Olympus Union:
 
Drawing Battle Lines

By Gary Bloom

ISBN: 9781618428363

Acknowledgements

My parents taught me to love reading at an early age.  One particularly depressing day, not long ago, dad dragged me out of my house to join them, visiting the used bookstore in Middletown, NY.  I went, although my mind was definitely in a different place.  The two of them pointed out book after book of science fiction paperbacks, which they assumed (correctly) I’d love.  My arms were loaded up.  They sent me on my way, to get blissfully lost in another universe.  So, more than anyone else, this book is dedicated to my parents, and to the myriad science fiction authors that they provided me with that day, to help me through a difficult 2010.

Special thanks goes out to Jon Dunn, once again.  Jon bought the first copy of “Olympus Union: The Past Repeated” when it hit digital shelves.  Since the first day of fifth grade, my best friend has been a source of constant support.  I’ll never cease to be appreciative.  Since he dubbed us as such, this is the right place to thank the “Homeys” that I have known for so long.  In addition to JD, I’ll toss a big set of rock n roll horns out to MacKay, Troy, Owen, Zavadil and Seven-One Brian.

Many thanks, as well, to those first few friends who supported my writing by plunking down a few dollars for an ebook.  You did it on the chance you’d like the universe I created.  You did it because we’re friends.  It’s my sincere hope that you found my words worth your hard earned money.

It’s important for me to take a moment and thank a man who greatly inspired my writing, yet a man whom (as of writing this), I’ve never met.  Michael A. Stackpole has written many books that I’ve had the pleasure of reading.  One series that he penned during a war among the stars, gave me the biggest bug for the OU line of thought.  Michael wrote about building a squadron from the ground up.  Not just flying the fighter craft, famously bearing the name of a letter toward the end of the alphabet, they had to become a true team.  Stackpole starts with an ideal and a less famous character and build something special from scratch. 

As much detail spent is on personal histories as is on action and plot line.  I absolutely loved it.  I knew immediately after finishing the series that I wanted to write something where I was building.  I started with short stories and a space-born group named The Pulsar’s Fist.  Taking elements from that, and my Stackpole induced desire to build, I created the Olympus Union story setting. Now I’m building a brand new star-spanning nation, new organizations, and have plans for much, much more within this story setting.  I am grateful to Mr. Stackpole for putting that bug in my brain.

Now, whenever possible, I listen to music during writing sessions.  The play list I used for this book involved multiple bands that I hadn’t heard of when writing “The Past Repeated” – I used music then, too, but there has been a constant between both.  The music of Alter Bridge has often served as inspiration.  When I’m stuck, I’ll play just their music, and end up with a tremendous writing session.  I thanked them digitally, thank them here, and hope to do so in person one day.

Finally, a bit of insight for my last thank you.  A large portion of this book was written in Christopher’s Bistro.  Writing and re-hashing the original outline, penning first and second drafts, and final editing.  I might not have gotten through without them.  I certainly wouldn’t have finished as quickly.  Katie and Chris have crafted a superb atmosphere, and I’m lucky they’ve allowed me to sit and just write when I needed my mojo.  Even on those rare days I wasn’t interested in eating.  I’d be remiss not to mention atmospheric caretakers Erin, Chris, Meg, and of course Danielle.  She allowed me to borrow her and name and work off of her personality for a character, which I’m also quite grateful for.

The list really goes on and on, but it’s terrible to write an Acknowledgments section that reaches the same length a chapter.  I’ll see about keeping it shorter in book three.  Feel free to follow my blog and tweets for more.  OlympusUnion.com never shuts off, but now, I’m going to shut up.  It’s time to let the story continue to unfold…

Chapter One – Field Test

Deep below the surface of the Jovian moon Europa, held in secret from all but a select few, lays the Delaware Bunker.  Sitting before a bank of monitors, staring intently, his hands flashing across a digital keyboard, Duncan Lab ran another set of diagnostics on his latest design.  If successful, this project should help to change the course of human history.  In an increasingly active rebellion, this undertaking would not only be their largest, but would serve to send the most obvious message to date.  They would not be put down easily; this will not end quickly and quietly.

Many miles above, out in the space surrounding Jupiter’s fourth largest moon, Daxtan Chandler piloted his shuttle in line with orders from below.  Small sparks of doubt and concern continued to make small nicks in his ever-present sense of confidence.  Still, he held true to himself and his mission.  In some respects, the pilot reminded Duncan of the mercenary, Kro, the unusual man who had rescued Duncan from Athena’s Clutch nearly a year ago.  Daxtan lacked the mercenary’s infuriating, arrogance, however.  He didn’t particularly mind working with the man; Daxtan had no problem recognizing that Lab was in charge.

“Doing alright Dax?”

“So far so good.”

Hanging relatively motionless in the eternal night, Chandler’s shuttle was only utilizing its passive sensors for the moment.  The communications between the two men was passed across bursts of light that were conveyed from the moon’s surface, re-directed through a satellite that was currently under Duncan’s control, and back into the shuttle’s communications equipment. The spatial navigation expert had personally ridden with Daxtan to deploy the satellite, tossing it out of the airlock and into orbit with his own two hands.  The maneuver had caused quite the stir among the members of the rebellion’s ruling council, but he was not about to entrust something so important to a common street agent.

It had been just shy of a year since Duncan had become a member of the revolutionary group.  Over that time, the soft and nervous young man he had been previously, had faded well away.  His personality was well trampled under, replaced by a burning desire for vengeance as he learned more about what had happened to him.  Every action of control brought him closer to his reward, his ultimate goal. The satellite was one more step along that path towards hurting the government, and the people, who had wrongfully imprisoned him. Athena’s Clutch was far into the past by now, but the memories would never leave him.

“Hold tight, I’m going to try one more test.  I’ll let you know when to switch your sensors to active mode.”

“You’ve got.  Standing by for orders, Controller Lab.”

Duncan smiled.  The thought that he was the one giving orders continued to amuse him, no matter how commonplace it had become.  Dax knew it, too.  Of course, it never hurt for the other passengers aboard that shuttle to hear it said as well.

Controller Duncan Lab shook his head and erased the smile, tightening his focus back to the task at hand.  His job had become easier and easier to do lately, but this moment deserved some extra care.  The two men were working out the last kinks in the Lab Gravity Phantasm mine.  The LGP was among the most closely guarded secrets in the known universe.  Even the underground’s two soldiers riding aboard Chandler’s shuttle hadn’t been provide the full knowledge of what they would be deploying and retrieving that day.  The entire council was kept as in the dark as possible, as well, with the sole exception of their leader, Martell Andrews.  Lab reported directly to him, and even then, as little as he could get away with.  Paranoia had struck deep, and trust was at a premium.

Duncan hadn’t been in the habit of sharing very much information regarding the project.  Even Martell, himself, didn’t have much of an understanding surrounding how the mines actually worked, despite understanding the basics of what they would do.

Duncan and his assistant were the only two people who truly knew the science underlying the functionality.  The Controller had sworn his associate to secrecy, and kept him fairly sequestered.  Delaware Bunker had been an easy choice to relocate to, and only Duncan spent much time outside of it.  Mostly, he only left in order to address the leadership when only an in-person meeting would serve his purposes.

“I just need one guy,” he had told the council when first presenting a handful of project ideas.  They offered him a full team, composed of the brightest minds across the revolution, his to call upon at a moment’s whim.  The offer was appreciated, Duncan said, and he had thanked them sincerely, but declined all the same.  “One man, that’s it.  Only one brain besides mine is allowed to know what’s going on.  One other technician who understands the inner workings of our new weapons.  One person that we can quickly kill if he betrays us.  I won’t suffer another betrayal. This protects us.”

The matter had been quickly passed.  Duncan had delivered his grizzly ultimatum so plainly that no one could see his or her way toward disagreement.  They all knew what he had gone through to get to the Jovian system, and everyone knew of his wrongful imprisonment.  His transformation from soft and nervous to bitter and vengeful had escaped no one’s notice.  As a result, the council currently knew that there were at least two projects, one of them regarding a mine, but little else.  Martell Andrews and Daxtan Chandler knew what that mine did. Only two men in the solar system knew how it worked.  Only two knew what other toys Duncan had been cooking up in his workshop.

The LGP was something of a unique design, straight from the Controller’s dark imagination.  By and large, the device was developed such that it would be suspended out in space when deployed.  The satellite would run on minimal power, using passive sensors and remaining largely undetected.  The sensors would cause the device to fully power up upon detecting an enemy signature in close enough proximity, but not requiring an immediate adjacency.  It would then begin to emit an exceptionally strong mass signature, without, however, the full gravity pull that a body of such immense mass would incur. 

Even one of these mines could play havoc with a passing ship’s sensors and crew.  It would come across on the screen displayed as a large space-born object, with nothing remotely as large visible to the eye, putting the ship’s sensor integrity in doubt.  While a pilot searched for the best way to avoid the supposed object, just in case, the small and highly mobile device will be drawn closer to the moving ship by its graviton emitters.  The LGP contains powerful explosives, which will detonate in varying proximity, depending entirely upon a randomizer algorithm.  It makes avoidance based on experience nearly impossible, deferring to a matter of arbitrary chance. 

The only way to disable the explosive setting and still come within close proximity of the mine, without direct intervention from the Bunker team, is by broadcasting a very specific sensor signature.  The code itself was developed by Duncan and is programmed by him alone.  He changes the sequence almost monthly. An ally must not only be trustworthy, he would have to keep in current contact with the organization, or risk death by the unforgiving weapon.

To the leadership council, this mine was going to help turn the tide. The mere fact that deserters would be unable to come and go as they pleased would be a boon.  Control of the system would be that much tighter, and Duncan’s genius would justify the expenditure for his rescue.  They had been told little other than the barest facts of what it would provide, and already that was enough; they could not wait to see it in action, or learn of what else he was building for them.

To the man himself, however, this was just another step along his path to revenge.“Go ahead and start broadcasting, Dax.”

“You’re absolutely sure that no one is going to catch us while we’re up here, right?  I figure it wouldn’t do well for us to get caught testing non-sanctioned satellites that do a damned good impression of weaponry.  Wouldn’t want the OU to get wind of this, or you for that matter.”

“Knock it off Dax and just trust me.  It’s virtually impossible for anyone to spend enough time monitoring every cubic foot of space, and you damned well know it,” Duncan said, hardly trying to keep the irritation from his voice.  The two were friends, but this was foolish.  Kro wouldn’t tolerate it, so neither could he.  ”They don’t have the resources for that.  Not out here.  We’ll be just fine, as long as we don’t spend too much time, and the signal isn’t running for too long.  No one will notice you, and they sure as hell won’t track back to me.  Now let’s get this running so that you can come on home.  Go.”

Without another word of reservation, the pilot keyed in the new broadcast code and began transmitting without hesitation.  He was still cautious, though, to keep the signal strength from rising up too intensely, or out too broadly.  No matter how slim the odds, and despite Lab’s assurances, it wasn’t worth letting anyone else know that there was anything going on up here.  Dax might be young, certainly, but not nearly as reckless as some of his fellow space jocks.

“Broadcasting.  How’s it looking?”

“Just a moment.”

Duncan checked his figures as they streamed in.  Fingers flew across the keyboard while he switched the view from one metric group to another.  He cycled through reporting on each of the different mines for comparison.  For the most part, at first blush, the latest trial had been mostly successful.  Everyone aboard the shuttle was perfectly safe at the moment and the deflection frequency was absolutely effective.  They never had an inkling that, had the test been a failure, they might have faced an almost certain death.  A dangerous risk to gamble his friend, but Dax was the only pilot Duncan truly felt a semblance of trust for.

He made a few notes that were top of mind before returning contact to the pilot.  The Bunker duo would need to make one or two more minor modifications to the programming.  It worked very well, but it could work better.  His tweak ideas were for the sake of perfection, but not for something as callous as his ego. The mission was to take down a solar system-spanning government that oppressed the Jovian colonies and wrongly imprisoned him.  Ninety-five percent efficiency wouldn’t do the job, and the job had to be done.  It had to be perfect.

“Everything looks good for now Dax,” he said while deactivating the mines.  ”You can cut the signal, then go ahead and haul them in.  One more minor adjustment and this’ll be ready for general use; probably within a week.”

“You’ve got it,” Dax answered.  Speaking directly to his team, then, he said, “alright guys, let’s go haul that cargo back on board and get it stowed nice and snug back there.  Do it quick and clean so we can get out of here fast, and the first round is on me.”

Martell Andrews sat patiently and listened as Duncan spoke.  His impassive face betrayed none of the emotion churning below the surface; it would do no good to allow such things to pass from his heart to the outside world.  Impatience and frustration were allowably human emotions, but displaying them was the province of the weak.  Seated in a quiet room located within Europa Station, he waited for Lab to conclude his preamble and cut to the chase.  Finally, the Controller finished the rhetoric-heavy report.  He had summed up all of the recent testing, and included various metrics that truly meant little to the Europa Minister, while embedding far too many self-congratulatory points; one would have been acceptable, but this bordered on a waste of time. 

Andrews’ pet genius flashed a cocky smile, looking to his leader expectantly, silently pining for the expected praise that always issues much more easily from his assistant, down below the moon’s crust.  The smile had become somewhat familiar; appearing more and more regularly as the young man’s confidence had blossomed since his rescue and delivery.  The confidence was generally welcomed, as it seemed to spur Duncan’s abilities to greater heights than the melancholy and uncertainty of the initial days of his membership.  The early stages of a budding arrogance, however, were much less appreciated.  The young genius left captivity of Delaware Bunker far too infrequently and had grown too used to being the most important man in the room. This would need to be curbed, and quickly.  The leader of the Jovian resistance movement had a surefire way to deal with the smugness of youth.  It would undoubtedly have the same effect on the lad before him now.  The Minister just sat, and waited.

Duncan’s broad smile diminished slightly after a minute of full silence had passed.  At two minutes, the grin was completely gone from his face.  After three, the corners of the boy’s mouth began to fall.  Worry seeped in as the silence stretched in into seeming infinity. Finally, feeling fully dejected, he broke the silence, worry coloring his tone and nearly letting slip a crack in his voice.

“Did I do something wrong, sir?”

Martell didn’t answer. He pursed his lips, raised an eyebrow, shrugged, and shook his head very slowly.  Then he sat.

“Was there some other test that you had wanted me to run?”

Again, he shook his head slowly, this time only once.  This time, however, he grinned every so slightly.

“Something that you were expecting?”

“How long, Duncan?”

“How,” his face screwed up in confusion, “how long?”

“Duncan.”  Martell Andrews sighed, shaking his head slowly, eyes never leaving the young man’s face.  The resonance of just the one word was chilling, despite the softly projected volume of his voice.  ”We have had this discussion.  Actually,” he paused for effect, “we have had it many times.  You already know that I am proud of you, and all that you’ve done for us.  But,” another meaningful pause intended cause Duncan’s own impatience to rise, “when will it be ready?  The Union’s supply ship will be arriving in 48 hours.  Tell me, will we be ready?”

A look of uncertainty took hold of Duncan for a moment, his confidence briefly diminished.  At a narrowing of the Minister’s eyes, however, the Controller drew himself together and snapped back to himself.

“Oh!”  His face was slightly more animated than moments ago, although not a single trace of his previous cockiness had returned, for the moment.  Gearing up to launch into yet another detailed explanation, he reached for his tablet… and stopped short.  Catching a look from Andrews that bordered on disapproval mixed with fatigue, Duncan slowly retracted the arm.  Closing the hand as he did so, he settled himself.  Not quite as crestfallen as before, but certainly more subdued, the Controller provided the briefest answer he could muster.

“We’ll need just another twenty four hours for minor tweaks, and a brief test session for confirmation.  Then, we’ll be ready to take on anything that the Olympus Union has to offer.”

“Tell it without the hyperbole, son, if you please.  Is twenty four hours a legitimate estimate?”

“Yes sir,” he said nodding.  ”It’ll take the two of us just short of that to be certain that we haven’t missed anything.  This is actually more of an over estimate, but better safe, right?  Still, even without rushing, we should hit the mark in plenty of time.”

“I certainly hope so.  We need those medical supplies, Mr. Lab.  Make absolutely sure that everything is perfect, yes, but make certain to deliver on time.  A successful mission will be a boon for us, and a sure blow to their strength in this system.”

Chapter Two – Bunker Mates

Duncan rushed back to his workstation. The trip from Europa Station down to the moon’s surface had taken far more time than he had been willing to give up.  Some calculations were possible on his tablet, but the true work required his full bank of systems.  Security protocols kept him from accessing everything that he had in this room.  There was little remorse at the man he had nearly bowled over while sprinting out of the elevator; there was work to be done!  Computer monitors fired up, digital keyboards flickering to life, and drives began whirring online, all in response to his biometric presence.  It was a precautionary measure that he had developed which made his computers virtually useless without him.   It also drove his assistant particularly mad - especially when Duncan left without remembering to enable the override.  He generally forgot to do just that when heading up to Europa Station.

“Finally!”

The exclamation caught Duncan somewhat off guard; he jumped.  As the low lights powered up softly, his assistant rose from a cot in the corner, like the undead from rising from a grave.  Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, the young man careened groggily across the room, stifling a yawn, and narrowly missing a collision with a titanium support beam.

“Sorry about that Kine,” Duncan said smiling.

“Uh huh, sure you are.”

The young man dropped into his familiar, well-worn chair, and logged back into his workstation with his left hand, the other scratching absently at the back of his head.  Thick black hair dropped to just above his collar as he smoothed it out.  Several other tufts stuck out on the top and sides of his head.  His deep tan belied the fact that an obsession with the Bunker’s sunroom was likely to remain ingrained in him, as it was for his parents.

Kine had been born on Mars and moved out to the Jovian system with his parents at an early age.  He was far from a fan of the Olympus Union’s ideals and overarching power, and happy to be physically father away from their influence.  His parents hailed from what had previously been the nation of Brazil, on Earth.  That nation, as with all others, no longer existed by governmental decree when the Olympus Union encompassed all and renamed the home world’s landmasses.  The Americas had been joined into one new sector know as ‘Athena’ and the young Brazilian bristled at the fact that he was now lumped in with his ancestral neighbors, as well as those of his boss.  Considering the name of his former prison, Duncan wasn’t much of a fan either.

The histories of the individual nations that preceded the Olympus Union were under official eradication orders.  National history helped engender national pride, which could start dissent.  There was only one nation, now, and that was the Olympus Union.  The country of Brazil, known for passionate citizenry, had held tight to their traditions and history when possible.  Still the well-preserved stories were slowly slipping from the system-wide web, the information super highway having an Ares Elite of their own digital battle, it appeared.  None of that, of course, had stopped Kine from searching for at least the smallest bit of information regarding his heritage.

What he had come across which could help to better identify himself with his culture was an interesting practice that had taken place in Brazil for many years.  Duncan knew about this only because Kine had explained it, in detail, when the two men had first met.  Athletic stars, when achieving a certain level of fame and excellence, often dropped their surname to be called only by their first name, such as the soccer stars Renaldo and Geraldo.  Some, such as basketball star Nenê, soccer icon Pelé and heavy armor jousting sensation Cavador, selected long time nicknames to be their legally accepted monikers.  These men were all known by their adoring country men, by that one name, forever and beyond. 

Kine had been only a marginal soccer player, at best.  He loved the sport, but the sport loved neither him, nor his awkward body.  Still, to maintain a connection with his culture, the genius had decided to follow the tradition upon excelling at his own personal object of competition - advanced mathematics.  Duncan still had no idea what the young man’s birth name was.  Nor did he care, so long as a continued stream of excellence flowed from that overcharged brain and into their work.  Others that he personally knew, such as Kro and Hartee, were known by only one name.  It was more for mystery than a cultural connection, but it bore an effect that was similar enough; Duncan was willing to tolerate the affectation.

Kine had been in his quarters, asleep, when the testing session with Dax had been run.  The two men tried to stagger their rest to provide ample meeting time, but to ensure that someone was always working.  Part of his assistant’s frustration at the locked down computer systems had been coming on shift and ready to work roughly twenty minutes after Duncan’s transport had lifted off for the station.  Kine now had no concrete numbers to work from, although strangely, it didn’t appear to mean that he didn’t know what had transpired earlier.

“Tests ran pretty smoothly, right?”

“Yeah, for the most part.”

“Just a few modifications left,” he added nonchalantly.  It was a direct statement, not a question.  ”Need to correct a few inconsistencies, make it account for all contingencies, right boss?”

“Exactly.”

“You’ll need me to modify the deployment thrust algorithms in order to reduce inertial drift in vacuum to the lowest possible degree.  Most likely there’s some concern that a minefield left to sit for more than one day will drift just enough to wind up being caught in another body’s gravity field.  We slightly lose track of them, flip on the emitters, and our amazing wall of gravity sink drags itself half way to hell, and right out of being useful.”

Duncan jerked his fingers away from the keyboard, hands snapping back at the wrists, palms forward.  The rest of his body remained fairly still, except for his head, which slowly turned to look at his mathematical superstar.  Kine, for his part, hadn’t even stopped typing.  If he noticed either of the gestures, or was the slightest bit bothered by it, there was no sign.

“How in the hell did you know that?  The lab has been locked down for hours and you haven’t seen any numbers.  I’ve got the only copy of my presentation on my tablet and Dax Chandler doesn’t even know you exist.  How?”

“Well, let’s think about it for a micro minute, boss,” the Brazilian grinned, still continuing whatever he was typing.  ”You’re already something of a genius yourself.  Scored off the charts on most of the tests, right?  You’ve got that out-of-this-universe understanding of how the competing gravity fields that spider between Jupiter and its moons works.  Basically got a better idea of how to navigate out there than anyone else in Jovian space, including all of those space jocks.  If the trip signal for the mines’ deactivation switch had failed, or the emitters went haywire, I’d already know about the deaths from buzz around the Bunker.  That, and you’d be muttering about it the whole time you walked in.  You designed the whole security system, though, just like you designed ours in the lab.  They’re both state of the art and nearly un-crack-able.  So, what in the name of Great Jove could you possibly need me for?”

Kine finally stopped typing and cocked a thumb backwards toward his chest.

“This is the only guy anywhere in Olympus Union space who can show you how to make one plus one plus one equal zero, instead of three.”

“Fine, fine,” Duncan allowed himself a rare laugh.  ”So how long until you finish showing off and get me my firing algorithms?”

“A little more than an hour, give or take. Less if you stop asking me so many questions.”

Duncan couldn’t help but laugh again, smiling long after the two men stopped speaking.  Kine’s hands fluttered across his keyboard just as fast as his boss’ would.  It was actually a joy to work with the man over the past months.  Minister Andrews had been right; an end to his self-imposed isolation had been worthwhile.  Duncan had someone to share conversations with who was actually on his mental wavelength and shared some of his interests.  He had someone to share meals with who was his own age, with a relative frequency; Dax was only three days younger, but was often out doing his job. 

Even if Kine did talk about soccer too much, it was the closest thing to a friendship that Duncan had really considered since his imprisonment.  Kro was no friend - that much was certain.  Dax had earned some measure of trust, but Kine was in his presence more than any other person.  The Controller truly hoped that his assistant’s hatred for the Olympus Union was genuine.  He hoped that the zeal with which he threw himself into this work was legitimate.  Thoughts of betrayal always colored his interactions with others, since learning that his jailing was actually a set up.  He didn’t want to think that the mathematician would betray him.

At this point, Duncan would really hate to have Kine put to death.

Chapter Three – Conspiracy Planning

The mountain of muscle known simply as Hartee sat comfortably in his living room.  These quarters were a bit on the smaller side than what might be expected for a man quite so large.  Of course, there was little that reflected on him that might be categorized as typical.  Hartee was strikingly intelligent, not quite a genius but definitely above average.  His physical appearance, however, had the unique effect of directing most casual acquaintances and passers-by away from that reality.  This was, of course, the point.

An unusually shaved haircut, with stripes of coarse hair running back along his head was one of the few personal choices that were most readily assumed to make him thug-liked.  That they mixed with two differently colored eyes, however, left people more than put off by the full package.  Unknown to many, he had actually had the left eye dyed; it was a painful process but helped to meet his ends.  His penchant for speaking very little in public left those that he met wondering if the man even had the capacity to do so, but it too was more by design.  An awful liar, he couldn’t count on himself not to slip up and betray his intelligence.  The man lacked the arrogance of so many of his associates, but also found difficulty understanding how to mask his intelligence.  Truncated speech was all that he could think of to hide his mind.

Hidden almost as well was Hartee’s association with the clandestine Jovian system’s liberation movement.   ’