Asbaran Solutions (The Revelations Cycle Book 2)

by Chris Kennedy

  “Perhaps not. I have a plan.”

  “Great. You have a plan. I feel safer already.”

  “It was actually my plan,” Steve said, “if that’s worth anything.”

  “Maybe a little more,” Mason replied grudgingly. “Before you tell me about it, what’s the other reason having a leak is good?”

  “The other reason is it lets us give our enemy a little misdirection.”

  “Uh huh,” Mason said, sounding unimpressed. “Misdirection. Let me guess, now you two are going to give me tactical advice? The success meter has now completely hit rock bottom.”

  “Wait a minute,” Nigel said. “At least hear me out. If you don’t like what we’ve come up with, then you can leave or whatever else you want to do.”

  “Okay, what’s your plan?”

  “We’re going to make Spivey an offer he can’t refuse.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter Nine

  Montrose Neighborhood, Houston, Texas, USA

  “This is stupid,” Private TJ ‘Thunder’ Allen said. He put down the scope and rubbed his eyes, then stretched in the darkened vehicle. “Why are we doing this?”

  “Because I told you to, dumbass,” Mason replied. “Look at this as special operations training—something you’re totally unprepared for. The guy in that house has special information we think he’s going to pass on to his bosses. We need to find out who the bosses are and where they’re located.” He raised his own scope to look at the massive house on Waugh Drive. “Fuck! The light’s out. When did that happen?”

  “A couple of minutes ago,” Private Dave Parker replied. “The guy went up to his bedroom, turned out the light, and went to bed.”

  “How the fuck do you know he went to bed?”

  “The lights went out.”

  “All that means is the lights went out, you dumb fuck! He could have gone back downstairs and snuck out. Fuck! Parker, get out and go around behind the house. Allen, go up Waugh to the north. Epard, go down Welch Street. I’ll take a little cruise around the neighborhood. Look around and make sure he isn’t getting away. We’ll meet back here in 15 minutes. And whatever you do, you imbeciles, don’t let him see you.”

  Mason put the car in gear once they were clear and pulled away from the curb, leaving the headlights off. He drove up Waugh and turned right on Willard Street, coming to a quick stop when he saw movement in front of him.

  A man in dark clothes crossed one of the enormous lawns, walking down a row of shrubbery. He stooped down so as not to silhouette himself, but Mason could see him from where he sat. He couldn’t be sure, but the man looked like Spivey’s shape. The man reached the street and walked 50 feet to the east to where a dark hovercar stood idling. He looked both ways as he got in and Mason saw the face. Spivey. Damn it.

  The door shut, and the hovercar accelerated down the street. Mason gave the car a little room and pulled out to follow, nearly knocking over Private ‘Thunder’ Allen who stepped in front of the vehicle.

  “Get in, you fucking moron,” Mason yelled, jumping on the brakes.

  “What’d I do?” Thunder asked as he climbed in.

  “You’re going to let him get away by getting run over.”

  Mason raced after the other car, sighting it as it suddenly did a U-turn back toward them. “Down!” Mason exclaimed as he slammed on the brakes. The two soldiers ducked as the car roared past them and headed north on Waugh, barely slowing for the stop sign.

  “What about the other guys?” Thunder asked as Mason sped off after them. “Are we going to go back and get them?”

  “Give them a call and let them know they’ll have to find their own way home,” Mason replied, dodging a parked car he hadn’t seen with the lights off. “I’m kinda busy at the moment.”

  The car they were following took the cloverleaf onto Memorial Drive and headed west, alternately speeding up and slowing down. Mason hung far enough back that he didn’t think he’d been seen. The car continued west until it reached the Memorial Park Golf Course, and then the driver braked hard and swerved off the road onto the golf course.

  “Damn it!” Mason exclaimed. He continued past where the car had turned off and stopped the car. “Let’s go,” he said, springing out the door.

  By the time Thunder made it to the back of the car, Mason was already pulling weapons from the trunk. “C’mon,” Mason said. “We’ve got to hurry, or we’re going to miss it.”

  “Miss what?” Thunder asked as he took the rifle Mason handed him.

  “Whatever the hell they came here to do.”

  Mason also gave the private a pistol, a night visor, and a large knife. He armed himself similarly, then he pulled out a large crossbow with strangely shaped bolts.

  “Holy shit!” Thunder exclaimed. “What’re those for?”

  “Silent action,” Mason replied, gently closing the trunk. He placed the night visor over his eyes, lighting up the landscape in shades of white and gray and jogged back in the direction of the golf course. The hovercar didn’t leave any ruts in the ground, but Mason had marked where the vehicle had gone off-road and followed it onto the golf course, listening intently for any sign he was catching up with Spivey.

  “Hey Top, wait up,” Thunder whispered, and Mason spun and put a finger over his lips.

  “Shut up, you idiot,” Mason murmured into the soldier’s ear. “If you can’t keep up, go home. I don’t want to get killed because you can’t keep your damn mouth shut.”

  Thunder’s eyes grew, and Mason could see that the enormity of the situation hadn’t dawned on the junior trooper. The situation could easily become life or death. Thunder didn’t reply, but nodded his head slowly.

  Certain the trooper now understood, Mason turned and stalked in the direction the car had taken, staying in the shrubbery that lined the hole. They had only walked for a couple of minutes when Mason saw a glow in front of them. He motioned Thunder to wait and continued by himself, careful not to make any noise.

  His caution saved his life; he slowly spread the top of a bush to find a small ship resting in the clearing beyond, with sentries on the ground nearby. He watched for 30 seconds, chewing his lip, before returning to where Thunder waited.

  “Do you remember what a Tortantula is?” Mason asked.

  “Yeah, big spider-looking thing, right?”

  “Correct, but it’s really big, like five feet across, and it has 10 legs, not 8. It also has a ring of eyes all the way around its head, so it’s damn hard to sneak up on them.”

  “Are there some of them there?”

  “Just one, but it’s got a Flatar rider. Have you seen them?”

  “Uhh…” Thunder said, thinking hard. “I think I saw a picture, but I don’t remember what they are.”

  “Flatar look like oversize chipmunks that ride in a saddle on the Tortantulas. They usually carry hypervelocity pistols to finish whatever the Tortantulas they’re riding take down. The Tortantulas are tough, even without armor, and like I said, they are hard to surprise. They aren’t that smart, though, and can be fooled. The Flatar aren’t as tough, but they’re smart. Putting a Flatar on a Tortantula lets an employer get the best out of both. A Tortantula/Flatar pair makes an excellent guard combination.”

  “And there are some in front of us?”

  “Just one, but that’s enough. They’re close enough to stop us from getting in the ship that’s sitting there, but not so close that the light coming from the ship will blind them. We’ll have to kill them or take them prisoner if we’re going to find out what’s happening on the ship.”

  “Kill them? Here? On Earth? Are we allowed to do that?”

  “Not really…but then again, I’ll bet they aren’t supposed to be here in the first place. No one is officially going to miss them. And we need to get into that ship.”

  Mason didn’t think the trooper’s eyes could get any bigger, but they did. He knew the young merc had been tested, and the company had verified his ability to handle stress, but he knew th
e unexpected nature of the situation was threatening to surpass the trooper’s limits.

  Mason punched Thunder on the shoulder. “Don’t worry,” he said, “all you have to do is talk to them. I’ll take care of the rest.”

  “What? Talk to them? What would I say to them?”

  “Here’s how it’s going to work. You’re going to give me a two-minute head start, then you’re going to go crashing through the forest like you don’t have a care in the world. Call out your girlfriend’s name a few times like you’re looking for a late-night booty call. When you stumble into them, just look shocked and scared, and talk to them for a minute. I’ll take care of everything else.”

  “Looking scared won’t be a problem…”

  “Good. Oh, and leave all of your weapons and night vision gear here. If you have it, they won’t buy your story.”

  “What? Go unarmed?”

  “Yeah. Unless you want them to shoot you on sight?”

  “No, that’s okay,” Thunder said, laying down his weapons. “I can leave my gear here.”

  “Okay. Give me two minutes before you move.”

  Memorial Park Golf Course, Houston, Texas, USA

  Thunder crashed through the underbrush, pretending not to notice the noise he was making. He had decided to act like he was drunk, and he called out the name, “Anna!” in a slurred tone as he stumbled toward the ship.

  “Don’t move!” the Flatar ordered through its communicator as the soldier approached.

  Thunder jumped back in surprise, tripped, and fell on his back. The Tortantula took two steps toward the soldier, and Thunder could smell a musty fragrance from it. He scrabbled backward away from the aliens, looking at the Tortantula and shrieking, “Spider! Big spider!” It was no longer an act; he had never been this close to an alien before, and the clicking noise the Tortantula’s front pincers made as it approached terrified him.

  “Get up, human,” the Flatar said, pointing an oversized pistol at him. “Who are you and what are you doing here?”

  Thunder climbed to his feet, edging away from the Tortantula. “My…my name…my name is Bob,” he stuttered. “I’m just…just…trying to find my girlfriend—”

  With the sound of a cleaver striking a watermelon, a crossbow bolt struck the Tortantula in the back of its head and detonated on impact. The alien fell forward toward Thunder, its rider flying free to land at Thunder’s feet.

  The Flatar had lost its pistol during its brief flight, and it met Thunder’s eyes before spinning around and scampering off toward the ship on all fours.

  “Get it!” Mason yelled from the side. “Don’t let it get back to the ship!”

  Startled into action, Thunder chased after the alien. The soldier made up some ground on the Flatar, but he could see the alien was going to beat him to the boarding ramp. He dove forward at the last second, and his outstretched arms were just able to grab the fleeing creature.

  “Got it!” he cried, holding up the squirming alien as he rose to his feet.

  “Watch out—” Mason yelled.

  “Fuck!” Thunder screamed as the Flatar sunk its teeth into the skin between his thumb and pointer finger. He flung his arm into the air, and the Flatar got its second flight of the night.

  “—for its teeth,” Mason finished as the alien spun through the air to strike a nearby tree. The creature fell to the ground, and Mason raced over and picked it up by the nape of its neck. The Flatar hung lifeless in his grasp as Mason strode over to Thunder.

  “Is it dead?” the soldier asked.

  “No,” Mason replied. “They’ve got a similar reflex to kittens. They go limp when you pick them up this way. You never want to grab them around the waist. They’ll bite the shit out of you if you do it that way.”

  “I see that,” Thunder replied. His hand throbbed, and blood trickled out from where he held it.

  “You’ll want to get that looked at,” Mason added. “They’ve got some funky alien bacteria in their mouth you don’t want in your system. It’ll mutate and mess you up pretty bad. I’ve got antibiotics for it back at the hangar.”

  Mason walked over to the Tortantula and nudged its head with the toe of his boot. “This one, however, is dead. About the only weak spot they have is just below the eyes in the back of their head. They’re darn hard to damage anywhere else.”

  “You sound like you’ve fought them before.”

  “Yeah, they’re pretty good shock troopers.” Apparently satisfied with what he saw, he added, “C’mon, let’s go. Hopefully everyone onboard hasn’t heard all your screaming.”

  Thunder followed Mason to the ramp, holding his bleeding hand. He could almost feel the alien bacteria swimming in his veins and wondered when the mutation process would start. “Do we have time?” Thunder asked. “How long…how long have I got before I start turning into a…a whatever it is I’m going to turn into?”

  “Oh, don’t be such a baby,” Mason whispered. “It’ll hurt so much you’ll wish you were dead, but you’re not going to turn into a werewolf or anything like that. You have to get bit by a dumfuk for that.”

  “Wha…what’s a dumfuk?”

  “You’re a dumb fuck, now shut the hell up and guard the top of the ramp while I go find our target.”

  “Umm, Top, I don’t have any weapons. You made me leave them all behind. What am I supposed to guard the ramp with?”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Mason said, shaking his head. “Do I need to change your diapers for you too? Here, take this.” He handed Thunder a large knife with a bend in the middle.

  “What’s this?”

  “It’s a kirpan. A Sikh gave it to me for saving his life. Don’t lose it; it means a lot to me.” He started to leave then turned back around. “Hold this too,” he added, handing the limp Flatar over to the junior soldier. “And, don’t let it get away again.”

  Without another word, Mason drew his pistol and snuck off down the hallway. He went around a corner and was gone.

  Thunder looked at the alien. It did look a lot like a chipmunk, except for the sharp teeth in the front of its mouth. Its eyes were closed, and it almost looked cute…except for the blood stains on its fur where Thunder had bled onto it. It’s not cute, he reminded himself; it’s an alien that bites like a son of a bitch.

  He looked up and down the passageway, feeling tremendously under-armed with only a knife (even if it was a big one) in one hand and a small, furry alien in the other.

  Worse, he realized he wasn’t even really under contract. Actions on Earth were definitely not part of his contract. When he got back, he would have to see about a contract mod, or a combat bonus, or something, for having to fight an alien force. Oh my god! He was fighting aliens! He’d have to call his brother; Tom would never believe it. Well, he’d have to call his brother after he got the bite treated.

  With a whine of hydraulics, the ramp started to close.

  What? Thunder looked up and down the passageway. There was no one…human or alien…in either direction. Who was raising the ramp?

  Additional noises joined the hydraulic sounds of the ramp. Fluid flowing, machinery cycling, and a large motor lighting off. What? A motor lighting off? Something was wrong—they weren’t supposed to go to space, were they?

  Someone had to stop the pilot from taking off. Thunder was sure Mason would be back to handle that like he handled everything else, and he watched expectantly down the corridor for Mason’s return…but no Mason. A second motor lit off.

  Crap. Still no Mason.

  Thunder knew he didn’t want to go to space with nothing but a large knife and a fuzzy alien. If Mason wasn’t coming, he would have to do something about it. The pilot had to be in the cockpit, he reasoned, which must be toward the front of the craft. Leading with the knife, he stalked up the passageway toward the bow of the craft.

  The urge to go faster warred with the need to go quietly; he compromised with a quick walk, keeping to the right side of the passageway. He passed several doors, decidin
g to leave them until later, then heard voices from further forward. He could see a glow and scurried forward, finding himself at the back of a cockpit.

  The space was illuminated by the phosphorescent glow of the dials and other gadgets on the instrument panel and side consoles; two giant millipedes appeared to be preparing the ship for flight.

  Dumbstruck, he stared for a couple of seconds. Yes, two very black millipedes were operating the ship’s controls. Almost four feet long, claws reached out in a number of directions simultaneously, each grasping or manipulating various instruments. The one on the right advanced a collection of levers that rose from the floor between them, and the engines rose in pitch. They were taking off!

  “Hey!” Thunder yelled. “Stop that!”

  The creature on the right pulled the levers back and both aliens turned to look at him. “Grchip blxer tg zhebl,” the one on the right said.

  Thunder pointed the knife at the one on the right. “We’re not leaving.”

  The millipedes looked at each other and turned back to the instruments. The one on the right advanced the levers again.

  “Hey!” Thunder yelled again. He slapped the alien’s…claw?...from the levers with the flat of the knife and pulled them back again. Both aliens turned to look at him again.

  “Grchip blxer tg zhebl,” the alien on the right repeated, louder this time.

  Thunder held the knife to the throat area of the creature he was holding. “Do that again and the Fleetar gets it!” he threatened, mispronouncing the alien’s race.

  The aliens looked at each other again and went back to what they were doing. The one on the right reached for the levers.

  “I fucking mean it!” Thunder yelled. “Get your hands off that!” He poked the millipede’s arm with the point of the knife.

  The creature on the right screamed something as it pulled its arm away from the levers. It bent over to the right and turned, a pistol now in one of its claws. “Grchip. Blxer. Tg Zhebl,” it yelled back, motioning for Thunder to leave.