Phoenix Reborn Read online

  “That is a load of crap! What kind of investigation involves twenty spec-ops soldiers?!”

  Sanders didn’t know what to say. He’d heard the report, but he knew better than to ask too ask questions.

  “They went there to kill him because he hated the EMC! Only he must have killed them too! You bastards took my mom, my brother, and now William!” Connor was screaming in hysterics.

  “I have nobody!” Connor fell to his knees, sobbing heavily.

  “Untrue,” a voice said in a whisper.

  “What do you mean?” Connor demanded.

  Sanders stood staring at him.

  “I didn’t say anything,” he said quietly.

  Connor looked around the room, but didn’t see anybody else. He cried on the floor for several minutes while Major Sanders watched. The man seemed sympathetic, but at that point nothing was going to make Connor forgive him for bringing him this news.

  Gathering himself to his feet, Connor glared at Major Sanders before marching to the door. Throwing the door wide open, he stomped up to the administrator’s desk, trying to wipe the tears off his cheeks.

  “I would like to make an appointment to see the Head Commander,” Connor demanded, tears still falling from his chocolate-colored eyes.

  “The Head Commander doesn’t take appointments from conscripts,” the Administrator informed him with her nose up in the air.

  “Well then, when is he in, so I can come by unannounced?” Connor rebutted, finding an immediate hole in the rule.

  The Administrator was quiet, staring down at him like he was just any little kid.

  “Never mind, you’re probably just too stupid to take an appointment,” he finished as he walked back to the lift.

  Not one to let a thing like rules stop him from his goal, Connor pushed the button on the lift for the OMBIcademy Faculty Quarters. He tapped his foot impatiently as the lift descended down one floor and slowed to a stop. The doors opened to reveal a long hallway with several labeled doorways.

  The names of the faculty members who lived at the OMBIcademy were prominently displayed on each of the doors, making it easy for Connor to find the living quarters of Head Commander, Colonel Franklin Setzer. The door was large and made of dark blue metal; he found it at the very end of a long hallway. He didn’t bother knocking.

  Colonel Setzer was powerful man, short and muscular. He kept his head shaved completely bald and wore a thick mustache. He had been reading a book when Connor entered his room and didn’t bother setting it down as the boy stormed up to his desk.

  “It’s true what they say; you can open all the doors,” Colonel Setzer said smugly, not looking up from his book.

  “Head Commander, I am here to demand that you allow me access to train again or at least to battle. I also want to be transferred back to Blue Army.”

  “Is that so?” Setzer said with a condescending chuckle, still reading from behind his thin glasses.

  Connor slapped the man’s book out of his hands and onto the floor.

  “Yes, that is so!” Connor snapped.

  Setzer didn’t move to retrieve his book, only stared back at Connor, the smug expression gone from his face.

  “I could have you arrested for that.” The threat was clear in his tone.

  “Just try it and see if you even make it out of the room,” the boy replied, making it clear what would happen if the man moved.

  Tension filled the room at Connor’s words, despite the smile slowly spreading across the Colonel’s face. Franklin Setzer was strong and well-trained, even so, he wondered if Connor, even with the limited power of an inhibited OMBI would have much trouble taking him down. Regardless, he had to admire the ten-year-old kid who wasn’t backing down in the face of authority, age, and power.

  It was with that admiration that had Setzer eventually replying, “I will allow supervised training and a transfer to Blue Army. But I will continue to pick the commanders of the armies.”

  Connor hesitated only a moment before he backed down.

  “Don’t keep selling after the sale has been made,” William had always told him.

  That advice echoing in his head, Connor turned and walked out of the Head Commander’s quarters without another word, believing the man would honor his promise.

  The Head Commander watched Connor leave. He’d intended to leave Connor with the threat, “If I ever see you in the officers’ quarters again, I’ll have you shot,” but he didn’t think the kid would actually care.

  For a long while after the exchange, Head Commander Setzer sat thinking about the boy who had stood up to him, and all the ways that he would get back at him.

  Chapter 3

  Beyond Good and Evil

  From the penthouse suite of the Park Building in Chicago, Councilman Kaufmann of the EMC stared out the window at the evening skyline of the windy city with a glass of wine in his hand. He’d been reading reports of the Independents’ progress in the outer colonies with a frown on his face.

  Kaufmann, a blond-haired, German-born politician in his mid-fifties, had spent the last seven years of his reign watching the slow erosion of EMC political power, despite the efforts of media propaganda and the eminent “Gortha” threat. The people had been dissatisfied with the council for a long time, but had never organized or rioted as long as they had the promise of food or reduction of gas prices.

  In Germany, the devaluation of global currency, combined with shortages of food and fuel, had caused massive inflation over the last two years, and the recent riots in Berlin had forced Kaufmann to seek the refuge of his second home in Illinois. He had appealed to the council, who agreed to send military aid to Berlin; however, no aid had come. In his haste to escape the country, the councilman had left his wife and daughter behind.

  When he’d sent a formal request to General Harruhama for military aid, the man had told him, HIM, that there were no troops to spare with the outer colonies withholding resources. Kaufmann had demanded reports and received them on his datapad an hour later. The “Independents” did not seem overly aggressive to Kaufmann, but they had been denying Earth their resources for more than five years, causing shortages in food and energy.

  Kaufmann had been writing an angry reply to Harruhama demanding a vote for full-scale military action against the people of Germany when he heard a knock at his door. The sound distracted him slightly, but he went back to his message, hearing one of his bodyguards moving to answer it.

  “General, the situation in Germany is getting worse. Without the full aid of the UEDF International Guard, we will lose the entire country in a matter of weeks. Rioters have seized all government buildings in Berlin and have been pushing back the local forces out of the city. I fear it may be too late –Kaufmann”

  “Who is there?” the bodyguard asked with a thick German accent.

  Kaufmann thought he heard someone speaking from the other side of the door, but the sound was muffled. He began to re-read his message, checking to make sure it conveyed the proper sense of urgency.

  “Please say again, I cannot hear you,” the bodyguard said loudly at the door.

  The sound of a large explosion startled the councilman, causing him to drop his datapad. One of his bodyguards flew backwards into the office where Kaufmann was standing, crumpling against the side of a couch in a smoldering heap. The other six bodyguards ran into the room, yelling to each other to take up defensive positions.

  Kaufmann’s ears rang from the rattle of gunfire; loud, piercing blasts overwhelmed the sound of his bodyguards’ handguns. Panicking, Kaufmann ran into his bedroom and pulled a small revolver out of the nightstand before hiding in his closet. The sounds of battle raged on in the entry way of the penthouse for nearly a minute, loud blasts followed by the pops of smaller guns, shaking the walls of the closet. Kaufmann imagined twenty armed men storming his apartment by the sound of the battle.

  Finally, the gunfire stopped, the eerie quiet punctuated by the thud of a body falling to the ground. Kaufma
nn could hear heavy boots stomping through his penthouse as they made their way toward his bedroom. The man let out a soft cry, which brought the boots marching up to where he was hiding.

  The doors of the closet swung open and, before Kaufmann could take a shot, a gloved hand grabbed his arm and pulled him hard onto the floor. Kaufmann turned in terror and was shocked to see that only one man had entered his room, one terrifying man.

  He stood nearly six feet tall, wearing heavy black boots and thick blue jeans. The jeans were torn slightly from bullet holes, revealing the mechanized battle armor underneath; armor normally only worn by EMC Operatives. The man’s leather duster flowed out behind him as he leveled Kaufmann with a fist to the face. Kaufmann rolled back toward the window of his bedroom, looking down on the city below. The man came on, grabbing the councilman by his neck and lifting him up against the window so they were face to face.

  The man’s nose and mouth were covered by a red bandana, and a black cowboy hat gave him the look of a western outlaw. As imposing as his outfit was, what terrified Kaufmann the most was the man’s steel-blue eyes, cold and merciless, the eyes of death himself.

  “Wha … what do you want?” Kaufmann managed to sputter.

  “I want the truth.” The man’s voice was ice. It caused Kaufmann’s spine to shiver.

  “The truth about what?”

  “The incident of 2115. Speak quick.”

  “My datapad has everything you need. Please don’t kill me.”

  “Your datapad will be traced and you know it. You really are a clever little weasel, aren’t you? Besides, I didn’t follow you all the way from Berlin to read a datapad. Tell me the truth!” The man glared straight into Kaufmann’s eyes like he was looking for him to speak a lie.

  “You were in Berlin?” Kaufmann asked, realizing the gravity of the situation. “You had something to do with the riots?”

  “Send the dogs in and the birds will fly. Now tell me what I want to know!” the man demanded, his eyes flashing.

  “Okay, I will tell you everything! We were losing control of the people; we were out of resources! We had to protect ourselves, don’t you understand? It was for the greater good!”

  “Then it’s true. The entire thing was a lie in order to seize power. The Gortha aren’t real.”

  “It was Harruhama’s idea! We had to…”

  Kaufmann felt the man’s fingers begin to tighten around his throat. Gasping for breath, he tried to fight back, but wasn’t strong enough. Before his vision went totally black, he felt the window crack behind him mere moments before he was greeted with the terrifying sense of falling.

  ~ ~ ~

  The holotube news would call it an “act of terrorism by Gortha sympathizers,” in order to convince the people around the world to rally around their leaders. The man that they would label “The Dragoon” was pictured as a crazed cowboy with wild hair and consumed by bloodlust. Images were released from a lobby camera of the man carrying a strange-looking three-barreled shotgun, and the report included statistics on the dozens of innocent people who were murdered in the gun fight.

  In his office, General Harruhama wondered what information the councilman might have given up before he met his end at the hands of the psychopathic vigilante. The general had his men check the datapad, but they found no trace of any information reviewed or any DNA samples to draw from.

  Trying to track a man using low-tech gear, with no traceable implants and no communication devices, would be difficult. Harruhama was not naïve enough to believe that he had heard the last of the name Dragoon. That disturbing thought in his head, he tapped his communicator.

  “Yes, sir?” the administrator said on the other end of the line.

  “Get me the council on video immediately.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Four minutes later, Harruhama was in a conference with the other seven surviving members of the Earth Military Council.

  “Fellow councilmen and women,” Harruhama began formally, “today a great travesty has occurred. We have lost our dear brother, Councilman Kaufmann, in an attack against the EMC itself!”

  “Do we know who is really responsible for the attack?” Councilwoman Singh of India began. “The media report spoke of a crazed western-folk villain.”

  “The media has reported it as we know it, Councilwoman Singh. Our details on the motivation behind the attack and the faction responsible are limited. No documents or information were stolen, and no politically motivated message was left at the scene.”

  “Is the rest of the council in any danger?” Councilman Namgung of Korea asked, his forehead beading with sweat.

  “We have no reason to suspect that any of us are in danger. It may have been a personal vendetta against Kaufmann; the riots in Germany did cause the man to flee, leaving his family behind.”

  “Just in case, I think we should all increase our personal security,” Councilwoman Morgan of the United Kingdom said quietly.

  “Agreed,” the rest replied in unison.

  “What is the plan on dealing with the assassin then, General?” Councilwoman Singh asked quietly.

  “I have my top staff working on a way to get the true identity of this ‘Dragoon.’ Once we have it, we can establish his patterns and prevent any further activity.”

  “Have any of our surveillance systems picked up his movements around Chicago?” Singh continued.

  “No, we only have him going in and out of the Park Building, nothing after,” Harruhama replied.

  “What about before?” Singh asked, inquisivitely.

  “We have some footage of the man in Berlin outside of Kaufmann’s residence and some of the government buildings as far back as three weeks ago. It would appear that the Dragoon had something to do with the riots and probably chose Kaufmann because of his weak grip on the people of his region.”

  “I understand; thank you, General,” Councilwoman Singh finished.

  “Any further business?” Harruhama asked to the assembled EMC.

  “We have received your report regarding the rebel fleet movements around the Aeris Colony, General. Is it your contention that in six days they will be vulnerable?” Councilman Stahl of the United States asked politely.

  “It is, Councilman Stahl. Our reports come from an agent in place at the colony, an operative who has been assigned to identify and eliminate rebel leaders.”

  “Unfortunately, it will take months for a battle group to get out that far, otherwise we could end this rebellion quickly,” Stahl stated.

  “I ordered the battle group out two months ago when I first received this information.”

  “Without council approval, General?” Stahl asked, the accusation clear in his words.

  “Indeed. I had to act and could not wait for the declaration by the council. I trust that no one objects?”

  The council was silent, no one daring to cross Harruhama publicly. None of them were certain that it wasn’t one of Harruhama’s own operatives that killed Kaufmann, instead of this masked vigilante they had been led to believe.

  “What is the status of the military support for the Germany riots?” Councilman Moreau of France asked. “They are nearing the border of my region.”

  “At this time, Councilman, the EMC is unable to divert military support to a regional problem. Local troops will have to suffice. The lack of resources coming in from the outer colonies takes precedence.”

  “Then what of Germany?” Moreau asked quietly.

  “We leave it to its own destruction,” Harruhama said, his expression blank, impassive.

  When the conference ended, General Harruhama quietly pondered his decisions. He didn’t like the idea of giving up on Germany; however, one hundred and twenty-five million fewer mouths to feed would definitely take some of the pressure off of the food reserves. The best scientists and soldiers from that region were already drafted into military service, so if the people of Germany wanted to kill themselves, Harruhama would not stop them.

 
In the end, it was an easy decision for General Harruhama to make.

  ~ ~ ~

  Deep in space, the seven Battle Frigates of the 2nd Fleet were emerging from their slipstream fold into the Hourglass Nebula. Standard slipstream jumps were never as accurate as Commander Balvoon of the UEDF Frigate Cortez had liked, but this particular jump had landed him and his battle group within a week of their target.

  Commander Balvoon had been chosen to lead this strike against the diminished forces of Aeris VII who had been rallying the other colonies behind the banner of the Independents. His service record and unquestioning loyalty to the UEDF made Balvoon the perfect man to handle the rebel leaders he was to identify and execute if possible.

  They had received a report two months prior that the enemy fleet movements had left them spread thin around the Colonies’ capital world, and General Harruhama, who had issued the order himself, believed that the seven Battle Frigates would be enough to wipe out every last colonist, if necessary.

  The battle group formed up around the UEDF Cortez and proceeded toward Aeris VII with all possible speed.

  Chapter 4

  Cerulean Skies

  On a cool cloudy morning, Captain Alexzander Pereira looked out over the choppy waters of Lake Amsvartnir toward the city beyond. He leaned casually against a column, letting his hands absorb the warmth of the cup of coffee he held reverently. He’d never been much of a coffee drinker on Earth, but the coffee that grew in the hills nearby, like all the food on Aeris VII, was incredible.

  A cool breeze blew off the lake, and as he felt it caress his skin he closed his eyes and let his mind roll back over the months and years to a time when he stood on another porch, similar to the one he stood on now, staring at his brother and stepfather chasing each other around in the yard.

  In his mind, Alex watched William, who was pretending to be a zombie, chase Connor around in the grass while dragging one leg and groaning. It was a fun memory in Alex’s life, watching his brother laughing and playing. He had been a little old for it then, but always kind of wished in his heart that he could be chased around too.