by T. R. Harris
Zac didn’t take offense. The man was just feeling insecure at the moment. Who could blame him?
After lunch, the team met up with Bull on the firing range.
There were several long-distance sniper stations set up with mean-looking long-barrel rifles set on low tripods. There was a station for each of the REVs, plus Bullock, with an enlisted man assigned to each. Zac scanned the horizon for the targets. They were barely visible.
“Now here’s something that requires skill,” said Bull Bullock. He knelt down and placed a huge hand on the weapon at his station. “This is the Nance One-Twenty-Two air-cooled full charge pulse rifle. Where other version fire plasma bolts, for our lesson today these will be firing ballistic slugs, seven-point-two caliber, full-metal jacket. Do any of you know what any of that means?”
Zac had to admit, he didn’t. During his fifteen years as a REV, he had used a variety of weapons, but always those integrated into his armor. His training consisted of hours upon mindless hours of pointing and shooting, to the point it became instinctive. That was the point. During a Run everything had to be instinctive. A REV didn’t think. Until now.
“I’m familiar with some of the terms,” said Donovan Ross. “Me and my buddies did a lot of shooting when I was kid in Texas. It’s just what we did.”
“Anything like this?”
“Nope. But it’s still a rifle.”
“Then please, Sergeant Ross, take a position.”
Donovan settled in, placing the stock firmly against his shoulder and sighting through the computerized scope.
“Wherever you’re ready.”
A low-tone blast sounded, rumbling away across the desert. A set of monitors were placed behind each station. Everyone turned to see the result of the shot at the target over a mile-and-a-half away.
It was a hit, on the lower right corner of the target; a plastic square with concentric circles and a small ‘x’ in the middle.
“Not bad, sergeant. Not bad at all. It that were a Qwin you would have shot off his left pinkie. Good for you. He won’t be using that finger anymore.”
Bull looked at Zac. The man obviously had it out for him. There was always one in every group who received the bulk of the DI’s attention. It was Zac’s turn.
“Have you had any experience shooting, other than through your so-called REV training.”
There it was again, that attitude about REVs.
“None, sergeant.”
Bull smiled. “Then please, take a station.”
Zac lay down on the mat next to Bullock’s station. He felt awkward as he moved his body against weapon. It seemed a lot larger, more intimidating, than it did a moment before. Now he tried to get all his parts in sync with the rifle.
“Shoulder firm into the stock,” Bull instructed, taking a more professional tone. “Rest your cheek along the barrel, sight through the scope, but not too close. Keep both eyes open.”
The magnified image wobbled as he took control of the weapon, losing sight of the target completely. He finally got the distant object in the scope again, finding that he could controlled the rifle from the rear, not the front, as it swiveled on the tripod. Now it was beginning to make sense.
Bullock was looking at the monitor behind Zac. “You got it?” he asked.
“Yep.”
“You see the targeting dot? That’s how the scope is set up. It’s computerized, and takes into account the distance, the drop, temperature, humidity, even the rotation of the planet. You can recalibrate more precisely after a shot by marking the hit and then moving a second dot to center target. Take your time, Mister Murphy. Fire when ready.”
Zac looked through the scope. The target board nearly filled his vision, but not completely, making the tiny ‘x’ barely visible from this distance, even through the scope. Being able to see what Donovan saw, Zac thought it a miracle that he hit any part of the target at all. But now it was Zac’s turn to concentrate.
Another feature of being a REV was the acuteness of their eyesight. They could see about twice as far and clear as a normal person, and that was without cascading. Zac was relying on the natural magnification of the scope, along with all its fancy gizmos. Now he began to rely on himself.
He really wanted to make a good shot, and the stress of the desire worked its way into his brain, just as he hoped. The image in the scope seemed to brighten as Zac’s attention became more focused. The more he concentrated on the distant ‘x’, the more it seemed to grow in size, to the point where it filled almost his entire vision. He could even see tiny threads of ink along the edges of the printing.
The targeting dot was lined up on the ‘x’. Zac squeezed the trigger.
“A hit!” Kyle called out as he studied the monitor.
Zac was confused. The ‘x’ was still there, with no evidence of a hit.
“Very good, Mister Murphy. Impressive…for a first attempt.”
Zac twisted around until he could see the monitor. A flashing round circle indicated a spot below the black circles and to the left, but still on the target board.
“A balls shot,” Bullock said. “No more nookie for Mr. Qwin.”
Zac turned back to the scope. He relaxed his focus, allowing the image to pull back until he could see the whole target and the hole from his first shot. He reached up and used small toggle bar to move a second targeting dot to the hole. He pressed the end of the level, locking in the position. Then he worked the control until another dot lined up with the ‘x’. He pressed the lever again.
“That’s it, Mr. Murphy,” said Bullock. “Let’s get on with the lesson.”
“In minute,” Zac replied. He gripped the weapon, familiar now with the recoil. His eyes focused on ‘x’. The image in his mind grew larger….
The next shot was dead center on the ‘x’. There were gasps from the spectators and cheers from the REVs. But now that the target was dialed in, Zac wasn’t through. He fired again.
There was silence behind him. “Did he miss?” someone asked.
“No, look, the circle’s flashing. He sent it right through the same hole!”
Zac fired three more times, sending each round through the hole he made with his first.
When he was done, he leaned over on his left shoulder and looked up at Bull Bullock. “I’m ready for my lesson now, sergeant major.”
Over the next two weeks it was the same story.
Tactic assault maneuvers: One look at the hand signals and the REVs had them down. They were also faster, with quicker reactions and could jump twice as high. They moved to the targets with the speed and fluidity of a ballet, each piece working in perfect harmony.
Close Quarters Combat: With their superior eye-to-hand coordination and accelerated decision making, the REVs aced the friend-foe test in record time. In fact, they began to compete against each other to see who could run the course the fastest without an error. Zac was disappointed that he came in second behind Kyle, but only by a fraction of a second. They were all within a fraction of a second from each other.
Hand-To-Hand Combat: They never returned to this drill again after Copeland was airlifted out of the Camp. Zac tried to feel sorry for the man, but he couldn’t. The martial arts expert would live with the lesson that REVs were pretty tough hombres, even when not activated.
The only real challenge Zac and his men faced were space operations. Although REVs could be used to assault enemy spacecraft, it was rarely done. When they did, it involved the use of a boarding vessel and a mini Run within the confines of the ship. The REV would be in an armored spacesuit to protect against pressure loss. These Runs usually lasted only a couple of minutes. After few hull punctures, and there wasn’t much left after that.
But this was different. They were being trained in small, pilot-controlled pods to approach a ship, make contact and gain entrance, sometimes covertly, other times with direct assaults. They would shuttle up to a waiting star cruiser where the exercises would initiate. Several types of ships were brought
in for them to play with. And that’s how the REVs felt about the training. Of all the drills they were being put through, this was the most trilling and challenging. It was a blast playing Luke Skywalker in their little pods.
And that’s how Zac’s first two weeks at Camp Slater were spent…and least during the day.
Olivia had been right. There was an overabundance of attractive women on the base, if that was possible. Clearly sixty percent of the personnel were female, and each one was a looker, physically fit, smart and attentive. Although Zac concentrated on only one of them, the other four REVs didn’t discriminate or hold back. It was a miracle that even men with the physical conditioning of a REV could still have any energy left for the next day’s drills.
And that was the routine: Sexual escapades most of the night, with drilling of a different kind during the day. And the drills weren’t so much training than just repetitive exercises, almost like REV training—real REV training.
But Zac couldn’t fault the instructors. There wasn’t a task they were given that the REVs didn’t ace. This was something new to the bulk of the Marines on the base. All they knew of REVs was the image of the mad killing machines with super Human strength and endurance during a Run. Very few people knew the truth; that REVs retained a portion of their superhuman abilities even when not on a Run.
But how could they know the truth? REVs weren’t allowed to socialize with the average Marine or civilian. They lived in their own sections of a base or starship and ate in special sections in the mess halls. They didn’t need to work out or join other Marines in sporting events. The only interaction came mainly with females, and that was also closely regulated. Thinking back, Zac and Olivia had never gone on a date, and all the times they got together it was in his compartment. Sometimes she would fix dinner—or get it from the mess decks—and bring it to him. They would share a candle-lit dinner…before hopping in the sack.
Since his time on Eliza-3, Zac had been doing a lot of thinking about his time in the Corps and what he sacrificed to become a REV. It made his new reality even more precious and eye opening.
REVs were not allowed off the base or to take liberty. When his parents would come to visit, it was on base and under watch. It was as if he was in prison. The more he thought about, the more the description fit. Then it really hit home when he realized he hadn’t driven a car in fourteen years.
This wasn’t to say REVs didn’t stay occupied. It’s just that they had so little time that wasn’t taken up with preparing for a Run or recovering from one. Zac did read books and watch movies—in his compartment. As a kid he used to write, and for the first few years as a REV he kept a journal. But then the stories became redundant. It was the same thing over and over. He put his journals away and never returned to them.
Occasionally, Zac would pull up his bank account on the computer. He was a wealthy man, according what others said. And he should be, after fifteen of years of spending essentially no money. The Corps provided for his every need. He didn’t have to pay for anything.
This had been his life for fifteen years. A life of routine, a life of Rev.
But that had all changed four short months ago.
Zac took a walk in the cool night air of the desert, gazing up at strange constellations which probably included Sol in one of them. He didn’t know; that wasn’t something he’d taken the time find out. Maybe now he would. He’d traveled the stars, so maybe astronomy wouldn’t be such a bad hobby to have….
He laughed out loud. He’d never had a hobby before, at least not in his adult life. Now he was realizing there were a lot of things he hadn’t done in his adult life. And having a life was one of them.
The frustration—even anger—returned. Although part of him was still proud of his time as a REV—a regular REV—he could see now how he’d been sold a bill of goods. Fifteen years of his life was gone. He wondered what the next fifteen would bring. He was resolved to make it fuller, more satisfying, more…normal.
For the first time he could remember, he was anxious to see what the dawn would bring.
WAR! As has been chronicled in countless science fictions stories and movies, mankind is now at war with a race of space aliens. As implausible as that sounds, it is a reality. It was also inevitable. That is just what we do as a race: we fight. And if it’s not against our own kind, then why not against aliens? However, this time it may not be humanity that comes out on top.
Editorial, New York Times, July 9, 2077
19
Brigadier General Bill Smith lit a cigar, drew in the sweet smoke and leaned his head back to shoot a roiling cloud toward the ceiling of his office.
“You know it cost over four hundred adjusted-dollars to have just one of these things shipped out here,” he said to Zac. “You want one?”
“I never acquired the taste, sir. But you go right ahead.”
Smith smiled, scanning the newly-minted lieutenant with his steel-blue eyes. “How you liking the bar?”
“Never thought much about it until now, sir. Rank doesn’t matter when you’re a REV. We had a singular job to do and just about any of us could do it.”
“Doesn’t sound like you were challenged much.”
“Surviving a Run was enough. Everything after that was bonus.”
Smith nodded and put the stogie in a well-used ashtray on his desk. “So how’s your team shaping up?”
Zac knew the base commander received constant updates on his team of super REVs. “Just fine, sir. We’re acing every task put before us, and no offense, but things are getting kind of redundant with all the drills and exercises.”
Zac prided himself on the use of the word redundant, rather than boring. It seemed like something an officer might say.
“You think your men are up for a real challenge, something to test their mettle as a team?”
Zac’s heart jumped. He was hoping this was the reason for the meeting.
“I’d say we’re more than ready, general. We’re used to going on missions every month or so. We’ve been here for two already, and that’s not counting the time I spent on Eliza-3. For one, I’m ready for some action. What’s the op?”
A quick slash-and-burn operation would be just what he and his men needed.
“Don’t be so anxious, lieutenant, not until you’ve heard the details.”
The general took another long drag off the cigar then clipped off the tip, saving the rest for later. He took out a datapad and turned it on.
“Have you ever heard of the Temple of Light on ES-3, a planet called Iz’zar?”
“Of course; it’s one of the Antaere Big Five religious sites. It’s supposed to be one huge mother, as well.”
“It’s actually ranked their second most-sacred Temple, behind only the Temple of Order on Antara. Anything else you know about it?”
“You’ll have to forgive me, general, but as a REV, I was never too interested in the history behind our targets, or the politics, either. As they say, we’re wound up, pointed in a direction and let go.”
Smith nodded. He’d worked many an op with REVs in his career. He knew their strengths, along with their weaknesses.
“Then let me tell you about it,” he began. “Even though the Temple’s been a juicy target for decades, we’ve never dared take it out. Hell, I doubt we even could if we wanted to. Being so sacred to the Order, if we destroyed it, it would be like taking out the Statue of Liberty, or those buildings back at the beginning of the century in New York. It would piss off a lot of people and for no strategic value.”
“You want us to take it out?” Zac asked, half-kidding.
“Don’t jump the gun, lieutenant,” Smith said. “That is not what we want you to do.” Using his datapad, the general activated a monitor on the wall to his right. A picture of the huge domed structure came up, which cross-faded to others, most taken at a distance, before shifting to a graphic showing connecting lines in space above the planet.
“Consider this, Mr. Murphy: Multipl
e layers of space-based shielding to protect against orbital attack.” The image changed to show radiating lines penetrating the ground around the complex. “Electrodes embedded around the entire structure to a mile deep to prevent tunneling.” The next slide showed row upon row of yellow-skinned aliens armed with their K-2 assault weapons. “Add to that a twenty thousand Antaere troops within the walls, along with a quarter-million fanatical natives outside the complex, all trained in defense of the Temple. Hell, even a hundred REVs couldn’t make a dent in the place. And there aren’t enough Marines in the Corps to mount an effective ground assault. Couple all that with the shitstorm that would result if we attacked such a religious site, and you have a truly invulnerable fortress.”
Zac had once been a senior NCO before putting on his lieutenant’s hardware. He was also the top REV in Corps, as well borderline super-Human. So even though Bill Smith was a general, Zac wasn’t intimidated by the man. He stared up at the ceiling, catching the general’s attention.
“What are you looking at?”
“The anvil, sir. Just waiting for it to drop.”
Smith smiled. “Relax, lieutenant. Those things take time to hoist up, and then they have to be released at the precise moment for the most impact.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of…sir.”
Smith continued, a thin smile on his face: “Another question. Have you ever heard of the Book of Order?”
“Yes sir, it’s the Antaere Bible, Quran and Kabala all rolled up in one.”
“Exactly. Now what about the Corollaries? Have you heard of them?”
“That I have not.”
“They’re a set of supplements to the Book of Order which spell out specific instructions on how to achieve the universal order the book strives to teach.” Smith put finger quotes around the words universal order. “They’re only viewed by the Antaere, and very few people outside the Order even know they exist. But there is one in particular that’s most interesting. It’s called the Final Glory.”