How am I hearing all of this?
From me.
Who are you?
First Scout.
I’m going insane.
No, you are not. The Pandora injection they gave you is attuned to psy-lock.
The what injection is attuned to what?
There was silence for the first time, and she silently congratulated herself on achieving a moment of sanity.
They have given you an injection which enables me to talk to you.
I don’t understand how you can speak in my brain.
It is not important for you to understand. You said you would help me.
I didn’t think it was more than a dream.
It wasn’t, but I still need you.
I hurt.
The medication used to dull your nerves before the Pandora injection is wearing off. Before long, you will feel everything.
She could feel her cracked and burned skin inside the gloves she wore and shuddered. Burns were among the most horrific injuries. She’d been in a burn ward during her time in Afghanistan. A young Marine was brought in with badly burned legs from an IED. He kept screaming that he wanted to die. She started to shake in fear.
We will hurry.
She wasn’t encouraged. I need to keep my mind off this. Tell me how you know about this ship.
My psy-lock allows me to interface with any computer. The room they have me in is ingenious, no doubt built with knowledge we gave your race the last time we were here.
You’ve been to Earth before?
The kinds of things it said and the way it talked led her sci-fi loving brain to a conclusion—aliens. It made sense. She even saw the crazy haired guy from TV saying, “Aliens”.
Yes, years ago. We wanted to come to your planet. Humans we talked with offered us a safe haven. We gave them technological gifts to aid you toward the goal, help raise your technological level. When we returned, we were attacked.
Who attacked you?
We do not know. My ship was damaged, and we crashed. The psy-lock allows me to talk with computers through my mind. The injection you got gives you a similar ability.
I have computer telepathy?
Yes. I am trapped in this isolation cage. I cannot contact my ship. I need to. If you can get on the ship, we can make this happen.
What will happen if you contact your ship?
Something wonderful.
Yeah, you already said that.
It’s time.
“Right,” she whispered out loud and got to her feet. Tortured nerves and muscles screamed, and unfortunately, she felt some of it. She dearly missed the yummy drugs.
I don’t know if I can do this.
Think of your dead shipmates.
Her jaw muscles bunched, which hurt. In her mind’s eye, she saw the faces of her crew, all dead because of the bastards who were all around her. Maybe she could get some payback. Was that worth some pain? Was it worth a lot of pain? She pushed through the agony and got to her feet. The pain faded, a little.
Okay, where to?
* * *
Ocean Vista
The Flotilla
150 Nautical Miles West of San Diego, CA
All four of the Ospreys’ huge blades spun at idle as the ground crews finished pumping fuel into the VTOL craft. Rose stepped out of the barge’s built-up structure, doing his best to ignore the pain in his knees caused by his ruck. He hadn’t carried anything close to a combat load since the 2nd Gulf War, and then it was just to load aboard an APC while his firebase was moved.
Master Sergeant Ayres was helping a private secure a difficult piece of equipment when he saw Rose. The senior NCO’s face darkened, and he left the private to puzzle out the problem by himself and walked over to his commander. “General, what do you think you’re doing?”
“Getting ready for this mission.”
Ayres made a face and looked over Rose’s gear, taking in his harness, extra ammo, weapons, and camelback. “Sir, when’s the last time you went out on an op?”
“Been a few years,” Rose admitted.
“Been a few years since prohibition ended too.”
“Master Sergeant, I’m going. It isn’t up for discussion.” He walked forward and looked at the men arrayed on the deck in rough formation. There were 92, which was nearly half of his combat ready forces. They all looked tired. He understood. He felt pretty ragged himself.
“You ordered a lot of machineguns, General.”
“Yes. The enemy we’re facing has improved body armor. We’ll brief the men en route.”
Rose heard a striking sound and turned to see Ayres lighting a cigar. “Master Sergeant, you do know it’s against regulations to smoke on duty?”
Ayres puffed the cigar to a cherry red and shook out the match before answering. “If a three-star general can waddle onto a Marine Osprey near the end of the world to attack some secret base to rescue a biologist being held hostage…” He took a big drag on the cigar, “…I can smoke a damn cigar on the transport.”
“Fair enough,” Rose said and raised his voice. “We were attacked a couple of hours ago. An unknown organization sank a civilian ship, then kidnapped a scientist who’s working on a cure for Strain Delta.” He didn’t bother explaining it wasn’t really a cure. “These same sons of bitches were the ones who took out our scouts in Truth or Consequences on the way here. They killed four of us then and six more now, not counting civilians. I’m not inclined to let this stand. Who wants some payback?”
“Hooah!” the men roared.
“Master Sergeant, load them up!”
All four Osprey had M-240s mounted on their rear doors for close air support. Rose fully expected the landing to be opposed. They were going to come in low and fast, but the adversary had already demonstrated technological prowess beyond what they’d normally encounter. So, he was going for a multi-pronged attack.
“All men aboard,” Ayres yelled over the roar of the twin Rolls Royce engines. Even at idle, the turboprops were loud.
Rose raised a hand over his head and made a swirling motion with his finger. The master sergeant spoke into his headset, and the roar of the engines rose to a crescendo. A second later, the V-22 Osprey climbed into the air. He could see out the rear door which was locked half-open to allow the machinegun to work. The other three Osprey took off after and followed.
He linked through the aircraft radio and called the carrier.
“David actual to Passkey.”
“Passkey actual, go ahead David.”
In the time between his decision to commit and the beginning of the operation, Rose had ferried notes over to the Ford with his order of battle and some code names he’d created.
“Operation Roundhouse has lifted off.”
“Roger that. Will initiate Counterstrike at the agreed upon waypoint. Good luck, and God speed.”
Rose nodded and left the radio on the tactical channel, just in case.
* * *
Classified Genesis Facility
San Nicolas Island
Lisha Breda gasped and opened her eyes. Her heart was racing, and she couldn’t catch her breath. She was in a drab room that looked like it was made of metal, sitting on a hard, uncomfortable chair before a similarly manufactured table. She tried to move her hands and found they were tied behind her back.
“What’s going on?” she demanded, her breathing beginning to slow. “Why am I tied up?” There was nobody in the room to answer. She looked around and tried to figure out where she was and how she’d gotten there. “Hey!” she screamed at the top of her lungs and immediately regretted it. Her head throbbed as though she’d been at a heavy metal concert.
The door opened, and a tall man in blue coveralls walked in. He had short blonde hair and wore sunglasses despite being indoors. “Ah, Dr. Breda, you’re awake.”
His walk and tone of voice suggested he was military. “Why am I here?” she demanded. Slowly her memory was returning. There had been an attack; her people had b
een killed. “What did you do?!” she yelled, straining painfully against her restraints.
“Doctor, my name is Michael. I’m the leader of an organization that was established to protect the United States from alien invasions.”
“Oh? Looks like you fucked that up pretty thoroughly.”
Michael smiled, but his tone was without humor. “Accidents happen. However, I can assure you, things would be much worse if we had not been here to manage the situation.”
“Manage? Like kidnapping me?”
“Doctor, please.” He seemed to take no real notice of her insults. “We need to know if you found a cure for Strain Delta.”
“You couldn’t have called? Maybe sent an email?”
“We don’t have the luxury of common courtesies,” he said as if he were explaining things to a child. “We’ve seen evidence someone in your Flotilla has learned to use alien technology. Care to fill me in?”
“I don’t see how what we’ve learned matters. And no, I don’t care to fill you in on shit.”
“The knowledge is essential to saving the United States, and by default, the planet.”
Lisha glared daggers at him. “I don’t feel like being cooperative when I’m tied to a chair, Michael or whatever your name is.”
The door opened again, and a pair of black clad soldiers came in. Her memory had returned sufficiently for her to realize they were dressed and equipped like the ones who’d attacked and taken her hostage. She tensed. They had her sample case.
“Does this contain the cure?” he asked.
“Fuck you.”
“If I cut you free, will you cooperate?” She nodded, and he gestured one of the men toward her.
The soldier moved behind Lisha, and she heard the schnict of a knife locking open. A second later, her bindings were cut. She pulled her hands around and massaged her wrists. Both had angry red welts from the bindings, which were likely stripper cuffs. She looked at the sample case and shook her head.
“Did you just steal the first thing that looked useful?”
Michael glanced at the soldier who’d cut her free. The soldier shrugged. “Are you saying this isn’t the cure?”
“I’m saying this is a sample case. It holds deactivated Strain Delta as well as samples of human brain matter that I use for testing.”
“Deactivated? So, you did cure it.”
She didn’t reply.
“Fine, I have what I need. You’ll brief our people on the cure, and I’ll get rid of the Flotilla.”
“What?”
He removed a radio from his pocket and spoke. “Colonel Baker, you have a go to attack. Make it quick. No surviving ships.”
“You son of a bitch,” Lisha snarled and leaped, hands outstretched for his face. Michael intercepted her jump with a backhanded blow, spinning her to the floor. She hit and saw stars, spitting blood from a split lip. “Take her to a long-term cell. Inform the team to prep her for CVR.”
She tried getting to her feet. She needed to get her hands on him, scratch his eyes out, and throttle the life out of the bastard. Strong hands grabbed her and pinned her arms behind her back. The solider applied so much force, she was afraid her joints would dislocate. She cried out as she was cuffed again. When she tried to kick one of the men in the groin, leg restraints were added. She screamed as they carried her out like luggage.
* * *
“Enjoy your stay,” Michael sneered as the screaming scientist was hauled out. He switched channels on his radio. “Security. Any sign of Grange?”
“No sir, not yet.”
Michael spat a curse before replying. “Now that we’re docked, I want two full platoons searching the ship. She probably crawled off somewhere to die, but I detest loose ends.”
“Yes, sir.”
Michael cut the connection and stared at the empty chair and sample case. It wouldn’t be hard to get answers from the doctor with the CVR system. It always worked in the end. Still, the mystery of Grange’s disappearance from the medical ward bothered him. Could the medics be involved? It was possible they’d gone soft. Those types didn’t understand the necessity of breaking a few eggs to make omelets.
Like everyone assigned to Genesis, they’d all undergone psychological evaluations, and they’d proven they were loyal and had flexible morals. Of course, all good medical types had limits, or they didn’t make very good healers. But how had she managed to get out of bed?
He picked up the radio again. “Michael to Dr. Meeker.”
“Yes, sir,” the doctor answered.
“You are aware of the missing prisoner?”
“I have heard.”
“Is there anything unusual in her chart?”
“Hmm, just a second.” Michael heard keys clicking. The doctor was already in the island’s medical facilities, as were most of the staff from their ships. Migration onto the island had been planned out well in advance and had proceeded quickly once they’d finally docked. Hundreds of island-side staff were waiting and leaped into action as soon as the first ship tossed lines ashore.
“She was in pretty bad shape, obviously. We’ve been keeping her alive, as you requested. Low level injections of stabilizing nanovirus. The full healing package was administered just before we made shore.”
“What?!” Michael roared. “What did you say?”
“I said we administered the full healing package.”
“We were done with her, damnit. Why would you do that?”
“I have your orders here, in the file.”
Michael cursed again, took out his handheld tablet, and accessed the files on Lieutenant JG Pearl Grange. He didn’t understand much of the jargon or the details of her physical condition. But he didn’t have to be fluent to know how bad her injuries were; he’d seen her scorched skin and the exposed muscle and bone. The fact that she’d come out of the water alive was amazing.
The nanovirus treatment to keep her alive was science many on Earth would have given untold fortunes to obtain. The treatment he’d apparently authorized was nothing short of the hand of God. It had only been used 11—now 12—times.
“Is there anything else?” Dr. Meeker asked.
Michael cut the connection and made another call. “Gabriel, it’s Michael.”
“Yes, Oh Beloved Leader?”
“Will you ever stop being a smartass?”
“Only when you stop being a power-hungry asshole.”
Michael was careful to avoid letting any of his anger slip into his voice. “I need you to look at a medical order.”
“Of course,” she responded with far more civility than he expected. Michael sent her a virtual link to Grange’s file. “Gimme a second.”
Michael checked a status report on his tablet as he waited. He left the interrogation room and walked outside. He enjoyed the cool May weather on San Nicolas. The big, silver alien ship was suspended from numerous cables as some of the crew swung it off the barge toward a heavy hauler surrounded by a couple dozen project personnel. They were being very slow and very careful. Michael had made it quite clear what would happen to the crew if they dropped the ship.
“What’s the problem?” Gabriel asked, bringing Michael back to the present.
“Can you confirm the digital signature on the order to administer the healing package?”
“I saw the order and was confused,” Gabriel said. “Weren’t you insistent on disposing of the woman?”
“I was and am. Just check.”
“Okay.” A few seconds went by. “Digital signature is a perfect match…”
“How’s that possible?” Michael demanded.
“Let me finish. I was going to say it was a perfect match to the signature on an order you approved last week. This is a forgery, albeit a really good one.”
“Who could do this?”
“I could, of course. Maybe Jophiel, though I doubt it. Chamuel could, if she had time. But none of us did.”
“How do you know?”
“Every order has
a tracking tag that looks like a simple data string, part of the information. It’s a checksum I wrote into the process so you would know whose computer things were signed on. According to the checksum, you signed the order on your computer…a week ago. Whoever faked it didn’t know about this copy.”
“I still don’t understand,” Michael persisted.
“You cannot insert this order with an origin code. Even a fraudulently copied order would show what computer it was written on. What you have here is the same as a letter arriving in your mailbox, mailed from you, with the matching post office cancelation on the stamp.”
“So, how is this possible?”
“It’s not.”
Michael wanted to argue with the woman, but her statement was so definite, it gave him pause. Gabriel was a lot of things, incorrectly confident was not one of them. “Noted,” he said and cut the connection.
He walked into the main building, then down to the labs, and found the isolation wing. The Vulpes’ module was already installed, having been lowered in the massive elevator designed for extremely heavy freight. He wasn’t surprised to see Jophiel already there, facing the glass wall of the isolation module, a headset on and a large tablet held in both hands.
He walked closer and listened to her speaking in a strange, trilling voice, punctuated with a sharp click that was caused by her snapping her teeth together. After he had been watching for a minute, Jophiel shook her head and turned. She jumped a little, surprised to see Michael standing behind her.
“Scared the shit out of me,” she said, using a hand to push some of her waist length, white hair out of her eyes. Her voice had an unusual slur to it.
“What were those sounds?” he asked. “The clicks?”
She grinned and took a plastic appliance from her mouth. It looked a little like a denture upper to him.
“This is to help with some of their vocalizations. Azrael noticed that the researchers back in the fifties were complaining about guttural stops and inflective accents. Those clicking snaps. Our mouths lack the parts.” She held up the plastic piece and shrugged. “I had this fabricated.”
Turning Point (Book 3): A Time To Live Page 33