Carrion Duty (Necrospace Book 5), page 1
CARRION DUTY
Necrospace Book 5
Sean-Michael Argo
Copyright 2017 by Sean-Michael Argo
Edited by TL Bland Thruterryseyes.com
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Prologue
Pipeline T4
Bounty Scrappers
All Hands Lost
The Smilers
Ravagers
The Good Kill
Andromeda
Journey well
The Hunt
Slave Ship
Precious Things
Hard Universe
Stolen Breath
Deathless
Fangs Out
Last Light
Paid in Full
Life after Duty
The Anointed
PROLOGUE
It is the Age of The Corporation.
The common man toils under the watchful eye of the elite and their enforcers. The rules of law have long been replaced by the politics of profit. For many centuries, the Covenants of Commerce have ruled mankind, from boardroom to factory floor, from mine deep to fertile field, upon the battlefields of heart, of mind, and of distant star.
The dark ages of feudalism have returned with capitalistic ferocity. There is no peace among the stars of mapped space; business is booming.
Impoverished workers drown in debt, laboring for subsistence pay. Mercenaries of every kind wage war, loyal to the banner of any company willing to meet their price. Everyone in existence is locked in a ceaseless struggle for economic dominance and survival. Scavengers and space pirates swoop in to loot what they can from the forgotten and unprotected.
To be a human being in such times is to be one among countless billions in a civilization spread across a vast universe, all ensnared in the same blood-soaked web of capitalism, most doomed to be ground to dust amidst the gears of progress.
There are some people, however, those rare few, who rise from the ranks of the faceless masses, to make their mark upon history.
This is one such tale.
PIPELINE T4
Rhett Calibos flexed his right hand for the seventh time since sliding his fingers into the tight mesh interior of the armored glove. He had worn such a glove on countless occasions, nearly every day since he had graduated from the Rubicon cor-sec academy, and that was years ago. It was as if he couldn’t quite get comfortable with it, and no matter how many times he clenched and unclenched his fist the armor just didn’t feel right.
He could sense the eyes of the other troopers in his unit upon him, and Rhett forced himself to stop flexing. Everyone got a case of nerves before a mission at some point in their career, he reassured himself, and there was nothing to be concerned about. He told himself that this was a routine crowd dispersal operation, even if it did come with a forcible relocation mandate.
The cor-sec trooper shook in his seat as the transport rumbled over the broken ground of the unforgiving planet’s surface. Rhett looked up from his hand and let his gaze sweep across the interior of the transport.
There were twenty-nine other troopers with him, all similarly strapped into seats that lined both walls of the squat vehicle. Designed for rapid deployment of its human cargo, it was a tight fit, with only enough space for two troopers to stand shoulder to shoulder in the aisle. He had ridden in such vehicles before, and had deployed from them on numerous occasions. What struck him as odd, was that this transport was a raid model, designed for combat missions not relocation.
Cor-sec forces were responsible for protecting Rubicon assets throughout the Tardis sector, which was close enough to the frontier that space pirates were a legitimate problem. They would attack the raw material shipments while in transit from the various mines and drill sites to the refineries. Rhett had been deployed on counter-raids against pirate incursions several times since graduation, and always it was from vehicles such as this. Crowd dispersal was certainly within the scope of this transport, but with the forced relocation mandate, the mission parameters were out of sync with the vehicle.
Rhett wondered how the troopers were supposed to relocate any of the trespassers without the holding pods that were a feature of the detainment model transports. He hadn’t seen any such vehicles in the convoy that left the cor-sec motor pool half an hour ago. Nor had he seen collection cages or net casters attached to any of the sleek black VTOLs that moved through the sky above them.
The troopers had been given orders to muster and kit up rather suddenly. Only now did Rhett realize that he had been issued only his needle rifle and high yield tesla pistol. Neither of those weapons were fit for riot duty, much less detainment. For that, he and the rest of the unit should have been issued shock mauls and resistance shields, with gas launchers for overwatch. This had all the hallmarks of a combat op, regardless of what the official orders read.
Rhett flexed his fist again involuntarily as he began to wonder what exactly Tardis management had planned.
He knew that the situation on T4 was already on the knife’s edge and if cor-sec came in hot, things might go from bad to worse. Suddenly, the needle rifle slung across his chest felt heavy and cold.
The trooper ran the scenario through his mind over and over as he tried to make sense of the mission, hoping to find some scrap of understanding, to balance the equation before his boots hit the ground.
Tardis contained several small planets that orbited a relatively young star, in geologic terms, and those bodies were rich in raw materials. Rubicon surveyors had discovered much wealth to be had within two of the planets, designated, unimaginatively, as T1 and T2. Rubicon had acted quickly to claim all the rights to the sector. They registered their quiet title with the rest of corporate civilization and planted enough military might in the sector so that no one dared challenge the execution of universal deeds.
There were no fresh worlds in mapped corporate space, and it was a tremendously expensive process to discover, claim, and exploit new planets. The frontier was a raw and wild place, where heavenly bodies were young and difficult to predict, as they were still in the long process of becoming mature, stable planets or stars. New worlds and systems had to first be discovered, then surveyed for analysis, and assuming there was enough future profit to be had the planet had to be claimed, and most difficult of all, held. For most corporate powers, it made more sense to continue to fight over the dwindling resources of mapped space, though on rare occasions sectors like Tardis were indeed claimed and developed.
Without opposition or challenge to their claim, in the boardroom or on the battlefield, Rubicon held the deeds to the entire sector. They were free to exploit the planets as they saw fit.
The problem was the Red List squatters who had been living in the system for decades, perhaps even longer. Unlike sanctioned pioneer communities like Longstride and Brin’s World, the small privately owned properties like the ocean resort world Abzu or the fortified asteroid belt of the Folken mercenaries, the red listers had no recognized claim.
The frontier was popular with red listers, castoffs of the corporate world who lived their lives without the burden or the benefit of any kind of citizenship. Necrospace on the frontier was just as dangerous as it was in the corporate sectors. Instead of abandoned factories and spoiled planets ruled by scavengers, the red listers out here were faced with hostile alien planets and exposed to the predations of pirates. Most red list ships and populations who left corporate sectors and went to the frontier were soon gone, swallowed up by an unforgiving universe. By simply still existing after decades of settlement the red list community on T4, who called themselves the Dunhills, had beaten the odds. At least, Rhett thought, as he flexed his hand again, until Rubicon discovered them.
They lived mostly underground, in natural cave networks that had been heavily modified by digging and using construction equipment they’d brought with them from corporate space.
Rhett didn’t know that much about the Dunhill’s story beyond the basics. They were a red list flotilla that had formed over many years, wandering necrospace and surviving day to day, like most red listers. At some point they made the choice to try life on the frontier, and found what became known as the Tardis sector. They traded in barion, the less stable but more affordable alternative to xaxos, which is what drew them into the cave network and afforded them enough wealth to maintain their supplies and pay the protection money demanded by local pirate bands.
Rubicon surveyors found the Dunhills when planning the refinery complex and starports that would define the struggle for T4. The planet was ideally positioned in the system for transit in and out of the system, depending on where in the universe one was bound. Starports on either pole of the planet allowed the vast quantities of materials pulled from the sector, mostly T1 and T2, to be transported back into corporate space.
Initially, the managers of Tardis were willing to allow the red listers to remain, so long as they paid for the privilege. With the pirates driven away or wiped out by cor-sec troopers such as Rhett himself, the Dunhills just started giving Rubicon the protection money and shipments of barion.
Should have known that wouldn’t last, Rhett thought. The transport shook again as the yellow warning lights switched on. Yellow meant they were two minutes out.
Rhett flexed his fist once more, unable to stop himself.
The massive refinery that was fed by the entire system was on T4, and now that the second starport was finally complete, the pipeline that would connect the refinery and the starport ran right through the Dunhills settlement.
It was a hard universe, but no one had it as tough as the poor souls on the Red List. They might have their freedom, but it was a desperate kind. Without a corporation to call their own they had no rights or support. If Rubicon decided to change the terms of their agreement, or break whatever treaty they wished, it was the corporation’s prerogative and there was nothing the red listers could do about it.
Sadly, the Dunhills appeared to think that they had some say in the matter, hence the likes of Rhett and his unit being deployed today.
“One minute!” said Proctor Usef as the cor-sec unit commander stood up from his seat, holding himself steady by grasping one of the many handholds hanging from the low ceiling. “Riot units have isolated most of the protestors, but things have gotten ugly since we left the motor pool. The Dunhills leaders clearly haven’t gotten the message and are encouraging their people to resist. No shots fired yet, but it’s only a matter of time if we don’t stomp this out. We’re going to give them a show of force so profound they’ll have no choice but to submit. Everybody switch on!”
Rhett and the rest of the unit unfastened their chair straps and got to their feet. The trooper grasped a handhold with his left hand as he cradled the grip of the needle rifle in his hand. He still didn’t feel right about their lack of non-lethal equipment, though the Proctor’s words settled his nerves slightly. Perhaps the sight of a veteran unit of armored cor-sec troopers would rattle these people and convince them to lay down arms.
Plenty of the Dunhills protesters out on the line had seen the heinous fighting between cor-sec and the pirate brigands who used to rule T4. Rhett himself had seen into the cave homes of the Dunhills after he and a group of troopers had pursued a pirate insurgent down there. The Dunhills didn’t have much, he knew that, but they’d have even less once Rubicon drove them out of their settlement. They were about to be forced off world, either aboard their own ships with their freedom intact or on detainment vessels bound for labor camps across the Rubicon corporate empire.
It wasn’t much of a choice, Rhett realized that, but he had a job to do, and if he didn’t do it someone else would. Security was a common profession in Rubicon, throughout corporate civilization actually and he would rather be here quelling a riot than working in a factory or code house. Cor-sec pay was good, and other than brawling with unruly labor gangs or the occasional combat raid, it wasn’t like he was in a full military profession.
As the warning light changed to red, indicating thirty seconds till deployment, Rhett was silently thankful that he’d never married, much less started a family. If he had one, he might feel guiltier about displacing these people. He already had a bad case of the nerves as it was without it being compounded by seeing the faces of his own family reflected back at him in those of the Dunhills.
“Fangs out, gentlemen,” said Proctor Usef just before the transport lurched to a halt, making all of the troopers stagger for a moment as they held themselves upright.
The hatch of the transport opened and the Proctor disembarked first, rapidly followed by the rest of the troopers. In seconds, a full thirty-man unit of armored security staffers bounded from the transport. They were all veterans. Without a word, they formed a tight V-shaped wedge.
Rhett flexed his fist as he found himself at the apex of the formation, the tip of the spear. This time his hand was filled with the grip of the needle rifle. He swung it up to make it level with his chest, tucking the short stock into the crook of his shoulder.
Rhett swept the area in front of him and peered down the iron sights of his weapon to assess the vivid display before him. The situation in Dunhill had deteriorated significantly just in the hour since the mission briefing. Hundreds of people were massed just outside the cave network, providing the troopers a keen reminder that a population census of the Dunhill settlement had never been done, nor had a full schematic of their settlement been created or demanded. Tardis managers simply had not cared enough to bother with such details, and now it was coming back to trouble them.
Several columns of cor-sec troopers in riot kit stood behind portable barricades. It was all they could do to keep the multitude of protestors at bay.
Nobody was openly assaulting the officers, but the pushing, shoving, and shouting of the mass of angry people made it clear that a violent outbreak was soon likely. Rhett could sympathize with management’s decision to escalate the situation by a show of force, but had he been in charge he would not have handled it the same way.
What, exactly, he would have done, he had no idea, but as the trooper held his needle rifle before him and watched the shock of their presence began to register on the faces of the dissident squatters, he knew it would still not have been this.
Four units of troopers advanced upon different spots in the line of protestors. Above them, several VTOLs circled the settlement, the mounted weapons of the fliers tracking targets as they moved.
“Deploy verbals and maintain pace!” ordered Proctor Usef through the unit com channel. “Push them back!”
Rhett keyed his helmet’s microphone with his chin, as did the others in his unit, and began to speak.
“Trespassers Disperse!” bellowed Rhett through his helmet’s speaker system. His voice and those of his fellow troopers boomed out over the discordant shouts of the protestors. “Fall back and return to your homes! Deadly force is authorized! Trespassers Disperse!”
Rhett repeated himself as he and the other troopers advanced past the Rubicon lines. The cor-sec barricades were moved out of the way of the V formation, leaving nothing between the menacing troopers and the agitators.
The crowd fell back in shock as cor-sec marched through the line and into protestor territory. Dunhills began falling over each other in their haste to move away from the troopers. For a few moments, it looked to Rhett as if management’s plan would work. Already hundreds of people were turning their backs on the troopers and fleeing down into the settlement, away from the guns and the noise of the microphones.
It almost worked.
Then shots rang out.
Rhett didn’t know who pulled the trigger first, only that it wasn’t him. His finger was flat against the body of the rifle, just above the trigger, of that he was certain.
Rhett was a veteran cor-sec trooper. Despite his case of nerves, he maintained trigger discipline. He was so focused on the verbals and the forward march that he did not notice the firefight until he was in the middle of it.
The sharp staccato sounds of needle rifles were suddenly coming from both his left and right. In front of him people started jerking back or collapsing as blood blossomed from multitudes of wounds.
A hard round struck Rhett in the chest, failing to punch through his armor, but hitting him hard enough that he went to his knees. His heart fluttered in his chest and the trooper sucked in his breath.
In basic, the hand-to-hand instructor always insisted that the real fighters were the ones who could rise up and win after that first hard hit to the face and that what you did after that hit was what made you a soldier or a casualty. Rhett had always been good at the brawl once things got started. As it had many times before, his training took over and before he was fully aware of what he was doing the trooper surged back to his feet and fired his rifle into the crowd.
He did not see the shooter, but knew that whoever it had been was out there in front of him and before his full awareness could catch up, Rhett engaged the enemy.
Rhett squeezed the trigger and his rifle spat a high velocity needle round into the chest of an older man who seemed to be swinging something at a trooper near him. Whether it was a walking stick or some kind of weapon Rhett couldn’t tell. By the time the man fell into a heap on the broken ground, the trooper was sighting in on another protester. Rhett moved his rifle in search of threats. It was nearly impossible to tell who was a combatant and who was simply a protester. What had been a noisy gathering of angry Dunhills had become a bloody melee as troopers and VTOLs unleashed death upon them.
A trooper suddenly went down beside him and Rhett saw a young Dunhill woman wielding a stubby shotgun rack the slide to chamber another round. She was close, perhaps having used the chaos to appear non-threatening until the formation marched over the fallen to reach her.
