A Call to Arms Read online

  A Call to Arms

  The Commonwealth Crisis: Book One

  Bradley James Hutchinson

  Notes:

  This book originally started life as nothing more than a bible for my forever-being-worked on novel The Approaching Storm, the first book of a trilogy. Brimming with content that had a vague narrative structure, I made the decision to turn it into a series of short stories, focusing on some of the important events in the decades leading up to the events in TAS; discontent with my ability to create short narratives, I changed the project to being a novella that would act as a prelude to The Commonwealth Crisis trilogy.

  Unfortunately, the initial draft didn’t stay small, and I found myself constantly coming back to the Prologue – even after it was published – and expanding on it, tweaking it, till eventually it became a full-fledged novel on its own, albeit an unconventional one. This is the finished product – I hope.

  Copyright © 2018 by Bradley Hutchinson

  All rights reserved. This book, or any portion thereof, may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher.

  Contents

  2404-2409: Beginnings

  Chapter Two

  2419-2422: The Shots Heard ‘Round the Galaxy

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  2423: Decisions

  Chapter Two

  2424-2425: What You Leave Behind

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  2428-2431: Seasons of Mourning

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  2432-2434: A Loss of Innocence

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  2435: Lacrimosa

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  2436-2437: Changing Fortunes

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  2438-2439: End Game

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  2440: Journey’s End

  Chapter Two

  2404-2409: Beginnings

  “This week will mark 50th anniversary of the ending of the war with the Ven’do’mar. Memorial services for the 33,000 people lost during the eight-month conflict are being held in all capital cities across the Commonwealth. This event will also mark half a century of relative peace in the Commonwealth, the longest stretch since its founding in 2077.” – The Telegraph, May 7, 2404

  L’Arc Bastion had been the nightclub to go to for over thirty years. Even for an exclusive club, it was very selective: it didn’t matter if you were gay, straight, bi-curious, asexual, a lawyer, businessman, cop – it attracted clientele from all over the capital world of Bastion, provided you had enough influence or power, to get in the door. Money mattered, too, of course, but not as much as prestige.

  James Hunter certainly fit the requirement of power and money. The youngest son of the richest man in the entire United Earth Commonwealth – whose family had helped shape human society over the last three centuries – he’d been guaranteed entry since before he was born.

  The product of the best gene sequencing money could buy – and that science could produce – he stood tall at a little over six feet, with the Hunter’s customary unruly mess of dark hair seeking to cover his stormy brown eyes, and strong jaw line and cheek bones.

  His identical twin brother Troy – whose hair was even longer – was next to him, his flirty, flighty gaze wandering over the gyrating crowd in front of them as they leaned casually against the bar. Usually Troy was among the revellers, but tonight he’d decided to watch the night go by with his more restrained twin.

  At least for now. No doubt, once he got inebriated, he’d dance the night away.

  “I still don’t understand why you have to come here every night, Troy. It isn’t that appealing,” James said, swirling the contents of his glass – bourbon and coke – slowly. After an hour here it was only his third drink, while Troy was downing his fifth.

  Or sixth. Possibly seventh. Troy had a habit of ordering drinks prematurely, ending up with a stockpile large enough to open his own bar… and the most disgusting thing was, James mused, was that he invariably ended up drinking all of it unaided.

  The club was a sprawling complex on the edge of the Botanical Gardens in the center of The Citadel, the capital city of Bastion. A former low-rise office tower, it had been a powerhouse of the Bastion nightlife for nearly a century, having survived more than a few changes in ownership, and even more musical fads. The lower level contained function rooms, restaurants and a bar, with the upper three levels dedicated to pulsating dance floors and bars, with the sky deck on the sixth floor being reserved for wild pool parties… and other less wholesome deeds.

  “Who said anything about appeal?” Troy said, shouting to be heard over the din. At 24, he’d been a regular of L’Arc since before he’d reached legal age – L’Arc Bastion was notorious for being iffy on things like ID; as long as you looked 17 and could afford the entry fee, you were in. “You’re long overdue to let loose.”

  “I concur,” Kye Silvagni – Troy’s best friend since kindergarten – added. Kye was even taller than Troy, with shorter, fairer hair and a strong, chiselled jaw line that was obscured by a jet-black beard, and complemented his kind, if somewhat lifeless and dull, hazel eyes.

  James glowered at their admonishing of him. For years, Troy – a proudly average B student – had been pestering James to get out and party more, something Troy called living life to the full… whatever that meant.

  “I get out all the time.”

  Troy gave him a pointed look and rolled his eyes, turning to gauge Kye’s reaction – Kye just shrugged nonchalantly.

  “You know what I mean,” Troy said. He pointed into the crowd. “Look at that guy over there, which one of us do you think he’s staring at?”

  “Probably you, knowing your reputation around here,” James said automatically, following Troy’s finger. The guy in question was about their age (though in this day and age, that was almost impossible to tell) and height, with shoulder length blonde hair and a body that suggested he worked out regularly.

  In other words, exactly Troy’s type. “You’ve probably been with every guy here… gay or even just slightly curious.”

  “Only most of them,” Troy answered casually, then frowned as James’ words sank in. As if on cue, a passer-by slapped him on the shoulder. Troy laughed – one of those fake laughs when you’re being polite – and the two exchanged pleasantries, leaving James to shake his head in bewilderment.

  “You have no idea who he was, do you?” Kye asked, his face appearing over Troy’s shoulder as Troy’s fan skipped away to link up with the friends who had left him behind.

  “Not a clue,” Troy affirmed, grinning like an imp as he shook his head. “But I thought you might like him.” He pointed once more to the object of his current affections.

  James sized the guy up appraisingly, his left hand wandering down to his waist and clutching at his belt buckle. He was certainly hot enough… but if experience had taught James anything, it was to never buy anything Troy was selling. It was either damaged goods, or had undisclosed issues.

  “Nah,” he said, his gaze wandering over to a girl dancing nearby. Smaller than the blonde hunk by a few inches, she had long, silky mouse-brown hair that shimmered in the neon lights, and a waist line that could only have genetically tailored. Dressed in a skin-tight outfit of gloss black, she was bewitching. “I think I fancy the brunette more.”

  Troy pulled a face of utmost disapproval. U
nlike James, who batted for both teams, albeit unevenly, Troy had no affection whatsoever for the opposite sex, preferring the exclusive company of men.

  “Are you sure?”

  James smirked, giving his twin a shove forward. “Go get him before someone else does.”

  Troy beamed, his hair rippling a shocking shade of blue for a fraction of an instant as he offered a mock bow, spread in his arms wide in a genuflection. He segued into the crowd, delicately cradling his drink in his hand as he weaved through the gyrating bodies.

  “He’s like this every weekend.” There seemed to be a hint of a sigh in what Kye said that James found curious – it had often been suggested that the two should date, but Kye had confided to James – once upon a time – that he was wary of staking their friendship for something more.

  James screwed his nose up as he lost sight of his twin, turning back to the bar and gesturing to one of the bartenders for a refill. Kye moved over to fill the space Troy’s absence had created.

  “He’s been like this since our 16th birthday,” James answered instead. “Probably earlier, actually, come to think of it. Always looking for something that’ll hold his attention for more than two minutes.”

  “Being a bit generous there, aren’t you?”

  James grinned. “Just a little bit.”

  “And that leaves you being the good son?”

  James snorted as he ran his finger over the payment terminal, gingerly accepting his drink and downing it in one hit as he signalled for another. “I think Michael is the good son,” he said, as Kye nestled in closer to be heard. “Or Elijah. They went into careers that are making the family a fuck-tonne of money.” James tapped himself on the chest. “Lawyers don’t bring in the big money these days, especially those who work in the public sector.”

  James’ decision to work for the Department of Justice instead of joining the cadre of lawyers that served the family businesses had surprised many, not the least his father, and while he enjoyed their full support – ostensibly – he knew that there were those in the family who were disappointed in his career choice. His belief that he was ‘doing good’ did nothing to assuage them of their belief that he was wasting his potential.

  “Like your family needs more money.”

  “Dad always likes more,” James said, smirking. “More money, more power… more women.” Patrick Hunter – the presumptive patriarch of the Hunter Grande family – was now onto wife number five (four of them having granted him children, with wife number five trying to give him a seventh) and that wasn’t including the revolving door of concubines he frequently rotated through.

  “Who doesn’t like more of those things?”

  James smiled. “You sound like Troy there, Kye.”

  “Oh, that stung.”

  *

  It took Troy the better part of five minutes to make his way over to his next potential conquest – the dancing drunks made it difficult to navigate without spilling his drink everywhere, a difficult enough task considering his nano-systems were struggling to keep his blood-alcohol in check.

  No matter. He was now swinging his hips and arms around with his prey, moving in sync to the beat of the music.

  “So, who are you?”

  Troy smiled as he leaned in closer, his hands wandering lazily around the waist of the blonde honey that was currently the centre of Troy’s universe. Up close, the hunk was even more handsome than he’d thought – and provocatively less innocent.

  “Troy, Troy Hunter. You?”

  “Lewis.” His arms wrapped around Troy’s waist like a snake coiling around its dinner. “Lewis Taylor.” They made eye contact, a smile playing on Troy’s lips, and he felt as if he was being appraised. “You’re part of that rich family, aren’t you?”

  Giving a single nod, Troy let his hands play up Lewis’ abdomen, winding their way up to his chest, feeling up what Troy couldn’t see in the flashing lights. His skin was smooth, moisturised, his body lightly toned but with a radiant strength about it, and he had the bluest eyes Troy had ever seen.

  “And you’d be from the Taylor family,” Troy said, leaning in and talking in his ear. “As in, Honeycutt, Taylor and Patil?” HT&P was one of the largest advertising agencies on Bastion – Hunter, Brandt & Sinodinos had had exclusive contracts with them for their local operations for decades, if not longer – on Bastion. All the big conglomerates had business ties with each other. It was very difficult for start-ups, or non-Bastion based businesses, to get a foothold on the planet.

  “Kind of,” Lewis said. “Loosely.” He shrugged. “Close enough to get in here.”

  They were close in a lot of ways. The crush of the crowd around them was bad enough – Troy was known to be slightly claustrophobic occasionally, but not right now – but with the added stench of booze, sweat and body odour it was barely tolerable; if not for his nano-systems filtering his olfactory system, Troy wouldn’t be caught dead on the dance floor.

  But then I’d be missing out on this.

  “The zero-g section is open…” Lewis slyly said as they danced – though grinded may have been a better term – his head cocking in the direction of the cordoned-off area of the club – the expensive attraction, that cost as much as a luxury yacht, had been shut for maintenance for nearly a week – it had only reopened the night before.

  “I don’t really do zero-g,” Troy shouted back – he’d been in ‘the chute’, as it was called, many times, and it usually resulted in him getting a severe case of vertigo.

  “Oh really, I love it!” Lewis told him, leaning in and whispering – of a sort – into Troy’s ear.

  By now Troy’s chest was being rubbed lasciviously, Lewis’ hands starting at his nipples and moving outwards, down to his hips and over the top of his cheeks, then reversing course. After a few repetitions Lewis leaned in, his nose rubbing gently against Troy’s.

  “Oh fine, lead on,” Troy simpered, as their mouths met.

  *

  James watched his brother make out with the blonde hunk, only mildly envious. Troy had always had this charisma about him that allowed him to get with just about any guy he set his eyes on – and since there were few guys Troy wasn’t attracted to, that equated to a lot of men in Troy’s life.

  James, on the other hand, wasn’t much of a player. Oh, to be sure, he’d had his fair share of flings over the years, but he’d always taken after his older half-brother Michael – education and career took precedence, and recreation – including romance – took a back-seat more often than not.

  I could be more like Troy, James thought mutely, almost sullenly, it’s just not my… style. Wrinkling his nose as he pondered over that being the right word, he downed his drink, turning back to the bar and snapping his fingers for another. Troy was always lamenting that James was wasting his bisexuality – Troy’s reasoning was that, being attracted to both sexes, James had double the chances of scoring, a mathematical equation that escaped James.

  James took his drink, turning back to gaze out over the dance floor and not surprised in the slightest to find that Troy and his latest acquisition had moved on to somewhere else. Kye had also departed, being carted off with a hulking bear of a man to a dark corner of the nightclub.

  Lady Brunette had also disappeared amidst the throng of dancers. A pity – there was something about her that James found... intriguing.

  James sighed. He had decided to go over and ingratiate himself on her – assuming she was interested, of course. But she was gone. James sniffed in annoyance. Plenty of fish left in the sea. Indeed, even filtering out all of the attractive men, there was a bounty of beautiful women dancing, drinking, many of them were probably single and ready to mingle.

  “Good night?”

  James looked askance, and lo and behold, Lady Brunette was standing a few paces away, leaning over the bar, her breasts – barely obscured by a skinny sports top – dangling not even an inch from the glossy black surface, her chin resting in her hands. She was definitely giving him
puppy eyes.

  So much so that he felt a rather hot and heavy pulsation between his legs.

  “Suddenly it is.”

  *

  James was sure, if he checked his virtual-array’s memory, he could tally just how often he’d had sex, and with how many different people. But he didn’t need to know that, out of the last seven years that had constituted his sex life, he’d never, ever had a sexual encounter like this night. Lady Brunette – otherwise known by the name of Jennifer – was the greatest fuck James had ever had – of any gender.

  It was almost noon – 1400 hours, on account of Bastion having a 28-hour day – and James was only just now extricating himself from his king-sized bed, gingerly landing on the floor as his body ached in protest. He’d worked up quite an appetite overnight, and his body was crying out for nourishment and more rest.

  “Hello, Hector.”

  His tabby cat – six years old and a huge mooch at the best of times – opened a sleepy eye at the end of his bed and gave him an unreadable stare; he’d slunk into the bedroom at around dawn and had made himself at home, becoming an immoveable object that weighed down the end of the bed.

  “Where are you off to, sleepy head?”

  A dainty hand snaked out of the bedsheets and grabbed him round the waist, pulling him back to the bed he had been trying to climb out of for ten minutes.

  “Food,” he drawled, but was overpowered and pulled into an embrace, which ended when she wrested on top of him and straddled him. James stopped complaining – from this vantage point, he had a terrific view of her breasts as the lights, inset into the edges of the dark ceiling high above them, bounced off her flawless skin.

  “Hungry, are you?”

  “I worked hard last night,” he muttered, and with a surge of energy he spun her around onto her back, his right hand cupping her right breast as he bought his mouth up to hers, his pelvis grinding against her thigh. “And so did you… kind of. I guess.” He barked a laugh as her palm bounced off his chest, stinging his chest.