The Resistance- The Complete Series

by Nathan Hystad

  “What did you say?” Banks asked.

  “Nothing,” Flint said, tossing the upper half of the armored suit to Banks, who caught it with a grunt.

  “I used to be a Marine. Did you know that?” Banks clicked his suit together smoothly. It was obvious he’d done this before.

  “That was a long time ago. At least ninety years,” Flint said, feeling invisible daggers from behind Banks’ helmet visor.

  “I wonder what happened to them?” Banks’ tone changed, and he sat down on the bench in the bay, clipping a second gun to his leg.

  “To whom?” Flint asked, checking his own suit to make sure it was sealed and functioning properly.

  “My family. I left behind grown kids. They’d be gone now, but maybe I’m a great-grandpa or something like that,” Banks said while checking his suit’s connections. Flint noticed the green lights flash, and they entered the Recon fighter.

  Flint preferred the solitude of the smaller, more mobile EFF-17 ships, but for a job like this, they needed functionality and boarding ability. “After you,” he said at the ship’s rear hatch. Banks grumbled and entered first, Flint following closely behind.

  “You think they’re all dead over there?” Banks asked, referring to the Watchers.

  “I highly doubt it. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be bringing twelve Marines, would we?” Flint thought they were underestimating it but kept his mouth shut. It was all they had on hand, with the rest holding the Watchers back in-system.

  He switched his comm to his earpiece, and Banks’ voice came through his speaker now. “They damn well better be, Lancaster, or I’ll have some words with this new Grand Admiral.”

  Flint shook his head. He wanted to see the old commander standing nose to nose with Serina. He imagined Banks would be leaving that meeting with his tail between his legs.

  Once situated in the pilot’s seat, Flint started the engines. This model was slightly different from the ones he was used to from his Fleet days, mainly because it had been outfitted with one of the Shift drives. The drive took up a lot of space, removing half of the cargo bay. Banks settled in on the seat beside him, and they each strapped in, glancing at each other momentarily before Flint raised the vessel up off the bay floor.

  He flew out of the banged-up carrier, meeting the other ten vessels past the containment field. Part of him wished Ace was coming with them, but Serina had denied Flint’s young friend. She claimed he didn’t have enough experience, but Flint understood they knew each other from boot camp. She was trying to protect him. Flint could see it from a mile away, even if the kid couldn’t. He had friends in high places now.

  “Prepare coordinates. Charge Shift drives,” a voice said through his helmet’s speaker. Flint wasn’t used to the armored suits any longer, and his felt bulky, heavy on his body. He preferred the standard EVA, but since he was heading onto a dead ship where eight-foot-tall aliens were waiting for them, he was content to be wearing this one.

  “Drive charged,” Flint said three minutes later, joined by a chorus from the other vessels.

  Banks keyed in the coordinates, and Flint double-checked them, trying to not let on that he’d looked. With a grin, he hit the Shifter and they vanished, appearing two hundred kilometers from the Watchers’ warship. Flint wanted nothing more than to just finish this job, tow the bastard back to Serina, and get to Earth. The entire crew of both their ships deserved a few weeks’ respite, including himself.

  “Checking sensors. Enemy drive is down. No functioning shields activated. We’re a go,” the leader, a quiet Marine named Tony, said. “Recon three, take position. Latch and cut open near the hangar. Open the bay for us to enter.”

  It sounded so easy. The other nine ships would wait at a safe distance, while one opened the door for them. These things always seemed simpler on paper. Flint was glad their ship wasn’t given the task.

  “Things must be bad,” Banks offered.

  “What do you mean?” Flint guided the ship forward.

  “This is an act of pure desperation, isn’t it? Risking ships and lives just to take a warship from them?” Banks clearly didn’t like what they were doing either.

  Flint wasn’t used to taking orders blindly anymore, but was finding it easier as he went. “Things are bad. This ship’s from the other side. They hope it’s stocked with supplies. New weapons. Maybe different data on the ship’s system.”

  “The Watchers will wipe it all first,” Banks said, and he was probably right.

  “Charles has a way of digging things up when needed. We’ll get something from it. I believe in the plan,” Flint lied. In theory, he did, but this was more dangerous than Serina had let on. They should have waited another day or two, but her argument was a that Watcher ship might find them and assist. They couldn’t let that happen.

  Flint charged his Shift drive as they waited, wondering if the others did the same. He wanted to be ready should another enemy vessel arrive out of the blue. This could be a trap. Flint was forever on the lookout for a ruse, specifically ones that landed him in deep water.

  They watched as the image on their viewscreen showed Recon Three latching to the side of the enormous warship. Right now, they’d be cutting into the bigger vessel’s hull before climbing through, opening the hangar bay doors, and allowing the rest of the Fleet ships entrance.

  “What’s taking so long, Three?” Tony asked through the speakers.

  “It’s dark. Hangar’s pitch black. We’ve breached but need a few more minutes to get the opening large enough to get through.” There was a pause. “Did you hear that? There’s something inside.”

  Goosebumps rose on Flint’s arms under his armor and jumpsuit. “This isn’t good,” he whispered to Banks.

  He glanced at the older man and saw the fear in his eyes. “They’re supposed to be dead.”

  Flint nodded and swallowed hard.

  “Three, what’s happening?” Tony asked.

  Something crossed Flint’s mind. “First Sergeant Tony.” He used the man’s Marine rank to address him, even though the Fleet had stopped using them.

  The reply was terse. “Go ahead, Five.”

  “If they had no power, there wouldn’t be anyone moving around inside with the hull breached. The containment field must still be live.” Flint felt the trap close around them tighter.

  There was a pause. “He’s right. The field’s there, but it’s not blue like we expected. It’s clear.”

  Tony urged them on. “Get inside. Take out any threats, open that door!”

  “I don’t like the look of this, Banks,” Flint said, moving closer to the warship.

  “Hold position, Five.” The order barked through the speaker, and Flint slowed the Recon fighter.

  “We’re inside. Sending feed now.” The Marine pushed a live feed to the Fleet ships, and Banks tapped it onto the lower right of the viewscreen.

  Flint watched as the body camera jostled around. A bright light flashed on the armor suit, casting a circular glow over the vacant hangar. One ship sat inside, but from what Flint could tell, there were no enemies waiting in the open. The shadows, those would be something entirely different.

  The screen showed the second Marine running to the wall, gun raised. The man used the built-in console, and seconds later, he heard the sound of a metal door scraping open through the speaker.

  “The hangar door is open. I repeat, open,” the Marine with the camera on his chest said.

  Tony acted right away. “You heard the man. Get in position. Nine, you stay out here as backup.”

  Flint was the closest, and he approached the dead warship with caution.

  “Let’s get this over with,” Banks said roughly.

  Flint pushed through the containment field into the enemy vessel, setting the ship down in an open spot. The room was at least three hundred meters wide, leaving enough space for all nine ships to enter with ease.

  As soon as they were all inside, something happened. The metal hangar bay door began to sh
ut behind them.

  4

  Charles

  “No, you have to have more growl and less rolling of the tongue,” Charles said. He was pleased to be teaching Wren the Watchers’ language. It gave him a useful function. He was already working on sorting through the past battle details, compiling any worthwhile data on the enemies for Barkley and Hawk. They seemed to think there were likely things missed by the Fleet, since they were too close to the combat. They were attached to the battles, too emotional, and Charles understood this meant they wouldn’t be unbiased while sorting through the data. He, on the other hand, could be.

  Wren tried again, sounding much better. “Good,” Charles said, “but you just told me you were itchy, not hungry.”

  She laughed before scratching her arm. “Now that you mention it…”

  “Is that enough for today?” Charles asked.

  “It is. Thanks for helping, Charles. I know the Fleet has programs for this now, but I prefer the old-fashioned approach,” Wren said.

  Charles had been surprised to learn that many of the Fleet’s high-ranking officers had to learn the Watchers’ language. Apparently, it was rare that they exchanged communication, but when they did, it could be the difference between life and death for thousands of crew members. Wren had volunteered to learn, but her only caveat was being taught by Charles. He was always happy to help his oldest friend.

  “I’m going to see him,” she said, getting up from the chair. They were in the lab on board the Eureka, and Charles saw Wren glance toward the cage along the edge of the room, the same spot where their captive Watcher had been held and had subsequently died by the virus she’d created. She seemed haunted by it.

  “Of whom are you speaking?” Charles asked.

  “Benson.”

  Charles felt angry at the thought. Why see the traitorous man? The very same man who’d created Charles – or, at least, his past. Charles understood he was different, though Benson didn’t seem to think he’d done anything to give Charles emotions.

  “I’ll join you,” Charles said firmly.

  Wren met his gaze. “You don’t have to, Charles.”

  “I must.”

  Benson was in the brig, all alone, and had been there ever since they’d extracted him from the planet across the Rift. From what Charles understood, the only visitors he got were the ones bringing him food and water.

  They left the lab and headed down the corridor until they reached the elevator. The brig was deep in the belly of the ship, reminding Charles of the spot where the old Grand Admiral Jish Karn had kept that very same captive Watcher aboard her ship, the Stellae. He idly wondered if her creation still existed.

  The lift stopped, the doors opening as they found themselves face-to-face with a youthful female guard. She smiled at Wren and eyed Charles conspicuously before letting them through. “He’s been asking after you two,” the woman told them.

  When they were out of earshot, Wren turned to him and stopped abruptly. “Why would he ask for us?”

  Charles tried to consider the facts. “He might think I’d help him escape, like I helped you. He’s been held captive for a long time, first by the Watchers and now by us. There’s a strong possibility the man has become delusional and greatly depressed.”

  Wren nodded and another guard let them enter through a sealed door, pointing to a cell at the end of a wide hallway.

  Charles saw the man lying on the floor, his dirty blazer covering his chest as he stared at the ceiling. There was an adequate bed beside him, one with blankets and a pillow, so seeing him on the ground set off alarm bells.

  Wren cleared her throat, and Benson stirred, sitting up slowly.

  “So they finally came.” Benson’s blazer fell, exposing his rail-thin chest.

  “You don’t look so hot,” Wren said.

  “It’s amazing what a few months in captivity can do to a man’s temple,” Benson said. He smiled at them, making his emaciated face appear ever stranger.

  “You should eat, Benson,” Wren said, nodding to the tray of food by the cell barrier.

  “I wasn’t hungry. My stomach isn’t what it used to be. Please, have a seat,” Benson said, pointing to a stack of chairs at the end of the hall.

  “I’d rather not. We won’t be here long.” Wren crossed her arms, and Charles left his hanging at his sides.

  “I see the android remains in one piece. Are you still in there, CD6?” Benson stood up and walked toward them.

  Charles had the urge to deactivate the barrier and hit the man. Benson’s eye was still puffy and closed, but Charles could tell the crew had helped prevent infection. He doubted Benson would be seeing out of it in the near future. “Whatever you programmed is still there, but I understand what’s real and what’s not now. The files are separated, and safe from access.”

  “Interesting, and a little dark. If I were you, I’d wipe them. I wish I could erase the last few months.” A dribble of saliva fell down Benson’s lips, and he wiped it with his bare arm.

  Charles had seen many sad prisoners, but Benson was the worst kind. He was in so deep, he didn’t even seem to be aware of it. “I don’t need to. I’ve grown because of what’s occurred. I’m more unique than ever, and it’s all thanks to you.” Charles didn’t really mean all of that, but in a way, it was true.

  “You are an odd duck…Charles,” Benson said, using his given name. “Wren, tell me what’s happening. Is Earth still there?” His good eye went wide, exposing deep red lines in the whites.

  “Earth exists. The solar system is still up for grabs. Surprisingly, the two sides are evenly matched. It’s a good thing we came when we did, because it might have been enough to tip the scales against us, had we stayed on Domum,” Wren said. Charles didn’t understand why she was being so forthright with the man.

  “Interesting. Perhaps my assumptions were premature.” Benson’s shoulders slumped, and Charles saw the real man show through. “I was so sure we’d be decimated. I’d listened to Jarden ramble on about how mismanaged the Fleet was, and how anyone coming would destroy us with the snap of a finger. He was one of those people that could have changed the outcome. He was that smart. Is that smart,” Benson corrected himself.

  “You were selfish. You thought you could let them enslave us all, but if you offered to stand as an emissary, you would be spared. Right?” Wren asked.

  Benson nodded slowly. “I want to help.”

  “How are you going to help? Haven’t you done enough?” Wren’s voice rose in volume.

  “Look, didn’t you finish what you set out to do back there? Didn’t you make a virus and release it, killing countless Watchers?” Benson asked.

  “We did, though we could have killed more if they weren’t expecting us. That’s on you.” Wren pointed at him, her voice becoming bitter and low. Charles was staying out of this. He supposed her challenging Benson was a form of catharsis.

  “I said I was sorry!” Benson shouted. “I can fix this!”

  “Fix what? How can you fix anything?” Wren bellowed.

  “Is the Shadow in play?” Benson asked softly, the mood changing from within his cell.

  “What’s the Shadow?” Charles asked. Wren cut him a glance that told him to be quiet.

  “The Shadow is the leader of the largest terrorist organization out there. She leads the group. They’re more of an independent nation without a home. They refuse to be led by the Earth Fleet, and when we left, they had more ships than the top two transport corporations combined. And a lot more firepower.” Benson looked pleased with himself.

  “I haven’t heard of them. The Grand Admiral hasn’t mentioned anything, but she has convinced most of their former threats to combine forces with her,” Wren said.

  “Her. Interesting. Just who is this Grand Admiral?” Benson asked with interest.

  Wren shifted on her feet. Charles guessed she wasn’t sure if she should tell the imprisoned man anything more. “Serina Trone.”

  “Hah. Relation to H
elina, I assume?” Benson scoffed. “Nepotism at its finest.”

  “Her daughter.” Wren crossed her arms again. “Helina’s been dead for a long time.”

  Benson’s face changed, his smile disappearing. “She was a good woman. Not the best tactical mind, but a charismatic leader. I don’t remember her daughter. I do remember her missing son and husband, though. They disappeared so mysteriously. Poor Helina.” Charles felt like Benson might have finally realized just how dire things were.

  “Why don’t you ask this Serina if they’re working with Shadow?” Benson offered. He stared firmly at Wren with his good eye, as if trying to get information from her silence.

  “I will. If she says they aren’t?” Wren prompted his motivation.

  “Then I’ll tell you how to reach her. For my freedom, of course,” Benson said. The man was forever negotiating.

  “Of course.”

  “Was there another reason for your visit?” Benson asked.

  Charles wondered the same thing. Wren hadn’t filled him in, and he felt like he was missing out on something.

  “I wanted to make sure you weren’t too comfortable. Glad to see I don’t need to ask them to change anything in your cell,” Wren said coldly.

  Benson grinned at this, his yellow teeth matching his grimy skin. “I’m living the life of luxury.”

  “Let’s go, Charles,” she said, and he turned, following her out. Charles glanced back to the cell and watched Benson pick up the tray and start eating. His mood had changed. He thought he was getting out soon.

  When they were at the elevator, far away from Benson’s earshot, he asked the question that had been burning into his mind for the last few minutes. “Did you know about the Shadow organization?”

  Wren nodded, giving Charles a mischievous grin. “I did. When I told Serina about all the things Benson had done, she told me about an attack on the Fleet by a huge terrorist threat. It happened the same day the Rift opened and we headed through on the Eureka. I remembered Ace telling us about it as he escaped with the Shift fighter.”