With Grimm Resolve: A Military Sci-Fi Series (Grimm's War Book 2) Read online

  WITH GRIMM RESOLVE

  ©2022 JEFFERY H. HASKELL

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  CONTENTS

  Also in Series

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Epilogue

  Thank you for reading With Grimm Resolve

  About the Author

  ALSO IN SERIES

  AGAINST ALL ODDS

  WITH GRIMM RESOLVE

  ONE DECISIVE VICTORY

  CHAPTER ONE

  Mr. Albatross stepped off the shuttle, wrapping his hi-tech scarf around his nose as the sour smell of sulfur hit him like a slap in the face. The bitter cold clawed at his fingers as he pulled on his gloves. He hated Zuckabar Central, and he cursed the VP who sent him to deal with the Guild’s terraforming operation.

  The landing pad was little more than four lights anchored to a concrete slab next to the spaceport. No shelter, no covered walkway—it was like landing back in time.

  A young man with dark skin and the uniform of an Alliance Marine waved to get his attention. “Mr. Albatross?”

  Before responding, he scanned the area and picked up his anachronistic leather satchel with gold clasps.

  “Yes?”

  “Lance Corporal Samuel Torres, sir. I’m here to escort you to the governor’s office.”

  Mr. Albatross looked the marine up and down. He prided himself as an excellent judge of character. It took him all of half a second to place Corporal Torres in the “unimportant” category.

  “Where’s the aircar?” he asked.

  “This way, sir,” Torres said with a gesture.

  He led the way toward the farthest terminal, staying silent as they walked. Albatross noticed that the marine wore a sidearm, which seemed utterly ridiculous on a civilized planet inside the Alliance. A nearby shuttle fired up its air-breathing plasma engines, sending a blast of heat and noise across the field as it lifted off. Torres held his hand up to ward off the extra wind.

  Once inside the terminal, his marine escort led him down the long passage to the exit leading to the parking garage. Albatross noted the changes from the last time he had visited. There were plenty of new constructions happening—the Alliance wasted no time in “fixing up” their acquisition. Clearly, they had money to spare, which worked in his favor. They had failed to pay the monthly fees to the Terraforming Guild since they had annexed the system. If they had the money to build, they had money to pay. He grinned beneath his filtered scarf. He always enjoyed outsmarting his clients.

  Torres led him to the side garage where the transport vehicles were parked. Albatross stopped, snarling silently as the six-wheeled military vehicle came into view. Torres didn’t hesitate to open the scissor-like door and climb into the large, ugly vehicle.

  Albatross noted the calculated insult. First, sending a military driver, and second, transporting him like some kind of common soldier. He made a mental note to increase their rate by a quarter percent for such an inconvenience.

  “I take it the military is running the system?” he asked as he circled the front.

  The passenger door automatically opened, and Albatross placed his bag carefully on the deck before climbing up and latching himself in.

  “Aye, sir, the Navy runs the station. We have the planet—not that it’s much to have,” Torres said.

  The marine’s idiotic grin annoyed Albatross further. Torres drove out of the garage, only pausing for a moment to make sure the way was clear before turning onto the main street. The large military vehicle—a “Mudcat,” based on the metal identification plate on the center console—was nimbler than Albatross thought, based on its size.

  “It’s ten minutes to HQ, sir,” Torres said.

  Albatross ignored him. Instead, he was running the numbers. The nanite network installed in his brain gave him access to all the Guild’s data on any planet.

  The networks were exorbitantly expensive and far beyond the reach of any one civilian. Yet not beyond the Guild’s reach. Besides data and authorizing his identity, this tech gave him instant access to a supercomputer and the ability to “remember” everything it held. There were downsides, of course. There always were. Heat was a problem. Using too much power caused the nanites to heat up, potentially frying his brain. Thankfully, safeguards were in place to prevent such an occurrence, but it was a good reason to classify people upon meeting them. If they were unimportant, then it wasn’t necessary to use his nanites to store data about them.

  “Here we are, sir,” Corporal Torres said as he parked the Mudcat in a slot outside a squat building only three stories tall.

  Albatross scowled. “I need to see the acting governor, not a flunky,” he said. “Take me to where he is.”

  Corporal Torres grinned. “He’s in there, sir. The general isn’t much for flash or pomp.”

  Albatross grunted, opening the door and climbing down.

  “And sir?” Torres added.

  “Yes?”

  “He’s not the acting governor, sir. He’s the governor. I’ll be here when you’re ready to return to the spaceport.”

  Albatross turned without acknowledging the flunky, making his way through the wind and snow to the inauspicious front door. They slid apart as he approached, bathing him in heat and light. A breeze followed him in, rustling his clothes as the cold air rushed into the warm lobby.

  A single desk, barely more than a table with legs, sat in the center of the lobby. A marine, as plain as the desk she manned and dressed in the insufferable gray and white camouflage, smiled up at him.

  “Mr. Albatross, welcome to the governor’s office. General Remington will see you at your convenience.” She pushed a button on her desk and a lift on the opposite wall opened.

  Without acknowledging her, he strode into the lift. The doors shut and the lift took him to the third deck. The general’s room, though large, was less than impressive and only decorated by a single picture window. Albatross was two steps out of the lift when he realized it wasn’t a window at all but a screen showing one of the two Guild-owned fusion reactors.

  They were located at each of the poles and almost a kilometer long, its giant exhaust cones spewed water vapor into the air by the millions of cubic meters per day—a process that had run for almost 300 years and would take another 300 before it was finished.

  The simple wooden desk held a lone terminal and no decorations. The man behind the desk wore a short-sleeved brown shirt with his name, “Remington,” on one side, and “Marine” on the other. A square block of medals and awards was placed neatly under his name. If Albatross focused, his nanites would decipher each one. He just wasn’t interested in knowing the names of made-up awards for things he
couldn’t care less about.

  The general stood, extending a solidly muscled arm to him. His brown uniform had the crisp lines of a man who took pride in his outward appearance. He looked to be in his thirties, but in fact, was almost seventy. The anti-aging treatments of the Alliance worked wonders, even if they didn’t extend one’s life span much past double what it would naturally be. However, for the time they had, recipients could look and feel youthful.

  Albatross set his briefcase down and accepted the offered hand. His respect for the man notched up a few places. Albatross was a thinker, and his body was only as fit as necessary for his job. Some would describe him as “rail-thin” because of his gaunt appearance. Many more physically imposing men had tried to take advantage of him and prove their dominance through severe handshakes. In the end, though, physical strength was no match for his intellect. He always won out.

  “Mr. Albatross, General John Remington. It’s a pleasure to have you here, sir. How can the Alliance Marine Corps help you?” he asked in a deep baritone that wouldn’t have been out of place in an opera house.

  Albatross nodded and sat in the simple chair facing the desk that matched the office’s spartan nature. He lifted his case, resting it on his lap as he opened it. The paperwork inside was for Remington’s benefit, as Albatross had the material considerations stored in his nanites. He handed the paper to the general and sat back with a self-satisfied smile.

  “The Alliance owes the Terraforming Guild twenty-two point three billion solar dollars, plus interest. Payments are due immediately. Also, monthly payments of three hundred and eighty-three million must resume without delay. If not, a penalty of ten million per day will be imposed. As you can see, it’s in everyone’s best interest to resolve this matter.” He paused, searching for the right word, “ASAP, as you say.”

  Albatross smiled, leaning back, certain this would restore the status quo and put the Guild back in charge. Remington sat the papers aside without looking at them. The general glanced over his shoulder at the screen behind him, then back to Albatross.

  “Mr. Albatross, I am unaware of the particulars of your contract with the former government of Zuckabar, but that government was dissolved. It no longer exists. I’m afraid the Alliance has no obligation to pay the Guild for services we didn’t request,” he said in a pleasant enough voice.

  Albatross was surprised the man would take that specific tack. Then again, they always tried to negotiate or claim they weren’t responsible for payments.

  “General, regardless of who controls this system now, the two fusion terraformers belong to the Guild. If the Systems Alliance wishes to continue its excellent relationship with the Guild, it will pay the arrears and move on.”

  Remington leaned forward, placing his elbows on the desk.

  “And if we don’t?” he asked in the same polite tone he’d used since Albatross entered.

  “Then we shut off the terraformers and terminate all business with the Alliance. Might I remind you, there are other planets in Alliance space with contracts for terraforming. Rōnin, Ohana, Weber, and Vishnu will all lose their terraformers. I hardly think the Alliance can afford to lose four of its more important planets,” he said with a smug air.

  Albatross was used to his opponents reacting emotionally, but Remington’s stone face gave nothing away.

  Silence stretched for long moments before Remington spoke again. “That would be… unfortunate.”

  Albatross shifted in his seat. Something was going on, something unusual. When he collected payments, the discussion followed a simple pattern. First pleasantries, then shock and denial, followed by anger and, eventually, capitulation. After all, there was no alternative. If the Guild shut the terraformers down, the planet would become lifeless. It was true in almost every circumstance.

  Especially on Zuckabar.

  “Mr. Remington—”

  The marine interrupted him with an upraised hand.

  “General. I’m an officer in the United Systems Alliance Marine Corps, not a civilian,” he said with a perfectly pleasant expression.

  Albatross froze, unused to being interrupted. “Fine, General, perhaps you don’t grasp the situation here. Let me make it simple. Pay, or we shut down the terraformers here and in the rest of the Alliance. If I don’t leave Zuckabar with payment, your contracts will be considered void, and penalties will be applied. Whether you pay now, or in five years after a lengthy and expensive court battle, you will pay.”

  Albatross folded his arms defiantly, daring the general to counter his argument.

  “You misunderstand, Mr. Albatross—”

  There it was—the reversal. Albatross smiled as he knew the man would change course. There was always some fool trying to get one over on the Guild. However, their organization pre-dated every current government except Terra. They were more powerful and resilient, with access to far more resources than anyone could possibly understand. After all, almost every government, no matter how friendly or hostile, relied on their technology and expertise for many of the planets they inhabited.

  “I’m not suggesting we would default on any legally owed debt. I’m telling you that we signed no contract with the Guild for Zuckabar. The government that did was dissolved by law. We aren’t legally liable for any debts they incurred. You will be hard-pressed to find any court that will side with you on this matter.”

  General Remington held his hand up to stop Albatross from speaking. “Before you ask, I am a lawyer. I have studied the law for the better part of forty years, military and civilian. I’m also a marine, so I do not make idle threats or speak without commitment. We’re not paying your Guild a dime for Zuckabar.”

  Albatross sputtered, losing his composure for a moment. Why did he feel as if the balance of power had shifted to the marine? The Guild had all the cards to play, not the Marine Corps. Not some random general with delusions of grandeur, that was for sure.

  “Fine. If you want to play hardball, then consider the services of the Guild terminated. By our calculations, you have,” Albatross looked within, accessing his nanite network. “Eight months until the planet becomes uninhabitable. At that point, you will have undone three hundred years of work. Ultimately, you will pay. Either now or in six months. You have five seconds to comply.”

  With his nanite network open, Albatross triggered the shutdown, set the counter for five seconds and let it run.

  The general leaned back with an easy smile. “I’m not accustomed to repeating myself, Mr. Albatross. I would suggest you do what you think is necessary. But remember, whatever happens next, you wanted it,” Remington said.

  Not one iota of emotion crossed his face or showed in his voice.

  The lack of reaction infuriated Albatross. Why wasn’t he responding the way he should?

  “That’s not how the courts will see it, I promise you,” Albatross said.

  In his mind, the counter reached zero… but nothing happened.

  “I’m waiting,” General Remington said with a ghost of a smile.

  Albatross stared at the screen in disbelief, his mouth partially opening as he searched for a reply. He sent the signal again, and still, nothing happened. He tried to access the terraformers directly, using the communications channels known only to the Guild. No one knew how deeply they had infiltrated Zuckabar’s computer systems. No one in the galaxy knew the truth. Was it a trick? Were they showing him a recorded image of the reactors running even though they weren’t?

  “The situation is slightly more complicated than you think,” General Remington said. “Six months ago, when we annexed the system, we discovered a Caliphate spy network here. The quick actions of Fleet Admiral Villanueva destroyed their base. However, because of the infiltration, we couldn’t take any chances. The Navy Corps of Engineers moved into Kremlin and took the station’s computers apart, chip by chip. What do you think they found?”