One Breath, One Bullet: The Borders War, #1

By S.A. McAuley

Face to face, and rifle to rifle. The time and location change, but never the circumstance. Merq Grayson and Armise Darcan are enemies—and neither will be considered successful until the other is dead.

Merq Grayson has known only war. He is a skilled Peacemaker, soldier, and sniper. And it is his destiny to right the wrong created by his grandfather six generations removed—the man who invented the sonicbullet.

Armise Darcan is his enemy. A sniper and Dark Ops officer who fought for the People’s Republic of Singapore in the Borders War, Armise may be the only person on the planet strong enough to keep Merq from completing his mission.

Their loyalties are to conflicting countries and diverging agendas, and despite the very real threat to their lives if they’re discovered, Merq and Armise keep finding their way into each other’s beds. It is a drive which Merq is sure will kill him one day. But how much time either of them has is questionable. As Opposition is pitted against Revolution, the Borders War reignites, and Merq and Armise have to decide where, and with whom, their real loyalties lie.


Reader Advisory: This book contains scenes of violence.

• Language: English
• Publisher: S.A. McAuley, LLC
• Release date: Apr 17, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386731870

S.A. McAuley

I sleep little, read a lot. Happiest in a foreign country. Twitchy when not mentally in motion. My name is Sam, not Sammy, definitely not Samantha. I’m a pretty dark/cynical/jaded person, but I hide that darkness well behind my obsession(s) for shiny objects. I’m the macabre wrapped in irresistible bubble wrap and a glittery pink bow, I suppose.

Book preview

Part I

The Early Years

Prologue

September 2539

Merq Grayson’s 16th Year

The People’s Republic of Singapore—The Outposts

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I pressed my eyes tightly closed, anticipating the sting of contaminated saltwater even though I wore goggles. I slowly released the air out of my lungs, a line of fine bubbles issuing from my lips, as I allowed gravity and the weights on my suit to drag me toward the ocean floor. The currents twisted lazily at first, then more insistently as I dropped deeper, the tides sweeping pockets of acidic water past me that bit at the tips of my exposed fingers and lips. I knew I would be emerging from the water with minor but tangible chemical burns in both places. Which meant I was going to complete this module as fast as I could, despite the trainers’ insistence that this exercise would be repeated until I was finally broken of my habit to use my natural speed before my brain.

My rash nature would be my downfall.

At least that’s what they told me.

I saw my instinct to strike fast as more of an asset than a detriment. Unfortunately, the two Peacemakers in charge of Lim2—Limitation Elimination training—didn’t agree. And I didn’t give a shit. It was the president, not my instructors, who would finally decide if I was fit for active duty as a Peacemaker. I had one, maybe two years of training remaining before that determination was made. Time that I believed was being wasted with me in classes instead of on the battlefield.

I, and my training class of seventeen students, had two more months of Lim2 in the Outposts of The People’s Republic of Singapore, then we would head back to the States’ capital for a year with Psychological Health Agents—otherwise known as PsychHAgs. For now, this island—less than a mile from north shore to south shore—was our base of operations. And it wasn’t as if we were flying in and out within a day or two… Our entire Lim2 training—four months’ worth—was happening here in enemy territory.

We were on an island technically within the boundaries of Singapore’s vast reach, yet on the cusp of States’ control. It was a risk for any Continental States soldier to be on Singaporean soil while the Borders War still raged, but that was the entire demented point of this facet of our training—to negate what we saw as boundaries. If we were discovered, we would have to fight. Regardless of the fact that none of us were officially soldiers yet and regardless that most of the trainees were sixteen years old, just like me.

While some trainees struggled with the pull between the supposed innocence of youth and being forced into adulthood in the midst of active combat, I’d never had an issue with putting childish considerations to the side. The Borders War had been my bedtime story. The sonicrifle my playtime companion.

I knew from the stories my fellow trainees told that their childhoods had been considerably different from mine. But I had no quarrel with my upbringing. The president had given me every opportunity to succeed with a goal my parents had set for me before birth. My parents were no longer a part of my life, but their expectations were a palpable weight on my shoulders, as if from thousands of miles away I could feel the touch of their hands urging me forward. But even as the thought came I realized how insane it was. I couldn’t remember my parents ever hugging or touching me, let alone providing words of encouragement or strength. And the president had never taken on that role in my life either. I’d obviously been listening to the other trainees’ homesick stories for much too long.

I finally opened my eyes as I descended farther into the blackness of the nighttime ocean. I’d made the mistake of diving into the water head first without any gear when we’d landed on the island, and it had been a painful error I wouldn’t repeat again. Which, I supposed, was another point of Lim2. Ingraining within us the drive to act, or not act, without thought or hesitation, based solely on someone else’s orders.

I was outfitted in a drysuit of synthetic materials that wouldn’t melt from the onslaught of the chemically corrupted water and goggles to protect the soft flesh of my eyes from being eaten out of my sockets. It would already take months for the eyelashes I’d lost in that first fateful plunge to grow back. Sims would have teased me ruthlessly, but unfortunately Ricor Simion—a soldier in training like me and one year younger—wasn’t a part of my training class. There was a chance he only wanted me around to interrogate me for insider information on the training stages I reached before he did. Even if he did, though, I was okay with it. I liked Sims more than everyone else on this island or back in the States’ main barracks. He was going to be a great soldier someday. And if I kept him around partially because we’d started to find ways to relieve our physical stresses together? Then that was of mutual benefit.

Grayson, you’re descending too fast, a trainer chided me through my comm receiver. The reception was clear as the sound waves were translated and delivered directly to the auditory portion of my cortex instead of being heard through my ear.

I didn’t answer him with the required hand signal.

Is this comm working?

He can hear you. Another voice—with a distinctive southern drawl that already made my skin crawl even though I’d heard it for the first time only days ago—came over the line. Neveed Niaz was older than me by five years, smaller and shorter in stature, and if I continued growing at the same rate I would be significantly larger than him soon. But that didn’t seem to matter to Peacemaker Niaz. Unlike the other students and trainers, he wasn’t intimidated by me.

You sure about that? the trainer asked, likely directing the question to Niaz since I wasn’t responding.

Look at his brainwaves, Niaz noted. They’re just going to make you do the exercise again, Merq.

Niaz sounded bored. His familiar use of my first name set my blood boiling.

He wasn’t officially a trainer for Lim2. He didn’t seem to officially be anything. Well, except for an asshole who didn’t bother to hide that he was watching me specifically despite his bullshit cover story that he’d been sent in to test the effectiveness of the Youth Peacemaker program.

The trainers used a remote trigger to tighten the suit around my chest and constrict my straining lungs even more. I continued to descend at a rapid pace.

He’s going to kill himself, I heard the trainer say, but his voice was fuzzier. A part of my oxygen-deprived brain realized it was because my lungs were squeezing painfully and my vision was beginning to fade in and out.

Just before I lost consciousness I thought I heard Niaz sigh and mumble out one word with a frustrated bite— Hamartia.

December 2540

Merq Grayson’s 17th Year

The Continental States

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Hamartia.

That training session was the first time I’d heard the term, but it was one on a list of words that I clung to. It evoked the feeling of something greater than me that was, without my choice, ingrained within me.

I hungered for words and concepts in the way that I watched others around me hunger for the feel of a rifle or a knife in their hands. It was the unseen and the unknown that propelled me forward. An irresistible need to know.

The beach had filled with trainees as they’d ripped my unconscious form from the ocean. I would be told later that Neveed had stood over my body and whispered that speed would be my fatal flaw. It was my only hint to understanding the meaning of the word, since I’d never been able to confirm its origin or the truth of its meaning in any biocomp database.

It wasn’t as if he’d tell me if I asked, either.

Even though he was currently lying naked at my side.

As of hours ago, I was officially a Peacemaker. Tomorrow Neveed and I would meet with the president to discuss my career track.

It had been a month since I’d left the PsychHAg facility. My body was whole again—even if my fingernails hadn’t grown all the way back in yet—and any hesitation about my abilities, about my strength, was now absent.

Are you sorry you survived? Neveed asked, as if he could hear the dark thoughts that swirled through my head. Although, he’d talked about little else besides the PsychHAgs in the last month. I supposed that made sense, since I’d been the only student in my class to live through the year of torture training.

If any of them had been strong enough, they would’ve survived too, I answered without hesitation.

Neveed physically cringed and pulled away from me.

It should have been me with the survivor guilt, not him. But guilt and denial came much more naturally to him. As did their polar companions—freedom and forgiveness. I didn’t understand what he had seen or experienced to be so invested in life. He should have been too smart to be infected by such extreme notions.

I sought out the clarity that came with balance. With detachment.

I would be—had to be—better for the effort.

Neveed sat on the edge of the bed, his back to me. He ran his hand through the loose black curls at his nape.

I thought about reaching out to him, but I didn’t.

The mattress dipped and Neveed moved away from the bed—away from me—as he spoke. I don’t think it will happen tomorrow, but President Kersch is probably going to make me your handler. He has an assignment for you. Long-term. Dangerous. And vital to the success of the Revolution.

I’m ready, I answered without hesitation.

I know you are, Merq. But what do you want?

I noted his inability to look me in the eye, the almost imperceptible shaking of his fingers as he buttoned his shirt. He was waiting for an answer, was apparently anxious about what I would say, but I could only give him the truth. Is there anything more important than the mission?

Neveed anchored his feet, threw his shoulders back, and finally locked eyes with me. You’ll never want more from life, he observed. It was neither a question nor an answer.

I didn’t know what to say, so I remained silent.

He gave a disdainful scoff. Shook his head.

And with that I knew. Neveed was ending this. Us.

He didn’t say that this encounter—whatever version of us that existed in bedrooms and back rooms but never publicly—was the last time. But I read the inevitability in the tentative, sad gaze of his golden-brown eyes over my body.

That I wasn’t interested in this ending was a thought that surprised me. I didn’t know why it had to end at all. Sleeping with Neveed wasn’t about getting ahead for me. But it wasn’t solely about getting off either. I had no idea what it was for him, but I had thought it was more than something he could cast aside with a flippant commentary on my jaded view of life.

None of that mattered now though.

Neveed projected his strongest emotions, as if he were unable to contain their magnitude and depth within the thin, vulnerable walls of his skin.

If he looked defeated then he was defeated.

Which meant what he was doing now was pushing me away.

I didn’t give a fuck if I was rushing into judgment, if he and I should have spoken about what we were or where we were going with this. If he wanted to end it then I wouldn’t fight. It was easier to separate myself from him than it was to keep him around.

I repeated my mantra—the one given to me by the PsychHAgs as a tool for focus—in my head as he dressed and left without another word.

One breath.

Inhale.

Hesitation is my enemy.

Solitude my ally.

Death the only real victory.

Exhale.

If I had to be solitary to be safe, then that was how I would stay alive.

I wouldn’t allow someone else to be my fatal flaw.

September 2541

Merq Grayson’s 18th year

Bogotá – American Federation

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I closed my eyes, lifted my face to the sky, and kept my lips clamped shut so none of the acidic rain pouring from the clouds circling above me could sneak into my mouth and kill me. Not before I killed the general. The analysts had told me I would transport into a storm, but I hadn’t been prepared for the onslaught of water that fell on me. I’d never experienced rain like this before.

The ground beneath me shook from the rumble of thunder over my head, but my muscles quaked to an even stronger degree. I was on my knees, waiting for the ripping pain of the transport process to pass and trying to maintain some sort of conscious sense of what was around me so I didn’t get ambushed. It was unlikely there was anyone out on the mountain, or in the city, while the storm raged. The American Federation soldiers were camped out in circular rings around the city, concentric lines that protected the heart of Bogotá from the few remaining United Union forces, yet still far enough away from my position that my sudden appearance should go unnoticed.

Most of the AmFed’s troops were at least a decade older than my eighteen years, their youth protected from war in a way my own country had been loath to follow. I wasn’t worried about the possibility of having to engage with them, let alone encounter any of them. I was a Peacemaker new to the war but not new to death. I wasn’t part of a team and I didn’t need one. I had little to no communication with my superiors and handlers. But that didn’t matter. I was confident in my tracking ability. I was even more confident in my ability to end the general’s life before he could give the order for AmFed troops to make a push into Continental States’—my home country’s—territory.

I picked myself up, wiped the water from my face the best I could with shaking fingers and began to trudge forward through the sodden ground. It would take me hours to make it into the city because of the storm, so I had to begin moving now.

The mountainside was slick, with rivulets cascading through crags of rock and the skeletons of trees. I carried only my rifle and a shield disruptor. A transport chip, programmed for the Peacemaker headquarters in the capital, was stitched into the seam of my clothing. I wasn’t carrying a comm chip, so there was no way for me to call for help if I ran into complications. I wouldn’t need to anyway.

The rain slowed, revealing a churning mass of clouds that was barely above my head and dropping down the mountain fast, a rolling fog that would settle into the valley and shorten my sitelines. Fuck, I muttered, and moved faster.

Lightning struck one of the downtown buildings, illuminating the sky. The burst revealed a line of shadows and I couldn’t discern whether they were human forms or natural. When another strike came seconds later it appeared as if the forms had moved. I hunkered down and put my rifle to my shoulder, tracking down the mountain to a group of three AmFed soldiers who seemed to be in the midst of an argument. It wasn’t likely that I could get around them without raising suspicion. I slid my sonicrifle behind my back so they wouldn’t be able to easily