by S. A. Lusher
“Yeah...you want to join us?” Drake asked.
Hawkins smiled a genuine smile and chuckled. “I'd be lying if I said it wasn't tempting, but...someone's got to stay behind and clean up the Atonement mess. And prepare a Plan B just in case things go south for you guys. Any others?” There were none. “Good. The speedships should be here soon...get this done, I imagine no one else right now could. We're all counting on you,” Hawkins said slowly, staring at each of them.
They all nodded and responded in turn.
Then the group stood and began filing out of the briefing room.
It was time to head out, once more into the darkness.
CHAPTER 12
–Beneath–
They were going beyond the Far Reach.
Allan had heard many names for the edge of civilization, that constantly growing ring of newly discovered planets and freshly constructed colonies, expanding ever-outward with Earth at its center. It was called the Edge, the Far Reach and worse things by that people who found themselves hanging around it. It was dangerous, deadly and often mysterious. Lots of disappearances tended to occur at the peripheral of society.
And here they were, going beyond it, following a star map they'd stolen from their enemies, who had in turn stolen and translated it from an ancient race of beings long ago wiped out. Allan tried not to think too much about the Cyr. They made him uncomfortable. If only because, for how powerful they were, he had encountered something even older, even more powerful, and had had to kill an entire planet to put it down.
He hoped.
Sometimes, in the dead of night, he awoke in a cold sweat, wondering if somehow, someway, the killer had survived, escaped its fate through some final trick...or possibly even being tough enough to survive being thrown into a sun. Since there was no good answer, he did his best to just not think about it, to try and let the thoughts settle. Like now, he was sitting on a small office onboard a speedship as it shot through space at faster-than-light speeds, bringing him as quickly as possible to his final destination, his final objective.
Well, hopefully not the final one.
The planet they were going to was large, rocky and mostly barren. It had no atmosphere. Debatable, it was basically a giant asteroid that had gained a stable orbit around a distant sun. Data gathered from Cyr databases and info sent back from Rogue Ops recon teams indicated that everything they needed resided within massive underground tunnels and caverns, buried beneath the dead, rocky surface of the planet.
Luckily, they at least didn't need to scan or search. The data gave them a viable point of entry that should take them to the structure housing the Cyr technology meant to open the portal. After gearing up onboard the military cruiser and boarding the speedship, Allan had passed out the relevant data to everyone involved, making sure they all studied it twice over, memorizing it all in case any of it needed to be put to use, as well as the shutdown and self-destruction code for the Cyr site. He had no idea what they'd be facing there, so he wanted everyone ready and capable of completing the mission, no matter what the cost.
They'd been in transit for close to three hours now, with another twelve hours to go. Travel between the systems was usually pretty quick, especially for the speedships, which always employed cutting-edge tech and had access to all sorts of little tips, hints and tricks to shave off the time it took, which meant that they were the absolute fastest vessels available. He'd spent almost all of those three hours at first overlooking their gear, making sure it was all accounted for and functional, then taking a taste of his own medicine and memorizing the data. But now he was finished, he knew it front to back, since there was so little of it.
Allan supposed he should take a bit and get to know his crew, get a feel for them, strengths and weaknesses and the like. He powered down the infopad and stood up, stretching, wishing he could just go take a nap instead. It'd go a long way towards easing his frayed nerves. Allan knew he would actually do that, and soon, just not yet. Instead, he left the tiny office and stepped out into the main corridor of the ship. Directly across from him was the door that led to the infirmary, which was open. He could hear movement.
Stepping inside, he spied Parker. She stood with her back to him, a slight Asian woman with short, dark hair and a sharp gaze. He hadn't had a chance to read up on any of his crew. All he knew about her was that she was a medic, and so was the other guy they'd picked up, Mertz, but Parker was alone in the infirmary. He had at least learned that she could kick ass with the best of them and keep her head in a hot situation.
“Do you need anything?” she asked without looking at him, startling him from his thoughts.
“No. Just...checking up on you, on the crew,” Allan replied.
“I'm okay, Gray. Just making sure all of our medical kits are well-stocked, doing some of the little things that need doing before a big mission. I'll be all right, you should tend to the others. I prefer to be alone during the downtime,” Parker replied.
“Okay. Let me know if you need anything,” Allan replied.
Parker nodded without saying anything else. He left her alone in the infirmary and made his way down the corridor, coming to a small rec room where he found Mertz with his feet kicked up on one of the tables, reading an infopad.
“Hey Gray,” he said, setting the pad aside when he saw him enter.
“Hi. Ready for the mission?” he asked, taking a seat across from the man in one of the two couches that faced each other.
“More than. I thought I was done with all that run and gun shit, but...well, defending the Atonement made me remember how much fun it could be...blood on the floor, puke on your shoes, terrifying kind of fun, but fun nonetheless. I guess once you get a taste for that kind of life, you never really leave it behind.”
“Yeah...I guess so,” Allan replied, slightly unsettled by the sentiment.
“That worry you?” Mertz asked.
“Kind of. I've been wondering lately what I'll do when this is all over. I'm not even sure I want to stick around, but I'm worried I won't be able to leave it behind. I mean, my mind isn't set one way or the other, but I'd at least like to have the option, you know?”
“I do, actually. I don't really have any good advice to give you. I tried to give up the life, even met a girl, started planning a family, a life together, but...” he sighed, trailed off.
“What happened...if you don't mind me asking?”
“Nothing bad, I mean, well, comparatively. I got mugged coming home from the store one day. Kicked the guy's ass, broke his wrist and his nose...the rush I got from doing that...” he sighed again. “This was maybe six months out of the military. I'd quit after a decade in the Marines. I realized that I missed it, I missed that rush, the old adrenaline rush. I finally felt alive for those few minutes bringing that idiot down. I made it maybe a week before I came back. I got into Special Operations.” He shrugged, offered an unhappy smile. “Not the thing you want to hear, huh?”
“No, not really,” Allan admitted.
“I think you'll often find that what you get to hear isn't what you want to hear.”
Allan nodded, chatted a few minutes more, and then excused himself, stood and headed for the bridge where the two pilots were. Martel and Robins. Martel was tall, thin and blonde. She wore her hair very short and seemed to lack any modicum of humor. Robins wasn't much better. Average height and weight, with a black buzzcut, he could at least be counted on to grin every once in a while. They both seemed competent and capable and presently, both of them were in their seats, studying the information Allan had given them.
“How's it going up here?” he asked.
“Fine. We're still eleven hours and fifty one minutes out,” Martel replied.
Allan realized that he wasn't wanted or needed here either, so he turned and continued his slow walk through the ship, pausing when he reached the armory. He glanced in through the small window in the closed door and saw Genevieve hard at work at one of the workbenches and decided to le
ave her to it.
Finally, he came to one of the pair of small bedrooms shoved into the back of the ship and found Callie in a sports bra and her underwear, lying on the carpeted floor doing crunches. It looked like she'd been at it for a while.
“Hey,” she said as he came in. “What's up?”
“Not a lot, apparently. Everyone else is busy doing their job and I've already done mine...but that reminds me, who's in charge of this thing? Hawkins never actually said who's giving the orders. I mean, technically, we three outrank the Spec Ops personnel, so that helps answer, but we're all the same rank...”
“I figured it was you,” Callie replied.
“Why me? You or Gen...well, you're probably more qualified to lead a team. No, scratch that, you're certainly more qualified to lead a team. I mean, you did it before.”
“You seemed to do a good job before, on the derelict.”
“Did I? Two people were killed.”
“But you got the job done.” When he didn't say anything further, Callie sighed and stopped doing crunches. She stood up. “I was a leader for over a year. I ran with my squad all over the galaxy. When they all died...it made me question whether or not I wanted to be a leader anymore. Don't get me wrong, I don't want out of the Spec Ops lifestyle and I know that if I have to, I can lead, I can get it done, I just...don't want to if I don't have to, you know? It's nice. And you seem to be doing a great job so far, so why not you?”
“It's not like I haven't lost people,” Allan replied quietly, sitting down heavily on the bed.
Callie joined him, sat down next to him. “I know. You lost your team, both of your teams, and...everything that happened on Lindholm.”
Allan sighed softly. “I suppose I'm scared. Of failing again. But if there's one thing I have managed to pick out of out all of this mess...” he hesitated, reluctant but determined, “it's that you have you keep going, no matter what. It's the best solution, even if it'd be a lot easier to just...give up. It makes think of the others. Greg could have given up, could have left with Kyra. Or Drake, he could have given up when Trent died. Or you could have quit when your team died...I could have quit. But we didn't, we kept going. And I guess we will until we die.”
“Hopefully that's a long time from now,” Callie said.
Allan laughed. “Yeah, here's hoping...now, I was going to take a nap before our mission, since I've finally got the damned time for once. You want to join me?”
“I'll offer you one better. You join me in the shower, and I'll join you in bed, and we can figure out what to do from there,” Callie replied, smiling wider now.
Allan couldn't help but return the smile. “Do you ever think we do it too much?”
“What? Fuck no. What kind of question is that? No such thing as too much sex,” Callie replied, standing up and stripping off what little clothing she had left on.
“Good point,” Allan replied, joining her.
* * * * *
Allan stood on the bridge and watched the planet grow steadily closer.
After their activities in the shower and the bed, and the nap, Allan had awoken, worked out for a bit, showered and grabbed a meal. He'd stepped onto the bridge as they were coming out of FTL travel and watched as the pilots guided the speedship towards the unnamed, unknown planet. They'd run a few scans as they drew closer and had only been able to pick up some low-level energy signatures, but Martel had told him that something was interfering with their scans. Allan supposed it wouldn't be a Dark Ops mission if everything went right.
They were presently headed for a particularly large opening in the ground, something that would grant them access to where they were supposed to go. As far as the intel indicated, they had to take the tunnel ahead down for about half a mile.
“Anything?” Allan asked, the others were getting ready.
“Nothing yet...wait,” Martel replied, studying another screen as they entered the tunnel. Robins kept it steady as she checked out the scanners. “Okay, I'm finally getting something. Something is still interfering with the sensor equipment, but...there's a low-level power signal coming from dead ahead and a few human structures.”
“Any life signs?”
“No, none near the structures, at least.”
“All right. Set us down as close as you can, then, once you're sure we're secure, come back and suit up. All hands on deck for this one,” Allan replied.
“Got it,” Martel said.
Allan turned and left. He'd already suited up, now he just needed to grab some gear from the armory. As he made his way down the central corridor, he saw Mertz step out, fiddling with an assault rifle. “Hey, what's happening?” he asked.
“We're landing. No life signs. Are the others ready?”
“Yeah, I'm the last one out. They're back by the loading ramp.”
“Okay, go on. I'll be there in a minute with the pilots.”
“Got it.”
Allan stepped into the armory and began gathering what he needed. He grabbed a sidearm and slipped it into the holster on his hip, then grabbed a rifle and slung it over his shoulder. He made sure they were both loaded and as he was doing so, he felt the ship go through the final stages of landing. There was a dull clang from below and then a gentle vibration that shuddered through the ship as it came to a rest on the ground. As he finished slipping magazines and grenades into the various pockets on his armor, the two pilots joined him. They began getting into their armor with a quick proficiency as he left the armory.
He walked down the hallway to the cargo area at the end of the ship, where the others were gathered, waiting for the mission to begin.
“Everyone ready?” he asked.
He received a string of affirmative replies. After another five minutes, the pilots joined them. Allan had everyone draw their weapons, flip the safeties off and get into position, then he hit the activation button.
The cargo ramp began to lower, revealing the uncharted, subterranean world beyond.
CHAPTER 13
–Between–
The world beneath the world they'd landed on was a dead place.
Allan studied the rock walls, floor and ceiling around them as the others disembarked from the speedship and established a perimeter. They turned on no lights, as their suits' visors provided appropriate light-amp filters, bringing the area into stark, sharp contrast. So far, there was nothing to indicate anyone having ever been there, human or otherwise, but Martel had assured Allan that the enemy camp was just over the next rise, dead ahead.
“Anything?” he asked.
A string of negative replies came back over their comms network. “Let's move out then,” he replied.
They set off towards the rise, not wanting to waste any more time in this place than they had to. There was something very...off about it. And it wasn't just the fact that they were underground, far from civilization, on an airless, dead world. What worried Allan was that the place didn't feel entirely dead. More like a corpse that still dreamed.
Allan hurried up, cresting the rise, gun in hand. He stopped as his head broke the top of the rise and offered him a view of the area beyond. The walls of the tunnel spread out and away, creating a large cavern. In the center of the cavern, at the base of the opposite side of the rise, he spied the Rogue Operations camp.
It didn't look too good.
“Carefully, slow and easy,” Allan said as the others joined him.
The group slowly made their way down the rise of rock, spreading out to make a smaller target in case there was anyone in those buildings looking for a kill or two. But Allan felt that they were alone, at least for now. He swept the camp with his eyes while he had a good view of it. It wasn't very large. Just a collection of single-story, boxy, prefabricated structures. They had been arranged in a circle, leaving an empty, open space in the center. As they drew closer, Allan spied signs of damage: bullet holes, broken glass, bodies.
They reached the edge of the encampment and spread out, moving among the buildi
ngs, the blood, the bodies. Allan chose the nearest structure and stepped in through the door. It looked like it had been ripped open with sheer force. Held within was what appeared to a barracks-style living space. Beds were triple-stacked along the walls and the only three doors in the back led to bathrooms and shower areas. One of them was coated in freeze-dried blood. There was so much of it that it seemed as if someone had detonated.
Allan finished up his search and moved on to the next structure, this one a cramped mess hall. He moved among the field of metal tables and benches bolted to the floor. There were ragged holes in the exterior wall, offering a dim view of the rocky surfaces outside. He checked behind the serving tray line and in the small walk-in freezer, still finding nothing but blood and spent shell casings. Before long, he and the others had picked over the camp and found nothing to indicate what had come through and so thoroughly killed everyone.
The team met at the command module. An auxiliary generator was still chugging along, providing a minimum of power to the structure. Allan and most of the others stood guard while Genevieve looked over the computers, trying to piece together whatever data that was left. Allan moved to stand by Callie out in front of the broken structure.
“Any ideas?” he asked.
“I'm not sure. It looks like brute force did this, but...there doesn't seem to be any return fire, and the only bodies I see are Rogue Ops personnel. My best guess is that there's something native here, something they woke up or disturbed that they really shouldn't have,” Callie replied.
“How could it be native? There's no atmosphere,” Allan said.
Callie shrugged. “We've seen worse things. How can shadows jump inside of a man's suit and take away everything that isn't bone in a nanosecond?”