Asbaran Solutions: The Revelations Cycle, #2

By Chris Kennedy

Nigel Shirazi was first in line for the chairmanship of Asbaran Solutions, one of the prominent "Four Horsemen" mercenary companies. First in line…until his drinking and temper caused him to fail out of college and get disinherited by the family.

Now he leads the life of a playboy, enjoying a stipend from the family to stay out of the way. But someone is out to get his family, and Nigel is all that stands between the hidden enemy and the destruction of Asbaran Solutions and the Shirazi family.

Nigel will have to learn to control himself if he's going to take the reins of the company, figure out who's behind the vendetta against Asbaran, and work out a way to stop them. But they've taken his sister hostage, and that makes him a very, very angry man!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Seventh Seal Press
• Release date: Nov 13, 2023
• ISBN: 9781942936367

Chris Kennedy

A Webster Award winner and three-time Dragon Award finalist, Chris Kennedy is a Science Fiction/Fantasy author, speaker, and small-press publisher who has written over 55 books and published more than 500 others. Chris lives in Coinjock, North Carolina, with his wife, Sheellah.

Book preview

Chapter One

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Planet Moorhouse, Kepler 62 System

This is bullshit, Sergeant James Wilson grumbled. The tall, dark-haired trooper spat, the betel nut chew making his spittle a bright crimson on the sun-bleached sand.

What’s bullshit? Private Dave Daniels asked, his pale brows knitting. This is only my second contract, but it seems like pretty good duty to me. Walk some fence line, guard a mine, and get paid a ton of credits? Seems pretty soft. No one’s trying to kill me, and I can go down to the bar after my shift. Sure, the locals look like anteaters, but they pay well enough so I can afford some of the overpriced beer they’ve imported.

Naw, that ain’t what I’m talking about, at all, the sergeant replied. He spat again. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy not getting shot at as much as anyone. Having actually been hit a couple of times, I may even enjoy it more. What I’m saying is that this whole contract’s fucked up.

Why’s that?

Do you see the bird on our crest? Sergeant Wilson asked, pointing to where the Asbaran Solutions company flag hung limply from the staff in the humid, breezeless air.

Private Daniels nodded his head, then wiped the sweat from his eyes the motion caused. "Yeah. There’s a bird with the company’s motto, ‘Kill Aliens. Get Paid.’"

Do you know what kind of bird that is?

Nope; it looks like some sort of griffin.

The sergeant stopped and glared at the junior enlisted. Do they not teach unit history at basic any more, or are you just too fucking stupid to remember? It ain’t no damn griffin, boy; it’s a huma bird.

A huma bird?

Yeah. It’s a type of bird that never lands; it lives its entire life flying above the clouds where you can never see it.

Wow, that’s pretty cool. I’ve never heard of a bird like that.

That’s because it doesn’t exist, you dumbass, the sergeant said, cuffing the private in the back of the head. It’s mythological. The point I’m trying to get through your stupid fucking head is that us Asbaran ain’t for sitting around guarding shit. We’re mobile; we strike from above and crush our enemies. We don’t hang around waiting for them to hit us while we’re sitting on the damned toilet in a guardhouse on some godforsaken planet at the ass-end of the galaxy. He spat; another red stain marked his passage. If the Founder could see us now...

What? What would he do?

"If the Founder could see us now, he’d probably come back and kill every single motherfucker in management. This ain’t how we’re supposed to be used. It don’t play to our strengths...and it just ain’t right! He sighed. It ain’t what I signed up for anyway. He spat again, hitting his first mark dead center. I signed up to be up there," he continued, pointing up to the sky.

Daniels looked where the sergeant pointed and squinted. Hey, what’s that? he asked. There’s something up there.

Sergeant Wilson looked up. A miniature boomerang shape could just be seen, silhouetted against the clear green sky. Fuck! he grunted as he broke into a run back toward the shelter. "Incoming! Get under cover now!"

He had only covered half the distance to the bunker when he heard the tell-tale shriek of the banshee bombs, and he knew they weren’t going to make it.

* * * * *

Chapter Two

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Room 117, Neptune Hall, College of the Atlantic, Virginia Beach, Virginia, USA

Nigel Shirazi winced as Mr. Jamison walked toward him with the graded test papers. Reaching Nigel’s desk, Jamison paused to inspect the number written on the old-style paper, even though Nigel was sure Jamison knew it by heart. A sneer twitched across Jamison’s lips as he slapped the paper on Nigel’s desk.

With a Hmph! he thrust his nose in the air and proceeded to the next student in the row. Excellent work, Miss Beach, he praised before continuing down the row.

Nigel’s twitching fingers found the page, and he risked a look, but Jamison had put the paper face down. Of course he had.

Bastard.

Jamison would want to make it as demeaning as possible; in fact, he was probably watching from the back of the aisle, just waiting for Nigel to take a look.

Nigel spun around in his seat. Sure enough, he caught Jamison staring back at him from the end of the row. "Is there a problem, Mister Shirazi? He smiled, daring Nigel to reply. Is your grade not what you expected?" The sneer was back now, in full force.

Always the emphasis on his name, as if he didn’t belong. Wasn’t it bad enough that the aliens had glassed his home country of Iran into oblivion 100 years ago? When was everyone going to let that go?

Nigel turned back around, more slowly this time, and he glared at the paper as if to read the grade on the opposite side with x-ray vision. Based on Jamison’s reaction, Nigel doubted he needed to flip the paper over.

He already knew the grade; he had failed.

It had been a battle all semester. Someone had told Jamison who Nigel was, and Jamison had delighted in making Nigel’s life miserable. The son of Sargon Shirazi, Nigel stood to inherit the family business when he graduated from college.

If he graduated from college.

Having been kicked out of his previous three institutions, this was Nigel’s last chance. Although they used the polite term, disenrolled, what they really meant was, thrown out on his ass for poor grades and fighting.

Nigel sighed. Waiting wouldn’t make it any better. He flipped over the paper aggressively, like ripping off a used stim patch...something he was becoming more and more unlikely to ever do.

At the top of the paper was the number that ended his career as a mercenary before it ever began. 36%. In red pen, Jamison had written, Never Is Good Enough, underlining the capital letters.

Nigel’s pulse throbbed in his ears and temples, and a red haze came across his vision. He’d kill the motherfucker. He exploded from his seat, flinging it into the next student over, and spun toward the back of the classroom to give Jamison the beating he deserved. He made it two steps before the security officers tackled him.

He got in a good elbow strike on one of the officers, whose nose exploded like an overripe melon, but then the other one hit him with a stun wand. Everything went black.

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Dean’s Office, College of the Atlantic, Virginia Beach, Virginia, USA

Well, at least you didn’t yell, ‘I’ll kill you!’ this time, so they can’t bring you up on murder charges, Steve Rath noted with a smile as he walked out of the dean’s office with Nigel. His best friend, Steve had shown up to help plead his case, but it had been for naught; as expected, Nigel had been disenrolled again. "At least you’ve got that going for you. It shows you can learn, after all."

Yeah, ha ha, Nigel replied. He put on a pair of sunglasses to hide the black eye one of the guards had given him after he was stun-locked. I’m sure my father will appreciate the irony. I prove I’m not stupid by getting thrown out of school again. I doubt he’ll buy it.

So what’s your plan? Find another school?

My plan? I don’t know. It was hard enough to get into this school. I think Father promised them a million-credit endowment if they’d take me. I doubt anyone else will give me another chance, or that the company could afford to buy off another school. He sighed. Besides, this was my last chance. Father told me if I didn’t pass this time, I would be ineligible to take over the company.

Why’d you have to go after Jamison, then? Sure, he’s a prick, but that pretty much killed any chance you had of staying here.

I don’t know, sometimes I just...lose control. He baited me into it, almost as if he wanted me to come after him.

Obviously, he expected you to, or he wouldn’t have had the security force present.

"Yeah, that was a nice touch on his part, wasn’t it? I end up with a black eye and disenrollment, and he gets a promotion for dealing with ‘such an unruly student.’ It makes total sense."

I still don’t understand why you had to go after him, though.

Nigel shrugged. I was bullied plenty as a child in Chabahar, New Persia, where I grew up. When I went to tell Father, he told me to take care of it myself. If I couldn’t deal with little things like that, how did I expect to deal with something like running one of the Four Horsemen?

That’s kind of callous. What did you do?

I took a bunch of abuse. Even more once the other kids learned that Father wouldn’t do anything. They used to say, ‘You know what Nigel stands for? Never Is Good Enough Loser.’ It built up in me, more and more, and finally one day I’d had enough. We were playing cricket, and I got put out, and one of the other kids said it while I still had the bat in my hand. I snapped, and I beat him down with it. Hard. The kid was a couple years older than me and big as shit, but I took him down with the first swing. Probably would have killed him too, if some of the other kids hadn’t tackled me. I don’t know. I remember doing it, but I wasn’t in control of myself.

What happened?

Dad paid off the kid’s parents and took care of all of his hospital bills, and I was brought to America to grow up. That part was okay. I got to spend a lot of time with my grandfather, who was totally cool. I’ve been back to Chabahar a few times, and it really sucks. The family estate is nice enough, I guess, but the rest of the city isn’t much to speak of, despite all the money Asbaran Solutions and my family has put into it.

Nigel shrugged again. Anyway, that nickname has followed me around ever since, no matter where I go or what I do. I thought I’d finally escaped it, but Jamison wrote it on my paper. No idea how he knew about it, or if he even meant to do it, but I was under a lot of pressure—I needed that class to graduate—and the combination of the bad grade and the note he wrote...I don’t know...I just snapped, like I did on the cricket field that day.

And every other time you’ve been kicked out of school?

Yeah.

A black limo pulled to the curb in front of them, and Nigel sighed. That’s probably for me.

You don’t sound very excited about it. Is it your family?

I suspect so. Remember you asked what I’m going to do now? The person in that car is probably coming to tell me what is required of me, now that I’ve failed them again.

Well, good luck, Steve said as a short man in a dark, impeccably-tailored suit got out of the car and held the door open for Nigel. Let me know how it turns out.

Nigel got into the car and saw he was alone with the man. Normally a family member was present to admonish him or make him feel better, or whatever tactic they were using at the moment. He wasn’t sure what that meant.

The man took the seat facing him, and the car pulled away from the curb.

Your father is sorry to see that you have let your temper get the best of you yet again.

Yeah, well, it was nice of him to send you to tell me that, rather than coming here himself.

You may not be aware, but your father runs one of the largest and oldest mercenary organizations on this planet. Its yearly budget could buy almost any country on Earth. He should be excused if he has more important matters than seeing to a son who has once again demonstrated his lack of self-control and inability to follow instructions.

Yeah, everything’s more important than me. Always has been, and it always will be.

Despite your inability to do what he asks of you, he still loves you; however, at this time your father is currently off-planet, so he couldn’t have attended this meeting, even if he wanted to. He left instructions for what to do with you before he left.

"What? He was so sure I’d fail that he left instructions for what to do with me when it happened? What the fuck?"

"Well, sir, I’m sure even you can look at your own track record and see that what happened was a possibility."

Fuck you, too.

I understand you are having a difficult time at the moment, but there are still some matters that need to be addressed, based on your continued inability to graduate from college. He opened up a briefcase on the seat next to him and pulled out a slate and a stack of papers.

Like what?

There is the matter of disinheritance from the family business which must be attended to.

"Disinheritance from the family business?" Nigel fell back into the seat, stunned.

Yes, sir. As you were previously advised, if you did not graduate college, you would not be given the opportunity to inherit Asbaran Solutions when your father passes. He handed the slate to Nigel. Please sign at the ‘X,’ indicating I have advised you of this termination.

But, but... Nigel sputtered.

Come, come, Mr. Shirazi, you have been told repeatedly this day would come if you continued down the path you trod. You have now arrived at your destination.

All emotion drained from Nigel, and his face went pale. Barely aware of what he was doing, he signed his name.

Very well, thank you. The man put the slate back in his briefcase. As I mentioned earlier, your father truly does care for you. Although you won’t be given the opportunity to receive the company, he has offered you a number of other opportunities with the company. Failing that, he intends to provide funding for you to live a luxurious life, as long as you do not embarrass him, your family, or Asbaran Solutions.

A luxurious life?

Yes, a large sum will be deposited into your account every month, as long as you do not give your father the reason to terminate this benevolence.

So just stay away, stay out of trouble, and do whatever the hell I want?

If that is what you desire. The man handed the stack of papers to Nigel as the car pulled to the curb. It is all detailed in this document. He opened the door. This is where you get out.

Unable to talk or think, Nigel stepped out of the car and stood on the sidewalk with his mouth open as the limo drove off. He stood that way for a long time.

* * * * *

Chapter Three

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Planet Moorhouse, Kepler 62 System

"Colonel Shirazi, we’re on final approach, but we’re already taking incoming fire. They obviously know we’re coming."

"Understood. We need to retake the facility. Get us down, and we’ll take it from there."

"Okay...just so you know, the defenses are...fuck...pretty heavy. The dropship swayed as the pilot maneuvered. There’s a lot of shit up here."

"How long ‘til touchdown?"

"Fuck! Sorry, sir. Damn it! We just lost one of the dropships. Damn it! There goes another. They’re gone. No survivors. 30 seconds. If I make it. The third dropship’s hit. I’ve never seen so much—"

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Mexico Mikey’s Bar and Grill, Virginia Beach, VA, USA

I’m sorry about your father, Steve said.

Thanks, but as you know, we weren’t very close, Nigel replied. The best thing he ever did was leave me alone the last few months. The old-fashioned bartender came by, and Nigel ordered another round. The human bartender was the main reason Nigel frequented Mikey’s; all the other bars in the area had converted to robotic bartenders.

He also bought us these beers, too, Nigel added, which I appreciate. He toasted with his bottle, and the two men laughed.

So, is this good-bye? I suspect you’re going to be heading to Houston to take over the company, right? Steve asked. I mean, you’re the eldest; that’s how it works, right?

For 100 years, that was how it worked. Nigel held up a slate and flashed the screen at his friend. But not today, according to this.

What’s that say?

As discussed previously, I was disinherited, as acknowledged by my signature in Block 43 of the attached document.

Did you really do that? Sign your rights away?

Yeah, I did, the day I failed out of school. Remember the limo? They sent a lawyer to tell me about it. Apparently, all of the family was too busy to come.

Really?

Yep.

That sucks.

Both men took pulls from their drinks.

So, Steve asked, are you going to your dad’s funeral? Is that going to be in Houston too?

No, the funeral’s in Chabahar, which I hate. It may not be hell, but it’s close. He noticed two pretty women entering the bar and motioned for the bartender to send them a drink. And no, I’m not going. Fuck ‘em.

Aren’t you worried that whoever takes over the company will cut off your funding?

No, my younger brother is taking over, and he’ll do whatever it takes to keep me from challenging his right to run the company. He held up the slate. This letter also says that all of the current arrangements will continue in place, pending appropriate behavior.

So, basically, if you’re a good boy, they’ll send you money and if not...

I’ll get cutoff. Right.

Doesn’t that make you mad, though? Isn’t that a lot like bribery or getting bought off?

"What a good friend you are to bring that up, Nigel said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. And yes, I won’t lie, some days it irritates the piss out of me. But other times, I’m pretty okay with it. He held up his beer. I mean, really, I have enough money to do what I want and no responsibilities. Who wouldn’t want that?"

Judging by the tone of your voice, you.

Do I think about what it would be like to run one of the most powerful companies on Earth, and maybe in the entire galaxy? To control more war-making power than a lot of countries? Of course I do. He smiled over Steve’s shoulder as the two women he had sent drinks approached.

Hi, one of them said, holding up her drink. Do we have you to thank for these?

Nigel winked at Steve. Other times, I find I don’t care quite so much.

* * * * *

Chapter Four

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Planet Moorhouse, Kepler 62 System

"Colonel Shirazi, I’ve never seen defenses like this before. This is way...fuck...way worse than what we were told."

"Well, we’ve got to get down and complete this contract. We’ve already failed to retake the plant once, and we can’t afford to fuck it up again. We’re running out of gear!"

"Gear? Sir, I don’t think you know how bad it is up here. Gear is the least of our problems. I don’t think I can...damn, damn, damn...there goes one of the other dropships. I recommend we abort; this ain’t gonna work."

"Can’t you drop faster or something? We need to get down. The company is going to go under if we don’t."

"The company is going to go under if we all die, too! I’m serious, sir...fuck, we just lost the third dropship...Screw it! I’m aborting. We can’t—"

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Mexico Mikey’s Bar and Grill, Virginia Beach, VA, USA

Dude, I’m really sorry, Steve said. First your father, and now your brother. It’s been a bad year.

Yeah, well Farhad was a dick, so don’t cry too hard for him. He was always the ‘bad cop’ when my sister Parisa tried to be nice to me. ‘Don’t baby him, Parisa, he needs to grow up and take responsibility for his life. Blah, blah, blah.’ And besides, being in the mercenary business tends to shorten your lifespan somewhat. He knew what he was getting into.

Did you get another one of the ‘stay away and we’ll keep sending you money’ messages?

No I didn’t...not this time.

What do you suppose that means?

Nigel smiled. Seriously? I think it means I’m going to get my shot at running the company after all.

Really?

"Yeah. The company is supposed to be passed down through the males in my family, and we’re all out of adult ones. Farhad has two little boys and Parisa one, but none of them are old enough to manage the company, and they won’t be for at least 15 years. And that pretty much leaves me."

Why haven’t you heard anything then?

Bah, they’re probably trying to decide who has to fly here to ask me to come back. They need me, and they have some serious crow to eat. Ha! They’re probably drawing straws, with the loser being the one who gets the job!

Well, don’t forget the little guys who helped you along the way when you make it to the big time, okay?

Hey, who was your first customer when you got your financial planning license?

You were, of course, and with your account, I moved past everyone else in the company in the first month.

Well, don’t screw it up, because I’m going to need it; as soon as one of the little brats comes of age, I know they’ll want to fire me. I was written out of the will, so I’ll only be a steward of the company until they can get ‘their person’ in...but I’m going to have fun with it while I can.

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Open Arms Apartments, Sandbridge, Virginia Beach, Virginia, USA

Four days later, Nigel woke to a banging at the door. ‘Bout damn time, he said, shrugging off the arm across his waist. Disentangling himself from the other arms and legs lying across and around him, he slid from the bed. C’mon ladies, let’s go, he said, clapping his hands. It’s time for me to go take my birthright.

When will we see you again? the blond asked. Nigel thought her name was Cindy, but was far from positive. That might have been the brunette. He was pretty sure it wasn’t the redhead’s name.

I’ll give you a call once I get all of the legal stuff squared away, he replied, stepping into last night’s pants. It shouldn’t take long. He shuffled them out of the bedroom and to the door.

Hi, Pari— Nigel said, opening the door. He had expected his sister, but cut himself off when he found the short man in the dark suit waiting there instead.

He shooed the women out and then asked, Can I help you?

Interesting company you’re keeping, the man said. May I come in?

I don’t see why not, Nigel replied, moving out of the way, although I’m not sure what business it is of yours whose company I keep.

"It is my business, as my firm is responsible for maintaining Asbaran Solutions’ image. I am personally responsible for dealing with the...issues...you cause, like when you attacked your teacher in front of 17 other witnesses. We could probably stay comfortably in business, just in the fees we receive for covering up your...adventures."

Typical lawyer.

"I am not, ‘a typical lawyer;’ I am, in fact, your lawyer. I am charged with keeping you out of trouble and minimizing the damage you cause to your family’s name."

You must be busy then, Nigel said with a smile. If the family doesn’t want me to be part of the business, I can find other things to hold my attention.

Indeed, the short man replied. He shifted from foot to foot, looking uncomfortable.

Well, get on with it, Nigel urged. "We both know why you’re here. My brother’s dead, and the company needs me, the only surviving male heir, to come and take over Asbaran."

"Uh, no, that is not why I am here, the man replied. Well, part of that is true. As you are aware, your brother Farhad is indeed dead."

Yeah, I heard about it on the Tri-V. I notice I wasn’t invited to the funeral.

The funeral was a private service for close relatives only.

"Close relatives? I was his fucking brother! How much closer do you want?"

Be that as it may, you were in no way ‘close’ to him, nor have you been close to the family since you left school. You have neither come to the company’s facility in Houston, nor have you visited the family estate in Chabahar.

"Well fuck you, Mr. High-and-Mighty. The family and the company turned their backs on me, not the other way around. Why would I want to go where I wasn’t wanted? I was told to stay away, so I have."

"No, you were decidedly not told to stay away. You were in fact offered a position in the administrative section of the company where, it was hoped, you would learn some self-control and a bit about leading others."

Bullshit.

I know that to be true; I wrote the letter and personally handed it to you.

Well, I don’t remember the letter having that invitation in it. Nigel shrugged, wondering if he still had the letter. He couldn’t remember ever reading it. "If you’re not here to invite me back to run the company, what the hell are you here for?"

We need you to come to Houston. There are some contracts that need to be signed...and some other duties.

Why can’t the new president sign the contracts and whatever the hell else is needed?

Because the new president is currently off-world, and the contracts must be signed by a member of the Shirazi family.

So get my sister to sign them. Everyone likes her; they’d probably allow her to sign in my place.

I’m sure they would. Unfortunately, she is the new president who is off-planet; thus, she is unavailable to sign the contracts.

"What? Nigel exploded. That’s bullshit! She can’t be the president! It has to be a male heir. It’s in the company charter. How the fuck did she get to be president?"

The Board of Directors made an allowance for her to function as the acting president when your brother left to finish off the contract that killed your father. When your brother got killed too, the Board decided to retain her as acting president until her son was old enough to take over.

"That is such bullshit. I should have been the president, not her. Why didn’t the Board call me?"

Because you were deemed unworthy, based on your past disassociation from both the organization and your family.

So what makes me worthy enough to come sign the contracts now?

As I have already stated, the contracts are financially significant enough that they must be signed by a member of the Shirazi family. At the moment, you are the only adult member of the family available.

Nigel noticed a small emphasis on the word, ‘adult,’ as if he thought Nigel were not sufficiently ‘adult-like.’ Well, fuck him. No, Nigel said. I’m not coming to sign the contracts. You bastards changed the rules once so Parisa could be president, change them again so someone else can sign.

We tried; otherwise, I wouldn’t be here. This rule was integral to the original charter. In order to change it, we would have to dissolve the company. The people who risk their lives on a daily basis for the company deserve better.

Better than what? Better than me?

Better than losing their jobs and getting thrown out into the street, the man said, starting to lose his cool for the first time. Nigel noticed he hadn’t answered the second question.

And what about me?

Yes, they also deserve better than to have the company run by a spoiled brat like you. They deserve someone good enough to run the company like it should be run!

There it was, out in the open. Nigel stalked to the door and threw it open. "Get out! he screamed. Not good enough? You’re probably the one who talked to my last instructor and sabotaged me in that class. All my life, people have called me ‘Nige’—Never Is Good Enough—and now I see how that’s being perpetuated. You motherfucker, get out, and get out now or I’ll kick your fucking midget ass so hard you won’t need a plane to fly back