The A.E.C.’s headquarters was the size of a small state. It’s sprawling main campus looked like something from a fairytale. Sun dappled glades gave way to luxurious fields of real grass, forests with real trees, and streams with purified water. Children of A.E.C. executives romped through this wonderland and studied in open air classrooms.
Its offices looked like modern day castles, reaching up towards one of the largest and most sophisticated weather domes in the world. The grounds were also home to a bevy of extinct species, recreated through a combination of bio technology and robotics.
Underneath the pristine lawns and twinkling fountains was a much different environment.
The Casters employed there worked brutal shifts that didn’t follow to circadian rhythms. They were sent off on their next Cast before their bodies had fully recovered from the last, giving them all a wraithlike appearance. Trackers were implanted in their bodies should they decide to wander off.
The A.E.C. combed prisons, backwater colonies and military units to find anyone with a shred of psychic capability. They were promised new lives, working with cutting edge equipment, and building towards the freedom of their own mining operations. Once their duties were paid of course. This put them in a state of indentured servitude from which they could never recover. Their only hope was to struggle on.
Shuttles full of drained Casters pulled through the heavily fortified underground gates of the Casting facility. The toll of their last operation was evident. Powering the massive Golem had drained them of all their energy. Most limped down from the vehicles, lining up to return to their meager bunks for a moment’s rest. Some left on stretchers.
High above the dread march of the depleted, in the tallest tower of the complex, was the primary office of the system’s most powerful individual. Not one of the bloated political figureheads seen on the feeds. Few even knew of his existence. He was the puppet master, and the world was his stage.
His assistant Bernard Soloman was sweatily rushing down a stark hallway, juggling an armload of papers. His round body bobbed back and forth as his short legs scooted him down the comically long passage. Bernard was an incredibly smart man, although the ravages of anxiety could be seen on his face, making him look a decade older than his 52 years. His boss had just returned from an extremely sensitive mission, and its success or failure would determine Bernard’s fate.
Finally, he reached the end of the interminable corridor, and took a moment to compose himself before stepping in. He blotted his dripping brow with his papers, took a deep breath, and stepped forward as the automatic doors whizzed open.
Augustus Krueger stood at his command podium overlooking the A.E.C. nerve center. He cut an imposing figure. Bernard had never seen him wear anything aside from military fatigues. He was tall and muscular, with tan skin and cold blue eyes. His crew cut blonde hair was topped with a beret.
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Bernard waited a tense moment before Krueger's meaty fist smashed down into the podium, sending a flurry of sparks. Failure then.
Startled technicians busied themselves at terminals arranged in rows below him, and screens blanketed the walls. An omnipresent alert was strobing red light across the room, adding to the tension.
“That god damned little runt.” Krueger said in his grizzly voice, fist returning to his side. A small robot quietly beeped out from a portal in the wall and began sweeping up the scattered circuitry at the base of the podium. Krueger stomped it with a bulky army boot.
“Should’ve ended him back when I had the chance. Scrawny little twerp...” he ground his boot into the floor, popping the circuit panels and casings of the robot.
“Erm, uh, good day sir. I have the reports you asked for,” Bernard piped in hesitantly.
He scooted around and chanced a look up from the floor up to Krueger’s face.
His brow was knotted, broken by the large scar that bisected his face diagonally. He held a grimace above his stubbly chin.
Krueger had been a golden child at the Academy, in the same starting class as Gondo. He was a brilliant tactician, and a ruthless combatant. After school, while Gondo went into the private sector, Krueger chose the military route. He rose through the ranks quickly to become commander of the Psych Division, which was sent to the outer colonies to rout out piracy and re-establish order after the food riots. He returned years later with that huge scar on his face, along with a fiercely loyal private army.
He slapped the papers out of Bernard’s arms and then sent him reeling with a backhand. Bernard fell to the floor, his lip bleeding.
He advanced on Bernard with a wild stare. “You sniveling little shit, why didn’t you warn me this would happen?”
An aide cautiously approached the pair. “Sir... I don’t mean to interrupt but I thought you would want to see this immediately.” Krueger rounded on the man and looked down to the small container he was holding. “We recovered this from the battle site, sir.” the aide said as he held it aloft for the madman.
Krueger ripped the box from his hands and flung open the top. A smile slowly crept across his twisted face. Inside was a syringe, with a single drop of glowing blue liquid.
...
In the dusty backstreets of colony 65-B sat a dismal watering hole known as the Mince Meat. A downtrodden miner sat upon a stool, halfway through a bottle of murky brown liquor. His long hair shrouded his face and a pair of intelligent eyes examined the cracks in the bar. His ramshackle clothing hid a muscular frame. He had been fighting a feeling of dread all day.
The bat doors swung open and a man in a spotless A.E.C. uniform walked directly over to the him.
The man waited a moment, then spoke in a loud voice that cut across the bar, “Darby Cutter. One of the S.P.A.’s brightest stars. Penchant for ultra violence, anti-social tendencies. Kicked out of the Academy for murdering another student in a practice exercise.”
Darby’s gaze drifted from the bar to the suit standing next to him. “Used to be... not anymore. What do you want from me?”
The agent’s face brightened. “Boy, have a got a job for you.”
END PART ONE
