Sean-Michael Argo - Dead Worlds

After that neither of them had much to say and they sat in awkward silence for a few moments more, simply holding each other by the hand. Eventually Samuel took a deep breath and stood up, letting her hand slip free. He looked down at Bianca and forced a smile.

“This is the job,” he said in a choked voice.

Bianca forced a smile of her own and nodded. Her features softened as she watched Samuel turn around and leave the ward. Lifting her new metal hand again, she flexed the fingers and sighed. “This is the job.”

As Samuel walked down the corridor he saw Ben leaning up against a wall nearby. He fell in step with Samuel as they continued towards the mess hall for the pre-night cycle meal.

“Want to talk about it?” asked Ben in his cold, digital voice.

“It’s done. Whatever we had is over,” Samuel said as they walked, “Doesn’t make it any easier, but I have to keep moving forward. I’ve got a family, a wife. I’m walking into a new life where I’m not getting shot at every other day.” Samuel snorted in disgust, “Not that getting shot at is an excuse for infidelity.”

“Mags would say it is what it is,” Ben responded, “She’d probably also throw out some clichés about battlefield romance, keeping war and home separate, or whatever. Boss was full of that kind of crap.”

“That she was,” laughed Samuel as they entered the mess hall, but somehow it made him feel a little better hearing Ben say that, even in his wrecked voice. “What about you Ben? Staying in?”

“Nothing for me back on Baen, no family but Samuel Hyst and his love triangle.” Ben slugged Samuel in the shoulder playfully. “Nah, I’m going to go after another merc coin, try to get into the Merchants Militant. You probably haven’t heard since you’ve been here all day, but more planets and systems are showing up on long range scans.

Whatever we did down on that planet seems to have started a chain reaction. More and more of necrospace on this side of the Line is starting to chart. Where there are new worlds there will be wars fought over who gets to own them. I bet there’ll be hired armies duking it out before we even get back home. Maybe I’ll find our boy, Imago, and give my resume to the Folken, become a wargir.” Ben’s accompanying digital laugh sounded like two saw blades dragging against each other.

“That’ll be the day,” Samuel said, picking up his tray while Ben walked next to him, having already sipped his nutrients for the cycle.

“Well, Harold has some Blotto left over from Vorhold; we’re throwing a little going away party for you and Tillman.” Ben led Samuel over to the Tango tables. “She’s mustering out, too. Going back to Baen.”

“What’s her plan?” asked Samuel as he smiled and waved at the marines who waited with glasses held high as they toasted those who took early retirement.

“I think she’s going to join the unionist movement back on Baen 6,” scoffed Ben, “For all the good that’ll do, we haven’t had labor unions for centuries, they’re fighting an uphill battle.”

“We’re Reapers, Ben,” Samuel replied, accepting a glass from Harold. “That’s what we do.”

“Drink up, Boss,” said Harold. He raised his glass in a toast, “To your last day as hard meat.”

Everyone laughed and drained their glasses, ready to forget their troubles for a few blissful hours.

Samuel had walked the bustling corridors of the space station for what seemed like hours. His reunion with Orion had been achingly sweet, and even though he felt as if he hardly knew the boy, Samuel was overjoyed to be with his son for good. Sura had wept when he’d stepped off the transport shuttle and at first she would not approach him, then as Orion pulled at her arm she finally embraced her husband.

It had been strange for Samuel to be there, surrounded by his family and on the precipice of a new life. He was no longer a Reaper, though as yet he was not anything else. As a man raised within Grotto culture, Samuel Hyst defined himself by his work, so without a rifle in his grip and nothing to replace it, he had felt as empty as his hands. Still, Samuel began to realize that emptiness held vast potential. That he was, in fact, not empty, but for the first time in his life was experiencing the feeling of true freedom.

The feeling did not last long.

The courier found Samuel on one of the lower decks watching the starships come and go as they either delivered or picked up cargo from the many docks on the station.

Samuel signed the courier’s datapad and unrolled the ultrathin wafer of printed information. He read it once, twice, and then a third time before he let it fall from his numb fingers to the floor.

#Message Orbital 65.73SH#

Boss Samuel Hyst, Tango Platoon

We regret to inform you that your Expatriation Application #223.01SH has been declined, pursuant to Reaper Code 1627, paragraph 35, which explicitly states that:

During a declared emergency-state-of-war, no active duty Reaper shall be allowed to resign his or her post for a term not less than two years and not in excess of five years from date of the declaration unless and until Grotto Corporation deems the emergency-state-of-war lifted.

An emergency-state-of-war has been declared by the Board of Executives, effective as of thirty-seven hours prior to this message timestamp. Your expatriation payment has been returned to your personal account, less processing and administration fees.

You are to report to your nearest duty station for orders and transport within twelve hours of receipt of this citizenship status update.

Have a nice day and Grotto thanks you for your service.

#REAPER Desk – Offices of the Citizen Actuary#

Thank you for taking this grim adventure alongside the Reapers of Grotto Corporation. Victory in this corporate age is difficult to define, no matter who is left standing, and this story is far from over. Corporate executives maneuver for position and mercenary armies prepare themselves for the inevitable bloodshed that follows the discovery of new wealth.

Stay alert for the next installment of the Necrospace series, where the journey will continue for some, and end for others.

This is the job

Fleet Admiral Fengus Utang sat in his chair on the battle bridge of his command carrier, assimilating thousands of points of data as they were gathered, as filtered by Captain Paxo Klingu.

“Sir, our battle group is exiting spacefold in the Humana System.”

“How far out?”

“One point seven three nine kilaparsecs, sir.”

Admiral Utang was about to initiate the final stage of his intergalactic scourge against the United Intergalactic Coalition. One by one, in his march across the known galaxies, overlooking the Uncharted Sectors, he had led the Feng Empire in its conquest to reclaim the glory of the Old Empire. In a vicious campaign, he toppled world after world, nation after nation, whittling away the overstretched United Intergalactic Coalition. From the Vampiri to the Homunculi, each member of the UIC was outmatched by the superior armada of the Feng.

The invasion of Humana, the seat of the United Intergalactic Coalition, was the end game in this great Intergalactic War 4.0.

“The Humani have detected our arrival, sir.”