by T. R. Harris
REV: Requiem
An epic military sci-fi novel
T.R. Harris
Book #3 of The REV Warriors Series Part 2
Copyright 2021
by Tom Harris Creations, LLC
All rights reserved.*
Cover design by Matthew Kadish
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Novels by T.R. Harris
The Adam Cain Saga
The Dead Worlds
Empires
Battle Plan
Galactic Vortex
Dark Energy
Universal Law
The Formation Code
The Quantum Enigma
Children of the Aris
The Human Chronicles
The Fringe Worlds
Alien Assassin
The War of Pawns
The Tactics of Revenge
The Legend of Earth
Cain’s Crusaders
The Apex Predator
A Galaxy to Conquer
The Masters of War
Prelude to War
The Unreachable Stars
When Earth Reigned Supreme
A Clash of Aliens
Battlelines
The Copernicus Deception
Scorched Earth
Alien Games
The Cain Legacy
The Andromeda Mission
Last Species Standing
Invasion Force
Force of Gravity
Mission Critical
The Lost Universe
The Immortal War
Destroyer of Worlds
Phantoms
Terminus Rising
The Last Aris
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Box Set #3 – Books 11-15 in the series
Box Set #4 – Books 16-20 in the series
Box Set #5—Books 21-25 in the series
Box Set #6 — Books 26-29 in the series
REV Warriors Series
Rev
REV: Renegades
REV: Rebirth
REV: Revolution
REV: Retribution
REV Warriors Part 2
REV: Revelations
REV: Resolve
REV: Requiem
REV Warriors Series Part 1 Box Set - The COMPLETE Series (5 books)
Jason King – Agent to the Stars Series
The Enclaves of Sylox
Treasure of the Galactic Lights
The Drone Wars Series
Day of the Drone
In collaboration with Co-Author George Wier…
The Liberation Series
Captains Malicious
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Contents
Rev
Beyond the Grid
The Adventure Continues
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Epilogue
More REV adventures…
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Novels by T.R. Harris
Rev
REV: Requiem
Beyond the Grid
The Adventure Continues
Chapter 1
Zac Murphy had died a thousand times before.
This would be another.
He didn’t fear death. Why should he? He was a REV, and death was his job. Dishing it out or recovering from it. The fact that the performance-enhancing drug coursing through his body made him almost impossible to kill didn’t mean he shouldn’t have died a thousand times already. But it was his attitude that made him immortal. Each Run was to be his last, until the next.
That was the reason Zac took each life-threatening situation with a grain of salt. By all accounts, he shouldn’t be here. He was the oldest REV in the Corps, blowing away all actuarial tables for life expectancy. But even legends come to an end. As the only Human on a planet two-thousand light-years from Earth, and having just led a raid that killed millions of the natives, even the optimist in him was having difficulty seeing a way out of his current predicament.
At the moment, he was the center attraction in the royal observation box, looking out at a vast arena with a floor of dirt, the surrounding seating filled with thousands of raucous aliens, all screaming for their pound of flesh—Human flesh … his flesh. Zac couldn’t blame them. In the end, the Azloreans were innocent, their untimely deaths the result of a diabolical plan hatched by Humanity’s greatest enemy, an enemy who was sitting next to him, wearing a satisfied grin as he soaked in the festivities.
Kallen Zaphin was looking at him. The Antaerean was surprisingly calm, considering he was seated next to a person who could rip him limb from limb without even working up a sweat. For that matter, Zac was confident he could do the same to every person in the arena this morning. With the thousands in attendance, he knew he’d only reach a fraction of them before the effort would result in his inevitable death, but at some point, it may be worth it. Men on death row didn’t have the luxury of second-guessing their final impulses at the end of their lives.
“Are you enjoying the show?” the yellow-skinned-bastard asked, savoring the grim look on the REV’s face. “This affair was my suggestion, a venting of anger at the Humans and a demonstration of the savage race that had just killed nearly twenty million Azloreans, and for no apparent reason.”
Zac had been listening to the rantings of several Azlorean officials as they addressed the crowd, with the proceedings broadcast in the clear to any planet that could receive and decipher the signal. Kallen even fitted Zac with a translation device so he could understand what was being said. Most of what they were saying was true. The Human fleet did, with forethought and malice, attack the homeworld of the Azloreans, unleashing Hell in the form of nuclear missiles on an innocent and unsuspecting population. However, what was being left out of the narration was how Zac and his people had been misled into believing the planet Voris was the homeworld of the Seken rather than the Azloreans. Before six days ago, Zac had never heard of the Azloreans. No Human had. And the person who perpetuated this scam on Humanity was none other than Kallen Zaphin. As Zac watched and listened, he racked his brain for a way to let the majority of the Azloreans know the truth and wondering whether anyone would believe him if he could.
But Zac was facing daunting odds. The video images being displayed on the enormous screens placed around the venue were horrific, even if that was their intended purpose. Charred and mangled bodies of young natives, the incinerated remains of once glorious cities and looped film of the Human warships making strafing runs on the innocent people of Voris. The gasps of horror and screeches of anger had been erupting from the audience for the past two hours. The propaganda camp
aign was in full motion, and it was working.
Everyone in the room knew who and what Zac was, and if not for a screen of frustrated—yet loyal—guards, the crowd would have stormed the observation box and ripped Zac to pieces. Perhaps that was coming. Kallen mentioned a demonstration. So far, it had just been talk and video. The death of Zac Murphy could be the pièce de résistance, the culmination of the show.
But on the other hand, that wouldn’t fit Kallen’s agenda. He intended on keeping Zac around until Earth was a smoking cinder. Only after that would he put Zac out of his misery.
“This is all bullshit, and you know it,” Zac growled to the Antaerean.
“Of course,” Kallen replied with a grin. “But you must admire the genius in the strategy. It has worked to perfection. Within the next few minutes, the Azloreans will declare war on Earth and establish their fealty with the Seken. There will be nothing your feeble race can do to stop the inevitable. Not even your vaunted REVs will be able to save you now. And all this shows is how superior the Antaere are to Humans, and how the actions of an individual—my actions—can influence the affairs of the galaxy so dramatically.”
“You lied to them.”
“No, I lied to you. There is a difference. The Seken were unaware of my full plan. However, many prominent Azloreans contributed to the deception. They have watched the Seken as they gain territory from the Humans. They did not want to be left behind. But unlike the Seken—who will go to war at the slightest provocation—the Azloreans needed more of an incentive. Your attack has given them that incentive. There will be no stopping them now, competing with the Seken for who can destroy the Human race the fastest. And then later, with the scent of empire strong on their skin, the Azloreans will continue with their conquests, while the staid and unambitious Seken will return quietly to their homeworld.”
“So, what’s in it for you?” Zac asked.
“There is much. The Antaere will serve as the guiding advisors to the Azloreans, even as we gradually indoctrinate them into the ways of the Order. For your information, the Azloreans are a very religious race; they will be easy converts to the Order, giving my people and me tacit control over the new empire. Eventually, Antara will rule the galaxy and without ever having to face the Seken or the Azloreans in battle. For that, you must recognize the significance of what I have set in motion. For one being—one Antaerean—to manipulate two of the most powerful races in the galaxy to do my bidding is truly impressive. And all of this has happened after you and your altered savages so unceremoniously chased me from my homeworld.”
Kallen now glared at Zac, his yellow eyes burning with anger. “Be assured, Zac Murphy, that although I will gain much satisfaction from the destruction of Earth, my hatred for your accursed species will never be extinguished, even as your race is quickly swept aside and forgotten. It will haunt me until the day I die.”
“Well, there is that to look forward to,” Zac replied with a grin.
There came a sudden shift in the droning speeches by the Azlorean dignitaries as one began to scream while pointing at the north end of the arena. Zac had stopped listening to the native speaker while he suffered through Kallen’s diatribe. Now, the stadium exploded in deafening screeches and hooting.
“Perhaps you will find humor in what is to happen next,” Kallen said ominously. “It was also by my orchestration that this demonstration was planned.”
Two wide doors swung open, and five Humans, their uniforms bloodied and torn, were paraded into the amphitheater. They were shackled together by long, heavy-linked chains that stirred up the dust and wore security collars around their necks; five men and one woman and Zac recognized them all as Zeta REVs. Although it was apparent they had already suffered their share of torture and abuse, each was strong-jawed and defiant, straight-backed and with confidence in their strides. Zac’s REV-enhanced memory allowed him to recognize the five from their files, although he couldn’t recall having ever met any of them personally. They were part of Angus’s fleet, 308 fighter pilots tasked with escorting the Piercers on their bombing runs. They had been shot down but survived crashlanding on the planet. Now, they were to be the demonstration Kallen mentioned, the show-and-tell of the day’s events.
Zac tried to lift to his feet, but the restraints built into the chair and wrapping around his waist wouldn’t allow him. A guard in the box one level above him eyed the REV intently, lifting the control box to the security collar Zac wore around his neck, ready if the REV caused any trouble. The Azloreans were taking no chances with the super-REV, a consequence of the warnings Kallen had given them. Zac was locked down for the duration.
He was already cascading but had yet to reach full potential. He pulled back, taking control of his emotions. Kallen Zaphin was watching him.
“Admirable, Zac Murphy,” he said. “I know the beast in you is struggling to escape, yet you are able to maintain control. That is different from the REVs of old. Even our version—the NOVs—never reached that degree of control as you and this new breed of REV have achieved. At the moment, I hope those on the field below will activate. It will make for a more entertaining show.”
Zac bit his bottom lip, reigning in his anger. He was a REV—and a Delta REV at that. Although he doubted he could break the restraints, there was a good chance he could pull the entire chair from the floor. But what then? The Azloreans had weapons and other technology that could kill and subdue REVs. His efforts would be futile.
And then the more pragmatic part of Zac’s personality kicked in. He had seen so many of his comrades die in battle that he accepted the fact that these five Zetas were the walking dead. They died the moment their fighters were hit during the engagement. His job now was to study the enemy and gather information. It may be all for naught, but the task kept his will to live alive. He was a Marine, and he would be until the moment he died.
The master of ceremonies, an Azlorean introduced as Crooark, was on the arena floor, speaking through a microphone attached to his four-eyed, block-shaped head. His voice boomed from hidden speakers, echoing off the masonry structure of the stadium. Zac didn’t know what the facility was traditionally used for. The Azloreans were a High-Tier race and would undoubtedly rank in the eights on the Blood Scale. Would they still be practicing ritualistic gladiator-style exhibitions? More than likely, the stadium was for a more civilized form of sporting event. But today, there would be blood on the sand, Human blood.
Crooark stepped up to a table that had been placed before the prisoners. On it were an assortment of weapons, from a heavy metal club to what were either energy or ballistic weapons—probably both. He turned to address the buzzing crowd.
“Before us are the invaders to our world, killers of millions, without regard or compassion. As you can see, they are truly hideous creatures of frightening appearance. They are called Humans, and those before you are their altered breed of superior warriors.” Crooark emphasized the word superior, sarcasm thick in his tone. “This is the best the Human race can bring against us. Today, I shall test them to discover if what is said about them is true.”
Crooark lifted the metal club first. Guards moved in and pulled the first REV aside. Zac recalled his name was Andrew Lindsay. The man was tall and chisel-jawed with piercing blue eyes and closely cropped black hair. He met the native’s intense stare with one of his own, showing no sign of fear. Zac sensed he was fully activated by now. There were no outward physical tells—even his eyes didn’t turn red like with the older REVs. Crooark was a large, impressive being in his own right. He easily lifted the club.
“It is said these creatures can ignore pain. Let us see.”
He swung the bat with both arms striking Lindsay just below his left shoulder. The REV saw the blow coming and spread his legs as far as his shackled legs would allow, and leaned into the hit. The smack sounded like a gunshot. Lindsay’s toughened skin absorbed the impact with ease, with only a slight reddening of the skin. His face showed no emotion, only his bright eyes staring
at the native.
Crooark staggered back, forgetting his place for a moment. Then he straightened his back and swung again, this time laying the bat across Lindsay’s stomach. The REV reacted more this time, but not much. He bent forward slightly and then regained his composure—still no sign of pain.
The crowd was silent, realizing the importance of the demonstration. Yes, the Human was tough, tougher than even an Azlorean.
“This means nothing,” Crooark said. “Feral twitchins are equally hardy. That does not make them superior.”
The last hit Crooark made was to the side of Lindsay’s head. It was a staggering blow, hard even by REV standards. Lindsay dropped to his knees, momentarily stunned. A trickle of blood oozed from his ear, but this soon stopped as the REV's rapid healing ability kicked in. Then weaving slightly, Lindsay regained his footing.
Hums rose from the crowd. They knew that three such hits to Azloreans would have either rendered them unconscious or possibly even killed them. Zac watched the reaction with interest. Being of an advanced civilization did not necessarily translate into being physically superior. Often, it was the opposite. As a race developed, the need to be physically strong diminished, replaced by the wonders of technology.