by T. R. Harris
“Why is that one so interesting?”
“Because it is rumored to detail the Antaere plans for their alien worshippers.”
“In what way, sir?”
“According to inside sources we’ve only recently gained access to, the text instructs the Antaere to first use the aliens for power and material gain…and then to kill them, supposedly leaving only the Antaere as the only advanced species in the galaxy. Of course, at this point we’re only talking about the Grid. There’s still a lot of the galaxy that hasn’t been explored yet, but you get the idea.”
“They want to kill their followers? That doesn’t make any sense.”
“It doesn’t say when this will happen, just that that’s their intention, their Final Glory, as they call it. Now how do you think half-trillion loyal worshippers would react knowing this news?”
“I imagine they wouldn’t be too happy. There’s even a small, but fanatical, sect still back on Earth. I think we’re the only place in the Grid that allows open worship of their religion on a non-Antaere world.”
“Command thinks they’ll go ballistic, throwing away their loyalty to the Antaere and setting up a scenario where we can win this war once and for all.”
Zac studied the photos as they appeared on the monitor. “What does this have to do with the Temple of Light?”
“There are only two known copies of the Corollaries. One is on Antara, the other is on ES-3.”
“In the Temple?”
“In the Temple.”
“It would be nice to get our hands on that document.” Zac said. “So what do you have in mind, general? You just said the place is impenetrable.”
“That’s where the challenge comes in, Mr. Murphy.”
“Did the anvil just come crashing down?” Zac was shaking his head. “General, we just put this team together, made up of very unique individuals, and now you want us to go on a suicide mission? We may have enhanced abilities, but against twenty thousand Qwin and a quarter million loyal natives, even activated we couldn’t pull that off. Isn’t there something a little less…impossible we could do?”
Smith leaned back in his chair, studying Zac’s reaction. “Would you like to hear the details?”
Details? The man actually has details on how to pull off an impossible mission.
“Of course, sir. I’m all ears.”
“As I said, the complex is invulnerable to outside attack. That’s why we’re going to smuggle you and your team in on an Antaere starship. Then once inside, you’ll proceed to the Enlightenment Chamber, where we believe the document is kept.”
“You believe? How good is your intel?”
“The Enlightenment Chamber is where all the important documents are stored. It’s only accessible by the High Priests, and they go there often to view the ancient texts and to study other writings.”
“And this Corollary thing is there?”
“All the Corollaries are there, including the Final Glory.”
“Assuming we can get that far, won’t this be one of the most heavily-guarded documents of the Antaere race?”
“The priests study these documents daily. The Enlightenment Chamber is essentially a small library, and it would be impractical for them to keep everything under lock and key within the room. Once inside, it should be yours for the taking.”
“Once inside? Okay, how do we do that?”
Smith grimaced. “There’s the rub, lieutenant. We can get you only so far, after that your special abilities come into play. You’ll have to adapt, improvise, adapt and overcome.”
“Literally, sir.”
“That’s right. And one other thing: You’ll have to get into the Enlightenment Chamber without anyone knowing you’re there. If they learn of your mission before you reach it, they’ll destroy the document to keep us from letting the cat out of the bag.”
Zac’s REV brain was working overtime, almost to the point where he felt his body cascading a little, getting a boost with the processing.
“So in summary, general: Somehow we arrive at the Temple in an Antaere starship, sneak into the second most-holy site the aliens have, locate a secure room which we have no idea where it is, break in and steal the most super-secret document they have.” He hesitated, watching the general’s face for any signs this was just a big practical joke. There was none. “And then there’s the question of extraction. I assume there won’t be a massive recovery effort if we get the text?”
“We’ve made contact with some of the resistance outside the Temple. They’ll be ready to get you into space for a pick up. But, lieutenant, this is where the fun comes in.”
Zac didn’t say a word. He leaned back in his chair, confused by the surreal tone of the briefing.
“After you get possession of the document, how you get out of the Temple is up to you,” Smith said, seriously. “If it takes all of your special REV abilities to do so—along with a shitload of alien bodies—then so be it. Once we have the document, we can weather the ridicule by revealing its contents, saying we did all this to protect you—you poor, gullible creatures—from the killer Antaere.”
“When do you expect to launch the operation?”
“Seventy-two hours from now.”
Zac’s mouth fell open. “Sir, that’s not enough time. It will take weeks, even months of planning. It takes longer than that to layout a REV Run.”
Smith smiled, this time a wicked, inside-joke kind of smile. “What do you think you’ve been doing here for the past three months?”
“Sir?”
“The assault obstacles you’ve been running are an accurate layout of the ground between the Temple spaceport and the main complex. And the Close Quarters Combat drills have been for when you enter the building and make your way to the Enlightenment Chamber. And the exercises in space have been to train you to gain access to the Antaere starship. Lieutenant Murphy, you’re team is ready.”
It took another hour for the general to brief Zac on the finer details of the operation. After that, he returned to the barracks to break the news to his men. When he did, there was a flood of questions, many of which Zac couldn’t answer, some he could.
“What the hell is a whippet?” asked Angus Price.
“From what I understand, it’s a pair of co-joined pods that whip each other through space using kinetic energy instead of chemical fuel.”
“And we’re supposed to use these to do what?”
“To position ourselves behind the Qwin starship before it reengages its gravity drive.”
“And then we just get sucked along at faster-than-light speed over six light-years, outside the ship, in outer space? I didn’t know that was possible.”
Zac pulled up the diagram on the datapad, copying it to the devices each member of the team was holding. “We won’t be exposed; we’ll be in these pods. They’re like ejection capsules, so we should feel right at home.”
No one was buying it, and Zac didn’t blame them. When General Smith explained it to him, he had the same reaction.
The crown-prince of the Antaere—something called the Rowin in Qwin-speak—was scheduled to visit the temple on Iz’zar sometime over the next three weeks. Once his ship and heavy escort passed through a section of space, spies would report and Zac’s team would move into position behind the aliens. A small Human fleet would then attack from the front, requiring the ship carrying the prince to be moved to the rear for safe keeping until the outcome of the battle could be determined. That’s where Zac and his REVs would be waiting. Then the Humans would break off their frontal attack, allowing the prince to continue with his journey.
By then, Zac and his team will have whipped their way behind the Qwin ship, leaving no chemical exhaust trail to detect. Their positioning had to be precise when the gravity well was created, otherwise they would slip past the starship and into the miniature singularity. But if things went according to plan, the team would move up to the aft section of the royal starship and blend their small pods with a
series of matching static electricity nullifiers attached to the hull. Theoretically, no one would notice the extra cylinders within the dual arches of ten. Only if someone counted the pods would they suspect something was amiss.
After that, the REVs would each receive a dose of Twilight to knock them out for the five-day duration of the trip. It was explained that only REVs could handle the drug and come out at the other end fully revived and aware. All the other people they’d tested were in a stupor for up to twenty four hours after coming off the drug. That wouldn’t do for this mission. Instead, Zac’s people would essentially go into suspended animation, without need for food and with only minimal life support. They’d awake at their destination ready for action.
The alien starship was the only one that could land at the Temple Complex without extensive inspection and security. After all, this was the Rowin’s ship; he would receive immediate clearance.
Once on the ground, the team would leave their pods and make their way into the main Temple building.
Zac had to laugh. General Smith and the geniuses back on Earth had detailed plans for how the team would gain access to the Temple Complex…or at least the spaceport on the grounds. They also had a pretty good idea how to get them off the planet after the op; using the natives who sided with the Humans. What was missing was everything in between. That was up to Zac and his team figure out.
Fortunately, much of the guesswork only lasted for half the mission. As the general explained, once Zac had the document, they could use whatever means necessary to make their escape, even if it meant razing the Temple to the ground. Zac liked that part of the mission, even though Smith emphasized time and again that that option was only a last resort. Stealth was the name of the game.
The problem: Zac and his men were REVs. Stealth was not in their lexicon, or at least it hadn’t been until they changed. It would be interesting to see how long they lasted before resorting to old habits.
This time when Zac and Olivia parted, they were able to say goodbye. He wasn’t allowed to tell her about the mission, so he shrugged it off as just a little shakedown op for him and his team, nothing serious.
Then they boarded a fast transport ship for a region of space deep within Antaere territory. They traveled unescorted to avoid detection and arrived five days later. The area was within a thin nebula through which starships had to skirt dangerous clouds of thicker gas to avoid overloading their gravity wells. There was one particular transit route narrower than most where the team would lay in wait. Passive spy vessels, each manned by a single Marine, were stationed along the channel, waiting for the tell-tale sign of a passing fleet of starships.
The prince would be escorted by a thirty-ship entourage. A slightly smaller squadron of Human ships was stationed at the end of the nebula run.
A day after arriving on station, it was reported that the Rowin had departed Antara and was on his way. Zac wondered about the source of this information; Earth had never had very good contacts on the planet or within the Antaere race. They were too unified in their fanatical religion to be turned. But somewhere a crack had been found, and the Humans were exploiting it for all it was worth.
Zac was finally playing cards with his buddies—something his REV notoriety had prevented him from doing—killing time, waiting for word of the Rowin’s passing. They knew the average speed of the fleet escorting the prince, as well as the general route he would take. That provided them with a pretty good idea when the operation would commence, at least down to the day.
And today was that day.
A Navy second-class rushed into the common room. “Sir, message coming through.”
Zac gave his team a quick glance then followed the petty officer to the bridge.
“Fleet detected passing grid section forty-eight, coordinates one-one-eight-four. Second detection made at one-one-nine-six. Track buster. I repeat, track buster,” the voice on the speaker reported.
Zac rubbed shoulders with an ensign at the nav station as he leaned over the screen. A red dot was flashing. “We’re a tenth light out,” said the man. “We can get you within about forty thousand miles to the track, but I wouldn’t risk getting any closer. You’ll have to use the K-90’s after that.”
K-90 was the official designation for the whippet ships, two individual survival pods connected by a thousand-mile long cord. Zac was stumped over how they worked but was assured they did.
“How long will it take you to get us into position?”
“Forty, fifty minutes, after that it’s up the whippets. After the Antaere ship arrives on station you’ll have to adjust your position manually. We’ll keep the support ships busy until you do.”
“Thank you, Mr. Graves.”
“Good luck, sir.”
With the start of the war, the military has taken over my program. They’ve even assigned me a new assistant, a liaison they call him. First Lieutenant David Cross, M.D. At least he’s a doctor, a research scientist formerly with the CDC. I saw this coming. But now…more funding! Can’t complain too much.
Journal Entry, April 15, 2078, Dr. Clifford Slater
20
In the launch bay of the Navy starship, Zac surveyed his team and the outfits they wore. He tried hard not to laugh.
It was fortunate that Humans and the Antaere were of similar size and build; this was the result of evolving on essentially identical worlds, the quintessential ES planets. So the planners back on Earth decided that it was best if Zac and his team go in disguise, wearing full-body uniforms of a particular class of Qwin technician. These were space-drive engineers who needed special gear laced with damping wires and circuits to protect them against the ravages of the intensive magnetic fields the engines created. The outfits were made of a flexible composite material, gray in color with diagonal yellow stripes running across the chest. They looked like gaudy leotards, form-fitting and leaving nothing to the imagination. The team wore restrictive undergarments to hide the obvious differences between the two species; even then the uniforms were ugly and awkward to wear.
They also had full-head, pullover masks, with built in goggles which would hide their faces. Gloves would conceal the pink skin of the Humans.
The question Zac had for General Smith was how would the Qwin react to a group of starship crewmembers traipsing through their most-sacred Temple still wearing their work uniforms while off the ship? He didn’t have an answer, except that Zac and his people should act like they belong there. That and carry a clipboard. No one ever questioned someone carrying a clipboard.
And as for weapons?
Each team member would carry a small, hard-sided backpack containing a collapsible M-102 assault rifle with shortened barrel and suppressor, along with an HK-14 handgun with 24-four round magazines—six each. There would also be a change of uniform and a set of light armor that could be placed over sensitive areas of their bodies, just in case. Since the spandex-like outfits had no place to conceal the weapons, they would have to access them from the backpacks on the fly and only when needed. General Smith kept emphasizing that the weapons were only there as backups, since the mission called for stealth access of the Enlightenment Chamber. After that, Zac and his men were expected to use on-site resources for the remainder of the mission.
“Five days in these things,” Mike Brickey commented. “I feel like I want to do a pirouette in this getup, more than assault an alien stronghold.”
“And you would be graceful beyond belief,” said Kyle Johnson. The two men locked arms and spun around a couple of times.
“Glad to see you’re all in good spirits,” said Zac. He could feel the strange release of tension himself, incongruous considering the impossible mission they were about to embark upon. But they were REVs and used to embarking on impossible missions. It felt good to be back in action again.
“Okay, men, saddle up.”
The pod Zac was placed into was of the same design as the small assault vessels they trained in at Camp Slater. They were large
r than the REV ejection capsules by about half, with control panels running along both sides of the form-fitting bed for guidance and control. But the units back at Camp Slater had been used simply for approach and entry drills, without any special add-ons. The whippet units would be attached to the pods by thick brackets lining the front side, meaning as they spun—or more correctly whipped—the g-forces would be focused behind them, pressing their bodies deeper into the specially-designed cushions. That was fine by Zac; he’d made over a hundred landings under similar conditions. However, this time he wouldn’t be under the influence of any of the pre-drugs to help with the forces he would experience. They were counting on cascading to provide the team with what they needed to survive the forces involved.
The team would break away from the whippet at some point and manually pilot the pods to the alien starship. A piece of cake.
Each member of the team was locked into their pods. Zac and Mike would be one set, Donovan and Kyle in another, with Angus balanced out by an unmanned pod carrying their weapons packs. When all was ready, the pod pairs were moved into a magnetic launch tube. The incredibly long cables were already outside the ship with automated tether hooks waiting for the signal to lock on.
“Cutting internal gravity,” a voice said from speakers within his capsule. “Preparing to deploy pods. T-minus five seconds, four, three, two….”
Zac felt the queasiness that came with the loss of gravity, something all people experienced as they felt like they were falling. It only lasted a second before being replaced by the more pleasant sensation of floating.
“Whippets locking,” said the voice. “All systems green.”
Through the viewport in his pod, Zac saw a double set of menacing-looking metal claws approach through the void of space. There were tiny lights flashing on the tips, and a moment later he heard a heavy clank as the four huge struts became anchored to his craft. He had a vague idea what was about to happen, so when a whirling sound transferred through the hull of the pod, signifying the struts were locking into position, he felt a little more secure in the process.