by S. A. Lusher
As always, the aged, grizzled leader of Anomalous Ops looked haggard and a little bit under the weather. He knew it was because the man was perpetually overworked, dealing with all the various political, military and bureaucratic contacts necessary to keep their dubious operation afloat. Plus, the guy was a hundred and twenty six years old now. He would still more than likely live a few more decades, but at his age, most people were retired. Allan got the feeling that Hawkins was going to keep this career going until the wheels fell off.
“What have you got for us?” Callie asked.
Hawkins rubbed one dark, bloodshot eye and tapped a few commands into the laptop embedded in the table in front of him.
“Those terrorists sporting heavy tech mods have finally shown up again. That's the main reason we've spent the past few weeks out here along the Far Reach. Let me highlight the information we have on them so far...” he murmured, hitting a few more commands. The lights dimmed and the holographic projector built into the center of the table clicked to life. It showed a small blue-green planet. “This is the first location we encountered this group. We know very, very little about them, save that they favor heavy technical body modifications that make them extremely effective and lethal in combat and, as far as we've been able to tell, they do not seem to belong to any specific group, creed, nationality or religion.”
He typed in another command and a second image appeared.
This one was a still shot of a deathly pale man wearing the ragged remnants of a bland, gray uniform, his black work-boots stained and scuffed. The man stared at the camera and was in the midst of raising his arm. What was on the end of that particular arm was not a hand but a long, black-silver barrel, a gun grafted directly to the flesh and bone and nervous system. One eye glowed with an intense, powerful blue light and a miniature satellite dish had been grafted onto his skull. There were more, subtler mods.
“For no given reason, some our outer colonies have been targeted. Usually they are not under the jurisdiction of the Galactic Alliance, but enough of them have been that, obviously, the government and the military got very interested. They drop out of faster-than-light flight directly into geosynchronous orbit over whatever colony they are planning on attacking, then drop from orbit in a cluster of attack craft and supply shuttles.
“From there, they tend to drop directly into the colony and slaughter everything with wave after wave of troopers. Once everyone is dead, they strip it of resources. They're also obviously intent on remaining anonymous. They've never left a single corpse behind of their own troops and they always hit the colony with an EMP pulse after they're done, wiping any and all digital records or recordings of them. We only have this image because the trooper that managed to get it got away deep enough into his colony's waste system to survive the slaughter and evade the EMP blast. But even based on his and a handful other survivors' testimonies, we know very, very little about these people. The biggest thing we do know, or at least have theorized on, is that these...people, whoever they are, don't seem to be acting of their own accord.
“All the, admittedly miniscule, evidence seems to suggest they are being controlled by the technology they are implanted with.” Hawkins paused and seemed to fight back a yawn. He sighed. “Knew I should have grabbed a fucking coffee. Sorry. It's been a busy fucking month. Anyway. They seem to be after resources and not a lot else. These colonies that are hit are stripped of guns, ammo, medical supplies, food, water and any other basic resources, including computer technology and heavier medical technology.”
“Where have they been lately?” Callie asked.
Hawkins shrugged. “I honestly have no idea. But little to no intel is basically par for the course for us at this point. We should all be used to being thrown from orbit blindfolded by now. Which, I'm fully aware seems like a pretty easy thing for me to say, given that I'm the one sending you all into battle. But believe me, if I still had the bones for it, I'd be right out there with you, decked out with gear and shooting it out, because this kind of work has never suited me. But yes, we have no idea where they've been or why they've been quiet for these past three weeks. We don't even know where their headquarters is located. Best we've been able to guess is that it is more than likely somewhere beyond the Far Reach.”
“So I imagine they've shown back up,” Allan said.
Hawkins nodded. “Yes. They've hit a supply ship. The ship managed to get a single burst distress call out, identifying the attackers. That was an hour ago. It isn't too far from our current location. Weller is prepping a Raptor right now. You should be able to get there within the hour. Unfortunately, Porter is the only one I'm going to be able to send with you.”
“Seriously?” Allan replied. He glanced at Porter. “No offense.”
“None taken. I have to agree with your assessment,” she replied, looking at Hawkins. “I would think that, given the level of attention this group has been getting from us lately, you would be able to commit more resources.”
He sighed softly. “I can't right now. I'll explain why later, but for now it's just going to have to be you three and Weller. But I trust you to handle this. All four of you are more than capable and adaptive fighters and thinkers. You can do this. Your gear is already being loaded up. I've shipped the intel, what little of it there is, ahead of you, on the ship that's been hit and the region of space it's in.” He paused, frowned, looked at each of them. “Good luck.”
Allan nodded and stood. “We'll get it done,” he replied.
The three of them headed out of the briefing room.
* * * * *
The Raptor loomed over them as they filed into the bay.
A quartet of technicians were just leaving, their jobs done. Allan and the others hurried across the bay, feeling the press of time. Allan, Callie and several of the others had, over the past two months, gone on several missions hunting these bastards. They'd come across many colonies, space stations and ships that had been stripped of resources, those resources including the people who lived there more often than not, and consequently had become more invested in putting a stop to this group than they would have otherwise.
It had gone from heart-wrenching to frustrating to infuriating, as they came too late over and over again, finding only desolation and death awaiting them. Now they had a chance to nail these fuckers to the wall.
Although that part of the briefing Hawkins had given, suggesting that these people were not responsible for their actions, that they may not even be alive at all, no more than meat puppets driven by some mysterious force…
That was more than a little chilling.
Allan, Callie and Porter cycled through the airlock. As soon as they did, Allan walked over to the nearest comms panel and hit it, calling the bridge.
“We're all onboard and accounted for, Weller,” he said.
“Affirmative. I'm leaving the Dauntless now. ETA is forty nine minutes.”
“Roger that.”
Allan killed the transmission, turning away from the panel and heading deeper into the ship. Such a short trip meant that they would have no time for their usual luxuries like sleep or food or training. They had to get to it right away.
With this in mind, he led the others towards the armory.
CHAPTER 02
–Out There, in the Darkness–
While they checked over their gear, Porter left them to it, deciding that she needed to look over the relevant intel.
Callie noted that Allan didn't have much to say as they stood at their workstations, looking over each piece of their armor before getting into it. They'd pretty much gotten used to wearing power armor most of the time, (not that there wasn't still a tremendous relief at the end of a mission when they could get out of the bulky gear), so they'd decided to just suit up now rather than later. She wondered if he was thinking about the same thing she was.
“Greg will be the first, won't he?” she asked.
Allan seemed startled. “What?” he replied.
&
nbsp; “Greg. He'll be the first to walk away from Anomalous Ops. Trent died. Enzo betrayed us. Others died as well. Greg will be the first one, if he makes that decision, to willingly walk away from Anomalous Operations.”
“If he decides to,” Allan replied. He paused. “What about Kyra?”
Callie shook her head. “We weren't Anomalous Ops then and it wasn't exactly the same. She walked away because...well, because this shit is crazy. As far as I've heard from Greg, she left because everything that had happened before that point was something she had been forced to react to. Everything that happened on Dis and with Dark Ops and the Undead was a do or die situation. And when she agreed to hunt down Matheson, that was still a pretty reasonable reaction: either do this job or live in fear for the rest of your life. But after that? She had the chance to leave and she took it,” she explained.
“Yeah,” Allan murmured. “Do you have a problem with him leaving?”
“I...I'm not sure,” Callie admitted. “I mean, I'll miss him. We've gotten kind of close and...” she hesitated.
“And?” Allan prompted.
She laughed. “It's still a little weird to talk about this with you. But, well, from what I've gathered, Eve is a little...she's not good at commitment. Greg told me once, and for fuck's sake don't repeat this to anyone, but he thought Eve was using the open relationship as a way to keep some distance between them. And they don't tell each other that they love each other. And that...is one of those things that means such different things to different people. I mean, to Eve, it's probably no big deal, but to me, yeah, it'd be a big deal.”
“It'd be a big deal for me, too. But I've met people who don't care one way or the other and some people who actively don't like it, or talking about it. And, obviously, you can say you love your partner all you want, but it doesn't matter if you don't show that.”
“Yeah, exactly. If Greg does leave, I don't think Eve will leave with him. She loves this job too much. But I'm mainly worried about what he thinks is going to happen if he leaves. Does he think it will make him happy? Or does he think that it will make him safer? I mean, I guess technically it will, since we basically jump into meat grinders every two weeks or so with absolutely no idea what's going to happen to us...”
They both fell silent, thinking their own thoughts once more. They finished checking out their gear and got suited up, save for their helmets, which they left on their workbenches. Then the pair began to check over their weaponry.
“It sets a precedent, doesn't it?” Allan asked suddenly.
“...yes, I suppose that was my original point. It sets a precedent. None of us have willingly walked away from Anomalous Ops. And now one of us may be. Before, it almost seemed like it wasn't really an option. I guess because to a lot of us, when we signed up, we'd hit rock bottom and it really didn't seem like an option, because we had nothing to go back to, nothing better to aspire to. But I think that's changed for some of us. And because no one had done it before, I guess, in our own way, none of us wanted to be the first.”
“Yeah...I definitely feel a lot better than I did when I first showed up here. I feel almost like a completely different person. You have a lot to do with that,” he said, very matter-of-factly. Then he hesitated. “Sorry.”
Callie glanced over at him. “Why are you sorry?”
“That statement...” he sighed, seemed to consider his words. “I wasn't the most mentally stable individual throughout my life. At all. And...” he didn't look up from his work, and suddenly it felt like he was intentionally not meeting her eyes. “...and, more than once, I kind of...held myself hostage. To keep a relationship going.”
“Oh...” she murmured, suddenly knowing what he meant.
“Yeah, it's pretty disgusting and one of my bigger regrets. I hate those people that threaten to kill themselves or hurt themselves if their significant other breaks up with them, because I was one of those people once, in my late teens and early twenties, because I was so...I was so fucking desperate and, honestly, it really felt that way. I felt like, if I didn't have this other person in my life, then my life wasn't worth living. Eventually I managed to get my shit together enough that I broke up with her and just got out of her life. After that, after I really, fully realized just what I was doing and how fucked up it was, how much absolutely unfair pressure that put on the other person, it kind of...sobered me. And I made sure I'd never do that again.”
Callie set her pistol down, turned to face him and placed a hand on his armored shoulder. She made him face her. “In this case, Allan, I'm glad that I help stabilize you. And I do love you. And I don't feel like you're doing anything like holding yourself hostage to keep the relationship going. And I understand how you feel.”
“Thanks,” he said, looking at her now.
“I'd hug you, but this armor kind of prevents it.”
They both laughed, loud and unexpectedly, and cleared the air of the dark tension that had begun gathering. They went back to their gear.
“So...do you think you could ever leave?” Allan asked.
“I'm not sure. I don't think so, but that can always change. I'm not really a fan of making concrete, unbreakable statements, because things can change, and what made sense last year might not make sense this year. Not that I'm afraid of commitment. I'm absolutely willing to commit, but the person or thing I'm going to commit to has to be worth the commitment, and has to stay worth the commitment,” she replied.
He grinned. “I see,” he replied. “So what's your personal limit on slack you're willing to give someone or something before you decide they aren't worth the effort?” he asked.
She laughed. “I handle that on a case by case basis. I'm willing to work a lot on a relationship if it's a good relationship and I'm willing to trust. And you've got nothing to worry about, Allan. I'm very happy with this relationship and I think we've both built up a lot of good will and frequent fuck-up miles with each other.”
Allan laughed as well. “Good to know.”
As she finished up with her pistol and slipped it into her holster, then switched over to her rifle, some of her good humor slipped away. “I have to admit, I do miss the relatively simple life of Special Operations. Which I know how insane that sounds. But rescuing hostages, taking out hostiles, eliminating gun-runners and slavers...it seems so simple compared to the shit we've been up to over the past year.”
“I know what you mean,” Allan replied. “Security-Investigation seems like slacker heaven compared to this crap. But...well, at least we're doing unquestionable good. And it's not like there's a lot of people that can do this.”
“I'm not so sure of that anymore,” Callie said.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I mean, yeah, it takes a special kind of crazy to do this job, to keep doing this job, and we all kind of got forged in very unique trials by fire, you and Greg and some of the others especially, but I think that there's enough other people out there that could handle this on a regular basis to keep Anomalous Ops going for a while, indefinitely honestly, and even with some room for expansion too...if we ever get the fucking funding, support and trust from the government and the military,” she replied.
“I suppose you're right.”
As they fell silent once more, finishing up their pre-mission tasks, Callie felt her thoughts go down another track.
Allan. Their relationship had become extremely strong over the past year and, honestly, now that she thought about it, it was probably the deepest, most serious relationship she'd ever been in. There had been a time, maybe about six months ago, when that had kind of freaked her out. She'd experienced loss in her life, bad loss, they all had at this point, and loss was such a painful, powerful agony, something she'd rather throw herself on a million suicide missions than face down again, and the thought of losing Allan…
It had almost been too much.
But she'd made herself hold on, made herself get over that terror, and slowly, day by day, the fear had ebbed awa
y. It wasn't gone, it never would be, because it was impossible to lose that fear if you genuinely cared about someone, but she felt more capable of handling it, and thus the relationship was stronger than ever.
If he decided he wanted to leave this job behind, would she go with him?
It wasn't a question she could comfortably contemplate.
Suppressing a sigh, Callie finished checking over her gear at the same time Allan did. They grabbed their helmets and headed out of the armory.
* * * * *
The intel was slim at best.
There was nothing particularly interesting about this region of space, nor about the supply ship that had been hit. It was decently sized, a cargo carrier for a medium-sized corporation that ran supplies between colonies along the Far Reach. The crew compliment was small, the cargo itself a bit bland: food and medical supplies. They spent just about ten minutes going over the information before Porter left them to get into her own suit of armor. Callie and Allan spent the remainder of their time memorizing the layout of the supply vessel.
By the time Weller gave them five minute warning, Porter had returned, suited up and ready. They all stood and headed for the bridge.
As they got onto it, Callie found herself trying to stare out of the thick quartz windows at the front of the room. But, of course, she couldn't. They were shuttered, closed with a specially reinforced metal sheath to protect those within from the strange energies of FTL flight. She'd always wondered what those energies might look like.
Seconds bled into minutes.
Callie had worked with Weller a few times over the course of the past few months. The thin, olive-skinned woman had an air of calm competence that belied a bit of smart-ass just below the surface. She was an excellent pilot, but didn't seem to have a problem making jokes at others’ expense or calling people out on their mistakes right away.
Abruptly, they left FTL flight and were deposited neatly back into normal space. As they were, the metal shutters pulled back, revealing the cold, hard clarity of thousands of stars, bright pinpoints of impossibly distant light against the midnight black of nothingness. In the distance, she could just make out a speck that was the supply vessel.