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  DECISIVE ACTION

  PERILOUS ALLIANCE

  BOOK 3.5

  BY M. D. COOPER

  & CHRIS J. PIKE

  Just in Time (JIT) & Beta Readers

  Copyright © 2019 M. D. Cooper & Chris J. Pike

  Aeon 14 is Copyright © 2019 M. D. Cooper

  Version 1.0

  Cover Art by Andrew Dobell

  Editing by Jen McDonnell, Bird’s Eye Books

  Aeon 14 & M. D. Cooper are registered trademarks of Mal Cooper

  All rights reserved

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  FOREWORD

  PREVIOUSLY…

  CLEAR AND PRESENT

  HARD DAY’S NIGHT

  AID

  ATMO TOWER

  MEANWHILE, IN HEAVEN

  THE SHADE

  WELCOME TO HELL

  AN UPGRADE

  MAN WITH A MISSION

  OUTSIDE

  THE PINCER

  TO GROUND

  STRAND

  AN OLD FRIEND

  TOWER DEFENSE

  CRASH AND BURN

  FINAL FAREWELL

  THE BOOKS OF AEON 14

  ABOUT THE AUTHORS

  FOREWORD

  I’ve wanted write this story for some time, to come back to Montral and spend some time on its dark and gritty streets.

  Gedri is an interesting star system. A large, orange star, with a low-mass red dwarf named Townsend orbiting it. The planets are spaced widely enough that Townsend is tucked in amongst them, making the star more like a planet.

  And in orbit of Townsend, we find Jericho. A planet that had been—mostly—terraformed in the past, but due to a poor foundation and neglect, has regressed back into a near-lifeless rock.

  The surface cities have been domed over, and few people live beyond their protective shielding.

  Ancient riverbeds, crevasses, and canyons are the only places on Jericho where life remains, hardy species of plants engineered to thrive even in thinner atmosphere. We encountered one of these in Collision Course when the Dauntless crashed on Jericho.

  I spent a lot of time crafting this setting, and I have a strong urge to write more stories here. We’re going to meet some new characters in this book, denizens of Montral, the capital city on Jericho, and perhaps we’ll see some of them get their own books. Maybe a gritty noir detective type of story…

  We’ll just have to see where the characters take us.

  M. D. Cooper

  Danvers, 2019

  PREVIOUSLY…

  Decisive Action takes place roughly in the middle of the Perilous Alliance series, directly following the events of Strike Vector and Collision Course.

  If you recall, at the end of Strike Vector, Kylie was forced to help Maverick become president of the Gedri Freedom Alliance (the local government in the Gedri System). Upon receiving the title, Maverick promptly declared Gedri’s independence from the Silstrand Alliance and declared war on Silstrand.

  Though the Silstrand Space Force had a fleet present in the Gedri System, many of those ships were recalled to the Silstrand System to defend the capital against the Revolution Fleet, led by Kylie’s father.

  A few SSF ships remained in Gedri, falling back to a half-dozen stations that were far enough from Freemont and Jericho—Maverick’s two major power bases.

  Unbeknownst to Maverick, the SSF—along with help from the Intrepid Space Force—defeated the Revolution Fleet at Silstrand, and joined Tanis Richards’ alliance. The Transcend’s Field Marshal has mandated that Silstrand take control of the Fringe systems between Scipio and the ASN. If Gedri falls to chaos, then the SSF will have no hope in securing the Fringe.

  Tanis knows this, and tasks two of her ISF destroyers to escort a fleet of ships into the Gedri System to take control of the situation there before it devolves further into chaos.

  After his exemplary performance—and aided by Tanis’s recommendation—Colonel Grayson is given command of the SSF fleet, a command he is all too eager to have, for one reason only: it puts President Maverick squarely in his crosshairs.

  But Maverick has an ace up his sleeve. Grayson’s former AI, Jerrod, has been shackled and placed in Maverick’s mind, giving him direct access to everything he could ever want to know about the Silstrand Space Force….

  CLEAR AND PRESENT

  STELLAR DATE: 09.26.8948 (Adjusted Years)

  LOCATION: GFS Satisfaction, en route to Jericho

  REGION: Gedri System, Silstrand Alliance

  “Francis!” Maverick called out from the low couch where he sipped his wine while watching the slow-motion dance still unfolding around Freemont and The Futz.

  The battle with the SSF and the opposition forces was over—for the most part. A few ships were still taking potshots at one another, a lot more were looting any hull not capable of putting up a defense, and still others were chasing off the remaining Silstrand Space Force ships, hoping to disable and capture one of the military cruisers.

  Idiots, Maverick thought with a laugh.

  There were few ships in Gedri capable of going toe-to-toe with a Silstrand Space Force cruiser while it was surrounded by a destroyer escort. The scavengers chasing after the SSF fleet would only meet with destruction.

  The time isn’t ripe yet to make that sort of strike.

  Of course, the composition of the pursuers was entirely of his design. The ships he’d sent to chase the enemy out of Silstrand all belonged to interests that he wished to weaken. Everything was a game, every faction, ship, and even person in Gedri a pawn for him to move about the board.

  “Yes, Mister President?” Francis gasped breathlessly as she appeared in the room’s entrance.

  “What the hell took you so long?” Maverick asked in annoyance, not bothering to glance at the collared woman.

  “I’m sorry,” her eyes were cast downward as she walked forward slowly. “I was just coming back down from the bridge. Captain Lawrence says we’re on time for our rendezvous with the Icapus.”

  “Good,” Maverick replied. “And Sylvia is aboard? With the package?”

  “Yes, Mister President. I confirmed it personally.”

  He nodded, flicking his gaze to her for a moment, taking in her lithe body. She was—for the moment, at least—his favorite girl, which meant that she ruled his brood of women. It was a task to which she was well-suited, though it also made her dangerous.

  He’d watched how effectively Francis commanded and corralled his other slaves, yet she could turn those airs off in a moment and be totally subservient to him—which meant her obedience was an act. She was biding her time, waiting until the perfect moment to strike out at him.

  That, as much as anything else, was what made her his favorite.

  Today, she wore a skintight, pink bodysheath that complemented her lavender hair. Her feet were perched on heels that held her feet en pointe, and the collar around her neck held her head high. The corset she wore drew her waist down to a circumference he could almost wrap his hands around, the restriction causing her to constantly be out of breath.

  It was also impossible for her to sit down in the outfit, though she could perch on stools and the edge of tables. Not that he ever let her do so in his presence.

  Another part of the game. Let her rise up above his other slaves, but remind her at every turn that she was his creature. She would never be free—not until he was done with her. Then death would be her final release.

  She’d reached his side, standing on the tips of her toes with expert precision as she waited his pleasure. Years ago, when he’d first forced her to wear shoes that held her feet that way, Francis had barely been able to walk, often crying from the pain as she minced about.

  But over time, she’d gotten used to it, and now lord
ed her ability to walk on her toes over the other slaves. He suspected that she’d bribed someone for surgery at some point to re-enforce her toes, but he didn’t care enough to investigate. If she’d managed that, then it was a small enough reward that he’d let it slide.

  She’d proven herself useful enough for that.

  Thoughts of useful slaves brought to mind Harken and Kylie, two women who had once held positions similar to Francis’s. He’d made the mistake of uncollaring both of them, removing his ability to inflict instant and excruciating pain.

  He regretted granting either of them any measure of freedom. Both had ultimately rebelled, a testament to the mistake of granting any woman freedom.

  Grasping creatures.

  While Harken was dead, Kylie still lived. Somewhere out there, she was hiding, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. How the bitch could be so ungrateful was beyond him, but when the time came, she’d beg to be granted a fraction of the mercy he showed Francis.

  As he thought of her, the woman at his side shifted, and the rage he felt at Kylie intensified, needing an outlet.

  “Why can’t you stand still, bitch?” he muttered, glancing at the pink-clad legs that were now frozen half a meter away. “Should I just cut those things off? Put you on a little hover board?”

  Francis sucked in a breath and shook her head. “No, Mav—Mister President. Please. It would impact my ability to carry out your orders.”

  He snorted. “You always say that about everything I propose. Still, it’s about time I reminded you who’s in charge around here. I can’t have you getting a big head.”

  The slave didn’t respond, though he could see her knuckles whiten as she clasped her hands tightly together.

  “Maybe I should take your voice?” he suggested. “Seal your lips shut. You can use the Link to talk.”

  “If you wish,” Francis nodded as much as her collar would allow. “Though not all of your servants and slaves have the Link. How would I instruct them?”

  He snorted a laugh. “I’ll give you a little voice box. Make sure it sounds robotic. What do you think of that?”

  Her lips pursed for a moment, but she replied dutifully, “If you wish.”

  “I mean,” he continued as though she hadn’t responded, “I could take your eyes, but I really like the way they glint with rage when I beat you.”

  At his words, her gaze shifted, darting from the floor to his face, and he saw the anger she’d been working to hide.

  “Yes, just like that. I certainly wouldn’t want to deprive myself of that final spark of freedom you have.”

  Her stance shifted, widening slightly, and he snapped his fingers. “Of course! I know what would be perfect. You pride yourself in turning my punishment into a victory, the way you can now walk on your toes. I wonder how well you’ll manage if you can no longer bend your knees? That should be fun to watch.”

  “My knees, sir?” she stammered. “What are you going to do?”

  “I’ll have them fused. I can only imagine what your strut will look like then. Maybe we’ll do your elbows, too. You’ll look like some sort of malfunctioning automaton.”

  A ragged sigh escaped Francis’s throat. “As you wish, Maverick. Should I report to the autodoc?”

  Coarse laughter filled the room as Maverick rose and strode toward Francis. “Yes, but not until after the Icapus docks with the Satisfaction. I want you mobile—as much as you are—until then.”

  He stopped centimeters from her and placed his hands on her shoulders, running them down her sides to wrap around her waist and then cup her ass, pulling her close.

  “And then I’m going to beat you every day for being too slow. How do you like the sound of that?”

  “I love it,” she said, her voice a perfect mixture of obedience and fear. “I love everything you do to me, Maverick.”

  He stepped back. “Of course you do. Speaking of things I do to people, is Mercedes finished with her procedure?”

  “Soon,” Francis replied. “The collar is fitted, now the doctors are working on splicing the control systems into her pain receptors. Then she’ll be fully under your control, like she should be.”

  “Good.” Maverick turned and walked back to the couch, collapsing onto the cushions. “Then we’ll find out if she shared everything she knew of the former president’s plans. I still think she might be a plant from Scipio. If that’s the case, she’ll be exceptionally useful.” He glanced at Francis. “Maybe more useful than you.”

  She paled slightly, but nodded. “If that is your wish.”

  “Don’t presume to know my wishes,” he said, waving a hand at her in dismissal. “Now get the fuck out of here. Let me know if there are any delays with the Icapus.”

  “Yes, Mister President.”

  With the woman out of the room, Maverick began drawing up orders to disperse amongst his ship captains. Their time as rag-tag pirates and privateers was over. Gedri’s space force would require order and discipline if they were to hold out against Silstrand in the long run.

  * * * * *

  Francis sagged against the bulkhead, her breath coming in shuddering gasps that were fueled by a mixture of fear and rage. That Maverick would inflict more torture and humiliation on her after all she’d done for him was enough to make her see red.

  She’d hoped that by proving to be indispensable, she could earn the same freedoms he had granted the others, and then she’d be able to escape his sickening clutches.

  That hope was dying a slow death.

  He’d achieved one of his greatest goals—to be president of the Gedri Freedom Alliance. He controlled the entire star system…in no small part to her work behind the scenes.

  And this is how he rewards me?

  Despite her rage, Francis knew that she had few options but to obey Maverick. Though he appeared to rely on her for all sorts of information, she knew that he secretly cross-checked much of what he was told. The fact that he’d survived for so long in the cutthroat world of Gedri’s crime syndicates was testament to his paranoia.

  He saw threats everywhere, and eliminated them with extreme prejudice.

  Acting against him was beyond foolhardy, it was inviting a death sentence.

  Still, she pushed herself up straight and began to walk toward the airlock where she’d meet Sylvia. There must be a way. There must. And if I can’t break free from him, then I’ll find a way to kill us both.

  She held in a laugh, knowing that he might be watching and listening through the ship’s internal sensors. The knowledge that he probably was checking up on her only galvanized her resolve.

  She was unshakable.

  She hoped.

  HARD DAY’S NIGHT

  STELLAR DATE: 09.30.8948 (Adjusted Years)

  LOCATION: City of Montral, Jericho

  REGION: Gedri System, Gedri Freedom Alliance

  Kal slouched down the dark alley in Montral’s Ventralla District, long cloak obscuring his form, and hood hiding his face.

  A light drizzle was falling, and the ground was wet—slick from the grease and slime in the alley, getting enough moisture to begin to ooze toward the closest drain.

  He wondered if that was why it rained in Montral to begin with. The city was under a dome, so it wasn’t as though they were at the mercy of any planetary weather—of which there was little on Jericho. The idea that the periodic rain existed only to wash a bit of filth off the city amused him. It was just the sort of thing that would pass for normal in the degenerate place.

  “Hey, Al,” he said as he passed a garbage bin, nodding to the man who lived next to it, for some definition of the word ‘lived’.

  “Screw you, Kal,” the man grunted.

  Kal only laughed, tossed a credit chit in the bum’s direction, and kept walking. He’d never known Al to have a single nice word to say to anyone, but that didn’t have any bearing on Kal’s generosity.

  Not that it was entirely altruistic. A lot of shit went down in Ventralla. Shit that affect
ed half the cases Kal worked. Having extra eyes on the street never hurt—more than once, he’d gotten key intel from folks in Al’s position

  Never from Al, but there might come a day.

  He turned his focus back to the end of the alley, where a single light hung above a windowless door. There was no sign because one wasn’t needed. Everyone who needed to already knew about the Yucatan.

  Kal wished he didn’t need to know, but there wasn’t much he could do about that anymore. This was where his life had led, and it was up to him to make the most of it.

  He reached the door and passed it an encrypted token over the Link. Nothing happened for almost a minute, and then it finally opened, and he stepped through into the dark stairway.

  To the best of his knowledge, no human reviewed the token, and the door was in good repair—though it didn’t look it. So far as he could tell, the delay in opening was a random wait time someone had programmed into the auth system to mess with people.

  Either that, or they programmed it in just to mess with me.

  Kal wouldn’t put it past the Yucatan’s proprietors. They didn’t really like him that much, but they tolerated him because he’d helped so many of Ventralla’s citizens out of tight binds.

  He reached the bottom of the stairs, once again facing a windowless door. This one also took a token to open, and he listened to the dull thud of music and muffled conversation passing through it while the system took its time deciding whether or not he was worthy.

  Finally, the door opened, blasting him with the Yucatan’s sound, sight, and smell.

  The main room wasn’t large, just a hair over twenty by forty meters. The bar occupied the far end of the room, stools bolted to the floor lining the space in front of it. The rest of the space was filled with tables that had seen better days, few of which matched the others.

  The denizens matched even less. From the flamboyant pilots of the Jara Guild to the thugs who worked the East Side Docks outside the dome, all kinds found their way to the Yucatan. The one common bond was that everyone here was willing to do something on the side to make some extra scratch.