Oblivion: The Complete Series (Books 1-9)

by Joshua James

  Ben couldn’t hold it back anymore. A strong man, he’d told himself he would stay composed, and had up to that point. But seeing that shell of a woman that used to be his mother in person, up close, he began to cry. All he wanted, the only thing in the entire world he desired, was for her to wake up, to hold him, to kiss him on his forehead and tell him that everything would be okay.

  With his metallic arm, Ben reached back into a bag strapped to the back of his wheelchair. From it, he grabbed a stuffed bear. It was the same stuffed bear his father had won for him at the shore.

  Ben lifted one of his mother’s arms up. It felt heavy. He placed the stuffed animal under it, then gently let it down.

  After leaning over to kiss his mother on the forehead, Ben made sure to tell her: “I love you. And I swear to God that I’ll find who did this to you … and I’ll make this right.”

  Sixteen

  Ben

  “I’m afraid I’m not following, son,” said Admiral Chevenko. He took a sip of his drink. He, Ben, and a handful of the funeral attendees were at a small post-wake gathering.

  “The Atlas. Its mission, sir. It…they’re in danger.” Ben was a little tipsy, but still had full control of his faculties.

  “Danger? From who?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Forgive me, but I’m having trouble here. You say they’re in danger, but you can’t tell me how. You say that they’re walking into a trap, but don’t know why or where or from whom. I’m sure you know why I find this hard to take seriously.” Admiral Chevenko was only half paying attention to Ben. As they talked, he looked around the room, seeing who else was there.

  “The Oblivion cult. How much do you know about them, sir?” Ben tried his best to keep his frustration at bay, which was hard. Not only was he understandably emotional, but his pain meds didn’t help his case.

  “A bunch of crazies believe in nothingness or something and carry out cowardly terrorist attacks to get attention. How much more is there to know?”

  “I’ve talked to a few,” Ben said. “They don’t worship nothingness. They believe in a force. Something like gods who live in the abyss or the dark reaches of unexplored space.” He shrugged. “Aliens, sir.”

  “Aliens?” said Admiral Chevenko dismissively. “Don’t you think we would’ve run into them by now?”

  “I know it’s hard to believe, sir, but I have reason to believe that their aliens exist—or at least, something otherwordly. And the Atlas may be flying directly into a trap set by the Oblivion on behalf of these aliens. We need to warn them. My father is on that ship. Your daughter is, too!”

  “I see. And you have proof of this alleged plot?” asked Chevenko, who finally paid Ben the common courtesy of his full attention, if only for a few seconds.

  “I…”

  Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. As I was on my way to a mag-rail train, a crazy homeless cult member stopped me and gave me a hyperdrive that contained all the proof you need. It’s only the small matter of a nurse drugging me and taking the hyperdrive, which means I have absolutely no proof, that makes me hesitate.

  “No. Nothing solid, but if you give me a chance I can—”

  Admiral Chevenko put his heavy, chubby hand on Ben’s shoulder. “I think you need some rest. We’re going to put you on medical leave until you have some time to heal, mentally and physically. Get your life back in order. After you do, the Navy will welcome you back with open arms. Then we can take another look at your theory about the Oblivion. I respect your father, your mother, your family. And I look forward to having you back to continue your legacy.”

  The anger and frustration within Ben boiled over. He knew that what he was saying to the admiral sounded over the top and frankly unbelievable, but he hoped that a man who claimed to be his father’s friend would at least seriously hear him out. Especially when his father, his crew, and the most expensive advanced ship in UEF history were at stake.

  “Don’t bother.”

  Admiral Chevenko was about to walk away, and looked back at Ben. “Don’t bother with what?”

  “I’m done. Sir. Consider this my resignation.”

  I’m done fighting for those who won’t fight for me.

  Ben walked out of the church, ignoring the well-wishes of several others as he went. He threw the wheelchair in a bush at the front of the church, spat on it for good measure, and limped his way home.

  As it turned out, just telling an admiral he quit didn’t actually make it so. But after several more days of mandated psych visits and plenty of pushback, the combination of his injuries and his mental state were enough to get him an honorable discharge.

  Two weeks passed. Of those fourteen days, Ben spent fourteen of them in a bar. On a particularly stormy Annapolis night, he found himself in a frowsy dive in the lower levels of the megacity.

  “This is Paige Walker with WCNN News Annapolis, and we have breaking news regarding the Atlas…” Ben heard a newscaster’s voice in his HUD. At first he ignored it, and worked on his double shot of whiskey.

  Now out of his wheelchair, Ben was free to roam wherever he wanted. But without a job, having cut himself off from all his friends, he used his newfound mobility to explore the slums, getting into as much trouble as he could find.

  When in the Navy, Ben had kept his clothes crisp and wrinkle-free. Now he rarely changed his baggy pants and stained shirt. His hair began to grow out. He hadn’t shaved since the funeral. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken a shower.

  “...has gone missing. The UEF has strenuously denied that claim and said that communication has continued through secondary means while the cause of the primary malfunction is under review. But according to anonymous sources inside the program, no one has been able to get in contact with the state-of-the-art ship. As previously reported, the Atlas disembarked two weeks ago, bound for the AIC capital planet of Vassar-1 on a historic mission meant to negotiate a peace between the two governments…” Paige Walker from WCCN Annapolis kept talking in Ben’s ear.

  Ben downed the rest of his whiskey. After his failure to convince Chevenko of the Oblivion’s plot, he’d gone to other friends and colleagues in the military. None of them had believed him, so he’d gone to the papers. They didn’t believe him, so he turned to the bottle.

  “HUD off,” ordered Ben. “Bartender!”

  A holograph of a bartender with a handlebar mustache and a bowtie appeared behind the bar in front of Ben. Seeing that he wasn’t in the most reputable of establishments, the image flickered on and off.

  “Wh-wh-a-a-t can I get y-y-y-you, sir?” The holographic bartender’s audio stuttered, as its projector barely still functioned.

  “Give me another,” ordered Ben.

  “S-sure thing, s-s-s-s-sir.” Above the bar was a series of rails. On one were glasses lined up to be vended out to customers. On the other were upside-down bottles of liquor waiting to be dispensed. A bottle of whiskey was lowered down, the cap opened, and Ben was poured a drink.

  “I got that,” Ben heard a familiar woman’s voice next to him say. “His drink’s on me.”

  Ben turned to look at her. Something about her features looked familiar. But the voice. He knew that voice.

  Then it hit him. This was the nurse who’d drugged him at the hospital.

  “You,” he stammered.

  She looked completely different than she had in the hospital. Her hair was completely shaved off; both sides of her head, as well as her arms and legs, were covered in tattoos. She wore a lot of jewelry, which looked mostly homemade. And she had eye implants, made obvious by the fact that her irises whizzed and whirred like cameras focusing. She must have been wearing lens covers before. They wouldn’t fool anyone for long, but he’d only seen her for a moment while he was in distress in the hospital.

  She smiled. “Aw, shucks, you remember me.”

  Seventeen

  Ben

  “You drugged me,” he stammered. He started to slide off his chair, but
she gently yet firmly pushed him back on it. He was way too drunk for this now. “And took the hyperdrive.”

  “Take it easy,” she said, flashing the handle of a pocket pistol on her belt. “If you’re a good boy, I’m going to give it back to you. But if you make a scene, I’m going to walk out of here and you’ll never see me again.”

  “Is that right?”

  “It is.”

  “So who the hell are you?” asked Ben, his voice slurred. “Not a damn nurse.”

  “I’m a lot of things. My name is Morgan. Nice to meet you, Ben Saito.” Morgan held out her gloved hand for Ben to shake.

  Ben stared at her hand. Slowly, he took it. She had a surprisingly firm handshake. “Ben Saito.”

  Morgan raised one eyebrow. “Yeah, I know.”

  “Not a real rocket scientist,” Ben heard a deep, gruff man’s voice from the other side of him. “But a hell of a drinker. We’ve tailed you to every bar in town.”

  Ben swung around on his bar stool, then immediately regretted it as the world kept spinning. He closed his eyes, waited a full second, then opened them. He was greeted by the unpleasant sight of a man with long, dreaded grey hair. Half of the man’s face was heavily scarred, as if from severe burns. His black beard was patchy and grew around the scars. Two intensely blue eyes stared at Ben, unimpressed.

  “What do you think, Ace?” asked Morgan.

  “I think he’s ready to listen,” answered the scarred man.

  “Wait…your name is Ace?” Ben laughed so hard he actually almost fell back off his stool. “So, so, let me get this straight. Your parents named you Ace? On your birth certificate it reads, what, Ace Johnson?”

  “Glad you find that so entertaining. And no, my last name is Mendholson.”

  Ben couldn’t take it. This time he did laugh so hard he fell off his stool. Using his metal arm, he pushed himself up off the wet, filthy bar floor, then sat back down on his stool.

  “Well, that was embarrassing,” he said.

  “No kidding.” Morgan was not amused.

  “Okay, Ace,” Ben slurred. “What do you really want? I’m assuming you were in on what happened at the hospital.”

  Ace nodded and glanced around the bar. He took the seat on the other side of Ben and laid a huge blaster up on the bar. “We know all about the Oblivion. We’ve seen what’s on that hyperdrive, too.” He nodded darkly at his friend. “Those schematics of the Atlas are just the tip of what’s coming. Whatever attack they have planned on the Atlas, it’s the first phase of … something larger.”

  Ben stared at them. “You know, don’t you? About the … about those shapeshifter things,” he whispered.

  Ace and Morgan shared a knowing glance. “We do.”

  “So you know what the end game here is, right?” He finally had two people to whom he could say what he’d been thinking for two weeks and not sound like a madman. “It’s an alien invasion.”

  Ace rubbed his chin.

  “I think we should just cut to the chase,” Morgan said.

  Ace nodded, as if he’d come to the same conclusion. “Here’s the thing, Ben. We were tailing the Oblivion group that included that homeless guy, the one who gave you the hyperdrive. That surprised us. Until then, we’d never seen a crack in the unified front of the Oblivion. You have to understand, they’re in thrall to the aliens. They live to serve them. It’s more than just normal brainwashing. Their neural implants are compromised, we’re sure of it, although we weren’t able to get proof before it all went sideways.”

  “How long—”

  “We’re covert ops,” Ace said. “Or were.”

  “What happened?” Ben asked.

  “Somebody sold us out on an operation, right after we got wind of the attack planned on the Atlas. Captain, four of our team, all dead.” He nodded. “Morgan and I were undercover when it went down. We were outside the op. We were about to come in, but Morgan here has good contacts off-planet. We got word that what happened to us was no outside job. It was an inside job.”

  “What does all this mean?”

  “We think the UEF knows about the Oblivion plan. We don’t know why they wouldn’t act on it, but for now, they aren’t. They’ve allowed the Oblivion to continue with their plan.”

  Ben stared in shock. “That’s … that’s hard to believe.”

  Morgan smiled. “So Mr. Alien Invasion is telling us that our story is hard to believe?”

  “It just makes no sense.”

  “We tend to agree,” Ace said. “That’s why we want to get one of those neural implants and get the hell off of Earth.”

  Ben shook his head. “So why are you telling me all this?”

  “Like I said. We lost our captain, and we need a new one for our ship, the Lost.”

  Ben knew it was the alcohol, but he couldn’t help from giggling. “Your ship is called the Lost?”

  Ace ignored him. “What do you say, Ben?”

  “Why me?” Ben asked. “Why don’t you captain your ship? Or her? She could do it.”

  “Amen,” Morgan said.

  “I’m not special operations,” Ben continued. “You guys know that.”

  “We’re not either,” Ace said. “We’re basically glorified undercover cops.”

  Morgan frowned, but didn’t disagree.

  “Look. The reason we weren’t with the team is because we weren’t part of the team. We fit the descriptions needed for the undercover work. We were the play-actors, as far as the Marines were concerned. We’re both local cops.”

  “I’m not a naval officer anymore,” Ben said. He realized now he was just reaching for excuses. It was all just too much to take in at the moment.

  “Until two weeks ago, you were.” Ace shook his head. “Look, we need all the help we can get. There’s just two of us, and few people we can trust. You’re on the short list.”

  “But if you want to pass,” Morgan said, “I’m still of the opinion that the two of us don’t need you.”

  “We know who you are, Ben. We’ve seen your military records. We know you’ve got … connections to the Atlas.” Ace paused, then rushed on. “You’ve commanded before. Now we ask you to do it again. Together, we can stop whatever the hell these bastards are up to.” He again held out his hand. “So what do you say?”

  Ben knew he should say yes. This was everything he’d been trying to get someone to listen to him about and more.

  And yet, there was something about the way that Ace kept fingering the blaster on the table. The way that Morgan had casually drugged him. There was a lot more of a story here that he wasn’t getting. Cops? Maybe, but something else too. Something messier. Something that smelled to Ben like trouble.

  “I have to think about it.”

  “Now or never, Benny baby,” Ace said.

  “What are you not telling me?” Ben asked. Even drunk off his ass, he knew he was getting railroaded. Even if he desperately wanted to believe this was legit. He felt Morgan shift behind him. She wasn’t the poker player that Ace was; that, or she just didn’t like going along. Either way, it confirmed to Ben that they were keeping something else from him.

  “Nothing,” Ace said. “So…you in, brother?”

  Ben shrugged. If that was the way it was going to be, then so be it. “Ain’t got a brother. Or a mother. So I guess that’s a no.” He turned back to the bar and started waving for the bartender.

  “Told ya,” Morgan said.

  Ace sighed. “Just stick him and let’s go.”

  Ben whirled around at that, smashing his glass down on the bar and breaking off a nice ragged edge that he swung at Morgan.

  Or at least, he swung at where Morgan had been. Quick as a cat, she’d already slipped off the stool and kicked the leg out from under Ben’s. As he fell, he tried to swing the ragged glass handle down on her, but Ace grabbed his arm at the elbow and squeezed with such might that Ben’s hand instantly flexed open.

  Before he could so much as yelp, he felt a metal pin touch the back of h
is neck. Morgan depressed the delivery canister, and he felt a cool sensation run down his spine.

  “Sweet dreams,” Morgan said.

  Eighteen

  Ben

  A few hours later, Ben awoke with a massive headache. He rolled over, thinking he’d had the weirdest dream of his life. Then he realized he wasn’t in his bed. He was on a hard metal floor. He looked up as a shadow crossed the floor. “You,” he said to Ace. “I thought that was a dream.”

  “Aw, and I was hoping I was your dream,” Morgan said, stepping forward to join Ace.

  Ben looked around in bewilderment. “What the hell is this?”

  “This is our ship,” Ace said.

  Ben shook his head. “This is crazy.”

  Ace looked far crazier now than he had in the dark bar yesterday. He was again casually patting the blaster at his side, like he was thinking about using it.

  “Let me tell you two stories,” Morgan said.

  “Oh, good, story time,” Ace said casually.

  “The smartass and I have some history with the Oblivion,” Morgan said. “Ace here was a Marine before he joined the DC special unit and started doing undercover work. He might be a shit pilot compared to me, but somehow, back then he must have known how to fly, because he piloted missions to the front lines on Andohar. His crew was ambushed by Oblivion cultists. He was the only survivor, pulled out of the fiery wreck barely alive.”

  “That’s what makes me so pretty,” Ace said.

  “And I, well.” She paused. “I was nothing special.”

  “Lost your husband and son in the attack on the fusion radiation plant outside Seattle,” Ace said.

  “Way to ruin the story,” Morgan said. Ben could tell she was straining a bit to laugh it off. Maybe she needed to laugh it off. Ben remembered the reports. He didn’t remember the Oblivion being mentioned, but it made sense. That was before it was widely reported how aggressive the cult was once again becoming.