Dead Force Box Set

by S D Tanner

  Peering at his face, his mouth twisted in disbelief. “There’s no scar. Maybe it was a bad dream.”

  Judge turned to look at the pods again. “Maybe they’re all dead.”

  “I don’t think so. Some of the pods are dark and others are lit up. Why would there be a difference if they’re all dead?”

  His squad was still messing around with the gear. Some were stuffing ammunition into their tactical vests, while others were tightening straps on their armor. But he was puzzled by what they weren’t doing. Idle soldiers fidgeted with their gear, dozed, or ate, but they hadn’t found any supplies, not even emergency meals. He wasn’t thirsty or hungry, which surprised him. They’d only just woken so why didn’t they need to eat and drink, or at least take a leak?

  Despite walking and talking on command his body wasn’t right. It didn’t feel numb exactly, but he wasn’t connected to it in the way he should be. Holding up his right hand he could see it was attached to his arm. When he stretched his fingers, the tendons strained and his brain acknowledged the movement, but there was a delay between the action and recognition. It was as if his brain was functioning half a beat behind his body. Had he always been this way or had something changed?

  While he studied his hand trying to understand what felt wrong, Judge shouted, “Woah! Check it out.”

  Spinning around he peered through the window trying to see what had caught Judge’s attention. The enormous chamber looked the same as it had a moment before. Silent and still as the grave, nothing appeared to be moving. “I can’t see anything.”

  “Just watch.”

  Judge’s sharp cry had caught the attention of his squad and now they lined up against the window. Seven faces with closely-shaved heads were scanning the chamber, only he didn’t know what they were looking for.

  “I see it,” Ash said confidently.

  “What is it?”

  “Movement. Rapid movement.”

  Looking in the direction Ash was pointing he finally saw it too. At the far end of the chamber, one moment a pod was lit up and then it went dark. In the instant before the pod winked out something moved over it and then disappeared with the light.

  “What was that?”

  The cover over his eye understood the question and his vision zoomed onto the pod. In the dreary, gloomy light, all he could make out was an outline of the pod and nothing else. Whatever had been on top of it was gone.

  “Something’s in there with the sleepers,” Judge said.

  “And it’s not doing them any good,” Rok added. “That pod was lit up and now it’s not.”

  He didn’t believe rank and badges made someone a soldier. Even when words and wisdom failed a man, his intent would always show what he was made of. Seeing the sleepers slumbering in a drug-induced trance all he saw was vulnerability. Filled from floor to ceiling with rows of pods, the silent chamber could be a place of rest or a graveyard. He couldn’t explain why, but something about the sleepers summoned up his need to protect and defend.

  “Commander Tag. Report to the Bridge.”

  No person would willingly be put into stasis without someone watching over them. Suspended in time, not dreaming or aware, death didn’t need to creep up on them. Dead to the world and the universe, a sleeper could die without ever waking. Although he didn’t know what his mission was, it had to include defending the pods, otherwise why were they armed?

  Solemnly contemplating the chamber filled with pods, he replied, “No can do, honey. Something’s attacking the pods.” Glancing at Judge before returning his gaze to the chamber, he asked, “What do you think?”

  “She sounds cute.”

  “She sounds like a machine.”

  “I’m prepared to settle,” Rok said.

  Despite not remembering Rok, he snorted. “We know that.”

  While his squad laughed he continued studying the chamber. Nothing appeared to be moving anymore, but he still wanted to know what had. A dark pod was most likely a dead one. Although he didn’t know why he was awake, something was driving him into the chamber. Keeping the pods safe was more than just his responsibility, it was the sole reason for his existence. Two pods had just been taken out of commission and he didn’t know how or why. He would report to the Bridge later.

  Turning away from the window, he waved at his six oversized dwarfs. “Move out. I want to find whatever took out those pods.”

  CHAPTER THREE: Do Robots Bleed?

  The arrow he could see through his covered eye directed him to leave the armory through a different door, but he ignored it. At least the mechanical-sounding woman had stopped nagging him. Opening the door to the chamber, he studied the walkway ahead. Each walkway containing pods was connected to a platform. Metal stairs attached a platform to the one above and below it. With over fifty levels the cavernous room must have contained half a million pods. Most of the pods were lit, but patches of darkness indicated others were no longer active. Although he couldn’t be sure, he suspected the sleepers inside the dark pods were dead.

  They were on board a ship hurtling through space toward an unknown destination with half a million sleepers. It must have cost a fortune to build and launch the ship, but its purpose remained a mystery to him. Although the syrupy voice called him ‘Commander’ he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to command. He wasn’t even confident he and the men were a squad; much less why he was on board.

  “Where to, boss man?” One of his squad asked.

  Turning to look at the man who’d spoken, his nametape read ‘Joker’. It couldn’t be the man’s name, but his nametape read ‘Tag’, and he was reasonably sure that wasn’t his name either. Other than the nametape, they had no insignia, badges, flags or patches. It meant they weren’t officially part of a unit or a regiment, but they knew how to use their weapons. Few civilians were trained to use the guns they were carrying, suggesting they might be working undercover. Maybe they were a Personal Security Detail, or perhaps the ship wasn’t under any government control, but if they were onboard a commercial vessel then it meant the sleepers had paid to be flung into space.

  “Have eyes on hostiles,” he ordered.

  “And what do they look like?” Joker asked.

  He didn’t know if there were any hostiles inside the chamber, much less what they might look like. At least his squad were now fully geared up. Their half helmets covered the top and back of their heads. A black sheath skimmed the top of the helmet ready to be flipped down so it covered their face. The armor was worn like a jacket and protected their shoulders, back, chest and gut. Over the armor they had a webbed tactical vest containing additional magazines for their weapons. Strapped to their elbows, knees and thighs was another layer of armor. Big boots reached to the end of their knee protectors so the entire shin was armored. The glove on their right hand was long enough to meet the end of the armor covering their elbow. On their backs was a pack with more ammunition, spare batteries for the weapons, binoculars, flashlight and pouches for grenades. They each carried their rifles and the handgun was strapped to their left or right hip.

  Despite being heavily armed, he was confused by what they didn’t have. The lockers hadn’t included any food, water or emergency medical kits. They had no pain meds, clotting agents, tranquillizers, bandages, alcohol pads, splints, or an emergency intravenous kit. They didn’t even have a survival blanket or a towel. Running a palm across his face it came back dry. He supposed the chamber was cool enough to be described as cold, but his gear was heavy. Placing two fingers against his neck, his jugular was pulsing with a slow and steady rhythm. Under the weight of the heavy gear his heart should have been working harder.

  Worry was gnawing at the edges of his mind, threatening to turn into anxiety. He couldn’t shake the feeling he was missing something more than a medical kit and a meal. They weren’t on the ship by chance. He had a mission, but like something at the edge of his vision it kept slipping from view.

  Flicking his
head at Joker, he said, “Anything in here, other than us and the sleepers, is an enemy.”

  “Does that mean I can shoot it?” Joker asked.

  Screwing up his face, he gave Joker a disgusted look. “Use your commonsense.” Stepping onto the walkway, he said, “We need comms.”

  As if his wish were his command, the next words he heard were through the cover over his right ear.

  Judge muttered, “I think commonsense is in short supply.”

  While he continued walking the sound of their boots on the metal grill echoed across the chamber. Seven well-built and heavily loaded men slammed down one foot after the next, but the grid didn’t even shudder under the impact. The pods were shaped like slightly curved coffins with a control panel at the head. The panels on the still active pods were lit with green or red lights. Laid out in the same way and sleeping, the naked and hairless people looked identical. Passing by their placid faces, he couldn’t see any commonality in the sleepers. Some were in their twenties, others were older. There was a fair distribution between men and women, but he hadn’t seen any children, which made him wonder why.

  Growing bored with seeing yet another expressionless face he looked to his right, hoping to catch any sign of movement. He was rewarded with the sight of what appeared to be a man bent over one of the pods.

  Raising his hand and stopping, he said, “Show me the man.”

  The computer controlling his right eye obliged and his vision zoomed. As if he were looking through binoculars, the image became more detailed until he could see a man dressed in overalls. Wrapped around his bent waist was a fanny pack, and by his feet was a hard-sided bag with shoulder straps.

  His voice rattled across the chamber destroying the dreamless silence. “Hey! You next to the pod!”

  There was no way the man hadn’t heard him. Instead of looking up, the man continued doing something to the pod.

  Half turning on the platform, he said, “We need him.”

  Judge was already scanning the far end of the long walkway in front of them. “We should double back and take the platform to the walkway he’s on.”

  “He’s Oscar Mike,” Ash warned.

  Seemingly oblivious to their presence, the man was now marching surefooted as a cat along the walkway. The hard-sided pack was strapped across his spine and the fanny pack flopped over his skinny thighs. His face was that of an older man with thinning gray hair, but the features were slack and expressionless. Striding along the walkway, his arms and legs moved with clipped precision.

  Not caring whether he fell from the walkway, he broke into a trot. “He’s headed to the platform at the far end. We can cut him off.”

  Jogging in a line, he held his elbows close to his body while maintaining a steady pace. The rattle of ammunition in tactical vests followed him, as did the clank of boots on metal. What he didn’t hear was anyone breathing hard, making him wonder how they’d emerged from stasis in such good condition. His body was following his orders so effortlessly he felt more machine than man.

  Lit and dark pods passed by him in a blur of endless faces until he reached the platform. By running instead of walking, they made it to the next platform before the man emerged from the walkway. Swiveling to the right he continued running and counting walkways until they reached the one with the man. Standing in a line on the platform they were blocking the man’s walkway. Still striding in his precise way, the man didn’t seem aware heavily-armed men were waiting for him. Advancing on their position his arms and legs continued swinging mechanically.

  Although the man was only thirty feet away there was no sign he intended to stop walking. “Hey, you!”

  Finally making eye contact the man’s face remained slack and expressionless. Showing no interest in him, the man didn’t even slow his stride. Worried he might try and push through them, he raised his hand.

  “Halt!”

  Stopping on the walkway, the man finally acknowledged his presence. “What do you require?”

  The voice was soft and cultured in a way that spoke of money and education. Although rich and deep, his words lacked inflection. Their tone reminded him of a waiter who wouldn’t be getting a tip, but he couldn’t recall ever being in a restaurant to know what one was.

  “I have questions.”

  Neither hostile nor friendly the man regarded him with polite indifference. Hoping to gain his cooperation, or any response at all, he softened his tone. “Who are you?”

  “I am Robert.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “I am the Medicus. I care for the residents.”

  “You mean the sleepers.”

  “The residents are in stasis.”

  Judge was standing beside him and now he screwed up his face in disbelief. “How do you take care of this many people?”

  Although Judge’s question was fair, he raised his hand to silence him. “Is there something wrong with them?”

  “They are sick.”

  “How are they sick?”

  “Some are diseased.”

  “What disease do they have?”

  “One we must eradicate.”

  Snorting softly, Judge asked quietly, “Is he turning off the pods?”

  It was another good question. Was Robert the thing they’d seen from the armory? He didn’t think so. Whatever it was had moved quickly and Robert strode with a steady mechanical precision. The slack-faced doctor didn’t appear to be any threat. If Robert was turning off pods then he suspected it was for good reason. Maybe there was a problem with the sleepers, in which case the Medicus was only doing his job.

  “What do you do if they’re diseased?” He asked.

  “The patient must be contained.”

  “Do you turn off their pods?”

  Tilting his head as if confused, Robert replied, “The patient must be contained.”

  “There’s something seriously wrong with Robert,” Judge muttered.

  Judge’s assessment wasn’t wrong, but he would have said there was something wrong with all of them. They’d jogged nearly a mile in full gear and not one of them was sweating. Yet Robert was weird in a way he’d never seen before. With his blank eyes and toneless voice, he was slack-jawed and detached. Being confronted by seven heavily-armed men should have made anyone uncomfortable, but Robert hadn’t seemed to notice, much less care. All the lights were on in his empty eyes, but no one was home.

  Pulling a blade from his belt, he held it up to Robert’s eyes making sure he could see it. “Give me your hand.”

  “What are you doing?” Judge asked sounding worried.

  “Testing a theory.”

  When Robert obligingly held out his left hand he took it in his. Running the sharp blade across the palm, he applied just enough pressure to break the surface. Blood welled in small bubbles along the two-inch cut. Rather than complain as any normal person would have, Robert immediately used his other hand to pull a piece of gauze from his fanny pack.

  Judge was peering past him at Robert. “What did you do that for?”

  The blood had caught him by surprise. Everything about Robert suggested he was a machine. A normal person would have flinched at the sight of the blade, or at least twitched when they were cut. Now applying pressure to the small wound, Robert appeared as relaxed and detached as before. If he wasn’t a machine then he was the strangest man he’d ever met.

  “I didn’t think he was human.”

  Shrugging, Judge replied, “He’s a weird dude, that’s for sure.”

  A moment earlier he’d been confident Robert wasn’t human, but now he didn’t understand what he was looking at. Holding out his right arm, he turned down the edge of his glove until the back of his wrist was exposed. Running the blade across it, he felt no pain, but blood welled in small globules along the cut.

  Looking at his wrist, Judge said, “I guess we’re all human.”

  “Did you wonder about that too?”

  �
�Yeah. Something doesn’t feel right.”

  Holding up his leaking wrist, he said, “It doesn’t hurt.”

  “Maybe we’ve been altered.”

  His memories were strange. Although he knew how to use his gear, he couldn’t remember ever being taught. At least Ash and Judge were familiar, but he wasn’t sure he knew the rest of his squad. He had knowledge yet no idea how he’d gained it. Waking inside a chamber, he was a man without a past, or had been somewhere he didn’t remember. Perhaps they had been altered, but if so, how and why?

  “Can they do that? Alter us.”

  He heard Joker snorting behind him. “Wrong question, boss man.”

  Turning and expecting a smartass reply, he asked, “What’s the right question?”

  Joker’s cynical smile matched his nickname. “Who’s they?”

  It was an unexpectedly intelligent question for a man who went by the name of Joker. “Good question for a joker.”

  Turning away and walking back toward the platform connecting the walkways, Joker replied, “Joker’s are wild, not stupid.”

  Looking back at Robert and not expecting a useful reply, he asked, “What do you know?”

  “I care for the residents.”

  Robert might not be a mindless robot, but they appeared to have reached the end of his knowledge. He was a medic of some sort and probably wasn’t the only one in the chamber. Perhaps he and the other medics were responsible for turning off the pods, but if he hoped to find the answer, then he’d need to report to the Bridge.

  “Move aside, Robert. We’re heading to the Bridge.”

  CHAPTER FOUR: Flea Bites

  Whoever was waiting for them on the Bridge had not interfered with their detour. Maybe they didn’t have a boss, in which case Joker would need to find a new name for him. Even his name wasn’t familiar. Tag. What was it short for? They were walking along a corridor running the length of the cylindrical ship. The pod chamber was to his right behind a row of rooms, one of which was the armory they’d just left. To his left was what appeared, at first glance, to be a three-foot tall black strip starting three feet above the floor. Lights glowed beyond the blackness and he suspected it was a window.