by Ron Schrader
The general seemed to dislike Murphy’s speech and stood still, with his hands clasped stiffly behind his back. “You made your choice when you decided to accept the mission, and you sealed your own fate and that of your team when you decided to stick your nose in my business,” he said. “However, I’m more than happy to make your end a more painful one if you’d prefer, without sedatives.”
“Wait, you haven’t infected me yet?”
“No, not yet. I thought you’d first like to join me in watching what becomes of your team. Then, when my scientists are ready, you’ll get your turn.” He casually walked around the table where Drake lay, still spasming from whatever change was taking place. “This is our first live test, and while I’d like to believe it will all work out perfectly the first time, I’m not blind to the fact that this one may fail. But I’m determined and willing to do whatever it takes to get it right. Really, Sergeant Murphy, you should be thanking me. Perhaps by the time we’re ready for you, we’ll have the process perfected.”
“Well, you’re a real piece of work, aren’t ya,” Murphy said in disgust, jerking the restraints against the bed rails in a feeble attempt to break free. “When I get out of here . . .”
“Oh, but you won’t,” the general interrupted. “And there’s no need for a tantrum. It’s not going to change your situation for the better,” the general said with purpose. “Just remember that your turn will come soon enough. Behave now, and I’ll make sure you don’t suffer . . . too much.”
Murphy got the message and calmed down. “Not if I can help it,” he mumbled under his breath.
“Just sit back and enjoy the show,” the general said before he left the room.
The second the door shut, Murphy began fighting against the restraints again. “Drake!” he yelled, hoping to be able to wake him. “Willis, Newt, can you guys hear me?” But there was no response from any of them.
Concluding there was nothing he could do to help his men, Murphy turned his attention to freeing himself while he still could. He grabbed ahold of the restraints and began jerking them with all his strength against the bed rail. It took him all of thirty seconds to realize that the only thing this would accomplish was to make his wrists sore. And before he could think of anything else to try, an orderly entered the room, walking toward him, carrying a tray in his hands. Murphy knew right away that it meant he was in trouble.
The orderly had to be close to six feet tall, with a slender yet muscular build. In a fair fight, Murphy figured the orderly would put up a good fight. But strapped to a bed, the orderly had the clear advantage.
In an attempt to stall, he waited until the orderly was standing next to his bed, then began some small talk. “Hey, my buddies over there aren’t doing so good,” he said.
The orderly seemed to ignore him and picked up a large syringe.
“Think you can give ’em something to make ’em feel better?”
Again, the orderly continued to prepare the syringe as though nothing had been said.
“Hey, listen, before you put me under, can I at least trouble you for a glass of water? Throat’s pretty dry,” he said, still searching for a way out, hoping to buy more time.
“I’m sorry, but I have my orders.”
Murphy nodded his head. “Yeah, I’m sure you do, but what’s going on here, you have to know it’s not right,” Murphy appealed.
The orderly, now finished prepping the syringe, leaned in next to Murphy. He seemed to hesitate for a moment as he stared at the needle, then back at Murphy’s face.
“Please, just some water. Is that too much to ask?”
Still hesitating, the orderly looked over toward the door, as if wanting to get permission. But his attention was quickly drawn back to Murphy, who had snatched the syringe from his hands.
“Hey, I really am sorry about this,” Murphy said, as he stabbed the long needle into the orderly’s leg and in one rapid motion injected the fluid from the syringe.
The tray crashed to the floor as the orderly stumbled and grasped at the syringe still protruding from his leg. Then he dropped to the floor, out cold.
Murphy had already begun rocking his body back and forth with all of his strength, holding the bed rails tight, until the bed finally tipped over, throwing him to the cold floor. The jolt to his wrists and ankles caused him to bite down and grind his teeth while he waited for the pain to subside. Then he had to deal with the fact that he was only partially on the floor, still being held up by the restraints.
“What’s going on in here . . .?” someone yelled.
Unable to see because of the angle of the tipped bed, Murphy could only listen as feet shuffled into the room. He guessed that maybe a half-dozen men had stormed the room, though he was only able to see a single armed guard who was attempting to help the orderly, still lying in front of him, off the floor.
“Hey . . .” Murphy waved and smiled awkwardly at the soldier, who only shook his head and turned away. “Just trying to be friendly,” he mumbled to himself, still reviewing his situation.
Just then, the guard stood up and called out. “Hey, can I get some help over here?”
“Don’t worry about that mess right now,” came the reply. “Something’s wrong with this one.”
The guard turned from his crouch and peered above Murphy’s turned-over bed. Murphy watched as the guard’s eyes grew bigger.
“Hey, a little help here,” Murphy insisted again, but the guard just stood as if in shock.
“He’s transitioning,” another man said.
“What’s going on?” Murphy called out to the guard. “Over here!” he yelled.
The guard broke from his stare and turned toward Murphy. His eyes were open wide and he had disturbed look across his face. “This isn’t what I signed up for,” he whispered.
“Your keys, will they unlock me?” Murphy whispered back.
The guard hesitated, looking back toward the noises coming from the other side of the bed.
“Hey,” Murphy called out a little louder, “your keys.”
The guard hesitated a moment longer. “Yeah, alright,” he finally said with a nod, as he fumbled with the ring on his belt. Once free from his belt, he tossed the entire key ring directly into Murphy’s open hand. “Good luck,” he said, then quietly backed out of the room, disappearing into the hallway.
After trying several keys without success, Murphy finally found the right key, and one at a time, he unlocked his restraints. Once free, gravity took him the rest of the way to the floor, and he scrambled to his hands and knees, hiding behind the tipped bed.
The chatter in the room had grown, along with the grunting noises and cries that he knew were coming from one or more of his men. He peeked over the edge of the bed to see that Drake was no longer strapped to the table. In his place Murphy could only see a dark-skinned creature thrashing about, but still unable to break completely free from the bands holding its arms and legs. Claws on its hands lashed out as much as the restraints would allow, but the doctors kept their distance, standing just far enough away to avoid contact.
The creature turned its face toward Murphy and opened its mouth to reveal a mouthful of razor-sharp teeth.
It sent a chill through Murphy to even look at what his friend had become. “What have they done to you?” he whispered, shaking his head in disgust.
Still ignoring the turned-over bed, the doctors in the room began clapping and patting one another on the back. They were so busy congratulating one another that they failed to notice Murphy slip past them and out the door.
He ran down a short hallway and rounded the corner, entering one of the main corridors just in time to avoid being seen by the general who had arrived, Murphy assumed, to see the results of the experiment. Murphy stared as the general laughed and applauded the doctors, who greeted him at the door. Murphy waited until the door had shut before turning into the corridor and heading toward his ship.
~
“Well done!” the general boas
ted, staring at the creature his team of scientists had created. “Are we ready to move on to the next phase?” he asked.
“I believe so,” Jameson replied.
General Quinn reached into his pocket and pulled out a small vial. He held it up close and peered through the glass at the few drops of Kalla’s blood he was about to hand over, only a small sampling of what he actually had. “This is all I’ve got,” he lied.
Jameson reached for the vial, but the general pulled it away at the last minute.
“Have you determined how you’ll be using this yet?” he inquired.
Jameson smiled nervously while he seemed to be working out an answer. “Well,” he finally said, “I planned to mix a drop with the sample obtained from the creature to create a serum, but until we test it, there’s no way to know for sure if it will work or not.”
Satisfied, the general dropped the vial in Jameson’s hand and turned toward Murphy’s bed for the first time since he’d entered the room. It was then that he noticed the bed lying on its side. “What’s this?” he said, as he walked toward it, only to find it was now empty. “Where’s Sergeant Murphy?” he demanded.
“He was . . . right there,” one of the other doctors replied.
The general turned and walked swiftly toward them, barreling his way through the group, and headed toward the door. “Sound the alarm!” he yelled, just before the door slammed shut behind him.
Once in the hallway, he ran toward the hangar bay, guessing that’s where Murphy was headed. Along the way, he recruited a group of soldiers walking the hallway to accompany him on his search.
The group moved quickly through the ship until they reached the docking bay. General Quinn stared through a large window that ran the distance of the walkway, leading to the bay door. He could see Murphy’s ship on a far side of the hangar, and watched the release of pressurized air and gas coming from the craft.
The moment he reached the door, he typed in an entry code and yelled at a crew member inside. “Stop that ship from leaving,” he ordered.
“Yes, sir,” the man replied, before running off in the direction of the ship. But long before reaching it, the ship lifted off the pad and accelerated out of the docking bay.
A desire to strangle the soldier closest to him was interrupted by the crew member who was running back toward him, apologizing profusely for failing to complete what the general knew was an impossible task.
He turned his thoughts back toward the success his science team had just experienced, and the desire to reprimand anyone for Murphy’s escape began to fade. Jameson had done it. He had finally managed to turn a soldier into a weapon, and while the general knew this was only the first step, it was definitely a step in the right direction, and that brought a smile to his face. Whether they’d be able to control what they’d just created was still in question, but he wouldn’t worry about that yet.
Turning to face the soldiers, he said, “Who’s the ranking officer?”
“That’d be me, sir,” one of the men said.
“Send out three fighters to find Murphy. Shoot to kill,” he ordered.
“Yes, sir,” the officer replied.
General Quinn turned and hurried back toward the medical center, pushing Murphy out of his thoughts for now.
~
Long before his ship reached the nearest planet Esaria, a sensor had alerted Murphy to the fact that another ship was not only following him, but it was gaining on him. He pressed a combination of keys on the ship’s console, which brought up a digital image of the pursuing vessels.
“Of course!” he yelled, as he slammed his fist down on the console. The image disappeared and he grabbed hold of the controls. “My ship’s still faster,” he muttered. He pushed the thruster controls forward, hoping that he was right, and that the other ship hadn’t locked onto him yet.
It wasn’t until he’d reached Esaria’s outer atmosphere that a loud warning alert suddenly began its high-pitched beeping, followed immediately by a red flashing light on the console.
“No, no, no!” he yelled, realizing that a missile was headed right for him.
He hadn’t originally planned on visiting Esaria, but the torpedo meant a change in plans. He steered the ship in a quick, sharp downward dive toward the planet, and pushed the throttle forward until he’d reached maximum speed.
The high speed of entry into the planet’s atmosphere caused the ship to shake violently, making it difficult for him to steer. But he was out of options. This was his last resort, his only shot to escape the fighters on his tail. He strapped himself in, held the controls tightly, and wedged his legs against the sides of the pilot’s seat. Before long, the shaking finally leveled off and he was able to take a deep breath.
He checked the sensor on the control panel for the incoming missile but found nothing. “Too close,” he said, as he wiped the sweat from his face onto his sleeve. Then he eased up on the throttle and began looking for a place to land.
Just as he’d located an opening, the high-pitched beeping suddenly resumed, but by the time Murphy figured out how close the missile was, he had only seconds to act.
He grabbed the throttle, slammed it all the way forward, then began a steep descent, heading straight toward a mountain range. But his evasive action wasn’t enough.
As he approached the tree line, the missile reached one of the ship’s engines and exploded, sending the vessel into a rapid, horizontal spin toward the planet’s surface. The last thing Murphy saw was a thick blur of green, then everything went dark.
~
“Anyone still breathin’ in there?”
“Don’t know yet,” Dal yelled back. Reaching from the tree branches, he grabbed hold of a twisted piece of metal sticking out from the wreckage. He slowly shifted his weight, doing his best to determine the stability of the large vessel that was wedged into a thicket of trees, high above the ground.
With one hand still gripping a bending tree branch, he stepped inside the mangled entrance and bounced up and down just enough to make sure the ship wouldn’t fall out of the trees while he was still inside. When he nervously let go of the branch, Dal held his breath a moment, and the ship remained still.
“Hello?” he called out. “Anyone still in here?” His voice vanished into an eerie echo and then it was quiet again.
He moved cautiously through the room where he’d entered the ship, then entered a short hallway. Turning toward the nose of the ship, he called out one last time. “Anyone in here?” Just like before, his voice faded into silence.
He continued on toward the entrance to the small cockpit, where he stopped and stared at the lifeless body still buckled in the pilot’s seat.
CHAPTER 9
A spotlight passed by the row of pallets that concealed Kalla’s position. Through the fence she watched as Jarek motioned her to join them. She nodded, but held up her index finger, letting him know she still needed a minute.
The spotlight passed by again, then she poked her head out from behind the pallets and stared at the large gate that surrounded the base of the mountain. “Just makes no sense,” she said softly.
“Come on,” Jarek called out in a loud whisper.
She turned and ran toward the tall fence, and with little effort, jumped over, landing not far from where Jarek and Davis stood waiting.
“What took you so long?” Jarek asked.
“Just thinking,” she replied. “Look, I get that we have to be careful, try to avoid too much attention. But at the same time, this entire base really isn’t a threat to us, and if Quinn is here, shouldn’t we just get this over with?” she questioned, looking directly at Jarek.
He shook his head, then stared past her, looking in the direction of the base that loomed behind her. “I’m just telling you, something’s not right here,” he insisted. “It’s that feeling you get when there’s Vie around,” he added.
Kalla shook her head and folded her arms. “No way, that’s impossible,” she said. “We’re a long
way from Paradise, and even if he knew anything about the Vie—which I’m not sure he does—there’s no way,” she argued.
“I don’t know,” Davis said shaking his head. “Wouldn’t put it past him. And if he does know about the Vie, using them as weapons is definitely something he’d do, if he could figure out a way.”
Kalla shook her head again, unwilling to believe what she was hearing. “No way,” she insisted. “He’d need a small army to even stand a chance, and we’d know if he brought an army to Paradise. I just don’t believe he could catch any Vie on his own. He’d need a lot of help, and even then . . .”
“Kalla, he caught you,” Davis said.
“No . . .” she said, shaking her head. But the more she thought about it, the more it sank in that Davis was right, and the simple words Davis had spoken started an emotional chain reaction inside her. It was as if a fuse to a bomb had just been lit. Kalla clenched her fists, took a deep breath, and closed her eyes, doing all she could to contain the rage building inside. Only when she felt Jarek’s hand firmly grip her shoulder did she begin to feel a returning calm. “Thanks,” she said softly.
Jarek nodded.
In silence, Kalla stared at the ground, coming to grips with the idea that the general could actually have a Vie in his possession. “If he’s figured out a way catch the Vie and get them off Paradise . . .”
“That would be very bad,” Jarek interrupted.
“Well, hold on now,” Davis said, waving his hands as he stepped toward Kalla. “I know what I said, and I stand by that, but let’s not jump to conclusions just yet. Let’s see what’s in that mountain before we worry about what might be nothing.”
Kalla nodded in agreement. “That’s fair. What’s the plan, then? Any other bright ideas? Or do we go with the distraction?”
“The more I think things through, the more I think we’re better off keeping as quiet as we can,” Jarek suggested. “You don’t have a squad of soldiers guarding something unless it’s a big deal.”