by T. R. Harris
“So what are the new features with NT-5, sir?”
“Well, first of all, there’s enhanced healing capacity, about twenty percent more. Also, the durability index has increased by about the same amount. Reaction time, strength, everything is elevated.” Diamond hesitated before continuing. “And one other thing. Run times have been extended by as much as three to four minutes.”
“Three to four minutes! How is that possible? He’ll burn up before that.”
“The increased capacity will guard against that. He just needs to be monitored more closely beyond fourteen minutes. And until we study the levels more, Twilight will have to be administered manually. We don’t want to knock him out early and sacrifice a lot of Run time.”
“Run time?” Lofton was furious. “Excuse me, sir, but extending the Run time will only increase the damage to the REV, maybe not internally, but externally. They barely survive twelve minutes as it is. Give them another two to three minutes of abuse and there won’t be anything left to Twilight.”
“Captain, the new armor and monitoring equipment, as well as shock guidance and remote management of the REV systems, will allow for more survivability and more successful missions. NT-5 is in line with all the other improvements we’ve made over the past few years.”
“Improvements that are untested under combat conditions.” Lofton shook his head. “Sir, there are already so many variables in this mission as it stands, is it wise to introduce another question mark into the equation?”
“Captain Lofton, this isn’t a request. NT-5 will be given to Sergeant Savage and that fact will remain exclusive to the people in this room. REV ops are within my purview and no one else aboard this ship. You will do as I say or I’ll get someone who will.”
Lofton was taken aback by Diamond’s ultimatum. “Sir, I didn’t mean any insubordination. I was simply expressing my opinion. Of course I’ll follow orders.”
“And you, Master Sergeant Bullock?”
Bull met the general’s hard stare with one of his own. “I’m just an enlisted grunt, sir. Discussions like this are far above my paygrade.”
“Good,” said Diamond. He stood up. “You will administer the new formula… after you have turned over all existing supplies of NT-4 to me. I know the amount the ship carries, so don’t try anything…creative, gentlemen. Is that clear?”
“Perfectly, general,” said a red-faced Captain Isaac Lofton.
“Then carry on with your preparations. We have a Run to launch in just under forty-eight hours.”
He left the room, leaving Lofton and Bullock silent and frustrated in the captain’s office. Bull broke the silence.
“If ever there was a clusterfuck in the making, captain, this is it.”
Lofton picked up the vial of NT-5 again. “I couldn’t agree with you more, Bull. Shit’s coming down and it’s headed straight for us.”
4
The day of the drop began at oh-300 hours with a flurry of activity within the fleet of nineteen warships. It would be a battle all the way to the planet Kaus, where the REV Run would begin even before orbit was established. As a consequence, Pete was wrapped in his special armor suit six hours before the scheduled drop. Normally, he would be placed in the armor within the ejection capsule, with the two halves married together with him in the middle. The old armor and weapons weighed five hundred pounds, so that was the only way to do it. But this new stuff was so light he could walk around with it on. However, the weapons would still be attached inside the pod, otherwise he’d be walking around looking like a light green knight in wooden armor.
Captain Lofton was down on the launch floor with Pete and a couple of the techs, checking the electronics within the suit. There were about ten times as many computers now than before; ten times more systems that could malfunction. Reading the concern on Pete’s face, Lofton attempted to assuage his fears.
“Everything’s testing out, sergeant. It will be fine.”
“Sir, A-93 is some of the toughest armor ever constructed, and you see what a shambles a Run can make out of it. I’m sure all your new stuff will work, to a point. After that, I’ll be ready for my extraction, Mr. DeMille.”
“We’ll be there for you, Pete.”
“I know, sir.”
Lofton placed a hand on the side of the ejection capsule. “We better get you strapped in. I know it could be a while, but with the uncertainty of the approach, they want you in and locked down in the event you have to be spit out early.”
“Understood.” Pete climbed the side steps and lowered himself into the pod and form fitting cushion to his back. “Just be sure to wake me if I fall asleep. It’s pretty early and I haven’t had enough coffee to wake me up.”
Lofton laughed. “I think we have something a little more potent than coffee for that.”
“I hear you. But don’t be surprised if I also have to piss in my suit before we drop. I said I haven’t had enough coffee yet, not that I haven’t had any.”
“Coffee and Rev…now that’s a lethal combination,” said Lofton, smiling.
“God, I hope not,” Pete replied.
“Sorry, bad joke.”
The captain made some quick adjustments to the interior of the pod before moving out of the way to let the techs attach Pete’s railgun to his right arm and the bolt launcher to his left. When that was done, Lofton took Pete’s helmet and slid it over his head, attaching the coupling to his collar computer ring.
The helmet was completely enclosed, with only two red sensor lights where his eyes would be. Through the heads-up display, Pete could see out as if the helmet wasn’t there, but all Lofton could see was the robotic face of his REV. This was much more impersonal than the old helmets with their clear faceplates. One could look into the eyes of the REV and see the heroic courage within. Now it was like looking at a machine.
“Just relax now,” Lofton said. “And if you can, go ahead and get some sleep. God knows you have nothing else to do. Talk about a skate job.”
“Yeah, that’s what the REV brochure said. Visit exotic locales, meet interesting aliens…and kill them. And you also get to sleep on the job. I said, ‘Sign me up!’”
“Don’t believe everything you read, sergeant. Good luck, Pete. I’ll be in the command hut if you need me.”
“Aye sir. Carry on.”
Lofton laughed as he moved away and up the nearby ladder to the small airlock and the glassed-in command room overlooking the launch bay. Farther along, the shuttle for the recovery crew was being prepped, with Bull Bullock barking orders to his compliant team. Lofton would normally be leading the RC on the surface, but because he had someone of Bull’s caliber as his second-in-command, it was decided that the officer’s time and talents would be better utilized orchestrating the Run from the command center. With so many of the operations under remote control, the people within the center were even more vital than ever. Lofton would not only control the weapons and their rate of fire, but also the scanners in the suit and the heat sensors to ferret out the enemy. He would also administer the Twilight drug at the proper time, something normally done by the collar computer.
Other people would launch drones and pilot them throughout the mission, giving Lofton both aerial and even ground-level images of the battle in real time. Most REV operations didn’t have this option, since they were primarily conducted in Antaere tunnels or industrial complexes, where the aliens traditionally liked to set up shop. But this was within a city—a Human-built city—with roads and buildings and open sky. It would give Lofton a better overall perspective of the Run as it unfolded.
There were also medical techs in the command center, tasked with watching every nuance of Pete’s condition. Lofton had been ordered not to reveal the existence of the NT-5, but there would come a time when the traditional Run time was nearing an end. He would have to say something at that time, just to keep the techs from panicking. Diamond had to realize that, so Lofton wasn’t worried. Not too much.
Isaac Lofton
took his own cup of coffee—his third of the morning—and sat back in his command chair. It would grow hard and uncomfortable over the next six-and-a-half hours, the time it took to get on station, and then the half an hour or so for the insertion, Run and recovery. At that point, he wouldn’t notice, not until it was all over.
But until then, he had to find the nearest head, and not for the last time before launch.
5
On the planet Kaus, things were reaching their critical mass in the Unity Enclave. With over one hundred twenty-five thousand Humans crowded into a walled city designed for three-quarters that number, there was wide-spread shortages of all resources, including food, medical supplies and other essentials, like toilet paper. Fortunately, underground aquifers provided ample fresh water, and efficient solar, wind and miniature fusion reactors provided enough electricity to keep the settlement lit and warmed as winter on the planet neared. It also kept the bombardment shield active over the settlement, providing protection from outside attack.
The native Lanic—who has once supplied most of the food for the colony—had abandoned their support following the disaster of the aborted assault two months before. Add to that the fear of the Purges, and none were willing to help the Humans. When the refugees from the Bountiful Enclave first arrived several months ago, they had brought food with them, but any surplus was long since gone by now. Rationing was severe, even as nearly all open space in the enclave was converted to tiny patches of farmland. Goats and cattle roamed the streets freely, providing what milk they could. Rarely was one butchered for meat. That came from the proliferation of chickens wandering the settlement, along with the incredible stench they brought. It was like that everywhere, from accumulating refuse of all kinds, both Human and animal. Conditions were horrific, and only getting worse.
And the sad thing, the colony couldn’t even surrender to the Lanic and Antaere forces. That would mean their immediate annihilation. The Qwin weren’t interested in over a hundred thousand Human prisoners to house and care for. That wasn’t their style. And for all intents and purposes, the Humans were already in a self-made prison, and the Antaere found the current stalemate to be an acceptable compromise.
At the moment, however, the two REVs in the enclave weren’t concerned with the rest of the suffering Human inhabitants of the colony. They were concerned with only one: their fellow REV, Larry Hand.
“I’m not sure keeping him in a coma is helping,” Gunnery Sergeant Kyle Johnson said. He was hovering over the bed of the sleeping REV, accompanied by his teammate Donovan Ross and the leader of the REV contingent in the camp, Marine Captain Silas Drake.
“I’m not sure either,” said Drake. He was a line-officer, yet with additional training in REV physiology and medical considerations. He wasn’t a doctor; they had others on the staff who were. But he did have the final say in the treatment of his REV, Sergeant Larry Hand.
“The draw on his residual has been reduced, a little,” the officer continued. “But he has so little left it really doesn’t mean much, not now. His body is burning itself up.”
“How long does he have?” Donovan asked.
“Days…at the most. The closing effects will begin to accelerate. Pretty soon the life-saving benefits of the residual will be gone. At that point not even a boost will save him. He’s almost to that point now.”
Kyle and Donovan had discussed this eventuality at length over the past two months. Larry’s action against the recent Antaere attack on the enclave had consumed the last of the camp’s NT-4 supply. That left the traditional REV on the downhill slide to the two-month deadline before he would need a maintenance boost of the drug to replenish his residual. Without it, his body would cascade to a level where it would simply burn up. Only the residual was keeping him alive. And that was nearly gone.
“We have to do it,” Kyle announced with resolve.
“It would be suicide, for all of you,” Drake said.
Donovan was on Kyle’s side of the argument. “We can’t stand here and do nothing. It’s a risk we’re going to have to take, captain. Besides, Earth needs to know what’s happening here. If the Antaere have done anything right over the past four months, it’s that their communications blackout has worked. Nothing’s coming in or going out. All we get are their damn propaganda broadcasts and local chatter from the Lanic. We have to give it a try.”
Drake looked askew at the two handsome—and still relatively healthy—men. He understood they were different from the other REVs, existing on a type of natural NT-4 and not needing periodic boosts of the synthetic drug. The doctors in the enclave had tried to filter out some of the natural drug from their systems but had been unsuccessful. They just didn’t have the right equipment in the enclave, if it was even possible. And now the REVs were proposing using the small corvette they’d arrived in to make a run for Human space in search of NT-4 for Larry.
“And I assume the two of you are qualified pilots?” the officer said. “It’s going to take some fancy flying to run the in-system blockade and make it all the way to Human space. And then you have to find a source of NT-4. Larry probably won’t last that long.”
The REVs grimaced. “We can’t just watch him die, sir,” Donovan said. “Captain Pearson could pilot the ship for us.”
Drake shook his head. “Even if he would volunteer, that wouldn’t be wise. Since Lt. Col. Monroe got sick, Pearson’s been in charge of the enclave. He’s needed here.”
“There has to be someone who can fly it,” Donovan persisted.
Drake was silent for a long moment before he spoke again. “All right,” he said. “Get the ship ready. You’ll have to salvage the fuel pods from some of the other ships. And food will be an issue. We’ve already depleted the food paste aboard the ship. You’ve have to take hard supplies. I’ll have Larry transferred over…and I’ll find you a pilot. But you have to hurry. Be ready to leave in twelve hours.”
The two REVs perked up. Although Drake was right about this being a potential suicide mission, it was better than hanging around the slowly decaying settlement while everyone starved to death. And perhaps they could alert the rest of humanity to the tragedy taking place at the Unity Enclave. After all, what’s the use of having a huge space fleet if it wasn’t to save Human lives?
It was as if the tiny fleet tripped a motion detector the moment it entered the Kausian star system. Remote sensors sent the alert to ES-7 and the Antaere responded immediately. As Colonel Daugherty had said, the Lanic spies had provided vital information regarding the strength of the Antaere forces in the system. Although the Qwin had three times the number of ships, the firepower of both forces were equally matched. Daugherty didn’t like that. He would have preferred overwhelming superiority so he could deliver Shock and Awe to the battlefield. But that was just another of the many compromises being made for this mission. From what he understood, the request from this sect of Lanic natives only came through eight weeks before. It had taken the Eldorado half that time just to form up the fleet they could muster, along with the Marine strike force, the air wing and the REV ops.
The REV had been the hardest part. The program had been essentially shut down for over a year and it had to be revived almost overnight. And then there were all the new gizmos and gadgets the team brought with them. Daugherty had supervised dozens of REV ops during his career, yet this one was like starting from scratch. Although he wasn’t directly involved in the day-to-day operations of the division, he didn’t envy Captain Lofton and his team. And especially since that bastard Diamond had shown up.
Daugherty was surprised to see the star on Diamond’s collar. The man was in irascible asshole and everyone knew it. How he ever made it through the panels, recommendations and approvals to make brigadier was beyond Daugherty’s comprehension. And now he out ranked the colonel, even though he had less time-in-service. Although Daugherty still maintained operational command over all the Marines aboard the EL, it still steamed his gourd to no end that Diamond would make fl
ag rank before him. Life wasn’t fair…and then you joined the Marines.
But now Daugherty—indeed the entire fleet—had more pressing matters to contend with. There were about a hundred incoming Antaere fighters, and the pickets were out in force to protect the Humans. Any moment now, the battle for ES-7 would begin.
6
The tiny corvette was the center of activity, preparing for its mad flight away from Kaus. Techs had fitted three salvaged power modules from other starships and jury-rigged them in the engine compartment. A small supply of food was placed in the galley; fortunately, Larry was on a plasma-drip and wouldn’t require any solid food.
It was nearly mid-day on the planet when everything was ready. All they needed now was a pilot.
Kyle and Donovan entered the small starship and headed for the bridge to see who Drake had arm-twisted to join the REVs and their crazy mission. The officer was there, but no one else. Drake shrugged.
“Did I fail to mention that before I joined the Running Man brigade, I was a hotshot ship jockey? You have your pilot, gentlemen. Now strap in.”
The REVs only hesitated a moment before obeying orders.
“Spinning up,” Drake announced. “The power system is a little twitchy, so I need to let it settle down first. Unfortunately, the enclave has no defensive batteries to give us cover as we leave. The moment we breach the shield we’ll be fair game for the Antaere.”
“We were expecting that,” Kyle said. “Just do your best, sir.”
“If I don’t, we all die. Even then—”
The comm squawked in the small compartment. It was a local message, coming in from the control tower that was visible through the forward viewport.