REV: Requiem: an epic military sci-fi novel (REV Warriors Part 2 Book 3)

by T. R. Harris

  With a nod of his head, the guards moved in and pulled Lindsay aside. Next in line was Christian Kovalski. As with most REVs, he had a very similar build and features as Lindsay; the Rev drug did that to people. He stared at his tormentor with the same defiance as had the other REV. Zac cringed when Crooark lifted a broad sword from the table.

  “They can withstand blunt instruments, but can they resist cutting edges? We are about to find out.”

  Zac struggled against his restraints, more from instinct than anything else. This was not going to be pretty.

  Again, Crooark started at the left arm. The swing was true, and the blade buried itself into Kovalski’s flesh, stopped only by the hardened bone of the humerus. For a normal Human, it would have severed the arm completely. But for a REV, it would take a few more attempts.

  Blood gushed from the sizeable wound, but as with Lindsay, the flow soon ended, his blood coagulating much faster than expected. His fingers twitched, showing the nerves were still connected to the hand, although they’d been damaged. But what impressed—and shocked—the crowd the most was the utter indifference Kovalski showed to the cut. His eyes didn’t blink, nor did a vein pulse in his long neck. He continued to look at the native with even a thin grin on his lips.

  Crooark’s four eyes grew wide, and his lips trembled. But it wasn’t from fear but anger. The native reeled back and swung again, this time hitting with such ferocity that the blade made it through the bone and out the other side, severing the limb. The arm hit the ground in a puff of dust, with even more blood now pouring from the wound. Once again, the flow slowed to a trickle.

  The loss of his arm affected Kovalski, although his expression tried to deny it. His eyes fluttered, and his balance was unsure. This was a problem for REVs—old or new. The drug allowed them to ignore the pain, to the point where they were often unaware of how seriously they were injured. Kovalski had suffered a traumatic injury, but his mind refused to submit to it. Zac knew he wouldn’t last long.

  Not realizing how severely the REV was injured, Crooark shifted the blade again, aiming this time for the Human’s midsection. Although Kovalski was activated and could withstand twenty times the impact of a normal Human, his body couldn’t resist the invading steel’s needle-sharp point. The sword poked out his back, its path having been diverted by the dense spinal cord, although it did slice into the vital conduit from the brain to the rest of the body. Also, other vital organs were punctured in the stomach region.

  Kovalski staggered back, the blood-lubricated blade slipping from the fatal wound. His face was still a mask of passivity, showing no anguish, no pain. But his motions betrayed him. His eyes fluttered even more, the dark pupils rolling back into the sockets. Then he toppled backward, falling to the ground with finality.

  “See, these supposedly superior warriors can be killed!” Crooark exclaimed. But the audience didn’t react as expected. Rather than picking up the cry, they remained stunned into silence, knowing the significance of what they were witnessing. Any Azlorean would have died from the injuries and long before the Humans. These may be primitives, but they were much robust than were the natives. And the audience knew it.

  Zac became more anxious when Crooark moved to the next REV. It was the female, Natalie Swan. About a quarter of the Zeta REVs were female. Although slightly less robust strength-wise, they were every bit the men’s equal in intelligence, reaction time and endurance. Crooark lifted one of the alien handguns. It was of the same make as carried by most of the guards Zac had seen, and from the look of the device, it was probably an energy weapon of some kind. There was no place for ballistic rounds to be carried. It was hard enough for Zac to watch the men be tortured and killed. Seeing Natalie being placed before her tormentor was torture of another kind to the Delta REV.

  “Observe; these savages even send their females into combat,” Crooark pointed out. “I will begin slowly, testing the endurance of the female to our standard Risen weapon. This is level four.”

  He aimed the barrel at Natalie, who—like the men—showed no fear. He fired the weapon. A pulse of dull blue light erupted from the device, striking the REV in the chest. The blast came with a combination of heat and electricity, both of which Natalie shrugged off with indifference. If the bolt was designed to stun, it failed miserably.

  “I will now move the setting to level three,” Crooark said, his voice carrying a slight tinge of concern. The demonstration was not going as planned. He fired again, but unlike before, Natalie reacted. She grinned.

  “Sir, may I have some more?” Zac heard her ask, her voice picked up by Crooark’s microphone.

  Pride swelled in Zac’s chest. Although Natalie had never been to Earth—having been born on Crious and then raised on Enif—she had somehow learned of Dicken’s famous novel Oliver Twist. She was not only beautiful and deadly; she was also smart as a whip.

  The fabric of her dark blue REV uniform was smoldering, yet the skin revealed through the burn showed only a slight reddening. Again, the audience gasped. The demonstration was showing not only the capabilities of the REVs, but for Zac, it also revealed a lot about the Azloreans. From their shocked reactions, he got a fairly good idea what their bodies could tolerate, telling him that once Humans got past their technology, killing the aliens would be a piece of cake, especially for the REVs.

  The expression on Crooark’s face was unbridled anger and frustration. He worked the controls on the weapon, aiming it once again at the woman, this time at her head.

  “Level One,” Crooark announced. “I grow tired of this.”

  He pulled the trigger.

  The blue splash of hot electricity enveloped Natalie’s head, setting her hair on fire and charring the outer layer of her skin. Festering bubbles of flesh grew from her face, ruining her once stunning looks. Even so, her activated body resisted most of the more severe burns, even as the skin blistered and the bubbles burst. As with the others, Natalie neither cried out in pain nor reacted emotionally as her face was burned off. She remained standing, although blinded and off-balance.

  Crooark was at the end of his rope. He reached to the table and removed the next weapon in line. It was a more traditional handgun, at least by Human standards, carrying a magazine with ballistic rounds. He aimed and fired, sending a high-powered round into Natalie’s chest. She staggered back but didn’t go down. Crooark fired again, and then again.

  Mercifully, Natalie collapsed to the ground. Although the natural Rev in her system prevented her from feeling pain, Zac was relieved when she was put out of her misery.

  Crooark then tossed the weapon back on the table and picked up another. He lifted it so the audience could see.

  “This is the new Gradia-9, an energy beam weapon that has been adapted specifically to counter the Human threat. There are only three in existence; however, thousands more are in production. This is the handgun which we will use to kill billions of our enemy. Although these creatures—a breed the Humans refer to as REVs—are of obvious tenacity, they cannot withstand the two-thousand-degree heat from the concentrated beam. I will demonstrate.”

  Without hesitation, Crooark aimed the weapon at the fourth REV in the line. Zac barely had time to recall his name before the native fired the beam. Zac had seen the beam weapon in action before—on the bridge of the Abraham Lincoln, being fired by Kallen Zaphin—so the effect did not come as a surprise. But to those in the audience, it did.

  The thin blue line extended out and struck Steve Pritchett in the neck; Crooark wasn’t playing around any longer. He was tired of the demonstration and just wanted to be done with it. The beam burned cleanly through the flesh, but as Pritchett slumped to the ground, Crooark kept it activated. As the Human’s head dropped, the beam effectively cut it in half.

  To Zac’s surprise, the native then tossed the weapon back on the table as attendants came and wheeled it away. There were still two REVs alive, Andrew Lindsay and Sam Benavides. Lindsay was on his knees, suffering the after-effects of the hit
s he’d taken with the metal bat. Benavides was unharmed—at least to this point.

  Crooark’s eyes focused on Zac in the observation box.

  “This demonstration goes to show how savage and warlike the Humans are. They have even altered their own kind to make them more warlike. And then they came to Voris and killed indiscriminately. Before that, we had never heard of the Humans or experienced their bloodlust. Although they will claim they are at war with our Seken trading partners, they crossed a line when attacking Voris. We are now at war with the Humans, standing steadfast with our Seken friends in their desire to kill every last Human in existence. It is only right that we should do this. And there—” Crooark pointed at Zac—“sits the commander of the invasion force. Yet, I stand corrected. The Humans were not an invasion force. They came with insignificant resources to affect a landing and a conquest. All they came for was death, the death of innocent Azloreans. And now you have watched as their leader so dispassionately watched as his people were killed, showing us that Humans lack compassion for even their own kind. They will sacrifice all they have if it means killing Azloreans. There was no hope for their attack to succeed, yet still they came. This creature, this beast named Zac Murphy, directed his people to give up their lives if it meant taking Azlorean lives with them. And why? What did we ever do to the Human race? Their homeworld, as I understand, is two-thousand light units away. We were no threat to them … until now. And now, these killers will learn what it means to challenge the Azloreans directly. From other information we have received from the Seken, we know that technologically the Humans are no match for us. And when combined with the power of the Seken, the outcome of this war is without question. The Humans will be exterminated. And when they are, the galaxy will be a more peaceful place. And their heartless leader, this Zac Murphy, will be the last put to death, as he endures the elimination of his race. Millions of years of Human evolution have come to this; their final breath. And be assured, my friends and allies, nothing will deter us from the task at hand.”

  He then turned to the remaining Humans. “Now, as a special treat, I will let the beasts of Voris devour the beasts from Earth. Although we are not a savage race, we can take only so much abuse before our vicious side emerges. This is appropriate, my fellow Azloreans. Embrace the anger, accept the savagery of our dark side. It was the Humans who have brought us to this point.”

  Crooark them hurried off the field, leaving only the two REVs alone in the arena.

  Then another set of doors opened, these at the opposite side of the stadium from where the REVs had emerged. Immediately, a pair of gigantic four-legged animals ran out. They resembled lions but were twice as large and without the glorious manes. But below the fur-covered skin, muscles rippled, forming ridges along the back and thick neck. Intense yellow eyes focused on the pair of Humans at the center of the arena. Animal concentration took over as the beast saw no barrier between them and their prey. Long heads lowered as billowing growls reverberated from the teeth-lined mouths.

  Zac had to amend his assessment that the Azloreans were a civilized race of advanced beings. Even Humans of today didn’t resort to such barbaric demonstrations. This showed a side of the natives that Zac was sure they knew was there but struggled to hide, especially from themselves, a visceral bloodlust that was always lying just below the surface.

  The beasts charged.

  Sam Benavides moved in front of Lindsay, dragging the long chain with him. The three dead REVs were also in the line, but Benavides’s activated strength made it easy for him to move the bodies. He crouched, bracing for the impact from the first creature.

  The smell of Human blood was intoxicating to the lion-like beasts. Here was more food than they could consume in a single sitting, but that didn’t matter. There were more kills to make, more warm blood to taste.

  And then something miraculous happened.

  As the animals came within twenty feet of Benavides, their foot-wide paws dug into the dirt, bringing them to a halt. The crowd was hushed, as were the beasts. Slowly, the creatures lowered their heads and began waving them from side to side. Zac thought it was some instinctive ritual before making the kill, but the crowd’s reaction told him something different had just happened, something unexpected.

  Then Benavides stepped forward, his powerful legs pulling the dead REVs with him. Lindsay was at the other end of the chain and staggered along with him.

  The REV came to within a couple of feet from the towering animals, showing no fear. Even at six-foot-two, Benavides was dwarfed by the creatures; they were six feet at the shoulders, with their necks and heads doubling that. Then the Human extended a hand.

  The lead animal lowered its head even more, allowing Benavides to place his hand upon it. The two front legs bent, and the beast bowed to the Human.

  Zac knew what was happening. The alien lions sensed the Alpha being in the arena, able to detect the presence of the superior animal. Whether it could smell the Rev in his system or other pheromones the Human gave out, he didn’t know. But the one thing Zac knew for sure, this wasn’t how the demonstration was supposed to end.

  And so did Crooark.

  A dozen armed Azloreans rushed onto the field, armed with their ubiquitous energy weapons. Without hesitation, they fired at the lions, with the first bolts serving only to irritate the animals. The creatures reared up and roared before turning toward the tiny natives.

  Even so, the number of bolts striking them was enough to eventually put them down before they could reach any of the Azloreans.

  And then the troops opened fire on Benavides and Lindsay.

  As with the beasts, the REVs resisted the first rounds before eventually surrendering to the overwhelming heat and electricity. Their bodies were smoldering by the time they died.

  Half a dozen guards swept in on Zac, restraining him as the shackles holding him to the chair were unlocked, only to be replaced with others for transport. He glanced at a glum-looking Kallen Zaphin as he was led away, smiling broadly at the Antaerean.

  So much for the best-laid plans…

  Chapter 2

  Having lived through the arena show, Zac was moved back to his holding cell in an arch-like government building near the outdoor stadium. The accommodations weren’t bad—for a prison. Zac had had smaller quarters aboard a battle-carrier. The bed was surprisingly comfortable, and the food he was served was generous and tasty. Either the natives were buttering him up for something, or they hadn’t yet grasped the purpose of imprisonment. This was more like a bare-bones vacation than it was punishment.

  He’d spent six days in the cell after arriving on Voris, with the only respite coming when he was taken to the arena to watch the festivities. He kept his emotions in check once he returned, not letting the death of the REVs affect him too much. He was already depressed enough. He had the sneaking suspicion that if he weren’t already, he would soon be the only Human left alive on the entire planet. He had Kallen Zaphin to thank for that. If it were up to the Azloreans, Zac would be nothing but a bloodstain on the sands of the stadium by now.

  The next five days passed without anything happening; no visitors except for the guards bringing him food. It didn’t take a genius to read their body language. By now, the final casualty count was being broadcast around the planet. Using the translator Kallen gave him, Zac was able to pick up the snippets of conversation. Just over eighteen million dead. Zac accepted the tragic impact of the event on the natives, knowing how he would feel if the same thing happened on Earth. The Antaere had killed far more than that during their attacks on his homeworld, but Humanity saw them coming. The Azloreans—at least the ignorant masses—weren’t so fortunate.

  But for some, it was no surprise at all. Zac was even sure the conspirators allowed Zac’s forces to penetrate their airspace to effectuate the mass casualties. Then, once enough killing had taken place, they launched their counterattack. Seeing what the Azloreans had to throw against the Human fleet, there was no reason why any
of Zac’s bombers made it to the surface. They could have been stopped a million miles out from Voris, even farther. But they weren’t.

  As he lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, Zac gave Kallen credit for devising a plan that came off like clockwork. But he couldn’t have done it without the gullibility of Elliott Bell. The sycophantic, power-hungry politician was too blinded by his ambition to exercise even a modicum of caution when it came to the Antaerean. Zac wouldn’t have been so trusting. He knew Kallen Zaphin—and the Antaere overall—better than the younger Regional Director, having spent thirty years fighting the Qwin. Bell was probably too young to have even been in government until the final years of the war.

  Oh, well, Bell was dead now. He wouldn’t be trusting any more Antaereans.

  On the third day after the arena show, four heavily armed guards arrived at his cell. He was still wearing the security collar, having grown used to the feel and weight of the ring around his neck. He was taken to an interview room where an older Azlorean—as evidenced by the maze of wrinkles on his four-eyed face—sat behind a stone desk covered in electronic datapads along with a mixture of paper-like material. It wasn’t exactly paper, appearing to be thicker and spongier. But for such an advanced civilization, he was surprised to see anything paper-like on the desk.

  Zac had only been in the office half a minute when Kallen Zaphin burst into the room.

  “What are you doing with my prisoner?” he asked the native.

  The Azlorean leaned back in his chair and took in the slender, yellow-skinned alien with a mix of amusement and irritation.

  “You are the Antaerean, Kallen Zaphin,” the native stated. “I am Senior Inquisitor Torin Nassmar, and I do not appreciate you entering my chambers without permission, as well as the demanding tone of your voice. And need I remind you, this Human is a prisoner of the Azlorean government, not your personal property.”