A Shadow of a Man

By James Vesping

Between the Federation and the Conglomerate, a new war is brewing. Rhetoric is at an all time high for the fifth war between the two nations, one that could shatter the entire continent. In the Divide, Adrina, a freelance mercenary, survives by placing herself above all else; Jaques, a Federation computer technician, tries to expose corruption in his government; Michael, a Conglomerate veteran of the Third and Fourth Divide wars tries to save a friend from machinations of the state police; and Eleanor of the Fire Dust tribe starts down the path of a Guardian. As they all come together, they become exposed to myths and legends telling of a great conflict that has endured since the dawn of time. Collectively, they must find the truth behind a shadow of a man and stop him before it is too late.

• Language: English
• Publisher: James Vesping
• Release date: May 28, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463341100

James Vesping

James Vesping is a former network technician, having worked in both the private and the government sector. He has worked in software and web development in both professional and hobbyist capacities, including several simulation projects for popular sandbox games. In 2015, he began writing novels as a hobbyist, which turned into a full time job by 2017. You can find him on the web at JamesVesping.com.

Book preview

Prologue

It is said to have begun a long ago, during an era of stability, yet conflict. Chaos and order battled each other in ways that were accepted as natural. The open faces of many unions proclaimed peace, but behind their masks waged dark little wars. For some it was a comfortable time, while for others it was despair.

One man lived among those who had the typical life – average, dull, boring. Nonetheless, this young man enjoyed his life and was considered upstanding by many around him. Many said he was on his way to become a great leader and beyond. Those around him though, misjudged him, for he had been selected upon creation for a far darker purpose, one which even he was not aware of.

A being unknown to any living soul of the age and ages before it had predicted everything about him, and had purposely attempted to exert its influence over him. But then this being soon found that the plan it had set in motion was not going the way it had predicted. As the flash of life went through this man, the being became more and more enamored with him until something vaguely resembling love overcame it. This love became stronger and stronger until the being could no longer control itself; it found itself unable to do anything but think of this simple man. It became one like him, a woman with no past or identity, and she attempted to seduce him. Little did she realize that her plan became far more twisted than she had predicted – the more she loved him, the more his own dark heart won over his spirit.

He soon went mad before his third decade for unknown reasons. He started rambling in strange tongues, talking of love with darkness in the common tongue, and soon developed a hatred for his fellow man. Every little imperfection of mankind, every mistake became the focal point of his hatred. Eventually, his light heart lost the battle with his dark heart. His dark heart made him powerful and soon he began manifesting strange abilities which no one could explain. The dark heart reshaped him for one purpose: the destruction of all humankind. There was only one thing left for it to do: acquire the power of love. His dark heart knew well that she who predicted him would find him eventually. It did not have to wait long.

When she finally found him, she realized what she had done: the plan she had set in motion merely as a test of her own power had created something even more powerful than she imagined. It had become powerful enough to deceive her and draw off of the intense love she had for the man. When she realized that the man she loved had been destroyed by her own destructive touch, she discarded him and vanished to where he would never be able to find her. His dark heart, now having experienced the power of love, set its own plans in motion. Plans of hatred and destruction.

He started by destroying those he perceived as the most vile parts of humanity – thieves, murderers, liars, and their brethren. Those in power considered him a mere killer, a vigilante. Then he started striking at those in power. As he did so, his hatred grew, and with it, his power. Soon he was destroying entire unions with the snap of his finger. He became a plague to mankind, threatening it with extinction. Like an unstoppable force, he crushed all those before him and demanded nothing. Those who attempted to collaborate with him were destroyed in the most painful fashions he could imagine. For him, the borders between his imagination and reality had been destroyed. He had bridged the gap between this world, the next, and beyond.

Realizing how powerful he had become, she who loved him understood that eventually he would bridge the gap between her world and the many he had already bridged. Her world was time itself; she knew if he ever bridged the gap, he would become more powerful than anything else in all of creation. The sides of battle within her own heart realized that he had become powerful enough to destroy even her.

She offered herself to him, so he would not just experience love, but have the power of it as well. His dark heart, lusting for more power, blinded itself to the trap she laid for him. He attempted to merge with her so he would finally acquire that long lost power – not one of lust, but of real love, the likes of which it was incapable of creating. Only then did it realize that time had suddenly blurred and everything lost meaning. She had trapped him within her own realm before he could bridge the gap. Time was incomprehensible to his dark heart and his power there was useless. He became frozen in time and his dark heart went into hibernation to protect itself until it found a way to break the barrier.

Now, her own heart broken, she went into a slumber of her own, as the light heart and dark heart within her battled for supremacy. Time passed and the lost unions of humanity were forgotten.

– Tales and Legends of the Fire Dust Tribe, pg. 205

1

The blazing sun would most likely have pierced Adrina’s eyes if it were not for the protective visor she wore over her face. Life was harsh over the Great Grass Desert, but it was even worse with the Northeastern Conglomerate scouring the lands for their lost prototype fighter jet. Although the camouflage suit she had made for herself blended her in well from a distance, up close there would be no mistaking her, a situation she obviously wanted to avoid. To be captured by the Northeastern Conglomerate meant becoming a brainwashed slave or worse, a plaything for their soldiers. However, she knew there were no foot patrols in this area at the moment and that only various flying units were scouring the area. She had ways of dealing with them that would most likely surprise the relatively small search force.

A whirring noise caught her attention, approaching from the west. The sound was distinctive to Adrina's ears – an ArmorWerks LHT-8 light hovertank. She peered in the direction of the sound and knew instantly that it wasn’t a typical specimen: this one was painted black and red, with the traditional rifled gun replaced by a delicate plasma cannon assembly. She knew that the particular driver of this tank was trying to emulate the Blood Eagles mercenary unit; this was relatively common among mercenaries, as it was difficult to develop a reputation on a shoestring budget.

The Blood Eagles' reputation was developed on the ArmorWerks LHT-8 Katar hovertank, but they rarely modified the tank due to maneuverability and weight problems with replacing the rifled cannon. Most land pirates, nomads, and mercenaries found it easier to supply a plasma rifle with various gasses and electricity than the relatively hard to find 110mm self-contained shells that the ArmorWerks cannon required. This became more pronounced over the years as ArmorWerks tried to rebuild its image from a black market seller to a reputable defense corporation; unfortunately, no matter how hard ArmorWerks tried, their products became the choice for anyone who didn't belong to a union territory or a reputable corporate military.

All of this of course meant that it was relatively easy for Adrina to identify the tank as belonging to a low-rate gang passing itself off as a mercenary group or land pirate band. The instant she identified the tank, she knew they were looking for the exact same thing she was looking for: the Yankonian Aerospace prototype FV-5 multi-role fighter. Of course, neither the Northeastern Conglomerate or these mercenaries knew that the prototype fighter hadn’t really crashed – she had simply uploaded a virus to the jet’s computer system and cut the oxygen to the pilot of the aircraft. It was ripe for the taking, and she knew exactly where it was – if she could get to the predetermined position without being detected.

Crawling back down the side of the hill she had been on, Adrina pulled up her visor’s map function. She was only about 800 meters away from the jet, which meant that the mercenary tank was getting dangerously close to her prize. This left her with few options. She couldn’t outrun a hovertank, even one as loaded down as the one she saw, and all her gear would make such a proposition difficult anyways. She couldn’t use her disposable motorcycle at this point or the Northern Conglomerate would pick her up for sure. This left one option in her mind: blow it up.

The Katar had an unfortunate problem which plagued it and many other hovertanks from ArmorWerks: it had a massive heat signature. The exhaust cooled as it left the hover jets, but within the various lift assemblies it ran hot enough to melt the armor surrounding these areas. It was part of scheduled maintenance to replace these armor panels, but most operators simply ignored them or welded more armor on top of it. Those who could afford it simply swapped out the lift assemblies with assemblies built by ArmorWerks’ rivals – Kron Arms. Few could afford or find Kron Arms lift assemblies as most unions and militaries had exclusive contracts over Kron Arms factories, and only a few trickled out to the black market. Adrina doubted that this particular tank had additional armor plating or replacement lift assemblies and that gave her an edge.

Adrina went to her motorcycle and slipped out a small, lightweight rocket launcher. It was actually a fragmentation rocket, designed for use against infantry, but she decided to gamble on the possibility of weakened armor on the tank. At the very least it could damage the plasma cannon, but this didn’t give her much comfort as the 12.7mm coaxial gun could still easily shred her and the jet.

Slinking back up the hill, Adrina grinned at the ignorance of the tank’s pilot. Evidently going as slow as possible so as to not attract much attention and to allow for maximum time; it never occurred to the pilot that someone might be watching.

Carefully readying the rocket launcher, Adrina took aim down the primitive iron sights to the starboard side of the tank. Sure of a hit, she put her finger on the trigger and gently squeezed, as if she were shooting a firearm. The simple primer charge was set off by the firing pin and the rocket assembly was kicked out of the tube. The rocket appeared to be going into the ground tail first, but then upon reaching a safe distance the rocket motor kicked in and a strong whoosh filled the air. The rocket lanced out and struck the starboard lift assembly on the tank, filling it with shrapnel and smoke. As she had predicted, the armor was brittle and extremely weak from the heat. The resulting violence of even a light rocket hit was enough to jar it and cause some of the fans within to quit, and the tank’s starboard side suddenly crashed to the ground with a jarring thunk. She smiled, then got up and ran, knowing that the tank could still use its turret to track and fire, but it was completely immobile otherwise.

She discarded the empty launcher tube and started running full-bore to her prize, before the Northeast Conglomerate forces could investigate the action. She moved her slung rifle carbine to her hands to better facilitate movement and estimated it would take only a few minutes to make it to the aircraft.

Her estimates were not far off, and a mere three minutes later she managed to make it to the jet. It was in exactly the state she had planned – she could see the pilot slumped forward, unconscious, and the engines still idling, waiting for her to take command. Stopping a moment to catch her breath, she started taking all her heavy camouflage gear off and stripping down to just her flight overalls, her sidearm, and carbine. Opening the canopy of the jet, she unbuckled the relatively small man and relieved him of some essential flight gear. She took his helmet, oxygen mask, flight vest, and his sidearm. She begun pulling his unconscious body out of the cockpit, and despite his small size, had difficulty due to her own slight frame. She eventually got him out of the cockpit, and set him down on the hot grass below the jet. Putting on his flight gear, she pulled his emergency distress beacon – he might cause her trouble later, but she didn’t like the idea of leaving him out alone where the pack beasts would get him.

Climbing into the cockpit, she closed the canopy and strapped herself in. A quick glance over the instrumentation in front of her showed that the virus had cleaned itself out as she had programmed it to and that the jet was now fully functional. She ensured the jet was still in vertical flight mode and then steadily increased the throttle cluster. The twin turbine engines roared as they gulped fuel to propel the heavy fighter upwards, and the computer retracted the gear automatically as it reached a safe height.

I’ve got to change that back to manual, Adrina thought to herself, adjusted to the traditional manual gear function of most aircraft. Seeing the rolling plains before her, with wind blowing the grass below like ocean water, she felt herself succumb to her more primal impulses.

Lets see what this baby can do.

-

2

Life would be easier without fools like this.

Jaques was used to dealing with clueless customers; indeed, he was paid quite handsomely to deal with them. The one part of the job he could not get accustomed to was his superiors.

I need all this data entered into the system by the end of the day, or we're all in big trouble, Jaques' supervisor, Owens, said as he dropped a data disk on the desk. Upper management is already looking for ways to cut our budget and I don't want to give them any more excuses.

With people like you around, Jaques thought, they don't even need excuses.

I'll get right on it, Jaques replied. The automated data system I pieced together last month should make it a breeze. I'll have it done within the hour.

Owens frowned. Automated-whatsit? We have something like that?

The automated data entry system I programmed last month. I briefed you on it yesterday. I believe you even said you were going to bring it up with management right after I mentioned it to you?

Uh, yeah. Just get it done, alright? Owens mumbled; he was already out the door by the time Jaques finished. Jaques sighed and leaned back into his chair.

Living in the Norwesam Federation had its benefits, but at times it felt like it would easier to simply turn away from civilization and live a bandit lifestyle. Jaques knew he couldn't complain too much, as it was one of the best regions to live if you were lucky enough to have been born into the territory or pass the immigration requirements. All the basic essentials were present and life was comfortable with many luxuries such as OverNet access coupled with other high computer technologies. Combined with the military establishment consisting of both state operated and mercenary units, the Norwesam Federation maintained a status as the dominant power in western Northam. Jaques was constantly informed as to how important his employer was in maintaining this kind of order and quality of life for the Federation. This did not sit well with him, since he knew their basic service was simply to keep the Federation government bean counters in a job, a fact easily verifiable by simply seeing how well connected the corporate board was with Federation officials. Unlike arms companies like Kron Arms or technology companies like Applied Holographics, Jaques' employers were simply a bureaucratic drain, aligning 0s and 1s to show the population that all was well within the Federation.

Naturally, all was not well within the Norwesam Federation. The Northeastern Conglomerate was rattling sabers once again, accusing the Norwesam Federation of infringing on their borders and attempting to dominate the entire Northam continent. This was typical of the Conglomerate as their standard tactic was to keep their own population looking outward so they would not see the problems within. The only issue was, in this particular situation, they were right. Jaques had seen some classified data that indicated the Federation was preparing for another border conflict with the Conglomerate. The last battle had ended 10 years prior, with the Conglomerate gaining control of some viable territory due to tactical blunders on the part of the Federation. It had shaken up many of the people within, who suddenly felt the sting of the real world closing in on their small corner of paradise. As a result, the Federation started throwing money toward the military in the hopes that they could build a force strong enough to take a large chunk of the Conglomerate off the map. Jaques, with his basic data entry job, saw all of this because even when the Federation wanted to keep things secret, his employers wanted a piece of that pie.

In some ways, Jaques hated his fellow countrymen: easily distracted by the latest sports games or the most recent celebrity gossip, the masses were blissfully unaware of what was happening outside of their borders. Ultimately, he pitied them and their existence. The next conflict would shake them up as the Conglomerate anticipated the Federation's moves with alarming accuracy. Intelligence reports indicated that guerrilla sleeper cells were already active in the Federation, waiting for the command to wreak havoc on the delicate infrastructure deep behind the borders. Many people were going to die and he was powerless to stop it.

Jaques sighed and rubbed his chin. How does one describe color to those who cannot see? He picked up the data disk and noted the label indicated it was marked classified. He knew that they were not qualified to process classified information, but the past month they had been going through terabytes of it. That was how he knew of all these Federation plans: he had helped to input the data for it. It was part of why he had written the automated data entry system to begin with; he had hoped to get the Federation to use the system exclusively so as to reduce the number of personnel possessing information that they could not be trusted with. Personnel such as Owens.

Jaques pressed the data disk into his console until he felt a firm click from the retention mechanism, then tapped a key to signal his automated entry system to read and store the data. He purposely looked away from the monitor as the data flashed across the screen during the read phase. He didn't need to see what he already knew.

-

3

Resist all you want, said the dark figure in front of Michael, eventually, we'll get what we want.

Michael had been in this kind of situation before, usually with good reason. This time around it was just bad luck. While he was used to it when he lost a bet, he wasn't used to it happening at random on the street.

If you think that's resistance, Michael gently growled, you're going to hate me when I actually do resist.

What kept Michael safe for the most part was his disfiguring augmentations from the war with the Federation. Most people kept clear when they saw his military-grade prosthetic arm and left eye. In his current situation, it didn't take long to figure out these thugs figured they saw an easy mark in an older man with prosthesis, not noticing that they weren't commercial grade. His left eye held a thermal sensor and a remote camera link, while his right arm was capable of punching through reinforced concrete.

Hey Eddy, get the torch out, one of the thugs mumbled. Let's show grandpa what we're gonna do.

Michael watched carefully as the thug to his right started to reach for his coat pocket. With the thug on his left holding a pistol on him, he would have to time things just right to get the drop on them. Michael focused on his breathing as he prepared to embrace the darkness in his soul. Time began to slow. His heart seemed to stop. He felt as if he could see every atom of the two thugs in front of him. The thug started fumbling with his coat pocket, unable to get the torch out easily, causing his companion to look briefly and attempt to chastise him for being a clumsy oaf. Michael saw his opening in that instant.

Grabbing the thug's gun with his left hand, he pushed it into the other man's gut, while grabbing the thug's forearm with his right hand. Using the incredible strength of his mechanical hand, he crushed the thug's right forearm, causing him to scream and drop his pistol.

Shoot him, shoot him! the thug screamed to his companion, but before he could react, Michael swung his arm over in a backhanded slap that would not have done much if it were a typical flesh and bone appendage. Being made of much more durable alloys and polymers caused the thug's jaw to crack on impact and sent him stumbling backwards, moaning in pain.

Michael redirected his attention to the thug on his left and wrapped his hand around the man's neck. It would have been so easy for him to crush his windpipe and cast his lifeless body aside; he wanted so badly to punish the thugs for daring to threaten him. But he felt his way back out of the shadow, and as was usual, slowly felt what little remained of his humanity call out for mercy.

If you're going to rob someone for their prosthesis, you had better make sure they don't have 20 years of combat under their belt first, Michael whispered to the thug.

Michael gave the thug a cold stare and let his left eye shine into the man's face, the man's face twisting into fear as he saw Michael's visage. Michael had thought his words had made the impact until he realized the street light had come back on, giving the thug a close look at his disfigured face.

"Now get out of here. If I ever see you again, I will kill you," Michael ordered. He released the thug from his grip and pushed him away. The man missed no opportunity in gathering his companion and running into the distance. Michael paused for a moment and took a look at his right arm. The sleek mechanical lines were marred by small specks of blood where he had hit one of the thugs. He rotated his hand around and opened his fist. The silence of the night was broken only by the sound of electrical servos operating the various components on his arm.

Neither man nor machine – merely a puppet, Michael thought to himself as he returned to the sidewalk and the way home.

-

4

Eleanor looked wistfully into the burning fire pit, the remnants of the last log she had placed there glowing with energy. There were times that she could swear the future was visible in the flames, if she only focused hard enough. Life in the Divide was hard, but it was even harder for the nomads who called it their home. The Conglomerate and the Federation both had spats every now and again which provided some sustenance for the various nomadic tribes in the region, but it was always a risky proposition as either side would use any excuse to level their potential enemies if life was found after a skirmish.

Eleanor had lost her parents at a young age when they attempted to recover supplies from a destroyed Federation convoy; the Federation, having determined that the various heat signatures were enemy troops, leveled the remnants with combined air and artillery strikes. The tribe raised Eleanor as best they could, but Eleanor was forever branded as an orphan and per tribe doctrine, she would either have to join the tribe's harem caste or become a Guardian. Eleanor had opted to join the harem caste, but no tribesman would take her hand – rumors were spread that she was a dark witch, capable of altering the future and that she had willed her parents to die. Her incredible beauty despite her harsh nomadic life had worked against her; no one believed she could maintain her appearance in the Divide, not without being allied with the forces of darkness.

Eleanor was now 29 years old and if she did not pair with a tribesman by the time she was 30, she would be exiled from the tribe and sent to live a nomadic life by herself. Her only option at this point was to become a Guardian.

Eleanor once again peered into the fire. It was steadily burning out, with fewer and fewer flames escaping into the air. The cold night air was steadily winning the battle for her body and she could feel chills creeping into her spine. She realized it wasn't so much the cold air getting to her, but the feeling she would have upon becoming a Guardian.

The Guardians were the most technologically advanced warriors in all of the nomadic tribes. Externally, they appeared to be rusting, rotting, 3 meter tall mechanical automatons; internally, they were the best technology that they could scrounge and recycle. The Guardians were constantly reused and many were older than the tribes themselves. The heart that made up the Guardians was a cybernetic suite that integrated the machine with the user, requiring a special set of implants to operate the machine. The nomads did not have access to modern surgical techniques or even modern cybernetic equipment – what little they did have was often scavenged from the fallen and previous users. The end result was that anyone joining the Guardians had an incredibly limited lifespan as their bodies slowly rejected the implants and their bond with the machines steadily increased until they could not feel the difference between their own bodies and that of the Guardians. When a Guardian inevitably died, it was said that their spirit became part of the machine itself and that they were bound by honor to protect the tribe for eternity.

Eleanor was somewhat fearful of this path since she sometimes felt the Guardians speaking to her and it was never comforting – she felt the sad twisted ends of those who had died in combat or through the dictates of the tribe when a Guardian was no longer capable of operating the machine. Their anguished cries called out to her, their confusion of reality within the machine. But she was out of options; either a slow death as a Guardian, or a slow death as a lone nomad.

The flames finally died out on the fire. Her mind made up, Eleanor donned her jacket and proceeded to head to the tribal elders. Perhaps as a Guardian, she would no longer be shunned, but respected.

-

5

Dust surrounded the landing pad as Adrina's new jet touched the ground, the engines whining as she started the shutdown procedure. Bludust was one of the few places that one could find various creature comforts without the associated barbarity of the Divide. It was also a convenient location to find a buyer for her newly acquired piece of equipment.

Bludust managed to avoid being taken by any union due to their location and the impressive firepower the town had managed to scavenge over the years – the various mercenary units, pirates, and nomads that called the town home didn't hurt much either. Combined with a relatively simple penal code and lots of freedom, it was as close to paradise one could get in this part of Northam.

Impressive aircraft, ma'am! What can we do for you? an airfield tech said as he walked up to Adrina. His uniform looked new, with very little fading and virtually no evidence of use. Poor kid is probably fresh off of some farm and drew the short straw as a greeter, she thought. Still, something seems off about him.

First of all, Adrina ordered, get your pit boss here. Second, no one touches this aircraft without me present. Third, how old are you, kid?

The young man mumbled, I, ah, uhm, I'm sixteen, ma'am. The pit boss is over there. I would be happy to get him for you!

Don't bother, I'll find him myself. Here, take these credits and watch the jet. Make sure no one goes near it, understand?

Adrina handed the kid a 50 credit chit and walked off. She absolutely hated how the various businesses operated in the town, trying to use the extremely young and uniquely beautiful people to get clients to let their guard down. She had tried in the past to convince the kids that they were entering a dangerous life but too many of them had no choice and the earning potential was too high – where else could they score so much fortune in such a small span of time?

Adrina had hardened her heart and ignored those less fortunate than her. She had felt the same draw at that age, trying to scavenge a happy life from the dust, but a chance encounter with a mercenary unit changed her fortunes forever. She proved an excellent marksman and an even better pilot, earning her keep and then some. Unfortunately, none of her skills were good enough to prevent the destruction of her unit during a chance skirmish with a Federation division. It had burned her and the few other survivors so bad that they simply returned to Bludust and disbanded in disgrace, splitting up the remainder of what they owned among them. She did what she could, pulling odd jobs here and there, but never quite striking it rich. Her latest mission was the first time that she had actually done something for herself and she hoped it would pay off big. She had heard rumors of the Conglomerate running combat trials of new technology on Divide bandit camps and nomads, likely in preparation for another war with the Federation. Burning up a few favors with old friends, she managed to run an infiltration operation which yielded the prize she had just acquired.

While theft inside of Bludust was a serious crime, officials in the town did not care about equipment stolen outside of their borders. Of course, with enough money, they could be made to care, but popular support of actions against the great unions usually kept the more corrupt officials in check.

Coming up to the pit shack, Adrina saw a fat, greasy man sitting at a desk in front of a system console. While she found the man himself distasteful, he was at least favorable to her – especially since she saved his life after their mercenary bloodbath so many years ago. Glancing up, he finally noticed Adrina standing before him.

Adrina! the man exclaimed. I never thought I'd see you again after that last stunt you pulled. How was the Conglomerate?

Cold, Billy, Adrina replied. So very cold. But then you know that, having been born there to begin with. Let's talk business.

Billy nervously glanced around to see if anyone else was watching. Adrina knew he was on edge – his debts had spiraled out of control, wasting what little money he had on booze and women. She could have easily sold him out to his debtors, but the man was reliable even if he did have vices. Further, he was one of the few people at the base that she knew would come through for her – if given enough incentive. For better or worse, he owed her his life, and she planned to milk it for all it was worth.

Billy nodded and began to speak, Yeah, so I got the permits all sorted out, just like you asked. Price is going to be a bit more than your original budget, but I figured you had a few credits left to cover that.

Adrina shook her head. You're a horrible liar, Billy. Who'd you get into trouble with now?

Billy sighed and sat back a bit and took off his glasses. You got me, Adri; I burned through some of your emergency slush fund at One Eyed Mike's last night. I figured you finally bought it and thought I'd be able to win on the slots a bit.

'Some'?

OK, 'all.' But it's not like it was a lot, right? You wouldn't trust me with that much on my own.

"That would be correct, Billy. I know that credits have