Fallen Son Preview
Book One of Life on the Fringe
Prologue
Grantham’s Rest Settlement, Adestreia System, Kassidae Empire
“Wolfpack Flight, Flight Ops. Status?” The calm voice of their controller requested the squadron’s mission status.
“Flight Ops, Wolfpack One.” The cold, clipped female voice of the flight leader responded. “Wolfpack Flight approaching target site. ETA is zero-four minutes.”
“Copy Wolfpack One. Target site is Central Plaza. Local patrol officers reporting the crowd is rioting and threatening to overrun barricades. Confirm and report for further instructions.”
“Copy, Flight Ops. Wolfpack Flight will recon and report.”
The Wolfpack flight was a group of four AG-25 air-to-ground attack gravity-based aircraft. Often used for close-in support missions, the short-range craft were flying gun platforms bristling with multiple energy and ballistic guns and several external hard points for attaching a wide variety of missiles or bombs. The group flew in close formation as they approached the large settlement at a relatively sedate 350 kph at just over 1000 meters above the ground.
Avoiding the taller buildings, the relatively quiet gravlift engines were barely audible at that height, and most of the crowd did not even look up as they made their recon pass. The co-pilot in each craft made sure to get as much video and telemetry information as they could and then transmitted it back to their control. As the flight group moved into a holding pattern several kilometers away from the plaza, the controllers and the co-pilots reviewed the gathered information looking for weapons and threats to the local law enforcement.
After a long forty-five seconds, the controller called the flight leader. “Wolfpack One, Flight Ops. Execute plan Alpha Three. Weapons are free. Suppress the crowd and force them to disperse. Repeat, Execute plan Alpha Three. Weapons-free. Cleared for action.”
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“Flight Ops, Wolfpack One. Copy execute plan Alpha Three. Copy Weapons-free. Rolling in now.”
Switching to address her flight, the flight leader affirmed the orders from their controller. “Wolfpack Flight, Wolfpack One. Execute plan Alpha Three. Form up with your wing. Flight Ops confirms Weapons-free. Repeat, crowd suppression plan Alpha Three. We’ll start with one pass and evaluate.”
One by one, the flight checked in and acknowledged the orders.
“Two, Copy.”
“Three, Copy.”
“Wolfpack One, Wolfpack Four. According to our video, the crowd is unarmed. Please confirm weapons-free? Repeat, the crowd is unarmed!”
“You heard Flight Ops, Four. Execute suppression plan Alpha Three. Acknowledge.”
The emotion in the fourth pilot’s voice was noticeable in their response. “Negative, One. The crowd is unarmed. There is no evidence of weapons.”
The flight leader’s voice was ice. “Wolfpack flight, execute Alpha Three. Weapons Free. Wolfpack Four, if you do not follow orders, you will face charges. Follow my lead. Rolling in now.” She banked her craft and pushed the nose toward the ground to get into the low-altitude attack run.
Wolfpack Two formed on the lead’s wing, melding into perfect formation as they lined up on the plaza. Wolfpack Three paused for a planned amount of time, and banked down to follow the initial two-craft flight. After only a moment’s hesitation Wolfpack Four followed on Three’s wing.
The first two attack craft hit the plaza at a relatively slow 150 kilometers per hour and barely a hundred meters above the plaza. The crowd paused as the two large attack craft roared in toward them, many of them confused and frozen in fear. Then the guns opened up. Twin large caliber slug throwers mounted on the nose turret of each craft opened up with a devastating rate of fire, controlled entirely by each pilot. On either side of each attack craft, two energy cannons controlled by ballistic computers opened up their rapid fire barrage of coherent energy beams. After the first flight of two craft passed over the plaza, the second flight rolled in. In this pass, only the Third attack craft opened fire, with the guns from Wolfpack Four silent.
All four attack craft pulled up and out, returning to a holding pattern altitude, circling the plaza to evaluate the results of their first pass. Looking down, the pilot of Wolfpack Four witnessed the absolute devastation in the plaza. Bodies and parts of bodies were strewn about the entire plaza. Both armored personnel carriers belonging to the patrol were overturned and burning. It was difficult to determine the difference between the patrol officers and the crowd, often only the bits of armor distinguished the patrol officer casualties. The buildings surrounding the plaza also showed craters and broken windows along the facades. As he was staring at the devastation, Wolfpack Four heard his flight leader contact flight control.
“Flight ops, Wolfpack One. Alpha Three successful. Returning to the ship.”
“Copy Wolfpack One. Flight Ops confirms Alpha Three success. RTS. Contact Approach Control at the outer marker. Flight Ops out.”
The flight of attack craft immediately turned to the heading that would carry them back to their carrier. As the ships climbed through the outer limits of the atmosphere, the flight leader contacted the carrier that was the current home for their squadron. Their return and docking were uneventful, with all craft being settled into their cradles without incident.
Wolfpack Four’s pilot climbed down the ladder from the attack craft hatch and was met by their flight lead on the deck. The pilot disengaged his helmet locks, and pulled the helmet from his head, wiping the sweat from his forehead and eyes. Though he stood several centimeters taller than her, his flight lead stared up at him, her anger evident on her face.
“Lieutenant Douglas. Get your ass out of the flight suit and up to the old man’s office for debrief. Bring Lieutenant Rhodes with you - her ass is also on the line.” Lieutenant Commander Reeds turned on her heel and strode away. As he watched deckhands avoid his flight leader’s warpath, his co-pilot landed at the bottom of the ladder.
“What did the commander want?” Lieutenant (JG) Mercedes “Mercy” Rhodes ran a hand through her close-cropped hair as she stowed her gloves in her helmet.
The pilot watched his commander leave through the hatch leading to the pilot ready room, then turned to his co-pilot. Lieutenant Aaron “Cylon” Douglas responded to his partner of three years, “We’re in deep shit. Well, I’m in deep shit. I’ll take the blame for this, keep you out of the flight path.” A frown creased his normally jovial face.
“No way, Cylon. I was there. I agreed with you. We weather this shitstorm together.” His co-pilot smiled and patted his shoulder.
Aaron shrugged and they started toward the pilot ready room, “If you say so. We’d best get changed. Reeds didn’t say so, but I’m thinking dress uniform, and not ship suits.”
Forty-five minutes later, Douglas and Rhodes stood at attention outside the hatch to the Captain’s Office, waiting to be summoned. When the summons came, they entered and both came to attention, holding academy-perfect salutes. When the Captain acknowledged and returned their salutes, both pilots shifted and stood at a formal parade rest stance, ramrod straight, their feet braced shoulder-width apart, and their hands tucked behind their backs.
Aaron noticed that not only was Lt. Cmdr. Reeds present, but a Commander that he didn’t recognize was leaning against the wall behind the Captain’s desk. The Captain looked at the pilots and spoke softly, hiding the danger behind a veil of civility. “Lieutenant Douglas and Lieutenant Rhodes, this is an informal inquiry where our standards for proof are a little more lax. If we determine that it would be necessary, these proceedings will be continued in a formal Court Martial trial. If that happens, these proceedings will have far greater scrutiny, and thus far graver consequences for your actions. If you so choose, we can move to a formal trial immediately. Is that your desire? Or would you be satisfied while keeping this an informal inquiry?”
Aaron kept his eyes fixed on the bulkhead above the Captain and answered stiffly, “Sir, I have no concerns with keeping this as an informal inquiry. I recognize and accept the fairness of your command judgement. Sir.” His co-pilot parroted Aaron’s answer to the Captain.
“Very well.” The Captain looked at the flight leader, “Jo, can you give me a summary of the events?”
Chapter ONE
Draven City, Capotish System, Kassidae Empire. Nineteen years later.
I felt the autumn chill underneath my coat, and I pulled my lapels tighter against the wind as I walked down the street. Feeling the chill against my neck and ears, I hunched down into the collar. I checked my chrono again. The store was supposed to open fifteen minutes ago. Unfortunately, yet another protest against the government had closed off multiple surface roads, and my detour would not let me get close enough to park at the store. The local security patrols had cordoned off ten square blocks around the protesters, resulting in massive detours and gridlock. I hoped no one was waiting for me to open up.
I was half a block away when I realized there was a large crowd in front of my store. There were so many folks with signs that I could barely see my overhead canopy and sign that hung above my shop. The sounds of the crowd were a dull roar, indistinguishable shouts and chants blending together and drowning out the sounds of the city around us. What in the void is going on now? I watched as more masked protesters arrived from the alley across from my store, waving their fists and signs in the air to show how serious they were about their outrage.
As I got closer, I realized that they were actually protesting the little shop across from mine. The older Natare stood on his stoop, holding a broomstick to keep the angriest of the mob at bay. I wonder what “horrific injustice” they claim Selion Ghect did this time? The old natare probably didn’t show the right amount of outrage over the latest cause. I shook my head and kept my head down. The last thing I wanted to do was attract a mob’s attention.
I tried to be invisible as I wound my way through the edges of the crowd. I was fifteen feet from my door when my luck ran out. I almost made it. Almost. Someone bumped me just as I was stepping of a small “random” pile of bricks. I lost my balance and fell into a Terran woman dressed all in black. She whirled around and began screaming and cursing at me, calling me a “fed” and a “plant” and other, in her mind, dirty epithets. This attracted others and I soon was surrounded by angry protesters.
I tried to back away, holding my hands up defensively, trying to be as unthreatening as possible. As I stepped back, I tripped over a small girl, both of us hitting the ground in a tangle of arms and legs. I worked to get to my feet, making sure the girl was ok, but the crowd started screaming about me attacking children.
Before I could do anything, a young Terran man swung at me and I crashed back to the pavement, my face on fire from a vicious right hook. Once on the ground, I curled up and tried to protect my head as I was kicked in the back and stomach by multiple people in the mob. The last thing I saw before the darkness took me was that same young girl rear back and kick me in the face.
I woke up looking at a sterile white ceiling distorted by a clear canopy and the amplified sounds of my breathing. Moments later, I watched as the canopy lifted away and the beeping machines helped cover the moans and murmurs of conversation all around. A Kieren woman leaned over me, her face covered by an electrostatic sterile shield that did nothing to muffle her soft voice.
“Welcome back, Mister Douglas. How are you feeling?”
My throat was parched and my voice cracked. “Sore. Where am I?”
“You are at Draven Medical Center, Mister Douglas. You were brought here by the Patrol, who we have notified that you are out of the pod. Now, can you tell me what is sore? What hurts?”
I closed my eyes. The Patrol? Wait! The riot outside my store. The memories came back in a rush—tripping, falling, being beaten. I shuddered and took a mental inventory as I tilted my head up and looked down at my body. I felt the brace on my left wrist before I saw it. The hard plastic brace was wrapped with a thin bandage to hold it in place. I closed my eyes and inhaled. My ribs ached, but it didn’t hurt to breathe. No broken ribs.
“My ribs and arm are sore, but that’s about it. Can I get some water?” My lips felt dry and cracked. “How long was I in the pod?”
“I can get you some water.” The medtech smiled at me with genuine compassion in her eyes. “You were in the rejuv pod for eight stans to fast track your healing. We’ll move you to a bed in a little bit, and your doctor will see you in a few minutes.” She looked at the readouts on the side of the pod, and then back to me. “I’ll be right back with some water and someone to help get you into a bed.”
I nodded and closed my eyes. Eight stans. I hope nothing happened to the store.
True to her word, the medtech was back a couple minutes later with an orderly, and they helped me transition to a regular hospital bed. They wheeled me down a series of corridors to a room with one other bed in it. Fortunately, the bed was empty, so I didn’t have to talk to a roommate. As the medtech was making sure I was settled with my water in the new room, a Terran man in a longer white coat entered the room.
“Good evening, Mister Douglas. I’m Doctor Gibbs, the attending physician this evening. How are we feeling?”
I looked at the man. He was tall and thin. He looked young enough to have only recently received his degree and certifications. His name tag said, “Dr. Vern Gibbs. Physician.”
“I’ve had better days.”
He chuckled, “I would bet. Mynara tells me your ribs and wrist are sore?”
I nodded and then took a drink of water. Putting the cup back on the tray over my lap, I answered him, “Other than that, I feel ok. When can I get out of here?”
The doctor consulted his tablet. “You took quite a beating, Mister Douglas. You were brought in unconscious and bleeding, with a broken wrist, bruised ribs, and slight concussion. I would like you to stay overnight for observation. I want to make sure the rejuv pod did not miss any issues. Would you agree to that?”
I thought about it for a moment. Staying overnight wouldn’t change anything with the store, whatever had happened to it. I shrugged. “Yeah. I can stay overnight. Can I get something to eat?”
The doctor tapped a few entries on his tablet as he answered. “I’m placing the orders for the observation now. I’m also prescribing some pain medicine as an option if the pain becomes too much.” He looked up and smiled at me. “It was good to meet you, Mister Douglas. I’ve also released you for solid foods. Have a good night and get well.” With that, he turned and left the room, presumably heading toward his next patient.
I expected the nurse to come back into the room. The next person through the door was a uniformed Security Patrol officer with the Draven City badge on her right shoulder. “Aaron Douglas?”
I nodded, wondering how they had arrived so quickly.
The Terran officer held up her credentials and said, “I’m Investigator Portanla with Draven City Security Patrol. Badge number 3629.” She tapped the small camera attached to the front of her uniform tunic where a red light was on. “This conversation is being recorded according to the Official Records Act. I have a few questions for you about the incident at your place of work earlier today.”
I noticed the language immediately. Incident. Place of work. I had spent years in service to the Navy listening to all kinds of government doublespeak. And this officer was definitely reading from the same manual. I decided to pushback on the record. “You mean the unprovoked beating I received from the mob outside my business? Have you made any arrests? I’m willing to press charges, and the cameras outside my business likely caught the whole thing.”
The woman’s lips firmed into a tight frown. “No. Fortunately for you, I was able to talk the people out of pressing charges against you for assault and battery. I convinced them that your injuries would be worse than any possible sentence from the Hall of Justice.”
“What do you mean?” I was confused. “They attacked ME. I was just trying to get to my store and they not only blocked my way, but then attacked me.”
A look of disgust crossed the officer’s features. “We’ve interviewed all involved, and they claimed you started the fight, using foul language and slurs. Vid footage from the patrol’s street cameras did not contradict their statements. But if you would like to make a statement, I can forward it to the prosecutor’s office. I would guess that they will take the word of innocent civilians over any statements from the Butcher of Grantham’s Rest.”
Shock shifted to anger and then to numbness. I was being blamed for being beaten. And this officer was telling me that even if I wanted to press the issue, the prosecutor would have no trouble charging me. I had no recourse. Once more, my supposed war crimes, fake as they were, haunted me. I had no remedy, no recourse. This was going to be just the latest in a long series of losses that I could do nothing about.
I don’t remember much of what we talked about after that. Some time later, the investigator had left after giving me an ominous warning that they would likely need to interview me again about the “incident”. I no longer had an appetite, and simply closed my eyes, hoping for the relief of a medicated slumber.
Shortly after ten o’clock in the morning, I was released from the hospital. I was wearing a new utility suit provided by the hospital. They had disposed of my dirty and bloodied clothes as a biohazard after I had been treated and had provided the generic light green utility jumpsuit as a substitute so I could get home. Similar to the shipsuits I was used to from working on a starship, the clothes were at least comfortable and fit reasonably well.
My chrono had also been destroyed in the beating, however my keys and my basic comm tablet had survived, and I was able to access my accounts to hire a car. I decided to go to my store before I went home. I needed to know how bad it things had gotten.
The car dropped me off in front of what was left of my store. It had been just over a standard day since I had been beaten on the sidewalk in front of the door, and even the sidewalk showed the aftermath of the mob. Rocks, bricks, and broken thermaglass littered the sidewalk. All of the tempered thermaglass was gone—shattered and laying on the sidewalk or inside the building. The window and door frames were charred from the inside out, and the small amount of brick and stone facade had graffiti scrawled all across it.
A quick glance at Selion Ghect’s storefront across the road showed the same destruction. Looking even more closely, all of the stores on this street looked the same. No one was spared. If there had been a crater in the middle of the road, I would have suspected that a cluster bomb had been dropped on this street. Instead, I knew it was the act of an angry mob.
It would be a long time for this little boutique shopping area to recover, if it ever did. And after my conversation with the patrol investigator, I guessed they had the tacit approval of the government to vent their anger on businesses instead of on the government. I would’ve bet the outcome would have been very different if the mob had moved against the local government buildings.
I gingerly stepped across the threshold of the shattered and burnt out door and looked at my store. Everything was gone. Every countertop had been smashed or broken. Every display case was destroyed. I had used my contacts from years as a freight hauler and started a small import business, concentrating on small batches of exotic alcohol and spirits, as well as specialty consumables. Ten years of work was gone. Everything that hadn’t been stolen was left as a burned and melted hunk of glass, plastic, or metal. Ten years. How do I come back from this?
On the ride to store, I had sent a quick message to my insurance agent, letting him know what had happened. As I was standing there looking at the utter destruction, my tablet chirped with an incoming message. As I was reading the message from my insurance agent I went numb. They could not do anything while any investigation was being conducted by the patrol. Once I was cleared of any wrongdoing, they would evaluate any claim I made.
I pulled the keys out of my pocket, holding them in the palm of my hand. Staring at them, I realized they were completely useless now. I mentally weighed them in my hand against all that had happened in the last twenty-four stans. They were heavy with loss. Heavy with fear. Weighed down by the last of my hope. I dropped them, watching them disappear into the trash and detritus on the floor.
It’s time for a drink. Or five.
* * *
Two hours later I waved at Lexi as she stood behind her bar, signaling that I was ready for my next drink. She wandered over and grabbed the mixing tin. As she poured the ingredients for my third drunken fairy, she broke the silence. “You need to slow down, Aaron. Can I get you something to eat?”
I was pleasantly buzzed, and the numbness of the alcohol was starting to overshadow the pain. I realized if I ate something to soak up the alcohol, I could drink more. It helped that I loved her partner’s cooking. “What does the lovely Alexandria have for breakfast today?”
Lexi smiled as she dumped ice in the shaker to chill the drink. “You are on your third ‘fairy. I can have her make you some red-eye biscuits and gravy. How’s that sound?” She shook the drink she was making and then strained it into a rocks glass, placing it in front of me and removing the empty glass.
“Sounds good, Lexi.” I don’t think I slurred much. “You always know what’s best.”
Lexi tapped my food order into her terminal as I looked at the rich amber liquid in front of me. I had left my store and walked the two blocks to the nearly empty parking garage. A quick trip home to find some clothes, and I had left again for my favorite bar, Lexi’s. It had been empty when I arrived, as Lexi was just opening up for the early lunch crowd.
After putting my order in, Lexi came back over and began to wipe down the bar around me. I could see genuine concern in her eyes as she looked me over with a critical eye. Her gaze lingered on my wrist brace before moving back to my face. “I don’t normally see you this early? Did you decide to close today?”
I looked back down at my glass, slowly, methodically, rotating it on the bar top. “The store’s gone. It was part of the block the mob burned down yesterday.” I kept the pain down. I swallowed it, keeping a tight reign on my emotions. “I got caught in the mob yesterday when I was trying to open the store. They bounced me off the pavement a few times before I blacked out. What didn’t burn was taken, and the patrol is somehow convinced it’s my fault.”
“It’s all gone? Do they know who did it?”
I finally looked at her. “They aren’t interested in finding out who did it. The patrol doesn’t care. I don’t even know if the insurance company will cover it. The investigator intimated that if I wanted to press charges, I would be the one in detention. They want to hang it all on me. ” I took a drink out of the glass in front of me.
I heard the door open behind me and saw Lexi look up and announce bartender greeting. “Find a seat anywhere. I’ll be right with you.” I saw her expression change and was dimly aware of the tread of multiple sets of boost across the floor toward the bar.
Before my alcohol-soaked reaction time let me turn around, the group of customers stopped behind me and one of them spoke. “Lieutenant Douglas. You are a hard man to track down.”
Lexi must have seen my expression, because her face went from smiling to frowning. Without turning around, I replied with acid in my voice, “I’m not a Lieutenant anymore. The service made that very clear. And I’m not really in the mood for anything today. So piss off.”
I heard the woman sigh behind me. “But I actually am a Detective with the Draven City Security Patrol.” I could hear the capital letters in the woman’s speech. She continued, ”I am Detective Jatronta, Badge number 4012. I have some questions for you about the riot yesterday in front of your establishment.”
I was suddenly very tired of it all. “You don’t have questions - you have statements. I already got the warning from your investigator. I don’t need another one.”
“No. I assure you that I have questions. My boss has questions. The rioters that you attacked have questions. And I am here to have those questions answered. Let’s take a trip down to the precinct so that you can answer those questions.”