by Michael Cole
THE PILOT
A NOVEL BY MICHAEL COLE
www.severedpress.com
Copyright 2019 by Michael Cole
PROLOGUE
The universe is comprised of billions of stars, and amongst them, billions of planets. Whether through random occurrence, or divine intervention, each of them found their place in the infinite reaches. Each of these satellites began as a smoldering cinder, until time and distance transformed them into barren heaps. With gravity pulling equally from all sides, they formed into their common round structure. Some would be reduced to landscapes of ice, with temperatures of minus three hundred degrees Celsius. Others would become hellish landscapes, with volcanic fire blazing throughout the surface. Some would be reduced to gas, just a circular cloud held together by gravity, while others would become barren rocky masses. Then, few and far between, there became those baring a rare gift called life.
Between all of them is the empty clear black expanse. An invisible thing, with no texture or matter, yet containing a force of apocalyptic proportions. An unrelenting suction, continuously tearing apart anything without the protective shield of atmosphere. Moving about in this endless emptiness, portions of such “victims” floated about. Remnants of dead stars and planets, or just the leftovers from incomplete satellites, they became reduced to asteroids, meteors, and meteorites. All were in motion, either drifting in a large collective, or shooting through the endless black, driven by the unstoppable force within space.
Then, somewhere in the distance between galaxies, something traveled at unparalleled speed. Its direction was not random but deliberate. Its shape, like that of an arrowhead, contained a forward axis. Its interior was not compacted dust, but hollow. The exterior was a compact material made from a metal that only existed on a planet that had its gift of life stripped from it.
A blue light illuminated at the stern, and the object increased its speed, traveling past the speed of light to its next destination.
Standing at the cockpit, the Pilot patiently monitored the next destination. It had only a mathematical sense of time. It did not grow bored, nor did it experience thrill. There was only purpose.
Green lights brightened throughout the interior, mimicking the familiar atmosphere from the world in which it originated. A world it would never see again. The Pilot had no intentions of seeing its world again, nor did it desire to visit any planet any more than once. For once its purpose was complete, there was no need to return.
Vibrations on the “monitor” informed it of everything it needed to know. Waves projecting from the forward axis, like echolocation, informed it of everything in its trajectory. Objects traveling over the span of an entire galaxy were calculated. Each detail fed into the device, particularly distance, size, and trajectory. A near flawless technology, it prevented collision for precise and direct travel.
But no technology is flawless.
A sudden energy overload within a medium sized star instantly increased its mass a thousand times. Though millions of miles away, its gravitational pull was second only to that of a black hole. Planets and even other stars shifted from place, displacing thousands of miles in a moment.
Such an anomaly did not affect the vessel’s course, as a slight adjustment by the pilot resisted the pull from the mass. However, the immense volume of matter shifting from all corners of space proved too much for the technology to calculate all at once.
What was once empty space had now become an asteroid field. With millions of miles of momentum, each piece of debris launched toward the newly enlarged star. One such rock, nearly a mile diameter, made of a crystalline carbon harder than diamonds, instantly became a shooting star.
The console had only the collision warning in a flash of yellow just as the object came into view. Even for a creature such as the pilot, there was no reaction time great enough to avoid the impact.
The rock broke the starboard section as easily as cracking an egg. Immediately, the vacuum of space went to work, tearing at the ship with unmatched force. Both interior and exterior portions broke away, zipping toward the dying star until eventually reaching a gravitational equilibrium. The cockpit sealed itself, giving the Pilot enough time to secure itself.
A pod, nearly the size of a car, unveiled like a flower. Its exterior shell was a bright silver, composed of layers of a barrier sheet made to protect the capsule from atmospheric entry should it find a suitable planet. The barrier would gradually dissolve into a powdery substance during the course of entry, leaving the capsule itself untouched.
The pod contained supplies, enough for the Pilot to survive, should it escape this predicament. The journey would not be as predictable as normally that of its vessel, as the pod did not contain the advanced navigational technology. It only contained a beacon for others of its species to collect it, should they ever travel within distance. That beacon, having mapped the paths of the ship during its travels, would now do so for the pod.
With the future now undetermined, there was only one thing remaining for the Pilot to do. It placed itself in the pod, and adjusted the limited navigation settings. With no suitable planets found within the scanner’s reaches, the Pilot could do nothing else but simply set the course away from the star.
Unable to determine the length of the trip, the Pilot had only one other option. The interior of the capsule was a containment chamber, resembling a coffin in size and shape. The Pilot rested itself inside, prepping for stasis. The intent was not to escape years of boredom, as the creature had no such concept. Rather, it was merely to prolong its life through the uncertain number of years it would remain adrift.
Launch.
Like a bullet from a barrel, the capsule zipped through space, propelled by its aft thrusters. As it did, the suctioning power of space finished off the damaged forward section, reducing it to pieces of scrap, no more advanced than the rock that struck it.
Vibration settled inside the chamber, followed by an inflow of liquid. The chamber sealed with a high-pitched hiss. In a moment’s time, the Pilot’s consciousness paused, and its body settled into a state of suspended animation.
The capsule traveled endlessly. Despite its advanced technology, the passage of time would eventually drain its power, causing the pod to zip aimlessly in space. Its remaining energy would be dedicated to preserving the stasis, while preserving a minute amount should the navigation detect a suitable planet to land upon.
Like one of the directionless meteors traveling through the universe, the pod drifted. And like many of those meteors, its travels would eventually lead it somewhere.
CHAPTER
1
With the press of a touchscreen button came a loud booming sound rivaling that of Navy artillery. A booming sound echoed through the room, sparking a brief physical flutter from those inside. Rock music boomed from the small electronic device, wirelessly amplified by loud speakers set up in all corners of the room.
Tim Sutton cringed from the burst of sound, nearly spilling his beer onto his end of the large horseshoe-shaped sofa. He turned around, seeing his brother-in-arms adjusting the iPhone app on a tray table behind him.
“Jesus Christ, Charlie! You trying to put us all on disability?” he shouted, his voice barely audible over the classic rock. Glass bottles clang from the opposite side of the sofa, followed by obnoxious laughter. Sutton righted himself in his seat, looking directly at the two giants who sat across from him. Ivan and Rex, two soldiers who, by appearance, looked more as if they were trying out for Mr. Olympia. Muscles squeezed through shirts each a size too small.
“What’s wrong there, Doc? Can’t handle a little noise?” Rex said, before tilting his beer bottle completely upside down. Sutton shook his head as the brute drained his beverage, then attempted to balance the empty b
ottle with his tongue. Lord help us, Sutton thought. How two Lutheran pastors gave birth to this dog was a question he often asked God.
The bottle fell from his mouth, snatched up by a quick reaction by Rex. He balanced it briefly on his finger, verbalizing “whoa” obnoxiously before finally setting it down. He glanced at Ivan, who sat beside him, holding a half-full bottle.
“That’s one for me, already,” he said.
“Oh, for the love of…” Sutton said. “You guys are not seriously gonna make a competition out of THIS, are you?”
Ivan grinned. Each expression of disapproval by the doc always brought a repugnant joy to the duo. He finished the rest of his bottle, before tossing it up at the ceiling. The bottle flipped over-end multiple times before Ivan snatched it up and slammed it down on the table next to the competition’s.
“One-for-one, T,” he said. Rex, who often felt the need to hyphen the letter “T” to his name for egotistical reasons, stood and reached into the cooler. Chunks of ice spilled onto the floor as he dug through the contents.
“Hey, hey,” Craig Easley said as he entered from the kitchen hallway. Rex glanced over at the nerd, holding a tray of cheese and crackers in each hand. “You’re getting ice all over my carpet there, T. Gosh, try and show at least a minuscule amount of respect.”
Rex held up two beer bottles and looked at them with disgust, before turning his eyes back toward his host.
“You want to talk respect? How about serving something better than this crap.” His thumbs pointed at the Lite beer logo on the bottle. Easley exhaled through his nose, while biting his lip.
“There’s Weihestephaner in the garage fridge,” he said.
“THANK YOU!” Rex shoved the lite beer back into the cooler and dashed past the much slimmer Easley. He slouched slightly as he balanced to keep his trays upright. He walked around the couch and placed the trays on the table.
“Alright, everyone dig in!” he announced. All at once, everyone in the room leaned toward the tray.
“Wait…this is it?” Ivan asked.
Charlie walked around from the back of the sofa. “That’s all you’ve got? A cheese platter?” He looked at the other tray, which contained nothing but carrots, celery, and grape tomatoes. “WHAT THE FUCK?!”
“And this, gentlemen, is our reward for executing a flawless rescue of thirty hostages.” Sarcasm radiated from Sutton’s voice.
“Well shit, then,” Easley said. “Next time you host, Doctor Holier-than-thou.”
“Oh, believe me I will,” Sutton said. He leaned back and looked around the large room. The walls were covered in movie and video game posters, several of which were signed by famous actors and developers. At the front of the room was a seventy-inch television, sitting atop a huge entertainment center loaded with multiple different video game consoles. As he always did, Sutton shook his head. What a waste of time. “Oh, good Lord, Craig. Even after working with you all these years, I still have a hard time seeing you as an Army Ranger.”
“Oh, you’re one to talk, Short Round,” Ivan said with a large foamy belch. Sutton’s face tightened. At barely five-foot-six, he was always picked on for his height, especially by the giants, Ivan and Rex.
“Here we go with this again,” he said. “What about Nagamine over there? He’s an inch shorter than me, and you never say anything to him!” Sutton pointed his thumb to the back corner of the room. Nagamine sat quietly by himself, not minding a word spoken by his fellow mercenaries. Ivan watched the former Japanese-Self-Defense-Force close-quarters combat instructor silently stroke a flat stone over the twenty-inch blade of his ninjato.
Ivan narrowed his gaze back at the ever-so-critical medic. “You want me to pick on him?! Look at him! You could send that guy to the moon, and all he’d do is spend his time looking for someone to kill.” He shoved his hand into the tray, and grabbed a fistful of crackers and cheese, while blatantly ignoring the veggies.
“Oh, knock it off, gents,” a female voice spoke from the hallway. All eyes turned straight to Terrie. She had emerged from the bathroom, having finally straightened her hair, which hung down to her shoulders. When off-mission, she was always quick to get rid of the tactical gear.
“I see you’re dressed up there,” Charlie said. “Going on a date?”
“If he ever responds to my text,” Terrie said, her expression souring.
“You probably scared him away,” Ivan said. “Fuck, you’d scare me away. Who’d want to date a lady who snipes people before blowing them up?”
“Me!” Rex rose his hand, clutching the German beer as he returned to the room.
“Fat chance,” Terrie said, dodging to get out of the way as Rex moved around the sofa. Ivan reached out to accept a beer from him, only to see Rex had brought one only for himself.
“Hey, what the hell, man!”
“If you’re gonna outdrink me, you’ll have to get our own, fatass!” Rex said as he plopped down.
“Oh God.” Terrie looked at Sutton. “Are they seriously keeping score of how many BEERS they’re drinking?” Sutton quietly nodded.
“They do it with everything else, why not beers,” Charlie chimed in.
“SPEAKING of which,” Ivan stood and turned toward Rex, “where’s that five-hundred bucks you owe me?” Rex nearly coughed up his beverage, and looked up at Ivan with eyes open wide.
“Excuse me?” he said. “Remember those two I bagged in the galley? I took down more uglies than you did. So, as I recall, it’s you who owes me five hundred, pal.”
“No, I took down the three pricks in the engine room!” Ivan argued.
“Oh, for Chrissake,” Sutton said to himself. Terrie placed her palm against her forehead, plucked a carrot from the veggie tray, and mentally prepared for the inevitable debate.
“You said there were only two!” Rex argued. “So now you’re lying!”
“No, it was three!” Ivan said. “I told you this before! So, pay up, man. You lost!”
“Can we just agree you guys took down an equal number of Somalis?” Sutton asked.
“Fuck that!” Rex said.
“If nothing else, you did find something we can agree on,” Ivan cackled.
“You guys could settle it with a little Call of Duty,” Easley said, eating celery from the tray.
“For once, I agree with the nerd!” Sutton said in a high-pitched volume. The pounding of the rock music combined with the ridiculousness in front of him made him mentally pray for their leader to arrive. Once he was paid, he could go home.
“No need,” Ivan said. “We already know how to settle this.”
Rex snapped his fingers at Charlie. “Hey, Flyboy. You’re the techno expert. Can you link up both of our recordings to make it a split-screen?”
“Recordings?” Easley said. “Wait, did you guys wear bodycams?” Both of the hulking guns-for-hire grinned, which in itself answered the question.
“You know the boss is gonna kill you if he finds out, right?” Sutton said.
“Oh, give it a rest, Doc. You’ll give yourself a hernia,” Rex said. He looked at Charlie again. “So…how ‘bout it?” Charlie groaned, and stepped forward, realizing it would be quicker and less of a pain to simply do what they wanted.
“Give me your cams,” he said. Both men thrust the round devices into his chest. Rex then pointed at Easley.
“Kid, turn on your tv! You’re gonna witness firsthand how yours truly robbed this guy out of five-hundred bucks!”
Ivan held a middle-finger in front of Rex’s face while Easley reluctantly turned the television on.
********
As Victor Seymour parked his truck into Craig Easley’s garage, he could hear the rampant rumblings coming from the north side of the house. The team had gone into celebration, as they often did at the conclusion of every successful mission.
He didn’t mind. A successful mission, especially one conducted as flawlessly as their recent rescue of thirty-five oil workers on board a hijacked tanker, deserved c
elebration. Much of the team was rejoicing in their payday. Seymour, however, took greater pleasure in preserving the innocent lives put at risk.
At least, he forced himself to assume they were innocent. One thing he had learned in the mercenary business, if clients are turning to him, rather than an official government service, likely there’s something they want to hide. Despite seeing the worst in humanity during his service in the military, and even getting used to it, he found it best to be unaware of the underground details, as long as they didn’t interfere with his team’s ability to do the job.
He wrapped his fingers around the straps of the huge duffle bag sitting beside him, stocked with eight smaller duffle bags with divided cash. He stepped out of the truck, holding the bag effortlessly in one arm. He paused before entering the house. Through the music, he could hear the bantering of his team inside. Two booming voices stood out: Rex and Ivan.
They were good soldiers, both of them having served in the U.S. Marine Corps. And they were good reliable mercenaries. They followed orders, never arguing or questioning Seymour’s authority. Despite this, they were troublemakers. And the louder their banter, the more Seymour knew they were up to no good.
He entered the house.
********
“Ah-ha!” Ivan pointed at the top of the split on the television. The video footage displayed the top of his HK416 rifle. Gunfire erupted through the audio, accompanied by cursing in Ivan’s recording. “Oh, okay, not there…but…” the group watched the muzzle flash from his gun barrel as he emerged from cover, and neutralized the three enemy hostiles. “Ha! There!” he said, clapping his hands together.
Rex leaned forward, bitterly resting his jaw against a closed fist while watching the footage. “Well, fuck,” he said, under his breath. Ivan turned to face him, his face glowing with excitement.
“That’s right,” he said. “Time for you to pay up!”
“You guys are sick,” Terrie remarked.