by C. R. Turner
We enter a room filled with test tubes, microscopes and all kinds of strange devices. A man with grey hair and a thick beard wearing a lab coat and glasses spins around in surprise.
Bradley shakes his hand. “Doctor Lister, I have our new recruit.”
“Bradley … good to see you, mate.” Doctor Lister turns to me. “So, you’re Andrea Stinson son?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good to finally meet you,” he says. “Your father and I trained for our Battlefield Paramedic Certificate together and remained good friends.”
I smile. It’s nice to meet people my father used to work with, especially if they were good friends, but it’s a painful reminder of just how much I miss him.
The four of us chat for a while, then Bradley and Teenan leave.
Doctor Lister looks over the top of his glasses at me. “Bradley’s given me a briefing on the upcoming mission. We were discussing your run-in with the striker scout. I saw the first aid work you did on him before he was flown back to Paelagus. It’s good to see some of your father’s skills have been passed on. I recall Andrea telling me he used to teach you paramedic and survival skills when you were young.”
“Yes, sir. Though I’m a little concerned about how much of my father’s training I’ve actually retained.”
“The training you've been registered to do is the BFAC,” Doctor Lister says. “It's a three-day course, but because you've had previous training, I'm going to get you to sit the exam first. You need a seventy per cent mark on both your theory and practical tests to pass. If you don't pass, I’ll provide training on the things you got wrong. I'm hoping to get that out of the way so I can provide you with some in-depth paramedic training. All the men and women in your team will already have their BFAC. However, because you’re the team’s MOSAR attachment, I'm hoping to get you trained to a higher level in the limited time I have with you.”
“How much training is required to be a MOSAR paramedic?” I ask.
“MOSAR paramedics are usually battlefield paramedic certified, which takes two years of full-time training.”
“Oh … okay.”
“Is that something you’d like to do?” Doctor Lister asks.
“Yeah, I’d love to … if I ever had the opportunity.”
I’m nervously waiting for Doctor Lister to mark my theory exam paper. It’s been five or six years since I even went to school, and it’s a bizarre sensation sitting at a desk again. I start preparing myself for the disappointment of failing.
Doctor Lister smiles, gets up and hands me my paper. “You did really well.”
I’m stunned when I read the mark at the top of the page.
“Seventy-eight per cent … really?” I ask.
“Yep.” He pauses then adds, “Let’s go do your practical.”
I jump up and follow him down the hall to another area. We wash our hands, then he hands me a thermal jacket.
“What’s this for?” I ask.
“You’ll see.”
He approaches a room and holds the door open for me. Cold streams out as I walk in … and gulp. Four bodies – nearly naked, pasty and veiny, their eyes closed – lie on stainless steel tables. At first, I think they’re corpses, but as I step closer to a male, I notice its chest rising and falling.
“What the hell?”
“They’re called Simulates,” Doctor Lister says. “They’re grown in a lab. Their hearts beat, they breathe, the only thing they don’t have is a consciousness.”
My brain locks up, shocked. I didn’t even know something like this existed. Curiosity gets the better of me. I step closer to one. I want to reach out and touch, but it’s too much like a real person who might wake at any moment. It’s covered in scars and stitches – previous training procedures, I presume. I pluck up the courage and touch it. It’s cold – stone cold.
“How?”
“DNA is taken from a human, then grown in a lab. Electronic controls are surgically implanted to give them functioning respiratory and cardiovascular systems. Their blood passes through a service unit that adds a special additive to help prevent cell degeneration. They last about three months before they have to be replaced.”
By mid-afternoon I complete my BFAC and move on to paramedic training. It’s been roughly five years since I lost my father and throughout the day a whole flood of emotions wash over me. I remember all the good times I spent with him learning to stitch up lacerations and how to set bones, as well as the survival training he gave me. The knowledge Doctor Lister shares with me tests me harder than ever before – it’s so far ahead of anything my father taught, it’s scary. Some of the procedures we perform on the Simulates nearly make me sick. It’s humbling realising how much there is to know.
We cram in as much training as possible. Even when Doctor Lister is ready to knock off for the day, I plead with him to keep going, and we burn the midnight oil.
Doctor Lister smiles. “You know, when you were born, it was all your father could talk about.”
I grin and shake my head as I picture his smiling face.
“Your mother and father tried to have kids for years. They had nearly given up when your mother finally fell pregnant.”
“I didn’t know that,” I reply, eager to hear more about my parents from someone who knew them before I was born.
“Your father was serving as a paramedic attached to the Civic Engineering Division,” Doctor Lister says. “When you were born, he dropped out and worked as a paramedic and survival trainer so he wouldn’t have to go off-world anymore.”
I choke up as I picture my parents’ faces.
It’s late afternoon on the final day, and we’ve just finished packing up when Doctor Lister stops. “You probably know from your father that life as a paramedic can be hard. There are planets with people who don’t know the war is over yet, and I don’t expect the conflict has just stopped. If you continue your training, you’re likely to be sent into all kinds of situations, sometimes as a MOSAR attachment and sometimes by yourself. You’ll see things you can’t un-see, be tested harder than you’d ever care to be tested. Paramedics need to be mentally tough, calm under pressure. That kind of strength doesn’t come from physical toughness. It comes from deep within. Some people just don’t have that, as much as they may want it. I’ve seen excellent paramedics crack under the pressure and give it up, never to return. Prime Bradley obviously believes in you. You’ll do well. Just don’t forget to believe in yourself.”
“I won’t. Thank you so much for all your knowledge and advice.”
“Your father would be proud.”
I smile as I shake his hand. I often wonder if my father would be proud of me. Hearing one of his friends say so makes my heart warm and my eyes well up.
Hati is half set by the time I get back to base. It’s been a gruelling ten days with Doctor Lister, so I’m glad when Sam comes running out of the hangar to greet me. She’s followed by an older man I’ve not met before, then Bradley leading Max, who’s pulling at his reins at my approach. Sam’s uniform catches my eye; I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to seeing her in it. She wraps her arms around me and gives me a big kiss on the lips.
“I missed you,” Sam says, her cheeks glowing.
I lean in and we exchange another big kiss. “I missed you, too.”
When I reach Bradley and Max, I drop my gear and rough up the fur on Max’s forehead, then pat him on the neck.
“How did it go?” Bradley asks.
“Really good. I enjoyed it. Learned a lot.”
The older man is in the same all-black uniform as the rest of us, except I notice he has a MOSAR patch on his shoulder.
“This is Specialist Akron. He’s a MOSAR rider trainer,” Bradley says.
“Pleased to meet you, Stinson,” Akron says. “I’ve spent the day with Max, testing his MOSAR training. He’s done well to retain a lot of it. He hasn’t picked up any bad habits either.”
Bradley shields his eyes from Hati’s glare. “
I thought it would be good if Akron could give you some basic rider training, so Max’s skills are fully utilised.”
Akron adds, “I remember training Max and his rider many years ago. Max would have had a lot of training that you’re probably not aware of. Do you have an hour to run through some of the basics?”
Smelly, hungry and exhausted, the allure of a hot shower, dinner and bed is strong, but this is way too good an opportunity to pass up. “Hell, yeah. I’d love to.”
Sam grabs my gear and we walk back to the hangar. Sam and Bradley go inside as I follow Akron around to the side.
My stomach rumbles loudly and Akron laughs. “This won’t take long.”
I smirk, a little embarrassed. I put my foot into the stirrups and mount Max.
“Are Canine Maximi trained to tread carefully through minefields?” I ask.
“Yes, they are. And to lie low during nearby explosions. They also have a trot called a ‘malant’ that produces the smoothest ride, so a rider can aim an Ashra accurately. Because you’re going on a search and rescue mission, I really want to show you what are called ‘sensory commands’.” Akron pats Max. “Canine Maximi will use their senses and naturally give you feedback without any commands. They instinctively do this anyway, so you should always be alert for those tells. There are ten sensory commands you can use to draw on your canine’s senses at will. If you squeeze with just your left heel, your canine will look left, and if you squeeze with your right, he’ll look right.”
“Isn’t left heel, walk left without reins?” I ask.
Akron shakes his head. “A quick left rib without rein input is walk left, but a squeeze in the left rib is look left.”
“Ah … got it.”
Never having done it before, I’m excited to see if Max will do it. I squeeze with my left heel and sure enough, he looks to the left. I chuckle. I squeeze with my right heel, still grinning. Nothing.
Akron snaps his fingers to the right side of Max’s head to get his attention. “Max. Right.”
I squeeze with my right heel again and he looks right.
“These commands are good for getting your canine to focus in a specific direction. He’s a little rusty, but with some practice he’ll remember,” Akron says. “The next sensory command is hearing. Two short, sharp pulls of both reins is the listen command. When you do this, he’ll seek out noise. If it’s used in isolation, he’ll look around and twitch his ears as he scans through three hundred and sixty degrees, but if it’s used after a look command, he’ll listen in that specific direction. It’s not something we can really practice here because there’s way too much noise. It’s typically used in the bush when you search for someone who’s lost.”
I listen intently, tired but enjoying every minute of it. Most of the commands I had no idea Max could do, while others I had witnessed but had no idea why he did it. After about an hour, the remaining light dwindles, and I thank Akron for his training.
Back at the hangar, everyone is fed, showered and some are already in bed. After unsaddling and feeding Max, I grab something to eat and sit by myself at the vacant tables, absolutely exhausted. While I enjoy the delicious hot meal, I reflect on the past eleven days of training – my emotions swinging from dread to excitement. I wonder what tomorrow will bring.
Chapter 6
It’s the day before our departure, and Sam and I approach Bradley. He’s talking with a couple of technicians, but when he finishes, he turns to face us.
“Prime Bradley …” Sam falters.
“Just Bradley, mate.”
“Would you help me find my father?” Sam asks, trying to blink back her tears.
Bradley’s an impossible man to read, but he seems surprised by the request. “I can look into it for you. What’s his name?”
“Marcus Miller. He’s an engineer in the SESS Division.”
Bradley nods. “Alright. We have a team who specialise in locating people and bringing families together. I’ll pass on his details, and we’ll see if they can find anything.”
Bradley walks away and I grab Sam, giving her a big hug. She snuggles in, holds me a while before letting go and wiping her eyes.
A few minutes later, a group of about thirty people – a mix of Talon and Makri – gather in the hangar for the mission briefing. I’m quite taken by the respect the striker force soldiers show one another and everyone they speak to, and with how well the Makri and Union soldiers work together; you wouldn’t know they’d been at war with each other just six months ago. Teenan and Bradley are facing the group. Behind them is a display of two huge photos, roughly five feet square. One photo has been taken from space – a planet that looks like an earthy-coloured eye with a vast circular desert surrounded by concentric bands of colour transitioning to darkness. The other photo is taken from a much lower altitude and shows thick jungle. On the right-hand side, there’s a small lagoon at the base of a waterfall. Someone has drawn a green circle around the lagoon and a red line over the jungle on the left-hand side.
The hangar is full of chatter, and Dropa and Emerson are stirring one another up when Bradley calls for everyone’s attention.
Teenan addresses the group. “Thank you all for joining us on this mission. The Makri and Talon governments feel that this mission holds significant importance in stabilising Terra Primus as well as bringing relief to the people of Antarum.” He pauses for a second.
After being so distracted by all my training and our unusual surrounds, I’m suddenly reminded of why we’re all here.
“Six weeks ago,” he continues, “a Talon multi-starship called the Equilibria went missing. The Equilibria was carrying prisoners, mostly Union soldiers, who have been convicted of war crimes and sentenced to life in prison. Once the Equilibria had delivered the prisoners to the prison colony on Antarum’s moon, Infernum, and delivered the food to Antarum, it was to pick up Antarum refugees and bring them back to Terra Primus for settlement.
“The Equilibria’s last known location was near a planet called Hikaru. Five weeks ago, we dispatched a Makri starship with a Union striker scout to search for the Equilibria. We discovered a half-mile-long gouge through the jungle canopy made by a starship crash-landing at a shallow trajectory, which we suspect was made by the Equilibria, but we weren’t able to see it from the air. The closest possible starship landing site to the crash site is over one thousand miles away. However, sixty miles from the crash site, there is a small area at the base of a waterfall where a Kyt can land.
“The striker scout was dropped off and given enough time to hike to the crash site and back, but when we returned to Hikaru ten days later, there was no sign of him. We weren’t able to raise him on his Core-link either.”
Teenan takes a deep breath. “Three weeks ago, SF Mustang with a MOSAR attachment was dispatched to Hikaru to search for the missing striker scout and locate the Equilibria. A Makri starship dropped the team off in a Kyt, then waited in orbit. After a couple of days, we were no longer able to raise SF Mustang on the Kyt’s radio.”
Sam’s face reflects my own fear. If the first striker force team failed, what makes them think ours will succeed? The excitement of going off-world on a MOSAR mission is now replaced with trepidation. I wish they’d told us about SF Mustang sooner.
Bradley steps forward. “Our first objective is to rescue SF Mustang and Striker Scout Smith. Our second objective is to locate the Equilibria and render assistance to the crew and prisoners, and our third objective is to assess the Equilibria’s condition and spaceflight capabilities. After completing our objectives, we’ll be extracted and a salvage team will take over. We’ll be taking both a Kyt for insertion and a Firestorm for air support.”
When Bradley says “Firestorm”, memories from my childhood of excitedly running out to the veranda with my father to watch the aircraft flying overhead, come flooding back. For years after, I saw the single seater strike jets roar across the skies of Terra Primus, but I’d forgotten their name entirely.
Bradley
nods to Pisano, who gets up to face the group. He pushes his glasses up his nose. “Good morning, all. We’ve had Hikaru in the Talon Bridgeport catalogue for some time now, but no one had ever stepped foot on it until a few weeks ago, so we don’t know a real lot about it. Essentially, what we do know is that Hikaru is tidally locked to its host star, a red giant called Daisuke, and has an equivalent gravity to Terra Primus of one point three. Because Hikaru is in synchronous rotation, one hemisphere is in permanent light and the other hemisphere is in permanent darkness. The sub-stellar point – the point on Hikaru closest to Daisuke – which receives the most direct sunlight, is rocky desert that gives way to concentric bands of savannah, then thick jungle in the dusk band and finally a vast wasteland of ice sheets and glaciers crossing the planet’s terminator.”
Bradley takes over again. “Landing site Falcon, which is at the base of the waterfall where SF Mustang landed, will be our insertion point. It’s approximately sixty miles by air to the crash site. The Makri starship will land in the savannah, over a thousand miles away, unload the Firestorm and setup a RASB – a remote air support base. Because we’ll be in permanent light, the hike to the crash site will be broken up into four stages, representing four days. We’ll be hiking for seven hours per stage, which will give us plenty of time for rest. Once we get to the crash site, we’ll have two additional stages – for rest and to assess the Equilibria’s spaceflight capabilities – before starting our hike back to landing site Falcon.”
Taylor raises her hand.
Bradley points to her with an open palm. “Go ahead, Taylor.”
“Sir, what’s our comms channel?”
“As you know, your Core-links have a range of about a 150 miles, so we’ll have comms to the Kyt at landing site Falcon, but the Kyt will have to relay messages back to the RASB.”
Hawkins asks, “Sir, what are our weapon requirements?”
“We’re going in fully charged,”—Bradley gives Hawkins a smirk—“so you’re welcome to bring your canon but be mindful of weight.”