Retribution

by T. R. Harris

  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 th
e 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.”