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  DARK WORLD

  (Undying Mercenaries Series #9)

  by

  B. V. Larson

  The Undying Mercenaries Series:

  Steel World

  Dust World

  Tech World

  Machine World

  Death World

  Home World

  Rogue World

  Blood World

  Dark World

  Illustration © Tom Edwards

  TomEdwardsDesign.com

  Copyright © 2018 by Iron Tower Press, Inc.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, without permission in writing from the author.

  Top Secret:

  Executive Brief #866

  Author: Equestrian William Drusus

  This document and all its supporting materials are to be considered highly classified. No portion of the information revealed herein can be legally revealed, nor can any of the sources or source documentation be leaked or copied without the express permission of the Second Directorate. Penalties for anyone convicted of losing, or forfeiting control of access to such documents, whether through purposeful or negligent behavior, include severe physical reprimand and mandatory life imprisonment. There is even legal precedent for permanent execution in extreme cases.

  Unauthorized personnel who discover this document are hereby ordered to report the incident and destroy it under penalty of Hegemony Law.

  Report Introduction:

  This report summarizes Earth’s evolving political situation. It was written exclusively for Hegemony Intelligence Committee members. If you are not a member of that august body, stop reading immediately!

  This is your final warning!

  Section I: The Growing Terran Influence:

  Earth has been politically united since 2054, when the last nationalists were rooted-out and either exiled, imprisoned or terminated. For approximately seventy years, a period considered by most historians to be Humanity’s Golden Era, our role was secure within the Empire. We reliably provided ground troops for hire to any other star system who wanted them. In exchange, we were given access to alien trade goods and were protected by our provincial defense force: Battle Fleet 921.

  All of that has changed over the last few decades. Starting with the rediscovery of a lost colony expedition to Zeta Herculis, Earth began to expand. Dust World, as it’s more commonly known, became our second governed planet.

  The third was arguably Gamma Pavonis—Machine World. Although no large independent colony exists on that planet, it remains a critical metals mining outpost today. Most of the titanium used to build our fledgling fleet was mined on the rocky slopes of Gamma Pavonis.

  After these first two, our possessions and territories exploded. With the defeat of the Cephalopod Kingdom, Earth was able to boast theoretical possession of three hundred and twelve inhabited star systems.

  Alas, this happy windfall came with two grave caveats: First, we lack the military power to enforce our will upon so many remote stars. Second, the Galactics have become alarmed by our rapid growth, and they’re actively seeking to curtail it.

  In reality, Earth legitimately manages no more than nine star systems. These now include Epsilon Leporis, once colonized by the Cephalopods and more commonly known as Blood World. But beyond this handful of relatively obscure worlds, the other three hundred inhabited planets qualify either as independent rebel states, or they roil in perpetual anarchy.

  In short, Earth’s growth as an interstellar power is still very much in its infancy.

  Section II: Political Rivals in 2147:

  We’ve come a long way, but the natural outgrowth of any success is the rise of competitors. We’ve managed to maintain an uneasy alliance with the Mogwa, our patron Galactics. Unfortunately, they can’t be trusted to defend us as their charter promises. In general, our strategy in regard to the Mogwa has been that of the kitchen mouse: we stay out of sight and pick up crumbs. To that end, we’re gathering strength quietly, but taking great pains to avoid direct confrontations with the Empire. The situation is obviously intolerable, but it’s the best we can do at the moment as their strength is a million times greater than our own.

  With the Galactics brooding on the sidelines, our more direct rivals come to the foreground. We’re slowly establishing dominance over choice star systems of the former Cephalopod Kingdom, but we’re not alone in playing that game. The Rigellians occupy an unknown number of star systems on the far side of the lawless Cephalopod region. They’re busy snapping up new possessions at a rate that exceeds our own.

  Last, but far from least, are the Wur. They cannot be discounted. They dominated the Cephalopods behind the scenes until we attacked. They’ve seemingly vanished, but all our intelligence points to the fact they’re still here, still with us.

  An odd, plant-based life form, the Wur are something like an interstellar disease. They don’t colonize but rather infect worlds, growing strange megaflora in a green carpet that overwhelms one globe at a time.

  Like any disease in dormancy, they’re always with us, but they evade detection. The Wur are always ready to flourish and sicken the host at the first sign of weakness. It is this author’s opinion that in the long run the Wur might represent a greater threat to humanity than the Rigellians.

  Section III: Policy for the Future:

  Caution is the watch-word. From the point of view of the Mogwa, we’re like a species of useful microflora in the gut: we provide a service, but our existence is hardly a priority.

  Escalating warfare and gradual expansion are the only clear paths forward. We must be seen as a bulwark against the destructive influences of the Wur and the Rigellians. To that end, we must identify and establish military control over the most useful of the nonaligned worlds.

  Unfortunately, our rivals are practicing a similar strategy, but without needing to worry about the opinions of the Galactics.

  Section IV: Immediate Strategic Goals:

  Over recent years, we’ve secured an excellent source of mineral wealth from Machine World. Rogue World provided a tech team that has begun to produce miracles, and Blood World is a planet full of eager ground troops.

  What’s needed next, in this author’s opinion, is an advanced base. An industrial center to serve as an outpost capable of mass starship production. This base must be established and fortified quietly. Then, when we’re ready, we’ll use this base to stage operations deep inside the disputed region.

  The exact star system to be targeted will be provided in next week’s strategic brief.

  End Report

  “The gods conceal from men the happiness of death, so that they might quietly endure life.
”

  — Lucanus, at his execution, 65 AD

  -1-

  Today I was at Central, that ziggurat of a building squatting in Central City.

  Central was a man-made mountain of puff-crete and ballistic glass with bones of crystallized steel. Earth’s defense forces were commanded from this single structure.

  Deep inside the massive pyramid, I had been summoned to witness an ascendancy. The event promised to be a promotion among the brass rarely witnessed in Earth’s history.

  Everyone present was an officer, and we all knew the details of the main event. Drusus, a longtime mentor and confidant of mine—if not exactly a friend—was being elevated from the rank of equestrian to that of praetor. These ancient Roman ranks might not mean much to people outside of Earth’s military, but to those of us on the inside, it was a big deal.

  Equestrians had three sunbursts on their shoulders. Praetors had four. That might induce an eye-roll and an urge to switch news streams among those who were viewing the event live on Hegemony’s government servers.

  But for a lowly centurion like me, the promotion was earth-shaking. There were about fifty commissioned equestrians running around on Earth, but only a handful of praetors. They were real brass. The top of the top.

  For my own part, I was happy with the advancement. It gave me a connection among the military leadership that could be good for a man’s career. Even better, these sorts of ceremonies and banquets served free food and booze that couldn’t be beat. That was the main reason I’d bothered to accept the invitation and join a hundred others here in Central to witness the ceremony.

  Some fat guy with four stars of his own—Wurtenberger, I thought his name was—stood up and began making a speech. Essentially, he talked for a long time about how great Drusus was. He reminded us of when Drusus had led the defensive effort on Earth, and when he’d sponsored our successful capturing of Epsilon Leporis—Blood World—just last year.

  That was all fine and dandy, but like any member of the brass, Wurtenberger couldn’t seem to cut it short. After listing Drusus’ accomplishments in glowing terms, he kept right on going. He talked about honor, and responsibility, and six other kinds of crap I didn’t need to listen to.

  My mind and eyes soon began to wander, as they tended to do at moments like this. There were many familiar faces in the crowd. I found their expressions interesting.

  I eyeballed Primus Graves first. He looked like he actually cared about what Wurtenberger was saying. His eyes had seen the worst of the worst, but he still liked pep talks.

  Next to him was another primus, a man I liked a lot less than Graves: Winslade. He was a whisper-thin, weasel of a man.

  Winslade’s reaction to the speech was entirely different than Graves. He looked suspicious. His arms were crossed, his eyes narrowed. What did he have to fear by the elevation of Drusus? I didn’t know, but I suspected a paranoid officer like him rarely cheered for any kind of random change in the status quo.

  My eyes shifted again. Up front, sitting behind Wurtenberger and Drusus himself, were two women I knew well. One was Imperator Galina Turov. She had a look on her face that I recognized in an instant: glowing happiness.

  Did she know something? Did she dare to hope she’d move up from her current rank as a two-star imperator to a three-star equestrian, taking Drusus’ spot? It was my honest impression that she expected as much.

  On the other side of the stage sat Tribune Deech. She was the current commander of Legion Varus, my outfit. She’d never been an approachable woman, but I didn’t hate her. Her arms were crossed, as were her legs. But that expression she was wearing—what was it? Smug confidence?

  Could she know something as well? It was hard to imagine these two women, who essentially hated one another, could both turn out to be happy with today’s events. That would be a rare day, if it actually happened. Once in a blue moon, as they used to say.

  With an effort of will, I forced myself to tune back into Wurtenberger’s speech. Fortunately, it looked like he was wrapping it up.

  “…the trinity therefore remains whole: honesty, integrity and innovation. These things are more than goals for Equestrian Drusus. They are realized simultaneously, all in a single fleshly being.”

  Wurtenberger stepped back, indicating Drusus with a flourish.

  Scattered applause broke out, and I joined in. Using a technique I’d developed as a noncom, I slammed my big hands together while cupping each palm. This created an explosively-loud popping sound. I was pleased to see a few of the men around me—notably Winslade—wince and glance in my direction with evident irritation.

  I took no notice of this response. I continued to slam my hands together and even whistled once.

  “DRUSUS!” I roared.

  More glances came my way. More quick up-down appraisals. I didn’t care. I ignored them all, and I kept on clapping until the applause died down, and then I still kept it up for five long seconds after that.

  “Yes…” Wurtenberger said when I’d quieted at last. “So good to see enthusiasm for this pride filled day. And now, without further delay, I will present to the world our first new praetor in a decade’s time. Praetor Drusus!”

  More cheering and clapping. I wasn’t the only one making noise now. Amid the din, Drusus stood at attention while fat-boy Wurtenberger placed his new rank insignia on his shoulders. A fourth gleaming sunburst was added to the three he already had.

  I knew Drusus was really feeling it, despite his calm and confident exterior. He was beaming, just a little. I hooted and hollered like it was a high school graduation.

  I liked Drusus, I always had. He was what everyone hoped to get in a superior officer: confidence, competence and honesty all wrapped into one—just like the fat-boy had said.

  When the crowd had settled down, Drusus made a small acceptance speech. It was mercifully short, but I didn’t listen to it anyway. I’d had about enough speeching for one day.

  My eyes were already crawling over the buffet. A gang of service people and robots had been laying out a fine spread for the last several minutes. The delicate smells of roast pork, sweetbreads and gravy were gripping my mind.

  There was a little more clapping when Drusus stopped talking—but there was some confusion as well. What had he said at the end? My brain could almost remember…

  “Well, this is odd,” Graves said at my side. “Do you know why we’re being singled out?”

  Graves was looking at me.

  Winslade was eyeing me now, too. His face was full of suspicion.

  I realized they both thought I knew all the behind-the-scenes intrigue, even though I hadn’t even been listening. This kind of thing happened to me all the time. People always thought I knew more than I did about secretive goings-on.

  Sure, I was often involved in events that seemed unexpected, undesirable or even alarming. But sometimes, like today, I was just as much in the dark as to the nature of events as the next guy.

  “Uh…” I said. My face went slack and stupid—and it wasn’t even an act.

  “That’s what I thought,” Winslade said bitterly, eyeing me with fantastic suspicion. “I knew something was up today. Clearly, a reshuffle has been coming.”

  “I don’t even know what he said,” I objected. “I was looking at the food.”

  Winslade made a pffing sound of disgust. He turned to Graves. “McGill must have gone over your head again, Graves. He’s playing dumb, but I’m never fooled by that ruse.”

  Glancing at Winslade, then back to Graves, I asked the question that was really burning in my mind at the moment. “Does this mean we can’t eat yet?”

  Graves shook his head slowly in disbelief.

  “All right, McGill,” he said. “You hold onto your dirty secrets. I’m sure it will all be made clear to us soon enough.”

  Around me, I noticed most of the crowd was filtering out. Some of them were casting soulful glances toward the growing spread of food as well. Since Winslade and Graves didn’t
budge, I didn’t either.

  Damn, sometimes I wished I could listen to a speech for more than two minutes without tuning out, but it just wasn’t in me. As a result, all my life everyone around me seemed to know what was going on, while I was in the dark.

  This was just one more day in that lifelong story, I supposed.

  After a few minutes, the hall had emptied down to maybe a quarter of the previous crowd. Even Praetor Wurtenberger had ducked out.

  Counting heads, I noticed that everyone who’d been left behind was an officer from Varus.

  Could that be it? Had Drusus ordered everyone who wasn’t in my legion to leave? What the hell for?

  “Why just Varus people?” I asked.

  “Still playing the dummy, are we?” Winslade demanded angrily. “I’m in the dark as to the details, but if you look up there at the stage, there are two women who seem to be in the know.”

  I looked, and sure enough, Turov and Deech had remained. They were both looking smug.

  These two women didn’t like each another. Arguably, that didn’t count for much, as I suspected there weren’t too many souls on the planet who liked them, either.

  But the point was: how could they both be looking happy? I could only think of one reason: Turov was moving up to equestrian, and Deech was moving up into her spot, becoming an imperator.

  Damnation.

  That would be an unpleasant result from my point of view. Deech hadn’t been half-bad as our tribune, and moving her up would mean a new tribune was running Varus. That could be good or bad—it was a roll of the dice.

  But what really troubled me was the concept of Turov getting Drusus’ old spot. She was far above her level of competence already, and in my opinion, she’d been a traitor to Earth on a number of occasions. Were they really going to give her more rank?