Gabriel: Zero Point

by Steve Umstead

  Chapter 1

  July, 2168

  North American Federation Battlecruiser Coral Sea, CCS-188, on station in the Belt

  Lieutenant (Junior Grade) Evan Gabriel sat alone in one of the cushioned auditorium-style seats in the Ready Room, staring at the blank wallscreen. For what must have been the tenth time, he checked his neuretic brain implant’s clock. Nineteen-hundred hours. Forty minutes he had been sitting, waiting, for some unknown reason, and now his stomach protested the lack of food by grumbling every few minutes.

  He was assigned to the NAFS Coral Sea five weeks ago. He’d just started to get the lay of the land of the huge battlecruiser, one of the largest in the North American Federation Navy fleet, when he received word that he was to be transferred. To where, he had no idea. The message arrived at his shared stateroom under an Eyes Only code merely stating that his request for transfer had been approved, and he was to meet his new commanding officer in the Ready Room at eighteen-thirty hours.

  He hadn’t requested a transfer.

  The Coral Sea was on patrol in the Belt with her massive particle beam cannons run out the side ports throughout the cruise as a show of force to the pirates who had been terrorizing the mining guilds for months. Gabriel already participated in boarding missions in his short time aboard. The first was two days after his assignment: the Coral Sea’s cannons disabled a pirate frigate’s engines, and was dead in the water. He and his squad rounded up the shell-shocked crew, the ship was scuttled, and sent on a ballistic course into the sun. The second mission was more exciting, as one of his squad had put it. At least it was at the beginning.

  They’d taken one of Coral Sea’s assault shuttles and tracked down a pirate group who had built a hide on one of the Belt’s huge asteroids. The firefight that ensued cost not only every one of the pirates’ lives, but also one of his squad: Gilly. Seaman Ernesto Gillman was only nineteen years old, and Gabriel could still see the anguished look frozen on the kid’s face after shrapnel from the IED shredded his environment suit.

  Gabriel squeezed his eyes shut at the memory: just days old. Still fresh. Every loss hurt, as he already learned in just over a year as an officer, but nothing that would have prompted him to request a transfer.

  He started to check his neuretics clock again when the main hatch to the Ready Room slid aside and a bald man walked in wearing Navy-issue service khakis. Gabriel saw the flash of a silver eagle on his collar, and quickly stood to attention.

  “Be seated,” the man said. He walked up to the first row of seats, standing just a few feet away from Gabriel.

  Gabriel sat down and looked at the captain. The clothing was different, but the bald head and intense eyes he recognized.

  “Yes, you remember me,” the captain said. “From an impromptu meeting back at Newport, a little over a year ago.”

  The man in the gym, the one in civvies. The one who didn’t speak.

  “My name is Captain Pyotr Biermann,” he continued. “I’m here with your transfer request.”

  “Sir, I didn’t request a…”

  The captain held up a hand. “I know. However, I did.” He withdrew a sheet of hardcopy from his shirt pocket and handed it to Gabriel. “Along with a promotion to full lieutenant, pay grade O-3.”

  Gabriel leaned forward in his seat and accepted the folded paper. He opened it, scanned the text, then looked up.

  “I don’t understand, sir. NAVSOC? My tour on the Coral Sea isn’t up for another five months.”

  Biermann smiled, but Gabriel noticed the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Something else has come up. First, tell me about the Canary Islands.”

  A memory flashed across Gabriel’s mind of a smoke-covered hill, illuminated by sporadic energy pulses. The sounds of heavy weapons interspersed with the screams of wounded men. His team hunkered down, pinned by superior numbers and positioning.

  He shook off the dark memories. “Ah, the Canary Islands are off the coast of Africa, and are…”

  “No bullshit, Lieutenant,” Biermann snapped, and Gabriel closed his mouth. “Your participation in the Canary Islands operation in March.”

  “Sorry, sir,” he replied. “The Spanish asked for the NAF’s help when the Canaries were invaded by the West African Union, and our squad was one of the first in. Amphibious assault, four surface ships came from the south under heavy air cover. But we had no idea how well armed the Westies were, and…” His voice trailed off.

  “And?” prompted Biermann.

  More smoke, more energy fire. More screams.

  “And we lost a lot of people. I lost a lot of people.”

  “Including two of your graduating class, isn’t that correct?”

  Gabriel ground his teeth together and stared back at Biermann, wondering why he was opening up such a sore wound. After a few moments he said, “Yes. Ensigns DePalma and Cristoff.”

  “You were their squad commander.” Biermann stepped closer to Gabriel. “How did that make you feel, Lieutenant?” he asked, emphasizing Gabriel’s brand new rank. “Leading your friends to their deaths?”

  Gabriel paused a moment before answering. He saw images of Anya DePalma’s pained face as the pulse rifle blasts tore into her stomach and the burned body of Taj Cristoff lying in the mud, one arm missing.

  “Captain, with all due respect,” he said in a low tone, “I believe you were there when I told Admiral Cafferty that I don’t have any friends.”

  Biermann nodded. “Indeed I was, Lieutenant.” He turned from Gabriel and walked to the front of the room, stopping at the wide briefing wallscreen. He reached out and ran his finger along the bottom edge of the wallscreen frame as if checking for dust. Without turning back to face Gabriel, he said, “I’ve kept an eye on you. You performed admirably in the face of overwhelming odds and didn’t hesitate to lead your team into harm’s way for the greater good. For the mission. And that’s someone I need.”

  He turned from the wallscreen. “Which is why I requested your transfer to Naval Special Operations Command. Now,” he said, boring his eyes into Gabriel, “MacFarland?”

  Gabriel struggled to maintain his composure at the mention of the name. Captain Llewelyn MacFarland, or Dredge as he had his friends call him, was the CO of the combined Navy and Marine assault force, but he directed the battle from a plush command tent in a secure NAF base in Morocco. As the battle quickly turned from an assault to a bloodbath, MacFarland continued to order the outmanned and outgunned soldiers forward. The NAF had suffered over 90% casualties that long weekend, a battle that would later become known as Francisco’s Stand after the commander of the Spanish assault force that had finally broken the WAU’s hold on the island.

  Gabriel never met MacFarland in person, and for that he was glad. He wasn’t sure how he’d react.

  He cleared his throat. “Captain MacFarland is a well-respected Navy officer.”

  Biermann raised an eyebrow, silently prodding Gabriel to continue.

  After a long quiet minute, Gabriel asked, “Sir, may I speak freely?”

  “You may. I’d expect nothing less.”

  Gabriel took a deep breath. “Captain MacFarland is a well-respected Navy officer, one with powerful family connections, and he’s… ambitious.”

  Biermann’s smile returned, but this time it crept slightly into his eyes. “That he is, Lieutenant. You are observant and seem to be a fairly good judge of character.” He walked back to stand in front of the first row of seats where Gabriel sat. “There may come a time where you cross paths with MacFarland. Perhaps more than one. And I’d like you to… keep an eye on him. Be my eyes and ears. He is ambitious, no doubt. And he does have family connections. But he’s also reckless with command, as you experienced.”

  He looked up at the ceiling. “But that’s a discussion for another time.” He brought his gaze back to Gabriel and said one word. “Cielo.”

  Gabriel cocked his head at the mention of the orbital military research station. Not sure where Biermann was going with this
, he remained silent.

  “I’m sure you’re aware of Cielo’s functions,” Biermann continued. “Weapons enhancements, propulsion design, biomechanical research, and so on. But, as with any military project, there are certain… endeavors that remain out of the public eye. And some that even our esteemed Congressional Oversight Committee does not, and will not, know of.”

  He crossed his arms and stared into Gabriel’s eyes. “Please be aware what we are about to discuss is highly classified. Part of that hardcopy you are holding authorizes an immediate bump in security level. But it also defines the consequences, if you divulge any confidential information. The North American Federation Navy has the legal right to make you disappear. Understood?”

  Gabriel glanced down at the sheet he still held, not bothering to read through the fine print. Part of basic training drilled into him the need for secrecy and trust, and at this point he had no reason to break that trust. Nor anyone to even break it to.

  “Understood, sir,” he said with a slight nod.

  Biermann returned the nod and uncrossed his arms. “Good. Now tell me, Lieutenant. Have you heard of the HAMR program?”

  Gabriel blinked at hearing the acronym for one of the Federation’s most whispered about secrets, one he had heard about through the typical method — gossip. HAMR, or Human Augmentation and Microcellular Replacement was the word on the street, which was quite a mouthful for gossip to pass on, so Gabriel had assumed there was at least a grain of truth behind it.

  Super soldier, some called it. No one could prove it existed or had met anyone associated with the project, but the rumors alone gave pause to more than one potential NAF enemy. During the Canary Islands battle, one of the prisoners Gabriel’s squad had taken, when questioned why the WAU hadn’t used the battlefield nuke everyone knew they possessed, said they were keeping it in reserve in case the NAF sent in HAMRs.

  Gabriel blinked again, pushing away the memory of the battle. He could still smell the scorched mud, something he knew he’d never forget.

  “Only rumors, sir,” he answered. “Nothing definitive.” He knew where Biermann was going with this, and while he felt rising apprehension, he also felt something else — a twinge of excitement.

  “Of course nothing definitive, Lieutenant,” Biermann said with a small smile. “Otherwise it wouldn’t be a secret project. I want you to be a part of it. I need you on my team.”

  He turned and walked to the hatch. “Now, I’m not a tech whiz by any stretch, so I want you to hear the HAMR details from the horse’s mouth.” He stopped at the hatch, one hand on the edge. “You’ll be accompanying me to Cielo on my cutter. Captain Rivera has already been notified of your transfer. Meet me with your personal gear in Docking Bay Two in fifteen minutes. That should give you enough time to say goodbye to your squadmates.”

  He stepped through the hatch, but before it slid shut behind him, he called over his shoulder, “Welcome to Naval Special Warfare, Lieutenant Gabriel.”

  Gabriel stared at the closed hatch for a long minute after Biermann left. Transfer, hell, he thought. I’ve been Shanghaied.

  It wasn’t how he expected to be joining the Special Forces, but the fact of the matter was, it was done. He next twinge of excitement was quickly washed away with the lingering memory of Gilly’s face.

  As Gabriel rose to leave the Ready Room, he knew that wouldn’t be the last casualty he’d see in his career.