Reapers: The Shadow Soldiers

by Josh Collins

  The man continued speaking. “At first we thought it was only Rhett who was apprehensive about the armor. This Doctor Hans guy though? He seems to be on a one-man warpath against the project.” Burns looked back up at the snub-nosed man and wondered what made the doctor so vehemently opposed. Most of the others scientists here were totally emotionless and worked solely on logic; they wouldn’t care if the project ended in loss of life.

  Rhett’s pleading continued, this time with Index joining in. “Doctor Hans, we talked about this,” she appealed to him. He shook his head and stayed turned away in the corner.

  “I can’t. I thought I could, but I can’t,” he maintained. “Too many people died last time, and I promised never to let that happen again.” Rhett shook his head and made his way over to Hans.

  “I understand. I understand more than I want to. What happened to all of them was horrible. I didn’t want to see this project dug up again either, yet I am going through with it. More people will die if we don’t. That’s not a risk we can take, Hans,” Rhett pleaded.

  The doctor’s shoulders seemed to loosen a bit as he looked toward Rhett.

  “You were always the most conscientious, Marc,” he said, turning around slightly. “If I do this though, I’m not going to load the advanced algorithms. Only the core stuff—the rest will stay hidden in the background where it’s safe,” he told him.

  “That’s all we ask,” Rhett ensured.

  Feeling comfortable again, Hans returned to his seat. He looked around the room carefully and then moaned a little.

  “I have an awfully bad feeling about this, Marc,” he grumbled. Index leaned down next to him.

  “Remember the other part of our discussion?” she let on. Hans shook his head silently. “Right,” she continued. “So, do this for us and we’ll see about getting you off this facility.” The man looked back at Rhett.

  “What about Marc? Does he get to leave too?” he asked. Index looked somberly up at Rhett.

  “Yeah,” she confirmed, “he gets to leave too.” Burns figured it was a lie, but the doctor believed it. Hans motioned back and then turned to the monitors. Taking a deep breath, he began typing away, loading in all of the core functions of the armor. Meanwhile, Index had picked up a spare set of dark gray fatigues off a table nearby and walked over to Burns.

  “Put these on,” she told him, handing them over to him. He grabbed them and then looked at them. This was it. He took a deep breath and began to change.

  Removing his button-up shirt, he noticed his teammates seemed to hesitantly leer at the large scar down his chest. Perhaps for the first time, they were realizing that he’d done this sort of thing before. He’d forgotten it himself, but he was a warrior through and through.

  Covering up the injury, he zipped the fatigues to his neckline. He then replaced his olive pants and spare boots with the dark gray ones handed to him.

  Burns then got a notification from Doctor Hans that the armor was prepped and ready. He nodded back and motioned for his team to proceed to the armor gantry.

  Stepping up to the platform from its backside, he placed his boots into firm straps atop the platform. Grabbing the gauntlet handles, he looked to his right and saw Brosi. The man exhaled loudly, seeming nervous. He then saw Burns looking at him and tried to hide his apprehension. Burns gave him a reassuring nod. He wasn’t sure if they were going to survive this, but worrying about it wouldn’t help.

  Index then motioned to Doctor Hans, and he proceeded to push more buttons on his keyboard. Suddenly, the framework began to move as several cranes and drills rotated around the platform.

  First, black gloves were strapped on above the sleeves of the fatigues. They seemed to be a non-metal material, but had technology built into them.

  Next, the gantry began to place and drill in the plates of armor around the boots and up to the knees. The machine had also begun to place the small bicep plates.

  The machine went to the chest piece after that. It first scanned, then positioned the front, then scanned and positioned the back, before drilling both into place.

  Burns then let go of the gauntlet handles as they pulled away. He moved around in place. The armor had added a little weight but it was still extremely maneuverable.

  The gantry began to crank and shift once more as it grabbed the helmet and moved it down. He kept his head as still as possible as the machine slid the helmet over his head and into place. It hissed a little as it linked with the ducts atop the fatigues and pressure sealed.

  Suddenly, the simulated visor display program began to hover above the red view port. At first, it was an ensemble of various scrambled lines. Then, as it finished loading, the different interfaces began to appear.

  This build only included a crude map of Silverset in the bottom right corner, communication connectivity in the bottom left corner, and a series of lines at the top that told Burns if someone was behind him. Other functions seemed to be hidden away for the moment or were not loaded at all.

  Stepping off the platform, Burns made his way to the center of the room. The others did the same and soon they were all standing together, suited up and ready. Index looked amazed. The armor made them seem unstoppable. The scowling red visor made them seem nightmarish. Indeed, the United Liberty Collective had no idea who was coming for them.

  As Index gathered herself, she led the newly armored team out of the armory and down to the hanger.

  Despite the alien designs of many of the craft kept in the hanger, Burns felt like his team was the most unfamiliar thing there. Every single white-suited worker seemed to glare at them as they passed.

  They were an icon—a symbol of the Dominion. He had to admit, this was a big change. A few days ago, he couldn’t get anyone to look at him, much less respect him. Now, it was the exact opposite. He just hoped he was the man for the job. The others may have trusted him, but he was still apprehensive.

  Joining Index on their bulky subspace capable transport, Burns sat and awaited deployment. For better or worse, they were about to find out if the Colonel was more than just a figment of Control’s imagination.

  FRACTURED PAST: PART II

  Fort Hermara, Mardius, 20 years and 2 standard months prior

  The situation on Mardius was bad. The Dominion and the Mardian loyalists had dealt decisive blows against the Resistance and so the bushwhackers were lashing out in a vain, final offensive. Every day hundreds of Dominion soldiers were cut down. The medical tents at Fort Hermara had become a bustling hive of activity. It got so bad that they eventually ran out of beds and began laying men on the ground.

  This all meant that there was little room in the tent for Burns, who’d been recovering at a steady pace. Since Evelyn had been a compliant prisoner, the guards were okay with letting the two of them wander to a quieter area of the base and get some fresh air.

  This freedom did wonders for Burns’ recovery. He was glad to get away from the sickening smells of death inside the tent. At this point, nature was a better remedy than any bandage Evelyn could put on.

  Due to the severity of the Resistance’s attacks, the two were ordered to stay inside the confines of the Fort.

  Normally, this would have felt like a prison sentence, but Burns quickly found that it didn’t bother him. He could have been in the middle of a battlefield, and he’d enjoy it if Evelyn were there. She had a certain allure. It wasn’t just the graceful flow of her soft face; it was also something internal. Her morality. She was very different then the rest of the Dominion. The others only cared about money or power. Evelyn seemed to be the only person that genuinely cared about people.

  He looked over at her as her fiery-red hair was blown back by a gust of wind. He then noticed that she seemed hesitant to eat the packaged food they had been provided. With a smirk, Burns grabbed a few packets of sauce and dropped them near her crossed legs. She glanced at the packets of sauce and then looked up at him with a smile.

  “Thanks,”
she murmured. “That sauce is about the only thing that can make these rations even remotely edible,” she joked with a smile. Burns chuckled back at her as he poked his fork around in the mush. It was very true. The rations served at the Fort were horrendous.

  She continued to smile for a bit after that, which in turn made Burns smile. He hadn’t done that much in his life, but he couldn’t help it when he saw her. Even if she wasn’t around, just thinking about her made him smile. He’d spent nearly every hour of every day for two months with her, and nearly all of it he had been happy. He always felt warm, and it wasn’t just because Mardius was closer to its sun than other planets.

  He’d kept his feelings hidden for some time, not wanting to alarm her, but the freedom they were allowed today made it difficult to keep such passions down.

  “Stay with me,” he blurted out, suddenly feeling a little embarrassed. She squinted her eyes as she swallowed another bite of the meal.

  “I’m not leaving until you’re better,” she ensured, somewhat confused. He probably should have left it at that, but his adrenaline had started pumping, and he felt confident he could get her to see his side.

  “No, I mean after,” he clarified. “Talk to the Major, get your sentence reduced,” Burns urged her. She understood this time, and the idea caused her to shift around uncomfortably.

  “I can’t do that Ben. I disobeyed orders,” she maintained, staying true to herself. Burns looked at the sunbaked gravel and took a deep breath.

  “Yeah, but—” he paused, finding it difficult to express what was on his mind.

  “What?” she asked.

  “It’s just...after what happened, ” he stammered, trying to find the right words, “I guess...I’ve realized that things change fast. One moment, I’m thinking this planet is too hot, and the next I’m bleeding out with three holes in my chest. Nothing is for sure, and nothing lasts. So, why hold back?” he asked, pausing to see how she’d taken it. Her continued squinting didn’t give him much confidence. He meant what he said though—no holding back now. “Eve, you’re the only one who’s ever cared. The army won’t take me back; I’m never going to be able to fight again. Stay with me,” he begged with an unsure smile. This seemed to break her squint, and she slightly smiled at him.

  “Ben, I can’t,” she asserted, coming back to reality. “Your injury,” she began again, “it’s not just a physical one. That was a traumatic experience. You’ll recover, but it’ll take time. Just relax and try not to make any big decisions, okay?” she urged.

  “No,” he exclaimed, “this is how I truly feel. I know because I haven’t felt it before. You think this is a self-preservation thing? It’s not. I know what self-preservation looks like. I know what it feels like. I have lived my whole life trying to survive. This is not that. This is a genuine connection. I’ve never felt it before, and if you met my father, you’d know why. Trust me, Eve, this is the real deal. I know you feel the same,” he told her. She looked at the rough ground, sorting through her thoughts. This was uncharted territory for her, and she clearly wanted to make the right decision.

  “Maybe,” she murmured softly, and for a vague moment Burns thought he might have actually won her over. Then, suddenly, she became her normal self again. “But it’s complicated. I just...I can’t. People got hurt because I chose to pull you out. It looks bad, a romance between us. We have a connection, but it isn’t a reason to shirk my responsibilities. When it comes, I’m going to go to that military tribunal, and I’m not going to fight it. The moment we start making exceptions is the moment we stop doing what is right. I’m sorry, Ben, I know you understand.” She gave him a soft smile, then stood up and walked away, refusing to discuss it any further.

  He wanted desperately to follow, but he did not. She had saved him out of the goodness of her heart, and it was selfish to ask her to do any more than that. He was just glad she knew how he felt. He truly did love her. That was all that mattered.

  WESTERN DUCHESS

  If there was one thing Burns had forgotten about the military, it was that sub-space travel was a real treat.

  Entering a generated black hole, time became irrelevant until you exited. Sometimes it felt like you were stuck in a never-ending loop of painful strings, continuing on and on without any purpose or direction until you were suddenly, violently, sucked out and thrown back together. It was disorienting and nauseating.

  Luckily, the more you did it, the better you could cope with it. Most military personnel, especially those in the Invasion fleets, became exceptionally prepared for it. Civilians, however, had issues. Sub-space travel was not cleared for any civilian craft, not even interplanetary transports. As such, most were unprepared for its bite. This included Brosi, who had immediately collapsed to the floor the moment they exited the generated portal.

  “Whoa,” Rhett murmured, leaning forward in his seat to help Brosi, “not in your helmet, kid.” He was, of course, referencing the tendency people had of vomiting their first time through sub-space. In the Invasion Fleets, they used to call it “plug-bombing” due to the fact that every soldier was required to wear a re-breather mask during the jump.

  “I’m fine, I’m fine,” Brosi said defensively as he slid back into his seat. He didn’t seem to have vomited. More than likely, he’d talked himself out of it.

  The interaction had made Burns realize the mistake he’d made in sitting arrangements, though. Brosi was right next to Rhett. A good leader would be wise to remember the conflict the two had not more than an hour ago. He was feeling some of it now. Brosi seemed to be compensating for his weaknesses, and Rhett had realized it.

  “You don’t have to act tough for me, kid, I know how sub-space goes,” he assured calmly, much to Burns’ surprise. He had expected some sort of a comment on how it didn’t matter how tough you were. He had assumed Rhett cared much more about title than he actually did. So, it would seem it was only Burns who was still struggling to march along with the teamwork fife. Except for, maybe, Carmen.

  As the generated portal collapsed weakly behind them, the transport headed in view of a large, silver carrier below. The carrier was wide and deep, able to transport thousands of gunships and millions of men. Behind her plump front sat her fourteen propulsion engines. She may have been a portly lady, but she was as nimble and fast as any.

  The others might not have known it yet, but this carrier was a feared Deep Space Eliminator Cruiser. Her name was the Western Duchess, and she was the only ship to have escaped the first assault on Silverset.

  Dropping closer to the large cruiser, she opened her large bay doors and welcomed the transport to set down inside.

  As they descended, crewmen ran about with magnetized boots, guiding the pilot to a safe landing.

  Once they had touched down, the magnetized techs “locked” down the transport and cooled it off from its flight. Inside the transport, Burns and company waited patiently for the crewmen to do their jobs. Burns heard the ratcheting of the large bay doors closing. They would only have to wait for the artificial gravity to take hold now.

  It took a few minutes for the gravity to take hold, but soon Index was given a thumbs-up by the pilot, and the team was allowed to exit.

  Opening the hatch, the four armored soldiers led by Index stepped onto the open tarmac of the Duchess. Much like the hanger of the Syncopate, the hustle and bustle was familiar to Burns. He actually felt a little at home here.

  The group was then greeted by a regal looking man with a mustache. He was dressed in a dark gray officer uniform, which was adorned with plenty of ceremonial ropes and ribbons.

  “Welcome aboard,” he greeted as Index headed to the front of the group.

  “Good to see you again, Fleet Admiral,” she told him as she shook his hand. He bowed his head, silently concurring.

  Returning to business, Index turned and motioned to Burns. “Colonel Ben Burns,” she introduced as she turned back to the Fleet Admiral, “this is Fleet Admiral James
Partinger.” Partinger offered his hand once more, and Burns felt obliged to shake it.

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance,” the man greeted.

  “Pleasure’s mine, sir,” Burns returned quickly, wanting to skip the formalities and get to the job he was tasked.

  “Right,” Index began promptly, “I assume you’ve received the dropship,” she said. Partinger bowed his head again.

  “Ah, yes,” he assured. “My men have been tending to it for days now. It’s in the east launch bay, awaiting deployment.” Index gave him a confirming look as she motioned to the others to follow. The four armored soldiers quickly fell into ranks.

  The cruiser halls were an active mass of crewmen running from port to port. Burns couldn’t imagine what they’d been through, having survived the first assault on Silverset and seen the rest of the Eliminator cruisers struck down. It would have been enough to make the most devoted Dominion soldier surrender.

  These cruisers were the pride of the Dominion military, the image of everything they stood for. The ULC didn’t only stop an invasion, they kicked the air out of the entire military. Stopping the ULC now wasn’t just for justice—no, it was personal.

  The crewmen had the look of veiled disgust. They were trying to keep it under wraps, but Burns knew how they felt. This whole ship wanted nothing more than to land on Silverset and give the Collective everything that was coming to them.

  Though the Fleet Admiral seemed to be above the resentment. It was probably a good thing; communal hate without clear leadership never ended well.

  More than just a clear head, Burns assumed that Partinger was a cunning tactician, a steely man full of resolve. Having survived the ambush and remained composed, it seemed fitting that he was second in the navy only to the Grand Admiral. Without having communicated, Brosi seemed to agree with Burns on this point.

  “It’s a good thing we have this cruiser left, with such a capable Admiral,” he stated. Index had fallen back from Partinger’s side and joined the group.