Syndicate Wars: The Resistance (Seppukarian Book 2)

by Kyle Noe

  Quinn kicked at Renner’s boots. Renner roused, but didn’t initially wake.

  “Alien anal probes!” Quinn shouted.

  Renner bolted upright, terrified, eyes darting left and right. The other Marines witnessed this and started laughing. Quinn smiled, reached a hand down and pulled Renner up. The little man didn’t respond, he was too busy gesturing across the room where Marin stood.

  “Good morning, Marines,” Marin said.

  Murmurs in response from Quinn and the others.

  “You’ve had a difficult week. A new environment, new rules, and combat conditions as a result of two operations.”

  “You’re telling us,” Renner replied.

  “Your bodies are sore, your muscles fatigued,” Marin said. “It is time to restore them.”

  The Marines were led down into an anteroom of the mother ship to a spa-like area serviced by machines and lifelike drones. There were long, metal tables and clear vessels filled with multi-hued liquids and gels and an assortment of electronic machines and chairs that hummed and buzzed.

  “Welcome to the reconditioning room,” Marin cooed.

  Marin showed everyone to a long, recumbent chair. Positioned across the chair was a black compression suit in the shape of a human body. The suit was studded with flexible pads that covered the major muscles areas, limbs, hips, buttocks, and spine.

  “What the hell is that?” Quinn asked.

  “It’s our EMS machine,” Marin replied.

  Renner cocked his head. “Emergency medical shit?”

  Marin shook her head. “No, electrical muscle stimulation. That suit will give you the best workout you’ve ever had in your life.”

  “Yeah, no offense, Martin,” Renner said, mispronouncing the envoy’s name, “but me and the boys will stick to the lifting of heavy iron.”

  Renner slapped palms with Hayden. Marin grabbed the suit and tossed it to Renner.

  “See if you can last ten seconds.”

  Renner held the suit up. “What’s this thing run on?”

  “It’s powered and controlled by a form of A.I. that calibrates to your body’s specific needs.”

  “Sweet,” Renner said, winking at Marin. “That used to be my nickname. A.I. ‘Cause I’m artificially intelligent.”

  “Ten seconds,” Marin replied, stone-faced and ignoring the half-hearted joke.

  Renner shrugged on the suit. Marin nodded to one of the drones that moved over and misted the pads on the suit with a spray bottle.

  “What does that do?” Quinn asked.

  “Helps to better conduct the high voltage,” Marin replied.

  Renner’s head snapped back. “Whoa. High what?”

  Marin moved over, past the wires that snaked from the pads to a standing console overflowing with knobs and levers. She flipped a switch and floated one of the dials, and Renner reacted as if he’d been electrocuted.

  “What the fuck?!” he screamed.

  The other Marines laughed as Renner fell to the ground, the muscles of his body contracting, his body wracked by spasms.

  Marin flipped the switch, and the machine powered down. She moved over and peered down at Renner who lay limply on the ground at her feet.

  “You’ve just experienced the equivalent of two weeks of heavy lifting and recovery in seven seconds. In short, your body has undergone a profound burst of muscle hypertrophy. You can expect a rapid gain in lean muscle mass within a matter of days.”

  “So… I’m gonna get bigger?” Renner asked, weakly.

  “Everything one of those pads touches will grow larger,” Marin replied, with a condescending nod.

  Renner reached a still-trembling hand down and moved one of the pads from his thigh to his crotch. The other Marines howled with laughter as Marin groaned and turned away.

  Thirty minutes later, Quinn had endured ten minutes in the EMS suit, and her body was warm, her muscles and tendons toned beyond measure. Every fiber in her body felt like it had endured the ordeal of a marathon, yet she somehow felt refreshed.

  Quinn eased across the room, beyond the purview of the other Marines. She was about to enter what passed for a restroom when there was a nearly imperceptible clicking sound. Her eyes jitterbugged and she spotted what she thought was a moth. The insect was no bigger than her thumb, its gossamer wings holding aloft a body that was pewter-colored, the thing’s nearly translucent wings beating the air.

  It was only after the insect turned that Quinn caught sight of a bit of metal on its underside. It wasn’t a moth at all. In fact, it was unnatural, a creation, a drone of some kind.

  She immediately thought it might be a Syndicate spy, but then the drone fluttered near her right ear, and its tiny mouth distended. It whispered a message in an electronic tone. “Meet Cody in the lab as quickly as possible,” the little bug said.

  Before she could react, the drone self-destructed, crumbling apart, the segments of its body turning to fine dust before they hit the ground. She looked back and up, and could tell that none of the others, including Marin, had witnessed what had just happened.

  Quinn was able to slip away unnoticed and moved with ease down through an inner hallway in the command ship that she believed was less traveled—and less overseen—than other corridors. She took several intentional detours to make sure she wasn’t being tailed, and then slipped up a rear stairwell and entered the lab.

  Cody stopped over one of the tables, the lab still showing signs of the earlier struggle and explosion.

  “Close the door,” Cody said.

  Quinn slapped the button to lower the entry hatch, and Cody strode past her and checked to make sure it was locked. Then, he powered up a series of white-noise devices and motioned for Quinn to draw near.

  “Did you like my little messenger?”

  “The drone?”

  Cody nodded. “I made it out of spare parts from an old air handler.”

  “You’re a genius, Cody,” she said, which caused him to blush.

  Cody ran a hand through his unruly locks and then tapped his face, a tick, before placing a hand on Quinn’s shoulder as if to steady himself.

  “I know what it is,” Cody whispered, his eyes glittering like the ends on a pair of knives.

  “What?”

  “The message, Quinn. The one that was sent back.”

  He turned as if the conversation was over, and he needed to get back to work, but Quinn grabbed his shoulder.

  “You called for me. Now, what the hell is it?”

  “It’s… I can’t believe what it is.”

  “Jesus, Cody, don’t keep me in suspense—”

  “You’re right—yes—of course, you’re right. Okay, so here it is. They, somebody, sent back a message, a way to disable the implants the Syndicate placed in our bodies.”

  Quinn grinned hugely. “That’s fantastic news!”

  She reached over and hugged Cody whose smile slipped away.

  “What? What is it, Cody?”

  “Well, there’s kinda a problem as to how the disabling occurs.”

  Quinn drew back. “Whatever it is—”

  “Well, see, there’s the whole thing about what happens to the person with the implant as it’s being disabled—”

  “Spit it out!”

  “It’s easier if I show you,” he said.

  He motioned for her to follow, and she watched as he powered up several MRI-like devices. One showed a scan of the human anatomy. There were several large, white dots at strategic places in the anatomy, in the neck, at the back of the brain, near several major organs.

  “The implants have been placed at strategic points in the body.”

  “Didn’t we already know that?”

  Cody nodded.

  “What we—I—didn’t know, but do now, thanks to the message, is that the technology is somehow tethered to electrical impulses in the heart and brain.”

  “That’s why we’re unable to use it against the Syndicate.”

  “Exactly!”

/>   He turned to Quinn, ultra-serious. “But what happens, Quinn, if those signals ceased to exist?”

  “The technology shuts down?” she asked.

  Cody beamed. “I was right! I knew you’d be the one to get this!”

  Quinn’s face went wooden. “But how the hell can we stop the signals?”

  “Oh, that’s easy. The user has to die,” Cody said, off-handedly.

  “Excuse me.”

  Cody turned back Quinn. “Yeah, so if the signal ends, there’s a bug in the technology. If the user is clinically dead, the tech tries to reboot, and there’s this period of time—ten, sometimes eleven seconds—where it doesn’t function. I’ve found a way to reroute the signals during those eleven seconds so that the implants are rendered inoperable. Basically, I’ve found a way around the Syndicate’s technology!”

  Cody held up a hand for Quinn to high-five. His eyebrows arched in surprise when she didn’t. “Did you hear what I said, Quinn?”

  “Yep.”

  “So, what’s the problem?”

  “Well, one thing in particular.”

  “Okay,” he replied, waiting on baited breath.

  “I’m focusing mostly on your mention of clinical death.”

  “Oh, that.” He kept his eyes downcast for a few heartbeats and then looked up. “What I meant by that was, the user is going to have to die. You… would have to die.”

  “What?”

  “You know, dying, end of life, crossing over—”

  “I’m a Marine, Cody. I’m familiar with the concept of death.”

  He grinned crookedly. “At the end of the day, I see it as really a very minor thing,” he offered.

  “Actually, death’s a pretty fucking significant thing.”

  He tapped his forehead. “Yeah, that’s what I thought at first and then it struck me.”

  He reached in a pocket and pulled out a syringe. Quinn had seen the syringe before and used it on Renner. It was the drug Cody called Lazarus.

  “I’ve got the power over life and death,” he said. “Maybe only one or two times, sure. This thing was meant to revive Syndicate soldiers and Marines on the battlefield to give the Syndicate an edge. But they never could have imagined how we could use it against them.”

  “You’re serious?”

  “As a fire at an orphanage, baby.”

  She thought about this for several seconds. Cody was animated, excited, moving back and forth on the balls of his feet.

  “So, what do you think?” he asked.

  “I think you should go fuck yourself.”

  “What?”

  “Preferably sideways.”

  “Oh, jeez, what is it? The whole dying thing? Cause I’ll totally bring you back from the dead.”

  “Do you have the ability to hear the words you speak?”

  “I swear to God, I’ll resurrect you.”

  Quinn pointed at the syringe. “Do you even know what’s in that?”

  “The Syndicate created it. It’s a… death antagonist.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “I know it’s made from a kind of plasma unique to the umbilical cords of a certain alien species called Kozma. There’s a protein in it called TIMp3 that’s responsible for what it does.”

  “Did you just make that up?”

  “Would you know if I did?”

  “Kiss my ass, Cody.”

  She pivoted, and he grabbed her arm.

  “This is the only way, Quinn. This may be our last, best chance to not only get out of here, but save the world.”

  She considered this.

  “I mean, all of us have things we want to go back to, but you, in particular, you’ve got a little girl, right?”

  “Wow, so you’re bringing her into this—”

  “I’m just saying that sometimes you’ve got to take a chance. You’ve taken one step. I’m just asking you to take another. I need to find out if my theory works.”

  “You need a goddamn guinea pig?”

  He nodded. Her eyes found the syringe that was still in Cody’s hand, and a shiver meandered up over the back of her neck.

  “I’ll think about it,” she whispered.

  He opened his mouth, but she silenced him with a look. Quinn began to leave the lab, but Cody hurried in front of her, though. “At the very least, do me a favor and take this,” Cody said.

  He slapped a small object in her hand. It was an old-school Pez dispenser in the shape of Yoda from Star Wars. Quinn turned it over and saw that the internal candy chute had been replaced by what looked like a small battery and a cluster of minute wires.

  “I’ve discovered that the Syndicate eavesdrops via some kind of isotropic beacon.”

  “I have no idea what you just said.”

  He pointed to the Pez dispenser.

  “Bottom line is this, if anyone is snooping on you, that thing will let you know. Keep it close.”

  She stared at the dispenser, and Cody touched her hand.

  “Trust me on this, Quinn.”

  7

  ALIVE

  After introductions, Hawkins helped Samantha and Eli up into the matte-black trucks they’d concealed at the edge of a rural ghost road. There were four trucks in all, enough to house eighteen resistance fighters who climbed aboard. Samantha and Eli showed the fighters to the location where they’d concealed the alien weaponry. There was only enough room to slide a few objects onto the trucks, including what looked like several alien munitions, metallic canisters filigreed with strange markings. Once this was done, the trucks drove off into the night, headlights off.

  Hawkins sat in the bed of one of the trucks, across from Samantha and Eli. He’d seen pictures of Samantha before, but they didn’t really do her justice. She was the spitting image of her mother, even down to the way her eyes were feline-like when she was pissed. He knew she was grateful, at the moment, for being saved, but likely still wary of the resistance, especially after what had happened in Las Vegas.

  He and the other resistance fighters had been following her since they picked up her trail near the Colorado border. She’d been in Vegas before with a motley group of irregulars, hicks mostly, hayseeds from the Midwest, men and women who just liked to shoot guns. This was in the days when order was still being established when there was a loose confederation of fighters in the city’s surrounding suburbs who ruled over everything like Medieval warlords.

  Hawkins and the others, including a Marine named Giovanni, had established some semblance of centralized control. They’d arranged meetings and convinced the tribal forces to agree to fight under the banner of the resistance. There’d been some setbacks, particularly during several Syndicate bombing raids, and some of the fighters had left to return home, but those that remained became a crack fighting force. Samantha and some of the younger fighters had been corralled in a resistance safe house in the city until central command could decide what to do with them. Samantha had eventually decided to bail, and Giovanni had ordered Hawkins and his small team to track her down.

  “How did you find me?” Samantha asked.

  “How could I not? I heard the stories about a thirteen-year-old girl—”

  “Twelve.”

  “Twelve-year-old girl who was kicking butt and taking names, and I had to learn more.”

  “Actually with all the butt kicking she’s too busy to take any names,” Eli said.

  Hawkins grinned. “Heard you were with some other resistance units for a hot minute.”

  Samantha nodded.

  “Why’d you bail on them?”

  “I got bored and wasn’t learning anything anymore,” she said. “Plus, there was nobody really in charge, and we were getting hammered, and I didn’t want to die on somebody else’s terms, so I decided to take the first bus out of town.”

  “And?”

  “And we got hit again… and again.”

  “The enemy is incredibly persistent,” Hawkins replied.

  “Where’s my mother
?” Samantha asked.

  Hawkins considered how best to respond to this.

  “There’s a fighter who sent me to get you,” Hawkins said. “Giovanni’s his name. A Marine. He served with your mother.”

  “No offense, Mister Hawkins, but that wasn’t particularly responsive.”

  “So, here’s the quick and dirty. Your mother was taken up and away,” he replied, eyes shifting heavenward. “Along with the rest of her unit. Giovanni was the only one who escaped. He joined the resistance and is leading key elements that are centered in Las Vegas now.”

  The color drained from Samantha’s face. She was grateful to hear that her mother might still be alive, but still had so many questions to ask. “Why was she taken?”

  “I don’t know, but the last evidence we had suggested that she was alive. We’ve received some intel from an area around New Mexico where your mother was apparently fighting.”

  “Fighting?”

  Hawkins nodded, his eyes lowering.

  “You’re not gonna like this, but by all accounts, she’s fighting for the Syndicate now.”

  Samantha looked up, eyes squinted.

  “Bullshit.”

  “Hey! What’d I tell you about the language!” Eli shouted.

  “It’s true,” replied Hawkins. “I have no idea whether she’s doing it willingly, or has been somehow forced or manipulated. I can show you some footage if you don’t believe me.”

  Samantha took a liking to her boots.

  Eli spotted the unease and tried to change the subject. “So, where are we going?” Eli asked.

  Hawkins smiled warmly.

  “Somewhere safe.”

  Samantha eased her alien pistol out of a pocket and flashed it at Hawkins.

  “I found this in a glider,” she said.

  “That’s how they found you,” he replied.

  “Should I toss it?

  Hawkins shook his head and smiled. “Not yet. We might need it.”

  8

  A SECOND FAMILY

  Doing her best to put aside thoughts of what Cody had told her, Quinn slipped into the mess hall and fell into line with Renner and Milo. The Marines were moving single-file down what passed for a Syndicate buffet line. Quinn was surprised at the quality of food supplied by the aliens, including fruit and vegetables that Marin said were grown hydroponically on the command ship.