Masoul (Harmony War Series Book 2) (36 page)

              The first combat shuttles turned, their engines at full burn as they docked to the station. The fourth and fifth waves of combat shuttles were being issued from Reclaimer and Fearless, as weapons fire streaked across the darkness of the hard vacuum.

              They watched as more shuttles landed and connected to the station, and sections of the station blew out in short-fireballs.

              The fight for Shipping Station looked like it was going to be a nasty one.

             
And there’s nothing more I’d like than being in my combat shuttle right in the middle of it.
Part of it was the adrenaline rush, but the real reason was because he cared about the people flying around him and the troopers that relied on his flying to get them on target.

              If he wasn’t there doing it, it felt like something would go wrong, and if it did he would only blame himself. It was irrational and idiotic.

             
But hell you need to be fucking insane to do this job in the first place.

              They watched their brothers and sisters fight for Shipping Station, whilst Yu made slight alterations to their flight plan. He hoped everyone had had a shower before they left, it would be nearly a month before they got to Masoul Actual.

Chapter 31

             
Tower Twelve

             
Masoul Actual, Masoul System

             
1/3241

              Everyone was alert and after a month stuck together in such close quarters everyone was on everyone else’s nerves. Showers were a thing of the past and the crapper had been blocked twice.

             
Fucking Tal, bastard needs less fiber,
Jerome thought shaking his head.

              They well and truly looked and smelled like Harmony fighters now, pissed off at everything, irate and angry.

              That said, Jerome was expecting the ride to make a good story once the other troopers got to them. He also knew he could rely on every single person around him, no matter the bickering arguments and harsh words that had passed between them.

              They were all big girls and boys, and ribbing was part of what kept them entertained.

              “Touchdown on landing pad,” Yu said, his voice in everyone’s helmets.

              The shuttle dipped a bit as the landing struts took the weight of the craft. Engines dialed back.

              The shuttle didn’t look like much and it handled worse than a brick. Jerome certainly didn’t much like it

              “Going down,” Yu said. The landing pad they were on dipped below the hellish landscape that was Masoul Actual.

              It took a few minutes for the landing pad to stop moving.

              “Opening hatches and loading ramp,” Yu said.

              The doors opened and they piled out, ready to meet any threat and happy to be free of the metal coffin with wings.

              No one was waiting for them, which alarmed them more than anything.

             
An operation actually going off without a hitch! Fucking miracles do happen!
Jerome thought as a bored looking tech wandered over.

              “Fuck, you guys look ripe. We’ll take the shuttle, for the sake of Harmony,” the tech said tapping his fist to his chest and holding it high and proud.

              “For the sake of Harmony,” Jerome returned, feeling that the man was only making the gesture because they were enforcers.

              Harmony’s rule was a way of life here; thirty years was a long time for someone who wasn’t an icicle or couldn’t pay for anti-aging drugs.

              The tech started wandering around the craft.

              “Duffel bags and gear, then follow me,” Haas said.  “Mark, Dooks, you’re the biggest; stand next to me.”

              The group grabbed their duffels, slinging them over shoulders or carrying them one-handed.

              Mark and Dooks took their positions, as the flight crew joined them and followed.

              Over the past month they had gone back to their slum habits, looking without seeming to, moving with weapons under their coats. Their reactions and ability to put someone down fast was better, but now they were used to showing open hostility instead of only showing it at the last moment when you buried a blade in your target.

              They were the best and worst of both worlds. They headed for the nearest lift. Haas had a more complete set of orders.

              Waiting for them was a brown-haired man, who looked simultaneously bored and important. He also looked better fed than any other Harmony fighter Jerome had seen so far.

              As they got close he looked irate rather than interested at their presence.

              “You mine?” he asked Haas.

              “Dunno, just been holed up in that shuttle hawk for twenty-three days,” Haas said.

              “Shuttle hawk? I always thought they were crows,” the man said thoughtfully, holding Haas’ eyes.

              With a flick of Haas’ wrist the troopers and flight crew were moving to the left behind the man.

              “You’re the muscle, keep your mouths shut and scare others away, so keep doing what you’re doing,” the man said, pressing a button on the lift.

              Then they were descending a number of levels.

              The tower was built into the ground rather than above it. It looked like troopers had been through it already. People on the upper levels huddled around garbage cans, burning stuff in them to heat themselves up. Graffiti and litter were everywhere, people wore rags, and many looked like skeletons. Fear had been etched into their faces and mannerisms. They were a defeated people barely holding on.

              The air up here was ripe and the lights flickered. As they got to lower levels people were better nourished, the air didn’t smell as bad, and the lights didn’t flicker so much.

              The doors opened a few times but no one tried to get in, though all of them said, “For the sake of Harmony,” their faces white with fear or lit up with pride.

              The man returned the gesture for the group.

              Jerome was getting annoyed with it already.

              The lift finally stopped and the man waved for them to move.

              A group of Harmony fighters around the doorway saluted.

              The man returned it and then looked at the group, a sneer on his face, as if he was disgusted by them all.

              Jerome felt for the rifle under his duster, ready for an ambush.

              “You are some of the most useless enforcers ever,” the man spat, giving them all a stink-eye and giving the Harmony fighters a display.

              The fact they were backing away looking scared of the man instead of moving closer to get a better shot made Jerome’s hand drift away from his rifle’s handle.

              “Check every room I go into before I do, and check everything before I get there to make sure that I will be safe. You fail again and I will see that you are
educated
,” the man threatened.

              “Yes, sir,” Haas said through gritted teeth. A flick of his head and Bairamov and Ali were in the corridor as Obe and Iliev moved ahead of them.

              The brown-haired man snorted and walked on. They moved around him as if protecting him from the outside world. With terse directions they walked through offices that had been turned into barracks, training areas, weapon and ammunition making facilities.

              Walls had been knocked down to make room for the facilities.

              People stopped and saluted them as they passed.

              The man returned the salutes and they continued down to lower levels.

              Even lower down, litter and graffiti covered the walls. People sat in groups, lounging around but watching one another with a wariness that reminded Jerome of the slums

              Harmony fighters were everywhere with their patchwork one-piece utilitarian clothes and simple rifles. There were a few enforcer dusters wandering around, but not many.

              There were also people wearing white clothes. They were the
educators,
the most fanatical and sadistic Harmony followers. They gained people’s obedience with their blood and torture.

              They lived to cause people pain and to believe as they did in Harmony.

              Onwards they went through the facility - what must have been the base for thousands of Harmony fighters.

              The man pressed a card against a door that they’d reached, and it opened, allowing them into a room which looked the opposite of the facility outside.

              It was clean, and didn’t smell like too many bodies in not enough space. It was brightly lit and looked like a CEO’s living quarters instead of the racks of beds welded to one another that they’d seen elsewhere.

              The man pulled something from his pocket, pressed it, and dropped it on the table.

              “Alright, check the rooms. I’ll be waiting,” the man said lounging on the couch.

              Duffels were dropped as Haas tossed glances and gestures at them. Jerome checked a bedroom, and with no one there he headed back to the main room.

              Everyone else came back; the apartment was clear.

              “Good, now down to business.” The man leaned forward, his eyes boring into Haas’.

              “I’ve been here since the beginning, so if your being here fucks up my operation in any way, I’m dropping you as fast as a live grenade. Got it?” the man asked.

              “Understood,” Haas said.

              “Good. No hard feelings, but I didn’t want to have you here, but at this stage it makes sense. As my personal enforcers you’ll be allowed to go anywhere except for the education facilities and the command complex unless I’m with you. If you’re in the education facilities, well… we’ll all probably be meeting you there. Take my advice and shoot yourself before they take you down there.” The man looked to all of them, completely serious.

              They nodded. They’d all read the brief; nothing good happened in those places.

              “The name is Dan Moretti. I am the right or left-hand of Harper, the mastermind of Harmony in Masoul,” he said with a flourish, sitting back in his seat.

              “Those three rooms are yours, that one’s mine. I expect two of you to be with me at all times, and at some functions I might request more.” He pulled out a piece of paper and gave it to Haas.

              “Smoke if you want,” he said, imitating a lighter and pointing it at the paper. The man was paranoid as all hell. Not trusting enough to put anything into words.

              Jerome couldn’t blame him. If he was found out then the educators would take an extra long time on him.

              Moretti continued to outline their duties to him as his enforcers, as Haas passed the paper around; on it were names and locations.

              Jerome took a picture with his implants and handed it off.

              Mark got it last and pulled out a cigar and lighter, he lit the paper and used it to light his cigar. He put the paper in an ashtray as he puffed on his cigar, and all around him cigarettes, chew, and dip all appeared. They hadn’t been able to smoke on the airless shuttle.

              Mark and Jerome made eye contact.

              “Ain’t no quitters ‘round here,” Jerome said, getting a huff from Mark as he pulled out a packet of chew and started working on it.

              “I have a meeting in a few hours. You, and you, should come with me,” Moretti said, pointing to Mark and Haas. “Look mean and pissed off until we get to the control room. Then try to appear amazed by it all. I will be meeting with Harper, the leader of Harmony there. Show deference, most people that meet him act like they’re going to piss themselves in joy, they would do anything for him. So whatever he tells you, do it immediately. Also, I want ‘For the sake of Harmony’ all over the place,” Moretti looked to Mark and Haas.

              “Got it,” Mark said, exhaling.

              “Simple,” Haas reassured Moretti.

              “Those Cohelans?” Moretti asked, gesturing to the cigar in Mark’s mouth.

              “Yeah,” he said around it.

              Jerome didn’t miss the light in Moretti’s eyes.

              “I think we’re going to be good friends...” Moretti trailed off, asking Mark for his name.

              “Mark,” Mark replied, pulling out a cigar and handing it to the man, who ran it under his nose, sitting back on his couch with a smile.