CHAPTER ONE

ATLAS STATION

WARFIELD

UNALIGNED SYSTEMS

2 SEPTEMBER 2775

House Master Po Ding walked casually through the market sector, taking in the sights and sounds of the open market on Atlas Station. Located just a few jumps from Terra, Atlas Station hung in position at the nadir point of the unaligned Warfield system, free from the gravitational pulls of the celestial bodies in the solar system. It was a hub of commerce and was the hub for the mercenary trade in human-colonized space. That trait brought Po Ding to this giant spinning cylinder in space.

He was the Shiao-zhang of the mercenary House Po Ding, a title that translated roughly as Lord Colonel. He was the leader of this mercenary band, but he was more than just a commanding officer, and House Po Ding was more than a mere mercenary outfit like so many others. Raised initially from the best and most adherent to his teachings from his family militia unit on the world of Freeloc, The House, as it was known to its members, was part mercenary company, part monastic order, and part family. 

They had just completed a mission, unsuccessfully, for the Merchant Queen of Ravenna and her Market Alliance. The simple raid had turned into a fight for the freedom of an entire planet when The Horde, a tribalistic space empire, had interjected themselves into the fight. It had become a fight for freedom and survival; unfortunately, they had barely broken even in terms of finances.

And so Po found himself and his band of warriors here on Atlas station in search of a new contract, something that would hopefully put them back into the black on the ledger. There had been several nibbles, but nothing enticing after their last contract's technical default. The mercenary trade was a cutthroat business, and reputation was worth almost as much as anything else. While The House had proven themselves fearsome warriors, the fact that they had failed to return with the loot that the Merchant Queen had demanded had put something of a damper on their image. Now it was time to rebuild and rebound. 

Everything had changed this morning, however, when a prospective client came to them with an offer sheet that might just fit the bill. Po was on his way to meet that client, and alongside him was his friend and second-in-command Maxwell Ma.

“We don’t want to be late, Po,” Max said.

Po stopped at a fruit stand and picked up a ripe naranjilla, hefting it in his hand as if deciding on something of great importance. 

“We will arrive in plenty of time, my friend. You should take time to enjoy some of the scenery here. An open-air market in the middle of space is a wondrous thing.”

And he did not exaggerate. The open-air market on Atlas Station was something to behold. It brought vendors from dozens of worlds together in unaligned territory, a melting pot that was almost unheard of in colonized human space. It was so massive that one could easily forget that they were on a space station rotating in a dead zone in space. It was as if a person was walking on a market on any of a hundred planets that mankind had colonized since leaving Mother Earth.

“A contract would be a wondrous thing at this point.” Max quipped. Always there to keep Po grounded, that was the way it was. Po and Max had been friends since childhood, despite the differences in their parentage. Po was of noble birth, the only son of a wealthy estate on Freeloc. Max was the son of a servant. The two had been nearly inseparable since they were children, Po helping his friend along, and Max keeping Po grounded lest his head become too big.

Po replaced the fruit and bowed respectfully to the shop owner. “Very well, Max, we will rush along.”

The two made their way through the crowd, surprisingly not looking out of place in their House robes of green and beige. PO resisted the urge to stop at several of the shops as he glanced at his chronometer. Max was right, it would not due to be late meeting a prospective client. Nearing the edge of the market, the two made their way to one of the many core shuttles that soon whisked them away into the business district.

Atlas Station was a floating city in space, with various districts and zones, each offering something unique. They had just left the Market district and were now flying through the business zone with great speed. The core shuttle dropped them close to their destination, and they made the rest of the way on foot to a small office space that had been rented out to them for meeting prospective clients.

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The space was neat, if a bit worn. It was rented out by the hour to various people looking to broker business, most of it in the mercenary trade. There was a slight musty smell in the air as the scrubbers dedicated to recycling the air in this particular unit were on the older side and needed constant maintenance. But the price was right, and that was all that mattered to Po.

As he and Max entered, they were greeted by a couple that looked more like working class than business, their brown jumpsuits were tidy enough, but showed a degree of wear that said that these were the clothes these people lived in rather than dressing up to put on a presentation. It might have scared some mercs away, but not Po. If their credit was good, that was all that mattered to him at this point.

The pair stood as Po and Max walked up to the small conference table. They wore smiles that seemed natural enough, almost hearty to Po, and he reciprocated with a smile of his own.

“You are the delegation from Rowe?” he asked.

The man on the right extended his hand, “We are indeed. I am Michael Yare and this is my colleague Annette Harrow. And I take it you are House Master Po Ding?”

Po nodded. “I am indeed, Po Ding, and this is my Ying-zhang, Maxwell Ma. We are both very pleased to meet you and I hope that we can come to some agreement that will solve your problems. Shall we be seated?”

Everyone agreed and took their seats.

“What do you know of Rowe?” the man asked, taking the lead and letting his female colleague set up a small holoprojector in the center of the table.

As the image of the planet Rowe appeared, Po spoke up. “Not much. I know it is an industrial world, I think there is a CAM factory or munitions plant of some note there, but that is all I know.” 

CAMs or Combat Assault Mecha were the primary means of combat in the twenty-eighth century. Giant war machines up to ten meters tall and some weighing in at nearly a hundred tons, they were piloted by the few elites enough to ride them into battle against other CAMs. The modern battlefield still contained tanks, infantry, and power armored troopers, but the CAMs were the king of the hill, and those who piloted them were in high demand. Most were part of some state military, owing allegiance to one lord or another. But many more were mercenaries who sold their skills to the highest bidder. And very often they were the tools that helped to shape the future of entire planets. It was a gargantuan responsibility.

“Yes, Trellis Industries, manufacturer of the Partisan-class CAM, has its headquarters in our world. They also manufacture weapons and munitions for export. We’re a non-aligned world, so we can sell to pretty much any buyer.” The man seemed to have no love for Trellis Industries.

This time, the woman spoke up. “Trellis dominates everything on the planet, not just manufacturing. They practically run the government. It’s a micro-corporate state, with the planetary Legate a member of the Trellis family.”

The holoprojector changed to show an image of the capital city, a heavily industrialized metropolis. Po stroked his black goatee. “I take it that you are not very fond of the Trellis Family?”

The man guffawed. “You could say that. For years now, the ruling corporate elite have been milking the planet dry, and the average citizen or worker has little to no say in how things are run. Some of us believe that to be wrong, and we want change.”

Po narrowed his eyes. “Is there no redress for the people’s grievances? I assume there are some form of planetary elections?”

The woman put her hand on the table. “The elections are in name only. All the candidates are bought and paid for by Trellis, and the planetary parliament is little more than a corporate sham. The Legate is a Trellis, and basically rules by fiat.”

“I am moved by your plight, but we are a mere mercenary battalion. What is it that you think we have to offer?” Po asked.

Yare leaned in. “We are part of a group, no, a revolution. We call ourselves the Workers Liberation Front, the WLF, or Wolves. We have been gathering momentum for years, taking direct action against the government. But the one thing the government has that we lack is CAMs. What few uprisings we have managed to engineer have been put down in bloody fashion by the CAM-heavy Trellis Security Force. Our world is simmering, a powder keg about to explode. But we need CAMs if we are to win our freedom. That is where you come in. With a trained CAM-heavy force, we can defeat the TSF and allow the people to rise and take control of their own affairs. We are a democratic movement in action, we simply lack the muscle to back it up. That is where you come in, hopefully.”

Po nodded. “Not to sound skeptical, but revolutions are often poorly funded. What exactly is it that you are offering?”

The woman smacked her hand against the table. “Arms. We are a planet awash with arms and munitions. We can pay a hefty sum in material.”

“If you win.” Po pointed out.

“Yes, everything is predicated on our victory. Payment is a small amount in cash, and the remainder is in future support and gratitude from a liberated Rowe. We are desperate for help, but the payoff is potentially huge.”

Po looked at Max, who nodded, before continuing. “My friends, I think you have just bought yourselves a revolution.”