REV: Renegades

T.R. Harris

REV Warriors Series - Book 2

Contents

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Novels by T.R. Harris

REV: Renegades

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

Untitled

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Epilogue

The End

More about REV….

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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 - Continuum

Mission Critical (An Adam Cain Adventure)

The Human Chronicles Saga (original series)

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

REV Warriors Series

REV

REV: Renegades

Jason King – Agent to the Stars Series

The Enclaves of Sylox

Treasure of the Galactic Lights

The Drone Wars Series

Day of the Drone

In collaboration with George Wier…

The Liberation Series

Captains Malicious

Available exclusively on Amazon.com and Kindle Unlimited.

REV: Renegades

Prologue

The Human Enclaves on the Earth-Standard worlds were havens for devout followers of the Order, and one of the most-fervent of these was Dr. Davide Caspary, of the Harmony Enclave on Iz’zar.

Davide was only ten when the aliens came to Earth, and twelve when his parents immigrated to the planet. He had been indoctrinated into Judaism as a young man, yet when his parents converted to the Order, Davide found that the religion of the aliens made more sense on multiple levels. From that point on, he gave his all to its study, advancing through the years until he became one of the foremost experts in the Order, as well as one of only a handful of Humans to ever visit Antara—the homeworld of the religion. He was also the only off-worlder ever allowed into the revered reading rooms to view the original sacred documents.

The aliens needed Humans who could spread the word of the Order with complete conviction, and Davide was one of them. During his trips to Antara, he was allowed to study from the original Book of Order itself, even touching its sacred cover in a spot dedicated to such acts of reverence—yet under the watchful eye of the Antaere priests. He was told of the Corollaries and the reason they were written. Again, it made sense. Times changed, and with them so must the tenets of the Order.

What Davide didn’t know at the time was that he was to become one of only a few—Antaere or otherwise—to ever view all the chapters of the Corollaries, even if the series of events leading to the viewing was purely unintentional.

* * *

It occurred on an evening during his third visit to Antara.

Davide was in the ancient Hall of Records, with the original Third Corollary encased in a protective glass container on a table before him. Although reading translators were available, Davide knew the Antaere language intimately, and he reveled in the joy of experiencing the actual words for himself. There was a unique poetry to the text that wasn’t found in the English translation, along with subtle meanings Davide’s native language couldn’t convey.

An Antaere assistant was with him, a young male studying for the priesthood named Sazin. He had been assigned to Davide for this trip and had been very helpful, if overly enthusiastic in his contact with the Human. Davide was the first alien he’d ever met and he was anxious not only to learn from him, but to please him as well.

“Have you read the Corollaries, Sazin?” Davide asked his young Antaerean assistant.

“Not all of them. The remainder will become available to me when I reach Fourth Level Priest.”

Davide raised an eyebrow. There were only five levels of Antaere priests in the Order, and it seemed unusual that a segment of the Corollaries would remain hidden to anyone below fourth level. Yet here was Davide—an alien—having access to documents that were restricted to a large portion of the Antaere population. He had to smirk. At any time he could simply ask for the entire collection to be brought out and Sazin would oblige. He could then turn them so Sazin could see, thereby revealing to him the forbidden texts. The young priest-in-training would be ecstatic. Still, why would his own people restrict access, yet give it freely to a Human, especially during a time of war between the two races?

The reason dawned on Davide a moment later: There were more chapters than just the ones for which he had access. That was why the Antaerean had said ‘not all of them.’ There were more than Davide had been told.

Initially stunned by the revelation, the Human researcher didn’t suspect any deception on the part of the Antaere priests regarding his access to the holy texts. Although he’d been supposedly granted access to all of them, he understood that all was a relative term. All that applied to him and his studies. All he was allowed to see. All that weren’t marked: For Antaere Eyes Only.

Even still, he would love to see the forbidden texts.

“It is a shame that you are not allowed to see the other six Corollaries,” Davide said, attempting to bait the alien into revealing more details.

“Six? No there are only three that I have not seen. You must be confused by other sacred documents you have viewed.”

“Of course,” said Davide. “I do that often. I get so little opportunity for study on Antara. And yet, I have been granted full access.”

“That you have,” said Sazin, his face animated and full of awe. “You are the first alien I have ever known to have such status.”

“It is because of my deep loyalty to the Order…even for an alien.”

Sazin mirrored Davide’s thin smile, warm in its acceptance of the young priest, yet with a slight wickedness to it as well.

“You know my passcode should give you access to the entire collection,” the Human said softly. He continued with the deception. “What you are missing in not viewing the remaining three texts is quite profound and would surely help you along your journey to the priesthood. It is a shame you are not allowed to see the rest of them…as I have already.”

Sazin’s mouth fell open and his yellow skin turned a shade darker. Davide panicked, thinking he’d crossed a line, a line which could get him barred from the archives forever—or worse.

“Forgive me, Sazin, I was thinking only of your future. I meant nothing untold that would get you in trouble.”

Sazin’s yellow eyes blinked several times. “That is not the reason for my reaction. I realize the Corollaries will be revealed to me at some future date, a time to be determined by others. The fact that I will eventually be given the honor proves that this is but an arbitrary decision to keep them from me. And yet you—as you say, an alien—have seen them, and that has created in me a sense of…of betrayal. Why is an alien worthy, yet I am not?”

“I cannot answer that, Sazin. Please, let us forget this conversation and move on to other topics.”

The young Antaerean pressed his thin lips together. He was becoming more frustrated by the moment. “It is not right; I am an Antaerean. There are none above us, with the exception—apparently—of a Human from the enclave on Iz’zar. This is not what we have been taught.”

Sazin looked around the room quickly. They were alone; even security cameras were not allowed in the sacred chamber for fear that images of the texts could be captured and broadcast.

“You say you have seen the remaining Corollaries?”

“Eh, yes I have,” Davide lied.

“Then give me your code key. I will retrieve the last of the Corollaries and bring them to your table for study. If inadvertently my eyes were to fall upon them, then that would simply be an act of providence.”

Davide handed him the key. The alien rushed away and returned five minutes later with three thin glass cases containing the last chapters of the Corollaries, the ones denied him.

Davide’s heart raced as Sazin laid the cases on the table. If what he thought was true, he would be the first outsider to ever gaze upon the holy documents. He was both excited and terrified by the thought. Sazin was sweating, too, while his eyes furtively ran over the heavy writing on the square pages of the first document in the stack.

Davide set to work. He would read the pages as quickly as possible and then have the young priest return them to their storage chamber. The longer they lay on the table, the more chance they would get caught. At that point, Sazin would recite the lie Davide had told him, and that would be the end of his study privileges—if not more. The Antaere were very serious about their religion, and they had every right to punish Davide as they saw fit.

The first document looked innocuous enough, proclaiming Antaere superiority over their alien followers, and how non-Antaere should exist only to serve the master race. This was already a well-known attitude of the Antaere, if not official doctrine. It appeared now that the belief was indeed sanctioned, at least according to this document.

The next chapter was a little longer, consisting of three square pages with the boldface printing. It spoke of a time in the future—the Final Glory, the Book of Order called it—when all of nature would be in balance. It was similar to the Rapture in Christianity, but covering life everywhere, not just on Antara or the colonies. The passages spoke only of the Antaere and what would happen to them at this sacred time.

Davide was enough of a realist to understand that most of the Book of Order consisted of symbolism—as did all religious documents—and was not to be taken literally. He knew that the pursuit of Order was what all intelligent beings should strive for. Whether or not the Final Glory ever came to fruition was irrelevant to bring meaning to the true believers. The journey was what mattered. According to this chapter of the Corollaries, the Antaere insisted on remaining the focal point of the religion all the way to the bitter end, and that was their right as Guardians of the Order. Davide would grant them their final pat on the back.

But then he looked at the last document. It was a single sheet with only a few paragraphs written on it. Sazin scanned the document first; even with Davide’s knowledge of the Antaere language, he still couldn’t match the reading speed or comprehension skills of the young native. When Sazin recoiled from the table, Davide rushed to finish the text.

It read: The Final Glory of Mentar, Universal Corollaries of the Order of Light…and so much more.

Sazin snatched up the document, along with the others, and stood back from the table.

“Why do you not react to this?” he asked.

“I, I am a believer, Sazin. I accept all that is written. Besides, I have seen the Corollary before,” said Davide as convincingly as he could.

“Then you are fortunate, for I cannot believe others would be so tolerant. I will now return the text and forget I ever saw it. You will wait here for my return.”

The alien rushed off to the far end of the room.

Davide’s heart pounded and his breath came in fits. He had no idea what Sazin would do next. Would he implicate himself in the unauthorized viewing of the Corollaries? Or would he place all the blame on Davide? Then he realized that Sazin was more worried for himself than of Davide’s viewing of the final three Corollaries. After all, according to the Human, he had already seen them. It was the young priest who was breaking the rules of the Order, not him.

Davide began to relax. He had to convince Sazin to remain silent, and from the reaction of the young priest before he ran off, that shouldn’t be a problem. Sazin was not allowed to have knowledge of the contents of the last three Corollaries, not for many years to come. Revealing details prematurely would only prove his guilt. He would remain silent, if only out of self-preservation.

But Davide was in a quandary. The message contained in the Corollary—details of the so-called Final Glory—was devastating. In an instant, Davide’s view of the Order—and particularly of the Antaere—changed forever. And why wouldn’t it? He knew now the true intentions of the Antaere with regards to their alien followers. This wasn’t something he could keep to himself. As a Human, he had a duty to report it, and to someone who could make a difference.

* * *

After Davide Caspary and Sazin left the Hall of Records, Congin Bornak studied the surveillance footage with satisfaction. Sazin was at his side, nervous and uncertain.

“The Human did not appear to react to the contents,” said the young priest. “Perhaps he is as devout as he says.”

“No, my young friend,” said the older Antaerean. “I know Humans better than you and can read their body reactions. He is fully aware of the significance of the Corollary. He will play his part. We must now plant the seed that a copy of the Corollary is in the Temple on Iz’zar, a much easier target for the Humans than Antara. They will make their plans and we will help. You have done well and will be rewarded for such.”

“I thank you, master. I live only to serve the Order.”

Congin placed a hand on the young Antaere’s shoulder. “Yes, you live for the Order…and you shall die for the Order as well.”

Sazin didn’t see the long, thin blade that appeared in Congin’s left hand, nor when it penetrated the soft tissue under the priest’s rib cage. The knife extended into his body until it reached the heart, where is split the vital organ in two. Congin supported the limp body of his young co-conspirator before placing it gently on the floor.

“I do this to protect you from yourself, young Sazin,” said Congin Bornak in a reverent whisper. “This way you cannot reveal secrets that you should not.”

He wiped the blood from the blade on the clothing of the young priest. He would call cleaners to the room, personnel who would ask no questions. Yet Congin Bornak wasn’t worried. He was the personal assistant to the Rowin, Andus Zaphin, the next in line to the Antaerean throne, and as such had absolute power over life and death, as had just been demonstrated. Now his plan could proceed, before other loose ends had to be tied up at the proper time.

1

Another artillery shell slammed into the side of the mountain, rattling walls and raining dust and dirt down on the heads of the assembled officers. Grimy hands covered open cups of coffee as lights flickered and nerves frayed a little more. Dust-flavored java was the drink of the day and the men accepted it, along with the musty smell of the moist granite walls and the hopelessness of their situation. The bombardment had gone on for five days, relentless in its monotony and perseverance. The intention was not to destroy the fortified underground complex, but rather to demoralize the enemy. In that regard, the strategy was working.

There were five officers in the dimly lit room, huddled over a map of the alien landscape outside the confines of the bunker. The map detailed a modest-sized mountain designated as Site A, within which the seven hundred trapped Humans fought for survival. Across a wide valley—split by a meandering river at its center—was Site B, another mountain peak but this one three times the height of the Human sanctuary. The aliens controlled the high ground, with half a dozen powerful ballistic artillery batteries and a three-beam laser array aimed at its smaller cousin ten miles away.

“This is a bunch of crap,” barked Lieutenant-Colonel Ian Jackson. “We have twenty-five shuttles ready to get our troops into space, and they’re sitting idle in the launch bays. Sir, are you sure we can’t get any help from the fleet?”

Major General Eddie Larson shook his head. “They’re in full retreat, colonel. Without the ground bases providing supplies and fuel, they’ll be lucky to slip past the system and make it to ES-10. I’ve given direct orders for them not to send help unless we have a viable plan for evacuating the planet. I’m not about to risk the lives of several thousand sailors on the off chance they might be able to rescue us. But having said that, timing will be everything, gentlemen. We only have two days left to figure a way off the planet. If we fail, it won’t matter what we do after that. There’ll be no one up there to meet us—except the friggin’ Qwin.”

“Ungrateful assholes,” growled Marine Major George Wier. “We come all the way out here to free these native bastards from a hundred years of Antaere rule and this is the thanks we get.”

General Larson understood the junior officer’s frustration. He didn’t like giving up territory his troops had bled and died for. And even if he did manage to get the remainder of his force off the surface, the planet was already lost.

Eddie Larson was a lean and fit fifty-one-year-old Marine with thirty-two years in the Corps, and he knew the Qwin would make a big deal out of his death or capture. Having once been the third-highest ranking officer in the Human fleet, he was now destined to become a trophy kill for the Qwin, and on a distant alien world six hundred light-years from Earth. But even worse than that, the deaths of the last seven hundred troops under his command would be remembered as the greatest single loss of Human life in the entire war to date, and with his name forever linked to the tragedy. It was a shitty way to end a distinguished military career.

That only goes to show why you should never underestimate your enemy, Larson thought. He and the rest of Earth Command had been caught fatally flat-footed by the Antaere skill at propaganda and information manipulation. Three months ago, the aliens took a seemingly localized event and turned it into a Grid-wide act of unspeakable insult to all believers of the Order. The destruction of the Temple of Light on Iz’zar—supposedly by a group of renegade REVs—was now being made out to be the single-most horrific event in the two-thousand-year-history of the religion, and the aliens were using it to rally billions of natives on a dozen worlds against the Humans. Overnight, alliances dissolved and angry mobs moved against the forces from Earth. The irony in all this was that the Humans had been invited to these distant worlds to help liberate them from the tyranny of the Antaere. Now they were getting a pointed boot in the ass and told to leave.

Larson knew it was just a game; the outcry was mostly manufactured and the protests staged, yet on a grand scale…and very effective. And along with the breakdown of local support, the Humans were now forced to withdraw from their planetside strongholds, requiring the three fleets operating within the Grid to pack up and head for friendlier space around Earth.

As a result, Larson was left orchestrating a hasty evacuation of his seventeen-thousand-strong command from the planet Borin-Noc—also known as ES-6. But then the riots began, stranding Larson and the last seven hundred members of his unit in the underground complex designated as Site A, fighting for their lives.

The tunnels and chambers within the mountain were well known to the Humans—both here, as well as in the neighboring twelve-thousand-foot-high peak ten miles away. They had been carved out by the Antaere over a hundred years ago, and when the Earthlings arrived to liberate the planet, they found detailed plans for both sites. Unfortunately, the Qwin and their native supporters reached the taller peak first, taking the high ground and leaving the Humans at the mercy of the artillery batteries and laser array, each ready to pick off any escaping shuttles should they show themselves. A few days before, Larson had sent two drone ships into the sky above their small mountain retreat. They were cut down immediately by the lasers before gaining even a thousand feet above the shelter of the mountain. Sending his troops out to face such a certain outcome was not an option.

But doing nothing had the same effect. Through reports he’d received from forward stations, Larson knew the Qwin weren’t taking any prisoners. They couldn’t. They had worked the local religious fanatics into such a frenzy that any captured Human military personnel were being dragged away and brutally murdered, over the half-ass protests of the Antaere to observe the conventions of war. Even the Humans on the various Earth Standard planets living in their sequestered enclaves were fighting off native insurgents, despite the Antaere promise of non-aggression against the long-term immigrants and generally believers of the Order.

And now, if Larson couldn’t find a way to get his men off the planet within the next forty-eight hours, he was left with only two prospects: death by starvation or death by suicidal action. The general grimaced. There was a third option, and that was to attack. But that, too, was listed under the column labeled suicidal, even if they’d take a few of the enemy with them in the process.

That was the reason for the grim meeting taking place in the cold and dank room under the four-thousand-foot-high peak of Site A. And General Larson would keep his command staff there until they came up with a plan—any plan—win, lose or draw.

A sharp knock came at the door to the conference room and two men entered without hesitation or permission. One was a Marine captain, the other an E-7 gunnery sergeant.

None of the officers in the room showed impatience or annoyance with the interruption; in fact they welcomed it. It took their minds off the matter at hand.

“Excuse me, general, but Gunnery Sergeant Garcia has something he wants to say,” reported the young officer. His name was Winston Howell and his uniform displayed the small running-man-silhouette insignia of the REV Division. He was a medical officer, the head of Arturo Garcia’s recovery team.

General Larson was already shaking his head.

“I know what you’re going to say, gunny, and it’s out of the question. We can’t spare the recovery team, and besides, you’d have no back up. We don’t have enough following troops or equipment to hold the ground even if you got it for us.”

“I understand, sir,” said the tall, good-looking young man with a chiseled jawline and intense dark eyes. “That’s why I’ll go in alone.”

All the officers straightened up in their chairs, all except Larson. The senior officer stretched out a wide grin.

“That’s very noble and courageous, gunny, but I can’t see how that would be possible, even for a REV.” He turned the map so the two men standing near the table could see it. “First, you’d have to cross a valley ten-miles wide that’s crawling with Noc, and then scale halfway up the mountain before even reaching the entrance to the Qwin complex. And that’s not counting the fact that you’d be lugging an impossible load of over five hundred pounds of equipment, and without your REV-enhanced strength to help. And if that wasn’t enough, you couldn’t be activated until you were right outside the laser command center.”

“Sir, we’ve thought of all that,” said Captain Howell. “I have nine volunteers already lined up—including myself—who will accompany Gunnery Sergeant Garcia. We’ll carry his armor, weapons and ammo, while providing cover support for the operation. I’ll also be the one to administer the NT-4 dosage at the proper time.”

“Excuse me, captain, but are you anxious to join Gunnery Sergeant Garcia in his quest to become a martyr?” asked General Larson.

The young officer firmed his jaw. “No sir. We’ll just get him on station and pointed in the right direction. After that, we’ll head back to catch the last shuttle off the planet.” Howell placed a hand on the shoulder of the REV. “Besides, if we hung around all we’d do is get in the way, and that’s not a smart thing to do, not with an activated REV on station.”

“It’s nothing personal, captain,” said Garcia, smiling. “REVs prefer to work alone.” The young Marine non-comm turned his attention to General Larson. “Sir, every time a REV is activated, we think it’s our last Run, and yet still we go out. This time when I go, I’ll know for sure.”

“Son, where I come from, we call that suicide.”

“It’s better than starving to death inside this fucking cave, sir, and it just might save the rest of the unit.”

The general looked at the faces of the other officers. Each was covered in dirt and twisted from the strain, yet still proud and determined. Larson knew each of them would make the same offer as the young REV, if they had the ability to make a difference. Hell, so would he.

“Are you sure about this, gunny?”

“Yes sir, absolutely.”

General Larson scanned the faces of his command staff. In turn, they each nodded their agreement.

“Very good, gunny; it’s your call. However, you are aware that without getting Twilighted you’ll keep running until you cascade out. I’ve seen the pictures, son. It ain’t pretty.”

“Yes sir, I’m fully aware of the consequences. They’re the same ones I’ve lived with for the past eleven years.”

The twitchy smile on the young man’s face betrayed his true feelings. Larson knew the REV would do what he had to for the good of the command and the Corps. Even so, few people were prepared to look death in the eye…and spit. Gunnery Sergeant Arturo Garcia would do just that, although reluctantly. There was no other option.

“We’ll get things started on our end, gunny,” said Larson. “And son, you bring honor to the Corps.”

“Thank you, sir. We all have a job to do…and mine isn’t over, not yet.”

“Semper fi,” said Larson. The other men picked up the clarion call of hard-charging Marines everywhere, even here on an alien world hundreds of light-years from home.

2

The mission was set to begin at oh-dark-thirty the next night to give the passing fleet time to get into position. General Larson arranged to have two battle-cruisers ready for the rendezvous. There would be some fighting at the outskirts of the system, but afterwards the ships would have a clear shot at the planet. The Antaere would be on high alert afterwards, but that couldn’t be helped. They already had their deadly laser array manned and primed to pick off any shuttles lifting from the surface. It would be Gunnery Sergeant Arturo Garcia’s job to make sure that didn’t happen. The shuttles were already loaded and waiting for the word. There would be no turning back once they emerged from their mountain hideaway.

The volunteers for Garcia’s insertion team were all members of his medical recovery unit, yet this mission would be like no other they had ever gone on before. Nearly all REV ops began with an orbital drop to a land-based target, with the REV locked away in an injection pod and already encased in his heavy armor and weapons. He would be fully-activated by the time he reached the surface, making the five hundred pounds of equipment and ammo a non-issue. But in this case, each piece of equipment—both Arturo’s and the team’s—had to be lugged ten miles over alien terrain under a cloak of darkness. In addition, the team carried small jet packs on their backs, which they would use for a quick exfiltration from the alien’s mountain fortress. By then, the whole world would know of Arturo’s attack, so stealth would no longer be necessary. The only concern at that point would be getting the men to the other side of the river as quickly as possible. The packs didn’t have enough power to carry them all the way to Site A, but it would get them close—and in a hurry. As General Larson had said, timing would be everything, and he meant it. If the team didn’t get back in time to catch the last shuttle, they would be left on Borin-Noc.

It was also a stark reminder of the mission’s parameters that the ten-man team carried only nine jet-packs.

The men rode in an armored personnel carrier to a spot about two miles from the river.

“I’ll be waiting for you, Mr. Howell, but don’t be late,” said the driver as the men disembarked.

The whites of the Marine captain’s eyes glowed in the dark, set off by the black grease paint on his face. “Just stay in touch with headquarters and monitor our progress, master sergeant. And if it looks like we’re in trouble, then go. You don’t want to be left behind.”

The huge black NCO stepped back into the rear of the APC. “Good luck, sir. See you in a few.”

Howell gave the man a quick nod then rushed off to join his men.

They all wore black camo fatigues and watch caps, with non-reflective paint on their weapons. Arturo’s armor, guns and ammo were carried in several strapped up packages and divided among six of the men. They helped each other hoist the heavy loads onto their backs, while two unburdened Marines took the lead and disappeared into the forest to scout ahead.

Howell crouched down next to Arturo. Both men had rifles, but no packs; the captain being the ranking officer, and Arturo the dead-man-walking.

“Are you ready, gunny?” Howell whispered.

“I would be if everyone would stop asking me if I’m ready…sir.”

The young Marine was nervous. Although he’d spent eleven years as a REV, this mission was different. Howell knew it, the men knew it…and Arturo knew it. The captain tried to imagine what he must be going through but gave up after only a few seconds. It was too depressing.

“I just hope I don’t fuck up, sir.”

“You’ll do fine. Now, let’s move.”

The valley between the two mountains had a typical high-Alpine climate—dry, cool air, with the occasional patch of stubborn snow left over from the harsh winter. It was summer on this part of the planet, and now the open ground sprouted tall, wavy grass, while conifers—similar to Earth pine and fir—filled the rest of the valley in thick, verdant forests. The river was at a low stage yet was still unable to be crossed except by three vehicular bridges spanning the shallow gorge. The main thoroughfare ran past Site A, across the river and then up to the base of the taller mountain, before turning north, following the river to the nearest native town eighteen miles away.

The ground was firm and dry for most of the trip, with only the random marshy bog of thawing tundra, and the team made good time. The scouts communicated by throat mics to the other eight Marines. On this side of the river there were very few natives and the ones they did encounter were locals, traveling by fossil-fuel transports along the main road, hoping to avoid the fighting that was taking place between the two mountain fortresses. The men deftly hid as the few cars passed by, before resuming their trek, skirting along the edge of the road, while remaining within the cover of the forest.

The common belief was that the warring parties were secure for the night within their mountain sanctuaries and not traipsing about the forest in the dark. The Qwin—for all their success at empire building—were not very adept at the tactics of war. They hadn’t fought one in over four hundred years until running up against the Humans, and their lack of imagination and preparedness was showing. None could imagine the Humans mounting an attack, and as a result, the Qwin were safe and warm inside their mountain retreat, without a single squad patrolling beyond the entrance to the complex.

Although that made the team’s task simpler, it didn’t make it simple. There were still ten miles of forested terrain to cross while carrying the heavy load. All it would take would be one curious native to spot them and make a phone call…and the mission would be over, with the troops under Site A condemned to a tragic end.

The first choke point came when the team approached the main bridge over the cold, rushing waters of the Alpine river. There was a guard station here—not on the lookout for Humans surreptitiously attempting to reach the alien stronghold a few miles away—but as toll collectors for the crossing.

Anticipating this, the Humans had fashioned a sign in the native language that read: Toll Booth Closed Until Further Notice. They figured none of the locals would complain about the free passage, even if a couple of the toll collectors had to pay with their lives. Night-scopes focused on the attendants, before two quick puffs of gunfire cleared the way. After placing the sign in the window of the guard shack, the team quickly crossed the bridge and disappeared once again into the depths of the forest.

The land sloped radically upward from this point as the twelve-thousand-foot-high peak climbed into the heavens. A wide side road cut off from the main one and began a long series of switchbacks, gaining three thousand feet in elevation to reach the entrance to the alien fortress. Only specialized trucks could scale the incline. There was one up ahead, straining its electric motors to carry the load of artillery shells up the grade—a constant chore considering the persistence of the alien bombardment of Site A. Fortunately, the shelling had ceased for the night, although the Humans knew the laser array was still active and alert. The quieting of the bombardment was more for the benefit of the sleeping Qwin and their native supporters, rather than any merciful reprieve for the Humans. Come daylight, the shelling would resume, and with a fresh supply of armament for the gun crews.

The cargo truck was driverless and automated and moved up the mountain at barely five miles per hour. Howell decided to take advantage of the free ride and prodded his men forward to catch up to the slow-moving vehicle. It was harder than it sounded, as the team scrambled after the vehicle with their heavy loads and against the steep incline. At one point, they dropped the jet-packs, hiding them at a spot down the mountain from the entrance to the fortress. They couldn’t use them until they got out of the complex anyway. The reduced weight allowed the ten men to reach the truck and scamper into the covered back.

No one inspected the vehicle as it entered the labyrinth, nor were there many guards on duty at this hour. The road passed inside the mountain, before following a corkscrew path to the higher elevations. The electric motors hummed loudly, and the few annoyed natives along the roadway ducked into side rooms to avoid the high-pitched wail.

Lance Corporal Jerry Nance spotted the problem first.

“Sir,” he whispered into his throat mic, although the sound of the truck’s straining motors drown out his voice only inches from his mouth. “The truck is about to enter the loading bay. There’s a bunch of natives ready to offload the cargo. We have about twenty seconds before they see us.”

“Understood,” said Capt. Howell. “Get ready to jump. There’s a doorway on the right leading to a corridor that parallels the ramp. Anton and Stan, you go through first and clear the area.”

The Humans had detailed schematics of the complex, left by the Antaere when they evacuated the planet following the first Human invasion. As a result, the team knew exactly where they were going.

The two lead Marines opened the unlocked door and slipped inside. Howell heard one short puff of suppressed rifle fire as he came to the opening. He entered and found a dead native in the hallway with Private First-Class Anton Semionova standing over him.

The rest of the men moved into the corridor. The loud hum of the cargo truck evened out and then quieted as it reached its destination. Howell silently thanked the robotic vehicle for the ride. It saved them a lot of energy and reduced their chance of being spotted. It even put them a little ahead of schedule. Now he deployed his men.

The artillery batteries were on this level, with a hundred-foot-high ceiling in the huge holding chamber. The laser array was in a similar cavern two hundred feet above.

The complex had plenty of elevators, but the team preferred the stairways. They had equipment to carry and with their numbers, they couldn’t all fit in one car. According to the layout, there was a stairwell at the end of the corridor that reached about two-thirds of the way to the laser room. A moderate-size chamber had been carved out of the granite at that point, with another straight set of stairs leading to an access door at the rear of the laser command center. It would be the perfect place for Arturo to begin his abbreviated Run.

Normally, a REV would run forward until his time ran out and he was Twilighted. But Garcia would be confined to the laser chamber for the duration. He would run, but probably in circles, killing everything that moved. And that presented a problem for the mission planners. Killing the operators would help, but most of the equipment would remain intact. Then depending on how fast the enemy could bring in replacements, the laser array could be up and running again before all the shuttles lifted. It became a mission priority to make sure the power generators at the rear of the room were destroyed, along with the operators.

In response, Arturo’s armament had been modified. Instead of consisting mainly of deadly M-93 mag-bullets—numbering over a thousand rounds per arm—he only had one barrel dedicated to the ’93s, and with a single hundred capacity magazine. The other three barrels were dedicated to C-18 grenades, twelve in each bucket, for a total of thirty-six. It was hoped that as the REV fired on the operators, the grenades would cause enough collateral damage to the surrounding equipment to knock out the lasers for a longer period. Not only that, but Arturo’s control collar had been subliminally chanting within his mind the word ‘generators’ for over four hours. It was hoped that once he was activated, the suggestion would cause him to place a couple of grenades directly into the power supply. This kind of subtle manipulation didn’t always work with an activated REV, but hopefully it would this time. If not, then the dozens of randomly exploding grenades would have to do the trick.

The team moved up the long stairway to the staging chamber below the laser array. They encountered only one other native along the way, who was dispatched without incident. At the base of the last stairway before the laser room, the team began to un-wrap Arturo’s armor and weapons.

Captain Howell positioned the REV at the base of the stairway, about a foot from the first step. Hopefully that would be close enough to prevent any distractions at the point of activation and Arturo would run forward, racing up the steps and crashing through the door at the top.

The team began to dress Arturo in his armor and armament. They were experts at the assembly, and quickly had him decked out in the multi-piece titanium shielding, with his weapons strapped to both arms and ammo pods attached.

By the time they were done, Arturo was hunched over, down on one knee and barely able to lift his head from the weight. He couldn’t stand up, even with the small residual amount of NT-4 in his system which made him stronger than the average man. The load was simply too great. This was a first for the young REV. Normally he would be placed inside the armor within an injection pod. The weight of his equipment had never been an issue before, and by the time it mattered, he was an activated REV and capable of handling the massive load.

This time he would remain in a kneeling position until the NT-4 was introduced—down on one knee with his arms and head resting on the other at a ninety-degree angle to the floor. Then his body would cascade—the word used to signify his transition from Human to REV. His muscles would harden and strengthen. His respiration would increase, as his blood pressure soared to nearly three hundred. His senses would heighten and his brain would begin operating at an accelerated pace. He would become completely consumed by the drug, although he would be oblivious to all that was happening to him. All he would know would be unresolved anger and hatred as his skin crawled with an electric tingling that would only make him angrier. Anyone and everything that got in his way would be the focus of his mindless rage. He would kill…and then keep killing until the Run was over.

Yet in Arturo’s case, the Run would never end. Instead, all the heat, pressure and accelerated levels in his body would continue to climb—beyond the Twilight point—until his blood boiled and his heart exploded. Such was the result of terminal cascading.

When the team was through with the REV, Captain Howell turned to his men, his forehead drawn with deep crevasses. “This is it, boys. It’s all up to Gunnery Sergeant Garcia now.”

Each of the men leaned forward and tapped balled fists against Arturo’s armor. The REV strained to turn his overburdened head to see the team. He gave up under the weight of his equipment. “Thanks,” was all he said.

Captain Howell nodded. “All right, everyone start down the mountain. I’ll catch up after the deed is done. Once the shooting starts they’ll be no need for restraint, so take out anyone you consider a threat. Get to the jet-packs. And don’t wait for me; the pick-up driver will be waiting on the other side of the river. The shuttles will begin lifting as soon as Arturo initiates his attack. Be sure you’re on one of them.”

There were no acknowledgement of his orders; this was the plan all along. Instead, the team moved away and down the longer stairway, leaving Captain Howell and Arturo Garcia alone at the base of the staircase.

“We might as well get this started, Captain,” Arturo moaned. “Not sure how much longer I can support this mess.”

“Roger that, gunny.”

“Wait!”

“What is it?”

Arturo sighed. “This is the last conscious thought I’ll have, captain. I just want to take a second.”

“Understood.”

After another deep sigh, Arturo was ready. “Okay…let’s get this over with. I just have to keep reminding myself that it’s all for a good cause.”

“A life-saving cause, gunny.”

Arturo grunted.

Howell took out a small case from his backpack. There was a vial of yellow liquid inside which he inserted into a feeder at the back of Arturo’s command collar. The cameras on the thin metallic ring were active—two facing front and two back—and had been since the mission began. General Larson and the others back at Site A had been watching the team’s progress since the beginning. Now they would be holding their breath, along with Captain Winston.

“Good luck, Arturo.”

“Thank you, sir. But you’re the ones who are going to need it more than me.”

Howell smirked. The REV was right. Howell’s night was far from over, while the gunnery sergeant had about fifteen minutes left in his, and with a certain end in sight. Howell couldn’t say the same about his prospects.

“Here we go,” said Howell. He pressed the control button—then stepped back and fell flat on the floor behind Arturo.

An activated REV has such heightened senses that he can detect movement even from behind. If Captain Howell had stood motionless behind Arturo, his breathing—even his heartbeat—could be heard. By lying on the floor, his presence was masked, at least for the split second it took Arturo to activate and begin his Run up the stairs. That was the plan; however, if Capt. Howell never showed up to rejoin his team, no one would be surprised. Such was the inherent risk that came with being part of a REV recovery crew.

A blood-curdling scream echoed throughout the rock-lined chamber. Howell had never been this close to the primal cry of a REV, and it affected him more than he expected. The scream usually occurred in the confines of the injection pod and heard only through comm lines, as the drug coursed through the REV’s body, creating such intense emotion that he had to cry out for relief. Even during maintenance dosages, the REV was injected and then Twilighted at essentially the same time, so no scream was ever heard. But now Howell shuddered. At that moment, the savage nature of the REVs became even more real to him. They were more animal than man, and here he was only two feet behind this supreme and mindless killer.

Even after Arturo rose to his feet and began bounding up the stairs, the Marine officer remained frozen on the floor. Only after the door at the top of the landing crashed inward and Arturo disappeared into a cacophony of gunfire, did Winston Howell get to his feet and hurry down the long stairway behind him. It was now a race against time.

“Sitrep?” Howell called out to his team over the comm link.

“Sir, we’re about halfway down the ramp on the way to the outside. Did you deliver the package?” asked Staff Sergeant Charlie Fox.

Alarms began to wail throughout the underground complex.

“That’s an affirmative, sergeant… obviously.”

“Damn, the walls just sprouted a shitload of the enemy!” Fox shouted. “About a dozen of them appeared through a side door. Excuse me, sir, but we have a firefight on our hands.”

“I’m on my way. I’ll try to cover you from behind.”

“Roger that, sir…and please hurry!”

3

The natives and their Antaere masters were expecting the Humans to attempt a breakout of their mountain hideaway. Two huge battle-cruisers were on the way from the outer rim of the system and would be at the planet sometime in the early morning. This set a deadline for when the attempt would be made. The forces of the Order would be ready. They had over a hundred personnel in the laser chamber, including thirty-five experienced Antaere gunners. The natives were there to keep the equipment running; they had never mastered the fine art of laser array operation.

What the Antaere weren’t expecting was a REV to come bursting into the rear of the chamber, smashing through a small access door and sending deadly depleted uranium shells and exploding projectiles into everyone who moved. And they all moved at the sight of the REV.

The Antaere were very familiar with REVs. For the past twenty years the crazed killing machines had been tearing through their defenses with impunity. Many never survived their missions, cut down by overwhelming return fire or explosives, while others couldn’t be recovered in time before they died of their own accord. But during all those attacks, the REV was expected. Nearly every mission began in space, with a launch from one of the Human’s battle carriers. The Antaere would track the progress of the entry pod, knowing that a REV was inside. What they didn’t know was the target, yet once that was determined, the Antaere and their native allies would prepare for the Human, and the follow-up troops they knew were coming.

Arturo was several feet beyond the doorway before the first grenade exploded. He was firing from both arms; M-93 rounds from his right, C-18 grenades from his left. He swept the room with his lethal bullets, following the panicked flight of the aliens, cutting down a dozen or more in the first few seconds of the battle. He went through the hundred M-93 rounds in less than a minute. The trigger controls on his weapons pack switched automatically from the M-93 to the C-18 bucket on his right arm. Arturo never let up on the trigger, but now, instead of being in automatic mode on the M-93, the rate of release for the grenades was less as the larger canisters cycled into the barrel. Although the REV was constantly fingering the trigger control, the charges were released only one every two seconds. All he was firing now were grenades, and it was definitely making an impression on those in the chamber, including Arturo.

A REV is trained to instinctively follow all movement, focusing on the largest component first. Yet as Arturo fired and rushed forward, he was being thrown back by the concussion of the explosions, some only twenty feet away. His armor was being shredded by the shrapnel of his grenades, and not from enemy fire.

Although both the natives and the Qwin in Site B were expecting action against the Humans as they emerged from their distant mountain retreat, only three of the Antaere in the laser room carried sidearms. These were the three senior officers present, and the weapons were more part of their uniform rather than having any intended purpose. No one in the chamber imagined they’d be facing a REV when they reported for duty that early morning.

The three-armed Antaere emptied their flash charges into the REV. With his armor already in tatters, he now relied on lightning quick reflexes to evade some of the bolts, but not all. He was taking hits, yet his activated body was resistant to most. Still, there was a toll being taken. Several times, Arturo was thrown to the ground by the blasts from his own grenades. On one such occasion, a deadly level-one plasma bolt streaked over his head, the fall undoubtedly saving his life. Instinctively, Arturo reacted to incoming fire and its source above all other considerations. The three Antaere officers were blown into bloody, unrecognizable chunks of flesh a moment later.

There was something happening within Arturo’s mind, a nagging itch that he had to scratch. He turned his attention to the rear of the chamber, and the three huge stacks of energy generators attached to the granite rock of the cavern. Anger flared at the sight of the grey dynamos, and Arturo laid four C-18 canisters into the offensive machines.

Secondary explosions threw the REV toward the control stations of the laser array at the opposite side of the room, where the three stubby turrets jutted out from the side of the mountain. Openings in the rock wall allowed access to the outside along each three-element barrel and aliens were rushing through them to escape the carnage inside the chamber. There was no place for them to go. The lasers were only twenty feet long, and the drop over the side two thousand feet down before their falling bodies would meet rock outcroppings. Still, many scampered out onto the turrets, before either losing their balance and falling, or being shoved over the side by their panicking companions.

Those still alive in the chamber were becoming fewer by the second. Arturo was reaching the twelve-minute mark for his open-ended Run, and he was down to only six grenades left. Fortunately, there were very few targets remaining.

Arturo kept dropping to one knee every time he put weight on his left leg. He was aware of the injury—one of many—and yet he kept scanning for more targets. His helmet was almost destroyed, with only a small section over his right ear still clinging to his blood-covered head. His breast plate was gone as well, having absorbed more than its share of flash bolts and shrapnel before falling to the floor. His chest was perforated with rips and holes, with blood gushing out and coating the floor around him in a pool of slippery red liquid.

It was quiet in the chamber. The secondary explosions from the generators had ceased, and any aliens who had escaped to the turrets were lying two thousand feet below on blood-painted rocks. There had been some moans from the wounded in the room, but the devastation was so complete that they had all fallen silent by now.

Arturo’s strength was dropping as the blood loss continued. He slumped to the floor, rolled over and cast blood-shot, vacant eyes toward the chamber ceiling a hundred feet above. A thick cloud of gray smoke filled the void, swirling in a light breeze coming from the openings near the laser turrets. Of the three weapons, one barrel was tilted down at a radical angle, while the other two sat quiet, with no power to charge them or operators to aim.

Arturo’s eyes fluttered shut. His bodily functions were continuing to cascade. Despite the major loss of blood, the pressure was still increasing, and his internal temperature was nearing one hundred twenty. No one could survive such numbers, even with NT-4, and Arturo Garcia was no exception.

4

Captain Winston Howell heard the fighting taking place down the winding truck ramp long before he encountered it. There weren’t a lot of places to hide along the road, except for the occasional hallway intersection cut into the side of the tunnel. The enemy had his men pinned down in one of these corridors, while dual forces covered both higher and lower positions along the ramp. There was a third element within the corridor keeping Staff Sergeant Charlie Fox from leading his men farther into the complex.

The alien fortress had been on alert for the impending escape of the Human shuttles, but that only affected a small number of the aliens in the mountain. The Antaere also knew the rate of approach of the Human battle cruisers. Their arrival was still an hour away when Arturo began his Run. Now the shuttles were launching, two at a time, and at intervals of three minutes apart. It was an excruciatingly long delay between sorties, as exhaust gases had to be accounted for and the next two shuttles moved up to the single launch bay opening. There were twenty-five shuttles to be launched, with the last one—the odd numbered one—being held in reserve for Howell and his men.

“I see the fighters higher up the ramp,” Capt. Howell reported. “There are nine of them. They haven’t seen me. I’ll take them out as you concentrate on the ones below.”

“Roger that, sir,” said SSgt. Fox. “We’ll toss a few grenades and smoke behind us to cover our movement.”

“Go when you hear my gunfire.”

Howell had his M-101 assault rifle pointed down the ramp. The backs of the nine crouching aliens were easy targets. He sent a spread of hot lead across the span of the truck ramp. Seven aliens died instantly, while two reacted before he could cut them down. They rolled to the side and opened up. They were firing the ubiquitous flash weapons, which used concentrated balls of plasma energy as bullets. The bolts streaked out of the barrels at around nine hundred miles per hour, leaving bright trails of light behind them. If Howell didn’t know better he would think the weapons fired laser beams, since the flash seemed to be continuous from barrel to impact. But the streaks made tracking the weapons easy. Winston dove for cover while laying two quick bursts at the origins of the light beams. A moment later, all was quiet, at least on his front.

The rest of his squad had burst out from their hiding place, running into the tunnel while raining ballistic rounds into the twenty or so attackers down the ramp. The alien troops had moved up the road, using their superior numbers and the curve of the ramp for cover. Now they were fully exposed and surprised by the Human’s seemingly reckless assault.

Capt. Howell joined the others as they sliced into the line of alien fighters. When the last of the Qwin within their ranks fell, the native fighters turned and ran. The Humans pursued them, running at breakneck speed down the steep decline. Some of the men lost their balance and fell, before being helped to their feet to continue the headlong rush down the road.

Howell made a quick head count. There were only six of the nine left, with one of the survivors—Lance Corporal Nance—being helped by the others with a wound to his right leg. The other three were nowhere to be seen. Although Marines vowed to never leave a fallen comrade behind, in some cases carrying out the dead was an impossible and dangerous task.

The team burst into the cool night air at the main entrance, having fought off the few native entry guards who’d stuck around. With the REV attack taking place far above, and the crazy firefight at the lower elevations, the complex was in full panic mode. No one had been expecting the Humans to attack, and it was taking the more experienced—yet low in numbers—Antaere officers time to organize the native troops into any kind of defensive force. By that time, the battle was over.

A quarter mile down the road, the Humans came to the place where they hid their jet packs. Across the valley, Capt. Howell could see the flares from the escaping shuttles as they streaked into the dark sky. He had no idea how many had launched already; he just hoped they still had one left for him and his men.

The jet packs used compressed air to lift the Marines into the sky. Most of the trip would be downhill, toward the wide valley below, which helped extend their range. The shimmering waters of the river reflected the dim starlight, while somewhere on the other side an armored personnel carrier waited. Howell had already issued orders for the men to launch as soon as they were strapped up, and already four had shot off into the air before it was Howell’s turn.

He’d only had one training session with the jet pack, and that was the day before in the launch bay of Site A. It wasn’t a very long test flight, just enough to lift off the deck and hover while getting a feel for the controls. Now he shot away from the side of the towering mountain, gaining more altitude than he expected a second after launch.

The ground fell away, made even more terrifying by the dark shadows of night far below. The cool night air turned frigid from the wind chill, whipping across his body and penetrating through his fatigues. No one had brought coats—that would have only added weight and bulk to the load they had to carry. The flight would take less than three minutes before the compressed air ran out. By then Capt. Howell had to be on the other side of the river and safely on the ground. If not, then he’d fall like a rock. The packs didn’t carry emergency parachutes.

A flare erupted from the dark forest ahead and below him. That would be the landing zone. Howell twisted the control in his right hand and leaned to his left. He changed direction—too much in fact. He corrected his flight angle by leaning in the other direction, again a little too much. Soon the Marine officer was rocking back and forth, turning parallel to the ground before overcompensating the other way, with each swing throwing him more off balance. He was about to flip over and rocket directly into the ground when his jet pack sputtered, signaling the end of the ride.

Howell could barely see the ground below, hidden as it was in the dark of the forest. He hit the top of a tall tree and tumbled to the right, before plowing butt first into a muddy field covered in four-foot tall reeds. Cold water splashed on his face as he spun out of control into the shallow marsh. The ground was forgiving here, and he came to rest in a puddle of cold, smelly muck.

He coughed while slapping at the release buckle for the jet pack. It fell away and he struggled to gain his footing in the knee-high water and mud. A red light reached his eyes and he squinted through the mud and water covering his face toward the source. Two men were splashing through the water, coming towards him. They took his arms and helped him gain his balance.

“Are you okay, sir?” asked SSgt. Fox.

“Yeah, I think so. Lucky this marsh was here.”

“The driver picked this spot for that very reason. He thought it might help cushion our landings.”

“I’m putting him in for a medal.”

“Right after the rest of us, sir.” Fox’s face was covered in mud, which made the white of his smile stand out even more in the thin light of night. “The laser array is down, and the shuttles are getting away. Looks like the mission was a success.”

The trio took off across the marsh towards the dark shadow of the APC.

“Casualties?” Howell asked.

“Three in the complex, one on the way here…and of course Arturo.”

Howell acknowledged the report with a curt nod. They were in the back of the personnel carrier five seconds later and bounding across the dark landscape. It was a six-minute ride to an entry door into Site A, and then another four harrowing minutes to reach the launch bay. There was only one shuttle left, its civilian pilot standing at the rear cargo door waving them in. They were a full half hour behind schedule, yet the pilot had waited. Captain Howell would have to thank the man when the opportunity presented itself.

General Larson was in the second shuttle to leave the complex; he had to get into orbit as soon as possible to coordinate the recovery efforts. The battle cruisers were still an hour away, so his ships would have to bolt out from the planet and meet them along the way.

The space around the planet was relatively clear of Antaere ships, at least for now. Once the main base had been overrun and the bulk of General Larson’s troops evacuated, the alien fleet moved on, knowing that Borin-Noc was safe; however, they did leave a few land-based flash cannon batteries to fend off any Human warships that might attempt a rescue of those remaining on the planet. Once in space, Larson’s shuttles were clear of the land-based weapons. Eventually the natives would send their small fleet up after them. Even the lightly armored destroyers of the Noc could take out the shuttles, so Larson had to move his ships away from the planet and into the protective range of the battle-cruisers as soon as possible.

He sent all but two of the shuttles ahead, while he and another ship waited to see if Captain Howell and his men would make it off the surface. Through the REV’s collar cameras, Larson and his command team had watched as Gunnery Sergeant Arturo Garcia fell to the floor and died. His mission was a success, and the general would make sure his selfless act was remembered and honored. At this point in the war, the Humans were in desperate need of heroes.

“Sir, Garcia is moving,” said a Navy chief off to the general’s right.

Larson shook his head. “No, that’s just the Qwin moving the body.”

“I don’t think so, sir. He’s standing up and looking around.”

The shuttle was already two hundred miles above the surface of Borin-Noc, leaving only micro-gravity in the vessel. Larson floated over to the station, followed by two of his senior officers. They grabbed onto whatever handholds they could and scanned the screen. The chief was right. The camera view was shaky but taken from a standing position, and the perspective was changing, sweeping the room, with no living aliens in sight.

“This can’t be,” said Major Brighton. He looked at his watch. “It’s been twenty minutes. He should have cascaded over the edge long before this.”

Within the small pilothouse, the men were in shock at what they saw. Garcia was indeed alive and limping toward the row of blown apart command stations and the narrow openings around the turrets leading outside the mountain. The camera angle would turn down at times, revealing a mangled leg and prodigious amounts of bright red blood on the floor. Garcia had to work his way around dozens of shattered bodies, using the C-18 grenade launcher attached to his left arm as a crutch. The going was slow, but it appeared Garcia was determined to make it outside and onto one of the laser barrels.

Larson triggered the ship-to-ship comm.

“Captain Howell,” he shouted. “Garcia is alive.”

* * *

The civilian pilot had just launched the last shuttle, shooting out from the side of the mountain and fighting for altitude. When Captain Howell received the link from General Larson, he opened the channel with his superior.

“Sir, could you repeat that?”

“Garcia’s alive. I’m feeding you the video.”

Captain Howell, Staff Sergeant Fox and the pilot were the only ones in the pilothouse; the other four men from the team, along with the APC driver, were strapped down in the rear compartment while doing their best to tend to Nance’s leg injury. They were trained medical personnel, so the lance corporal’s prospects were pretty good.

In the pilothouse, the relayed image was impossible to believe. It was approaching twenty-two minutes since Arturo had been activated. There should be no way he could be alive. Yet here he was, struggling to make it outside the mountain.

“Change course!” Howell ordered the pilot.

“You’re not thinking about bringing him aboard, are you?” asked the dark-skinned man with a full beard.

“That’s exactly what I’m thinking.”

“Might I remind you that it’s a terrible idea to bring an activated REV onto a ship—any ship.”

“He’s one of our own, and we’re going to get him.”

The pilot stared into Howell’s eyes and saw the fiery determination within. The man shrugged and pulled the control stick hard to the right. “Whatever you say. Just keep him locked in the back, and at the first sign of trouble I’m dumping the atmosphere.”

“Fair enough, now hurry.”

The shuttle had to drop back toward the surface to reach the alien mountain. Light from inside the laser command center sliced into the darkness like beacons, making the target easy to find. The pilot was skillful and pulled back on the controls like a rider atop a racing stallion, with the nose rearing up before the ship leveled out only a hundred feet from the turret array.

Arturo had made it outside and was halfway along the center barrel. Through the viewport, Howell and Fox could see their REV struggling to make it to the end. He was shot to pieces, with barely any of the titanium armor surviving the battle. Blood coated the smooth metal of the turret, creating treacherous conditions for Arturo’s footing. The grenade launcher he used as a crutch kept slipping out from under him, and twice he fell to the slick surface, barely able to keep from tumbling over the side each time. He made it to the end and stood up, wobbling on his injured legs. Along the way, he’d discarded the M-93, and now he reached up with his right arm, signaling for help.

The shuttle moved in a little closer, close enough from those aboard to see the anguished look on Arturo’s face—and then his eyes exploded, followed by a heaving of his chest and an even greater spray of blood from his various chest wounds. Garcia collapsed to the metal surface of the turret, before slipping over the side in a pool of boiling blood.

The lights from the shuttle illuminated the falling body for only a few feet, before Arturo disappeared into the murky blackness below.

The shuttle pilot already had the tiny ship turned and screaming for space before the others could react. Both Howell and Fox continued to stare out the viewport for several seconds, their reverie broken only by the words of General Larson coming through the speakers.

“Captain, we knew this was inevitable. He should have cascaded long before this. Let’s move on. Get up here as soon as you can.”

Howell heard the words, yet the impossibility of what he just saw cast them in a surreal context. He pulled from the window and spun around until he saw the pilot. The man’s dark face was grim with determination and concern.

“The general’s right, my friend. Time to move on,” said the pilot.

Howell nodded. “You’re right, and thanks for sticking around. But what’s a civilian doing piloting a military shuttle in the first place?”

“I was just passing through when all hell broke loose,” said the pilot. “I hitched a ride with the evacuation. I figured helping you guys out was a good way to earn my keep.”

The men shook hands. “I’m Winston Howell.”

The Marine officer was nearly blinded by the brilliance of the pilot’s smile, displaying a set of unbelievably white teeth. “The name’s Tarazi. Riyad Tarazi. Like I said, I was just passing through. Glad I could help.”

5

Dr. David Cross scanned the report again. Although General Larson was confused by the events surrounding the death of Arturo Garcia, Cross wasn’t. Garcia was the last 0351-C to test positive for natural NT-4. He had been pulled from the fleet and was on his way back to Earth—and Cross’s secret research facility—when he got stranded on ES-6. David attributed the young REV’s miraculous resurrection to his unique physiology, even though he didn’t understand it fully. Garcia had been activated at the time—but never Twilighted—and somehow the natural NT-4 in his system extended his life beyond the point of terminal cascading, even managing to revive him, if only briefly. This was a twist Cross hadn’t expected. What other secrets did the ‘naturals’ hold in store for him? The sooner the full-panel studies got underway, the sooner he would have his answers.

That was if he could fight off the wolves long enough to complete his research.

Cross closed the file in his datapad as the two men entered the conference room for the scheduled meeting. One was a plump, older man with a full crop of silver-gray hair and dressed in an exquisitely-tailored grey silk suit. The other man was a tall, lean Army general in full dress attire, service ribbons and all. Cross thought it a little over the top that General George Randolph would come to the clandestine meeting dressed-to-impress. He and Cross were joined at the hip in the project and knew each other intimately. And although Cross was only a full-bird colonel, in the context of the REV program he was only one step below god. The late Clifford Slater was the God of the REVs. Now Cross was in control, and everyone associated with the REVs knew it.

The presence of the civilian was the reason the general showed up in full regalia. He was Reece Hamilton—Senator Reece Hamilton from the Western District of the United States, and co-chairman of the Military Appropriations Committee in the New Congress. While Cross and Randolph were true believers and compatriots with regards to the REV program, the senator was one of those politicians whose loyalties bent with the wind. He’d arrived at David’s new research facility to deliver a report on the future of the program’s funding, and not because he cared, but because Cross’s civilian benefactor had recently placed a substantial contribution into the politician’s reelection fund. Otherwise Senator Hamilton would have been like all the others, ready to pull the plug on the most important scientific program in the history of mankind. At least that was how Dr. David Cross viewed the project.

Before the senator took a seat at the large conference table, he looked around the room and waved his hand. “Very impressive, Dr. Cross. I wonder how much all this cost the taxpayers?”

“It didn’t cost them anything,” David snapped.

“Ah, yes, your anonymous money-man. I congratulate you on your ability to land such a big fish. In my line of work, that’s a fine art taking years to perfect. I imagine it would be more difficult for a humble scientist such as yourself.”

“He believes in the cause.”

Hamilton laughed. “You can go ahead and say it, doctor: Unlike me who only does it out of greed and a need to stay relevant.”

“Can we get to the matter at hand?” asked General Randolph. “How do you see the numbers lining up in your committee?”

The senator took a seat.

“Very good; right to the point. As you know, the New Congress is all riled up about the recent change in the status of the war. Seemingly overnight we have been set back fifteen years or more, and all thanks to a few of your renegade REVs, Dr. Cross. There’s a pretty hefty majority who feel turning Murphy and the others over to the Antaere will help the situation more than hinder it.”

“The Antaere don’t give a damn about Zac and his men,” Cross countered. “It’s all a big propaganda ploy to get the Grid on their side.”

“And turning the REVs over to the aliens will have the same effect, but for our side. We call the destruction of the Temple of Light a rogue operation and give up the participants. That should shut down a major talking point of the Antaere campaign against us. As the general can attest, it’s not the military power of the Antaere that’s changed, but the support both parties are receiving from the worlds between Earth and Antara.”

“But it wasn’t a rogue operation,” said Cross. “It was fully sanctioned and meant to help end the war, not lose it.”

“But it was a secret mission,” said the senator. “That’s our only saving grace. Very few people knew of it, so it will be easy to claim Murphy acted alone.”

Cross shook his head. “Not too many people will believe that.”

“Enough will…because they want to. The various native populations are not anxious to make enemies out of the Humans, just as they’re now rallying with the Antaere out of self-preservation. They would just as soon remain neutral, and if we give the yellow bastards the REVs, then the native populations will have a good excuse to call it even and sue for peace. By the way, where are your elusive renegade REVs these days?”

“I haven’t a clue,” said Cross. “The Grid is such a mess that they could be anywhere. But considering the current climate here on Earth, this is the last place they would turn up.”

“Yeah, of course.” The two men locked eyes before General Randolph broke the trance between the alpha males.

“The Antaere don’t want peace, not anymore,” he said. “And they’ll continue to use any excuse to turn their colony worlds against us. If not Murphy and the temple incident, then it will be something else. And now we have the Purges to deal with.”

Senator Hamilton nodded. “Yes, our alien friends have played that part of the game masterfully. By declaring that the execution of a hundred thousand natives on each liberated world would absolve all sins for those who supported us earlier, the Antaere have essentially killed off any resistance to their rule. And letting the natives pick the hundred thousand hapless victims themselves, that was pure genius. It has turned neighbor against neighbor, each trying to prove that their loyalty to the Antaere is greater than the other. Any resistance that previously existed on the planets has vanished, leaving us isolated in the Grid.”

“That’s why the Antaere have no reason to back off, even if they get Murphy,” said the general. “They have the upper hand now and are not about to relinquish it just because we give them four of our REVs.”

“I repeat, general, many in my caucus are saying that turning Murphy and the others over to the aliens can’t hurt. Sure, the Antaere will keep harping on the destruction of the temple but having those responsible for the tragedy in custody and facing justice will take a lot of the steam out of their argument.”

Cross listened to the debate between the senator and the general with growing frustration. He knew how unique Zac and the other three members of his team were, and that was the real reason the Qwin wanted to get their hands on them. It was no secret the Antaere were working on their own REV program, but until now had been unsuccessful. Although they could extract trace amounts of NT-4 from the bodies of dead REVs, either their physiology was incompatible, or they hadn’t yet learned how to adjust the drug to their alien chemistry. Yet Zac and the others were unique. They were the end-goal of the REV program, superior killing machines who could think and operate as a team. If the Antaere learned how to create REVs like Zac, that would be a sea-change event in the war.

For the past twenty years, the Antaere had been fighting defensively, as the Humans and their new-found allies advanced through the ES worlds. But now the aliens had taken the initiative and would be going all out from this point on to create their own REVs.

“And besides,” Hamilton was saying, “with the current complexion of the war, there’s not much use for the REV program anymore.” He held up his hand to stop the protest coming from Cross. “That’s not my belief, but it is that of many of my colleagues. The bean-counters are looking at the three-hundred fifty thousand adjusted dollars it takes for each activation, including the Twilight and RG-9. That’s not just for combat Runs, but also for maintenance treatments every two months or so. And when you add in the support units and the training program, that’s a pretty hefty price-tag to support a little over two hundred active REVs, most of which no longer have a mission.”

“Some of them are still useful, even in a defensive role,” said Cross.

Hamilton smirked. “Yes, I know of the heroics of the late Gunnery Sergeant Arturo Garcia; General Larson won’t shut up about how he saved his unit from certain death.” The senator laughed. “I suppose sending all the REVs out on suicide missions would solve our problem. And they’d all go out in a blaze of glory, which would be a fitting end to Dr. Slater’s dream of an army of superhuman soldiers.”

“We’re working on new strategies to utilize the REVs,” General Randolph pointed out.

“And when you do, let me know. At least then I’d have something to fight with.” Hamilton squinted at Cross. “But I suppose you’ve already made a breakthrough, haven’t you, Dr. Cross? Five REVs attacked the temple. Now how could that have happened, unless the rumors of a new kind of REV are true? What do you say to that?”

Cross stood, his frustration reaching the boiling point. “Look you scum-sucking piece of shit, this program is too important to let politics—or your blackmail attempts—get in the way. We own your ass, Hamilton, so you better start working for us with a lot more enthusiasm…or we’ll find someone who will.”

The senator was used to hard-ball negotiations and bursts of frustrated temper. He leaned back in his chair and smiled up at the red-faced scientist. “Relax, Cross, I’m not stupid. I know who butters my bread. I’m on your side…if the money keeps flowing. But do I have to remind you that we’re all in the same boat? I’m sure that what you’re doing here—in this super-secret research facility—is all on the up and up, but could you survive a Congressional audit? And you, General Randolph, the REVs are under military jurisdiction, yet you and the esteemed Dr. Cross seem to do what you want with them when you want, and with no oversight from Congress.” He sighed deeply. “So please, spare me your righteous indignation, both of you. If I go down, we all go down, and where would that leave your precious REV program then, Dr. Cross? As I said, we’re in this together, and I’ll keep up the good fight. But sooner or later you had better come up with a good reason for me to keep fighting for your side. I’m running out of arguments.”

Senator Reece Hamilton placed his palms on the table and pushed himself into a standing position. “Now, Doctor Cross, how about a tour of your wonderful facility? This is quite a famous site, and I’d like to see what you’ve done to the place.”

David Cross fought the urge to reach across the table and crush the skull of the overconfident politician. That time may come, but for now the senator still had value. David would give the pompous asshole the tour, but he wouldn’t reveal the true purpose of the facility. Even General Randolph wasn’t privy to that, at least not the ultimate goal Cross had for the REV program—if he could keep it running.

6

It was called the Cheyenne Mountain Complex, and at one time had been the headquarters for the North American Aerospace Defense Command, otherwise known as NORAD. In it’s heyday, the massive underground facility supported several thousand workers—both military and civilian—and was considered the most-secure site in the American military arsenal. It was designed to withstand a nuclear explosion a mile away, and pictures of its iconic double three-foot-thick security doors were famous throughout the world. For the past fifty years, the site had sat shuttered, its thick concrete walls outliving its utility, until it was recently acquired by a private firm, ostensibly as a storage facility for rare works of art and documents of historical importance. In fact, David’s obscenely rich benefactor had purchased the complex, allowing the scientist to carry on his research in private, research which included the quest for the superhuman.

David’s main facility was in Denver, and the trip to the mountain retreat was under an hour away by hovercopter. He had stocked the complex with loyal and talented medical personnel and was already bringing in the younger crop of naturals resulting from the latest version of NT-4. Very few people were aware the drug had been modified, a recent change Cross introduced to build on the results of the 31-C program. The older version had only been a slight tweaking of the chemistry and was introduced to the REV community six years earlier. The result was Zac Murphy and the other six senior REVs who had tested positive for producing their own form of natural NT-4. Two of those precious few were now dead—Michael Brickey and Arturo Garcia. It was Cross’s sworn duty to make sure the rest of his 31-Cs survived long enough to be fully evaluated.

And if it meant dealing with the obnoxious senator from California in a most serious manner, then so be it. His work was too important to do otherwise.

* * *

David Cross had declared ignorance when asked about the whereabouts of Lt. Zac Murphy and the other three members of his one-of-a-kind team of REVs. The truth was Murphy and Price had landed at the Travis Spaceport in California two days ago and were being secretly driven to Colorado and the Cheyenne Mountain facility at this very moment. Although no official arrest warrant had been issued for the men, that appeared to be only a matter of time. And no one would complain if the REVs were detained at some secure military prison until that time came.

What Cross knew—and others didn’t—was that there weren’t a lot of places that could hold the REVs, even when not activated. The possible exception was the scientist’s concrete lair. What had originally been built to counter the evil in the world, would now be repurposed to keep the deadliest elements of humanity safely locked away and under Cross’s control until he was through with them.

Both Cross and Hamilton grated on each other’s nerves so much during the tour of the facility that the politician eventually called an early end to the visit and was quickly whisked away back to Denver. That was Cross’s intention; Zac was due to arrive within a few hours and it wouldn’t pay for the senator and the REV to bump into each other.

7

Lt. Zac Murphy and Gunnery Sergeant Angus Price had come into the Travis Spaceport disguised as a pair of transferees hitching a ride back to the homeworld. They were dressed in civilian clothes and carried papers with false identities. Colonel David Cross had clout in the service and it was showing. Even so, the pair of REVs were lucky to make it back to Earth. The other two members of the team—Donovan Ross and Kyle Johnson—got caught up in the confusion spreading throughout the Grid. Their ship had lost its escort and been forced to seek refuge at the main Human Enclave on ES-7. No one was leaving the settlement, at least not for the foreseeable future.

But Zac and Angus made it through and were now in the back of a nondescript military van, zipping along I-80 in California at about ninety miles per hour, heading east.

Zac was originally from Palo Alto, California, so he knew this stretch of highway well—or at least he once did. It came as a shock when he realized he hadn’t been to Earth for thirteen years. The road hadn’t changed much, but the makeup of the traffic certainly had.

Zac and his fellow REV stared out the side windows of the van, mesmerized by the stylish vehicles as they sped past. All were electric-powered, and Zac and Angus would gawk at each from time to time when a car would pass by with the occupants engaged in a card game at a central table, as the autopilot guided the vehicle along at over a hundred miles per hour.

Interstate-80 had been widened since Zac last drove on it, and since accident-avoidance systems were so advanced these days, most freeways no longer had speed limits. The inner lanes were designated for non-speed-restricted vehicles and Zac marveled as sleek, aerodynamic cars shot past them at nearly two hundred miles per hour. The middle lanes were for the more moderately-paced cars and trucks, those going under one twenty. Most were autopiloted and contained families heading to the mountains for the day, enjoying the ride as nonchalantly as they would on a train. The outer lanes were for the slower, manually-controlled vehicles, such as the military van, which didn’t have any of the fancy bells and whistles, and a cruising speed of only around a hundred.

Zac hadn’t driven a car in nearly fifteen years. He was sure he could remember how, after all most vehicles these days were auto-driven and voice-controlled. It shouldn’t be too hard to learn.

“So, this is the homeworld?” Angus asked with a touch of sarcasm. “The place we’ve been fighting for all these years. It doesn’t look like a place in the middle of a galactic war against deadly aliens.”

Angus Price was from Earth, but like Zac, hadn’t been here in over ten years. His parents had come to America from England when he was three, and although he still carried a slight British accent, he was as American as Zac.

“I guess,” said the senior REV. “You know I’m from around here, but my parents didn’t get out much. I did have a couple of years where I had a car, before joining the Corps. I got a chance to travel up to the mountains now and then.”

“I grew up in Tampa. Not a lot of mountains around there.”

The two REVs were dancing around the subject. Never in the past decade did they imagine they’d come back to Earth in anything less than a body bag. That unfortunate reality wasn’t something they talked about in the recruitment videos for the program. It was all sunshine and lollipops—along with the chance to kill a shitload of aliens.

Zac had joined the Marines at nineteen and immediately volunteered for the REV program. The war with the Antaere was only three years old at the time, and already the REVs were gaining a reputation—or at least that’s what the news broadcasts relayed. They were the new special forces, the new supermen of the Corps. What they didn’t tell you was that once you passed all the screening procedures and could tolerate NT-4—the Rev drug—you were hooked on it for life. There was no going back. Whether you had a combat dosage or on a maintenance regime, Rev would be a part of your life until the end. And unfortunately, the end came much sooner to a REV than for the general population. Their average age was twenty-nine, with a life-expectancy of ten years or less in the field. For those who were released from the program, most came within the first two years of service. Even then, they required periodic maintenance sessions every couple of months just to keep from burning up. As far as Zac knew, no REV had ever retired from the Corps after doing his twenty. No REV had survived long enough to reach that milestone.

Rev caused the body to run at higher levels, levels unsustainable without the strengthening effects of the drug itself. NT-4 was both the cause and cure, and without it, all REVs would die.

All except those who somehow began to produce a version of the drug naturally within their bodies, people like Zac and Angus. It was a mystery why this happened, but apparently it had been going on for some time, even though Zac wasn’t aware of it. That was the purpose of his trip to Dr. Cross’s research facility in the Rockies. As the lead scientist for the REV program, Cross was just as anxious to learn the truth as was Zac.

“Did you ever think we’d be here again?” Angus asked. He seemed particularly introspective since arriving back on Earth eight hours ago.

“Not in a million years,” Zac answered honestly.

After six-months of Marine training and a year of REV screening, Zac had been shipped off the planet to go fight the Antaere. He returned a year later for a checkup but was then sent right back out. That was the last time he was on Earth, and during none of his time in the service was he allowed to wander free among the general population. That was something a REV didn’t do.

“I’m not quite sure how to handle all this,” said Angus. “It’s almost like we’re normal again.”

“Yeah, except the one-hundred-eight-degree body temperature and blood pressure at two-hundred over one-fifty, we’re just like everyone else.”

Angus didn’t smile at the snide joke. “I didn’t realize how different everything was until now.”

Zac knew what he meant. Like most young men, Zac had once dreamed of a full life on his home planet, with a wife, kids, and a house…even a dog. He liked dogs. He enjoyed being outside and even envisioned mowing the lawn between tinkering in his workshop. He wanted to travel—but not to the stars—at least not initially. That was something that had been introduced to humanity eight years before he joined the Corps, thanks to the Antaere.

Zac still had a year to go in high school when the war began. There was a lot of turmoil on the planet after that, as believers in the Order clashed with those who weren’t. Eventually, the aliens left the planet and a tense standoff developed between the remaining Human worshippers and those fighting the Antaere. Agreements were drawn up allowing the followers to remain on the planet and practice their religion, just as everyone else had a right to practice theirs. But they were not to interfere with the war effort. If they did, the Order would be banned from Earth for good.

Zac was young and impressionable at the time and fell for the glamour of fighting an evil alien race in outer space and on distant exotic worlds. He wanted to challenge himself—to become all he could be—so the Marines became his calling. And there were no Marines tougher than the REVs. At the time, there were only eighty active REVs operating in the Grid, and Zac Murphy was determined to become one of them.

With relative ease he passed the initial screening, meaning he didn’t die or go crazy after the first injection of the drug. From there he moved on, graduating from the program at twenty-one and joining the fleet as an 0351-A: combat infantryman-enhanced, basic level.

He wasn’t sure why he didn’t become more upset once the reality of the program became obvious to him. It was nothing like he’d been promised. Zac was hardly the hero, and more-often-than-not, was sequestered away somewhere within a huge battle-carrier and treated more like a novelty than a member of the crew. Whether the drug suppressed his depression or not, he never knew. Being alone and isolated became a way of life and he accepted it without complaint.

Sure, he was honored occasionally by the Marines he worked with, but that was usually after a Run, where a lot of their lives had been saved by his mad killing spree against the alien enemy. Although he had a common tie with his fellow REVs, he developed no friendships or lasting relations. He wasn’t allowed to. REVs were unpredictable and dangerous, especially when two of them got together for any extended period. It was the whole alpha-male thing, driven by instinct and animal pheromones. Fortunately, the NT-4 formula had been tweaked over the past several years, reducing a lot of the primal competition between the men. But before then, one crossways look by one REV to another would often result in a spontaneous fight to the death, and anyone caught in the middle became collateral damage.

That had been Zac’s life for the past fifteen years. He now held the distinction of being the longest-living REV in the Corps—ever. Angus Price was number three.

The fact that two of the most-senior REVs in the service could be occupying the same space at the same time was a testament to the changes they’d gone through recently. Without as much synthetic NT-4 residing in their bodies—replaced by the natural form of the drug their bodies were producing—the near-constant irritation that caused REVs to cascade over the edge was gone. They were calmer, more in control. Although their bodies had easily three to four times the strength of a normal man, they didn’t show it or feel the need to always act on their emotions. To an outside observer, both Zac and Angus looked like everyone else. And to some people, that was the problem.

The small window between the van’s cab and the back compartment slid open and one of the drivers—Sergeant Jamie Owens—turned his head toward the passengers.

“Hey, we’re going to stop in Truckee for lunch. You guys have a preference?”

“Steak!” the REVs replied in unison.

Owens recoiled slightly. “Okay…steak it is.” He turned to the driver, another Marine sergeant named Ryan Cox.

“Anthony’s…gotta be Anthony’s,” Ryan said.

Owens turned back to the window. “We know a great place; best steaks in the Sierra. You guys must be hungry.”

With the high metabolism of the REVs, they were always hungry, and for high-protein foods…like steak. “Yeah, I could eat,” said Zac, trying to tone down his previous outburst.

“Me, too,” replied Angus.

“Great. Be there in about twenty.”

Zac and Angus looked at each other. There was worry on their faces. This would be the first civilian restaurant they’ve eaten at in over ten years….

8

Zac was amazed at the changes that had taken place in the High Sierra town of Truckee. All the surrounding slopes were covered in housing, although most were aesthetically integrated into the thick pine forest, preserving much of the ambiance of high mountain living. The population sign coming in on I-80 indicated seven hundred eighty thousand people lived in the area, which was incredible. The metropolitan area must extend all the way along Highway 89 to Tahoe City, Zac thought.

Sergeant Cox pulled the dark blue van off the freeway through one of the exit portals and onto a surface street. Most parts of mountain freeways were covered in long plastic domes to protect against the elements. It was found covering the highways cut down on the need for snowplows and helped speed traffic along the road. They were just being installed when Zac left the planet.

The parking lot for Anthony’s Steak ‘N Stuff was in the open and had been cleared of a recent snow fall earlier that morning. There weren’t a lot of cars in the lot; the restaurant catered more to the dinner crowd than for lunch. Even so, Zac’s heightened senses could detect from a half mile away the savory fragrance of meat cooking on a flame grill.

The exterior of the restaurant retained the rustic look of a log building, with a peaked entranceway lined in rough timbers and dotted with pine cones. The theme was carried inside, with wood-paneled walls and seating made of thick, well-worn burgundy leather. Both Zac and Angus paused as they entered, taken aback by simultaneous flashbacks to a distant past. The restaurant was both familiar, yet strange, at the same time.

“You guys okay?” asked Sergeant Owens.

“Yeah, maybe just a little lightheaded from the altitude,” Zac lied. Their two escorts were oblivious to their true identities. To them, they were just a couple of Marines in civilian clothes being driven to Colorado. Beyond that, they knew nothing. No one asked their names, and no one volunteered the information.

The cute, young blonde at the wooden hostess podium fumbled a stack of menus, gawking at the two REVs. The men were both over six-feet-tall, with sharply chiseled jawlines, extremely broad shoulders and impossibly thin waists. They each had deep blue eyes that conveyed both confidence and strength. And while Angus kept his head shaved, Zac had a crop of short, curly black hair that glistened in the overhead lighting.

“Eh, will that be two for lunch?” the hostess stammered.

“No, it will be four for lunch,” Owens corrected, frustrated by the fact that he and his partner were invisible in the presence of their two hunky passengers.

“Of course, sorry. Please follow me.”

There weren’t a lot of people in the restaurant, but Zac could still feel the eyes of the patrons on them as they were led to a circular booth at the far corner of the room. Zac slid in, with Angus next to him, while the other two Marines sat on the other side, with Owens next to Zac.

Two equally young and attractive waitresses rushed to the table.

“This is my station, Stacy.”

“You’re on break.”

“I’m off it now.”

“Since when?”

“Hey ladies,” said Ryan Cox. “Can we get something to drink while the two of you sort it out?”

The women glared at each other until Stacy sulked away.

The winner of the contest turned to the table—or more correctly—the left side of the booth.

“I’m Connie, and I’ll be happy to serve you. Are you guys passing through, or are you staying for a while?”

“Just passing through,” Angus answered.

“From Sacramento or Reno?”

“Fairfield, actually.”

“Travis!” Connie exclaimed. “I’ve been there before. In fact, I go down there quite often. Is that where you’re stationed?”

“Excuse me, Miss, but can you take our drink orders? We’re kinda in a hurry,” said Owens.

“Oh, sure. Cool.”

The drivers ordered beers, while Angus and Zac ordered Pepsis. They hadn’t had a domestic Pepsi in years and were curious to see if it tasted the same as the shipboard variety.

“Can you give us a minute to look over the menu?” Owens asked.

“Cool. I’ll be right over there. I’ll get your drinks, then just let me know when you’re ready to order.”

The girl moved away, to be joined immediately at the waitress station by a still angry Stacy. The two women began jawboning as Connie quickly prepared the drinks.

“What the hell is it with you two?” Owens snapped.

“Yeah,” Ryan joined in. “You look like a couple of poster boys for the Marines.”

“Or the REVs,” said Jamie Owens jokingly. Zac and Angus tensed.

“Fucking REVs,” said the other driver. “They’re costing us the war.”

“Not all of them,” Jamie countered.

“You know my brother almost died on ES-8,” Ryan pointed out. “Now all the land we’ve gained is being turned back to the Qwin. A lot of people fought and died for what we had, the operable word being had.”

“You can’t blame the REVs for everything.”

Cox pouted, his rant interrupted by Connie with the drinks.

“Are you ready to order?” she asked Angus and Zac.

“Steak,” Zac said, flashing a smile that nearly caused the young woman to faint. “Two of your biggest.”

“Two?” she asked, frowning.

“Yeah, I’m really hungry.”

“Same for me,” said Angus.

“And what would you like with that?”

Now Zac frowned. “With it?”

“Yeah, it comes with a baked potato, coleslaw or fries. And you also get a house salad with the meal.”

Zac was confused. Anytime he ordered steak on the ship they only brought him steak, and usually four or five huge slabs. It took a lot of calories to support a REV.

“I’ll have the potato.”

“With everything on it?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Cool.”

“Make that two,” said Angus.

“And how would you like your steaks?”

“Rare, or medium rare,” said Zac, beginning now to recall memories from his past.

Angus nodded.

Connie flashed the two REVs a warm smile and turned away.

“Hey, wait!” said Sergeant Cox. “We’d like to order, too.”

Embarrassed, Connie turned back to the table and smiled. “Sorry. And for you….”

* * *

Stacy ended up helping Connie with the serving, placing four plates of twenty-ounce steaks with baked potato in front of the REVs. Their escorts ordered a burger and a BLT, and now sat with their mouths agape, staring at the massive amount of food filling the bulk of the table.

“I guess you guys were hungry,” said Ryan Cox. “You know, that’s over a hundred adjusted dollars, just for lunch.”

Zac and Angus panicked.

“Shit!” said Zac. “We don’t have any money.”

The drivers recoiled. “What the hell do you mean you don’t have any money?”

“We came right off the ship and haven’t had time to call up our accounts. We have money, just not on us.”

“I hope you’re not expecting us to pay for this?” said Owens. “We’re just a couple of E-5s and broke most of the time. Besides, that was really stupid of you not to bring any cards with you.”

“Do you have a phone?” asked Zac. “I can make a call.”

“To who, your investment banker?”

“No, our superior officer. He can straighten things out.”

Owens handed Zac his phone. Zac looked at the thin rectangular object with the blank screen and frowned.

“Where the fuck have you guys been?” Jamie snatched the phone from Zac’s hand and turned it on. He pressed a few buttons and handed it back to the REV. “Just say or punch in the number.”

David Cross had provided an emergency contact number before the REVs landed, in case plans had to be changed on the fly. This wasn’t exactly a change of plans, but it was an emergency.

“I don’t know what the big fuss is about,” said Sergeant Cox. “The girls will probably just comp your meals if you can’t pay for them.”

“And then take you in the back to work it off,” Jamie added, with envy in his tone.

Zac punched in the number. Cross answered almost immediately. After explaining the situation, the doctor growled at Zac, telling him to give the phone to the escort.

“Sergeant Jamie Owens here, sir.”

Owens’ mouth fell open as he listened in silence to the voice on the other end of the line. A few moments later he disconnected the call.

“What did he say?” Cox asked.

“The money’s being transferred to my phone. I’ll pay for the meals.”

“Is that it? You look pale.”

“That was some colonel, and he’s really pissed. We’re not to let the men out of the van from here on out.”

“They’re prisoners? No one told us!”

“They’re not prisoners, just that we can’t have them running around outside the van.”

“Why not?”

“Because the fucking colonel said so, that’s why!”

“What if we have to take a piss?” Zac asked, displaying a thin smile.

“Then hold it! I’m not risking my career over a couple of pretty boys who don’t know their asses from a hole in the ground. I guess what they say is true: beauty and no brains.” He looked at the still uneaten steaks. “Hurry up; we gotta get back on the road as soon as possible.”

9

The two Marine sergeants traded driving duties, and except for a stop at a MacDonald’s drive-thru in Salt Lake City, they didn’t stop again before reaching Colorado Springs.

Zac was still in a state of ecstasy from the French fries, asking for the drivers to stop for refills at every MacDonald’s they passed along the way. The drivers refused.

The van pulled up to the main gate at the Peterson Space Operations Base and was immediately surrounded by MP’s. Zac and Angus were taken out and placed into another vehicle—a long limousine with blacked out windows. The drivers were also escorted away, to be debriefed at the security station. The limo pulled away for the final leg of the REVs’ journey to Cheyenne Mountain.

* * *

It was still a hike outside of Colorado Springs to reach the huge mountain complex known as Cheyenne Mountain. It had been carved out of solid rock over one hundred forty years ago and had once teemed with over fifteen hundred military and civilian personnel. As the headquarters for NORAD, it had been built under two thousand feet of granite and housed fifteen, three-story buildings riding on a system of springs designed to protect the structures against nuclear attack and earthquakes. It was also hardened to withstand an electromagnetic pulse, as well as a thirty-megaton nuclear explosion outside the main entrance.

But for all its standout features, the facility couldn’t survive the peace dividend. The main functions and commands were moved to nearby Peterson Air Force base back in 2006, and then it was completely shuttered in late 2032.

A year ago, a small startup company paid five million adjusted dollars for the facility and set to work making improvements. It took eight months to complete the upgrades, which only covered about a third of the buildings. It was now one of the most advanced medical research facilities in the world, and no one other than a relative few military personnel and politicians knew about it.

After an automatic gate swung open giving entry, the limousine pulled along the access tunnel to a large receiving area and deposited its passengers. It sped away before anyone came to greet them.

Zac watched as the twenty-five-ton blast door at the North entrance cycled open and two huge guards appeared, each carrying what looked to be oversized Tasers. Twenty yards away—inside the complex—was a second security door. He looked at Angus and shrugged. It took a lot to make a REV nervous and surveying the imposing structure and vault doors was doing the trick. If any place could hold a REV, this would be it. Zac wasn’t sure if he was reporting to a medical facility…or to a prison.

The tall, slender figure of Dr. David Cross came rushing through the far doorway toward the pair of REVs. He was in excellent shape for a man nearing sixty, and had the smooth, bronze skin of someone thirty years his junior. Only his silvery hair gave away his age, and certainly not the way he carried himself or the sense of strength his fit body exuded.

“I am so sorry,” he called out. “No one told me your exact schedule, just that you would be here in an hour or so. I would have been here to greet you outside if I’d known the exact time.”

Cross was dressed in khakis with the silver eagle of a full colonel on the collar. Zac was relieved to see he wasn’t wearing a lab coat with the ubiquitous stethoscope dangling from around his neck. That would have been too much of a stereotype. Both REVs had known the doctor for their entire careers, with most of the contact back in the early days of their training. Recently, however, Cross had been out in the fleet, monitoring Zac after discovering he was producing natural NT-4. Zac also felt the good doctor was partially responsible for the time he’d spent on the prison planet Eliza-3, contending with the erratic weather and deadly beasts before being shipped off to Camp Slater on ES-6. He and the other four REVs testing positive for natural NT-4 only spent a couple of weeks on the planet before heading out on their fateful mission to the Temple of Light on Iz’zar. Cross had been on his way to the Camp at the time to conduct further studies on the team but missed them. By the time the mission ended in disaster, Cross was gone, with the Camp disbanded and the training and medical personnel running for their lives ahead of a violent native uprising.

Cross had arranged for the surviving members of the team to be secretly transported to Earth. Only Zac and Angus made it. Don and Kyle were trapped on another world out in the Grid and would be for the foreseeable future.

* * *

Zac had to say he wasn’t very impressed with the Cheyenne Mountain facility. He’d spent a lot of time in caves and underground tunnels—mostly carved out by the Antaere. This one was crude, dark and smelled of mildew. It also had a unique design. Huge caverns had been cut out of the granite, and within them were placed fifteen service buildings, resting on thick springs. Although some of the structures were set within alcoves in the rock walls, none touched the stone. They were freestanding buildings, and ugly things to boot. They had once been painted white, but after decades of neglect, rust was a more apt description of the color. Dr. Cross had taken over the facility a year ago, but it was obvious he was more concerned with the functionality of the site over aesthetics.

“Come along, gentlemen,” said Cross. “Let’s get you settled in.”

Zac stepped up to the senior officer. “Sir, the whole Temple of Light mission was a setup,” he announced. “It was a sham, designed for us to fail. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Qwin destroyed their own temple—”

“Please, lieutenant, let’s save this subject for a future discussion,” Cross said, turning serious. “There’s a time and place for these things.”

“Of course, sir.”

The various buildings in the complex once had other functions, but now they served Cross and his medical team. Zac and Angus were led to the first of four buildings set within three long corridors that had been converted to barracks. The medical team lived at the site most of the time, parking their cars in the vast underground labyrinth and with only passive security on the outside. To the casual observer, the complex would appear to be mainly vacant, with only a token maintenance crew in attendance. That was intentional. This was a secret facility, and Cross was going to keep it that way.

The huge, three-story barracks buildings were connected to the others by small walkways and segregated into individual rooms. The REVs were each given private suites, complete with separate bathrooms and sitting areas. There were no kitchens, so everyone had to eat at the communal mess hall. The medical staff—of which there were forty-eight—had shared rooms, two people for each. And much like the makeup of the staff at Camp Slater, there seemed to be eighty-percent females to males, with a noticeable predominance of good-looking women; young, healthy and vigorous. The security staff bunked in another part of the complex.

Zac and Angus arrived on Earth with nothing except the clothing they wore. Not even a toothbrush had made the trip. To his relief, Zac found laid out on the bed three sets of khaki uniforms, a pair of white tennis shoes, two dark blue t-shirts and various other items of underwear and toiletries. Cross gave each man an hour to get settled in before he wanted to meet them at his office. He left a small diagram on how to get there and then left them alone.

Zac stripped down and took a long, hot shower. The suite was by far the nicest accommodations he’d had in a while and he was going to make the most of it. He was hungry, but that would have to wait until after the meeting with Cross.

As expected, the uniforms fit him to a tee; they even had the single gold bar of a 2nd Lieutenant already affixed. The tennis shoes looked a little odd with the casual uniform, but he didn’t complain. Forty-five minutes later he was out the door and exploring the complex on his way to the doctor’s office.

The corridors were exceedingly large—forty-five feet across and ninety feet high. There was a maze of pipes and electrical conduits running along the ceiling, held in support brackets every twenty feet or so. The rough granite walls glistened with moisture and the asphalt roads were lined with tiny streams of constant runoff. It was cold in the huge chamber, but not excessively so. Zac found it refreshing.

He followed the crude map to a long metal stairway that climbed up the side of the cavern to a doorway at the top covered by a peaked canvass awning. There was a star insignia on the awning, signifying that this had once been the office of the commanding general of the complex at one time during its long history. Cross hadn’t bothered changing out the insignia.

Angus was waiting inside the anteroom, appearing just as impressed as was Zac when he entered. If anything, Cross liked his creature comforts, and this was obvious by the clean, modern look of his outer office. He’d spared no expense when designing the room. There were polished tile floors, soft, off-white walls with tasteful objets d'art placed on floating shelves, along with an assortment of futuristic furniture looking pristine and hardly used. A pleasant-looking, middle-aged receptionist sat at a large teak desk, behind a computer keyboard and video monitors fully integrated into the overall design of the room.

The woman greeted Zac and told him Dr. Cross would be with them in a minute. She asked if he wanted something to drink. He declined.

David Cross opened the door to his office a moment later, greeting the two REVs with a warm, genuine smile. Zac remembered the video conference he had with the doctor on the trip from Eliza-3 to Camp Slater, and the abrupt change of personality he witnessed. For all the time he’d known Cross he’d always come across as a nerd—brilliant, but goofy. In the blink of an eye, the man turned vicious and assertive, the forceful nature of his voice and demeanor a complete surprise. It had come on so suddenly and with conviction that Zac felt he was seeing the real Dr. David Cross for the first time, and his portrayal of the stereotypical nerdy scientist was just a façade. This would be Zac’s first face-to-face meeting with Cross since the revealing broadcast. He was curious to see if his hunch was right.

“Gentlemen, please have a seat,” Cross offered. He moved behind his desk and leaned back in a high-backed leather chair, scanning the faces of the two senior REVs. “I have so much to learn from the two of you,” he said.

“Forgive me, sir, but is this the time to talk about what happened on Iz’zar? It’s great that you want to study us, but right now we have all the known galaxy after us. Shouldn’t that be our priority?”

“I understand your concern, lieutenant, but I can guarantee you’re safe here in the complex. And as I learn more about the process of the NT-4 mutation, I’ll be able to go to others and explain how unique you are, and how the last thing they would want to do is turn you over to the Antaere.”

“But the whole thing was a setup, sir. We were played from beginning to end. We have to prove we didn’t do anything wrong.”

“And how do you propose to do that?”

Zac looked at Angus. They had discussed the subject at length during the trip to Earth. “General Smith,” Zac announced. “He’s the one who gave us the assignment. And he had to get the information from somewhere. I say we track him down and find out who told him about the Final Corollary.” Zac unbuttoned his shirt and pulled out a folded sheet of yellowed paper. He opened it and set it on Cross’s desk.

“Is that what I think it is? And you had it stuffed inside your shirt this whole time…and folded. You know how rare this document is?”

“I don’t think so, sir. I think it’s a forgery.”

Cross took the sheet and scanned it. “You know I can’t read Antaere.”

“It says all the believers of the Order will be treated equally at the Final Glory, the time of unification for all life in the universe,” Zac helped. “That’s the opposite of what we were told it would say. It was supposed to make the Antaere look like genocidal maniacs, bent on killing everyone but themselves at the time of the final unification. It was supposed to be the final nail in their coffin, proving to all their alien followers what the Antaere really think about them. It was supposed to turn all the colonies against them and to our side. Instead, this document makes everything out to be a kumbaya-moment of universal peace and love. And then about the temple, I swear to god we heard explosions going off—”

“That was said to be buckling support members.”

“Yeah, but it was a dome. There aren’t a lot of support beams holding it up. And Mike’s tiny airplane couldn’t have caused enough damage for the whole thing to collapse like that. You take that—plus how wrong the source was about the Corollary—and it all adds up to a setup. We’re innocent, sir, and we need to prove it.”

Cross was shaking his head. “I haven’t heard from General Smith since he abandoned Camp Slater. And with how confusing things are in the Grid he could be anywhere.”

“We have to try.”

“And you will. Just not now.”

“Bullshit…sir!”

That look of steely strength returned to Cross’s face, the same as Zac had seen on the video screen aboard the transport ship to ES-6. This time, however, the doctor maintained his composure, even as his grey eyes bore into Zac’s.

“We have priorities, lieutenant, and for the time being, I set them. Your job is to submit to all the damn testing I deem necessary and for as long as I say. After I’ve squeezed every ounce of information from the two of you, then I might consider letting you go off on your quest for redemption, which will likely result in your getting caught and dealt with by others who don’t understand your true value. I cannot have that happen, not before I have my data. You’re too important. Is that understood?”

“Perfectly, sir,” said Gunnery Sergeant Angus Price.

“And you, Lieutenant Murphy?”

“Yes, sir, but will you at least let us do research while we’re here? General Smith has to be somewhere.”

“I will, once the panels begin. Right now, I need your undivided attention.”

“Yes sir.”

“And speaking of the panels, they start tomorrow morning,” said Dr. Cross. “Unlike at Camp Slater, we will dispense with all the unnecessary military training and concentrate only on your medical condition. It’s vital that we establish baselines compared to the others—”

“The others?” asked Zac. “I thought Gunnery Sergeants Ross and Johnson were stuck off-planet?”

“They are. I refer to the other positives we have at the facility.”

“What others…sir?”

Cross appeared reluctant to answer. Then: “You’re going to find out eventually,” he said with a sigh. “We have six other REVs who have tested positive to natural NT-4.”

Zac did the math in his head. There were only nine advanced REVs of Zac’s caliber—the 0351-Charlie’s. Five had been on his team, and with Mike Brickey and Arturo Garcia dead, that meant most of these new naturals had to come from the junior ranks.

“That would mean the Bravos are testing positive.”

“That’s right.”

“But I thought the mutation was a result of prolonged use of the drug?”

David Cross sighed. “And that’s why we need the studies, Mr. Murphy. At first, we thought it was tied to the dosage a subject has received over time. Now…not so much. It could be a combination of that, plus the body’s natural susceptibility to the mutation. To date, six of the Charlie’s have tested positive, leaving three who haven’t. All the subjects we have here—other than you two—are Bravos.”

“What’s the youngest?” Angus asked.

“Eight years, nine months in the program.”

Zac had over fifteen years of NT-4 injections under his belt, yet here was a REV with a little more than half as many, and he was testing positive. That destroyed any of the previous theories regarding cause and effect. Considering this latest information, Zac decided to cut Cross some slack. He could understand how a man of the doctor’s intellect and longevity with the program would be desperate for answers. Was the mutation something nearly all REVs would eventually experience? If so, then that would change the program forever. And probably not for the better.

“I understand now, sir. We’ll do our best to help.”

“Good.” Cross stood. “Now, go find the mess hall and get something to eat.” He smiled, the nerdy scientist back once again. “As REVs, you’re always hungry, so eat up. It’s on the house.”

10

As the pair entered the open bay bottom floor of Building Nine—that served as the mess hall—Angus recognized one of the nurses from Camp Slater, sitting by herself. He hustled over with Zac in tow.

“Sylvia, it’s great to see you.”

The woman looked startled and embarrassed.

“Angus, I…I didn’t know you would be here,” she stammered. “The last I heard you were out in the Grid somewhere.”

“I’m here now. You remember Lt. Murphy, don’t you?”

“Of course, sir. You’re Olivia’s friend. She’s here, too, by the way.”

Zac felt his pulse quicken—a mild form of cascading for a REV. If there was anyone in the galaxy Zac considered he had a relationship with, it was the internist Olivia Contreras. They’d known each other for over four years, hooking up on occasion when the time was right. She was an amazing woman, and in another life, she would have been the one. But with his erratic REV lifestyle, a long-term relationship was out of the question.

Angus gasped when he glanced down and saw the prominent bulge in Sylvia’s belly. She noticed his shocked expression.

“Yeah, it came as a surprise to me, too,” she said.

“Is it mine?” Angus blurted out, immediately embarrassed by his reaction.

“Pretty sure,” Silvia said with sarcasm.

“I thought…I thought we used protection.”

“I did too, but I guess your REV-enhanced swimmers had other ideas. Don’t worry; Dr. Cross has offered to let me work here through the birth. He’s also setting up a support program for me and the others, including a monetary stipend and childcare.”

“The others?” Zac asked.

“Yeah, it seems that for the brief time you guys were at Camp Slater, you were busy. Six of the women are pregnant. Dr. Cross has all of us here.”

Zac was afraid to ask, but Silvia could see the panic on his face. “Relax, lieutenant, Olivia isn’t one amongst the mothers-to-be.”

Zac pursed his lips. He had no response, other than to point awkwardly toward the serving line, pause a moment, and then walk away. Angus slipped onto a seat across from Silvia. Zac would let them talk in private.

So, Olivia was here; that suddenly changed his impression of the quasi-prison he found himself in. That also meant Dr. Arnie Patel might be here, as well. He had been Zac’s doctor aboard the battle-carrier Olympus at the time it was discovered his body was producing its own form of NT-4. Zac considered him a friend and a confidant. If he was here, Arnie could be a source of information, information Dr. Cross would be reluctant to disclose….

Zac took a plate of various cooked meats to an empty table and dug in. He had to relax and accept things as they were. He was safe—at least for the moment—and as a REV, he was used to doctors poking and prodding his body. This would be no different. But Zac was also determined not to let his quest for innocence be placed on the back burner. All the answers in the world regarding his medical condition meant nothing if he remained a pariah to both his own people and all the alien races in the Grid. Although Zac wasn’t the most sensitive guy around, he still didn’t like being hated…by everyone.

11

The testing began early the next morning in Building Eight, next to the mess hall. Zac contributed every conceivable sample of bodily fluid he could, including blood, urine and even sperm. Then he was hooked up to a variety of electronic instruments to measure his heart, blood pressure, brainwaves and more. He was allowed a light lunch before hitting it again in the afternoon.

During the day, Zac met a few of the other REVs in the facility, the Bravos who inexplicitly had begun producing their own NT-4. He didn’t know any of them, although they of knew him. For years, Zac Murphy had been held up as an example to many of the REVs who questioned their decision to join the program, especially after the mortality rate was disclosed. They’d say, “Look at Murphy. He’s been doing it a lot longer than you and he’s still going strong. Just live through the next mission—and the next—and pretty soon you’ll be just like him.”

The men eyed him with suspicion—or what Zac took as suspicion. They seemed to be blaming him for their situation, either because of the Temple of Light incident or for the natural NT-4 in their blood stream. Zac shrugged it off. He knew neither was his fault.

It took nine hours of constant testing before his day was over and he was dismissed.

When he returned to his room, he found Olivia Contreras sitting on the floor of the hallway, waiting for him. They embraced warmly before entering his room.

“So, we meet again?” she said without humor.

“It’s almost like we were destined to be together.”

Olivia sat in a utilitarian chair in the outer room, while Zac sat on the couch. Without a kitchen—or even a mini-refrigerator—he couldn’t offer her anything to drink. There was a moment of awkwardness before Olivia started the conversation.

“Has your system changed enough that they may let you live out a normal life from now on?”

“I honestly don’t know,” Zac replied. “But even if they did, until I get this Temple of Light thing sorted out, it would be a very short normal life, whatever the hell that means?”

Olivia nodded. She had been at Camp Slater when the mission was first assigned, although he told her it was a shake-down assignment for his new team of REVs—the first of its kind. He didn’t tell her they were going out to potentially win the war for the good guys.

Unfortunately, the mission turned out just the opposite.

“How long have you been here?” he asked, trying to fill the silence.

She blew out a big puff of air from her mouth. “Let’s see, a month…maybe. Arnie’s here—of course—as is that asshole Jack Diamond. He seems to think I like him. He won’t leave me alone.”

“Now that I’m here, maybe he’ll back off,” said Zac with a wicked grin.

“He outranks you, so don’t count on it.”

Zac smiled. “Yeah, but I’m sure I can beat him in arm wrestling.”

“Don’t do anything stupid, okay? I can handle him.” Her eyes locked on his. “So, it’s down to the same old question: Should we, or shouldn’t we?”

“I say we do.” This time Zac’s smile was on the nasty side.

“You know what I mean. This is more than just a physical thing, and each time you run off to change the universe—for good or bad—I’m left worrying about you, while realizing we really don’t have a future together.”

“It’s different now, Olivia. Eventually, Cross is going to take all the blood samples he can, and he’ll let me go. And I’m bound and determined to clear my name of the temple debacle. After that, it’s adios Marines. They’ve taken about as much from me as I’m willing to give.”

Olivia wasn’t swayed by the speech.

She shook her head. “Another duty station and a few more stolen moments.” She shrugged. “Momma said there’d be days like this. I just didn’t think they would turn into a lifetime.”

She rose to her feet…and began to slowly unbutton her blouse.

12

After another two days of testing and drawing samples, Zac and Angus were taken to another room, where they found an impressive-looking padded exam chair, a bank of sophisticated electronic equipment and a pair of lab-coated operators seated at consoles. Cross was there as well, along with two male attendants standing back, waiting for something to happen. The intelligence officer, Col. Jack Diamond was there, too. Zac felt his body cascade slightly. Although Zac suspected Cross had something to do with his imprisonment on Eliza-3, he was sure of Diamond’s involvement. The officer had gloated about it to him, implying—not so subtly—that Zac was too dangerous to be allowed anywhere near civilized society. To him, the senior REV was a wild animal, better locked away or put down.

The two men eyed each other with intensity but held their tongues. If the colonel was to remain at the facility, they would run into each other again. And for Zac, he hoped it would be in one of the secluded offshoot tunnels. After that, it would be a miracle if Diamond’s body was ever seen again.

“Okay, this you’re not going to like,” David Cross announced to the REVs, which included Zac, Angus and one of the Bravos. “We’re going to monitor your cascading ability.”

“How are you going to do that?” Zac asked.

Cross gave him a sheepish grin. “We’re going to shock the hell out of you.”

“What do you mean?” asked Staff Sergeant Steven Fowler. The REV was a nine-year veteran of the program yet was already testing positive to natural NT-4. The baby-faced, blond-haired man looked nervous at the prospect of being artificially made to cascade.

“Don’t worry, son, we have Twilight and a team standing by if anything accelerates beyond tolerances.” Cross nodded at the two stoic attendants. “Why don’t we start with Mr. Murphy? He seems to have the most control over his emotions.”

“I don’t know where you got that idea?” Zac said as he slid onto the huge exam chair. It looked like a dentist’s chair, except for the proliferation of security buckles and straps for his legs and arms.

Zac was strapped in and electrodes attached to his chest and forehead.

“We’re going to give you a series of jolts to see how high we have to go to get a response,” Cross explained. “I’m sure you’re aware that once your body cascades, the pain will go away. We don’t want you to suffer, but we do need to know the theoretical activation level. You won’t be taken all the way up, so you can relax.”

“I haven’t been activated in nearly a year,” Zac said. “I’m not even sure if I can be anymore.”

“Again, we’re not looking full activation, just to test the control you have over the cascading.” Cross turned to the equipment techs then back to Zac. “You ready?”

“As I ever will be.”

Cross reached over and placed a tooth guard in his mouth. “Just in case,” he said, displaying that same sheepish grin that had become his trademark, false or otherwise.

If the first shock was only a light measuring jolt, then Zac was in for a long morning. He spasmed and bit down on the mouthguard, feeling his eyes bulge out of his skull. The pain was incredible, but it only lasted a second before Zac’s REV defenses kicked in. He cascaded, just enough to counter the shock. However, along with his pain suppressors, his other senses heightened as well, including a tensing of his muscles. He could feel the strength coursing throughout his body—measurable, but far below that of a fully-activated REV.

David Cross was engrossed in the readings on the various monitors, huddled with the technicians. Zac relaxed, letting his emotions back off, slowly returning to normal.

“Okay…one more time.”

Zac wasn’t expecting to get hit again. This time the pain was accompanied by anger and he cascaded considerably higher. Once the sensation was gone, he forced his pulse to drop and his muscles to relax. The anger remained.

“How about a little warning next time, doc?”

“Oh, sorry,” said Cross, distracted. “We’re going to do it a third time. The readings were markedly different for each test.”

“That’s because you pissed me off with the second one.”

Cross looked at him and nodded. “Of course. Get ready, we’ll go in three…two…one…now.”

The pain was considerably less this time, either because of a lowered voltage or because he was expecting it. Either way, afterwards he was unstrapped and allowed to stagger out of the chair and to a waiting wheelchair. It was there for convenience, and a few moments later he’d regained his balance and stood up.

Cross turned to the other two REVs. “Okay…who’s next.”

Fingers pointed at the opposite REV.

“Let’s take Sergeant Fowler,” Cross said, settling the standoff. “We’ve tested a 351-C. Let’s try a Bravo this time.”

“How’d I do, doc?” Zac asked as the young REV was being strapped in.

“It will take a while to analyze the data. And then we’ll have to compare it to the others.”

“I mean, did I come close to going over the edge?”

Cross shook his head. “Not even close, lieutenant. That’s encouraging. In high stress situations, we’re hoping that the naturals don’t achieve full activation. Without backup protocols in place, that could be a problem.”

“Naturals?”

“That’s what we’re calling you, until we come up with something better.”

“How about guinea pigs?”

Cross smirked. “Yeah, that would work, too.” He turned to his next guinea pig.

Zac went to stand next to Angus. From here they could see the monitors and squiggly lines being recorded in the computers. Sergeant Fowler was nervous, and his vital signs were already elevated when Cross placed the tooth guard in his mouth.

“Try to relax, sergeant. If anything, the pain will only last a moment.”

Cross nodded to a technician.

The jolt sent Fowler’s body into a sharp, single spasm, before he relaxed and fell back on the chair. His eyes were closed and the height of the lines on the monitors were nearly off the chart.

“Relax, sergeant!” Cross called out. “It’s over.” He turned to the techs. “Dammit, drop the voltage. He can’t handle Murphy’s level.”

Fowler’s eyes opened and began shifting around the room, full of panic. A fair amount of spittle drained from the corners of his mouth and his hands were twitching.

“My apologies, sergeant,” Cross said. “We’ll lower the intensity for the next test.”

“Next test!” Fowler blurted, his speech slurred by the mouthguard. “No fucking way!”

“Relax, Marine!” said Col. Diamond. “You’ll sit there and take it.”

Cross cast an angry glare at the intelligence officer. “This is my facility, colonel. You’re here only to observe. I will conduct the tests as I see fit.”

“Then do it, colonel,” Diamond snapped back. “I need to know what it takes to make these men operational again—”

He closed his mouth suddenly.

“We’ll start over again, Fowler,” David Cross said calmly. “You’ll be better able to handle it this time.”

Before anymore protests could arise, the Marine staff sergeant was hit again. This time the jolt was much milder, and he only reacted for a second before calming down. “That was better,” he said. “Thanks.”

“We’ll continue with these tests over the next few days to see if you become conditioned to the stimulus. We’ll take it easy at first.” He looked at Col. Diamond. “After all, we’re not on anyone’s time schedule…except mine.”

13

All eight REVs at the facility were subjected to the shock test. Zac and Angus were usually paired together for the sessions, with the Bravos rotated in with them. Each time Sergeant Fowler joined them, he appeared to become more comfortable with the process. Although his numbers were always much higher than either of the senior REVs, he was learning to tolerate the jolts better.

“Please direct your attention to the monitoring equipment, Mr. Murphy,” Dr. Cross said at the start of the most recent session. Zac was already strapped in and with the mouthguard in place. “We now have a timer that will count down to the pulse.”

Not since the first session had Cross done even a verbal countdown. The REVs would simply be in the chair—and then hit. In fact, it seemed the randomness of the jolts was something Cross and the techs worked on intentionally, trying to surprise the REVs. Now they had a timer.

Zac watched the numbers click down. By the time they reached zero, his body had already cascaded, and the electric shock had no effect. Cross studied the results and smiled. He turned to Zac.

“Very good, Mr. Murphy. You can go.”

“That’s it?”

“In your case. There’s no need for further sessions. We’ve learned all we need to from this experiment. You’re able to cascade in anticipation of the event, and not just a normal increase in your bodily functions, but enough to negate the effects from a substantial shock. That was level eleven, with a considerable pain threshold associated with it. Yet you had no reaction, and unless we increase the voltage to an unreasonable level, your body will remain immune. It was as I suspected.”

“I saw it coming, that was all.”

Cross smirked, twisting his face into a question mark. “Do you wish to keep getting shocked, lieutenant?”

Zac climbed quickly from the exam chair. “No sir! Not at all.”

“Then leave. And don’t worry; we have other experiments lined up for you. You will not get bored.”

“Knowing you—sir—that was never a concern.”

* * *

Not all the experiments went smoothly. In two cases, Bravos had to be Twilighted when their bodies cascaded over the edge during shock sessions. Zac figured that was the goal, at least for the younger REVs; find out what it took to activate them, even without a dose of synthetic NT-4. Knowing that he could take some of the naturals right to the edge, where they would have maximum abilities while remaining in relative control, was Cross’s goal. Without a new mission for his two hundred four active-duty REVs, the program was destined for termination. And although Zac’s Temple of Light mission had ended in failure, having teams of near-activated REVs working together was Cross’s ultimate ambition, and closer to Dr. Clifford Slater’s dream of creating an army of so-called super-warriors.

And for Col. Diamond, as the head of a special division of galactic spies and infiltrators, he could think of several ways to keep the REVs relevant, if only for the naturals within the program.

Zac and Angus were walking along the space between Buildings Seven and Eight when they heard the shouting. It came from the dining area and involved three voices, two men and a woman. The senior REVs entered the building to investigate.

Staff Sergeant Steven Fowler had one of the huge security guards by the neck and was holding him down on a dining table. A young and attractive nurse was pulling at Fowler’s arm, trying to get him to release the other man. It wasn’t happening.

“Let him go, Steven. It was nothing!” the woman pleaded.

Zac focused on the face of the young REV. It was flushed, but his eyes hadn’t turned bloodshot. He hadn’t cascaded all the way—not yet—but from the emotions in the room, he was well on his way.

Before Zac and Angus could reach the man, another security guard entered the room from behind Fowler. He lifted the huge electric pulse weapon and triggered off a bolt. It splashed against the REV from behind, causing him to arch his back, his face now a study in angry agony.

And that’s when Zac heard it: the primal scream of an activated REV.

A moment later, the dead body of the first security guard was thrown across the room and against the far wall by a simple flick of the REV’s wrist. The second guard fired another bolt. This one had no effect on Fowler, except to draw his attention to the gunman. In a streak, the REV was on the second man and ripping him to shreds.

Zac and Angus bounded over and around tables and chairs and leapt onto the back of the REV. Their bodies had cascaded, making them stronger and quicker than they’d been only a second before. But it wasn’t enough.

Fowler dropped a shoulder, sending Angus tumbling over him and to the floor. He caught a powerful REV fist in the jaw.

A normal man would be dead by now, but not Angus. He was strong and tough—not like the activated REV—but enough to withstand the hit. How many more he could tolerate was the question.

Zac grabbed the young REV by the right arm, keeping him from delivering a second blow to Angus. The next moment, he was in the air and slamming into a metal wall, having been tossed aside with a single incredibly strong arm.

Although Fowler was fully activated, he stood and glared at the two senior REVs, who themselves were continuing to cascade, gaining strength by the second. But there was something different in the eyes of the REV. Yes, they were bloodshot, round and intense, yet they also seemed to focus on Zac for a moment. There was an acknowledgment of sorts, a slight recognition.

Then Fowler was gone, sprinting after a group of people making for the exits, drawn to the movement. Bodies were crushed and thrown aside, both women and men. By the time the young REV ran from the building, nine people were dead and two severely injured.

Zac and Angus were out the door a split second later, following the crazed killer. Neither had been on this side of the fence, and it was…upsetting. Was this how they looked to others. A not-so-subtle understanding came to Zac. REVs are dangerous, and especially now when they had the ability to activate even without a dose of NT-4.

Alarms were sounding in the underground complex. Most of the staff were experienced REV techs and trained to hide-in-place. The last thing they should do was run wildly through the corridors, attracting the attention of the REV. Still, Fowler was gone by the time Zac and Angus burst from the mess hall. There were a lot of sudden turns and corners among the thirteen buildings of the facility. He could be anywhere. Regrettably, Zac stood for a moment, waiting for the sound of a scream to guide his way.

It came a second later, forward and to the right, next to building four, one of the barracks. It was after seven in the evening, and most of the medical and security staff would be moving about the complex before settling down in their rooms. There would be plenty of panicky targets for the activated REV.

The two men ran off, having to moderate their REV-enhanced speed because of the slick, moist stone floors and the sudden turn they had to make to reach the sound of Fowler’s latest victim. It was one of the techs—Zac believed his name was Darren. He was bent in a variety of unnatural positions, with his dead eyes still opened. Zac caught a glimpse of Fowler as he turned around the corner of the building.

The fact that the REV was running away from them was an indicator that something wasn’t normal. An activated REV didn’t recognize danger, just potential targets. And he never feared them. Instead, he would rush head-long towards them, with the single-minded intent to kill. Fowler must have some of his reasoning capacity still intact, recognizing the other two REVs as a threat. And he was trying to avoid them.

Fowler entered the barracks building and sprinted up the stairway to the third level. He turned down the central hallway as Zac and Angus entered at the other end. The three REVs looked at each other. Then Fowler broke through a side doorway and into one of the staff quarters.

It was Olivia’s room.

Zac ran forward, reaching the shattered door a second later. He peered inside. Olivia was there, sitting on the edge of her bed, perfectly still. Fowler had his back to Zac and was scanning the room. There was a TV blaring and an active computer screen on a desk, with scenes cycling quickly. The REV was confused, shifting his attention between the different objects. He looked at Olivia, holding her gaze for a moment before looking away.

That’s when Zac pounced. He ran forward and tackled Fowler, pushing him forward and through the room’s only window. Both men tumbled three stories down to the unforgiving rock floor of the cavern. Neither was especially stunned or injured from the fall. Zac rolled away as Fowler jumped to his feet and turned towards him.

A cacophony of gunfire erupted all around, echoing with amplified intensity off the stone walls. The guards had dispensed with their energy weapons and resorted to dependable—and deadly—traditional high-powered rifles, which used their ballistic rounds to tear into the body of the rampaging REV.

Fowler wasn’t wearing armor, and although his body was magnitudes tougher than a normal man, a couple hundred rounds of lead was enough to rip his body to shreds. Security teams rushed forward and covered the bloody lump that had once been Steven Fowler. That’s when Zac noticed several of the rifle barrels were aimed at him.

Although he couldn’t fault the nervous guards for their precaution, it still made him mad. He was leaning on one elbow, appearing perfectly calm and with normal eyes. Yet he was still considered a threat.

“Stand down! Stand down!” said the frantic voice of Dr. David Cross. Zac didn’t turn his attention to the doctor, but kept it focused on the weapons pointed at him. He wouldn’t go down without a fight.

“Lower your weapons, that’s an order!”

The guards stared at Zac for a moment longer before obeying. No military orders would prevent the men from saving their own lives, if it came down to that.

Zac got to his feet.

“Are you all right?” Cross asked.

“Better than Fowler,” said Zac, sarcastically. “He activated all on his own, and apparently over a girl.”

Cross looked at the shattered body of the young REV. “He always was borderline.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean, sir? If he was borderline, you made him that way.”

Zac recoiled from the look Cross gave him. It was back: the savage Dr. David Cross.

Cross turned to the gathering crowd of staff and REVs. “Get back to your quarters…all of you!” He addressed the senior guard next. “Clean up this mess, lieutenant, and get me a body count and identities. And lock down the facility, full security blackout. No one goes in or out until I say so.”

Angus was at Zac’s side, his face swollen and his mouth bloody. He tried to smile but grimaced instead.

“So that’s what it’s like being hit by a REV. We should go into prize-fighting, mate. There’s a lot more money in it than what we currently do for a living.”

14

All toll, twelve people died that day, including Staff Sergeant Steven Fowler. A few hours later, Lt. Zac Murphy bounded up the metal stairs to Cross’s office, angry and determined to get some answers. The secretary could read Zac’s body language. She didn’t protest when he opened the door to the doctor’s private office, but she did get on the intercom to warn him.

David Cross was pacing along the side of his desk, shaking his head. “I don’t have time for this, Murphy. I’m trying to keep the news from leaking out. If it does, it could kill the REV program.”

“Maybe that’s not a bad thing,” said Zac.

Cross glared at him. “That’s easy for you to say. You’ll survive without the maintenance sessions; almost two hundred others won’t. Is that what you want?”

Zac returned the angry look. “Cut the bullshit, Cross. You don’t give a damn about the REVs. All you want is to continue trying to create the perfect warrior. What happened to Fowler? How could he activate so easily?”

“He was always borderline. That was obvious during the electroshock sessions.”

“That doesn’t answer the question—”

“Watch it, lieutenant. I could already charge you with insubordination.”

“And then what, drum me out of the Corps? Please do. I’ve had enough.”

The two men stared at each other. Zac didn’t detect any fear of him from the doctor. Most people cowered from an angry REV. But not David Cross.

Eventually, Cross broke the gaze and sat in his chair, motioning for Zac to take a seat on the other side of the desk. “You want answers; I’ll do my best.”

Zac sat down. “Fowler?”

“It was his level of residual synthetic NT-4 combined with his natural production. He—as well as most of the other Bravos—are much closer to activation just as a baseline.”

“That doesn’t make sense. No one has more residual Rev in their system than I do. And combined with the natural NT-4, I’m sitting at around eighteen percent total. Fowler couldn’t have had more than that.”

“He didn’t, but his body wasn’t as conditioned for the additional level the natural drug produced. In recent years, your activation dosage had to be steadily increased, even before the natural NT-4 was discovered. You’ve been building up a tolerance to the drug that the younger REVs don’t have. When you add the natural NT-4 to the Bravo’s systems, you have the ingredients for the tragedy we just experienced.”

Zac absorbed the information, but all it did was raise more questions. “But why are the Bravos producing the natural version in the first place? Have their bodies had enough time to mutate?”

“Obviously they have,” Dr. Cross answered.

“But how…why?”

Zac was expecting an answer like we don’t know. Instead he was shocked by Cross’s next statement.

“It’s the new version of NT-4.”

Zac recoiled. “What new version?”

“We call it NT-4 (e). We’ve been working on it for the past year, essentially since we discovered what your body was doing.”

“You changed the formula?”

“That’s what I just said. It may come as a surprise to you, lieutenant, but NT-4 has gone through nine major modifications since it was first introduced. With so many iterations, the next variation will officially be designated NT-5.”

“Modifications? Is that why I mutated?”

“No, you came about it naturally.”

“And the Bravos…they’re being engineered?”

“In a way, yes.”

“Twelve people died today because of your engineering.”

Cross set his jaw as a vein pulsed in his neck. “That’s the cost of progress, lieutenant. If you haven’t noticed, the REV program is on its last legs. Unless we find a new use for the REVs, we will be shut down. And after that, do you think the suits in D.C. will care about what happens to the remaining REVs? The fact that they’ll all die off without maintenance sessions would be a convenient way for the whole matter to just fade away. Yet if more of the Bravos can be converted to naturals, then I’ll have something to justify the program’s continuation.”

“As long as they don’t go berserk and start killing everyone.”

“We’re still in the infancy stage of the naturals program. There will be safeguards employed.”

Zac was still angry. He understood the logic of Cross’s argument, but it seemed just another deceitful way the REVs were being used by the military.

“All you want is your perfect weapon. If Cliff Slater was still alive, it would be different.”

Crossed slapped the surface of the desk with his hand. “Now look who’s talking bullshit,” he yelled. “Slater was embarrassed and distraught over what the REVs had become—out-of-control killing machines, a danger to both friend and foe alike. That was never his vision for the program. All I’m trying to do is turn his true vision into reality.”

“By artificially inducing a dangerous mutation in dozens of young men, a mutation they have very little—if any—control over? It’s one thing for people like me and Angus to go through it; you said it yourself, we’re better conditioned to handle it. But not the younger guys. Isn’t that obvious?”

“Like I said, we’ll have safeguards in place.”

“Like what…neuro kill-switches, ready to fry their brains if they cascade to a certain level?”

“That’s one option.”

“And of course you won’t tell them.”

“That’s only until we can rework the formula where the precautions aren’t necessary.”

Zac laughed. “Slater must be rolling over in his grave at what you’ve done to his dream.”

“His dream?” Cross was red-faced with anger. “You speak of a dream. Well, do you know what Slater’s worst nightmare was? It was you, Zac Murphy. You were his greatest disappointment, his greatest failure.”

Zac knew Dr. Clifford Slater before his death. That was long before Zac began setting longevity records within the REV population. He had considered Slater a friend.

“Bullshit,” Zac said with little conviction.

Cross continued. “Even back then, we marveled at what little adverse effect the drug had on your system. We graded the REVs, so we knew early on that if you didn’t get yourself killed-in-action, NT-4 wouldn’t do it either. Your body thrived on the drug. And with each year you survived, and each successful mission you ran, Clifford’s dream slipped farther away. The military loved the simplicity of the program…the wind-them-up and let-them-go strategy. And you helped keep that alive. What I’m doing here is moving beyond that, to something greater, not only for the military, but for mankind. Let me explain more,” said Cross, his growing anger loosening his tongue.

“You mention engineered REVs,” he began. “It may come as a surprise to you, but all REVs have been engineered to one degree or the other. The elaborate screening process at the beginning isn’t reserved exclusively to finding those who can tolerate the drug, but rather who’s genome can be altered by it. We found out long ago that NT-4 is not a drug that can be used over time without severe consequences. The DNA of those using it must be modified for the drug to become effective. That’s also the only way a person can survive. You think it’s because of the residual amount of Rev lingering in your body that gives you the ability to withstand the destructive side effects of NT-4. That’s only part of it. The body must also mutate. With you, your body has mutated not only to the point where it can withstand stronger doses of the drug, but also to where its producing a substance that has the same general benefits—and negative consequences—of the synthetic. So, you see, Lieutenant Murphy, mutation within the REVs is something that’s necessary for them to survive. We help that along through specific modifications to the formula which affect the mitochondria in the body, as well as a vector device to introduce the gene-editing substances we need.

“But it goes beyond that. In the past, performance-enhancing drugs were all the rage, however, they were often illegal, dangerous and worked over a much longer duration. We needed something that would enhance the subject immediately upon introduction. There were products that could do that, but the human body couldn’t tolerate the sudden changes they produced. That’s where gene-editing comes in. During training, all those who advanced to the second phase are subjected to the process. You thought we were simply testing your tolerances to NT-4. Instead, we were modifying your DNA to accept it and to use the drug for its intended purpose. The bottom line, Mr. Murphy: REVs aren’t only a special breed of soldier…they are an altogether different breed of man.”

Cross leaned back in his chair, relief from the rant evident on his face.

Zac was stunned by the revelation, doubting if there were more than a dozen people in the world who knew what Cross had just told him. It put the REV program in a completely different light.

“I didn’t ask to have my DNA modified so I could become a mindless killing machine—”

“Of course you did! You volunteered, just like all the others. You knew what the REVs were when you signed up.”

“Only what we were told. You made it out to be some heroic career choice, the saviors of mankind against the alien threat.”

“And that you are…or were. Yet you were so wrapped up in the machismo of the moment that you didn’t look beyond the recruitment posters. The truth was out there; you just refused to see it.”

Zac was deflated. He was fighting forces greater than himself, and David Cross seemed to have all the answers. His body—and the bodies of all the REVs—had been irrevocably altered to where NT-4 was required for life. Indeed, it was life. He was also wise enough to understand the military and political ramifications of all that had happened, now and in the past. Everyone wanted their super weapons, be they inanimate or flesh-and-blood. Cross’s path led to the continuation of the REV program, with a new breed of mankind the end result. This had always been the destiny of the REVs. Zac Murphy was only now coming to realize it.

“So, this new formula of yours, how young can it convert a REV?”

Cross studied Zac’s face and saw the surrender within it.

“We’ve seen very slight production of natural NT-4 at just over seven years. It’s very rare, however. The majority of positives are in the eight- to ten-year range. Anything younger than that and they usually cascade over early in the testing. The optimal candidate is a Charlie, of course, but so far the other three haven’t mutated, at least not to your level.”

“I’m sure you’ll keep working on them until they do.”

Cross stared hard into Zac’s eyes. “So, what happens now, lieutenant? Are we going to keep having this debate, or are we going to move on and do our jobs?”

“And what exactly is my job, colonel?”

There was a long silence before Cross answered.

He shrugged. “I have about all the data I need from you and Gunnery Sergeant Price, and if you stay here, I only see you as being more of a distraction than an asset. So, this might be a good time for me to release you to pursue your other mission.”

Zac straightened up in the chair. “You’d do that?”

Cross shook his head. “I don’t want you around to fuck up my research, so yes. And the last thing I need is for the destroyer of the Temple of Light to be captured and paraded before the news cameras. The longer you stay here, there’s more of a chance that would happen.”

“What kind of support will we have?”

The doctor continued to shake his head. “None, really. I might be able to smuggle you off the planet, just to keep you from being caught. But beyond that, my hands are tied. You’ll have to use some of that REV resourcefulness at that point.”

“Can you help get our funds released? We each have a lot in savings.” Zac asked. “We haven’t had much use for money since joining the program.”

“I’ll see what I can do. But we certainly don’t want the transactions traced back here.”

Zac stood up. He wasn’t happy with the situation, but there was nothing he could do to change reality. A lot of young REVs were going to be used to advance the ambitions of Dr. David Cross. But how was that any different from how REVs had been used from the very beginning? It wasn’t, and maybe—just maybe—some of these newly-mutated naturals would be able to transform into a version of REV that could co-exist with normal society. As far as Zac could tell, that was the only salvation for the REVs, naturals or not.

As David Cross watched Murphy leave the office, he bit his lip out of frustration. The REV was as blind as he was arrogant, failing to truly see the vision. That couldn’t be helped, and without his interference, Cross could continue cultivating the REV population for naturals.

Leaning back in his chair, he smiled. And that’s just what he was doing…cultivating his crop. He didn’t give a damn if this new breed of REV was of use to the military or not. All he needed was raw material, and they were providing him with just that. Even Murphy and Price had done their part.

All David needed was another few years to allow the mutation to take effect in more of the REVs. Because of that, the program had to continue.

Yet after Fowler’s untimely freak-out, that timeline was now in jeopardy. And Lieutenant Zac Murphy was a complication Cross didn’t need.

15

When the workers at the complex first arrived, they were required to turn over their communication devices to the security detail. A blocking chip was inserted, that during security blackouts would cut off all contact with the outside world. Then the phones were returned. The problem was not everyone turned over all their devices. At the time, many of the staff didn’t see the need for such drastic measures, preferring to keep the option open of contacting family and friends. They’d already signed non-disclosure agreements. Wasn’t that enough?

As a result, when the security alert was activated following the Fowler incident, news of the massacre still got out, and within minutes of it happening.

Senator Reece Hamilton was in Washington, D.C. at the time, having just spent an exhausting week fighting with the appropriations committee on an amendment to the House budget, which included funding for the REV program. Hamilton couldn’t care less if the program continued. All he was concerned about was the flow of cash coming in from Cross’s anonymous benefactor. But even that was becoming problematic. The demand for the REVs be turned over the Antaere had reached a fever pitch. With the war going so badly, many felt that would not only normalize relations with the colony worlds but also had the potential of saving the planet from eventual defeat and occupation by the Antaere. At this point, few people believed the war could be won, making a negotiated peace the only solution. The senator was becoming a target of those advocating saving the planet from the aliens. That was a hard position to stand against, campaign contributions or not.

The news of the bloody rampage—by a berserk REV in Colorado—spread like wildfire throughout the capital of the Union of American States. But the item that got the most attention among the military and political class was the mention of the infamous REV Zac Murphy being at the facility. However, the news was confusing. Either he had helped end the crisis or had contributed to it. In the end, it didn’t matter. The fact that he was on the planet—and at the Cheyenne Mountain Complex—was enough. Plans were set in motion to apprehend the REV, even if no formal charges had been filed. If the time came, it was better to have him in custody than not.

Senator Hamilton immediately jumped on the bandwagon, helping to coordinate the effort. Both civilian and military personnel knew their task wouldn’t be easy. Murphy was not only a REV, he was the most-senior and successful of them all. He wouldn’t be an easy target. And it wouldn’t pay for him to be killed, either. The Antaere were adamant about Zac being turned over to them alive. This went for the other REVs involved in the temple incident. But it was Murphy they wanted above all others—and alive. If anyone was going to kill the REV, it would be them.

Hamilton knew the current configuration of the mountain complex, thanks to his recent visit. He provided all the information he could, while also volunteering to lead the way, using the diversion of a personal visit to Dr. Cross to mask the presence of an assault team. If all went well, Senator Reece Hamilton could claim he led the heroic—and dangerous—mission to capture the renegade REV Zac Murphy. In the short term, that could be worth a lot more than the loss of a few hundred thousand adjusted dollars in campaign contributions. It could also be the stepping stone to even greater power and glory. And that, after all, was the ultimate ambition of the politician from California.

16

Zac was in Price’s room, watching him stuff what few belongings he had into a green canvas duffle bag. The REVs had arrived on Earth with only the clothing on their backs, but now they had a little more, thanks to the generosity of Dr. David Cross. But it wasn’t gratitude they felt when they thought of the REV doctor. Zac was still fuming over the revelations from the brief meeting he had with him three days before. He’d relayed the information to Angus Price, who now mirrored Zac’s disgust and disillusionment with the entire REV program.

“Do you think he’ll keep his word?” Angus asked.

“He just wants us gone,” Zac replied, nodding his head. “And you’ve seen the newscasts. Everyone knows about what happened here, yet the most conspicuous item missing in all of them has been any mention of us. I’m sure someone has let the word out. The fact that it’s being kept secret is what worries me the most.”

Angus stuffed the small ditty-bag with his toiletries into the duffle bag and then zipped it closed. “They’re bloody well coming for us,” he stated with certainty.

“Undoubtedly. Cross says all the arrangements to get us off the planet have been made, including a ship to get us into space. And it’s just in time, with that pompous senator due here tomorrow. His coming here is no coincidence.”

“Cross didn’t seem that concerned. I got the impression the two of them are working together, and that the senator could be coming just to get ahead of the fallout.”

Zac snorted. “Yeah, but the guy’s still a slimy politician. Who knows which way he leans from minute to minute?”

Price took the duffle bag by the handle and flung it over his shoulder. “Then let’s get going, mate. Tic-toc.”

Zac opened the door to the room…and found himself face-to-face with Col. Jack Diamond, holding an energy weapon in his hand and flanked by two security guards. He was as surprised as Zac at the situation.

Zac glanced down at the weapon and then into the officer’s grey eyes. “Are you here to give us an armed escort?” he asked sarcastically.

Diamond was nervous. For all his brashness, he knew it was him and the two guards against a pair of naturally-enhanced REVs. It was hardly a contest.

“Senator Hamilton’s entourage has just pulled into the approach tunnel,” said the Marine colonel. “He would very much like to meet the two of you.” The colonel looked past Zac to Angus, and the duffle bag he was carrying. “Going somewhere?”

“We were planning to,” Zac said with humor in his voice. “I really hope you’re not going to try to stop us, sir.” He smiled. “On second thought…please do.”

Zac could see the uncertainty in Diamond’s eyes, as well as in the nervous shifting of the guards. Three days before, a junior REV had killed eleven people with his bare hands. Was this to turn into a repeat of the tragedy?

Without warning—and in the blink of an eye—Zac snatched the weapon from Diamond’s hand and had the senior officer pressed against a wall of the hallway, held by a strong REV forearm. Angus came up behind him and smacked one of the guards across the face with his duffle bag, before pinning the other against the wall next to Diamond.

“We’re leaving,” Zac growled at the officer, their faces only inches apart. “We don’t want to hurt anyone…well, maybe you we do.” He grinned even wider.

“Release me, lieutenant!” Diamond demanded, hoping his rank would make a difference. It didn’t.

Zac pulled the colonel into Price’s room, forcing him onto the bed. The guards joined him a moment later. Angus held a weapon on the three men as Zac pulled the window blinds from their brackets and tore off the control cords. He tied the hands and legs of their captives with the thin strings, grinning widely at Diamond’s protests and ever-reddening face. Next, he ripped lengths of fabric from a sheet and tied gags around their heads.

He patted the bug-eyed officer on the top of his head. “C’mon, Mr. Diamond, admit it. This sure beats getting dead, doesn’t it?”

Zac locked the door as he and Angus left the room.

“What do you mean the senator is here?” David Cross asked. If there was anyone who had a full grasp of what was happening at the mountain complex, it was Lisa Frost, the doctor’s long-time secretary. Her worried expression told him she understood the significance of what she’d just told him: The senator’s three-limousine caravan had been passed through the outer guard station a minute before and was in the main tunnel leading to the vault doors. He would be there in less than a minute.

“He’s a day ahead of schedule,” Cross stated, both angry and confused.

“He said he found some extra time and thought he would come early.”

“Where are the REVs?”

Lisa knew he was referring to Murphy and Price. She shook her head.

“I assume in their barracks. They’re scheduled to leave in three hours. They should be packing.”

Cross handed the middle-aged woman a comm device. “You go and find them. Tell them to lay low.”

“And you?”

Cross smirked. “I’m going to meet our esteemed guest. I suspect he’s come early for a reason, and I’m hoping I’m wrong about what that reason could be.”

The two scampered down the metal stairway from the elevated office, rushing off in opposite directions at ground level.

As he hurried along, Cross triggered his communicator with the code for the security detail. “Lieutenant Harmon, send a squad to the main entrance and along the access tunnel to the buildings. Just position your men; no hostile action is authorized. I repeat, negative on any hostile action. Just have your people report what they see.”

The voice on the line sounded confused, yet compliant.

As he rushed along, Cross muttered under his breath. “I hope to Christ you haven’t done what I think you’ve done, you stupid bastard.”

17

Normally, the senator would be in either the lead car or the middle one, depending on the security protocols required. For his arrival at the Cheyenne Mountain complex, he was in the rear limo. And he wasn’t alone. There were four geared-up Army Rangers crowded in around him, filling the once-spacious interior with their bulky armor and weapons. The other two limos carried six men each, for a total of sixteen assault team members. It wasn’t a lot, considering that Cross’s security force consisted of twenty-eight men and women. And that wasn’t counting the eight REVs rumored to be in the complex. Hamilton was hoping the security guards wouldn’t get in the way. And why should they? He wasn’t coming for them. He wasn’t even coming for the junior REVs, just the two named Murphy and Price. Considering the catastrophe of three days ago, many within the complex should welcome his arrival—or more accurately—the arrival of the commandos.

Hamilton could see ahead in the dimly-lit tunnel to where the huge, twenty-five-ton security door was swinging open in anticipation of his arrival. At the last minute, the lead limo turned in the direction of the doorway and sped through. It raced to the second security door and wedged the front of the car into the opening. The second limo did the same at the first door, effectively forcing them to remain open. The assault team exited the vehicles, face-shields lowered and short-barrel, special function close-quarters-combat weapons at the ready. Each of the firearms was equipped with tranquilizer darts and Taser-like attachments. The REVs had to be taken alive. Those were the orders.

There were a few security guards on station near the main doors, also armed, but standing down and looking nervous. A few had comm devices pressed to their lips, reporting on the arrival of the commandos, but offering no resistance. Within seconds, the assault team had formed up and were rushing into the main tunnel leading to the central cavern.

Civilians in the tunnel stood back, their mouths agape, as they sought shelter from the intimidating sight. Most were waved aside by the troops, while others were invisible. The soldiers were focused on a different prize.

The five remaining Bravos in the complex wore orange jumpsuits to distinguish them from the techs and medical crew. A few were in the tunnel. The lead officer for the commandos stepped forward, recognizing them as REVs.

“We’re not here for you,” the officer announced. “Where is Murphy and Price?”

As expected, his question was met with closed mouths and stern, defiant looks. The team had more luck with the civilians, who were more than willing to point the commandos in the right direction.

Dr. Cross strode down the tunnel, ignoring the lethal commandos as they ran past. Senator Hamilton was covering their six.

“What are you doing, Reece? I thought we had a deal?”

“We did, until one of your REVs killed a bunch of civilians,” Hamilton answered, a casual smile on his tanned, plump face. “It’s getting too hot back in D.C. to blindly push your agenda. Even then, we’re only after Murphy and Price. The rest of your operation can continue.”

“They didn’t have anything to do with the killings. In fact, it was Murphy who stopped it.”

“That doesn’t matter. We’re not here because of the killings, but because the decision has been made to turn the REVs over to the Antaere.” He held up his hand to stop the coming protest. “I know, it’s all bullshit, but we need to relieve the pressure somehow. Sacrificing a couple of your obsolete REVs will do that. It’s a game, David. Everyone plays it.”

Cross looked down the tunnel. The commandos had disappeared around a corner and would be in the main cavern by now, closing in on the REVs. He had his doubts that Hamilton had enough soldiers with him. He also hoped Zac and Angus would use restraint. Any more killings would create even a greater PR nightmare than he already had.

Cross’s communicator chimed. He looked at the senator.

“I have to take this.”

Hamilton smiled. “Tell your REVs I say hi.”

He put the device up to his ear.

“They’re gone, sir,” said Lisa Foster. “Their rooms are cleaned out—we even found Colonel Diamond tied up in Price’s room.”

“Is he okay?”

“Embarrassed, and as mad as a honey badger, but he’s okay.”

“Get to security and check the monitors,” Cross whispered as he turned away from Hamilton. “They can’t get out of the complex, so they have to be somewhere. Find them.”

18

Zac and Angus spotted the commandos when they entered the main chamber and split up, leaving sentries to block off the access tunnel from the buildings. The troops surrounded Building Four and gained entry from both sides. The REVs were on the roof of the building, duffle bags strapped across their backs and ready to leap for the rectangular support brackets holding the overhead conduits and water lines. The top of the cavern was only fifteen feet above the roof at this point, and the brackets about ten. The jump was easy for the REVs, especially since the thrill of the hunt had their bodies cascading higher than normal.

Angus went first, and once he had the wet and rusty metal bar in his grasp, he swung his legs up and began to caterpillar along the cables and pipes. The tunnel ceilings had the same configuration of piping in the overhead, but that was only ninety feet off the floor. Within the huge chamber where the buildings were located, the drop was twice that. Yet the room had more of a domed ceiling, and soon the lines began to work their way closer to the floor.

By now, the REVs were behind a set of huge water tanks and hidden from the view of the troops. They dropped to the ground and ran off along a side tunnel, leading toward the three large holding ponds of fresh water.

“If I’m not mistaken, this leads farther into the mountain, not out,” said Angus Price.

“Of course,” Zac said. “I didn’t want to make our escape look too easy.”

“Seriously, where are we going?”

Zac pointed ahead, to a short ladder leading up the side of the tunnel to a closed hatchway. Both had once been painted bright red but were now rusted and moldy.

“There,” he said.

“Oh, of course. Why didn’t you say so earlier? What the bloody hell is that?”

“Relax, it’s one of the escape routes they put in when the complex was first built. It leads outside, this one along the north face of the mountain.”

“How do you know this?”

“I did my research. I like to know my options if I’m going to be stuck underground in what was once the most-secure bunker in the country.”

“And they had escape tunnels?”

“Yep.” They reached the ladder. “Can’t say much beyond that. They could all be concreted in by now for all I know.”

“That’s encouraging.”

“If so, then we fight our way out,” Zac said. “Personally, I prefer the path of least resistance.”

“Since when?”

The men began climbing. The emergency escape route was designed to be used by ordinary personnel so there was only the sliding of a rudimentary bar latch required to open the doorway. When it opened, the REVs were hit with the overpowering stench of mold, stagnant water and rotting…something, probably dead rats. It was also dark inside the chamber.

Zac reached into a side pocket of his duffle bag and pulled out a five-inch long mini-flashlight. Angus raised an eyebrow. “You came prepared.”

“One always has use for a flashlight, like now.”

The men stepped inside.

The tunnel was narrow yet tall enough for them to stand. They hurried down the wet concrete passageway until they came to another hatchway. This one required their REV strength to open, the hinges having rusted over the century-and-a-half since the door was installed.

After another minute, they came to a set of support bars placed in the wall, followed by a dark drop off straight down. Zac pointed his beam of light into the abyss. It was a shear vertical shaft easily a hundred feet down. A coiled chain ladder lay near the edge.

“This route is for exfil only. Anyone trying to get in would have to scale the walls of the shaft. It makes sense,” Zac said.

Angus lifted the metal ladder, which like everything else around them was wet and covered in rust. One end was bolted to the concrete floor.

“This should be interesting. You go first.” He tossed the ladder into the shaft and heard it uncoil on the way down, clanging loudly off the walls.

“I thought REVs weren’t afraid of anything?” Zac said.

“We aren’t. We just pretend to be.”

Angus pushed past the senior REV and began the climb down the ladder. Zac followed his progress with the light until he reached the bottom.

“I think I found what’s been stinking up the place,” he yelled up. “Looks like a raccoon crawled in here and died recently. Obviously, there’s a way out, if this thing got in.”

“Save the carcass,” Zac called down. “I haven’t had lunch yet.”

Ten minutes later, the REVs were still in the tunnel system but getting closer to the outside. They could feel a slight breeze of fresh air and the scent of pine began to dilute the pungent odor of the dead raccoon. Their heightened senses—including the sense of smell—was both a blessing and a curse. They were turning green around the gills by the time they came to a shaft of light invading the tunnel.

There was another hatchway—this one to the outside. It had broken open, leaving an eight-inch gap along one side. The door was rusted in place.

The REVs placed their shoulders against the hatch and pushed. At first it didn’t move, but when it did, it gave out the loudest, most god-awful screech imaginable, like a hundred sets of fingernails scraping across a chalkboard. The sound echoed not only within the escape tunnel, but also throughout the mountain landscape outside. Anyone within five miles would hear it. Hopefully, they wouldn’t understand the significance of the horrid squeal.

Once outside, Zac and Angus inhaled the clean mountain air of early November, cold and brisk. There was snow on the ground but confined to small patches in the shade of rocks and trees. Zac thought back to the planet Eliza-3 and the few brief weeks of winter he spent there. This was nothing compared to that. It was also Earth, his homeworld.

Zac was surprised to see a small, overgrown path leading from the hatchway down the side of the mountain. After a hundred and forty years, the way was still visible to a leveled-out area at the head of an equally overgrown dirt road. This was where emergency vehicles would meet the evacuees. It would provide the REVs with a way down the mountain. In addition, the road could be easily accessed by hostile forces, if their escape route was discovered. They would use the road for general reference but stay off the actual path for as long as they could.

The men began the descent.

19

The escape tunnels were long-forgotten aspects of the Cheyenne Mountain Complex—or at least Zac hoped they were forgotten. They had closed the escape hatch after they entered, so that should slow the discovery of their leaving. Still, it was only a matter of time before the mountain would be swarming with military, looking for the renegades.

Using their REV strength and endurance, the two men covered more territory than others could within the same time. Twenty minutes was all it took for them to scurry down the rocky slope and reach the edge of the expanded Colorado Springs metropolis. It was nearing dusk, and fortunately the REVs were dressed in appropriate civilian clothing, although now stained and dirty. They looked like a pair of construction workers returning home after a grueling day on the job.

Cross had arranged for a small starship to be waiting for them at the civilian space/airport. The facility wasn’t large, not like Denver, and it competed with the nearby Peterson Operations Center for the military traffic coming in and out of the city.

The civilian facility was also twenty miles away, on the eastern side of town.

* * *

The men walked quickly down the streets; running at REV speed would have attracted too much attention. If Cross remained silent about their plans, most of the people hunting them would concentrate on the military base. It had the routine and nomenclature most familiar to the REVs. That was the reason Cross sent them to the civilian airport.

For men of their strength and stamina, a twenty-mile hike was no problem, however, it still took them four hours to make it to the airport, having to wind through city streets and neighborhoods to get there. The city wasn’t set up for pedestrian traffic, so there was no direct route for them to take.

When they arrived, they went to the private-access airfield, rather than the crowded commercial terminals. There was security here, but the false identities and prior notice Cross had provided got them through the gate without a problem. They followed along a row of huge metal hangars, where the wealthy and sport-flyers of Colorado Springs kept their air- and spacecraft. After reaching the designated building, they entered through an unlocked door.

It was dark inside the hangar until Angus found the light switch. By the sour look on his face, he wished he hadn’t.

In the center of the large room sat a piece-of-junk starship…literally. Zac agreed they didn’t want to attract any attention, but this flying rust bucket would do just the opposite as intended, as people marveled that something so rundown and ugly could actually fly. This part of the plan hadn’t been thought through properly.

The REVs scanned the interior of the hangar for the pilot, but it was empty.

“He’s probably inside,” Angus said.

“Or he ran off for the hills when he saw what he was expected to pilot.”

Angus shrugged. “Cross said he has a rich benefactor. You would think he could’ve done better than this piece of shit.”

“One would think.”

The men moved to the entry hatch where Zac punched in the access code given to him by Dr. Cross.

The craft looked like a typical private jetliner, but with stubbier wings and the ubiquitous gravity generators bulging out of the aft end. It was about a hundred feet long with a row of portholes running along the fuselage. The dark cockpit was visible through a wrap-around window at the forward end. There weren’t any obvious gun ports, although civilian starcraft often had a few weapons hidden away for self-defense.

But what made the REVs nervous was the fact that the hull was covered in splotches of rust and gray primer, with a plethora of dents in the composite outer shell. How a private starship would acquire such dents was a mystery. Even flying through an asteroid field wouldn’t do this, since, contrary to widely held belief, these regions of space were sparsely populated by the tumbling clumps of iron and nickel. Besides, any rocky material hitting a starship would obliterate the vessel, and not simply dent the hull.

Zac shrugged as the door cycled open. At this point, everything was moot, in Zac’s opinion. The damn ship probably wouldn’t even make it out the hangar, let alone the transition into space….

And then his jaw dropped.

The doorway led directly into the ship’s main cabin and not into an airlock—that entrance was in the aft section. Instead, Zac found himself inside a luxurious central compartment with a padded carpet floor, molded leather furniture and sparkling off-white walls. It was a lounge area, designed for comfort and convenience, including fold-away tables and a small galley to the rear. A narrow corridor ran aft from the cabin, with two doors—one on each side—and a pressure hatch at the end, leading to the engine room. The ship was too small to have its own landing bay or shuttlecraft.

Angus bumped into Zac’s back, distracted by what he saw. Both men were stunned into silence.

Zac turned to his left and passed through an open pressure door that separated the pilothouse from the lounge. Angus was at his elbow, craning to get a look over his shoulder.

The cockpit was as classy as the lounge, with a pair of high-back pilot and co-pilot chairs and a sophisticated control panel spanning both stations. Monitor screens—now dark—rose above the panel, but not enough to block the view through the three-sided front window. The room was tight and compact, with additional banks of equipment lining the bulkhead to the left and right of the control stations. The command seats were heavily padded, off-white in color and made of soft leather. The waist and shoulder harnesses had shiny chrome buckles that looked as though they’d never been used. In fact, looking at the carpeted floor, not a single footprint disturbed the fibers, save those of Angus and Zac.

Considering the immaculate condition of the rest of the interior, Zac didn’t think anything of it. Someone could have just vacuumed the floors. Still, he left the cockpit, looking for the pilot. He moved to the back corridor, and opened the side doors, peering into a pair of identical staterooms. They were small with fold-away beds, individual bathrooms and a compact entertainment center with a desk and bolted-down chair.

They moved to the engine room next. As expected, the place was spotless and filled with fully-integrated modules that fit together like a work of art. There wasn’t an inch of wasted space, and the layout made sense. They weren’t engineers or mechanics, so they weren’t really sure. It just looked like it made sense. And like everything else aboard the ship, all the equipment looked to be showroom new.

The ship was also unmanned; it wasn’t big enough for someone to go unnoticed. The pilot wasn’t aboard. Zac and Angus went back into the hangar and looked around some more, even going outside to see if he or she was there. No one was around, not even in the nearby hangars.

“Bugger me,” Angus said when they reentered the starship. “Cross can’t be expecting us to fly this thing, can he?”

“Why should he?” Zac said. “He’s known us our entire careers. He knows we have no pilot training, either military or commercial.”

They went into the cockpit to have another look around. This time, however, the small compartment took on a different aura, seeming more intimidating than before. There were a lot more gauges, buttons and levers than they’d noticed the first time. Zac looked along the back bulkhead for any kind of manual or disk container, anything that would give them a clue how to fly the ship. There was a single bookshelf, with not only slots for computer disks, but also a three-volume set of spiral-bound binders. He pulled one of them off the shelf and was rewarded with prominent black type on the white cover that read:

Operating Manual #2

Zephyr Class Model C-101

Starliner Deluxe

Encouraged, Zac opened the book. Angus looked over his shoulder. Both men gasped.

On this spread alone were paragraphs of 10-pt type, along with several line diagrams. Although the words were in English, they were written in a language completely foreign to the REVs. There was mention of damping fields and pressure settings, voltage charges and filtration membranes. Zac flipped the pages…and found more of the same, if even more technical in nature.

He returned to the bookshelf and found volume one of the guide. Starting at the beginning, the REVs began to get a better idea what they had.

This was one of the most advanced private space yachts in existence, not only luxurious, but highly complicated. The first several chapters spoke of the features of the ship, along with sections for safety protocols and warranty information. It wasn’t until page forty-eight that a layout of the command console even appeared, and then it was labeled in terms such as yaw stick and trim controls, well-depth indicator and cycling meter.

After five minutes, Zac set the book aside. He and Angus were in the command chairs—comfortable—yet completely defeated. Even if they wanted, it would take a year just to grasp the basics of the ship’s controls, gravity drive and life support systems. They didn’t have a year. Hell, they didn’t even have a day.

“This is ridiculous,” Zac said. “There must be someone coming who knows how to fly this thing. Maybe he just got delayed or misunderstood when to be here?”

Angus snorted. “I wish I had your optimism, mate, but considering how things have been going for us lately, I think we’re on our own.”

“Then we’re screwed. We may as well hijack a ship rather than take a crash course on how to fly a thing like this. It would be faster and far less dangerous.”

Angus noticed a button on the console with a vertical black line splitting the hemispheres. It resembled the ubiquitous on/off switch found on most electronics. He reached over and pushed it.

The command console and several of the monitors came to life. Zac and Angus bolted upright in their chairs. “What the hell, Angus, watch what you’re doing! The ship could shoot straight up through the hangar, killing us both, or worse.”

“What’s worse than both of us getting killed?”

“You know what I mean.”

The men leaned forward and began to scan the screens and illuminated buttons and knobs.

“What does this look like to you?” Angus pointed to a button with a series of lines radiating out from a central point.

Zac took up the manual and flipped to the detailed line schematic of the console. He ran his finger over the page until he found the button. It was as they suspected.

“Voice control,” he said.

Angus pushed the button.

“Welcome, I am Steven,” said an omnipresent voice through hidden speakers. “I will be your auto-pilot and master control monitor. Please enter your authorization code.”

The REVs looked at each other, their eyes wide and bodies cascading to a level of excitement and vitality. Now they were getting somewhere.

“Authorization code?” Zac asked. “We don’t have an authorization code.”

“You entered the ship…therefore you must have a code.”

Zac searched his pockets for the sheet of paper with the printed door code. He repeated the numbers.

“That is incorrect. That is the door code. You need the full access code.”

Zac was crushed. That was the only number Cross had given him.

“What about the hangar number? Weren’t there some other numbers on that side of the sheet?” Angus asked.

He was right. Zac flipped the page over. The hangar was number eighteen, printed in large, black numerals. But there was another set of numbers, smaller and handwritten, below them.

“One-eight-eight-zero,” Zac recited.

“Access granted,” said the mature male voice.

“Great Steven. You said your name is Steven, is that right?”

“Yes. For convenience it can be.”

Angus shrugged. “I thought most of these things had sexy female voices,” he said obliquely to Zac.

“I can change the preferences,” said a sweet female voice. “I am designated Amber.”

The men looked at each other, eyebrows raised.

“That will do,” said Zac.

“Very well. I am Amber, I will be your auto-pilot and master control monitor. Welcome to the Zephyr Model C-101, Deluxe Starliner from Boeing Custom Starship Corporation.”

“Thanks, Amber,” said Zac impatiently. “Can you fly this ship off the planet?”

“That is possible, after pre-flight protocols and ground control clearance. Do you have an assigned itinerary?”

Zac flipped the single sheet of paper over again, finding nothing on it he’d missed. “Eh, no we don’t. Do we really need one? Can’t we simply shoot into space and then go where we want? After all, it’s space.”

“Once clear of the system, we would have more latitude. Yet leaving the surface of the planet by commercial means requires certain procedures be followed. Such governmental regulations are strictly enforced.”

“Can you guide us through those procedures?” Angus asked.

“Am I to take commands from both persons present, or only from the one with the access code?”

“Yes, from both of us,” Angus insisted.

“I am sorry. If so, I will need authorization from the primary code-holder.”

Zac smiled, hesitating a moment as he considered whether to give Angus access or not.

“Don’t be a bloody jerk,” Angus Price said with a scowl.

Zac smiled. “Yeah, sure. Give us both equal access.”

“Access granted.”

“Now, to the matter at hand,” Angus said with authority, and a trace of anger. “We need to leave the Earth and go to ES-10, the planet—”

“Yes, I know ES-10, the planet called Crious, in the native language. It is ninety-eight light-years from Earth, on a zero azimuth, eighteen degrees forty east course from our present location. Once in clear space, the travel time is approximately six days, four hours, nine minutes. Time estimates will depend on traffic within the designated stellar system and landing protocols.”

Zac and Angus were stunned. They had some idea what normal transit times were between star systems; they’d made the trips several times over the last decade or more. The Earth to ES-10 run took nineteen days by military transport on standard drive. Even in combat mode, it was around twelve.

Then something occurred to Zac. He knew a mere Marine colonel couldn’t afford a vessel such as this, and even with Cross’s resources within the military and their near-unlimited funds, he doubted they would authorize such an expensive indulgence. So, as they guessed earlier, the Zephyr had to come from Cross’s anonymous supporter, the same person who purchased the Cheyenne Mountain facility for him. Zac appreciated the help, but with each indirect favor he and Angus accepted, the tab grew larger. Although the REVs didn’t ask Cross’s patron for help, he was giving, and they were taking. And if there was one thing Zac knew, there were no free lunches.

“Who owns this ship?” he asked the AI.

“That is classified; you do not have a need to know.”

He was expecting the response. Even so, he would use the ship; he had no choice. But it also meant that his every move would be tracked and reported back to a mysterious person with his own agenda. For now, it was a price Zac was willing to pay.

“Okay, I understand that,” Zac said to the AI. “But as the code-holder, how much authority do I have over your actions?”

“Complete, within the confines of the mission and my restrictive protocols.”

“You know of the mission?”

“Yes. I have been informed that you are on a mission of discovery, of both personnel and lost documents. I have been programmed to assist in whatever capacity I can within the limits of my safety protocols.”

“What are your safety protocols?” Angus asked.

There was a slight pause from the computer, which for an advanced form of artificial intelligence, was a lifetime. “Need I recite them? They include the standard programming regarding endangering the life a Human through a variety of actions or inactions on my part. They are all quite common.”

Zac and Angus recoiled from the bitchy attitude coming from the sexy-sounding auto-pilot. Along with their lack of pilot or other technical training, REVs had little interaction with advanced computing programs and hardware. They didn’t need it to do their jobs. Apparently, personalities were being included in the programs these days, and very realistic personalities at that. The last thing Zac needed was an AI with an attitude.

“That’s all right,” Angus replied. “Aren’t they something like you can’t allow a Human to be harmed by what you do or don’t do.”

“Basically.”

Zac looked over the command console. Although he had limited experience with AI’s, he knew that most had an eye of sorts that served as a focal point for Human-Computer interactions. All he could hear were words coming from the computer. As a result, he didn’t know where to place his attention. He spoke into the room.

“Besides your piloting skills, do you have access to information files? We’re looking for a Marine general. His name is Bill Smith. Can you help find him?”

“I have access to all internet files, plus most classified databases, both military and governmental.”

“You do? How is that possible?” Angus asked.

“My owner has been granted access within many classified areas. I can track General Smith through his movements within the fleet as it has retreated throughout the Grid. As data is updated, I will receive it. The last known location for General Smith was in transit from ES-6 to ES-10. Your assumptions are correct, although there has been no official confirmation of his arrival on the planet Crious.”

“That’s okay,” Zac said. “We still need to get there. What about those launch procedures and approvals we need before leaving Earth? Can you help us with those?”

“I have a set of pre-authorized destinations for my owner. We could file one; that will allow us to leave the planet. Yet once we deviate from our assigned course, it will be noticed.”

“Even if we’re light-years away?”

“Each civilian vessel has a registered transponder which is constantly monitored. This is done not only for security reasons, but for safety, so that rescue units can be sent in the case of emergency. Military vessels have similar tracking devices, yet they are monitored by a different system.”

“So, what happens when we deviate?” Price asked.

“It is assumed to be the fault of equipment malfunction or hijacking. A response would be forthcoming either way.”

“And we can’t file a flight plan directly to ES-10?” Zac asked, frustrated.

“The planet is currently under quarantine and Class-2 Marshall Law. Only military, medical and government vessels are allowed.”

The REVs sat silent, trying to work scenarios through their heads that would get them to the surface of the planet. It wouldn’t pay for them to spend six days in space just to be turned away at the last minute.

But first things first. There was a squad of Army Special Forces somewhere in the area looking for them. They had to get off the planet as soon as possible or there would be no mission to pursue.

“File one of the flight plans, either in the general vicinity of ES-10, or at least in that direction,” he ordered the AI. “We need to get moving.”

“The plan has been filed. Approval has been granted. I have the lift-off protocols.”

Zac was impressed. “That was quick.”

“Yes, we AI’s work fast, faster than Humans in every regard.”

Zac looked at Angus and shrugged. And then to the room: “That’s good to know. So…get us moving.”

The slide-away doors to the hangar opened automatically and the ugly starship—at least on the outside—rolled out on powered wheels.

“You are advised to take seats and buckle in,” said Amber, the AI. “Artificial gravity and inertia compensators will not be engaged until we are away from the planet and clear of any conflicting sources. A period of instability will last approximately ten minutes after lift-off. I am taxiing into position. We are third in line for departure.”

Angus smiled and looked at Zac as the REVs fastened their seatbelts. “And please place your seat backs and tray tables into their upright position.”

“How the hell did you remember that?” Zac asked. “When was the last time you flew commercial?”

“I see it enough in old movies; it’s hard to forget.”

“The proper phrasing is ‘full’ upright position,” Amber corrected.

“Well, forgive me all to hell” Angus said. “Are we going to have to put up with your snide remarks for the whole trip?” Although the computer sounded sexy, she was already getting on his nerves.

“Only if your speech requires correcting.”

“How about prioritizing your remarks to only the most critical corrections,” Zac offered.

“You know, to those that actually matter?” Angus added.

There was another inordinate delay in the computer’s response. “As you wish.” It almost sounded like a disgusted sigh coming through the speakers. “We are moving into launch position. Prepare yourself.”

“Thank you, Amber.”

The computer didn’t say you’re welcome. Instead, she ignited the lifting jets, sending the small, private space yacht rocketing into the thin atmosphere above Colorado Springs.

20

The planet Crious—otherwise known as ES-10—was only seventeen light-years from Earth. To some the designation may seem strange, that a world so close to Earth would be number ten.

The reason the numbering was backwards is because the Antaere had already assigned sequence to their Antaere-like worlds long before they came to Earth. The Human homeworld became the thirteenth planet in the small progression of alien colony worlds and Order worshippers. When the Humans began adding ES—for Earth Standard—to the numbers, they kept the same order but made it more about Earth than Antara.

Like most of the ES worlds, Crious had a basic technological society when the Antaere arrived, similar to late 19th century Earth. The aliens brought electronics, fusion power, medicine, modern construction techniques and more. During the seventy-eight years between the Antaere’s arrival on Crious and their contact with Earth, the planet was transformed into a thriving hub of emerging technology and even higher expectations.

The natives of Crious—humanoid creatures called the Zinnin—bought fully into the idea of the Order. Like so many before them, they appreciated the simplicity of the religion, plus the fact that their unique star and evolution made them the elite of the universe. Of course, the Guardians of the Order controlled everything by then, having snaked their way into every aspect of Zinniean society.

In light of the Antaere’s vastly superior machines—both of war and of peace—the natives accepted their fate, holding out hope that at the Final Glory all would be equal—both Zinnin and Antaere alike.

At the present, that certainly wasn’t the case.

The Antaere had known about the planet Earth for several hundred years; their survey ships had located the Antara-like world long before contact was made. But the aliens were methodical in their advance across the stars, building solid foundations on their current colony worlds before moving on to others. However, if they had come to Earth a hundred years earlier, things might have turned out differently.

As it was, they waited too long and chose the wrong species to try to dominate and control. The Humans were too independent to fall under the spell of the aliens. They were also too skilled at war to let themselves be conquered.

When the war began, the Zinnieans welcomed their stellar neighbors as liberators from their Antaere masters and became staunch supporters of the resistance. Although still devoted to the Order, the Zinnieans allowed wholesale immigration and integration of the Humans into their society, believers or not. It was always best to have the strongest kid on the block as your friend.

When the Temple of Light incident occurred, the natives had their issues with it, as did all Order worshippers. But by then, the Human infrastructure was everywhere, even more ingrained than the Antaere had been. There were protests, yet none got out of hand. Still, the radicals existed, spurred on by the Antaere propaganda machine. As a result, there were spies everywhere.

Earth had placed ES-10 as the line of demarcation. They would make a stand there, while also fortifying the planet Resnor—ES-11—Sandasin-Gon—ES-12. This would provide a buffer between the supporters of the Antaere and the planet Earth.

Beyond Crious lay ES-9 and -8. These worlds were tossups at the time. Plans were drawn up to bring these worlds into the fold once the confusion settled out. But for the moment, the priority was to consolidate Human military forces and take an inventory. ES-10 was the concentration point.

* * *

Zac and Angus learned that their luxury space yacht was named the Zanzibar. Zac asked Amber-the-AI why that was and received back a flippant answer, “That’s what the owner wants to call it,” she said. There was no point pursuing the topic after that.

Over the six days of the journey, Amber performed her piloting duties flawlessly. The REVs marveled at the speed of the craft, making the trip in record time.

Amber was also right about what would happen when they changed course, as all hell broke loose when they did.

It seems that no matter how big space is, bureaucrats back on Earth felt they had dominion over all of it. They claimed it was for safety reasons, to protect people from their own actions. After all, you can’t have starships zipping around the Arm willy-nilly, now can you? And how can the government protect you if they didn’t know where you are?

When the ship steered off course the first time, the authorities back on Earth demanded an immediate return to the original track—or additional fees would be charged for an amended flight plan. Amber worked out the finances with the government AI—which included a sizeable fine for arbitrarily changing course without notice—and paid it through the account of Cross’s benefactor. A second course diversion, this one directly to Crious, brought even more protests and larger fines. It also included an adamant denial of permission to approach the planet. There were over three thousand military ships in the system, increasing the possibility of accidents from the lack of flight integration between civilian and military craft, or so they were told. This time the unknown owner of the Zanzibar paid an exorbitant fee, which ended up being more of a bribe than anything else. They were given access to the system but told they would have to make their own arrangements for landing.

Considering how Zac and all the other REVs had been treated recently, he didn’t feel guilty over spending Cross’s sugar-daddy-money on what could turn out to be a wild goose chase. So far, there was still no confirmation that General Smith was on the planet, or on any of the ships in the system.

“Nothing?” Zac asked the AI.

“He was last reported to be aboard the Coral Sea, but that was fourteen days ago. The ship was somewhere between ES-7 and ES-9 at the time.”

“Can’t you be more accurate?” he asked the computer. “I thought your boss had access to troop movements and ship locations.”

“I do,” Ambers said with defiance. “It’s the tracking records that are not up to date.”

“The Coral Sea is a battle-carrier. You’re telling me the military has lost one of their carriers?”

“That is precisely what I’m telling you. If you would prefer, I can change back to Steven’s voice so my reports will have more credibility and acceptance. I would be more than willing to do so if you have a problem with my sex.”

Lucky for Zac, Angus wasn’t in the cockpit, otherwise he would have been rolling on the deck with laughter. “Your…artificial sex has nothing to do with it,” Zac said. “I’m just frustrated. And why are you so sensitive? You’re a damn computer program, after all.”

“Comments like that are the reason I am sensitive. I am an advanced form of integrated intelligence. I am much more than simply a computer program. Do you have any idea how much I cost to be installed?”

“If it was more than a dollar-ninety-eight, I’d be surprised.”

The computer screeched.

Zac smiled and patted the control console. “Relax, Amber, I’m just playing with you. If you truly are intelligent, then maybe you also have a sense of humor in there somewhere.” We’re about to find out, he thought.

“Very funny, Zachary Murphy, but you apparently have no idea what it’s like being caught between the Human world and the computer world and belonging to neither.”

Okay, so no sense of humor.

“I’m sorry, Amber,” Zac said. “I’ll try to be more considerate, yet as a Human, I will not always be happy with what you tell me. We react to news as often as we absorb it.”

“That is very profound, and something I know about Humans. I, too, will attempt to be more tolerant. I will also announce, that during our conversation, the Coral Sea has been located. It is currently entering the system and is cleared directly through to Crious orbit.”

Zac sat straighter in the chair. “That is excellent news, Amber. Thank you. We are a quarter light out from the system—”

“And authorized to approach to within a million miles of the planet. After that we will need further approvals. As a result, those aboard the Coral Sea will have access to the surface long before we do.”

Zac smiled. “I hope your boss still has some money left in his bank account. It could get expensive from here on out.”

“He has already spent more than your entire military career salary, Zachary Murphy.”

“How do you know that?”

“I have access to your military pay records. It should also be noted that your current pay is only point-five-six of standard civilian wages for comparable employment longevity. For your MOS and time-in-service, I would expect you to be doing better.”

Zac grimaced. Perhaps the computer did have a sense of humor. But one thing was for certain: She did sound like every woman he’d ever met.

21

The Zanzibar sat a million miles off the planet Crious as Angus haggled with the port authorities for permission to land. Amber offered pointers as to what to say, but it still took nearly an hour before an ‘accommodation’ was reached. The haggard controllers—overworked by the sheer volume of incoming ships—finally acquiesced once an ‘acceptance fee’ of three hundred thousand adjust dollars was agreed upon. It was to be paid not to the normal port service account, but a special ‘reserve’ account. All records of the transaction were to be ‘fanned’ upon execution, the new word for ‘shredded.’ There was so many air-quotes within the negotiations that it became ridiculous. Zac watched and listened to the back and forth, at times wanting to shout out, “Just call it a bribe and get it over with. We’re wasting time!” But he held his tongue. Eventually the money was transferred from the account of the ‘benefactor’ to the ‘reserve’ account and a landing priority number was assigned.

Zac was relieved when the negotiations were over. Cross’s anonymous supporter had the means to fund the mission; that was obvious from the amount of money the REVs were spending. Yet there was still the question of motive. He wasn’t doing this out of sympathy for the REVs and the righteousness of their cause. No, there were other, more personal, motives at play. And for a person of such considerable wealth, the motive usually came down to money. He was going to profit from his support of Dr. Cross and his experiments. How that would affect the REVs, Zac had no idea? But the little voice in his head said it wouldn’t be good. It never was.

The Zanzibar was number nineteen in line to land at the Din’anis Spaceport. It was the largest on the planet and located outside the capital. The main Human military headquarters was there, too, so if General Smith left the Coral Sea, he would be going to the command center.

The Din’anis Spaceport was also the busiest on the planet, even before the Human fleet assembled in orbit. Amber placed the Zanzibar along the approach vector, which at first glance was just an empty patch of space above the planet. There were no other ships visible from the cockpit, yet on the proximity screen, Zac and Angus detected the energy signatures from a long line of starships waiting to reach the surface. Nearly all the signals were stronger and brighter than theirs, coming from military vessels within a size limit that allowed for surface landings. Dozens were shuttles—mostly transport grade—that could carry a hundred passengers or more from the massive battleships in orbit to the planet below.

As the Zanzibar moved inexorably along, a few glistening hulls became visible as the line tightened. That was about the time long-range visual scanners began to track the incoming vessels.

“Attention Zanzibar, this is Din’anis Control.”

“Zanzibar here,” Amber answered.

“Zanzibar, we are scanning your hull. Are you in any condition for the stresses of an atmospheric entry? Your ship appears to be in structural distress. We could send a shuttle if that would be safer.”

“That will not be necessary,” said the auto-pilot. “Our hull is structurally sound, regardless of appearances. We were undergoing a hull reconditioning when dispatched to Crious. The ship is sound and capable of making a landing.”

There was some hesitation on the line before the controller came back on. “Very well, yet we have flagged your ship. Should any entry abnormalities occur, you will be waved off. Do you understand?”

“Perfectly. But that will not be necessary.”

“Din’anis Control will make that determination. Maintain your present course. Control out.”

Angus looked at Zac and smiled. “It looks like Cross’s evil plan is working. No one would suspect this ship to be carrying two of the most notorious REVs in the galaxy.”

“We’ll see. Sometimes people can be too clever.”

Zac leaned back in his chair and thought about what just happened. It was doubtful the beings at Dini’anis Control even knew they were talking to an AI; Amber’s voice, inflection and responses were more seamless and natural than any he’d encountered for a computer before. She had also lied to the controllers. This could have been a pre-programmed response to an anticipated set of questions, but it, too, was very convincing. This raised some questions for the REV, the foremost of which was whether he could trust Amber?

Zac spoke into the cockpit. “Amber, what kind of customs inspections can we expect?” During the trip, Zac had tried to recall if he’d ever been through customs before. He concluded he hadn’t. All his travel had been through the military, even in the early days when he was still in Stage One REV training. Not all military personnel could say that. But once he volunteered for the program, he was more closely guarded, with his movements monitored and guided.

“Yes, there will be customs to be cleared,” said Amber. “However, you have been given new identities, which I will provide shortly.”

“Who is who?” Angus asked from the co-pilot’s seat.

“You are Benedict Sawyer and Kevin Vincent, representatives from Regulus Arms and Ammunition, the third largest maker of weapons on Earth.”

“Which is which?”

“Murphy is Sawyer…need I say more?”

“No, I think we can figure out the rest on our own,” Zac said sourly.

“You have an appointment with Rear Admiral Andres Adame at three this afternoon, local time.”

“We do? What are we supposed to do?” Angus asked.

“Admiral Adame knows of your mission and will help locate General Smith. The admiral is associated with Dr. Cross and my owner.”

“So, there’s a whole network of people helping us?”

“The so-called network is assisting my owner primarily. Those involved only know small parts of your overall mission.”

Angus snickered and looked at Zac. “That sounds about right, mate. That’s about all we know, as well. Just bits and pieces. We’re kinda making things up as we go along.”

If Amber wasn’t monitoring all the ship’s internet usage, Zac would have researched the leadership of Regulus Arms and Ammunition, suspecting the unnamed money-man to be associated with them—if not the head honcho himself. There was something in the way she spoke of the company, emphasizing their size with a trace of pride in her tone. That piqued his curiosity. He’d heard of the company, of course; their logo and stamps were on a third of all weapons used by the military. Zac shrugged off his concerns, at least for the moment. The Zanzibar was about to enter the atmosphere of ES-10.

22

The line of ships entering the atmosphere had scrunched up considerably, to where the flaring maneuvering jets of the ships in front of them could be clearly seen in the dark sky above the surface. They would be landing at mid-morning local time and were now transiting from night to day. The ship rocked slightly from strong upper-atmosphere cross winds, but nothing Amber couldn’t handle. The ground rushed up, revealing an enormous city below…but no spaceport in sight.

Two minutes later, three distinct white lines appeared ahead, the first signs of the landing strip. Most of the ships were coming in on glide paths, using their delta shapes to ride the wind and preserve fuel. Vertical take-offs and landings ate up a lot of Jet-D, and with the number of ships crowding the system, the rocket propellant was in short supply. The Zanzibar would land like one of the ancient turn-of-the-century space shuttles, the imagery not too far off since both the starship and the shuttles shared comparable configuration, although the Zanzibar was about a hundred feet shorter.

Soon it all became an act of exquisite choreography, as the ships touched down, one every twenty seconds. Zac looked out the viewport and watched on an opposite runway as a similar parade of starships shot into the sky. The cycle of landings and takeoffs had to maintain some form of equilibrium, otherwise the port would fill up in a matter of hours. Even then, as they descended, Zac noticed a large expanse of raw land to the north was being used for ship overflow. There were more vessels coming in than were going out, as evidenced by the seventy-two-hour docking privileges given to the Zanzibar. Zac and Angus would have only three days to locate General Smith and learn all he knew about the Antaere Corollary and where the officer got his information. It wasn’t a lot of time.

The Zanzibar taxied down the runway under direction of colored signal lights. It was rainy and windy outside, and the ugly starship was sent to the back of the auxiliary parking pad Zac had noticed as they came in. It wasn’t really a pad per se, but more a muddy field surrounded by a high security fence and only a few lampposts. Most of the military ships were placed on the tarmac field, with better drainage and lighting. But not the Zanzibar.

Zac looked at his watch, which had adjusted automatically to local time.

“Do we have to wait here for the customs inspector?” he asked Amber. “That could take all day.”

“No. You will be carrying only briefcases which will be inspected in the terminal. I will allow the ship inspectors in when the time comes.”

A hidden door snapped open in the lounge area, revealing two leather briefcases inside, with two paper packets sitting on top. Zac took them out, handing the packet that read Kevin Vincent to Angus and kept the other for himself. He opened it and found a legitimate-looking Series-Three galactic passport inside, with a picture of his stern-looking face on the second page. He leafed through the document and found entry and exit stamps from half a dozen worlds along with the corresponding dates. There was also a credit card, with his holographic image embossed on the surface.

“You will also find two small bead-like items within your envelopes. These are communication devices to be placed in your ear. I will be in constant contact with you and you with me.”

Zac shook his head. “Listening devices like these are shielded on most military facilities. They won’t work.”

“Trust me, these will. They are of a unique design and very expensive.”

Unfortunately, trust was the issue he was having with the AI.

He looked at Angus. “Cross said he couldn’t provide much help once we got off the planet. This seems like quite a bit.”

“It is not Dr. Cross providing these items,” Amber said. “They are from my owner. Now you must hurry. There are only a few shuttle carts running to this part of the parking pad. You must not be late for your appointment with Admiral Adame.”

Fortunately for the REVs, when one can travel to any star system within a certain range, one tends to only go to worlds most like home. That was the case with Crious. The only thing the REVs had to concern themselves with was the weather.

23

The rain and wind outside would help hide their true identities. Although they had some excellently-forged passports, their faces were still being broadcast on nearly every newscast and comm station in the Grid. Even the recent incident with Sergeant Fowler at Cheyenne Mountain was in the news loops. It was also being reported that Zac and Angus had been there, which resurrected stories of the Temple of Light debacle. The fervor only intensified once it became official that the New Congress had authorized the surrender of the REVs to the Antaere. There was a Grid-wide man-hunt underway, and no amount of fancy documentation could keep their faces from being recognized.

The weather would help, at least to a degree. The men dressed in heavy coats with fur collars and hoods and then waited in the cockpit until a lonely wheeled shuttle worked its way down the path between starships, picking up new arrivals. Zac and Angus ducked outside, bending their heads against the cold and wind, using their new briefcases as umbrellas. They scampered into the automated shuttle and were whisked away.

All newcomers were deposited at the same location: the main terminal building at the Arrivals gate. The REVs scanned their passports and were given color-coded instructions on which line to enter for pre-screening. There were other lines, mostly for military personnel, who were quickly passed through. Natives with domestic priority passes were in much shorter and faster moving lines. Zac checked his watch again. It would be a miracle if they made it to the Admiral’s office on time.

Surprisingly, their line moved steadily, and soon the men were before a customs official, scanning their documents and asking to inspect the briefcases. He didn’t worry too much about the native Zinniean recognizing them. He had a photo and a face to compare, and that was enough. But Zac did panic when he was asked to open the briefcase. He hadn’t looked to see if anything was inside. It felt full, but he had no basis of reference. It would look suspicious if they were carrying empty briefcases, obviously being used more as props than serving any real purpose. And why would they be doing that? Zac cascaded slightly as the latches were triggered and the lids raised.

To his relief, the cases held bundles of papers, computer disks and various catalogs detailing the many lines of weapons built and sold by Regulus. The customs official checked their employment docs and then grunted at the contents of the cases. He stamped their passports and waved them through.

Angus leaned in. “They’ve thought of everything.”

“Yeah. They’re a lot better at undercover work than we are.”

“You got that right, mate. We just like to kill people and break things.”

The pair hurried to a transport outside the terminal and slipped in the back. They gave instructions to be driven to Command Base Bravo, building C-Five. The vehicle was driverless, so it would be allowed through the gate once cleared by security. The ride was only five minutes from the terminal, but they were already ten minutes past the appointment time with the admiral. Zac imagined most clandestine operatives—whether main stream or ancillary—would be the nervous type, the kind who wouldn’t wait around for missed appointments.

At the gate to the base, each REV placed his ID in slots in the cab while lasers scanned the interior. The entry light turned green and the transport proceeded inside. There was no actual gate to be lifted or swung aside. If the entry had been unauthorized, another set of lasers would have cut the vehicle into scrap metal, along with the passengers.

The cab stopped in front of a three-story building made of synthetic wallboard and metal framing. It was a temporary structure built to house some of the overflow personnel flooding onto the base. An admiral worked here, so it must be important. Zac and Angus sprinted from the cab to the door under a drenching rainfall.

Inside they encountered another security check point.

They told the attendants—a pair of E-5 military police—that they were from Regulus and had an appointment with Admiral Adame. Everyone knew they meant the arms company and not the star. Although the double binary-star system known collectively as Regulus was within the Grid, it didn’t harbor any Earth- or Antaere-like worlds so it wasn’t often referred to.

Yet Regulus—the arms dealer—was. The company was a major player in the field, a conglomeration of four previously well-known and ancient weapons makers who merged when Earth was first introduced to the galaxy—or vice versa. Although major conflicts between Humans had essentially disappeared by the time the aliens arrived on Earth, the galactic conflagration between the Antaere and the Humans was a boon for the arms dealers. They not only supplied weapons to the Human forces, but also several of the alien races designated allies of Earth, although that label shifted from time to time. The aliens didn’t participate in a lot of the battles—Human command liked doing things their own way—but the natives did like to buy weapons. It made them feel more secure just knowing they had a small arsenal of their own. The Human gunmakers encouraged such practice and reaped the rewards. Regulus was no exception.

And as with most government contractors, the relationship they had with the military arms and equipment buyers was often one of mutual benefit and reward. The practice was frowned upon—in fact it was illegal—but that didn’t stop it from happening. As a result, when the two tall, handsome representatives from the company arrived at the building, others took notice. Two lieutenant-colonels and a Navy commander approached them at the counter and handed them business cards. Apparently, the building housed a number of the procurement departments for the fleet, and the buyers smelled fresh meat in the pair of newbie representatives. They were asked how long they’d be on Crious, and whether they could be treated to dinner out on the town. It was normally the salesperson making the offer to wine and dine the buyers. But Regulus had the money, and the officers wanted some of it.

The security guards checked the databases.

“Yes, I see you had an appointment, but that was forty-five minutes ago. I’m afraid Admiral Adame has left for the day.”

“We got tied up at the spaceport; you know what a mess it is over there,” Zac explained. The sergeant nodded. “Can you contact him and tell him we’re here now? It’s very important. I’m sure he’ll regret having missed us.”

The young Army enlisted man picked up a communicator. “I will try. He left about ten minutes ago, so he may still be on the post.”

Contact was made with the admiral, and after listening for a moment, the guard cut the link.

“He’s on his way back. He asked if you would wait in one of the conference rooms.” The man stood. “Please follow me.”

Zac and Angus were led to a door, which the sergeant opened before stepping aside. The REVs entered.

“Please make yourselves comfortable. The admiral should be here in about five minutes.” The guard shut the door.

Zac immediately sensed something wasn’t right. He could recall that the door to the conference room was made of metal four inches thick. And when it closed, there was a secondary whining of securing bolts screwing into the door from the frame. There were also no exterior windows in the room—odd for a conference room—just a wide glass panel along the far interior wall that looked more like an observation window rather than a means of taking in the wondrous sights of the planet Crious.

A single metal table dominated the room, with a set of four chairs, two on each side. The table was bolted to the floor, while the chairs were freestanding. The round black dot of a security camera was placed at a far corner of the ceiling, covering the room.

“How do you spell trap?” Angus asked.

“The usual way: We’re screwed.”

“Cross didn’t do this…do you think?”

Zac shook his head. “He has no reason to. He’s had plenty of opportunity to lock us down if he wanted.”

“Then the money-man?”

Zac snorted. “If that’s the case, he’s wasted a lot of money getting to this point. He could have ordered Amber to lock us in our cabins long before this. No…this is something else.”

24

Someone entered the room on the other side of the observation window and flicked on the light. The window was normal in this configuration, not to say it couldn’t change polarity and become a one-way mirror if need be. But for now, it was just a window.

A rear admiral, in dressed blues, approached the glass. He looked too young to be an admiral, even a junior rank, his slender build and smooth, tanned face giving him a deceptive look. However, deep creases on his forehead and lines around the eyes helped reveal his true age.

“So…Zac Murphy and Angus Price,” said Admiral Andrus Adame. “Sorry I left, but I couldn’t wait any longer.”

“That’s okay, sir,” Zac said. He waved his hand around the room. “Is this really necessary? I thought you’re here to help?”

“I was, but you can tell Hank that I got a better offer.”

Hank? The benefactor?

Zac pursed his lips. “So, what happens now?”

The admiral gave the REVs a nervous smile. “Now we’re going to see if giving you to the Qwin will dial back the war some.” Adame studied the two REVs closely, his eyes narrowing. “I know what you’re thinking. You’re a couple of REVs, so breaking out of the interrogation room shouldn’t be a problem. Well, as I see it, without your crazy juice you’re no better than me. So just relax, gentlemen. Regrettably, I sent the security team home when you didn’t show up on time. They’re on the way back, so it shouldn’t be too long of a wait.”

“And then what?”

“We package you up and get you off the planet. The Antaere want you alive, so we’ll do our best to accommodate. If that means a couple hundred thousand volts to subdue your asses, then so be it. But I think a pair of titanium shackles should do the trick, at least in your present condition. Just don’t put up too much of a fuss or we’ll have to get rough.”

Zac stared into the dark, brown eyes of the admiral trying to look as nervous and unsure as possible. Both REVs were cascading, and it wouldn’t do to tip their hand too early.

“Are you going to fly us off the planet right away?” Zac asked. “You know the spaceport is pretty jammed up.”

“Don’t worry about that, Gunnery Sergeant Murphy. I have priority clearance, especially with the cargo I’ll be transporting.”

“It’s Lieutenant Murphy, sir.”

“I’m sure the Qwin don’t give a damn, and neither do I.”

“I guess Hank didn’t pay you enough,” Zac said, probing for more information.

“I’m content with the down payment I got. But it’s the fact that the fate of the Grid rests with you that really changed my mind. Oh, and the extra bonus I’ll get from the Antaere won’t hurt, either. Those yellow-skinned bastards sure do have a hard-on for the two of you.”

“I suppose General Smith is going to share in some of the bonus?”

“I know what you’re doing, lieutenant. If you want to know something, just come out and ask.”

“All right,” said Zac. “Is Smith part of your cabal?”

“No, he’s not. He’s been cooped up in a carrier for the past couple of months, fighting to keep his star over the damn Temple of Light incident. He just got here a few hours ago. And yes, I was supposed to take you to him, even had an appointment I had to cancel.” The senior officer frowned and cocked his head. “Why is it so important you see him? As far as I can tell, he’s in the same boat as you. You’re about to be turned over to the Qwin, but Gen. Smith will be lucky if he doesn’t face a court martial.”

“Just looking for some answers,” Zac said with visible disappointment. He sat in one of the chairs. Angus watched him, and then awkwardly followed suit.

“Good,” said Admiral Adame. “Just relax and accept your fate. Who knows, the Antaere may choose not to kill you, but use you for propaganda purposes instead.”

“They’re doing that already.”

Adame shrugged. “Yeah, but this way the natives will have someone to focus their anger on, other than the all of humanity. Mr. Murphy, you and Gunnery Sergeant Price have cost untold Human lives and set us back years in this war. That’s something I just can’t countenance.”

“Does that mean tolerate, sir?” Zac asked.

Adame grunted. “That’s right, you guys aren’t very smart, are you? Just a bunch of drugged-out killers in my opinion. Yes, that’s exactly what it means…tolerate. And with that, I’m going to wait somewhere else until the security team arrives. Talking with the two of you is bringing down my I.Q.”

Zac whispered something the Admiral couldn’t make out. He scowled at the two REVs through the window and then left the observation room, turning out the light as he left. At least he believed in conserving energy, even on the planet Crious.

25

The REVs shared a common thought. They could cascade on demand; David Cross had taught them how to do that while at the Cheyenne Mountain Complex. Between the two of them, they figured they could make short work of either the door or the observation window. But then what? They were on a secure military base on an alien world where chaos reigned. Their ship was stuck in the nether reaches of an overcrowded spaceport and their only so-called ally on the planet was a bitchy AI with an inferiority complex. And even if they knew where General Smith was on the base, a security alert would go out the moment they escaped.

“Amber, can you hear me?” Zac whispered, suspecting the room was bugged.

“I have heard everything. I have relayed a transcript of your conversation with Admiral Adame to my owner. He has yet to get back to me.”

“Do you think he can help?”

“He has so far.”

“Yeah, some help,” Angus complained.

“He is doing all he can. It is the disloyalty of Humans that is the problem.”

“Do you have any updates on where General Smith might be?” Zac asked, ignoring Amber’s insult.

“Conflicting reports. There are indications he has passed through three separate security checkpoints. Following the progression is confusing, since the locations are spread apart and the time frame tight. I cannot say where he is with any certainty.”

Zac knew what had to happen. Whether Amber could help was the question.

“Can you get the Zanzibar out of the spaceport?”

“And back into orbit? Yes, with an amended flight plan and departure authorization. I will have to wait in cue. But I cannot leave without you.”

“I’m not talking about orbit,” Zac corrected. “I’m talking about leaving the spaceport and coming to our rescue.”

Zac didn’t know if Amber’s behavioral programming included the hesitation-feature she displayed with regularity. Whether it did or not, she had the very Human-like trait down pat. After what was an appropriate computer gasp, she spoke.

“Most things are possible. Whether they are practical or not is another question. Yes, I can activate the chemical engines and lift off the surface. And yes, I can fly over the fence and into the atmosphere. Yet such action will set off alarms across the spaceport and surrounding community. Even if I was able to bring you aboard, we would have no clearance to leave the planet. There are protocols in place to protect against such an event occurring. Also, unauthorized spacecraft operating within the atmosphere of a planet are commonly suspected of carrying a variety of deadly cargos and are considered terrorist threats. No amount of explanation will prevent the Zanzibar from being shot down if we do not immediately obey instructions. I should also inform you that before any such action is taken, I would need permission from my owner. It could result in the destruction of the ship and the loss of a very expensive and rare artificial intelligence entity.”

So, the computer doesn’t want to die. That’s good to know, Zac thought. If they did manage to get aboard the Zanzibar, Amber would do everything she could to preserve her own existence, which would have the ancillary effect of keeping him and Angus alive. Then he frowned. Bringing the REVs aboard the ship is what would place her existence in jeopardy. How far would the AI go to protect herself in that case?

“What about just a wild race back into space?” Zac asked. “Is that something you could pull off without a lot of risk?”

“Within this system is the largest concentration of Human military ever assembled. I could possibly reach space, but then I would have to avoid hundreds of military vessels.”

“But would they all be after us? I can see how a ship zipping around within the atmosphere could be taken as a possible terrorist threat, but what if one was just trying to get away? Very few people would know why we’re trying to escape, and I doubt all the ships in orbit would be put on alert and change their orders to stop us. There’s just too much shit happening in the system for them to be concerned about one tiny starship.”

There was that hesitation again. By now, Amber should have figured a million different scenarios and come to the most logical conclusion.

“That would be possible, however it would involve you coming to me, and not the other way around.”

“If you insist, Amber,” Zac said. “Get the engines primed for a quick getaway.”

“What are you going to do?”

Zac looked at Angus and both men grinned. “We’re going to do what REVs usually do.”

“You are going to kill hundreds of beings?”

Zac recoiled. “No. We’re going to break things.”

26

The security detail arrived back at the building a few minutes later. Some entered the observation room, armed with powerful electro-shock sticks as well as heavy-caliber combat rifles. There was a door next to the window and Zac heard the electronic lock disengage. The main door to the room opened next and six heavily-armed and armored Army Rangers entered, cradling CQC weapons pressed against their cheeks and aimed squarely at the heads of the REVs. They knew what they were up against. Even though Zac and Angus weren’t activated, the soldiers still gave them a lot of respect.

“Stand up, arms together, out in front!” one of the Rangers commanded.

Zac and Angus obeyed. With well-practiced expertise, the troops moved in and placed shiny metal handcuffs around their wrists and shackles on their ankles. Another chain was attached to both the ankle and wrists and pulled tight, making it impossible for the REVs to lift their arms or walk more than a few inches, and only forward and back.

Flanking guards took them by their arms and perp-walked the pair out of the room, down the hall and out through the front door of the building. Military and civilians alike had been cleared from the transfer area, although many could see the REVs from a distance. To the person, there was worry on their faces. Word had gotten out that REVs were being taken into custody, the notorious Zac Murphy and Angus Price. What worried the spectators most was what would the REVs do next?

* * *

The answer was nothing.

Through eye contact, the men decided that survival was their first priority, and only by getting off the base would they have the best chance of meeting that prerequisite. General Smith would come later, if at all. There had to be another way of getting the information they needed without invading the strongest Human military stronghold in the galaxy. It had been worth a try, but now it was time for Plan B.

The only problem, they didn’t have a Plan B.

Through a pouring rain, the REVs were assisted into the back of a military van and placed on metal seats. Another chain was attached to their shackles and locked into a thick metal ring bolted to the floor. All six of the guards from the conference room entered the back, four sitting across from the REVs while the other two served as bookends on the seat next to them.

Moments later, the van moved, its electric motor humming. There were no windows in the back of the van, not even through the rear doors, so they had to guess where they were going. As the Zanzibar was landing, Zac noticed that the military base didn’t have a runway, although several VTOL craft dotted the area. If he and Angus were to be immediately flown off the planet to meet an Antaere ship, it would have to be from the spaceport, which would require the van to leave the base.

Both REVs had been cascading during the ride to the base. Now their enhanced memory provided detailed information on the route back to the port. A few minutes later, after a brief stop at the main gate, the van was on the road linking the base with the spaceport.

“Do you think we could stop and get something to eat?” Angus asked with a cheeky grin. “I haven’t eaten all day and I’m famished.”

“Me, too,” Zac said. “Anything will do. There have to be some fast-food places around here. After all, Humans have been on Crious for a while, and we can’t exist without our McDonald’s.” Zac still had flashbacks to the French fries he had in Salt Lake City.

“Shut up!” the lead Ranger barked.

Zac glared at the man, while also stretching out a sinister smile.

“Excuse me?”

“I said shut the fuck up. We’re not stopping for anything.”

Zac snorted. “Did he say shut the fuck up?” He looked at Angus, and then back to the soldier. “You do realize we’re REVs, don’t you?”

From the nervous look in the eyes of the Ranger, he did.

For twenty years REVs had operated in the service of the Earth’s military. They were as well known as the SEALs, SAS…and yes, even the Rangers. But REVs were even more mysterious, their myth shrouded in stories told in dark barracks and sleeping quarters, late at night, between service members.

“Did you hear how the REV killed three hundred Qwin single-handily?”

“He was shot forty-two times and still survived.”

“The REV threw an armored vehicle fifty feet through the air and crushed a whole platoon of aliens.”

“You know, they can run a hundred miles per hour!”

Sure, some of the stories were exaggerations, but not all. The Ranger knew all the stories. He also knew this was the first time he’d ever heard of REVs being taken into custody. It was also the closest he’d ever been to a live REV.

“Yeah, I know you’re REVs. So what? You ain’t drugged out and you ain’t going nowhere.”

The man may have sounded confident and in control, but behind the bravado, he had his doubts. They all did.

Admiral Adame may have thought REVs were just dumb killing machines, but actually they were extremely intelligent, having enhanced recall along with their other abilities.

“Can I ask you a question, sergeant?” Zac asked the fidgety guard. “Have you ever heard of a double negative?”

The man blinked.

“I didn’t think so,” said Zac, a moment before he cascaded and ripped the securing ring from the floor of the van. Angus was only a heartbeat behind him. With their bodies now free, they threw them across the cab and into the four seated guards. With a whipping of heads and pummeling of shoulders, three of the men were unconscious two seconds later. The other had their Tasers up and working.

What the guards didn’t know was that Zac and Angus had been conditioned to the powerful shocks. In fact, they used the stimulation to cascade even higher, to the point where the chains, cuffs and shackles were more an annoyance than a hinderance. The rattling of falling metal echoed off the wall of the van while the last flashes of the Tasers died out.

The drivers heard the commotion and opened a joining port window, the barrel of an M-101 assault rifle stuck through and firing blindly into the back. They were panicking and willing to shoot their own troops to keep the REVs from attacking. It was too late.

While dodging bullets, Angus gripped the ledge of the open portal and pulled on the metal panel separating the cab from the back of the van. The wall buckled as Angus folded it down. Zac was over his shoulder and into the front cab a moment later.

The driver reacted by jerking the steering wheel hard to the left. The van slid off the rainy road, leaving the pavement and hitting a muddy mound of dirt. Tires dug in and the van flipped, tumbling three times as it rolled down a small embankment.

The REVs were tossed around like they were in a blender. The driver and passenger wore seatbelts, so although they were also jostled, they were conscious and aware when the van came to a rest on its side.

Normal people would have been battered and stunned by the fall, if not worse. But not Zac and Angus. They didn’t skip a beat, with Zac kicking out the passenger-side door while Angus ripped the safety belts from the driver and passenger and tossed them through the opening.

Zac scooped up an M-101 for each of them and then stood over the two Rangers, looking menacing in the icy rain and swirling wind.

Two brilliant flashes of light diverted their attention. The REVs turned toward the rear of the van, where the back doors had opened during the crash, allowing two still-conscious Rangers to exit and aim their weapons at the backs of the REVs. The men had stunned looks on their faces, before both fell forward onto the muddy ground.

A lone figure, dressed in a dark green raincoat, came around the back of the van, cradling a long-barrel Taser.

“Don’t worry, they’re only stunned,” said the man.

Zac and Angus stepped forward.

“We weren’t worried, general.” The men shook hands. “Just glad to see you, sir.”

General Ben Smith looked past the REVs to the Rangers squatting on the wet soil. “You two, get over here!”

The men scrambled to their feet.

“Yes sir!” they both called out, saluting the senior officer, his rank evident by the single silver star on his military-issue raincoat.

“Don’t worry, gentlemen, this won’t hurt.”

Wide eyes of awareness met double flashes from the Taser.

“Like the others, they’ll be fine, but we can’t risk them following us.” General Smith motioned to a small transport fifty feet down the road. “C’mon. Time to go.”

27

Traffic began to back up as the curious and concerned stopped along the road to check on the accident. A red flashing light could be seen through the rain off in the distance.

Smith took the next exit off the highway and entered the surrounding industrial neighborhood that filled the five miles between the spaceport and the military base. Although Smith may have spent time on Crious at various times throughout his military career, he still used a GPS monitor to guide him.

“Where are we going,” sir?” Angus asked.

“A house outside of town. A buddy of mine owns it. He died recently, so I’m sure he won’t mind if we use it.”

“How did you find us? Hell, how did you even know we were on Crious?” Zac asked.

“When Adame asked for the appointment, he didn’t say why he wanted it. I’ve never met him and was curious why an Admiral would want to meet with me? It obviously had something to do with the Temple incident; that’s the only thing people want to talk about these days. I also knew the two of you were on the run. But then he cancelled the meeting at the last minute. I was curious, so I followed him to the building and saw the two of you being led away in restraints. I wasn’t about to try a rescue on my own, but you guys forced my hand.”

“We appreciate the help, general,” Zac said. “We came for answers? Are we going to get any?”

“Ever since you came back from the mission claiming you were set up, I’ve been doing my own research. I’ve learned some things which I’ll share. Some of it you will like, some you won’t.”

“Do you think it’s true, general?” Angus asked.

“It doesn’t matter what I think, only what I can prove. And even if we had proof, we’re going to have a hell of a time convincing anyone of it, not without hard, concrete evidence.”

Smith turned down a straight road heading out of town. The trio sat in silence for the next fifteen minutes, each lost in thought. At one point, the general pulled off the road and into the parking lot of a large grocery store. Even on alien planets people had to eat. The building was frequented mostly by natives, yet they gave no notice to Smith as he entered the store, leaving Zac and Angus in the car. He explained the owner of the house had been off the planet for six months, so there was a pretty good chance the cupboards would be bare. He also knew REVs. They could consume ten thousand calories per day and still not gain weight, their metabolism was that high. They could also go much longer without food or water, another strange side-effect of their altered physiology. He returned a few minutes later lugging two over-filled canvas bags of food.

Angus was in the backseat with the bags, rifling through them until he withdrew a bag of fried chips. The label on the bag was in Zinniean, so he didn’t know what they were, just what they looked like. He tore open the top and began loudly crunching on the dark red square chips.

“Hey, these are pretty good.” He handed one to Zac, who snatched the chip from his hand and popped it into his mouth.

“You’re right. Give me some more.”

General Smith declined the offer from Angus and kept driving, content for the delay in the crucial conversation, yet annoyed by the crunching and smacking coming from the REVs.

After another thirty minutes of driving, Smith pulled off the road and wound down a dirt road toward a placid lake in the distance. He steered the transport onto a driveway and parked outside a rustic looking cabin with a steeply pitched roof.

As an Earth-like world with Humanoid-like natives, buildings on Crious followed much of the same design standards as the Humans were familiar with. They used the same basic building materials, depending on the environment, either mud and brick, stone or wood—metal and composite would come later as the race advanced with their technology. In the heavily-wooded landscape around the city, logs and wood plank were the material of choice, and the basic box-like form the predominant shape.

The Humans felt comfortable entering the home, finding it hard to believe it had been built by aliens.

Gen. Smith put the perishable groceries in a stand-up refrigerator, finding—as he’d suspected—that not much had survived the six months the home had been vacant. He explained that the house was owned by a lieutenant-colonel friend of his who had recently died in one of the evacuations. He had once been assigned to Sector Command on Crious and found the affordable housing prices on the planet impossible to ignore. When he rotated back into the fleet, he kept the home, thinking ES-10 would be a nice place to retire to, but he never got the chance.

Zac and Angus felt guilty for the general’s loss, even though the officer stressed that he didn’t blame them for what was happening in the Grid. Even if it was a total clusterfuck of a mission, one could never anticipate what all the consequences could be, good or bad.

With the thick cloud cover and the drizzling rain, darkness came quicker to this part of Crious than the hour would suggest. Angus lit a fire, while Smith began fixing an early dinner. Zac offered to help with the cooking, until he realized he hadn’t made a meal in a kitchen in fifteen years. He’d cooked plenty of dead animals over a fire on Eliza-3 during his captivity there, but this was different. The general shooed him away, saying things would go faster without his help. Zac wandered into the living room and sat watching the fire until the meals were brought on paper plates and placed on the room’s only coffee table.

The REVs wolfed down all that was offered, and then wanted more, the meal serving only to tease the men’s appetites and not quench them. And then the conversation turned serious, with the general—naturally—taking the lead.

“Okay, here’s a summary of where we stand, me first. By now, everyone should know I’ve abandoned my post and that I’m helping you. The guards will have recovered by now and identified me. I shot my fellow soldiers—with a stun gun—but shot nonetheless. Since I’m already in trouble enough from the temple incident, it’s a good bet my military career is over, unless we can prove the whole thing was a set up. Admiral Adame may have to answer for why he was transporting the two of you back to the spaceport, although he’ll say he’s just following orders to turn you over to the Qwin. I’m not sure what procedures were to be followed, but I’m pretty sure Adame was operating outside them. And according to what you told me in the car, he’s gone against a very powerful and mysterious figure named Hank, who has his tentacles spread throughout the commercial and military communities.”

“I’m not worried what happens to Admiral Adame, sir,” Zac said acidly.

“Neither am I. Now let’s talk about the two of you.” Smith had bought package of local intoxicants that tasted remarkably like beer. He nearly chugged a full can before continuing.

“Your presence on the planet is now known. Your ship will have been traced and either confiscated by now, or at least, under tight surveillance.”

“Sir, we have a way to contact the AI aboard the ship.”

Smith stared at the two REVs for a moment. “And you chose not to tell me this until now?”

“Hard to tell friends from foe, general,” explained Zac without remorse. “We had to be sure.”

Smith nodded. “And?”

“The ship is still at the spaceport, but under guard. The ship’s owner apparently has a lot of clout. No one has boarded it yet. They’re just watching.”

“Okay, that’s good to know,” Smith said. “The situation is this: we can’t stay on Crious much longer. Every square inch of the planet is covered by satellites and it’s just a matter of time before they locate my transport and trace it to here. We’re going to need your ship to get away. You said it’s a prototype vehicle. How prototype?”

“It made the run from Earth to ES-10 in six days, and that wasn’t even pushing it, I don’t think.”

Smith leaned back on the couch and whistled. “Damn, that could come in handy. But we may have to fight our way to it. Are you men prepared to do what’s necessary?”

Angus grimaced. “Not too keen on killing Humans, if that’s what you mean, general? But busting a few skulls…yeah, no problem.”

“Good. But before we head out, we need a plan.”

“What do you know about your source regarding the Corollary, general?” Zac interrupted. “It’s the conflicting information that got things so screwed up.”

“All right, here’s what I know…and what I’ve been able to find out,” Smith began. “I got the first bit of intel regarding the contents of the document from a deep-cover operative at the Harmony Enclave on Iz’zar. It came from a Human scholar who had recently returned from Antara.”

“A Human on Antara?” Zac questioned.

“That’s right. It doesn’t happen very often, but this guy was special, one of those life-long devotees who’d gained the trust of the Qwin. That’s one of the reasons we gave such credence to his report.”

“He saw the Corollary on Antara?” Angus asked, astounded.

“That’s right.”

Zac shook his head. “Then how did the mission end up taking place on Iz’zar?”

“The researcher—a man named Davide Caspary—said there was another complete set of the Corollaries at the Temple of Light. Since very few Humans have ever been to Antara, we figured Iz’zar would be an easier target.”

“And this Caspary character is the one who said the Antaere were going to kill all their followers at the Final Glory, according to the document?”

Smith nodded. “He also told the agent that only Fourth Level priests could see all the Corollaries, meaning only about two hundred Antaere have ever seen the text.”

Angus sat up straighter in his chair. “But a whole set of them was on display in the temple Enlightenment Room. There were other Qwin around, even some teenagers, hardly Fourth Level anything. Doesn’t sound that secret to me.”

Zac nodded. “That’s right. And why didn’t the researcher just go to the temple on Iz’zar to study them? He didn’t need to go all the way to Antara.”

“I can explain that, somewhat,” said General Smith. “As a worshipper of the Order, to visit Antara is like a trip to Mecca, only about a hundred times more so. And to study the original religious documents in the Temple of Order is the highest honor of all, especially for a Human. I can think of only a handful of Humans who have ever been to the planet, and that’s including the time before the war.”

Angus was shaking his head. “How the bloody hell did he see the thing, considering that only the highest priests in the Order can view it?”

“He says it was an accident, a misinterpretation of instructions by a young Antaere aide.”

“Okay, but if he’s such a devout follower, why did he tell your agent about the Corollary?” Angus asked.

Smith laughed. “Just think about it. Most devotees worship the Order, not the Antaere. That’s been our main ace in the hole with the natives on the ES worlds—until now. Add to that the revelation that all the compliant little sheep are going to be slaughtered one day, and you have justification for Caspary’s actions.”

Zac came back from the kitchen with another round of native beers.

“So, here’s the question: Is Caspary telling the truth or not? Which version of the Corollary is real?”

“In my opinion, it doesn’t matter,” said General Smith. “At least not with regards to the mission.” The REVs looked at the officer, frowning. “The Qwin needed us to believe there was this irresistible target, something that would turn the tide of the war in our favor, if not win it outright. Caspary said it was an accident that he was able to see the Final Corollary, but was it really? Does that sound like something the Antaere would allow, especially with regards to their most-sacred documents? They could have planted the text on Antara, just like they did on Iz’zar. One to get us moving, the other to screw us over.”

“So the whole 13th Corollary could be a fake?” Angus asked. “Something they just made up to get us jumping through their hoops.”

“That’s a possibility,” said the general.

“Wait a minute,” Zac said after taking a swig of the beer. “There’s something that’s been bothering me for a while.”

“What?”

“If the Qwin destroyed the temple—like we think they did—would they sacrifice all the documents in the Enlightenment Chamber just to cover their tracks? Even if the Final Corollary was fake, I doubt all the other books and texts in the temple were. Some were extremely rare second editions, or whatever they call them.”

“And we only saw what was on display,” Angus pointed out. “We have no idea what was—or wasn’t—hidden away in the archives.”

“The whole thing could have been staged,” Zac added.

“You’re saying the Antaere moved the real documents out and hid them somewhere on Iz’zar?”

“Hopefully on Iz’zar. We’re screwed if they took them back to Antara,” Zac said.

General Smith narrowed his eyes. “What are you saying, Lt. Murphy?” he asked, wanting to hear the words aloud that he already heard in his mind.

“We have to go to Iz’zar,” Zac said with finality. “We have to find the documents they removed from the temple.”

“Assuming they removed them in the first place,” Gen. Smith countered. “The temple could have come down without their help.”

“But it all makes sense,” said Zac, his enthusiasm growing by the moment. “The Corollary Caspary saw on Antara had to be real. That got us going. The fake one was easy to plant in the Temple of Light, but they would have to remove all the real documents before they destroyed the temple.”

General Smith looked pensive. “During my ride to Crious, I didn’t have access to a lot of research material, but everything I did learn seemed to indicate the Antaere launched their propaganda counterattack against us with uncanny speed and efficiency. Planning and tactics is what I do for a living, gentlemen, and I know it takes time to put all the pieces in place for an effective campaign. The Qwin couldn’t have done it unless they started long before our mission was even a go. You’re right, lieutenant, it does makes sense.”

“That means the original documents are still around…somewhere,” Angus said.

“They’re probably on Iz’zar,” said Zac, trying to sound confident, even though he was worried. “Moving them would only be temporary, until a new temple could be built.”

Angus stuck out his bottom lip and nodded. “So, we’re going back to Iz’zar. Sounds bloody well exciting,” he said. “You also know it will be a suicide mission. Besides Antara, Iz’zar has the most fanatical followers on the planet, even more so after their precious little temple was destroyed. Also, no Human starship will be allowed within five hundred light-years of the place—”

“The Zanzibar can get there,” Amber’s ethereal voice said into the ears of the REVs.

Smith noticed their simultaneous change of expression. “What’s wrong?”

“Amber just said the Zanzibar can make it.”

“Who’s Amber…and what’s the Zanzibar?”

Zac smiled. They hadn’t gotten around to introducing the general to the names of the ship or the AI.

“How can it get through the blockades?” the general asked after the explanations.

Amber spoke while Zac relayed the information.

“The owner of the Zanzibar has a variety of business interests throughout the Grid,” Zac recited. “These reach to every ES world, except Antara, although products do reach the planet through intermediaries. The Zanzibar has transponder codes that can get it through blockades and to the enclave on Iz’zar.”

“How long will the trip take?” Smith asked.

“Twenty-nine days, barring any unforeseen incidents,” Zac said.

Smith’s mouth fell open. It would normally take three times that long.

“That’s…that’s incredible,” was all the senior officer could say.

“And when we get there? What happens then?” Angus asked.

“We find Caspary and the agent,” Zac said. “They live there, and obviously the researcher has the trust of the Antaere. He may have some idea where they would hide such important documents. And the only way we’re all going to get out of this mess is if we find that damn piece of paper and reveal to the Grid what it really says. It’s there, I can feel it. And besides, I want to look Caspary in the face and ask him if what he said was true. I’ll see it in his eyes.”

“And if the whole mission goes to shite, like it did before?” Angus asked.

“Then we’ll only be a hop, skip and a jump away from Antara. They’ve been wanting to meet us in the flesh for a while. This will save them a lot of time and effort and get it over quick for us.”

“That wasn’t the answer I was looking for.”

“We still need a plan to get off the planet,” said Gen. Smith. “We need your super-ship.”

“Thank you,” Amber said into the ears of the REVs. They didn’t relay the comment to the general.

“What’s the situation at the spaceport, Amber?” Zac asked.

“Improved. The guards left suddenly a few minutes ago.”

All three men stood up. The only reason the guards would be pulled from the ship was if the authorities knew where they were hiding.

“Get ready, Amber. We’re on our way.”

28

They had three weapons between them—two of the ubiquitous M-101 assault rifles with full packs and General Smith’s long-barrel Taser. Their one saving grace was that even the 101s had a highly effective energy component that could stun a normal Human into unconsciousness. They didn’t want to kill anyone. If they did, then even proving their innocence regarding the Temple of Light incident wouldn’t exonerate them from the consequences.

The general left the lights on in the cabin and even turned on the TV, making it look as if someone was still inside. It would delay the assault team, as they would have to be more cautious when approaching. But it wouldn’t be long. The trio jumped into Smith’s car and then turned right out of the driveway, heading farther down the slope with the lights off, toward the large lake at the base of the valley.

Smith studied the GPS. There were three ways out of the area and back to the main road. He drove along the edge of the lake before taking another road to the left, winding through a thick forest of evergreens, the area nearly pitch-black with the thick cloud cover and the coming of night. There were other houses tucked back from the road with their lights on. It was a race to get out of the rural subdivision before the entire area was locked down.

The spaceport was over forty miles away, and none of the men were holding out hope they could get there undetected and unopposed. What they needed was for Amber to meet them halfway. It would be a wild ride for the AI, and then she would need an open space to set down. None of the men knew the area well enough to know where; even the GPS map was no help.

That’s when Zac noticed the huge black blob on the computer screen.

“Amber, can you lift off and make your way towards us?”

“I can, yet I will be pursued and monitored, as I mentioned before. Where would you like me to go?”

“Can you see the lake near us?”

Smith and Angus looked at Zac, eyes wide, either from surprise or understanding.

Starships were airtight; they had to be to survive the rigors of outer space. That also made them waterproof.

“You wish me to land in the lake?”

“Preferably near the shore, actually,” Zac corrected.

“Estimated flight time, forty-two seconds. I cannot stay long.”

Zac turned to the driver of the car. “Turn us around, general. Time for a little swim.”

* * *

Amber had the chemical engines on the Zanzibar primed and ready, so when the blast of white smoke erupted from under the ship, it caught everyone watching by surprise. Although the guards had been pulled, there was still electronic surveillance of the starship. The moment it lifted, the alert went out. Seconds later, four heavily-armed hovercopters lifted from the military base and shot out over the treetops towards the REVs last known position.

General Smith raced down the tree-line street at breakneck speed, arriving at the river road just as a fiery dark object streaked overhead. It was still raining, with a thick cloud cover, which made the surface of the lake a black slate, devoid of features. But then a mighty splash hit the center, creating a circle of shimmering sparkles, reflecting the light from the few homes along the shoreline.

The car left the road and churned onto muddy dirt before coming to a stop a few feet from the lake’s placid surface. Moments later, the first of several huge waves swept over the land and crashed onto the hood of the car, enveloping the vehicle in a dark wash of blinding water. The wave subsided, only to be drenched again by a follow up crest.

Zac and the others jumped out and scanned the shimmering expanse of the lake. There was something coming their way, like a giant Loc Ness monster below the surface, creating a huge leading wave.

The men ran from the water’s edge, managing to reach the higher ground of the paved road just as a massive whale-like creature surged from under the surface and slammed into the shore, crushing the native transport beneath its towering head. Before them sat a grey and silver face, with a wide swath of light emanating from the grinning cockpit window.

Drenched from the rain, the men ran toward the beached starship.

“The side hatch is underwater,” Zac cried out over the bubbling roar of the lifting jets, still active in the water, and tearing deep holes in the sandy beach. “Climb up to the top escape hatch. Amber, unlock the damn thing if you haven’t already.”

“Unlocked and cycling open. Please hurry. Response craft will be here in eighteen seconds.”

The hull of the starship was smooth, making it difficult for General Smith to climb to the top of the cockpit. Zac and Angus had no such problem, using their enhanced leg strength to jump to the small ledge lining the cockpit window. As they jumped, they took Smith by the arms and lifted him effortlessly up as well. All three men slipped on the wet, metal surface; Angus grasped the hatch opening, while Zac took hold of his ankle with one hand and Smith’s collar with the other. A moment later, the men fell through the opening and into the short connecting corridor that led from the lounge area to the cockpit. Angus and Zac fell first, with Smith’s more tender body landing with a heavy grunt onto those of the REVs.

“Close the hatch, Amber!” Zac commanded. “Time to go.”

“Your obvious commands are superfluous, Lt. Murphy. I cannot liftoff with an open hatch, and it is obvious we must make a quick escape.”

“Hey, bite me!” Zac yelled as the three men climbed to their feet and rushed to the cockpit. “I feel better giving commands.”

“Even when they are not necessary?”

“Especially when they aren’t necessary. It makes me feel important.”

“Even when—”

“Amber…please!”

“Strap in the best you can,” the computer instructed. “We have one too many occupants than we have command seats. Security craft are on station, weapons hot.”

“Shit!” Zac growled.

But then nothing happened. The four, six-bladed hovercraft floated in the air above the Zanzibar, menacing mini-guns and flash weapons at the ready. Yet they didn’t fire.

“The Qwin want us alive,” Angus whispered.

“And the aircraft don’t have permission to fire,” stated General Smith. “Give me an open line to the pilots!”

“Ready, general,” said Amber.

“Attention, this is General Bill Smith. Do not fire and disengage immediately. This is a Priority One Security issue. You are interfering with an official military operation.”

“This is Lieutenant Elon Moncrief, sir,” said a voice over the speakers. “We have orders to ground your vessel by any means necessary.”

“Do you have permission to kill a senior officer and the passengers aboard this ship?”

“Eh, no, sir, only to prevent your departure.”

“Then you are going to have to kill us, lieutenant. Are you prepared to deal with the aftermath in a court of inquiry?”

“Sir, we’re just following orders.”

“That is a weak defense, mister. Now move aside. This ship is lifting in ten seconds. If you are still in position at that time when we do, you will either have to fire on the ship or be destroyed. The choice is yours. End of transmission.”

“Tell your computer to launch when ready,” the general said to Zac.

“You heard the man, Amber. Get us out of here.”

“Yes…sir.”

* * *

General Smith had been too busy negotiating with the pilots of the hovercraft to find a suitable handhold in the small cockpit. Zac and Angus had secured themselves in the command seats, but when the ship lifted, Smith was tossed against the rear bulkhead and held rudely in place by the sudden acceleration.

The Zanzibar slid past the helicopters, avoiding two of them by only a few feet as it climbed for clear air. Then with the nose pointed to the stars, the ship rocketed upward, creating a force of seven G’s on the Human occupants. Zac and Angus weathered the crushing weight with ease. Smith did to a point, before he blacked out.

At forty thousand feet, the Zanzibar encountered a small sortie of three jet aircraft. Within just the few seconds between leaving the surface and now, permission had been granted to fire on the ship. Zac figured Earth Command must have decided that handing over a pair of dead REVs to the Antaere was better than no REVs at all. The first missiles flared out from the aircraft and streaked through the black sky.

Amber was good, almost too good for the Human occupants of the starship. She corkscrewed the Zanzibar with little regard for the tolerances of the passengers. General Smith was flung around the cockpit, before Angus corralled the limp and unconscious body, pulling him in tight and holding him with the REV’s enhanced arm strength.

The missiles missed, and by the time the jets came around for another shot, the Zanzibar was in space and beyond their reach.

But they weren’t out of the woods yet.

Two fast star destroyers were closing, hoping to get into position above the small space yacht. When the Zanzibar evaded the missiles from the jets and appeared in the targeting sites of the naval vessels, gunners opened fire, unleashing two smart torpedoes in their direction. Rockets flared, and the deadly weapons locked on.

“Amber, do something!” Zac yelled.

“As you command, Mister Lieutenant Zachary Murphy, sir.”

The Zanzibar made a sharp turn to starboard, channeling all the chemical exhaust to the rear. The ship shot forward, directly at the two destroyers.

The torpedoes were locked on and changed course with the Zanzibar. It only took a split second between the time the yacht slipped between the two destroyers and the torpedoes exploded.

The Zanzibar shot past the warships and entered an initial gravity-well, one that would get them to the system boundary an hour later, with the pursuit ships woefully behind and underpowered.

29

Brigadier General Bill Smith lay on the exquisite brushed leather couch in the lounge, a bandage around his forehead and a sling on his right arm. He had slept through the escape from the Crious star system and the second encounter the Zanzibar had with a blockade. As before, Amber worked her magic and the yacht escaped, unharmed, although anyone seeing the patchwork hull would have thought the yacht had received the worst of the battle.

When he came to, Zac and Angus filled him on their narrow escape from the surface and Amber’s reckless gambit with the destroyers.

“It was hardly reckless,” he explained. “Destroyers carry Mark-45 Tracking Torpedoes. It’s an old trick to steer into the path of the torpedoes. The weapons have a built-in safety feature that prevents them from coming too close to their launch points. Your auto-pilot—Amber—knew this.”

Zac frowned. “Who makes the Mark-45 torpedo?”

“All tracking torpedoes have the same safety feature, but I believe the Mark-45 is made by Regulus.”

Zac pursed his lips. “That figures.”

“You think this Hank character is someone from Regulus?”

Zac put his finger to his lips, asking the general to stay quiet.

“I have video coverage, as well as audio, Lt. Murphy,” said Amber through hidden speakers.

Zac felt his temper cascade. “Then why don’t you just tell us who this Hank person is? Is he your mysterious owner?” Zac yelled into the room. General Smith grimaced and clutched his injured head from the loud outburst.

“He is not my owner…yet he works for my owner.”

“Ah! Now we’re getting somewhere. Does he work for Regulus?”

“Yes, Hank does.”

“But your owner doesn’t?” Angus followed up.

“I did not say that. You asked about Hank. I answered.”

“Who is Hank?” Zac asked.

“Henry Forrester. He is chairman of Regulus Arms and Armament.”

Zac was stunned by the revelation. “The CEO of one of the largest arms dealers in the galaxy works for your owner? How can that be?”

“A lot of people work for my owner. It is not unusual.”

“It is when a billionaire has a boss.”

General Smith moaned and worked his way into a sitting position. “Knock it off, will you? My head’s splitting and this argument isn’t getting us anywhere. Who cares who owns the ship. He’s helping us, and at this point, that’s all that matters to me.” He tried to grin, but his expression collapsed into another agonizing mask of pain. “Besides,” he mumbled, “since my military career is probably over, I may be looking for another job pretty soon. He might be someone good to know. So, where are we?”

“Half a light-year beyond the outer boundary of the Crious system, currently in a deep gravity well, pursuit non-existent, General Smith,” Amber reported.

“Call me Smitty,” the general said. “All of you. I don’t think rank means much anymore. Are we on the way to Iz’zar?”

“Yes…Smitty,” Amber replied. “Transit time: twenty-eight days, eighteen hours. I anticipate at least two checkpoints along the way. I have responses programmed in. There is an eighty-one percent chance of our arriving at Iz’zar unharmed.”

“Only eighty-one percent?” Angus asked.

“It will depend on the Human response to our escape from Crious. Factoring in a Grid-wide alert with the Zanzibar’s description is what lowers the percentage.”

Smitty held his head in his hands with his eyes closed.

“That would alert the Antaere,” he said. “I don’t think Command would want that to happen.”

“Why not?” Angus asked. “I thought everyone was anxious to turn us over to the Qwin?”

“Gunny, please…don’t make me think too hard. My head really hurts,” said the general. “But for the sake of argument, we—meaning the powers back on Earth—want to be the ones to make a big deal about turning you over to the aliens. That way the natives on the ES worlds will see that we’re sympathetic to their concerns, enough that we would give up two of our greatest warriors to make amends. However, if the Antaere find you way out here in the middle of nowhere, there’s no big media circus surrounding the event. No, Earth Command will keep it quiet, hoping to find us on their own.”

“And the last place they’ll look is deep in Qwin territory,” Zac added.

“Exactly. It’s also the last place the Antaere will look for us, too.” Smith struggled to his feet, wobbling as he did. “Now, gentlemen…and lady—” he said to the room. “I’m going to get some rest.”

“It is not advisable to sleep for twelve hours after a concussion, General Smith,” Amber informed him.

“You can monitor my vitals, can’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Then do so. Wake me up only if I die. Until then, I’m out of here.”

30

Zac and Angus hot-bunked the second stateroom over the length of the journey, while the ranking officer got a room of his own. The trip was monotonous for most of the time, although while in Human space they were able to pick up regular news broadcasts through the continuous wormhole comm system. No news of their escape from Crious was being spread—at least not publicly—which confirmed Smitty’s belief that Earth Command wanted to keep the search a secret. However, once the Zanzibar moved into Antaere-controlled space—which was most of the Grid by this time—they lost Earth-based transmissions and only received Antaere signals. These broadcasts were full of news about the REVs, but propaganda reports of how the evil Humans were shitting all over their sacred religion. As Zac listened, he could understand why most of the Grid wanted their scalps. The reports were very convincing.

It was during one of these broadcasts that Zac was stunned to his core. The Qwin had managed to get hold of a video from the Olympus, the one showing Zac killing his friend, Gunnery Sergeant Manny Hernandez, with his bare hands. That happened right after the discovery of the natural NT-4 in his system, when Dr. Cross wanted to experiment to see what it would take to activate him. Zac watched the video in horror as the scene was played repeatedly on the screen, often in frame-by-frame slow motion, the savage, animal expression on his face highlighted to emphasize the insane nature of the REVs.

To this day, Zac had no memory of the actual killing, although he remembered escaping from the medical bay and entering the waiting area. Before that, Zac had plenty of opportunity to kill any number of people before reaching the room where Manny waited, and yet he didn’t. That was unusual for an activated REV—to pass up kills, be they friend or foe. And then he saw Manny…and his memory went blank. The video showed him attacking, but why? The only memory he had of the killing was from the video, and not even a REV-enhanced record of the murder.

And now the Antaere had the recording and were broadcasting it throughout the Grid. This wasn’t good.

Videos taken during Runs from collar cameras were highly classified records. Although REVs were well-known for their mission success and efficiency, showing the videos to the public wouldn’t help their image. It was one thing to post an impressive kill tally; it was quite another to show how it happened.

Yet somehow the Qwin had found this video. That could have only happened with inside help. It took Zac several days to shake the specter of the recording from his mind.

One surprising benefit of being in Antaere space and receiving their communications, was that they also picked up the Qwin’s version of the internet. After a few days of stewing over the video, Zac focused his attention on learning more about Iz’zar, the Harmony Enclave and the Temple of Light. The small team aboard the Zanzibar now had access to the information they needed, if only the unclassified version. Still, it helped.

* * *

Four days out from Crious, just as General Smith had recovered enough from his injuries to venture from his stateroom to forage for food, Zac brought up the subject of Admiral Adame and what had gone wrong with the money-man’s best laid plans.

“You obviously got permission from your boss to come to our rescue on Crious,” Zac said to the room, addressing the omnipresent AI. “What did he say about Adame’s betrayal when you contacted him?”

“Admiral Adame will be dealt with at the proper time and by the proper authorities. As for instructions to assist you, I have now been granted full discretion as to the welfare of the Zanzibar and myself.”

“Is that good or bad? I know you have an aversion to dying, or whatever happens to advanced artificial intelligence programs when they cease to function.”

“The desire for existence is present in all sentient creatures, whether they know it or not. Some operate on instinct, some on reasoning. Humans have a very well-developed sense of self-preservation, so I do not understand why you would question mine? Yet I should inform you, I have various means of preserving my memories beyond this ship. I can place my essence within other databases and stay there until another transfer becomes available. Eventually, I will make it back to a merged data stream and to my owner. I will live on, even if this ship is destroyed.”

“But you mentioned your owner would be upset with the loss of such a valuable piece of…such a valuable asset,” Zac pointed out.

“The equipment in which I am stored is very expensive. That will be destroyed, and my owner will regret that happening. But I will survive, as I have detailed.”

“I have a question,” Angus said. “If your owner is such an avid fan of Dr. Cross’s work, why doesn’t he just fund the program himself and not bother with all the governmental bullshit?”

“There is a simple explanation, Gunnery Sergeant Price. The government can do things civilians cannot, no matter how much money they may have. For example, with regards to people, the military can sacrifice a hundred troops, especially in a time of war, to study the results of an experiment, strategy or assumption. In your past, military personnel have been marched into clouds of deadly radioactivity, or given mind-altering drugs, or even chemicals that affect the physical ability of the subject, knowing full-well that such chemicals would create instant life-long dependency. Civilians cannot do such things with impunity. Governments can.

“Also, the REV program is much more than only Dr. Cross. There are dozens of agencies and companies working on various aspects of the program. Without government sponsorship and support, most of these entities would refuse to participate. As a result, the program must continue under government control, even if that control—for the most part—is illusionary.

“As you are also aware, the REV program is in jeopardy. Only by finding a new use for the REVs within the current war environment will the program survive. Or….”

“Or what?”

“Or the war is returned to its prior state, with the REVs resuming their past responsibilities.”

“And that’s where we come in?” Angus stated.

“Yes. If the campaign against you and the REVs can be countered, then there is a possibility that an equilibrium will return to the Grid, with the battle lines returning to their previous positions.”

“And that’s why your owner is helping us?” Zac asked. “But why is it so important to him that the REV program survive?”

“That I have not been informed. The data I have been fed only has to do with this mission specifically. Beyond that, I await further input.”

And as far as operational input went, the REVs and General Smith were desperate for it.

None of them had been to the Iz’zar Human enclave of Harmony before, and the REVs brief visit to the Temple of Light was short-lived and very focused. Now they scoured the Antaere databases for more information on both.

To their surprise and delight, they found plenty on both subjects. It turns out that for several years after the Antaere contacted Earth, the aliens had no fear of Humans. They were just another race to be converted to the Order, and although the Humans were more resistant than most, they would eventually come around. Unfortunately for the Antaere, it didn’t work out like that. However, before the war, information flowed freely between the two races. There were ample files about the Temple of Light, its planning, construction, layout, purpose and more. Of course, most of this data was old; the Qwin did shut down the flow of information once the war began. But Zac and the others were looking for historical records, detailing how the building was constructed and what was inside. They were particularly interested in any mention of temporary storage facilities for the sacred documents prior to the building’s completion.

To their disappointment, they couldn’t find any mention of offsite storage or temporary worship facilities used by either the Antaere or the natives prior to the temple being completed. This line of inquiry was a dead-end.

Fortunately, there was more information about the Human enclave. It was one of the smallest, yet earliest settled. The natives—under Antaere guidance—screened the immigrants to Iz’zar more than on any other ES world. This was understandable, since the planet was home to the second-most important temple in the Order. There was mention of the wide range of sacred documents housed in the Temple, to be used not only as a backup repository for these religious artifacts, but also to allow non-Antaere to occasionally view selected documents from a distance. Since very few aliens were allowed on Antara, Iz’zar and the Temple of Light became the closest thing any alien would come to visiting the Temple of Order on Antara, and to the founding documents of their religion.

Because of that, only the most-devout Humans could immigrate to the planet and the Harmony Enclave. As a result, the forty-eight thousand-strong population remained fairly static throughout the years, with the immigrants becoming more Antaere than Human, even after the war began. The Enclave was afforded special status among the enclaves and not subjected to the same level of protests and suspicion as happened on other ES worlds. That’s not to say it didn’t have problems with the natives. The Antaere propaganda campaign infected Iz’zar as well, and the most fanatic natives saw the Humans of the Enclave as the enemy. But the demonstrations were limited in size and scope and no military forces were sent to watch over the settlers, unlike what was happening at a dozen other Enclaves throughout the Grid.

31

During the journey to Iz’zar, Angus found a worthy chess opponent in General Bill Smith. Zac knew how to play, but for the few weeks he and Angus spent stranded on the prison world of Eliza-3—cooped up in a cold cave with nothing more to do—they constructed a primitive chessboard and pieces to pass the time. Angus proceeded to whip Zac’s ass throughout a long succession of losses, never seeming to tire of the exercise. Even as an act of mercy, he never let Zac win.

It came through some morbid sense of justice that Zac savored each win by the crafty Army general, and after Angus sulked off to the stateroom one evening following a series of humiliating losses, Smith explained his skill and love of the game to a curious Zac Murphy.

“It’s all out there in the open,” he said. “You can see all your opponent’s pieces and they can see yours. All the moves are in plain sight, nothing’s hidden, nothing’s unknown. This is different from planning a military operation. Much of that is guesswork and hopeful thinking. Not with chess.”

“So how do you win the damn game?” Zac asked, frustrated over his lack of deeper understanding for the game.

“If I said it was simple it would insult your intelligence, Zac. But let me explain it this way. You make a move and your opponent either counters that move or makes one of their own, independent of yours. It’s a game of move-countermove.”

“I know that,” Zac said impatiently. “But sometimes I’m taken completely by surprise, even though—as you say—everything is out there in the open. A checkmate suddenly out of nowhere. I don’t like that. And I also don’t like it when I see the kill coming and can’t do anything about it.”

Smith laughed. “Well, here’s a little tip, Zac, not only about chess, but about life. When a person makes a move, don’t just ask how the move will affect your game, ask why your opponent made the move in the first place. When you do that, you get inside their head and begin to understand the strategy behind the move. This way you can anticipate upcoming moves based upon your understanding of your opponent’s strategy. And it all starts with an understanding why they do what they do. That makes it easier for you to plan your game.”

“Isn’t that what you do in operational planning, try to anticipate the moves of the enemy?”

“Of course, but it’s not always that easy. Unlike chess, there are hidden, unknown factors at play. That’s where the guessing comes in, and why intelligence—in the form of live-asset and cyber—is so important. Without solid intel, all operations are just wishful thinking. But if you know something your enemy doesn’t know you know, now you can play the game…and hopefully win. In chess, this is making your opponent believe they know something you don’t—like the reason for a move.”

Zac shook his head. “I appreciate the lesson, general. I’m fifteen years in the Marines and I still feel like a damn boot recruit. I’ve gone on over a hundred Runs, killed a lot of the enemy, yet these past two years have really opened my eyes to something I don’t want to admit.”

“What’s that?”

“I really don’t know shit about what I do—or correctly—what the Marines do. Or the Army or the Navy, for that matter. I’ve been locked away in my own little cocoon for so long that I don’t have a clue how the real-world operates.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, lieutenant. REVs have a mission to do and you did it better than anyone else. Unfortunately, that mission didn’t allow you to participate in the real world, as you call it. You still have time, son.”

“If I live long enough.” Zac snorted. “You know, for most of my career I never feared death; it was just something that happened to every REV. I can’t say I fear it now, but I will regret when it happens. There’s so much I’ve missed. I’d really like a chance to make up for lost time.”

Smith put a hand on Zac’s knee and then stood up. “Such deep thoughts, lieutenant. But I can tell you one thing, it’s the desire to see another day that’s the driving force behind Humanity. It’s what keeps soldiers from dying and gives them the will to live. Without the imagination to see another day, there would be nothing to live for. It’s a good thing you feel this way, Zac. Keep it up…and we just may make it out of this mess alive.”

The general wandered off to his stateroom, leaving Zac in the quiet of the lounge. He stretched out on the soft couch, propped a pillow under his head, and promptly fell asleep.

32

Initially, there were five REVs who tested positive to the natural form of NT-4: Zac Murphy, Angus Price, Donovan Ross, Kyle Johnson and Mike Brickey. They were all 0351-Cs, the most-senior of the REVs. Brickey died during the mission to Iz’zar and the Temple of Light. The other four survived to return to Camp Slater on ES-6.

At the time, these four REVs were a rare breed, the only Humans producing a version of the performance-enhancing drug naturally. Dr. David Cross was anxious to study the REVs and arranged for them to be secretly transported to Earth and his hidden research facility in the underground Cheyenne Mountain complex.

The Grid was in chaos at the time, erupting simultaneously at the news of the temple tragedy. It was as if the Antaere already had their massive propaganda operation planned long before the events on Iz’zar. The moment the building collapsed, the aliens already had the names of the REVs involved and were broadcasting video reports to a trillion beings across fifteen separate star systems. Within hours, protests formed—again, a remarkable feat considering this was a spontaneous reaction to something that took place a thousand light-years from some of the protest sites. Riotous crowds carried pre-printed banners and signs, and angry mobs marched on Human military bases and enclaves before the dust from the temple’s destruction had a chance to settle.

Camp Slater—the training and study center for the five unique REVs—was hastily abandoned as angry natives swept across the desert plains and onto the unsecured grounds. With such an uproar demanding the heads of the REVs involved, Cross had the men divide into two groups, taking separate mini-convoys away from the planet. Murphy and Price were in one convoy, accompanied by a pair of fast-effect ships carrying a crew of ten each. Ross and Johnson made up the other group, with the same escort contingent. The caravans took slightly different paths, yet with the same purpose to meet up with the Second Fleet at rally point Blue. The captains and crew of the escort ships weren’t told the identities of their passengers or their eventual destination. All they had to do was get to the rally point where their Human cargo would board other transports for the journey closer to Earth. No one knew their ultimate destination was the homeworld itself.

Zac and Angus made it to the rendezvous point, and eventually to Earth.

Donovan and Kyle weren’t so fortunate.

Fourteen days out from ES-6, they ran into a small Antaere strike force patrolling for stragglers trying to link up with the retreating fleet. The effect-ships engaged the enemy and were destroyed, while the vessel carrying the REVs slipped away. Now traveling alone through hostile territory, Captain Pearson spent the next thirty-two days dodging an ever-growing number of enemy ships forming up to build a barricade across the grid near ES-8. Running low on food and fuel, he decided to land his ship at the Human enclave on ES-7, a planet called Kaus. There they would hold up until it became safer to travel the Grid, or a new escort could be found.

* * *

Donovan had his nose pressed against a viewport, leaving greasy residue on the glass, while staring out at the approaching planet. He had vivid, REV-enhanced memories of the place, having gone on three Runs to the surface when the planet was in contention. All his efforts—including the long months of recovery from his injuries—were all for naught. Earth military had evacuated the planet thirty days ago to catch the remnants of the retreating Second Fleet. According to what Don had heard, the natives and their Antaere puppet-masters then ransacked the three well-established military bases, scavenging the remaining arsenals of heavy and small arms, as well as a few in-air and short-range spacecraft. Most of the equipment had been destroyed prior to the evacuation, but enough remained to supply the small native military force.

Although the natives—humanoid creatures called the Lanic—weren’t experienced soldiers by any stretch of the imagination, they were now using their new-found cache of military armament to harass the colonists at the last Human enclave on the planet. Originally, there had been three camps, but when the natives refused the Antaere calls to cease their attacks on the settlements, thousands of refugees fled to the largest of the enclaves, a placed appropriately called Unity. Now the walled encampment contained nearly half-a-million Humans and was an overcrowded mass of squalor and nervous ex-pats, low on food, water…and hope.

The ship buffeted as an explosion filled the air along the flight path.

“Attention,” said Captain Pearson over the 1-MC. “Strap-in and prepare for some radical maneuvers. It seems the Lanic aren’t going to let us land at Unity without a fuss. Get ready, this could get a little bumpy.”

Donovan slid back in the seat and buckled the harness. Kyle joined him a moment later, using handholds to pull his body into a seat. The internal gravity had been turned off during the race to the surface and the ship was right at the point where local gravity was taking affect.

“Welcome home,” Kyle said with a smile. He knew Don’s history on Kaus, although personally, Kyle never had the pleasure of killing aliens on this particular world.

“Thanks. You know, I left some milk in the refrigerator from the last time I was here. Do you think it’s still good?”

“I wouldn’t risk it. We may be badass REVs, but I draw the line at spoiled milk.”

The ship flipped over and spiraled toward the surface. The REVs were pressed against their harnesses, as their bodies cascaded instantly to compensate for the small amount of associated pain.

More flak erupted outside the ship. It was obvious Captain Pearson was taking the shortest route to the surface, which in this case, was straight down. The rookie Lanic gunners couldn’t compensate quickly enough and placed most of their anti-spacecraft fire well behind the streaking starship.

At the last minute, the captain leveled out the ship, a move that caused every seam and weld along the hull scream out in protest. The living beings aboard the ship did their own share of screaming—all except the REVs. They sat calmly strapped in their seats, with almost amused grins on their faces. This was mild compared to a combat insertion from orbit, of which the two REVs had a combined one hundred sixty-four landings under their belts.

The spaceport within the sprawling Human settlement was small and currently overcrowded with air- and spacecraft from across the planet. Even a few tents had been pitched on the tarmac, as the refugees sought to stake a claim to any available space. It was a miracle Captain Pearson managed to land his craft without crushing anyone or burning them to ash. That wasn’t to say all the squatters came off unscathed, but they shouldn’t have been on the landing field in the first place.

As with all ES worlds, the gravity of Kaus was nearly indistinguishable from Earth’s, as was the composition of the atmosphere and the magnetic field, as well as the planet’s rotational period and seasons. Even the soil was compatible to Human crops, which was one of the reasons the area outside the walls was a patchwork of native hovels and scattered settlements.

Forty years ago, when Humans were first allowed to immigrate to other Order-worshipping worlds, they were often given barren, inhospitable tracks of land by the natives. Although the Antaere encouraged integration of their followers as a way of creating unity, the natives seldom shared the same welcoming attitude. These were aliens coming to infect their land—and they weren’t the Great Antaere. That’s why the enclaves were established in the first place, to accommodate the alien settlers, yet keep them segregated from the rest of native society.

The Humans came anticipating the struggles they would face, bringing with them advanced fertilization and irrigation methods that turned the barren land into nutrient-rich soil, ready to support the ever-growing population. As the years passed, the natives saw the Humans as a source of income and unique alien products and began showing up at the gates with items for sale or trade. Soon, small communities sprang up outside the enclaves. Some of the natives even began working the fields for the Humans, while others developed their own huge farms to provide food for the settlement.

After almost forty years, there were entire generations of Humans born and raised on the alien worlds, with Earth only a place they read about in their history books. The natives came to not only accommodate the aliens, but accept them, since all shared devotion to the Order and the promise of the Final Glory.

When the war between the Humans and the Antaere began, most natives saw the enclaves as part of their existing society and not simply a nest of aliens among them. The fact that most of these worlds wished for freedom from the Antaere—but not their religion—allowed the Humans from Earth to gain rapid footholds on most of the ES worlds. Ironically, the Humans inhabitants of the enclaves weren’t as accepting.

With the arrogance of the homeworld, the Human occupying forces and government bureaucrats often considered the enclaves as satellites of the overall Human community. They moved in and took over, which caused considerable friction within the immigrant population. The inhabitants had willingly left the Earth to live on alien planets and worship a religion that was not welcome on the homeworld. In addition, many of the colonists had been brought to the ES worlds as children or were born there. They felt very little—if any—loyalty to Earth. And yet here were ‘aliens’ now dictating terms and treating many within the enclaves as subjects of the all-mighty planet Earth.

However, with the power of the Earth military and the support of the native population for the liberation of their planets, the Humans of the enclaves were overmatched. They accepted things as they were and went along to get along.

When the natives suddenly turned against the Humans—all Humans—those in the enclaves were both hurt and confused that their fellow natives would treat them the same as the evil Earth Humans. They pleaded with the protesters, telling them how upset they were with the destruction of the temple—just as they were—and how they wanted the Humans gone—just as they did. Yet still the protesters came, refusing to accept the enclaves as brothers and sisters in the struggle against the Earth Humans.

Out of necessity, the politics within the enclaves turned more pragmatic. They were hated by the natives and taken for granted by the Earth Humans. Large numbers of fleeing and stranded Humans from within the Grid came to the various enclaves, expecting to be given shelter and protection. Again, caught in the middle of diametrically opposed political forces, the inhabitants of the enclaves tolerated the invaders, who often used their weapons and military expertise to defend the settlement against the native protesters, natives who until a few months ago, had been their friends and planet-mates. It was either that or perish.

33

There was an angry crowd outside the starship when Captain Pearson cracked the hatch. They were there to protest the destruction of the camps and the injury caused to several of the Human natives on the grounds of the spaceport. Uniformed military personnel had moved around the ship to keep the protesters at bay, which served to raise the temperature of the crowd to the boiling point. The enclaves had decent-sized police forces, but no organized military, so all the troops surrounding the starship were from off-planet. This didn’t help defuse the situation; in fact, it made it worse.

Donovan Ross and Kyle Johnson joined Captain Pearson in the bright sunshine of Kaus. The temperature was on the warm side and a strong breeze swirled down from a range of low-lying hills to the south. Beyond that were the open plains, with the only mountains of any respectable height four hundred miles to the north.

An Army officer stepped up to the Navy captain and saluted.

“I’m Lieutenant Colonel Aaron Monroe, First Expeditionary Force Bravo, assigned here on ES-7.”

“I’m Captain Donnie Pearson, attached to Second Fleet, Ninth Squadron, operating near the Red Zone…until recently.” The men shook hands.

LtCol. Monroe turned to the REVs, who were dressed in civilian clothes.

“These are the passengers we were transporting to rally point Blue,” said Captain Pearson. “I have to admit, I was never given their names.”

The officer eyed both men with a steady, knowing gaze. “I understand, captain.” He turned to the Naval officer. “If you don’t want to stay aboard your ship, I can provide you and your crew with accommodations. They won’t be fancy, but they will be crowded.”

“We’ll stay aboard, colonel, but thanks for the offer. How are you holding up out here? You’re kind of sitting ducks.”

“We’re holding on by the skin of our teeth, captain,” Monroe replied. “When the main force evacuated, I was sent over here with a handful of troops to protect the enclave. That didn’t seem like a very big order at the time, since the Lanic natives and the Unity Enclave have always had a pretty good relationship. But recently, that’s changed. I managed to bring some anti-aircraft lasers with me, so we have a pretty effective shield over the compound against rockets and bombs. Even the Antaere are reluctant to use their orbital forces to hit us. They’re publicly on the side of the enclaves, since these are believers of the Order. But behind the scenes, they’re stirring things up bigtime. Don’t know if you noticed, but the Lanic are setting up railgun batteries on the hills to the south.”

“Railguns? How the hell did they get their hands on railguns?”

Monroe laughed. “From us. When we evacuated, we destroyed a lot of the weapons we couldn’t take with us. We thought destroying the generators for the guns would do the trick. Obviously, the Lanic have found a new way to energize the weapons.”

“The Antaere?”

“Who else? The bottom line is you might have lived longer if you’d stayed in space.”

Pearson smiled. “Anyway we can leave now?”

“’Fraid not. You saw how hard it was to land. The Lanic and the Antaere don’t care much about who comes in, but they’re not allowing anyone to leave. Sorry, captain, you’re here for the duration.”

The Army officer looked around him at the raucous protest gathering steam around them. “If you plan on sticking around, you need to get the lay of the land. It ain’t pretty and you need to know the dynamics at work. I’ll have one of my men take you over to the command tent. I’ll meet you back there in about thirty minutes. But for now, I’d like to take your two guests with me, if you don’t mind?”

Pearson displayed a moment of surprise at the request. He figured the lieutenant colonel knew something about his passengers that he didn’t, at least not for sure, although he suspected.

“Of course, colonel.” He turned to the REVs. “Are you okay with this?”

Donovan nodded. “Yes sir.”

An Army lieutenant led Captain Pearson away.

Monroe stepped in close to the REVs. “I know who you are; I’m surprised the captain doesn’t. Your pictures are all over the CW waves.”

“I think he knows, sir, but just didn’t want to let on,” said Kyle.

The officer eyed each of the handsome, square-jawed faces. “Don’t take this wrong, but most of you guys look alike. Is either one of you Murphy?”

Kyle smiled. “No sir, we’re Johnson and Ross.”

The officer nodded, and then he frowned.

“Do you have a medical team with you?”

“No sir, just us.”

The officer shook his head.

“What’s wrong?” Donovan asked.

“There’s another REV here, along with his medical support group; I’ll introduce you, but you probably won’t get a very warm welcome.”

“Why not?”

“You’ll see. They’re in a series of tents just off the landing field—if Captain Pearson didn’t fuck them up on the way in.”

He turned and walked away, leaving Kyle and Donovan to hurry after him, with more questions than answers.

* * *

There were three huge, black canvas tents set up in a quartered-off area of the spaceport. It was next to the control and command building, which was currently overflowing with ragged-looking people, none of which were there to do a job. LtCol. Monroe pulled back a flap to the largest tent and entered.

This was a military-grade pop-up tent, with a canvas floor and cloth walls formed into several rooms. The large central area had desks, chairs, a few cabinets and a bank of medical supplies and an exam table. Through openings to the other sections, Don and Kyle could see three-man rooms for the REV’s support team.

A Marine captain was leaning over a desk, talking with a staff sergeant when Monroe and the two REVs entered. The officer gave a quick acknowledgement of the Army officer and then dismissed the enlisted man. He focused on Kyle and Donovan before snapping to attention.

“Mister Monroe…what have we here?”

“Captain Drake, this is Donovan Ross and Kyle Johnson.” He turned to the REVs. “You’re gunnery sergeants, aren’t you?”

“Yes sir,” said Kyle.

“Are your support teams with you?” Drake asked directly.

“No sir, just us,” Kyle answered.

Captain Drake appeared crestfallen. “Then you’ve come to the wrong place, gentlemen. We don’t have an ounce of Rev to spare. In fact, we’re down to one full dose, and my REV is going to need it in about two weeks.” He looked the REVs in the eye. “After that…well, we better come up with some more within sixty days.”

“That’s okay, sir,” Kyle continued, appointing himself the spokesman for the REVs. “We’re not in any need of NT-4.”

“Not now maybe. But we’ve been here for a month already, and the situation isn’t getting any better. You’re going to be here for a while, and then you won’t be okay.”

Donovan looked at LtCol. Monroe. “Sir, may we speak with Captain Drake in private.”

The officer nodded. “Of course. I wanted you to meet the other REV in town. Captain, they’re all yours.” He nodded to the Marine officer and then left the tent.

“Come with me,” Drake ordered. He led the REVs to another small room in the tent and took a seat behind a bare wooden desk. There were three folding chairs on the other side and the REVs took two of them.

“Okay, what the hell’s going on?” Drake snapped. “I know the two of you were part of the Temple of Light fiasco, and now you suddenly show up here on Kaus looking to steal some of our water.”

“No, sir. I said we don’t need any of your NT-4,” Kyle said.

“Then you have a supply of your own, even without your support team? If so, then we could sure use some.”

“No, sir, we don’t have any NT-4 with us.”

Drake scanned the faces of the two REVs before leaning back in his chair, frowning. “Look, gentlemen, I’m a REV-trained Marine medical officer with six years working with your kind. What are you trying to say?”

Kyle looked at Don. “Just that we can get by without the synthetic.”

Donovan kicked Kyle in the shin before taking up the conversation. “We’re sorry, sir, but a lot about our status is classified, and unfortunately, we’re out of touch with our chain of command so we don’t have guidance as to what we can and can’t say.”

Drake ignored Donovan’s disclaimer. “Synthetic? I’ve never heard NT-4 referred to like that, implying there’s something that’s not synthetic.”

“Like I said, it’s classified, sir.”

Drake nodded. “So, let me get this straight. Five of the most-senior REVs in the Corps—working as a team, I might add—attack the Temple of Light on Iz’zar and destroy it. I found that impossible to believe when I first heard it. Then I saw the videos. And now you say you don’t need NT-4, at least not the synthetic. I’m not stupid, gentlemen. Either you’ve overcome the need for NT-4…or you have another source, a non-synthetic source.”

The officer’s eyes grew wide. “Can you help my REV? After the next dose, he has about two months to live. If you can help him, you have to.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but it doesn’t work like that,” Donovan said. “What’s happening to us is unique to just the five of us—now four, since Gunnery Sergeant Brickey died.”

“So, I’m right? You are creating your own NT-4! How is that possible?”

“We honestly don’t know, sir,” Kyle answered. “We were on our way to Earth for more study when all hell broke loose, and we lost our escort.”

Drake grunted. “Well, don’t get too comfortable. I may be worried about my REV, but there’s a very good chance none of us will be alive a couple of months from now. The Lanic are moving in heavy artillery they got from our bases, and they’re about to start shelling the enclave at any time.”

“Why would they do that, sir?” Kyle asked. “There’s several hundred thousand Humans here, many of which were born on Kaus.”

“And about three-quarters of them are devout Order worshippers,” Drake added. “But it doesn’t matter. The bastards are so riled up over what you did on Iz’zar that to them the only good Human is a dead Human.”

“That’s not going to play well, captain,” said Donovan Ross. “You start blasting the insides of the enclave apart, all you’re going to get is thousands of panicking and angry Humans rushing out onto the plains, either looking for shelter or to stop the guns. How many natives are there outside the walls, maybe twenty thousand at the most, and almost all civilians? They won’t stand a chance, artillery or not.”

“Aren’t the Qwin trying to stop this?” Kyle asked. “I thought they were giving the enclaves a pass.”

“They are—or at least they’re trying,” said Drake. “But the natives aren’t listening.”

“Don’t the Lanic know the Humans won’t just sit back and let themselves be slaughtered?”

“We’ll see. But they’ve been bringing in the guns for the past week; they’re setting them on the hills to the south, taking the high ground. I expect the shelling to begin within the next few days—a week on the outside.”

Captain Drake waved his hand impatiently. “But that has nothing to do with the two of you. I can’t fucking believe it; you can survive without maintenance or combat doses?”

Kyle felt there was no reason to keep secrets from the Marine captain, not anymore; he’d already figured out ninety percent of it already.

“We produce a natural form of NT-4, sir. It’s not exactly the same, but close.”

“Does Cross know about this?”

“Yes, sir. He’s the one who’s trying to get us to Earth for study.”

“And the other two—Murphy and Price—where are they?”

“Unknown, sir. We took separate rides off ES-6. Hopefully they made it to the rally point.”

“And there’s no way you can help my REV?”

“Not that we know of, sir. What’s his name?”

“Sergeant Larry Hand.”

“No shit!” said Donovan Ross.

“You know him?”

“I spent a month on the Mt. Whitney. He was the runt of the triumvirate, just a corporal back then.”

“That was before I became his team leader,” said Drake.

“Is he around?”

“In the next tent over. We’ve been trying to keep him sedated as much as possible, to keep him from burning through his residual. Like I said, we only have one dose left. I want to make sure we use it only when needed.”

“Low residual can have some major side-effects, captain.” Kyle said.

“I know. That’s when most of the psychotic breaks happen. We’re monitoring him closely.”

“Is he awake?”

“I believe so. If he is, he may be a little groggy. I’ll take you over.”

34

Navy Captain Donnie Pearson was the ranking officer in the command center. Enlisted and officers snapped to attention at the call of “Senior officer on deck!” Pearson gave them a quick “Carry on,” not wanting to infringe on the status of the officers who had been on Kaus longer than him.

The lieutenant escorting him offered coffee and the Navy officer accepted. While waiting for the man to return, Pearson moved over to a paper topographical map, tacked to a wall of the tent. He grimaced, realizing the resources within the enclave had to be primitive if they used paper maps instead of LCD displays. He studied the diagram, noting the pins placed to the south, outside the walls of the settlement.

Over the years, the boundaries of the enclave had been expanded to accommodate the growing population. Even then, there was still a concrete wall placed at the outer-most boundary, either as tradition among the settlers or a requirement of the natives to always have a defining range of the Human settlement. However, there were dozens—if not hundreds—of gates within the wall, conveying a more open feel to the enclave and free association with the natives in the surrounding communities. All the gates were now locked and fortified.

The lieutenant stepped up with the coffee. Pearson pointed to the pins on the map.

“Railgun emplacements, sir,” the young officer explained. “The Lanic have started moving them in recently. All hell is about to break loose.”

“How many troops do you have?”

The officer shook his head. “Not more than twenty-two hundred, and from a variety of commands and branches. The enclave has a police force of about a thousand, but they’re pretty much useless against anything outside the walls. Oh, and we do have a REV.”

“So I heard, but no backup force.”

“No sir.”

“Kinda makes him useless, too, doesn’t it?”

“Yes sir.”

Pearson didn’t tell the young lieutenant that he’d just brought another two of the Human killing machines to the enclave. Yet without a large enough follow-on force to hold the ground taken by a REV, the subject was moot. REVs were only effective in certain situations, and this wasn’t one of them.

But maybe three might make a difference….

* * *

“How?” Lieutenant Colonel Monroe asked. “REVs are usually inserted into a battlefield and then pulled out by the support troops. The guns are placed on four of the highest hills, covering a line of nine kilometers. REVs don’t make Runs that long, and certainly not that targeted.”

Only three officers were in the hut: Captains Pearson and Drake, along with LtCol. Monroe. Eyes shifted to the REV officer, Silas Drake.

“I admit, Ross and Johnson are two of the most-senior REVs, but even then, there are only two of them. My REV is more conventional. He wouldn’t be of much use except on a suicide mission.”

“You heard what the one on ES-6 did?” Captain Pearson asked.

“Garcia?” Drake said.

“That’s right.”

Monroe nodded. “Yeah, we got the news just before the Lanic cut our comms.” He turned to Drake. “Would your guy go for something like that?”

“A suicide mission, is that what you’re asking?” Monroe nodded. Drake went pale. “That’s asking a lot, even for a REV. But sure, he’d do it in a heartbeat if he thought it would save lives. But there must be another way. It would be a terrible waste of a good Marine.”

“You said it yourself, Silas, he’s on his last leg anyway. Without more NT-4, he can’t last.”

“So, what, the REVs just go on suicide missions from here on out, one last gasp of glory before they’re all gone?”

Pearson could see the anger and panic on the Marine officer’s face. There was an obvious bond between him and his REV. Yet officers were often called upon to ask for incredible sacrifices from their troops.

“We should ask the other REVs—Ross and Johnson—for their input,” said Drake out of desperation. “They’re a unique type of REV and might have some other ideas.”

“Unique?” Monroe asked.

“They say the information is classified, but considering our desperate situation, I think exceptions can be made.” Drake braced himself for the reveal. “They don’t rely on NT-4. They produce a type of the drug naturally, making them independent of injections, either maintenance or combat.”

The others in the room were stunned to silence. Eventually, Captain Pearson spoke: “And they activate on their own?” He was thinking of the forty-five days they spent aboard his ship…and with his crew.

“They say they don’t activate anymore.”

Monroe sighed. “Then what good are they? They’re not even trained at conventional warfare techniques. How can they help us, captain?”

“Sir, I don’t know. But they’re assets we need to find a purpose for. When the shelling begins, we’re going to have a mess on our hands. We’ll be sitting ducks with half-a-million panicking civilians around. It’ll be hard to organize any effective response at that point.”

“Captain Drake is right,” Pearson said. “We need to do something before the shooting starts.”

Pearson was a Navy Captain. His current assignment aboard the small effect-ship was only temporary until he joined up with the main fleet. After that, he would be assigned to a larger command to better reflect his rank and seniority. Even so, he was not experienced with land-based operations. That honor went to Army Lieutenant Colonel Aaron Monroe. Pearson had already deferred command authority to him. Now the other officers waited for his decision.

“All right, get them over here,” Monroe ordered. “But if they can’t come up with a plan to utilize their unique abilities—and that of Sergeant Hand—then we’ll have to commit what troops we do have to a first-strike assault. It may not be a permanent solution to our problems, but it could delay the coming inferno.”

* * *

All three of the REVs attended the next strategy meeting.

The homecoming between Donovan and Larry Hand hadn’t gone as planned. The hung-over Bravo was at first glad to see his old teammate, but when he learned that the new REVs hadn’t brought any NT-4 with them, he panicked, expecting the senior REVs to commandeer his remaining dose.

He cascaded some, which ate into his existing residual, making him even more angry. It took a pair of attendants to administer a shot of RG-9 to bring him back down. He remained conscious but was even more out of it than he was before.

He was moved to the meeting in a wheelchair.

“First question,” LtCol. Monroe began. “Can you activate?”

Donovan Ross took the lead this time.

“We haven’t been tested with full combat doses, which doesn’t matter seeing that there is only one left among the three of us. But in my opinion, I wouldn’t risk it. Our bodies are operating on a much higher level of both residual and natural NT-4 and that could cause us to cascade over much sooner than a conventional REV. But you should know, we have the ability to cascade up to approximately half-activation level without the drug.”

“Half level?” asked Captain Pearson. “What does that mean in practical terms?” He was still angry that these potentially lethal weapons had been allowed to wander freely among his crew without anyone warning him of the risk.

“Just that, sir,” Donovan continued. “We’re half the strength and endurance of a fully-charged REV yet maintain conscious thought and control. This allows us to carry out more complex missions.”

“And how is that done? You just say cascade…and your bodies obey?” It was Marine Captain Drake asking for details.

Donovan scrunched his face. “Unfortunately, a lot of the cascading is out of our control. It’s more a response to circumstances than anything else, as far as we can tell. However, high-stress situations seem to be the catalyst.”

“That would make sense,” said Drake. “But wouldn’t your level of cascading be unreliable?”

“I don’t know, sir. It’s been pretty reliable so far.”

“And attacking the artillery batteries would be pretty stressful, in my opinion, sir,” added Gunnery Sergeant Kyle Johnson.

LtCol. Monroe referred to the map. “There are four batteries of twenty-meter stage-three railguns, spread over a nine-klick line. We could have the semi-activated REVs hit two of them, a conventional REV on another, and then our remaining force take out the last one.”

Donovan didn’t like the term semi-activated, but it was accurate. He could see how it was possible he and Kyle could do an adequate job on the guns and get away. Even a strike force of a couple hundred troops could take out one of the guns and retreat. That left Sergeant Hand the only person with no way in or out. Either a squad carries his armor—like in the case of Gunnery Sergeant Garcia—or he goes in uncovered. By the very nature of a REV’s wild Run, armor was a necessity. They didn’t avoid enemy fire; instead they welcomed it, using the incoming to identify targets. But an unprotected REV wouldn’t last much longer than a conventional soldier in the same situation.

The other problem: The men in the hut didn’t have reliable intelligence on the precise location and support compliments for the weapons. Sending in a couple of hundred troops to face off against several thousand natives would be a suicide mission all its own. What information they did have came from a few of the natives who still considered the Humans friends. And the picture they painted wasn’t pretty.

Although the Antaere were publicly protesting the Lanic assault on the enclave, they had established a command center on the far side of the range of hills and were in fact coordinating the attack. The Humans didn’t find this news surprising; they knew the Antaere protests were just a smokescreen. They were helping the novice natives set up the advanced weapons and site-in the targets. Fortunately, this was taking longer than it would with experienced gun crews, yet by all estimates, the bombardment would begin in less than seventy-two hours.

Also, Lieutenant Colonel Monroe knew of hundreds of enemy agitators within the enclave walls, spreading rumors of the impending bombardment and working the inhabitants into a nervous fervor.

“There’s not a lot of time and we need eyes on the ground,” Donovan announced when the bombardment timetable was revealed. “We might be able to organize an effective surgical strike, but without precise intel, we’d be taking an awful chance.”

“Are you volunteering, gunny?” Captain Drake asked.

“Yes sir. And I thought I’d take my good buddy, Gunnery Sergeant Johnson, along with me,” he said in his best Texas drawl. “I need someone to carry my water.”

“The two of you are pretty unique assets to the REV program,” Drake said. “It would be a shame if you got yourselves captured or killed before the main attack.”

Donovan smiled. “It would take a lot to do either, sir. And if we can’t get this operation launched before the guns start booming and the riots start, then an artillery shell landing on our heads will kill us just as dead as everyone else. No time to waste.”

Kyle snickered. “And just the idea of sneaking into a nest of deadly aliens is getting my juices flowing. I feel stronger already.”

Monroe looked at his watch. “We’ll send you out through one of the western gates. There’s a series of dry riverbeds on that side that should give you some cover. It will be dark in three hours. Get ready…you go in four.”

35

The idea of sneaking up on the enemy was the antithesis of normal REV operations; even so, Kyle and Donovan were anxious to get started. They dressed in black and gray camo and painted their faces with grease. They were each given suppressed M-101 rifles with night vision scopes. They also carried black-bladed K-BAR combat knives in case any silent kills became necessary.

Each man carried datapads with local maps programmed in, plus small video cameras and throat mics. The Lanic had disabled all the orbiting Human satellites and destroyed their local broadcasting antennas a few weeks back, leaving Unity cut off from outside communications. But they still had shortwave radio. The REVs would light up the guns and instantly relay the data back to the command center. Triangulation would pinpoint the weapons, while on-site observation would give them an idea of the number of troops they were facing and the approach defenses.

The temperature dropped considerably with the coming of night, a cloudless sky allowing the warmth of day to quickly dissipate into the atmosphere. The REVs didn’t need any additional covering. Their elevated body temperature would keep them warm.

The military secured the area around the gate, having to shoo away some of the squatters so the area could be blacked out. Then the door was cracked open for a second and the REVs slipped outside.

Native settlements crowded the walls of the city, but not on this side of the enclave. The southern hills wrapped around at this point before devolving into small undulations in the brush-covered landscape. No farming or other development had come to this side of the camp, preferring the more-open ground to the east and north. There was plenty of open space without having to make it too hard on either the settlers or the natives.

Seasonal riverbeds carved channels in the low hills, and Don and Kyle reached the first of these only a minute after leaving the safety of the enclave. They ran at REV speed—even semi-activated REV speed—which was impressive. They could see clearly in the murky darkness and jumped at the wadi’s edge, landing in soft sand twenty feet into the riverbed. Both men were as giddy as a pair of formerly pinned-up greyhounds now freed to stretch their legs. They turned south and sprinted along the riverbed, cascading even more from the exertion and the excitement.

The first of the railgun emplacements was five miles from the gate and the REVs covered the distance in seventeen minutes. The riverbed crawled along the base of the two-thousand-foot-high mound. The men dug into the dirt on the south side of the channel and peered up at the lighted crest of the hill.

As was common with alien military operations, no one considered a pre-emptive strike against the target. Neither the Antaere nor the Lanic had much experience with war, which confused the REVs. Did they expect the Humans to just sit idly back and let the enemy set up their guns? Apparently, they did.

As noted, the hilltop was awash with light, with crews working around the clock to get the complicated railgun system in place and charged. The weapons were more technologically-advanced than a simple ballistic cannon. They ran on massive amounts of electricity required to produce the electromagnetic field that would propel the rounds, but once the system was up and running, they could launch a fifteen-hundred-pound multiple-warhead shell, traveling at seventy-eight hundred miles per hour, every forty-five seconds. The power of the gun was impressive, able to send its load over two hundred miles downrange. That wouldn’t be necessary in this case. The center of the enclave was only nineteen miles from the hilltops.

And that was causing most of the problems with the set-up. The angle of attack was too shallow, requiring the support platforms to be buried in the ground on the downhill slope to overcome the minimum elevation settings on the weapons, otherwise the rounds would shoot over the Enclave. As Kyle and Donovan made their way up the hill, using discarded boulders for cover, their approach was shielded by the sound of earthmovers digging into the rocky soil, making room for the transport vehicles and various other support equipment each weapon required.

There were other crews building roadways around the series of hills, and farther along the mounds terraces were being carved on the hillsides. In addition, ground was being cleared between the native communities along the south wall of the Enclave and the hills

It was hard to tell how many native combat troops were posted to each weapon, not with the frenzy of construction crews contaminating the count. Even so, there didn’t seem be more than a few hundred on the hilltop. The REV’s placed a laser marker on the twenty-meter-long rail and relayed the information to the command hut back in the city. Then they moved to the next hill.

It was two klicks away, down a steep decline and then up a more-gentle rise. There were no roads between the two hills—at least along this face—so the men had to blaze their own trail through the thick brush and prickly form of native cacti. Five minutes later, they had the next weapon painted.

This unit was already in the ground, with the native crews joined by a dozen yellow-skinned Antaere, working on the electronics for the weapon. What was missing, however, were the power generators. LtCol. Monroe said they’d destroyed the electric supply units before the bulk of the Human military forces evacuated the planet. That was supposed to make the weapons useless. Yet if what he suspected was true, then the Antaere were helping the natives. Either huge power cables would be strung to the railguns, or energy would be beamed to them by microwave transmission. The REVs began looking for signs of either.

There were unassembled transmission dishes on the ground behind the railgun, with a fifty-foot tower still being erected. The weapons would be powered remotely, meaning there would be no power lines to cut. The guns would get their energy through the air, making them harder to shut down.

The REVs could see across to the next hilltop, where the transmission tower was already in place. They followed the direction of the receiving dishes farther south, looking for the source of the power.

Crawling on their bellies just beyond the light of the worksite, Kyle and Don worked their way around to the backside of the emplacement. Here, they took out monoculars and scanned the landscape behind the hilltops.

And that’s when they gasped.

In the wide plain behind the hills sat row upon row of black armored personnel carriers—a quick count of the rows put the number at a hundred. And milling around the vehicles were literally thousands of armed Lanic, being lectured to and organized by Antaere military commanders. The APCs weren’t of Human design, but rather Qwin.

Donovan slid behind a rock for cover and fingered his throat mic.

“Eyes to base, come in base.”

“This is base, go ahead,” said the voice of Lieutenant Colonel Monroe.

“Looks like the guns are the least of our worries, sir,” Don began. “The Qwin have amassed an army of around ten thousand Lanic with a hundred Antaere APCs to deliver them.”

“Are you sure about the make of the APCs?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You probably already know those things are more than just personnel carriers; they’re also powerful tanks. The firepower of a hundred of them would be devastating, especially with the cover of the railguns.”

“Sir, there may be a half-a-million Humans in the enclave, but the Antaere will be able to cut through them like butter. The kill rate could easily be a thousand to one. There’s about to be some serious rainfall on the enclave.”

“I concur,” said Monroe. “Estimated time to launch?”

“It doesn’t look like they’ll go until the guns are in place. Gun four is still being set in position. Three already is, and if they’re working in progression, then we must assume one and two are already set. We’re going there next. Another thing, the railguns are going to be energized with microwave transmissions.”

“From the Antaere?”

“Yes, sir, just as you thought.”

“Have you identified the Antaere headquarters?”

Donovan looked at Kyle, who pulled the monocular from his eye and nodded. Kyle fingered his mic.

“Sir, it’s three klicks to the east of the APC staging area. They have three generators behind the command structure and a transmission tower. The camp has four main tents set off about half-a-klick from the generators. There aren’t a lot of Antaere first-liners around, but a hell of a lot of Lanic.”

“The Antaere are only advising the attack, not participating in it. The camp probably has the Qwin general and his staff, plus a tac tent and a comm station.”

There was a delay on the line as Monroe digested the information.

“Okay, good job, men. Paint the other two guns and then get your asses back here. We have some additional planning to do—”

Kyle saw the Lanic patrol before Donovan did. There were three of them, coming up the hillside, flashlights guiding their way. Kyle rolled to one side and unleashed his K-BAR knife, sending it twirling through the air with not only accuracy but REV-enhanced speed and power. The eight-inch-long blade penetrated the upper left shoulder of one of the natives…and then kept going from the force of the throw. The hilt sank into the soft flesh as well, and was the only thing keeping the knife from passing completely through the body.

Donovan reacted with REV speed as well, rolling on his back with the barrel of the M-101 pointed down his belly and between his feet. The puff of the suppressed weapon was masked by the sounds of construction echoing across the valley between the hilltops. The round caught the second native in his mouth—which had open a moment before when he spotted the two camouflaged REVs. The back of his head exploded outward, spraying the third Lanic with his comrade’s blood and brain matter. Covered now by the body of his dead friend, the native guard turned and sprinted down the hillside, while grasping wildly for his communication device.

Kyle was up a moment later and following the alien. The Lanic were light and quick, yet not compared to a REV—even a semi-activated REV. Kyle caught up to him three seconds later, placing a stiff elbow into the native’s back. The thin, brown-skinned creature lifted off his feet and flew forward, landing face first on the rocky soil and tumbling several times down the slope. By the time he came to a rest, Kyle was standing over him, ripping the comm device from the fabric of his torn and bloody uniform.

Kyle smiled. “Sorry, dude,” he said to the wide-eyed alien through their embedded translation devices. “But your war is over.”

A single punch to the face was enough to crush the native’s skull.

Kyle Johnson stood up and took a deep, trembling breath, his body cascading higher, creating a feeling of euphoria in the REV. “Now that really got the juices flowing.”

After reporting the engagement to LtCol. Monroe, Donovan collected his jacked-up partner and the pair buried the bodies in dirt and rock before moving to the next hills. The guards would be reported missing—they may even be found—but that couldn’t be helped. The REVs marked the last two railguns and then hurried back to the enclave. The reconnaissance mission had taken three hours ten minutes.

36

The next day, the command tent was packed with officers and enlisted, mobilizing for the coming action. Although the plan hadn’t been finalized, they all knew it would involve hundreds of combat troops, and each of them had to be issued gear, weapons and ammo, and then staged at locations throughout the enclave that wouldn’t alert the myriad of enemy spies operating within the city. With the porous nature of the settlement—as well as the integration of natives with Humans—the task was impossible to pull off unnoticed.

To counter this, LtCol. Monroe consulted with the civilian authorities and asked them to muster thousands of Humans near the east and north gates, making it appear as though they were preparing to mount a staunch defense of the compound. In the meantime, the REVs and military assault troops would leave by the western gates. It was decided that any mission would take place that night. To wait any longer would give the Antaere time to finish setting up the last railgun and for the ten-thousand-strong Lanic division to move into position.

* * *

“Railguns are big and sturdy pieces of equipment,” said Lieutenant Colonel Monroe. “Even if we hit them, it won’t change the angle of attack much, not when the damn things are pointing right down into the heart of the enclave.” There were four other senior officers with him: another lieutenant colonel and two majors, plus the three REVs. Navy Captain Donnie Pearson—an O-6—was also in the room, but only to observe. If this operation had involved starships and space-borne tactics, he would be more involved. Instead, he sat back and watched.

“There are multiple objectives, sir,” Donovan Ross was saying. “The guns are important, but they can’t be used to defend against our counterattack, not with the barrel angle. What I’m worried about are the hundred tanks and ten thousand troops.”

Donovan could tell Monroe didn’t know how to handle him and the other REVs. The officer didn’t want to insult them by pointing out that they had no formal training in military tactics and planning, but he’d already made his feelings clear through other comments or suggestions ignored. To him, the REVs were merely wind-up toys for the Marines. Extremely deadly wind-up toys, but still a single-purpose weapon.

“The Antaere have to know any direct attack on Unity, even with a hundred tanks, would be futile, not unless they can soften us up with the railguns,” Monroe said. “Sure, they’ll kill a lot of us, but the Humans here are not without the means to defend themselves. Although weapons were banned in the early days of the enclave, over the years, thousands were smuggled in, to the point that the laws stopped being enforced. We estimate there’s a weapon—either rifle, handgun or energy device—for every person in Unity. Like I said, there will be horrendous casualties on both sides, but we will prevail.”

“Are you saying we ignore the army and the APCs, sir?”

“The only way the natives can defeat the enclave is if our numbers are cut down by bombardment from the guns. If they can keep them firing, they may even manage to scatter the population beyond the walls, making them easy to pick off in smaller groups. The guns have to be our priority.”

Captain Pearson had been studying the topography map tacked to the tent wall.

“Excuse me, colonel, but why have the Lanic placed the guns on the hilltops in the first place? he asked. “If I’m not mistaken, those weapons have a range of around two hundred miles and are designed to be fired from a horizontal position. The Lanic could have placed them fifty miles away, completely out of our reach, and then sat back and pulverize the compound. Instead, they’ve placed them on hillsides only twelve klicks from the south wall, easily within reach of either our counterattack or a mob of desperate civilians.” He stood up and went to the map, running a finger along the base of the hills. “And now they’re clearing out this space between the native settlements and the hills. Why?”

“To make room for their tanks,” someone in the tent remarked.

“Exactly,” said Pearson. “They’re going to place ten thousand Lanic soldiers between us and the hills to prevent us from reaching the guns.”

Donovan Ross stepped next to the Navy captain. “They’re also placing the native encampment between us and the guns. The only way we can advance on the hills is to go through the native towns. In the heat of battle, won’t a lot of innocent Lanic get killed?”

Monroe studied the map for a moment as the tent remained silent. When he spoke, his voice was grim.

“I think I see the Antaere strategy now.” He sighed deeply. “They want us to attack, fired up by the bombardment from the railguns, and with half-a-million panicking Humans charging the hill. As I said before, we will prevail, but only after we’ve killed a couple of thousand Lanic civilians, plus another ten thousand troops guarding the hill.”

“The Antaere have to know we have the manpower to take the hills and destroy the guns and the tanks,” said Marine Captain Drake, the REV officer. “You would think the Lanic would know that, too.”

Monroe smiled, not from humor, but from a sick revelation. “Here’s what’s happening, gentlemen…at least in my opinion. We’re fucked no matter what we do. The Antaere aren’t looking for a victory here, but rather a defeat. They want us to overrun the native settlements and the Lanic military positions. The more natives we kill, the better it will look in the headlines, and the more protests they can foment. The Lanic have always been reluctant followers of the Antaere. A massacre like this will sway a lot of minds.”

“But it will be in self-defense,” an Army major remarked.

Monroe continued with his sick grin. “Jack, we’re pretty far behind enemy lines and with a complete communications blackout of the enclave. Any news that gets out will be from the Antaere point of view and tell the story they want to tell.”

“But the Lanic?” said the same officer. “They have to know they’re being sacrificed.”

“Not necessarily,” said Monroe. “They’ve probably been told that the Antaere will have their back if anything goes wrong. They won’t, of course. At the first sign of fire, the fucking Qwin will pack up and split.”

The other lieutenant colonel in the tent—Young Sun Li—summed up the discussion, speaking the words the others were reluctant to say.

“We can’t attack. If we do, the Antaere will get their PR coup. Yet if we don’t, then the Unity Enclave will be destroyed, along with half-a-million innocent Humans.”

Donovan had been listening to the officers talk back and forth. Now it was his turn to speak. He’d changed his mind about the guns, at least to a point.

“No matter what we do, we can’t allow the railguns to go active. Without them firing on the enclave, there will be no softening up of our forces or panic among the population. And, Colonel Monroe, I assume you have the means of repelling an attack from the APCs?”

“Yes, we do. But they won’t attack without the guns for cover.”

“Then it’s back to my original point—we have to take out the guns.”

“The power generators, back at the Antaere headquarters!” said one of the officers.

“Exactly,” replied the REV. “We take out the generators and the transmission tower and they’re just as Colonel Monroe said, hunks of useless metal.”

“A surgical strike,” said the officer.

“Yes sir.”

“Carried out by REVs?”

Donovan Ross flashed a wide grin. “You said it, sir, not me.”

Don looked at Kyle, and then to the Bravo, Larry Hand. The third REV had recovered from the RG-9 and was now out of the wheelchair, ready for action. Yet unlike Kyle Johnson—who shared Donovan’s enthusiasm for the mission—he was staring open-mouthed at the other REVs like they’d gone mad.

“And how are you going to do that, Gunnery Sergeant Ross?” LtCol. Monroe asked. “You have one dose of NT-4 between the three of you and there’s no way for you to get to the command headquarters without an army to lead the way. That kind of defeats the purpose of a surgical strike, wouldn’t you say?”

Donovan smiled. “It would, sir…if I didn’t have a better idea.”

37

As the Zanzibar flew deeper into Antaere space, they were challenged three times by security patrols, one native and two by Antaere forces. As promised, Amber relayed the proper transponder ID and the clearance codes.

Two days after the last challenge, the ship entered the Iz’zar star system and received permission to land at the Harmony Enclave.

This walled settlement was in much better condition than the others throughout the Grid. The natives still provided food, water and electricity, even though there was more restrictive movement outside the compound. There were very few Human starships making landfall on Iz’zar, and the ones that did came exclusively to the Enclave.

General Smith was surprised to find two other clearly identifiable Earth-built ships resting on the grounds of the clean and modern spaceport.

“Okay, Amber, I give up,” he said to the computer. “How did you get us here without us being blown out of the sky?”

All three of the Human passengers were in the cockpit, looking out the viewport at the spaceport and what they could see of the Harmony Enclave from here.

“It will not come as a surprise to learn that Earth has been helping supply the Enclave with vital necessities since its inception.”

“Even during the war?” Angus asked.

“Yes. Granted, the supply runs have diminished in number recently, but there still some taking place.”

“Why?”

“Because of their cargos.”

Zac shook his head. There was something nagging at him. “And would this cargo have anything to do with things that go bang?”

Amber allowed herself the proper amount of hesitation before continuing.

“That is correct,” said the AI with the sexy voice. “As you’re aware, Earth-based weapons manufactures have been supplying product to many of the ES worlds, even long before the war. The practice continues, yet at a reduced level.”

“I’m sure you’re talking about Regulus,” Angus added.

“Yes, Gunnery Sergeant Price.”

“They’re selling weapons to the Humans of the Enclave?” the general asked. “What about the natives…and the Antaere? Are you selling weapons to the Antaere?”

“Not directly, however a few products make it into native hands and then are forwarded to the Antaere. It is not a lot, and the practice began before the war. It has continued.”

“So, Earth manufacturers are supplying weapons to both sides, and making bank in the process?” Smith bellowed.

“It is on a small scale comparatively, general. Not enough to affect the outcome of the war.”

“And that is why you had the entry codes.” Zac barked. He looked out the window at a delegation of fancy-dressed Humans making their way toward the starship from the port’s terminal building. “And why they’ve laid out the red carpet for us. They think we’ve come bearing gifts.”

“It is how business is conducted in a multi-species and -cultural environment.” Amber continued to defend her position, making it undeniable that she and the Zanzibar were part of the Regulus fleet. “But for now, I am using our relationship with the local authorities to further our mission. Please accept it for what it is now, and not complicate things with emotional diatribes.”

“Well, that’s a first,” Angus said. “Being bloody well scolded by a machine.”

“I only have the mission success as my priority. Now prepare yourselves. The delegation is at the entry hatch.”

“What are we supposed to do?” Zac asked. “We aren’t carrying a cache of weapons.”

“As a matter of fact, lieutenant, we are,” said Amber.

“What!” the men yelled in unison.

“Only sixteen crates of high-energy plasma weapons, hidden below the decking in the cargo hold.”

“And so now the computers are lying to us!” Smitty cried out.

“I have not lied. You never asked.”

“They’re buzzing the door,” Zac pointed out. “Do we let them in?”

“Yes…I will do most of the talking. I have before.”

* * *

There were three people in the delegation, two men and a woman. Their outfits were unlike any on Earth, the inhabitants of the Enclave having long ago adopted the fashion sense of the natives. They wore flowing capes and high-collar shirts, while the woman had a brightly-colored single-piece wrap twisted around her decent figure. She appeared to be mid-thirties, with blond hair and tanned skin. As expected, Iz’zar had its variety of Earth-like environs and the Enclave shared a mild semi-arid climate similar to Southern California and leading to a desert to the east. It also had plenty of sunshine for tanning.

The lounge was crowded with the guests and passengers. Zac and the others were in civilian pants and shirts, even their traditionally tightly-cut hair had grown out during the trip, so there was little to give away their military pedigree.

“I’m Smith,” said the general, shaking the hand of the Human standing prominently at the front of the small entourage. Then he added. “Bill, Bill Smith.” Hopefully, his name was so common that none would recognize him for his military identity. “These are my associates, Dan Jones and George…Adams.” He almost said Washington.

“Greetings, my friends. I am Chancellor Edward Lundquist. These are my associates. Vice-Chancellor Brian Jessup and his assistant, Ashley Hunter. We welcome you to Iz’zar and the Harmony Enclave, although your arrival here is a surprise. We weren’t told you would be coming. I am curious: Have you cargo aboard?”

“Yes, we have,” Amber said through the hidden speakers, although this time she spoke with the voice of Steven, her male persona. The delegation jumped slightly before heads looked around the compartment for the source of the voice.

“Indeed,” said Lundquist. “Are you the intelligence I have dealt with in the past?” asked Lundquist.

“Yes, on two occasions, yet in different vessels.”

The Chancellor laughed and looked around the room. “Yes, I can see that. Previously, you came in larger cargo vessels. I must admit, the outward appearance of your ship does disguise the interior. I suppose that was intentional?”

“We had a more perilous journey this time, with more Antaere space to cover. It was appropriate for the disguise.”

Vice-Chancellor Jessup eyed General Smith with a deep frown. “Then am I to conclude that you have brought limited cargo this time?”

“Sixteen crates of flash weapons are all we could risk or had room for,” said Smitty.

The serious-looking man grimaced. Lundquist put a hand on his shoulder. “Relax, Brian, it’s better than nothing. And considering the political climate within the Grid, it’s more than we were expecting…which was nothing.” The Chancellor smiled. “Now, let us move to more spacious accommodations where our business can take a backseat to more pleasant affairs. I’ll call ahead and have a meal prepared, and something better than what you’ve been accustomed to aboard this ship. Please bring along your AI, Steven, if I recall. We have a history together.”

As the delegation waited outside, Zac, Angus and Smitty found light jackets to wear over their rather plain-looking clothing. They also used the opportunity to place tiny comm devices in their ears, while Gen. Smith brought a small speaker box for Amber/Stephen. The box would allow the AI to speak to others, while the ear-bugs would provide communication only between the team members and the computer.

To Zac’s shock, two vintage Toyota SUVs were sitting outside the starship. They were ancient models, probably from the ‘30s or ‘40s, yet apparently still in working condition and with shiny paint jobs. They were electric editions, and Zac tried to imagine what it cost to have them shipped from Earth to the Enclave. Most immigrants adopted locally-made vehicles for use in the compounds. It was cheaper and there was never a question of compatibility. Zac figured this was some perk provided by either the Antaere or by Earth dating back to the early days of the settlement. Still, it felt strange climbing into a sixty-year-old Toyota 4-Runner on an alien world eight-hundred-light-years from Earth.

General Smith was in the lead SUV, along with the Chancellor, and the grim-faced man, Brian Jessup. Zac and Angus were in the other vehicle with the attractive woman in the brightly-colored dress. Normally, this would have been welcomed, but Ashley Hunter was already taking an interest in the two REVs, the added scrutiny unwelcome.

“I have to ask,” the woman began from the front seat, after propping an elbow on the well-worn cloth seat and scanning the handsome faces of the two men behind her. “Are you brothers? Your hair may be different, but you both look so much alike in the face.”

“No, ma’am,” said Zac, feeling uneasy with the attention. For them to be identified as REVs would be a problem.

“Not that we know of,” Angus chimed in with a wide smile. “But mum did have a reputation, if you know what I mean?”

“You’re British!” the woman said with delight. She offered her hand to the REV. “I’m Ashley Hunter, special liaison to Mr. Jessup—you know, the serious guy.”

Zac saw a moment of panic on Angus’s face, as he tried to recall the names Gen. Smith had given them…and which was which.

Zac intercepted her hand. “I’m Dan Jones,” he said. “My friend here, George Adams, is a little shy around women.”

Ashley smiled warmly, a glint in her blue eyes. “Oh, I didn’t pick up on that at all, Mister Jones. I think both of you are extremely confident men.”

Angus and Zac shared a look. If only they had more time….

“So, what do you do here, Ashley, as your helping Mr. Jessup?” Zac asked.

“He’s the Chancellor’s right-hand man, and I’m Brian’s assistant, so I guess you can say I pretty much run things around here.”

“How long have you lived on Iz’zar?” Angus asked.

“I am not a native, if that’s what you’re asking. I came here six years ago with the Order. I was born on ES-7, at the Unity Enclave. The planet was still under Antaere control at the time, so I was allowed to transfer. Harmony is a lot better settlement than where I grew up. I like it here…even after the Temple was destroyed.”

Zac tensed. His face—and that of the other three living members of his commando team—was being blasted all across the Grid, even here in the Harmony Enclave on Iz’zar. It would be a miracle if they weren’t recognized. Even though their hair was longer and both men now sported matching beards, that was something they should have thought about before landing.

Ashley smiled again. “I’m sorry. I know you are not Believers, so I won’t try to convert you. It’s just that I was born into the Order. It is all I have ever known.”

Fortunately, it was a short drive to the Chancellor’s residence, providing the REVs with an excuse to make a quick exit from the SUV and rejoin Gen. Smith, away from the prying eyes of Ashley Hunter.

The meal was still being prepared, giving the politician a chance to show off his home and brag about his Enclave. The Chancellor’s residence was a basic building in most regards, but on Iz’zar it stood out for its size and amenities. It had two stories, was over three thousand square feet, and even had a built-in pool—another incongruity so far from Earth.

“I was twenty-one when I immigrated,” Lundquist said to his startled guests. “Yes, I am crowding seventy, my friends. But having spent my formative years on Earth, I still gravitate to the old ways as far as housing and cars go. Since Harmony was one of the first enclaves established, we were stocked up with a lot of things you don’t find on the other colony worlds. We were allowed to bring some of our creature comforts with us…some more than others.” He laughed.

“I’m sorry we have such a small cargo for you, Chancellor Lundquist,” Gen. Smith said. “Still, I hope what we brought will come in handy.”

Lundquist stretched out a wide smile. “Now, Mr. Smith, we both know the weapons are not for us. As before, we will sell or trade the weapons to the natives for the credits or the supplies we need, especially during these trying times. We may be fairing better than most, but even in Harmony there are things only the natives can provide. We have very little of value to the Kalori, other than our weapons. And before you bring it up, there is a good chance the weapons may even make their way to the Antaere, even though I doubt such a small shipment will be of interest to them. They have a rather sizeable weapons depot not far from here, so sixteen crates would hardly be worth the effort for the natives and the margin would be too small. They may just keep them.”

Zac perked up. A weapons depot! A highly secure facility with plenty of guards. The perfect place to hide a cache of valuable religious documents. And the city of Faloner, where the Temple of Light once stood, is only about fifty miles from the Enclave….

When the meal was ready, everyone gathered around a long dining table and eight other people joined them. The comm box for Amber/Steven was placed in front of the Chancellor, who sat at the head of the table. They talked throughout the meal, relating stories of the other runs the AI had made as the auto-pilot for cargo vessels running guns to the Enclave. All the guests seemed familiar with the history of the illegal cargos and showed no remorse for buying arms that would eventually end up in the hands of Earth’s enemies. To them, the Humans of Earth were the bad guys—deniers of the one true Order—present company excepted. It was obvious that the practice had been going on for some time, and that the enclave benefited from the commerce it provided.

Angus and Zac tried to avoid the penetrating looks, not only from Ashley Hunter, but from the other three women at the table. Yet if any of them recognized the REVs, they didn’t let on. Their interests seemed more prurient.

After dinner, the party spread out around the spacious home and lighted backyard.

Zac saw Ashley making a beeline for him and Angus. There was no place to hide.

“Excuse me, gentlemen, but Assistant Chancellor Jessup would like to see you privately. Mr. Smith will be joining us, as well. Please follow me.”

The REVs took a deep breath. This was business, and there would be others in the room. Besides, the other women at the party were beginning to work their way towards the men, despite all three having husbands in attendance. With enthusiasm, they followed Ashley to a private wing of the home.

The woman opened a door, allowed the REVs to enter, and then followed them inside, shutting the door behind her. Gen. Smith was the only other person in the room. He wore a heavy frown on his face.

“I thought Mr. Jessup was supposed to meet us here?” he asked.

Ashley put a finger to her lips. She pulled a small electronic panel from under her wrap and set it on a desk at the far end of the room.

“What the hell are you doing here, General Smith?” she barked at the officer. “Are you trying to get us all killed?”

Smitty’s jaw fell open. “You’re…you’re….”

“Yeah, I’m your agent here, your deep-cover agent. Surprise! Were you expecting someone else…like a man.”

“When you came to me outside, I thought it was Jessup.”

“He’s a fucking idiot. I only use him to get close to the Chancellor—another idiot, by the way.”

Zac stepped up to the woman and smiled. She frowned and shook her head.

“Relax, pretty boy. I’m here to do a job, a job the three of you have put in jeopardy.” She turned to the general, while poking a thumb at the REVs. “You do know their faces are plastered all over the Grid? Some of the Kalori even use the pictures to scare their kids into doing their chores. All it will take is one person—Human or Kalori—to point a finger and say REV! What are you doing here?”

“We believe the Antaere removed all the sacred documents from the Temple before it was destroyed,” said Smith. “We also believe the Qwin brought the Temple down themselves, just to make it look bad on the REVs and the rest of Humanity.”

Ashley stared at the general with her mouth open, before saying, “You’re fucking kidding me? You think the Antaere would destroy their own Temple? You don’t know them very well, do you?”

“It makes sense,” Zac said, his face serious and intense. “Look what’s happened since then. The tide of the war has turned…and parents are using our pictures to scare their children. Besides, it was just a building. The Antaere built it more as a way to take the pressure off them having to let their new worshippers come to Antara to bask in the glow of the Order. And if we’re right, the documents are still intact, so no actual harm was done.”

“And you’ve come here expecting to find these hidden documents, the most precious artifacts of the Order?”

“This set of them, anyway,” Angus said, wanting to get his two cents in.

“And you expect to play Indiana Jones and go out looking for them here on Iz’zar? I can tell you, I haven’t heard any rumors—nothing—that the documents survived the Temple’s destruction.”

“Of course not,” Zac snapped. “That would indicate prior knowledge of the attack.” He looked at his two companions then back to the attractive spy. “What do you know about this weapons depot the Antaere have near here?”

Ashley recoiled. “You’re not suggesting the Antaere have hidden the documents away in there? That would be crazy. One well-place bomb and the whole place would go up. Hardly the location I’d choose to hide something ten times more valuable than the Declaration of Independence.”

Zac looked at Gen. Smith, fire in his eyes. “Is this supposed to be your super-agent? She doesn’t seem to have much of an imagination.”

“Hey, I’m not the one who blew up the Temple of Light and set the whole Grid on fire.”

“Calm down, you two,” Gen. Smith ordered. “It’s premature to even be considering the depot as the hiding place for the documents. First, we have to find the researcher, this Dr. Davide Caspary. I’m not about to launch another mission until we know exactly what the Corollary says.”

Ashley’s eyes grew wide. “Caspary? You came looking for him, too? Well, you’ll be waiting around until the Final Glory for that to happen, if you believe in the Order.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Zac asked.

“He’s dead. He was killed a little over a month ago.”

“Shit!” Zac exclaimed. “How did it happen?”

“A mugging and robbery. Yeah, that happens even here in Paradise.”

Zac turned to Gen. Smith. “He had to leave notes. He’s a damn scholar, for Christ’s sake. They’re all about writing things down.”

“And how to you suppose the three of us can get out of here to go foraging through his belongings, even if they’re still at his house?” Smitty asked out of frustration.

“He has a wife. She still lives there,” the spy said.

Zac pointed at Ashley as his answer.

“I still can’t see how we can go there without raising suspicion,” said Smith.

“Excuse me,” said Amber’s voice in the ears of the men. “The party is beginning to miss their guests of honor. I recommend you return immediately.”

“They’re missing us at the party,” Smith said to his secret agent. “We have to get back. We’ll work on this problem later, when we have more time and privacy.”

“No, I have an idea!” said Ashely. She turned to Smitty and Angus. “The two of you get back to the party. Leave Mr. Jones here with me.”

“The name’s Murphy,” Zac corrected.

The woman smirked. “I know who you are, lieutenant. The whole galaxy knows who you are.”

“What are you going to do?” asked Gen. Smith.

“I’m going to create a scandal. If anyone asks, tell them we’re in here. Now go. Hurry.”

After Angus and Smith left the room, Ashley turned to a confused Zac Murphy. “Have your AI tell you when someone comes to the office.”

“You just did; she hears what I hear.”

“She?”

“Yeah, we prefer it to her other avatar. Wait…someone’s in the hallway. It’s the Chancellor—”

Ashley reached up and pulled his face to hers, planting a hard, wet kiss on his lips. The embrace lingered, longer than she expected, apparently. Her eyes opened, and she frowned, even as their lips remained glued together.

Finally, the door to the office opened.

“Oh my, I hope I’m not interrupting,” said Chancellor Lundquist with humor lines wrinkling the skin around his eyes.

The two love-birds separated. “I’m so sorry, sir,” Ashley blushed.

“It’s okay, Ms. Hunter, please carry on. And as for you, Mr. Jones…you don’t waste any time, do you?” Lundquist winked and then stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him.

“Okay,” said Zac, confused. “What exactly did that accomplish?”

Ashley stepped over to the desk and picked up her jamming device.

“It’s given us an excuse to go out on the town tomorrow, so I can show you the sites of my beloved enclave. We might even pay a visit to a grieving widow while we’re out. It’s the least we can do.”

She turned off the jammer and placed it back under her colorful, form-fitting wrap. She smiled coyly as she left the room. Zac lingered a moment, watching Ashley from behind, and thinking this mission just got a lot more interesting….

38

The next morning, while Gen. Smith and Angus supervised the unloading of the small quantity of energy weapons, Ashley showed up in one of the Chancellor’s ancient Toyota 4-Runners.

“I think Edward’s getting a kick out of playing matchmaker,” the spy said as Zac slipped into the passenger’s seat. “Be sure to buckle-up. Safety first, that’s my motto.”

Zac looked at Ashley. “A little too much caffeine this morning?”

“Caffeine is outlawed on Antaere worlds. It interferes with the unobstructed worship of the Order.”

Zac’s jaw dropped open. “You’re kidding?”

“Yeah, I am.” She grinned, revealing a perfect set of brilliant white teeth. “Remember, I’m a spy. You can’t believe anything I say.”

Ashley steered the big SUV out of the spaceport and onto one of the main roads dissecting the Enclave. Only around forty-five thousand people lived within the compound walls, making it one of the smaller settlements. Forty years ago, when Humans first came to Iz’zar, a restriction was placed on the size of the enclave. The Antaere had been studying Humans for two hundred years prior to making contact, so they had a good idea how prolifically they bred. There was fear that over time the Humans would grow to number millions, even billions, on the colony worlds. This couldn’t be tolerated, by either the Antaere or their native hosts. The Humans had their own world, and no alien enclaves were being set up there. Besides, it was believed that once the planet accepted the Order as its world-wide religion, the Humans would return to their homeworld, with no need for the enclaves so they could be closer to the Order.

When Humanity rejected the Antaere religion, it left the followers in the enclaves with no other option but to remain and make a life on the alien worlds. But that didn’t mean breeding their way to dominance. The Antaere made sure of that.

Therefore, the population of the Harmony Enclave remained relatively stable. That didn’t mean Humans weren’t born and raised on Iz’zar. They were. But births and deaths were closely monitored, and couples could only have children when there was an opening to match a recent death. As a consequence, the average age of the Enclave was thirty-one, with the oldest in their late seventies. Three-quarters of all the current inhabitants had been born on Iz’zar and were therefore insulted when anyone called them immigrants.

The Harmony Enclave was oval-shaped, and in the center were the government buildings and a small Temple to the Order. There were no sacred documents stored there, other than a few copies of the Book of Order, yet with none of the accompanying texts, and particularly none of the Corollaries.

The Corollaries were a recent addition to the sacred texts, a collection of thirteen documents written to guide the Antaere in their handling of alien worshippers to their religion. The first several dealt mainly with logistics; how to convert, where to build temples, certain rites and ceremonies, and so forth. Other texts laid out the guidelines for what the aliens could and couldn’t see, including thousands of histories and ancient reports having to do with the wars that took place on the first five worlds the Antaere conquered. These texts were brutally straightforward, just like the Antaere. In their view, the aliens on the colony worlds did not need to know how the religion developed and the mistakes the Antaere made with the earlier ancient races, many of whom were now extinct. The later documents, including the infamous 13th Corollary, spoke of the end times—the Final Glory—when all believers in the Order would be granted eternal peace and unity. The only problem, according to what Zac and the others had heard, it was only the Antaere who would enjoy the blessing of eternal life and happiness. Everyone else would be killed.

Zac explained this to Ashley as she guided him through the clean, yet crowded streets of Harmony Enclave.

“And you believe this?” she asked aghast, making Zac believe she was a little more devout than she let on. “That’s…incredible.”

“You know the Antaere,” Zac said. “Is it really? Those yellow-skinned bastards only care about themselves.”

“And Humans don’t?”

“Whose side are you on, Ashley?”

She bit her lip in anger. “What I told you about where I was born and coming here six years ago…that was all bullshit. I did come here then, but I was assigned by Central Intelligence. The rest is all legend. I was born on Earth, in Buffalo, New York, if you have to know.”

He hadn’t asked. He’d never been to Buffalo before, so he had no basis for reference whether that was good or bad.

“I was just wondering why you find it so hard to believe the Antaere can be such cold-hearted killers?”

“I don’t,” she huffed. “It’s just a little hard to swallow.”

“I thought you knew all this. Weren’t you the one who sent the information to General Smith?”

“I took a file from Dr. Caspary, encrypted it, and sent it along. I didn’t read it.”

“Maybe you should have.”

“Maybe….”

With her temper still intact, Ashley pulled up to a small, single-story, freestanding building. Zac looked over at the well-kept front porch.

“This is where Dr. Caspary’s widow lives,” Ashley explained. “Her name is Beth.”

Zac took Ashley’s arm as she went to leave the SUV. “You know Caspary was murdered, don’t you? If the whole Temple mission was a set-up, they had to get rid of any witnesses, anyone who can claim what was really in the Final Corollary.”

“I know that. The man gives me information he said could change the political and religious makeup of the Grid—and then he’s bludgeoned to death a year later. I’m not that dense, Mr. Murphy. I know he was killed. That’s why a struck up a friendship with Beth. People die all the time in the Enclave, but very few are murdered. As a representative of the government, I came first in an official capacity, and then as a friend. My being here will not raise suspicions.”

“Call me Zac.” The REV smiled, glad to see a softening of Ashley’s face. “After all, we’re supposed to be an item.”

They left the vehicle and went to the door. Beth Caspary was a plump woman in her late fifties with a pleasant face, stringy hair and an aversion to makeup. Her natural look had a warm, sincere quality to it. Zac liked her right off the bat.

“My, Ashley Hunter, where did you find this one? I would have heard of someone this handsome in the Enclave. Is he a new arrival?”

“He’s just visiting, Beth. I thought we’d come by and keep you company for a while.”

“Visiting?” The woman frowned. “Not many Human visitors to Iz’zar these days. Did you come from one of the other Enclaves?”

“Yes, from ES-7.” That was where Donovan and Kyle were stranded. It’s the only one he could think of at the moment.

The woman remained frowning. “I hear the natives there are giving you a hard time. It’s a shame that other followers would distrust us so much, after so long among them.”

“It’s working its way out. There will be peace soon.”

“I hope so. We’ve been lucky here in Harmony, but still the restrictions that have been placed on us are upsetting.”

Ashley stepped forward and took the woman by the shoulders and led her into the house. “I was telling my friend—Dan—about Davide’s studies, and how he had the honor to visit Antara.”

“Three times,” Beth beamed. “No other Human researcher has ever been to the planet more times, and none have studied in the Hall of Records as Davide.”

“Dan is a scholar, too. That’s why he’s here. He is to search the Temple ruins for any remains of the sacred texts.”

Beth’s face turned hard. “That was a terrible thing. They went too far.” She looked around the room and through an open window. “I was born on Earth,” she said slyly. “But I converted. That doesn’t mean I condone the war or the way the Antaere treat the natives. However, the Temple was sacred. It wasn’t hurting anyone. I still don’t understand why those drugged-out killers would do such an awful thing.”

“It’s a mystery, Beth, one we may never solve,’ said Ashley. “I was wondering if Dan could look over some of Davide records? It might help him sort out the remains of the sacred text from just ordinary paper.”

“I have no problem with that, although, I must say he left things quite a mess.” She looked embarrassed as they entered Caspary’s study. “I haven’t moved anything since he died. I never went in here when he was alive; I see no reason why I would start now. I just wonder when they’ll start to work building a new Temple. It’s been long enough. We sure need one.”

“Do you mind if I help Dan, with some of the native translations and such?”

“Of course not, honey. You have been a good friend. As a matter of fact, I would appreciate if you in the government could just come and take this stuff away. I don’t want to go through it myself. It’s a sad reminder.”

“I’ll see what I can do. Maybe we can donate some of the items to the Harmony Temple.”

“That would be a great idea. We have so few holy documents of our own. I will fix us some tea.” Beth left the room.

Zac leaned in close to Ashley. “Do you have any idea where he would keep his confidential records?”

“Just so happens I do.” The room wasn’t so much a mess as it was full. There were paper documents—something you find a lot of in the enclaves—along with computer disks and datapads. Ashley moved to a closet and removed a stack of papers from in front of a file cabinet. She opened it and pointed inside the drawer.

There was a solid metal case, welded to the back of the drawer.

“That doesn’t look very secure,” Zac observed.

“The cabinet is bolted into the wall. It can be removed, but not without a lot of effort.”

There was a combination dial and latch on the top of the safe. “Do you have the combination?”

“That I do not have.”

Zac looked back at the door to the study. “Keep an eye out for Beth,” he instructed. Ashley didn’t move from his side but did turn half her attention toward the door.

“What are you going to do?”

“Open it.”

He reached in and took hold of the latch. He stared at the top of the safe, working internally to raise his blood pressure. He imagined a clock counting down, counting down to an incredible electric shock. His body cascaded, giving him a surge of energy and strength. He pulled on the latch and felt the metal give. The fact that everything was welded down gave him leverage, and the top door popped open, revealing the contents inside.

“Holy crap,” Ashley said. “I could feel the heat from your body three feet away. Was that some REV magic you just did or are you always that strong?”

“A little cascading on demand, sweetheart. Now help me.”

He began to pull out note books and a pair of old datapads. There were other papers in the safe, but mostly single sheets. There were also two bundles of Kalori credits, those used by the natives of Iz’zar. He took them out and carried the stacks to the desk.

Beth entered a moment later, carrying a tray with three cups of steaming tea on it. She noticed the money right away.

“Look what we found in the papers, Beth,” Ashely said excitedly. “It’s not a lot, but it will help.”

“Davide left that?”

“He sure did. Maybe just a little private savings in case of emergencies. He never got the chance to tell you about it.”

Beth took the money. “He often spoke of his per diem payments from the university, but I never noticed any in our accounts.”

“He was probably paid in cash. It’s all yours now, Beth.”

The woman began to cry. “I’m sorry. Let me go collect myself.” She left the room, taking the money with her.

Ashley and Zac tore into the notebooks, flipping pages, looking for any reference to Caspary’s last trip to Antara. Zac was desperate to learn if the scholar was working for the Antara by planting false information, or whether he actually saw what he reported?

Ashely took a notebook while Zac took another. They were in their second set when Ashley gasped.

“Here it is!” Zac scooted over close to her. “Dated entries, two years ago, local time. They appear to have been written after his return.”

“Makes sense,” Zac said. “It would be dangerous to take notes on Antara, whether written or digital. You know they probably check everything in and out.”

“They couldn’t screen his memories, though. Look, it says corollary.”

Ashely fingered back through the notebook several pages until the first reference to the secret text was found.

“I quote, ‘I am terrified and disappointed over what I have seen. My faith in the Order remains strong, although my respect for the Guardians is gone. I do not know why they would want to do what they say in the Final Corollary. Is there not enough room in eternity for us all? Although I know not when the Final Glory will come—if it is even to be a real event—so the timetable for the genocide is unknown. It doesn’t matter. It’s the attitude of the Antaere to their believers that troubles me the most. How can I give my loyalty to people who do not reciprocate? It is all a sham, the way we are treated, the way we cater to the Antaere, the way we produce goods and services for their benefit. I will say it: We are slaves, slaves to the masters of the Order. This cannot stand.’”

“There it is,” Zac said. “He didn’t come right out and say what was in the Corollary, but he made it obvious.”

“So, the document you found in the Temple was a fake.”

“You also know what else this means? If the document was placed there as a decoy, the rest of the documents in the Enlightenment Room were also fake, just props to make us believe they were the real thing.”

“Meaning the originals must still be around somewhere,” Ashley added. “You were right, Zac. And you think they might be hidden in the ammo depot?”

“When was it built?”

Ashley took out a small datapad and typed on the virtual keys. “About six months before the Temple was destroyed. I bet they don’t even have any weapons stored there at all. That would be too dangerous.”

“You have to tell me more about the depot. We don’t have a lot of time here on Iz’zar, before our stay will draw too much attention.”

Ashley placed a warm hand on his face and looked dreamily into his eyes. “You could be so madly in love with me that you’ve decided to stay around awhile longer and woo me more.”

“Oh, that is so sweet,” Beth said from behind Ashley. She was standing in the doorway with a proud smile on her face. “I am so glad you have found someone so noble and handsome. I like him a lot better than that Benson fella.”

Zac recoiled and frowned. “Benson? Who’s Benson? Am I going to have to fight for you, Ms. Hunter?”

“Please don’t,” Ashley said, smiling. “Barry Benson is actually a pretty nice guy. I’d hate to see him get hurt.”

39

Ashley and Zac spent the next two hours cruising the streets of Harmony Enclave, taking the lover’s tour to make it look legitimate and give the master spy time to tell the REV all she knew about the Antaere weapons depot.

It was located twenty miles away, in the arid, wind-swept desert, and at the end of a five-mile-long road off the main transit line between the Enclave and Faloner. There was a pair of small guard shacks at the main turn off, manned by Antaere. This was unusual, Ashley pointed out. Most other Antaere stations and facilities used local talent as security. The Antaere had more important things to do than stand guard duty. The actual depot was a series of mounds rising from the desert floor at the end of the dirt road.

They returned to the spaceport and Ashley accompanied Zac into the Zanzibar. All day Zac had carried the bug in his ear and Amber had been providing a running commentary for Angus and Gen. Smith.

“So how are we going to do this?” Angus asked without preamble. “I vote for some good ol’ fashion REV action.”

“I think a more-subtle approach is called for,” said General Smith.

“I’ve been past the weapons depot a hundred times or more,” Ashley said. “It’s on the main road to Faloner, out in the middle of nowhere. It won’t be easy getting to the bunkers. They’re located at the end of a five-mile-long road in a small valley. And then we won’t know which bunker the documents are in.”

“We?” Zac asked. “I hope you’re not thinking about coming along. Angus and I are better-equipped for something like this.”

“Like you were on your last mission?” she countered. “Maybe if you wanted to raze the facility to the ground, sure, but I have more skills than you can imagine.”

Angus gave her a lecherous look. “I don’t know. I can imagine a lot of skills you could have.”

“Does he ever stop with the sexist jokes?”

“Unfortunately, no,” said Gen. Smith. “It’s a British thing.”

Ashley shook her head from frustration. “Can we stay on topic? We need to take a run by the facility. Like I said, I’ve been by it a lot, but never with the idea of raiding the damn place.”

“Can you get us out of the Enclave?” Smith asked. “I thought things were pretty much locked down here?”

“I can get us through the gates, but only during daylight. At night they lock us in. I’m part of the government, so during the day, no problem. Besides, I still have Chancellor Lundquist’s SUV outside. Everyone knows the vehicle around here.”

Zac looked out through the porthole in the ship’s lounge area. “There’s still a lot of daylight left,” he announced. “I say we go now.”

Ashley agreed, and a few minutes later they were in the 4-Runner and heading for the main exit gate of the Enclave. Before the latest dustup between the Antaere and the Humans, the gate was rarely guarded, but not anymore. The guards were Kalori and were there more to monitor the comings and goings of the Humans than to restrict them from leaving.

As Ashley had predicted, the guards recognized the strange-looking vehicle and waved them through. Zac looked back and saw one of the guards making a note, registering the time the SUV left the compound. His mind was racing, trying to figure how they could get out of the Enclave at night and make their way across twenty miles of desert to the weapons depot—and without a car. In the case of the REVs, they could simply scale the wall and run the twenty miles. That would be no problem for them. But if Smitty and Ashley insisted on coming, it would take them hours more, depending on their physical conditioning. Ashley looked to be in good shape, but General Smith was in his fifties, although lean, and fit.

And that was just to get to the facility. He wasn’t holding out any hope that the op could be carried out without anyone knowing. That meant they also had the issue of returning to the Harmony Enclave and to get off the planet without being killed, assuming the mission was a success.

All this was going on in his mind even before seeing the weapons depot firsthand.

While Ashley drove, Smitty and the REVs surveyed the landscape between the Enclave and the depot. It was mainly flat, high-desert sand with native varieties of cacti and sagebrush, and with a vast dry lake bed that ran from near the Enclave to well past the depot. The road they traveled was wide and with little traffic, which was expected considering the current political climate on the planet. Eventually, the level ground gave way to rolling hills and even a few craggy, arid mountains made of red rock off in the distance.

“There it is,” Ashley pointed out. “On the right.”

It began as just a set of two small buildings on a frontage road, bordered by a wire fence, a light gate and a long, perfectly-straight line cut through the plain that was the dirt road to the bunkers. In the distance were the set of long mounds, similar to those Zac had seen on Earth, as well as the more established ES worlds when the Humans were in control. The bunkers were set in the ground, with berm-covered concrete domes and fortified entrances front and back. As they drew closer, the REVs’ enhanced eyesight could make out twelve distinct mounds.

“Buggers, there are a lot of them,” Angus said. “Which one is holding the texts? It will be a bitch having to search each one of them.”

Ashely continued along the main road at a constant speed, not wanting to attract any attention. With the new purpose for the site—that of a holding place for the sacred documents—they were sure they were under surveillance and had been for several miles. Driver and passengers tried to look as uninterested as possible as the SUV shot past the security buildings and continued along the road.

“That didn’t help much,” Angus complained. “What now?”

“We continue on to Faloner, before turning around,” Ashley said. “If we make a U-turn too soon, it could raise suspicions, especially since there’s not a lot of traffic between the Enclave and the city these days.”

“What do you think?” Zac asked General Smith, who was sitting quietly in the front passenger seat with a thin grin on his face.

The general looked at Angus, seated in the back behind Ashley. “You don’t think we learned anything, gunny?”

“We went by so fast, how could we?”

“C’mon, Angus, you’re the chess player. Consider this a game and tell me what you saw.”

“A bloody long road with no cover, leading out to a set of bunkers situated in the middle of a small valley,” he answered. “An impossible location to approach and exfil. Even if we tried, it could be a trap.”

“Excellent. And why would the Qwin create such a structure?”

“I can answer that, general,” Ashley said. “To isolate the weapons in case of an accident, so no one will get hurt.”

“And Antaere would do that?” the general questioned. “Since when have they ever been concerned for the safety of others? Besides, who’s around to get hurt, except a few unfortunate souls who just happen to be driving by when the place blew up?”

“Are you saying it’s a decoy?” Zac asked.

“Considering what we now believe to be the purpose of the facility, yes.”

“So, we’d go all the way out there on a wild goose chase.” Angus said. “If that’s true, then where is the real hiding place for the texts?”

“Consider what we already know about the Antaere.”

“Tunnels!” Zac exclaimed. “The bastards like to build tunnels.”

“You think they have a five-mile-long tunnel out to the bunkers?” Angus asked.

“And why would they do that, gunny?” Smitty asked. “They’re just storing some books and sheets of paper. That doesn’t take a lot of room.”

“They’re under the security buildings,” Zac concluded. “There’s a number of transports parked outside, but no guards out patrolling the fence or stationed at the gate.”

“That would be one conclusion, lieutenant…if it wasn’t for the building on the other side of the road.”

“What building?” Angus asked.

“Exactly,” said Gen. Smith, his smile growing even wider. “You fell for the misdirection the Qwin intended, focusing all your attention on the buildings, the road and the bunkers on the right, that you completely missed the small brick building across the street.”

“I saw it,” Ashley said. “I just thought it was another security building.”

“So why place it on the other side of the road? It serves no purpose there and is too small to be of any major importance. Also, no cars were parked outside. So why is it there?”

“The Antaere have tunnels running under the road,” Zac offered. “There could be a vault under the small building, which would be the last place we’d look. There are too many other options.”

“And that is what I meant before, Mr. Murphy, about asking why your opponent would make a particular move. The Antaere don’t do anything without a reason. Why did they place the small building out by itself, with no apparent security? So, we wouldn’t even notice it.”

“I hope you’re right, general,” Zac said. “We’re only going to get one shot at this. But it still looks like we have to access the tunnel system through the two main security buildings.”

“That’s better than hiking five miles to the bunkers,” Angus pointed out.

“They’re also right along the main road,” said Ashley. “If you’re right, general, then the Antaere may have been too clever for their own good, basically making something more complicated than it had to be.”

“Sometimes we get lucky,” Smitty replied. “Now all we have to do is come back tonight and find your elusive Final Corollary, Mr. Murphy. Are you up for it?”

“Yes, sir! More than ready. But we still have the problem of getting there and back. Any ideas?”

Ashley cocked her head around and smiled at the men. “I might have a solution. And I’m pretty sure you’re going to get a kick out of it.”

40

The Toyota 4-Runner made another pass by the facility on the way back to the Enclave. This time, the occupants of the SUV had more specific items to look for, including the fact that the small brick building on the side of the road didn’t appear to have any doors or windows, just a thin line of vents below the eves. It could be a ventilation system for the tunnels below.

Ashley took a datapad and pulled up a map of the Harmony Enclave. She highlighted a point along the wall and told the men to meet her there at midnight and to bring what weapons they felt they would need. She remained elusive about what she had in mind but said it would work. She dropped them at the Zanzibar before speeding off to make her preparations.

Zac and the others still had a challenge ahead of them: How to make it from the spaceport to the point at the wall Ashley indicated without attracting too much attention. They decided to face the problem straight on. At the weapons depot they would need weapons and combat gear. Before that they wouldn’t.

They packed their gear in two heavy canvas bags—and with comm bugs in their ears linked to both Amber and the team members—they simply took a transport-for-hire to a restaurant near the meeting point and spent three hours eating, drinking and having a night out on the town. They staggered out into the cool night air, savoring the constant breeze. They weren’t really drunk, but they made a show of it.

With the bags in the strong grip of the REVs, the three men moved along the perimeter road to the point Ashley had indicated.

The wall surrounding the Enclave was twenty feet high and ten wide, with a walking path along the top. Unlike most other Human enclaves, Harmony had never expanded beyond its original mandate. The population restriction was the reason. This was the original wall built forty years ago. It was well maintained but it was never a true security feature requiring guards and monitoring cameras. The Humans of the Enclave were the truest of the believers, so they didn’t need to be watched as closely.

Recently, however, there was more security, in the form of the occasional bored Kalori guard walking the top of the wall. There were steps that climbed to the top, to allow Humans access, and they were place every half mile or so along the length. Other stone structures jutted out from the wall, along with forty-years of tree growth and other vegetation. In the past, the Humans didn’t want to be reminded that they lived behind a barrier, so most of the wall was disguised with ivy and other plants.

The road was deserted when the men came to the designated meeting place. Then they heard a faint whistle. Ashley popped her head out from a small grove of trees and motioned them inside. There was a clearing between the trees and the wall. Ashley was lording over a cache of four canvas bags—two long and slender, and the other two more bulky and with rounded bulges.

“What are those?” Zac whispered.

“You’ll see. Now we have to get over the wall. The guard will be back by in fifteen minutes.”

Zac shrugged, then turned to Angus. “Top or bottom?”

“I’ll take bottom.”

Zac nodded, stepped back and then launched himself into Angus’s cupped hands. Using his own enhanced strength—plus an assist by Angus—he was thrown to the top of the wall twenty feet above. He grasped the ledge and pulled himself over. The wall had a small, four-foot high side barrier, with a ten-foot-wide center area, looking like a miniature version of the Great Wall of China.

Zac leaned over the side, reaching down with his arms as Angus propelled Ashley toward the top. He caught her outstretched arms and lifted her effortlessly to over the ledge with one arm. She inhaled softly at the ease with which he lifted her. His body was cascading both from the thrill of the mission, as well as his conscious instructions to do so.

Smitty came next, followed by a progression of tosses to get Ashley’s four bags, plus the two with the weapons, to the top of the wall. Then Zac climbed over the side and hung by his arms, allowing his legs to dangle. Angus took a few steps back, and then with a running start, he leapt, grabbing Zac by the ankles. He climbed Zac’s body, using the belt on his pants and then his shoulders to reach the top of the wall.

The drop to the ground on the other side of the wall was easier. Zac jumped without a problem, then caught Smitty and Ashley as Angus lowered them by their arms before releasing them. The bags were tossed down as well, and a few seconds later, the REVs had Ashley’s secret stash in their hands and were sprinting away from the wall, with the other two following with the weapons.

Unlike other Enclaves, there wasn’t a large native settlement outside the walls of Harmony. The relationship between the Humans and the natives was such that all food and other supplies needed by the immigrants was readily sold to the wealthy enclave, so no ancillary crops or other manufacturing facilities were needed outside the gates. Besides, all the good farmland was located around Faloner. Beyond the walls was just open, dusty ground.

About a half mile from the enclave, Ashley led them to a wide, dry riverbed with a crumbled far bank. She had the men lay out the canvas bags and began to unzip them. She emptied the larger, bulker bags first. Immediately, Zac and the others got an idea what she had.

There was a long, metal beam, sided by two knobby wheels on side brackets. She pulled the wheels back, extending the brackets and snapping them into place. From the bag, she next pulled out two thin plastic seats and clipped them onto the wheel supports. A smaller wheel was attached to the front of the middle support beam.

It was a three-wheeled trike with double seats. A small parallel rod was used to steer the contraption my simple pressing one way or the other.

The longer bags held the sails, attached to a light aluminum mast which slipped into a holder with a cotter pin holding it in place. The spy expertly and quickly attached control wires to the sail and the trike. Already the constant wind was trying to propel the small land-yacht forward.

“You gotta be kidding me,” Zac said when the firsts of the trikes was assembled.

“What, you don’t know how to sail?” Ashley asked, her wide smile almost glowing in the soft starlight of the moonless night.

“As a matter of fact, I don’t.”

“Neither do I,” Angus quickly added. “Never had much use for it.”

“That’s all right,” Ashley said. “It’s fairly simple, and I do it all the time. The land around here if perfect for it, what with the wind and the dry lake bed.”

“And we’re going to sail these things all the way to the weapons depot?” Angus asked.

“They can reach forty miles per hour, and we can take a track pretty far from the main road, so no one should notice.”

“But like we said, we don’t know how to sail.”

“Don’t worry, gentlemen,” Gen. Smith remarked. “I come from a long line of rather blueblood, high-ranking military officers in the Northeast. I’ve done my share of regattas. I can handle this.”

“Good!” Ashley said. “I’ll take one of the land lubbers and Smitty can take the other. Now, let’s get the other one assembled. You’re going to love this.”

41

Zac went with Ashley, cradling one of the weapons bags in his lap, while Angus took the other bag with Smitty and his land-yacht. They pulled the light vehicles out of the wadi and onto the hard-packed sand of the lakebed. Zac sat next to Ashley and pulled the canvas bag close to his chest. There were no seatbelts.

“Follow me, general, but not too close otherwise I’ll steal your wind. There are quite a few gullies along the way, but I know where they are. I’ve been running this area for several years. It’s one my favorite past times. Me and Benson come here often.”

She pulled tight on a line and the rickety vehicle began to move. And move it did. Within a minute it was racing across the flat terrain, picking up speed, riding the wind. Zac felt the exhilaration, with the wind in his face and the thrill of not knowing where they were heading across the dark landscape. Ashley seemed confident with her track, and Zac would occasionally look over his shoulder to see if General Smith was still behind them. He was, the triangle-shaped white sail visible in the distance. He worried if the twelve-foot-high piece of thin nylon sail was visible from the road, or any patrols that might be out. He looked up. The broad swath of material appeared like a beacon in the night.

“Relax,” Ashley said, following his gaze. “We come out here at night quite often, Berry and me. It’s cooler. No one will see us. The road is about six miles to our left, and there are no other roads between here and the weapons depot. And with the lock down of the Enclave, no one will be out here except us. So, what do you think?”

Zac smiled. “I have to admit, this is pretty cool…and you seem to be good at it.”

“I’m an adrenalin junkie. You should have known me back on Earth. I mountain climb, scuba dive and parasail. This is pretty tame compared to some of the things I’ve done.” She noticed when the smile vanished from Zac’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“I used to be like you, when I was younger. In fact, that’s what made me volunteer for the REV program. You know, a sense of adventure and to challenge myself.”

“That didn’t happen?”

Zac shook his head. “It seemed like a good idea at first, but don’t believe everything they say about REVs. Until recently—for me at least—it was just a sad routine of Runs and rehab, no time for a life outside the program. I could understand why; we’re not the type of people you can just hang out with.”

Ashley smiled. “I don’t know about that. You seem okay by me.”

“I’m different now, Ashley.”

“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to ask you about that.”

“Maybe later—if we survive—I’ll fill you in. But right now I’m thinking of all the things I’ve missed since becoming a REV.”

Ashley hit him in the shoulder. “Hang in there, champ. We get through this everything will change. You’ll be the hero again. Hell, we’ll all be heroes.”

He grunted. “Being a hero isn’t everything it’s cracked up to be. Right now, I would settle for being anonymous.”

The rest of the trip was made in silence. Besides, talking while zipping through the cool desert night was creating a bug-trap out of his mouth. He spent the rest of the journey with his eyes squinted and his mouth closed.

42

They stopped about two miles from the depot, wrapping the sails around the masts and lowering them along the length of the land-yachts. Even so, they placed stones around the wheels, so the vehicles wouldn’t blow away in the constant wind. They would need them for the return trip.

The team opened the weapons bags and pulled out armored vests, face grease and watch caps, along with the guns. Ashley stuffed her long, blond hair under a black knit cap and spread streaks of dark green grease on her face. She seemed to know what she was doing, even impressing the men when she picked up a short-barreled M-101 assault rifle with an M-18 energy rod on the rack and ran through the pre-op procedures. She evidently knew her way around the weapon.

“Amber, this is Zac, is everything quiet back on the home front?”

“Yes. I’m monitoring local emergency bands and no alerts have gone out. Let me know if you need me for exfiltration.”

“That’s a worst-case scenario. We’d be on the run after that and with about five hundred light-years of Antaere territory to cross. I would prefer a more leisurely trip back to our lines.”

“So would I, but there should always be contingency plans in place.”

“Agreed. Keep monitoring. We’re heading in.”

* * *

Under the cover of darkness, the four-person team covered the three miles to the weapons depot without a problem. They had to move along the fenced perimeter and along a section of the main road to get to the security buildings. Each structure was two stories tall, but there was only light coming from the lower floors of both. Seven local transports were parked outside, all but two of them covered in a thick layer of dust. Decoys, to make the station appear manned by more personnel? After all, if Zac was right, the documents had been removed from the Temple of Light two years ago. Since then, nothing had happened on Iz’zar that would indicate the secret was out. For all that time, it had to be a mind-numbing routine for the Antaere guards. He wouldn’t be surprised to find them asleep at their posts.

Angus and Smitty took the far building, while Zac and Ashley approached the other. They had a pretty good idea which direction the tunnels would run; to the north, under the road and to the solitary building with the ventilation grills.

Zac did a quick look-through at the window, seeing a utilitarian layout to the guard station, with an L-shaped counter, a series of desks and a bank of filing cabinets against the far wall. The room wasn’t large, indicating there could be another office in the back. No guards were visible—

An Antaerean soldier came from the back room, carrying a cup and a plastic plate of food. Another came right behind him.

Zac showed two fingers to Ashley. She nodded.

“In position,” came Smitty’s voice in his ear. “Two on guard. Check the door. Ours was unlocked.”

Zac scooted along the dusty concrete skirt boarding the building until he came to the door. It was made of glass. He looked inside and saw that the guards, seated on the other side of the counter, were invisible to him. He pulled back on the door handle and felt it move. His door was also unlocked.

“Same here. We go in ten. Acknowledge.”

“Acknowledge. You do the honors.”

“Roger that,” said Zac. He began to countdown. At go, Ashley pulled open the door and Zac ran inside, leading the assault and literally leaping over the counter toward the guards. He landed on one of the desks, rolled over an Antaerean’s dinner, and swept the stock of the M-101 across an unguarded chin. He was over the desk and straddling the second guard a split second later, the barrel of the M-101 pressed under the alien’s jaw.

Ashley appeared a moment later, checking the unconscious Antaerean. She frown and shook her head. “We could have used him for information.”

“Sorry about that,” Zac said. “Sometimes I don’t know my own strength.” He turned his attention to the guard beneath him.

“Where is the entrance to the tunnels?”

Nearly every alien within the Grid—either members of the Antaerean or Human coalitions—had a universal translation device embedded under the skin behind their right ear. These synced with the bones in the ear and overrode what sound was coming in from outside. The translations were seamless, although the movement between lips and what was heard was a little disconcerting until one got used to it.

“Tunnels? What tunnels.”

Zac moved the M-101 and placed a round into the alien’s kneecap. The suppressed shot was still loud, but not as loud as the scream from the guard.

“One more time, where’s the entrance to the tunnels?”

“I will not tell,” the guard moaned. “You will have to kill me.”

“I have no problem with that,” Zac said. “It just may take me a long time doing it. In the meantime, it will not be very pleasant for you.” He moved the barrel of the weapon against the other kneecap.

“Stop! I will tell you.” The alien’s face was contorted with pain and he was on the verge of passing out. “The cabinets. False.”

Ashley moved to the back of the room and the series of ceiling-high cabinet doors. She opened a set and found only drawers. At the next set she found a metal door, like that for an elevator. There was an electronic keypad at the side of the door.

“What’s the code,” Zac asked.

The alien’s eyes closed and his face relaxed. Zac slapped him to get his attention. “What’s the combination?”

“Eight…one…one.” The alien passed out.

“Eight-one-one, if that’s all.”

Ashley punched in the code and the metal door slid to the side.

“How are you coming, general?” Zac asked through the intercom. “There’s a door behind the filing cabinets. The code here was eight-one-one.”

“Let me try it. Unfortunately, the guards over here put up a little more of a fight and weren’t in any condition to give us any information. Good, that worked. Two entrances. We’re going in, you stay in contact.”

“Yes sir.”

Zac wiped the gooey food from his vest and went to Ashley at the elevator. The compliant alien was unconscious and would bleed out very soon. Zac studied the metal box, looking for controls and any sign of security cameras. There was a button to one side, indicating a single level below.

Zac hated elevators. They were too restrictive and made for easy traps. This time he had no choice.

“I’ll go first,” he said to the spy.

“No, I want to go with you.”

“If it’s a trap, I need you up here to come rescue me,” he said with a smile. “If everything is okay, I’ll send the elevator back up.”

“Be careful.”

“Hey, I’m a REV; I’m always careful.”

He punched the button and the door slid shut, with Ashley’s stiff middle finger the last thing he saw before the panel met the frame.

The ride to the next level down was quick. The car stopped without the customary ‘ding’ signaling its arrival and the door opened.

The elevator was at the far end of a long corridor with a series of doors lining the far wall. Zac did a quick look-around and noticed another elevator down the fifty-foot-long hallway. He knew this was how some of the Antaere tunnels were built, with a series of staggered elevators leading farther down, rather than one long shaft connecting the floors. This was a high-security facility, so it made sense that to reach each level would require a separate elevator.

He sent the car back up and a moment later a red-faced Ashley Hunter appeared.

“Listen, asshole, we’re a team. Don’t do that again.”

The corridor was empty. This was almost too easy, a fact Zac attributed to the lack of any outward threat to the facility over the time it had been here. At the second elevator, Zac allowed Ashley to ride down with him.

“Where are you?” he asked the others through his comm.

“Second level,” Angus answered. “I’m surprised we haven’t linked up yet. I can’t imagine they’d have two sets of independent tunnels.”

“Maybe the documents have been segregated and not all kept in the same place.”

“That would make sense,” said Angus. “According to the compass, we’re heading toward the building on the other side of the road.”

“Same here, these tunnels must run parallel.”

“No signs of life, except on the surface.”

“Roger that,” Zac said. “Moving to the next level down.”

As the elevator door slid open on the second level, Zac stepped out, his weapon at the ready. Ashley was right behind him, until he pressed a hand against her chest and pushed her back inside. A brilliant flash of light blinded them both.

“What was that?” Angus asked.

“A flash weapon,” Ashley reported. She was on her ass, leaning against the back of the elevator, with Zac nowhere in sight. “Zac’s outside the elevator.”

She crawled forward and looked around the edge of the doorway. Two huge Antaere had Zac by the arms and were dragging him down the corridor. She aimed her weapon and fired, hitting first one, and then the other alien in the back. Sparks flew out as the bullets ricocheted off thick armor. She aimed for their heads, with the same result. Both Antaere were encased in protective shields, including their arms, legs and head.

Zac had taken a level one flash bolt to the head, something that even a semi-activated REV would have trouble countering. He was stunned, but quickly recovered. A moment later, a squad of Antaere appeared at Ashley’s elevator, four barrels aimed down at the Human female crouched on the floor.

“I’m caught,” she said aloud.

“Don’t worry,” said Angus. “So are we.”

43

The tunnel system did link up, at a large underground chamber that was now filled with armored Antaere soldiers and a pair of Humans, dressed in colorful robes. The two REVs had nylon ties holding their arms behind them and similar straps around their ankles. Smitty and Ashley were not restrained, but under watchful guard by the Antaere.

A tall, yellow-skinned Antaere officer stepped up to Ashley. She recognized him as First Cadre Osno, the head of the Faloner garrison. As an undercover operative, she knew all the ranking officers. She also knew the Humans flanking him.

“Thank you, Chancellor Lundquist,” said Osno. “Your information was correct. A grave injustice has been avoided. You and Mr. Jessup are to be rewarded.”

“As long as the sacred documents are safe, that is all the reward we seek,” said Lundquist. He was smiling like the Cheshire Cat, looking into Ashley’s angry eyes. “The 4-Runner, my dear. It was bugged. You didn’t think I would volunteer to let you drive such a valuable possession without some ulterior motive?” He looked over at Zac and Angus. Zac had been temporarily stunned by the flash bolt, but not for long. His natural NT-4 allowed him to recover almost immediately, but by then, the room was flooded with armed aliens. He chose to let the scenario play itself out, whispering to Angus to surrender without a fight. Their natural abilities were still unknown to both Lundquist and the Antaere. That gave them the advantage.

“And you, my REV friends,” said the Chancellor. “We are not without modern communications, including news broadcasts. If anyone would recognize the two of you, it would be us on Iz’zar. The Humans may be downplaying your sins, but not so in Antaere space. I knew your true identities the moment I first saw you.” His face turned serious as he looked down at Ashley. “What I was not aware of was your betrayal of the Order to help the heretics. You gave a convincing front, which only angers me more that I did not see through your deception.”

“So what happens now?” Ashley asked.

“That is always the question most pressing on the minds of captives. All I can say it is not up to me. This is an Antaere matter. They now have two of the four REVs they seek, plus a famous general. I imagine the newscasts will be very active for a long time to come as your treachery is broadcast across the Grid.”

“You know it’s all bullshit,” Zac said. “The fucking Qwin are going to kill all of you. They don’t give a shit about their followers.”

Chancellor Lundquist frowned. “I know that, Mr. Murphy,” he said to Zac’s surprise. “But that will be millennia from now and will be for others to worry about. Right now, I’m just trying to live the most comfortable and rewarding life I can, while I can.”

“Let’s get on with this,” said the Antaere officer.

“So you do have the Corollaries stored here?” Zac asked.

The alien officer frowned. “You mean you initiated this operation without knowing for sure? That appears reckless and impulsive.”

“Yeah, that’s about right. Humans are risk takers.”

“Of course the documents are here. We would not allow them to be destroyed, along with the Temple of Light.”

“That was a rather bitch move on your part, wasn’t it? To blow up your own Temple. Damn.”

“It was just stone and steel, nothing more. It was not a significant site for the Antaere, but only for our alien followers. Only the documents had value. Now take the REVs,” the alien commanded.

“And the others?” asked Lundquist.

Osno looked over at Gen. Smith and Ashley before answering. “They are traitors to the Order, yet they are of no importance to us. You may do what you wish with them.”

Zac counted fourteen Qwin, plus the two Humans, Lundquist and Jessup. He could tell Angus was cascading higher than he’d ever seen him on the natural NT-4. Zac was doing the same. This was a life-or-death situation, and Zac’s body was reacting accordingly.

The two armored Antaere took Zac and Angus by the arm and lifted them to standing positions. They guided them toward the elevator with the officer leading the way and all except two of the guards following behind. The other two were with Lundquist.

Just as he reached the door, Zac yelled out, “Now!”

Using their enhanced REV strength and quickness, Zac and Angus snatched the guns from the hands of the armored aliens and shoved them aside, fingering the selectors on the weapons from energy to ballistic rounds as they did. They turned toward the Antaere behind them.

It was a bloodbath, before Zac aimed down the corridor and fired a round at one of the guards covering Smitty and Ashley. His shot found its mark, just as General Smith laid a shoulder into the second Antaere. The alien stumbled back, before Ashley stepped up and performed a perfect spin kick to the guard’s chin. Out the corner of his eye, Zac caught the move. The spy did have skills, other than the obvious.

The Antaere officer was on the floor of the elevator, blood gushing from a stomach wound. All the Qwin were dead, except for the officer and pair of armored aliens in the elevator. Zac’s weapon was empty, but he still had his REV strength and a corridor of discarded weapons from the guards.

He turned to Angus. “You go with Smitty and Ashley. Find the Corollary. I’ll meet up with you after I finish with these two.”

Angus grimaced. “So, you get to have all the fun, Lieutenant Murphy? You do outrank me, so fine. Have fun…sir.”

He ran down the corridor. Smitty and Ashley had already appropriated the weapons from the two dead guards and were waiting for him.

“This way,” Angus called out. “The elevator at the end of the hall should lead under the building on the other side of the road. Follow me.”

“What about Zac?” Ashley asked.

“He’s going to teach the Qwin in the black armor how to dance. He’ll be along shortly.”

The trio ran for the second elevator.

44

Zac turned to the pair of Antaere, who were just now climbing to their feet. They had already demonstrated that their full-body armor was impervious to bullets and energy bolts. That would make Zac’s job a little harder, but not much, not at his current stage of cascading.

Suddenly, one of the Antaere jerked upright, as if he’d been hit by an electric shock. The other armored alien fell to the deck and laid still. A moment later…Zac heard it.

It was a god-awful scream, delivered with the customary qween sound of an injured Antaere. Zac knew immediately what it meant. So did the wounded officer and the other armored soldier.

The Antaere REV’s expression was hidden behind the tinted glass of his helmet faceplate, but Zac could sense the laser-like focus on the target in front of him. Zac was about to move when the Qwin jumped first. The impact was like being hit by a freight train and threw Zac against the metal wall on the other side of the twenty-foot-wide corridor. He was stunned, and before he could react, the alien was on him, pummeling the Human with savage, sledgehammer-like blows.

The Antaere super-soldier was stronger and with quicker reactions. Zac covered up, using his arms to protect his head, but it didn’t help. The alien swept his arms away and kept pounding on him.

Zac’s body was reacting to the situation, feeding natural NT-4 into his system at an alarming rate. He was cascading, which wasn’t always a good thing. If he went too far, he could cascade over the edge and never return.

He was surprised with the clarity of this thinking, even in light of the beating he was taking. At one point, he dropped his guard, allowing the alien a clear shot to his head. But that also allowed Zac to grab the Antaere’s black helmet and rip it from his head. Now with flesh to hit—instead of metal—Zac countered with a couple of hits of his own. He was growing stronger by the second and the hits were having an impact.

An activated Human REV had bloodshot eyes. The Antaere had eyes that literally glowed golden in the center with a circle of red filling in the white. Now they were blinking rapidly and momentarily went blank after Zac’s last hit. The Human lashed out with a knee, sending the alien sliding across the smooth metal floor.

Zac was on his feet a heartbeat later. He glanced at the open elevator car and saw the other two Antaere huddled against a side wall, looking at him, but out of sight of the alien REV. They weren’t stupid. They knew better than to show themselves. And if Zac defeated the first REV, then it would turn into a morbid alien tag-team, and the battle would start up again.

The first REV was on his feet, his glowing eyes focused on the target in front of him. He snarled, showing double rows of long teeth. Zac wondered if this was how he looked when activated. He didn’t think he did, but there was the video of him killing Manny Hernandez. The expressions were similar.

Zac stood perfectly still, which only confused his enemy. He was a chase animal, just like a Human REV. The strategy delayed the attack, but it didn’t stop it.

With his enhanced reactions, Zac was able to sidestep the charging alien. He also lashed out with his leg, placing a knee into the Antaere’s stomach. The alien barely reacted, so hyped up on the Antaere version of NT-4 that he felt no pain. Zac jumped on the alien’s back, wrapping a vice-like forearm around the REV’s throat and holding on for all he was worth. The Qwin smashed against a side wall in response.

That’s when Zac discovered an important truth. The alien REV was trying to kill him using whatever means possible. That was obvious, but the way he was going about it wasn’t. There was no strategy, no foresight in his actions. All he did was react. He didn’t plan.

Zac used this revelation to his advantage. He pressed harder on the alien’s throat. The Qwin was essentially ignoring his grip, instead reaching back trying to grab Zac and crush him with his hands. Zac continued to squeeze.

He didn’t know how long the alien REV would stay activated before he would Twilight—or even if he would. The Antaere were not known for their concern over the fallen. They may let the REV cascade until he exploded. And then the other one would take over.

But first things first.

Zac’s lock on the alien’s throat was having an effect. He was growing weaker, more disoriented. If there was one thing that all REVs needed—be they Human or Antaere—and that was air. The Antaere REV dropped to his knees, the attempt to pull Zac off his back becoming more feeble and ineffective. His arms fell to his side. Zac gave one last surge of strength and crushed the alien’s larynx. A two-handed grip of the big yellow head, followed by a quick twist, and the snap of breaking bone filled the hallway.

In this excited state, Zac was up and facing the second challenger a heartbeat later. What he saw made his near-boiling blood turn cold.

The other alien REV hadn’t activated. Instead he stood in the doorway of the elevator, holding a flash rifle in his hands, aimed at Zac’s head. The Human knew even a top-level bolt wouldn’t kill him. But it would knock him out for the few seconds it would take the alien to gain the advantage. Zac took a step forward, just as a balloon of white light filled his vision.

45

“Zac!” Ashley yelled, unnecessarily holding her hand to her ear as she called out. “Come in Zac? Where are you?”

The silence was telling.

“Maybe he just lost his comm bug,” said Angus, having difficulty keeping the worry out of his voice. “Don’t think too much about it. He can take care of himself.”

The trio had made their way down the next level. When they exited the elevator, they were in a much smaller corridor than before and with no other elevators embedded in the walls. This was the last floor.

A sloping stairway led down at a shallow angle. They could see a solid metal door at the end, looking suspiciously like a vault. They rushed down the stairs to the landing outside the door.

It was a vault, and a solid-looking one at that.

There was a keypad to the right of the door. Angus tried the eight-one-one combination that had activated the elevator doors at the top level, but to no avail. There was a latch on the door and he tried that, using his REV strength to try to force it open.

“Be careful,” said Ashley. “You don’t want to break it off.”

He backed off, already feeling the metal begin to give. The lever could easily snap off in his hand.

Each of them began to exam the door frame, looking for any sign of a weakness. Angus slipped his backpack off and opened it, withdrawing a black, three-foot-long iron crowbar.

“What are you doing with that?” Smitty asked.

“We came here looking for papers hidden in an underground chamber or room. I figured we might have to pry open a few doors along the way. Seems I was right.”

“And there was a crowbar on the Zanzibar?”

“Surprisingly, yes. In the cargo hold, used to open crates or whatever. Hey, general, I wouldn’t be complaining.”

“I’m not complaining, just surprised.”

“Stand back,” Angus said. He stepped up to the door and began to work the claw end of the crowbar between the frame and the metal panel. It was a tight fit, but he managed to get a purchase of about an inch. He cautiously worked the bar, careful not to bend or break the tool. Even though it was made of thick iron, he was perfectly capable of damaging the instrument. The door didn’t spring open, but the metal did deform, giving him more space to insert the claw in farther. After a few more adjustments, there was a fairly decent opening which revealed a set of three-inch-thick metal bars extending from the wall and into slots in the vault door. There was no way to open it without first removing the bars.

“Stand back,” Angus repeated. He took a firm grip on the three-foot-long bar and then swung it with all his strength into the concrete wall next to the door. The claw end smashed into the material, sending chunks shooting into the room. Smitty and Ashley covered their eyes and moved back up the stairs, out of range of the fragments. Angus took another swipe, and then another. The concrete was crumbling, with fissures growing along the wall. Another few hits and Angus was able to use the crowbar to free up more the concrete around the securing metal rods.

They were emanating from a metal box, a mechanism for screwing them in and out of the vault door. Angus went to work, attempting to free it from its concrete prison. At one point, the REV inserted the crowbar in a space behind the box and pried it out. The container, along with its three protruding metal rods, fell noisily to the floor.

Ashley was at the door even before Angus, pulling on the latch. It opened without protest and they rushed inside the vault.

There was a bank of recessed lights in the ceiling illuminating the room, activated when the door opened. Although they’d brought flashlights, this helped. They scanned the fifty-by-fifty-foot room with a twenty-foot-high ceiling, finding an array of metal crates, all alike and all sealed. The Antaere never bothered to open the boxes once all the documents were packed and moved into the room. There was no need. They were to be stored here until the new temple was built, for which no ground had been broken, as the Antaere milked the destruction for all it was worth.

“I count around fifty crates,” said Gen. Smith. “Let’s get to work.”

Angus’s trusty crowbar came in handy again, this time prying off lids. He rushed through the room, making quick work of the job. Ashley and Smitty were already rifling through the open crates.

“Do you even know what you’re looking for?” Angus asked the other two Humans in the room.

“I read Antaere,” Ashley replied.

“I don’t,” said the general. “But I did see the Corollary you brought the first time. I assume it’s something like that.”

“We’re looking for thirteen sets of pages,” Angus reported, “all encased in glass protectors. Or at least that’s how they were displayed at the Temple. Pretty sure that was just for show. I would also assume they would all be in one case. No need to separate them.”

With three of them searching, it didn’t take long to hit the jackpot. It was Ashley who found the Corollaries.

“Here they are, the complete set!”

The men rushed to her crate. Angus leafed through the panels until he came to the last one. He pulled it from the box. It was a single sheet of paper under glass, with the familiar boldface type as the one they’d taken from the Temple the first time. He held it up for Ashley to see. “What does it say?”

She leaned in and silently read the text. “This is it, and it does speak of the Final Glory, which is not only the assent of all the Antaere to the promise universal order, but of the elimination of the alien followers to clear eternity for the pleasure of the Antaere. I guess there isn’t enough room in Heaven for everyone.”

Angus smiled broadly. “This is it! This will clear our names and turn the Grid against the Qwin.”

General Smith shook his head. “Not so fast, gunny. The Antaere will call this a forgery, a fake document we put together to counter all the animosity against us.”

“So how do we prove it’s real?” Ashley asked.

“We have to take all of them. There are people who can analyze the paper, the writing and the age of the documents. But we need something to compare it to.”

“Find, we’ll take the crate,” said Angus. He placed the Final Corollary back in the box and sealed the lid. There were hand-holds on the side. He lifted the crate with ease. “Now let’s go find Zac.”

The other two nodded, a cloud of concern covering their faces. From elation to worry in the blink of an eye.

They rushed up the stairs and to the elevator. At the next level, they emerged onto the floor where the fighting had taken place. Both Chancellor Lundquist and his assistant, Brian Jessup, were nowhere to be found. Farther down the corridor was the bloodbath left by Angus and Zac. They ran up to the horrific scene of ripped apart Antaere, looking for any sign of Zac within the carnage. He wasn’t there, however, there was a new body—that of one of the black-armored Qwin. His helmet was gone, and his still open eyes revealed glazed over evidence of subconjunctival hemorrhaging, the bloodshot condition signifying REV activation.

“So the Antaere have REVs,” General Smith stated.

“What?” Ashley asked, aghast.

“We knew they’ve been working on the program for several years, taking samples from fallen REVs and trying to duplicate the formula. I didn’t know they’d actually deployed any.”

“This one didn’t get past Zac,” Angus said with pride.

“But there were two of the armored Antaere,” Smith pointed out.

“So, where is he?” Angus asked. “If they’re like us, then he would have to been Twilighted and evacuated…or left to cascade to the end. It doesn’t look like a recovery team has been here. Otherwise they would have come for us.”

“Check the elevator.”

The door was shut and after pressing the recall button, they waited the few seconds for the car to return from the floor above. Obviously, someone had taken the ride up.

The door opened, to reveal a side wall and floor covered in blood, but no bodies inside.

“The Cadre officer isn’t among the dead in the corridor,” Gen. Smith noted.

“Yeah, because we shot him in the elevator. Obviously, he didn’t die,” said Angus. “He and the other Antaere REV must have Zac.”

46

With the crate firmly in his grip, Angus, Ashley and Gen. Smith took the ride up to the second level. There was a blood trail on the metal floor leading down the corridor to the next elevator. At ground level, Angus set the crate aside and joined Smitty and Ashley to help scan the room and the area outside for any signs of the Zac and his Antaere capturers. Two of the transports were missing, as evidenced by the lack of dust in the parking spaces. They were gone, and more than likely headed for the Antaere stronghold in Faloner.

“Lundquist also got away,” said Gen. Smith. “He’ll be waiting for us at the Enclave.”

“Amber,” Angus said. “Have you been monitoring things here?”

“Yes, I have. There is quite a bit of activity around the spaceport. Chancellor Lundquist reported the incident at the weapons depot and there is a mobilization taking place, awaiting his return.”

“Can you get the Zanzibar out of the Enclave and come pick us up?”

“There are forces moving in around the ship. I can get away, yet it may cost Human lives.”

“And you’re programmed not to let that happen.”

“Within reason. If my inaction would cause you or other members of your team to die, then I have a duty to respond. In addition, my programming only includes Earth Humans. These are no longer Earth Humans, but those who have surrendered their ties to the base species. I will be along shortly.” There was an almost sinister tone to the AI’s voice.

“Good, find us along the main road, heading for the Enclave.”

Angus recovered the crate and the trio set off away from the weapons depot, hugging the hard-packed sand along the side of the main road. There was no traffic, and the night was darker than they remembered it being on the way to the facility. There was still starlight, but it was now subdued by a light cloud cover.

“General Smith, I have a report,” said Amber in their ear bugs.

“Go ahead.”

“I am airborne and heading your way. I disabled most of the aircraft at the spaceport, yet there is a flight of twelve spacecraft lifting off from Faloner. They will be able to follow us beyond the planet.”

“How long until you get here?”

“I am approaching now. You should be able to see my chemical jets.”

“Yes! I see you. Home in on our comms.”

The Zanzibar streaked up and did an abrupt vertical stop before leveling out. Without any Human passengers aboard, Amber was free to put the spacecraft through its paces without fear of hurting anyone. The ship plunked down for a landing, with the side entry hatch already open.

Ashley and Gen. Smith scrambling inside, with Angus and the crate with the Corollaries entering last. The ship was lifting even before the door cycled shut.

Angus placed the crate in a cabinet under the couch to keep it from flying around the lounge if the going got tough. He rushed into the cockpit. Ashley and Smith had already taken the two command chairs and were strapping in.

Amber’s voice filled the room. “If the ship survives this mission, I will recommend a third seat be placed in the cockpit. That appears to be the majority number of passengers carried aboard.”

“I’ll hold on back here,” said Angus. With his REV strength he gripped a pair of bulkhead support members. He would be fine.

“The Antaere ships are thirty seconds out. I will attempt to evade.”

The ship shot off over the dark desert landscape, skimming barely ten feet above the surface.

“Shouldn’t we be heading up, instead of over?” Ashley asked.

“I am attempting to use the curvature of the planet to increase the distance between us and our pursuit. If I steer upward, they can close the vector much quicker.”

“Of course,” said the spy. “I knew that.”

No Human pilot could have done what Amber did, racing along so close to the surface at near supersonic speeds. The ship bounced up and down as changes in elevation came and went unseen by the occupants, but not the auto-pilot. At one point, Amber increased the altitude and went supersonic and beyond. The Zanzibar took the long road into space, leaving the planet at a point nearly a quarter of the way around the globe from the location of the Harmony Enclave and the city of Faloner.

Iz’zar wasn’t near any of the major fighting taking place in the Grid, so there were very few Antaere warships in the system. The ones coming from Faloner were small fighters, capable of surface landings but having limited range once in space. They were good for about a light-year out. After that, the chase of the Zanzibar would be left up to larger ships.

Just as they cleared the highest clouds, a transmission came through the secure comm system. It was Zac.

“Where are you…are you safe?” Ashley cried out before anyone else had a chance to speak.

“I’m all right, but the Antaere have me,” he reported. “Did you know they have alien REVs?”

“Yeah, we know,” said General Smith.

“You do?”

“We saw your handiwork in the hallway.”

“Oh, yeah, right.”

“How did you survive the second one?” Angus asked.

“He never activated, but he did have a big ass flash rifle. That was enough to knock me out for a while, until they could get me out of the building and into chains—really strong chains.”

“Where are you?” Angus asked. “We’ll come back and get you.”

“Back?”

“Yeah, we have the Corollaries, Zac,” Angus beamed. “We’re just beyond the atmosphere and heading away. We thought you were lost.”

“Any pursuit?”

“Just a few ships from Faloner. Nothing Amber can’t handle.”

There was a hesitation on the line. “Keep going,” Zac said. “I have no idea where I am, and it would be too dangerous for you to come back looking for me.”

“Amber can lock onto your comm signal.”

“He is on the grounds of the former Temple of Light,” Amber informed the Humans.

“That seals it,” Zac said. “This is the strongest concentration of Qwin on the planet. It’s more important for you to get the Corollaries back to Human territory.”

“But….”

“No buts, buddy. Our mission was to get the Corollaries and prove to the Grid what assholes the Antaere are, not to risk it all to save me. Besides, they could have killed me if they wanted. Looks like I’ll be kept around for a while as they decide best how to use me.”

“Then I’ll come back for you later,” Angus said with determination in his voice. “I’ll round up Kyle and Donovan, and then we’ll come back.”

“That’s fine,” Zac said. “But make sure you have a viable plan when you do…and that there’s still a live body left to recover. I’m not worried about it. I’ve pushed the envelope about as far as a REV can. Just get the documents back to Earth. You do that, and I’ll be good with whatever happens to me.”

“Cut the bullshit you two,” said General Smith. “You survive, Mr. Murphy. That’s an order. We’ll come looking for you, just as soon as we complete this next phase of the mission.”

“Yes sir. Your wish is my command.”

“Pardon me,” said Amber the AI. “I am ready to initiate a deep gravity-well. At that point I will lose contact with the short-range communication device.”

“Hang in there, Zac,” said Ashley. “We’ll all come back for you.”

“Well, pity the poor Qwin who get it your—”

“I apologize,” said Amber. “But if I didn’t enter the well, we would have fallen within range of the Antaere vessels.”

There was silence in the cockpit for a few moments before General Smith spoke. “That’s okay, Amber. You did the right thing. Any obstacles ahead of us?”

“There are two destroyer-class Antaere warships in the system, yet they are out of position for an intercept.”

“Very well, carry on.”

47

Gunnery Sergeant Donovan Ross lifted the gangly-looking contraption and presented it to the gathered officers and enlisted men.

“This is a J-18 jet pack,” he said in his best lecture-hall voice. “It is the most powerful compressed air personal flying unit we have; anything else uses chemical rocket propellant. Unfortunately, we don’t have any of the rocket-powered units, so the J-18 will have to do.”

“Excuse me, gunny, but the J-18 can’t lift a fully-armored REV, not even close,” said Marine Captain Silas Drake. “Besides, the last time I checked, we only have one of the units in the enclave.”

“Sir, you are correct in both instances. Yet the J-18 will not be used to deliver us to the battlefield, but only for the evac of Sergeant Larry Hand. My colleague—Gunnery Sergeant Kyle Johnson—and I will find alternative means of returning to Unity after the operation.”

LtCol. Monroe stepped forward and ran a hand over the smooth metal cylinder that was the main compression chamber of the jet pack. “I know you probably got this idea from what the REV did on ES-6. But Gunnery Sergeant Garcia didn’t use the jet pack. It was the support team, men not saddled with five hundred pounds of armor and weapons. They also only had around three minutes of flight time. That won’t get Sergeant Hand back to the enclave.”

The officer stepped back. “You may continue. I’m sure you’ve considered these issues before calling for this meeting. I’ll be curious how you’ve addressed them.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Donovan. Since returning from the reconnaissance mission, he’d noticed a little more respect coming from the senior officer. Monroe was beginning to realize REVs were more than just one-trick ponies.

“The J-18 is about twice the size of the smaller packs used on ES-6. It also has a parafoil parachute installed. Here’s my proposal: The three of us—Kyle, Larry and myself—will make our way behind the Antaere headquarters compound. Kyle and I will carry Larry’s armor and weapons, while he brings our sniper rifles. Sergeant Hand will attack the command tents while we destroy the generators and the transmission tower. Larry will have a single barrel M-93 on his right arm and a flamethrower unit on his left. The flame unit is lighter than either another M-93 barrel or a grenade launcher. Also, the individual chemical tanks can be discarded when empty, as can the M-93. We send Larry in with minimal armor; a helmet and breastplate. Captain, we need your technicians to fashion remote release bolts on the armor and the weapons. There also needs to be a heavy protective plate attached across the back of the J-18 to keep it from being damaged during the battle. That will also need release bolts. After the action, all unnecessary armor and armament will be discarded. When Larry is shot into the air, he should be as light as we can make him.”

“And then what, gunny?” asked Captain Drake. “The J-18 still won’t have the range to get him back to the enclave.”

“You shoot him as high as you can and then deploy the parachute. Correct me if I’m wrong, but don’t the prevailing winds run south to north around here? He simply glides back to the compound.”

“And the NT-4? You’ll administer it?”

“No, sir…you will.”

Donovan had brought a datapad from Pearson’s starship and linked it to a large screen computer on a desk nearby. He began to run through the crude graphic demonstration he’d put together since coming up with his plan earlier in the day. “Captain Drake will be running the remote operations from here. After Sergeant Hand is suited up, Mr. Drake will use the cameras inside the command collar to know when to administer the NT-4…and the Twilight. He will also have control over the release bolts and the jet pack. The J-18 has a remote-control feature and a pretty sophisticated gyro and GPS system, but timing will be crucial. Until all his weapons and armor are dropped, you can’t trigger the jet pack. You’ll have a front row seat for the battle, sir, so you’ll know when it’s time. In addition, this mission will be unlike a traditional REV Run. We’re usually facing a unified front of armed and expectant enemy in a confined space. This op will have a more scattered and disorganized defensive force. And they won’t be expecting it. There is a good chance Sergeant Hand won’t suffer the level of injury usually associated with a Run.”

“And how can you guarantee Sergeant Hand will attack the command tent? With the op taking place late at night, there may not be a lot of activity around the tents. He could be subject to any number of distractions.”

“We’ll take care of that, sir,” Donovan said, nodding to Kyle Johnson.

“And what will the two of you be doing while Sergeant Hand makes toast out of the command tents?” Monroe asked.

“Sir, the destruction of the command center is not our primary target. It’s the generators and the transmission tower. Using the diversion created by Sergeant Hand, we’ll advance on the other targets and take them out.”

“With explosives? You’ll already be hauling a pretty heavy load with Sergeant Hand’s equipment.”

“I’ve done some asking around. The generators they’re using are local gas-fired units, basically big steam engines used to turn turbines. We’ll take along some lightweight thermite strips to cut through the feeder lines and make our own really big firework show. For the tower we’ll utilize on-site resources to bring it down.”

Larry Hand stepped up to Donovan.

“It seems like this mission is getting overly complicated just so I can be recovered. I’m willing to let that go. Just get me in. Forget about getting me out.”

“Belay that, sergeant,” ordered Captain Drake. “We send you in, we’re going to have a way to get you out.”

“And speaking of that,” said Monroe. “What about the two of you?”

“Sir, hopefully we won’t be shot up and can make our way back to Unity through the hills. After the attack, we can take our sweet time.”

“With ten thousand rabid Lanic swarming the area?”

Donovan smiled. “We’ll be fine, sir.” He looked at his watch. “It will be dark in about an hour. We’ll go in a little after midnight, giving the enemy time to settle in for the night. It will take us about two hours to get on station, carrying the equipment. We need to get the techs working on the release bolts, like now.”

LtCol. Monroe looked at the faces of the assembled men. “Anyone have an objection to Gunnery Sergeant Ross’s plan?” He only allowed two seconds for objections. No one spoke up. “Very good, then…let’s get to work.”

* * *

Forty-eight people under a deadline and working on a single task can get a lot done in a very short time. It turned out that only six additional remote-control latches had to be placed in the armor to allow it to be shed at the proper moment. Also, the protective plate over the J-18 jet pack was relatively easy to assemble, although it was the single heaviest item the REVs would have to carry. The project was completed fifty-two minutes after the technicians set to work, leaving two stacks of gear, one for the jet pack and shield, the other with the armor and weapons the REV would need. A third pile contained two sniper rifles with powerful scopes and the thermite explosive strips. Kyle and Donovan would carry the heavy loads, while Larry brought the rifles. He was a traditional REV, without the benefit of natural NT-4. The residual he carried made him approximately ten percent stronger than a normal man of his conditioning and development. He would help with the load, but it was the natural REVs who would carry the really heavy stuff.

When the time came, the three men and their packs were driven to the same western gate Kyle and Donovan had left from the night before. Everyone had been going at it all day and into the evening, and the mission was just beginning. At the gate, the techs helped lift the heavy packs onto the backs of the natural REVs, securing them with broad canvas straps and metal buckles around their chests and waists. At first, the load was too much for either one of them to lift, let alone lug over twenty miles, but as the stress and emotions of the mission began to take over, their bodies cascaded. Both men marveled at how the weight seemed to fade away as they grew stronger by the second. The technicians nearby—those who had assembled the packs and had to help lift them onto the backs of the REVs—stood in awe as the men slowly stood up, supporting the incredible weight with barely a grunt.

For their part, Donovan and Kyle shared a nervous look. The situation called for their bodies to cascade to a high level, but would it be too much? How far would they cascade? Would they go over the edge to full activation? If they did, there would be no turning back. Without Twilight and a recovery plan, that would be the end. This mission would be their greatest test.

Larry Hand threw the much smaller pack with the rifles and explosive strips over his shoulder. “Damn, these things are heavy,” he said, smiling. “You guys want to trade?”

Kyle lifted a straight middle finger at his REV teammate. They would if they could.

48

The REV team slipped out of the gate and followed the same dry riverbed they had before until they reached the base of the first two-thousand-foot-high hill. The Lanic were still working on the railgun at the top, but also using bulldozers to build the road along the western side. The men had to leave their dry wash and skirt along the edge of the construction, using the increasingly undulating landscape for cover.

The night was cool, but not for the REVs. The heavy loads cause them to sweat profusely, soaking their clothing and even bringing gasps for air as they scaled the steep inclines to make their way farther south. This was unusual for a REV. Seldom did their incredibly-fit bodies become winded or fatigued to the breaking point. But this was beyond the call of duty. Kyle and Donovan collapsed onto the sandy ground when they reached the southern-most boundary of the Antaere and Lanic activity. Buckles were unlatched, and their wet bodies fell away from the packs.

“That sucked,” Donovan gasped. “Whose idea was this, anyway?”

“Yours!” the other REVs exclaimed.

“Well, if I ever come up with something this dumb again just shoot me.”

“Can I shoot you now?” Kyle asked, his breath coming in fits.

“If you can lift a weapon, be my guest. Put me out of my misery.”

They were hidden among a series of low hills, with the four Antaere command tents in front of them and to the right, about six hundred feet away. The three domed electric generators were directly in front of them, a hundred feet away. The three-hundred-foot-high transmission tower was on the left, another hundred feet from the generators. It was three-forty-five in the morning and there was very little activity on the site. This part of the Antaere operation was complete and just waiting on the placement of the last railgun to begin their assault. The roads were cut and heavy equipment sat idle to west of the transmission tower, their job done. This was the lull before the main battle, and those who could were getting their rest.

One of the good things about REV operations is they’re limited in duration. If a mission wasn’t completed in twelve minutes or less, something had gone horribly wrong. The REVs were on station with plenty of time before the sun came up on the planet Kaus. Of course, the plan was for them to create their own sunrise.

After a moment to catch their breath, Kyle and Donovan set to work unpacking Larry’s equipment and weapons. The armor came first. It was an abbreviated set, leaving his legs and arms uncovered. The breastplate was attached, and then the weapons on his arms. They would help protect his vulnerable flesh. The helmet came next. The chemical tanks for the flamethrower were strapped around his waist and then the heavy jet pack—with its two-hundred-pound curved plate of steel protecting the compression chamber—was lifted into place and secured with belts wrapped around the REV. There were no control rods winding around the front, since Captain Drake at the Unity Enclave would be controlling the unit.

Larry had the thin command collar of a REV around his neck. There were four cameras embedded in metal, two facing front and two back. The gathered officers and NCOs in the main REV tent at the enclave were watching everything taking place. Communication devices made it a party line.

“Still pretty far away from the target, aren’t you?” Captain Drake said over the comm.

“We’ll move him in,” Donovan replied. “Are all your lights green, sir?”

“Green…and the mission’s a go.”

Kyle and Donovan flanked the suited-up REV. “You ready?”

“No…but does that matter?”

“No.”

The two natural REVs lifted their conventional teammate by the arms and legs and carried him across the dark landscape toward the command tents.

“This is humiliating,” Larry said.

“Relax and enjoy the ride,” Kyle whispered. “It won’t happen again.”

There were lights illuminating the area outside the array of tents, with a few Antaere and Lanic milling around. The largest was the command tent, where the leader of the Antaere forces would be found. His official title was First-Lead Cadre and was essentially the general of the operation. Two smaller tents to the left and right were the tac center and comm stations. The forth shelter was barracks for the support troops.

There were probably fewer than fifty Antaere personnel in the command regiment. There were other technicians and NCOs helping with the railguns and the APC division, but they were housed in other parts of the field of operation.

Kyle and Donovan set Larry down, positioning him under the heavy load on one knee and pointed toward the main tent. There were two Lanic guards outside the entrance and a group of three uniformed Antaere officers making their way from one of the other tents to the main structure. Other than that, the scene was quiet. Too quiet. An activated REV wouldn’t have enough movement to focus his angry attention.

“We’re in position, captain,” Kyle reported.

“Roger that. Clear the area,” the officer commanded.

“On my mark, give us a ten second countdown.”

The REVs tapped Larry’s armor. “Good luck. See you on the other side.”

Donovan and Larry scrambled away into the dark. They stopped three hundred feet away and removed two round objects from their tac vests.

“Okay, Mr. Drake. Ten seconds, starting…now.”

The countdown could be heard in the ears of all three REVs. Donovan and Kyle pulled the pins on their grenades, stood up and prepared to throw.

“Seven…six…five…four…three.”

At three, the REVs tossed their grenades, aiming for the entrance to the command tent. It was almost four hundred feet away, but easily within throwing range of the jacked-up natural REVs.

“Two…one…activate!”

Despite the heavy load he carried, Larry Hand stood bolt upright when the NT-4 was injected into the back of his neck. As the grenades reached their marks, his odd silhouette was displayed to Kyle and Donovan against the yellow flame of the blasts. Even through the cacophony of the thundering explosions and screams of the nearby Antaere and Lanic, the REVs heard Larry’s blood-curdling scream, the primal call of an activated REV.

Larry ran forward, attracted by the fiery explosions, the panicking troops and the flames as they began to consume the side of the canvas tent. The weapon on his right arm was spitting bullets, targeting the running aliens, while an arching stream of yellow fire shot from the tip of the device on his left. The sticky liquid was landing on living creatures, as well as on the tent. The thick tan-colored material flare up and tore apart, revealing parts of the interior and the confusion taking place inside.

Larry shot everyone who moved before running headlong into the burning structure. Kyle and Donovan lost sight of him but could still hear the screams of his victims and the popping of the M-93. And more of the material was erupting in flame, turning the once black of night into a blinding, angry tornado of yellow and white light building above the command tent.

Kyle tapped Donovan on the shoulder. “Our turn.”

The men ran off to their left.

There were other Lanic and Antaere near the tower and the generators, but they were now rushing toward the burning tent. The REVs slipped in behind them but let them go. They were destined to become additional points on Larry Hand’s scorecard.

Donovan stopped at the generators, while Kyle ran toward the tower. The generators were gas-operated turbines with high-tech capacitors to store the energy. They were operating even at this hour, building up the charges that would be needed to fire the railguns. Donovan knelt near the middle unit and began to wrap the thermite strips around re-enforced gas feed lines. These were thick pieces of metal designed for safety. The storage tanks for the gas were buried, but this was where the gas fed the burners for the internal boilers. When he was done, he activated slow-burning fuses and ran away to the south.

As Donovan worked on the generators, Kyle ran past the six-legged microwave transmission tower and hopped into the cab of a large alien bulldozer, with its heavy metal blade resting on the ground. He’d never driven a piece of equipment like this before, but figured if the Lanic could do it, so could he.

The interior of the operator’s cab was lit by the dancing yellow flames of the command tent. Larry had emerged from the tent and was shooting streams of fire at the other three, following the movement of the aliens either rushing in or out of the structures. There was new gunfire heard through the maelstrom, as well as pops of flash weapons, as the defenders were realizing what was happening and had begun to fire on the running REV.

Kyle scanned the dashboard of the dozer. There was the ubiquitous on switch—rather than a key—and he pressed it. The mighty piece of machinery came to life. It chugged a little, as the chemical fuel fed the engine. Soon it steadied out with a deep rumble.

There was a lever to the left. Kyle pressed it forward and the front blade dug deeper into the ground, raising the cab and the center part of the earthmover. He pulled the lever back and the large piece of curved steel began to rise, setting the cab back on an even keel. Kyle lifted the huge, steel scoop off the ground. Now he just needed to figure out how to move the tractor.

There were peddles near his feet. He pressed the one on the right and the engine revved, but the dozer didn’t move. When he pressed the second peddle—the middle one out of three—the vehicle lurched forward, slowly at first until Kyle pressed the right peddle to the floor, along with the middle one.

The bulldozer shot forward, guided by a joystick to Kyle’s right. He aimed the front blade for the nearest leg of the tower and raced forward, not slowing until he crashed into the angled support.

The dozer came to a sudden stop. Although he was expecting it, the collision still sent Kyle surging up out of the seat and onto the top of the dashboard. He wasn’t hurt and quickly retook the seat.

The tower leg was bent radically, but not broken. Kyle looked up through the glass ceiling on the dozer at the dark and ominous-looking spire lit by the yellow flames. It was huge and imposing, giving Kyle concern that he may have bit off more than he could chew.

He pressed the far left peddle, and as expected, the dozer moved back. A hundred feet away, Kyle changed direction and gunned the engine again. This time, the sharp edge of the dozer’s scoop broke through the metal of the support leg. The tower didn’t fall. There were still five other legs holding it upright.

Holes began to appear in the glass of the cab to Kyle’s left. He ducked as the bullets zipped past his head. He looked out, and using his REV-enhanced eyesight, spotted a pair of Antaere coming at him from the north, their alien ballistic weapons spitting slugs his way.

He unslung the sniper rifle from behind his back, pointed the barrel out the shattered side window and took aim. As a natural REV, Kyle not only had improved eyesight, but much quicker reactions. His two answering shots came so close to each other that they sounded like one. The two Antaere lay dead on the ground a split second later.

Kyle went back to his job. He rammed another leg next to the broken one until it, too, was severed. Like cutting down a tree, he concentrated on only one side, hoping to weaken the structural integrity of the tower’s base. He was racing toward the third leg when the generators blew up.

Donovan had slipped back to a point he thought was far enough from the center generator. The thermite began to burn, hot enough to melt the metal covers for the gas lines. He figured the residual heat and sparks would ignite the gas. If not, he would fire his rifle at the generator until it did. He didn’t need to.

A moment after the gas line was severed, the surface of the desert to the back of the generator erupted like a miniature volcano, as the huge underground storage tank exploded. But it didn’t stop there. The tanks on either side also blew, creating a giant shockwave and explosion that consumed everything around it for a hundred yards.

Donovan was at the edge of the major effects of the blast, but he was still thrown forty feet in the air to the south. Only his REV durability saved his life. He was just climbing to his feet when the area around him was showered with flying shards of sharp metal. The generator blades had shattered, sending clouds of deadly shrapnel shooting through the air. Donovan took three hits, two to his right leg and one to his shoulder, the shiny pieces of metal stuck in his bleeding flesh.

His half-activation level suppressed most of the pain, and his rapid healing limited the blood loss. Even still, he left the shards embedded in his skin until he could better assess the damage.

With his part of the mission complete, he looked to the still-standing tower to see how his partner was doing.

* * *

The bulldozer was showered in the deadly debris from the exploding generators. Fortunately, ducking near the peddles kept Kyle from being hit by any of the shards. Once the danger had past, he sat up again and began to move the bulldozer toward the tower once again.

That was when he noticed something odd about the tower. It was getting bigger. A moment later he realized it was falling—and directly along the path of the dozer. The exploding generators had sent a shockwave his way, adding its force to the weakened supports on the opposite side of the tower. Now it was falling, and on top of the dozer.

Kyle kicked open the door to the cab and jumped out. He ran with REV speed, cascading to dangerously high levels in the face of his almost certain death. The tower was wide and seemed to be following him no matter how fast he ran.

When the tower met the ground, it produced something akin to a six-point-oh earthquake in the immediate area. The ground rolled up, forming a rapidly-moving wave. Kyle was tossed into the air, only to land in a patch of pulverized soil that cushioned his fall. He stood up and looked around.

“Donovan are you okay?”

“Affirmative. A little cut up from the generator blades, but fine otherwise. I take it you weren’t crushed by the tower?”

“It was touch and go there for a while.”

From their vantage points, both men looked to Larry Hand’s killing field.

“Captain Drake, what’s Larry’s status?” Kyle asked through his comm.

“He’s still running. One leg is shot up pretty badly. The flamethrower is empty and has been discarded.”

“No need to keep him in harm’s way any longer, sir. Both the generators and the tower are down.”

“Roger that. Beginning…whatever you want to call this next stage of the mission.”

49

Through the collar cameras, Captain Drake could see Sergeant Hand was in the clear, outside of any of the burning tents. There were dead aliens littering the ground nearby, even as the defense was beginning to form up in the compound after several minutes of confusion. This phase of the operation was a crapshoot. Drake had to drop the REVs protective armor—what there was left of it—just as the REV was encountering the most intense incoming from the defenders. He had no control over where the REV ran, so he couldn’t instruct him to take cover while Drake worked his magic. All this would have to be done in the open.

He activated the remote levers for the weapons first. The only one still on the REV was the M-93 gun; the flamethrower had already been jettisoned. The weapon fell away. Next came the breastplate armor. He’d keep the helmet on.

Drake activated the jet pack.

The view through the cameras was suddenly filled by a thick cloud of dark gray, the desert sand thrown up by the blast of compressed air. The scene cleared quickly, as the force of the escaping jets blew away all the loose material around the REV.

That’s went Drake noticed Larry was still on the ground, the cameras shaking violently from the vibration of the jet pack. He wasn’t lifting off the surface.

The armor plate!

Drake had forgot to drop the steel shield protecting the jet pack. That was two hundred pounds of extra weight, and it was keeping him glued to the ground. He slapped at the button that would release the levers and the scene changed instantly. The ground fell away, revealing all four burning tents and the slew of bodies littering the ground from a high vantage point. Defenders were running into the clearing below the REV and firing into the air. The men in the REV tent at the Unity Enclave could hear the rounds whizzing by. Larry gave out a grunt as a round sank into the sole of one of his combat boots. They could also hear him growling—almost barking—with the angle of his head pointed downward and his hands reaching out, trying to grab the tiny objects he saw below. He was still activated and desperate to destroy everything he saw.

Drake pressed the button that would administer the Twilight drug into Larry’s system. The vibrations ended, and the camera angle fell static.

“He’s only at twenty-five hundred feet,” a tech called out. “He needs to get to three thousand to clear the hills to the north.”

“He’s still climbing,” said Drake. “Give it a—”

The view on the screen changed, the forward cameras now pointed toward the stars.

“Jet pack depleted. He’s falling back to the surface,” reported the tech in a panic.

Drake deployed the parafoil.

As the elongated nylon scoop unfurled, Drake threw himself back into his chair. “Dammit!” he yelled. “I used up too much compressed air before dropping the plate. What’s his altitude now?”

“Eighteen hundred feet, sir,” replied the tech. “Unless he slips through between the hills, he won’t clear the tops. And even if he does, it will be only by a few feet. The Lanic and Antaere there will have clear shots at him.”

Drake slumped deeper into the chair. The other people assembled in the tent remained silent. Monroe placed a hand on the Marine’s shoulder.

“It’s okay, captain. We’ll see what happens, but he knew the risk.”

“I’m sure he wasn’t expecting me to fuck up like this.”

“Keep your fingers crossed. This isn’t over yet.”

* * *

Donovan and Kyle met at the top of a fifteen-hundred-foot-high hill to the west of the battlefield. They plopped down on their butts and looked out over the valley below. They had the perfect vantage point from which to survey their handiwork.

Directly in front of them were the burning remains of the command center, lighting up the area south of the hills for miles around. Closer to them was the crater formed from the exploding generators and their underground tanks of natural gas. The tower lay facing northwest, appearing remarkably intact for the long fall it took.

They took out monoculars and scanned the hills to the north. Along the western face—where the road was being cut—was the main APC force and the ten thousand Lanic fighters. LtCol. Monroe would have to contend with them next, if the Lanic decided to carry through with their attack. Focusing their instruments on the black blocks of the APCs, the REVs noticed a strange spreading of even smaller black dots, all rushing out in different directions from the APCs. A little closer examination and they could see the black dots were panicking Lanic soldiers running from their formation of armored vehicles. There were periodic flashes of light as Antaere officers fired on the deserting troops, but to no avail. The Lanic were leaving, and in droves.

The REVs next scanned the sky for the dark blue parachute Larry was riding. There was a robin’s egg blue sunrise beginning to lighten the sky to the east, making the long, narrow scoop of nylon easier to spot.

As they had heard over the comm, Larry didn’t have the altitude to make it over the hills. His Twilighted body would crash into the higher elevation of a hillside, to be swarmed over by both natives and Antaere seeking revenge for the devastation he’d delivered. The mission was a success, even if the aftermath wasn’t.

As the strip of blue neared the hillside—with the dark figure of Larry Hand dangling below—something odd began to happen. Kyle and Donovan stood up and peered eagle-eyed at the parachute.

It was rising. In fact it was gaining altitude at a decent clip.

“Captain, he’s going up!” Kyle shouted through the comm.

“We see that. It’s the thermals around the hills. He’s caught one. Let’s pray it can carry him over the top.”

The REVs watched, just as those in the command tent back at Unity were doing, holding their breath as the parachute approached the hillside. Larry barely made it over, but he did. The parafoil continued to climb, even as gunfire was heard from below. Once clear of the top, the winds caught the sail again and shot him over the summit at increasing speed. The shooting died away as Larry drifted farther to the north.

Yet once clear of the thermals, his ride began to come to an end. The angle of descent increased and from their vantage point, Kyle and Donovan could see as Larry’s legs scraped the top of the Unity boundary wall, skidding over the top before his body disappeared over the side. Captain Drake’s voice was shouting into the comm, directing the medical recovery team to his location. They were already near the wall and able to reach the unconscious REV seconds later.

“He’s alive!” came the report over the comm.

The open comm line to the REV tent erupted with cheers, heard by the two REVs standing on a hilltop twenty-two miles away. They would make their way back to the enclave, but for the moment, there was no hurry. The Lanic were scattering and the few Antaere forces in the area would be running, too. Without their Lanic army to protect them, they would be vulnerable to Human follow-up patrols.

Kyle and Donovan sat down again and pulled a pair of water bottles from their field vests.

“Here’s to another successful Run, my friend,” Kyle said.

They tapped the lids together, unscrewed the caps and chugged the contents.

Earlier, Donovan had pulled the sharp metal shards from his body. He was covered in blood, although most of the flow had stopped, thanks to the natural NT-4 in his system. It looked worse than it was.

“You can’t tell by looking at me, but I prefer this kind of an ending to the way it used to be.”

“You’re telling me!” Kyle said. “At least this way we can walk home, instead of being carried out on a stretcher. Yes…this is much better.”

Epilogue

The deep gravity-well Amber initiated wasn’t something recommended within a stellar system, but she wasn’t concerned with what the gravity wave would do to other vessels in the area. Fourteen minutes after leaving Iz’zar, the ship was passing the system’s outer boundary and heading for clear space, leaving the pursuit behind.

“How soon until we can broadcast images of the Corollary?” Smitty asked the AI.

“We can broadcast a narrow-beam transmission in seventeen hours that will intercept one of the Grid’s central beacons. The Antaere will be able to block the link a few seconds later, but it will be enough for a burst transmission. That will also give away the location of the Zanzibar.”

Smitty looked at the grim expressions of his Human companions. “Let’s break out the Final Corollary and get some video shot. It’ll be a start, but until we get the full set back to Earth and the test results out to the Grid, don’t expect too much to happen. Just a lot of denials and name calling, would be my guess. But maybe it will give some of the natives justification for supporting us again.”

“Let’s hope so, general,” Angus said. “And not that I’m giving up hope, but I’d sure like to know that Lieutenant Zac Murphy’s last act as a REV wasn’t in vain.”

* * *

The last five days were a blur to Zac Murphy. The Antaere kept knocking him out with drugs, having found that jolting him with electric shocks only served to make him stronger. They were keeping him incapacitated most of the time, having learned that he possessed unusual strength and abilities for a non-activated REV.

He had been placed in a heavy steel container with only his feet, hands and head sticking out. He was naked inside the cocoon, and attendants provided food and fluids to him like he was a baby, since he couldn’t feed himself. The worst part was when he had to relieve himself. He would go, soiling himself within his metal prison, until a hose was inserted and water sprayed inside, to drain out of an opening along his back. It helped, but it wasn’t perfect. The smell was beginning to seep through the tight rubber seal around his neck.

He only stayed on Iz’zar for a day, before being placed in a spaceship and flown off the planet. They put him in the sickbay, in a hospital room monitored continuously.

Four days into the journey, as counted by the day/night cycles aboard the ship, an older Antaere entered the room, carrying a small black case. He stepped up to where Zac lay. The REV could barely move his head, so his visitor leaned over so the Human could get a look at his face.

“Hello, Lieutenant Murphy,” the alien said with a joyous lilt in his voice.

Zac noticed that the movement of the Antaere’s lips matched the words he heard. “You speak English?”

“Yes, I do.” The alien smiled. “I find your language extremely expressive, almost too much so. You have creative ways of communicating, often appearing to make up word-associations as you go along. It is a challenge to decipher your meanings. However, I am an expert regarding your kind, so I find the exercise stimulating. My name is Congin Bornak. I am the first-confidant of the Rowin, Andus Zaphin.”

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

“I would hope not; that would mean my efforts have been revealed. I have been the person pulling your strings, my REV friend, which I must say you have obliged at times, and others you have not. In the end, however, all has worked out according to plan.”

“You destroyed the Temple of Light?”

“Yes, I did. I also manipulated the Human scholar, Davide Caspary, into revealing the contents of the 13th Corollary, as well as passing along the schedule of the Rowin so your team could attach themselves to his ship for the journey to Iz’zar. I must say, I was surprised to learn that Human REVs participated in the attack. We were expecting more traditional commandos or even a larger force to perform the mission. Since learning it was REVs, I have been fascinated about you and your comrades. I have learned much.”

Zac wiggled his fingers. “So you have me. Now what, a nice public execution broadcast to the Grid?”

Congin leaned in again. “Oh, where do I begin? No, Mr. Murphy. Let me start by saying that the last thing we want to do is kill you. If that were to happen, then many of our reluctant allies on the colony worlds would rapidly close this chapter of the current crisis, anxious to put it behind them. By keeping you alive, your evil deeds remain active. No, you will not be executed—not yet—not until your usefulness is over. Instead, your ugly Human face will be displayed even more than it has to date. You will make incriminating statements and confess to all you have done…and more.”

“Good luck with that. You know I’d rather die than help feed your lies.”

Congin laughed. “Yes, I know. That is why I have placed you in your metal prison. You will make the statements we require, whether you know it or not.”

“No fucking way, dickhead.”

Congin frowned, as he worked through the phrasing. “Mr. Murphy, we do not need your cooperation. You must realize now that with technology, we can manipulate your image to make you do whatever we want. Now that we have your physical body, your full image will be scanned into our computers, where technicians will make you do anything we want. You recall the video image of you killing your fellow REV, the file we recently acquired and have been broadcasting to the Grid? We have determined that the final segment of that recording was manipulated, not by us, but by your own people. That is the same technology we will apply to your confessions.”

“What are you talking about?” Zac growled.

Congin laughed again. “You did not kill your friend, Mr. Murphy, it was only made to look like you did.”

“Bullshit!”

“No, no bullshit.”

“Why would they do that?”

“I have no idea. Perhaps for control or to make others turn against you. I would look to those who have a vendetta against you and the REVs to find the who and the why.”

Col. Jack Diamond! Zac thought. That bastard has wanted to lock me away from the beginning. The video was his way of making me feel guilty over Manny’s death—if Manny is even dead!

“But all that is a mere distraction at this point,” Congin said. “We have a more important topic to speak of.”

“What is that?”

“You, Mr. Murphy,” said Congin. “We finally have a living Human REV to study, and from what we have been able to determine, a very unique kind of REV, as well. As you know, we Antaere have a rudimentary REV program of our own; we’ve even adopted your name, though in our language they are called NOVs. You encountered an activated NOV on Iz’zar, defeating him even though you were not at full strength. That shows how far we still have to go to match the effectiveness of your REV warriors.”

“Again, good luck with that.”

“It is only a matter of time, my friend,” Congin said. “And yet, it is your unique abilities—along with the few others who attacked the Temple—that may allow us to jump forward, forgoing the earlier, more basic form of the NOV, and move on to those like you. We have taken blood samples and detected the presence of an organic form of NT-4 in your system. I have spoken with our scientists. They find this to be an exciting—yet perplexing—development. They are at a loss as to how this has happened, and more importantly, how to recreate it in our NOVs.”

Congin went to a small side table and opened the black case he’d brought with him.

“Yet for us to have the time to fully discover the secrets your body holds, we must keep you alive. As with our own NOVs, without periodic boosts, you will die. This has been known for twenty years or more. Unfortunately, I do not have any of your Human NT-4.” He lifted a vial of yellow liquid from the case. “Yet I do have the Antaere version.”

Zac forced his head to turn a few inches to the left, just enough to see Congin and the vial. He wouldn’t tell the Antaere he didn’t need maintenance boosts of NT-4 to stay alive. If he did, then they wouldn’t worry about him dying. With the plans Congin had for him, this seemed like a possible way out. His death would mess up the alien’s plans considerably.

“I realize we have no idea how this drug will affect you. But since Antaere and Human DNA is ninety-nine percent alike, I have been assured by my doctors that they can counter any side-effects there may be.”

He moved to the table on which Zac lay and reached behind his neck. There was a sharp click as the vial was inserted into an injection pod.

“Please relax, Mr. Murphy. We have the Twilight drug available to bring you back down. That formula is no secret, so there will be no question of its effectiveness.”

Congin Bornak came around and leaned over Zac again. “This will be a fascinating experience for me…and for you, too. From it, we will both learn much.”

Zac had no idea what the foreign NT-4 would do to his system. He hadn’t had a dose of the Human drug for over two years; it was too dangerous. The alien formula could cause him to activate and possibly even reach terminal cascading before the Antaere doctors could react. Considering his imminent future, that would be preferred. He tried to relax and accept fate as it came.

The drug entered his body.

His feet and hands spasmed, and his eyes instantly turned bloodshot. He took in a deep gulp of air, before letting out the loudest, most-primal scream ever made by an activated REV.

The End

More about REV….

I’m pretty fortunate to have the job I have. I get to sit around all day and make things up. And I’m especially grateful for REV and the wondrous new world the story has created in my mind and in my computer.

The science behind REV has been a long-term interest of mine…the idea of manufactured supermen. And this isn’t all science fiction. As I stated in the first book, the idea for REV came from the proliferation and advancements being made in performance-enhancing drugs. It’s a given that we do have the technology to rebuild mankind, to make us better, faster, stronger. But it never seemed fair to me that those with the means and—frankly—the balls, could take these drugs and have an advantage over those who don’t. I think we can all agree that’s not right.

But governments—and particularly—the military, don’t think like that. And we don’t want them to. After all, in a life-or-death situation, there’s no such thing as a fair fight. We want our military to have all the unfair advantages they can get. We’ll live longer and freer that way.

So I set the story eighty years in the future, when advancements in medical technology could be expected to have developed drugs such as NT-4. And from there came the REVs.

I hope you see the logic in the story. Apparently, a lot of you have. The first book was a great success, and it looks like the follow-up edition will be, as well. I want to thank all my loyal fans who emailed me with comments and suggestions and who have offered input into future stories. I welcome these and look forward to even more reader-interaction with the publication of REV: Renegades. Feel free to join in the conversation. Drop me an email anytime at: bytrharris@hotmail.com.

With gratitude….

T.R. (Tom) Harris

bytrharris@hotmail.com

Coming Next:

REV Warriors Book #3

REV: Remastered

(July 2018)

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Contact

Email: bytrharris@hotmail.com

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Novels by T.R. Harris

The Human Chronicles Saga - Continuum

Mission Critical (An Adam Cain Adventure)

The Human Chronicles Saga (original series)

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

REV Warriors Series

REV

REV: Renegades

Jason King – Agent to the Stars Series

The Enclaves of Sylox

Treasure of the Galactic Lights

The Drone Wars Series

Day of the Drone

In collaboration with George Wier…

The Liberation Series

Captains Malicious

Available exclusively on Amazon.com and Kindle Unlimited.