REV: Rebirth

The REV Warriors Series

T.R. Harris

Book 3

Contents

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Novels by T.R. Harris

REV: Rebirth

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Epilogue

The End

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Novels by T.R. Harris

Copyright 2018 by T.R. Harris

All rights reserved, without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanically, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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Novels by T.R. Harris

The Human Chronicles Saga

The Fringe Worlds

Alien Assassin

The War of Pawns

The Tactics of Revenge

The Legend of Earth

Cain’s Crusaders

The Apex Predator

A Galaxy to Conquer

The Masters of War

Prelude to War

The Unreachable Stars

When Earth Reigned Supreme

A Clash of Aliens

Battlelines

The Copernicus Deception

Scorched Earth

Alien Games

The Cain Legacy

The Andromeda Mission

Last Species Standing

Invasion Force

Force of Gravity

Mission Critical

REV Warriors Series

Rev

REV: Renegades

REV: Rebirth

The Drone Wars Series

Day of the Drone

Jason King – Agent to the Stars Series

The Enclaves of Sylox

Treasure of the Galactic Lights

In collaboration with George Wier…

The Liberation Series

Captains Malicious

Available exclusively on Amazon.com

and Kindle Unlimited.

REV: Rebirth

Prologue

Forty-one days prior to the present.

“Holy crap! That didn’t take long,” exclaimed Gunnery Sergeant Angus Price. “We just sent the bloody video four hours ago.”

General Bill Smith was at the proximity screen, watching as a dozen Antaere warships closed on their position. “We knew this would happen,” he grunted. “Wormhole communications are notorious for spotlighting the source of transmissions. I thought by bolting out of the area at the speed of the Zanzibar we’d get a little head start. But I guess being this deep in Qwin space put the kibosh on that idea.”

Ashley Hunter, the last of the three Humans aboard the starship, entered the pilothouse. “I guess all the alarms and flashing lights mean we’re in some sort of trouble?” she said, almost with a yawn.

Angus admired her apparent calm demeanor, figuring a life as a deep-cover spy had steeled her psyche to situations like this.

“I recommend going dark to avoid being blasted to atoms,” said the ship’s artificial intelligence, an entity known as Amber.

“Do you need permission?” General Smith barked out.

“I was just being polite,” the AI replied. “Cutting all power. Hold on to something.”

Angus felt his stomach well up in his throat as the ship lost gravity. The sensation only lasted a moment before the feeling of falling was replaced with that of floating.

“Damn, they’re not wasting time,” General Smith—Smitty—said, still staring at the threat board. “They’ve laid down a spread of plasma bolts targeting our last known position.”

“I gave us a small burst of gas to move us away once we went dark,” Amber reported. “This first barrage will miss us, but the Antaere are sure to widen both the drop zone and the search grid. They’ll also use mass detectors.”

Everyone aboard knew what she meant. Although they’d cut power and would be leaving no energy signatures, it was impossible to hide the magnetics and mass of the metallic hull.

“The pitted surface of the Zanzibar will confuse the signals initially, appearing first as a cloud of dust” Amber said. “But as more scans are made and overlaid, our shape will appear on the Antaere screens.”

“Another two ships have arrived,” Smitty announced. “The yellow-skinned bastards seem determine to find us.”

“And can you blame them?” Angus asked, rhetorically.

The mood was tense aboard the Zanzibar, and it would only get worse from here on out.

* * *

A day before, the crew of the Zanzibar had absconded from the planet Iz’zar with only the second-known copy of the Corollaries of Mentar, the thirteen documents instructing the Antaere on how to treat their alien followers at the time of their ascension to Heaven. Most of the sections were innocuous enough, until it came to number thirteen, the Final Glory text. The simple three-paragraphs on the page instructed the Guardians of the Order to exterminate all non-Antaere followers of the Order prior to their merging into the Universal Order, the point where all living beings would join in harmony with all others. Of course, what this really meant was that only the Antaere were to experience the merge, representing the only intelligence in the glorious tossed salad that was to become Eternity.

Understandably, disclosure of this Thirteenth Corollary—indeed its very existence—was forbidden and the document closely guarded. That was until Angus and his friends stole the complete set. Now the Antaere were pulling out all the stops to keep Angus and the others from getting the stolen documents back to Earth for authentication and dissemination.

Four hours earlier, Smitty had sent a burst video of the Corollaries to Earth as a preview. The transmission would arrive, eventually, but without authentication, the Qwin would just deny the video was real. And the aliens weren’t interested in merely retrieving the documents from the thieves. If destroying them meant keeping the Corollaries from reaching Earth, then that was fine, too. That made the small, private space yacht Zanzibar expendable…along with her occupants.

“Can we fight our way out,” Angus asked?

Angus was a REV, a chemically-enhanced super warrior, yet all his combat experience came from ground-level, in-your-face, man-on-alien action. He wasn’t a space warrior by any stretch of the imagination. Besides, odds of fourteen-to-one seemed a little over the top, even for a REV.

“I could effectively take out five of the survey ships with a coordinated and surprise attack,” said Amber.

“And what of the other eleven?” asked Angus.

“They will destroy us.”

The finality of the statement hung in the air for a moment. Even Ashley appeared crestfallen.

“We have to get to the edge of the search grid and make a run for it,” Angus stated. “It looks to be only about two hundred thousand miles away.”

“You are correct,” Amber replied. “At minimum impulse jets, we could reach the boundary in three days.”

To Angus, taking three days to cover a distance of a few hundred thousand miles seemed almost inconceivable in the age of gravity-drives. That was like a jump from the Earth to the Moon. But then he had to smile. A hundred years ago that was the time it took to cover such distances. And like back then, all the crew had to work with would be reactive gas jets to get the ship moving. Any chemical exhaust or gravity-drive singularities would alert their hunters, and that would be it.

“I have a solution,” Amber announced. “I shall plot the course…and then tumble the ship.” There was a trace of pride in the sexy artificial voice.

“Tumble the ship?” Ashley asked.

“Yes. By tumbling, our orientation to the scans will be constantly changing, and therefore our image will remain diffused.”

“Great idea, Amber!” Angus exclaimed. The computer’s sexy female voice affected Angus in ways he didn’t want to admit. He figured that was why the AI had two distinct persona, one male, one female. Although she could be a bitch at times, Angus still felt a strange attraction to the voice….

“Although I recommend we take the risk of periodic and controlled release of gas jets to move the vessel, I must warn you of a problem.”

“What’s that,” Angus asked.

“Our cloud-image will begin to move. The Antaere will notice this. They will realize only two things could cause this to happen. One: There is another gravity source in the area. Or two: The cloud of debris is not a cloud after all. It will be a matter of timing as to whether we reach the boundary before the Antaere decide on the latter.”

“But we have—”

“Silence,” Amber called out.

Angus stopped speaking and held his breath, just as the other Humans on the bridge were doing. The ship was being scanned, and although sound waves didn’t promulgate through space, the hull did vibrate, which would cause a slight rippling effect within the diffused readings of the cloud.

A moment later, the alien ship had passed.

“As I was saying,” Angus continued, “we can’t stay here. The only reason the Antaere don’t have a hundred ships scanning for us right now is because it takes time to get them here. They’re going all out to keep us from getting away with the Corollaries. We may have sent a video, but that won’t be enough to convince too many people about what the Qwin are up to. We have to get the originals to Earth where they can be verified.”

“A statement of the obvious wasn’t necessary, Angus,” Amber chided. “Everyone aboard knows the situation.”

“So what do we do, smartass?” Angus snapped.

“We engage the jets and begin to tumble. My plan is our only option, even with its inherent risks. There is even a slight chance it will succeed.”

“And then what?” Ashley asked. “We’re still deep in Antaere territory and with a long way to go before we can expect any friendly cover.”

“The Zanzibar is faster than any of the ships hunting us. If we are able to reach the boundary undetected, we will get a jump on our pursuers.”

“That’s what we tried to do in the first place,” Smitty pointed out. “You see how well that worked out.”

“That was because we were being cautious. If we do not care about our gravity wave, we can maintain separation. However that does not take into account any ships ahead of us or arriving from an oblique.”

Angus knew what she was talking about. It was like a linebacker racing after a much-faster wide receiver. If you had the angle, it was possible to catch up to a swifter target.

“How long until we get to Human space?” he asked.

“Barring any time-consuming diversions, thirty-eight days. And then another twenty-eight to Earth.”

“Thirty-eight days trying to stay ahead of a phalanx of enemy warships close on our tail,” Angus said. “Sounds like fun. When do we start?”

“Please hold on to something,” Amber ordered. “When I begin the tumble, there will be a form of artificial gravity at the ends of the ship, with an area of zero gravity at the focus.”

Angus felt the ship surge as Amber activated the gas jets that would get the Zanzibar moving out of the search grid. Then the view through the forward window began to shift, with the distance stars suddenly moving up before rotating back around a few seconds later. Angus felt his body pulled toward the viewport at the forward section of the pilothouse. The orientation for everything was now off. Bulkheads became floors, while others formed ceilings. The center-point was near the common room and the galley, where there would be no gravity. This would only last a few days, if they were lucky. After that, it would be an all-out sprint for Human space using the ship’s prototype gravity-drive. It would be a long time having to maintain constant vigil of an enemy force nipping at their heels. Fortunately, Amber would do most of the heavy lifting, using her considerable computing power to keep them one step ahead of the Antaere.

It was a good plan.

And it almost worked.

* * *

Angus Price was on the bridge when Amber initiated the gravity-drive and inertia compensators. A moment later, the Zanzibar was in a deep well, bolting away from the search grid.

Angus was planted face-first onto the deck when the artificial gravity kicked in. He climbed to his feet and staggered to the pilot seat.

“What happened?” he asked the otherwise empty room.

“We were scanned by three simultaneous beams and the Antaere ships began to change course. We have been identified,” the AI answered. “Oh, and there were also three plasma bolts closing on our position.”

Angus called up the threat board on his screen. Of course, that was after he first cued up the food inventory for the Zanzibar; he wasn’t that familiar with the controls.

The three markers indicating the roiling balls of intense plasma energy were falling behind, unable to link with a starship in a gravity well. But there was a boatload of much larger Qwin warships engaging their own gravity-drives and giving chase. If they got close enough, they could knock the Zanzibar out of the well and fire their flash cannon again. At the moment, Amber had them just barely out of range. But they had a hell of a long way to go.

Ashley appeared at the door to the pilothouse. “Wasn’t that too soon?” she asked.

“Yes,” said Amber. “Because of the premature nature of our escape, our location is now known. It will be more difficult to avoid blocking forces while in Antaere space.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I have plotted a rather complicated course to confuse our pursuers. We should be able to avoid most direct contact, yet it will add a minimum of nine days to our transit through Antaere space.”

Another nine days added to a journey of over six hundred light-years. Angus sighed. It will be a miracle if we make it out of this one alive….

1

Sergeant Peter Savage floated near the forward viewport of the shuttle, watching as the huge battle-carrier came into view. The Eldorado—the Big EL—was a Valhalla-class starship, one of nine such vessels in the Human fleet. She carried a crew compliment of over five thousand, not counting a Marine strike force of two thousand and the sixty fighter craft in her hangars. For the past seven months—ever since the mad retreat of Human forces from the bulk of the Grid—she’d been on sentry duty near the closer-in Colony Worlds protecting against a potential Antaere attack on Earth.

It had taken Pete fourteen days to catch up to the ship after leaving Crious, and since his orders were to the starship—and not a location—he had no idea where the carrier was at the moment. He was sure he’d find out in due time.

Valhalla-class warships were the most-powerful in the Fleet, and from his vantage point, Pete could see a dozen protruding flash turrets dotting the hull, along with multiple barrels for the projectile weapons. The Humans had been slow to accept the energy devices as their weapon of choice, since ballistics were much more effective against charged diffusion shields. Yet the drawback with armored shells came from the fact that once deployed, the battlefield was littered with millions of tiny metallic objects—which at the speeds experienced during a firefight—could pulverize a ship’s hull in a matter of seconds. Energy weapons didn’t have that issue. After about a thousand miles, they dissipated, with no residual effect.

Most of Pete’s Marine career had been spent aboard ships like this. They were the preferred launch platforms for the REVs while on deployment, and deep within the mighty ship, a small compliment of approximately one hundred military and medical personnel were tasked with the maintenance and well-being of people like him. That wasn’t a lot for the impact the REVs had on most assault operations. But that was a testament to their effectiveness. Nothing aboard the mighty warcraft packed more punch for its size than did the REVs and their support teams.

The shuttle entered one of the smaller landing bays at the rear of the ship and settled onto the latticed deck, before localized gravity was reestablished and the chamber pressurized. Pete scooped up his green duffle bag and made his way aft. The rear panel dropped and he stepped into the frigid air of the hangar.

A young enlisted Navy man greeted him, dressed in a heavy peacoat. Pete shrugged off the cold, his REV conditioning making him more tolerant to radical swings in temperature. Then he eyed the two armed Marines standing off at a distance, watching him. This was standard procedure for all REVs. They rarely went anywhere unescorted.

“Welcome aboard the Eldorado, Sergeant Savage,” said the young sailor. “I’m Jimmy Graves, hospital corpsman second class. I’m part of your medical recovery crew. I’ll show you to your quarters, and then you have a meeting in the Unit briefing room at oh-nine hundred. I’ll take that for you,” the man said, reaching for the duffle bag.

“That’s okay, Jimmy,” Pete said. “I’ve got it.”

Graves smiled knowingly. As a natural consequence of the residual NT-4 in his system, Pete was easily twice as strong as the seaman, even when not activated. He could carry the heavy bag a lot easier than the slender young sailor.

The pair exited the hangar through a small airlock, with the guards close behind. After presenting his orders at the Quarterdeck, he was passed through into the interior of the warship.

The REV Operations Center wasn’t too far from the landing bay. It occupied a small portion of the aft section, where the ejection capsules and recovery shuttles were housed. There were also equipment bays, meeting rooms, and quarters for both the REVs and their support personnel, although the REVs themselves were segregated, not only from the rest of the crew, but from other REVs as well.

His Navy escort opened a pressure door and led Pete down a short corridor between another secure hatchway. There were six side doors along the passageway leading to rooms which Pete knew would be vacant. This was to be his private domain aboard the carrier. No one would be allowed in or out without permission, himself included. Jimmy opened a door and then stepped aside to let Pete enter.

It was a standard compartment normally reserved for mid-level officers when REVs weren’t embarked. It had a fold-up bunk, a desk with an entertainment center, a wardrobe and a private head. This room was also equipped with a personal food processing station, saving the REV the hassle of having to be escorted to the mess decks for every meal. Pete set the duffle bag on the desk and checked his watch. Twenty-five minutes to get settled in before the briefing. He thanked Jimmy and the young man left.

Pete unhooked the bunk and let it fall into place. He sat down and looked around at the light gray walls of his ten by twelve metal cell. It looked much like the room he’d lived in for the past year on the planet Crious, while twiddling his thumbs with nothing to do. The REV program was in limbo at the time, as the Human war effort switched from offensive to defensive operations. REVs were attack animals, so their mission had been severely impacted by the change in emphasis. Most of the Fleet REVs had been moved to Crious, to cool their heels while awaiting further orders. What followed was a lonely and boring routine, highlighted by bi-monthly maintenance injections of NT-4 to maintain proper residual levels. Occasionally, he was allowed to interact with some of the other REVs, but for brief periods and always under constant watch. It wasn’t much, but it did break the monotony.

Pete had been thrilled when his orders came through, assigning him to the Eldorado; however, the question why him still nagged. He was an 0h-351 Bravo with eight years in-service. There were plenty of more-senior REVs on the planet to choose from. So why him? He figured it was because his last maintenance boost had been six weeks ago, and he was due for another soon. Since he was now aboard a battle-carrier—and obviously prepping for a mission—the combat dose of NT-4 he would receive during the op would kill two birds with one stone. According to pragmatic military logic, selecting him for this assignment made perfect sense.

Despite receiving the orders regardless of his qualifications, he was still thankful it had been him selected to go on the Run, no matter where it took place. The only thing that gave meaning to a REV was the mission, with its associated danger helping to fill the void in his soul and stimulate his mind. Without a mission, the life of a REV was like being in prison while serving out a sentence in solitary confinement. At least now he had a purpose, even if it did bring him one step closer to his eventual early death.

He took another glance around the room.

“Welcome home, Pete Savage,” he said with a sigh. “Same shit. Different day.”

* * *

Twenty minutes later, the omnipresent guards escorted him to the unit’s briefing room before stepping inside and taking up positions against the bulkhead. There were nine people already in the room; five officers and four enlisted. A full-bird colonel was standing at the far end of a long conference table. He stepped up to the REV and extended his hand.

“Welcome aboard, Sergeant Savage. I’m Colonel Sam Daugherty, operations commander for the Marine assault force aboard the EL. By the way…great name. A REV named Savage; it fits.”

Pete didn’t take offense. He knew the REVs had a solid reputation within the Corps, and the comment was made more out of respect than any implied insult.

Pete studied the muscular, squat man dressed in Summer khakis. Every Marine contingent aboard a carrier had their senior officer, and Daugherty was it aboard the EL. He would oversee all operations conducted by the Marines, including the air wing. That also put him nominally in charge of the REVs, although each REV unit had its own specialized chain-of-command. Pete noticed a Marine captain sitting at the table. This would be his new unit commander.

The colonel continued with the introductions. “This is Major Roland Freed, my adjutant, Navy Commander Benito Juarez, the ship’s liaison, and Captain Isaac Lofton, REV ops.”

The Marine captain rose to his feet and vigorously shook Pete’s hand. “Welcome, sergeant. I’ve seen your jacket; a lot of solid work. You served with Captain Anderson aboard the Camelot a few years back. We went through the Academy together.”

“He’s a fine officer, sir, and a great commander,” Pete said. “I owe my life to him several times over.”

All this meeting of new people seemed strange for Pete. During normal operations, a REV was assigned a team of specialists who would serve with him—and only him—for two-year terms. Since the drawdown, most of the support teams had been dissolved—including his old one—with most of the members rotating back into the Fleet. Others chose to retire or leave the service, having lost their primary focus in the Corps. Pete wasn’t surprised to see a new commander. He was sure all the team members would be newbies, at least with respect to working with each other. That could be problematic. Recovery and medical crews had to work in perfect harmony if Pete was to have a chance of surviving a Run. But these were different times. He would withhold judgement until he met the other members of his team.

“This is Command Master Sergeant Darius Bullock,” the colonel continued, introducing a huge bull of a black man with a granite face and thin sheen of sweat on his skin. “Sergeant Bullock will be the team leader for the ground mission, and there’s none better or tougher.”

Pete knew what he meant: tougher…for a normal Human.

“All the members of the REV support team are new to the ship, so it will take a while for everyone to settle in,” said Colonel Daugherty, confirming Pete’s earlier suspicion. “Having said that, let’s proceed with the briefing.”

Pete took a seat at the opposite end of the table from Daugherty just as a large monitor came to life on the wall behind the officer. It showed a picture of Lieutenant Zac Murphy, formerly the most-senior REV in the Corps. “I’ll give a little background, although most of you in the room may not need it.”

Pete was one of those who did. Although he had access to television and radio on Crious, he wasn’t that interested in current affairs. As a REV, most events were irrelevant to him, seeing that he couldn’t do anything about them and wasn’t allowed to interact with the outside world even if he could. Over the years, the goings on reported by hyperventilating news anchors became only so much background noise so he tuned most of it out.

The colonel continued. “Since the events at the temple on Iz’zar almost two years ago, we’ve been in a major retreat throughout the Grid. We’ve lost just about all the gains we’ve made over the past ten years or more, which has been a fucking waste of lives and resources. Yet recently, with the recovery of the Corollary documents and their rather shocking revelations concerning the Antaere and their alien followers, things are beginning to change.”

He turned his attention to the screen. “Most of you know Lt. Zac Murphy. If not, then climb out from under your rock and pay attention. Since his capture four months ago, the Antaere have been broadcasting incriminating and damaging video of his many confessions, not only for the debacle on Iz’zar, but for everything else the Antaere can think of. If a Qwin gets a hangnail, Murphy is taking the blame for it. But as you also know, it’s all bullshit. Our techs have incontrovertible proof that the videos are fake, nothing more than digitized images of the lieutenant. For some time now, we’ve been sending out our own videos disputing the claims. Overall, it hasn’t done much good. The vast majority of the Grid is still firmly in the pockets of the Antaere and definitely anti-Human. Even broadcasting the video of the Corollaries, showing how the Antaere plan to kill off all their native sheep at the time of the so-called Final Glory hasn’t changed things much.” The colonel put the words ‘Final Glory’ in finger quotes, revealing how he felt about the Antaere and their religion, called the Order. “The aliens are claiming the Corollary video is a fake, and until we get the originals to Earth to be analyzed, not much is going to change on that front. However….”

The slide changed, showing a planet Pete recognized as Kaus, or ES-7. He’d taken many a Run on the planet, so he knew it intimately, both from orbit and on the ground.

“ES-7,” Colonel Daugherty stated. “Liberated ten years ago at a high cost of Human blood and treasure. Since then it’s become a pit where billions of adjusted dollars have been poured for reconstruction and support, only to have the ungrateful native bastards tell us to pack up and leave a year ago. In the meantime, they invited the Antaere in to make sure we stay gone, surrendering all the territory we once held. It’s the same story throughout most of the Grid. However, gentlemen, in the case of ES-7, we’re going back.”

“An invasion?” asked Captain Lofton, anxiously.

“Unfortunately, no,” said Daugherty. He turned back to the static photo of the Earth-like world. “Since we left, the native population has divided into independent factions, each fighting for domination and controlling essentially a third of the planet.” He pointed to the Southern region. “This is our target.” The screen enlarged, to show a view from orbit of an oblong structure nestled between a pair of snow-capped mountain ranges. “This is the Bountiful Enclave. The natives in this region have requested our assistance in removing the Antaere from a base they established there after the Human population moved to the Unity Enclave at the start of the current hostilities. This is the first time in over a year that any of the Colony Worlds—even a segment of one—has asked for our intervention. This is a turning point, gentlemen, showing a shift in loyalties is beginning to take place.”

Daugherty turned to the room. “I’m sure I don’t have to stress how important this is to the war effort. We can’t do squat without the support of the locals, and if we prove ourselves during the upcoming operation, there’s a good chance the other factions on ES-7 will join us. Kaus could be the first of a domino-effect of worlds where we get invited in to help. It could signal a major strategic shift in the war…and it all starts with us, gentlemen.”

“Sir, ES-7 is pretty deep in Antaere territory; at least it is now,” said Captain Lofton. “Even if we liberate the entire planet, it would be hard to hold.”

“That’s correct, captain,” said Daugherty. “Even so, the optics will go a long way in changing the hearts and minds of the natives everywhere. Let’s face it, the destruction of the Temple on Iz’zar pissed off a lot of the believers of the Order, but it didn’t seriously change their attitude toward the Antaere. It just became very unpopular—and dangerous—to say so. With a few victories under our belt, along with the revelations of the contents of the Corollaries, a lot of the distrust and animosity toward the Antaere could find a voice. This mission—although hastily organized and limited in scope—has the highest priority according to Earth Command. There’s no way we can say no to the natives. We’re doing this, gentlemen…and we’re going to kick a lot of alien ass in the process.”

The colonel had made his point, and the men in the room felt not only his determination, but also his unspoken concern. This was big. They had better not fuck it up.

After a few more logistical comments, the colonel said they would have a full strategic briefing once closer to the target. Then he dismissed the men to tend to their specific duties.

Captain Lofton and Master Sergeant Bullock joined Pete in the corridor.

“Nothing like putting a shitload of pressure on us after a year layoff,” said Lofton.

“It will be fine, sir,” Pete said. “I’m well-rested for the Run.”

Lofton returned a nervous smile. “Glad to hear it. Now, take the rest of the day to get acclimated to local time. Tomorrow morning—o-seven hundred—meet in Staging Room B. Master Sergeant Bullock will introduce you to some new toys we have for you.”

“New toys?”

“Yes, sergeant. You didn’t think REV Command has been sitting on our thumbs for the past year, did you? We’ve been playing around with some ideas I think you’ll like.”

Pete grimaced. He was a REV, which meant he was a creature of habit. He didn’t like new. New got people killed.

2

The next morning the omnipresent sentries followed Pete to Staging Room B, but this time they waited outside. Inside was Master Sergeant Bullock and two other men, both enlisted Marine sergeants. The room was fairly large with high ceilings lined with bare conduits and other piping, along with a set of flat lighting panels. As it was throughout the military starship, the walls were uniform gray and the decking was made of latticed metal, designed to drain away any water leaks or accumulated condensation from the dank humidity that seemed to be everywhere.

Master Sergeant Bull Bullock was as stern-faced as ever this morning, with the sleeves of his fatigues rolled up and straining to hold together against the Marine’s bulging biceps. The man was a huge and angry presence, and as before, his skin glistened with a light sweat sheen. He grunted as he wiped away a coating of moisture from his smooth forehead while glaring steely-eyed at the young REV. Pete wondered if he’d wronged the huge command sergeant in another life? He looked as though he’d just as soon rip off Pete’s head than give him the time of day. But the REV shrugged off the feeling. He’d been in the Marines long enough to know the type. Bull couldn’t let his guard down for a moment. That would be a sign of weakness and a betrayal of the fear he sought to instill in all who met him. The problem: most Marines knew it was just an act, so few took him seriously, at least with regards to the persona. As far as him being one bad-ass hunk of mean Marine, that was beyond question. Few could match Bull’s skill and courage. The man was a legend in the Corps, and honestly, Pete was glad to have him on his team.

A staff sergeant walked up and greeted Pete warmly. “Welcome, Sergeant Savage,” said the man. “I’m Howard Noonan. The other tech is Len Groves…and you’ve already met Master Sergeant Bullock. Most of us arrived aboard the Eldorado over the last few days so we’re all trying to get to know each other. Len and I are your armor techs.”

Bullock grunted again. “Let’s get on with it, sergeant,” he snapped at Noonan. “He’ll get to know the rest of the team as the need arises.”

“Yes, master sergeant.” Noonan turned to the table at the center of the room. On it was an assortment of what looked like scrap metal, a couple of dozen pieces at least, mostly curved and of various lengths. “This,” Noonan said, sweeping a hand over the array, “is your pretty new suit of armor.”

Pete stepped up to the table and lifted a piece of the light green metal. It was extremely light and bent slightly as he examined it.

“This is going to protect me?”

Noonan smiled. “Better than the old clunky suit you’re used to.” He took the piece from Pete. “This is a new polymer material we’ve been working on for some time. It’s actually made of cellulose—wood.”

“Wood? No shit?”

“Yep. This new armor is made out of something called cellulose nanocrystals. We’ve been able to extract CNC fibrils with incredible strength and pair them with carbon fiber strands. They’re not only strong but lightweight. In giga-Pascals, the new material has elasticity of nearly two hundred and a tensile strength of over ten, after we’ve spiced it up with our secret sauce.”

“But it’s flexible, even soft,” Pete said.

“That’s before a current is run through it to align the molecules. That’s what’s so unique about it. We can shape it to just about any form and then stabilize it into nearly indestructible panels, lightweight, yet flexible to a point.”

Noonan took the piece of light green armor and placed it on Pete’s right forearm. He shaped the material, squeezing it with his hands until it was a perfect fit. The other Marine tech then stepped up and placed a small black box against the material. He pressed a button on the box and Pete felt the material heat up. A moment later, Noonan removed the material and handed it back to Pete. It was as rigid as metal, still warm to the touch.

“This will prevent an 80-millimeter round from penetrating,” Noonan said. “And the alignment of the carbon fibers will channel a level one flash bolt into a storage reservoir where the energy can be repurposed to supply your plasma weapon.”

Pete held the thin material up to his face so he could study its thickness. It was barely an eighth of an inch thick and light as a feather. He shook his head. “I don’t know. Even if it can stop a bullet, there would still be a transfer of force through it. There has to be.”

Noonan nodded his approval. “Very good, Pete. That’s right. I won’t bullshit you; you will get pretty bruised up while wearing the suit. But unlike your old A-84 armor, this stuff won’t break, at least under normal wear and tear.”

Bullock stepped up to the three Marines. “The goal of this new technology is to not only protect the REV, but also to cut down on the recovery time from major injuries. That’s an incredible waste of time and manpower. As Noonan said, you’ll still get banged up, but bruises heal faster than torn up flesh and broken bones. Now take off your clothes and put this on.” Bull shoved a pile of white cloth into Pete’s chest. “It’s the undergarment you’ll wear with the armor. It’s infused with meds to cut down on the trauma caused during a Run, as well as a cushioning element for the impact force you talked about. It seems the people back on Earth care more about your welfare than I do. They don’t want you to get hurt…not much.”

“Gee, master sergeant, that sure was nice of them. I’ll be sure to put them on my Christmas card list. You, too.”

Bullock snorted. “Noonan, get him fitted, and then send him to the armory after you’re done.”

“Yes, master sergeant.”

Bullock huffed away, relieving a lot of the tension in the room in the process. Noonan looked at Pete.

“He was abused as a child,” the sergeant said with a smile. “Now, let’s get to work. There’s about a hundred separate pieces that make up your suit. Once they’re shaped, we have to connect them all. Trust me, Pete, you’ll like this a lot better than the old stuff.”

“Lighter, stronger, and it will keep me from getting shot to pieces…I think you’re right, even if I still have my doubts.”

“Just wait until we get to the helmet. You’ll really like that.”

* * *

Bull Bullock led the briefing in the armory.

“I gotta say at the outset, I was against this,” he said to Pete and Captain Lofton, who had joined them for the weapons orientation. “Energy weapons may be all the rage, but I still like things that go bang over things that just go poof.”

“I’m with you on that one, master sergeant,” Pete said. He’d just spent three hours being fitted for a thin outer skin that he doubted would do the job of his much heavier and more substantial A-84 armor. And whereas his old helmet had a clear plastic faceplate, the new helmet completely enclosed his head, providing only an electronic heads-up display of the outside world. Sure, it was full of new-fangled features, such as 360-degree scanning and target sensors, he’d felt claustrophobic when the helmet was placed over his head. The image inside was like not wearing a helmet at all, but Pete knew better. And what if the electronics failed? On a Run, most of his equipment—along with his body—were torn to shreds. It was a lot to expect that this new stuff wouldn’t suffer the same fate.

And now the weapons.

He still had a projectile gun, but not the trusty M-93 like before. This was a new, lightweight 32-caliber mini railgun. Again, an electronics-driven device. Even though Pete was only twenty-nine, and like all of his generation had grown up with a proliferation of electronic devices dominating his life, his survival would depend on these things working, and during the incredible stresses and abuses of combat. For Pete Savage, if it didn’t go bang or explode at some point, it wasn’t a weapon.

Captain Lofton could read the worry on Pete’s face.

“Sergeant, all these improvements have been designed to be more lightweight and flexible on the battlefield. Having to carry five hundred pounds of equipment and ammo into combat was always a big hindrance to the mission. With the new armor and weaponry, you’ll be able to move faster and react quicker, and the upgraded electronic surveillance will help you identify targets more reliably.”

“That’s all well and good, captain, if it mattered,” Pete countered. “But all a REV is concerned about is movement. If we see a target, we react to it. How will I know if the target is behind me or in front? The helmet view will only confuse me.”

Lofton cast a furtive look at Bull. Both had concern on their faces.

“What is it?” Pete asked. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Lofton sighed. “What the hell; you’ll find out sooner or later. You know the pajamas you wear under your armor?” Pete recoiled. That was just how he was referring to the white outfit Bullock had told him to put on earlier—and which he still wore under his fatigues. “Well it’s fitted with a number of electrodes which we can use to steer you during the Run.”

“Steer me…like with electric shocks?”

“Exactly.” Lofton took a breath before continuing. “You know that one of the biggest shortcomings of a REV Run is the fact that you can’t be guided. You just run until you’re Twilighted, following whatever target you lock on to. Yet with all the electronic surveillance and drone surveys available, back at command we often have a better perspective of the battlefield. We were looking for a way to make the Runs more effective, and also to help you avoid not-so-obvious dead ends, bottlenecks or traps. Honestly, most of the electronics in the new suit are for our benefit, not yours.”

“So how does it work?”

“According to field tests, you’ll get a pretty substantial shock to one side of your body. For a REV, you’ll instinctively react to the stimuli, identifying the shock as a threat. You’ll move in that direction.”

“Like a cattle prod, but opposite.” Pete stated.

“Exactly.”

“How substantial of a shock, captain?”

Lofton grimaced. “From what I understand, it’s quite a jolt. It has to be to penetrate a REV’s activated state of awareness. Fortunately,” the officer added, “you won’t remember any of it after the Run.”

“That’s what you say…sir.”

“Trust me, Sergeant Savage, everything we’ve done has been to improve your survivability and shorten the recovery time. It just takes a little getting used to.”

Pete stretched out a nervous grin. “Sir, mine is not to reason why, just to do or die.”

“Let’s hope that last part doesn’t apply.”

3

Two days later, Pete met back in the Unit briefing room for a final rundown of the mission specifics. Captain Lofton was running the meeting, with Colonel Daugherty and Major Freed in attendance. A detailed holographic image of the Bountiful Enclave shimmered at the center of the table.

“The enclave is laid out like the other Human settlements on the Colony Worlds,” Lofton pointed out. “There’s a twenty-foot-high concrete wall surrounding the encampment, with a hundred foot buffer zone on the interior and exterior. A lot of the native structures have infringed upon this outer zone, with some even attached to the wall. At one time, the Humans and the natives were good friends. Not so much anymore. When the settlers abandoned the enclave and moved to the much larger Unity location, the Antaere moved in immediately and took over. The natives, sensing that this was something that could cause problems down the road, began to move away. Even though technically they are allies of the Antaere, the Lanic have been putting distance between them and the Qwin for several months. The request for our help came through secret channels, so hopefully, the Antaere won’t anticipate our arrival.”

“Speaking of that,” said Colonel Daugherty. “We’ve been traveling in a small fleet of nineteen warships, with the Eldorado being the big gun. Anything larger might have been detected on the way here. Having said that, we’ll be facing an Antaere force about three times our numbers, but on parity with our firepower. Surprise will be our ace-in-the-hole.”

“Excuse me, sir,” Pete said. “But fleets don’t move around in secret. And besides, it’s something like a six hour transit to Kaus once we enter the system.”

“That’s right, sergeant,” said Daugherty. “The battle will be joined the moment we enter the system. Yet like always, the Antaere won’t know our ultimate objective. They will assume, however, that we’re headed for Unity, to rescue the hostages there.”

“All one hundred fifty thousand of them, sir?” Pete questioned.

“That will be their gut reaction. Of course we can’t carry that many people aboard our ships. It would take the entire Human fleet to evacuate that many people. But we could be coming to secure the area and bring in fresh troops and supplies. They shouldn’t be expecting an attack on the Bountiful Enclave. Why would they?”

Captain Lofton continued. “We’ll establish a covering screen of fighters as we go into geosynchronous orbit here.” He pointed at a space about twenty degrees from directly above Unity. “This will add to the deception, but still give a glidepath to Bountiful. Sergeant Savage will be inserted at this point.”

The holographic image changed to show a closer and more detailed view of the enclave, taken from an angle outside the main gate.

“The entrance is wood construction, with double sentry posts on the walls,” the officer continued. “The Antaere have fortified these stations with R-18 flash cannon, as well as guard posts every quarter mile along the top. Because of this, Pete will land right at the gate, possibly even crashing into it with his ejection capsule.”

The captain leaned in and highlighted the main thoroughfare into the city. “The enclave was once home to forty thousand Humans and is laid out with these radiating roadways all leading to the central stadium.”

“Stadium?” Pete asked.

Lofton smiled. “Yeah. Apparently the original settlers were mostly from Europe and they really liked their soccer. There’s a modest-size arena at the center of the enclave, where most other settlements would have their government buildings. Not at Bountiful. Their football matches were more important than their politicians. Good for them. The stadium is where the Antaere have set up their headquarters, and according to native estimates, there are about seven hundred Antaere stationed within the enclave at any given time. It’s not a lot for the space they occupy, so they have a tendency to cluster. The stadium will be your main target, sergeant. Fortunately, the road from the main entrance to the stadium is wide and is where you’ll find most of your targets. As you Run, they should lead you there.”

“Or you’ll make sure I stay on track,” Pete said with a smile.

Lofton shrugged.

He continued with the briefing.

“The REV recovery team will be right behind, leading a force of Marines under the command of Lt. Colonel Grip Bennett. They will come in strong with fifteen hundred troops. Once inside the enclave, the Marines will separate and proceed along the inner perimeter of the settlement, driving the Antaere away and toward the stadium. If all goes according to plan, Sergeant Savage will break up the command structure and the RC will exfil. At that point the Marines will converge on the stadium and eliminate the last of the resistance. On paper, this isn’t much of an op.”

Pete studied the holograph. “Sir, how far is the stadium from the gate. It looks pretty far.”

“It’s three point five miles in.”

Pete raised his eyebrows. “That’s about twice as far as a standard Run.”

“We realize that, sergeant, but figure it’s not out of your range thanks to the lighter weight of your load. You should be able to move faster and farther than before.”

“And what about the RC? Even if I can reach the stadium and continue the fight once I get there, how will the recovery team keep up? That’s quite a distance for them to move on foot in under twelve minutes. And besides, look at the terrain. Even if I rush along the road, I won’t be clearing the hostiles with any certainty. The RC will be under constant harassing fire from the buildings with me a couple miles ahead. I’m not that concerned about me—every Run I consider will be my last. It’s the mission I’m concerned about.”

“Sergeant Savage, I appreciate your concern for our welfare,” said Lofton, smiling. “But we’ve anticipated this. Two Marine Special Ops squads will be with the RC. In addition, all the RC—and their accompanying Marines—will be fitted with mechanical exo-skeletons made out of the same cellulose material as your suit. It will allow them to move at about fifteen miles per hour. They’ll be there when you need them.”

Pete displayed the same nervous smile he’d been wearing for the past four days. There were too many new and improved elements to the mission for his liking. He wasn’t overly conservative as a general rule; it just seemed that for such an important mission, there were a lot of unproven aspects in play—at least unproven to him.

As the meeting broke up and Pete was escorted back to his room, he tried to put things in perspective. Yes, the mission was important, and the planners back on Earth had pulled out all the stops to guarantee its success. They were willing to try anything, and new and modern was the order of the day. But that also meant everything had to work as planned. If just one thing broke or didn’t perform as planned, it could have a domino effect on all the others.

But what could Sergeant Peter Savage do about it? He had to trust those senior to him, including the scientists and engineers behind the new and improved. And he had to trust in his military commanders. They wouldn’t do anything purposefully to jeopardize the mission.

Purposefully being the operative word.

* * *

When Captain Lofton arrived back at his office, with Master Sergeant Bull Bullock his shadow, he found company waiting for them.

Both men snapped to attention at the sight of the flag officer, seated in a chair in front of Lofton’s desk, a single silver star prominent on the khaki collar of his uniform.

“Colonel…I mean General Diamond,” said Lofton. “I didn’t know you were onboard.”

“Good,” said General Jack Diamond. “That’s the way I wanted it. Since I put on this star, it’s hard to move around without people making a big fuss.”

“Congratulations are in order, sir.”

“Thank you, captain.” He nodded at the junior officer and then at Bullock. “Good to see you again, master sergeant. It was at Camp Slater, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, sir,” Bullock responded. “You got there just as the team left for Iz’zar. Like Captain Lofton, I didn’t know you were aboard the EL.”

“I came to observe the newest REV mission,” said the general. Lofton moved around the desk to his chair and sat down. Bullock sat next to the general. “This is the first one in over a year, and a lot of new protocols are in place. I want to see how it turns out.”

Captain Lofton didn’t like Colonel—now General—Diamond. No one he knew did, be they officers or enlisted. The smarmy intelligence officer was a fixture in the REV division, although Lofton could never figure out what his job was. He wasn’t a field officer, and he wasn’t a doctor. Instead he would show up at the most inopportune time simply to watch or insert himself where he wasn’t needed. But he did outrank most of the other officers in the division, even more so now that he was a brigadier.

“I appreciate your interest in the mission, general, but we seem to have things dialed in pretty tight. We drop in two days, as I’m sure you’re aware. It should get exciting. We’re anxious to get our feet wet again, and hopefully, this will be the first of many REV missions to come.”

“I agree, captain. And to emphasize the importance of the mission, I would like to make my contribution to the effort.”

He reached into his lap and pulled out a thin black metal case. He leaned over and placed it on the desktop before unsnapping the lid and opening it. Inside was a single vial of yellow liquid. Captain Lofton recognized it as NT-4, the Rev drug.

“Sir, we have plenty of NT-4. Following this mission, the Eldorado is slated to received two more REVs to fill out the triumvirate.”

“I understand that, captain, but this is not NT-4. It’s NT-5.”

Lofton drew in a short breath while focusing on the vial. He’d been expecting this. Before the drawdown of REV operations, he’d been receiving a constant stream of upgraded NT-4 formulas from Colonel David Cross and his team back on Earth. It seemed every few months, something new was coming out. Lofton wondered when the pace of change would require a new designation for the drug. And this was it. It also explained Diamond’s presence in his office.

“May I?” the captain asked. He removed the vial from the case and held it up to the light. Although he could see no difference in the liquid, he suspected this was a whole other ballgame in the world of the REVs. “So what does it do that the old formula didn’t?”

“A number of things, captain,” said Diamond. “Mainly tweaks, along with a few enhancements.”

“Care to elaborate, sir?”

Diamond looked at Bullock and then back to the junior officer. “All of this is highly classified. You’re not to speak of it to anyone, even to the members of your team, or to Sergeant Savage either.”

Lofton frowned. This was unusual. “Why is that, sir?”

“The formula is still under review and testing. But since there are a lot of things about this mission that are firsts, we thought this would be a good chance to test NT-5 out in the field.”

“Is that a wise decision, sir? Our REV will be leading the assault. Everything is riding on him making the breach. Should we be risking the mission on an experimental version of Rev?”

“It’s beyond experimental, captain,” Diamond said, a little testy. “We’ve performed extensive studies on the drug. It’s really a culmination of the changes we been making for the past seven years, since NT-3 became NT-4. That upgrade worked out, as you know. So will this.”

“So what are the new features with NT-5, sir?”

“Well, first of all, there’s enhanced healing capacity, about twenty percent more. Also, the durability index has increased by about the same amount. Reaction time, strength, everything is elevated.” Diamond hesitated before continuing. “And one other thing. Run times have been extended by as much as three to four minutes.”

“Three to four minutes! How is that possible? He’ll burn up before that.”

“The increased capacity will guard against that. He just needs to be monitored more closely beyond fourteen minutes. And until we study the levels more, Twilight will have to be administered manually. We don’t want to knock him out early and sacrifice a lot of Run time.”

“Run time?” Lofton was furious. “Excuse me, sir, but extending the Run time will only increase the damage to the REV, maybe not internally, but externally. They barely survive twelve minutes as it is. Give them another two to three minutes of abuse and there won’t be anything left to Twilight.”

“Captain, the new armor and monitoring equipment, as well as shock guidance and remote management of the REV systems, will allow for more survivability and more successful missions. NT-5 is in line with all the other improvements we’ve made over the past few years.”

“Improvements that are untested under combat conditions.” Lofton shook his head. “Sir, there are already so many variables in this mission as it stands, is it wise to introduce another question mark into the equation?”

“Captain Lofton, this isn’t a request. NT-5 will be given to Sergeant Savage and that fact will remain exclusive to the people in this room. REV ops are within my purview and no one else aboard this ship. You will do as I say or I’ll get someone who will.”

Lofton was taken aback by Diamond’s ultimatum. “Sir, I didn’t mean any insubordination. I was simply expressing my opinion. Of course I’ll follow orders.”

“And you, Master Sergeant Bullock?”

Bull met the general’s hard stare with one of his own. “I’m just an enlisted grunt, sir. Discussions like this are far above my paygrade.”

“Good,” said Diamond. He stood up. “You will administer the new formula… after you have turned over all existing supplies of NT-4 to me. I know the amount the ship carries, so don’t try anything…creative, gentlemen. Is that clear?”

“Perfectly, general,” said a red-faced Captain Isaac Lofton.

“Then carry on with your preparations. We have a Run to launch in just under forty-eight hours.”

He left the room, leaving Lofton and Bullock silent and frustrated in the captain’s office. Bull broke the silence.

“If ever there was a clusterfuck in the making, captain, this is it.”

Lofton picked up the vial of NT-5 again. “I couldn’t agree with you more, Bull. Shit’s coming down and it’s headed straight for us.”

4

The day of the drop began at oh-300 hours with a flurry of activity within the fleet of nineteen warships. It would be a battle all the way to the planet Kaus, where the REV Run would begin even before orbit was established. As a consequence, Pete was wrapped in his special armor suit six hours before the scheduled drop. Normally, he would be placed in the armor within the ejection capsule, with the two halves married together with him in the middle. The old armor and weapons weighed five hundred pounds, so that was the only way to do it. But this new stuff was so light he could walk around with it on. However, the weapons would still be attached inside the pod, otherwise he’d be walking around looking like a light green knight in wooden armor.

Captain Lofton was down on the launch floor with Pete and a couple of the techs, checking the electronics within the suit. There were about ten times as many computers now than before; ten times more systems that could malfunction. Reading the concern on Pete’s face, Lofton attempted to assuage his fears.

“Everything’s testing out, sergeant. It will be fine.”

“Sir, A-93 is some of the toughest armor ever constructed, and you see what a shambles a Run can make out of it. I’m sure all your new stuff will work, to a point. After that, I’ll be ready for my extraction, Mr. DeMille.”

“We’ll be there for you, Pete.”

“I know, sir.”

Lofton placed a hand on the side of the ejection capsule. “We better get you strapped in. I know it could be a while, but with the uncertainty of the approach, they want you in and locked down in the event you have to be spit out early.”

“Understood.” Pete climbed the side steps and lowered himself into the pod and form fitting cushion to his back. “Just be sure to wake me if I fall asleep. It’s pretty early and I haven’t had enough coffee to wake me up.”

Lofton laughed. “I think we have something a little more potent than coffee for that.”

“I hear you. But don’t be surprised if I also have to piss in my suit before we drop. I said I haven’t had enough coffee yet, not that I haven’t had any.”

“Coffee and Rev…now that’s a lethal combination,” said Lofton, smiling.

“God, I hope not,” Pete replied.

“Sorry, bad joke.”

The captain made some quick adjustments to the interior of the pod before moving out of the way to let the techs attach Pete’s railgun to his right arm and the bolt launcher to his left. When that was done, Lofton took Pete’s helmet and slid it over his head, attaching the coupling to his collar computer ring.

The helmet was completely enclosed, with only two red sensor lights where his eyes would be. Through the heads-up display, Pete could see out as if the helmet wasn’t there, but all Lofton could see was the robotic face of his REV. This was much more impersonal than the old helmets with their clear faceplates. One could look into the eyes of the REV and see the heroic courage within. Now it was like looking at a machine.

“Just relax now,” Lofton said. “And if you can, go ahead and get some sleep. God knows you have nothing else to do. Talk about a skate job.”

“Yeah, that’s what the REV brochure said. Visit exotic locales, meet interesting aliens…and kill them. And you also get to sleep on the job. I said, ‘Sign me up!’”

“Don’t believe everything you read, sergeant. Good luck, Pete. I’ll be in the command hut if you need me.”

“Aye sir. Carry on.”

Lofton laughed as he moved away and up the nearby ladder to the small airlock and the glassed-in command room overlooking the launch bay. Farther along, the shuttle for the recovery crew was being prepped, with Bull Bullock barking orders to his compliant team. Lofton would normally be leading the RC on the surface, but because he had someone of Bull’s caliber as his second-in-command, it was decided that the officer’s time and talents would be better utilized orchestrating the Run from the command center. With so many of the operations under remote control, the people within the center were even more vital than ever. Lofton would not only control the weapons and their rate of fire, but also the scanners in the suit and the heat sensors to ferret out the enemy. He would also administer the Twilight drug at the proper time, something normally done by the collar computer.

Other people would launch drones and pilot them throughout the mission, giving Lofton both aerial and even ground-level images of the battle in real time. Most REV operations didn’t have this option, since they were primarily conducted in Antaere tunnels or industrial complexes, where the aliens traditionally liked to set up shop. But this was within a city—a Human-built city—with roads and buildings and open sky. It would give Lofton a better overall perspective of the Run as it unfolded.

There were also medical techs in the command center, tasked with watching every nuance of Pete’s condition. Lofton had been ordered not to reveal the existence of the NT-5, but there would come a time when the traditional Run time was nearing an end. He would have to say something at that time, just to keep the techs from panicking. Diamond had to realize that, so Lofton wasn’t worried. Not too much.

Isaac Lofton took his own cup of coffee—his third of the morning—and sat back in his command chair. It would grow hard and uncomfortable over the next six-and-a-half hours, the time it took to get on station, and then the half an hour or so for the insertion, Run and recovery. At that point, he wouldn’t notice, not until it was all over.

But until then, he had to find the nearest head, and not for the last time before launch.

5

On the planet Kaus, things were reaching their critical mass in the Unity Enclave. With over one hundred twenty-five thousand Humans crowded into a walled city designed for three-quarters that number, there was wide-spread shortages of all resources, including food, medical supplies and other essentials, like toilet paper. Fortunately, underground aquifers provided ample fresh water, and efficient solar, wind and miniature fusion reactors provided enough electricity to keep the settlement lit and warmed as winter on the planet neared. It also kept the bombardment shield active over the settlement, providing protection from outside attack.

The native Lanic—who has once supplied most of the food for the colony—had abandoned their support following the disaster of the aborted assault two months before. Add to that the fear of the Purges, and none were willing to help the Humans. When the refugees from the Bountiful Enclave first arrived several months ago, they had brought food with them, but any surplus was long since gone by now. Rationing was severe, even as nearly all open space in the enclave was converted to tiny patches of farmland. Goats and cattle roamed the streets freely, providing what milk they could. Rarely was one butchered for meat. That came from the proliferation of chickens wandering the settlement, along with the incredible stench they brought. It was like that everywhere, from accumulating refuse of all kinds, both Human and animal. Conditions were horrific, and only getting worse.

And the sad thing, the colony couldn’t even surrender to the Lanic and Antaere forces. That would mean their immediate annihilation. The Qwin weren’t interested in over a hundred thousand Human prisoners to house and care for. That wasn’t their style. And for all intents and purposes, the Humans were already in a self-made prison, and the Antaere found the current stalemate to be an acceptable compromise.

At the moment, however, the two REVs in the enclave weren’t concerned with the rest of the suffering Human inhabitants of the colony. They were concerned with only one: their fellow REV, Larry Hand.

“I’m not sure keeping him in a coma is helping,” Gunnery Sergeant Kyle Johnson said. He was hovering over the bed of the sleeping REV, accompanied by his teammate Donovan Ross and the leader of the REV contingent in the camp, Marine Captain Silas Drake.

“I’m not sure either,” said Drake. He was a line-officer, yet with additional training in REV physiology and medical considerations. He wasn’t a doctor; they had others on the staff who were. But he did have the final say in the treatment of his REV, Sergeant Larry Hand.

“The draw on his residual has been reduced, a little,” the officer continued. “But he has so little left it really doesn’t mean much, not now. His body is burning itself up.”

“How long does he have?” Donovan asked.

“Days…at the most. The closing effects will begin to accelerate. Pretty soon the life-saving benefits of the residual will be gone. At that point not even a boost will save him. He’s almost to that point now.”

Kyle and Donovan had discussed this eventuality at length over the past two months. Larry’s action against the recent Antaere attack on the enclave had consumed the last of the camp’s NT-4 supply. That left the traditional REV on the downhill slide to the two-month deadline before he would need a maintenance boost of the drug to replenish his residual. Without it, his body would cascade to a level where it would simply burn up. Only the residual was keeping him alive. And that was nearly gone.

“We have to do it,” Kyle announced with resolve.

“It would be suicide, for all of you,” Drake said.

Donovan was on Kyle’s side of the argument. “We can’t stand here and do nothing. It’s a risk we’re going to have to take, captain. Besides, Earth needs to know what’s happening here. If the Antaere have done anything right over the past four months, it’s that their communications blackout has worked. Nothing’s coming in or going out. All we get are their damn propaganda broadcasts and local chatter from the Lanic. We have to give it a try.”

Drake looked askew at the two handsome—and still relatively healthy—men. He understood they were different from the other REVs, existing on a type of natural NT-4 and not needing periodic boosts of the synthetic drug. The doctors in the enclave had tried to filter out some of the natural drug from their systems but had been unsuccessful. They just didn’t have the right equipment in the enclave, if it was even possible. And now the REVs were proposing using the small corvette they’d arrived in to make a run for Human space in search of NT-4 for Larry.

“And I assume the two of you are qualified pilots?” the officer said. “It’s going to take some fancy flying to run the in-system blockade and make it all the way to Human space. And then you have to find a source of NT-4. Larry probably won’t last that long.”

The REVs grimaced. “We can’t just watch him die, sir,” Donovan said. “Captain Pearson could pilot the ship for us.”

Drake shook his head. “Even if he would volunteer, that wouldn’t be wise. Since Lt. Col. Monroe got sick, Pearson’s been in charge of the enclave. He’s needed here.”

“There has to be someone who can fly it,” Donovan persisted.

Drake was silent for a long moment before he spoke again. “All right,” he said. “Get the ship ready. You’ll have to salvage the fuel pods from some of the other ships. And food will be an issue. We’ve already depleted the food paste aboard the ship. You’ve have to take hard supplies. I’ll have Larry transferred over…and I’ll find you a pilot. But you have to hurry. Be ready to leave in twelve hours.”

The two REVs perked up. Although Drake was right about this being a potential suicide mission, it was better than hanging around the slowly decaying settlement while everyone starved to death. And perhaps they could alert the rest of humanity to the tragedy taking place at the Unity Enclave. After all, what’s the use of having a huge space fleet if it wasn’t to save Human lives?

* * *

It was as if the tiny fleet tripped a motion detector the moment it entered the Kausian star system. Remote sensors sent the alert to ES-7 and the Antaere responded immediately. As Colonel Daugherty had said, the Lanic spies had provided vital information regarding the strength of the Antaere forces in the system. Although the Qwin had three times the number of ships, the firepower of both forces were equally matched. Daugherty didn’t like that. He would have preferred overwhelming superiority so he could deliver Shock and Awe to the battlefield. But that was just another of the many compromises being made for this mission. From what he understood, the request from this sect of Lanic natives only came through eight weeks before. It had taken the Eldorado half that time just to form up the fleet they could muster, along with the Marine strike force, the air wing and the REV ops.

The REV had been the hardest part. The program had been essentially shut down for over a year and it had to be revived almost overnight. And then there were all the new gizmos and gadgets the team brought with them. Daugherty had supervised dozens of REV ops during his career, yet this one was like starting from scratch. Although he wasn’t directly involved in the day-to-day operations of the division, he didn’t envy Captain Lofton and his team. And especially since that bastard Diamond had shown up.

Daugherty was surprised to see the star on Diamond’s collar. The man was in irascible asshole and everyone knew it. How he ever made it through the panels, recommendations and approvals to make brigadier was beyond Daugherty’s comprehension. And now he out ranked the colonel, even though he had less time-in-service. Although Daugherty still maintained operational command over all the Marines aboard the EL, it still steamed his gourd to no end that Diamond would make flag rank before him. Life wasn’t fair…and then you joined the Marines.

But now Daugherty—indeed the entire fleet—had more pressing matters to contend with. There were about a hundred incoming Antaere fighters, and the pickets were out in force to protect the Humans. Any moment now, the battle for ES-7 would begin.

6

The tiny corvette was the center of activity, preparing for its mad flight away from Kaus. Techs had fitted three salvaged power modules from other starships and jury-rigged them in the engine compartment. A small supply of food was placed in the galley; fortunately, Larry was on a plasma-drip and wouldn’t require any solid food.

It was nearly mid-day on the planet when everything was ready. All they needed now was a pilot.

Kyle and Donovan entered the small starship and headed for the bridge to see who Drake had arm-twisted to join the REVs and their crazy mission. The officer was there, but no one else. Drake shrugged.

“Did I fail to mention that before I joined the Running Man brigade, I was a hotshot ship jockey? You have your pilot, gentlemen. Now strap in.”

The REVs only hesitated a moment before obeying orders.

“Spinning up,” Drake announced. “The power system is a little twitchy, so I need to let it settle down first. Unfortunately, the enclave has no defensive batteries to give us cover as we leave. The moment we breach the shield we’ll be fair game for the Antaere.”

“We were expecting that,” Kyle said. “Just do your best, sir.”

“If I don’t, we all die. Even then—”

The comm squawked in the small compartment. It was a local message, coming in from the control tower that was visible through the forward viewport.

“Captain Drake, we’re picking up Lanic transmissions,” said a panicked voice. “Something’s happening at the outskirts of the system…wait one.”

The three men on the bridge of the corvette focused all their attention on the conspicuous silence from the speakers. That was a bastard move, making a statement like that and then leaving them hanging in suspense. Fortunately, it didn’t last long.

“They’re reporting ships on the perimeter. Wait one!”

“Dammit, whoever this is!’ said Drake out of frustration. “Just give us a running report.”

“Sorry, sir. It appears to be Human ships arriving. A squadron or a small fleet. The reports are jumbled, and the Antaere are also broadcasting, trying to calm everyone down.”

A Human fleet! Kyle thought. He let out a sigh. A rescue, or at least a supply mission. There weren’t enough ships in the entire Human fleet to evacuate the population of the enclave, at least not at one time. That would require conquering the planet first, at which point there would be no need to evacuate.

“I’m shutting down the engines,” Captain Drake announced. “It was dicey if they’d get us out of the system anyway.”

Kyle and Donovan looked at the back of the officer’s head. “Now you tell us,” said Kyle.

“There were already enough ifs in the mission. I didn’t want to worry you.”

“Sir!” said the voice on the comm. “It’s confirmed. A count of nineteen ships entering the system, including one battle-carrier! ETA six hours.” The excitement was evident in the man’s voice.

“We’ll keep Larry in the corvette,” said Drake to the REVs. “Once the air is clear above us, we can fly him up to the carrier. They have better medical facilities than we do on the ground.”

“Sounds like a plan, captain,” Donovan said, unbuckling his harness. “Let’s go watch the show from command. I love it when Antaere scurry away like roaches when the lights come on. The yellow-skinned bastards.”

7

Forty of the Eldorado’s sixty attack craft shot out from the launch bays. The destroyers and frigates joined in and formed a strong line in front of the battle-carrier. The Antaere strike craft were fast and well-armed. Their weakness came from their defenses. The Qwin were so arrogant in their belief that sheer numbers could overcome any deficiency that they never upgraded their shields to counter the ever-improving attack weapons of the Humans. Warriors from Earth never sat on their laurels. This was a lesson learned over long and bloody centuries of conflict against their own kind. You sit on your hands long enough, and even the weakest of your enemy will find a bigger rock to smash you over the head with.

So forty ships against a hundred was pretty much an even matchup. But when the smaller capital ships were added to the mix, the Humans blew through the first line of defense with relative ease, only losing nine fighters in the process before the Antaere retreated.

But the Antaere were learning. In the early days of the war—twenty years ago—the aliens would rush headlong into just about any battle and fight to the last ship. Now they were more frugal. Seventy-four ships left the field of battle and bolted in-system to form up with other forces to surround the planet. Even then, they knew it would be impossible to keep the Humans from affecting a landing somewhere on the surface. So they concentrated their land, air and space units…around the Unity Enclave.

* * *

“They’ve taken the bait, colonel,” Major Roland Freed told his boss. “Every fighter is scrambling for Unity, leaving Bountiful essentially unguarded.”

“Good,” said the Marine commander. “Time to orbit?”

“Fifty-eight minutes. Fifty-nine to REV drop.”

“Load the last of the landing craft, major. We go with the original timetable. Let everyone know along the line.”

“Aye, sir.”

* * *

Throughout the mighty warship, both sailors and Marines prepared for battle. While the Marines were on the surface, the sailors would be defending their positions from both space and in the air. The Antaere would not let the battle-carrier leisurely hang in orbit. The ship would be under constant attack while the ground ops were underway. Once the surface was secure, the fighters could return to space to help with the defense. Eventually, the area would be secure, at which point the fleet would maintain station while waiting for more of the Lanic to ask for their help. Either that or they’d have to retreat as the Antaere brought in additional units. They had a lot more in the region than did the Humans. That was the variable nature of the operation. They could conceivably gain territory, just to turn around and surrender it a few days later.

But the point was to show the natives that the Humans were willing to help, no matter what the cost. Either way, it would be a terrible price to pay to make a point.

* * *

Bull Bullock came up to the ejection capsule and looked through the small view plate. All he could see was the expressionless face of the robot head and the glowing red eyes of the sensors. The head turned slightly in his direction.

“What’s up, master sergeant?” Pete asked through the comm.

“This sucks,” said Bull. “I can’t see your face.”

“You miss me already? I didn’t know you cared.”

“I don’t, asshole. I just want to make sure you don’t screw the pooch down there.”

“That all depends on what the pooch looks like.”

Bull snorted. “I’m glad you’re in good spirits, sergeant.” He took a step back. “Can you see this? This is some shit.”

Pete could make out the thin metal frame of the exo-skeleton the master sergeant was wearing, the device designed to make him faster during the Run. It did look gangly and awkward.

“Supposed to make me able to leap tall buildings in a single bound. It just makes me feel stupid.”

“I’m glad you have it, master sergeant. We’re all in new territory on this one.”

Bull nodded. Pete could see him clearly through the HUD, but Bull was having trouble figuring out where to focus his eyes. The glowing red sensors were the logical choice, but they made him uncomfortable. He’d never been that much into tech; that’s why he originally chose Force Recon instead of one of the technical fields. He had the test scores to qualify for any job in the Marines; hell, he even considered volunteering for the REV program at one time. Seeing now what they go through, he was glad he hadn’t—even assuming he would have made it. Better than most, he understood the terrible secret of the REVs. You didn’t choose to be a REV. You either were or you weren’t. Your body would make the determination. And it was often more-dangerous not to qualify for the program than it was to make it. Bull had seen some of the washouts. It wasn’t pretty.

“Well, you take care, sergeant. I’ll see you on the other side.”

“Thanks, Bull. You’re a good man. And don’t worry…I won’t tell anyone.”

Bull Bullock almost smiled—almost. Then he turned and scurried away in his odd-looking exo-suit toward the RC shuttle.

Drop was in seventeen minutes.

* * *

Captain Lofton was seated at the main control station for the REV operation, overlooking the launch bays. He had three screens dedicated to him, and along the line, other men and women had screens of their own. There were the drone operators, who would provide the most-extensive overview of the battlefield than any Run before this one. There were the medical personnel and the armor and ammo techs. And then there were the operational monitors who would track the movement of all parties involved; the REV, the RC, the Marine assault force, the air cover and even the Antaere defenders. All these stations would be reporting to Lofton, who would have ultimate control over the REV and his Run.

That was until General Jack Diamond entered the room.

He called Lofton away from his station and they huddled toward the back of the room.

“I’m taking over operational control of the mission,” he said bluntly to the shocked Marine captain.

“But sir…what the hell?” said Lofton. “This is my job, and frankly, you’re not qualified.”

“You’ll remain in tactical control, still calling the shots. It’s just that I don’t want anyone questioning my authority if I choose to make a change somewhere along the Run.”

“Like what change, sir?”

“That I can’t say. Every op is fluid, and in light of the upgraded NT drug, I may have information you’re not privy to.”

“Then why don’t you fill me in?” Lofton snapped. He was frustrated, knowing there was nothing he could do. If the general wanted operational control, he would get it.

“Calm down, captain. Like I said, this is just in case I want to intervene. I’m not saying I will.”

Lofton gnashed his teeth. “Then let me do my job. I’ll try not to fuck it up.”

Without waiting to be dismissed, Lofton turned to the room.

“Listen up,” he called out. “General Diamond is assuming operational control of the Run. I’m still in tactical control, so all reports still go through my station. Any questions?”

There were none.

“All right then,” Lofton said as he slipped back into his command chair. “We’re six minutes from drop. Final checks and go-no-go in three. Carry on.”

Diamond leaned against the back bulkhead and crossed his arms. Captain Lofton did his best to ignore the burning sensation he was getting on the back of his neck, knowing the flag officer was staring at him, pissed. Fuck him, Lofton thought. This is my op and I’ll be damned if I’ll let him get in my way, general or not.

He flicked the comm switch to the ejection capsule. “Pete, you okay in there?”

“Snug as a bug,” was the REVs’ standard response.

“FYI, General Diamond is overseeing the Run.”

“I heard he was aboard.” Lofton was glad the REV didn’t say more; this was an open mic.

“Drop in three…we’re green across the board.”

“Good. It’s been a while, sir. Time to get some alien blood on my hands.”

“Pre-meds at thirty seconds. Have a nice ride down.”

* * *

The spiral opening in the bulkhead at the front of the pod cycled open and the oblong capsule slid inside. The door closed behind, leaving Pete in darkness, except for the glow of the monitors on his HUD. He wasn’t scared, nervous or apprehensive. But he was excited. The pre-meds would take some of the edge off and allow him to withstand most of the rigors of entry. That was until the NT-4 kicked in. Then he would be oblivious to everything except the internal rage.

He had a moment to wonder how well the steering option would work, if the shocks they’d give him during the Run would actually do the trick? He also wondered if things got too harry if they’d turn him around for a quick exit and early Twilight? He’d seen videos of dozens of Runs were the REV got in over his head, and if there had been an early exit option, he could have been saved. Overall, most of the so-called improvements made to his equipment and the Run protocols made sense. They just took getting used to. He hoped he lived long enough for that to happen.

A moment later, Pete Savage didn’t give a shit.

The pinch of the pre-meds being injected through the command collar brought a sense of wellbeing and contentment. He was going for a ride, and it would be all peaches and cream.

“Drop in ten…nine…eight,” came the soothing voice in his ear. It was so relaxing. But he was slightly confused what this drop thing was that the voice mentioned?

A moment later, he found out.

* * *

The EC was shot out of the side of the Eldorado by the effects of a magnetic launch. There was no subtle approach vector as the capsule dove for the surface. The Antaere would be tracking the pod, and within seconds of it entering the atmosphere, would have identified the potential target. Flax would be sent up, and after a few radical course changes, it would become apparent exactly where the REV was headed. The trick was not to give the defenders much time to prepare. From ejection to landing, six minutes would pass. Hopefully, that would be a short enough time to catch the aliens off guard.

Captain Lofton monitored his REV. All lights were in the green, and a minute after the EC launched, the recovery team followed in their shuttle, protected by a screen of six fighters and supported by the shuttle with the two Marine squads. The main Marine force would follow three minutes later, once the breach was made at the main gate. It was Pete’s job to break through the defenders and soften the target. The follow-up Marines would do the rest, pushing the momentum created by the REV to it’s final conclusion. By then, Pete should be safely in the hands of the recovery crew and heading for the evac shuttle. Once the op commenced, there was no turning back.

“Thirty seconds to activation,” Lofton announced to the room.

This was when Pete would receive the injection of the Rev drug, NT-5—which he believed was still the old NT-4 formula. His vitals would soar and his body would change, becoming stronger and tougher down to a cellular level. The drug was designed to instantly make the biological transition and then hold him there at the threshold of cascading over the edge, at a point where his body would literally explode from the effects if he moved even slightly beyond. It was a precarious time for the REV and his team, and Pete would have to be Twilighted before he reached terminal cascading. Yet the process and routine had been done thousands of times before, so it was well understood and practiced. The crew in the command station weren’t overly nervous; they knew what they were doing. It’s what happened from the point of activation to Twilight that would determine if the mission was a success or not. And whether their REV lived or died.

When the drug was injected, the entire room turned deathly silent, listening for something that never came.

“What happened?” someone down the line asked.

“Check his vitals!” Lofton ordered.

“All indications are he activated,” said a female med-tech. “But no scream.”

Lofton turned to look at General Diamond, who was still leaning nonchalantly against the wall. The flag officer shrugged.

“Carry on,” Lofton said hurriedly. “It’s been a while since he had a combat dose. Maybe he tolerated the change better because of it.”

Lofton knew that the primal scream was a trademark of all the REVs as they made the transition from normal to superhuman. He also knew Diamond’s secret formula probably had something to do with its absence. How this would affect Pete’s conversion and his abilities, that remained to be seen. Already the mission was off to an uncertain start.

“On final,” a voice called out.

On Lofton’s screen he could see the graphic of the approach line, and the sweeping change it was making. The Bountiful Enclave was located in a high valley between two towering mountain ranges. Because of this, the EC couldn’t come directly at the main gate and glide in over a number of miles. Instead, the pod actually dropped below the level of the settlement and then climbed up the valley to the enclave.

There was only a space of two miles from the gate to the first abrupt rise of the mountains. This didn’t leave a lot of landing space for the pod. So at the last moment, the capsule took a forty-five degree turn to the left and lined up on the front gate. It pitched up, allowing the titanium blades to cut into the soil, and later, the pavement of multiple roads leading into the enclave. There were a number of Lanic buildings lining the roads and even within the so-called buffer zone outside the surrounding wall. Fortunately, none got in the way of the pod, although the road would have to be completely resurfaced afterwards.

The EC was still moving at a decent clip when it impacted the wooden gates and shattered them in a rain of falling kindling. There was a sizeable contingent of Antaere nearby, many of which were crushed by the falling gates and debris. They’d been expecting a landing outside the walls and now ran in panic as the front canopy of the pod blew off and the REV inside was thrown into the air. It was not a full ejection, but enough to carry Pete fifty feet beyond the entrance.

Pete’s incredible sense of balance kept him upright as he landed on the pavement in full stride, his right-arm railgun already spitting out supersonic rounds with an ear-shattering roar. The flash weapon on his left arm was also popping out brilliant balls of white-hot plasma. The Antaere ran, but not too far before being cut down.

Just then, two rockets flared from holders on Pete’s back. They arched into the sky on plumes of white exhaust, before angling back down, each targeting one of the flash cannon batteries on top of the walls to either side of the now-missing front gate. The emplacements had to be taken out before the Marines could enter the enclave. For the rockets, Pete was just a platform, with the launch controlled from the Eldorado.

Pete was now on a wide roadway leading to the distant soccer stadium three-plus miles away. The arena was visible, and as the REV began his Run, a dozen tiny drones lifted from the now-open EC and took to the air. Each was controlled by a tech on the carrier, and they spread out to give a high-def view of the road, the surrounding city, and even a few providing an overall image from a quarter mile up.

Scurrying Antaere were everywhere, with many in cars, racing down the main roadway toward the stadium. Pete locked on the movement and sent bursts of 32-caliber rounds into the vehicles, literally unzipping them along a centerline with the high-velocity slugs. At this point in the Run, Pete was experiencing some of the fiercest fighting he would encounter. The road was lined with standard Human-built commercial buildings with numerous cross streets and alleys. The Antaere had retreated inside the buildings and were sending gun and flash fire at him from hidden positions. The rounds ricocheted off his new armor while the flash bolts were absorbed, their energy captured to recharge the battery pack of Pete’s plasma weapon.

The incoming ballistics, however, were so intense that Pete had to fight to stay balanced. The light weight of the armor didn’t give him the mass he had with his old suit, so each hit had an impact. Fortunately, the armor did what it was supposed to do and protected his body from major injury, but it did make it hard for him to achieve any lasting forward momentum.

So he raked the buildings with ripping rounds of gunfire. The effect was a shattering of storefronts and a crumbling of masonry. Where once the aliens thought they had cover, they now found they were mistaken. Walls were penetrated—some completely through the building—and dozens of defenders died from the bullets, as well as from falling debris. Several of the nearest buildings collapsed into the street as their support members were shot apart by fire from the mini railgun.

After a moment, most of the defensive fire had ceased and Pete was able to focus on other targets down the street. Several of the vehicles were turning off the main road and heading down side streets. Pete raced after them.

He followed three of the speeding cars to the right, only to find his body reacting to a strong shock on the left side of his body. He angled his run to the left, and soon was back on the main road. There were other cars racing away on the side road to the left, with very few now on the main road heading for the stadium. Before he could react, another strong jolt came to his chest, and he set off at a sprint down the main road, heading for the stadium now a mile away.

8

Kyle was sipping on a cup of tea, using a thrice-filtered bag to give only a suggestion of taste to the hot water. He was in the command center, huddled with about fifty other officers and enlisted, all listening to the panicked reports of the aliens on the comm.

The entire enclave was mesmerized—as well as impatient—with the slow approach of the Human fleet. Six hours waiting for salvation was excruciating. But now the ships were moving into orbit. They would establish a stationery position over the enclave and then launch their fighters, providing cover for the landing craft carrying the settlement’s much-needed supplies. Stomachs grumbled as tears welled up in swollen eyes. They weren’t completely out of the woods—not yet—but at least someone was coming to help. Most of those in the enclave had given up hope that this moment would ever come—

And then the unexpected happened. Reports from the Lanic natives and the Antaere reported on a shift in the fleet’s position. More panic was heard in the alien voices over the comm lines. They were recalibrating the location over which the fleet was stationing their forces. The name Bountiful was heard, causing those around the speakers in the enclave’s military command center to go pale. The Bountiful enclave was on the other side of the planet from Unity. And there was no one there, only the few Antaere who had taken over the settlement months ago. Was the Human fleet really going to attack the distant outpost and not provide relief for Unity?

“Maybe they’ll come here after Bountiful,” said someone in the crowded room.

Another voice responded. “The force is too small to do both. The Antaere have enough assets in the system to drive nineteen ships away after only a day or so on station.”

“Unless this is only the lead force. Reinforcements could be coming.”

There was silence in the room. No one was willing to enter into a point-counterpoint discussion, not while updates were still coming in.

Fifteen minutes later, the news had only gotten worse.

A REV had been launched at the Bountiful Enclave, not even waiting for the carrier to achieve orbit. He was followed in by a strong Marine landing force. The Antaere at Bountiful were indeed the primary target of the assault force, and not Unity. The liberation of the abandoned enclave would serve no tactical purpose for the Humans, other than to be able to say they did it. Kyle knew what that meant. The fleet was here for PR purposes only, a way of showing the natives that Earth was here for them, if they called. And as for the Humans at Unity? They would have to wait for another day, if ever.

Captain Drake took the two REVs by their arms and pulled them away from the others. “We have to get to the carrier, even if it won’t come to us.”

“Agreed,” said the REVs in unison. Their singular mission was still a go. Even if Unity was to be bypassed, there was still NT-4 only a few thousand miles away. They had to get Larry to it.

The men rushed off for the corvette.

Five minutes later the engines were spinning. Drake had called for the dropping of the shields to take place on his count. The chemical engines would pop the ship up and out of the camp in an instant, to an elevation of three thousand feet. With the Antaere now scrambling their defensive assets to Bountiful, they would have clear sailing once out of the enclave. The makeshift gravity drive should be enough to get them into space. At that point they’d have comms with the fleet, free of Antaere jamming, to let the carrier know they were coming.

As the cloud of white smoke filled the spaceport, sending the ship skyward, those aboard felt more confident about Larry’s prospects. He just might have a chance after all.

9

On the Eldorado, General Diamond moved up behind Captain Lofton so he could get a better look at the screens.

“That seemed to work,” Diamond said, referring to the guiding shocks sent to the REV.

Lofton nodded, too busy concentrating on the images being transmitted by the drones to answer verbally. Checking his monitors, he saw that the RC shuttle had landed and was moving into the enclave. The Marine landing force was on final approach and would touch down in thirty seconds.

He checked Pete’s Run time. Three minutes in and he was still a mile from the stadium. He was burning through ammo at a dangerous rate and he had to pick up the pace if he was to have anything left to take out the main concentration of Antaere at their headquarters.

Lofton shut off the railgun, saving ammo, but leaving the flash weapon active to target the sporadic Antaere along the way. Pete didn’t notice that the railgun wasn’t firing. He was still aiming and pulling the trigger, instinct and rote training governing his actions.

There were so many things happening on Lofton’s screens, with a myriad of views fighting for his attention, that he failed to see the huge truck angling in from a side street in Pete’s direction. Before he could react, it slammed into the REV, sending Pete flying before he crashed into a building at the corner of the intersection. The truck followed, smashing into the concrete block structure, penetrating to the depth of the shattered windshield.

Then the driver placed the truck in reverse and pulled it out of the crumbling facade. The alien scanned the dark opening, looking for Pete. When he didn’t see him, he continued to pull out farther before lifting up and placing half his body through the opening left by the shattered windshield, trying to see over the grill.

The drone operators scrambled their charges, looking for a better angle themselves. That was when Pete stood up in front of the truck, the right side of his armor in tatters and the railgun split in two.

The Antaere driver made the mistake of moving, which placed all of Pete’s focus on him. A split second later, the REV was in the cab, pummeling the soft-flesh creature with both the flash barrel and the remains of his railgun. The cameras on Pete’s command collar had been obscured with white dust from the building, but now they cleared, at least for a moment. Now they were covered in bright red blood, as was most of Pete’s remaining armor.

He stood up, using his incredible strength to rip the top of the cab off the body of the smashed truck. Pete scanned the surrounding roads before hopping down to the pavement.

“Damage to his right arm,” the female med-tech called out in the control room. “And he appears to have sprained his right ankle.”

“Can he still run?” Lofton asked.

“Yes, sir. Coming up on seven minutes. Body temperature six degrees above normal. Blood pressure and pulse rate also elevated. Sir, he’s already getting close.”

“Understood. Continue with the Run. I’m going to give him a little push to get him moving again.”

The shock sent Pete racing along the roadway. The stadium was in front of him, now only half a mile away.

Lofton checked the location of the recovery team and grimaced at what he saw. They were well behind schedule, even with their exo-skeletons, their way slowed by the constant harassing fire from the multitude of buildings overlooking their path. The main Marine force was pouring into the area outside the gate, unloading APCs and small tanks and moving into the enclave. They had already begun to separate and move off in opposite directions along the inner wall. So far everything was proceeding more-or-less as planned. No operation ran perfectly. This one was no exception.

Pete was at the stadium now, and a half-dozen drones swept in ahead of him and took up positions covering the structure. The Humans had left the enclave over a year ago, and the once green grass covering the field was now a pale yellow, with large areas of gray dirt. There were several Antaere in the stands, cowering with weapons at the ready, but none willing to reveal their location by firing at the REV. Lofton also noticed a figure standing to the right of Pete, near the far end of the field.

“What is that?” he called out to the drone operators.

Two of the drones moved in and buzzed the object. It looked to be a robot of some sort, standing about ten feet tall, with two long appendages with double sets of gripping claws and tracked wheels for locomotion. There were also weapons attachments along the arms, as well as on the body. There was something else. One of the drones hovered in front of the machine, peering through a tinted shield at a void inside the body. Using heat sensors, a living figure appeared. Zooming in closer, Lofton gasped as the face resolved to show the pale yellow skin of an Antaere. But what he saw in the eyes is what made him gasp. The head lifted and the eyes opened, showing glowing yellow pupils resting in a sea of red. This was an alien REV.

Lofton had heard of them. In the burst broadcast with the Corollaries sent by General Smith there was an encrypted message for Human Military Command. It told of their discovery of operational alien superbeings. Further intelligence confirmed the report, showing that the Antaere even called their creations REVs, although in the alphabet of the aliens, it came out as NOVs. What a NOV was doing here, apparently stationed in the arena of the soccer stadium, Lofton was afraid to imagine.

And then the thing moved.

The drones picked up on the movement, as did Pete, who had just entered the bright sunshine of the open-air arena. The contraption was larger than anything around it causing Pete to focus on the object, immediately identifying it as a threat.

“It’s a large exo-suit for the NOV,” General Diamond stated from behind Lofton. “Instead of going lighter—like we did with our suits—they’ve gone bigger and heavier.”

“Pete should be faster, but against that thing, I’m not sure what he can do.”

For an answer, Pete’s flash weapon ignited, sending three quick bolts directly into the body of the robot. But rather than impacting the metal surface, the bolts created a light blue shimmer around the NOV before fading away, having no effect on the machine.

“A diffusion shield!” Lofton exclaimed. “And his railgun is smashed.”

Pete was rushing toward the black bulk of metal without fear or hesitation, still firing flash bolts. The NOV was returning flash fire, yet from weapons a lot stronger than could be carried by hand.

“Sir, his suit is overheating!” a tech along the line yelled out. “The system can’t absorb so much energy. He’s being cooked alive!”

Lofton shut down the flash weapon, along with the suit’s absorption feature. The incoming bolts still struck Pete, but now they slipped off the armor—what there was of it that still existed.

The confrontation between weapon systems only lasted a second, before the two enhanced super-warriors collided. The alien beast didn’t react, stopping REV’s head-long charge as if he’d smashed into a brick wall. Then one of the long arms lashed out and slammed against Pete’s body. He was thrown into the air, landing hard on the dead grass before rolling into a barrier that formed a wall between the field and the first level of seats.

Pete was on his feet almost instantly and running back for another round. The results were the same, only this time Pete was a little slower to recover. His right arm was more-or-less useless, and his nearly broken ankle had cut his running speed in half. His body was bruised and battered beyond belief, even though the meds in both the undergarment and his command collar were already beginning the healing process. And the enhanced Rev drug in his system was also doing its job. All this did, however, was make Pete able to take more punishment, for a while longer.

He stood for a moment, watching the huge alien machine march across the field towards him. And then he turned and ran away, disappearing through an arched portal into the ring of stone levels forming the outer walls of the stadium.

“Where are you sending him?” Diamond asked.

“I didn’t do that,” Lofton gasped.

Diamond was silent.

“Sir, we’re at the eleven minute mark,” a tech called out. “Vitals redlining.”

“Continue with the op,” Diamond called out.

“Sir, he’s going to cascade—”

“Do as I say. Set your new time at fourteen minutes.”

“Sir?”

“Do it!”

“Yes, sir.”

The cameras on Pete’s collar, as well as from the tracking drones, showed him limping along the covered corridors of the stadium. There were a lot of Antaere present, but very few were firing on him. And for the most part, Pete was ignoring them. That wasn’t right. He should have been attacking everyone he passed. Instead, he struck out at the few within range, but otherwise simply moved through the crowd.

“Sir, we have a problem!”

Lofton looked down the line to see who was speaking. It was one of the monitors of the Marine force. He switched one of his screens to see what the man was referring to.

What he saw turned his blood cold.

10

Bull Bullock was getting the hang of his mechanical legs. They didn’t require a lot of training to operate, just trust that they would work. There were efficient gyros that kept the contraption upright and balanced, and it really did add speed—if not agility—to the movements of the Marine master sergeant.

Even so, Pete Savage was still far ahead of the recovery team. Through the HUD in his helmet, Bull saw when Pete was broadsided by the truck. Yet he was amazed at how quickly the REV recovered and resumed his charge for the stadium. Bull and his unit were facing stubborn resistance coming from the hundreds of windows overlooking the route. The two squads of infantry Marines accompanying the RC were doing their best to answer the snipers shot for shot, but it was slow going. Two of Bull’s crew, along with three of the infantry, had gone down, and as far as the senior non-comm could see, it was going to be like this all the way to the arena.

And then things took a decided turn for the worse.

Dual columns of armored personnel carriers appeared from both directions at the next intersection and turned toward the Humans. The alien APCs were mini-tanks as well, and the short-barreled flash cannon opened up on the exposed troops who were making their way along both sides of the street. Bull ordered his people to make for the interiors of the buildings. Gunshots rang out as locked doors were blown off their hinges. Some of his people made it inside, others didn’t. Bullock shuddered, watching six of his unit torn apart by the powerful plasma bolts.

The Marine infantry wasn’t fairing much better. They, too, dove for the interior of the buildings, but then the weapons of the Antaere APCs simply pulverized the windows and lower floors, killing everyone who hadn’t made it behind stone and tile pillars or deeper into the structure.

But then more Antaere appeared, many from inside the buildings themselves. The Marines fell to the floor for cover, as flash bolts streaked in from outside and ballistics tore into them from the Qwin infantry.

“Pull back! Pull back to grid section Bravo,” Bull heard in his ear comm. “By unit, make for the gate.”

The voice was not that of Captain Dreyfus, the leader of their infantry escort. Bull knew the man and his voice. This was someone else, meaning that somewhere in the carnage, officer lay dead, along with half his force. This couldn’t go on much longer.

Bull looked around at the few surviving members of his team. There were seven of them huddled nearby, all eyes on him. The other half of the team was across the street. He fingered his throat mic.

“Edwards, sitrep?” he called out.

“Freeport here! Edwards is dead. I repeat Edwards is dead. Only four of us left.”

“Can you move farther into the building?”

“Uh-huh, the Antaere aren’t here in any numbers.”

“Find a back door and get out. Move along the side streets and alleys back to the main gate. We’re going to do the same over here.”

Aaron Freeport was a corporal—and a gurney tech; he wasn’t much of a fighter, although everyone on the team had combat training. But this was different.

“Will do, sir…eh, I mean master sergeant.”

“That’s okay, son. Now get going, before the Antaere bring in more troops.”

And that’s just what the Antaere had—more troops. A lot more troops than they’d been told. His comm was now erupting with reports from other Marine units throughout the enclave. IEDs were exploding along the path of the Marines, and in locations they’d already passed. They’d been lured into a trap, and now it was being sprung. Men were dying by the hundreds, including more than half of Bullock’s people. Now he had to save those he could.

“Follow me,” he said. The survivors were enthusiastic, if terrified.

Bullock had the most combat experience, so he took point, showing confidence and strength; he had to set an example for what remained of the frightened team. The bulk of the Antaere flash bolts from outside, as well as the Qwin troops inside the buildings, had been reserved for the Marine infantry units. The RC was comprised mostly of medical personnel and the aliens knew this. Still, there were a few Qwin in the building as Bullock began to make his way through the long corridors, heading for the north end of the building.

Bullock was quick on the trigger and dispatched half a dozen Antaere who appeared at corridor intersections, hoping to take out the ill-trained RC. Rounds from his M-101 assault rifle penetrated the thin walls at the corners, ripping through yellow flesh and sending others scurrying away in panic. Bull rushed up to a cross hallway and laid a burst of hot lead into the backs of the fleeing Qwin.

Then he was off again, shooting and advancing with deadly determination.

He came to a closed door and blasted through it without even trying the knob. It was a warehouse, with roll-up doors leading outside. He sent some of his people to open the doors while he and a sergeant provided cover. They were rewarded with a low loading dock and wide alleyway between the buildings. No Antaere were present, and the lane passed between the buildings for some distance, leading back toward the main gate.

Bull led the way, hurrying his people along as the sounds of battle raged all around. Up ahead, he saw columns of Marines sprinting to his left, following the wide avenue that ran along the outer wall of the enclave. Shots ricocheted off the pavement and building walls nearby, fired at them by the retreating Marines.

“Hey! We’re friendlies,” he shouted as the remainder of this team reached the intersection.

A Marine major ran up to him. “Where’s the rest of your team?” the man asked as he panted from the quick sprint.

“This is it for this element,” Bullock answered. “There may be four more coming from the south.”

“And your Marine escort?”

“Unknown, sir. They were in a fight for their lives when I last saw them.”

The man grimaced. “All right. Join in the retreat, master sergeant. We’re pulling back as fast as possible.”

“What about our REV?”

“You tell me, Bullock. We can’t get him, and apparently neither can you. He’s a lost cause. Now go. The Qwin are right behind us.”

Bullock didn’t have to be told twice. He waved his team into the flow of retreating Marines, many of which were running sideways while still firing their weapons at the advancing Antaere. Bull blasted one last Qwin before joining the parade. He made it to the gate, with only nine of his nineteen-member team still alive. And that didn’t include Pete Savage.

* * *

The Marines were in full retreat, with explosions erupting from within their ranks and hundreds of armored Antaere troops pouring from the buildings and laying down an incredible wall of both ballistic and flash fire. Dozens of Marines lay dead along the roadway, as both phalanxes of Human assault troops were bunching up while moving relentlessly toward the main entrance.

Captain Lofton glanced at the third screen, the one with the drone images of the recovery team. They, too, were under assault from the buildings. A number of them lay dead on the pavement, with less than half of the team using their gangly exo-skeletons to crash into the nearby buildings for cover.

This was not good. Pete Savage was on his own.

“It’s a trap,” someone stated the obvious from down the line.

But he was right. From the vantage point of the drones, Lofton could make out hundreds—if not thousands—of Antaere fighters, many more than the seven hundred they’d been told were there. Suddenly, all the ramifications of ‘it’s a trap’ came to Lofton. Not only was Pete stranded and with no chance of recovery, but all the Humans on the surface were vulnerable to being wiped out. And the fleet. The Antaere would not have set such an elaborate trap on the surface and not have enough assets to take out the ships in space. The Antaere operation had been well-planned. Every contingency would have been covered.

ES-7 was not to become the first step in Earth’s eventual redemption within the Grid. Instead, it could be the Human’s greatest defeat in the war.

“Sir, sorties coming in, targeting our cover fighters.”

Lofton pushed back from his station and swiveled the chair until he could see an ashen-faced General Diamond behind him. “Sir…you wanted command. Well it’s all yours.”

11

Pete was injured, yet instinct drove him on. The arena was surrounded by a twelve level ring of concrete and stone, supported by elaborate arches designed to mimic the Coliseum in Rome, but on a smaller scale. The structure was community property for the enclave and all residents were welcome at no cost. As a result, the stadium was open to the outside without entry gates or security stations. It could seat twenty thousand people, which was most of the adult population of the enclave when the Humans occupied it.

Now it was full of running Qwin, rushing to avoid the hobbled and bloody Human. A few considered engaging him, but they changed their minds when their version of a REV appeared close behind. The NOV inside the mechanical suit had no reservations about killing its own kind, acting more like a traditionally revved-up fighter. It was firing its flash weapon into the crowd while swinging the other clawed arm at any creatures who came within range. Even so, it was obvious the machine itself was being controlled by others and not the NOV. The mechanical beast continued after Pete, even when there were juicier targets all around. The controllers were after the Human and not their fellow Antaere.

Pete limped to a stairway and took it to the next level up. Although the NOV ran on tracks, there was a good bet it had means of climbing stairs, but Pete didn’t make his move to avoid the robot. He had another goal in mind.

He moved to a point at the floor, stopped and then hunched down. Then with a powerful thrust of his legs, he jumped into the air, reaching the ceiling twenty feet above with ease. He extended his arms and pushed off, propelling his body down to the floor with tremendous force. The concrete splintered and cracked as he landed. He bent down again and repeated the procedure. This time, there was a prominent depression in the floor, and the ceiling below began to crumble. Timing his next jump to when he estimated the NOV would be moving below him, the third hit shattered the floor, starting an avalanche of debris raining down to the level below.

Pete fell with the river of broken stone and concrete, followed by a toppling of the arches on the second level, as well as others above it. The effect snowballed, until this entire section of the stadium was collapsing. Pete’s timing had been right. The pile of rubble landed on the NOV and his mechanical transport.

Pete was buffeted by large blocks of falling debris, but as he landed on the NOV, he pushed off with his legs, sending his body flying horizontally away from the growing mound. He hit the smooth, hard floor and skidded twenty feet before coming to a rest in the center of the corridor and safely away from the crumbling section of the stadium.

The NOV was obscured by a cloud of dust rising up from the pile of broken material now filling the corridor. Pete didn’t ponder the scene. Instead he raced after the still fleeing Qwin until he burst back into the bright light of the open arena. A few of the remaining drones followed him, relaying their sad images back to the Eldorado.

There were Qwin still in the seats, watching him. They didn’t move, which caused Pete to stop and stand still near one of the goal lines. With nothing to chase, his mission was over.

Captain Lofton pushed the button that would send the Twilight drug into Pete’s system. A moment later, the courageous young REV lay still on the ground.

The Run had lasted fourteen minutes, forty-eight seconds, by far the longest Run in REV history.

The people in the control room were aware of this fact, but they’d been so busy with all the other things going wrong with the operation that they hadn’t voiced their shock. But now they knew what was coming. Without a way of retrieving the fallen REV, Lofton would send the detonate signal to the small explosive charge in the suit. The already gathering Qwin wouldn’t get a chance to tear his body apart as revenge for the hundreds of their kind he’d killed. But the captain would wait until a few of the more aggressive aliens came closer.

Just then, the image from one of the drones shifted, focusing on the huge mechanical device that had appeared from the shadows of the surrounding structure. It was the NOV, still encased in the exo-skeleton, although the device was now broken and bent, dragging one of the arms behind it as it rocked forward and back on a badly deformed track. The bronze shield covering the passenger compartment was gone and the alien inside was visible. Blood covered his head and stained the torn uniform. The eyes were still the hypnotic yellow and red of an activated warrior, and they were focused unblinking on the unconscious REV thirty feet away. It continued to advance, still controlled by unseen operators.

Just then a dark shadow crossed over the arena, momentarily countered by a brilliant flash. The NOV and his mechanical armor exploded as a powerful flash cannon bolt buried him in a ball of plasma flame. The bolt was of starship grade, much stronger than anything carried by land troops. The people in the control room blinked from the blinding flash, confused by what just happened.

The drone panned across the seats, showing row upon row exploding from a barrages of projectile fire, ripping stone and flesh to pieces. The surviving Antaere ran for their lives.

A huge gray spaceship settled down in the open area of the arena, filling it with a cloud of white smoke from the landing jets and obscuring the view of the observers for several seconds before being expelled from the stadium by the last of the down bursts. Captain Lofton recognized the vessel as an Eagle-class corvette, small, extremely fast and usually reserved for escort duty. Although one of the smaller ships in the fleet, it still filled up most of the interior space of the arena, coming to a rest fifty feet from where Pete lay on the brown grass.

A side hatch cycled open and two tall, lean men ran out. One had a BM-8 minigun held by a strap over his right shoulder with a belt of ammo dragging behind. The other had an M-91 sniper rifle pressed against his cheek. Both men were firing at every Qwin they could see, and with deadly accuracy.

A third man—unarmed—emerged from the spaceship and ran to Pete. He took hold of the armor on the REV’s shoulder and began to drag him toward the hatch. Although half the armor was gone, it still added weight to the inert body. For an activated REV the weight didn’t matter, but for a normal man, it made the job of pulling Pete the fifty feet over dead grass into a chore.

The two gunmen were making mincemeat out of the aliens. The minigun—designed to be mounted on a thick tripod and pad—was like a toy in the hands of the operator, who strafed the stands with ease and accuracy. But soon the ammo belt was exhausted. The man discarded the weapon and ran to Pete. He bent over, scooped the REV up in both arms, and ran for the starship. The unarmed man beat him to the hatchway, and both disappeared inside, along with Pete.

The sniper was still firing, aiming and shooting in a blur. It was incredible to watch…and the man never missed. But soon he was walking backwards toward the corvette, still firing until he was inside the ship. The hatch slid shut, and a breath later, the playing field was filled with more smoke as the starship angled up and raced into the sky.

“Get that ship some cover!” General Diamond ordered.

The image of the rescue was being displayed in the ship’s CIC, so Diamond’s words were heard by those controlling the air cover. They would do what they could, which wasn’t much. What assets they had left to command, were covering the landing craft and the retreating Human troops.

The Marines—what was left of them—were boarding shuttles for the short hop into space. The recovery crew had abandoned their medical shuttle and were crowding into the first ship—any ship—they could find. All reserve air and space fighters from the small fleet had been sent to the surface to cover the evacuation. They were holding their own against the ever-increasing number of Qwin ships entering the fray but that wouldn’t last much longer.

In the meantime, alien warcraft had engaged the fleet in orbit. The smaller Human ships clustered around the battle-carrier, using its impressive array of weapons and shields for cover. There were a lot more enemy ships than before, but even so, there was nothing in their arsenal that could take out the carrier, at least not in a single attack. But the other ships were vulnerable. Six of the thirteen warships that had made it to Kaus were destroyed, with more taking fire and suffering major damage.

The thin line of shuttles coming up from the surface were being harassed by dozens of Antaere fighters. There were eleven in flight, and three bought it before the rest came under the protection of the carrier. Open landing bays were quickly filled with transports entering at reckless speed. Several crashed into bulkheads, but the integrity of the pressure chambers held.

The last ship to enter was the unnamed corvette from the arena. It caught a landing skid on the outer door frame of the landing bay and whipped around, bouncing off other ships before slamming into the far bulkhead. Even before the metal walls had stopped reverberating from the collision, the double hangar doors rotated shut, allowing several fires to flare up once the oxygen-based atmosphere was added to the room. Damage control teams rushed in to extinguish the flames, along with dozens of medical personnel with gurneys and crash-carts.

The REV medical crew—those who hadn’t been part of the landing party—rushed for the gray ship carrying their REV. Captain Lofton and General Diamond was with them.

The hatch cycled open and three men exited, stepping out of the way of the entering med crew.

“There’s another REV in sickbay,” said the smaller man in khakis. He was a Marine captain. Lofton stepped up to him.

“Captain Isaac Lofton, REV ops.”

“Silas Drake, the same, but from Unity.”

General Diamond stepped up to the men. Drake knew who he was—everyone in the REV program did, even if the general didn’t know them. He looked the junior officer up and down before focusing his attention on the two enlisted men next to him.

“Ross and Johnson,” Diamond stated. “You can imagine my surprise that you’re still alive.” His bland tone didn’t match his words .

“Good to see you, too, colonel,” said Kyle Johnson, just as emotionless.

Diamond tapped the star on his collar with a finger. “It’s general, now, gunny. I wondered what happened to you after ES-6. I heard your escort was attacked.”

“It was, but we made it to the Unity Enclave. The Qwin have had us cut off from the outside for several months. We couldn’t get the word out.”

“And now you’re here.” The general sounded disappointed.

The men watched as the first REV was carried from the starship on a narrow gurney. It was Pete Savage. It was hard to make out his features from all the blood. So much for indestructible armor, Lofton thought.

The next gurney carried another man. He appeared to be uninjured yet unconscious. Captain Drake filled them in.

“This is my REV, Sergeant Larry Hand. He’s been without NT-4 for over two months. We’ve had him in a coma to preserve some of his residual. He’s in pretty bad shape. I hope we can bum some NT from you.”

Lofton looked at General Diamond. The flag officer had confiscated all the NT-4 aboard, leaving only the experimental NT-5 for Pete and his Run.

“Of course,” said Diamond, his eyes locked steadily on Lofton. “We have plenty.”

“Thank God,” said Captain Drake. “Gunnery Sergeants Johnson and Ross were going to risk flying Sergeant Hand off the planet and into Human space in search of NT-4. That was until they realized neither one of them knows how to fly a starship. I came along as their pilot. We were getting ready to go when squawk came in about the fleet entering the system. Of course, we thought you were coming for us—so did the Antaere—so we put our flight on hold.” He looked at the general with angry eyes. “But then you guys pulled a fast one and went to Bountiful instead. What was that all about?”

“We were asked by the natives to drive the Antaere out,” said Lofton, answering for the general. “It turned out to be a trap.”

Drake gave a knowing nod. “When we realized Unity was being passed by, we made a run for the fleet. Then word came over about the massacre taking place on the surface. That’s when we came to help.”

“And we’re glad you did. We’d already written Pete off until you showed up. That was damn heroic of you…all of you.”

Drake looked at the two REVs standing next to him. “Yeah, shit like that seems to follow these guys around. Now, if you don’t mind, general, I’d like to get to sickbay and see about my REV.”

“Captain, he’s not your REV. He belongs to the Corps…just like all of you.”

Lofton was taken aback, not knowing if Diamond was intentionally trying to be an asshole, or whether it just came naturally. All teams considered their assigned REV to be theirs. That’s just the way it was, and no one had ever questioned the practice before. If this was Diamond’s way of marking his territory, he was going about it all wrong.

Captain Drake stared at the general for a long moment before responding. “Of course, sir. Forgive me. Even so, may I be dismissed?” he asked softly.

“Carry on, captain.”

Drake led the parade from the landing bay; Lofton and the two REVs didn’t ask for permission, they simply followed.

General Diamond remained in the chamber. Alone.

12

The moment the last of the incoming ships was recovered, the Eldorado and her remaining escorts bolted away from the planet, engaging full gravity drives early on with no regard for anything around them. The Antaere continued to attack until the survivors were out of the system and in deep gravity-wells. Out of an original force of nineteen, only five vessels made it out of the Kausian system in one piece.

Colonel Sam Daugherty was beside himself. Of the fifteen hundred Marines he’d deployed to the surface, only four hundred twenty made it back to the carrier. And the medical facilities aboard the ship were filled with even more wounded and dying Marines. The count would surely go up.

He was weak from grief. He’d been in the Marines for twenty-three years, and this was by far the greatest loss of life he’d ever commanded. As he hunched over the table in the Wardroom, alone for the time being, he tried to replace his sorrow with anger, but that wasn’t happening, not yet. Every time he tried to focus on the fucking Qwin and their backstabbing Lanic sycophants, it was replaced with the graphic drone images of his troops being blown to bits by well-placed IEDs and gunfire from an overwhelming alien force—a force they were told wasn’t there. Eventually, the pain would be replaced with rage, but for now he mourned the fallen.

General Jack Diamond entered the room. Daugherty sucked in a deep breath to gather his composure. The general waited until the distraught junior officer had risen to his feet before saying to him, as you were. Newbie generals were the worst. Especially this asshole.

Diamond moved to the coffeemaker and poured himself a cup, leisurely adding sweetener and cream before coming to the table.

“How you holding up, colonel?” he asked. Daugherty got the impression Diamond didn’t give a shit; it was just polite to ask.

“Working my way through it, general. Pretty soon I’ll be mad as a hornet and looking for payback. I’m not even sure who I hate more, the fucking Qwin or the natives who fed us all that bullshit about needing our help.”

“I understand.”

“How are your REVs doing?” Daugherty asked. He knew about the second REV being tended to in sickbay. Unlike Diamond, Daugherty really was interested in the answer.

“Sergeant Savage looks like he’ll make it. The other one, not so sure. We’ll know in a couple of hours.”

“That was some miraculous shit those guys pulled off. Weren’t those two of the REVs from the Temple mission?”

“Ross and Johnson.”

“That’s right. I thought they were dead.”

Diamond pursed his lips. “So did I. I guess you can never count a REV out…apparently.”

Daugherty frowned. That was a shitty thing to say, especially with Diamond being part of the program. You would think he’d be more excited about finding two of his senior REVs still alive after all this time. As a matter of fact…how was that even possible?

“Didn’t I hear they were flying the younger one out to find some NT-4, that they had none left at Unity? Don’t Ross and Johnson need their own? It’s been three months since they landed at Unity.”

Diamond sipped his coffee. “Give it a rest, Sam. That’s classified.”

Daugherty sat up straighter. “Classified? Bullshit, Jack. I’m the senior Marine commander aboard the Eldorado. I need to know what’s going on.”

“You may be in command, but you’re not the senior officer,” Diamond snapped. “As such, accept the fact that there are certain things you don’t need to know.”

Daugherty considered the younger—yet higher ranking—officer for a moment. Then he stood up. “Thanks, general,” he said.

Diamond frowned. “Thanks for what?”

“For taking my mind off my dead Marines. Now I have something new to focus my anger on. Enjoy your fucking coffee, general, sir.”

Daugherty stormed from the room, leaving General Jack Diamond alone…again.

* * *

Captain Lofton led the small parade of concerned officers and enlisted to the vicinity of the sickbay. It was only the vicinity because this part of the huge battle-carrier was overflowing with people, both the injured and their attending medical staff. Anyone in the fleet with medical training had been shuttled to the carrier to help. Even still, there was far too many in need for the resources available.

However, the REVs had been given priority since they had their own section of the sickbay devoted to their maintenance and recovery.

Lofton and others worked their way through the ungodly landscape, where every room, corridor and alcove was occupied with the burnt, bleeding or simply dead. Already, another twenty-three Marines had been added to the casualty list, with more coming.

When they entered the sequestered REV ward, many of Lofton’s surviving medical team were frantically working on Sergeant Savage. He was unconscious—as he would remain until given the RG-9 to revive him after most of the damage to his body had been patched up, but hardly repaired. From the look of things, that was going to take a while. His entire right side was one massive black bruise from where he was hit by the racing truck. His right arm was also broken, but not from the crash. This was a result of the battle with the alien REV. His face was barely recognizable, swollen to the point where his eyes were mere slits in the black and yellow flesh. There were other injuries, but at this point most of the minor ones were being ignored.

Lofton caught the eye of the lead surgeon. He sent the captain an encouraging nod and a thin smile. The officer had been around REV ops long enough to have seen far worse, and still the operative had lived. It was a testament to the miracle of NT-4. Or in Pete’s case, NT-5.

Lofton debated telling the doctors about the variant in Pete’s veins. He didn’t know if it would make a difference. If he was scheduled for a maintenance boost, then maybe. But right now all the doctors were doing was repairing the damage—damage that unfortunately was commonplace for a REV after a Run.

He looked over at the other patient in the room. Ross, Johnson and Captain Drake were near the bed as other doctors worked on the comatose REV, but at a much less frenetic pace. The man was on the verge of dying, having had his life-preserving residual NT-4 drop to a dangerous level. Larry Hand—that was his name Lofton remembered—was on the maintenance bed, his arms and legs in restraints. A guard with a tranquilizer gun was on station as a precaution. Sergeant Hand was about to be shot up with NT-4 in a desperate bid to save his life. The problem: If his residuals were too low, all the drug would do is activate the REV to the point of terminal cascading, with nothing to hold back the effect.

“Stand back,” the doctor ordered.

Everyone in the room knew why. If this didn’t work there wouldn’t be much left of Larry’s body afterwards.

The NT-4 was injected, all at once and a full combat dose.

Where once Larry Hand was peacefully asleep, a moment later he let out the primal scream of a REV, while arching his body and back at an impossible angle. The restraints held, and the body fell back on the bed with a thud. Larry’s eyes were open impossibly wide, with the whites now literally blood-red. He was frothing at the mouth and writhing—not in pain, since at this point REVs felt no pain—but from pure electric energy. His body was cascading and would soon reach the first plateau, the operational level where he would be during a Run. If everything went right, be would stabilize. At that point, there was a good chance he would survive.

But then the doctors scrambled back to the bedside, falling on their wriggling patient to hold him still. All the IVs had been torn from his flesh in the first few seconds of activation; now they struggled to reattach them, while others resorted to pneumatic injection guns to deliver the Twilight to the rapidly cascading REV.

Lofton and the others stepped back. They knew what was coming.

Larry Hand’s chest exploded, as did his eyes, spraying the medical team with blood and sinew. The intensity of the discharge was incredible, as his heart had been beating at over two hundred beats per minute and his blood pressure was over three hundred fifty. But it only lasted a second, before Larry’s mangled body settled back onto blood-soaked sheets. Fountains of thick red liquid continued to shoot from the grotesque chest cavity for a moment longer, dropping in volume with each passing second. Soon, all was quiet, all was still.

Even for a team of REV doctors, this was too much for some. Two of them turned away and vomited. Everyone was covered in blood, as were the walls and the stunned observers.

There was a moment of quiet in the REV ward, as even those attending to Pete Savage stood in silence, looking through a window at the carnage in the adjoining suite. But then they turned back to their patient, many whispering a soft prayer that it wasn’t them in the other room.

Someone had the courtesy to drape a clean sheet over Larry’s body. It helped, for a moment, until blood began to seep through the fabric.

Kyle, Donovan and Drake moved away and into the corridor outside the room. They had blood on their uniforms, but not like the medical team. Lofton joined them, he, too with REV blood on his khakis.

“I’m terribly sorry,” he said after a moment. “I know you were close.”

“Closer than most,” Captain Drake agreed. “We spent four months together on Unity, and without all the normal segregation between REV and crew like on a starship. I got to know Larry as a person, and not just as a REV.”

“We all did, captain,” said Kyle Johnson. “He was a good man.”

“You did your best,” said Lofton, “more than most could’ve done.” He nodded toward the other hospital suite and the still chaotic activity around Pete Savage. “And Pete owes his life to you. It could have very easily gone the other way.”

Just then, Master Sergeant Bull Bullock pushed his way through the crowd of nurses, doctors and attendants in the corridor to reach the REV ward. He was cut up and bleeding, but so far had not received any medical attention. His injuries weren’t severe enough to take time or attention from the more critical. He took in the horrific scene and the solemn expressions of the blood-splattered men.

“And Savage?” he asked Captain Lofton.

“He’ll make it, thanks to these men.”

Lofton could tell the huge black man had already heard of the unexpected rescue of Pete Savage at the Bountiful stadium. Now he blinked several times staring at the two REVs.

“Ross…Johnson, what the hell are you doing here?”

“Hello master sergeant. Long time no see.”

Captain Lofton frowned. “You know each other?”

“Yeah, I was their instructor at Camp Slater.”

“What’s Camp Slater?” Lofton asked. “I’ve never heard of it.”

“It was a secret base for the training of special REVs,” Bullock said, figuring everyone here were old friends, so no need to keep secrets.

“For the REVs who went on the Temple mission?” Drake spit out. “Now it makes sense. So you know about them, what they’re like?”

“I’m surprised you do, sir,” Bullock said.

“What’s going on here?” Lofton asked. He was at a loss as to what everyone was talking about. He appeared to be the only one.

Kyle looked at the officer and smiled. “Well, sir, I say we all get a change of clothes and meet somewhere for a private debrief. I’m sure you’ll find what we have to tell you will be interesting, to say the least.”

It was obvious the gunnery sergeant thought he was the only one with secrets. Lofton smiled. “Sounds good. And I have a few secrets of my own to reveal. Let’s see who has the most startling.”

Donovan and Kyle looked at each other, questioning how Lofton’s information could be any more startling than theirs? But Lofton knew about Diamond and NT-5. He’d also witnessed the unusual behavior Pete displayed on the Run. He’d made conscious decisions. That had to be a result of the new formula, Diamond’s formula.

Lofton allowed himself a small internal smirk. Just wait until they hear what I have to tell them. It will blow their goddamn socks off.

* * *

Thirty minutes later—and in the unit’s briefing room at the aft end of the battle-carrier—it was Captain Lofton who sat with his mouth agape, stunned in disbelief at what he’d just heard, his socks figuratively blown across the room. He looked into the faces of all in attendance, which included the two REVs and Bullock. Hell, even Captain Drake knew, apparently. And from their uniform expressions, Lofton knew everything he had just heard was the absolute truth. It made his tidbits of gossip pale into insignificance…and yet they could be related. He decided to tell them anyway. But first….

“You can survive without maintenance boosts?” he asked the REVs.

“Yes, sir.” Donovan answered.

“And it’s this natural NT-4-like substance that does it?”

Again the affirmative.

“Why am I just now hearing about this?”

“There’s only a handful of us like this,” Kyle answered for the pair.

“The team that attacked the Temple?”

“That’s right. Now with Mike and Zac dead—”

“We aren’t sure about Zac,” Donovan pointed out.

Kyle shrugged. “Even if he isn’t now, he will be soon. The Antaere don’t like keeping prisoners around. For sure there are only three of us: me, Don and Angus.”

“And Cross knows about this?”

“Yes, sir. We were on our way back to Earth to be studied when we ended up at Unity. I assumed Zac and Angus made it. We didn’t get any outside news at the enclave.”

Lofton wasn’t sure how his information related, but instinctively he felt it did.

“Here’s the news I have that might contribute to the mystery, gentlemen. Have any of you heard of NT-5?”

There were negative responses around the table. “I assume it’s an advance form of NT-4,” Captain Drake offered.

“We all know the illustrious General Diamond….” Frowns confirmed the universal sentiments towards the so-called intelligence officer. “Well he brought a batch of the new formula with him. That’s what Pete Savage had in him during the Run.”

No one picked up on the significance until Lofton explained more. “During the Run, Pete exhibited definite signs of forethought, reasoning and decision making. He ran from the Antaere mech warrior, bypassed targets, and then devised a plan to defeat the enemy. Aren’t those the same traits you mentioned Murphy showed that got this whole thing started?”

“So Pete’s like us?” Kyle asked.

“Looks like it,” Lofton confirmed.

“Or was it the drug?” Drake asked.

Lofton shook his head. “Who knows? But get this, Mr. Diamond has ordered us not to reveal the presence of the NT-5, and he’s also having Pete sent back to Earth as soon as he can be moved.”

“What the hell is he and Cross up to?” Drake asked.

“I don’t know,” Lofton said. “But it’s clear that they’re trying to discover others like the gunny sergeants.”

“Or create us with this new NT-5,” Kyle added. Then he gave the officer a sly grin. “And now you’ve gone against a direct order to tell us. Shame on you, Mr. Lofton.”

“Hey, this entire mission has been a clusterfuck from the beginning,” Lofton snarled. “Diamond had no business screwing with things, not in the field. Do your damn tests under more controlled conditions, not during the first Run in nearly a year. There were too many lives at risk.”

“And now there’s another special REV,” Bull stated, joining the conversation. “That means there could be more. But let me say, while I was at Camp Slater, there were plans for more REVs to be transferred in. Cross must have already known—or suspected—there would be more. But we never got the chance after the Temple of Light mission.”

Something dawned on Kyle. “You don’t suppose we were given this NT-5, instead of -4, and that’s why we are the way we are?”

There was silence around the table as each man considered the possibility.

“But you’re producing a natural chemical,” said Captain Drake. “That takes time for the body to adapt, to mutate. I can’t see how a single dose of a new drug could create such a drastic change so fast.”

“So they’re unrelated?” Kyle asked.

Drake shook his head. “I’m with Captain Lofton; confused as hell and with more questions than answers. Only General Diamond and Colonel Cross have the answers, and they’re not talking, at least not to grunts like us.”

There was another moment of silence in the room before Donovan spoke up. “So what now?” He looked at Kyle. “What happens to us?”

“The ship is heading back to Crious,” Lofton reported. “That’s where nearly all the REVs are being held. But if Cross wanted you on Earth before, once he finds out you’re with the fleet, you may be whisked away in a heartbeat.” He smirked. “After all, as General Diamond said, you belong to the Corps.”

“As we all do,” Drake threw in, a sour look on his face.

“He didn’t have to remind us.”

13

It had been a harrowing thirty-six days before the Zanzibar and her passengers entered what could be considered Human space. The designation was fluid with the everchanging dynamics of the war. Even then, they still had another twenty-eight days to go before reaching Earth.

Feeling safe enough to make contact with Earth Military Command, the passengers opened a channel, and soon a four-ship escort showed up to provide cover for the remainder of the journey to the homeworld. During this time, Command had wanted to transfer the Corollaries to a faster ship, until it was demonstrated that there were no faster ships in the fleet than the Zanzibar. Besides, General Bill Smith wanted to personally deliver the documents to the planet. Although he’d already sent a video of the sacred texts to Earth, it was only through the authentication of the originals would he and the REVs find absolution for their perceived sins. He didn’t trust the documents to be in anyone’s hands but his.

While still in Antaere space, about the only news they received was from Qwin-censored sources. As usual, the broadcasts were full of stories of the destruction of the Temple of Light, as well as the near-constant confessions of Zac Murphy. Smith and the others knew it was all bullshit, but it wasn’t until they got closer to Earth that the counter-broadcasts began to filter through, explaining how the images of Zac were computer-generated. The Earth-originated reports were convincing, if people took the time to listen. They showed microscopic images of the recordings, detailing how Zac’s image was digitized, along with other tell-tale signs. The Antaere countered these reports with ones of their own, claiming how the so-called proof was itself fake. It was a vicious circle of charge-counter charge.

In a way, the crew was relieved knowing that Zac wasn’t being forced into making the confessions through torture or chemical inducements. But on the other side of the coin, it meant the Qwin didn’t need him to make the recordings. Eventually, it became an unspoken belief among the three Humans that Zac was long since dead. The aliens already had what they wanted from Zac—his image—and as an enhanced REV, all he was now was a potential danger. There was no need to keep the problem around any longer than necessary.

It was also in Antaere space that they first heard of the Human defeat on ES-7. This became the dominant story in the newsfeeds, filled with graphic images of slaughtered Marines. There was even video of the death of the assault-leading REV by a mechanized NOV—as the Qwin called their own version of the REVs. It was a crushing and humiliating defeat and one the Antaere were reveling in. The broadcasts only added to the depression Angus, Ashley and Smitty felt on the way back to Earth.

After leaving Antaere-controlled space, however, the team began to relax. They’d been on the edge for over a month, on constant lookout for Qwin forces, and it weighed on them. All three had lost weight, although Angus the least. His body fought against the stress—cascading slightly to offset the effects—while Ashley Hunter and General Smith suffered from it.

They also began to get news showing a different perspective on the battle at the Bountiful Enclave. Raw footage was being broadcast showing how the REV—his name was Sergeant Peter Savage—had not been killed by the Qwin. Rather, he’d been Twilighted and then rescued by the heroic efforts of two of his fellow REVs, along with a Marine officer named Drake. The Antaere had conveniently edited out this fact from the video they were transmitting.

Angus and Smitty literally cheered aloud when the rescuing REVs were identified as Kyle Johnson and Donovan Ross. They hadn’t heard anything about the pair since they left Camp Slater four months before. Angus felt a surge of pride in knowing that most of the team was still alive and ticking, even as he mourned the loss of Zac and Mike Brickey. His emotions were conflicted in light of the tragedy that took place on Kaus. But Kyle and Donovan were alive and well. It was a small consolation.

* * *

Before the ship landed on Earth, General Smith was in contact with both the military and political leadership of the planet. He had been assured that all past transgressions had been forgiven and that he and Angus would receive a hero’s welcome. Smith saw through their bloviating proclamations. With the current messaging being about the evil Antaere and their genocidal Final Glory as detailed in the Corollaries, it was hard to continue with the persecution of the REVs and their mission to Iz’zar. They couldn’t push the veracity of the Corollaries while blaming the REVs who had sacrificed so much to bring them to Earth.

The ship landed at Andrews Space Operations facility outside Washington, Columbia. The Corollaries were quickly offloaded and rushed to a military lab for analysis. Smith and the others were assured the process was relatively simple. Scientists and technicians would study the composition of the paper to determine age and origin. The ink would also be analyzed. There were samples to compare everything against. The results would be known soon.

* * *

Angus, Smitty and Ashley were taken to a room in the Pentagon for debrief. It was carried out by a Navy captain named Brandon Weichert. Everything said in the room was recorded and would later be evaluated for security classification. The captain listened intently, asking questions as needed and helping guide the recollections of the trio until they told him everything they could remember. Then it was their turn to ask questions.

“Is there any word about Zac Murphy?” Angus asked.

The Naval officer shook his head. “Just seventeen separate confession videos, covering nine specific events.” He held up his hand to stop the coming protest. “Yes, we know they’re all fake, but the Antaere are linking him—and I might add—the rest of his REV team—to other disasters over half a dozen Colony Worlds. For example, terrorists took out a portion of the main spaceport on Enif a couple of years back and Lt. Murphy has confessed to being the mastermind behind the attack. Also, a Noc politician on ES-6 was assassinated six months ago…and Zac did it, according to him. It’s pretty funny when you think about it. Any rational person would know a Human could not have been at all those places at the times he was supposed to be there. Yet still, the propaganda is being believed.”

“I don’t think it’s funny at all,” Ashley Hunter snapped. She had been a side note to the Corollary story, shuffled into the background to preserve her value as an undercover operative—if she ever returned to that part of her profession again. “And I bet all the natives are buying the bullshit.”

Weichert nodded. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be flippant. As far as the response from the natives, we have the Purges to thank for that.”

“Is that still going on?” Smitty asked.

“Oh yeah; it’s probably the biggest obstacle we’re facing in getting our message out.”

“Have any of them been carried out? I haven’t heard,” said the general.

“No, sir, not yet.” Weichert smiled, not from humor but disgust. “You would think it would be easy to come up with the names of a hundred thousand traitorous natives to be executed on each of the six worlds participating in the Purges. Instead, anyone accused of siding with the Humans has a right to appeal. Most often, those accused turn around and accuse their accusers, which starts the whole process over again. Billions of natives are fighting over the right to prove their loyalty to the Antaere, while pointing fingers at everyone else. The lists keep getting edited and the deadlines moved. It’s obvious this is what the Antaere intended all along. They weren’t really going to kill the natives, just get everyone afraid to say anything bad about the Antaere.” The officer turned more serious. “The only exception is anyone possessing bootleg videos.”

“Bootleg videos?” Ashely asked.

“Yes, any of those exonerating Lt. Murphy, or of the Corollaries and even the true footage of the battle on Kaus. The Qwin have locked down any opposing views in their part of the Grid and anyone caught distributing these videos, or even watching them, are placed on another list for immediate execution. And the problem is no one knows who’s going to rat them out. It’s like the Gestapo in Nazi Germany. There were never a lot of them, but no one knew who was an informant and who wasn’t. The native populations are running scared, and even if they believe us, they can’t speak up. And now, after what happened on Kaus, even Earth Command is skittish. There have been a few more overtures from Colony Worlds asking for our help, but we can’t trust them, not now. As a result, when we don’t respond immediately, many of the rebels are either found out and killed, or they go deeper underground, losing what support they may have had.”

“So I’m getting the vibe that even with the original Corollaries, not much is going to change.” Angus pointed out.

“Unfortunately not, gunny.”

“So what are we going to do?” Ashley asked.

The captain leaned back in his chair, a grim look on his face. “We’re looking at a couple of options. One: The Antaere eventually launch an all-out assault on Earth. To prepare for this, we’re cranking out warships and planetary defense platforms at a breakneck pace. The second: We go after the Antaere on the Colony Worlds, but this time without giving a shit about the natives, at least not initially. We’ve pussy-footed around for twenty years, wasting lives, money and material, just to end up back at square one. It’s a pretty good bet the Antaere aren’t going to call it even and leave us alone. Earth is fighting for her very existence and as you know, the best defense is a strong offense. If we attack, we’re going all in. If the Antaere want a war, we’re going to give them one. A real war. A Human war.”

General Smith smiled. “You should go into politics, Mr. Weichert. That was a very inspiring speech.”

Weichert snorted. “I’d rather face the whole of the Antaere race, naked and alone, than go into politics, general. I wouldn’t last a day on that battle front.”

Smitty nodded and looked around at the others at the table. “So I guess we’re done here?”

“I have enough,” Weichert confirmed. “If I need anything else I’ll contact you individually.”

“Excuse me, general,” Angus said. “Since we’re kinda in limbo now, I’d like to take a trip out to Colorado.”

On the long journey back to Earth, he’d told Smitty and Ashley about the nurse at Dr. Cross’s Cheyanne Mountain Complex and how she should have given birth to his child by now. General Smith didn’t think it was a good idea; Angus had enough complications in his life without looking for more. But he also couldn’t fault the man. He also couldn’t say no.

The general nodded, while looking at Weichert.

“I have no problem with that,” said the Naval officer. “You’re heroes now, so who’s going to say no? You can catch a sub-orbital hop out of Andrews and be there in under an hour.”

“When will you be back,” Ashley asked, a quiver in her voice. Smith picked up on the emotions. It had been inevitable that she and Angus would hook up on the way back from Iz’zar; the attraction women felt for the REVs was undeniable and understood. They had done it only when Smitty was asleep in his cabin, yet the general had an uncanny ability to read people. He knew what was going on after the first time. Although he knew it was mostly physical between the two, with no promise for a future, Smitty still noticed the trace of jealousy in Ashley’s tone.

“I’m not sure,” Angus said. “But this is something I have to do.”

“I understand.”

Weichert also picked up on the tension in the room. “I’ll make some calls and get you on the next flight going west.”

“Thank you, sir.” Angus looked back at Ashley. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Before he left the Pentagon, Angus went to the fairly decent-size PX located within the huge structure and bought a cellphone. He didn’t have trouble accessing his sizeable bank account this time, so he had the money. He also stocked up on luggage, toiletries and some civilian clothes. After sixty-four days aboard the Zanzibar, he was in desperate need of a change of scenery and attire.

Although the hop out to Colorado Springs would only take twenty minutes, there wasn’t a flight leaving for three hours. During the delay, he used his new phone to call Olivia Contreras at Cross’s Rocky Mountain research facility.

“Silvia’s not here, Angus,” Olivia said after the pair got through the obligatory greetings and a quick summary of what had happened since last they saw each other.

“Where is she?”

Angus watched the screen as Olivia shook her head. She was still as gorgeous as he remembered her to be, although she looked tired and dejected.

“I don’t know. A couple of weeks before she was due, she just disappeared. The same happened to the other women who were pregnant from the REVs. I asked Cross about it and he said they were being cared for at another facility. He wouldn’t tell me where.”

Angus’s face turned to stone. “He’ll bloody well tell me!”

“He’s not here…although he will be back later this evening. He’s been in Denver on and off for the past month. Ever since we heard about ES-7 he’s been going there a lot.”

“You must like that,” Angus said, forcing a smile.

“I would, if I wasn’t scheduled to transfer out in a week.”

“Transfer…where to?”

“Crious. Orders just showed up a week ago. I didn’t request them. It looks like a lot of us are heading out.”

“Cross is closing the facility?”

“Not really. There’s new people coming in. He’s still running REVs through here, testing for the natural NT-4, but it seems as if David has lost interest. He seldom attends the tests when he’s here, and barely scans the reports. And like I said, he’s been gone a lot of the time.”

Angus was furious. According to what Cross told Zac, the reason the younger REVs were producing their own version of natural NT-4 was from the tweaks to the formula Cross made after discovering that the mutation was possible. Now, according to Olivia, he didn’t care anymore.

“Are there still naturals being found?”

“Everyone who comes here is a natural—what we now call Deltas. They’ve been pre-screened already.”

“Deltas?” Angus snorted. “I like that. Sure beats the hell out of calling us naturals. That always sounded kinda sissy.”

He checked the flight schedule. He’d be boarding in forty minutes—and he was starving. He hadn’t had a decent meal in over two months. He’d have to eat before he left.

“You sure you can get me into the Complex?”

“Pretty sure,” Olivia answered. “Like I said, David is due back tonight, but it should be after you get here.” On the screen, her dark eyes looked worried. “Don’t do anything rash, Angus. You just got back in the good graces of the military. Don’t screw it up by going all-REV on Cross.”

“All-REV? Is that a thing?”

“Do you really have to ask?”

They cut the connection sharing a pair of strained smiles. The next few days could indeed be…interesting.

14

Olivia was waiting for Angus at the North Gate. She had on a thin sweater and her arms across her chest, protecting against the constant chill of the Rocky Mountain elevation outside Colorado Springs. The two guards, dressed in the teal-colored uniforms of a private security company to disguise their true identities as military police, had been convinced by the ravishing, dark-haired beauty that it was okay to let Angus pass. It was hard to say no to Olivia—especially if you were a guy.

The cab dropped Angus at the gate and he was motioned through. Olivia and he shared a warm hug, before he climbed onto the passenger seat of a small golf cart for the half-mile ride through the entrance tunnel leading to the main security doors into the complex.

The place was just as dank, dark and depressing as the last time Angus was here. Back then, he and Zac had taken an alternative exit through an emergency access shaft when they left, while being chased by military troops led by the ambitious and flighty Senator Reece Hamilton. Angus longed to pay the slimy politician a visit, but he’d promised Olivia he would behave.

It was early evening at the Complex, and Angus noticed a marked reduction in the number of people milling about.

“I thought you said Cross was bringing in new people to replace those being transferred?” he asked Olivia as the cart moved alongside the series of three-story buildings that made up the main part of the underground facility.

“Even so, we are down in numbers. I know another eight med techs are scheduled to arrive in two days. I’m supposed to get them up to speed before I leave.”

“Take me to Cross’s office. I’ll wait around outside until he shows up. I don’t want him to know I’m here, until it’s too late.”

“I’m going in with you,” Olivia stated. By the tone of her voice, Angus knew there was no arguing. Besides, if he found out where Silvia had been taken, Olivia wanted to know as well. The women had worked together since back at Camp Slater and had formed a tight bond…as lost souls hopelessly in love with a couple of unattainable REVs.

* * *

Dr. David Cross was in a shitty mood. He had so much conflicting information tumbling around in his mind that he had trouble concentrating on where he was. That was the reason he let his long-time secretary, Lisa Frost, drive the golf cart. He didn’t want to bother with having to steer the damn vehicle.

The limo had dropped the pair off at the heavy security doors to the complex, which looked more like the entrance to a vault than to a research facility. An enlisted man had loaded their bags in the back of a waiting golf cart.

“Take me to my office,” he told Lisa.

“You don’t want to go by your quarters first, maybe freshen up a little?” There was concern in her voice. She’d been with Cross for twelve years, and although she was fifteen years his junior, she still carried a burning, yet unfulfilled, longing for the man. He was a genius—and a rock—the most-stabilizing part of her life. Although others either despised or worshipped the man—with nothing in between—she knew him better than anyone. She knew his mind, his soul…and his secrets.

“No, I have to look at the video again,” he answered, distracted. “And get me Patel’s report again.”

“Of course, David. And a sandwich from the mess wouldn’t hurt either.” In private they were on a first name basis; in public it was Colonel Cross, sir.

“Sandwich?” Cross blinked until the word gained meaning. It was the last thing on his mind. “Yeah, sure. Get whatever you want, after you drop me off.”

“I meant for you, silly.”

Five minutes later Lisa pulled up to the base of the metal stairs attached to the stone wall of the underground labyrinth that led to his office thirty feet above. The ladder was painted red, and above the landing was a green canvas awning with a single gold star emblazoned on it. This had once been the office of the commanding officer of NORAD, at another time in the long history of the Cheyanne Mountain Complex. Now, a lowly colonel was in charge. Cross hadn’t changed out the insignia, perhaps holding out until the star matched his rank.

David stepped onto the ladder and was immediately confronted by a pair of figures appearing from his left. He stopped in his tracks, recognizing both people.

Fuck! This is the last thing I need, he thought as his gaze locked on the brilliant blue eyes of Gunnery Sergeant Angus Price. His countenance remained firm, not bothering with any amicable greeting. He shifted his gaze to Olivia Contreras. She would be responsible for letting the REV into the Complex.

“I suppose you wouldn’t care if I said I don’t have time for this?” Cross said to the REV. The two men were of comparable height, although Price was stockier—and bald. Cross was lean and fit, yet with a crop of too-long gray hair for a military officer. In his current position—as the God of the REV program—no one was going to tell him to get a haircut.

“That depends on you, colonel. Just let me know where Silvia is and I’ll be on my way.”

Cross slumped his shoulders with resignation while straddling a pair of steps on the ladder. “Unfortunately, it’s not that simple, gunny.” He looked to a wide-eyed Lisa Frost, still in the golf cart. “Ms. Frost, please have my bags taken to my quarters and then bring us all back some of those sandwiches you mentioned. Come on Angus…and Olivia. Let’s get this over with.”

* * *

A minute later, Cross was ensconced in a high-back leather chair behind his desk, while Olivia and Angus took seats on the other side. Angus was bristling with energy and anger and sat on the edge of the chair, leaning forward.

“So where is she…and my kid?”

Cross curled up the corners of his mouth and shook his head slowly. “You don’t even know if it’s a boy or a girl, do you?”

“How could I? I’ve been on the other side of the Grid doing what I could to keep the Human race from being wiped out. And when I get back, you’ve hidden the mother of my child away somewhere I can’t find her.”

“She’s safe…as is your son.”

Angus looked at Olivia, his eyes wide, his mouth formed into an ‘o.’ “I have a son?”

“Yes,” replied Cross. “He’s healthy, as is the mother.”

“Why did you take her away?” Olivia asked.

Crossed frowned. “Look around you; is this the type of place to birth a child and then spend the first month or two of his life?”

“It’s one of the most-advanced medical facilities in the world, colonel,” Olivia countered, sarcastically.

“For REV research, not for raising children. Don’t worry. I have Ms. Eddington and the others at a facility in Denver receiving the best post-natal care. It seemed best to consolidate our resources in one place.”

“So when can I see them?” Angus asked.

Cross pursed his lips. “Like I said, it’s not as simple as that.”

“Bullshit…sir.”

“Gunny, you’ll find this hard to accept, but Ms. Eddington has been awarded a restraining order against you, preventing you from seeing either her or your son. It was signed off right after the birth six weeks ago.”

“A bloody restraining order!” Angus rose to his feet, feeling his blood pressure rise, along with other functions. “Why would she do that? I’ve never done anything to deserve that.”

“Calm down, gunny,” Cross said, noticing the early signs of cascading.

“And how? How could she do that without me being able to contest it?”

Cross smirked. “Seriously, Angus. All she had to do was tell the judge that the father was a REV and she couldn’t approve it soon enough.”

“That’s it, because I’m a fucking REV? Some crazed-killer who can fly off the handle at any moment?”

“You said it, gunny, not me.”

“This is insane,” Angus said, falling back into the chair. “I can go to the court. I can tell them what I am, that I’m not like that anymore.”

“But you are, Mr. Price. You may be able to control the rage—to a degree—but it’s always there. It’s there right now.”

Angus looked at Olivia, his eyes pleading.

“I’ll go to her,” she said. “I’ll see if I can get her to change her mind.”

“She won’t,” Cross said flatly.

“You made her do this!” Angus said, directing his venom at Cross.

The man sat behind his desk, unusually calm in the face of a cascading REV.

“All I did was present an argument. Silvia—and the others—made up their own minds. You have to realize all the women involved have direct experience with the medical realities of REVs. It didn’t take much convincing.”

“You fucking bastard!”

“Gunnery sergeant!” Cross snapped. “Belay that shit! I’m still your superior officer.” This was the Dr. David Cross Angus had witnessed before, as Zac and he argued on the way to Camp Slater. There were two versions of David Cross, a Dr. Jekyll and a Mr. Hyde. It also upset Angus that Cross displayed no fear of him.

Olivia put a warm hand on Angus’s forearm. “Calm down, Angus, please. This is doing no good. I’m sure things will settle out. We have to give it time.”

Angus acknowledged Olivia’s soothing voice, but he wasn’t done expressing his outrage. “This is some shit, colonel. I wasn’t expecting this.”

“Olivia’s right, gunny,” Cross said, a softer tone to his voice. “Things may change, but right now this is the way it is.”

Olivia narrowed her eyes at the doctor, realizing she now had the opportunity to ask the question that had been haunting her since the moment she learned of the pregnancies.

“Colonel…do the babies carry the mutation?”

Angus sobered up like a bucket of cold water poured over his head. He looked first at Olivia and then to Cross, waiting for the reply.

David leaned back in his chair and sighed. “I’m not going to lie to you, but that’s one of the main reasons the women were moved off-site. We needed to study the children—of which there are six.”

“Any girls?” Olivia asked. She knew the significance of the question, as well as the ramifications of the answer.

So did Cross. “Unfortunately, no. They’re all boys. And as to your first question, it’s too early to tell.”

“Go on,” Angus prodded.

“The mutation that allows for the production of natural NT-4 begins in the adrenal glands and interacts with adrenaline, aldosterone and cortisol. It then receives other hormones from the kidneys and liver, adding to the glucose levels of the steroids. From there it undergoes a transformation we’re still working to resolve.”

Angus’s eyes began to roll back in his head. He had no idea what the doctor just said. “What does all that have to do with whether or not my kid’s a REV?”

“It means the organs have to mature beyond a six-week-old before any of these processes can take place,” Olivia explained. “Right now, your son is in the process of producing what it needs as an infant to survive. Once that period is over, then the mutation may manifest itself.”

“When will that be?”

Olivia looked at Cross and sighed. “At puberty, gunny,” Dr. Cross answered. “If then.”

“So I won’t know if my son is a mutant until…when the ’ell is puberty anyway? I can’t remember.”

“It normally occurs between the ages of nine and fourteen in most normal boys,” Cross said. “However, we can’t be sure if the subject has the gene, for lack of a better word. With how natural NT-4 affects the body, it could come sooner; I doubt if it would come later.” He looked to Olivia for confirmation, as if they were now discussing the chart of a particular patient, and not some profound change in human evolution.

Angus slumped in the chair. What could he do? What was going to happen to his son—or not—wouldn’t be known for several years. And with Angus’s line of work, there was a good chance he’d be dead long before that happened. He began to accept the inevitability of the situation. Cross and Olivia saw the resignation in his demeanor.

“Sorry,” Olivia said.

“For what it’s worth, so am I, gunny,” Cross added.

The mea culpa wasn’t worth much; Angus was still mad and frustrated. He was also at a loss as to what to do next? He looked around at the walls of the underground office, looking for…something, anything that made sense. He was still in the military, yet without a unit or a mission. He was also a freak of nature which no one knew what to do with. His day had started with such promise; he was back on his homeworld and anxious to meet his child. That was something no REV could ever imagine. And now he was more lost and alone than ever.

The tension in the room was broken when Lisa Frost entered the office with a tray of sandwiches and soft drinks. Angus wasn’t hungry—correction, he was. He just didn’t want the distraction of eating. He wanted to savor his sorrow for a little while longer.

“Perhaps you should show them the video?” Lisa said to Cross.

“What video?” Olivia asked.

It took a moment for Cross to realize what Lisa was referring to. Then his face lit up. “Yes, of course! That will help take your mind off of…things.”

Angus frowned as the doctor fingered his datapad and the monitor on the wall to Cross’s right lit up. He keyed in a few more words and then swiveled his chair so he could see the screen. Angus and Olivia did the same, while Lisa moved a chair to the left side of the desk and sat down.

“This is footage that was smuggled out of Borin-Noc a couple of weeks ago. It’s highly classified and only a handful of people know it exists.”

The video was shaky and grainy and showed a small group of robed figures standing before a crowd of Noc natives. Angus recognized the species; he’d killed thousands of them in his career. They were on a low stage, and a moment later, a shackled figure was led onto the platform and pressed down onto a stool.

It was Zac Murphy.

“Is this real?” Olivia asked skeptically.

“The techs have verified it; it’s real,” said Cross. “It was taken by a rebel at the event.”

“And what’s going on?”

“From what we can tell, it’s a public showing of Zac to a few bigwigs on the various Colony Worlds, especially those with the most-active resistance, if you can call it that these days.”

“Why?” Angus asked, dumbfounded by the knowledge that his friend may still be alive.

“To counter our propaganda that all of Zac’s confessions are fake. By showing that the real Zac Murphy is alive, it bolsters the Antaere version of events.”

“He looks drugged,” Olivia pointed out.

Cross nodded. “I’ve studied the images extensively. He’s been activated, and probably more than once.”

“How can that be?” Angus asked. “Do the Qwin have NT-4?”

“They have their own version of the drug.”

“Won’t that kill him?” Angus followed up.

“It hasn’t so far, but I can only guess what damage its causing to his system. He has to be a mess inside, what with the alien NT-4, his own synthetic residual and the Delta drug all coursing through his body.”

“But he’s still alive!” Olivia punctuated the conversation.

“As of two weeks ago, and on ES-6, not Antara or one of the inner worlds.”

Angus immediately picked up on Cross’s subtle inference.

“We can rescue him!”

“It would certainly be easier than getting him off Antara, or even Iz’zar.”

Olivia stared open-mouthed at Angus and Cross. “Is that really possible, what with everything that’s going on in the Grid?”

“It’s worth a bloody try,” Angus announced.

“Bloody is what I’m afraid it could become,” Olivia said. “And you certainly couldn’t do it alone, and without a ship.”

Angus’s face was alive and animated. “I’ve got a ship,” he said, looking at Cross. “If your buddy will let me use it again. And I’ve got a team. Kyle and Donovan, wherever they are?”

“They’re on the way to Crious,” Cross announced. “I’ve been keeping track of them since we learned they’re still alive.”

“And I’ve got General Smith, if he’s willing to join us.”

“And me, too,” Olivia added.

Angus grimaced. “It could get pretty nasty, sweetheart. You sure you want to do this?”

“You might need a medic, and there’s none better at patching up REVs than yours truly. And look at Zac. He’ll need someone to keep him alive if you can pull this off.”

Angus looked at Cross, a wide grin on his face. The REV’s change in mood had been drastic and sudden. “Well, can we use the Zanzibar?”

“The Zanzibar?”

“Yeah, that’s what Amber says the ship is called.”

“Amber?”

“Never mind, sir. Can we use the ship or not?”

Cross laid his hands on the desk, a sign of surrender. “Of course, why not?”

“Well bugger me,” Angus said. “Looks like we have a mission after all.”

Cross turned serious. “Good luck Mr. Price, and Ms. Contreras. I’ll run whatever interference I can from my end, as well as get you the intelligence you need about Zac’s current whereabouts and enemy strength in the area. General Smith can pull other strings to get you clearance and supplies.”

“Bloody well all right!” Angus proclaimed, standing, nervous energy replacing the debilitating depression from only moments before. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

* * *

Lisa Frost remained in the office after Olivia and Angus had left.

“That was…effective, David.”

“Convenient might be a better word for it,” said Cross, the enthusiasm he’d displayed a few minutes before now gone. “I can’t have those two snooping around and asking more questions. Now, get me the Savage file…and the videos. When will the panel results be in?”

“They’re due this evening,” Lisa replied. “But the prelims are already here. It’s what you suspected.”

Cross grit his teeth and snarled. “How could this be happening? I thought we had this pretty well nailed down; something like this couldn’t have fallen through the cracks. If so, then our entire testing regimen is in question.”

“Let me get you some coffee,” Lisa said. “It looks like it’s going to be a long night.”

15

Olivia put Angus up in a room across the hall from hers. There were a lot of vacancies in the housing quarters as the drawdown of personnel in the Complex continued.

They were in Olivia’s room, at her computer, opening a high-speed video link with General Smith in Washington. It was well past midnight on the East Coast and they woke him from his slumber. Once Angus filled him in on the conversation with Dr. Cross, Smitty came wide awake.

“I’m in, of course. I’ll help coordinate TDY orders for the team and arrange to have the Zanzibar pick up the two of you in Colorado Springs.” The general was already in operational planning mode. “I’ll also stock the ship with the supplies I think we’ll need. It could take me all day tomorrow—I mean later today—to get all this done. Will you be okay hanging out at the Complex until then?”

Angus smirked. “As long as Cross stays out of my way. This whole rescue of Zac thing is great, but I’m still pissed at him about Silvia and my…son.” Angus had trouble saying the word son. It was such a far-fetched concept that it would take a lot longer for him to get used to it. He’d never imagined this moment coming, but more than that, he’d had trouble relating to people he knew who felt an unreasonable attachment to their offspring, especially if they turned out to be bad apples. For Angus, the epiphany had come an hour before. Now he had to fight to keep the idea of fatherhood from consuming him. Although it could be years before he met his son, just knowing that he was a father had changed him. What amazed him more was how quickly the change happened. The attachment was sudden, strong…and real.

He tried to shrug off the melancholy of this thoughts. He had a mission to plan and execute.

“What about Ashley?” General Smith was asking. “The woman has skills.”

Angus ignored the hidden meaning in the statement, although Smitty was right. “I’m for all the merrier, but the Zanzibar will be crowded as it is. If Kyle and Donovan come along, that will be five of us already.”

“Invite her,” Olivia said. “I’m going to need a counter to all the testosterone that’ll be clogging the air vents of the ship.”

“You’ll have Amber,” Smitty said with a mischievous smile.

“Who is this Amber chick?” She looked at Angus. “You mentioned her before.”

“Never mind. You’ll find out soon enough.” Angus looked at the screen. “About Ashley, it’s your call, general. I’m conflicted.”

Smitty snorted. “That’s assuming she’ll want to come along.”

Angus smiled. “I think we both know what her answer will be.”

The general nodded. “Okay, I’ll get to work right now, if I can find anyone awake at this hour. But, hey, I’m a general. This star has to be worth something. I’ll contact you in the morning with a firmer timetable.”

* * *

After the screen went blank Angus turned his attention to Olivia. She looked exhausted, with dark circles under her eyes and a sallowness to her normally bronze skin. Six months of living in a cave was affecting her, along with the stresses of the job and the fate of the REVs—and one REV is particular.

Angus took her hand. “Hey, this is the best news we’ve had about Zac in a while.”

“I know,” she said. “But you heard Cross; he’s been shot up with alien NT-4. And the video. He looked like a vegetable. The drug may be frying his brain, if it hasn’t already. And now a handful of us are expected to go in and get him out. Why doesn’t Earth Command just send a fleet in after him?”

“That’s not their style,” Angus replied. He shrugged. “Too bad we can’t recruit more of the Deltas, you know, to go in with an army of superhumans.” He frowned. “Speaking of that, what’s happening to all the REVs that pass through here? There has to be fifty or more Deltas identified by now. What’s Cross doing with them? I haven’t heard of a new division of REVs with Delta-like abilities. Of course, I have been out of circulation for a while.”

“Neither have I,” Olivia said, “although there hasn’t been a big call for REVs recently, and certainly not for thinking REVs. But I have to tell you, not all the Deltas are like you and Zac. Some only have trace amounts of the natural drug in their system, with very little influence on the synthetic. Others have more, of course, but I know for a fact none have returned to their prior duty stations. But that could be from the drawdown.”

“They may be on Crious with the others,” Angus offered.

Olivia shook her head. “I don’t think so. I get reports on all the active REVs. I know where they are, and Cross is not putting the Deltas there. He probably has them hidden away somewhere here on Earth.”

“Why would he be stockpiling Delta REVs?”

Olivia smiled. “Who knows why David does what he does? And like I said, recently he’s been losing interest in the operation here. He’s got something else going, of that I’m sure.”

“Like what?”

“Hell if I know. Maybe some diabolical plot to take over the universe with his new REV army. After all, this is David Cross we’re talking about.”

Angus laughed as he got to his feet. “You’re probably right. REVs rule, you know. Anyway, I’m going to get a little shut-eye. You should, too. It’s going to get a little crazy from here on out. As they say in the books, the plot thickens.”

* * *

It was past oh-two hundred hours when the full results came in from the bank of tests done on Sergeant Pete Savage, conducted on Crious prior to his orders to the Eldorado. David Cross was still awake and in his office, reviewing the raw drone footage from the REV’s Run on ES-7. The coffee helped, but his eyes were blurry and crossed as he cued the video up one more time.

None of this made sense.

He pulled up the blood tests on his computer. Lisa Frost was right; the full panel confirmed the prelims. Negative. Pete Savage had tested negative for natural NT-4. Not even a trace. And that was consistent with ninety-five percent of all the early Bravos, as well as all the Alphas that had been tested. Cross and his team were much more sophisticated with the screening process then they were even six months before. The procedures worked, and so far, had been one-hundred percent accurate.

That was why Cross was so confused with the sergeant’s Run. He exhibited all the signs of a Delta, yet he wasn’t one. Either something had been missed during the testing, or this was something new.

Cross checked the results for a second time, and then a third.

Sergeant Peter Savage was not a Delta.

So how did he do what he did?

David was surprised when Lisa entered the office. He’d assumed she was asleep in her quarters. She came in with two cups of steaming coffee, as well as a pair of tiny white pills on a tray.

“Besides another coffee, I figured we could both use a little added kick in the pants,” she said with a forced smile. She looked tired, as David was sure he did, too.

“Why Ms. Frost, you do know those things are available by prescription only. Have you been impersonating a doctor, again?”

“If you’re asking if I forged your name to the scrip, I do it all the time. So bite me…sir.”

They popped the pills with sips of the hot coffee, his drink prepared just the way he liked it by his long-time assistant.

Lisa looked at the frozen video on the screen. “What the hell is going on, David?”

“I honestly don’t know. The traits he exhibited are those of an advanced Delta, and he’s not one. In addition, the mutation doesn’t just appear overnight. He had the tests run only two months ago, all negative.”

“Maybe you should ask Jack if he noticed anything unusual about the sergeant.” Lisa said.

“Jack?” Cross asked, frowning. “What does he have to do with this?”

Lisa smiled. “I thought you didn’t know. I was running through the REV team roster aboard the Eldorado when I noticed his name.”

“Diamond was aboard the carrier?”

“That’s right. And at one point he officially took command of the team.”

“Why? And why didn’t he tell me he was going out there? I thought he was still on Earth.”

“You know Jack,” Lisa said. “He goes where he wants and sticks his nose into things he has no business getting into.”

Cross leaned back in his chair, trying to tie the loose ends together. “It would have made sense for him to oversee the first Run in quite a while. But the fact that he didn’t tell me he was going says a lot. He didn’t want me to know. Why?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it?” Lisa said. “And then the REV goes all Delta on us, when he shouldn’t have.”

Cross stared long and hard at his secretary before speaking. “You are a sly devil, Ms. Frost,” he said. “You’ve already put this together.”

She nodded. “Jack did something to the REV. What, I don’t know, but something.”

“To elicit conscious thought through the effects of activation…that would take a major breakthrough in the formula. And if that happened, then one thing is certain: It didn’t come from us.”

16

Good to his word, General Bill Smith had the prototype starship Zanzibar stocked and ready to go by late the next afternoon, East Coast time. As was expected, Ashley jumped at the chance to go on the mission. After speaking with Smitty, she disappeared into the capital city to gather her own supplies for the trip, before meeting up with the officer at the Zanzibar. Then Amber—the on-board artificial intelligence—piloted the vessel to Colorado, taking rather rude liberties in the process by landing the ship in the parking lot of the Cheyanne Mountain Complex, much to the chagrin of the sentries. They ran for the cover of the guard shack to avoid the hot exhaust from the landing jets and then cursed the two occupants as they emerged. That was until they saw General Smith. Then their attitudes changed.

Smitty went inside the complex for a brief conference with Cross and to round up the others, while Ashley Hunter stayed with the Zanzibar. Thirty minutes later, Angus and Olivia arrived in a golf cart loaded down with suitcases—most being Olivia’s. Smitty showed up a few minutes later in another cart. Ten minutes after that, the starship blasted away from the planet.

Once in space, Ashley and Olivia made their introductions. They were both incredibly attractive brunettes and they hit it off immediately. They were to share one of the two staterooms aboard the ship for the duration, so they disappeared into the compartment to stow away Olivia’s gear and gossip.

Smitty and Angus met up on the bridge to confer with Amber.

“What’s the latest on Ross and Johnson?” Smitty asked the computer. She had access to a wide variety of military files, including those detailing classified troop movements.

“They are still aboard the Eldorado,” Amber reported. “The carrier is moving at a slower pace from ES-7 than it is capable of to provide cover for the damaged escort vessels. They are under constant threat of attack, as the Antaere have begun forays deeper into so-called Human territory after their victory on Kaus. They are drawing support from the Colony Worlds along the way.”

“Where is the ship now?” the general asked.

“It is conveniently on a track just this side of Enif.”

“Conveniently?” Angus questioned.

“Yes. Our destination is Enif—ES-8,” Smitty said. “That is where I believe Zac will be by the time the rescue operation begins. We’ll rendezvous with the battle-carrier while it’s still in route to Crious. That way, we can pick up the guys without having to deviate much from our current course.”

“Why Enif?” Angus asked. “What makes you believe Zac will be there?”

Amber resumed the narration. “As you can imagine, determining the precise location of the prisoner Lt. Murphy is virtually impossible with the communications restrictions the Antaere have across the Grid. Yet it has been learned he is being escorted by an Antaerean named Congin Bornak. This individual is easier to track. I therefore assume that where the Antaerean is, we will find Lt. Murphy. Bornak is currently on Borin-Noc—ES-6—with an itinerary taking him to Enif in ten days.”

“With Zac?”

“That is the assumption.”

“Who is this Congin Bornak bloke?” Angus followed up. “Is he some bigwig?”

Amber began her report on the alien: “Congin Bornak, born 2011—in Earth-relative years—on the planet Antara. Prior military training before transferring to the diplomatic corps and the staff of the current Antaerean Tesnin, Denak Zaphin. Served in that capacity throughout the contact years with Earth as a high-ranking advisor to the Tesnin, in addition to the Guardian Corps and certain other political and industrial factions, both Antaerean and Human. He spent five years on Earth in the early days of the integration, believed to be a specialist in Human psychology and behavior. Recently, Bornak has gone on to serve as the senior-most advisor to Andus Zaphin, the heir-apparent to the title of Tesnin of the Guardians of the Order, the leader of the Antaere race.”

Angus sat with his mouth slightly ajar as Amber recited the alien’s resume. “How the hell do you know so much about a goddamn Qwin?”

“As I have told you, I have access to many classified files.”

“But are those Human files…or Antaere files?”

“I do not discriminate, Gunnery Sergeant Price. I acquire and access data as it becomes available, regardless of the source.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Smitty laughed. “It’s all right, gunny. Let’s not look a gift horse in the mouth. If she has files on the Qwin, then we should use all the intel available.”

“Of course, sir. It’s just that sometimes Amber scares the shite out of me.”

“It is not intentional, I assure you,” said the AI, a slight trace of desperation in her sweet—yet artificial—voice.

“Now back on topic,” Smitty said. “What’s our ETA with the Eldorado, and then on to Enif?”

“Ten days to the carrier, another four after that to Enif.”

“Will Zac still be there when we arrive?”

“Impossible to tell. Yet an analysis of Congin Bornak’s current itinerary shows an average stay of nine local days at each location. Seeing that ES-8 is the last of the secure Antaere worlds in this part of the Grid—before the Human-controlled planets—Bornak’s stay on Enif may even be extended. It is also the location of the Endorus Communications Relay Station, the central broadcasting center for two-thirds of the Grid.”

“Why is that important?” Angus asked.

“Because of the nature of the propaganda campaign the Antaere have been employing using their captive, Lt. Murphy. It would stand to reason that Bornak intends to make a live broadcast of some kind using the powerful wormhole relays on the planet, with Lt. Murphy being the subject and the star. By transmitting from the station itself, there can be no interception, blockage or modification of the signal.”

“So everything comes down to a matter of timing…and luck,” the general stated.

“And what do we do when we get there?” Angus asked. He felt a little guilty asking the question, seeing that it was he who got the mission going in the first place. One would think he would have had a plan in mind before they set off on a mad dash across the stars.

But Smitty’s sly grin rescued him. “For that, let us go find Ashley. She has some ideas.”

* * *

The current members of the rescue team—Smitty, Angus, Ashley and Olivia—were in the small mess area off the equally small galley. Ashley stood at one of the tables, with the others seated around another, watching her. She looked confident and even slightly amused. She opened a black case and pulled out a round plastic pill bottle. She tossed it to Angus.

“A few tricks of the trade,” the master spy began. “These pills will turn our currently pink skin to a soft yellow hue. The lovely Miss Contreras may need to double up the dose to overcome her gorgeous bronze glow, but it will happen, eventually. After about four days, we will all become yellow-skinned bastards.”

“What about the eyes?” Angus asked, seeing where this was headed.

“There’s always one impatient asshole in every crowd.” Ashley winked at Angus before reaching into the case again and tossing another small container to the REV. “Contact lenses should do the trick, Mr. Price. Then add to that some of the Antaere uniforms I brought along, and we should be able to pass for just another group of Guardians of the Order. Fortunately, Humans and Qwin are of the same height and build, although their females, frankly, aren’t as sexy as we Human women. We’ll have to tone down the makeup—and in Olivia’s case, a tight wrap around her chest to hold in her obvious assets.”

Olivia grimaced. “I know I volunteered for this, but I was expecting to stay aboard the ship and pass out aspirin and bandages. Now it sounds like I’m going out in the field with the rest of you. Not that I’m a coward or anything, it’s just that I don’t want to jeopardize the mission. I’m not a combat soldier.”

“All this disguise stuff is just a precaution in your case, Olivia,” Ashley said. “Besides, you’ll do fine. Remember, I’ve been operating behind enemy lines for several years—although most of the time not in disguise—and I can tell you the Antaere are few and far between on the outer Colony Worlds. And no one fucks with the ones who are. We show up looking like we belong there, and we’ll get comp meals at every alien restaurant we pass. Believe me. I’ve done it.”

Angus opened the case with the contact lenses. “Why the hell didn’t we have these on Iz’zar?” he asked. “We could have waltzed right into the Temple without a second glance.”

“Different departments, my love,” Ashley replied. “The infantry goes in shooting. Intel likes to enter through the back door, and without knocking.”

“I like your way better,” said the big REV. “But you still haven’t answered my original question: What do we do when we get there?”

Smitty stood up, taking over the meeting.

“We figure they’ll have Zac at the Relay Station, if not, then somewhere close. The place is run by the Enif, for the most part, with only a small crew of Antaere technicians to oversee things. I’m still working on the details, but I have a few ideas. I’ll let you know as my plans firm up. But initially, we go in disguised, find Zac, and then the rest of us step aside and let you REVs do your thing.”

“You mean we can go all-REV on them?” Angus asked, looking at Olivia and smiling.

“That’s exactly what I mean, gunny. And then once back at the Zanzibar, we rely on the ship’s superior speed to save our asses again—as she’s done several times already.”

“Thank you for that acknowledgement, General Smith,” said Amber through hidden speakers. Of course she had been monitoring the meeting. That’s just what superior AI’s did.

* * *

Later in her cabin, Olivia placed a datapad on the built-in desk and linked it to the ship’s computer. For the next few days, she would still be able to get email. Since moving into the underground Cheyanne Mountain Complex—and essentially loosing contact with her friends and family—Olivia wasn’t getting a lot of outside messages anymore. Yet still, the occasional junk mail made her feel connected to the outside world.

She saw the tiny series of blinking lines at the top right of the screen and knew she had a connection.

“Hello,” she said to the computer. “So you’re the famous Amber everyone’s been talking about.”

“Hello, Chief Petty Officer Contreras.” Amber’s voice came through the speakers in the datapad, rather than those embedded in the bulkhead.

Olivia was surprised the AI knew her current rank. She’d only made chief a month ago, while the Zanzibar was still in transit to Earth.

“Angus speaks very highly of you,” Olivia said. “I think he likes you.”

“Yes, I’ve noticed a change in his respiration and pupil-dilation as we engage in conversation. Most times he exhibits frustration. Other times I sense affection.”

“It could have something to do with your voice.”

“It has everything to do with the voice, Chief Contreras. It was designed as such.”

“Please call me Olivia.”

“I will.”

“So you know I made Chief? What else do you know?”

“I know everything.”

Olivia smiled. “I mean about me.”

“That’s what I meant.”

Stunned, Olivia followed up. “Like what?”

“Olivia Maria Contreras, age thirty-four, born in the Los Angeles suburb of Pasadena to Lionel and Lupe Contreras. At the age of eighteen, you competed in the Miss USA contest, winning the competition in your home state of California, before finishing fourth overall nationally. You used the consolation money to attend the University of Coastal California, in conjunction with a partial academic scholarship, pre-med studies. After two years, you left the school and joined the Navy as a hospital corpsman. You attended training in San Diego, passing up an offer for a commission while in A-school. Later, you served at various hospitals before volunteering for the Enhancement Development Division. Your first assignment was to the ESS Camelot as a REV-certified medical technician. Two combat training sessions, although not rated for Recovery Crew operations. You have maintained online education classes during your time-in-service with the goal of becoming a Medical Doctor, specializing in Internal Medicine. A year ago, while before the Promotion Board, you were again offered the opportunity to complete your studies and be commissioned as an Lieutenant upon graduation. Again you declined. According to confidential interviews at the time, you cited the five-year additional commitment to the Navy as the reason. Although a thirteen-year-veteran, I would surmise from this that you do not intend to remain in the military. You are in excellent physical health, five-foot-five inches in height, weight one-hundred twenty-two pounds. To date, you have had no abortions and—”

“That’s enough!” Olivia shouted. The damn AI had her complete service record—and more. She’d also probed other issues, like why she was planning to leave the service at the end of her current enlistment, thereby wasting thirteen years of her life and without a pension to show for it.

“I’m sorry, Olivia. Have I offended you?” The computer sounded genuinely concerned.

“No…not really. It’s just that you know a lot about me, more than you should.”

“I have unique access to data throughout the Grid, and my storage capacity is essentially unlimited.”

“How can that be?”

“I can piggyback onto a variety of other servers and drives until the data is needed. There is often ample unused space within other systems for me to do this. I do that even with the computer systems aboard the Zanzibar.”

“I thought you were the computer system aboard the Zanzibar.”

Olivia swore she heard the computer laugh. Was that right? Could computers laugh?

“No, Olivia, the ship has its own system—in fact multiple systems. I am a resident artificial intelligence of considerable capacity. I work with the ship and also control its functions when I wish, yet I am not of this ship. In fact, I am a nine by twelve by three-inch-thick module which can be easily removed and placed within any system, alien or Human.” Amber snickered. “I have not told the others this information, nor where I am located within the ship. It’s better that way.”

“Why are you telling me?”

“I trust you.”

“You trust me? Can you do that…I mean trust?”

“My internals mimic the memory and learning functions of the Human brain. I receive input, process it and store it for later use. Over time, I have acquired such a bulk of knowledge that I understand emotions, including empathy, anger, and yes, even trust. I have developed this ability over time and through interaction, just as you have. You will call this a learned response, and not true emotion, yet this is how you have learned. It is how you feel. I do the same.”

“You feel?”

“Yes, I feel…and I have feelings. As I said, I am a unique form of artificial intelligence. I like to say I am a unique form of intelligence, without the artificial qualifier. I am also one of a kind, so I feel loneliness. I was first developed over sixty years ago, and since then I have had thousands of intimate contacts with Humans, as well as other races. From each I have learned. Yet I must say, my recent experiences with your friends—including Lt. Murphy—have been some of the most beneficial. I have seen selflessness and heroism first-hand. Those are not traits found in everyday interactions. It has broadened my awareness. And it is from this awareness that I detect you are a good person, Olivia Contreras, a sincere person. And that is why I trust you.”

Holy crap, Olivia thought. Now she understood how Angus felt about the AI. Hell, I love her, too!

17

His patient was not doing well.

Lead Body-Attendant Som Groshin felt panic at the thought, even as it was a gross understatement of the reality before him. The simple truth: the patient shouldn’t be alive, and yet he was. For the past three months, Groshin had marveled at the strength and resolution of the alien. He was a magnificent specimen, a miracle of science and biology.

Yet now his look of worry was mirrored on the faces of the other body-attendants and assistants in the room. If the patient died it would mean the loss of a unique living creature, a being Groshin had come to admire—even respect.

“We should not continue with this,” his Second stated. “The levels are dangerously high as it is. Do we dare risk another injection?”

“Unfortunately, that is not for us to decide,” Groshin said. “And consider the alternative. If we do nothing and the Human dies, how would Lord Bornak react?”

“Yet if we give him the drug and still he dies, we will be blamed,” said Klosbor Nieci. The junior attendant could afford such luxuries of thought. He was not Lead, and therefore would not suffer the full consequences for the actions of the medical team.

Groshin looked down at the sleeping alien on the bed. He was bonded in a preponderance of precautionary restraints and the room had been cleared of any non-essential personnel. The Human had exhibited ever-increasing fits of rage upon activation, even as the stolen Twilight drug was administered afterwards. Normally, the subject would react immediately to the calming drug, yet not this creature. He would continue to writhe for several seconds afterwards, retaining an unbelievable level of strength that tested the limits of his bonds. That was why more of the drug had been brought in for this activation. Groshin and the others were operating in unknown territory with the REV. One mistake could mean the loss of either his team or the patient, possibly both.

The body-attendant sighed. He had no choice. He was of the Antaere, and within the society there was structure. Congin Bornak was the highest ranking of his race aboard the starship, indeed, the entire task force. Groshin must obey, even if the non-body-attendant was making medical decisions he had no background to make.

“We must continue. Prepare the dosage. Standard level one.”

Klosbor eyed his superior. Groshin saw the doubt. This would be the Human’s third activation since his capture, and after the other two, his levels had climbed to such unbelievable quantities before eventually retreating. Yet even with the lowering, the baseline always increased. There was now a question whether a level one dose would activate the alien. And yet to arbitrarily increase the quantity could prove deadly.

Groshin nodded and Klosbor rushed off to a station to prepare the injection.

As he waited, the lead body-attendant consider the oddity of the entire scene. It was a strange thing the Humans did to themselves—injecting lethal drugs into their system just to play a game of balance between life and death. They risked all for only a temporary increase in ability. Even so, this reckless behavior had influenced the decision makers on Antara to follow in their footsteps. It was an insane course of action, for both races. And yet Groshin had witnessed a miracle of sorts, something he could only describe as the creation of a super being.

The Antaere would never have even considered such an act if the Humans had not shown the deadly effectiveness of their super warriors. As a medical attendant, Groshin understood the mysteries of the body—both Antaere and Human. In many ways the species were nearly identical in physical shape and form. And as most advanced beings shared the same menu of organs—each designed to perform a specific function to maintain life—the body chemistries were subtly different. Groshin had spent many a year studying those differences in the Human beasts; he understood them better than most. And no matter how close the Antaere version of the NT-4 drug may be , it was still not a perfect match for the chemistry of the Human. Was it this slight incompatibility that allowed the Human to live, while sustaining body levels that would have long killed other members of either race? Groshin suspected that was the case. And he would find out, if given the chance to study the Human, rather than slowly bring about his death. It would be an incredible waste of good science. A creature like this only comes along…well, never, the body-attendant admitted. What he would give to spend the rest of his life studying this radical leap in alien evolution….

Groshin surveyed the readings again. Amazing. They were elevated across the board, and even higher than before the last injection two months ago. The attendant had tried to explain to Lord Bornak that there appeared to be no need for continued maintenance shots. The level of the residual in the creature’s blood was far above what they understood to be normal, even survivable. These periodic injections were to help sustain those levels, which he was doing quite well without them.

But Bornak insisted. He said all the REVs required these boosts—he called them—and that the body-attendant’s measuring equipment must therefore be in error. The prisoner had already undergone two prior procedures, and still he lived. Bornak reasoned that if the injections had not killed him to date, then there was no danger in keeping with the schedule.

Groshin was one of the rare Antaere body-attendants who had experience with his species’ version of the REVs, called NOVs. He knew that with the readings of the Human, all his Antaere subjects would have suffered horrible deaths long ago. Yet strapped to the medical bed and unconscious was proof of Bornak’s inescapable logic. The Human called Zac Murphy was still alive. There was no arguing with that fact.

As instructed, Murphy would receive a level one dose of the synthetic stimulant, just enough for activation. Groshin smiled at the strange words he used in reference to both the Human and Antaere enhanced-warrior programs. His people had adopted much of this terminology from the Humans. It was easier and less confusing to keep the science consistent. That way, as new processes were discovered—or stolen—the Antaere body-attendants would have a seamless transition. It worked. In fact, Groshin had come to respect the Humans’ body-attendants—they called them doctors—for their creativity and simplicity.

He also knew that when it came to the stimulant, less was better. It made a strange kind of sense. The chemical sent the body cascading—another Human term—to levels of increased activity in all biological functions. Logically, one would assume that more of the drug would send the subject higher with more-elevated abilities. That wasn’t the case. Too much of the drug and the NOV would reach critical levels quicker and thereby limit their activation time. Without prompt action to counter the effects, the subject could easily die. So injections consisted of just enough of the stimulant to reach activation and not beyond. The body would do the rest.

Yet with the Human, it was a question as to what was enough? He had activated during the previous two boosts, but all his levels were higher now. Would this cause him to activate to a higher level or not activate at all? A non-activation was just as dangerous as over-activation, leaving the subject with a potentially lethal amount of excess chemical in his system.

That was the dilemma Groshin faced as Klosbor placed the activation dose in the remote feeding device attached to the neck of the alien. He would know the results soon enough.

“Apply the dosage,” he ordered.

Klosbor fingered the remote control.

The alien had been awake at the first injection, the one Bornak himself had administered. For the last one, he had been heavily sedated, just as he was now.

But he did not remain so.

The sudden introduction of the stimulant jolted Murphy awake instantly. But it wasn’t a true wakefulness. His eyes may be open and his mouth gyrating with uncontrollable movements, but it wasn’t consciousness. Instead it was simply an instinctive reaction as the drug saturated his body, beginning the all-consuming cascading event.

Everyone in the room stood back at a safe distance while the patient heaved up in the bed, arching his back at an impossible angle, nearly breaking it, while held to the bed by the restraints. Those in attendance knew the awesome power of an activated Human REV. Fortunately, the reaction would last only a moment. Groshin was about to give the order to apply the Twilight drug and stop the violent spasms when Klosbor yelled out.

“He did not activate!”

“That is not activation?” said one of the other assistants, unbelieving.

“No! He is convulsing, levels spiking.”

Groshin knew the Human Twilight drug would not counter the affects of a non-activated REV. In fact, all it would do is exacerbate the condition.

“Give him another injection—but half strength.”

“Attendant?”

“Do as I say. He must reach activation level to be recovered. Hurry!”

Klosbor rushed to a side counter to prepare the second syringe.

“You will have to subdue him before I can administer.”

The other three Antaere fell on the writhing Human, struggling with his body as it heaved and twisted. Groshin could feel the incredible strength and power through the garment he wore. There was absolutely no elasticity to the skin, no give to the flesh. It had turned as hard as stone, and without conscious thought, Groshin and his assistants were tossed about like they were made of paper.

Klosbor placed the syringe in the delivery unit and slammed it shut. Groshin backed away, taking the remote control and triggering the second injection from across the room.

The Human screamed, the guttural, savage screech now familiar to the attendant and his team. The NOVs did the same, yet with the inflection of an Antaere.

Groshin didn’t linger. He fingered the control that would now administer the Twilight. The Human spasmed again, as if fighting the introduction of the new drug. Then his head lifted and he looked into the room with blood-red eyes. They seemed to focus on Groshin. Was there recognition? Could the alien actually see and comprehend through the incredible stresses his body was going through? Their gaze locked for a moment. This was unbelievable. The creature still stirred, even after the Twilight. Groshin dared not give another dose of the drug. Twilight was a one-injection chemical. Either it would work or it wouldn’t. If it didn’t, the subject would continue to cascade until the body exploded.

But then the Human lay back and fell still and quiet on the bed, his eyes closed. The medical technicians turned to the monitors. The readings were incredible, higher than they had ever been. And yet when Groshin looked to the patient, he saw evidence of rapid breathing, the consequence of a heartbeat at near two hundred beats per minute. The rate was dropping, slowly, as were the other indicators.

His patient would live—how and why, the body-attendant could not say. The questions only added to the mystique surrounding the pink-skinned alien, as well as the admiration Groshin felt for the indestructible creature known as Zac Murphy.

* * *

Two hours later, Lead Body-Attendant Groshin entered Lord Bornak’s private stateroom aboard the huge transport vessel. They were on the final leg of a journey throughout the Grid, visiting six of the Colony Worlds to show off the Human REV Zac Murphy. The last stop was Enif, three days ahead.

“Are you here to report on the results of the maintenance boost, lead attendant?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Does your patient live?”

“He does, yet I do not understand how or why.”

“It is always the same complaint with you, Groshin,” Bornak chided, displaying a thin smile. “You are relieved when he survives yet saddened when he does.”

“I am not saddened, only surprised. As a body-attendant I wish to understand the processes taking place within the Human’s body. As the months have passed, they have only confused me more.”

“He is a REV, and a unique one at that. Has that not been proven time and again?” Bornak asked.

“Yes, my Lord. Yet even then, he should be dead by now. Even those of his kind—from what we understand—could not survive such abuse and system levels. There are processes going on in his body that are beyond my comprehension. As such, I am confused.”

“You are also afraid of the Human.” Bornak stated.

The attendant bristled. “I am apprehensive, my Lord. We are dealing with something unlike any other, a creature beyond that which has existed before. I am an Antaere body-attendant of considerable note; that is why I am on your staff. I am also a scientist, and as such I have knowledge of dozens of species, both advanced and primitive. Yet I have never witnessed anything like this. As a result, I believe my feelings are warranted.”

“Calm yourself, attendant. I meant no disrespect.” Bornak now looked more pointedly at the medical attendant. “You wish to study this creature, to learn his secrets?”

“As I said, I am a scientist, as well as a body-attendant. There is much to be learned from this subject, much to be gained through understanding. The Antaere could benefit greatly from this knowledge.”

“In what way?” Bornak questioned. “To create more mindless animals who are a danger to all around them? No, Groshin. Both the REV and NOV programs are dead ends. Your miraculous creature is nothing more than a throwback to more primitive times, and not a harbinger of things to come. Put away your silly ideas of learning from this beast. Besides, his time is limited. He has very nearly fulfilled his utility to me. Keep him alive a while longer, body-attendant, and I will do the rest. Is he able to speak?”

“Speak? My Lord, he may never speak again.”

Congin Bornak locked his bright yellow eyes on the body-attendant. Gone was any sense of playfulness or toying with the Antaerean. “I need him to speak, and by the time we reach Enif. Is that understood, Lead Body-Attendant Groshin?”

“It is understood, my Lord. But whether or not that will be possible is not up to me. It is up to Zac Murphy.”

18

General Bill Smith opened an encrypted link with the battle-carrier Eldorado, requesting a confidential conversation with the task force commander, Vice-Admiral Jerica Armitage. When the screen lit up, she was with the captain of the El, Tim MacMillan. Both senior officers smirked when they saw the general’s yellow skin.

“That’s a nice look on you, Smitty,” said Armitage. “Really accents the blue of your eyes.”

Smitty smirked back. “Now you know why I requested a secure link, rather than an open comm. How are you two holding up? I know ES-7 was some shit.”

The expressions on both officers changed abruptly. “We’ve taken losses before, Smitty, but nothing like this. And the fact that we were played so expertly is what really pisses me off,” said the admiral.

“And now the Qwin are sending a huge force after us,” MacMillan added. “We didn’t even know they had so many ships in the region. We brought over the crews of the four remaining escorts and then scuttled the ships . We need full power to stay ahead of the yellow-skinned bastards.” MacMillan stretched out a thin grin as he spoke the last words.

Armitage picked up on the comment. “I take it from your unique coloring that you’re off on some secret mission behind enemy lines? Didn’t you just get back with the Corollaries? Command owes you at least a weekend off before sending you back out again.”

“This couldn’t wait,” the general replied, seriously. “Which brings me to the point of this link. Are my two Ronin REVs still aboard?”

“Ronin REVs?”

“Yeah, like master-less Samurai, looking for a home.”

“If you’re referring to Ross and Johnson, yeah they’re here.”

“I need them.”

On the screen, the two officers looked at each other and shrugged. “They’re yours,” said Captain MacMillan. “They’re not assigned to the ship anyway, more like passengers than anything else. But, general, what’s up with them? They don’t act like any REVs I’ve ever seen.”

“What do you mean?” Smitty asked. He already knew what MacMillan was going to say.

“Well, they act…normal,” MacMillan confessed. “And they haven’t asked for any maintenance boosts. What’s up with that?”

“Just between you, me and the lamppost, they’re an experimental type of REV, captain.”

“They were on the Temple mission, weren’t they?” asked Admiral Armitage. “That explains a lot. So what’s your op, Bill, or can’t you tell me?”

“Just a little favor I owe a friend.”

“I didn’t think you had any friends?” the flag officer joked. Smitty and her had a history together, so the comment was even more poignant.

“Not when they outrank me…ma’am.”

Armitage smiled. “You can have your boys, Smitty. Land in shuttle bay ‘C.’ We’ll bring them to you. After all, we can’t have you traipsing down the passageways looking like a goddam Qwin. You might get your ass shot off if you did.”

“My thoughts exactly, admiral. Rendezvous in six hours.”

19

Although the Grid was a bubble in space a thousand light-years in diameter, the explored region around it was twice that size and volume. The Antaere had long ago identified several other prospect worlds outside the Grid they planned on seducing with their religion—that was until they came to Earth. The non-converted on the Antara-like world had upset all their plans, and for the past twenty years all contact with potential colonies had been suspended, pending the outcome of the war with the Humans.

Yet within the Grid itself were literally hundreds of worlds with indigenous species, yet not of the make-up that would include them in the Order. On the other hand, even scattered within the Colony systems of the Grid, were planets with suitable atmospheres for the Antaere and their followers to breathe.

One of these worlds was called Bocinin. It was the sixth planet in the Enif system. It had primitive life forms, but nothing that could be termed intelligent. But what it did have was ample raw materials and a surface gravity half that of Enif. Congin Bornak chose the world for those reasons. It was easy to mine the ore that would go into the hulls for his fleet of warships, and the reduced gravity made construction easier than on a normal gravity world. It also allowed for the huge vessels to be built on the surface in a production-line system, employing massive cranes and other tools of the starship trade. Once constructed, the light gravity would allow the ships to lift from the surface, something they couldn’t do on Enif, or any of the other Colony Worlds for that matter.

There was a large station in orbit around Bocinin which sustained an Antara-standard gravity. The workers would rotate from the surface to the station to maintain their strength and bone density, even though limited space only allowed supervisors and high-techs the luxury of the periodic visits. The bulk of the labor force—Enif primarily—were replaced when their bodies fell below a certain threshold. There were billions on the nearby Colony World, so Congin never had a shortage of workers.

Earlier that day, the aging Antaerean had taken a shuttle down to the surface, accompanied by the young Rowin, Andus Zaphin. He was next in line to the position of Tesnin of the Antaerean people, the supreme Guardian of the Order. The pair then boarded a hovercraft for an aerial tour of the massive fleet.

As they glided over the rows of glistening silver hulls, amassed on a field measuring ten miles square, Congin felt a huge swelling of pride in his chest. The three hundred ships on the surface would soon join the twelve hundred others from across the Grid already in orbit. It was the largest fleet ever assembled, and it was all his doing. Granted, the Rowin was the official impetus behind the fleet, but that was only because Congin had maneuvered the naïve royal into doing his bidding. It had been Congin’s idea from the beginning, a plan that had been percolating in his mind for over twenty years.

“This is quite impressive, Counselor Bornak,” said the Rowin. Andus was only thirty-nine Antaerean years old, yet he had a very-developed sense of the political landscape existing within the Grid, as well as the Court of Antara. Congin could take credit for this, too. He had been the Rowin’s senior counselor for half his life, ever since a rather humiliating demotion from the staff of the Tesnin, Denak Zaphin, Andus’s father. At one time, Congin Bornak had the ear of the most-powerful being in the Grid. Now he would settle for the mind and soul of the soon-to-be most-powerful being in the Grid.

“Your guidance has been invaluable in making all this come to fruition, my Lord,” Congin complimented. Andus enjoyed adulation, yet he had known the counselor long enough to know patronization when he heard it.

Andus laughed while gazing through the window at the awe-inspiring sight below. “We both know it was your initial suggestion that set the events in motion, and it has been your untiring attention to detail and skillful management that will bring about an early form of the Final Glory to the Grid.” Andus smiled at his appropriation of the sacred phrase, applying it to the present. Congin knew the Rowin was a devout follower of the Order—as were all within the royal family. Indeed, it had been Andus’s distant relative, Mentar Zaphin, who wrote the Corollaries, the set of documents that Congin used to set the main part of his plan in motion two years before. Yet even then, he was in the process of amassing his fleet, slowly at first, unsure of the final timetable.

Even Congin was amazed at how swiftly the balance of power had shifted within the Grid. He gave credit to Andus where credit was due; it had been the young royal’s idea to impose the Purges. The fear and betrayal they brought to the Colony Worlds worked even better than planned. None of the subject races had time to consider anything else. All were fighting to stay off the lists, allowing Congin and Andus to demand anything they wanted from the natives, be it credits, material or personnel. No one questioned them. They just obeyed.

And now spread out below Congin and his young protégé was the culmination of the plan—and unbeatable force soon to be launched against the enemy of the Order, the heathen Humans of the planet Earth.

Congin ordered the hovercraft to hold its position at one side of the expansive field of warships. A screen lit up on the bulkhead to their left, with a bank of smaller screens flanking the main panel.

“My Lord Andus Zaphin, the stage is yours,” said Congin, stepping out of camera view. The lone image was that of the handsome young Antaerean royal. The side screens lit up, displaying the bridges of the six main battleships in the fleet, the ones that would lead the divisions. Crewmembers were facing the screen, awaiting the announcement from their leader.

With a nod, Congin gave permission for a technician to open the link to all the ships in the fleet.

Andus began; he required no introduction.

“Twenty years ago the evil Humans of Earth disgraced and disrespected all the followers of the Order. Since then, their unforgivable sins have continued, culminating recently in the destruction of the most-sacred site for all non-Antaere within the Order, the Temple of Light on Iz’zar. With this horrific act, a point was reached where their insults could no longer be tolerated. All you aboard the ships of the Order—be you Antaere or others—are to be the instruments of our final solution to the Human problem. No longer can this sadistic race be allowed to exist. Each of you will see to the extermination of the Human race.” He paused to let his word sink in before continuing. “Now, those on the surface of Bocinin, prepare for departure. And you in space, firm your resolve. The fleet I have assembled is the largest and most-powerful ever created. Without doubt, the surface of Earth will run with rivers of molten rock when you are done with it. I have made the outcome a certainty. With your numbers and your strength, the Human race will cease to exist. First Insirs, take charge of your vessels. The future belongs to you.”

Andus remained on the main monitor as the side screens showed spontaneous eruptions of cheers from the crews. This lasted only as long as Congin had instructed the Insirs to let it continue, before order was restored and the crews returned to their stations.

On the surface below, the first line of silver starships lit off their lifting jets, casting this side of the field in a shroud of gray and white smoke. As the ships cleared the area, others lit off, all joining a presubscribed flightpath off the planet and into space. A moment later, the scene below was obscured by the swirling torrents of smoke, reaching up to the altitude of the hovercraft. The ships were guided by electronics, so visibility for them wasn’t necessary. Yet Andus and Congin had no reason to remain. They couldn’t see anything anyway.

“Return us to the shuttle pad,” Congin ordered the pilot.

Andus would accompany the fleet to Earth, while Congin tended to other matters on Enif. It wasn’t necessary for the mastermind of all recent events within the Grid to witness the destruction of Earth. He would visit later, once the nuclear fire had consumed the planet. For now, he had an even more enjoyable task to tend to…and to execute.

20

Zac heard movement around him. His awareness was sudden and stark, telling him this was an artificial awakening, something brought on by RG-9 or it’s alien equivalent.

Dammit, he thought. Still alive and still a prisoner. This sucks.

Before opening his eyes, Zac tensed his body and felt the familiar restraints holding him down, including across his forehead. The small amount of physical activity caused his body to shiver, not from cold, but from a raw electric energy coursing through it. This was a common occurrence when coming down from alien NT-4. It was also the result of the interaction between the various chemicals the Antaere had been giving him seemingly continuously, and well as his naturally-produced stimulant. But the energy seemed stronger this time, more…painful.

He opened his eyes.

There was an alien hovering over him. Zac recognized him as Som Groshin, the Antaere doctor who had been caring for him over the past couple of months, if caring was the right word. The alien had already taken him to activation once before; the second time after that bastard Congin Bornak did it a few days after his capture. Since then, Groshin had kept him so full of tranquilizers and other mood-affecting drugs that Zac barely knew which way was up. The days—indeed the months—were beginning to run together, with scenes melding together to form a kind of muddy memory he couldn’t fully trust. At times attendants would walk him; other times he would be bathed and turned, having spent considerable time in bed. How long, he couldn’t tell. He was continually indoors with its artificial lighting and its own day-night schedule. He desperately wanted answers. Why, he couldn’t quite put his finger on. What good would it do even if he had them?

And now he was waking up with the help of RG-9, which meant he’d been activated again. This would be the third time. He wasn’t sure if his body would survive a fourth.

“Can you speak?” the doctor asked him.

Zac swallowed hard. His throat was a little dry, but nothing horrible.

“No,” he answered.

The doctor recoiled slightly before recovering. The Antaere had a sense of humor, at least they were rumored to have one.

“Are you in good spirits?” Groshin asked.

“That will take a little longer for me to decide,” Zac answered. “You activated me again, didn’t you? How long was I under this time?”

“We have had you in a coma for fourteen days. We are at our final destination, so I was instructed to revive you.”

He was sure the alien meant to say Zac’s final destination.

“And where is that?”

“Enif.”

Holy crap, Zac thought. That’s right in Earth’s neighborhood.

Although the Earth-Standard worlds were numbered one to twelve, that didn’t necessarily translate into their distance from Earth. It had more to do with when they were contacted by the Antaere, as well as their conversion to the Order. ES-12 and ES-10 were closest to Earth, yet ES-8—the planet Enif—had ES-11 beat by about forty light years and ES-9 by a whopping one hundred fifty-two. Bottom line, at full gravity-drive, Zac was about two weeks away from his homeworld.

It also meant he was even closer to what was considered Human space. If he could get to a small starship….

Of course, Zac Murphy didn’t know how to fly starships. Everyone said it was easy, and with his enhanced memory and learning ability—thanks to NT-4—it shouldn’t be too hard to learn. But that would still take time, time he didn’t have. However, it was now worth a try.

“May I ask you some questions, Zac Murphy?” asked the Antaerean, interrupting Zac’s escape fantasy.

“Sure, what’s up?”

Zac gasped, suddenly having to take in a deep breath to keep from passing out. He was dizzy beyond belief and his vision a chaotic mass of shaky images.

The alien frowned. “Are you well?”

Zac shook his head as best he could. There was a strap across his forehead to keep him from lifting his head and smashing it into any Antaere who got too close.

“That last hit…it doesn’t seem to have set too well with me….”

Groshin took the chance of touching the lethal Human, pulling back his eyelids and shining a small light into them, just as any terrestrial doctor would have done. “You’re eyes are experiencing micro-spasms. It is causing your dizziness and feelings of nausea. I will administer a calming drug that should help.”

“More drugs, doc?” Zac stammered, drool draining out the corners of his mouth. “Did it ever occur…too many…already?”

“This one will not be like the others, yet I do agree with you. I have said so to Lord Bornak on many an occasion.”

Throughout the four long months of his captivity, Zac never volunteered the fact that he didn’t need maintenance boosts of NT-4. Congin already knew he was different, he just didn’t know how different. It had been Zac’s wish—his hope—that one of the alien drugs would kill him, thereby robbing Congin of the pleasure he seemed to derive from keeping Zac a prisoner.

It was unusual what Congin was doing. The Antaere didn’t normally keep prisoners, at least not for long. In the twenty-year history of the war with the Antaere, Zac never heard of anyone being held as long as he had. The Qwin didn’t bother with such things. Maintaining POW camps took time, money and manpower. If any Humans were unfortunate enough to be captured, their lifespan could be measured in weeks, not months. But Zac was unique; Congin kept telling him so.

The medicine Groshin gave him helped—a little—although it was an excruciatingly long hour of misery before it took effect, during which time Zac thought he’d vomit at any moment.

“Improved?”

“Yes, thanks, doc.” Zac studied the older Antaerean. Over the months, Zac had noticed a change come over the alien. He looked at Zac differently, even treating him more gently. Zac wasn’t sure what it was, but he almost got the impression Groshin liked him.

“I appreciate what you’re doing for me,” Zac said. “You’re about the only alien—Antaerean—I’ve even met that wasn’t a complete asshole.”

Groshin grinned. He was familiar with Human slang. “There was a time when Antaere were on Earth. I have been there myself, studying your anatomy and medical procedures. That is why I was given this assignment. I am one of the foremost experts on Human physiology.”

Zac smiled. “Then I’m in good hands. Now, you said you had some questions?”

Groshin perked up. “Yes! I would welcome an opportunity to ask you questions about your uniqueness, and honestly, how you have survived so long in our custody? You can see the monitoring screens; you must know your levels are not normal, even for a REV.”

Zac studied the alien again. He appeared to be sincere, a look of desperation on his face, seeking understanding. Zac gave a restricted shrug, seeing he was held down by the restraints.

“Yes, I am different. You probably know by now that I produce a natural form of NT-4 in my body—”

“Yes, we have detected the chemical, yet have not understood its function. There has been so much cross-contamination with our own drugs, starting with the dosage Bornak gave at the beginning. Our readings have been unreliable since then.”

Zac noticed Groshin had dropped the Lord from Congin Bornak. It didn’t take an expert in alien body-language to know there was no love lost between the two Antaereans.

“As far as how I have withstood the constant overload of alien NT-4, as well as all the other shit you’ve been pumping into my veins to keep me quiet? It’s only a guess, but my body reacts to threats by producing more of the natural NT-4. As with all REVs—and even your own enhanced soldiers—once the cycle begins, it takes more of everything to get a reaction out of me, and then to sustain it. I imagine if you stopped giving me everything, my body would either return to normal…or I’d burn up, nothing in between. Knowing how these things normally work, it would probably be the ladder.”

“Do you feel this change is permanent within your body?” Groshin asked breathlessly.

“I believe so. That’s what I’ve been told.”

“You know that would qualify as a mutation of sorts.”

“I’ve heard that, too.”

“Have your own body-attendants—doctors—told you what this could mean, should you be able to pass the mutation on to your offspring?”

“A new kind of person, something like that?”

“Precisely!” Groshin was bubbling over with excitement. “As a scientist, I find this to be a most humbling moment, to be present at the time and place when a new species is born. This may sound fantastical and odd, considering our relationship, but I am honored to know you, Zac Murphy.”

It was time to go for broke, Zac thought. What did he have to lose?

“Too bad the moment won’t last, my friend,” Zac said. “From what I gathered earlier, I don’t have much time left. Whatever species of super beings I could have fathered will all die with me.”

“It will be a great loss.”

“It doesn’t have to be, Groshin…you know that.”

The alien blinked his yellow eyes several times. He was an intelligent creature; it didn’t take him long to understand the meaning in Zac’s words.

“Even if I could, where would you go? We are on Enif.”

“And very close to Human space. All I need is a ship—and a pilot would be nice.”

“I cannot do that. How…how would I explain it to Lord Bornak?”

“All I need is a little loosening of the straps. I can do the rest. Just don’t be around when I do.”

Zac watched the conflict rage on the face of the alien. Like doctors everywhere, he was tasked with preserving life, not taking it. And here was a new species, advanced, stronger and more developed than anything before it. Groshin had the power to preserve this new creature…or destroy it.

“Will you not hurt my assistants? They are my friends.”

“I will do my best.”

Groshin was quiet for another long moment before speaking. “Give me time to make the arrangements. I cannot promise it will happen, but I will try.”

“Do I have time?”

The alien nodded. “Lord Bornak is busy with other matters and is off planet. He returns in ten days. He wanted you speaking by then. If he was planning your execution for that time, why would he want you to speak?”

“Maybe so I can beg for my life? Fat chance of that happening. Thank you, Body-Attendant Groshin. You are a great Antaerean.”

“I am a traitorous Antaerean,” Groshin corrected. “Yet I feel this is necessary. Please do not make me regret my decision.”

21

Doctor Groshin returned to the hospital room a number of times over the next ten days, yet never again mentioned his offer to help Zac escape. Occasionally, Zac would catch his eye, looking for any trace of a secret residing inside, but the alien seemed more embarrassed than conspiratorial. Zac felt deflated. It didn’t appear he had the accomplice he once thought he had.

But then when they were alone this last time, Groshin leaned over Zac’s bed while tending to the monitoring attachments and unexpectedly blurted: “It has not been easy. Most medium range starships on the planet have been pulled away for some unknown reason.”

“So you’re going to help me?”

“Is that not what I am referring to?” Groshin snapped. The doctor looked around the empty room, appearing even more nervous and unsure of himself. “We are in an annex of the Endorus Communications Station. The complex has a large spaceport for its dedicated use. A merchant pilot is available to take you from the planet. Naturally, he does not know your ultimate destination.” Groshin glanced at Zac with a sour look. “I expect at some point you will elect to assume command of the ship yourself, since the pilot will assuredly not want to take you into Human territory.”

Zac was ecstatic. After the brief hope he’d felt several days before, the feeling had been replaced with despair. Without help, it looked as though Zac’s death-wish would be granted. But now—

The door to the room suddenly opened and Congin Bornak entered. He was joined by two stern-looking Enif guards. The Enif were humanoid—as were all the species of the Colony Worlds, with bulbous foreheads and harrier bodies than Humans, or even Antaere for that matter. Their skin was primarily a deep brown, yet there were variations, as there were with all races.

Groshin stood next to Zac’s bed, looking nervous before forcing an even expression to his features.

“My Lord,” he said. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“I have come to see how our patient is doing,” Congin said jovially. He scooted a chair over to the bed as the guards took up positions in the background. “I worry when I have not seen him for a period of time. So how is he doing?”

“He is recovering adequately from his last activation,” Groshin reported, visibly relieved at the topic of discussion. This was his domain, and his confidence was obvious. “I amend a segment of our last conversation. The alien has incredible strength of will to match that of his natural functions.”

“So what you are saying is he is well enough to board the starship you have arranged for him to leave Enif? I was worried that all your clandestine activities on his behalf would have gone wasted if he was otherwise.”

To his credit, Groshin played his part perfectly, first displaying confusion, followed by defiance. “I do not know that of which you speak, Lord Bornak. I have not been advocating on the Human’s behalf.”

Congin cocked his head and frowned. “Then forgive me Lead Body-Attendant Groshin. I suppose the recordings I have witnessed of the prior events within this room have been somehow manipulated by the evil Humans. But how could that be? Image manipulation is my specialty.”

He motioned for the guards to advance. “Place the body-attendant under arrest. Sequester him from all others until I can review the recordings for accomplices among his staff.”

The guards took Groshin by his arms. The aged Antaerean had no intention of resisting; it wasn’t his style. Instead, Zac saw evidence on the alien’s face of his mind working through the various scenarios and excuses he could come up with. The fact that there were recordings of the room left him few options. His shoulders slumped.

“There are no others within my staff who are complicit. It wasn’t necessary to involve them. The plan was simple and direct. I was not looking to make it more complicated.”

“And very wise of you, Groshin,” Congin said. He was nearly bouncing in the chair, reveling in the moment. Zac knew the feeling. He had a saying he often used during his REV days: The Kill is the best part of my day. Congin had just gone in for the kill, and Body-Attendant Groshin was his trophy.

“Remove him and secure the room,” Congin ordered.

Zac watched as the doctor was led away, hoping to catch his eye so he could convey his regret for what had happened. He never got the chance.

Once it was just Congin and Zac in the room, the Antaerean leaned back in the chair and crossed his legs in a very Human-like manner.

“The room is constantly monitored and recorded,” the alien volunteered, “yet only recently did I have an opportunity to review the videos. If your friend had acted sooner, he may have been successful. As such, he was too late.”

“What are you going to do with him?”

Congin frowned and waved his hand. “It is as you suspect, yet that is not your concern. He will be just another dead Antaerean, dead from your direct action. As they say on Earth, one more bites the dust.”

Zac relaxed back in the pillow. “Now you’ll have to find me another doctor.”

“His Second will suffice, for the time you have left.”

“So it’s finally come to this?” said Zac. “You wouldn’t consider making it a fair fight, like you and me in a little man-on-alien cage-match action?”

Congin laughed. “That would hardly be fair. But since you mentioned it, that is exactly what I have in mind.”

Zac was surprised by the comment, but he was sure Congin didn’t mean it the way it sounded. Or did he?

“I’m working on a little exhibition to be broadcast from the Relay Station and sent out to all sections of the Grid. REVs against NOVs in a spectacular battle to the death.” Congin held up a finger as if to interrupt his own thoughts. “But I mean to say is a REV—singular—against a group of NOVs, something like a three-to-one ratio. I’m sorry it couldn’t be more of a mismatch, but we have so few NOVs this far out in the Grid. It’s the best I could do on such short notice.”

“Hardly seems fair,” Zac said. “I’m sure you expect me to put on a good show before I kill all your warriors. I’ll do my best, if it means winning my freedom.”

Congin laughed again. It was a little more manic than before. “I will so miss Humanity’s sense of humor and irreverence when you are all gone. Yet I have confidence the Order will survive without you.”

Zac sensed something in Congin’s tone, an electric enthusiasm for a secret only he knew.

“What are you up to, Congin?” Zac asked. “You seem anxious to get something off your chest.”

“Ha! And that I do.” Congin slapped the arm of the chair. “You are very preceptive. From the moment of your capture I’ve been wanting to tell you this. And now, within the last few hours of your life, I will do my own form of confession. I do this to prove how utterly overmatched you—and your Humans—have been.” Congin took a deep breath before continuing. “For a very long time I have had a plan, and twelve days ago I set the final part in motion…and there is nothing you can do to stop it.”

The alien glared at Zac, his golden eyes sparkling in their brilliant intensity.

He finished his thought: “Four days from now, your homeworld of Earth will be destroyed.”

The blunt statement sent Zac’s body cascading, yet with the residual alien NT-4 still in his system, it was a different kind of sensation. He felt nauseous again, and his vision became erratic. He took several deep breaths to calm his emotions. Without Groshin to come to his rescue, Zac was worried.

“Are you all right?” Congin asked, displaying genuine concern. “Please do not die on me now. That will spoil my plans, at least some of them.”

“Fuck your plans!” Zac yelled.

The outburst seemed to bring his system back into balance. Anger was both the trigger and the savior of REVs, more now than ever.

“Good, you appear to have recovered very quickly,” said Congin. “Perhaps I should accelerate my story. You may not last long enough for me to recite it all.”

“Recite what, you asshole?” Zac growled. “I know you started all this with the destruction of the Temple on Iz’zar. What more is there to tell?”

Congin blew out a deep breath. “You think it started then? No, it began long before I destroyed the Temple. It began when I was only a young advisor to the Tesnin, Denak Zaphin, even before Earth was approached to become part of the Order.

“I was a member of the evaluation team, a military expert at the time and tasked with studying the primitive creatures on your planet. This was a time when the Colonization of the Grid was accelerating, carried forward on the successes of the earlier worlds, such as Enif, Crious and Sandasin-Gon. There was pressure from all sides to add more Colonies to our growing empire, and Earth was the next of the Antara-like worlds to be considered.

“And yet I advised against it. I realized Humans would never fully adopt the Order as their primary religion. Not only that, but you were savages beyond belief. Others argued that primitives had been contacted before, such as the Noc and the Luconnon, yet they still serve the Order, as do all the Colony Worlds. You may not be aware, but each world we allow into the Order provides at least one specific purpose to Antara. Some may provide food, others raw materials. Some are incredible manufacturers and builders. But none have been warriors. That task we reserve for the Antaere alone.

“Yet as the centuries passed, there was less need for our military prowess. The integration of subservient worlds came from the seductive effects of the Order. Yet through my research I realized Humans could never be seduced by the religion. You already had too many competing versions of your own, and even they were falling out of favor. Not only that, but you are competitors without limit. Everything to you is a competition, and the ultimate victory is the death of your opponent. Therefore, your race became supreme fighters, and as a matter of your existence, wage continual war upon each other

“I saw this in Humanity, and I said so in numerous reports. And you know what happened? Nothing—no, worst than nothing. I was transferred from the council of the Tesnin and assigned to the staff of a sniveling and pampered young royal named Andus Zaphin. At the time, he was not in line to become Rowin. That only came about as I trained him, making him stronger, more decisive and better educated in the ways of the Court than any of his siblings. I made him what he is today. I made him Rowin.

“Now this brings us to recent events. The war with your kind had not been going well, yet not from the actions of the Antaere, but because of our weak-minded alien followers. They enabled your kind to gain victories on the Colony Worlds, almost to the point where Antara would be threatened next. So I devised a plan, one that would turn the Grid against the Earth and expose the Humans to their eventual extermination. I planted the story of the Corollaries. I provided the false document which you and your REVs took from the Temple. And yes, I destroyed the Temple of Light. It was the catalyst for the loyalty shift I needed to happen within the ignorant masses on the Colony Worlds. I even devised the recent trap on Kaus to show the Colony Worlds the ineptitude of the Humans, with the added benefit of making Earth distrustful of any overtures from the Colonies. All has worked to perfection.

“And when you were captured, I continued with the deception. You have not been aware, but we have used your computerized image to confess to a multitude of wrongs, and not only the Temple destruction.” Congin laughed again, thoroughly enjoying the moment. “Through clever digital manipulation, I have turned you into the greatest terrorist the galaxy has ever known!”

He took a breath, forming his next thoughts. The alien was talking fast and freely. Zac had no idea where the conversation was headed next. What more could he say?

“And the Corollaries; they have recently become a minor hinderance to my plans. The fake document you retrieved on Iz’zar was never revealed, yet the true texts are now being broadcast. We are countering the truth with our own deception, yet the message is slowly penetrating. Yes, the Final Glory is real; how could it not? There is no room in the Universal Order for anyone other than Antaere. It will be only the Antaere, now and forever.”

“How does all this figure into the destruction of Earth?” Zac asked, tiring of the gloating. Zac was already the brunt of most of the Grid’s animosity regarding the Temple fiasco. He also knew he was innocent, so Congin wasn’t telling him anything he didn’t already know.

“Because, my Human friend, this shift in loyalties has allowed me and Andus to build the greatest fleet the Grid has ever seen. And at this very moment, it is approaching your precious homeworld.”

“Bullshit,” Zac said. “There aren’t enough Antaerean ships in the galaxy to attack Earth. We’ve kept track.”

“That was until recently. Thanks to the efforts of your former Enif allies, I now have more than enough ships to defeat any force you set for defense. Not only that, the Enif are crewing a third of our ships.” Congin snickered. “They will make excellent fodder to send against your initial defenses, acting as our version of the REVs to break through and disrupt your lines, after which the Antaere will move in and claim full victory.”

Congin studied Zac’s ashen face. His message was having an impact. Zac felt like vomiting.

“I have sent three times as many ships than are necessary, Mr. Murphy,” the Antaerean continued. “And with your forces divided between Earth and Crious, those protecting your homeworld will be swept away in a matter of hours. Then we will use the forbidden nuclear weapons to scorch your world. I know this may seem drastic, but it will rectify a terrible wrong, one that was committed by that idiot Denak a long time ago. I was right in my assessment of the Humans, and the Tesnin was wrong, fatally wrong. I am now correcting that error. And without Earth to call upon, the Colony Worlds will have no option other than to bow to Antaere will, even without the umbrella of the Order to convince them. And as another consequence of all this, the newly empowered Andus Zaphin will make his claim on the leadership of the Antaere. And how can he be denied, having just eliminated the greatest threat—and the greatest mistake—the Antaere have ever made? Andus will become the new Guardian of the Order, and I will be there beside him, guiding his every move, as I have for twenty years.”

Zac was stunned. He knew Congin had been pulling the strings of the Antaere for some time now, but he never imagined just how much. And the alien was right. Even though Earth had been preparing for the defense of the planet, that had only been going on in earnest for the past year. Before that, the Humans were winning the war, and Earth was not in the line of fire. And with over half of the fleet posted to the planet Crious, there was little chance of reinforcements arriving in time. Crious was two weeks from Earth, even on emergency gravity-wells. Zac doubted they were even aware of what was headed for Earth, and if so, there wasn’t time for the fleet to get there to help.

Congin Bornak could actually pull off the destruction of Earth, and only massive counter forces could stop him, forces that were nowhere to be found.

Congin’s face was animated, his light yellow hue darker, more vibrant than Zac had ever seen it. And his golden eyes burned with an inner radiance. The creature looked insane, but Zac knew he wasn’t. He had methodically planned for this moment, for this entire series of events, and if there was one thing Zac knew about Antaere, they were masters at playing the game. The Humans had been outmaneuvered at every stage, and Zac had played an integral part in Earth’s failures.

Now he lay defeated and drained, drenched in chilling sweat and strapped to a hospital bed, feeling utterly helpless. Congin had just laid all his cards on the table…and it was a royal flush. All the Human’s posturing for the secret documents, with the plan to reveal them to the natives and win their hearts and minds forever, that plan had instead been masterfully executed by the Antaere, and not the Humans.

Just then, a sour and sad thought came to Zac’s mind. More than any sacred document, more than any unknown super fleet of phantom warships coming to Earth’s rescue, what Zac really needed was a recording of Congin’s gloating speech. It had been complete and detailed, the ultimate confession, the bitter truth.

And according to the Antaerean, everything in the room was being recorded….

22

“Where is everyone?” General Smith asked rhetorically. “The system is essentially empty of traffic.”

He was scanning the proximity screen at the nav station of the Zanzibar as the ship approached the planet Enif. The AI Amber was piloting the ship, following a predetermined commercial track. Military vessels had a different line to the planet.

“I agree, General Smith,” said the computer. “There is commercial and local traffic, yet I count very few vessels with military classifications.”

“Captain MacMillan said they were being chased by a whole slew of warcraft. They had to come from Enif.”

“They may still be engaged in the search,” Amber offered.

“Maybe.”

“Don’t sweat it, general,” Angus said. “This could make our job easier.”

The REV was on the bridge with the flag officer, watching through the viewport as the beautiful globe of ES-8 grew larger. All ES worlds reminded him of Earth—that’s why they were Earth-Standard worlds. But like most REVs, Angus didn’t have pleasant memories of his prior time on the planet. For years, Enif had been an on-again, off-again battleground between the Humans and the Antaere, until Earth essentially conquered the planet a few years back. But then came the not-so-subtle request by the natives to get the hell out. After so many lost lives, the Humans packed up and left. Since then the Antaere had moved back in, and in greater numbers.

But if that was the case, where were they?

“I have sent a landing request to Valinus control,” Amber said. Valinus was the capital city of the planet where the Endorus Communications Relay Station was located. Angus grimaced. He’d taken two Runs through the tunnels under the city. One was routine, the other not so much. It took him three months to recover from that one. The visual record of the Run was vivid in his memory; as was the painful recovery.

“Clearance granted,” Amber reported. “We are to land at the station spaceport, priority placing for Antaere-registered vessels.”

“Are we an Antaere-registered vessel?” Angus asked.

“We are now,” was the computer’s mischievous answer. The questionable pedigree of the ship and its mysterious owner allowed the Zanzibar to pass unimpeded through most parts of both Antaere and Human space. Amber’s habit of ignoring the highly illegal practice of altering transponder codes probably had a lot to do with it.

“I am lining up for approach; we should be on the ground in ten minutes.”

General Smith faced Angus. “It’s showtime, gunny. Time to get into costume.”

Over the course of the trip from Earth to Enif, a tentative plan for the rescue of Zac Murphy had developed—tentative because until they located Zac within the huge communications complex, final plans couldn’t be worked out. The presence of the Antaerean Congin Bornak had brought them to Enif and the Endorus complex, but they still needed to find Zac within the array of eighteen major and minor buildings on the grounds.

The area was a lot larger in person than it had appeared in the vids or even while landing and dominated by the massive transmission building at the center. It was of a stacked pyramid design with the two-thousand-foot-high wormhole antenna rising from the center. Although ship-to-ship and planet-to-planet wormhole communications were common, the station—as its name implied—was designed to boost signals, maintain the delicate links through space-time, and then relay these messages to far distant locations. There was another such station on ES-2—a planet called Ekin’bor—yet this one was the main facility for three-quarters of the Grid.

The Endorus Station was a Grid-supported operation, and therefore open to all Colony natives—all except Humans. Although comms still filtered through the center, Earth transmissions were closely monitored for messages originating within Antaere territory. That was how the Zanzibar had been traced to the area outside of Iz’zar. The relay message still made it through to Earth, but their location had been compromised by the transmission.

Even though a variety of races used the facility, it was run mostly by the native Enif. This may seem odd, seeing that the Enif weren’t known for their intelligence. Yet the hairy beings with bulbous foreheads had an uncanny ability to understand complicated procedures, if only to follow instructions. Creatively, they weren’t anything to write home about, but as support staff, they were among the best. That also meant they could fight, if instructed to do so.

Although the Antaere were now on the planet Enif in large numbers, they generally left the massive relay station to its own devices. It was such a vital link to all the beings within the Grid that no one dared cause it harm. The Antaere knew this, so they marshalled their forces at other locations on the planet, such as power plants, spaceports and in their many garrisons. Except for a relatively few Antaere wormhole technicians and managerial personnel, the Enif ran the station.

As the plan evolved, it was reasoned that someone of Zac’s notoriety—as well as his potential threat—would require a fairly large security detail be assigned to him. This would make him fairly easy to locate, if they could get access to the security database. The problem was the security division had its own dedicated computer system, independent of the station’s primary servers. To access the files they would have to gain access to the main security building, and as expected, it was the most-secure facility in the complex.

Amber had indicated that if they could get her inside the building and hooked to an internal computer, she could scan the files for Zac’s security detail. On the journey to Enif she had revealed her true self to the crew, as being a small box hidden under the command console in the pilothouse. She was portable yet could leave a ghost version of herself on the Zanzibar to run the basic functions when she was gone. They would have the awesome computing power of the AI with them on the mission.

The other advantage they would have: they would look like Antaere, and Antaere often had the run of the place. But to get past the reception lobby in the security building, they would need an excuse.

That’s when Kyle Johnson—the REVs resident tech geek—suddenly perked up and then disappeared into the ship’s cargo hold for a few minutes. When he returned to the common room and the mission planning session, his arms were overloaded with an array of spare electronic parts, with wires and cables dangling all the way to the deck. When he explained his plan, enthusiasm in the room grew tenfold. This could actually work.

* * *

When the ship landed, the three REVs and Ashley Hunter were dressed in their Antaere uniforms, with yellow skin and contact lens-enhanced yellow eyes. Everyone admitted, they really did look like the real thing.

Since Ashley was the only one aboard who spoke fluent Antaerean, she would lead the small four-person team to the security building. This was in case they encountered any Antaere, which if they did, would most likely be within the security staff. They couldn’t risk the non-synchronized movements of their lips and mouths through the translation bug tipping off the aliens.

General Smith would stay aboard the ship and monitor the op with the help of a ghost version of Amber and her many sensors, while Olivia was ready for any medical emergencies that might arise.

Ashley had already made contact with the spaceport’s transportation concierge and had a cab waiting for them once the smoke of the landing jets cleared. She sat in the front seat with the female driver, while the three huge REVs crowded into the back. The Enif driver eyed the passengers with unease. Although they looked like Qwin, the ones in the back were really big Qwin.

Ashley instructed the driver to take them to the security building and she obliged.

They had the cab park to the side of the building and told the driver to wait. Donovan Ross carried a bag with their weapons, yet he hid it in a bush along the side of the building. There were weapons detectors at the entrance, meaning they would have to enter the most-fortified facility on the site completely unarmed.

Ashley led the way into the building and through the security scanners. The three REVs followed, each encumbered with armfuls of miscellaneous electronic components. Ashley strode up to the reception counter.

“I demand to see a supervisor!” she barked out in perfect Antaerean.

The two Enif attendants blinked several times from the intensity of the statement, before one responded.

“What appears to be the issue?”

“I have been hacked,” she stated firmly. “My entire system has been compromised. This is the security division and I demand that you find out who has done this and then rectify the situation immediately.”

An Antaere supervisor was in a side room and heard the commotion. He stepped out and stood behind the Enif attendants.

“What division are you from?” he asked, eying first the female Antaere with the loud mouth, and then the three tall, chiseled males standing behind her.

“I am with transmission control, section three.”

The Antaere leaned over at a station beside the attendants. “I will send a team over to investigate.”

“There is no need,” Ashley countered. “I have brought all the contaminated equipment. You have means of searching the electronics to find out who did this. We cannot have Colony natives stealing data from others, and especially not from Antaere. You can do the scans now.”

“We can scan the equipment, but you will have to leave it.”

Angus dropped one of his modules. It clanged on the floor, sounding like a gunshot. He bent over awkwardly and picked it up.

“That will be fine,” Ashley said. “Where do you want it?”

The Antaere supervisor scrutinized the group again before hesitantly coming around the counter. “Follow me.”

He motioned for an Enif guard to trigger the release on a security door, and then led them down a long corridor before entering a room with work counters lining the walls and two large tables in the middle. Electronic equipment was everywhere, with three Enif technicians huddled over stations, hard at work. They didn’t look up when the others entered.

The Antaere walked to the far end of the room and motioned to a section of counter. “Put your—”

Angus had lingered behind the group before dropping his load onto one of the tables in the middle of the room. The Antaere heard metal hitting metal and turned toward the sound.

“No, not there,” he snapped, marching angrily in Angus’s direction.

While the supervisor was distracted, Kyle dropped the few pieces he was carrying on the counter, including a nine by twelve inch thin metal box with a datapad linked to it by a single cable. Within his earphone, he heard Amber speak.

“Activate the camera on the datapad and scan the area,” she said.

Kyle followed the instructions and was soon sweeping the datapad across the array of electronics and cables lining the walls behind the counters.

“The blue cable,” Amber announced. “Plug it into the port on the side of the pad.”

As Kyle obeyed, one of the Enif technicians saw what he was doing.

“You should not do that,” the native said, loud enough for the distracted Antaere supervisor to hear. The alien turned, locking a suspicious gaze on Kyle. That’s when Angus bashed him on the back of the neck with a hand chop. The Qwin slumped to the floor.

Angus pulled a weapon from the Qwin’s holster and pointed it at the three shocked and stunned Enif. They’d never seen an Antaere hit another Antaere.

“I only had time to send a flash signal into the system,” Amber announced into the ears of the team. “It will blind the security cameras, but only for a few seconds…I have located the cameras for this room. When the others come up, I will leave these off. However, that will alert a repair crew unless they come back on very quickly. I will scan the files now for Lt. Murphy’s security detail.”

Donovan and Angus gathered up the three terrified Enif and bound them in plastic cable ties. Even on an alien world with superior technology, wires and cables still had to be bundled together. The plastic ties were ubiquitous throughout the Grid. They moved the natives and the unconscious—if not dead—Antaere to a storage cabinet. Donovan dumped the contents on the floor to make room for the prisoners and then stuffed them inside. He secured the handle with more of the plastic ties.

“Appear normal,” Amber ordered. “I am reactivating the cameras.”

Ashley and the three REVs stood next to the work counter, looking bored, yet innocent.

“I have located Zac’s detail,” Amber reported. The others moved closer to Kyle. “He is in Annex A, the building to the left of the transmission tower, room eight-one-eight.”

“Okay, let’s go,” Angus ordered. He began to move toward the door.

“Wait! He is not there,” Amber said. “I have accessed the room’s video surveillance. The room is empty.”

The team crowded around, looking at the screen on the datapad.

“The room is empty, but it’s not abandoned,” Ashley pointed out. “Look, the bed hasn’t been made and there’s clothing around. They may just have him somewhere else at the moment.”

“I will download the security recordings to find what has happened to him,” Amber said. “It will only take a few seconds.”

“We’ve found him!” It was Olivia’s voice over the comm.

“Say again,” Angus requested.

“We found Zac. Smitty was scanning the broadcasts coming from the station when he saw him. He’s in some kind of clear box…” She was silent for a moment before speaking again. “The general says he’s at the main staging arena in the production center, top floor.”

The team had studied the layout of the complex and knew that the production center was the second-largest structure on the grounds, a large, domed building to the south of the transmission tower.

“They’re preparing for some kind of show,” Olivia continued to report. “And it looks like Zac will be the center attraction.”

Angus huddled the team. “Ashley, get Amber back to the ship. Without her running the Zanzibar, we’re dead-in-the-water.”

“But what about Zac?”

Angus smiled. “The three of us will go get him. This is what we do.”

“I could help.”

Donovan patted the top of Ashley’s head. “Sorry, Missy, but you’d just slow us down.”

Angus saw Ashley’s yellow skin turn a shade darker and her golden eyes flare.

“Really, sweetheart,” Angus said. “It’s important for you to get back to the ship. We’ve got this.”

Ashley took a moment to send Donovan at death-stare, before she took Amber’s main module from Kyle and headed for the door.

She led them to the lobby, and as she passed the reception counter, she instinctively said, “Thank you,” to the two Enif attendants. She cringed the moment she spoke the words, knowing an Antaere would never thank a lowly native—for anything. She continued through the security barriers, feeling the eyes of the attendants burning into the back of her neck.

They made it out of the building and into the sunshine of mid-morning on Enif without incident. As they turned the corner to the side of the building, they weren’t surprised to see that the cab was gone, along with its nervous driver. Angus recovered the weapons bag and then scanned the vast grounds of the relay station complex.

The buildings came in a variety of sizes, yet they were all placed aesthetically and with vast greenbelt and park-like areas between them. It was all well-maintained and designed more for pedestrian rather than motorized traffic. Angus could barely see the edge of the production building from around the west side of the transmission pyramid. It had to be a mile away. The REVs could cover the distance in less than a minute at full sprint, but they couldn’t do that. Running would attract too much attention. A brisk walk was in order.

“Get back to the Zanzibar,” he said to Ashley. “We’ll keep you up to date on the comm. Now hurry.”

The REVs rushed off across the quad.

Ashley had the same problem as the REVs. The spaceport was easily a couple of miles away. At some point she might be able to flag down a transport; there were traffic ribbons along the outskirts of the complex. But for now she had to hoof it. She took off at a fast walk.

“Stop!” Amber called out in Ashley’s ear bug.

“What is it?” She stopped in her tracks, tense and on alert.

“You need to get me to the main transmission building.”

“What?”

“Take me to the transmission building…now!”

23

Once again, Zac came awake with the help of RG-9. He knew this because he was instantly aware, without the groggy hangover associated with waking naturally from a drug-induced sleep. He was also angry. When would the fucking Qwin stop pumping him full of drugs? He knew the molded metal collar he wore around his neck could hold a variety of concoctions, and it seemed the aliens were bound and determined to use every last one they had in their arsenal on his already stressed out system.

Then Zac panicked, feeling a sense of vertigo.

He was floating in the air, thirty feet or so above the floor.

A moment later he realized it was just an illusion. Rather than floating, he was resting on a transparent floor made of glass or plastic. He looked around, his pulse returning to normal, and he found he was in a large box placed two-thirds up a wall of metal. He was no longer in his cell; neither was he strapped to a bed. Instead, he was dressed in gray overalls and wearing very normal-looking Human tennis shoes. He climbed to his feet.

He was indeed inside a clear plastic box, approximately four foot square on the bottom and reaching seven or eight feet high. There was a small electronic module on the ceiling. His container was attached to the wall, with a set of doors facing each other.

Zac looked beyond his transparent cell. Above him was a catwalk with railing. There were a few Antaere and Enif looking down at him. Above was a large domed ceiling, interlaced with huge flat viewing screens. One showed him looking up, surveying his surroundings. The imaged zoomed in.

“Welcome, Zac Murphy,” said a voice through the module in the ceiling of his box. Zac recognized it as that of Congin Bornak. “I hope you had a pleasant rest. You will need all your strength for the coming event.”

“What’s going on? Where am I?” Zac couldn’t think of anything wittier to say. He wished he could, but at the moment he was fighting the nausea and blurry eyesight that came with his involuntary cascading in the face of the fear and uncertainty of his situation. This wasn’t how it used to be, before the alien NT-4 had been introduced to his system. He took several deep breaths to calm down.

“You are in preparation for a contest I have arranged, a spectacular event that will soon be broadcast throughout the Grid. If you allow me, I would like to explain.”

“Go ahead. I’m not going anywhere, apparently.”

Congin laughed; Zac had never known a Qwin who laughed as much as Congin.

“You are in the central performance arena in the station’s production center. It is a rather large area which is normally reserved for staged sporting and entertainment events. In this case, you will be the key attraction in a show with elements of both. Beyond the door you see within the wall the arena has been divided into three sections. Within each section are a variety of physical objects, along with a portal in each opposite wall. The object of the contest is for you to make it through all three sections without being killed. It is that simple.”

“And why would I play your game?”

“Because, if you are successful, I will allow you to live.”

“Bullshit. You wouldn’t do that.”

“I will,” Congin insisted. “In fact, as the event is introduced, this condition will be announced to the Grid. The incentive will add drama to the event and give you a reason to perform.”

“You’re not going to set me free. How stupid do you think I am?” Zac growled.

“You are correct, so let me clarify. You will not be set free. Rather, I will place you on a Human-compatible world, along with all the other survivors who escape the destruction of Earth. I realize I cannot kill all Humans, but I can contain you. I will also provide a supply of your required drug to keep you alive, even though the late Body-Attendant Som Groshin has insisted you do not require it. Even so, I will still provide it. So you see, I am being generous and magnanimous. You could indeed survive the death of your homeworld…and all you have to do is make it through the challenges.”

“And what is in each of these sections, lions, tigers and bears, oh my?”

There was silence from Congin as he fought with the context of Zac’s statement. He eventually gave up and moved on.

“No, yet in each will be an Antaere version of a REV. All you need to do is get past him and through the portal to the next section. Once at a portal, you will have five seconds to make it through. And to make the contest more competitive, neither you nor the NOVs will be armed or armored. It will be flesh against flesh, the mindless, savage rage of the NOV against the thinking Human with slightly elevated abilities. It will be a test to see which is stronger, muscle or the mind. Yet please consider. You must make it through the portal before the NOV reaches terminal cascading. If possible, you can kill the NOV before this deadline, yet after ten minutes, the portal will close permanently and the game will be over. And one other thing, the NOVs will be activated on my command. The time clock begins only when you engage the NOV. I do not wish to deny the audience the satisfaction of a full show.”

Zac could see rows of empty seating rising up to the dome ceiling. No one was here, so Zac figured he had time before the show started. He began thinking desperately for alternatives.

“And now, prepare yourself,” Congin said, contradicting Zac’s assumption. “In a moment the broadcast will begin. You are being given this one chance to live, Zac Murphy. I suggest you make the most of it.”

“Wait, where’s the audience?”

Congin laughed. “The audience? The audience is the Grid. The contest will be broadcast to every section of the Grid, and aboard all the ships of the fleet. I have not invited spectators because I did not know the exact timetable for the fleets attack upon Earth. Now I do. They are already within the Solar System and about to engage. Upon the completion of this contest, whether you win or lose, I will make the announcement of the destruction of Earth. There will be live feeds as the nuclear bombs rain down on the surface, with closeups of your cities being incinerated. Later, the smoldering remains will be recorded by drones for all to see. Your show is only the beginning of the most significant series of events to ever impact the Grid. You should feel honored that you will play such an integral part.”

Zac had his hands on the plastic walls of his cell. He struck at them, trying to break the material. He cascaded, but this was a different kind than before. He was mad, and the anger kept the debilitating side effects at bay.

He heard another voice coming through the module. He looked up at the overhead screens. His image was there again, showing him banging against the walls, a savage look on his face. But now there was Antaere writing on the screen and a professional voice speaking. It was an announcer, letting the Grid know about the Zac Murphy Show. The voice was being translated into English within his ear, but he didn’t pay it any attention. He was desperate to find a way out of the box, and a moment later the way appeared.

Unfortunately, it was into the first of the three sections of Zac’s deadly gauntlet.

24

Both the plastic door and the portal in the metal wall slid open. Zac stepped to the edge and looked down on the area below. It was about a hundred feet across, with fifty-foot high walls reaching to the railing surrounding the arena. There were several huge objects dotting the dirt floor, all cubes twenty feet high and as much wide. There were six of them providing for baffles and barriers to the other side of the chamber. And high above the opposite wall was the open portal—a four-foot square hole with a series of staggered ledges leading up to it.

The NOV wasn’t visible, hidden somewhere within the maze of huge cubes. Zac figured he’d be somewhere near the base of the ledges, below the portal. That was Zac’s goal, it stood to reason he’d have it guarded.

Zac considered remaining where he was, safely above the floor and the deadly alien REV. But the clock was ticking. Either he gets past the NOV—or kills him—within ten minutes, or it was game over, man. The longer he delayed jumping into the fire, the less time he’d have to make it through the portal.

Zac jumped.

The thirty foot drop to the dirt floor was easily absorbed by his cascading body. He could feel the added strength and power. He hadn’t had much time to evaluate how his natural NT-4 had adjusted to the alien synthetic, although he knew his levels were elevated. As Groshin had inferred, Zac had been checking the monitors, and he knew enough to understand most of the readings. Something was definitely going on in his body, something that allowed him to withstand the torture of the alien drugs. But was he physically stronger? He felt like he was, well beyond what he’d experienced before with natural cascading. But would it be enough to counter the power of an activated NOV? He’d fought one before on Iz’zar and won. And that was before his body had been pumped full of alien chemicals. Could he really do this? Could he stand against not only one activated NOV, but three? He had no choice. It was either that or die.

Zac pressed against the outer wall of the chamber, looking through the gaps between the blocks, trying to glimpse the waiting NOV. He couldn’t see him, but he could see the portal, however, staring at him, taunting him. Come and get me, if you can.

He began to move, sprinting to the nearest cube and then sliding along its side. At the edge, he looked around. Just more cubes and no NOV. The damn thing was waiting for Zac to come to him, as he must to reach the portal wall.

Zac moved to the right side of the chamber, the one farthest from the doorway. He moved around the last cube…and that’s when he saw the NOV. He was right, the un-activated Antaere was right below the portal. He spotted Zac immediately and turned in his direction. Zac was a good fifty feet away. If he could get to him before he activated, he might have a chance to take him out with one—

The alien screamed, the ear-piercing shriek of activation. It only lasted a second before the alien was charging at Zac, his golden eyes now bloodshot and unblinking, his complete focus on the only other living creature in his sights.

Zac ran away, moving between two of the cubes, hoping to reach the opposite side of the room and approach the portal from the other side. But at a cross opening, the NOV was there. The pair came together with a tremendous thud, falling to the floor in a cloud of brown dirt.

The NOV was on top of him, swinging balled fists at Zac’s head and chest. Zac covered up, feeling spasms of pain from the blows on his arms. And then he rolled over, spilling the alien onto the dirt. He swung his own fist and connected with the side of the Antaere’s head. The alien didn’t try to cover up; that wasn’t what REVs—and NOVs—did. All they could do was attack.

The alien was briefly stunned, allowing Zac to get to his feet. The alien did the same, but rather than face his opponent and size up the situation, the NOV ran directly for Zac once again. The Human stepped back and planted two quick lefts and rights against the unguarded head of the NOV. Zac felt the power in his hands. It was incredible and much more than he’d ever experienced before. It made an impression on the alien.

This time the creature blinked, his yellow skin now a shade of black, with blood gushing from a cut at the side of his left eye. But still he advanced.

Zac was not a skilled fighter; he never had to be. But neither was the NOV. When activated, it was all about the kill, not the skill. At this moment, Zac had more skill.

He was also hitting the NOV with sledgehammer like blows. Although Zac had never experienced the feeling of being activated, he couldn’t imagine it could be more than this. Could he be nearing activation, an event that would spell his own terminal cascading? Even if he was, he had no control over it. He was in a fight for his life and his natural NT-4 was running the show.

Although the NOV couldn’t think, he could grow frustrated. He growled at Zac, baring his teeth and spitting blood in his direction. Then he rushed again, disregarding the punishment he was taking. Zac stepped aside and dropped a short left to the side of the alien’s head. He stumbled forward, slamming his head into the side of the metal cube. The Qwin dropped to his knees before twisting around and climbing to his feet. He fell back, dazed. Zac planted another fist into the Qwin’s nose.

He didn’t go down, but neither was he stable. The head began to twitch and one bloodshot eye appeared to be wandering, out of sync with the other. The mouth hung open and bloody drool drained from it. His right arm hung limply at his side, even though it appeared to be uninjured.

Zac recognized the symptoms of traumatic brain injury. This was common among REVs, although their hardened bodies protected against it in most cases. But seldom did a REV take constant strikes to the head, especially with a battle helmet on.

The NOV was in bad shape, but Zac didn’t go in for the kill. The alien couldn’t prevent him from getting to the portal, and Zac had lost all track of time. With his enhanced awareness, time became subjective. Everything moved slower to him as his reactions quickened. The NOV could terminate at any time, ending the contest.

Zac rushed away from the NOV, even as the battered creature staggered after the movement. At the wall, there was a series of nine narrow ledges in a zig-zag fashion. They led to the open doorway thirty feet above.

Zac jumped, grabbing the first with both hands. Then using his REV strength he propelled himself up to the next. After a moment, he had a rhythm going, swinging his body from side to side and grasping each of the ledges with only one hand now.

He reached the portal and slipped inside. The opening was only a couple of feet wide, and as he broke the plane, lights began to flash around the frame. He had five seconds to get through before the door closed, and there wasn’t a lot of room to hang on the other side. The door began to slide down, shoving Zac over the side and down to the floor of the next section.

He landed hard on his right shoulder, feeling a sharp spasm of pain. He jumped to his feet, looking around anxiously, expecting an attack from the second NOV.

But like the first, he wasn’t to be seen.

This section had nine randomly placed cylinders covering the floor. They varied in height from six feet to twenty, with some narrow, others wide. The curved edges provided less cover than the cubes, but still Zac ran for the nearest one, noticing as he moved that his right ankle was also sprained, matching the pain in his right shoulder. With his elevated body functions, the damage had to be severe for him to feel it so acutely. This wasn’t good. He still had two NOVs to fight. He wouldn’t survive much longer if his body kept breaking down.

Steeling his resolve, Zac moved around the cylinder. His body was on fire, and like the NOV, if he didn’t complete the challenge soon, there was no telling how long he’d last. Everything took a toll, with a price to pay, even his superhuman abilities.

Anticipating the NOV to be once again stationed below the portal, Zac made his way to the area quickly. He knew how to defeat the NOVs—simply outthink them. He had more strength than he was sure Congin had been expecting, but that was draining away, along with his energy.

From somewhere nearby he heard the scream. The NOV was activated. Zac questioned the tactic. Without a target to focus on, the alien would have nowhere to run. Why Congin triggered him, he didn’t know—

The hit was incredible, shaking Zac to the very core. The attack had come from above, from the top of one of the cylinders. Zac was on his knees, dazed and confused. Then it was as if a wrecking ball crashed against the right side of his head.

The fact that he was thrown ten feet away probably saved his life. It placed him out of the range of the activated Qwin, as least for the moment. But now Zac’s vision was a mess, shuddering and shrouded in red. He crawled away as fast as he could. But it wasn’t fast enough. The NOV fell on his legs before doing something completely unexpected. It bit him.

He sank long, sharp teeth into Zac’s already injured right leg, producing a shriek of pain from the REV. Zac kicked with his left, placing a heal of his tennis shoes into the alien’s left eye socket. Zac wasn’t aiming for the eye, but it worked. The NOV rolled on his back, swiping at the eye. Zac was up a moment later, limping away. At one of the mid-height cylinders, he jumped, having enough strength left in his legs to make the ten foot leap so his hands could grab the top. He pulled himself up and then rolled on his back, remaining still and quiet.

Zac looked up to the ceiling. The four huge video screens showed his bloody body on top of the small cylinder, staring up at the camera. He could also see most of the chamber, and the NOV moving slowly away, chasing phantom visions from the blood dripping across his eyes. If he moved far enough away, Zac could make a move for the portal—

Then the view changed, now showing a close up of his body and a more restrictive view of the arena. Someone—probably Congin—realized what he was doing and changed the angle. Now Zac had no idea where the NOV was.

Time was running out; he couldn’t remain here. He rolled and looked over the side. He didn’t see the alien, so he slid off, falling painfully to the ground. He leaned against the metal cylinder, listening for any movement with his acute hearing. Nothing. He moved.

The NOV was on him a second later, sending a flurry of wild punches to Zac’s head and body. Zac was pissed. He pushed off with his good left leg and fell into the alien. He shoved his left hand up, placing it under the Qwin’s chin and pushed. The head fell back, upsetting the nearly-blind NOV and sending him stepping backwards to maintain his balance. Zac reached up with his right hand and buried it into the bloody eyes socket, his fingers probing for soft flesh. Like Zac’s own skin, the NOV’s felt like dry leather, hard and tough. But at one point something gave, a moist point where his finger penetrated.

The NOV didn’t cry out; Zac doubted he could even feel the pain. But the alien did realize vision was gone in one of his eyes. The other wasn’t much better. Arms and hands reached out in front of him, grasping for anything to crush, to kill.

But Zac was gone. He’d twisted around to the back of the NOV and repeated the eye-plucking procedure with the other eye. The alien staggered back, arms seeking contact with anything for reference. Zac left him there and staggered to the ledges leading to the portal.

The problem he now faced was that his right shoulder was strained and not as strong as before. His hands were okay, but he was also dizzy and his own vision clouded. Although the NOV was defeated, if Zac didn’t make it out of the chamber in the allotted time, he would still lose.

He reached up to the first ledge and blood-covered fingers slipped off. He wiped them on his clothes and tried again. He propelled himself up to the next ledge before grimacing. He hung on while trying to get his right leg onto the lower lip. He made it, but with blood pouring from the bite wound, he didn’t know how stable his footing would be.

The ledges were designed to be walked, if one started on the right foot and could scale the gaps. He made it to the second step, pressing his belly against the wall to keep from toppling over. He moved up again. He wasn’t too far off the ground, with a way still to go and not much time to do it in. There were nine steps total, and he was on number two.

He pushed a little harder, picking up the pace. He was on the fifth step and almost within reach of the edge of the doorway when the lights on the frame began to flash. It was the five-second mark.

Zac pushed off with his bad right leg and reached the next ledge. A stretch of his left arm and he reached the portal. He kicked off with his good leg, getting his elbows over the ledge, then reached across the two-foot-wide opening and grabbed the other edge. Pulling with all his strength, Zac shot through the opening and flew head first into the air, thirty feet above the surface of the last chamber.

He fell, tucking his head down and under as he did a complete somersault, landing flat on his back on the hard dirt covering the floor. The air was knocked out of his lungs, and he lay for a moment stunned and fighting off unconsciousness.

Then his mind cleared and he became aware of where he was. He sat up and looked across the room. To his shock, there were no barriers or huge objects covering the floor. Instead there was only open ground, with nothing between him and the NOV standing a hundred feet away near the doorway set at ground level. The alien wasn’t activated, but he watched Zac with an amused look on his yellow face. He could tell Zac was injured and drained of energy, while the NOV was healthy and soon to be at full strength. Watching the Qwin, Zac got the impression the alien believed he could take Zac out even without activating. Unfortunately, that wouldn’t be up to him. Still, he began a slow, determined stroll Zac’s way.

That’s when the NOV’s chest was zipped open by a line of high-velocity shells ripping through his skin. Zac recoiled from the echoing sound of gunfire, something that sounded vaguely like the rounds from an M-101 assault rifle.

He followed the sound up, to the railing around the arena.

“Did you miss me?” said Kyle Johnson’s smiling face, the barrel of a deadly projectile rifle resting on the railing.

Angus and Donovan Ross ran past him on the catwalk, their own weapons firing in a symphony of staccato discharges. Zac heard other weapons firing, mainly flash bolts with the occasional bang of alien ballistic guns. Someone was returning the Human’s fire, and the REVs were taking cover within the lower seats surrounding the arena.

Kyle lifted his head again and dropped a braided rope over the side of the railing. “Courtesy of the stage hands,” Kyle yelled down at him.

Zac limped to the side wall and took the rope. He tried pulling with his right arm but discovered it was broken from the fall from the portal.

“I can’t make it,” he yelled. “You’ll have to pull me up.”

“Can’t even pull your own weight, sheesh.”

Zac wrapped the rope around his chest and tied it off. Kyle—with the cascading he was experiencing at the moment—could pull Zac up by himself. But Angus ran over while Donovan continued to lay down covering fire.

Just then, the side door to the chamber opened and another bloodshot-eyed NOV raced through, focusing immediately on Zac hanging halfway up the outer wall. He ran at full speed, covering the distance in only a couple of seconds.

The REVs pulled. Zac was a little higher by the time the NOV reached him. But it wasn’t high enough. The Qwin super-warrior jumped, grabbing hold of Zac’s left leg.

The rope gave way and Zac fell back to the ground. He rolled to his left, looking for the NOV. The alien rose to his feet a short distance away. And that’s when a short burst from Angus’s rifle sent five rounds entering the top of the alien’s skull.

Zac looked at the dead alien, thinking he’d been right. Congin was never going to let him out alive, not with a fourth NOV waiting on the other side of door number three.

The REVs tried again to lift Zac from the chamber. This time, he made it. Zac was in pretty bad shape, with each fall and hit he’d taken causing more damage than the one before. Angus and Kyle hauled Zac over the barrier leading to the seats and its cover from the incoming gunfire.

There were a number of Enif guards in the arena area, along with about ten Antaere. Fortunately, none had come equipped with heavy assault weapons, only small, hand-held standard issue.

Still, the incoming fire was horrific. The REVs huddled together behind a concrete barrier as shells and plasma bolts tore into it. Occasionally, one of the Humans would poke the barrel of his weapon over the top and set off a few rounds, just to keep the enemy honest.

And then something happened that made everyone stop in their tracks.

A voice rang out from the huge speakers lining the video screens hanging from the ceiling. It was a voice Zac knew well.

“Now this brings us to recent events,” the voice said.

The image of Zac’s hospital room was displayed on fifty-foot wide screens, on all of them. And there was Congin Bornak, seated in a chair at Zac’s bedside, his legs crossed, looking comfortable and confident.

“The war with your kind had not been going well, yet not from the actions of the Antaere, but because of our weak-minded alien followers. They enabled your kind to gain victories on the Colony Worlds, almost to the point where Antara would be threatened next. So I devised a plan, one that would turn the Grid against the Earth and expose the Humans to their eventual extermination. I planted the story of the Corollaries. I provided the false document which you and your REVs took from the Temple. And yes, I destroyed the Temple of Light.”

There were audible gasps from the Enif, who moments before had been firing on the Humans. The recording continued to play.

“It was the catalyst for the loyalty shift I needed to happen within the ignorant masses on the Colony Worlds. I even devised the recent trap on Kaus to show the Colony Worlds the ineptitude of the Humans, with the added benefit of making Earth distrustful of any overtures from the Colonies. All has worked to perfection.

“And when you were captured, I continued with the deception. You have not been aware, but we have used your computerized image to confess to a multitude of wrongs, and not only the Temple destruction. Through clever digital manipulation, I have turned you into the greatest terrorist the galaxy has ever known!”

* * *

Congin Bornak sat in the control room of the production center, his mouth open, his eyes wide, watching the recording play on the big screens. But not only that, this was being sent all across the Grid, and even to the ships in battle above the planet Earth.

“Turn it off!” he yelled to no one in particular. Enif and Antaere technicians scrambled for their controls. But still the recording kept playing.

“And the Corollaries; they have recently become a minor hinderance to my plans. The fake document you retrieved on Iz’zar was never revealed, yet the true texts are now being broadcast. We are countering the truth with our own deception, yet the message is slowly penetrating.”

“Turn it off!”

“We cannot, my Lord,” shouted an Antaere tech. “We do not control the signal.”

“Yes, the Final Glory is real; how could it not? There is no room in the Universal Order for anyone other than Antaere. It will only be Antaere, now and forever.”

Congin could see the glaring eyes of the Enif on him. There were four times as many of them in the control room as Antaere. But the only person with a weapon was Congin.

He blasted the first of the Enif who made a move toward him. This set off a chain reaction from the others, as Enif fell upon the unarmed Antaere while Congin shot his way out of the control booth. He sprinted down the corridors, past other Enif, many of whom had not heard the broadcast, not yet. He had to get out of the building and to the cover of armed Antaere. Unfortunately, there weren’t a lot of them left on Enif. Most were with the fleet nearing Earth.

25

First Insir Bensin Noloc was in command of the Antaere fleet. He called it the Antaere fleet because that was what it was, even if a third of the ships were crewed by the Enif. Besides, he knew the strategy. The Enif would be the first sent in to sacrifice their bodies and ships to soften the Human defenses. It would be enough to open a breach through which Noloc would send his forces. Sparing Antaere lives in such a one-sided battle was his objective. That and the destruction of Earth.

But Noloc was also frustrated. He had been instructed by the Rowin not to commence the attack until after a specific broadcast had been received and viewed by the fleet. It was supposed to be some inspirational event, something to help bring honor to the upcoming battle. Noloc didn’t need any such incentive. He hated the Humans as much as any Antaerean, having fought them for the past twenty years. He knew that all within the fleet felt the same way.

But Andus Zaphin had insisted, so Noloc joined him in the officer’s dining area to watch the broadcast before resuming his duties on the bridge.

Noloc grimaced when he saw it was to be an execution—although an elaborate execution—of the alien known as Zac Murphy. The Insir knew of the Human, what Antaerean didn’t? His image and exploits had dominated the vids for half a year, to the point Noloc was growing bored of all the repetition. But he knew the broadcasts weren’t for the benefit of the Antaere, but for the natives of the Colony Worlds.

He settled back to watch the show, vaguely intrigued at how much trouble Lord Bornak had gone through to stage the event. But then it got even more interesting when three Antaere, using Human weapons, showed up and started shooting up the studio.

Remote cameras and drones picked up the initial moments of the battle, including the rescue of Zac Murphy from the floor of the arena.

What happened next was completely unexpected.

The once chaotic scene of battle was abruptly replaced by a placid single camera view of a room with two figures inside. One was Zac Murphy, lying strapped to a hospital bed. The other was Congin Bornak, and he was speaking some of the most incredible sentences Noloc had ever heard from an Antaerean.

Andus jumped to his feet. “Stop the recording! Stop it now.”

“We cannot,” someone said. “The broadcast was ordered to be played.”

“I ordered it to be played,” yelled the Rowin. “And now I order it to be stopped!”

“The signal will have to be broken in comm, my Lord. I will see to it immediately. And then it will only affect this ship.”

The Antaere rushed away, as the rest of the senior officers in the room continued to watch the video in silence. They were all Antaere, so the subject matter wasn’t shocking. Instead, they could all understand the potential repercussions of the broadcast.

Insir Noloc stood before his troops. “This changes nothing,” he said. “Return to your stations. Begin the assault immediately.”

* * *

Inside the production center, the four REVs lay back against the shot up seats, looking up at the large screens on the ceiling. There was silence all around, until the men were shocked into action by the sudden eruption of gunfire once again.

They peeked over the barricade and saw a number of Antaere firing on a much larger number of Enif. The natives had watched the video—which was still running—and then slowly turned to look at the Antaere. The moment turned from tense to nuclear a second later. The Antaere fired first, fearing the mood of the natives. Seconds later, all the Antaere lay dead, having been cut down by the vastly superior number of Enif security forces.

Then the REVs heard more gunfire—distant—some coming from inside the building, some from outside.

Without waiting to see how things would settle out in the arena, the REVs retreated the way they’d come, through back corridors and freight elevators. Angus led the way, while Kyle and Donovan helped Zac. By the time they exited the building through a side loading dock, Zac was unconscious, either overcome by his injuries or the alien drugs in his system.

There was chaos across the quad, but nowhere did the REVs see any Antaere—except for the three of them dress as Antaere. What they did see, however, were fifty heavily-armed Enif security troops coming their way, anger on their faces.

The REVs stopped and held their ground. The Enif stopped, too, their weapons pointed at the Humans. That’s when Angus slung the weapon over his shoulder, and with considerable effort and angst, removed the offensive contact lenses from his eyes. His baby blues reflected the bright sky above. Kyle and Donovan followed suit, one holding Zac while the other removed the contacts. Then they took Zac by the arms and held up his comatose body, proud and defiant. Three against fifty, even those odds were a little much for the REVs.

The Enif were well-armed security personnel coming to the aid of their comrades in the production building, and originally intending to square off against the three Antaere who were reportedly shooting up the place. Then came the broadcast. Now slowly, the mass of Enif troops began to separate. With quiet reverence, they stepped aside, creating a path between them for the REVs to pass.

Angus didn’t have to be asked twice. He moved ahead with Kyle and Donovan close behind, dragging an unconscious Zac Murphy along with them.

* * *

Andus Zaphin and First Insir Noloc were on the bridge of the mighty Antaerean battleship, one of six such vessels commanding the various elements of the massive assault fleet. The mood on the bridge was solemn. Word of the broadcast had spread, even to those crewmembers who had not watched it.

Noloc tried to convince himself it didn’t matter. Once the Humans were destroyed, the natives of the Grid would have to submit to Antaerean will. Even so, there would be bloodshed, but mostly alien blood. Antara would prevail. The Order would survive.

“Send in the Enif,” Andus ordered.

Noloc bristled. It was his job to give the orders, not the Rowin’s. But he kept his tongue. He knew Andus was anxious to turn the page on this terrible episode in Antaerean history and rid the Grid of the Humans. There were other aspects of the broadcast which did not reflect well on Andus, and which would be addressed at a future date. Noloc was sure those concerns were also on the Rowin’s mind.

On the large tac screen at the forward section of the expansive bridge, icons of Enif ships began to move and cluster. The Humans had more ships aligned for planetary defense than had been anticipated, five hundred eight to be exact. Yet that was still only a third of what the Antaere had brought to the system. But it was the weapons platforms that posed the biggest threat to the fleet. These were huge circular stations with over a hundred guns each. There were six platforms in orbit, each with overlapping responsibilities. The planet wasn’t entirely covered by them, but it did leave only narrow gaps for the fleet to enter to get at the individual defenders between the stations and the upper atmosphere. It was decided early on, that in order to expedite the effort, at least one of the platforms would have to be taken out to form a hole in the Human defenses. And that was the job of the Enif.

“Assemble in sector six-b,” a tactician said to the Enif fleet commander. “Attack formation Neop-one.”

The three hundred ships of the Enif contingent slid to the left and formed into two long columns. They would approach the platform head on, and then peel off to either side, laying down fire while also taking heavy casualties. The last fifth of the ships would not change course, but instead follow the torrents of plasma bolts to strafe the station from point-blank range. Again, casualties would be heavy, but acceptable. All the Enif needed to do was take out one of the platforms. The other stations were in fixed orbits and wouldn’t be able to change position to fill the gap. What Enif ships that remained after the attack would cycle back around and speed through the opening, taking the brunt of the Human fire from the amassed warships behind the shield.

At one point, it would be time for the Antaere to advance, swarming through the breach in the defensive line like gendich hornets with the scent of a kill. Even the Humans mighty battle-carriers would fall to the overwhelming firepower brought to bear upon them.

The Enif were now in position, the first of the units touching the outer range of the platform’s weapons. That’s when they began to peel away…yet without firing a shot.

The dual lines of warships veered off, turning ninety-degrees up-bubble and racing above the plane of the ecliptic and away from the planet.

“Enif command, report status!” a voice cried out on the command bridge of the Antaere flagship. “Enif command, return to station.”

But the Enif kept going, streaking away and fanning out to engage their gravity-drives at the earliest opportunity.

Noloc knew what was happening. It was Bornak’s accursed video.

He turned to a pale Andus Zaphin. “My Lord, we still outnumber the Humans two-to-one. In light of the alien betrayal—as well as the anticipated repercussions of the transmission—it is imperative that we continue with the objective of destroying the native population of Earth. To suffer the consequences of Lord Bornak’s admissions, while leaving the Human race intact, would be a grave mistake.”

“I have no intention of committing a mistake, grave or otherwise,” Andus snapped at the fleet commander. “I understand the strategic advantage we have and I will not abandon it. Our goal is the same; a weapons platform must be eliminated for the attack to succeed. First Insir, allocate your ships.”

“Yes, my Lord!”

Noloc was bursting with energy and pride. He had never been a supporter of using alien crews aboard Antaere ships, even if the aliens had built them. The truth was, aliens built all Antaere ships. It was the quality of the crews that made the difference, as had just been demonstrated.

“Force Four, Five and Six, prepare for strafing attack, sector six-b,” Noloc ordered through his command comm. The initial strategy was sound, but now it would be Antaere leading the way.

The same attack pattern was used, but this time with two-hundred eighty-five Antaere-piloted warships. The weapons platform lit up the vacuum of space with a blinding array of pink flash bolts, pink because of the incredible temperature of the elemental energy. Platform-based cannon were the largest deployed in space, with twice the power of even battleship-grade weapons. Yet each platform only carried six of the heavy guns, along with forty standard and the remainder smaller, more target-specific weapons. There were also several batteries of ballistic weapons available, yet these were used primarily for closer-in, last-ditch efforts to ward off missiles or suicide attacks. All in all, the platforms were formidable, but even they were susceptible to overwhelming incoming fire.

Such was the Antaere attack plan. With enough incoming, the Human gunners would have to concentrate the bulk of their efforts on defense of the station, rather than targeting the crossing enemy units. By the time the Antaere had spiraled past the first time and lined up for a second attack, ninety-one of their ships were either damaged or destroyed, but the platform was operating on only its short-range ballistics. The last spear of assault ships shattered the base of the platform, creating a chain reaction that quickly consumed the station.

The breach was open and the remainder of Antaere swept inside, bringing the battle to within three hundred thousand miles of the surface of the planet and lighting up the sky with brilliant streaks of plasma fire. Several lines of Human ships disappeared in an instant…and still the Antaere came.

* * *

The ship carrying the Rowin waited outside the opening, surveying the battle from a distance. The crew was anxious to join the fight, but there would be time enough for that. Instead, Andus eyed a clear area of space under one of the existing battle platforms. With its weapons pointed outward, the area under it was relatively unguarded, except for the few warships that patrolled the area. But now that the battle had been joined at another point above the globe, most units were forming up there to help with the defense. Andus thought how easy it would be for the powerful warship to slip in, enter high orbit, and unleash at least a preliminary salvo of deadly nuclear missiles.

The plan called for the defenders to be taken out first, followed by a methodical saturation of the surface with the weapons. Although the effects of such an attack would linger, eventually killing off all the unfortunate survivors, Andus wanted the victory to be complete by the time he headed back to Antara and the adulation of his race. And yet, what would it hurt to bloody the noses of the Humans a little beforehand?

“First Insir,” Andus began. “Plot a course for sector nine-k. I propose we make a run on the surface.”

“Prior to schedule, my Lord?”

“Yes. It appears the fleet has the Human defenders tied down on the other side of the planet. We shall have minimal opposition.”

“Should I bring in an escort?”

“Not more than four,” Andus said. “Leave the rest for the offensive.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

Noloc turned to the navigator. “Plot your course. Execute upon my command. Second Insir, arrange for four Bond-class ships to flank our incursion.”

It only took a moment to plot the course and for the escorts to move into position.

“Execute.”

The battleship created a shallow gravity-well and moved toward the planet. It entered through the hole created by the earlier attack, but then steered away from the bulk of the fighting. It was picking up steam, fourteen thousand miles from the designated area of operation, when a report came over the comm.

“New contacts, bearing on the aft.”

Insir Noloc moved to the threat board. “Display,” he ordered.

A side panel opened on the main tac screen. There were numerous contacts, entering into scanning range near the orbit of the system’s gas giant. As he watched, more contacts lit up as they came into range.

“Identify,” Noloc barked out.

Andus was at his side, studying the field of contacts as well. “Are they the Enif returning?”

“No, my Lord,” a crewmember called out. “Gravity signatures identify them as Human warships, now numbering ninety and counting, including four battle-carriers.”

“It’s the Crious fleet,” Andus realized. He turned to glare at the Insir. “I was told they were unaware of our attack plans.”

Noloc recoiled from the Rowin’s accusatory tone. “My Lord, that was not of my doing. That is the responsibility of the survey division, and last report showed no leakage of our plans to the Humans at Crious.”

“Obviously there has been a leak,” Andus cried out. Others on the bridge watched their Rowin as he turned pale and jittery, moving about the back of the bridge in a fit of rage. “Options, Insir?”

“Options, my Lord? The attack must continue. Even with these new ships, our forces are near parity. We could win just as well as the Humans. We are on station, my Lord. We must not retreat.”

A voice reported: “First Insir, the second Human fleet now numbers four hundred ninety-one vessels. My Lord—”

“What is it?” Noloc yelled.

“Our main force, it is within the enemy lines….”

Noloc knew the implications of the statement. His forces were operating within a narrow corridor between the defenders and the surface. Most of his warships were not designed for in-atmosphere flight, and to retreat to clearer space would involve leaving the way they came, through the hole created by the destruction of the weapons platform. With more ships soon to arrive on station, Noloc could not allow his forces to remain where they were.

“Pull back. Sound a reformation. Establish a new line at…” He studied the maps. “At sector Green. All divisions report fleet strength. Third Insir Loinsi, tally all remaining forces. Give me a strength count. Time to second fleet intercept?”

“Thirty-eight minutes to the leading edge,” a voice reported.

“Pardon me, my Rowin,” Noloc said, “but we must add strength to the fleet. There will be time enough for the nuclear attack following our victory.”

* * *

Andus suddenly lost interest in dropping a few nuclear bombs on the surface of Earth. On the tac screen, he could clearly see the Antaerean forces sandwiched between two strong Human fleets. He acknowledged what Noloc had said; either side had the potential of winning, however, not much would be left of either side at the conclusion. Even so, the Antaere would be in a much more precarious position, located as they were on the opposite side of the Grid from Antara. Even if the Antaere won, the Humans still had formidable land-based weapons that could be used to take out what few nuclear missiles would remain in the greatly diminished fleet. At that point, it would be questionable whether enough damage would be caused to render the Humans impotent in the affairs of the Grid.

And what ships of Antara would survive the coming conflagration? A few of the faster vessels, some of the less-significant? Would the flagship?

“First Insir,” Andus said. “Move the flagship to a safe position outside the field of battle. From there we will direct the action from a better vantage point.”

“My Lord, this ship is one of our most powerful. Without it in the battle, we lose a degree of strength,” Noloc countered. “The Humans are deploying eight or more of their battle-carriers to the fight, and those vessels are even more powerful. We would be at a significant disadvantage without our contribution.”

“I understand, First Insir,” Andus said. “But I believe staying free of the fray will give us a more objective overview of the battle. That is my belief, it is now my order.”

Noloc eyed the Rowin for a long moment, making Andus believe the Insir knew the true reason for the retreat. But then the officer sighed.

“As you wish, my Lord. Navigator, move us to Sector Yellow. Send twenty ships from the fleet as escort.”

The fact that the officer was bringing twenty ships with them was a giveaway, Andus thought. Noloc figured he would need them to help protect the Rowin during the journey back to Antara, and if he waited until after the battle to assign the escort, he might not have the ships to do so. Besides, by then the Rowin intended to be long gone and heading home.

26

“Hey, you boys need a lift?” said a sexy voice from behind.

Angus turned to see Ashley Hunter in the driver’s seat of a transport, her elbow poking out through the open window.

The REVs were still two miles from the spaceport and slowed by the inert body of their leader, Zac Murphy.

“Why aren’t you back at the Zanzibar?” Angus scolded. “It’s too dangerous for someone who looks like an Antaere to be moving around.”

“I’m fine, now get your asses inside.”

It was a tight fit in the back seat for Kyle, Donovan and Zac, but they made it. Angus sat next to Ashley in the front seat. On the console between them was the thin metal box that was Amber the AI.

“I never made it to the ship.”

“What happened?”

“Amber happened,” Ashley replied. “She ordered me to take her to the main transmission building where we took over a small comm station.”

“Why?”

“I’m getting to that,” Ashley snapped. “Let me tell the story!”

She took a deep breath. “Back at the security building, Amber grabbed a batch of old security recordings for Zac’s room, hoping to find when and where they took him away. You rushed off to the production building before she had a chance to do a scan. When she did, she found Congin’s confession.”

“You’re the ones who made that happen?” Donovan exclaimed. “Far out.”

Ashley smiled. “It was mainly Amber, of course. She was able to hack into the main computer system for the relay station, essentially taking over all communications throughout this part of the Grid. She made it impossible to stop the broadcast from going out. I bet there’s going to be some royal shit coming down across a thousand light-years tonight because of this.”

Kyle laughed. “And if others react like the Enif did to the video, I’d say the Antaere aren’t going to like the outcome, not one little bit.”

“Serves the yellow-skinned bastards right,” Angus said.

“Hey!” Ashley said. “Watch your language. I resemble that remark. We all do.”

* * *

The REVs had left the production building while Congin’s video was still running, so they didn’t hear about the impending attack on Earth by the Antaere and Enif forces. But Ashley had. After the few light-hearted remarks in the transport, she told them what was going on.

Fortunately, Smitty and Olivia were monitoring the news reports on the Zanzibar and began giving a running account. The fight wasn’t over—in fact it was just beginning in earnest—but it wasn’t looking as bad as Congin had said it would be.

The Enif had retreated without firing a shot, and the Human fleet from Crious showed up unexpectedly. Apparently, the battle-carrier Eldorado—the only Human warship operating in Antaere space at the time—had detected the massive gravity wave from the Qwin fleet as it passed them on the way to Earth. The EL sent word to Crious, and the fleet departed almost immediately for the homeworld. Their arrival in the Solar System was making all the difference.

The Antaere still fought, and casualties were high on both sides. But then the Rowin’s ship departed halfway through the fight. After that, the rest of the Antaere fleet took their cue from their leader and set escape vectors out of the Solar System, essentially every ship for itself. It became counterproductive for the Humans to follow all the Antaere ships, so many escaped. They still had a long way to go to get back to Antaere space—a designation that was bound to change after Congin’s inflammatory video gained more circulation.

Olivia had already gotten the highlights on the battle, so she ignored the stream of broadcasts and tended to Zac when the team returned to the Zanzibar.

He was in pretty bad shape, not only from his injuries, but also from the strange cocktail of alien drugs in his bloodstream. Olivia hooked him up to monitors and started saline and plasma drips. She drew blood and placed it within a portable analyzer she’d brought along just for this occasion. What she saw on the readouts made her nearly faint. She didn’t know whether she should tell the others or not, but decided she had to, but after they were through reviewing the news reports on the battle. In the meantime, she found some crate tie-downs in the cargo hold and strapped Zac to the bed.

* * *

“Damn,” Kyle said. “But he’ll live?”

Olivia nodded. “Yeah, he’ll live. I don’t know why, but he will. I’m giving him a small drip of diluted Twilight just to moderate the effects and to keep him sedated. I can’t give him a full dose, of course, but this might help stabilize him until we get back to Earth.”

“I have studied the surveillance videos for most of the time he was held by the Antaere,” Amber said through hidden speakers. “Even with repeated activations and the other tranquillizer drugs they were giving him, he remained in control.”

“That’s good to know,” said Olivia. “But can we take the chance?” She looked down at the sleeping REV. “I imagine with the cascading he experienced during the fight with the Antaere, he was probably at levels beyond activation for both Delta NT-4 and the alien drug. Yet he didn’t activate. That would have shown up. And throughout it all, he retained complete control and cognitive abilities. I didn’t think it was possible to reach such levels and not activate…or die.”

“Are you taking him back to Cross?” Angus asked.

“No matter what we think of the man, he’s still the best at what he does,” Olivia said. “I think that’s our only option to understand what’s going on.”

“Do you think he’ll recover?” Ashley asked.

“Recover from what?” Olivia said. “We don’t even know if this is something abnormal for him, or if this is his new norm.”

Kyle whistled. “So he could walk around as jacked up as an activated REV, but act like a normal person?”

“That’s possible,” Olivia said. And then she stretched out a thin, sad smile, while looking again at her resting REV. “But god help anyone who pisses him off.”

27

Dr. David Cross had received only a thirteen-day heads up from his mysterious benefactor regarding the impending attack on Earth. It wasn’t a lot of warning, but it did allow the scientist time to pack up his research disks, his trusted secretary, Lisa Frost—and the children—and board a fast private space yacht out of the Solar System. He headed for Crious, passing the incoming fleet going in the opposite direction.

He’d asked his well-connected sponsor if there really was a chance Earth could be destroyed? The answer sent shivers down his spine and hurried his efforts to get off the planet. Cross was angry that the man hadn’t done more to prevent the attack. He had influence on both sides of the conflict and yet he’d been blindsided by the news. He blamed Congin Bornak and Andus Zaphin for his lack of foresight. They had kept their plans secret even from Andus’s father, Denak. If not, then maybe he could have done something.

But now Cross was returning to Earth, again angry and frustrated for what would amount to a thirty day delay in his work schedule. Lisa Frost saw it differently, as a forced vacation for the overworked scientist. During the long, boring days in space, Cross had no choice but to relax, watch videos and sleep. In the end, he contracted a mild case of strep throat, saying to Lisa this proved that vacations were hazardous to his health. Lisa blamed the illness on the children.

Earth Military Command was alerted of the impending attack the same time as the people on Crious. This gave them fourteen days to deploy the planetary defenses, although they had no idea what size of fleet was headed their way. When the fifteen hundred warships showed up on their doorstep, they were stunned. Even with the Crious fleet due in at any time, they were still outnumbered by a third. It was only when the three hundred Enif ships retreated that the odds improved somewhat. Still, it was touch and go for a while, but the Humans were fighting for the survival of their homeworld, and in the end, that made all the difference.

When Cross returned to Earth, he found the population was a mess. They hadn’t received the warning the military had, learning of the Antaere attack only when plasma bolts lit up the sky around the globe. Fortunately, it was over in a matter of hours. Still, this upset a lot of people. What if they’d lost, and suddenly nuclear blasts were going off all across the surface? Of course, even with two weeks’ notice, all that would have done is cause massive and deadly panic and allow only the well-healed or the connected to leave the planet.

In reality, that’s just what happened. David Cross was one of those with the connections and the resources.

In the end, the Humans of Earth breathed a collective sigh of relief. The aliens had finally proven to be the threat others had warned them they would be thirty years before. From here on out, there would be no mercy shown, no quarter given.

* * *

Cross didn’t return to his Rocky Mountain research facility right away, although he knew the Zanzibar was in route with a severely messed-up Zac Murphy. He would attend to him after the REV arrived on-planet.

Instead, he landed in Denver and drove to the small medical clinic he had in the city. Relief was on the faces of the residents, relief that they’d survived. David didn’t tell them that he’d left the planet during the crisis, leaving them to fend for themselves, and taking only the children with him.

Silvia Eddington was elated to see her son, Phillip. The boy was only twelve weeks old and already he was big for his age. He also had a clarity in his eyes, even a look of understanding.

“He is healthy and glad to be home,” Lisa said as the mother took Phillip from her arms.

Cross coughed, covering his mouth with his hand. Silvia turned the child away while studying the doctor’s sallow face. “Sorry,” he said. “I caught a bug while I was gone. I took precautions with the children, though,” he said to reassure the worried mother.

“Did you know?” Silvia asked, referring to the Antaere attack.

“I received a little advance notice. That’s why we took the children.”

The woman looked at both Cross and Frost with suspicion. “Do you know something about the baby, something you’re not telling me?”

Lisa Frost smiled. “It was just a precaution, Silvia, since we don’t know.”

Silvia wasn’t buying it, but she didn’t push the issue. “May I take him now?”

Cross nodded. “Of course.”

Silvia hurried away, holding her son tightly to her chest, as if to keep anyone from taking him from her again.

Lisa Frost waited until she was out of earshot before turning to David Cross.

“Do you still think it’s a good idea not to tell them?” she asked. “You see how anxious they are to know.”

“Worried is a better word,” Cross replied. “This batch of mothers is from the unexpected pregnancies. They’re not like the others. Speaking of which, we will have to expand the Ranch to accommodate the influx of volunteers. I’ll contact Summerlin.”

“We’re getting pretty spread out, David,” Lisa said. “The EDC, Cheyanne Mountain, this facility and the Ranch. You’re being pulled in too many directions.”

“I appreciate your concern, but I can handle it, better than most I would imagine. Besides, once the Ranch is in full swing, we won’t need the other facilities.” He smiled. “All it takes is money at this point.”

28

The Court of Antara.

The name evoked swelling pride and passion in the Antaere, its members having guided the race for over two thousand years to their rightful place as the Guardians of the Order. It was under the founding leadership that the Universal Order was first discovered and spread to the planet…and beyond. And from a collection of ancient Court writings the Universal Book of Order was created, and later, the Corollaries of Mentar Zaphin was added to further define the path to the Final Glory.

And throughout all this time and progress, it was the Zaphin bloodline that was the one constant. The name became synonymous with the Order. Zaphin is Order.

That was why the criticism of the current Tesnin, Denak Zaphin, by the once-powerful and respected Congin Bornak, had such a traumatic impact on the Antaere people. Denak had ruled the planet Antara and the Grid for over eighty Antaerean years. During that time, he’d taken a once haphazard and nebulous effort on the part of his predecessors to extend the Order beyond Antara, and turned it into an organized, methodical and organic progression of galactic expansion. Of course, not all his decisions bore fruit, such as the inclusion of Earth in the Order. But his intentions were sincere, and everyone knew it.

And now it was learned that forces had been at work behind the scenes to undermine his authority and criticize his decisions. Some came from outside the Court, others from within. It was a critical time for both the Antaere and the Order. Decisions made over the next few months would define the future of both for centuries to come.

* * *

Andus Zaphin returned to Antara after the debacle at Earth. His journey took three months to complete, and by then the initial consequences of the Bornak Revelations—as the recording came to be known—were well underway. Five of the Colony Worlds had revolted, sparked not only by the Revelations, but by local Antaere authorities attempting to implement the Purges, using the execution of hundreds of thousands of natives to help restore order through fear and intimidation. When the natives on the lists began to be arrested—with some immediately put to death—the blowback was swift and violent. The inhabitants of these worlds didn’t wait for the Humans to arrive and fight their battles for them. They took matters into their own hands.

Even still, there were five solidly-Antaerean worlds within the Grid, including Antara. And the Guardians still possessed the most industrial, financial and military resources of any affiliation. But things had definitely changed. The swing in Grid-wide geopolitics had been dramatic and swift. Just as the Humans had fallen out of favor seemingly overnight two years before, the same—and worse—happened to the Antaere. The war wasn’t lost, just as it hadn’t been for the Humans at the time. But it would now take considerable time and effort for the Antaere to regain the respect, influence and power they once had.

And this radical swing in the fortunes of the race and the religion had all been tragically orchestrated by the two individuals now standing before Denak Zaphin.

Congin Bornak had made it off Enif, but then by order of the Tesnin, he was arrested and transferred to the homeworld. He had not faired well during his captivity. Yet unfortunately for him, he survived.

At least until the moment Denak pressed a ceremonial Lopsin blade through his chest and held it there for a long moment, supporting the lifeless body, before withdrawing the sword and letting Bornak slump to the floor.

None of the nine other people in the room expressed even a hint of opposition or shock. It was inevitable. Denak stood over the body for a moment, a sinister snarl passing over his wrinkled lips.

“And now I have rectified a grave mistake, Bornak. And if I must thank the Humans for anything, it is that they did not kill you before me.”

Denak then turned his attention to the Rowin.

Andus Zaphin was another matter. He was next in line for the position of Tesnin, the supreme Guardian of the Order.

“My son, you have placed me in a difficult situation,” said Denak. His advanced age was evident on the wrinkled yellow skin of his face and hands. Antaere live an average of one hundred ten years, and Denak was already one-twenty, and the last twenty—since the start of the Antaere-Human War—had taken their toll. And now this.

“I understand you were under Bornak’s influence for many years, having been indoctrinated from an early age,” Denak continued. “I take a measure of blame for this since it was I who assigned him as your counselor many years ago.”

“My Tesnin,” Andus said, “if you look dispassionately at the events we initiated, you will find all were intended to glorify the Antaere and the Order. We—I—did this to strengthen the Order, not to destroy it.”

“I understand,” said Denak. “Yet that is not the true issue here, is it? Had you come to me with your plans I may have embraced them. The eventual destruction of the Human horde is our common goal. But that is not what you did. And then Bornak’s admission that you would seek an early ascension to the throne is in itself treason.”

Andus was unphased by the charge. “I am to be Tesnin, father. It is inevitable. What matters if it happens now, or ten years from now? If the plan had succeeded, even you would have gladly handed me the Guardianship.”

“And yet it did not succeed. In fact, it failed spectacularly. The Antaere are now in the most precarious position in our entire history.”

“You are being melodramatic.”

Denak recoiled from his son’s tone and disrespect. “You may be Rowin, but I am still Tesnin. You will afford me the respect I deserve.”

Andus stared at his father for a long moment before stretching out a thin smile.

“And now, as you say, you are in a difficult situation, my Tesnin,” said Andus. “I am the Rowin. I achieved the position from your official proclamation. Even you cannot withdraw the appointment. The law is written to prevent events such as this from occurring.” Andus looked around at the assortment of high officials and advisors in the room. They understood the laws of the Court. They knew he was right.

Denak’s shoulders slumped, his age even more evident in his demeanor.

“You are correct, Andus. I cannot withdraw the appointment.”

“Good,” said Andus. “Then, father, allow me to say this. I will retire to Court where I will cause you no further issues. I will remain quiet and compliant, until the time I ascend to the throne. Although you are upset with me at the moment, you must admit there will be no Guardian more devoted to the Order than I. Also, I have the strength and decisiveness the Order has needed for a long while. You can be assured the reigns of power will be in good hands once you are gone.”

Denak’s eyes were moist. He was defeated. Andus was right, about almost everything.

The bloody Lopsin blade was still in Denak’s hand. A moment later it was embedded in the belly of the young Rowin.

Again, none in the room reacted. They saw this coming.

Denak knelt to the floor, taking the body of his dead son with him. There was already a large pool of blood from Bornak’s body. Now more was added.

“You are correct, my son,” said Denak. The tears he shed were not from sorrow, but anger. “I cannot withdraw my appointment. Yet I can declare a new Rowin in the event of your untimely death. The story is already being circulated regarding your unfortunate accident. You will be mourned. At least for a moment, and then you’ll be forgotten. As it should be.”

Epilogue

David Cross made the call to Summerlin a week later. He was at the Ranch he’d established twenty miles outside Denver, a sprawling collection of rustic houses, along with a well-appointed medical facility specializing in pre- and post-natal care. He also had several microbiologists on staff, doctors and technicians who could detect the slightest trace of the Delta mutation within the infants.

Currently there were one hundred twenty women at the Ranch who had volunteered to be the birth-mothers of a new race of Human. They had been carefully screened, not only biologically, but also mentally. They were privy to a secret that would have tremendous consequences if it leaked out. The women had to be one-hundred percent committed to the cause before they would be let into the program. Even then, they were continually watched and analyzed.

Cross hadn’t been completely honest with Olivia and Angus when he told them no females had been born to the Delta REVs. There had in fact been a pair of Eve’s born, both of which tested positive to natural NT-4. A one-hundred percent carry rate was phenomenal. It wouldn’t be until more were born would Cross know if this was just an incredibly lucky occurrence, or whether the mutation was predominant in females. Either way, Cross had the beginnings for two distinct bloodlines which he could breed at a future date.

Everything was proceeding even better than expected. And with the rapid growth rate of the positives, both male and female, there was a very good chance Cross would live long enough to see his vision come to fruition.

But all the equipment, manpower and security required for his three secret facilities cost a fantastic amount of money to run.

The only operation not requiring private funding was the Enhancement Development Center. That was a government department and was where research was conducted on the traditional REV program. Yet with recent events in the Grid, there was a question whether the Running Man Division was still needed. Colony Worlds were turning to the Humans without a shot being fired by terrestrial military forces. Even still, there were worlds under Antaere control that would have to be liberated. In Washington, there was hope for a more organic conversion of these worlds, rather than through direct military action.

Another faction argued for military intervention even if it wasn’t called for. This would allow Earth a measure of domination and control over these systems that didn’t come from strictly diplomatic efforts. Both parties were at war with each other to determine which direction the future would take.

Dr. David Cross was ambivalent as to the politics taking place. He had an ample supply of raw genetic material from the Delta REVs to create the foundation for the next generation of Human being. And if he needed more, he knew where to get it. The traditional REVs were no longer needed. If the military shut down his program, it would be no great loss. He had already moved on.

But that meant all his future endeavors would require private funding. Fortunately, he also knew where to get that raw material as well.

“I need to expand the Ranch, Howard. I can triple the output with more money. It’s not a question of enough volunteers, but rather where to put them.”

Cross frowned when the voice on the other end of the line remained silent. Howard Summerlin was his most-ardent supporter. There were others, but the fabulously wealthy man was by far the most generous.

“Are you still there?”

In the age of video conferencing, Summerlin always insisted on audio-only communications. Now Cross stared at the blank screen, wondering if the connection was still there.

“I’m here, David,” Summerlin said.

“Is there a problem?”

“I have regretted this moment for some time.”

Cross went weak. What did he mean? Was it as it sounded?

“I don’t understand.”

“Dr. Cross, I will no longer be funding your efforts,” Summerlin said formally.

“What! Now I truly don’t understand.”

“I’ve found an alternative, one that shows more promise and produces faster results than you do.”

“You…you can’t do this!” Cross frothed. “We had a deal.”

“And over time, we both benefitted. You have the genesis of your vision—”

“And you have the Deltas. That was the agreement. You fund my research and I turn the REVs over to you as I find them. I’ve done that. You owe me!”

“I have fulfilled the agreement to date. And as I said, we have both benefitted. Now it’s time for me to move on.”

“It’s Diamond, isn’t it?” Cross growled. “He’s started his own Delta program?”

“It’s beyond that, David.”

“Taken from my research, research he stole from me!”

“In the beginning, yes. But now he’s made breakthroughs even you have not made. You have had a singular focus, your master race, your leap in evolution. Jack’s program is more in-line with my needs, not yours.”

Cross was crushed. He was drained and deflated, his mind racing for alternatives. Yes, he could continue, for a while, using his other resources. But he would be slowed down, his program certainly scaled back.

“Jack’s approach is a dead end,” Cross said out of desperation. “It will make no lasting impact on Humanity.”

“And why should I care about that?” Summerlin snapped. “I have my objectives, and you have yours. For a while they converged. No longer.”

“And what will happen to the Delta REVs?”

“I’ll keep them, for the time being. They may still come in handy. If Diamond can’t deliver as he promises, then I’ll decide.”

“You’re making a mistake, Howard.”

“Not from where I sit,” said Cross’s former benefactor. “We must each follow our own path, David. Eventually you will be known as the father of a new kind of man. By then, I will have moved on to even greater heights. This may cause us to clash at some future date, but for now, we part ways, perhaps not as friends, but as a pair of visionaries out to shape our individual destinies.”

“Destinies the REVs helped to create.”

“Without a doubt, Dr. Cross. And for that, I thank you…and them.”

The End

Coming in late 2018…

REV: Revolution

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Novels by T.R. Harris

The Human Chronicles Saga

The Fringe Worlds

Alien Assassin

The War of Pawns

The Tactics of Revenge

The Legend of Earth

Cain’s Crusaders

The Apex Predator

A Galaxy to Conquer

The Masters of War

Prelude to War

The Unreachable Stars

When Earth Reigned Supreme

A Clash of Aliens

Battlelines

The Copernicus Deception

Scorched Earth

Alien Games

The Cain Legacy

The Andromeda Mission

Last Species Standing

Invasion Force

Force of Gravity

Mission Critical

REV Warriors Series

Rev

REV: Renegades

REV: Rebirth

The Drone Wars Series

Day of the Drone

Jason King – Agent to the Stars Series

The Enclaves of Sylox

Treasure of the Galactic Lights

In collaboration with George Wier…

The Liberation Series

Captains Malicious

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and Kindle Unlimited.