recalled a rumor about Kira getting burned a long time ago, but he had no idea whether it was true.

  She finished, stood, and walked over to the sink to wash her hands. The cadet was still smiling, head forwa
rd, though she kept watching them from the corner of her eye.

  “Goodnight, boys.” Kira returned to her bunk.

  2293 AD, 23 years before Collision Event

  Dean was on point, sweeping the corridor ahead with a carbine he was issued for the mission. What had begun as a low profile operation to expose the cadets to some real world experience had gone south pretty quickly.

  Behind him staggered Lt. Grahl. The older officer was mostly supported by Kira. She marched alongside, the man’s arm draped around her neck. At fourteen, Kira was as big as most adults. That’s a good thing, Dean thought. She might be carrying the lieutenant before it’s all over.

  They each wore a thin layer of armor. Light in weight, the reconnaissance gear featured the standard camouflage system that could be set to mimic surrounding colors and textures. One suit of armor could be used in any environment, changing its appearance on the fly and successfully concealing any commando who knew how to move about correctly. The lieutenant’s armor was damaged, displaying a wide range of colors and textures.

  The previous segment of Luna Maxilla training had proven to be a mixture of extreme difficulty and exhilarating reward. Coming off several impressive tests and combat simulations, Dean was excited when Grahl answered a nearby call for Maxilla support on the Cage, a behemoth mining station that was once the pride of Earth. Now, it was little more than an aging monument to her failed glory.

  They came upon an intersection, with three directions to choose from.

  “Do you know which way to go, sir?” he asked.

  “Everything has been fuzzy since Crowley hauled me off the floor. I think I have a concussion. We are in a section I didn’t learn,” Grahl admitted. “Cadet, I think I can stand for a minute.” Kira released his arm.

  Grahl looked around. “Any contact from the rest of the team?”