REV: Retribution

The REV Warriors Series Book 5

T.R. Harris

REV: Retribution

REV Warriors Series

Book 5

by

T.R. Harris

____

THC

Tom Harris Creations

Copyright 2019

by Tom Harris Creations, LLC

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Novels by T.R. Harris

The Adam Cain Saga

The Dead Worlds

Empires

Battle Plan

Galactic Vortex

Dark Energy

Universal Law

The Formation Code

The Quantum Enigma

Children of the Aris

The Human Chronicles

The Fringe Worlds

Alien Assassin

The War of Pawns

The Tactics of Revenge

The Legend of Earth

Cain’s Crusaders

The Apex Predator

A Galaxy to Conquer

The Masters of War

Prelude to War

The Unreachable Stars

When Earth Reigned Supreme

A Clash of Aliens

Battlelines

The Copernicus Deception

Scorched Earth

Alien Games

The Cain Legacy

The Andromeda Mission

Last Species Standing

Invasion Force

Force of Gravity

Mission Critical

The Lost Universe

The Immortal War

Destroyer of Worlds

Phantoms

Terminus Rising

The Last Aris

The Human Chronicles Box Set Series

Box Set #1 – Books 1-5 in the series

Box Set #2 – Books 6-10 in the series

Box Set #3 – Books 11-15 in the series

Box Set #4 – Books 16-20 in the series

Box Set #5—Books 21-25 in the series

REV Warriors Series

Rev

REV: Renegades

REV: Rebirth

REV: Revolution

REV: Retribution

REV: Revelations (coming soon)

REV Warriors Box Set #1 – Books 1-3 in the series

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 Co-Author George Wier…

The Liberation Series

Captains Malicious

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Contents

REV: Retribution

Prelude

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

I. Part 2

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

Epilogue

The End

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Novels by T.R. Harris

REV: Retribution

Prelude

The planet Crious - designated ES-10 (Earth-Standard #10)

The planet Crious is essentially a water world, with over eighty-five percent of its surface covered in vast, turbulent oceans. The few landmasses jutting above the waves are blanketed in dense evergreen forests and marshlands, and often drenched in prodigious amounts of rain and snowfall throughout most of the year. It’s a beautiful, lush world of blues, greens and snow-capped mountains and was once a favorite among the Colony Worlds of the Antaere Grid.

However, Lead Insir Aric Nesan was never among those impressed with the verdant nature of the planet, and neither did he admire its relatively small native population. In his opinion, the planet was an anomaly, a member of the Order based solely on its fortuitous yellow star, as well as its compatible atmosphere and gravity to that of Antara. To him, it offered no other redeemable properties. However, of the fifteen hundred semi-habitable worlds within the Grid, Crious was one of only thirteen so-called Colony Worlds, those capable of supporting Antaerean life; a mirror world to Antara. For that distinction—and that distinction alone—the natives enjoyed the benefits and glory of belonging to the Order.

And that was before the native Zinnieans threw away their blessed good fortune and sided with the heretics from Earth, at the start of the seemingly never-ending Antaerean-Human war. Aric never forgave the natives for their treachery to both the Order and the Antaereans. The hatred ate at him over the decades, haunting him during his many journeys throughout the Grid as a devoted warrior for the Order. From battlefield to battlefield, his frustration grew at the apparent immunity afforded the natives of the backward planet, a direct result of their proximity to Earth. Although his subsequent war-time efforts helped liberate many of the Colony Worlds from the infection of the Human beasts, Crious remained out of reach, shielded by the power of the Humans.

Until now.

Although Aric now stood in a cold, steady rain, driven by a biting wind howling down from the North, he had reason to smile. After today, there would be very few of the offensive natives left on Crious to sully the honor of the Order. Their end had come, and it would be by his hand that the Zinniean race would soon join the long list of extinct species in the galaxy, remembered only in the dusty pages of history.

Aric’s journey of retribution began seventy-four days before, after he and his forces arrived at Crious, having been ordered from the Human star system by the Tesnin, Denak Zaphin. At the time, Aric was furious that the leader of the Antaere would not allow him to continue his planned assault of the planet Earth. Granted, the Humans had managed to cobble together a sizeable fleet of civilian spacecraft to counter his superior numbers, yet they did not have the firepower to repel the combined efforts of the Antaere and their Ha’curn allies. Aric sincerely believed he would have succeeded with his final assault, putting an end to the heretics and their contamination of the Order. However, the Tesnin did not share Aric’s belief. Instead, he and the Ha’curn were ordered to attack nearby Crious, and thereby make an example of the rebellious native population.

“It is for the better,” Aric’s Second Insir had said at the time. “The defeat of the Humans must be overwhelming, an event to demonstrate Antaere resolve and power. We cannot merely win; we must be dominant. And because of that, we must first rebuild our forces. Until then, Crious will be a good diversion. ”

Aric knew he was right, and for the Lead Insir the Crious operation had proved to be cathartic. He was at last given a chance to act on his decades-long animosity toward the Zinnieans and his simmering objection to their very existence. And one of the main catalysts for his hatred came from the fact that the traitorous population still professed devotion to the tenets of the Order, even as they rejected Antaerean authority over its maintenance. Aric found that dichotomy abhorrent. How could one worship the Order, but not the Antaere, the founders—the creators—of the Order? It was a statement without logic, insulting in its absurdity.

But now Crious and the Zinnieans stood defenseless. The pink creatures from Earth abruptly deserted the planet ninety days ago, retreating to their home star system in a desperate attempt to save their wretched world from Aric’s advance, leaving their former ally to the mercy of the Antaere. Yet mercy was not what Aric had in mind. With the dramatic turn-of-events recently within the Grid, punishment was already being exacted on the natives of the planet Enif, as well as any other species who failed to support the Antaere during the war.

It was Aric’s task to make sure the people of Crious suffered the most.

And that was why Lead Insir Aric Nesan smiled, even in the cold and rain of this forsaken world.

The last surviving members of the Ruling Council of Crious now stood before him in the dim light of early morning, their sentence about to be pronounced. There were eighteen of them, each standing slump-shouldered and defeated in the drenching rain. They knew their fate, with quiet resignation their final testament.

Aric was tasked with making this moment one which would be remembered for many centuries to come, and to that end, cameras were set up to record the event. Images would soon be circulated throughout the Grid and even broadcast in the open to the single holdout world of Earth. The Humans would see the recordings as a vivid preview of their coming fate. The annihilation of the Human race would be just as humiliating and savage as what was about to happen on Crious. And there was nothing the Humans could do to stop it.

Ignoring the rain, Aric stepped up to the ragged line of Zinniean dignitaries. At his side was a creature named Razgis, the leader of the Ha’curn forces under Aric’s command. The grey-skinned beast had a heavy metal file in his hand and was constantly sharpening the tops of the boneplates that ran along each side of his narrow head. The plates were as much a weapon as were the beast’s retractable claws and formidable energy weapon. The Ha’curn were the consummate killing machines; the people of the Grid knew this already. The videos would fortify that belief.

Razgis salivated at the prospect of the coming purge, for unlike the senior Antaere officers within Aric’s command, he would personally partake in the upcoming bloodletting. He and his feline-like beasts fidgeted with excitement, anxious to begin.

But first, Aric must deliver his speech, which would assign meaning to the day’s events. Context must be established; otherwise it would simply be viewed as a slaughter. After that, the Ha’curn would be unleashed.

An Antaere soldier with a camera moved in closer to record Aric’s words. There would not be many, just enough to impress upon the Colony Worlds the seriousness of Denak Zaphin’s coming proclamation.

The current leader of the Zinnieans was a creature named Hafsus. His name was of no significance, being so far down the line of leadership that one would have been hard-pressed to find it in a roster of government officials. He was simply a body for Aric to address during the speech, a face on which to focus the fate of a species.

Aric knew what he had to say; now, it was time to make history. He nodded to the camera operator.

“Although many within the Grid claim they remain loyal to the Order, others have made this statement while also turning their loyalties from the Antaere priests and our revered leader, Denak Zaphin. Now, the people of Crious will learn that no such distinction can exist. When you dishonor the Antaere, you dishonor the Order. They are one and the same. You cannot leave one without leaving the other. And the Zinnieans of Crious have been among the most disloyal of all—second only to the heretics from Earth.” Aric turned from the Zinniean to look directly into the camera. “And I assure you, the Humans will share the same fate as the Zinnieans and do so very soon. After that, the Grid will return to stability, with only the Antaere to look to for guidance in all affairs of the Order. The Humans were never believers; in truth, they were anti-believers, bent of the destruction of all that you profess to worship.”

Aric turned back to the Zinniean. “One cannot support those who do not believe and still follow the Order. It is disingenuous; it is a lie! And for the sin of disloyalty to the Order, the Tesnin, Denak Zaphin, orders that the population of Crious be sentenced to death. This proclamation applies not only to the leaders but to every member of the traitorous Zinniean race.” Aric turned to the slender, cat-like creature next to him. “It will be our Ha’curn allies who will carry out this sentence and in a manner for which they are uniquely suited. It will not be kind; it will not be merciful. But it will be just. The natives of Crious will get what they deserve. And then it will be the Human’s turn.”

Once again, Aric turned to face the camera. “And let this be a warning to all who oppose the Antaere. No longer will citizens be spared for the sins of your leaders. These leaders carry out the will of the masses; therefore, there will be no future distinction between the two. All will pay for the sins of the few. Let that be the lesson you learn from the fate of Crious and Earth. The Order will be followed; therefore, the Antaere will be followed … and respected. And for those who do not adhere to these directives, there will be no Final Glory. We will purge your species from existence. Your heritage will be erased. Your history will end with your defiance.”

Aric paused, letting his words sink in, before continuing in a milder tone. “Either that, or you can renew your devotion to the Order—and to the Antaere. However, you must do so through actions, and not hollow words. The choice is yours. It is the choice between life or death. Choose wisely or suffer the consequences.”

Aric stepped back abruptly, not from fear of what was about to happen but to keep from being covered in Zinniean blood. His action was the signal for the Ha’curn. Now the beasts surged forward on leaping legs, claws extended and teeth bared, ripping into the line of defenseless Zinniean natives. It took only a few seconds before the eighteen members of the Ruling Council of Crious lay torn apart in heaps of bloody flesh. And the Ha’curn weren’t done. They began feasting on the bodies, gulping down huge slabs of sloppy meat, their eyes alight with almost sexual pleasure. Aric had heard of this practice among the Ha’curn—of eating their meals raw—although he’d never witnessed it in person. But the Ha’curn leader, Razgis, knew the importance of the moment. His people could consume food in a variety of ways; today they chose the most horrific.

Only a handful of the Ha’curn were present for the ceremony that just took place; however, thousands more were spread across the smallish landmass, making it easy to purge the remaining population. Cameras would record the process in all its graphic detail. Even so, the elimination of the two million surviving natives would take time, during which the Ha’curn would fulfill their bloodlust—if temporarily. Then they would want more.

The Zinnieans of Crious were to be the first planetary population in the Grid ever deliberately slaughtered to the point of extinction.

Aric smiled, knowing they would not be the last.

1

Captain Zac Murphy, United Marines, was surprised at the noise inside the cockpit of the M-308 Starfighter. It was like standing at the base of a waterfall, the thundering unnerving. He figured it was from their rapid transit through the atmosphere. The craft was built for both air and space travel, but for the moment, they were still in the stratosphere, thirty thousand feet up and climbing. It was only a short suborbital hop between D.C. and Nevada, and soon they would be in space where the ungodly roar would subside.

Even with the noise, Zac and the pilot could communicate through their helmet headsets. He was in the rear seat, the one normally reserved for the Radar Intercept Officer, or R.I.O. In the age of space travel, the R.I.O. was much more than a radar operator. He was also the combat tactician, as well as the weapons monitor and gravity-drive technician. But this wasn’t a combat flight, but rather a cab drive across country. Only a single pilot was needed.

“So, Captain, what do you think of the Summerlin Industries M-308 tactical starfighter?” the pilot asked through the comm. Zac could see the young man on a monitor in front of him, just as Zac’s image was visible to the pilot. His name was Mark Perry, a major in the Air Force, and he wore the same amused look on his face as did most hair-on-fire pilots when chauffeuring guests in their multi-million-dollar toys, hoping to find—or create—discomfort in their passengers. But Zac wasn’t a normal passenger. His expression remained neutral, almost bored.

“Pretty nice, Major. How fast are we going?”

“Mach nine, just under seven thousand miles per hour. That’s about as fast as we can go in the atmosphere. However, once in space, I could kick her into FTL drive, if I want. But for a short hop like this, it won’t be necessary. Flight time from D.C. to Groom Lake is only twenty-four minutes.”

Zac grinned. “Hardly enough time to put the craft through its paces.”

Major Perry frowned, a mischievous kind of frown. “You curious, Captain? It can get pretty hairy unless you’re used to it.”

Zac felt sorry baiting the young man as he did; however, Major Perry seemed anxious to show off his new baby. “I’m game if you are.”

Perry shook his head and fastened the oxygen mask over his face. Zac did the same. “I warned you, Captain. Get ready. I’ll start with some spirals.”

Zac inhaled sharply as he was thrown to the right as the starship began a series of tight corkscrew spins before being jerked back to a level plane with a single, skillful correction of the control stick. Zac felt his body cascade slightly, releasing a minute amount of natural NT-4 into his system. The dizziness he felt disappeared.

In reality, Zac recovered before Perry did. The pilot blinked several times before regaining his equilibrium. He frowned at the smiling image of his passenger on the screen.

“How was that?” he queried, sounding more frustrated than curious.

“That was fun. You got anything else?”

All Zac could see of Perry’s face through the oxygen mask were his eyes and forehead, but Zac imagined him scowling. “More? Sure, I got more. But you’re not going to like it.”

“We’ll see.”

The 308 suddenly shot straight up, reaching the outer filaments of the atmosphere a few seconds later. Then Perry pushed the control stick full forward, sending the craft rocketing back toward the surface of the planet. Zac was pressed back against the seat, his pressure suit working overtime to compensate for the increased G-forces. Zac didn’t need any help; his body was doing just fine, releasing a little more NT-4 into his system.

Major Mark Perry didn’t fare as well. Zac watched with interest as the pilot’s eyes rolled back in his head a second before he passed out. Zac wasn’t worried. He knew ships like this had artificial intelligence backups that would right the craft when the time came, and sensing Perry’s condition, the 308 slowed and resumed a level flight path. A moment later, the pilot came to.

He puffed out a series of quick breaths, forcing oxygen to his brain. After that, he looked to his screen, curious to see if his passenger had regained consciousness. To his surprise, Zac was smiling back at him, having already removed the oxygen mask.

“That was pretty impressive. Are there any lasting effects when you blackout like that?”

“You didn’t blackout?” Perry asked incredulously.

“Not even close. Was I supposed to?”

The pilot looked at his monitors. “We just pulled sixteen G’s. Most pilots pass out at nine or so, but I’m a g-monster. I can handle up to fifteen or so before passing out. Normal people go at about six.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

Perry continued to stare at Zac for a long moment before speaking again.

“Isn’t Groom Lake where the REVs are stationed these days?” he asked. “Does that make you a REV … or something?”

“Or something,” Zac answered cryptically. “Let’s just say I have a higher tolerance for things like this than most people.”

“Higher than even an experienced fighter pilot, from the looks of it. Too bad you’re not a pilot yourself, then maybe you could use the 308 as it was intended.”

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t know?” Perry asked. “It’s just that the 308 was originally designed to be piloted by a form of advanced AI. Unfortunately, that didn’t work as intended.”

“In what way?”

“Artificial intelligence programs are great if they go up against standard combat scenarios; we actually tried some out on Menkar a few years back. But all it took was for the Qwin to do something unexpected and the AI pilot would go off chasing rabbits, devising game plans to counter what ended up being a series of diversionary maneuvers. The computers would extrapolate the hell out of a situation, right up to the point they got themselves blown out of the sky. It turns out the yellow-skinned bastards are too smart for us to rely on computers to fight our battles for us. What’s needed are good old flesh-and-blood pilots at the controls. The problem is the 308 was built for so much more than our bodies can handle. A lot of the ship’s capacity is wasted.” Perry then narrowed his eyes at Zac. “Too bad your REVs can’t be trained to pilot fighter craft.”

The statement hit Zac like a slap to the face. Perry was right. He was also wrong. Once jacked up on Rev, any advanced training went out the window. It was all about emotion then, boosted by a ten-fold improvement in strength, durability and reaction time. Even so, Zac thought the prospect was intriguing.

But even if it was possible, the major problem with this line of thinking was there was no time to train a squadron of REV fighter pilots. Zac had just spent the last month having the estimates drilled into him: Ninety days—at the outside—and the Antaere would be on Earth’s doorstep. Already, the Qwin were building a massive fleet out near Ortura. And after seeing the horrific videos coming out of Crious, Zac knew Humanity’s prospects weren’t looking that great.

But the one thing Major Perry was correct about was that the REVs now operated out of the old Groom Lake Air Force Base, a place forever etched in folklore as the infamous Area 51. In reality, the base once served as a testing facility for advanced aircraft, rather than the site of alien visitations. At least it used to be. With the arrival of the Antaere fifty years before, there wasn’t much need for advanced aircraft after that. At the time, the Qwin were more than willing to provide the Humans with basic alien technology, and soon everything took a quantum leap, including the technology that powered the Summerlin M-308 Starfighter.

Even so, Humans weren’t the type to leave well enough alone. Over the years, they modified much of the acquired Antaere technology—not a lot, but enough to make noticeable improvements, putting mankind’s stamp on the science. The 308 was a perfect example of that.

“Major Perry, as just a piece of machinery, how does the 308 compare to what the Qwin have?”

Perry chuckled. “There’s no comparison. The 308 was designed to run rings around any existing Qwin technology. We’re faster, more maneuverable and more heavily armed. We just pulled sixteen G’s back there, but structurally, the 308 can routinely handle seventy or more. Unfortunately, Human pilots can’t handle that, not even in brief spurts. And the Qwin have our same physiology, so they build their ships to accommodate their pilots and not some wishful-thinking supercomputers. As I said, most of the capacity of the 308 is wasted. It was a good idea at the start. It just wasn’t practical. So, to answer your question, Captain, it’s not the machinery; it’s our damn fragile bodies.”

The statement sent Zac’s mind racing, so much so that he lost track of the next ten minutes, deep in thought. He recovered when the spacecraft began its final approach to the two-mile-long landing strip at the Groom Lake facility, lining up much as a conventional aircraft would in order to save fuel.

By the time the 308 landed and taxied to one of the huge hangars off the main strip, Zac already had a plan worked out in his mind. All he needed now was an expert to handle the technical aspects.

“How long are you going to be at the base, Major?” Zac asked as the canopy lifted and the two men stood up.

Perry snorted. “As long as you guys need me. I’m pulling shuttle duty until a game plan can be worked out against the Antaere. Right now, everything assumes they’re going to make it to the surface and then release their wild cats to rip us all to shreds. There’s more effort being placed on ground defense rather than space operations.”

“In that case, I wonder if you could do me a favor?”

Perry frowned. “What kind of favor?”

“Can you gather up what specs you have on the 308 and meet me at Building 59 at sixteen-hundred hours? That’s the main admin building. I want to pick your brain.”

“What for?”

“Just something I have bouncing around in my head. Will you do it?”

Perry shrugged. “Sure, why not. I’ve got nothing else to do, especially way out here in Bumfuck, Nevada.”

“Great; I’ll see you then.”

Zac didn’t wait for the ladder to be moved into place. Instead, he jumped the twenty feet to the tarmac and sprinted off toward the main administration building, not caring if others around him noticed his world-class sprinting speed. After all, this was a REV base. They should be used to it by now.

2

As Major Mark Perry entered the conference room, Zac saw from his grim expression that he didn’t come expecting to be part of a major briefing. He was still dressed in his flight suit and carried a single data tablet. He scanned the others in the room with suspicion, looking as if he’d walked into the middle of an ambush. Although he outranked Zac by a single level, he knew the Marine captain had to be some bigwig in the Running Man Division, the fanciful designation of the REV Corps. He rated a private shuttle flight from the capital to Groom Lake, and from the assembled officers and enlisted in the room, he was capable of calling a high-level meeting at the drop of a hat.

Zac read Perry’s body language. “Relax, Major,” he said, leaning in closer to the Air Force officer. “You’re among friends. This is just an informal fact-gathering meeting. You’re here to help fill in some of the blanks in a plan I have in mind.”

The two men took seats at the end of a long, but basic, conference table. Seated at the other end was General David Cross, the head of the REV program and co-inventor of the original performance-enhancing drug known as Rev. Over the years, he’d been responsible for most of the advancements in the technology that helped create supermen out of ordinary Humans. Zac had known him for over twenty years and hated him for most of that time. Recently, however, the men had reached a tense truce, and considering the pending demise of the species, this was no time to let past differences stand in the way of the common good. Even so, Cross didn’t look happy. He was a very busy man these days, and the information Zac was bringing from D.C. wasn’t news to him. He was intimately in the loop when it came to the defensive plans being devised by the top brass. But Zac had insisted the general attend the briefing. Why … Zac didn’t tell him.

Seated next to Cross was Air Force Technical Sergeant Joanie Hollis. Zac knew the petite blonde quite well, having met the senior REV Controller a few years ago at the base on Borin-Noc. Over time, she and Zac developed a brief affair, but this was the first time he’d seen her since returning to Earth. His first month back on the homeworld was spent in medical rehab, recovering from the injuries he’d suffered on Enif. The next was a whirlwind of meetings and planning sessions. Having helped save the lives of both the President and the Supreme Military Commander from the Antaere and Ha’curn trap on Enif, Zac became a minor celebrity and was in high demand in Washington society. In addition, his special form of REV abilities became known to those in the upper echelons of government, and he was grilled as to what role his Deltas could play in the defense of the planet. Since there were only thirteen confirmed natural REVs, his answer was an emphatic: Not much. But still, everyone welcomed his input. And now he was at Groom Lake—the new headquarters for the Running Man Division—for the first time, here to give the senior officers and NCOs an update on the latest defense plans under consideration.

Joanie and Zac’s eyes met and locked for a moment. With the very real possibility that the Human race had a mere ninety days left, there wasn’t a lot of time to rekindle the past flame. Or maybe that was all that was left. But now Zac had a plan, an idea, he thought was worth exploring. He felt his body cascade slightly, not from the sight of Joanie Hollis, but rather from excitement for his nascent plan. If it worked, there might be hope. Even so, it was a wild shot in the dark, and whether or not it was based in any kind of reality remained to be seen.

Zac nodded to his two best friends, also seated at the table. They were the only other two REV officers in the Corps, First Lieutenant Angus Price and Second Lieutenant Keith Pierson. They were naturals—like Zac—and both had been instrumental in the events that took place a few months ago on the planet Enif. The men nodded back, although neither looked pleased to see him. Zac was sure it wasn’t him, but rather the situation, that painted the grim looks on their faces. Staring extinction in the face did that to people.

There were also an assortment of other senior officers around the table, mainly liaisons with the REV Corps from the other service branches. Strategists and other technicians were represented by master sergeants and chiefs, along with two civilians dressed in grey suits. Most people in the room were looking at Mark Perry dressed in his flight suit and looking uncomfortable. He seemed out of place at the status briefing.

A female enlisted stenographer ran the recording equipment.

Honestly, Zac had no idea what to expect from the meeting. He was here to give a summary of the current defensive plans for the planet, after which he would spring his plan on them—if given an opportunity. But in desperate times, even the most out-of-left-field ideas had to be considered…

“Major, can you sync your datapad to the main computer display?” Zac asked.

The stenographer nodded to the pilot and set about tracing the IP address of his pad.

Zac then stood up and turned his attention to Gen. Cross, addressing the senior officer in the room. “I want to thank you all for attending. I just arrived from D.C. with the latest thinking from CENTCOM and the Security Council as to what we’re facing. I have asked Major Mark Perry to attend as a technical advisor. He’s the M-308 Starfighter pilot who flew me here. We had an interesting discussion along the way, which I’d like to go over after the formal portion of my briefing.”

Zac nodded to the stenographer, who activated the main screen on the wall behind him. He turned to the monitor, which showed a schematic of the Solar System and surrounding space.

“As you know, thanks to the impromptu and timely presence of the civilian and commercial vessels in the system after the debacle at Enif, the Antaere and Ha’curn decided to divert their forces to Crious rather than continue with their attack on the Earth. By now, we all know what they did to ES-10, with the announced intention of doing the same to Earth once their forces are replenished. Intelligence reports show the Qwin are conscripting a thousand warships or more from their recently reacquired Colony Worlds. They’re not giving the natives any choice, so we estimate they will have about fifteen hundred of these vessels available at the time of the attack. They intend to throw these ships against the civilian screen and our remaining warships. That will leave their thousand or so ships-of-the-line, manned by Antaere and Ha’curn, for the cleanup. In defense of the coming attack, CENTCOM has begun to take a number of these civilian ships and turn them into either unmanned guided missiles or mines, to form a circular screen around the planet. Even with that, there’s no way we can stop the main fleet from reaching Earth-vicinity.

“As you recall, the original thinking was that the Antaere would simply get close enough to the Earth to launch a few thousand nukes at us and wipe us out that way. However, since Crious, we now know they intend to make landfall and send the Ha’curn out to slaughter as many Humans as possible.” He turned to look at David Cross. “To that end, the REV program has been stepped up dramatically. Thousands of AC-3 candidates are being screened, not only here, but around the world. We know from experience that REVs can hold their own against the Ha’curn. Even then, there will be more of the savage cats on the surface than REVs. That’s why the qualifying standards for the new candidates have been lowered. I regret this, but I also realize the logic behind it. We can’t be bothered with the long-term effects of the drug on marginal candidates, not if failure means the extinction of the race.”

Zac then shook his head and scowled. “Unfortunately, even this won’t be enough. There are just too many Humans on the planet for the Ha’curn to take us out, even after a nuke attack to reduce the population, as they did on Crious. Therefore, Command believes the Qwin’s current plans are simply for propaganda, to give them a psychological victory—along with ample video footage to be used to scare any of their rebellious Colony Worlds. After that, they’ll return to Plan A and simply nuke the planet into oblivion.”

“Excuse me, Captain Murphy,” Second Lieutenant Keith Pierson said formally. “So, what you’re saying is that we’re pretty well fucked?”

“I believe I just said that, lieutenant.”

“But there are plans in the works, aren’t there?” asked his other friend, Angus Price.

Zac nodded. “Of course, that’s what Command does. But the thinking is now returning to the original effort—that of preventing the Antaere from entering the Solar System and getting close enough to launch their nukes.”

“The plan which has already been deemed inadequate,” said the Army liaison, Colonel Jack Travis.

“Yes, sir. And frankly, ninety days is not enough time to build a fleet of new warships, even with the entire industrial capacity of the planet working around the clock, as it is at the moment.”

“What about evacuation?” Joanie Hollis asked.

Zac turned back to the monitor, and using a laser pointer in his hand, outlined a series of red dots surrounding the Solar System. “Although the Antaere chose not to continue their attack on Earth a few months ago, they did leave enough units in place to effectively blockade the system. None of the larger refugee fleets have made it out, although individual units have been more successful. Most of the ships that get out are heading to Dal’mar, about twelve light-years from here. As you know, it’s not a formal member of the Grid, being an Earth-like planet we discovered farther out in the Arm. But even if a significant portion of the population could be moved there, there’s nothing to stop the Antaere from attacking Dal’mar next. Unfortunately, Sergeant Hollis, it seems we’re stuck here for the duration.”

“And that duration is getting bloody well short,” Angus threw in for punctuation.

“So, what is CENTCOM planning to do to keep the Antaere out of the system?” asked another officer at the table.

“At this point, they’re concentrating on solidifying the defensive screen with more mines and missiles. A lot more of these can be built in the time left than can be full-blown warships. But with the Qwin planning to use their conscripted fleet to blaze the trail, regardless of the casualties, it’s a given the Antaere will make landfall. And after that, well, you know.”

“What about the REV program?” asked a Marine colonel, one of the officers running the program at Groom Lake. “We’re flooding the base with new AC-3s. That’s a force to be reckoned with.”

Zac nodded enthusiastically. “That’s right, colonel, and CENTCOM realizes that. REVs will still be vital in the surface defense of the planet. Although we now believe the landing is only a feint by the Antaere, we can’t simply roll over and offer no effective surface defense. Command wants you to continue—”

“But, sir,” Joanie said, “as always, it’s not the number of REVs that’s the problem. It’s the Controllers. We have thousands of people training the best they can. And as you’re probably aware, we’re streamlining the process, cutting the teams down from seven to three. We’re no longer concerned with recovery or medical rehab of Runners. As you said, if we don’t stop the attack, there’s no point in nursing them back to health. But currently, we’re about a quarter-million people short of forming effective teams. We may end up with a couple of hundred thousand REVs and no one to run them.”

Zac looked around the table. The grim looks on the faces had only grown darker as a result of his briefing. He knew he had no good news to give them, but it was his job to lay the cards on the table, no matter how bad of a hand Humanity was holding. Now, he’d reached the point where the only thing left was the idea he had kicking around in his mind. He turned to Major Perry.

“There is one other topic I’d like to discuss—”

“You mean before we all go outside and blow our heads off?” asked First Lieutenant. Angus Price in his thick, cockney accent. Zac smirked.

“Hopefully, it won’t come to that, Lieutenant.”

Zac took a deep breath. His thoughts were racing around in his head in such a jumbled manner that he hoped they would make sense when he let them out.

“On the trip back from D.C., Major Perry said something that triggered an idea I wish to investigate today,” Zac began formally. “As I said, CENTCOM now believes that no matter what we do on the planet, the Antaere fully intend to use their nukes on us. Even if General Cross and his REVs can kill every last invading Ha’curn, it won’t stop the Antaere. All that would do is speed up the Antaere deployment of the nukes. So, what we need is a way to stop the Antaere from breaking through the screen and getting to Earth. Not only that, but we also need a breakout, breathing room and time for us to rebuild our forces.” He looked to Perry. “Major, can you put the schematics for the 308 up on the screen?”

A moment later, a line graphic of the starfighter appeared on the monitor behind Zac. “This is the spacecraft Major Perry piloted on the way here. It’s our most-advanced form of space fighter, with capabilities far beyond anything the Antaere have—”

“Most of us in the room are familiar with the capabilities of the 308, Captain,” said a Naval officer, Captain Morris Anson. “We’ve factored in the fighters in all our estimates. This is nothing new.”

“Understood, sir, but for the sake of the others in the room, I think it would be enlightening for Mr. Perry to give us his report.”

Anson shrugged and leaned back in his chair. He had the look of someone with more important places to be.

Zac nodded to the Air Force officer.

“Well, gentlemen—and ladies—as Captain Murphy said, the Summerlin Industries M-308 Starfighter is simply the most advanced fighter craft in the Grid, better than anything the Antaere have. It was designed that way, built not only to outmatch opposing fighters but also to overcome any numerical advantages the enemy may have. At full capability, simulations show kill ratios of ten-to-one, if not more. In addition, it can match speed with the fastest ships in the Antaere fleet and carries enough armament for a single 308 to take out an enemy class-three battle cruiser. Operating in squadrons, even the big carriers are vulnerable. Also, the effective operational range is out to five light-years before requiring refueling. There are currently five hundred thirteen units in the fleet, as part of the carrier task force, even though they can also be flown from cruisers and transport platforms. They’re flown by a two-person crew; a pilot and an R.I.O.” Perry looked to Zac and shrugged, not knowing how much more he should say.

“The drawback with the 308 is full capability,” said the Army officer, Jack Travis.

“Why is that a drawback, sir?” asked Angus Price.

“It’s the pilots,” Perry answered for Travis. “We aren’t capable of surviving at full capability.”

Angus buried his chin in his chest. “And why the hell not … sir? Why build a spacecraft that no one can fly?”

“Permission to speak freely, sir?” Perry asked General Cross. The senior officer nodded. “Quite frankly, the 308 is a great warship—the best—but it’s as if an engineer and a computer geek hooked up and had a baby. During planning, they asked what features would have to be included in a starfighter to make it the most advanced spaceship ever designed, one that would run rings around anything the Antaere have. After years of trial and error, they came up with the M-308. And lo and behold, the ship performed just as expected, even beyond expectations in many ways. It was faster, more maneuverable and more powerful than anything in existence, and with the most reactive controls ever created. And in combat trials, it blew away anything sent against it. The 308 is a sea change in military technology and the answer to all our prayers. The only problem; when the engineers and computer programmers were done, only an AI could fly the spacecraft. Weak-bodied and slow reacting Humans weren’t capable of surviving the stresses involved or operating the craft at full spec. At first, no one thought that was a problem, not with the advances in AI tech. But then a few were put into actual combat operations on Menkar and in other trial situations. Almost immediately, the damn Antaere found workarounds, flooding the tactical AI with thousands of combat scenarios per second, confusing the computer and sending the ships off on wild goose chases. Every ship placed in combat was summarily blown out of the sky.

“Now don’t get me wrong, the 308 is still a magnificent war machine, the best I’ve ever flown. But only flesh-and-blood pilots can operate them in real combat situations, and that greatly reduces their effectiveness. As operated today, they’re a very expensive, slightly more advanced fighter, and not much better than the Bandits or 940s. However, if they could be flown at full spec, each 308 is comparable to ten to fifteen Antaere Glorybats, their most-advanced fighter. And as I mentioned earlier, 308s can take on any of the larger warships in the Antaere fleet, and at only a hundredth the size.” Perry looked at Zac and sighed. “I see why Captain Murphy became excited when he learned we had a fighter that—theoretically—could blow the wings off anything in the coming fight. But the 308 just isn’t a practical spacecraft, not for what he has in mind.”

Zac wasn’t deterred by Perry’s presentation; rather, a thin, wry smile remained painted on his face. “So, in summary, it’s not the ship that’s the problem; it’s the pilots.”

The Air Force officer recoiled slightly. “I wouldn’t term the pilots as being a problem,” Perry said defensively. “The ship was designed beyond our ability to fly it at peak capacity. That’s not our fault. We didn’t design the damn thing.”

General Cross was shaking his head. “I think I know where this is going. I believe Captain Murphy is suggesting that the 308 could be operated at full spec if there was a quicker, more resilient pilot at the controls. Someone like a REV.”

“Is that even possible?” Perry asked. The concept wasn’t new to him; he’d been the first to mention it during the flight from D.C.

“I can’t see that happening,” Joanie chimed in. “And for a variety of reasons.”

Cross nodded. “Why don’t you outline those for us, Sergeant?” His face was impassive, unmoved by the idea. “You have the most experience running operational REVs.”

“Thank you, sir.” Joanie looked directly at Zac. “First of all, once activated, REVs don’t retain high motor skills or other such training. All they do is become susceptible to overseer commands, and only the most basic. Besides, even if they could pilot spaceships, it’s never been possible to run REVs at distance. We need an instantaneous and continuous link with the REV to pass along commands. Space operations have never been possible because of the lag-time in communications, as well as the possibility of interference and jamming. And besides that, the Controllers themselves would have to be skilled pilots for the commands to have any effect. And then we have the issue of Twilighting and recovery of the pilots. That would have to be done before they burnout to keep from making each sortie a one-way ticket.”

“And even if all that could be overcome,” an Air Force colonel began, “it takes literally years to train a combat pilot in a 308. They’re the most sophisticated weapon in our arsenal, and only Top Guns are capable of flying them. So, even if REVs could be trained as pilots—and it doesn’t sound as if they can—we don’t have the time before the Antaere attack. In fact, this whole discussion is a waste of time, in my opinion.” He looked to General Cross for confirmation, hoping he’d put an end to this folly.

“I’m afraid they’re right, captain,” Cross said. “There’s never been any evidence that REVs retain prior skills while activated. And the time crunch we’re facing makes this conversation a non-starter.”

“Excuse me sir, but how do we know that for sure?” Zac asked.

“Know what? That they don’t retain prior skills or about the time?”

“The skills.”

Cross huffed. “You—better than most—should know that’s true. You’ve been on more Runs than anyone.”

“Sir, most candidates come into the REV program straight out of high school and with no advanced skills to speak of. Until now, that’s been fine, considering the missions assigned to us. Our enhanced strength, senses and reaction time tend to make us experts at such things as hand-to-hand combat and marksmanship, among others. We Run, because that’s what we’ve been asked to do. Even so, we once trained constantly with our weapons packages as NT-4s, and the AC-3s do the same today with their weapons arsenal. Isn’t that right, Sergeant Hollis? Why do that if we don’t retain any of those skills?”

“Yes, they do drill, but that’s simply to develop muscle memory and instinct. That’s nothing compared to piloting a state-of-the-art spacecraft.”

“Then let me ask you this: Have you ever noticed any difference between a REV who came into the program already knowing how to shoot—for instance—compared to one who’s never handled a firearm before?”

Joanie thought for a moment, shaking her head before answering. “I can’t say I have. But to be fair, we never looked for that. At the level of efficiency between a REV and a normal soldier, the difference is so stark that we never paid any attention as to whether or not one REV was better than another. We just compared them to standard troops. And we never ask the REVs to do much beyond the basic mission.”

“And speaking of that, when Running a REV—an AC-3—you don’t have to tell them how to do everything, do you? You don’t have to tell them how to move, how to aim or how to trigger their weapons. They even have rudimentary situational awareness from what I understand.”

Joanie snorted. “Rudimentary; hardly. They have exceptional battlefield awareness. Their heightened senses and reaction time give them that.”

“And they use this latent awareness to survive in combat? That ability—that memory—had to come from somewhere.”

“I guess so.”

“So, some natural abilities are retained, and even used in real-time situations. How do we know it wouldn’t be the same for a REV pilot?”

“It’s not the same,” Joanie said. “You said it yourself. Those are natural abilities, not learned.”

Cross waved his hand. “Captain Murphy, I appreciate your enthusiasm, but beyond all this, I think you’re missing the point,” The general said, his tone impatient. “Even if what you say is true about retained skills—and there’s no hard evidence to support your position—we don’t have the time to train several hundred REV pilots.”

Zac’s eyes were aglow with an internal excitement, appearing almost manic in their intensity. To those around the table, it was as if he hadn’t heard a word the others had said, lost instead in his own wild fantasy. Now he grinned even wider. “Sir, you’re correct; however, I believe you’re missing my point. We don’t have to train REVs to be pilots. What we have to do is train pilots to be REVs.”

Zac was relieved when a blank stare washed over the general’s face. Cross began to tap the table with his fingers, his eyes steady, his mind suddenly lost in thought. “Now, that’s an interesting proposal.”

Mark Perry cleared his throat for attention. “Eh, excuse me, sir, but is that even possible?”

Zac took the initiative, carried along by his enthusiasm. “It could be—with AC-3. That particular Rev formula is less intrusive on the body than NT-4. That means a candidate could retain more past skills, while not having the drug overwhelm them in a mix of exploding emotion. That’s not how AC-3 works.”

“But isn’t it dangerous? Only certain people make it into the program. Most don’t.”

Zac smirked. “Major, 308 pilots are the cream of the crop, Top Guns, as Colonel Travis said. I’m sure you wouldn’t have any problem passing the screening.”

“But aren’t there other … side-effects?”

“You mean the addiction, Major Perry?” Cross asked. “There’s no getting around that. The reason Rev is so effective is because it enhances and stimulates bodily functions to an extreme degree. That comes at a cost. Addiction results from the fact that a small residual amount of the drug must be retained at all times to sustain the body between activations, and if it isn’t periodically replenished, the system will burn itself out. Unfortunately, a person becomes addicted to Rev with the very first dose and will require maintenance boosts for the rest of their life.”

“Sir, we don’t even know if this will work,” Joanie protested. “As everyone has said, there’s no proof of retained skills, so this is all just speculation. I don’t think we need to build our hopes around something that’s completely hypothetical.”

“You’re right, Joanie,” Zac agreed, reverting to her first name in the heat of his passionate argument. “But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t do some tests … just in case. And we just happen to have a trained 308 pilot with us, along with his spacecraft.”

All eyes shifted to Major Perry. He slowly scanned the faces of the people around the table, looking to see if they were playing some elaborate joke on him. To the contrary, the expressions ran the gamut. Some were morose, others anxious, almost excited.

After a moment, Perry blew out a deep breath while shaking his head. “General, you’ll have to shoot me up with this drug to do the testing, won’t you?”

Cross nodded.

“And that means I’ll be hooked on Rev from then on?”

Again, Cross agreed.

“Will it hurt?”

Angus laughed. “On the contrary, mate, becoming a superman is quite the rush. You’ll love it … at first.”

Perry smirked and looked back at Dr. Cross. “So, a lifetime of addiction, whether this works or not?” He sighed deeply. “Well, the way I see it if we can’t stop the Antaere from reaching Earth, my remaining lifespan is something like ninety days, so no great loss there. And if this does work—and you can turn me into some kind of super-pilot who will help save the Human race from extinction—then I think it’s worth the risk.”

“The odds are definitely against it working, sir,” Joanie stated, not giving up on her argument. “I wouldn’t get your hopes up.”

“I realize that, sergeant. But we all have to do our part. I’m willing to give it a go. I just hope you don’t screw up my memory with your Rev drug, so I won’t be able to go out with the rest of my squadron when the time comes.”

Zac looked to David Cross. “So, sir, is it a go?”

Cross shrugged. “Seeing that all of our lifespans are now measured in days, rather than years, I don’t see that we have an option. It should be a simple process to test your theory, so we don’t have to drag this out for long. And if it works, we just may have a way to shock the hell out of the Antaere and come out of this in one piece. Yes, Captain Murphy … it’s a go. Now let’s see if we can make a bunch of super-pilots for our super-starfighters.”

3

After the meeting broke up, Zac was anxious to speak with Joanie. His time in the hospital in D.C. gave him time to think, and the feisty blonde tech sergeant played a leading role in his fantasies.

He also thought about Olivia Contreras, his on-again-off-again girlfriend for the past several years. While in the hospital, he made inquiries if she was at the Groom Lake base and found she wasn’t. As part of Dr. Cross’s medical research team, Zac assumed she was in Denver at the Enhancement Development Center, but a further search didn’t find her there, either. That left only the ranch Cross owned outside of town. He’d set up a research lab there during the time General Jack Diamond had him booted from the program. She was probably there, but so far, he’d had no luck making contact with the facility. It was as if it was closed, and with no forwarding number.

And now his feelings were conflicted. Until an hour ago, Zac was like everyone else on the planet Earth—growing more resolved to their tragic fate with each passing day. Most people accepted the fact that unless a miracle happened, the Human race was destined for extinction. And being stuck on the planet like all the rest, what was about to happen to ninety-nine percent of the Human population was going to happen to him, as well.

This strange reality made him more sentimental than normal, causing him to reevaluate his past relationships, something an NT-4 REV would never have done under normal circumstances. REVs didn’t have relationships, at least not with people; their entire existence revolved around the drug. But Zac was different, and because of that, he was having feelings he never thought he’d have. And now that he was at Groom Lake, his attention was focused squarely on Joanie Hollis.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” said a voice off to his right. Distracted, Zac turned to find Major Mark Perry standing next to him. Zac looked to the empty doorway Joanie had exited through a moment earlier, following General David Cross.

“What? What did you say?” Zac asked. He was still walking toward the door as he spoke, with the Air Force officer keeping pace.

“I looked you up on the internet after the flight. Why didn’t you tell me you were that Captain Murphy?”

“That Captain Murphy?”

“Yeah, the longest-serving REV in the Corps; the first REV officer ever, and a guy who keeps showing up in the news every couple of months or so, for good and bad. I didn’t know I had a celebrity in my ship.”

Zac looked down the hallway outside the conference room. Joanie and Cross were gone. He sighed, knowing contact with Joanie was inevitable at the small base. Reluctantly, he turned his full attention to the pilot.

“I’m hardly a celebrity, Mr. Perry.”

“Celebrity or not, it would have been nice to know I had a REV in my ship.” The statement was more a reprimand than a compliment. REVs had a pretty nasty reputation.

“You had nothing to worry about, major.”

“Yeah, about that. There were some strange references to you being different from other REVs. The article didn’t have much detail, but seeing you now, I can tell there is something different about you.”

Zac gave him a wry grin. “You mean I’m not the insane, out-of-control killer type?”

“REVs haven’t been like that for a while,” Perry said, not taking the bait. “But I didn’t know you guys could be, well, so normal-like.”

“I’m just a freak of nature, major.”

“Bullshit. Something’s going on here, and I’d like to know what. I think I deserve the truth.”

“Sorry, it’s classified.”

“Again, bullshit, Captain.” Perry was growing angry with Zac’s flippant answers and attitude. “The Human race is about to get its ass kicked in a couple of months, so I think we’re past the time for keeping secrets. And if you hadn’t noticed, I just volunteered to become a REV, just like you.”

“Not like me.”

Zac watched Perry as he studied the REV’s strong, chiseled features and deep blue eyes, almost able to read the younger man’s thoughts. Most senior REVs—especially NT-4 REVs—looked similar, each being tall, slender, and extremely physically fit. They didn’t start out that way; it was the drug. Over time, NT-4 altered the male body to create the most biologically perfect version of itself. This strange side-effect was once a major recruitment feature of the program; after all, it certainly wasn’t for the retirement benefits. Until Zac appeared on the scene, no NT-4 REV had ever retired from the Marine Corps. At least no living REV.

AC-3s weren’t affected in the same way. But they also hadn’t been around long enough for any physical changes to be noticed.

Considering what Perry said about secrets, Zac couldn’t agree more. At this point, it didn’t matter. Either his plan would work … or the species would die. And the Air Force officer would play a major role in his plan. Perry was right; he deserved to be brought into the loop.

“Okay, Mr. Perry. You really want to know? I’ll tell you everything.”

Perry was caught off guard by Zac’s sudden change in attitude.

“Well, okay, then.”

“I am the most senior REV there is, a product of NT-4 Rev, not AC-3. Because of that longevity, some of the most senior NT-4s have begun to produce a natural form of the Rev drug. It’s a mutation of some kind and it’s changed how we live our lives. We can become just as strong as a normal REV, but we can do it on-demand, without the need for activation. And we have complete control at all times. We think normally during a Run, and we don’t need Twilight to come back down. And we don’t need maintenance boosts to keep us alive. This was something no one expected—not even Cross—and it has taken years for the mutation to manifest. So, I wasn’t being a smart-ass when I said I’m a freak of nature. I really am.”

“A freak … I, I didn’t know,” Perry stammered. “And you say there are others like you?”

“Uh-huh. The two junior REV officers at the meeting are also natural REVs, what we call Deltas. All toll, there are thirteen of us. And with NT-4 no longer being used, that will probably be the extent of it.”

“It—this mutation—doesn’t happen to the AC-3s?”

Perry noticed Zac’s hesitation.

“It does!” the Air Force officer exclaimed.

Zac shook his head. “We’re not sure. Dr. Cross was tracking some anomalies in AC-3s on Borin-Noc when the base was attacked by the Ha’curn. I’m not sure what he’s learned since then, but I don’t see how it could happen. AC-3 is not as hard on the body as NT-4, and this mutation came about from the body’s natural defense mechanism. My body needs NT-4 to survive, so it began making its own form of the drug out of necessity. It took years for my body to adapt. AC-3s have a long time to go before any mutation shows up—if it happens at all.”

Perry had the look of a man who just looked behind the Wizard’s curtain. “So, as you stand here … you’re a REV?”

“That depends on your definition of being a REV. Am I activated at the moment, at full strength and ready for action? No, it doesn’t work like that.” Zac smiled. “But for the record, I am a lot stronger, faster and my body is tougher, even without full activation. And I can cascade at will, up to the point where I fully activate. Then I can come back down without outside help.”

“Cascade, activate? Of course, I’ve heard of REVs doing that, but what does that mean exactly?” Perry smirked. “I know I’m asking a lot of silly questions, especially since I’ll get first-hand knowledge of this soon enough.”

Zac smiled back. “No problem, and no secrets. Cascading is when the Rev drug is introduced into the body. In your case, you’ll get an actual shot. With me, my body reacts to stimuli and begins releasing the natural drug into my system automatically. Activation is when the cascading reaches a certain point when you become operational. For normal REVs, cascading and activation usually happen simultaneously.”

“I asked it before, but I’ll ask again: Does it hurt?”

“Not in the least; in fact, when the drug enters your body, you feel an incredible sense of euphoria. But I have to warn you, when you reach activation, you will let out the famous REV call.”

“The scream? Yeah, I’ve heard of that, too; that’s why I was wondering if it hurts. Seems like it does.”

“The scream comes from the release of the intense emotions associated with activation. Trust me; it doesn’t hurt. You feel great—if you could feel anything at all. The thing is, you don’t; however, after the Run, you’ll remember everything as if you’re watching a movie. But during the Run, nothing. At least that’s how it was with NT-4s. AC-3s, however, retain more awareness during an operation than NT-4s. That’s why I think you’ll be able to pilot the 308 when you’re on the drug. At least that’s the plan.”

Perry sighed. “We’ll find out soon enough. They want me at Building 299 at 0600 hours tomorrow.”

“That’s just the start of the testing regime. As you hinted at during the meeting, not everyone can handle Rev. Some people are even immune to it. They’ll start out seeing how well your system can tolerate stimulants—a lot of stimulants. Then you’ll move onto the good stuff. But AC-3 is different. From what I’ve seen, a full third of the applicants can tolerate the drug. That’s not how it was with NT-4.”

There was concern in the eyes of the Air Force officer. Zac didn’t see it as fear, but rather worry that he wouldn’t qualify. People like Mark Perry were the ultimate competitors, not only against others but with themselves. He was determined to prove he had the right stuff.

“You’ll do fine, major,” Zac said, clasping the younger man’s rock-hard shoulder. “You made it through the screening process to become a 308 pilot. Compared to that, qualifying for the REV program will be a walk-in-the-park. But get some rest tonight, if you can. Your life will never be the same after today.”

As Zac turned and walked away, he thought maybe that wasn’t the smartest thing to tell the already apprehensive Air Force officer. So much for him sleeping tonight. That possibility was history.

* * *

Zac was quartered in the barracks behind the mess hall. These were a series of old wooden buildings that had been recently refurbished after fifty years of neglect. The first four were set up for officers, which included the three REV officers and everyone else under the rank of full Colonel. The more senior officers on the base—including Dr. Cross—had fancier accommodations about half a mile away.

Zac barely shut the door before Angus Price and Keith Pierson barged in, not bothering to knock.

“Glad to see you’re back among the living,” Keith said while throwing himself onto the queen-size bed and spreading out like a snow angel. Zac sat on a chair at the room’s small dining table, while Angus plopped down on the couch. “And now you appear before us: Zac, the Savior of the Human Race. Praise be to Murphy!”

“Let’s hope so,” said Angus, seriously. “Things were looking pretty bleak until now.”

“There’s still a lot of questions to be answered first,” Zac reminded them. “I’m pretty sure we have the ships that can turn the tide. I just pray the pilots can do the job.”

“That Perry guy seems capable,” Keith observed.

“That’s not it,” Angus said. “I know he’ll do everything he can. I just hope he doesn’t turn into a blithering idiot on AC-3. That would be bollocks.”

Zac noticed worry in Angus’s voice. It was understandable, considering the stakes. But there was something else, something in how he articulated the word AC-3. A year earlier, Zac spent several months aboard transit ships, shuttling AC-3s from Crious to Borin-Noc, but he didn’t spend a lot of time socializing with them. They didn’t welcome his company, something he attributed at the time to the jewelry he wore on his collar. But it went deeper. They knew who and what he was, a crude Neanderthal REV in their opinion – an NT-4. There was a definite air of superiority with the AC-3s since they didn’t see themselves as being out-of-control wind-up toys during a Run. They were more sophisticated, more refined. And they were right in that regard; however, they needed a whole army of Controllers to make them that way, unable to move a step without input from someone else. Zac didn’t know if that was better or not.

“So, tell me, how many AC-3s are there at the base?” Zac asked, seeing if he could ferret out what was bothering Angus.

Angus let out a breath. “Damn, there must be a bloody thousand of the buggers, all prancing around like they own the place. And more are coming every day. The barracks behind us are filled with them. They’ve been training in the desert around here, getting jacked up and running through ops. Controllers have taken over several of the hangars, but as Joanie said, there’s not enough of them. Most of the time the AC-3s just sit around and wait their turn in the barrel.”

“You guys aren’t involved in the operations?” Zac asked.

“Us? No way,” said Keith Pierson. “It’s almost as if we’re lepers. The AC-pricks don’t want us around, and the officers running them are okay with that.”

“What about Cross, isn’t he getting you involved? He knows what you can do.”

Angus snickered. “I think he’s saving us for the big reveal, mate. And by the way, all the Deltas are here. They’re sequestered in a set of enlisted huts at the other end of the base, with their own mess hall, laundry and even an E-Club. The unspoken rule around here seems to be: ‘Thou shalt not fraternize with the NT-4 savages.’”

“We’re not savages,” Zac grumbled.

“Of course not,” Angus said. “We’re bloody supermen! Unfortunately, there’s just not enough of us to make a difference. And supermen officers—that’s even more of a rarity. If you hadn’t insisted on us being at the meeting today, Keith and I would have been cut out completely.”

Zac shook his head. “I’ll talk with Cross tomorrow. There has to be something we can do.”

“You mean besides coming up with an idea to save the Human race?” Keith said with a silly grin. “Unfortunately, if this works, the damn pilots will become part of the AC-3 team, and they’ll get all the credit. I suppose it doesn’t matter—not really—as long as we survive. I’m just a little frustrated with everything that’s been going on.”

“I can tell.” Zac stood up. “Now, I have to assume Delta officers are still welcome at the O-Club? What say we go tip a few pints, as our cockney friend here might say.”

Angus bounded from the couch. “Drown our sorrow in some primitive form of liquid Rev? Smashing idea, mate. And seeing how you outrank the two of us, the first three rounds are on you.”

“Three?”

“Yeah; it’s not like you have anything to save your money for, not with the whole extinction thing happening soon.”

“I see your point, Mr. Price; I don’t like it, but I do understand what you’re saying. Let’s go show these lightweights how Deltas can hold their liquor. A little spontaneous cascading to negate the effects; that should make an impression.”

“It may end up being our only claim to fame around here, Captain Murphy, sir,” said Keith. “But it’s better than nothing.”

4

Building 299 at Groom Lake was once known as the Test Engineering Support Center and had since been converted into an equipment-filled testing facility for new AC-3s. It was no secret that Command was attempting to boost the number of qualified REVs in anticipation of the ground war about to take place. Because of this, hundreds of volunteers were being run through the facility each month—as well as at other centers around the world—and with a twenty percent adjustment made to qualifying tolerances to boost the numbers. It didn’t matter if an applicant was borderline or not. If Humanity couldn’t stop the coming apocalypse, it wouldn’t matter what the long-term effects of the drug had on the marginal REVs.

What Humanity needed were thousands—if not millions—of revved up men to send up against the Ha’curn troops. Since the aliens could only field a finite number of assault troops against an entire planet of Humans, the idea was to overwhelm the invaders with an army of AC-3 REVS. The plan had potential.

It was also the reason some analysts believed the Antaere plans for the Ha’curn were mainly for show. Videos of millions of Humans being ripped to shreds by the savage alien cats would serve the Qwin well in keeping their Colony Worlds in line. But in reality, the only way the Antaere could truly eliminate the Human race was through massive nuclear bombardment, regardless of the efficacy of the Ha’curn assault. But still, something—or someone—had to be placed before the Ha’curn. Mankind couldn’t simply roll over and die. It wasn’t our way.

So, the ranks of the AC-3 REVs were growing exponentially. Even now, additional housing was being slapped together on the north side of the base for the recruits. This also created a corresponding need for more Controllers. As Joanie Hollis said at the meeting, this was turning out to be the major limiting factor. Jacked up REVs were easy to make; training operators to Run them was a lot harder and more time-consuming.

The following morning—and nursing no after-effects from the previous night’s drinking binge—Zac and his two Delta friends showed up early, anticipating resistance getting in to witness the test. In spite of the increased activity in Building 299, General David Cross had commandeered a private testing room for Major Mark Perry. In the end, it took an impatient ‘whatever’ from Cross before the Delta REVs were let in. The day before, the General seemed to fully support Zac’s idea. This morning, however, he was his usual distracted geeky scientist self, impatient and dismissive of anyone but himself and his project. Zac and the others were allowed to stick around, but they were not to interfere in any way.

Perry arrived fifteen minutes early himself, looking as though he hadn’t slept a wink during the night. He scowled in Zac’s direction. Zac shrugged; Sorry about that.

NCOs took control of the Air Force officer and stripped him to his skivvies before dressing him in a green hospital gown. The motions of the attendants were automatic, unemotional. They’d been doing the same to hundreds of young men continuously for the past few months. Perry was just one more.

The officer was placed in an ominous-looking exam chair, resembling something a dentist would use rather than a doctor. What made it ominous were the heavy leather straps for the arms and legs. Perry accepted his fate without question, allowing himself to be bound to the chair. The gown was pulled away from his bare chest and monitoring pads stuck to his skin, with red wires running from them and hooked into an impressive array of equipment not far away. Other techs sat before the monitors, each looking serious. Screens began to display lines highlighting Perry’s various bodily functions.

A nurse moved up to the exam chair and placed an IV into Perry’s left arm. She also drew blood, handing the vial to another tech who placed the container in a port at his station. A moment later, more data came streaming onto the monitors.

The IV line didn’t run to a jar of plasma hanging from a stand; rather, it snaked to the equipment panel. Rev dosages would be controlled by computer.

Zac and his friends didn’t get chairs to sit on. Instead, they leaned against the wall near the door, the only wall not covered with lighted equipment and monitors.

Looking like a typical doctor in his white lab coat, David Cross rolled over to his patient on a wheeled exam chair and placed the cold end of an archaic stethoscope onto Perry’s chest. He listened for a moment.

“Because of the time constraints, Mr. Perry, I’ll be subjecting you to a series of stress tests all in rapid succession,” Cross said without so much as a good morning. “Normally, we stagger these tests over several days, but we don’t have the luxury of time. As a result, you will probably experience enhanced effects from the various drugs without time to recover. We’ll do our best to keep a close eye on your vitals to make sure nothing exceeds lethal limits.”

Perry blinked. “Lethal limits? You mean this could kill me?”

Cross looked over at Zac. “AC-3 doesn’t affect the body like the old NT-4 formula, so normally our thresholds are lower for AC-3 applicants. But in your case, I want to see a full range of responses up to maximum, so I’ll know how to formulate the proper dosage if the experiment works. These baseline readings will go a long way in helping me with that. Are you ready?”

“Ready to die?” Perry pursed his lips. “I guess so. I hope my sacrifice will be of some use to Humanity.”

“You’re not going to die, Major Perry,” Cross said seriously. “At least I hope not.” He rolled away on his stool before Perry could see if he was kidding or not. Again, the Air Force officer sent a savage glare at Zac, as if saying, “What have you got me into?”

“Anytime now,” Cross said. He nodded to the waiting techs. “We’re beginning the screening tests. Panel A … initiate.”

Zac suddenly had flashbacks to his original screening test for the program. That was twenty years ago, but because of either his REV-enhanced memory or the fact that he was now a Delta, he could remember every moment as if it was yesterday. Panel A was a mixture of some of the strongest stimulants available at the time. As he learned later, these included amphetamines, methylphenidate, methamphetamine and even a form of cocaine, all in a balanced cocktail—what Zac imagined was a junkie’s fantasy mixture. The idea was to jack the body up to such a degree that the heart, blood pressure, blood vessels and open pathways to the respiratory system were triggered almost to the point where the body exploded. Tolerances would then be measured to form the baseline Dr. Cross mentioned. Only those with exceptional resistant ability could survive the initial surge that came from the Rev drug, either NT-4 or AC-3. Once Rev was in the system, it helped strengthen the body against further assault or lasting damage. But if a person couldn’t survive the initial cascade, then there wouldn’t be time for the drug to save the subject from either stroke or myocardial infarction.

Zac cringed slightly, not from empathy for the Air Force officer, but his memories. Perry’s body arched away from the chair, his eyes bulged open in shock, his mouth agape, his face flushed bright red. Guttural groans echoed off the walls, followed by a rough gurgling coming from deep within his throat. He remained in mid-spasm for nearly a minute before his body relaxed. By then, the veins in his arms were bulging and his chest remained expanded, filled with rapid, fitful breathing.

Perry’s eyes suddenly squeezed shut, and his head slumped over. He’d passed out, but Cross didn’t seem concerned. Instead, the doctor watched the readouts with rapt concentration.

“Ready Panel B.”

Angus leaned over to Zac. “You don’t think Cross will push him over the edge, just to see how far he can go?” he whispered.

Zac shrugged. “Maybe. He probably has other 308 pilots already on the way here if this one burns out. Who knows—”

“I’m not trying to kill him, Lt. Price,” Cross said from across the room. It was a miracle he could hear what Angus said over Perry’s labored breathing and the hum of the equipment. The man must have superhuman hearing.

“Of course not, sir,” Angus replied. “Just kidding.”

Cross ignored him, then nodded to the tech at his left.

Perry spasmed again, this time with a trickle of blood draining from his mouth and nose. It took even longer for Perry’s body to recover from the most recent infusion. Zac had no idea what Panel B consisted of; he wasn’t even sure Panel A still contained the same stimulants he’d been given. That was a long time ago; who knew what new drugs had been invented in the interim. Out of growing concern, Zac watched Perry’s all-important heart monitor, making sure he was still alive. According to the screen, he was very alive, his pulse rate and blood pressure sitting precariously near the red line. How long he could sustain this was anyone’s guess.

Cross let Perry rest for nearly twenty minutes after the application of Panel B while he studied the results with the techs. He said nothing to Zac and the others, nor did he personally examine his patient. Everything he needed was in the computers. However, the nurse did come over and clean the blood off Mark’s face, as the officer’s breathing came in short, rapid bursts. Perry remained unconscious, which Zac saw as a blessing.

And then it started again.

After a while, Zac and his friends had seen enough, and they left the room. Each had painful memories of the screening process, followed by years of high-stress activations and the Twilight regimen. Seeing the toll Rev took on the body, it was a miracle any of them were alive today. However, even as Rev was the cause of all their torment and torture, it was also what made it possible to survive their years as NT-4 REVs. It was no wonder Zac’s body took matters into its own hands and created a substance to help him survive his new paradigm. Evolution worked that way. Survival of the fittest was the rule unless doctors in lab coats took over the process.

Zac understood he was a new type of man, a product of evolution in its own right. What he didn’t know was whether or not this was the right way to go about it. He felt he’d cheated evolution. It was supposed to be a natural process, not an artificial one. In a way, his body was the exception that proved his point. It found a way…

* * *

With most of the day still ahead of him, and no chance to talk to General Cross about what he and the other Deltas could contribute to the defense effort, Zac left the testing facility and went looking for Joanie Hollis.

As a lead Controller, he expected to find her in the hangar that housed the main training facility for the new operators. It was located in Building 217, an old structure that once served as the hangar for the U-2 spy plane. With time being the issue these days, most of the structures on the base had been rebuilt to the point where they weren’t falling down. Even so, Building 217 smelled of rotting wood and desert dust. Time was everyone’s enemy these days, so accommodations were made in the rehab.

Adjacent to Building 217 were four huge buildings known as the Red Hat Hangars, where hundreds of operator stations were set up. The goal of the new training regime was to get the control team down to a maximum of three people, rather than the customary seven. As Zac heard the night before in the Officer’s Club, the current thinking for use of the REVs was very short-term. The idea was to kill as many of the Ha’curn as possible, depleting their numbers until they could no longer perform their mission. This meant recovery and rehab of the AC-3s was of a secondary concern. They were the best fighters Humanity had to pit against the alien cats, and as many as possible would be thrown into the mix with little regard for their long-term welfare. The future would take care of that.

The main training facility for the Controllers was a chaotic mess of frenetic energy. The concrete floor was filled with operator stations, with hovering instructors in a constant state of irritation as they berated their students, stressed out by the demands of the job. General Cross and the others were turning out more AC-3 REVs than they could handle, and now Command was coming down on the instructor crews, demanding they up their quotas. As a result, only the bare minimum was being taught, primarily how to activate a REV, steer them in the right direction and then set them to task. Extraction protocols and medical considerations were cut back drastically. If one of their REVs went down from injury, the operator team would be assigned another to be sent in. Zac could sense the coming slaughter, but he held his judgment. He knew what was at stake. This was probably the best mankind could hope for.

Unless his REV-pilot idea had legs. If so, then most of these new Controllers wouldn’t be needed.

Zac wandered through the mass of people, looking for Joanie’s bright blonde hair. Eventually, he spotted her, hunched over a station with a set of headphones clamped over her head. He moved into her line of sight, causing her to pause momentarily in her lecture to the surrounding trainees. Then she pulled the headphones off and handed them to an assistant.

“Take over here, sergeant. I’ll be back in a minute.”

She walked past Zac without looking at him and headed for an exit door from the hangar. Zac followed.

It was mid-November in the high desert of Nevada, and a blanket of light snow covered the surrounding hills. Zac ignored the weather, while Joanie zipped her coat up to the high collar.

“I was wondering when you’d make it out this way,” she said into the cold wind, not looking at him. “I thought you’d be in Colorado.”

“I couldn’t find her,” Zac said honestly. Joanie knew about Olivia; what she didn’t know was how his old girlfriend factored into the equation.

“How do you feel about that?”

“I’m okay with it. Cross is pretty protective of his side projects, so whatever she’s doing for him, she will probably come out okay. Hell, she may be off-planet by now. The man has resources.”

Now Joanie turned toward him. “There’s no time, Zac, no time for anything.” She waved a hand toward the hangar. “We’re going to be working around the clock up until we can’t work anymore. I can’t afford to be distracted.”

“I understand.”

“And I’m not as confident as the rest of you about your plan for the pilots. I’ve never seen evidence that REVs retain any past skills. Remember, I’ve been with the program since the NT-4 days. I even Ran you once, if you recall.”

“I remember.”

“Of course, you do, you and your damn REV memory. Too bad you weren’t able to use that memory during a Run and build on the experience. Does that tell you something about your plan? If AC-3s retained their operational memories, why don’t they learn with each Run?”

Zac shook his head. She had a good point. “I don’t know. I don’t know about any of this,” he growled, turning away to stare off into the desert. “I just need something to believe in. We all do. Cross has started the testing, and as far as I can see, Perry will pass with no problem. That means he could be on AC-3 as soon as tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? God, I hope not,” Joanie said, suddenly concerned. “Imagine what would happen if he still has residual stimulants in his system from the testing. He needs time to purge the drugs from his body.”

Zac snorted. “I don’t think Cross is too concerned about our pilot, at least not this one. He’s on a mission to find what he can as fast as possible. Perry is simply a test subject to him.”

“He’s not going to find out if Perry can still fly on AC-3 if he kills him first.”

“There are a lot more pilots available,” Zac countered. “But let’s hope it doesn’t come down to that. In a way, I’m on Cross’s side about the timetable. If this works—and I know it’s a big if—we’ll need time to get everything in place. It’s already been two months since the blockade began. At the outside, we only have a couple months more to come up with something that will work.”

“You’re telling me,” Joanie snapped. “We get that drummed into us every minute of every day. Why do you think I’m so stressed out?” She looked up into his face. “And I can’t simply send a little natural NT-4 into my system to help me handle it.”

They stood in silence for a few moments before Zac wrapped her in his arms. She fell into him, melting into his strength. He gave out a small laugh. “But just think, whatever’s going to happen will be over in a few months. No long wait. And after we kick some alien butt, we’ll have the time to work this out—whatever this is. Is that a deal?”

She pulled away and looked into his eyes. She reached up and kissed him passionately. “That’s a deal, Mr. Murphy, sir. Now, if you don’t mind, I have to get back to work. Hopefully, what we’re doing here will end up being Plan B. I pray to God your Plan A works as you hope it will.”

* * *

In the late afternoon, Zac went to Building 275, the old Consolidated Services Facility that had been transformed into the base hospital. Mark Perry was moved there after his tests. The fact that he was in the hospital was good news. At least he was alive.

As Zac stepped into the private suite, he had to reassess his thinking.

Perry was alive, but barely. His skin was a pale yellow, and his face sallow. Blood vessels had burst in his eyes, giving him an alien appearance. Zac had to laugh. He’d seen enough real aliens to know that some did have red eyes, although the eyes of their mortal enemy—the Antaere—were gold.

Perry was awake but extremely weak. He didn’t bother trying to make Zac feel guilty; he could see there was enough of it already on the REV’s face.

“Hey, buddy, how you doing?” Zac asked, sheepishly.

“We ain’t buddies, Captain Murphy,” Perry moaned. “We just met a couple of days ago … and now look at me.”

“Well, the good news is you passed the preliminary tests. That should make you happy.”

Perry moved his head slowly from side to side. “Whoopie for me. But I have to say, I have a little more respect for you REVs now. If this is what you guys have to go through before you even make the program, my hat’s off to you. You are some superhuman motherfuckers.”

Zac pulled a chair over to the side of the bed and sat down. “To be honest, the normal screening process takes place over a couple of weeks, and it’s not all chemical injections, either. There’s a lot of PT involved, running and weight training, that sort of thing. It’s funny, but the one thing they never gave us were mental acuity tests.”

Perry snorted. “I know why. You’re all crazy to put yourselves through this. Everyone of you would fail an IQ test.”

“And now you’re one of us. If the shoe fits …”

“Not yet.”

Zac turned serious. “So, when do they have you scheduled for the AC-3 test?”

“Luckily, I have two days in here before they do that. Tomorrow I go in for dialysis to cleanse my system. And then there’s all these damn fluids they’re pumping into me. I hope this doesn’t screw up the testing,” he said sincerely. “I really hope you’re right about this retained skill thing. If not, then we’re all screwed. But from what General Cross says, he’s going to test that out at the same time I get my first dose of AC-3.”

“Really? That sounds … odd.”

“Cross says if I don’t show any ability, there’s no need to carry out anymore studies. I just have to show I know which end of the 308 is up.”

Zac shrugged. “He has a point. And no matter how much I hate the guy, he’s a genius when it comes to Rev.”

Perry tried to smile. “Yeah, he does have a pretty nasty bedside manner. Can I trust him?”

“Trust, I don’t know; he’s always working an angle. But he does know his shit.”

Perry reached out and grasped Zac’s arm with a surprisingly strong hand. “And, captain,” he began. “No matter how this works out, I want to thank you for trying. I’m sure you and the other super-REVs have ways to get off the planet if you want. Thanks for sticking around and helping the rest of us.”

Zac smiled. “It would get pretty boring around here without the rest of the Human race to beat up on. Now, rest up, major. And get all those drugs out of your system, you damn druggie. You’re a disgrace to the uniform.”

5

That night, with nothing else to do until Mark Perry recovered in the hospital, Zac and his friends returned to the Officer’s Club at Groom Lake. It was called The Jack Rabbit Bar and sat on the site where the rec center known as Sam’s Place once stood. It was a new building, erected two years ago. A couple of hundred yards away, and closer to the baseball field, was the much larger and boisterous Enlisted Club called Sally’s. It was strange it had taken that name, seeing that originally, nearly all the patrons were men, AC-3s REVs or REV candidates. However, recently there was a more even mix of the genders with the influx of hundreds of REV Controllers and trainees.

The bottom line was both facilities were usually packed to the gills, although not so much for fun and celebration, but to help those at the base cope with the anxiety of the times. Mankind’s impending fate was on everyone’s mind. Some chose to ignore it; others obsessed. MP’s set up a field office between the two buildings, and every night the place filled with both enlisted and officers sleeping one off or healing from the frequent fights. Most of these minor infractions never made it onto a person’s service record. Even if they did, it didn’t seem that important anymore.

Zac, Angus and Keith entered the Officer’s Club a little past eight pm. Jack’s—as it was often called—was less crowded than Sally’s and a little tamer. The trio pressed their way to the bar and managed to order beers out of simplicity. This was Zac’s second time in the bar, but Angus and Keith were regulars.

The first night, Angus told Zac that the cat was out of the bag about the Deltas, at least at Groom Lake. It was too small of a base, and the times too critical, that keeping the secret was impossible. Everyone knew the unique nature of the three REV officers, even if they didn’t understand the how. The fact that they could produce natural NT-4 was enough, and once they were recognized, they were given a wide berth. They’d heard stories of what the Delta REVs could do.

This was strangely comforting for Zac, allowing him to relax in the crowd knowing he wouldn’t be bothered. He wasn’t comfortable in large crowds, a residual effect of fifteen years as an NT-4 REV. Being alone and sequestered from society became a way of life and learning how to mingle with his fellow Humans came hard for him. He could tell Keith Pierson felt the same, while Angus Price had no such reservations. The huge Englishman led his friends to where the pool tables sat and challenged a fellow REV officer to a match. The man politely declined and then left the area, giving up his table.

Angus racked the balls and handed a cue to Zac.

“Your break, captain, sir. Rank has its privileges.”

Zac was anxious to get his mind off of … well, everything, so he accepted the stick graciously.

“I’ve never played much pool, at least not recently … meaning in my adult life.” Angus nodded, understanding his meaning. There weren’t a lot of leisure games available in the cloistered halls of REV country aboard a battle-carrier. Besides, no one would dare challenge a Run-recovering NT-4 REV to a game, not if they valued their life.

“Just let it come naturally, Zac,” Angus offered. “Oh, and remember, these balls are expensive, so don’t shatter them on the break.” He looked at Keith and grinned. “I tell you this from experience.”

Zac did his best to control his residual REV strength; even so, the sound of the cue ball striking the rack was like a gunshot, heard throughout the noisy and crowded night club. After that, Zac settled down and got a feel for how hard—or how light—he should hit the ball. He also discovered that his superior eye-to-hand coordination and eyesight gave him skills he never knew he had. After losing the first game to Angus, he ran the table in the second game before making a seemingly impossible bank shot to sink the eight ball for the win.

Keith kept begging off playing, telling the others he was content to observe and consume his beer. A friendly waitress began feeding the trio with round after round while receiving ever-larger tips each time.

As Zac said the other night in his room, a little more natural Rev in their systems was enough to negate any effects of the liquor, so the night went on without any of them becoming falling-down drunk. They were just about to call it a night when a baby-faced officer and his friend moved up to the table and laid a twenty-dollar bill on the felt.

“Anyone up for a challenge?” he asked. Both men were first lieutenants—the same rank as Angus—and carried the insignia of the Running Man Division. Neither looked to be over twenty years old.

Zac knew most officers in the Division transferred over from other sectors; there was no M.O.S. for REV officer. Even so, these young men appeared overly confident and unafraid of the three Delta REVs.

Zac had enough Rev in his system that he accepted the challenge. Although the money meant nothing to him, wiping the silly grin off the young officer’s face would be fun.

They lagged for the break, and Zac won.

“I’m Zac Murphy.”

The cocky young man continued to smile. “I know who you are … sir. Everyone does.” He stepped away from the table after racking without giving his name. “Go for it, Mr. Murphy.”

Zac studied the man for a moment, not sure what the tone in his voice meant. Perhaps he just wanted to show his friend that Zac didn’t intimidate him. Good for him, Zac thought. Zac didn’t see himself as the intimidating type.

Zac was on point during the game and ran the table from the break. That was how it had gone throughout most of the night, once he got the hang of things. Either Angus or he would run the table on the other, broken only by the occasional unlucky leave that gave the other man the shot—and the win. In truth, it was getting boring. Zac welcomed a new challenge.

Zac pocketed the twenty.

“Go again?” asked the young man.

“Rack ’em.”

This time Zac was again in the zone until the cue ball kissed the cushion and wound up behind the twelve ball of his opponent. He had no chance to sink one of his own balls, so he played a defensive shot. The cocky young officer stepped to the table.

“I was wondering when you’d give me a shot.”

And from there, the no-name officer ran the table and left the eight ball as a duck for the win.

Zac racked and lost again without leaving his chair. The third game was the same.

“Okay, I concede,” Zac said with good humor, handing the young man another twenty-dollar bill. “Honestly, I didn’t come here tonight to watch you practice your game. You’re pretty good.”

“I know.” The man held up his winnings and grinned. “Thanks.”

Zac reached out his hand for a congratulatory shake. The man hesitated for a moment before taking it firmly into his own. He was gone a moment later, his friend trailing close behind.

Zac stared at the young officer as he left, his eyes unblinking, his mouth slightly agape. Angus stepped up to him.

“What’s wrong with you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Zac didn’t respond. Instead, he rushed out of the O-Club after the young officer.

In the frigid air, Zac’s breath came in billowing white clouds even as he ignored the cold. He scanned the darkness with REV eyes. There he was, walking away quickly toward the barracks.

“You! Hold up a minute.” Zac rushed after the pair of young officers. Angus and Keith followed.

“Hey, wait. I want to talk to you—”

As Zac placed his hand on the shoulder of the officer, the man whipped around and blocked Zac’s arm with his own. Both arms remained hovering in the air, with neither man giving in. Zac was stunned. Even without cascading he should be twice as strong as the average man, and yet he and the young officer were squared off, matching strength for strength.

“What gave it away?” the young man asked with a smile. He lowered his arm.

“It was the handshake,” Zac answered. “You haven’t learned how to control your strength. What the hell are you? You’re too young to be an NT-4.”

“Sorry, sir,” the man smirked, “but we’ve been told not to fraternize with the older Delta models.”

“You’re … you’re naturals?”

“We call ourselves Alphas. It’s more appropriate, don’t you think?”

Angus stepped forward. “But you’re AC-3s. How can you be, be like you are?”

The man shrugged. “Ask General Cross. We’re not complaining. It sure beats being a zombie REV like the others.”

He was referring to how AC-3s would activate in-place and then remain still, waiting for orders, while wobbling slightly from side to side.

“How long have you been in the program?” Zac asked.

The man grinned wider. “Obviously long enough, and without having to go through all the shit you and the others had to. Trust me, sir, it’s better this way. Now—with your permission—we have more important places to be.”

The two men gave crisp salutes, then turned on their heels and walked away. Zac and his friends stood in stunned silence watching them leave before Keith broke the trance.

“You need to talk to Cross,” he said to Zac. “How could this happen? AC-3s have only been around for a couple of years. It took us ten years or more to develop the mutation.”

“That’s right,” Angus said. “And I thought AC-3 didn’t affect the body like NT-4. I didn’t think it was possible for them to become naturals.”

“I’m going to see Cross right now,” Zac said. He didn’t know if he was upset or just curious. All he knew was he wanted answers.

“I didn’t mean go see him right now,” Keith said. “It’s past midnight. I don’t think he’ll appreciate being disturbed.”

“Don’t worry; I’ll behave myself.”

“Bollocks,” Angus said. “But you go ahead; be my guest. As for Keith and me, we’re going back to the barracks. You’re on your own, mate. And remember, Captain Murphy: Cross is a general.”

6

General David Cross had a residence at the south end of the base, in a converted barracks devoted solely to the senior officer at Groom Lake. It was still an old building without any frills, consisting of two bedrooms, one bath and a full kitchen.

It took Zac ten minutes to walk to the residence, allowing his natural NT-4 to protect him against the thirty-three-degree temperature and strong wind. A single electric light burned at the side of the door, with lights still on inside. Zac banged on the wooden door, his anger-enhanced strength nearly knocking it off its hinges.

The door opened to find an angry-looking David Cross still dressed in his khaki uniform, even at oh-zero-thirty hours.

“What are you doing here, Captain Murphy?”

Seeing Zac’s stern expression brought no fear to David Cross; the man had never been intimidated in Zac’s presence, even when some of their past encounters almost came to blows. The chief scientist in the REV program felt immune to threats from his creations.

“Excuse me, sir,” Zac began with no sincerity in his voice. “But I just had an interesting encounter at the O-Club. What can you tell me about the Alphas?”

Cross stared into Zac’s intense blue eyes. They were much like Cross’s; in fact, the men could have been brothers, although the doctor’s longish grey hair gave away his more advanced age. Still, the man was in excellent condition for his age, with a tall, trim figure and smooth skin.

“I shouldn’t have to tell you anything, captain,” Cross said, stepping back from the door. “But seeing that you won’t take no for an answer, come in out of the cold, and let me get you a drink.”

“I don’t need a drink, general. I just need some answers. You’re able to make naturals out of AC-3s?”

The interior of the residence was warm and cozy. The TV was on, and there was a glass of Scotch Whisky sitting on an end table next to an old, paisley-print recliner. Papers and data pads sat scattered on another short table on the other side of the chair. David turned off the TV then gathered up his drink and drained the rest of it.

“Have a seat, Zac,” he offered, motioning to an equally gaudy and worn couch opposite the recliner.

“I don’t want to sit.”

“Do it anyway; consider it an order.”

Zac pursed his lips and sat down on the edge of the sofa, refusing to lean back and relax.

Cross sat in his recliner but didn’t push it back.

“It looks as if I’ll have to make my orders more specific,” Cross said more to himself than to Zac. “They weren’t supposed to prance around the base showing off. That’s obviously how you found out.”

“Met a couple of your child-officers at Jack’s, showing off at the pool table. The handshake gave them away.”

Cross smirked. “Better you than some unsuspecting normal.”

“So now you’re calling people other than REVs normals?”

“Other than the naturals, like you.”

“So, how many are there, and where are you keeping them? It seems it would be hard to keep them a secret, especially around here.”

“There are about a hundred of them so far, and as they’re discovered, I’m sending them to Creech Air Force Base. The place is on lockdown until the news comes out officially.”

“And will it? Are you going to let the world know there are a hundred young supermen running around? You never let the word out about the Deltas, so why the Alphas?”

“Because—if you haven’t noticed—we’re facing a crisis of historic proportions. If the Ha’curn make it to the surface we’re going to need all the help we can get. And let’s be honest, your idea of converting pilots into REVs is a longshot, at best. It sounds more like wishful thinking.”

“I thought you believed in it? You tested Perry.”

“I said it’s an interesting idea.” Cross filled his glass again with the golden liquid and took a sip. “And I only did the preliminary testing on Major Perry today. We’ll know more once he’s given AC-3. And if it doesn’t work, then we’re going to need all the help we can get to defeat the enemy.”

“What can a hundred Alphas do against the Ha’curn?” Zac’s tone placed the word ‘Alphas’ in quotes.

“Probably nothing, but that’s not really the point, is it?”

“You mean the creation of your super race of Humans? That’s not going to do much good if the Earth is destroyed.”

“There are other planets, Zac. I wouldn’t write off the Human race just yet.”

Zac shook his head. “So, how did you do it? This couldn’t have come about from some natural mutation. That takes time, as it did with me.”

“But you did lead the way,” Cross admitted. “Once I knew the mutation was possible, I became more proactive in trying to find out not only how it happened, but why.” Cross took another swig of his drink. “If you recall, I had the formula for AC-3 long before Jack Diamond stole my research and found it in my files. It was a natural progression from NT-4, a more manageable REV, which has been the goal of senior command for as long as the program’s been around. But I also realized the logistics in managing such a system. Controlling an army of compliant REVs meant the need for an army of operators. I couldn’t see how that was better than what we already had. But AC-3 was less of a stress on the body, so that was good; however, it limited the body’s natural instinct to protect itself, inhibiting the production of natural Rev as had happened with the NT-4s. But once I knew the mutation was possible, I began to isolate and identify the process under which it manifested. As it turned out, the mutation was less a consequence of time than of biology. Even now, with the modified formula, not every AC-3 can become an Alpha—a moniker, by the way, I did not assign to the AC-3 naturals. In fact, only one out of two hundred develop the ability. However, with the high number of candidates being introduced to the program recently, the number of naturals has grown. The formula isn’t perfect, but with some people, it works to trigger the transition.”

Zac sighed. Cross was a damn genius, and Zac knew there was no holding back that creative intelligence. The man was constantly tweaking the Rev formula; he had been since even before the days of NT-4, which was an upgrade from NT-3. But AC-3 was more revolutionary, at least when it came to the application of REVs in battle. But there was a difference between Zac’s form of REV, and those created spontaneously. Zac wondered if Cross could see it.

“General, it’s all well and good that you can create supermen almost at will. But have you considered who you’re making them out of? These are kids, with very little real-world experience. With the NT-4s, we’re older. We know our ass from a hole in the ground, unlike these new naturals. Watching your young REV officers tonight, they have no grounding, no sense of perspective. They’re cocky and brash. They know they’re superior, focusing only on their physical abilities. They don’t appreciate their uniqueness. And how do you think that will go over if they’re ever introduced into normal society?”

“All good points, captain, which, if the Human race survives the next ninety days, I’ll be sure to factor into my thinking. But for now, all I’m concerned about is survival. And if the bulk of normal Human population is lost, I’d rather have a gene pool of super Humans from which to rebuild the species than nothing at all. Survival won’t be easy at that point, so we’ll need every advantage we can get.”

“You’ll also need women, if I’m not mistaken,” Zac said sarcastically. “And as far as I know, you don’t have any REV women to mate with your super studs.”

“I’m working on that, too, believe me.”

“The children?”

“That’s right.”

“Where are they? Is Olivia with them?”

“They’re safely off-planet, and yes, so is Olivia. But there are other options open to us now. And if worse comes to worst, I’ll make arrangements for all the Alphas—and the Deltas—to get off the planet.”

“We won’t go,” Zac stated firmly. “We won’t go and abandon the Earth.”

“Then you’re a fool. I’ll only order the evacuation if the planet is lost. At that point, there would be no need to sacrifice yourself just to prove your compassion for your fellow Humans. Think about the future, Zac, about survival of the species.”

Zac was silent for a moment. Cross was right, but Zac wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of admitting it.

“What are these other options you mentioned; with regards to what?”

Cross leaned forward in his chair, his face lighting up with excitement. Zac had seen the look before, that of the geeky scientist thrilled about a new discovery.

“Women. About women.”

“What do you mean? REV women?”

“Yes, in away. Let me explain.”

Although Zac and Cross had butted heads for years, they were the two most senior people in the program; the lead scientist and the oldest REV. Combined, they knew more about the program than anyone alive. Because of that, neither of them could relate to other people on the same level. David Cross was especially hamstrung, with no one he could confide in on an equal level. But Zac understood, at least the overall concepts the doctor often related. And now Cross seemed anxious to let it all out.

“AC-3 has turned out to be a godsend,” he began. “Because of the diminished effect it has on the body, it’s been possible to test females with the drug. Before this, the stresses were too great. But now they survive—at least some do—although we’re not ready—or willing—to put them in the field.”

“You’ve made active female REVs?” Zac couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

Cross grimaced. “Not completely. The dosages I’ve been using have been very mild, but the results have been excellent. The potential is certainly there. However, even if I could make a full-fledged female REV, I don’t think society is ready for pictures of female REVs returning from a mission, covered in the blood of her victims, or worse, her body shot to pieces. Besides, the REV scream would scare the shit out of people if it came from a woman. Everyone thinks it’s a form of torture.” At this point, Cross was bouncing on the edge of his chair.

“But what’s really exciting is how easy it is to manipulate the DNA of females as compared to males,” he stated.

“What do you mean, manipulate?”

“Let me back up, Mr. Murphy.” Cross took a deep breath, trying to reign in his enthusiasm. “The natural mutation resulting from AC-3 primarily manifests with the testosterone in the body. Of course, it’s a lot more complicated than that, but that’s where it starts. Now I’ve found that estrogen is even a better catalyst, a better incubator for AC-3. The female body is built around reproduction and the introduction of genetic material. This makes them more susceptible to manipulation through the use of AC-3 and other ingredients I’ve added to their formulas. As a result, I’ve been able to modify certain females to guarantee that—when mated with a male natural REV—the offspring will carry the mutation.”

“The baby would be born a natural REV?”

“That’s right.”

Zac leaned back on the couch, his jaw slack. “This is what you’ve been after all along, isn’t it? But wouldn’t that be dangerous? What would a baby REV be like?”

“Relax, Zac, it’s not what you think. The child isn’t born with full REV abilities, at least not according to models.”

“You’ve made REV babies already!”

“No full REVs, but those with the markers. But, again, don’t read too much into this. According to computer models, full REV potential isn’t reached until puberty, again the result of hormone production and interaction. Rest assured, babies won’t be born who can bench press two-hundred-fifty pounds at birth.”

Zac didn’t know what to say. In the course of half an hour, his whole world had been turned around. He’d lived with Rev his entire adult life, and it had impacted him in profound ways. Now, he just learned it had the potential to alter the future of mankind. If mankind had a future.

Zac smirked. “I guess this whole Antaere invasion thing has really thrown a monkey-wrench into your plans to breed the master race, Herr Cross.”

“Don’t be insulting, Zac.” David was genuinely hurt. “I’m a scientist, simply following the natural progression of research in a particular field. I’m not mad. And if you look at it reasonably, what I’m doing couldn’t come at a better time for Humanity. And in another way, we’re being presented with an incredible opportunity—”

“You want to let the Human race die off so a new species can emerge without competition? Is that your idea? Perhaps you are mad, General Cross.”

“That’s not what I’m saying. What I’m saying is that we can save the Human race from extinction, and at the same time, produce a stronger, better Human, one capable of surviving against all the odds thrown against it.”

Zac stared at David for a long moment. If this were any time other than now, Zac would have immediately reported the scientist to the appropriate authorities for commitment to a mental institution. The only problem: Cross was right, and about a great many things. Zac had first-hand experience what the drug Rev could do, and in what applications it could be applied. His transition to what was now a mutant had come unexpectedly. But when it did, it changed everything. There was no going back. And at this time in history, mankind needed REVs—all REVs, any kind of REV. The fact that some were mutating was just a strange twist of fate.

But was it really? David Cross just admitted to manipulating the formula to produce more mutations. He was even working on altering the DNA of women so he could make natural-born REVs. Evolution was a way of survival for all species. But it usually came along naturally. Was it right that mankind could take evolution into its own hands and accelerate—even steer—the process? Cross was right. All Zac’s arguments were for naught if the Human race was allowed to be destroyed. There had to be a way to save it. And if not, then there should be a way to rebuild it.

And because of that, Zac Murphy decided to withhold judgment on Dr. David Cross. At least for the next ninety days. After that, he would revisit the subject—if he was still alive.

7

Perry’s first dose of AC-3 was scheduled for 10-hundred hours in Building 49 two days after Zac’s late-night meeting with Cross. The building sat next door to the facility where the pilot was subjected to the stress test. Zac was present for the session, although Angus and Keith didn’t attend. They were at the south end of the base, drilling the Deltas in advanced assault techniques. The Deltas didn’t need the training, but it was good to keep their minds occupied, and the activity instilled in them a sense of purpose concerning the upcoming defense of the planet. It was better than sitting on their hands while the Earth faced the ultimate doom.

B-49 was a Quonset hut constructed in 2003. It originally housed a sophisticated array of advanced stealth detection equipment designed to make the invisible visible, at least to the good guys. Since 2042, it had sat empty, until a year ago. Now, Zac was surprised to see a fully functional flight simulator with all the bells and whistles sitting in the middle of the room. There was also a multitude of monitoring equipment, along with a dozen military technicians moving about with purpose.

“You set this up pretty quick,” Zac said to the pre-occupied General David Cross. The doctor locked eyes on him, conveying the unspoken message that the conversation they had a couple of nights ago was off-limits to any except the two of them. Zac shrugged, while Cross turned back to his work.

“It’s not what you think, Mr. Murphy,” he said. “This is a standard flight simulator for the Bandits and other fighter craft. All we did was have Langley download a program for the 308 Starfighter. The graphics will be authentic, but the controls are different. The important thing today is to see if our test subject recognizes any of this once he’s on AC-3.”

Mark Perry was already in the pilot seat, wearing his customary flight suit and helmet. From the video screens Zac could see, the pilot knew his way around this particular cockpit arrangement, even if it hadn’t been designed for the 308. That made sense. One did not become a 308 pilot without knowing how to fly everything else.

“Is he getting the standard setup?” Zac asked. By now, Dr. Cross should have been armed with a full arsenal of information regarding Perry’s physiology, with time to modify the formula for his specific biology.

“He’s getting the standard the first time out,” Cross answered. “I’m not concerned with him handling the formula, but rather whether he can operate the equipment under the influence. Any amount of AC-3 will tell us that. If he can do what we want, then I’ll refine the chemistry for maximum efficiency. That will take several additional sessions.” Cross cast a sideways glance at Zac. “And before you ask, I did run a couple of the Alphas through here yesterday, to see if their enhanced abilities would shorten the training time. It’s possible to get them up to where they’re adequate with the spacecraft in about sixty days, but nothing near what it would take to operate the Starfighter at full capability. And that’s why we’re doing this. If the Alphas can’t do that, then it’s better to stick with the trained pilots we already have.”

Zac stepped away from the senior officer and took a seat off to the right, a place where he could see the monitor that showed the simulator screen as Perry saw it. The Air Force officer was ensconced in a white, box-shaped container about twelve feet square and placed on articulators to simulate the movement of the spacecraft. The motion he would experience wouldn’t be true to life, but it would give the pilot at least some sensation of flying.

Zac looked at Cross and begrudgingly felt a smidgeon of respect for the man. He was an asshole, but he was also a genius. And at this time in history, he may be the right man at the right spot. Turning pilots into REVs might have been Zac’s idea, but if it were possible, David Cross would make it happen.

Another screen on the console displayed a face-on view of Mark Perry. Below the helmet, he now wore the ubiquitous REV collar, a one-inch thick metal ring that contained an array of sensors, cameras, and bio-meters, along with the all-important drug injection apparatus. Not only would the collar deliver the AC-3 to the subject, but also the Twilight drug when the time came. This collar was also fitted with RG9 and Supreninal, two of the drugs that helped reduce Rev in the bloodstream after Twilight. Normally, these drugs would be administered by the recovery team or in a field hospital after a Run. But with the proposed operational area of the 308s, it was decided to test the collar’s programming with regards to autonomous bio-maintenance of the REV. Unlike the beat-up and wounded REVs coming in from the field after standard ground operations, a pilot was expected to leave an engagement area fairly intact and able to receive a full array of counter drugs on the way to the recovery ship. If not, then his starship was more than likely nothing more than a diffused cloud of debris, with the pilot floating dead somewhere in the frozen vastness of space.

Cross placed a commset over his head and positioned the microphone close to his mouth. “Comm check,” he said, his voice bellowing through multiple speakers in the hut. “Major Perry, are you ready?”

“Roger that, sir. Everyone keeps telling me this won’t hurt. I’m anxious to find out if they’ve been lying to me.”

“Relax. And I want to thank you again for volunteering. This is a big moment for you, for all of us.”

“I just hope it works. They say I won’t be out for too long before I’ll know the results.”

“That’s right. Unlike with the old REVs, AC-3s are only out for about thirty minutes after Twilight. With the NT-4s, it used to be up to forty-eight hours, sometimes longer.”

Zac took exception to being called an old REV, but it was true. In his case, he was the oldest. And Cross was also right about the recovery period after an NT-4 Run, although, after his last one, he’d been kept under for three months as the doctors fought to lower the residual level of Rev in his system. That was several years ago, and they never did get his levels down. That’s when they discovered his body was making its own NT-4.

“All right, general. Let’s get this show on the road. I’m familiar with the flight controls of this simulator, although they don’t integrate that well with the 308 program. But it should be enough to let us know if I can still fly.”

“Very good. Attention everyone. We’re beginning the test, major. You’ll take off and begin flying as normal. Then at one point, we’ll introduce the AC-3 and study the results. Ready when you are.”

“Roger that, Control. Beginning liftoff. Using VTOL controls rather than aerodynamics. I’m off.”

The graphics on the screen were spectacular, as realistic as modern technology could make them. It was as if Zac was watching a video of an actual takeoff and transition to a flight course stable at thirty thousand feet, all in living color. It was decided this first test would remain in the atmosphere since that required more basic flying ability than cruising through space. Perry piloted the simulation with expert skill, and soon he was testing the integration of the flight controls with what he knew of the 308 program.

“Pretty basic stuff, with the controls I have available,” he spoke into his comm. “The 308 has about twice the inputs and monitors, but this is good enough. Are you going to give me a countdown before hitting me with the wacky juice?”

“Do you want one?” Cross asked.

“I think so. I don’t have enough anxiety as it is. Might as well let me build up a little more.”

“It will be a short countdown, then. Here we go. On the count of three, mark. Three, two, one…mark.”

There was no emotion in Cross’s voice as he gave the command that could mean the difference between Humanity surviving beyond the next ninety days or going extinct. But Zac didn’t have time to study Cross’s lack of emotion. Instead, everyone in the Hut was shaken by the primal scream blasting out from the speakers. It was terrifying, amplified by the power of the emotion conveyed. It was over by the time anyone thought to turn down the volume. Major Mark Perry had just received his first dose of AC-3, making the transition from Human to REV. There would be no going back.

Despite the REV scream, the next few moments were anticlimactic. The spacecraft continued on a level flight path while Perry sat motionless in the seat, his right hand still gripping the control stick. Zac quickly realized this was to be expected. AC-3s could be activated in-place—it was called—and they would remain that way until given a command. Now the moment of truth was upon them. Cross’s voice was programmed into the collar, giving him sole command over the newly minted REV.

“Designate REV One,” Cross said into his microphone. This would set the identification marker for the REV. “Change altitude to thirty-five thousand feet, up five degrees. Execute.”

Immediately, the altimeter on the monitoring equipment began to move, gaining altitude. Fifteen people were crowded into the Quonset Hut at the time; they simultaneously burst into cheers.

“Quiet!” Cross commanded, having cut the link with the pilot. The gauge now read a steady thirty-five thousand feet, and Cross looked over at Zac. He almost smiled. “We have to try more complicated commands,” he said, addressing the room more than just Zac. “And the fact that he can obey commands doesn’t mean he can autonomously fight an enemy warship. We won’t have direct control of the pilot during combat operations as we do now, so this will be vital to the viability of the plan.”

“REV One, plot a forty-degree course change to starboard. Execute when ready.”

This maneuver would require more skill, including with the control stick and rudder. He would also have to adjust speed to maintain altitude during the turn. To everyone’s relief, Perry performed the maneuver flawlessly, showing he retained the memory of what pedals to use for a turn and to adjust the throttle by the proper amount. He could read and understand the monitors, which spoke volumes. Zac’s heart pounded in his chest, even causing a slight cascading that added to his euphoria. This might actually work.

“Load an intruder program,” Cross ordered. “Nothing fancy, just something off to port and below him. Let’s find out if he can see it.”

He opened the channel to the pilot again. “REV One, scan nearby airspace for hostile aircraft. Engage if detected.”

There was dead silence in the simulator, broken only by the artificial sound of the aircraft engines as the craft sliced through the imaginary atmosphere. Zac’s heart fell when nothing happened. A minute went by, a full minute where Zac could see the bogie on the screen, even if Perry couldn’t.

Cross paced the floor, fingering the microphone that was an inch from his mouth, deep in thought. He looked at Zac, frustration evident in his eyes. “REV One, do you detect an object at your nine o’clock and below you?”

Zac thought the question was too technical for this stage of the test, but Cross was desperate to get a reaction out of the pilot. The front-on view showed Perry turn his head to the left and look down. The problem with the simulator was that it was only set up to produce a graphic in his Heads-Up-Display, not to the side. All Perry saw were the walls of the simulator. But he did understand directions, which was something. What he didn’t understand was how to read the tactical readouts on the forward screen. This would be crucial in any combat situation.

“I think it’s a communication problem,” Cross said to Zac as he stepped closer to where the REV sat. “If we can work this out, the AI can be programmed with basic instructions. What we need is a phrase or event, something that will trigger the proper response from the pilot. Let me try something. Controllers, bring the bogie forward of the ship, and begin an attack run.” He waited until he saw the contact begin to move, accelerating and gaining altitude before sweeping directly into Perry’s line of sight. “REV One, engage forward target and destroy. Execute.”

What happened next was a surprise … and a shock. Perry reacted immediately and with such speed and force that he ripped the control stick out of its cradle. At the same time, he began smashing the weapons selector controls on his left armrest, shattering the buttons and sending sparks shooting into the makeshift cockpit.

“Shut it down! Shut it down!” Cross yelled. “REV One, stop engagement. Resume level flight.”

But it was too late. The simulator was offline, the forward screen dark. Perry sat stone-faced in his seat, having resumed his passive, activate in-place demeanor.

“Administer the Twilight,” Cross ordered. “I need to figure out what just happened. Place the subject in the recovery room. Techs, survey the damage to the simulator. Get it up again as soon as possible. Mr. Murphy, come with me.”

8

Multiple times, Zac and David Cross watched the recording of the ten seconds before Major Perry was shut down, and the test ended. Several things stood out immediately to the REV and the scientist. The first: Perry didn’t realize his strength. Both the sudden reaction to the order to attack and his efforts to fire the simulated weapons was done with the strength and reaction time of a REV and with a force the control stick and firing console weren’t designed to handle. Second: the pilot recalled memories of the 308 fire control panel which was not present in the basic simulator. He ended up tapping on the armrest at places where no such controls were present.

The men debated the data for several minutes, both encouraged and disappointed by the results. The obvious thing was that Perry did retain the memory of how to fly the 308. The disappointing part was their uncertainty as to whether he could do it autonomously without the need for constant input and instructions. It was imperative for him to operate independently of the artificial intelligence, an AI which had already proven susceptible to Antaere countermeasures. The computer could track, evaluate and initiate effective combat scenarios, and then relay that information to the pilot, if it wasn’t hacked in the process. But what was needed was separation between the computer and the Human. Perry had to operate independently, able to make his own decisions. So far, it hadn’t been demonstrated he could do that.

And could he learn from experience? That was also an unknown. Joanie Hollis’ words came back to haunt Zac: Why didn’t the AC-3s learn from their various Runs, to the point where less input was needed from the Controllers? It was one thing to have prior knowledge, but what about experience acquired during actual operations? Was that two separate things?

Cross and Zac debated the issue. Was knowledge only retained if it came before—or between—activations? The question was of crucial importance.

But there was another issue? The simulator was not fully compatible with the spacecraft the pilot was expected to fly.

“He’s thinking literally at all times,” Cross pointed out. “When I asked if he detected the bogie, he looked to his left rather than decipher the readouts on the screen. We can’t have that in combat. He has to be able to understand the data on the HUD.”

“I believe he already does,” Zac said. “I think his literal inputs are being confused by the cockpit layout. But we won’t know until he’s either in a true 308 simulator, or he’s behind the controls of an actual fighter.”

Cross shook his head. “There’s no way I’m sending him up in a spacecraft, not yet anyway.” He leaned back in the chair. “I’ll get on the phone to Langley. Let’s load up our AC-3 pilot and get him to a real 308 simulator.”

“That sounds reasonable. But let’s take our own techs. I’m sure the people in Virginia wouldn’t know what they’re looking at.”

“I concur.” The general stood up. “Pack a bag, Mr. Murphy. We have several military transports available at the base. I want us out of here within the hour. No time to waste.”

“Yes, sir!”

* * *

Mark Perry woke up just as he was being loaded into the transport on a gurney.

“What happened?” he mumbled. “Did it work?”

Zac was trailing alongside the cart. “Sort of,” he answered with a scowl. “But you tore up the simulator pretty bad. That’s why we’re loading up a Galaxy and heading for Langley. We need to get you into a real 308 simulator.”

“I can be shot up again so soon?”

“Yeah, that’s the great thing about AC-3. After a quick turn-around, you can be back in the field a couple of hours later. You handled the dosage just fine. It was the other part that we’re still working on.”

“But I was able to fly while on the drug?”

“That part was easy, so yes.”

Perry pressed his head back on the pillow and smiled. “Thank god. So, there’s a chance…”

“So far, so good,” Zac said. The gurney bounced as it ran up the back ramp of the huge Air Force transport plane. It was a conventionally powered jet aircraft, and it would take about four hours to make it to the Langley Air Force base in Hampton Roads, Virginia. That was still better than packing up a 308 simulator and shipping it out to Nevada. But if the next test proved successful, a couple of the huge devices would be on their way to Groom Lake by the following morning.

“We ran into a compatibility issue with the flight controls,” Zac continued. “You were watching a 308 screen while trying to operate a standard cockpit arrangement. That didn’t work out so good.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you kinda ripped the cockpit to pieces.”

“I did? Oh, yeah. I think I remember now. Holy shit, I ripped the control stick clean out of the undercarriage. How did I do that?”

Zac grinned. “Along with your quicker reactions came an increase in strength. You simply overreacted. Don’t worry about it. If we can work out the other kinks, each 308 cockpit will be hardened to accommodate a REV pilot. That’s an easy fix.”

Perry tried to sit up, but Zac forced him back down. The cargo hold of the C-29 Galaxy was quickly filling with military personnel and equipment. There was a frenetic pace to everything.

“Relax, major,” Zac said. “You’re the star of the show. Just let the roadies handle everything.”

“So, do you think the kinks can be worked out?”

“I hope so. We’re about halfway there, which is a lot further along than we were three days ago. Back then, the Human race was planning its funeral. At least now, we see a glimmer of hope. Thanks to you.”

“And you, Captain Murphy. I hope you get the credit you deserve for this—if things work out as planned.”

Zac pursed his lips. “I wouldn’t hold your breath on that one, Mr. Perry. It has never worked out like that in the past. Why would things change now?”

9

Five hours later, Major Mark Perry was strapped into another simulator, this one in southern Virginia, and made specifically for the Summerlin Industries M-308 Starfighter. Thanks to Rev, the pilot was fully recovered from his first session and anxious to do it again. He felt more comfortable with the flight controls in this simulator and was familiar with the vivid graphics in front of him.

Dr. David Cross went over the results of the first test with the pilot, being brutally honest about both the good and bad aspects. Mark got the impression there was more negative than positive conclusions, at least by the general’s telling of it. Zac was more encouraging.

“As I said, we just have a few kinks to work out,” he told the pilot. “In an ideal world, you would have complete control of the spacecraft and able to make instantaneous decisions at REV speed. It may turn out that you’ll need more coordination with the AI. That’s fine if we can keep the computer from being deceived and the tasks basic. But first, let’s get you into a situation where you feel comfortable.”

“Good luck with that,” Mark said. “But you know, you were right. I couldn’t recall anything during the flight, but afterward, it was all there. I’m trying to work out in my mind if there’s anything I can do to help. The problem is I don’t know if I’ll remember any of this once I’m shot up again. You call that activation, don’t you?”

“That’s right. It sounds better than saying you’re getting shot up.”

The men were speaking through the comm unit. Now, Perry gave the thumbs up, signifying he was ready to begin the next test.

“We’re going to send you against stationary ground targets this time,” Cross told him. “There shouldn’t be the need for quicker reactions in this operation. We just need to see if you can extrapolate between the HUD and the fire controls. Remember, the whole purpose of this exercise is to see how you do in combat. The AI can get you into and out of the engagement area. It’s what you do while you’re there that will make the difference.”

“Understood, sir. I’ll do the best I can. I wish I had more confidence in what we’re doing. The mark of a good pilot is the ability to operate in the moment. But I’m operating on memory only. Situations are constantly changing while in flight. I hope I can adapt in real-time.”

“So do I. Now, prepare. You can begin, and this time I won’t give you a countdown. Activation will be unexpected. It’s all part of the testing process.”

“Roger, that, sir. Liftoff. Climbing to thirty-thousand feet.”

* * *

The flight continued smoothly for ten minutes, causing the techs in the room to grow anxious. It was obvious Mark Perry knew how to fly a 308, and nothing unusual was being asked of him. But being the professional he was, he didn’t question the decisions of Dr. Cross. He obediently gave periodic reports as to the status of his craft.

Cross then gave the order to inject the AC-3.

There were a few of the Langley techs in the room. They watched intently, looking for any sign that Perry was now under the influence of the Rev drug. When they saw none, they began to fidget.

“Load the ground target program,” Cross commanded. A moment later, a tiny square appeared on Perry’s HUD, flashing red and located dead ahead.

“REV One, identify ground target. Classify hostile.”

Sensors in Perry’s helmet followed his eye movements as he locked on the target.

“Destroy all hostiles as they are determined. Engage.”

Without the need to abruptly change course to engage a target, Perry almost leisurely began his attack profile. Leisurely to a REV, that is. Zac’s jaw fell open as Perry’s simulated 308 aircraft pounced on the ground target, accelerating to Mach seven in an instant and obliterating the structure in the blink of an eye. He was back at thirty-thousand feet before anyone knew he’d begun his attack.

“One point six seconds,” someone said over the comm system. “Target destroyed.”

Someone else nearby whispered, “And the cockpit is still in one piece.”

Zac looked at Dr. Cross, but he was busy at a command console. “Load in a cluster target program.”

“Ground target?”

“Yes, for now.”

A moment later, Perry was given the order to destroy multiple targets. Six simulated ground-to-air missile batteries were destroyed in three-point-two seconds. Zac knew this amazing feat was a testament to the REV pilot’s reactions and coordination, but also the capabilities of the 308. From this simple exercise, it was obvious both entities were made for one another. It was a perfect marriage of man and machine.

“Run status?” Cross asked.

“Still six minutes until first barrier.”

There was plenty of time to continue the test before Perry would be Twilighted.

“Okay, he’s done fine with stationery targets. Let’s put a couple of hostiles in front of him. Give them basic evasive abilities. Let’s see what he does with that.”

Two simulated aircraft appeared on the screen in front of Mark Perry. He noticed them immediately and the HUD locked onto their locations. Even before giving them a hostile designation, the contacts began to bob and weave, attempting to evade the spacecraft approaching from behind.

“REV One. Targets hostile. Destroy.”

In a blur, Perry’s left hand landed on the weapons selector on the armrest. His eyes remained glued to the targets, and a split second later, missiles were launched that streaked through artificial air to contact both targets. No fire control buttons were damaged during the test.

“Why didn’t he smash the armrest as he did before?’ Zac asked David Cross.

Cross shrugged. “I’m not sure. Perhaps in the first test, he continued to hit the spots where the buttons should have been until he got confirmation of firing. Maybe frustration played a part.”

“Emotion? That would be a first.”

“Everything is a first here, captain.” Cross checked the clock again. “Time for one more test. Let’s see how he does evading a hostile. Control, place a target behind the 308.”

A moment later, Cross was in contact with the pilot. “REV One, evade hostile to the rear.” He didn’t give the command for him to subsequently destroy the target, just avoid it.

It turned out to be not much of a test. The imaginary attacker was a conventional aircraft and kept lighting off guns, and then missiles and finally energy weapons. Each time, Major Perry deftly steered his spacecraft out of harm’s way, the result of the 308 being much faster and more maneuverable than the trailing aircraft. It barely challenged Perry’s reaction time.

But that wasn’t the purpose of the test. It was to show that the REV pilot was able to adapt to the changing environment of combat. And he did it without breaking anything. Had Major Perry learned from his prior activation? It was impossible to tell at this point.

The final test of the session, conducted with only three minutes left in the Run time, was to see if Perry could react to targets introduced after receiving instructions. He was told to destroy any hostiles appearing before him. The first one didn’t materialize for twenty seconds, then it was splash one a second later. Then three more popped up. Without any input from Cross, Perry competently dispatched each target as they lit up as hostiles. A stray bogie was introduced that never lit up red. Perry ignored it.

What happened after that was a whirlwind of activity. The pilot was Twilighted and pulled from the simulator, only moments before technicians ran in and began disassembling the unit. By midnight, Nevada time, the Groom Lake team was back on the C-29 Galaxy and in the air heading back to their base. Nine hours later, the components of a 308 simulator were safely aboard another transport, with a second unit nearly loaded.

Zac and Cross talked on the flight back to the base. They acknowledged several issues still had to be worked out, but overall, the test was a success, something Cross begrudgingly accepted, despite his initial reservations. All they needed to do now was develop an elaborate screening and training program, followed by a tactical plan using the 308s to save the Human race from extinction, and do it all in under ninety days.

10

The Groom Lake facility was already a buzzing hive of activity from the recruitment of new AC-3 REVs and the training of thousands of additional Controllers. Now the place truly exploded, becoming the center the universe for the defense of the planet. Once General Cross convinced the higher-ups in D.C. as to the feasibility of the plan, all barriers fell, and Cross was given anything—and everything—he wanted.

Soon, the entire 308 pilot and R.I.O compliment moved to the Nevada desert, along with their spacecraft. Pole tents went up to house the new bodies, while every available hangar became filled with the super starfighters. Mark Perry was the point man in convincing the pilots to submit to the REV program. To no one’s surprise, one hundred percent of the pilots volunteered without hesitation. And although a Radar Intercept Officer was not required for the operation, many if the RIOs were skilled pilots in their own right. Summerlin Industries was turning out a new spacecraft every three days, so there was a need to move some of the more experienced rear seaters to the front seat. Soon the 308 fleet numbered five hundred fifty vessels.

All this activity happened in only seven days, and between his presentations to his fellow pilots, Mark Perry continued to be tested with AC-3. David Cross refined the formula, learning that a dose slightly more than half that of a normal combat REV was enough to achieve the desired results. This meant a corresponding shorter recovery time and operational awareness bordering on consciousness. The pilot was more aware of his surroundings and was almost on the verge of responding verbally to commands. The words he spoke were more grunts than anything else, but that was better than nothing. Activation times were also extended out to forty-five minutes, adding a third to that of conventional AC-3 Run times.

And then Cross scheduled the first in-space combat test against an array of drones programmed to act as true as possible to Antaere Glorybat fighters. Only Mark Perry would go up the first time. There was still the question as to whether or not he was learning from his prior activations. Cross would compare his effectiveness with that of other pilots who would begin their training/conditioning with the same test Runs. If he performed better, then additional training sessions would be scheduled for the pilots to hone their skills. If not, then the new AC-3 pilots would be inserted into the attack plan raw, hoping their chemical enhancements would be enough for mission success. In addition, the computer programmers had to reconfigure the AI to match the new mission parameters. Practical operations were needed to define these requirements.

Zac volunteered to ride along in the backseat as an observer.

“That’s not necessary,” David Cross said. “We can monitor everything from the ground.”

“I realize that,” said Zac. “It’s just that I want to observe the real-time conditions of combat at this level. Only AI’s have done it to this point. Maybe I’ll be able to see things from the Human perspective that might help with the overall planning.”

“You’re not a combat pilot, Captain Murphy. Besides, as you’ve seen, these tests occur at such an accelerated pace that only by playing back the data feeds can we evaluate a mission.”

“That’s why it would be good to have a Delta in the backseat. I can withstand the stresses and still be able to see things in real-time, REV real-time.”

Cross studied Zac’s face for a moment. “What’s the real reason, captain?”

Zac sighed. “To be honest, there’s so much riding on this, general, that I want to get a first-hand sense of what we’re up against. The 308s were built as a gamechanger, but they didn’t turn out as planned. What if that’s the same with what we have in mind? I want to see for myself if this will work.”

General Cross continued to study Zac for a long moment before responding. “Fine, you go up with Major Perry. But if anything goes wrong, you be ready and willing to pull the escape lever. And have your detection beacon on at all times. If this goes south, I want to be able to find you out in space. I have other 308 pilots, but there’s only one Zac Murphy.”

Zac was surprised by Cross’s reaction. It was the first time the scientist acknowledged Zac’s unique pedigree, other than as him being the first. There were other Delta REVs—including a couple hundred of the Alpha REVs by now—but Cross knew Zac was different. His body had lived with natural REV longer than anyone. Also, he had been injected with a form of Antaerean Rev. The drug had combined with his natural NT-4 to form a hybrid version. David Cross wasn’t anxious to lose his most unique living specimen of a natural REV, especially not during a simple training mission.

* * *

To tell the truth, Zac was anxious to ride again in a 308, and this time in space and at its full capabilities. He always enjoyed flying, and in his youth, had entertained the idea of becoming a fighter pilot. Then the REV bug took hold, and the rest is history. But the little taste he got of the 308 during his initial trip to Groom Lake piqued his curiosity and revived his lost dreams.

Looking back over his years as a REV, they appeared to be a dark void in which he’d lived his life. Once the reality of what it was like to be an NT-4 REV became apparent, Zac put away his childish dreams and accepted his fate. It was a fate with no future. He was a REV, and Rev was his existence. There was no time—or desire—to plan beyond the next Run. REVs didn’t have futures. And they didn’t have relationships in a traditional sense. They did their job, and if luck was with them, they would live for another Run. That was it.

And for Zac, that reality lasted longer than anyone. At one point, he became the guide, the trailblazer, a curiosity to be studied. Then it all changed.

How can someone who’d spent fifteen years without a future suddenly begin thinking of one? How could life suddenly have meaning and purpose beyond the next day and it not affect that person? Zac was still learning how to be normal, and it wasn’t an easy transition. And as with all aspects of Zac Murphy’s life, he was the first, stepping into the unknown with people watching his every move. That would have been fine, if Zac knew what he was doing. But every day as a new breed of Human was a day of discovery … and a mystery. In that regard, nothing had changed in his life. It was still just one day at a time, hoping he didn’t screw up.

And in that way, Zac Murphy was just like everyone else.

* * *

Zac noticed the changes to the cockpit of the 308 the moment he climbed into the backseat. The divider between the pilot and the rear seat had been beefed up, and Perry’s cushion wrapped around him more. The configuration of the 308 cockpit had always been sparse when it came to the comfort of the pilot since the spaceship was originally designed to be flown by a computer. Even still, accommodations had to be made for a Human pilot during the interim testing phase, a phase that continued into combat trials where the inherent flaw in the program was discovered. Computers could be hacked, so that part of the plan was scrapped. Afterward, pilots and R.I.O.s were placed back in the cockpits and the controls modified to their current configuration.

But now the 308 was expected to operate at its full capability again, this time carrying a Human pilot. But these weren’t your everyday, run-of-the-mill pilots. They were REVs, and as a result, everything was hardened, including the control stick and trigger buttons. The weapons selectors were made of metal now, rather than plastic, and the sensor displays were brought back up to the refresh rates of the AI. For the past ten days, 308s had been run through their paces, guided by the AIs. Now it was Mark Perry’s turn to run a 308 through a combat scenario at full operational speed. To say the man was looking forward to it was an understatement. He was like a kid in a candy store, and with his dad’s American Express Black Card.

“This is going to be incredible!” Mark said to Zac as he slipped into the seat wearing a full spacesuit, helmet and REV collar.

“I hope it’s everything you expect it to be,” Zac said solemnly from the rear seat.

“I know; all I’ll be able to do is remember the visuals when it’s over, not the emotions, not the actual sensation. But the memories will be better than nothing.” Perry focused on the screen showing Zac. “You sure you want to do this? In a way, I envy you. You’ll be able to experience everything as it happens.”

“That’s why I’m here.”

“Good. Then I’ll try not to screw the pooch.”

Perry locked down the canopy and began his pre-liftoff routine. A minute later, he looked to the side and gave the thumbs up to the ground crew. They acknowledged his signal then rushed off for the safety of the blast barriers. The craft would lift on chemical jets and then transition to the gravity drive once it was at a safe distance from the ground or any other objects in the vicinity. That was an issue with gravity drives; they impacted a sphere in all directions surrounding the singularity. Once in space, the distances were great enough that this generally wasn’t a problem. But near the ground, or with other aircraft in the area, it could be a disaster.

Zac was already cascading, a mental effort in preparation for the flight. He would receive a warning before Perry was injected with the AC-3, and at that point, the 308 could be operated at full spec. Zac wanted to be sure his body could withstand the transition.

Soon after liftoff, the bright blue of the atmosphere gave way to the clear nothingness of space. The ship was still accelerating, so Zac didn’t feel the sensation of weightlessness. In addition, the 308 was too small to have internal gravity, which would have provided compensation against the incredible g-forces to come. That was why normal pilots couldn’t fly the 308 at full spec, only REVs.

The test was to be conducted in the most realistic conditions. Major Perry was given a flight path, yet he didn’t know when or what would be sent against him. And as with all the times before, when he was hit with AC-3, nothing changed, nothing except for the god-awful scream. The ship continued accelerating until it reached the desired cruising speed, and then the gravity faded away.

The Earth still dominated, sitting below and behind the starship from Zac’s perspective. He had a full array of monitors at his disposal allowing him to see around the ship in any and all directions. The R.I.O was responsible for knowing the threats in the area, as well as the operational readiness of the craft at all times. That wasn’t Zac’s job, but the equipment was still lit up in front of him.

The AI would not be involved in the detection of enemy vessels; Perry would do that himself. It was a very basic process, but one based on the passive sensors built into the system and immune from interference. Zac now waited for the games to begin. Perry, for his part, couldn’t care less either way. He was simply in a holding position, his mind and awareness waiting for something to happen.

Then a command came over the comm. “Designated REV One. Entering combat zone. Identify any hostiles in the area and destroy with maximum efficiency. Preserve unit if necessary.”

That last part was added to ensure that a REV experiencing a no-win scenario would opt to leave the area rather than fight a losing battle. The idea was to preserve the 308 for a subsequent run. There weren’t that many to waste on kamikaze missions.

Zac noticed no change in Perry’s demeanor. He would react when there was something to react to, and the reason Zac wasn’t surprised when the exercise began shortly after the announcement. It wasn’t as if Perry was sitting there expecting anything to happen.

Three contacts appeared at extreme sensor range. The computer matched the gravity signatures with those of Antaere Glorybats and highlighted the contacts on the HUD with flashing red boxes.

Zac was slammed against his restraints as Mark changed course abruptly and accelerated. The 308 was on gravity drive, but at less than lightspeed. Now there was a brief period when the space outside the ship turned a glowing green, signifying a transition into FTL speed and contact with the ephemeral event horizon of the miniature blackhole sitting about five miles in front of the ship. The acceleration was incredible, something Zac could tolerate only thanks to the natural NT-4 coursing through his body. He didn’t let out a primal scream as Perry had at the moment the AC-3 was introduced to his body. Deltas didn’t do that, not normally. However, Zac did groan awfully loud.

He was activated, but even then, the pressure his body felt was almost intolerable. In normal gravity drive application, inertial compensators spared the body such stresses. But not in a 308. Zac understood now why it was impossible for normal pilots to fly the spacecraft at spec. A normal pilot would be dead by now.

Perry dropped out of lightspeed as he reached the distant targets. The drones began evasive maneuvers, while also filling space with energy blasts from their flash cannon. In this case, the energy was harmless laser beams rather than plasma bolts. This wasn’t a real battle, at least not to the drones and their remote operators.

But to Mark Perry, it was. He swept past the enemy vessels in a flash, releasing his own barrage of real energy bolts with perfect timing and accuracy. Shielding glowed around the drones until one overloaded and the ship exploded. The other two bolted away in opposite directions, desperate to preserve what shielding they had.

Perry’s eyes locked on the nearest target and unleashed a streaking guided missile. The tiny dart-like weapon jumped to lightspeed for a split second before dropping out at just the right time and place to impact the fleeing drone. Even before the explosion registered on the equipment, Perry was in hot pursuit of the remaining drone.

That’s when another five contacts appeared, whipping around from the glowing, beach-ball-size disk of the Moon.

By now, the 308 was racing away from the Earth, having added considerable distance with the momentary jump to lightspeed. The attacking drones made their own jumps and reappeared, forming a phalanx, with one lead vessel and two others trailing away on each side. They fired the moment they achieved normal space, sending a wall of simulated plasma toward Perry and Zac.

And that was when Zac panicked.

Mark Perry continued on a steady course, pursuing the last of the first three attackers. He paid no attention to the other five drones, nor to the supposedly roiling wall of star-hot gas coming their way. The shields reacted automatically, but not the pilot.

Then Zac noticed why. The new contacts on the HUD had not been designated as hostiles. At least not yet. Zac wondered if this was part of the exercise; to see if the pilot would react to threats even if the targeting computer was hacked. At this point, the answer was a resounding ‘no.’

Zac took control. “Major Perry—REV One—identify threats in sector three—”

“Captain Murphy, belay that!” a voice cried out in Zac’s helmet. It was that of David Cross. “You are to provide no input into the test.”

Zac grimaced. Of course, he wasn’t. He was simply an observer. He was embarrassed.

“Sorry, sir. Overzealous.”

A moment later, the simulated plasma bolts struck the portside shields.

To Zac’s relief, Mark reacted to the attack. His eyes shifted to the incoming contacts as he jerked the control stick hard to the left. What followed was a wild series of spirals and waves like the craziest rollercoaster ride one could imagine. The 308 was soon positioned behind the attackers, with two already consumed by brief balls of yellow gas, before the lack of oxygen in space snuffed out the explosions. After the simulated bolts hit, Perry identified the undesignated attack as a hostile act and reacted accordingly. That was good, in Zac’s opinion, although from the readings before him, their shields on that side of the ship were severely compromised. Not only that, but now there were four active enemy ships still in the area, the surviving three from this attack, plus the one from the original engagement. With the weakened portside shields, another full-on attack could score a win for the bad guys.

But Mark Perry wasn’t through. He whipped the 308 into an impossibly tight and quick loop that produced another groan of unfamiliar pain to the Delta REV, pushing him almost to his limit. Zac even heard a guttural growl from the pilot. But the maneuver lined them up for another series of bolt launches that eliminated two of the four targets.

Zac was feeling a little better about their chances when the unexpected happened. Major Mark Perry was Twilighted.

Zac saw the pilot’s head lean forward just as his eyes closed. The 308 zipped out along a straight flight path, ignoring the presence of the enemy vessels in the area. Zac checked the Run clock. There were still six minutes remaining.

But then the AI took over, pulling the ship up and increasing speed until FTL was achieved. The tiny spacecraft raced away from the engagement area, climbing above the plane of the ecliptic before turning for home. That’s when Zac realized this flight was a test of the AI, as much as it was of Major Perry. He relaxed, letting the computer guide the ship back to Earth and a flawless landing on runway 32R at Groom Lake.

11

Zorin K studied the battle screen with angst, his heart not into the coming fight. It did not matter. He was the leader of the Consolidated Forces and would do what was expected of him.

He was an Enif and recently watched his people tortured and imprisoned for circumstances beyond their control. How could a race of people do the right thing when they are caught between two powerful forces? How can they survive without siding with one or the other? The Enif tried being neutral—nearly all the Colony Worlds did—but they were forced to decide. And when they did, they suddenly became the sworn enemy of the other party.

As with all the peoples of the Grid, Zorin had seen the videos from Crious. He attempted to shield his offspring from the gory, savage images yet was unable to keep them from seeing them through other sources. And now they cried at night, traumatized by what they saw. It was like that throughout the Grid.

It was at that time Zorin decided to surrender, if not in spirit, then in attitude.

He was a loyal follower of the Order, believing in the tenets and promise of the Final Glory. That would never die. And he reminded himself, that long before the Humans were brought into the Order, the Antaere served the religion well. They were the Guardians of the Order, the conduit through which all unity flows. That may be true, but that does not give them power over all who believe. At least that is what Zorin still felt in his heart. But it was safer to accept reality, to accept things as they had once been, hoping those times would return.

The problem with that thinking was that Zorin was old enough to remember the time before the Antaere-Human war. The Guardians were not like they are now. They did not rule by military strength or concrete dictate. It was a more respectful time, a time of unity between all members of the Order. After all, that was what the Order was all about—Unity. And someday, the ultimate Unity with everything—the Final Glory.

But the Antaere had changed. The Humans were the cause. Zorin was intelligent enough to follow the sequence of events that led to the war and the ebb and flow of fortune. At one moment, the Antaere were winning; the next the Humans. And no change was as sudden or unexpected as what began half a year ago on Zorin’s homeworld of Enif.

The Humans were on the verge of complete victory, having driven the Antaere back to their Old Worlds. They were only a seasonal cycle away from invading Antara. And then the war would be over. There would be peace.

For several years before that, the leaders of the Enif struggled with the question of who to support in the conflict. Eventually, they sided with the Humans, and until recently, it proved to be a wise decision. And then the betrayal came when it was learned the evil Ha’curn were, in fact, allies of the Antaere. To Zorin’s shame, it was on Enif that the trap was sprung. The Humans made it out of the system with only a third of their once-sizable fleet intact, and from that moment, the war was all but over, with the Antaere the victors.

And now the Humans cowered in their home system, imprisoned there by a blockade of Antaere and Ha’curn forces, awaiting their own Final Glory.

Zorin could see the graphic layout of what the Humans called the Solar System. He was there not to enforce the blockade, but to make it unnecessary. As the commander of the Consolidated Forces, Zorin oversaw the one thousand six hundred forty-eight vessels of the conscripted fleet. These were ships and crews requested to join in the effort to destroy the Human homeworld of Earth. Most of the Colony Worlds—at least those with the capacity—contributed to the effort. Zorin grimaced. They had no choice but to oblige. After Crious, it was obvious dissenters would be punished with extreme prejudice.

Therefore, Zorin steeled his resolve, attempting to place himself in a mental time warp, back to a time when the Antaere ruled the Grid, before the Humans, before the wars. He prayed to the Order that the Antaere would return to their old ways once the Humans were gone. What he feared was they would not. He had more contact with the senior command of the Antaere than did most Enif. He discovered within them a different side to their personality—a hidden, suppressed side. He—better than most—knew the full history of the Antaere, and of the early days, when they first began to spread the word of the Order. They were much more warlike back then, and it cost them dearly. They changed, and until the recent war, had sworn off violence as a way to enlighten the galaxy to the glory of the Order.

Or had they? Had they really changed, or was it simply a ploy, a strategy? Knowing what he knew now about how seamlessly the Antaere have reverted to barbarism and suppression, he believed it was a strategy all along. And because of that, Zorin surrendered. It was more important to save his race than it was to make a stand. The Enif were in no position to resist the Antaere. So, as the supreme officer in the fledging Enif military, he accepted the position of Califont of the Consolidated Fleet. He took to heart the words of Aric Nesan when the Lead Insir made his famous speech on Crious. Actions, not words, would prove loyalty to the Order … and to the Antaere. Zorin’s loyalty to the Order was never in question. Loyalty to the Antaere was another matter. Even so, he would use loyalty as a strategy, not only for his welfare but for that of his people.

While Zorin summarized the situation in his mind, reconciling the present with the past, he read a tactical screen before him, feeling torn in his emotions. The Humans had formed a spherical screen around their world made up of literally thousands of spaceships, satellites, probes and other assorted objects. It protected not only the ecliptic but the area above and below. Zorin’s fleet could not approach the planet without encountering this defensive screen. Normally, this would not be an issue; he had the ships and firepower to defeat any enemy. However, reality was that the Humans were fighting for their very existence. Therefore, this protective screen was made up of every type of explosive device, missile, ram and other suicide projectile imaginable. His fleet would suffer terrible losses during the transition, and that was before they would face the remaining strength of the Human’s main military fleet.

What made Zorin sick was the fact that this was all by design. While Zorin and his Consolidated Fleet fought their way to Earth, the Antaere and Ha’curn ships—numbering over a thousand—would lay back and let Zorin and his forces suffer the bulk of the losses. When he pointed this out to the Antaere commanders, they simply looked at him with disgust, saying it was the price they would pay for their disloyalty to the Order. They always said it was about disloyalty to the Order, when they really meant disloyalty to the Antaere. Millions of beings would die today because the Antaere had been disrespected.

And now it was the fate of his fleet that they would be used simply to clear the minefield for the main force. It was a thoughtless task, but one which Zorin would obey.

Perhaps—when the Humans are gone—things will change, Zorin thought. Again, he prayed to the Order, even though he knew in his heart his prayers would go unanswered.

* * *

“Your forces are in position,” said Lead Insir Aric Nesan impatiently on the comm link. “Why do you delay?”

“Assessing the position of the screen targets, Lead Insir,” Zorin answered.

Aric studied the Enif Califont, a comparable rank to First Insir in Antaere military. He knew the being was lying. He was scared, and it showed. Aric fumed. Never should a commander show fear leading into a battle. It did not bode well for coming fortunes.

“Commence your move into the system; you are so ordered.”

“I obey, Lead Insir. All battle recordings are linked with your flagship. Updates in real-time.”

“Just do it, Califont. The Order will protect your troops, even as you make amends for your blasphemy. Prove your worth today and all will be forgiven.”

“Proceeding with first phalanx.”

Zorin gave the order for the first piercing squadron to enter the contested zone. With the defenders spread over a large sphere, he intended to make a quick strike into the heart of the system, entering from above the ecliptic to avoid the cover of planets, moons and other obstacles. He knew the Humans would then attempt to consolidate their defenses along his path. If this became too effective, he would divert some of his force to a less-guarded region and proceed from there.

Zorin had been involved in only a handful of major battles in his career, with this being the largest by far. In all the others, there was a feeling of excitement and anticipation at the outset. This time he felt drained, and not a single shot had been fired to this point. He was leading his people into a slaughter, and apparently only he was concerned.

Eighty-fours ships—one lumos—entered the sphere, and immediately, fourteen disappeared from his screen. Combat techs began shouting reports from their stations aboard his flagship. Mines—possible magnetic—had locked onto the ships and destroyed them. Such devices were immune to energy shields, which were designed to absorb and then dissipate plasma bolts, and not solid objects.

Other energy signatures now appeared, these being uncrewed, autonomously controlled spaceships packed with high explosives, steering toward his ships without fear or hesitation. His cruisers opened fire, destroying most of the incoming. Even so, eight more of his units were taken from the board.

Zorin ordered a second lumos to enter the fray. The first sortie cleared out a region of space at a distance from Earth equal to that of the large blue gas giant Neptune. Zorin had all the information he needed about the Solar System; Earth had once been a welcome member of the Grid with no secrets from the Antaere. Now he sent additional ships in and watched with almost sad detachment as more of the defending contacts began to move toward the line of his penetration. All these vessels and mines had gravity drives, so it did not take them long to fill the space forward of his advance. More of his ships became casualties, as it appeared the Humans had a greater number of passive mines in the area than anticipated.

However, their numbers were limited, as were his.

He watched as the myriad of contact lights on the screen moved to the battle zone, now forming an almost solid white line of resistance into which his forces flowed. For a moment, there appeared to be a stalemate, as his ships and the white line of the defenders met and remained static for several moments with all of his leading ships being destroyed at that point. Fortunately, the balance did not sustain itself for long, and his fleet began an inexorable move closer to the target world.

Zorin checked the numbers. He was down to only eight hundred four serviceable ships, and it looked as though the defense screen was almost gone.

“Detach lumos nineteen through twenty-four to grid section thirty-eight,” he commanded. Orders were barked across the bridge.

The time had come to send some of his ships into clearer space and make a mad dash to Earth. All his ships were equipped with nuclear devices, and if he could get close enough, he could unleash several to disrupt the command forces on the planet. He had specific orders which parts of the planet he could bomb. The Antaere knew their Ha’curn savages could not destroy the entire population of Earth themselves. The southern continents were to be irradiated, leaving an area called America and Europe to the Ha’curn. Even then, the radiation would eventually spread around the globe. The Ha’curn could only stay on the planet for a limited time. Then the rest of the planet would be destroyed. It was a sensible and straightforward plan, and one Zorin had no doubt would succeed. The only question was whether or not any of his weapons would lay the groundwork for the invasion. As it looked at this time, they would.

“Califont K, recall your ships.”

It was the Lead Insir on the link again.

“Repeat,” Zorin said, confused.

“Recall your ships. The space on that side of the system appears clear enough for my forces to make the run to Earth. You shall continue to clear out the defenders in your sector.”

“There is no need, Lead Insir. If we can reach Earth, all resistance should subside.”

“My forces are the ones who will reach the planet first. Is that understood? You are to continue with your original mission.” The screen went blank.

Zorin trembled with anger. He was being ordered to send his remaining forces into a maelstrom where several hundred more ships would be destroyed, and for no purpose he could see. Already, the main Human military force was engaging his ships. Many would break off to meet the threat posed by Aric Nesan, but it would not come soon enough.

The destruction of Earth was a foregone conclusion. Why make it any more tragic for his fleet than necessary? Zorin knew the answer; it was Aric’s way of punishing the Grid.

Reluctantly, Zorin recalled his ships and steered them along the original course. As expected, he had to wait several minutes before Aric’s fleet showed up on his screens, giving his ships and the Human fleet more time to engage. If the battle continued as it was, with no break off of the Human military forces to engage Aric, his entire fleet would be destroyed. That was never part of the plan.

But apparently, plans change.

* * *

Lead Insir Aric Nesan stood upon a raised platform in the center of his huge battle bridge. He was aboard his flagship—the Order Flame—a massive battle-carrier, the largest vessel in the Antaere fleet. It was also the only remaining carrier in the Antaere arsenal. In truth, the Antaere warships that made up a third of his attack force were nearly the last of their inventory. The ever-lasting Antaere-Human war had not been kind to his people. Their fleet had been drawn down to such a level that only the inclusion of the Ha’curn ships gave them any great firepower. Of course, the Ha’curn ships were in reality Antaere ships, built by the feline race with subtle differences that disguised their origin. But now they were an integral part of his strike force, rounding out his numbers of just over one thousand vessels. That wasn’t counting the two thousand attack fighters carried in the bays of his carrier and those of the larger cruisers. That was the normal complement of fighters, although Aric doubted they would be needed in this operation. Califont K and his Consolidated Fleet were doing an admirable job of clearing the space surrounding Earth of the defenders. There should not be much resistance for his run to Earth.

Even so, Aric gave credit to the Humans. They were putting up a stiff defense even in the face of overwhelming odds. K and his forces would be fortunate to survive with even a tenth of their strength intact. However, Aric couldn’t count on that. The Humans still had a respectable military space force, including two of their battle-carriers. They would surely send them against his fleet. That was when the fighters would come into play. He wasn’t worried. As with all things Human, the Antaere had intimate knowledge of their capabilities. For nearly ten years, the Antaere maintained a Temple on Earth, with thousands of his people living on the planet. Most were spies, and they accumulated a wealth of information on what would soon become the Antaere’s greatest enemy. Aric knew what weapons the Humans could bring to bear on his fleet. And although he would overwhelm them, he would not come out of this unscathed. The Humans would fight to the last ship. They had no choice.

* * *

Unlike Zorin’s flagship, Aric had his vessel positioned as part of the main force racing toward Earth. It was the most powerful ship in the fleet and, therefore a vital part of the mission. However, out of caution, he had a screen of defensive fighters out to a half a million miles around his ship, watching for any of the pesky mines or suicide missiles. He laughed out loud, drawing the attention of those around him. What amused him: Unlike Zorin’s flagship, it would take more than a single mine to disable or destroy the Order Flame. A lot more.

“Contacts appearing, Lead Insir,” reported a scope-tech. “From dark status.”

This was expected. Not all the Human defenders would be visible through energy signatures. This would be their stealth fleet, in anticipation of Aric’s strategy.

The Lead Insir was an experienced military officer, and therefore, he knew not to underestimate an enemy. And the Humans had proven to be the most capable of any in the history of the Antaere. He would be a fool to take them for granted. That was why the security screen was in place.

“Track and engage the enemy. Give me a count.”

“At the moment, only forty or so,” said the tech. “More are appearing, although sparingly.”

“Model?”

“Signatures match the M-308 fighter.”

Aric nodded. The 308 was supposedly the most advanced fighter the Humans had; he’d experienced them on Menkar. Antaere technology proved to be effective against them, and he’d come equipped with the same interference programs as before.

“Engage countermeasures. Launch additional units. Clear the space ahead.”

Without the computers running the 308s, they were equal to his Glorybats in most respect. Again, he wasn’t worried. He had many more fighters at his disposal than the Humans had of their advanced starfighter.

“My Insir!” the tech exclaimed. “Enemy vessels accelerating at light speed, closing on screening ships.”

“The countermeasures?”

Another tech answered. “Engaged and effective. We have penetrated the computer wall, yet the operations program is not active.”

Aric sat in his command chair and studied the tac screen on the main bulkhead. The Human fighters could jump to lightspeed to close on targets, yet they could not operate at close to that speed in actual combat.

“Monitor the situation,” he ordered. “Detail first contact.”

12

Zac Murphy floated down to his seat and strapped in. The Command Pod was a huge metal sphere devoid of internal gravity to help hide it from detection. That meant all the REV operators, along with the non-REV commanders, were floating around the vast void, moving along thin guy-wires or attached to retractable cords. The senior officers had to be more mobile, while Zac and his team had designated seats to sit it, complete with seatbelts.

Everything in the pod was centered around the huge, green glowing hologram dominating the center. It detailed the Solar System, filled with red, white and green contacts. Although none of the contacts appeared to be moving, in reality they were traveling at incredible speeds. It was the inconceivable distances involved that made everything appear to be stationary. But occasionally, a contact would flare and a streak of light appear, showing when a 308 was sent into full gravity drive to rendezvous with one of the six docking platforms located a safe distance outside the system. At multiples of light speed, the journey would only take a few minutes, after which another line would signify the 308 being placed back on station with a fresh REV pilot at the controls.

At first, Zac was overwhelmed by the hologram. He’d seen them before, even used some on a much smaller scale. This one was huge, taking in a greater area than any he’d seen. Their use were still relatively new to the Humans, at least ones with this detail. Zac was just getting the grasp of things, able to decipher the three-dimensional battlefield as it unfolded in near real-time.

Fortunately, the officers assigned to oversee the battle were intimate with the technology and how to read the glowing ball hovering in the air. They were barking out deployment orders to the REVs stationed around the hologram, placing units where they would do the most good.

Zac never expected to be this intimately involved in the battle between the 308s and the Antaere/Ha’curn fleet. It had come about during the training and testing sessions at Groom Lake when a serious flaw in his plan was discovered.

With Dr. Cross’s reduced dose of AC-3, it was found the pilots could operate for as much as forty-five minutes before being Twilighted. This was great news; however, it seldom took a REV-controlled 308 that long to engage and destroy an enemy vessel, even several of them. The REV pilots and their AIs were great at clearing a designated area of enemy ships; the question became what to do with them afterward? The REVs reacted to hostiles, but they couldn’t make the decision to move to another location to hunt for them. Even the AIs weren’t tied into the overall battlefield stats to know where they would be needed next. That’s where the Command Pod came in.

It was a last-minute addition to the operation, a giant, floating command center placed out around the orbit of Mars. Thousands of passive wormhole relays were spread throughout the system, designed to pick up continuous broadcasts from the 308s and other units operating in the area. These signals were then transferred to the Command Pod and the information displayed in the glowing green light of the hologram. The system was very basic, but it was also tamper-proof.

Zac’s REV team consisted of five Deltas and fifteen Alphas, all seated around the sphere, and assigned a specific region of space. However, as the battlefield moved, so did their assigned areas. The REVs wore virtual reality goggles that could switch back and forth between normal view and the view from the cockpit of their assigned starfighter. The REVs were here to decipher the high-speed motion of the pilots and relay that to the hovering commanders. The information received at the Pod was delayed by five seconds or more, which was fine for making overall deployment decisions, but was what made real-time control of the REV pilots impossible. Five seconds to a REV-activated pilot was an eternity.

Zac was just getting his first taste of VR warfare. Most of the operations of the Command Pod were theoretical. Now that the first units were moving to engage, everyone was about to get a severe dose of reality, Zac included.

* * *

Unlike those of the conscripted fleet, the main units from the Antaere and Ha’curn fleet made their approach to Earth from the far side of the Sun, zipping in past Saturn and heading in-system from there. At one point, they would cut across the orbits of Jupiter and the inner planets—Mercury included—and whip around the Sun, heading for Earth. Although Earth had a fairly dense screen of defending units around the planet, by now, that screen had deformed to only a shadow of its former self. All available defenders were being shifted to meet the threat from the conscripted fleet, including the three hundred-plus ships of the regular Earth Navy, and it was all they could do to keep the sixteen hundred enemy vessels from breaking through and reaching the planet.

But that now left a large swath of space around Earth unguarded. Fortunately, this was expected, and the 308s were placed in dark status to await the anticipated moved by the Antaere/Ha’curn fleet. They were predicted to go to the clearest area, and they did. That was where the 308s were waiting.

But now the cat was out of the bag, as over five hundred starfighters made their presence known. The first of these were the ones directly in the line of attack of the enemy fleet. The pilots were activated and set about clearing the local vicinity of hostile spacecraft. Most of these lead vessels were the destroyer and frigate class, with only minimal fighter cover. The 308s performed magnificently, taking out a number of much larger warships with only the loss of five starfighters. But then the enemy kept moving, leaving the activated pilots with nothing more to attack, and plenty of time remaining on their Runs.

Officers in the Command Pod sent orders to the seated REVs on where to send their units. The AIs were instructed to jump to specific coordinates and prepare to engage. Unfortunately, the Antaere didn’t always cooperate. Once the battle was joined, their ships began to take different tracks, designed to avoid direct contact and race to Earth as fast as possible. Command anticipated such action, and there was a small squad of 308s lying in wait about a million miles out from the homeworld. Several of the Antaere ships used full gravity drives to jump the distance closer to Earth, intending to launch their nukes as soon as they could guarantee a clean shot.

The 308s reacted accordingly, destroying most of these advanced units. Even then, fourteen nuclear devices were sent racing toward the planet. Three were intercepted, but eleven made it to the surface.

Zac was now hot into the battle. He switched his goggles to cockpit view and watched the HUD as the pilot—the name Yusef Hamadi showed on his screen—zipped toward a pair of attacking Antaere Glorybats. The readouts showed plasma bolts being fired from the enemy, but then the scene shifted dramatically. Hamadi changed course, and Zac noticed a half-second jump to faster-than-light speed before the 308 was back in normal space and right on top of the ’Bats. Zac was activated—as were all the REVs on the Command Pod—so the subsequent counterattack was viewed in normal time. Normal for a REV. The shields of the enemy vessels glowed from energy absorption and then failed, the result of the close proximity and number of bolts fired from the 308. Both enemy fighters exploded at about the same time.

Zac studied the readings on the HUD. The area appeared clear. Run time remaining: fourteen minutes.

Zac fingered his comm. “Number 94 free, fourteen minutes.”

Zac pitied the decision-makers hovering in the air behind him. They not only had to have a full sense of the battle, but they had over four hundred active units operating at the time, and all with various Run times left. Not only that, but units were constantly leaving the field of engagement and reentering. Even at REV thinking speeds, Zac would have had trouble keeping everything straight.

Not counting the twenty units station near the Earth, that still left over five hundred 308s to manage. That meant mistakes were being made. Some REVs were allowed to Twilight without effectively using their full Run times. Others were sent into impossible situations where even their advanced spacecraft couldn’t save them. And lastly, the Antaere flooded the battle zone with nearly two thousand of their fighters. That occupied the efforts of hundreds of the 308s while allowing the larger vessels to continue along their track to Earth.

Zac was given an order to send #89 to G-345.4. The 308 was one just being sent out from a docking platform with a new pilot. The man hadn’t been activated yet; he wouldn’t be until absolutely necessary. His ship was in a deep gravity well, speeding into the Solar System.

“Is that you, Mark?” Zac asked.

“Captain Murphy! It sure is.”

Zac could see the name readout on the HUD but not the face of the REV pilot.

“Looks like you made it,” Zac said. “I see you’re right in the thick of things.”

“So are you. Where to?”

“The coordinates have been sent. It’s one of the lead cruisers. Just coming around the Sun. Be careful.”

“Roger that. On course. Chat later.”

Zac moved to another assignment.

The control REV didn’t Run the pilots. All they could do is drop a REV into the fire and let them react. During a lull in the action, Zac pulled up the battle stats. That’s when he learned the Earth had been hit with nukes. He felt sick at the news, but then quickly reasoned that was inevitable. The idea was to keep the aliens off the planet and then to prevent the annihilation of the Human race. So far, it was working, although the numbers were getting dicey. They were down to only two hundred four 308s with still over four hundred enemy ships intact and racing towards Earth. The good news, most of the Glorybats were gone. That would free up the 308s to concentrate on the main vessels, including the one huge mother of a warship—the Antaere battle-carrier. So far, the ship had come through unscathed, protected by the thickest fighter screen. That screen was almost gone, so at any moment, the 308s could begin their attack on the carrier.

More than any other vessel, it was imperative they take out the carrier. It not only had more firepower than any ship on the battlefield, but it also carried longer-range cruise missiles that could reach Earth with hundreds of nuclear weapons. That one ship alone could wipe out most of the Human race.

Zac watched the hologram in horror as a number of the other enemy cruisers and destroyers formed up around the carrier, creating an even thicker screen around the ship than had the fighters. Most of the other activities taking place in the system now took a backseat to this one. The hologram changed perspective, zooming in on the cluster of enemy ships surrounding the carrier.

“The enemy strength is down to ninety-one ships,” said one of the supervising officers in his ear-comm. “Only eighteen of those are capital ships, and they’ve formed up on the carrier now that the fighter screen has been neutralized. They intend to escort the carrier to the Earth. At your own discretion, station your remaining 308s in a blocking formation ahead of the carrier. This is it, boys, the final Run. We have to stop them here. Command will remain online with specific instructions as they become necessary. Let’s go kick some alien ass!”

Zac appreciated the pep talk, although, for the last six hours, that’s all they’d been doing was kicking alien ass. What Colonel Grainger meant was let’s go kick this last bit of alien ass and then go home.

Zac had nine 308s in his sector. He directed the AIs to send all of them against a cruiser just passing Mercury, and about four hundred thousand miles from the carrier, stationed on its six. Most of the other 308s were coming at the cluster from the front. Maybe Zac could sneak in from behind.

Zac scanned the Run times. All nine were within operational tolerances.

With REV speed and comprehension, Zac switched from cockpit to cockpit, keeping track of the progress of the battle. He lost one of the 308s to surface batteries on the cruiser, but then one of the other 308s slipped in past an aft shield. Zac didn’t hesitate. He let the pilot fly the craft directly into the starboard chemical engine. The resulting explosion buckled half the enemy vessel while the rest of the shields dropped. In the blink of an eye later, the rest of the cruiser exploded from a combine seven additional bolt hits from his surviving REV pilots.

Zac checked the threat board. There was a small frigate just ahead, already unleashing a stream of plasma bolts at his remaining 308s. The pilots deftly avoided the incoming and made quick work of the small warship.

And then to Zac’s surprise, all he could see ahead of him was the ass-end of the huge battle-carrier.

He had seven 308s in his little squadron, and he sent them racing straight for the main target. The defensive fire was incredible, and he lost two more ships before the others could get in range. As far as Zac could tell, his would be the first units to directly target the carrier. If he could make a dent in the behemoth’s defensives, it would help the remaining 308s finish the job. He steeled his resolve. As Col. Grainger said, it’s now or never. Zac gave the command to the AIs of his squadron. Attack. Take out the gravity generators at the rear of the carrier. Cripple the huge craft and do it at all costs.

But then he cringed when he noticed the name of one of his pilots: Major Mark Perry.

It was too late to contact the pilot; he was already activated. Even if he could, Zac wouldn’t know what to tell him. But he did know what Mark would say. Let him go. This is the mission. He would be proud to sacrifice himself to help save the Human race. Besides, what would Mark say if later he found out Zac played favorites and pulled him from the attack? Zac knew the answer.

He switched his VR goggles to Mark’s cockpit view. The carrier was in view, but not much more than a bright dot in the black of space. As Zac watched, the image grew larger, interrupted by brief and sudden shifts of perspective as the starfighter changed course to avoid incoming bolt fire. Then Perry was on the target, laying streaks of white energy into the shields at the rear of the carrier. Other bolts were striking the same panel, and soon it overloaded and faded from existence.

The carrier used six massive gravity generators to produce the blackholes necessary to attract the carrier to the series of event horizons appearing in front of it. The carrier was falling into the gravity wells, producing movement without the need for reactive force. Now those bulbous humps on the back of the starship were being saturated with bolt fire. But one by one, his 308s were winking out. The carrier had a substantial array of defensive weapons at its disposal, and with the Human fighters having to maintain target locks on the generators, they were unable to avoid the incoming fire. Shields were dropping, and pilots were dying.

A warning light began flashing on Perry’s HUD. His forward flash cannon was hit and was out of commission. It was only through Zac’s REV awareness that he saw the moment Major Mark Perry hit the accelerator and slammed his 308 into one of the generators. The crash had about ten times the force of a bolt hit, so the thick hull metal was penetrated, and the majority of the force from the exploding 308 became trapped inside the aft engine compartment. The result was a massive outward bulging of the ship’s hull, followed by the flash of an explosion and then a rain of debris.

Zac only saw the final result of Mark’s sacrifice from the HUDs of his two remaining 308s as they raced over the top of the huge carrier and escaped into space. All the pilots were operating on simple orders to destroy hostile targets at all costs. Mark felt no emotion carrying out his orders. All he did was obey.

* * *

Zac’s remaining two REV pilots were nearing the end of their Runs, so he let them go as the AIs took over, returning them to the docking platforms. Surveying the data on the hologram, as well as the reactions from the others in the Command Pod, there was a very good chance they would not be returning to the battle. The carrier’s shielding was dropping in rapid succession, both from outside fire from several 308s, but also from the progression of explosions sweeping through the warship, all emanating from the aft gravity generators. The carrier was toast, and everyone knew it.

That went for the remaining Antaere and Ha’curn ships as well. There were less than forty, out of a starting number of over one thousand. Now the survivors steered away from the Earth and engaged their deep gravity wells. The battle was lost, and they knew it. And with the carrier gone, the commanders of these ships saw no need to sacrifice themselves or their crews to a losing effort.

The 308s had done it. They had all done it.

The Human race was saved.

* * *

Zorin K knew it as well.

He saw the moment the battle-carrier went off his screen, meaning no longer would the irritating Aric Nesan berate and belittle him or the Enif race. Zorin was down to a hundred ships remaining in his fleet. He’d ordered a slow retreat as the progress of the Antaere advance on the Earth stalled and then turned into a wholesale abandonment of the battlefield. With Aric gone, he was under no obligation to sacrifice more of the Consolidated Fleet to a useless folly.

He gave the order for a speedier retreat from the Solar System, turning about and leaving the way they’d come. This track was clear of mines; it would be safe. But then Zorin grew even angrier than he’d been before. It was evident the Humans had crushed the Antaere assault on their homeworld, destroying the bulk of the Antaere and Ha’curn fleet. Even before the attack, the Antaere were reeling from the losses they’d suffered in recent years. In Zorin’s opinion, there would be no coming back from this. The power of Antara was broken, the hold it had on the Colony Worlds gone.

In a fit of passion, Zorin requested a comm channel to Enif. He would send his message in the open allowing any broadcast station to pick it up. Enif was the location of the major Continuous Wormhole transit station for half the Grid. His message would be received, not only by those on Enif but by everyone.

“This is Zorin K, Califont of the Consolidated Forces currently operating in the Human Solar System. It is my solemn duty to report to you the outcome of the battle just engaged, that between the forces of the Antaere against those from Earth. With pleasure, I report that the Antaere have suffered a staggering defeat and that the Earth remains unscathed.” Zorin stumbled in his speech, overcome by emotion. He took a moment to gather himself before continuing.

“You may find it strange that an ally of the Antaere should delight in this news. But the truth is, I am not an ally. And neither are the Enif. Instead, we are slaves. Recently, my people have suffered unimaginable pain and humiliation at the hands of the Antaere, as well as their evil accomplices, the Ha’curn. I say now, those times are over. With this staggering defeat, the Antaere no longer have the power to hold the Colony Worlds hostage. They can no longer hold the specter of Crious over our heads. The Humans have emerged victorious, and now they will take their revenge on the Antaere and the Ha’curn. Retribution will be theirs, and it should be the Enif’s as well.

“Therefore, I now call on all my fellow Enif to rise up against the Antaere and their Ha’curn savages. Help the Humans purge the Grid of the Antaere once and for all. Rise up! Revolt! The time has come. The Grid will soon be free, our people safe. The task before us will not be easy; the Antaere and Ha’curn still stand upon our soil, their weapons aimed at our heads. But they will soon be running for their lives ahead of the Human wave of retribution. Let us not wait for others to liberate us. Enif, liberate yourself! It is your duty. It is your honor!”

And with that, Zorin K resigned his commission in the Consolidated Fleet. He released his authority over his ships—many under the command of other species—telling them to return to their homeworlds and help in the struggle for liberation. Personally, what Zorin hoped to find was a Grid free of the Antaere and the Ha’curn. For the Antaere, control of the Colony Worlds would soon take a low priority over preservation of their species. They would retreat to Antara, there to attempt a strong defense. Zorin wasn’t optimistic they could form one as effective as the Humans had just done of their homeworld.

And for that, Zorin K would forever give thanks to the Order. In the end, his prayers were answered.

Part I

Part 2

1

It had been a wild two months since the Antaere/Ha’curn fleet was defeated in the Solar System, and for a time, newly minted Major Zac Murphy was the toast of the town. General David Cross was generous in his praise for the REV, giving him credit for the initial idea to convert pilots into REVs. Even so, there was still plenty of accolades to go around for Dr. Cross, the genius who made it happen. All in all, REVs were flying high at the moment, although there were now a couple of thousand restless AC-3s with nothing to do, along with ten times that many Controllers.

However, in the end, the defense of the Earth was a form of a pyrrhic victory. Although the main Antaere and Consolidated fleets were reduced to less than ten percent of their beginning strength, Earth didn’t fare much better. Nearly all the 308s were destroyed along with half of the three hundred capital ships in the fleet. That left the opposing forces at more-or-less a stalemate when it came to firepower and serviceable warships.

The one advantage the Humans did have was that they had the more robust industrial capacity to call upon. Long before the last battle, the bulk of Earth’s industries were converted to the war effort, churning out spaceships at a frenetic pace. That effort continued even after the victory. However, it takes time to rebuild a space fleet, and in the interim, not much changed in the Grid.

Before their invasion of the Solar System, the Antaere failed to replenish their depleted forces by building new starships. Instead, they drafted their Colony Worlds into supplying the vessels, crews and armament for the coming attack. Adding this force to the few ships they had remaining after the prolonged war should have been enough for a decisive victory. Now, as they scrambled to make up ground, their ship-building capabilities were limited, and primarily located on the planet Simblaus, or ES-2. But the Antaere were so sure of victory that they never bothered to stockpile the necessary raw materials on the planet for a crash effort to rebuild their fleet. Add to that, their remaining forces were now scattered across ten Colony Worlds, using the bare minimum of security to maintain any sense of order. It was a fertile environment for the Humans to take advantage of … if they weren’t in such sad shape themselves.

Zorin K’s impassioned call-to-arms had been transmitted across the Grid. And when confirmation of the Antaere defeat came through, rebellions erupted on nearly every Colony World, straining the Antaere and Ha’curn forces even more. Some of the revolts were successful, while others became bloody acts of vengeance, by both the liberated, as well as the suppressors. The Ha’curn were especially proficient at putting down rebellions. More often than not, disorganized civil rioters were no match for the feline killing machines, and the Ha’curn spared no quarter. There was no negotiating with them, no surrender, no mercy.

Fortunately, very few Ha’curn were left in the Grid. Most had been aboard the ships destroyed in the failed attempt to land on Earth. But for those who did remain, the loss of their comrades only served to make them madder. And a mad Ha’curn was not to be trifled with.

* * *

After the victory, Zac and a handful of Deltas were transferred aboard the battle-carrier Valhalla, the flagship of Vice-Admiral Jerica Armitage. Angus and Keith were on Crious, helping Dr. Cross organize his Alphas into some cohesive fighting unit.

The last time Zac was aboard the carrier was during the frantic retreat to Earth after the Betrayal on Enif—as the event was being called. He didn’t remember much about the trip since he was pretty banged up at the time. This time, however, he was given first-class accommodations in Officer’s Country and allowed to eat in the Wardroom with the big kids.

To Zac’s chagrin, there were also a dozen Alpha REVs aboard, as well. They were all enlisted, except for the two arrogant officers Zac met at Jack’s at Groom Lake. The enlisted were locked away in a back compartment and not allowed to move about the crew; however, it didn’t take long before the huge carrier was buzzing with the news of both the Alphas and the Deltas being aboard.

For years, rumors had circulated regarding a so-called super REV, someone who didn’t need the drug to turn into a superman and who could control his emotions to the point where he was indistinguishable from the rest of the population. No one worried much about this, believing it was such a rare occurrence that only the old-time REVs—like Zac—could ever reach that stage.

But then word got out about the Alphas, and that changed everything. It was one thing to have a dozen or so supermen walking the face of the Earth. But several hundred—with more on the way—that was different.

Dr. Cross and CENTCOM did their best to tamp down the initial uproar. They told anyone who would listen that this was a limited, experimental program and that the Alphas were not allowed within the general public. This pacified the outcry to a degree, but not completely. Eventually, command packed up the Alphas and shipped them off to Crious in a big media event designed to calm the growing crisis.

The waterworld was essentially a dead planet at the time, with barely ten thousand surviving natives. However, the military bases the Humans had built on the planet were still there and intact. Crious not only became the new home of the Alphas, but also a major staging area for the rapidly rebuilding Human space fleet.

Because of this quarantine of the Alphas, Zac didn’t know what they were doing on the Valhalla, that was until he was ordered to the ready room off Admiral Armitage’s underway cabin.

* * *

The two cocky REV officers were there, along with the Admiral, a couple of Navy captains and an assortment of SEALs and Army Ranger types. Most everyone arrived the same time and made quick introductions.

Zac learned that the pool-hustling REV officer was named Brian Croft, and this time—as like the first time the men shook—it turned into a contest of strength between the two natural REVs. This time, however, Zac was prepared. He was gratified by the look of surprise on the young REV’s face when Zac added a little extra umph to his grip, a consequence of him having both Human and Antaere Rev in his system. His REV abilities were a notch or two above the others. Not too many people knew this, and all the latest contest did was confuse the young officer. At this point, that was enough for Zac.

“Please be seated everyone,” Admiral Armitage said. Her voice was stressed and it looked as if she hadn’t slept in days. “I’ll get right to the point. We have a situation that has put us in an untenable position, and by we, I mean Human military command. I’ll turn the meeting over to Captain David Poma who will provide the details.”

Poma was a Navy SEAL, as indicated by the gold Trident on his uniform. “As the Admiral said, there’s a situation that demands our attention. It’s on Enif, and as you all know, there’s been a pretty bloody revolt taking place there, since one of their own called for the Grid to rise up against the Antaere. The call had a significant impact on the Grid, but because it was an Enif who started it, the Antaere—and particularly the Ha’curn—have been attempting to make Enif an example, much as they did on Crious. Of course, they haven’t been as successful. Things are different now, and Enif is a lot more populated planet than was Crious. What’s happened within the past forty-eight hours is the Enif Minorial—a political body similar to Parliament—was overrun and most of the members taken captive by the Ha’curn. The Premier and his deputies have also been captured. In short, the entire ruling class of Enif are now being held by the Ha’curn, and I think you know what that means.” A vein pulsed in the man’s thin neck. “The Ha’curn are the sharp end of the stick with regards to these uprisings. They don’t give a damn about anyone or anything and are slaughtering millions on nearly every Colony World. Now they’re threatening to do the same to the Enif leaders unless the rebels stop what they’re doing and surrender. Since there doesn’t seem to be a lessening of rebel activity on the planet, we’ve been tasked with coming up with a solution to the problem before the hostages are killed.”

One of the other Navy captains spoke up.

“Enif may be relatively close to Earth, but we don’t have the ships to mount an invasion of the system. Besides that, other than at Antara, most of the available enemy ships are there. I don’t see where it would be possible for us to help. We just don’t have the resources.”

Admiral Armitage jumped back into the conversation.

“Captain Bennet is right, of course. But unfortunately, circumstances don’t give us the option. With all that’s happening in the Grid, we can’t turn our backs on an ally. We have to act.”

“Admiral,” said another officer at the table, “we didn’t send that broadcast that’s inciting revolutions across the Grid. We can only do so much and launching an attack on the Antaere stronghold in this part of the Grid would be a waste of our assets. This is a critical time in the buildup. We can’t afford to engage in reckless operations.”

Jerica cast a sad smile to the table. “And that is why Major Murphy is with us today.”

All eyes turned to the REV, and Zac knew instantly what was up.

“That’s right, major,” the admiral said. “A covert mission to rescue the politicians.”

“With all due respect, admiral, anyone but politicians, please,” he said, trying to lighten the mood.

“As much as I sympathize with your sentiments, Mr. Murphy, I’m afraid our hands are tied. If we do nothing, it will show those fighting for their freedom that Earth doesn’t have their backs. The Antaere will use that to demoralize the fighters, causing many of the rebellions to dry up and fade away. We have to prove we’ll at least try to help.”

“Excuse me, admiral,” said the young REV officer Brian Croft, “but REVs don’t try … we do!”

Zac felt sorry for the man—almost—as every eye in the room stared at him for a long moment. Croft’s immaturity was on full display, and everyone knew it except him.

“That may be so, Mr. Croft, but this mission will be like nothing you’ve ever been on before. Captain Poma.”

The SEAL officer glared at the young man for a moment before turning his attention to Zac. “Major, you will lead a small force of your specialized REVs to Enif and affect a rescue of the hostages. Unfortunately, we won’t be able to provide any support except from a few local assets whose loyalty may be compromised. Also, there’s over forty hostages being held.” He held up his hand to stop any protests. “We’re not saying you need to get them off Enif, just into the hands of the insurgents who will hide them from the Ha’curn. We have pretty good intel, so we know where they’re being held and what you’ll be up against. But you can’t go in with a large force, not over the distances involved. A single ship and a dozen men. Your team will be comprised of your Delta REVs, plus the AC-3s. Lieutenant Croft will serve as your second-in-command.”

Zac turned to Croft. “Lieutenant, I’m curious: Have you ever been in combat?”

Croft’s jaw tightened. “Yes, sir! I’ve been on nine Runs, mostly on Menkar.”

“I meant have you been in combat as an Alpha REV, without someone controlling your actions?”

A nervous shuffling filled the room, as those around the table tried not to laugh. Croft’s face turned red, as Zac knew a fair amount of natural Rev was flowing into the young man’s system triggered by his anger and humiliation.

“Sir, no sir. But I do remember every Run I’ve been on. You know that’s how it works.”

Zac turned to Captain Poma. “Sir, if I may. I’d like to request my own second-in-command: First Lieutenant Angus Price.”

“I’m afraid we don’t have time for that. We’ve already checked. He’s on Crious, and we can’t get him here before you deploy. Mr. Croft goes with you.” Zac could hear the missing ‘sorry’ in the officer’s reply.

Zac smiled at the young officer. “Very good then. Mr. Croft, I look forward to utilizing your extensive combat expertise during the coming operation.” Zac turned his attention back to Capt. Poma. “What’s the timeline, Mr. Poma?”

“This news came in only forty-eight hours ago. Even so, the Ha’curn are not known for their patience, and they don’t take hostages unless they mean what they say. The rebels have been given two weeks to surrender or the hostages will begin to be killed. We believe they’ll save the Premier until last.”

“When do we launch?”

“Eight hours. We’ll get you in as close as we dare, and then you’re on your own. Even still, you have a four-day journey ahead of you just to get to the Enif system. It’s a case of hurry up and wait, thanks to this big-ass galaxy. We’ll fill you in on the details at the mission brief, including estimates of enemy strength, site layout—you know, the usual things.”

“And exfil?”

“The way you came in. As I said, you’ll have some local support, but I doubt they’ll have a way to get you off the planet after the mission. Enif is pretty well locked-down. Use local resources, or fade into the community until things settle down. It will be your call. And major, we don’t want to trade one hostage situation for another, so don’t get yourselves caught.”

Zac smiled and looked over at a still-fuming First Lieutenant Brian Croft. “Don’t worry, sir. To borrow a little of my young friend’s bravado, it’s pretty hard to catch a REV … and even harder to hold one. Believe me, I know that from first-hand experience.”

2

Major Zac Murphy and First Lieutenant Brian Croft were silent as they left the final mission brief six hours later, each stunned by the revelations and lost in their thoughts. The brass hadn’t said the words, but the meaning was clear.

Zac met the rest of the team in one of the huge launch bays of the carrier. A beat-up freighter was in the hold, something snatched out of space by the Human forces and brought here for this specific mission. The freighter’s crew was locked away somewhere aboard the carrier and would be released after the mission was complete, with or without their ship being returned to them. That would depend on Zac and his team.

There were ten enlisted REVs in the room, seated on crates or leaning against the hull of the freighter. The two officers stepped in front of them.

“All right, listen up,” Zac began. “We’ll start loading gear after the meeting and launch shortly after that. More mission details will be given during the flight to Enif, but briefly, we’ll go down in two teams. I will lead Team Green with myself and another Delta, along with four Alphas. Mr. Croft will lead the Blue Team, also comprised of two Deltas and four Alphas.”

One of the young REVs raised his hand. “Shouldn’t the Alphas be under Mr. Croft’s command? After all, he’s one of us.”

“What’s your name, private?”

“Private First-Class Malcolm Lisbon, sir.” The ‘sir’ was spoken with a hint of humor.

“Private First-Class Lisbon, leave the area. You’re off the team.”

The young man turned pale. He stood up straighter and looked to Brian Croft. “You … you can’t do that! This is a twelve-person mission. Mr. Croft assigned me to it.”

“And Mr. Croft follows my orders, something you obviously have no intention of doing. Now get the hell out of here.”

“You need twelve men.”

“We’ll go with eleven. Your childish insubordination will make it a little harder and put the rest of the mission at risk, but I’m sure you’re okay with that, since you’re only thinking of yourself.”

“Sir?” Lisbon said to Croft.

The lieutenant pursed his lips but said nothing.

Lisbon slinked away.

“Let that be a lesson to all of you,” Zac began. “I’m in charge of this mission. You got that straight? And another thing. All you Alphas are rookies, even if you’ve been on a hundred Runs before this. You’ve never gone into combat controlling your own destiny. And what I mean by that is you won’t have someone’s finger up your ass controlling your every move. Your individual actions will impact the welfare of the entire team. And of the Deltas, only Gunnery Sergeant Sean Lock and I have had any real combat experience. You may think you’re supermen, and that being stronger and faster than normal people makes you better. That’s what the lion on the savannah thinks until a scrawny Human with a spear comes along and locks him away in a zoo somewhere.” Zac tapped his head with a finger. “It’s what’s up here that counts. And if you haven’t noticed, Rev affects the mind as well. I’m afraid most of you haven’t learned that yet. To you, it’s all about the muscles, and in the old days, that was a lot of it. You didn’t have to be skilled at anything to get by. But this is a real mission where the decisions you make will make a difference. And you won’t have mommy watching your every move to pull your asses out of the fire if you screw up. You’ve been selected because you showed some proficiency in things other than weightlifting or sprinting. Prove to me you belong here and you’ll gain my respect.”

Zac sighed and looked into the eyes of his team. “And now for the bad news.” This caught most of them off guard. “We’re going into the capital city of Nurin on Enif, up against a force of Ha’curn estimated to be over two hundred. If you know anything about the Ha’curn, you know they’re skilled fighters, both in hand-to-hand and with a variety of weapons. Strength-wise, they’re stronger than a normal Human but not as strong as a REV. But they are quicker than shit and they like to attack in packs. It’s a given that we won’t be able to outfight them, not the eleven of us. So, we won’t even try. We have a pretty straight-forward means of getting on the surface—” he pointed to the freighter—“but once there, it will be all about stealth. However, rescuing forty hostages from a fortified and well-guarded structure will involve some shooting. Let’s just make sure it happens when we want it to and for the most effect.”

He paused and looked to a worried-looking Lt. Croft. The young officer knew what was coming.

“Now for more bad news. I don’t know if you understand the politics of the mission; if not, I’ll fill you in. Our mission is a way of proving to those fighting in the Grid against the Antaere and the Ha’curn that we have their backs, that we support them, and that we’ll help whenever we can. To that end, it’s been implied that our mission need not be successful to succeed on another level. Basically, all we have to do is make the effort. In reality, the fate of the politicians means nothing in the overall scheme of things. The Antaere are more-or-less through, even though they’re still putting up a fight. Soon, we’ll have a fleet strong enough to make a move on Antara, and then the war will be over. But in the meantime, it’s all about the show.”

“What about the Ha’curn?” a young sergeant asked.

“Once the Antaere are gone, command feels the Ha’curn will return to their homeworld. This has never been their fight. But continuing with what I was saying. Sending twelve—now eleven—REVs, against such a large force is not the smartest thing to do. But as I said earlier, victory is not the ultimate goal. Putting in the effort is.”

“Excuse me, sir,” said one of the Deltas. “Are you saying we just have to make a show of it and then retreat if things get too dicey?”

“Major, if I may?” said Lt. Croft. “That is not what he’s saying. He’s saying that we will carry out our mission to the best of our ability, no matter what the final results may bring.”

“A suicide mission, sir?” asked the Delta. “That’s crazy. Especially with you leading the mission, Mr. Murphy.”

Zac smirked. “You would think so, wouldn’t you, Top. But just think about that for a moment. What better message could CENTCOM send than they’re willing to risk their most famous REV in an effort to help the natives. Obviously, someone thinks the benefit outweighs the risk. But let me tell you here and now: I don’t do suicide missions. Our mission may fail, but it won’t be because we didn’t try. We’re twelve—eleven—badass natural REVs. Never has such a force been sent into battle. I don’t intend for us to fail, and I don’t intend for us to die, either. Is that understood?”

“Oorah!”

“Is that understood?” Zac repeated.

“OORAH!”

The battle cry echoed off the metal walls of the launch bay.

“Good, now let’s stow our gear. Liftoff in—” he checked his watch—“forty-one minutes.”

As everyone rushed off, a contrite Private First-Class Malcolm Lisbon stepped up to Zac and saluted. “You don’t salute when uncovered, Private,” Zac said.

“Eh, sorry, sir,” the young man stammered. “I want to apologize, sir, and request that I be placed back on the team.”

“Did you hear what I just said about our chances? Most people are calling this a suicide mission.”

“I heard it and understand, sir. I still want to be part of it.”

Zac studied the young, fresh-faced Marine. He didn’t look like a superman but looks are deceiving. “Very well, Mr. Lisbon. A certain degree of insanity is a prerequisite for being a natural REV. You certainly have that. Fall out. Load your gear.”

The man went to salute again but caught himself. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

Zac shook his head as the eager young man ran off.

“Kids,” Zac muttered.

3

It took four days for the freighter to reach the Enif star system, even on full gravity drive. Sergeant First-Class Daniel Negron—one of the Alphas—was a certified freighter pilot, having been born into a family of space merchants before applying for the REV program. He captained the gangly vessel with the help of the resident AI.

Although the system was on a security lock-down by the Antaere and Ha’curn, it was still necessary for trade to continue. By now, all the worlds in the Grid were dependent on one another for certain necessities. Even so, there wasn’t a lot of traffic coming and going, but the rebels on the surface had doctored the end-used certificates for this cargo, making it critical to the planet. Clearance was given, and the ship was directed to a heavy cargo spaceport outside the city of Nurin.

The field was sparsely filled with large ships of every make and model, each appearing to be in the process of being violated in unspeakable ways by massive cranes offloading cargo. Zac timed the landing for well after dark; even so, the spaceport was awash with artificial lighting and was a hive of activity.

The freighter was a convenient way onto the planet, but it would be a horrible way of leaving. It was slow and unarmed, and because of that, Zac was working on a backup plan.

In spite of the haphazard nature of the mission, the one thing the team had going for them was excellent intel. The native Enif were constantly feeding the Humans information about the current crisis, and because of this, Zac knew the location where the hostages were being held. It was the main assembly building for the planet’s government called the Minorial Center, located at the south end of the enormous Endorus Relay Complex. He had intimate details of the building, all the way down to the foundation specs and wiring diagrams. Also, video was smuggled out showing the conditions the prisoners endured, as well as pinpointing the location of the Premier and his Secretaries within the structure. Zac figured that if they could rescue the leader, then the mission would be at least a symbolic victory, regardless of what happens to the other hostages. He still wasn’t anxious to sacrifice his life—or the lives of his team—on behalf of low-ranking, mealy-mouthed politicians who would more-than-likely be voted out of office in the next election.

Fortunately—or unfortunately, depending on how you looked at it—Zac was familiar with the area surrounding the admin building. It was at the Endorus Relay Complex where he’d been forced to compete against three Antaere REVs in a maze of death. The contest was broadcast across the Grid and helped to cement Zac’s reputation as a badass Human warrior. Even so, the experience nearly killed him.

The team also had updated reports on where the Ha’curn were stationed within the Complex. They filled the grounds, with approximately forty in the Minorial Center itself. They rotated shifts around the clock on a regular basis with no part of the day or night covered less than the other. The plan called for a quick strike on the main building, followed by a herding of the hostages through a local gate in the surrounding wall to a group of waiting natives who would spirit them away to safety. The city of Nurin had a population of three million and, at the moment, was a chaotic mess of roving gangs of protesters and opposing security forces ready to shoot anyone who looked cross-eyed at them. Once away from the Endorus Complex, the hostages should be safe, since it wouldn’t be practical for the Antaere or Ha’curn to do a hard-target search in such a volatile environment.

The problem for Zac and his team was how to move that many people from the building to the gate without getting their asses shot off. But that wasn’t Zac’s only concern. It was the Ha’curn themselves. They loved to fight, preferring to use their claws, teeth and sharpened headplates rather than their energy weapons. They would welcome the chance to go up against the REVs. And they had no fear. Zac had first-hand experience fighting Ha’curn on Borin-Noc when they invaded the mountain REV base located there. Granted, it was a standard AC-3 REV base, and not one full of naturals. But it was a REV base, nonetheless. And still, the damn killer cats attacked, sacrificing a fair number of their troops to prove they weren’t afraid of the REVs.

The key would be for Zac and his REVs would be to get into the Minorial building—and with a clear exit strategy—before the fighting started. If they were detected prior to that, then it just might turn into a suicide mission after all.

* * *

Zac watched with curiosity as a pair of huge, gangly service cranes made their way toward the freighter. They were automated contraptions and were to be used as cover for the team to leave the starship. Zac ordered the cargo hold opened, and soon floodlights and ungodly loud noise filled the ship, as huge grippers set to work removing the cargo from aboard the freighter.

In the noise and confusion, the REVs slipped out the back, sprinting between the towering metal cranes for the cover of darkness at the edge of the field. Their native compatriots were waiting for them at the fence bordering a rundown neighborhood of cluster housing and assorted shacks inhabited by people who had no choice but to tolerate the constant noise and light of the nearby spaceport. At a hole cut in the surrounding wire fencing, a pair of pale-green-skinned aliens in cloaks were waiting for them.

“We must hurry,” said one of the Enif, his voice sounding through Zac’s translation device buried behind his right ear. “The Ha’curn have already killed four of the hostages because of insubordination, as they called it. They broadcast the killings. Vehicles are waiting. Although there is a curfew, we have a safe route detailed.”

The team scurried through the fence before jumping into the backs of two small electric vans. Croft drove one, while Zac took the other, with each of their designated teams going with them. They had small throat mics and earphones for communication.

The lead native leaned into the cab and gave Zac a datapad. “You must follow this path precisely. We are tracking the movements of the security forces. To deviate will result in detection.”

“Understood,” Zac said. “We’ll be taking the hostages out at the Bendesf Gate.”

“That is what we have planned, as well. There are vehicles hidden near the gate with drivers. Even so, that is where most of the Ha’curn are to be found. You must be careful.”

“Careful is my middle name,” Zac said with a grin.

“That is a strange name, and surely a coincidence.”

Zac nodded. “Yes, to both, my friend. Thank you for helping.”

“Your help is what we give thanks for. It has been hard here on Enif recently.”

“Mr. Croft,” Zac said into his comm, “follow me out. Stay close. It’s about ten minutes to the complex from here.”

“Roger, that.”

“Here we go.”

4

Nurin was like all big cities on the major planets of the Grid. Since each of the Colony Worlds—Earth included—were selected because of their compatibility to Antara and to the Antaerean form, most structures were like all the others; boxlike buildings with windows and doors, and streets paved with alien brands of asphalt or concrete. Zac knew there were more exotic cultures in the Grid, but because of their atmospheres, gravity or other features, no one paid them much attention. None were technologically advanced enough to pose a threat; in fact, most were oblivious to the plethora of interstellar activity taking place around them. Zac thought back to the time before the Antaere contacted Earth, knowing that his homeworld was once like that, ignorant to the thousands of years of space travel and interaction that was taking place between alien species living on planets orbiting the stars in the heavens. Although vivid imagination substituted for fact at the time, eventually, the truth became known.

And now Zac Murphy was rumbling down a dark and deserted street, in an alien city on an alien planet, two hundred light-years from Earth. He smiled in the darkness. Who would have thunk it?

* * *

Electric vehicles had the benefit of being silent for the most part, and although a curfew was in force in Nurin, a few people were on the street, carrying energy weapons and looking defiant at the small caravan as it sped by. The REVs were in local transports, so they were allowed to pass unmolested. It still made for a very tense ten minutes of travel time.

The Endorus Relay Complex was surrounded by a high concrete block wall twenty feet high. It wasn’t originally designed for security, but rather aesthetics, so there were frequent gaps—or gates—in the barrier, with ornate frames and arching covers. The dominant feature on the grounds was the two-thousand-foot-high wormhole communications antenna rising out of the stacked pyramid control building and towering above the neighboring structures, including the five government buildings placed at the south end of the park-like grounds. The wide greenbelts and elaborate water features had seen better days, once having been a showcase for the Enif people. Three miles away to the southeast was the new Temple of Light dedicated to the Order, as well as the old Temple building that was the sight of the Betrayal, when a supposed peace conference turned into a deadly stab in the back by the Antaere. It was during Zac’s retreat from the Temple that he fell into an electrical generator building and was electrocuted, requiring two months of rehab, which was exceedingly long for his REV-enhanced body.

The two vans slipped along the outside of the border wall until they got closer to the government buildings. The complex was large, and there were Ha’curn patrolling the top of the wall, although there weren’t enough to do an adequate job. Zac parked his van on a side street, out of sight of the wall, and Brian Croft pulled up behind him.

“We’ll scale the wall here,” Zac told the team as they huddled at the back of Croft’s van. Each man wore non-reflective black armor and were armed with the latest M-201 assault rifles with suppressors. The weapons package came with an assortment of add-ons, including a particularly neat smart bullet disk. Each disk carried six rocket-propelled, dart-like cartridges that could be locked on a target and then released. Infrared lasers in the M-201 would paint the target, and then the data would be downloaded to the bullet’s internal sensors. Each dart had seven seconds of flight time and would follow the painted target for that time, going so far as to hunt for the target if direct contact was lost. Even if the target managed to enter a building, the bullet would seek out alternative entrances, such as windows. If there was enough propellant left, it would blast through and take out the target. Each REV was supplied with three of the six-shot disks.

In addition to the rifles, each man also carried a standard-issue .45 semi-automatic pistol and a backup energy weapon good for nine bolts. And no Marine would enter combat without his black-bladed KA-BAR combat knife. Camo utility vests were stuffed with extra power packs and magazines.

It was decided that hand-to-hand combat with the Ha’curn was to be a last resort, although Zac noticed a slight disappointment on the faces of the Alphas when he made the announcement. This would be the first combat mission where the new natural REVs could fully appreciate their enhanced abilities. They were anxious to try them out. Over the course of the journey to Enif, Zac repeatedly reminded them that combat wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, and that the Ha’curn were not to be messed with. Even so, the message was a hard sell.

Outside the van, one of the REVs released a miniature survey drone that lifted silently into the air and shot off for the wall, zipping above it, looking for Ha’curn guards. Seeing that the way was clear for a hundred yards in either direction, Zac gave the order for the men to move out.

Zac had been a natural REV long enough not to gasp at the sight of twelve men in full tactical gear easily leaping twenty feet high to grasp the top of the wall and throw themselves over the low rampart lining the top. The men rolled undercover and scooted across the ten-foot width of the barricade to the side next to the complex without being seen or heard. They spread out along the top, with Croft and Zac watching the image broadcast from the drone on small wrist monitors.

An open grassy area about fifty yards wide ran from the wall to the first of the government buildings. The buildings themselves had hundreds of windows that looked down on the top of the wall, although all of the rooms at the higher levels were dark. There was no official business being done in the complex at the moment, so the buildings were vacant except for the Minorial Center and the building to the west where the Ha’curn were barracked.

There was also a small executive spaceport to the west of the row of buildings where a pair of Ha’curn shuttlecraft sat.

The prisoners were being held in the middle building of five beyond the grass park and separated from the others by the same fancy landscaping. They were in a large chamber originally designed as the main presentation/meeting room, similar to that of Congress. The forty—now thirty-six—hostages had been given blankets and crude pads and were spread out around the room with no regard to gender or privacy. They had access to two grooming stations at opposite ends of the huge room.

The Ha’curn didn’t bother with stationing live guards in the room with the hostages. Instead, they relied on closed-circuit cameras and guards posted in the hall outside. The back doors into the chamber had been welded shut, making the main entrance the only way in or out. For meals, hotplates, pans, and buckets were provided, along with jugs of water. Raw food stock was given and the prisoners were expected to cook their own meals. The supplies were intended to last the two weeks of their captivity. If they ran out early, that was their problem. They would either be freed as the rebels surrendered, or they would die at the end of the two weeks. The Ha’curn couldn’t care less which occurred first.

And now with four of the hostages already killed, there was a little more food for the others.

The Premier and his Secretaries were in a separate room on the floor above the main meeting chamber. They were better-guarded, although the provisions they were provided with mirrored those of the others.

Something stood out immediately to Zac and Brian Croft as they watched the video from the drone: The Ha’curn never traveled solo. They either came in two- or four-person teams, which probably was a consequence of their running in packs. This would make it harder for them to be taken out individually, but it did mean they could be attacked in clusters.

The drone zoomed in on the main entrance to the Minorial Center, seeing a number of Ha’curn teams milling about. It was late night, yet there were still a lot of Ha’curn around. Zac had no idea as to the sleeping habits of the aliens; there wasn’t a lot of information on the feline killers, and none of them had been taken captive and interrogated. But from autopsies on recovered cadavers, the biologists concluded they would have excellent night-vision and exceptional hearing, like all cat species.

Then the officers froze.

A pair of Ha’curn bolted from the entrance to the building, one holding an electronic device. Others came up to them, and in a single motion, they all looked into the sky, following directions given by the alien with the datapad.

Zac frantically fingered his wrist monitor, shutting down the feed from the drone after instructing the tiny device to fly off to the west.

“Damn, they picked up the signal from the drone,” Croft said. “There goes our eyes.”

Zac extended a miniature camera bud from his pack and stuck it over the short wall. It was hooked to a direct line, so no electronic signal was transmitted through the air from the unit. He watched the Ha’curn, seeing if the garrison was going on alert. It didn’t appear so. The alien with the datapad was working with his equipment, at a loss as to why the signal disappeared and trying to get it back. It was obvious from the reactions of the others that they considered it a false reading. They began to move off in pairs on their appointed rounds. Exasperated, the pair of techs returned to the admin building.

“Pass the word,” Zac said, “switch to C2 on the comms.” C2 was a weak, limited range broadcast channel that was simply audio, without the need for the extra bandwidth and strength for video. It should keep the team’s communications off the grid.

Before the team left the Valhalla a plan had been worked out to get them into the Minorial Center without having to cross a hundred yards of open greenbelt. Zac now twisted around and looked up at the dark mass of the fourteen-story building nearest the wall. All the buildings in the government cluster were of the same height.

Zac gave the signal, and the REVs began dropping over the side of the wall, landing silently on the grass before sprinting with REV speed for the cover of the nearest building. They made entrance and then bounded up the stairs to the roof. Once there, not a single man was panting from exhaustion.

Padded grappling hooks came out and were tossed to the roof of the adjoining building. The REVs made quick work of the transfer over the gap.

The transition to the top of the Minorial building would be a little trickier. There were Ha’curn on the ground below, and although it was night, one of the two moons of Enif was up and at quarter-phase. The cat-like eyesight and sensitive hearing of the Ha’curn was a problem, so the men went slowly and quietly across the dual ropes to keep the enemy from looking up.

They were now on the roof of their target building.

Zac moved to the doorway leading down. It was locked, but a firm grip of the knob and a twist of his wrist was enough to break the internal mechanism.

The security office for the building was on the fourth floor. There, the Ha’curn would be watching the prisoners through closed-circuit monitors. Taking out the cameras was the REV’s first priority.

Two of the men—Jim Scaddan and Harry Falber—approached the door to the room and listened with their REV hearing. There was alien talk coming from inside, translator bugs indicating idle conversation. But then the talking stopped. Falber checked the door; it was unlocked.

He whipped it open and Scaddan raced in, his M-201 level and ready. Two Ha’curn were in the room, standing with their backs to the monitors and reaching for the weapons strapped across their chests. They’d been alerted to the REV’s presence, either by sound or smell. The aliens were only a heartbeat behind the REVs as they were pelted with fire from the M-201s, suppressors on the barrels limiting the sound.

The two men then moved to the equipment consoles and began cutting electrical lines with their KA-BAR knives. They were out of the room thirty seconds later and met up with the rest of the team at the stairwell.

“Moss, Hyde and Heuer,” Zac began in a whisper. “Take vantage points on the third floor covering the courtyard in the front. Paint targets and then wait for my order. Lisbon, go to the west side and cover the doorway between buildings. The rest of the Ha’curn are in the next building over; it’s their barracks. Be ready for when they come out after the shooting starts. Mr. Croft, take your team to the main chamber. Gain entry through the back doors and get the hostages up and moving. Lock and I will get the Premier and his people. Okay … go.”

The teams split up.

Zac and Gunnery Sergeant Sean Lock moved down to the second level and then made their way to the other side of the building where the Premier was being held. A quick look around at a corner showed two guards outside the door, hunched on their back legs. One was slowly licking the fur on his left arm while the other appeared to be asleep.

Zac and Sean slipped down on their butts, resting against a corridor wall. They would wait until Croft was in position before making their move.

5

Lt. Brian Croft led his six-man team down the stairwell to the main floor. This shaft was to the back of the building with access to the hallways leading to the rear doors of the main assembly chamber. They found the metal frames of the doors welded shut. From the intelligence they’d received from the Enif, the team was ready for this. Two of the REVs set about placing adhesive strips on the welds before peeling off the back cover. A soft sizzling began, along with whiffs of light smoke. Soon, pieces of silver metal were flaking off and falling to the floor. A moment later, the welds were gone.

The door was opened, and the first two REVs entered cautiously, their night-vision shades covering their eyes. The room was shaped like a large college lecture hall, with rising tiers of seating climbing away from a curved presentation stage. The door they came through was to the right side of the platform. The room was dark and smelled awful, the result of a large number of beings living and cooking in the same area for seven days. By now, the hostages were weak from malnourishment and dehydration, along with a fair amount of understandable depression. They were all asleep when the REVs entered.

Using red filters on their flashlights, the team moved up to the first group of prisoners, green-skinned creatures spread out on dirty pads with thin blankets over them and parcels of clothing rolled up as pillows. Croft bent down and clasped a strong hand over the mouth of one of the male hostages, startling him awake.

“We’re Humans here to rescue you,” the officer whispered. “Do you understand?”

The Enif native mumbled something. Croft pulled his hand away. “Yes, I understand. How … how did you get here? The Ha’curn will kill us all if they find you.”

“Don’t worry about that. We’re getting you out of here. Other Enif are waiting to hide you in the city. Wake up the others. We have to get ready to go.”

The REV officer found it odd that the alien hesitated a moment before he set out waking the other hostages. There were mumbles of confusion, even protests and fear, before the prisoners were gathered around Croft as he stood on the presentation platform.

“We will go out the back. Once we get to the front of the building, we’ll clear a path for you to make it to the Bendesf Gate. Only go on my command. Run as fast as you can; other Enif will be waiting at the gate for you.”

“Run?” asked a female Enif. “We are to run for safety? The Ha’curn will not allow us. We will be killed.”

“We’ll protect you,” Croft assured her.

The female looked at the six REVs. As impressive as they were, there were only six of them.

“You do not have enough; we will all die if we attempt to leave.”

“I will go,” said one of the younger Enif males. “We will die if we stay.”

“No,” said an older male. “The rebels will agree to a ceasefire. They will stop their aggression. They should never have begun this travesty to begin with. The Order … the Ha’curn do the bidding of the Guardians. We must obey them.”

“They do not represent the Order, Seans,” another old Enif countered. “They have killed your friends and colleagues. They will kill us, too. They are not of the Order. They never have been.”

“They will kill us if we run in the open to the Gate. By staying, we at least have a chance to live.”

“Stop arguing!” Croft growled. “We don’t have time for this. We are leaving. Anyone who wants to can come with us. If not, then stay here. I don’t care.”

Soon, a division appeared in the ragged and smelly crowd of natives. Croft did a quick count. Twenty-one were coming; fifteen were staying.

“They will surely kill us if you leave,” said the original female protester. “I cannot allow you to do that. The Ha’curn will punish us for not alerting them of your plans.”

David watched the alien as her eyes grew wide, and her voice louder. Any moment she would begin to shout. The REV’s movement was so swift hardly anyone noticed, except for the other REVs. Croft locked his right hand around the female’s neck and twisted it as he squeezed. Her neck snapped, killing her instantly. The Human held her limp body by one arm until he gently lowered her to the floor.

“I can’t let anyone jeopardize the welfare of the rest of us.” His tone was tense and final. “You can stay, but you will not sound the alarm. If you do, we’ll come in here and kill every last one of you ourselves. Is that understood? Now those who are leaving, come with us. The rest of you … good luck.”

On this count, only eight natives chose to stay behind. Croft did a quick walk past them, staring into their eyes, looking for any trace of betrayal. There was none; at the moment, they feared the Humans more than they feared the Ha’curn.

“Major Murphy, have you been monitoring the situation down here?” asked Croft through his comm.

“I have. You did what you had to do. Get the hostages in position. We have to rush two guards down an open corridor. If the alarm is sounded before we have the Premier, you get everyone moving. Don’t wait for us. We’ll catch up.”

“Roger, that, sir. We’re moving.”

Zac and Sean stood up, checking their weapons and firming their resolve. The guards were thirty yards down the corridor with no cover between here and there. The men would go in shooting, hoping there were no other guards in the room with the Enif leaders. With a nod, the two REVs raced into the hallway, their M-201s spitting bullets, finding their targets without a single miss.

Zac lowered a shoulder into the door, sending shards of the metal frame peeling away while the wooden door panel shattered. The room inside was mostly dark, partially illuminated by a broad shaft of light from the hallway outside. Zac and Sean were in a second later, scanning the room for hostiles.

Unfortunately, the hostiles found them first.

Two dark forms bounded into the air, each one striking a REV. The men maintained their balance thanks to the strength of their cascading bodies. Ripping sounds were heard as two-inch-long, razor-sharp claws tore into their body armor. The material was made to resist Ha’curn claws, but the creatures managed to reach the uncovered flesh of hands and necks.

Zac dropped his M-201 as the beast on his back swiped at his hand. He covered his head with his arms and was met by more slashes that cut his toughen skin. The Rev coursing through his body allowed him to ignore the pain, and with a swift hand, he grabbed the Ha’curn by the arm and pulled him off his back. The cat landed on his hind legs and sprung at Zac again, lowering its head, aiming the pair of sharp-edged bone plates at the Human’s face. Zac caught the plates in his hand, stopping the creature in its tracks. But then the Ha’curn folded its body and began ripping at the armor with the claws on its feet. Zac squeezed the headplates together, but even with his REV strength, he was unable to make them crush the alien’s skull. Then he thought they might be like alligator jaws, designed to resist pressure from one direction but not the other. He now pulled them apart. The Ha’curn soldier squealed in pain as the plates separated, splitting the skull in half. Zac was coated in a sickening spray of grey, bloody flesh, as the alien’s brains poured out on him. In a fit of sick rage, Zac tossed the body aside, coughing and spitting as he did.

A horrid sound off to his right caught his attention. Zac turned in time to see that the Ha’curn Sean was fighting had just sent a wild arm slashing across the gunnery sergeant’s neck, the sharp claws opening a bloody gash in the unprotected flesh. Blood sprayed out, atomized by the exhaling air from his lungs. The REV fell to his knees, grasping his throat, panic filling his eyes.

The Ha’curn stepped back and lowered its head, extending its arms out to each side and grasping air with the claw-tipped fingers. It let out a savage, high-pitched cry, not of pain, but victory.

What the beast didn’t see or count on was Zac approaching from behind, a KA-BAR knife held firmly in his grip. In a fit of retribution, Zac whipped the blade around to the front of the Ha’curn, and in a fit of REV anger, severed the alien’s head completely from its body in one, rapid swipe.

Zac was at Sean’s side a moment later, holding the body in his arms.

Time for an activated REV ran slower than others, and the moment he took to mourn his friend was only a heartbeat in real-time. Then Zac was back to work.

He spotted a trembling cluster of prisoners huddled at the other end of the room, as far from the fighting as they could get.

“Which one of you is Premier Kaznis?” he asked. He knew he was quite the sight, covered in globs of gray matter and blood.

“I, I am Kaznis,” answered a slender alien with white hair and an incredibly wrinkled face.

“I’m Zac Murphy. I’m here to get you and the others to safety. Come with me. There’s no time.”

“Oh, by the Order! You are he!” the Premier said. “I remember you from the time you were on Enif before, in the arena.”

“Good; I’ll give you an autograph later. But right now, we need to go.”

Zac recovered his M-201 and then led the Premier and his four Secretaries from the room and down the corridor to the stairwell.

“Croft, I have the Premier; what’s your status?”

“We’re near the front door. There are nine Ha’curn in the lobby. They’ve all been painted. Awaiting your orders.”

“I should be coming up to your position in ten seconds.”

The corridor running along the backside of the assembly chamber was now filled with REVs and former hostages. Zac pushed the Premier to the head of the pack and then took a quick look through the doorway to the lobby outside. The Ha’curn were clustered near the exit and not wandering within the building. That was good.

“Everyone get ready. Fire disks on my command. We go in ten seconds. Lisbon, watch that doorway across the greenbelt. All right. Three, two, one, fire disks.”

6

The three REVs positioned at the windows on the third floor broke out the glass with the barrels of their M-201s while simultaneously fingering the trigger for the smart bullet disks. Eighteen tiny rockets shot out, leaving faint trails of white smoke behind them. Even before the first bullet struck its target, the REVs had replaced the spent disks with new ones and were already painting other Ha’curn with the invisible laser light. The weapons were now set on paint-and-shoot mode, so the moment a target was locked, a missile launched.

The Ha’curn below uniformly turned to the sound of breaking glass, with a few already pulling their energy weapons from the cradles on their chests in a display of their quick reactions. Then an entire swath of the aliens fell dead to the grass as the bullets struck, tiny explosive charges in their tips finishing the job. Other missiles now streaked through the air, seeking out new targets. And amid the trails of white smoke, the REVs opened up with their ballistics, dropping more enemy bodies and churning up the beds of green grass in geysers of black soil.

Some of the Ha’curn managed to duck behind cover. It didn’t help. The smart bullets homed in and spun around corners, while others changed course in the midair and dove for their targets. There may have been two hundred Ha’curn when the battle began, but already thirty-one lay dead in the courtyard outside the Minorial Center.

A group of the aliens made it inside the building and shut the glass doors for protection. It didn’t help. The bullets smashed through the glass and spiraled around until striking their targets. Although the kill rate was nearly one hundred percent, a few of the Ha’curn managed to avoid the missiles until the propellant ran out. Now they, along with the others in the lobby, stood staring out in the night, momentarily stunned by what was happening outside.

That’s when Croft ordered his people to fire their smart-bullet disks. Most of the Ha’curn within the building were caught off guard. The bullets had less distance to travel and struck the backs of the unsuspecting aliens almost in unison.

Lisbon was at a window on the third floor at the west side of the building, looking down on a door to the building across the thirty feet of grass between the structures. The Ha’curn had incredibly quick reactions, and they responded to the attack almost as fast as a REV. Now the door across the greenbelt burst open, and Ha’curn cats streamed out, already dressed and armed with their energy weapons.

The Alpha opened up, his first shot shattering the glass, followed by a series of REV-quick three-shot bursts, chewing up the Ha’curn who continued to pour through the opening even as their comrades in front of them fell dead. Then came the poof of launching grenades from the undercarriage of the M-201. Explosions filled the night as more Ha’curn bodies stacked up outside the opening.

But then more aliens swarmed out of the front entrance before winding around to the side, leaping as they did and digging their sharp claws into the masonry wall of the Minorial building before beginning the short climb to the third floor.

Lisbon didn’t see them coming, his focus locked on the doorway below. More windows in the room broke, and three—then six—Ha’curn fell into the room. The REV rolled away from the window, bringing his M-201 to bear on the targets. He snapped in another magazine and was about to press the trigger when the first Ha’curn landed on him. With his elbows flying, the rifle became a heavy metal club, bashing into three of the Ha’curn and sending two crumbling to the floor. The third staggered back before leaping again. Two more of the savage cats landed on Lisbon’s back. He planted a REV-powered fist into the face of one of them, smashing the soft bone between the head plates, killing the alien instantly.

But then the slashes and bites began to take their toll. Malcolm Lisbon killed two more Ha’curn before he finally fell on his face, his body lying still as the wild animals ripped it to shreds.

* * *

Zac and Croft now led the rest of the REVs and the Enif hostages through the shattered front door of the Minorial Center. As they stepped onto the polished concrete entryway, the three REVs from the upper floors landed next to them, having jumped the three stories to the ground.

There were still ten active REVs in the team, and now two of them raced off into the courtyard, going out about forty yards before stopping and taking up firing positions. They began to pop off at other Ha’curn in the area, providing cover for the next two REVs who ran past them. This pair went another sixty yards before finding cover amid the few trees that dotted the landscaping. Another two took up similar positions further along the path to the Bendesf Gate.

With a path now open and lined by REV defenders, the hostages began the long, two-hundred-yard sprint to the gate. More Ha’curn were coming from the building next door, requiring the remaining REVs at the front of the Minorial building to dive for cover and open fire on the aliens, leaving the hostages to run on their own. Several of the Enif fell to energy bolts, while a couple just fell. Their fellow politicians ran past them without offering to help.

Two of the REVs along the line were taken out, along with another who had stayed with Zac and Croft. The flow of Ha’curn from the barracks building began to slow.

Croft patted Zac on the shoulder. “You and Haby go; I’ll cover from here.”

Zac didn’t argue. He and Mike Haby sprinted off before diving headfirst into a pond when flash bolts began to explode around them. They came out of the water firing in the direction they’d just come, giving cover for Croft. He zigzagged his way across the field with a dozen Ha’curn leaping after him.

Two of the screening REVs slipped into the pond next to Zac, and together, they cleared the path for the lieutenant. Although the aliens had no fear, they did have common sense. They realized they were running straight into the strength of the enemy fire, so they split off, allowing Croft to reach the others.

Zac looked behind him, toward the Bendesf Gate. The hostages were there, but not as many as had started the run. A quick count showed only fourteen made it; Premier Kaznis was among them. They disappeared through the opening.

“Jones, Negron, what’s your status?” Zac asked through his comm. These were the two REVs closest to the gate. Neither answered.

That left only five REVs, and they were standing in a pool of cold water in the middle of an open park with a horde of angry Ha’curn attempting to outflank them.

“Okay, men, time for Plan B,” Zac said.

“The shuttles?” Croft asked.

“The shuttles.”

“They won’t get us far,” the lieutenant said. “Into space is about it.”

“They’ll get us to where I want to go. Move out!”

The Ha’curn were pretty impressive in the way they would coil their bodies and then jump twenty feet at a time as they ran. But five desperate and thoroughly revved up REVs would leave any Ha’curn in the dust. If it hadn’t been for them having to cover for the Enif hostages, all the REVs who weren’t shot could have made it out of the complex based on their running speed alone. Now they headed for the pair of small shuttlecraft resting on an asphalt parking lot about five hundred yards away.

A pair of Ha’curn were at the spacecraft with their energy weapons drawn and firing at the oncoming REVs. Even in an all-out sprint, the REVs took them out with accurate gunfire from several hundred yards out.

The door to one of the shuttles was open, and that was the one Zac barreled through. Once inside, he was met by a metal bar across the face, sending him crashing to the deck on his back, momentarily stunned. A Ha’curn appeared above him; his claws extended and ready to rip off Zac’s head.

That’s when two other REVs flew through the shuttle door, tackling the alien. They held his arms—along with his equally deadly feet—until Croft stepped up and smashed the cat in the snout.

Someone helped Zac to his feet.

“Are you okay, major?” Croft asked.

“Yeah, I think so. Is he dead?” Zac asked of the Ha’curn.

“He’s still breathing, for now anyway,” Mike Haby replied.

“Keep him alive,” Zac said. “We’ve never had a Ha’curn captive. He could come in handy.”

“Like maybe flying the shuttle?” Brian Croft suggested. “Negron was our only pilot, and he didn’t make it.”

“These things are pretty basic,” Zac said. “Besides, we don’t have to go far.”

“I don’t think using the freighter to get us out of here is a good idea.”

“That’s not what I have in mind.”

And with that, Zac ran for the pilothouse.

7

Zac slipped into the pilot seat and scanned the flight panel. It was easy to identify the chemical drive controls since the shuttle was too small to have gravity drive. He pressed the general start button—every spaceship had one—and waited as the pressure built up in the liftoff chambers. This was displayed on a straight-forward graph, with a line indicating when it would be okay to ignite the jets.

“Hurry up!” a REV in the rear yelled. He was stationed at the still open hatchway, firing at the rapidly approaching Ha’curn troops.

A moment later, Zac punched another button and was rewarded by a thundering explosion under the ship. The shuttle lifted from the ground and began to sway back and forth in the air as if it was suspended at the end of a long chain. Zac held the control stick firmly in his hand, but still, the swinging continued. Then he remembered the foot pedals used to control the angle of the jets. One push sent the shuttle sliding to starboard in a rush, sweeping over the approaching Ha’curn sending columns of yellow flame through their ranks. The aliens scattered for cover.

The left peddle sent the craft to port, and when Zac gently pushed the control stick forward, they began to move away—sort of. They were moving along a straight line, although the shuttle itself began to spin while maintaining a level plane. Zac worked both the left and right pedals while tweaking the angle of the stick. The shuttle straightened out, and Zac made a wide, sweeping turn to the south.

“Up! Take us up!” Croft yelled from behind.

Zac had them moving, but now they were headed out of the Endorus Relay Complex and for the surrounding city, along with its mountains of towering buildings

In a panic, Zac scanned the control panel again, looking for a thrust control lever. There were several levers to choose from, but the one on the far left looked most promising. It had a scale attached to it.

With his right hand on the stick and his two feet working the pedals, he now took the lever in his left hand and gently moved it up and away from him. He was rewarded with a corresponding increase in the sound of the lifting jets, along with an increase in altitude. He let the shuttle climb until it could clear the tallest buildings in the area and then angled the control stick forward a little more. They picked up speed.

“Where are we going?” Croft asked. The cargo spaceport was in the opposite direction.

“There!” Zac said.

Croft followed the direction of the shuttle, noticing a wide-open area in the mass of buildings below them. It was the huge commercial spaceport for the city of Nurin.

Once the shuttle cleared the outer boundary of the expansive landing field, Zac reduced power and brought the shuttle down to within a hundred feet of the ground. He was getting a feel for the controls by now and felt confident enough to begin a slow scan of the tarmac below. Normally, the spaceport would be packed with vessels of all types; military ships, commercial liners and even private space yachts. But now it was mostly deserted. He swept over the field once and then made an awkward turn for another pass.

“There!” he said, taking his hand from the throttle to point to port.

A spaceship was on the ground, a sleek-looking private yacht with a transport vehicle parked nearby, lights illuminating the hull and an open rear cargo door. Zac leveled out the flight, but forward momentum still carried them beyond the ship, requiring another rough turn around. The shuttle began to spin again. Zac knew the ship could reverse course with ease, if he knew how to do it. Instead, he pointed the nose back toward the fancy starship on the ground and tried his best to straighten out.

By now, a small crew of three stood outside the ship, looking up at the shuttlecraft hovering a short distance away. They were nervous, thinking the shuttle might crash at any moment.

Zac reduced power, and the craft dropped down. Fortunately, automatic gyros kept the ship level as it neared the ground. But then it hit, compressing the landing skids on coiled springs before rebounding back into the air. Zac wasn’t expecting that. It was like trying to land on a pogo-stick.

He cut the jets even more, attempting to find the right mix of lifting power and landing thrust. They were still twenty feet off the ground, and even at this distance, a sudden freefall could smash the ship and possibly ignite the chemical propellant tanks.

Eventually, the shuttle made contact with the ground again, and as before, it bounced, but not as much. However, this time the shuttle was hopping toward the private yacht. The three crewmembers scattered to the side, seeing a collision about to happen. In a last-ditch effort, Zac cut the jets completely. The ship hit the ground and surged forward again, catching Zac off guard. He fell forward, his body pressing against the control stick. The shuttle bent over, burying the nose into the black coating of the spaceport field, churning up large chunks of asphalt. The craft came to a stop, sitting forward at a twenty-degree angle.

They were down, safe, and about fifty feet from the starship.

Zac was out of the pilot seat a split second later. The other REVs were already out the still-open side hatch, their weapons level as they sprinted for the ship. The three crew members had returned to the yacht, but now they stood with mouths agape at the sight of the four REVs racing toward them at unbelievable speed.

Before leaving the shuttle, Zac noticed the unconscious Ha’curn was left behind. He scooped up the limp body and threw it over his shoulder, marveling at how light it was, even for his REV strength. The killer-cats were built light for speed and agility.

The REVs had the outside of the private starship secured by the time Zac arrived at the open hatch, the three crew members stunned into submission. With the Ha’curn still draped over his shoulder, Zac entered the ship.

A tan-skinned alien greeted him; Zac recognized him as a Menkarean. The creature stood defiant.

“What is the meaning of this? Leave my ship immediately!”

The alien’s voice trembled slightly as he surveyed the ungodly status of Zac’s uniform, covered in blood, brains and shredded in places by the sharp claws of the Ha’curn.

“Dasis, remove this Human from my ship,” the alien commanded.

Zac turned to a movement approaching from the aft section of the ship. A massive Orturaean, displaying bulging muscles within a too-small t-shirt, approached Zac, his eyes focused and mean.

That’s when the Menkarean owner of the ship noticed what Zac had draped over his shoulder.

“Is that … is that a Ha’curn?” he asked incredulously.

Zac pretended to notice the limp alien for the first time. “Oh, yeah, it is. Here, hold this.” He took the ragdoll-like-body of the Ha’curn and tossed it to the hulking bodyguard. The creature stumbled back but caught the cat, cradling it in his arms, unsure what to do next.

Zac turned to the owner.

“I need you to fly us out of here. Do that, and no one will get hurt. If not, then…” Zac turned back and looked at the unconscious Ha’curn warrior.

The Menkarean got the message.

“We will not be allowed to leave. There is a quarantine.”

“It looks as if you were getting ready to go somewhere,” Zac pointed out. “Just keep doing what you were doing. You’re a Menkarean; you guys are still loyal to the Antaere. I bet you can get through the blockade if you want.”

“I, I may. But … but—”

“But what?” Zac said.

The three crewmembers shuffled past them, herded by the four bloody and determined REVs entering from outside. The outer hatch was sealed. The ship’s owner eyed the Humans, before turning for the bridge without another word.

Zac retrieved the limp Ha’curn from the guard, smiling as he did so. “Thanks,” he said. And then with the body tucked under his arm, he followed the owner to the bridge.

* * *

The alien space yacht was as fast as Zac hoped, and after only a few cursory challenges, made it out of the Enif system a few hours later. The planet was in such turmoil from the riots, that the few Antaere in charge of traffic control didn’t link the stolen shuttle with the space yacht until it was too late. Zac told the pilot/owner to steer for Human space. Once outside the system, Zac made contact with the Valhalla, giving them the yacht’s course and transponder code. The nearest ship in the region would still take a day to reach them.

A few hours later, the Ha’curn prisoner regained consciousness and was now tied up in the aft cargo hold, apparently suffering no lasting effects from the hit he’d taken to his head. Once things settled down aboard the yacht, Zac went to talk with his guest.

The creature was living up to the Ha’curn’s reputation as savage, wild cats, as alien eyes burned with a manic intensity, and baring his long, sharp teeth in a show of defiance. He struggled against the restraints, visibly shaking when he couldn’t break free.

Zac pulled a crate over and sat down a few feet in front of the bound alien. The Ha’curn’s arms were tied behind him, and his deadly legs strapped to the metal bars of the chair in which he sat.

“Can you understand me?” Zac asked. This would be his first conversation with a Ha’curn, if the alien could—or would—talk to him.

The yellow eyes grew wider. “Yes. We have translation inserts.”

Zac nodded. He was filled with a thousand questions about the Ha’curn and why they did what they did, but one stood out above the others. He cut right to the chase.

“Why do the Ha’curn follow the Antaere? You have to know what evil creatures they are. I’ve heard they even placed nuclear bombs on your planet hundreds of years ago, just to keep you in line. So why do you fight for them now?”

The Ha’curn made one, slow-motion blink of his large, yellow eyes, then stared at Zac for a long moment. Zac eventually pursed his lips, concluding that this was a waste of time. He’d let the professionals in the intelligence community handle the interrogation—

“We do not follow the Antaere … we run with them.” The words were coarse yet spoken in a fluid vibrato, almost a loud purr. That’s appropriate, Zac thought.

“But why? They’ve threatened to destroy your world.”

“That was long ago. They did it to protect themselves, as all should from the Ha’curn.”

“You pride yourselves on being great warriors,” Zac said, “but you are only animals. I saw what you did on Crious. You enjoyed that. You enjoy the killing.”

“As well, Humans enjoy killing. Recently, you killed thousands of my pack. There will be vengeance on the Humans. The Antaere will help.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, pal, but the Antaere are done, defeated. It’s only a matter of time before we’re dropping nuclear bombs of our own on Antara.”

“The Antaere are not defeated,” the Ha’curn said, stretching his mouth into what appeared to be a sinister grin.

Zac laughed. The alien was trying too hard to appear threatening. “Believe what you want, but their fleet is nearly gone, and they don’t have the resources to rebuild before we do. Add to that the fact that the Colony Worlds are in revolt and your masters are through. Just admit it.”

“They are not our masters—they are our packmates.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Zac stood up. This conversation was going nowhere.

“The Antaere cannot be defeated,” the Ha’curn shouted at him as he neared the door. “Antara cannot be conquered. The Ha’curn will not allow it.”

“There you go again,” Zac said. “This war is over, and you guys picked the wrong horse in the race.”

There was confusion in the translation, but Zac’s statement did prompt a need in the Ha’curn to prove him wrong once it was understood.

“The war is not over. It is only beginning. Even now, the entire population of Falmoria-cra is preparing to join in the fight,” the alien hissed. “Until now, it has only been the warrior class, and then only a segment. But there are millions more in our pack. And we have spaceships, vessels the Antaere taught us to build and of which we continue to construct. Humans have won a victory, yet you have not won the war. You cannot win the war. The Ha’curn will not let you.”

Zac stared at the wild-eyed alien to see if he was telling the truth or just trying to get under Zac’s skin.

“If you had more ships, you would have committed them to the battle in the Solar System. You’re lying.”

“We provided all we needed at the time. There are more.” The cat-like creature saw the concern on Zac’s face. “The Ha’curn will soon run beyond the Grid. The Antaere will capture others with their religion, and the Ha’curn will capture more with our claws. That is the way it will be. Only the Humans are stopping us. That will not last.”

“You’re just some low-ranking shuttle pilot; what do you know about any of this?”

“All Ha’curn share in the pride of the pack. We know what we are doing, what we will do. It is no secret. The Ha’curn are coming, more Ha’curn than you have ever seen. And with the Antaere, we will win this war of yours. You cannot win.”

“Bullshit. You’re just talking, trying to act important.”

The Ha’curn calmed down and leaned back in the chair as much as he could.

“And now it is you who cannot see the truth.”

Zac left the cargo bay in a decidedly worse mood than when he’d entered. Before talking with the alien, he could see an end to the war. Now, he wasn’t so sure. What the Ha’curn said made sense. He’d seen the cat-creatures up close; he witnessed their passion and thirst for battle. Every Ha’curn was like that. Were they such cold-hearted savages that all they wanted was to fight? And with the Antaere promising them a galaxy to conquer, would they commit their entire population to helping the Antaere destroy the Humans?

These questions were above Zac’s paygrade. When he returned to the Valhalla, he would turn the prisoner over to others who could better decipher the alien’s truthfulness.

Still, Zac was left with a deep foreboding. He’d come to the cargo bay to demoralize the alien, to boast about the impending defeat of the Antaere and the end of the war, rubbing it in as to how the Ha’curn picked the wrong horse in the race. Now it was Zac who was demoralized. It was a real possibility the Ha’curn were gearing up for a new offensive, and the Antaere knew it. And because of that, the yellow-skinned bastards wouldn’t bow to the inevitable, knowing that the cavalry was on the way.

The war was far from over.

8

Zac Murphy was in a terrible mood and had been for the past two months. He was aboard the Valhalla, and for the first week, was pelted with questions about the mission. The general consensus: It was a wash. Sure, they saved the Premier, along with several other politicos, but the word got out about Brian Croft snapping the neck of one of the hostages—a female at that. The allies were spinning the mission as a glowing success, a demonstration of Human support for insurgents everywhere. The Antaere, on the other hand, called the REVs blood-thirsty killers, pointing out that the mission resulted in the deaths of thirty-two of the dignitaries, including the eight left in the the Minorial Center. What was missing from the narrative was the fact that it was the Ha’curn who killed the hostages, everyone except the one female. From the alien’s perspective, it was the Human’s reckless and impulsive behavior that forced the hand of the Ha’curn and escalated a simple negotiation into a tragedy.

Spin doctors on each side were still at it three weeks later.

For his part, Lt. Brian Croft was in the doghouse, although Zac insisted he did nothing wrong in light of the circumstances. It was either silence the female or jeopardize the mission. Officially, CENTCOM couldn’t condone the action. Unofficially, they still weren’t happy about it, but the young Alpha REV wouldn’t be prosecuted. Instead, he was shipped back to Crious, to disappear into the cloistered ranks of the Alphas.

Zac turned his Ha’curn prisoner over to the IC professionals and then gave his after-mission debrief. Following that, he didn’t have much to do. The news that the Ha’curn were gearing up for a new offensive cast a pale over the once-jubilant mood aboard the huge starship, highlighting how quickly things change. A couple of months ago, Humanity was staring extinction in the face. Then suddenly, they were on the verge of winning the thirty-year-long war. The next, things were back to square one, with no end in sight.

Zac now wandered the passageways, wondering what was next for the aging Delta REV.

* * *

He was in his cabin, scrolling through online books, looking for anything interesting. He needed to occupy his mind but wasn’t having any luck.

A knocked came on the door.

“Enter,” he said half-heartedly. He was in no mood for company.

The door opened, and a tall, ginger-haired officer stepped in.

“First-Lieutenant Angus Price, reporting for duty, sir.” He held a crisp salute, the only time appropriate to salute indoors.

Zac was on his bunk, momentarily at a loss for words.

“Return my salute, you bastard,” Angus growled. “I can’t hold this forever.”

Zac’s returning salute would not have passed official muster, especially with the middle finger extended as it was. He climbed off the bunk, and the two friends shared bear-like man-hugs.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Zac asked. “Is Keith with you?”

“No, he’s still on Crious. It’s just me. And as to why I’m here, I haven’t got the foggiest. They just pulled me out of my room one day and loaded me aboard a fast cruiser. I just got in.”

A sour taste came to Zac’s mouth. “Damn, and here I just got off of a mission.”

“Another one; is that what you’re thinking?” Angus asked. “What is it?”

“Hell, if I know, no one tells me anything. But if they brought you all the way out here, this thing has been in the works for a while. You would think they’d tell me at some point.”

The comm box in his cabin chimed. “Major Murphy, you and Lt. Price are to report to Admiral Armitage’s’ quarters immediately.”

Zac pressed the reply button. “We’re on our way.” He looked at Angus. “Seems now that you’re here, the party can start.”

“I always love a good party, especially if there’s going to be strippers. After you, Major Murphy, sir.”

* * *

The admiral’s away cabin was off the bridge and the CIC. The fact that they were meeting there, rather than a conference room, told Zac something more covert was up, involving a smaller operation than the mission to Enif. This was the first time he’d been to the admiral’s cabin, and he was impressed by how large it was, at least by shipboard standards. He knew it was more than just a place for Armitage to sleep; she conducted tactics and strategy meetings here, as well as hosted visiting dignitaries. Zac was surprised to find only the admiral in the cabin when he and Angus arrived.

“Welcome, gentlemen,” the fleet commander greeted. “There’s liquor in the cabinet over there. Help yourselves.”

Zac passed up the offer, but Angus made a beeline for the glass-front shelving unit. He poured a whiskey and then took a seat at the table with Zac and the Admiral.

“We’re waiting on some others to join us,” she began. “Until then, it’s been a crazy time for you recently, hasn’t it, Mr. Murphy?”

“You could say that, ma’am. I’m sorry if the Enif mission didn’t turn out as planned.”

“Don’t be sorry, major. You survived. Honestly, that wasn’t something we were expecting.” She smiled through thin, cracked lips. “I should know by now not to underestimate you and the other REVs.”

Jerica Armitage was a slight, almost frail-looking woman in her early sixties. But if anyone mistook her diminutive size and frumpy look as weakness and indecisiveness, they would have been gravely mistaken. She was a banshee, the consummate warrior. She had nerves of steel and a determination bordering on fanatical when it came to mission success. Behind her back, crewmembers called her The Honey Badger. Zac looked up the term once on the internet. It fit her to a tee.

A knock came to her door, and a steward opened it, before stepping aside and letting the three people behind him enter.

Zac and Angus shot to their feet, a mix of emotions and questions on their faces.

General David Cross came in, followed closely by Technical Sergeant Joanie Hollis and a second female the REVs recognized as the deep-cover spy, Ashley Hunter. Zac didn’t know how to respond. He hadn’t seen Ashley since she helped with his rescue on Enif, ending his six-month-long captivity by the Antaere. Having Joanie here was also a big question mark. Was she here simply as Cross’s assistant, or was there more to it? And then there was David Cross. Every time the REV doctor showed up, Zac’s life took a sudden turn, mostly for the worse.

The women introduced themselves to the admiral, while Cross made cursory handshakes, his face tense. Ashley placed a metal briefcase on the table.

“Welcome, everyone,” Admiral Armitage said through a sinister smile. “I suppose you’re all wondering why I called you here today—”

“I have to voice my opposition again, admiral,” said Cross, his anger boiling over. “I’ve put too much effort into this project for you to jeopardize it just as it’s beginning to come to fruition.”

“Relax, David,” the admiral said. “This mission is too important for us not to give it top priority. If this works, you’ll have ample opportunity to pursue your experiments to your heart’s content.”

“Excuse me, ma’am,” Zac said, “but why is Sergeant Hollis here? She’s not a field operative.”

“Let me get to it,” the admiral said. “Ms. Hunter and Sergeant Hollis—along with General Cross—already know the mission parameters. Now I’ll let our two Deltas know what’s up. Gentlemen … you’re going to Antara.”

9

“Antara!” Zac blurted. “Did I hear that right, ma’am?”

“You did,” Armitage said. “And by way of background, this mission has come about as a result of certain information we’ve only recently come to learn. And for that, we have you to thank Mr. Murphy. It seems that Ha’curn prisoner you so graciously brought back to us from Enif has been an invaluable wealth of information. As you know, we’ve never captured a Ha’curn before and what he has told us has changed, well, everything.

“First of all, you were fortunate to have captured a pilot—a low-level pilot, but one, nonetheless. He was able to give us the location of his homeworld, a place called Falmoria-cra. Until then, all we knew was that it was located in someplace called the Green Nebula, but we never had an exact location. With this information, we were able to send spies into the system. We haven’t been able to land on the planet, but we have managed to intercept electronic communications and to send remote drones to the surface and observe Ha’curn activity.”

Her expression turned dark. “Where once we thought the prisoner was simply blowing smoke about a big Ha’curn buildup of troops and ships, we now know it’s true. The aliens have a rather robust ship-building program going, even though the rest of their technology isn’t as advanced. The Antaere are responsible for this, having taught the Ha’curn how to build spaceships with a unique design to pass them off as their own. The bottom line, gentlemen: The Ha’curn recently launched a four-hundred-ship fleet that is currently steaming toward Antara with the intention of linking up with the remaining Antaere fleet before making another attempt at reaching Earth.”

She was silent for a moment, letting the information sink in. Armitage studied the faces of the REVs, seeing from their expressions they understood the grave nature of this disclosure.

“From a strategic vantage point, this is the worst news possible,” she continued. “This means that soon, the Antaere/Ha’curn fleet will be over six hundred ships strong. In addition, it’s estimated that one million Ha’curn fighters are with the fleet, being transported in huge troop carriers. And to face this threat, we currently have two-hundred fourteen warships, and we’re cranking out a new vessel every two weeks, so you see we’re at a decided disadvantage. Not only that, but most of the screening ships we had around the planet are gone, and we only have a little over thirty of the 308s left. This time when the enemy makes their move on the homeworld, we won’t have anything to stop them.”

Zac and Angus were crestfallen.

“Don’t look so forlorn, gentlemen,” said the admiral. “I haven’t even gotten to the worst part yet.” She snorted. “As you recall, the Antaere once placed hybrid nuclear devices on the Ha’curn homeworld designed to keep the crazy cats in line. There were forty-eight of these super-nukes, estimated to have a yield equivalent to three hundred megatons. By comparison, the largest bomb Humanity has ever built had a yield of just fifty megatons. Even so, forty-eight of these weapons wouldn’t be enough to destroy the planet, but the threat of a combined explosion, along with the long-term nuclear fallout, was enough to do the job. This happened several hundred years ago and was the status quo until relatively recently.

“As we’ve now learned, about six years ago, the Antaere began making overtures to the Ha’curn, seeking a partnership in their efforts to defeat us. In exchange for their help, the Antaere shut down the triggering uplink to the weapons and allowed the Ha’curn to remove the bombs from their vaults. The nukes were taken from the planet and subsequently stored away rather than be destroyed.

She sighed deeply. “As you probably already guessed, those forty-eight super-bombs are now aboard the fleet currently heading for Antara, and ultimately destined for Earth.”

The room sat silent for a full minute while the gravity of the situation sank in. “And that, gentlemen, is why you’re going to Antara. You’re going to stop the impending destruction of the Earth.”

The sudden shift in topic shocked the REVs back to the present.

Admiral Armitage looked to Ashley Hunter. “And now for further explanation, I’ll turn the briefing over to the mission specialist for the details.” She gave Ashley a nod.

The super-spy clicked the latches on the briefcase and lifted the lid. Inside, it was packed with electronics. A voice sounded from hidden speakers.

“Hello, Major Murphy and Lt. Price. I’m happy to see you again.”

Zac recognized the voice. “Amber, is that you?”

“Yes, it is.”

‘Amber’ was the most sophisticated artificial intelligence program he’d ever encountered, an electronic entity created over seventy-five years ago that had been learning ever since. She piloted the starship that saved the President of Earth on Enif and also played an important role in his second mission to Iz’zar when Zac first met the very accomplished super-spy, Ashley Hunter. Their paths kept crossing, and each time they did, a wild adventure ensued.

“Amber will complete the briefing,” the admiral said. “Go ahead.”

“Thank you, Admiral Armitage. As mentioned, you are all going to Antara, you Maj. Murphy and Lt. Price, along with Ashley Hunter and Sergeant Hollis.”

Zac bit his lip to keep from interrupting. Why Joanie, he kept thinking. What’s going on here?

“As a mission overview, the four of you are to gain access to the grounds of the Andorium on Antara, the site of the Grand Temple and the Court of Antara. There you will locate the control facility for the nuclear weapons currently aboard the Ha’curn fleet. You will then reestablish the uplink and detonate the weapons, thereby destroying a sizeable portion of the Ha’curn fleet and eliminating the near-term threat. Once this is done, Admiral Armitage will be free to begin the final push to Antara and end the war.”

Zac looked at Admiral Armitage, his mouth slightly ajar. She smiled. “Nothing like having the fate of everything riding on the mission, is there, Major Murphy? Are you up for it?”

“Ma’am, that’s not it,” Zac said. “Is this possible? Can the bombs still be triggered remotely?”

“We have reliable intelligence that says they can. Once the remote uplink was terminated and the weapons removed, no one thought to remove the triggers. And the site of the remote uplink has been found to be on the grounds of the Andorium.”

“But how … how do we get there?” Zac asked. “Humans don’t go to Antara.”

“You did,” Amber stated.

“As a prisoner.”

“And while there, you spent considerable time within the grounds of the Andorium. You have first-hand knowledge of the layout.”

“I was paraded around like a circus animal, most of the time whacked out on Antaerean Rev. That hardly counts.”

“Yet, you remember everything, do you not?”

“Eh, well, yeah. I do, now,” he stammered. “But that doesn’t explain how we’re going to get to the planet or how we’re going to get on the grounds.”

“And you mentioned something about reestablishing the uplink,” Angus added. “What the bloody hell is that all about?”

“If you will please be patient, I shall explain everything,” said Amber. “May I continue?”

Both Zac and Angus nodded at the silver briefcase.

“As you are aware, my owner has considerable resources within the Grid. It was through him that confirmation of the trigger facility and its current status was established. The uplink to the bombs was severed at the beginning of the Ha’curn participation in the war; however, it’s been learned that it was a simple program change—and not a removal of hardware—that precipitated the disconnect. It should be possible to re-establish the communications link and send the proper signal for detonation. I have been provided with a detailed map of the Andorium, along with the general location of the control facility, even though the exact location is unknown. As to how we will get to Antara and the Andorium: We will arrive in the Zanzibar, a vessel of which you are quite familiar, and with the proper transponder codes and clearances to the planet. Once on the surface, we will be escorted to the Court as part of a respect celebration—”

“Wait,” Zac said. “You said escorted? I don’t understand.”

“As with Mr. Price, patience has never been a virtue you’ve mastered, Mr. Murphy. Please allow me to continue. Once on Antara, we will be attending the Coronation of the new Tesnin.”

“The new Tesnin?” Zac said. “That’s right! That old fucker Denak had a heart attack or something.”

“It was a bloody stroke,” Angus corrected. “Turned him into a vegetable.” Angus grinned. “Probably a result of what happened to his fleet recently.”

“If I may,” Amber said. “After the untimely—and suspicious—death of the prior Rowin, Denak’s third-born son, Kallen Zaphin, was named his replacement. Kallen is now assuming the position of Tesnin during a large ceremony taking place within the Andorium. We are invited.”

“We are? And what do you mean, we?” Angus asked.

“I will be going along, concealed in a garment worn by Sergeant Hollis. The four Humans will go in posing as members of Antaerean society from Simblaus—heirs to an industrial conglomerate on the planet. Once at Court, we will attempt to pinpoint the location of the control facility and then perform the necessary repairs to the uplink.”

“And how are we supposed to do that?” Angus asked.

“That will be my job; mine and Amber’s,” Joanie said. “Before becoming a REV Controller, I was an Air Force electronic communications specialist.”

Zac shook his head. “Even so, I see a major weakness in the plan: Only Ashley speaks Antaerean. As soon as the rest of us open our mouths, the Qwin will see our words are out of sync and shut us down.”

“That is why General Cross is here,” Amber said. “General.”

Cross had sat silent and tight-lipped throughout the briefing. Usually, he was the one running things.

“Again, I protest,” he said to the admiral.

“I get it, David. Now tell them.”

He let out a deep sigh.

“As naturals, your REV abilities also affect your brains. Until now, we haven’t explored this aspect of the mutation since REVs aren’t asked to think much while doing their jobs. With recent discoveries about the learning abilities of REVs, we’re moving more into that area now. But as a result, I’ve come up with a subliminal learning method that works with your natural Rev stimulated minds. Theoretically, you will be fluent in Antaerean before you reach the planet, both with speech and reading. I’m here to initiate the protocols before you leave.”

Zac was still confused. “Okay, that will work for Angus and me, but what about Joanie? She’s not a REV.”

David Cross looked to the admiral. “Go ahead, tell him,” she prompted.

Cross sighed. “Well, major, as you recall our conversation at Groom Lake, I said I was working with certain females with regards to mild doses of AC-3. As it turns out, Sergeant Hollis was one of them.”

Zac shot a hard look at Joanie. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Joanie pursed her lips, looking angrily at Cross. “Because I didn’t know. The general was messing around with my body chemistry, giving me little doses of Rev and then checking my response. He said he was working on a new stimulant for the Controllers, you know, something to keep us wired during a Run. Boy, he was right about that.”

“You’re a REV?” Zac couldn’t believe what he was saying.

“She’s not a REV,” Cross answered emphatically. “At least not in the conventional sense. As I told you, females are more susceptible to AC-3 than males; however, it affects their systems differently. Even so, I’ve been able to make it so that her body now produces a tiny amount of natural Rev continually. Sergeant Hollis can cascade—to a degree—and as she does, certain abilities are enhanced, such as senses and a mild increase in strength. The drug also opens her mind to the process I’ve developed for the rapid learning program.”

Zac glared at the scientist, feeling his body begin to cascade. “I, I don’t know what to say. And you did this without her knowledge, you rotten bastard.”

“Belay that, Mr. Murphy!” said Admiral Armitage.

“She’s aware of it now, major,” Cross continued. “And we’ve been working together for a month since she found out. Progress is being made—or it was—until she was drafted for this mission.”

“You really are insane, aren’t you? You’ll do anything to create your master race.”

“Mr. Murphy!” the admiral scolded.

“I’m sorry, admiral, but do you condone this? The man thinks he’s Dr. Frankenstein.”

“It’s not my call, major. Dr. Cross’s work has been instrumental in the development of fighting units and operational strategies since the beginning of the war. You may not approve of his methods, but you’re a product of his genius.”

“I was an accident.”

Cross went to say something but held his tongue.

“And now you’ve done your experiments on Joanie. You could have killed her.”

“That couldn’t happen,” said Cross.

“How could you be so sure?”

“Because I had a protocol to follow from a prior test.” He looked to Ashley Hunter.

It was Angus’s turn to lose it. “He experimented on you, too?”

Ashley nodded. “I’ve been part of the program for over a year since we got back from Enif after rescuing Zac,” she explained. “But don’t be mad; I volunteered. And I have no regrets; I like being a REV.”

“You’re a REV?”

She nodded. “But you have to realize that means something different for women. We don’t become hulking wrecking balls of rage like the men. Our bodies react differently to the drug, mildly enhancing certain abilities rather than blowing them all out of proportion. Also, we tend to start producing natural Rev in almost every case, at least with the formula the doctor uses on us now.”

There was a long moment of awkward silence around the table before Amber spoke up again.

“If all the startling revelations are over, I believe it is time to get back to the mission at hand. The four of you have been selected specifically for this operation based on the unique qualifications you bring to the table. It should be clear by now that this mission is vitally important to the survival of your race. Should the Ha’curn forces be allowed to combine with those of the Antaere, the fate of Earth is definitely in jeopardy. The simplest solution to this problem is to eliminate the Ha’curn from the equation.

“Continuing: To assist in the mission’s success, each of you will be given chemical injections that will turn your skin yellow, and you will be given gold contact lenses to wear. Humans and Antaere have compatible form and features, so the disguises will be sufficient. And with the learning program developed by Dr. Cross, you will go in knowing fluent Antaerean. In addition, the Zanzibar has been polished up since last you saw it, Major Murphy. It will be presented as a luxury yacht befitting the passengers it will be carrying. It will be the Antaere themselves who will give you access to the Andorium. And then under the cover of the coronation ceremony, we must seek out the location of the control facility and fulfill the mission.

“I understand there have been some disturbing revelations today, but it is time to put that aside and focus on the mission at hand. Dr. Cross will go aboard the Zanzibar and initiate the learning protocols. Afterward, we will depart on our mission. Utilizing the Zanzibar’s superior gravity drive technology, we will be at Antara in nine days. If the mission succeeds, in ten days the war with the Antaere could essentially be over. Keep that in mind as you reflect on this meeting and what is being asked of you. That is all for now. Ms. Hunter, you may now close me up.”

10

Zac was indeed shocked when he saw the revamped Zanzibar. When last he’d seen the starship, it was a beat-up hulk, disguised that way to not attract attention as it delivered a team of special forces to Enif in an attempt to rescue the President and his party at the time of the Betrayal. Now it looked like the luxury yacht he’d first seen at the airport in Colorado Springs so many years ago.

General David Cross was aboard and working with a tech, installing a bank of electronics in the common room. When he was ready, he called the team together.

“You will have to be in a cascading state for the program to access your minds on a subliminal level. I would suggest you find comfortable places to sit or lay down, but you must stay awake. You will not notice anything is happening; no Antaerean reciting phrases to you, that sort of thing. It’s completely in your subconscious. You won’t know it’s working until after each twenty-minute session. The data is fed at high speed, so the effects should be noteworthy. You will also experience visual recognition of Antaerean writing. There are forty sessions. That may be overkill, considering the duration of the mission. But in the end, you’ll be speaking and reading Antaerean like a native.”

“How is the data fed into us?” Angus asked.

Cross took a pair of ordinary-looking wireless earbuds from the table. “With these. Nothing fancy.”

Angus took the tiny white devices. “Are you sure this will work, general? We wouldn’t want to get going and find it doesn’t work on us.”

“Trust me, it works.”

“Thank you, sir,” Zac said. “Now, unless you want to go to Antara with us, I suggest you and the tech exit the vehicle. It will be tight as it is getting to the Coronation Ceremony on time.”

Cross scanned the faces of the team, his eyes wide and bright. Zac frowned. He looked … excited.

“Good luck,” said General Cross. “And please be careful. The four of you represent a substantial investment of my time and effort. Destroy the Ha’curn fleet and then get your asses back here. That’s an order.”

“Yes, sir,” said Joanie Hollis.

Cross gathered up the tech and his tools and left the ship.

* * *

Once outside, David Cross looked back as Zac buttoned up the hatch. The two men made slight nods to each other; an acknowledgment of their … their association would be the best word to describe it. Friendship didn’t seem to fit.

Cross turned and walked from the launch bay.

So far, so good, he thought as he passed through the airlock portal, with a spring in his step and a grin on his face.

11

Nine days to Antara. That seemed like a long time, but in reality, it wasn’t.

Amber took control of the ship and engaged the hybrid gravity drive, sending the Zanzibar into a modified event horizon that warped space like no other ship in the Grid. Unfortunately, they couldn’t maintain this status for the entire journey to Antara. The strange gravity signature would stand out, raising questions. At a point, a signature mimicking that of an Antaerean stardrive would be created. At the same time, the transponder signal would switch, identifying the Zanzibar as a Simblaus-registered vessel, owned by the Melos Company.

Amber told the team they were going in as the Melos brothers and their wives, which considering the REV’s similar features and builds, wasn’t that much of a stretch. That wouldn’t have worked as well for the women, not with Joanie’s blonde hair and Ashley’s shiny black locks. Antaerean females rarely colored their hair.

In addition, a legend was created in computer databases that gave the agents the credibility needed to be invited to the most significant event in Antaerean culture—the passing of the title Tesnin to another. They were members of Antaerean high society, wealthy, but not so wealthy that they would be known to others.

Zac knew better than to ask a lot of questions regarding Amber’s mysterious owner. Several times in the past, he’d been provided with intel and hardware, which the unnamed source had no business knowing or have access to. But so far, he hadn’t steered Zac wrong. His anonymous assistance had been invaluable.

The current Tesnin, Denak Zaphin, had held that post for eighty-nine out of his one-hundred-nineteen-year lifespan. It was during his reign that the last four Colony Worlds were brought into the Order, including Earth. His son, Andus, was the first designated Rowin—successor-in-waiting; however, upon his death, Denak’s third-born son, Kallen, assumed the title.

Zac had met both Denak and Andus during his six months of captivity, although met was not the right word. It was a case of him being observed by the leaders of the Antaere people as they came to see their prized possession. Zac was introduced as a Human abomination, a product of insane genetic experiments, a monster who had slaughtered thousands of Antaere and their allies. The leaders also knew he had the Antaerean version of Rev in his body, but that information was not for public consumption.

Many of those coming to the Coronation would have been present at his various displays, although his body had changed dramatically since then. At the time, he was emaciated and jacked up on native Rev and kept at a safe distance from the curious, a dangerous animal, an oddity. Even so, his hair would be changed, and his face given a makeover so he would appear older. Add to that the yellow skin and golden eyes, and there was a very low possibility he would be recognized.

As for interpersonal relationships aboard the Zanzibar, that was another matter.

On their prior missions, Ashley and Angus became quite the item, with neither afraid to hide their attraction for one another. Almost as soon as the Zanzibar shot from the launch bay of the Valhalla, they were back at it again, claiming one of the two staterooms as their own.

Zac often wondered why the relationship didn’t continue after the mission to rescue him on Enif a few years back. Now he knew Cross was responsible, spiriting away the deep cover spy to become one of the first female REVs. He was still curious about the transition, mainly how it affected Joanie.

For their part, the first two days of the journey were spent at an awkward distance, until the unashamed frolicking of Angus and Ashley was too much for them to ignore their own attraction. The rest of the trip was a routine of carnal lust, language training and mission prep for both couples.

For her part, the AI Amber tolerated their trysts, as long as they paid proper attention to the mission. And now, as the Zanzibar began its final approach to Antara, the team members put on their mission faces and grew serious.

Unfortunately for Zac, his mission face wasn’t the only thing he had to put on.

* * *

“This is crazy,” he said for the umpteenth time. “Do the men actually wear this stuff?”

“You would compare it to a tuxedo,” Amber said. “It is not an everyday garment, but one befitting the ceremony.”

Zac looked at himself in a mirror in his stateroom.

He wore a crimson red jacket with a stiff collar so high on the sides that it was like wearing blinders. There was a strange cummerbund-like thing that was more like a fanny pack than an attractive part of the garment. Add to that the fact that the sleeves were bulbous and with tight wrists bands that caused the arms to balloon out, and he had to wonder how he could function. But bulbous seemed to be the word of the day when it came to Antaerean attire. The white pants mirrored the style of the jacket, and as Zac couldn’t be called fat by any stretch of the imagination, the pants gave him a bubble butt beyond compare. There was nothing either sexy or manly about the outfit.

Angus was similarly dressed, and similarly embarrassed to be seen in public.

“Are you sure you have the design right?” Angus asked into the air, knowing Amber was listening. She was always listening.

“It is appropriate. You will fit in perfectly.”

Joanie came into the stateroom, wearing her best prom dress and smiling brightly.

“You two look magnificent, so show it. You look like you just swallowed a frog. Relax.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Zac growled. “You and Ashley got the better of this deal.”

Unlike the men, the female gowns were incredible; white and lacy, with frilly necklines and billowing skirts. Their outfits were feminine and sensual, and quite the contrast from what the men wore. Females were an integral part of Antaerean society and culture, participating at all levels. It was also apparent they designed most of the clothing for the species.

“Arnu du jaoa,” Ashley said as she joined the others, crowding at the doorway to Zac and Joanie’s stateroom.

“That’s easy for you to say. You should try wearing this,” Zac answered in English.

“Say it in Antaerean, Zac!” she scolded.

“Sorry. Are you sure there isn’t a way to turn off the translators? I get confused listening in English.”

That was a problem they were all having, all except Ashley. She had more experience thinking and speaking in Antaerean. For the others, they heard the words in their minds, and mostly in English, although occasionally it was in Antaerean. But they had to make a conscious effort to convert their words into the alien language before they spoke. Cross’s program worked perfectly. They could read and speak Qwin almost better than they could English. However, it was a chore forcing their minds to think in Antaerean so they would speak the language. It was getting better, but they only had an hour or so left to get it right. Amber had the Zanzibar dropping through the atmosphere, aiming for the executive spaceport sitting a short distance from the Andorium.

Ashley then stepped up to Zac and stuck something into his skin just below his left ear.

“Ow! What was that?” he asked.

“Relax, you big bad REV. It didn’t hurt,” she said. “It’s a subcutaneous communication device. I have one for each of us. We’ll be able to hear all our conversations.”

“Great,” Angus said. “Just one more thing to listen to.”

* * *

After being poked by Ashley, and dressed in their best Antaerean formal wear, the team went to the pilothouse to watch the landing.

From here, they could see the full layout of the facility. Although Zac had been there before, he’d never seen it from the air. It put a whole new spin on his memories.

The Andorium was an artificial island sitting in the middle of a freeform lake and surrounded by a manicured park with groves of trees. The park was open to the public, and thousands of commoners now filled the area, wanting to share in the experience of the Coronation even if they weren’t part of it.

An octagonal, forty-foot-high wall encircled the complex, with ornate parapets at each turn of the wall. Brilliantly dressed ceremonial guards stood at the intersections, standing posts looking out across the water and to the boisterous crowds.

Within the walls was where the real significance of the Andorium was found. From the air, Zac could see the symmetry, the Order as it was called. And everything within the walls screamed Order and Unity.

At the north end sat three of the most impressive buildings Zac had ever seen. In the center was the one-hundred-story-tall Grand Temple of Light, a stacked pyramid capped by an enormous golden dome with a shimmering crystal lens at the peak. The lens was designed to let in the life-giving light from the Antaerean yellow sun, the most significant symbol in the Order, and the single-most qualifying factor for the Colony Worlds. They, too, must have been birthed from a yellow sun of the exact magnitude as the Antaerean life-giver.

Bordering the Temple to the east and the west, were two identical buildings, lower, block-shaped structures, the one on the right housing the Court of Antara and on the left, the Residence of the Tesnin and his clan.

The Court was where the elected and appointed politicians of the Antaerean government conducted their official business. It was thirty stories tall and flat-roofed, with hundreds of windows and an elaborate central doorway that match that of the Grand Temple and the Residence. It was designed this way to add unity to the scene.

Only members of the Zaphin family had ever occupied the Residence. For two thousand years, the family ruled Antara, beginning with Mentar Zaphin and continuing through to Denak and his offspring. Mentar discovered the Universal Order, and it was from his inspired writings that the Book of Order was assembled. He also wrote the Corollaries, which were a series of simple proclamations detailing how the Order was to be run. Although the Antaere people were considered the Guardians of the Order by their alien followers, that was simply an extension of the Zaphin family. To the Antaereans, the Zaphins were the true Guardians.

Along the front of the three massive buildings sat a pair of crescent-shaped lakes, forming a mirror image of each other. They stretched from side to side of the Andorium, where the two entrances were located. Bridges crossed the waters, as well as a pair of much longer bridges outside the walls that connected the island to the surrounding park.

Between the crescent lakes was a wide area featuring a large circular stage. It was here that Zac was put on display and where the official Coronation would take place. For the ceremony, several tiered bleachers were provided for the audience. Unlike before, this time Zac would be a spectator rather than the main attraction.

South of the Lakes sat a series of five buildings, a tall one in the center and flanked by a pair of ever-shorter structures. These were the administration buildings for the Antaerean stellar empire known as the Grid, although these were only the most important buildings.

At the side of both the Temple complex and the Administration center were wide entrances to underground parking. The Andorium employed a large number of Antaere, yet no transports were allowed to be parked above ground.

Along the sides of the walls and south of the Lakes, were eight smaller buildings that housed the Temple Guards. Specially trained and fanatically devoted, these soldiers were the best the Antaere had to offer. The two-thousand-strong police force served in the most revered location in the Order, and their discipline and skill were evident.

Beyond the forested park surrounding the Andorium was a large community devoted to the management of the empire, where workers of lower status went about their jobs and lived their lives serving the Grid. There was no poverty found in this community; that was not allowed. And as it was with everything involving the Andorium, Unity and Balance prevailed. The Antaere had an image to project to the Grid. The species was the ultimate symbol of the Order. They had to make the best impression for the masses.

Looking down at the impressive Andorium, Zac had a moment of doubt. The place was packed with thousands of fanatic Antaere, with thousands more camped out in the parklands. Somewhere in the crush of aliens, he and his team had to find a long-forgotten control room and bring it back to life. And then somewhere, a million living beings would die, beings who would never see it coming.

Zac knew all the logic and reasoning for the mission. The survival of his own race was at stake, as well as the lives of trillions of others who would fall as collateral damage in the continuing war for control of the Grid.

It seemed such a waste. But he also knew the Antaere and the Ha’curn would never leave the Earth alone, even if a peace could be worked out. That did not fit the Antaere plan for spreading their Order across the galaxy. Humanity wasn’t only an obstacle in their way, they were a symbol of defiance that had to be removed.

Only a few months before, the Antaere and the Ha’curn were racing toward Earth with every intention of killing off Humanity. Why should he not return the favor?

The Zanzibar was now on the surface, surrounded by other magnificent space yachts, with fleets of fancy transports shuttling arriving dignitaries and socialites to the Andorium. Any moment now, Zac and his team would leave the ship and begin their mission of destiny. Either they would succeed, or they wouldn’t. He didn’t know which. But what he did know was that trillions of beings throughout the Grid had no concept how important this night would be to their future.

The reality of the moment was humbling.

12

The air of Antara was just like that of Earth; that was expected since all Colony Worlds were ninety-nine-point-nine percent exact matches of each other. Zac and his team stepped out onto a shimmering concrete landing pad, gawking at the assortment of incredible starships they saw at the spaceport. This was unlike any port he’d ever seen, a showcase of the finest the Antaere had to offer at the official landing field for the capital of a stellar empire.

And only the finest were here this day, privileged guests for the most exclusive party in the Grid: The Coronation of the new Tesnin.

An oversized electric transport swung up in front of them, and the rear door lifted open. An Antaere driver decked out in a resplendent gold and blue uniform climbed out of the front section and offered up his vehicle.

“Honored guests, please enter,” he said.

Zac noticed how an army of the limos flitted across the tarmac, picking up guests. It was an official service. Ashley shifted into character quicker than the others and strolled past the lowly servant with an air of superiority. They were the cream of Antaere society. They needed to act like it.

The team climbed in the back of the limo and were whisked away from the spaceport, joining a long line of similar vehicles heading away from a rapidly setting sun. The road they were on was wide and lined with manicured landscaping of rolling hills, plant islands and trimmed trees. The avenue was for show, to impress upon those making the journey to the Andorium that they were on sacred ground.

After passing through a wide park filled with jubilant natives, they crossed a long wooden bridge lined with decorative pillars pointing into the sky. The water of the surrounding lake was clean and fragrant as if it had been sprayed with perfume. And before them was one of the two gates into the Andorium, capped by an enormous archway with the Antaerean words Glory to the Order embossed on the stone. Zac was momentarily impressed with himself that he could read the Antaerean writing. He may know more of the Antaerean language than he thought.

As they entered the grounds, the transport slipped into one of two lines, one going left, the other right, where the guests were being dropped off. This was in the wide grassy area between the pair of shallow lakes lit from underwater by a hundred colorful spotlights. Ten fountains cascaded into the air, rippling the water and creating rainbows of color in the spotlights. Ahead of them was the huge, round stage where the Coronation would take place, surrounded by stacks of bleachers with soft, padded seats.

Zac cringed at the sight of the stage. It was there that Zac had once been brought before members of Antaerean society for them to gawk and point at during his time in captivity. He could remember seven such shows, one even attended by the Tesnin, Denak Zaphin, and the Rowin at the time, Andus. Other members of the royal family were there. Zac could recall their faces, but he had no memory of what he felt at the time. That was how REV memory worked. The images were there, not the emotions.

After a relatively brief time on Antara, Bornak took Zac on a whirlwind tour of the Colony Worlds—at least those under control of the Antaere at the time—again placed on show for all to see. The Human Beast, The Experiment Gone Wrong, The Mutant Killer, The Destroyer of the Temple on Iz’zar. It was probably best that Zac couldn’t remember the degradation he felt at the time. Even so, he could imagine the feelings, and that was enough to resurrect the anger.

The transport stopped, and the door opened. The team climbed out and into a crush of Antaere guests working their way toward a half dozen attendants at a security line. They passed through electronic scanners, checking for weapons, before stepping up to one of the designated hosts.

“Invitations,” he said. Ashley had the documents; where she got them, Zac never asked. The attendant scanned the papers and then asked for each of them to present the backs of their hands. He ran an instrument over them that would embed a short-lived radioactive isotope marker on their yellow skin, giving them access to the grounds and the festivities. He then checked his datapad and handed Ashley a tag with their seating assignments.

“Nine eighteen through twenty-two, section fourteen,” he said. “The preliminary presentation begins in three hours; the Coronation in four. Enjoy yourselves. There is food and drink on the grounds and tours to the Temple if you are interested.”

The seating numbers were high, meaning they would be to the back of the bleachers. They were members of high society, just not that high. After this, they were passed through the barricades and allowed to mingle with the rest of the guests.

“Comm check, Amber,” Ashley said in Antaerean. If anyone overheard, she didn’t want them hearing Human.

“I am here,” a voice was heard, seemingly from inside Zac’s neck. The communication stick wasn’t designed to interact through the ear cavity, but rather as if someone was whispering in his ear. “There are tours of the Temple. Take one. That makes the job of getting inside that much easier.”

“Agreed,” said Ashley. As the more experienced agent in covert operations like this, she was taking control. Zac welcomed that. In fact, he got the impression he and Angus were here to provide the security for the mission while the women ran the show. Go for it, he thought. For once, let someone else make the decisions.

They moved through the throng, in awe of the ornate outfits the Antaere wore. These were the rich of the rich, and they spared no expense to impress their peers. Their culture was much like that of Earth’s, capitalistic and entrepreneurial. As Zac worked his way through the crowd, he chuckled at how familiar the tidbits of conversation were to him, the same as you’d here at any fancy social event on Earth.

And then it struck him, and he spoke softly so the comm stick would pick up his words.

“Everyone seems … happy,” he whispered in Antaerean.

“Well, they are at a party,” Angus pointed out.

“Yeah, but they just got their asses kicked, and yet they’re acting like they don’t have a care in the world.”

“They must know about the Ha’curn fleet.”

“Hell, we just learned about it ourselves.”

“These are the movers and shakers,” Ashley suggested. “If anyone would know, it would be them.”

“Pretty confident, aren’t they?” Joanie added. “Well, fuck them.”

Zac smiled. “Well said, my dear. Look, to the right, that looks like a shuttle cart.”

They moved toward an open-top, twelve-seat passenger vehicle stopped nearby.

“To the Temple?” Ashley asked the driver. Guests were already climbing aboard.

“That is true; please enter.”

Zac slipped into one of the seat aisles, and Joanie followed, sitting on the outside. Angus and Ashley were moving around the back to enter from the other side, but before they could, an Antaerean couple slid in next to Zac and Joanie.

An older male native looked over at Zac and scanned him unabashedly before wrinkling his nose slightly. Apparently, he didn’t approve of what Zac was wearing—but neither did he. He’d been told this was what all the finest people on Antara were wearing this season. He’d been told wrong. The native was decked in a sophisticated blue jacket and slim, black pants, just the outfit Zac wished he was wearing.

When full, the cart set off from the Grand Temple.

13

“This your first time at the Andorium.” the native seated next to Zac stated. Zac’s country-bumpkin outfit was the give-away.

The moment of truth, Zac thought. Could he pull off speaking Antaerean with the proper diction and inflection?

“You are correct,” he answered. Even those three words tied his tongue. Knowing the words was one thing. Getting your mouth to form the proper vowels and consonants in the heat of the moment, was another.

“Are you well?” asked the native.

“Forgive me,” Zac stammered. “I had work done recently. I am still healing.”

The alien/native eyed him suspiciously. “Where are you from?”

“Simblaus. I am Bonin Melos. This is my mate Siloa. I am here with my brother and business partner, Linos, and his first mate, Cayla.” Zac motioned behind them, where Angus and Ashley sat.

“What business?”

“The Melos Company. We do manufacturing.”

“I have not heard of your business. I, too, am in manufacturing, but here on Antara.”

“It is understandable that you would not have heard of us. We are a business that provides over a thousand products that are essential, yet ones you never think of.”

“Example?”

“Rocker arms, junction boxes, relay switches; items such as that. It is not glamorous work, yet we fill a need.”

The native nodded dismissively. “I create communication equipment, weapons and other essential products. Conron Manufacturing.”

“Yes! Of course, I have heard of you,” Zac lied. “I am honored to meet you.” Zac bowed slightly, the official method of greeting among the Antaere.

The mood of the native softened. “And this will be your first time in the Grand Temple.”

“Also true. That, too, will be an honor.”

“I have been to it ten days in a row, participating in the pre-Coronation festivities. Three nights ago, we ate with the Rowin. He was at a table very near us.”

Zac nodded, his eyes growing wide. “Such a privilege.”

“I even had a word with him.”

“I am impressed.” Zac turned to Joanie. “Did you hear, Siloa? He has spoken with the Rowin.”

“I heard. I would never expect to have the honor myself.”

“He is in the Temple at this moment,” the native said. “It is part of the ceremony, as he renews his devotion to the Order before ascending to Tesnin. Of course, we will not see him there. He is in a restricted section. For this tour, we are only allowed in the Grand Hall and Exhibit Corridors.”

Zac was watching the route the cart took, sweeping around the North Lake, past the Tesnin Residence, and were now pulling up to the front of the towering edifice of the Grand Temple. The building was shaped identical to the one on Iz’zar, but about twenty percent larger. From here, they were awed by the magnificent portico entrance, the polished white marble walls and the sloping, sensual curve of the golden dome. There were hundreds of Antaere milling around, some even making videos of the building and event. Zac felt relaxed by now, understanding the dynamics of the place and feeling right at home. He hated to admit it, but the Antaere were just like Humans. Maybe that was why they clashed.

The cart emptied, and the snooty industrialist walked away with his first mate without a glance back, not wanting a pair of lower-class invitees tagging along, sucking off his familiarity with the Temple. That was fine with Zac. He took Joanie by the arm and escorted her through the forty-foot-high open doorway into the Grand Temple.

And then he had to kick himself.

He was stopped in midstride by the awesome sight before him; his jaw slack, his breath short.

Zac had once been in the Temple of Light on Iz’zar—just before his fellow REV, Mike Brickey, destroyed it: He didn’t destroy it—that was Congin Bornak—but Mike was blamed for it initially. Hell, they all were. The Temple on Iz’zar was for the non-Antaere believers in the Order; a temple of their own, and they became very upset when it was destroyed.

But the Grand Temple of Light in the Andorium was exclusively for the Antaere, and not just any Antaere, but the most elite. As such, it was the grandest of all buildings in the Grid, an amazing mix of impossible crystal spires, shimmering marble, granite and gold everywhere. The worship chamber before him felt like he’d entered a universe of its own, so large and breathtaking that it seemed otherworldly, even alien. He laughed. The place was alien; he’d just forgot for a moment. And then high up an embossed stone pillar was a solitary platform. This was where the priests—and even on occasion, the Tesnin—gave their sermons. And along each side were columns of immense proportion supporting the sky-high dome of the Temple. And at the very top was a hundred-foot-in-diameter, solid crystal lens. It was through the lens that the light of the yellow sun would shine, the same yellow as the skin of the Antaere. This was what made the Antaere the Guardians of the Order. They were born of the Light and carried the same hue. Their place in the Universal Order was preordained. They evolved to be the embodiment of the Order.

Or so the story went. Zac came back to earth when Angus poked him in his ribs.

“Gawk much, Mr. Murphy?” he asked. “If I didn’t know better, I would say you just converted to the faith.”

Zac was embarrassed. “Yeah, well, there is one thing do I know: don’t destroy the damn building. That tends to piss people off.”

“Hey, we didn’t do that.”

“But we paid the price.”

Angus shrugged.

“To work,” Amber’s voice sounded through their comm sticks. “Find a security station. The computers will be linked to all the areas within the building.”

Joanie’s dress was adorned with a simple row of one-inch-in-diameter black buttons. In reality, they were access patches for Amber, a way for her to hack into the Antaere computers.

The team looked around.

“Security stations?” Joanie asked, raising an eyebrow. “That shouldn’t be a problem. They’re all over the damn place.”

She was right. With the Coronation soon to take place, as well as the unusual access many had to the Temple, guards were everywhere. Many of the side passageways were gated off, with armed sentries. The problem was getting past the guards and to a computer.

“Follow me,” said Angus before heading to the right and one of the few open passageways off the main hall. They walked into a wide vestibule, lined with stone tables and statuary. Tiny plaques described the artwork, and the team began to move along the wall, taking in the sights.

Behind them was a curving stairway going up, with a second level open to below and lined with a thick railing of polished stone. Cornices and quoins climbed the wall to the balcony. And through the railing, they could see a small security station with a computer and monitor on the second floor.

The problem: The stairway was gated off and with an eagle-eye sentry watching their every move.

“We need a distraction,” Joanie whispered.

Zac looked at her and frowned.

“Just do it; I have an idea.”

Ashley then suddenly slapped Angus in the face.

“I said I want to leave!” she yelled. “You cannot stop me, even if you try.”

She emphasized the word try, and Angus got the message. He stepped in front of her and reached out with his arms. Ashley backed away and then turned. There was another corridor leading away from the exhibition hall and looking to connect with offices in the back. She ran off down the corridor, with Angus close behind.

The sentry watched her go, and then in a panic, turned to an electronic pad on the gate to the stairway and swiped the back of his hand across it. The gate locked, and then the guard ran off down the corridor after Ashley and Angus.

“We don’t have a key,” Zac said to Joanie, confused as to what she had in mind.

“Don’t worry.” And with that, she hitched up her billowing skirt and ran for the wall below the balcony. She jumped on one leg, reaching a ledge five feet high, before bounding off in the opposite direction and to a decorative quoin ten feet higher. She reminded Zac of a mountain goat in the way she climbed. And then one last leap before she reached up and threw herself over the railing to the balcony.

Zac lost sight of her as she ran for the computer. A moment later, she was at the railing again, looking down at him.

“Hurry! The guard is coming back,” said Ashley’s voice in their comm sticks.

“Catch!” Joanie called out. And then she leaped from the balcony, falling on her back, the billowing white dress flowing out from her like the tail of a comet.

Zac was caught off guard, but he reacted in time to put out his arms. In his current REV state, the tiny woman was as light as a feather as he caught her, dropping her feet to the floor just as the sentry appeared from the corridor. The guard eyed them for a moment, seeing Joanie’s mussed-up hair and Zac’s embarrassed look. Then the guard smiled and shook his head slightly. Whatever the handsome young couple had been up to, they’d been caught.

Zac took Joanie by the hand, and they rushed from the exhibit hall.

Ashley and Angus met up with them again in the main chamber.

“I got the patch planted,” Joanie said.

“I detect it,” said Amber. “I am gaining access to the computer system. Give me a moment to scan the files—I believe I have it.”

That was quick, Zac thought.

“There is a series of five electronic centers located nine floors below. The equipment in each appears to be old, older than other systems. Since the weapons were placed on Falmoria-cra four hundred years ago, I would assume the equipment used in the trigger was of that era, although I cannot guarantee that the system has not been updated more recently. But it is a good place to start.”

“Nine levels down?” Zac asked. He had memories of his REV team moving to the lower floors in the temple on Iz’zar. It was not an easy task. And with the heightened security in the Grand Temple, it would certainly involve some strong-arm persuasion to get there. He looked at Angus, who could read his expression, if not his mind.

“That’s what we’re here for; to bust heads,” Angus said.

“Just be subtle about it,” Ashley suggested.

“I can control the security cameras,” Amber said. “There is a service access past the main bank of elevators. There is one guard on duty.”

They’d each studied the schematics of the Grand Temple provided by Amber’s mysterious owner, so they knew the lower levels contained offices and priest quarters, and at the very lowest level—at sub-basement twenty—was the Hall of Records, where originals of the most sacred documents of the Order were stored. The lower they went, the tighter the security. Hopefully, going only to the ninth sub-level wouldn’t be too bad.

Again, it was Ashley who led the way to the elevators.

14

Guards were posted at the locked elevators, and they nodded politely when the two couples approached.

“A grooming station?” Ashley asked, and she was directed further down the hall and closer to the service area.

Every building with elevators also had stairwells, and the Grand Temple was no exception. A single guard had responsibility for both. He looked bored, having drawn the most hapless assignment for the Coronation, guarding a pair of doors next to a bathroom.

“Video is looped,” Amber told the team.

The guard looked almost glad to see the four VIPs step up to him. At least it was something.

“Is this the stairway to the lower levels?” Ashley asked with authority.

“Yes, it is,” the young Antaerean answered without thinking.

“How do we access it?”

“Pardon?” the guard stammered. “Access is limited.”

“But if I wanted to gain access, how would I do it.”

The Antaerean was caught off guard by Ashley’s direct questions.

“Only I can unlock the door.” He lifted his right hand slightly, giving away the fact that he—like the other guard—had a security tag embedded under his skin.

“That’s what I needed to know.” Ashley smiled.

Her strike was so quick that only the other REVs could see it. Her fist hit the guard in the face, sending his head rocking backward before rebounding off the stone wall behind him. Ashley caught his limp body and pulled it over to the door of the stairwell, taking his right hand and scanning the locking panel. The door clicked.

They hid the body in the stairwell and relocked the door.

Zac looked over the railing.

“This doesn’t look to go all the way down,” he reported. “Maybe only five or six levels.”

“That’s a start,” Ashley said. Then she bounded down the stairs at REV speed, the rest of the team close behind.

Zac was right; this particular stairway only went to the sixth sub-level. Amber was leading the way manipulating the camera system to keep them invisible from the monitors.

“Two guards, stationed at the next elevator. They are armed. Distance from the stairwell to them is approximately twenty yards.”

Zac knew what that meant. There was a sizeable gap that needed to be closed before the guards could be taken out, and unfortunately, the original stairwell guard had been unarmed.

At the door, Zac turned to Angus. “This is going to hurt.” Angus nodded his understanding. Then Zac opened the door, and the men stepped out into the lobby.

The guards stood up from their seats, drawing their weapons. No one should have access to this level, especially not flamboyantly dressed guests for the Coronation. To their credit, the sentries saw the REV’s stance as a sign of hostility.

“Remain where you are,” one of the guards called out. “You are not authorized to be here.”

And that’s when the REVs rushed them.

Even with their blazing speed, it wasn’t fast enough to close the gap before the Antaere opened fire with their energy pistols. Two small balls of intense light shot out of the barrels. With the closing distance, it became impossible for them to miss their targets. The bolts struck both Zac and Angus in the chests of their crimson jackets, burning perfectly round holes in the fabric and scorching their toughened REV skin.

Zac was beyond the cascading stage by now, completely activated at max REV ability. He ignored the pain of the burn and barreled into the guard on the right, flicking away a person of equal weight and size as if he were a fly. The guard somersaulted before crashing into the wall behind him. He ended up on his stomach, not dead, but moaning loudly as he pressed with his arms, attempting to climb to his feet. A kick from Zac’s foot flipped the alien over onto his back, his neck shattered. As Zac bent down to retrieve the guard’s weapon, he noticed Angus had made similar short work of the other guard.

The big Englishman patted at the smoldering embers of his burning jacket before ripping open the front and removing it. He quickly relieved his dead guard of his more conservative dark blue uniform top and slipped it on.

“At least it doesn’t have the bloody high collar. That thing was a bugger.”

Zac followed suit. Besides the better fashion sense, the uniform jackets didn’t have holes burned in the chests.

The door to the stairway extension wasn’t locked and soon the team was racing down the steps to the ninth level. They did a quick check of the hallway outside just as Amber confirmed that there were another five guards in the corridor. They hadn’t been alerted to anything—not yet—just doing their duty.

Now armed with energy weapons of their own, Zac and Angus led the way out of the stairwell, blasting two of the guards before Zac swiped another one across the face with the pistol. Ashley—and even Joanie—got in the act after that, and when Joanie stepped away from her victim’s body lying on the floor, she glanced over at Zac and sent him her best Cheshire Cat smile.

“I like being a badass.”

“Who doesn’t?” Zac added.

“The door!” Ashley yelled. “It’s closing!”

15

Zac looked around in a panic wondering what she was talking about. That’s when he spotted a thick, vault-like grey metal panel sliding to cut off the hallway from another room behind it.

“The control centers are on the other side,” Amber reported.

Zac was the closest, so he ran to the door and placed his body between the door and the jamb. A second later, he was sandwiched between the door and the frame, straining with all his REV strength to keep from being crushed. His face was twisted in agony as he pressed with all his might. The door stopped, a loud clacking sound of a hidden mechanism straining against his effort.

Angus, Ashley and Joanie were at the door a moment later, each placing hands around Zac, trying to force the door open. It worked to a point, while the sound of the clacking turned into a whine. The panel moved back a little, enough for Zac to squeeze first one leg, and then the other, up against it. Then with his back firmly pressing against the door frame, and his legs pushing away, he managed to open the gap a little more.

“I can’t hold it!” he called out. “Get through!”

Joanie was the first to react, diving under his legs and into the room beyond. Ashley followed next while Angus could barely fit. And then Zac rolled, spilling from the doorway just as the defiant metal panel slammed shut.

The whining faded away, almost like a breath of victory over the REVs.

The four team members now lay on a carpeted floor, staring at the closed panel.

“You … you are not to be here,” came a sheepish voice off to Zac’s left.

Everyone turned to see a young Antaere, this one dressed in a priest gown, standing a few feet away. His eyes were filled with fright, and not like the confident defiance of the guards. He then turned and ran down the hallway.

Zac scowled. Now he had to chase him.

The REV was up a moment later and after the young priest in a no-contest sprint. The problem with running as fast as a REV could run was not the forward movement; it was the stop. Zac didn’t bother to slow down at a turn in the hallway; instead, he slammed into the wall to change direction. He was at the priest a hair later, reaching out with his hand to take the Antaerean by the arm.

In the heat of the moment, Zac didn’t gear down his strength. The priest was jerked backward with his head striking the stone wall with enough force to snap his neck.

“Sorry about that,” Zac whispered to the dead alien. But then he took the limp body by the arm and dragged him back to the others.

They were standing at a row of five identical metal doorways with security panels mounted on the wall next to each.

“Those are the control rooms,” Amber informed them.

“Which one is the right one?” Joanie asked.

“I do not know. I am tied into the security computers, not those with other functions. You will need to gain access and then place wafers on each computer.”

Angus rapped a metal door with his knuckles. “We ain’t getting through those with our brute strength,” he said.

Zac lifted the thin arm of the dead priest. “Let’s see if he has access.”

He went to the first door on the right and swiped the alien’s hand across the access panel. An invisible latch released, and Zac pressed open the heavy door.

Joanie rushed past him, taking in the interior of the room before stepping up to a computer array built into a control console. The room was full of other equipment, with no signs of life.

After a few seconds, Joanie had identified the power switch, and the room came to life. She removed another of the wafer patches from her gown and placed it on the face of the computer module.

And then they waited.

It took a full minute this time before Amber came with her answer.

“This is not it. Try another room.”

Outside in the corridor, they moved to the next door, Zac dragging the lifeless priest along with him. The layout of this room was different from the last, and it took Joanie a full five minutes before she had the power up and another of the patches on the computer. She only had one patch left.

Again, Amber’s answer was negative. They moved to the third door.

Using her last hacking patch, Joanie set about firing up the control room, again, one of a different design than the other two. Although Amber kept telling them they weren’t the right control stations, she never said what they were for if she even knew.

When the answer came back that the third room also wasn’t the right one, Zac was discouraged.

“This isn’t looking good. If the control room isn’t here, we’re in a world of hurt. If not here, then where?”

Joanie was out of patches, so she took hold of the one attached to this computer and ripped it away.

“Oh, please!” said Amber. “Do not do that unless you tell me,” the AI scolded. “That was too abrupt of a break.”

“Sorry,” Joanie said, appearing genuinely embarrassed. “I didn’t know.”

With lowering spirits, the team moved to the fourth door. There were only two left. This room looked a little more updated than the others but still gave no clue as to its purpose. Zac grimaced. It was all alien stuff used for alien purpose. He had no way of telling what for.

Once the power was on, Joanie placed the used wafer patch on the computer and stepped back with a frown on her face. “I hope the patches can be reused.”

Amber didn’t answer, at least not for a full two minutes.

“This is it,” the AI proclaimed. “Computer interface indicates a trigger program for forty-eight nuclear devices at a remote location.”

“Great!” Angus said. “Go ahead and send the signal, then let’s get the hell out of here.”

“I cannot do that,” Amber answered, which sent everyone’s hearts into the toilet.

“What do you mean you can’t?” Zac asked.

“I cannot affect the triggering event. That will have to be done on-site.”

“With the Ha’curn?” Ashley blurted.

“No, in the room where you are. But before that, the uplink needs to be reestablished. The computer program is active, yet no signals are leaving the room at the moment. Ms. Hollis, it is time for you to go to work.”

“I thought I already was working,” Joanie said sourly. But she knew what Amber meant. With a grunt, Joanie dropped to her back and slipped in under the console, her once-pristine white gown now covered in years of the accumulated dust on the floor.

She went to work, following communications lines in and out of the control console. Every few minutes, she would ask Amber if what she had done had worked or not. The answer was always no.

Zac, Angus and Ashley eventually moved out into the corridor and sat down on the carpet, their backs resting against the cold stone walls. Twenty minutes went by, and still no success.

“You know, they’ve probably discovered our handiwork by now,” Angus said. “They’ll be looking for us.”

Zac motioned at the closed vault door staring at them like a cold, grey eye. “At least they’ll be able to get us out of here. I’m not too keen about starving to death in the bowels of the Grand Temple on Antara.”

“Me neither,” Angus said. “Fortunately, I will be the last to starve.”

“Why is that?” Ashley asked.

Angus grinned widely. “Because I’m not opposed to eating the rest of you to keep me alive.”

Zac pursed his lips and nodded. Makes sense, he thought.

“That’s it!” Joanie cried out. “It’s up!”

And so were the REVs. They rushed back into the room to find Joanie now seated at the computer terminal, working the device.

“It’s linked?” Ashley asked.

“The signal is going out,” Amber confirmed. “I can trace it to the Simblaus Relay Station. It is within range of the Ha’curn fleet.”

“Great,” Angus said. “Go ahead then, send the detonate signal.”

Joanie sat frozen at the terminal.

“What’s wrong?” Angus asked. “Do it.”

“I … I don’t know. There’s supposed to be a million Ha’curn in the fleet.”

“That’s a good start,” Angus said. “Waste them, Joanie.”

She pushed away from the station. “You do it. I don’t know if I can.”

Everyone looked to Angus. His mouth fell open slightly.

“Hey, that’s not my job. I just came along to bust heads.”

“So bust a million of them,” Ashley said.

“Why don’t you?” he said to his girlfriend. “Just push the damn button.”

“I’m not … I don’t know—”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake!” Zac yelled. “I’ll do it.”

And with that, he stepped forward and pressed the button.

16

“Did it work?” Angus asked.

Joanie shook her head. “I don’t know. I suppose so.”

“Amber?” Ashley said.

“Impossible to tell from here. All I can confirm is that the detonate signal left here and was relayed to Simblaus. Beyond that, I can neither confirm nor deny detonation.”

Zac sighed. “Well, that was anticlimactic. How will we know if we’ve done it?”

“Let’s worry about that later, Zac,” Angus said. “Let’s just vamonos and call it a day.”

“We still have the issue with the security door,” Ashley pointed out.

Zac shrugged. “Hey, Amber, why don’t you turn the cameras back on in the hallway. Let them see us waiting outside the door. I’d rather take my chances with an army of Antaerean guards than let Angus eat my ass.”

Angus smiled. “I’d save your ass for last, mate. A nice juicy hindquarter for supper.”

* * *

It took another fifteen minutes after the cameras came back on before sounds came from the other side of the metal door. The team stood up from their carpet seats and raised their arms in the universal sign of surrender. They eventually put them back down when it took another five minutes before the door slid open.

Amber already told them there were over twenty guards on the other side of the door, each armed with energy rifles and pistols. Zac instructed the team to chill out; it would be better to fight their way out of a holding cell than up nine flights of stairs before meeting the main force in the Grand Hall.

Antaere rushed in and frisked them; Zac and Angus had already disposed of their weapons. Then their hands were locked in strong metal shackles behind their backs, and they were led into the main corridor and to the once-locked elevator.

Zac saw a lead guard listening on an ear set.

“You are being taken before the Rowin,” Amber reported, as she continued to monitor the security communications.

“Take them to level three. The Rowin wishes to speak to the prisoners,” the guard commander announced to his troops.

A minute later, the elevator doors opened, and the team was herded out and taken to a smallish room decorated in fine Antaerean artwork. From their study of the Temple, level three was at the back of the raised section leading to the sermon platform. It was reserved only for the royal family and Level Four priests or higher.

Zac recognized the face of Kallen Zaphin as one of those who had come to view his humiliation on the central stage, although at the time, he didn’t know who he was. Andus Zaphin was the Rowin then, meaning all the other family members served the role of seen-but-not-heard entities. Now he was the man—or alien—about to be crowned the supreme leader of the Antaere people, and by extension, of the Order.

The four REVs remained passive and contrite, not wanting to give away any of their hidden abilities. That would come later.

Kallen Zaphin stood up from the plush couch on which he sat and approached them. Guards tensed, holding their weapons a little tighter.

The Rowin surveyed each of their faces while wearing a thin, entertained grin. Then he frowned when he came to Zac.

Did he recognize him? Zac wondered. If he did, that would give away who and what they were. He was counting on that being a surprise.

Kallen reached out and pulled a thin piece of Zac’s prosthetics that had come loose on his face, a little extra something designed to make him look older and less recognizable. The Rowin studied the tiny strip of rubber with interest. Then he leaned in closer and studied Zac’s eyes.

“Humans,” he said, turning slightly to a group of ranking advisors standing nearby. “They are not Antaere, but Humans.” He laughed. “So, your evil plan to assassinate me on the day of my greatest achievement has failed.”

Assassination? Where did he get that? Zac thought.

“I should have suspected as much. You must have learned of the Ha’curn fleet and know that only by disrupting the leadership of the Antaere could you hopefully gain any advantage. You should know your plan would have never worked. Even as Rowin, I have appointed one below me as my successor. There will always be a Tesnin of the Antaere.”

He turned away and laughed again. “And you were discovered in the sub-levels, apparently lost as you searched for me in the Temple. Humans are pitiful creatures. And I will begin my reign with the crowning achievement of eliminating your evil race from the Grid and the Order. The advantage is now ours; your time is—”

An Antaere military officer rushed into the room, interrupting Kallen’s speech.

“My Lord, an important message. You must see.” He held a datapad in his hand.

“This interruption is not to be tolerated!” Kallen yelled at the officer. He looked to his guards, scolding them with his eyes for letting the officer barge in as he had.

“But my Lord! This is important!”

The officer shoved the datapad into the Rowin’s hands.

Flush with anger, Kallen glanced down at the screen. Then he frowned and looked closer. He began to scroll through the screens.

“Is this confirmed?”

“Yes, my Lord,” answered the vindicated First Insir.

“I must … I must …” Kallen rushed off toward the door.

“My Lord,” said the lead guard. “What of the prisoners?”

Kallen stopped briefly at the door, his forehead deeply furrowed. He waved a hand at the guard. “Take them to a secure cell. I will deal with them later.” And then he was gone, out the door with his advisors following.

As the team was hustled from the room, Zac looked over at Joanie and raised his eyebrows.

“You don’t suppose, do you?” he whispered.

“Amber, are you monitoring communications?” Ashley whispered.

In the ambient noise of the team being shuffled out and led back to the elevator, the AI’s voice was still heard.

“I’m monitoring both security channels, as well as those of local broadcasts. All have been focused on the Coronation, but now other news is coming in. There is mass panic at the Andorium. The guests are fleeing, most heading back to the spaceport. Workers here are growing desperate; I have had to employ anti-boarder protocols to keep the Zanzibar from being taken. Wait, please. Yes, an information block is being placed on the general broadcasts by order of the government. I would have to surmise from this activity that our mission has been a success. I will endeavor to find other sources of information.”

Zac didn’t need Amber’s report for verification. As the elevator opened on the main level, he could see beyond the huge open doors to the outside of the Temple. People were scrambling, along with those inside the structure. There was pandemonium, and the high-class society of Antara was looking for a way out.

The lead guard hesitated for a moment, looking out at what was happening outside before deciding to take the team down a side corridor and into the main security offices for the Temple. He had originally intended to take them to the south side of the Andorium, to the main security headquarters. But he would have to fight through the panicking crowd to get there. Instead, he herded the team into a holding cell within the Temple.

“This doesn’t make sense,” Joanie said as the door was locked. The guards had worried looks on their faces as well. The panic was infectious. “Even if the Ha’curn fleet was destroyed, it’s still several months—maybe even a year—before we attack Antara.”

“But the bigwigs aren’t waiting around,” Ashley said. “They know the inevitable, and they’re going to get a jump on things. Everyone with a starship will be gone in a matter of hours. And that’s making everyone else nervous.”

“So, it looks like we did it,” Zac stated. “Mission accomplished.”

Angus grunted. “I’ll only say mission accomplished over a pint at Jack’s back at Groom Lake. Until we get out of here and back home, the mission is still active.”

Zac grinned. “Right as always, Lt. Price. Fortunately, the four of us have a little bag of tricks up our sleeves—and coursing through our bodies—at the moment. I suppose it’s time we use all this confusion as cover to get out of here. Amber, get the Zanzibar prepped for a fast getaway. We’re heading your way.”

“Prepped and ready, Major Murphy. But be advised, you will encounter a lot of traffic heading this way on the main road out of the Andorium.”

“It can’t be worse than rush hour on the 405. See you in a few minutes.”

Joanie took hold of Zac’s arm. “Let me do it, please!” Her eyes were bright with excitement.

“You’re really getting into this whole REV thing, aren’t you?” He waved his hand toward the locked cell door. “Be my guest.”

* * *

Joanie stepped up to the metal bars near the locking box. Although General Cross said female REVs didn’t max out strength-wise as did the men, they were proving to be strong enough when it counts. Joanie gripped the bars and began to groan, pulling at the section where the lock was installed. The metal bent, not as fast as it would have if Zac were doing it, but enough. The lock broke and separated from the door.

The guards were otherwise occupied, attempting to maintain some sense of order in the Temple while also trying to find out what the panic was about. From the looks on their faces, some already knew, but as professionals, they were doing their best to stand their posts.

The team slipped out of the cell and moved down the narrow corridor to the main office. About a dozen security personnel were in the room, many armed with energy rifles, all with pistols. Zac was tired of playing it cautious. He and Angus rushed into the room, their fists flying and bodies barreling. Antaere were thrown helter-skelter, while Joanie and Ashley brought up the rear, gathering up discarded weapons as they ran.

The two male REVs had weapons of their own by now and were blasting any alien they saw, be they guards, military or frantic guests. As they bolted into the Grand Hall, the small army of security personnel noticed them and began to fire. Both Zac and Angus took hits, as did Ashley. But they kept running. With a savage grin on his face, Zac waded into a surging column of Antaere, firing his weapon with one hand while flailing away with the other. He looked over at Angus on his right. He was doing the same.

Zac glanced back at Joanie and yelled, “This is what it’s like to be on an old REV Run at ground level!”

“I know,” she yelled back. “I’ve seen the video.”

It was both stimulating and disturbing at the same time. Zac was having flashbacks to his NT-4 days and the thrill of cutting through a horde of aliens and watching the bodies fall.

The team burst out into the night of Antara. A sea of light still covered the area, as this was about the time the Coronation was set to begin, although Zac figured the festivities for the evening had been cancelled by now. Fancy-dressed Antaere were running everywhere, and a disorganized parade of the black limos were jockeying their way out from the underground parking garages, many forcing their way past fellow drivers with no regard for anyone but themselves.

With most of the opposition behind them—or dead—Zac and his team ran to the line of limos. One close to them smashed into the back of another and came to a stop. Ashley was at the driver’s door, which she promptly ripped from its hinges and tossed it aside. She reached in and pulled the Antaere driver from his seat, throwing him away as she had the door. She climbed in.

Following her cue, Zac ripped off the back door to the limo and jumped in. On the other side of the vehicle, he kicked out this door, as well. Then with Joanie sitting in a forward seat, Zac and Angus stationed themselves at the open doors and blasted any security guards they saw until their weapons ran dry.

Ashley had the limo untangled from the bumper of the other and was careening through traffic as fast as possible. Unlike the other drivers, she had no regard for the pedestrians in her way, and many of the slower ones paid the ultimate price for their sloth. As Amber warned, the bridge leaving the Andorium was gridlocked with vehicles and fleeing guests. Beyond the wide moat around the island, thousands of confused and frightened civilians crowded the shoreline, wondering what was happening within the walls of the Antaere’s most sacred grounds.

Ashley muscled her way through the traffic, at times gunning the limo so much that the rear tires spun, squealed and smoked while she shoved another of the limos through the brick rampart lining the bridge and into the waters below. This would momentarily clear her for another run at the back of another vehicle, and soon she was over the bridge and onto the wider expanse of the main avenue.

All lanes were now taken by vehicles moving away from the Andorium. Ashley weaved between traffic and onto the shoulder. At one point, she veered onto the sloped side of a grassy embankment before steering back onto the road, t-boning another limo.

After a few minutes of this, traffic began to thin out. They were close to the spaceport, and as the limos and other vehicles barreled out onto the tarmac, they had more room to spread out. Ashley steered for the Zanzibar and skidded to a stop only ten feet away.

As the team scrambled from the limo, they noticed a dozen bodies lying inert on the concrete, the consequence of the high electrical charge Amber could pass through the hull to discourage boarders and hijackers. The main hatchway opened for them and the REVs shot through. Even as the door was closing, an enormous blast of lifting fire lashed out from under the starship. A moment later, the Zanzibar was angled up at eighty-degrees, heading almost straight up into space.

17

Without worrying about what energy-signature the ship gave out, Amber set the Zanzibar on a direct course for the Valhalla and at maximum drive. The massive battle-carrier had moved closer to Antara by now, so the rendezvous would take place only eight days later, rather than the nine it took them to originally reach the planet.

Zac and Joanie, and Angus and Ashley, fell back into their regular routines, although more relaxed and satisfied then they had been on the trip to Antara. Occasionally, the lustful couples would see each other in the galley, but mostly they remained locked away behind the doors to their staterooms, celebrating the mission’s success.

REVs seldom became exhausted, but by the time the Zanzibar docked with the Valhalla, everyone aboard was ready for a break. They got it when Admiral Armitage called them to her underway cabin for a mission debrief.

* * *

The team took comfortable seats on couches and chairs, rather than the sterile table. Drinks were offered and accepted, and after a celebratory toast, the admiral got down to business.

“Here’s the latest,” she began. “From what we can tell—and of course, this information is sketchy—all forty-eight weapons exploded within the Ha’curn fleet. It turns out that about two-thirds of the ships were warships, while another third where massive troop carriers, with over ten thousand Ha’curn in each one. These troops were to be used to stock the garrisons on the Colony Worlds to enforce order. All except ten of the warships were destroyed, while fourteen of the troop carriers survived, a consequence of the spread of the fleet at the time of detonation.” She smiled and lifted her glass to her lips. “And although the Ha’curn hadn’t rendezvoused with the main Antaere fleet by this time, there were already twenty-two Antaere ships operating with the Ha’curn. That takes the number of remaining Antaere warships down to below two hundred and with no substantial additions coming before we launch our attack on Antara.”

“And when will that be, admiral?” Zac asked.

Armitage shrugged. “That’s still up in the air. In fact, we may not make a full-scale assault of the planet.”

“Why not, ma’am?” Joanie asked.

“That’s the other part of the news. It seems Kallen Zaphin and his family have left Antara. Not only that, but as he left, he took all the contents of the Hall of Records with him.”

“Where did he go?” Joanie followed up.

Armitage shook her head. “We don’t know, but there are still a lot of planets in the Grid for him to hide. Hell, he may have left the Grid, for that matter. But the bottom line is most of the rest of the government has fled, as well. And now, anyone with a microphone is calling us trying to negotiate a peace.”

“Peace?” Zac said. “Excuse me, ma’am, but bullshit. Look what they intended to do to us.”

“Relax, Mr. Murphy, no one’s going to let the Antaere off scot-free. It’s just that it won’t take an invasion to subdue the population. They’re inviting us in.” The admiral looked at the faces of the four REVs, slowly, one at a time. “Ladies and gentlemen, the war’s over. We won!”

Epilogue

A few hours later, the team met up at the MedLab at the request of General David Cross. He was still aboard the Valhalla, not wanting to leave until he knew if the mission was a success, and how his female REVs fared. He wanted to do a quick exam of them, to see how operating at such a high level of natural Rev production affected them.

Zac and Angus were in an anteroom, looking at the women through a large glass window covered in open blinds. Cross was with them, going over the results of the tests.

“So, what happens to us now?” Angus asked. “No wars to fight; no need for REVs.”

“I’m fine with that,” Zac said. “Although I understand there are over two hundred Alpha REVs on Crious. That’s a lot of supermen to control, especially when they’ve just discovered they’re supermen. Cross has his work cut out for him. He’s stuck between real-world Humans and his REVs.”

“It’s of his own making, Zac,” Angus said. “He should have thought of that before he started messing with Human evolution.”

Zac nodded, then frowned as he looked through the window at the dumbfounded looks on the faces of both Ashley and Joanie. Although the men couldn’t hear what was said, Cross had just told them something the women found shocking.

A minute later, the door to the inner office open and the two female REVs walked out, their faces blank, skin pale and looking like zombies.

“What’s wrong?” Angus asked. “Did the Rev do something to your bodies?”

Joanie looked at Zac. “No. The Rev didn’t do anything to our bodies. But you did.”

“What do you mean?” Zac asked.

“We’re pregnant.”

Angus looked at Ashley. “Both of you?”

She nodded.

Instantly, a thousand things ran through Zac’s mind, and nearly all of them focused on Dr. David Cross.

“This sounds like something Cross would do,” he said.

“Eh, excuse me, Zac,” Joanie began. “But David didn’t do this to me. You did.”

“But he’s been trying to make a female REV just so he can breed her with a male natural. It’s all part of his plan to create the master race.”

“That may be true, but this is us we’re talking about and not some master race.”

“And us,” Ashley said, looking at Angus.

The men were silent for a moment, each afraid to ask the next question. It was Zac who eventually built up the courage.

“So, what are you going to do?”

“What do you mean?” Joanie asked, aghast. “David told us about the babies, about how our DNA has changed, and that the children will be REVs, natural REVs. He says this is a transformational moment in the history of mankind. I’m certainly not going to do anything impulsive. And aren’t you curious, Zac? Don’t you want to know what your son or daughter will be like?”

“Of course, I am,” he answered honestly. “It’s just that I can’t get past the feeling that Cross set this up; that he arranged for the two of you to go on the mission to Antara, and that the days alone on the Zanzibar was his way of making sure we did what he wanted us to do.”

“As I recall, no one was twisting your arm. You were a willing participant.”

Zac forced out a thin grin while scooping Joanie up in his arms. Angus did the same with Ashley. Everyone hugged and tears flowed.

“Of course, you’re right,” Zac said after a moment. “It will certainly be interesting to see how all this works out.” Then he smiled even more broadly.

“So, here we are at the crossroads in evolution, with Joanie Hollis and Ashley Hunter, the mothers of a new breed of Human. Who would have thunk it?”

And with that, the four REVs looked to the window where the general had been watching.

Then with a sly grin, Dr. David Cross reached over and slowly closed the blinds.

The End

Coming Next:

REV: Revelations

The first book in The REV Warriors: Part 2

Ten years from the end of REV: Retribution:

Knowing the truth is not always a good thing. And now that the word is out regarding the Alphas, the majority of the population is up in arms. This new kind of REV isn’t like Zac Murphy’s Deltas, so rare that they’re more a curiosity than a threat. Yet the Alphas are invisible supermen walking among the ‘normals,’ a new kind of Human set to replace the old with the new. And this is not the only revelation that has Humanity spooked. Now that the Grid is unified and ruled by the Humans, it’s time to expand outward, into a vast, unexplored galaxy with a variety of lifeforms so unlike Humans that common ground is impossible to find. And who will protect Humanity from the coming threats? Naturally, the duty falls to the REVs. And what do the REVs get in return? Not what they bargained for.

Author Notes and FREE BOOK OFFER

I want to thank you for reading this latest edition in the REV universe. It was fun getting back to writing about Zac and his friends, and all the challenges facing the REVs and Humanity. Life is complicated … and then you become a REV.

The series will continue with Book #1 in The REV Warriors Part 2. REV: Revelations picks up as mankind comes face-to-face with the impact this new breed of man on the rest of the species. The new REVs are a quantum leap in evolution, which in the opinion of some, makes normal Humans obsolete. But will Humanity go quietly into the night, to be replaced by a race of supermen—and women? Or will they fight for their existence? I think you know the answer.

And yet, as Humanity expands beyond the Grid into an unexplored galaxy filled with countless threats, who do we want out there protecting us? Who do we want to be the sharp end of the stick, representatives of the Human race? A race of supermen can be a formidable deterrent. Let them do what they do best – fight and win.

But why would the REVs settle for such a role, as protectors of a race of beings who are only using them for their own selfish ends? Why would they do this … especially when they don’t have to?

Be looking for REV: Revelations coming in September 2020.

And as for other news…

Next up for me is the second book in The Adam Cain Chronicles entitled Empires. This book will be out in early January 2020 and will detail the building tensions between the twin galaxy empires—The Expansion and the Orion-Cygnus Union—as they vie for control of The Dead Worlds. Caught in the middle—of course—are our trio of heroes, Adam Cain, Riyad Tarazi and Sherri Valentine. But now they’ve been given more responsibility for the affairs of The Zone, placing them squarely in the sights of the conflicting parties. It’s one thing to be a target. It’s another to be everyone’s target.

And in even MORE news…

If you don’t know already, I’ve started a new Facebook Fan Page, appropriately titled:

Fans of T.R. Harris and The Human Chronicles Saga.

I invite all my readers to join (it’s a private group). I try to post there every day (when I’m not under a deadline). It’s a fun group where my fans and I can interact more frequently. I try to give insights into my books, the characters and the process, as well as the writing business as a whole. We have some real characters over there, and I’m proud to call many of the members friends, as well as fans.

You should check the group. And by the way…it’s FREE!

Click here to check it out:

Facebook Fan Group

I’m inviting you to join my exclusive, secret,

Super Fan Facebook Group appropriately called

Fans of T.R. Harris and

The Human Chronicles Saga

Just click on the link below, and you—yes, YOU—may become a character in one of my books. You may not last long, and you may end up being the villain, but at least you can point to your name in one of my books – and live forever! Maybe. If I decide to use your name. It’s at my discretion.

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Novels by T.R. Harris

The Adam Cain Saga

The Dead Worlds

Empires

Battle Plan

Galactic Vortex

Dark Energy

Universal Law

The Formation Code

The Quantum Enigma

Children of the Aris

The Human Chronicles

The Fringe Worlds

Alien Assassin

The War of Pawns

The Tactics of Revenge

The Legend of Earth

Cain’s Crusaders

The Apex Predator

A Galaxy to Conquer

The Masters of War

Prelude to War

The Unreachable Stars

When Earth Reigned Supreme

A Clash of Aliens

Battlelines

The Copernicus Deception

Scorched Earth

Alien Games

The Cain Legacy

The Andromeda Mission

Last Species Standing

Invasion Force

Force of Gravity

Mission Critical

The Lost Universe

The Immortal War

Destroyer of Worlds

Phantoms

Terminus Rising

The Last Aris

The Human Chronicles Box Set Series

Box Set #1 – Books 1-5 in the series

Box Set #2 – Books 6-10 in the series

Box Set #3 – Books 11-15 in the series

Box Set #4 – Books 16-20 in the series

Box Set #5—Books 21-25 in the series

REV Warriors Series

Rev

REV: Renegades

REV: Rebirth

REV: Revolution

REV: Retribution

REV: Revelations (coming soon)

REV Warriors Box Set #1 – Books 1-3 in the series

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 Co-Author George Wier…

The Liberation Series

Captains Malicious

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