by Craig Gaydas
Grillick stood on the other side, his jovial mood from the other day long gone. “Some of our forces have reached Gliese.”
“What's wrong?” I asked with pieces of meat dribbling down my chin.
“The Order was waiting,” he replied with a heavy sigh. “Captain Muriel was the first to arrive and was instantly overwhelmed. He had only one other ISS class starship with him at the time. It was a rout.”
Captain Muriel, with his serious demeanor and tactical prowess, would be sorely missed. Embeth was running out of captains fast. “So, what do we do now?”
Grillick shrugged. “I'm an engineer, not a general. I leave those decisions to Cantrell when it comes to tactical stuff. I do know this, however. Vayne and Arcturus were the first vessels to arrive at the scene of the battle based on the latest report. I'm afraid I have not much more to report on the matter.” When he noticed the doleful expression on my face, he placed his hand on my elbow. “The Timeless will fight and so will you. That is what we must do.”
“What about Vayne and Arcturus?” I asked.
A worried look spread across his face and he turned away quickly, hoping I didn't catch it. My heart sank. “They will take care of themselves until reinforcements arrive.” His words belied his look. “Vayne and Arcturus have the fastest ships and most powerful ships among The Timeless. They will handle things until the rest arrive.” He seemed to be trying to convince himself more than me.
“And how long will that be?” I figured since Muriel lost his battle with two ships, I wasn't really pinning my hopes on two more ships finishing the job, Timeless or not.
Grillick reached into his pocket and pulled out his digital pocket watch. He closed his eyes and conducted some mental calculations by nodding his head and waving his index finger in the air. “The Gordian Knot is a solid ship, but she's not the fastest. Menjaro, Ibune, and Horus will be the next to arrive. Vigil and Vanth are aboard Ibune's ship. Mortem will probably arrive next, followed by Embeth's fleet. We will arrive sometime between the fleet and Lapiz.”
“Which means, we will be too late,” I grumbled.
“Better late than never,” Grillick grumbled.
“By the time we get there, it will be an all-out war before we even start,” I acknowledged, clearly frustrated. “We need to get to the surface!”
Grillick nodded grimly. “You are correct. Luckily for us, I have included this scenario in my calculations. I assumed the Order would not just let us land freely upon the planet's surface, recover Kedge's body, free the rebels, and leave without a confrontation. Awhile back, I started a project to develop a shuttle, capable of carrying a crew of ten small distances, with cloaking technology.”
“Wouldn't advance radar be able to detect cloaked ships?” I remembered this fact from what Satou told me of cloaking technology.
Grillick's mood brightened and he held up his index finger. “AH HA!” he hollered. “Most archaic technology comes with this particular weakness. Not a Grillick invention! My shuttle can land on any planet across the cosmos, undetected.”
“Why not add this technology to the entire fleet?” I inquired.
Grillick's lips curled into a frown. “My shuttle does not utilize as much power as interstellar vessels. I have not had to time to calibrate the settings of the nanoneedles to prevent overloading the driver technology. Anything larger than my shuttle ends up shorting out the cloaking device. I have it on my 'to-do' list.”
“Okay, so what's the plan?”
“Come with me,” he commanded.
We left and lab and made our way to the bridge. We passed several crewmembers wandering the halls, performing various tasks ranging from mopping floors to performing repairs on control panels. Once we reached the bridge, I had to nudge my way through several of Cantrell's mercenaries who were in the process of being briefed.
“Hiro, I need you to round up eight people,” Cantrell ordered. “Qualifications: Must have prior combat experience, preferably involving extractions, and no family.”
“No family? Why's that sir?” he asked. He was a tall, barrel-chested fellow with bushy silver hair, a long nose and partially constructed of steel. Right away, I could tell he was a cyborg.
Cantrell fixed us with a cold stare. “Less mourning,” he replied, his voice completely devoid of emotion.
Hiro nodded and left the room. We were planning to infiltrate Gliese with a simple crew and a defenseless shuttle against the entire military might of the Order and their allies. It was a suicide mission and Cantrell knew it, but he was a soldier, and he had a job to do. He focused on the task at hand and focused on completing the mission or die trying. Despite his brusque demeanor, I admired him for his tenacity. Despite Vanth's teachings, I found myself scared, but I was determined. If I was going to die today, I would go down fighting.
“What about you?” Cantrell asked. He fixed me with a glare.
“What about me?” I replied.
“You aren't coming with me armed with just your chubby cheeks and tighty whities. This isn't a baby-sitting mission. I need soldiers, not spectators.” He glanced at Grillick. “I assume we have some weapons for him? I hope he can at least shoot straight.”
“Our next stop was the armory,” replied Grillick. “I have a few ideas for him.” He turned to me and smiled warmly. I knew at once that we were about to browse his vast inventory of inventions—his favorite pastime. “Shall we commence?”
The armory was nothing more than a closet located next door to his lab. Inside the room stood metal racks filled with everything from laser rifles to body armor. I focused my attention on one item in particular; a mobile turret similar to the one used during my battle with the Shreen on Vaire.
Grillick chuckled when he noticed my interest. “Ah, I see you have grown fond of my turrets!”
I picked up the cube and turned it over in my hands. It was a big as a Rubik's Cube and heavier. I ran my finger over the gridded, charcoal gray surface, eventually coming to a stop just before the “push me” button. “These things saved my life once.” I fixed him with such a cold stare that his smile faded. “I hope they can do it again.”
Grillick closed his eyes and held his palm up to me in a Talk to the hand, 'cause the face ain't listening gesture. “Don't let Cantrell get to you. He is what I like to call a passive-aggressive pessimist.” He ran his fingers through his beard before tapping himself on the temple. “Come to think of it, that is probably why I use him. His attitude makes him very effective at his job.”
I shoved the turret in my pocket and browsed the remaining shelves. I picked up an object that looked like a Progresso can of soup with a pop top. I thrust it toward him and asked, “Meal rations?”
“You wouldn't want to eat this,” he replied with a wry smile. “It's an EMP grenade. Once you pop the top, you have about five seconds to toss it. Just remember, it only works on electronic devices or items powered by some type of electrical motor. I designed it more for practicality than aesthetics.”
Janero's robots immediately came to mind. “This will come in handy,” I remarked.
“Take this.” Grillick grabbed something off the shelf that looked like a pistol, except it had a much larger barrel and wider grip.
“I'm not sure this would be much help,” I groaned, expressing my disappointment quite plainly regarding the size of the weapon. “Do you have an assault rifle or bazooka instead?”
“You humans are so frustrating!” he clucked. “You are interested more in the size of something rather than its effectiveness.” He snatched the weapon from my grasp and gripped it tightly at the top. He pulled on the handle, releasing an inner spring and extending the barrel another twelve inches. After locking it in place, a handle released from the middle of the weapon turned what was a pistol into something resembling a tactical shotgun. He thrust the weapon into my hands. “Here! Is that better?”
I turned it over in my hands and nodded. “Yeah, this will do.”
Grillick waved his ha
nds in the air, clearly agitated. “These items should suffice. As long as you don't stray too far from Cantrell and his team, you will be safe.”
“Unless they end up getting themselves killed,” I replied, my wry smile contradicting the foreboding words. I decided to move the conversation away from death and more toward tactics. “So, what's the plan once we get there?”
“We get in, get what we need to get, and get out before we find ourselves six feet under, that's the plan,” a voice called from the hall.
Cantrell stood in the doorway. He had a bandolier filled with ammunition strapped around his waist, a rifle slung over his shoulder, and his helmet under his arm. His eyes were intense and he clenched and relaxed his jaw repeatedly, as if he were trying to chew on his own teeth.
Grillick studied his face and frowned. “What's wrong?”
Cantrell coughed dryly and clenched his jaw so tight that it cracked like knuckles. I would have sworn he broke a tooth in the process. “We established a visual of Gliese. It's pretty much what I expected.”
“How bad is it?” pressed Grillick.
“From what I could tell, it appears the orbital security buoys orbiting the planet took out Muriel's ships. That's what he gets for rushing in there like a virgin into a brothel.” He pursed his lips as if he just bit a lemon. “Your Timeless friends were a bit more fortunate. They realized they were outmanned, so they engaged the Order in a more tactical manner. They led the first wave of defense ships into a nearby asteroid field. The larger Order vessels sustained heavy damage and retreated. Reinforcements have since arrived, which keeps the battle interesting, but it is just a war of attrition at this point.” He rubbed his chin before adding, “One we will eventually lose.” He turned to me. “We have to win this battle on the ground.”
Grillick nodded solemnly. “That's where you come in, Nathan.” He placed his hand gently on my elbow. “Win the rebels and we can win this,” he urged.
“No pressure,” I grumbled. “No pressure at all.”
“I took the liberty of dropping off a suit in his room,” Cantrell said to Grillick. “Let's hope he doesn't piss himself in it.” He turned and left.
“Suit?”
“Come, let's go get it,” Grillick said, motioning me toward the door.
“I hope it's not a suit to wear to my funeral,” I grumbled and followed him out the door.
Inside my room, draped over the bed, was a suit of black armor similar to that which Cantrell's mercenaries wore. Holstered next to it was a black handgun similar to those I saw them carrying that day on Gorganna. The helmet was sitting on my desk. I went over to the bed and picked it up, surprised at how light it was. Despite being constructed of a material similar to Kevlar, the suit weighed about the same as a business suit. The suit was inlaid with narrow, clear fiberglass tubes, with a faint blue coating weaved into the material. I held the suit up and examined myself in the reflection of the window as if I was being fitted for a new tuxedo.
“Go try it on,” he said. “But be quick about it, we are on a tight schedule.”
The suit was snug, but comfortable. It contoured around my body like a big glove, which allowed me the freedom to move with very little encumbrance. Dotting the neckline were several flat, copper-colored circles. “What are these?” I asked Grillick, pointing at the neckline.
“Think of the suit as a computer system,” he explained. “The helmet is your operating system and the suit is your hard drive. Go ahead and put it on.”
The helmet slid over my head effortlessly. A humming sound, similar to a telephone pole transformer, came from the helmet as soon as it connected to the copper dots. Several grids appeared in my peripheral line of vision and a jumbled mess of numbers started flashing all over my screen.
“Grillick, I need help!” I exclaimed. “Random numbers are appearing all over and they are mixed with some sort of grid network. I can't see a damned thing.”
“Relax! The system is booting up. The numbers are nothing more than the OmniTitan panel booting up. The clutter on the screen should subside shortly.”
As soon as he said that, the deluge of numbers vanished, leaving my room covered in a ghostly green hue. “Okay, it cleared up, but everything is green now.”
“Working as intended, my dear boy,” Grillick chirped.
He grabbed a turret from the bed and placed it in my hand. To the right of my screen, both numbers and letters, nothing more than gibberish, scrolled past before eventually coming to a stop. The words on my screen were now legible: Mobile Turret Model 175.001.
“Hey, that's pretty cool!” I exclaimed. I placed the turret on the bed and picked up the EMP soup can. After an initial storm of jumbled words and numbers, another identifier emerged: EMP Canister Model 75.323.
“We are short on time, so we have to make this quick.” Grillick removed the handgun from the holster, pointed it at my chest and fired.
The impact caused me to vomit all the air from my lungs and propelled me backwards into the wall. My chest felt like it had been run over by a freight train. Data scrolled across my screen furiously. Impact event detected 2.3 inches below left pectoral region. Armor reinforcement protocol initiatives engaged. Structural integrity remains intact.
“What the hell did you do that for?” I wheezed as I stood up on legs that felt like tubes of Jello. “You could have killed me!”
“You were fine,” he scoffed. He waved me off like a bothersome fly. “The front of the suit is designed to withstand high velocity impact speeds up to fifty-five hundred feet per second, which falls toward the higher spectrum regarding ballistics. The suit is somewhat weaker in the back, only able to withstand speeds up to three thousand feet per second.”
I removed the helmet and scowled. “Somehow that doesn't make me feel any better about the fact that you shot me.”
Grillick ran his hand over the impact spot. “I do admit, I was worried that the integrity of the suit had been compromised,” he muttered.
I raised my eyebrows. “And what if it was?” My concern level hovered slightly above RED ALERT status.
“If that was the case then the shuttle heading to Gliese would be one man short,” he replied casually, as if he just told me he was taking a walk to the corner store.
I decided to move away from the conversation for the sake of my sanity. I shoved the helmet on and collected my things. “Are we ready to go?” I grumbled.
Grillick nodded and his expression turned serious. He ran his hand through his beard and scratched violently—a sign of agitation I had seen several times before. This mission was eating at him, I thought gravely. He turned and I followed him to the shuttle bay. When we arrived, Cantrell was circling the shuttle, inspecting it. Unlike the other shuttles, this one was designed differently. Instead of looking like a school bus reject, Grillick's special shuttle was aerodynamically designed. The main portion of the shuttle was flanked by two oversized globes serving as its wings. The overall size of the shuttle was no bigger than a tractor-trailer and I wondered if it could hold the ten of us. I walked up to one of the globes and ran my hand across its surface. The surface of the wing had several small holes and felt more like fiberglass.
“It's constructed of mithrantium,” Grillick boasted.
“Mithrantium?” I echoed.
“It's a mineral that has been located on only one planet in the known universe so far,” explained Grillick. “The material is mined underneath the lava lakes on Charr. It is a pain to acquire, and quite expensive, which is one of the many reasons I only have one shuttle at the moment. What very few people know, however, is how well mithrantium conducts the energy required to power the cloaking device.”
“Charr?” I said thoughtfully, rubbing my chin. Charr, the birthplace of Calypso. The coincidence between the two created an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach, like some coincidental omen regarding upcoming events.
“Enough gabbing,” grumbled Cantrell. “Let's get this show on the road.” He stepped up on
the boarding ramp and waved his hands impatiently when I didn't move. “Come on, let's GO!”
I stepped onto the boarding ramp, but was stopped when Grillick grabbed my elbow. “Good luck.” He wore a crooked smile, but his eyes hid another emotion. Could it be sadness? Regret for sending us on a potential suicide mission?
“Thanks.” It was a weak response, but it was the only thing I could think of at the time.
I stepped aboard the shuttle and grabbed the closest empty seat. The inside of the shuttle was roomier than the outside appeared. I sat next to a tall, slender female mercenary with long, violet hair, and green, leathery skin. Her eyes were fixed with such a cold look that I could have sworn it was snowing on my shoulder. She tightened her grip on the helmet in her lap and leaned in toward me as soon as I sat down.
“What's your name kid?” she hissed. Her voice reminded me of steam escaping a tea pot.
“Nathan,” I replied firmly. I refused to show any outward signs of nervousness in front of Cantrell's mercenaries. Despite my outward appearance, I felt uncomfortable sitting next to her. Her breath smelled like cabbage boiled in urine.
She leaned back in her seat and spared me from any further tokes on her sour breath. “Good,” she purred. “I like to know the names of the people I have to bury.”
This should be a fun trip, I thought. The door to the shuttle closed and Cantrell took the controls. Before he could take off, the ship was rocked by an explosion. I was in the middle of buckling my seatbelt when the impact propelled me forward out of my seat. I smashed my forehead into a nearby console and watched stars crowd my vision.
“What the hell is going on out there?” Cantrell screamed into the radio.