by T. R. Harris
He looked at his shattered left arm…and frowned. Missing was the requisite cast, replaced now by only a gauze bandage.
He looked at the lab-coated doctor. “I thought I broke my arm?”
Arnie Patel was the lead REV doctor aboard the carrier. He only had three patients under his care, and they kept him busy. If he wasn’t prepping one for a Run, he was patching up another and monitoring the third for any signs of PTSD. Patel was good at what he did and Zac was grateful for it. He’d patched up Zac on five other occasions over the past eight months aboard the carrier. They were trusted friends by now.
“You did,” said the doctor.
There was something in Arnie’s truncated answer that didn’t sit right with Zac.
“Unless you guys have developed some kind of miracle broken arm ointment, where’s the cast?”
“The fractures have healed, but not from any secret medical breakthrough.”
“In seventy-two hours? You’re shitting me?”
The normal time for a REV to be kept under after a mission was forty-eight to seventy-two hours, just enough time to reduce the NT-4 levels in the body. Zac tested his arm. It barely hurt; on second thought, it didn’t hurt at all, except for the psychosomatic belief that it should hurt. Then it dawned on him. There was only one thing that could have done this….
“How long was I under?” He scanned the faces of the other people in the room. Most averted his eyes.
Arnie looked at Colonel Diamond. The officer nodded.
“Zac, we’ve had you under for ninety-four days,” the doctor reported.
Zac’s eyes grew wide, his mouth slack. “Ninety-four! Wha...why?” he stammered. “Was I that torn up?”
Arnie nodded. “Yeah, it was pretty bad.”
The longest Zac had ever been kept in a drug-induced coma was fourteen days. The record for any REV—as far as he knew—was thirty-one, and that guy ended up dying from his wounds. But ninety-four days…and then there were the other considerations.
As a senior REV, Zac’s body operated at a much higher metabolic level than normal people. His blood pressure was over two hundred, his body temperature and his heart rate all accelerated. It was NT-4—the Rev drug—that kept him alive, even at residual levels. And if he didn’t get periodic dosages of combat level NT-4 to maintain his latent concentration, he would simply burn out. As a result, it became an unspoken reality that once a person passed the exhaustive—and dangerous—screening process and entered the Marines as an oh-351-E, he would be hooked on Rev for the rest of his life. Residual traces would always be present, which allowed them to survive where other people with their vitals would stroke out or suffer massive cardiac arrest.
Zac had gone over ninety days without a combat dose—and he was still alive. That wasn’t right.
“It was the NT-4,” Patel continued. “We had trouble purging it from your system.”
“Why?”
“That’s what we need to find out.”
Col. Diamond stepped up to the bed. “The top scientist at the EDC is due here in five days,” he said. The Enhancement Development Center was where NT-4 had first been designed for the military. “General McCabe will be arriving, too,” the officer added.
“General Simon McCabe?” Zac stammered. “The theater commander?”
“That’s the only General McCabe I know of, Gunny.”
“He’s coming to see me?”
“In five days, so rest up,” the colonel confirmed. He turned his attention to the room. “And get this man some real food in his stomach. This liquid mush you’ve been feeding him may be what his body needs, but it’s not what a Marine wants.” He looked at the doctor. “Get this man some meat…and that’s an order.”
Colonel Diamond was smiling when he left the room. He was the only who was.
Chicago Manual of Style, 34th Edition (2085): REV shall be capitalized in total when referring to individuals. The capitalized R-only Rev is the accepted slang for the enhancement drug NT-4.
3
An hour later, Zac was escorted on wobbly legs to the mess decks by four serious-looking and heavily-armed guards. It was customary for a couple to be his shadows for a few days after being revived, but not four…and after ninety-four days. By then, nearly every trace of Rev should’ve been flushed from his system. Even the residual amount a veteran REV of his longevity would be diminished after so long—which wasn’t a good idea….
Even on short notice, word of Zac’s awakening had spread throughout the ship, and when he arrived in the huge open-bay room—littered with dozens of bolted-down dining tables—the welcoming committee was waiting. After so long, much of the enthusiasm for his achievements during the Run had waned, but there was still a decent reception when he entered.
“Oorah! Oorah! Oorah,” the assembled Marines cheered. “Way to go Marine!”
As was also customary, Zac grinned widely and pumped his left fist up and down, acknowledging the respect and thanks from his fellow Marines. Without his incredible self-sacrifice, a fair number of them wouldn’t be here today to cheer him, and they knew it.
Normally, he would have made the peacock parade—as it was called—only a few days after the mission was complete, with the memory of the battle still fresh in everyone’s minds. But ninety-four days was a long time in the life of a combat Marine. He wouldn’t have been surprised to learn they’d taken part in another half-dozen assaults while he was under. The war with the Antaere and their fanatical followers was escalating, putting a strain on the troops currently on station within the Grid. New boots were coming, they just hadn’t arrived yet. And even though there were two other REVs aboard the Olympus to pick up the load, Zac couldn’t help feeling that on some level he’d like let down his fellow Marines.
After the obligatory celebration died down, Zac took a seat at a table sequestered from the others, at a far end of the room. The guards took up positions, their eyes locked on his every movement.
REVs were subject to periodic flashbacks—a form of PTSD—which normally manifested within a couple of days after being revived, as trace amounts of the drug lingered in their bodies, adding to the residual. But after three months, he should be clear of any major effects. Not counting the danger to his system by not activating within that time, this was the longest he’d ever gone without making a Run, let alone receiving a maintenance boost. And four guards? What was that all about?
Captain Tom Keller approached the table; the guards let him pass. He slipped onto the bench on the other side of the table from Zac.
“Welcome back, Murphy,” he greeted without smiling; in fact, his tone was one of obvious concern. “We were wondering if you’d make it.”
“Yeah, what the hell, Captain?” said Zac. “Why was I under so long?”
“It’s like Patel said, trying to purge the Rev from your system.”
Zac leaned back. He stared at his unit commander for a moment before responding. “There’s never been a problem before. Was there a screw up with the administration?”
Keller shook his head. “Everything’s been checked out. We’ve had plenty of time to work through the possibilities, but still no definitive answers.”
The two Marines were silent for a moment, each lost in the same thought: Was this the end of Zac Murphy and his value to the Corps?
“Listen, Cap, I’m not a burnout—”
“No one said you were, but after fifteen years, something was bound to give. Maybe you’ve built up a tolerance to the purging drugs. Or your tissue is hording NT longer and deeper. Those are some of the things Patel’s talking about. We’ll know more in a few of days when the doctor from the EDC gets here.”
“Who’s is it?” Zac asked. “Victor Cross is the head honcho there, has been for years.”
“That’s the one.”
Zac raised his eyebrows. “No shit? He’s been with the program since Slater’s time—he was his intern. I’ve met him a couple of times, all REVs have. And he’s coming all the wa
y out here to see me?”
“Yep. Your stats have been constantly fed to Earth since the Run. They’ve been studying you for months. Now Colonel Cross is on his way.”
“Could’ve just made a conference call, so why the personal visit?”
Tom shook his head. “Maybe he just missed your handsome mug.”
“Yeah, I’m sure that’s not it…sir.”
Gunnery Sergeant Zachariah Murphy was the most-senior REV in the Corps, having been a part of the Program for over fifteen years. He was only the second person to go over twelve years, and then when the first REV to do so died—burned out actually—Zac became the longest living REV still on active duty. Since then, every day only added to the record.
Zac carried the Military Occupational Specialty code (MOS) of 0351-E, for Infantry Assault Marine-Enhanced. Within the MOS, there were three sub-designations: Alpha, Bravo and Charlie. The Alphas were the newbies, the boots, the test-tube babies, as the senior REVs called them. They were the zero- to four-year veterans of the Program. Three-fifty-one Bravos were the mid-tier REVs, at four to eight years. Zac was a Charlie, with eight-plus years as a REV. It was probably a good indicator about how the brass considered a REV with longevity, since Zac had already maxed out his special-designation pay—which sucked—and there was no scuttlebutt about adding a new letter for the more-senior REVs. There were only nine ‘Charlies’ in the Corps, and they weren’t expected to last much longer.
That’s what they said about Zac…seven years ago. Now it looked like they may have been right.
Every boy wanted to grow up to be a REV. They were personification of the quintessential comic book superhero, incredibly strong, fast and tough, putting themselves out in front of the column to lead the Marines to victory over the evil aliens. As pillars of integrity, they were doing their part to vanquish the Qwin on a dozen distant worlds within the Grid. Rugged and handsome, they were also the epitome of masculinity.
Who wouldn’t want to be a REV?
At least that’s how the propaganda went.
Reality was a whole other thing.
REV warriors weren’t recruited or trained. They were discovered. Since only a tiny fraction of the population could tolerate the stresses placed on the body by the drug, all were male, and only a sliver of those who volunteered for the Program made it through the screening process to become REVs. For some, NT-4 had very little effect, while an unfortunate few died at the first injection. Most simply went crazy and never came back down.
In the early days of the Program, this process was a hit or miss proposition. The fatality rate was unacceptably high which caused a major PR problem for the Corps. But as the years passed, procedures improved and warning signs identified. Now days, around twenty out of every thousand volunteers were advanced to the next stage, to the point where they actually experienced the awe and wonder that was NT-4.
In the second stage of screening, REV candidates were allowed a miniscule trace of NT-4 and under controlled conditions. At this point, the effects weren’t noticeable for up to two days, after which eighty percent of the candidates wigged out or died. Those who didn’t were moved to the next stage and given more. This was both a testing and conditioning phase. Although it had never been shown that people could develop a tolerance to NT-4, the body did learn to adapt to the symptoms, including the exceedingly high blood pressure, heart rate and body temperature. NT-4 helps the body to survive, even as it provides the impetus for such accelerated activity. After that, every person who enters the Fleet as a REV would die without periodic infusions of the drug.
A pair of stewards brought four plates of perfectly-marbled, sizzling steaks—and only steaks—to the table. The aroma would normally be intoxicating to a REV coming off Twilight, but Zac was too upset to notice.
“How’s Olivia?” he asked Captain Keller, wanting to get his mind on something more pleasant.
Although personal relationships were frowned upon for REVs it was something that couldn’t be avoided. REVs were perfect examples of the Human male. The drug allowed only necessary body fat, while defining muscle and creating rippling six-pack abs. Even those who didn’t start off with square jaws and lean faces developed them over time. And then there was the danger factor, which was an intoxicant for some women. These were super men, with super bodies, who killed aliens for a living. The attraction was inevitable.
Hospital Corpsman 1st Class Olivia Contreras was Zac’s on-again, off-again relationship. The variable nature depended on whether Zac was jacked-up on REV or recovering from a variety of injuries after a Run. This left them a very narrow window to get together. Olivia knew this better than most; she was Dr. Arnie Patel’s chief assistant. Both she and Zac accepted reality for what it was. It kept them from getting too deep with their feelings.
Keller looked away. “She’s been checking on you every day. She knows the seriousness of a ninety-day layoff for a REV—any REV. The fact that they had trouble getting the levels down is probably why you’re still alive.”
“And she didn’t find that an acceptable compromise?”
“Not in the least. You should go see her after you eat.”
Zac looked at the watchful guards. “If they’ll let me. Remember, I’m a menace-to-society.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“How about ops while I was under?” Zac asked. “How’d my kids do?”
“Not bad. Hernandez got pretty beat up at another site on ES-8. Jog’s been doing fine. He has potential to be one of the great ones.” Keller smiled. “Like you.”
“Flattery will get you…well, absolutely nothing at this point…sir.” Zac’s return smile was weak and insincere.
Keller continued. “We just came off Borin—ES-6—you know the place.”
ES stood for Earth-Standard, and was one of the reasons humanity and the Antaere were at war. Each coveted Earth-like worlds, which had brought the aliens to Earth in the first place. Out of the three hundred-plus habitable worlds discovered within the thousand light-year sphere of space known as the Grid, only twelve were perfect matches for humanity’s homeworld, in terms of gravity, atmosphere, radiation levels and more. The Qwin—a derogatory term for the Antaere use by just about everybody—had made inroads on all ES worlds over the past hundred years, spreading their religion called The Order and indoctrinating trillions of beings. Yet as the aliens interacted more with the natives, their promise of Universal Order began to look more like universal slavery. But none dared rise up against the aliens and their superior technology, not until the Humans came on the scene and offered an ally with the skills to defy the Qwin.
Beginning with kicking the Qwin off Earth, Humans now had military operations running on four of the twelve ES worlds. The going was tough, since even the natives who wished to be free of the aliens were afraid to fully commit to the effort. It was more than liberating territory; minds also had to be freed. The mystical nature of the Order caused many to pause and not join in the fight. Instead, they were content to let the Humans do the fighting for them. Not surprising, this suited the military just fine. Most natives were atrocious fighters, lacking the skill, instincts and technology to make a serious contribution.
Yet the Antaere still controlled the bulk of the ES worlds, with their religious tentacles thread throughout every layer of multiple civilizations. We were making progress, but it was a slow and bloody slog, and with the constant threat of a Qwin counterattack on Earth. The Antaere spoke of this often, which kept the Human military in a constant state preparedness. Only by creating a wide enough buffer around the Earth would humanity feel safe.
“Are the Qwin back on Borin?”
“They tried,” Keller replied. “We had to call in the 45th to help out. The aliens are still there, but confined to a small part of the southern hemisphere. We’ll bring in nukes if the engineers can’t get them out.”
“That would be a waste of prime real estate, sir. Won’t that also violate the Assistance Clause with the natives
?”
“The Borin seem okay with it. It seems people are beginning to see what sick bastards the Qwin are. Humans are in vogue these days, as far as Knights in Shining Armor go. Besides, we can’t leave the yellow rat-bastards with a foothold this close to Earth.”
Keller looked at the four thick steaks. His stomach growled.
“You better get to work on those…before I take them off your hands.”
Zac smiled. “I’d like to see you cash four huge steaks in one sitting…sir.”
“So would I, Gunny, so would I.”
He left Zac to his meal.
Zac wolfed through the first four steaks and ordered another. With his high metabolism, he needed a lot of calories to maintain his body weight. During his layup, he’d lost a few pounds, but nothing to be alarmed about. The doctors and nurses knew what it took to sustain a REV.
There was a disturbance at the other end of the mess decks. Two MPs—previously unnoticed by Zac until now—were arguing with a pair of Marines. Zac smiled. They were his kids: Jog and Bolt; Corporal Danny Gains and Staff Sergeant Manny Hernandez, the other two REVs aboard the Olympus.
While he was leaving the mess decks, Captain Keller eventually joined the discussion/debate before giving the junior REVs permission to join Zac at the table. Interaction between REVs was closely regulated and monitored. With just the slightest elevation in residual NT-4, the beasts in the men could come out, sometimes pitting man-against-man in an instinctive duel for animal supremacy. This didn’t happen often, but when it did, it wasn’t pretty.
The two men were none too happy when they slipped onto the bench opposite Zac.
“Idiots,” said Jog, looking back at the guards. “I guess no one told them the mixture has been tweaked. We don’t go all Alpha Male anymore.”
Zac thought about growling at the young REV, but figured the nearby guards wouldn’t see the humor in it.