Gabriel's Redemption

by Steve Umstead

  2168: Bureau of Colonization awarded Poliahu charter to Diji Corporation

  2169: Poliahu registered as Corporate World

  2171: Eden uprising

  2176: Current year

  Sneak Preview of Gabriel’s Return

  October, 2171

  The first thing Tomas Katoa saw when he opened one blurry eye was a front tooth. Scorched and blackened, a corner chipped off, he knew right away, in some distant corner of his brain, that it was his own.

  His eyesight gradually cleared, and he focused his open eye in on the lone tooth, sitting on a dirty leaf, another corner of his brain identifying the leaf as being from a pricklefruit tree. Surrounding the leaf were bits and pieces of figmoss, being chewed on by dozens of tiny moorants, their moist yellow segmented bodies glistening in the sun.

  Morning, Katoa thought. It’s morning, judging by the angle of Eden’s sun. But the sun was…sideways. And the tooth on the leaf, surrounded by figmoss and moorants, was hanging on the wall.

  No, he thought, attempting to open his other eye, to no avail. I’m lying on the ground. His left eye refused to obey, being stuck shut with some sticky substance. His mouth tasted of blood mixed with Eden’s loamy soil and some kind of burned meat. His head was reeling, dizziness preventing his inner ear from determining which way was up. He felt a tickle in his mouth and spat, a bloody gob of saliva-covered moorant hitting the leaf, more spittle dribbling from his torn lips. There was no sound, he thought to himself. Nothing made any sound, which was puzzling until he realized there was a low buzz in his head, drowning out any outside sounds. Oh my god, I’m deaf, he thought with a panic.

  The smells came next. Jungle smells, fresh neopines and pricklefruit trees intertwined with a dead and decaying odor given off by the jungle floor, all overlaid on top of the distinct smell of burning metal.

  He willed his body to roll onto his stomach, and was rewarded with a face full of hungry moorants. His right arm scrabbled at the ground, trying to ward off the inch-long insects; his left arm didn’t work. He pushed back away from the figmoss, from the biting pests, and used his right arm to pull himself several feet towards the sun, turning away from his original position. His legs responded slowly and he crawled a few more feet, finding himself on the edge of a small hillock overlooking several burning buildings.

  He wiped at his sticky eye, pain coursing through his system at every move, his hand coming away smeared with black blood. A low thrum pulled his attention away from his injuries, and he felt a small relief at the slow return of his hearing. He tugged at his right ear with his good arm, yawning and attempting to pop open what he assumed were clogged ears. Without any success, it dawned on him that the hearing damage was concussive; an explosion.

  The thrum grew louder, and Katoa looked down the scorched slope towards the burning buildings. A shuttle sat a few dozen yards north of the largest building, its quad pulsejet engines spooling up as it prepared to take off, the grass smoldering beneath the hot exhaust. From the side of the building came two combat-suited troopers, carrying a stretcher between them. They hustled out, not looking back at the carnage, and quickly trotted to the open hatch of the shuttle with their cargo.

  On the stretcher was another trooper, without a helmet, and with heavily damaged armor. Katoa’s brain was missing pieces. He couldn’t quite place the trooper, the face was familiar…but he was having a difficult time even remembering what the building was. School maybe? he thought. He shook his head to clear it, more pain shooting through his body, and he squeezed his eyes shut against it.

  When he opened them again, the hatch was closing on the shuttle. Some primal part of his brain realized he was being left behind, and he tried to yell out, but his voice only croaked out a few low syllables. Wait! he yelled silently, raising his one good hand towards the shuttle. Don’t go, you forgot me!

  The pulsejet engines came to full power and the shuttle lifted off the charred ground, backing slowly away from the buildings. Katoa watched helplessly as the craft rose into the sky, knowing he was stranded on a far-off world, with no clue what to do next.

  He lowered his hand as the shuttle shrank to a dot against the bright sun. His hand brushed against a nearby vine, and to Katoa’s fuzzy-minded surprise, it responded by encircling his wrist. As he watched with his one eye widening, the vine extended small thorns along its length and began to constrict, wrapping itself around his arm. The thorns pierced his skin, and he grunted in pain.

  As the razorvine tightened further, the thorns released a neurotoxin, numbing Katoa’s arm and shutting out the pain. For a brief moment, he felt relieved and tried to pull his arm away from the strange plant. The plant pulled harder, and Katoa finally found his voice. A blood-curdling scream escaped his lips as he was dragged further into the jungle, leaving the moorants alone in the clearing, unaware of the dramatic turn of events that had just transpired on their planet.

  Katoa lurched up from his prone position, right arm stretching out, and gasped for breath. He was blind, just a dark gray haze in front of his face. It was quiet, but he wasn’t sure if it was because he was still deafened. He remembered the jungle floor, but it didn’t feel like moss and leaves under him now. More cool and crisp on the backs of his legs.

  He leaned forward into more of a sitting position, and waved his right arm around in front of him. Nothing there. No sound, no sight, and maybe most alarmingly, no smells. He knew he was no longer in the jungle.

  “Hello?” he called out his voice cracking from dryness. No response. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Hey!” he yelled as loudly as his pathetic voice would allow.

  A beep. Small, hollow, and repeating itself every few seconds. A shuffle, perhaps feet on a tile floor. Breathing. A faint whiff of body odor. Someone was there. Waiting, watching him. Katoa tensed his body, preparing for his next move.

  “Who are you?” he said, his voice returning with each syllable. “I know you’re there. Answer me, or so help me god…”

  “So help you god, what, Petty Officer?” came a reply with a slight Spanish accent.

  Katoa was caught off guard; he hadn’t expected an answer, or at least one so…friendly.

  “Who are you?” he repeated, his voice now firm and commanding, as he had been taught in OCS.

  With the thought of his OCS instructors, a whirlwind of disjointed memories flooded back. Images, sounds, feelings. Departing Luna. Wormhole transit. Punching Renaldo in the arm for cutting in the chow line. Kasey’s blonde hair and smile. Suiting up in combat armor, checking ammo loads. Assault shuttle landing, being bashed into the shuttle’s wall during reentry. Crashing through a door into a building. Terrorists. Children. Hostages. Fire. Blackness.

  “Easy there, Tomas,” said the voice, soothing and reassuring. “You’re liable to tear some sutures.”

  Katoa realized he had been struggling, the memories causing him to thrash about in his hospital bed. Yes, hospital bed, he thought. Explains the feel of sheets, the beeping. He tried to reach up with his left arm to remove what was covering his face, but his hand didn’t reach.

  “Please, wait,” the voice said quietly. “We have a lot to discuss. You’ve sustained a great deal of injuries, and I’m afraid…” His voice trailed off.

  Katoa’s skin went cold. “What are you talking about?”

  A hand touched his cheek, and began to remove the bandages that had apparently been covering his eyes. Light streamed in and he squinted, turning his head away from what must have been a window. As the last of the bandages were removed, he opened his eyes, or eye as he felt, remembering the blood he wiped away from his other eye in the jungle.

  “You were apparently caught in an explosion, son. You nearly died,” the voice replied. “One of my people found you buried in razorvine near the school. Your military neuretics were the only thing that kept you alive from the toxin, and controlled the blood loss from your face.” The voice got quieter. “And from your arm.”

  Katoa shook his head to cl
ear it, the fuzzy outline of a man standing near him starting to take shape. He reached over with his right arm to grab his other arm, and felt a wrapped stump, the arm ending just below the shoulder.

  “Oh my god,” he said, a tear forming in his eye. More memories flooded back. Children sobbing. Firing his pulse rifle. Men running, ceiling collapsing. Three prone figures, a man in street clothes standing over them. Fire. Blackness.

  “Listen, Tomas,” the voice continued, the man’s outline leaning in closer. “Yes, you’ve lost your arm, and your eye, and have some significant internal injuries. But we are equipped to help here. We don’t quite have North American Federation level facilities, but we have excellent people, and you will be just fine.”

  “Fine?” Katoa snapped, looking up at the figure, which had formed into a tanned, goateed man’s face, looking down on him. “With one eye and one arm?”

  The man patted his one arm. “Yes, fine. You’re alive, isn’t that what is important?”

  Katoa slumped back into the bed, sheets ruffling. He stared at the ceiling. Now what? he thought. I’m half a soldier, stuck on…

  “Wait,” he said, reaching out at grabbing the man’s arm. “Am I still on Eden?”

  “Yes, of course, where did you think you were?”

  Katoa gripped the arm tighter. “They left me,” he said in a low voice.

  “Who left you?” the man asked, prying his arm from Katoa’s grip. “Tell me what happened. What do you remember?”

  He closed his eye, letting the memories rush back, and tried to make sense of them.

  “We, we…we came here because of a riot, there were hostages, children mostly. My squad got ambushed…dammit, they knew we were coming.” A tear ran down his face, and another formed in its wake.

  “God, everyone was down. I thought I was the last, the shuttle was pulling the kids out…I, I went back in to the…gym, I think it was. Everything was burning…”

  “Take your time, Tomas,” the man said. “You’re safe here.”

  Katoa blew out a noisy breath. “Safe, yeah. Now. But…” he reached for the man’s hand, and grabbed it, holding tight. “I went back in, and saw a man standing over a few members of my squad. They were down, dead. He…he was armed, and was about to shoot them.” He squeezed the man’s hand, lifting his head from the bed. “Why? They were already dead! What was he doing?”

  A rapid beeping sounded, and the man used his other hand to press Katoa’s head gently back down onto the bed. “Please, Tomas, you must relax.”

  “My rifle was empty, I had lost my sidearm earlier,” he continued, trying to control his breathing. “But I couldn’t let this, this terrorist desecrate their bodies, could I?” He took a long, deep breath. “I rushed him, slammed into him, knocked him down, out I think. I got up, and grabbed one of my squadmate’s…bodies. I dragged it to the door, and…” his voice trailed off. “That’s it, that’s all I remember.”

  “When my people found you,” the man said, “you were almost seventy yards away, up a small slope. It appears there was a massive explosion in the school, which threw you that far, clear across the jungle. It’s just…incredible that you could have even survived.”

  “Incredible,” he repeated in a low tone. “Sure. Lucky, right?” he asked, waving his left stump. “They left me. They got one out, and left me.”

  He sat bolt upright. “Someone survived,” he said, staring at the goateed man. “They grabbed someone out of the building. It…it was the body I pulled out. Someone else survived!”

  “Do you remember who it was?” the man asked.

  Katoa closed his eye, searching his memory, trying to mentally zoom in on the stretcher. “It’s…fuzzy,” he said, scrunching his face up.

  “Try, Tomas,” the man replied. “It may help your recovery process if you know someone else made it.”

  He concentrated on the last vision from the hilltop, the pulsejets’ blue exhaust rings blasting the blackened grass, the flames licking through the windows of the school, the troopers carrying the stretcher. The man on the stretcher, no helmet, head facing him. The face became clear.

  “Gabriel,” he spat, his mind clouding over to black. “The one who led us into the ambush. That sonofabitch survived. And left me here.”

  The man leaned back, releasing Katoa’s hand. “Okay. Gabriel. Let’s work with that. That will be the start of your recovery, it will give you something to focus on while we rehabilitate your body.” He walked over to the door, and Katoa saw him wave to someone outside the room.

  “Right now, we’re going to start rehabilitating your mind. There are some people I’d like you to meet, and I think we’re all going to be great friends. I know we can help you, and I believe you can help us as well.”

  Katoa eased back into the cool comfort of the sheets, the images of fire and blackness already feeling less painful. Gabriel, he thought. Gabriel.

  Gabriel’s Return, and the thrilling finale, Gabriel’s Revenge, now available for Amazon Kindle, Barnes & Noble Nook, Borders Kobo, Sony Reader, Apple iBooks, and paperback!

  An Independent Author’s Plea

  Did you enjoy Gabriel’s Redemption? Please help support an independent author by leaving a review on the site of your preference (Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Sony, Smashwords, etc.) Your Kindle may even have a rating link after this page.

  Reviews and comments are worth their weight in gold for authors, and I would love to hear your comments. Thank you, and I hope you are looking forward to Book 2, Gabriel’s Return!

  -Steve