MissionSRX: Deep Unknown

by Matthew D. White

  “S. C. Flagstaff come in. Commander Fox, you there?”

  “Grant! Is that you?” Fox dashed back to the communication officer’s station. “Triangulate that. Get me eyes on.”

  “Of course! Who’d you expect?”

  The spotlights slew across to the mountain range far to the northwest, pointing at a peak obscured behind the toxic clouds. A video feed opened on the screen to the side of the deck and adjusted down into the infrared to cut through the gas to show the smoldering foundation of a destroyed tower with a small dark figure standing at the edge, waving both hands in the air.

  “Thank God. We’ve got you on the scope.” He turned back to the bridge crew. “Get the ground team mobilized and have them recall Scott from the lower levels. We don’t need him getting lost too.”

  “Take your time. I’m not going anywhere. Get everyone else secure and get me last. No sense coming back down here.” The commander took a seat on the edge of the stone ledge. He leaned back against a raised section that stood taller than the rest and allowed himself a brief respite from the action.

  In his arm he clutched the scanner, the strap securely tied around his wrist. His weapons were empty and likely starting to be eaten through by the sulfurous atmosphere around him, along with his armor. For the last twenty minutes he had noticed his vision starting to blur across the visor, which he credited from the acidic air.

  ***

  Over the proceeding minutes and hours, Grant had watched as the last of the ground vehicles, guided by the searchlights, were packed into the Flagstaff’s minimal loading bay or driven down the valley to the last waiting Patriot. Once everything of value had been recovered below, the engines of the human battleship increased their power and smoothly floated the vessel towards Grant’s mountaintop.

  The pilot kept the ship steady while another operator dropped a small loading ramp across the chasm between ground and sky. The commander got to his feet, policed his weapons and equipment and ascended the ramp without a rearward glance. The airlock quickly cycled the air and hosed his suit down to remove the surface contaminants while Grant waited for the chance to drop the suit and get back to the relatively open air.

  Once cleared, he ripped the visor back and felt a cool breeze that lightly smelled of axle grease and burned electronics waft across his face. It was still better than the days spent enclosed in the armor, which he disengaged and climbed down from as the plates unlocked and spread apart.

  He picked up the scanner seemed to have doubled in size and checked to make sure it still functioned. Satisfied, he activated the inner door which led to the rest of the ship. A number of figures were already waiting for him, so many that he felt as if a quarter of the ship was in attendance.

  Commander Fox stood before them all and shook his hand as he stepped forward. “Welcome back, Commander. I have to admit you had me worried there for a while back there.”

  Scott waited beside the senior officer and greeted him in kind. “Sir, I’m glad to see you made it. I went back looking for you but couldn’t find a way down. I thought you were lost for sure.”

  Grant accepted the gratitude, “Thanks but that ‘Sir’ shit’s gotta change.” He held up the scanner to hand over. “Is this what you lost?”

  “Yes.” Scott took the box and looked over the screen. “I think it’s still intact. I can’t believe you went back for it.”

  “Well I know you’d have done the same thing but it got a little dicey there at the end. Do you know what all else we were able to recover?”

  “I only have a vague idea.” Scott shook his head. “I won’t know for sure until we have the Lyrans look at it.” He added with an audible pause.

  The commander logged the cue but didn’t let it distract at the moment. He continued around the hallway, finding Othello, Sergeant Mason and Sergeant O’Hare waiting to the side, along with several of the soldiers who had followed him to the core and back. All appeared eager to leave the mess of a planet far behind them and continue on to a less dangerous location, even if it was to be the dead of space.

  Grant continued on before recusing himself after realizing he was starving, exhausted, soaked in sweat and had at least a dozen cuts and bruises that needed at least the attention of the medical assistant. Scott had a line of butterfly sutures holding together a section of his face from where the alien rifle had translated to an inner edge of his helmet.

  ***

  Back at his officer’s quarters, Grant turned his shower into a steam room and cleaned the last of the dried blood from his face while listening to the sounds of the Flagstaff coming in to park within the larger Patriot’s landing bay. He had given Fox the command to rally up in orbit but he insisted they have a chance to regroup before they faced Omega and the Lyran assembly again, especially in light of his rising questions and concerns about their intentions.

  Part of him considered that more Cygnans might arrive to support the attack on the ground, but he was willing to take the calculated risk. Besides, the Patriots were now battle-tested and had a substantial force of defenders behind them, if not system specialists.

  Lacing up his pair of black leather boots once again, he considered the developments until a knock at the door pulled him out of the line of thought. He stood and staggered to the door a few meters away and threw the metal hatch aside. He found Lieutenant Rans waiting for him, leaning half against the far wall and half on a titanium crutch.

  “Lieutenant,” he began, seeing a mix of pain coated by a layer of medications in her expression. “You look like hell. Are you alright?”

  “Yes, sir.” She nodded, standing up straight. “I’ve been through worse. A few shots, stiches and two pints of blood and I’m back on my feet. Commander Fox said he’d keep my commission active as long as I didn’t have any complications.”

  “I’d say you’re up for the challenge. No one came through this without incident. What can I do for you?”

  “Sir, I just wanted to say ‘thank you’ for stopping Kael. It could have been much worse without you. So, thank you.” She shook his hand.

  “I hope you’re not trying to keep score or this will get complicated.” Grant smiled with a distant pain in his eyes, “Before this is over we’ll all have a ton of stories and owe each other a ton of drinks. But you’re welcome. It’s all any of us can do for each other.”

  He paused, thinking through the events. “I wish I could have stopped him. I should have seen something was wrong.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up, sir. Nothing will come of it. Hell, he had me convinced until he shot me in the back and put a bullet through my pilot’s forehead. Do you really think we took out the source of the problem?”

  “Maybe but I’m not holding my breath. The little creeps down in the research base alluded to more facilities being spread around. Keep an eye on your crew. If any of them start acting weird, we have to stop it early.” Grant said, “I need to get with Mason and see if we can figure out exactly what happened to him. Maybe between what we recovered and what the Lyrans can learn we can make a few hypotheses.”

  “What did he say to you? At the end? He was babbling to me like he was on some grand crusade.”

  Grant leaned his head back. “He did the same thing for me. That humanity was a blight on the universe, that the Lyrans were evil, blah blah blah. I’m not quite sure how his logic got twisted around like that but we’ll have to figure it out.”

  “What are you expecting when we get back to Omega’s fleet?”

  “I’d anticipate some time to get the rest of the crews trained up and go from there. I was of the understanding that the Patriots had a fair amount of information loaded up about the Cygnans. We could start looking there but it might be for naught if Omega has his own ideas.”

  “Are you expecting him to rule us by proxy?”

  “I don’t get that vibe.” Grant shook his head, “If that was the case, I doubt he would have let us leave to begin with. He knew the risks. We already lost two Patriots do
ing it.”

  “We’re coming back without two Patriots but heavy a corps, over eighty thousand people. I thought that was what they needed more than anything: people to man their ships?”

  “That’s a good point. I’ll have to remind Commander Fox about that before we launch. He might have some other ideas too.”

  ***

  Shortly thereafter Grant walked into the Flagstaff’s briefing room along with the rest of the staff of the fleet. More of the debris had been cleared from the floor since the last time he had been there and they finally had standing room for the entire team.

  “Well you certainly look a whole lot better since when I last saw you.” Fox said in a greeting, “Are you ready to get the fleet under way?

  “Just about.” Grant started, “I still wish we had a better idea about what we were walking into.”

  “Don’t we all but I don’t see another choice. What would we do? Run? Sneak up on them and observe them from their own ships?”

  “I know; I know that’s not possible. It’s just between Kael, what we already know, and the munchkins at the lab I have my doubts.”

  “Kael lost his mind no thanks to the munchkins so I’d find it completely probable that they’d be in agreement.” Fox paused. “How did you come to talk to one of them?”

  Grant thought through the exchange he had with the alien, mediated by the animated corpse. “You probably don’t want to know.”

  “No, please.”

  He sighed. “I cornered one in a lab building. They had a human corpse hooked up to a table. Somehow it was able to speak through the body.” The room turned awkwardly silent. “Told you didn’t want to know,” Grant expressed.

  “I’ve seen worse.” Othello mentioned. “What did it say?”

  “He said they were slaves. I couldn’t tell if they meant to the Cygnans or their rejected deity. It told me they existed to devise our destruction or something like that. I think it counted the Lyrans as a stepping stone and only a means to postpone our annihilation.”

  “Unless they’ve got something we haven’t considered, I’d doubt that.” Fox replied.

  “One other thing, sir,” Scott added, “Maybe they consider the Lyrans to be just as foolish as we are? In that case, we’re about to be pawns in something we don’t belong with. Like in a ‘traps don’t work out well for the bait’ kind of way.”

  “What was it you mentioned when we were still with their fleet?”

  “Oh!” Scott thought back, “From the crew that we had on board when we left Mars, we lost about ten percent. Two hundred crew members didn’t show up on the roster when we staffed up the Patriots.” Silence fell on the room between the team of soldiers. They looked between each other, hoping someone else would break the silence with a hypothesis that didn’t fit the data.

  “Maybe they didn’t survive the jump.” Othello said.

  “Or the Lyrans killed them because they were awake. Or because they failed whatever little test they gave us when we arrived. If we were something special, maybe ten percent of us weren’t gonna cut it.” Scott grew more excited.

  “No.” Fox broke off the conversation, “We’re not going to throw any more wild accusations. Commander Grant or I will get a straight answer from Omega and put this behind us.”

  “I agree.” Grant added, “Since when are you so worried about being a cog in someone’s machine that will inevitably get you killed?” he asked the engineer, “It’s getting late for thoughts like that. We’re all on the chopping block. All that matters is the order.”

  Scott nodded, “You’re right. I’m sorry, sir.”

  Grant looked at Fox. “See what I mean? That’s getting annoying. Can we do something about that?”

  32

  Scott checked his tie in the mirror for what must have been the twentieth time and smoothed the black lapel, brushing away the last bit of dust that had fallen on it since he had retrieved it from the garment bag. He hadn’t been attired in such a fashion for years, not since leaving Earth. The black coat was adorned with a few small emblems and three silver buttons running down the front. Scott took care to ensure none had any smudges.

  He flattened the bottom of the jacket one last time and looked across the passenger bay to Othello who was doing the same. “Are you ready for this?”

  “I guess so. They might as well make something legit.”

  Commander Grant walked through the wide doors from the hallway and stopped a few meters inside. “We’re all set.”

  Scott noticed a sizeable number of additional ribbons and badges adorning the commander’s coat that he hadn’t seen in the official table, as well as a blue ribbon across his neck. He wanted to probe it deeper but kept any questions he had to himself. There’d be time enough to hear more of his tales.

  His own was four medals wide, with identical racks given to him and Othello by Sergeant Mason earlier in the day. He quietly didn’t know what half of them signified and hoped no one would ask. The commission? Basic training? Campaign? Again, more questions for later.

  They walked out and down the hallway in single file, blasts and holes still in the walls where Scott had stood his ground a lifetime ago, and out into the open area of the side landing bay. Grant’s fighter was tethered down halfway across the deck while a small cluster of personnel waited in an uneven formation. The three men marched to the front and stood silently at attention.

  Sergeant First Class John Mason stood beside them, cleaned up and attired in the black uniform as well, and read from a script on a stainless steel board.

  “Attention to orders. As authorized by Commander Prime Jefferson Grant, United Space Corps by U.S.C. Special Order number 180.0356, Mr. Othello Harris and Mr. Scott Ryan are hereby commissioned in the United Space Corps in the grade of Major.

  Sergeant Mason continued on as Scott tried to comprehend what was occurring. It was a strange feeling, finally having an official position and not simply being a civilian that had happened to tag along. After the introduction they completed an oath of office and Commander Fox along with the other remaining ship captains tacked the metal rank onto their shoulders.

  A quick round of applause followed before Grant took to the center again. “I’m afraid none of this means things are about to get easier. Command crew, meet in the comm room in one hour to plan our next course of action.”

  ***

  The episode was short lived as Scott just as quickly switched back to his olive drab range uniform, albeit now adorned with his small copper insignias. He still had nearly forty minutes before Grant wanted to start their planning session so he stopped by the closest support bay and continued his notes on the state of play.

  Beside the drafting table where he had sat before while taking his weapons apart stood a wide and tall active white board that he quickly covered with outlines and quick sketches from the Cygnan base. Scott quickly felt overwhelmed, as if he was trying to express the world through a soda straw.

  At the rear of the room was a strapped-down pallet of the Cygnan equipment pilfered during the raid, along with a few Lyran scanners, small and large, that had been recording the exchange throughout the surface battle. One large one was singed and dented like an alien black box and Scott guessed it was one of the leftovers from Sebastian’s ill-fated battleship.

  He pulled a Cygnan equipment case down from the top of the pile, checked it for explosives and radiation, found it relatively safe and popped it open. Clenching his jaw half expecting a blast, Scott rotated the lid away and looked inside.

  Below a black piece of silk-like fabric rested a large combat rifle that didn’t resemble the biological weapons they had been using thus far. It had highly extenuated angles and corners, giving the device an evil, menacing look without investigating any closer. Scott noticed that depending on the angle he observed, the weapon went from a gloss-black to nearly flat with a wavering mix of gray camouflage.

  On the closer edge of the case were a dozen cylindrical boxes mounted vertically in
the firm packing material. Although he wasn’t about to touch the rifle, he pulled one of the boxes free, thinking it was a charge for the ammunition. Scott was not disappointed when he looked down at the top and saw a sharp metal disc half exposed and at the ready. Pulling it free, he saw it was a blade around twelve centimeters to a side, with thick teeth cut along the edges like a small tile cutting saw.

  He took a chance and lifted the rifle by the barrel, spying a matching track instead of a cylinder, leaving no guessing that he was looking at the weapon’s ammunition. Scott added it to the list of things he really didn’t want to face in battle.

  ***

  Together again, the team rallied up one last time on the Flagstaff before Grant decided that they needed to depart. The Patriot captains filled out the gathering, with Lieutenant Rans coming in at the end, still with the aid of her metal appendage.

  “I think we’ve reached a consensus.” Grant began, “We’ll jump to the Lyran fleet in one hour and from there act at their request. Although there are still outstanding concerns, I don’t believe we should change our plan at this time.”

  The faces around the room nodded in agreement. “Are there any other comments before we get underway?”

  Scott raised his hand.

  “Major Ryan, what do you have?”

  Scott lifted and dropped a steel equipment case on the table before them. “I was able to dig through some of the Cygnan equipment. While most of it I’m still at a loss about, there were a few items I think you should see. I’m not sure if they’re experimental or if we’ve just been lucky so far, but these are some of their weapons.”