Executive: An Earth 340K Standalone Novel (Soldier X Book 1) Read online

  EXECUTIVE

  An Earth 340K Standalone Novel

  (Soldier X Book 1)

  D. P. Oberon

  Copyright © D. P. Oberon

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN 9780995407503

  Published by 340

  eBook editions by booknook.biz

  Contents

  PART ONE – EXECUTIVE

  Chapter 1 – The Promise

  Chapter 2 – Death Line

  Chapter 3 – Limit Exceeded

  Chapter 4 – The Greatest Scientist

  Chapter 5 – Trillions

  Chapter 6 – Frozen Meat

  Chapter 7 – Marital Woes

  Chapter 8 – Discovery

  Chapter 9 – Hope for Humanity

  Chapter 10 – Embers of Hell

  Chapter 11 – Meaning in Suffering

  Chapter 12 – Murderer

  Chapter 13 – A Coffin

  Chapter 14 – Running Away

  Chapter 15 – Funeral

  PART TWO – AUSTRA-ASIAN EMPIRE DEFENSE FORCE

  Chapter 16 – Fort Windradyne

  Chapter 17 – The Run

  Chapter 18 – Dismissal

  Chapter 19 – Emergency Action Procedures

  Chapter 20 – Artic Warfare

  Chapter 21 – Key

  Chapter 22 – Saradi vs. Chengmedu

  Chapter 23 – Chocolate Pie

  Chapter 24 – SOHIC Disciplinary Committee

  PART THREE – INFERNO

  Chapter 25 – WikiPeeks Leak

  Chapter 26 – Welcome to Inferno

  Chapter 27 – Shadows

  Chapter 28 – Blood and Sweat

  Chapter 29 – Avalanche

  Chapter 30 – Claustrophobia

  Chapter 31 – Drowning

  PART FOUR – WAR

  Chapter 32 – Chengz Nuudle Bar

  Chapter 33 – Platypus Lake

  Chapter 34 – MistReaver

  Chapter 35 – Trapped

  Chapter 36 – Countdown

  Chapter 37 – Sacrifice

  Chapter 38 – Underground City

  Chapter 39 – Final Countdown

  PART FIVE – HOME

  Chapter 40 – Ultimate Price

  Chapter 41 – Family

  Chapter 42 – Friends

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  PART ONE – EXECUTIVE

  Chapter 1 – The Promise

  War.

  On the Saturday her daughter, Novalie, turned ten, Saradi found herself looking at her younger brother, Bheemasena, as he quietly whispered, “War,” to their mother. Saradi watched him through the alcove in the kitchen where she stood holding the knife to cut the cake. The dark sweater her brother wore outlined his hulking figure as his fingers, now scarred since he joined the military, wrapped themselves around her mother’s small shoulders.

  “War,” his lips whispered as he bent down and kissed their mom, Wattana, on the forehead. He headed towards the kitchen where Novalie impatiently drummed her feet on the floor standing at the edge of her table chiming, “Cake. Cake. Cake.”

  “Birthday girl!” Bheemasena boomed. He grabbed Novalie and showered her with kisses, tossing her like a doll. She squealed in delight as his kisses tickled her. Gently, he let her down.

  The two serv-bots ejected themselves out of the micromix and flew into the air holding the quadruple chocolate and strawberry cake made out in the outline of Novalie’s favorite holo-show characters: Stardock Twins. The number one on the cake fashioned in the shape of the male Stardock twin, Marzious, and the number zero fashioned in the shape of the female twin, Jinxing.

  “Sara, where are the candles?” her husband, Claas, asked her as he stared at the cake. “They’re meant to be arranged around the ‘ka-pow.’”

  “Why don’t you go and find some candles?” she said, a bit more tartly then she intended.

  Claas held up his hands. “Okay,” he said. He spoke to the house’s AI and asked for candles and soon another serv-bot flew into the air. Its small, tiny hand held out the candles. Claas frowned as he inspected them. “Honey, these aren’t edibles?”

  “Who cares?” Saradi said, taking the candles from him and inserting them around the ka-pow.

  “Nova likes the peppermint edibles. You said you were going to buy them,” Claas said.

  “Stop annoying me.” Her voice came out a bit louder than she intended. She held up a hand as he made to speak and waved him away.

  The family gathered around the black marble table, which was made from a slice of the original pillars from Stonehenge, in Wiltshire. It had been costly, even for her, to purchase and transport it all the way to High Melbourne, Australia.

  Saradi looked up and clapped. “Everyone is here. Let’s begin.”

  Bheemasena; her younger brother, Wattana; her mother, Claas; her husband, and Novalie; her daughter all stood around the kitchen table singing the happy birthday song. “Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you.”

  Gifts wrapped in rainbow colors cluttered the table, along with dozens of green and pink platters of food, bottles of champagne with golden ribbons, and an array of black cupcakes. Novalie loved mixing. Saradi wasn’t too sure about the black cupcakes; something about them felt ominous, like they were little grenades ready to explode.

  “Hip, hooray!” Bheemasena chanted loudly, clapping. The lights hovered down a meter from the cathedral ceiling and haloed his oval face, sturdy neck, and dark brown skin. At six two he was exactly the same height as Saradi. He was in the Austra-Asian Defense Force and he looked the part of a soldier. A form-fitting black top hugged his torso. He had a confident way about him. He was the complete opposite her husband Claas, who was pale with golden hair, blue eyes, skinny, and quiet spoken. Bheemasena’s voice boomed.

  Novalie clapped her hands. Dark curly hair went to her neck and was tied back by a blue ribbon. Her dark brown skin took after Saradi and Bheemasena but her nervous personality was entirely Claas’s. Her wide spaced green eyes narrowed as she took a deep breath and blew out the candles on her cake.

  “Uncle Bheem!” Novalie squealed in protest as he put his face near the cake and made to bite it.

  “Well, you’re the birthday girl, you go first,” he said, his eyes shifting conspiratorially.

  Novalie, encouraged by her uncle, pushed her face into the thick swirls of chocolate and strawberry and bit at the cake. She emerged, her nose coated with icing, her lips filled with a crumbling layer of strawberry.

  Saradi laughed. Claas shook his head with a wry smile. Her mother, Wattana, said in exasperation, “Nova!”

  Bheemasena laughed as he grabbed Novalie and catapulted her into the air. Saradi watched, her heart dropping, as her daughter laughed at her from the background of a cathedral high ceiling. The sides of her cheeks were coated with more icing where Uncle Bheem kissed her.

  Saradi watched in wry amusement and a tinge of jealousy — she could never do that with her daughter. It just wasn’t something Saradi did, but something she felt she probably should do.

  The three French doors stood open overlooking High Melbourne, and a cool summer wind breezed through the room. In the distance huge platforms floated in the air filtering air from the toxic atmosphere. The rich lived in their isolated high homes ten thousand feet above the ground. The ground was where the middlers lived, the underground where the lowers lived, and the sky where highers, people like Saradi, lived. The highers had the best protection against the air-tinge,
land-tinge, and sea-tinge that infected the earth.

  Bheemasena’s other hand snaked around Saradi, startling her out of her reverie. He hugged her and kissed her forehead. He smelled of burned gin and mech lube. He nodded to a serious looking Novalie who stared at her cake. For a flicker of a second Saradi felt complete with her brother pressed against her.

  “Did you make a wish?” Wattana asked her granddaughter.

  “I’m thinking,” Novalie said, as she stared into the cake.

  “I guess it still counts as theoretically you haven’t cut it yet,” said Saradi.

  Novalie puffed out her cheeks and blew out all the ten candles. “I made a wish!” Novalie, who couldn’t keep a secret to save her life, whispered the wish in her grandmother’s ear.

  Wattana nodded sagely and eyed Saradi. “I’m sure that wish can come true little one.”

  “Picture time,” said Claas. Her husband was always one for making sure the family pictures were captured. “House, take a picture,” he called to the house’s AI.

  One of the house’s many serv-bots jettisoned itself from the enclosure in the ceiling.

  The serv-bot was a spherical floating robot with several hands and six eyes. Each eye was a camera. Several flashes went off and their holo-pics were uploaded to the family’s private net shortly thereafter. Saradi smiled at the picture, and then Claas uploaded it to every single wall of their house.

  An hour later the Okotie-Ebohs came around — Novalie’s best friend from school, Tulissa, and her mother, Niniola. They stayed late and the girls played, and by the time ten o’clock came around Novalie was tired. She had a weak constitution and she liked to get lots of rest. As Bheemasena tucked Novalie in bed and read her a story, Saradi nabbed a bottle of Wyborowa Exquisite in the kitchen, and caressed the bottle’s neck. Gently she poured herself a half glass and brought it to her nose. The vodka was fresh out of the freezer and its liquid gone to a viscous consistency. The delicious crispness of the rye vodka cleansed her palate.

  It had been a good day, so why was that gnawing feeling only growing stronger? Her mother’s and husband’s laughter, infused with the warmth of alcohol, flooded over her from the dining room but she didn’t move to join them. Her feet remained on the cool marble floor.

  “You know, you shouldn’t be drinking alone,” Bheemasena’s voice echoed in the kitchen. His large hands pushed her to the side and he reached for the vodka.

  “Use a glass,” she chided him, as he lifted the bottle to his lips.

  “Wish Papa was here,” said Bheemasena, looking at the glass.

  “Me too,” Saradi said, her palms sweaty.

  “Do you believe that people you love still watch over you?”

  Saradi laughed. “Why would I believe that? I’m content I had a decent father. It’s a lot more than what other people have.”

  They reminisced about the good old times, their times at high school when Saradi got in trouble for threatening to beat the crap out of Bheemasena’s bully’s because of his stutter. The time Saradi disabled Bheemasena’s brakes on his bicycle so he could learn how to be fearless. They moved on from the vodka to Frangelico then to a Dubliner, and when finally there was an awkward silence between them Saradi got the bottle of Courvoisier.

  Bheemasena looked at the golden liquid in his glass and gulped it.

  “You’ve got to savor it, Bheem. It’s not that cheap Emu Ale they serve you grunts at AAEDEF.”

  “Alcohol is alcohol, I don’t drink for taste. I drink to get happy.”

  “To family,” brother and sister chorused at the same time; their eyes met as they said “cheers” and then he downed his glass while she savored hers.

  “You look like you’re having an orgasm,” Bheemasena said.

  Saradi opened her eyes and barked out a laugh. Drops of cognac somersaulted in the air, she wiped her lips and punched her brother.

  “Nova’s growing up fast,” Bheemasena said.

  Saradi shrugged. “It’s good, she’s maturing. She wants to be a painter, apparently.”

  “Definitely didn’t those genes from you.”

  Saradi quietened and didn’t meet his eyes. “Mom liked to paint, but she never pursued her dreams.”

  “Our parents didn’t have the chance to pursue dreams. It’s probably why you work as hard as you do. Middle class rat got something to prove.”

  “Not middle class anymore. This house floats ten thousand feet in the sky.” She gestured at the expensive house around her. The view out into the east. Saradi punched him on his shoulder. “You’re starting to look like a steelcrete slab.” It was only her brother who spoke to her like that. Middle class rat, indeed, Saradi thought.

  He laughed. She lounged against the tabletop, and he against the wall. Occasionally they would drink, look at one another, and then look away. Saradi began to laugh after the sixth glass.

  “So, got a girlfriend yet?” she asked.

  He shook his head, his expression unfurling, becoming stiff, and for a moment she thought she offended him. Instead he said, “Sara, I’ve got something tell you. I’ve already told mom.”

  The tugging and whirring in her gut started again. Her hand that held the half full glass shook.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “I’m going off on a mission,” Bheemasena said. “Leaving tomorrow night for The Fort.”

  “What fort?”

  “Fort Windradyne, AAEDEF’s capital base. It’s in central Australia.”

  Saradi’s vision narrowed like she stared out of a dark tunnel. “You mean you’re going to war?”

  The world’s sixteen empires were ill at rest considering the salvation of the planet rested in the hands of the Greatest Scientist. Despotic unrest, and countless conflicts went on all the time. But the Austra-Asian Empire was one of the strongest empires.

  “It’s just a mission. One of many AAEDEF will launch this year.”

  “When do you leave?” she asked.

  “Monday morning. Mom is going to drop me at the spaceport. We’ll swing by and get you, Claas, and Nova in the morning.”

  “Tomorrow? When will you get back?”

  He paused for a moment and took a sip of his drink. He avoided her gaze and stared at the glass. “Two years.”

  “What?” Saradi said. “Did I hear you say two years?”

  “Yep, you heard right,” he said.

  “Two years!”

  “Calm down, Sara.”

  “My name is Saradi!” she shouted at him. The laughter of her husband and mother from the lounge died abruptly.

  “I knew you’d react like this.”

  “Firstly, joining AAEDEF was a stupid idea. You’re just middle class fodder for upper class backstabbing Machiavellian assholes who don’t give a rat’s ass about our country or its people. They only care about their masturbatory power trips. Where are the children of the High Minister and his close cabinet members? Are they serving? No, they’re sitting on boards of big corporations while people like you get sent to slaughter.”

  Bheemasena huffed. “Hey, look at this way. If I get lost you can come find me.”

  “That’s not funny.”

  “I’m not being funny. Promise me you’ll come and get me if I get stuck out there,” he said.

  “This is bullshit,” she said. She stepped forward and put her hand on his cheek. The dark marks in his eyes pulled at her. Her fingers trembled. “I promise, asshole.”

  It was the last thing she ever said her brother.

  On Monday, Saradi called in sick for the first time in ten years. Her secretary, Aunis Reeves, could scarce believe it. She stood with her forearms resting on her balcony looking at Aunis Reeves as his disembodied 3D head floated in front of her. The tropical garden pulsed to life below her as she nursed a glass of cabernet sauvignon.

  “The iordite call is all good for tomorrow, then?” she asked.

  “I haven’t been able to reach Chairwoman Pavlenko to reschedule. I’ve tried multiple time
s,” Aunis said.

  “Send a damn personal envoy to Yakutsk, this is the material that is going to launch humanity into habitable space. And this woman isn’t answering our calls?”

  “I can send an envoy but since you’ll be here tomorrow …”

  Saradi waved at him. She wasn’t the one at work today. She gulped the tart cabernet sauvignon and nodded. “Don’t bother about the envoy. I have a feeling I’ll be seeing Alyona face to face sooner than I want.”

  Aunis stared at her for a moment. “Madam, what sickness do you want me to list you as?”

  Her eyes red and tear stained. “Just hay fever,” she lied. They both knew she had level ten upgrades. She never got sick.

  “Very well,” he said, and then she terminated the call.

  Why wasn’t Alyona Pavlenko answering? That woman was the sole supplier of iordite for Saradi’s company. It suddenly worried her more than Bheemasena’s departure.

  Saradi nursed her sixth glass and the world blurred at the edges and she found herself laughing at random thoughts when her mother, Wattana appeared on the balcony like some type of ifrit.

  Her mother regarded her like a shark about to lunge for the kill. Saradi gripped the balcony’s railing until her knuckles whitened.

  “Where were you this morning? Your daughter and husband were there to send your brother off.”

  Silence.

  “You reek of alcohol. Why aren’t you at work?” Wattana said. “Bheem tried to call you and he said you wouldn’t answer the calls.”

  Saradi put her glass onto the floating plate held up by a serv-bot. Her fingers shook as they gripped the edge of the balcony’s railings. The disembodied cup floated into the house to be refilled.

  “Good riddance to Bheem,” Saradi said, not feeling the words but saying them anyway. “You’re going to go crazy when they visit you to tell you your son’s head has been blown off by a grenade.”

  The world tilted sharply and Saradi staggered under the blow. Her mother’s index finger pointed at her. “You need to pick up your game and start acting like a human being. You’re the one who’s going to regret it if he doesn’t come back. You were given the opportunity to send him off.”