by T. R. Harris
He looked at Hernandez and the cast that was holding his right arm against his body, along with a variety of other bandages and angry cuts on his face.
“You should see the other guy,” Manny said before Zac could ask about the injuries.
“How long has it been?”
“Seven days,” Bolt replied. “I’m on the schedule fourteen days from now.”
“Will you be ready?”
“Should be; are they letting you back in the rotation?”
Jog had cut half of Zac’s remaining steak with a sharp plastic knife and was eating it with his fingers. He took note of the question. At the moment, Jog was the only cleared-for-duty REV onboard.
“Hell if I know. I only woke up a couple of hours ago, and no one has told me shit. You know Cross is on his way here?”
“Yeah, that’s what we heard. So what’s up? Why did they keep you under so long?”
“They couldn’t get my levels down.”
“Yeah, but why?” Jog asked between bites of the steak.
“That’s what Cross is coming to find out, if he hasn’t already.”
“Well, if anyone can figure it out, he can,” said Hernandez before changing the subject. “The kid goes out tomorrow.”
Zac looked at the animated, handsome face of the twenty-three-year old REV. His eyes burned with fire in anticipation of a Run. It was like this for all REVs.
“Just a minor op,” Danny said. “A platoon of Qwin are holed up in some lava tubes. You know how much I like lava tubes!”
And he did. Most REVs did. There weren’t a lot of places for the aliens to hide so the body count was usually pretty high.
“I’ll be in the command center during the Run,” Zac informed him. “If they let me.”
Hernandez leaned in closer and lowered his voice. “Zac, what’s this about you stopping during the Run?”
Jog joined them in the huddle. “Yeah, and that you did it to lure in the Qwin?”
Zac sighed. “Yeah, apparently I did that.”
“How…why?” Jog asked.
“Seemed like a good idea at the time.”
Zac’s comment was met by serious looks on the faces of the other two Marines.
“We’re not supposed to have ideas during a Run, good or otherwise,” said Hernandez.
“I know, and that’s why everyone is watching me like a hawk.”
NT-4 was a wonder drug, but it did have its side-effects. While under the influence, muscles strengthened, reactions quickened, and pain was subdued. For all intents and purposes, the subject became super-Human, capable of feats found only in ancient comic books and superhero movies.
Rev had first been developed as a steroid enhancement for athletes, supposedly nearly impossible to detect in its earlier forms. Unfortunately, the results couldn’t be hidden. When the hundred-meters began being clocked at under eight seconds, monitoring groups knew something was up. It was a major scandal in its day.
But that didn’t stop the military from carrying on the research. It was one thing to cheat in sporting competitions. In war, there was no such thing as cheating. Opposing forces would use whatever means necessary to gain the upper hand, and Rev was one of those means.
At first they tried the drug on a vast number of soldiers and Marines, envisioning an entire army of super-Humans. The results were catastrophic. If the REVs weren’t killing nearly everyone around them, they burned themselves out to the point where their hearts exploded. Rev sent blood pressure through the roof, often into the two-fifties, if not higher. The only thing keeping the subject alive was the increase capacity of the body thanks to the drug. Every system was elevated, including eyesight, memory, intelligence, capillary strength and endurance. But unchecked, the body couldn’t handle the cascading effects.
With so many people being run through the program in the early days, researchers found that only certain individuals responded to the drug in the proper way. What was needed was a person who was susceptible, yet tolerant of its effects over the long run.
“The subjects experience accelerated bodily functions in an uncontrolled, cascading effect. Recommend a pause of the program until an effective counter agent can be found. We’re just killing too many damn people.”
Journal Entry, April 4, 2066, Dr. Clifford Slater
4
After the meal, Zac was allowed to return to his quarters instead of sickbay, yet the guards remained stationed outside, even with him locked inside. This was SOP for the first week or so after being revived, but not after ninety-four days.
One of the perks of being a REV—and an E-7 gunnery sergeant—was that he got a private compartment aboard the carrier. It wasn’t huge, but it was all his. There was a fold-away bunk on the starboard bulkhead, with a wardrobe and desk along the opposite wall. A small head was located in a side room, with a shower and toilet—his toilet. No matter how long he spent in the service, he could never get used to taking a crap in front a dozen bystanders, and them crapping next to him. It was just gross. And without the need to ration water on the huge starship—through the use of efficient recycling systems—he savored his long, hot showers in the privacy of his compartment.
Zac’s only problem came from the fact that he was a social person. He enjoyed the company of others, especially his fellow Marines. But as the years stacked up, and his legend grew, he found that most of them avoided his company, and notably within confined spaces. By then, stories were rampant of REVs flipping out and killing their comrades before they could be put down. These were men operating only on residual levels of the drug, but still subject to psychotic episodes. It was both a bane and a blessing that these incidents weren’t accompanied by the full physical enhancements of the drug, such as ten-times the strength, quickness and durability of a normal person. These were only slightly-enhanced men going temporarily insane. They were easy to kill at that point and did relatively little damage on their own, even if the spontaneity of the episodes kept the stories alive.
Zac’s irritated state didn’t allow him to relax. The next five days would be torture, waiting for the general to arrive. And it was obvious he wouldn’t be passing the time playing cards with any of his buddies.
However, Olivia Contreras was another matter.
He contacted her by shipboard link. She was off-duty and anxious to see him, but when she attempted to get permission from her senior command, they politely shut her down. They could talk by video link, but not in person, at least not until Zac was cleared for general interaction with the crew.
Olivia was an HMC1, a petty officer first-class Hospital Corpsman, assigned to the REV medical detail aboard the carrier. She was a dark-haired beauty from Southern California with twelve years in the Navy. As it was with most of the women aboard the ship, she had been instantly attracted to Zac on an instinctual level the first time she saw him. But she was also a pragmatist and understood better than most what she was experiencing. She chalked it up to animal attraction and left it at that.
But then during a rare forty-five day transit to the staging area around another ES world—when Zac had no Runs to go on or injuries to heal from—the two began to talk more and a bond developed. They hooked up a few times after that and the feelings grew stronger—until the time of Zac’s next Run. Standing over his bedside, looking down at the battered and bloody comatose body, Olivia realized there was no future for the pair. She was heartbroken, and knew that if they got more serious, she’d have to relive these emotions every month or so with no end in sight.
They parted friends, with the occasional benefit thrown in when the time was right. But they keep their emotions in check, or at least they said they did.
Zac was stunned every time he saw Olivia, taken aback by her dark eyes, high cheekbones, full lips and radiant bronze hue of her skin. Even though there were tanning beds available aboard the carrier, most of the crew and troop compliment aboard were men, and they shunned the devices like the plague. But not so the three hundred females
aboard, who monopolized the units. But a natural beauty like Olivia didn’t need any help. She was in high demand everywhere she went.
Zac was ecstatic to see her on the video screen in his compartment, even if her expression was one of pouty frustration. “My god, you look great,” he said with heartfelt sincerity.
“Thanks,” she remarked automatically. “I’m just glad you’re awake. I’ve been watching after you for three months, and now that you’re up and moving around, they won’t let me see you outside of sickbay.”
Her fiery Latin temper was evident.
“Can you tell me any more about what happened?”
Frown lines appeared on her forehead. “There’s so much security surrounding you at this point that I wouldn’t be surprised if our conversation is being monitored, so I don’t know what more I can say. As you’ve been told, no matter what we tried, your damn levels wouldn’t come down. We pumped you so full of Twilight and RG-9 that any trace of NT-4 should have left your body, even the residual. As it is you’re still at—”
A low-decibel buzz came over the speaker.
“See, I told you!” Olivia yelled.
“So no shop-talk?” Zac said with a pacifying smile.
A wicked grin, displaying starlet-white teeth, flashed back at him. “If they’d let us get together there wouldn’t be much talking to censor!” she shouted for the benefit of the monitors. “So you see, it’s better if you just let us screw. Anyone out there? Did you hear me?”
No one else came on the line.
“Well, since you can’t give me any more details about my condition, maybe you can just sit there and let me stare at you.”
“I’d be up for some video sex…if I didn’t think the pervs in security were watching as well.”
“At this point, I don’t care.”
Olivia expression changed from anger to sadness in a heartbeat. “I would, not knowing who had a copy. I get enough looks around the ship as it is.”
“Looks of admiration, my dear.”
“Try it from my side sometime…oh, I guess you have.”
“When they let me stroll around the ship unattended, which isn’t often. And honestly, when I’m all plastered up in casts and covered in bandages, that isn’t much of a turn on.”
Olivia smiled wickedly again. “Speak for yourself, big boy. Why do you think I became a corpsman? Broken and bloody men turn me on.”
“You are one sick puppy, Ms. Contreras.”
“Seriously,” Olivia began, “I know we’re not supposed to be hooking up again, but after what you’ve been through, I think you deserve a good riding. I sure know I could use one.”
“So you’re not seeing anyone?”
“Just the usual suspects; a girl’s gotta stay in practice for when she gets called up to the majors. So let’s give it five days, until after Cross and his people take a look at you. After that all bets are off. And I have to say, this is the cleanest I’ve seen you since we met.”
Zac knew what she meant. For most of the time they’d known each other, he was at some level of recovery from a Run. This was the most-healed he could remember being in the past fifteen years.
“You know in a way this could be a blessing,” she said.
He nodded, understanding her meaning. It was beginning to look like his days as an active REV were coming to an end. Then depending on what was going on in his body, he may still have a chance to live out a somewhat normal life after the Marines, hopefully with Olivia at his side…as well as a whole cadre of monitors and medical professionals watching his every move.
The conversation lasted another few of minutes before there was nothing left to say. They couldn’t dream about the future, because they may not have one. And talk of the present was off-limits, while the past…well that was the past, and there was nothing they could do to change that.
For the fifteen years, Zac Murphy knew exactly what he was and what he had to do. Now, as the video monitor turned black and reflected the lost look on his face, all he could see was the darkness surrounding his sad, gray features. Somehow it seemed appropriate.
“Antaere, Qwin, they’re all the same. They squeal like pigs when scared or hurt.”
Unknown soldier, ES-5
5
The next morning, after a heavy breakfast in his secluded corner of the mess decks, Zac was escorted to the operations command center overlooking the vast launch bay/staging area aboard the Olympus. The place was a buzz of activity as Corporal Danny Gains prepared for his Run.
Zac waved down at his young protégé and the still-healing Manny Hernandez down on the main deck. Jog was then placed into the EC and strapped in, before the canopy was locked into place.
Captain Keller was there, too, just as he’d been for Zac’s last Run. The strange thing, to Zac it seemed like only yesterday, and from his perspective, it was; for the others, this just another day on the job.
Zac surveyed the screens before him. As the senior REV aboard, he was an integral part of the operation. He would monitor Jog’s vitals, scan the local surroundings and make operational adjustments if necessary…and possible. There was only so much outsiders could do to influence a Run. Subtle subliminal suggestions could be fed to the REV, but there was no guarantee they’d be noticed or obeyed.
REVs were the ultimate chase animals. About the only diversion from a basic wind-him-up-and-let-him-go strategy was when a REV would have to decide which group of aliens to follow if they split up. That usually came down to which group was larger. And then he was off again on his Run.
That’s what made Zac’s pretending to be Twilighted such a novelty. No one had ever done that before.
Zac would also have operational input regarding the deployment of the support troops, if not actual control. This included advising the Recovery Unit under Captain Keller’s on-planet command, as well as the trailing infantry. As the most-senior REV in the Corps, his suggestions were respected. He’d seen more action than any of the officers or enlisted of higher rank—anywhere. They would be foolish not to accept his input.
Displayed on a screen was a schematic of the lava tube complex the aliens were hiding in. They were back at ES-8 but Zac didn’t recognize the location. After a quick check, he found this operational sector was near the north polar region. The Marines of the main assault force were dressed in winter camo and all puffed out like snowmen—snowmen with deadly M-101 assault rifles, as well as an assortment of other deadly gear fastened to their uniforms.
The main lava tube ran under the surface of a large, extinct shield volcano. A section of the roof had collapsed, giving access to the underground labyrinth. The Qwin were about a klick from the opening, north along the main tube. There were other side tubes, but the heat signatures showed the major concentration along the main tunnel. There were about four hundred aliens all clustered within a thousand foot section.
Unlike Zac’s last landing, Jog’s EC would land within a few feet of the craggy, black crusted opening and not shoot him out. A few Qwin were stationed as lookouts; more would come before Danny could make it to the ground.
The Qwin had eyes on the Olympus, just as the Humans had eyes on the Antaere ships nearby. As soon as the EC shot from the side of the ship, the aliens would go on alert. A few minutes later, they would identify the likely target and defensive measures would begin. On the ground, more troops would be moved toward the opening.
What the Qwin wouldn’t know at this point is whether or not the assault would be led by a REV. Half of the recent operations had been traditional, with no REV involved, which was unusual. This was a result of Zac being out of the rotation. The Marine’s success rate during these non-REV assaults was an impressive eighty-percent, although the casualties were high, higher than with a REV leading the way.
And now the Qwin were making a determined stand on ES-8, refusing to leave one of their most-settled worlds. Counting attacks initiated from both sides, the result so far was a stalemate. If Zac had stayed active, it
would have been slightly in favor of the Humans.
Four hundred was a small contingent of Qwin, but they were operating an elaborate communications center from underground. Comms from orbit could be easily blocked by intercept satellites. Taking out the land-based center would leave the aliens in the dark over a quarter of the planet, at least until new links could be established. By then more Earth troops would be on the surface and taking up fortifying positions. Eventually the Qwin would abandon the planet, at least temporarily. Unfortunately, the aliens never permanently surrendered a position. Their religion wouldn’t allow it.
For the Antaere, it was all about securing worshippers for their Universal Order. On every ES world, they built elaborate Temples dedicated to the yellow sun. They conveniently ignored the fact that there are billions of yellow suns in the galaxy, concentrating instead on only those with Antara-like worlds. Upon landing on a new world, they would tell the natives how special they were because of the unique nature of their existence. They were now part of a great Universal Order, of which the Antaere were the guardians. And all the natives had to do to be included was to obey the Antaere.
Recently, the Humans had upset the well-laid plans of the aliens to the point they were less concerned about the welfare of their followers than with simply killing every Human they could. Not surprising, that was exactly the same philosophy practiced by the Humans.
“Thirty seconds to initial boost, three minutes to drop,” Zac heard Capt. Keller say to Jog over the comm, an all-too familiar litany from the team commander.
“Watch my six, Gunny,” the young REV said to Zac through the comm.
“Will do, squirt. Now just relax and enjoy the ride. The inflight movie today is Athena’s Eyes starring the vivacious Jennifer Lawrence.”
“I thought she died forty years ago?”
“Movie stars don’t die these days, Jog. They live on in digital. You should know that.”