by Ken Lozito
Connor tried to access the station’s systems, looking for a way to signal the evacuation protocols.
“Sir, we need to fall back,” Kasey said.
Connor glanced the way RJ had gone.
“There’s a way out if we go this way,” Kasey said.
Connor looked where Kasey was gesturing. The path lay in the opposite direction. This whole thing had been staged, and the worst part was that RJ wanted them to escape. Connor turned back toward where the Syndicate forces had retreated and screamed.
Kasey grabbed him and spun him around, putting his head inches from Connor’s own. “Listen to me. You found her once. If we get out of here, we can find her again.”
Kasey let go of him, and Connor looked at Reisman. “Try and signal the evacuation using any protocols you can find. Use anything to signal that something is wrong with the station.”
Connor gave the order for them to retreat, and the acid taste of bile crept up his throat. They quickly made their way to the edge of the floor as the NESS triggered the explosions, stemming from the far side of Chronos Station.
“Combat shuttle en route,” Kasey informed them.
Samson placed breaching explosives on the outer walls of the station. Once they detonated, a containment field would become active that would prevent the atmosphere from escaping, but the field wouldn’t prevent them from leaving.
“We can wait to be picked up. Use your suit jets to get clear of the station and head toward the rendezvous point marked on your heads-up display,” Connor said.
The Ghosts leaped out of the gaping hole, and Connor waited for them to go. He kept glancing at the Chronos Station info terminal feed, which showed the number of residences numbered in the millions. Powerless to stop the destruction, Connor felt the crushing weight of the soon-to-be-dead pressing in on him. With one last glance at the station’s interior, he leaped away from Chronos Station.
3
The combat shuttle’s autopilot honed in on their beacons and found the remains of the Ghosts. They’d never heard from Bravo Squad. The NESS detonated on Chronos Station, having used its advanced targeting artificial intelligence to position all the pieces at the weakest points. Something as large as a space station that was home to millions of people would have taken weeks for the NESS to deploy. When the NESS went active, there were fiery explosions that were instantly expunged by the fire suppression systems of the station. What killed all the people was the collapse of the station’s superstructure, which overwhelmed any redundancy systems in place.
“Anything show up on the scanners?” Connor asked.
He’d hoped there would be some evidence of a ship leaving, but a debris field as massive as Chronos Station had overwhelmed the combat shuttle scanners.
“Negative, Commander,” Reisman said.
Connor nodded, having expected as much despite his fool’s hope for a break. The remaining Ghosts lined the shuttle, looking as shocked as he felt. Connor had to address them.
“Men,” Connor said, “we’ve lost some of our own today—Jefferson, Malarkey, Oslo, Denton . . .” Connor went on to list all twelve members of Bravo Squad, and each name was like a punch to the throat. “I want you all to know—and this is on the record—that I take full responsibility for what happened. I’ve punched in the coordinates for the shuttle to return to COMCENT.”
“With all due respect, sir, that’s bullshit,” Samson said.
“The Syndicate laid a trap for us. We were there. There was no way they were going to let us go without blowing the station,” Reisman said.
Connor fixed them all with a stern glare. “My op. My objective. My command. My responsibility.”
The Ghosts looked at him with mixed expressions.
Kasey cleared his throat. “Why don’t we take a few minutes to calm down and then decide our next steps?”
“The decision has been made. You’ll get a new CO and they’ll likely promote you, Kasey,” Connor said.
Kasey was about to respond when klaxon alarms signaled a target lock on their shuttle.
Reisman raced back to the shuttle’s cockpit.
“Sir, the Battleship Carrier Indianapolis is two hundred thousand kilometers from our starboard bow. They’re hailing us,” Reisman said.
“Open a channel,” Connor said.
“Combat Shuttle Trident, you’re to change your heading to the following coordinates. Failure to comply will be considered an act of aggression that will be dealt with swiftly. Indianapolis out.”
“They’ve sent us an intercept course,” Reisman said.
Connor reviewed the coordinates. “Follow it,” he said. They couldn’t outrun a Barracuda-class battleship carrier. He glanced at Kasey. “What do you make of this?”
Kasey looked at the coordinates and frowned. “They don’t want us coming in through the main hangar.”
“Who’s the CO of the Indianapolis?” Connor asked.
“We’re locked out, sir. Once I put in the new coordinates, they took control of the shuttle’s navigation systems and everything else,” Reisman said, thrusting his hands in the air helplessly.
“After the new coordinates were entered?” Connor asked.
“Affirmative, sir,” Reisman said.
Kasey leaned over. “What do you think it means?”
“I think it was a test, but without knowing who’s in command, there’s no way for us to know for sure,” Connor replied.
Kasey frowned and gestured for Connor to step aside so the others couldn’t hear them. “They’re all thinking it, so I’ve got to say it.”
Connor’s brows pushed forward. “Captain.”
“Not now. I’m speaking to you as a friend. I can’t let you take the fall for this,” Kasey said.
“You objected to this whole op because of the civilian presence. I wouldn’t listen,” Connor said and shushed Kasey as he began to speak. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I made the call and this is my burden to bear.”
Kasey glared at him.
“Uh, sir, they’re guiding us to a small cargo bay on the port side,” Reisman said.
“Acknowledged,” Connor replied.
The combat shuttle quickly closed in on the battleship carrier, and Connor glanced out the shuttle’s windows. He’d begun his military career serving aboard a carrier like this. The NA Alliance Space Navy was a mix of the military branches of old, with each performing their specialized tasks. He’d first been recruited into the special forces and then into the Ghosts. Black ops had been his home for much of his career, so it was fitting that it was all coming to an end on a ship like this.
As the combat shuttle was remotely guided in, Connor started to make his way toward the rear of the shuttle but stopped as Kasey spoke.
“Officer on deck,” Kasey bellowed and stood at attention.
The rest of the Ghosts came to their feet and saluted Connor, and although he wasn’t one for emotions, his throat thickened at the gesture. They’d bled together, and some of them had died along the way. Connor returned the salute and headed for the back of the shuttle where the hatch was. The shuttle came to a stop and the rear doors opened. Connor expected to be greeted by a company of troops ordered to take them all into custody. Instead, there was only the Indianapolis’s executive officer, along with five soldiers.
Connor stepped off the shuttle and saluted the XO, who was an older man, appearing to be a bit out of breath. The soldiers kept checking the area and hardly paid any attention at all to the Ghosts.
“Colonel Gates?” the XO asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m Captain Tung Yep. We don’t have much time. If you and your team will please follow me,” the captain said.
Captain Tung Yep didn’t wait for a reply and turned around, walking away. Connor jogged to catch up with him.
“Are you the commanding officer of this ship, sir?” Connor asked.
“No,” Captain Tung Yep said. “My orders are to retrieve you and your team a
nd escort you to cargo bay D97. I don’t have time for questions.”
Connor didn’t press the captain for any more information since he doubted he’d get anything useful. The rest of the Ghosts followed him. They’d been allowed to keep their weapons, so they weren’t being taken into custody for the moment.
“Captain, I’m prepared to make a full report regarding the events on Chronos Station,” Connor said.
Captain Tung Yep was leading them through a series of darkened corridors whose ambient lighting came on when their presence was detected.
“Stop right there, Colonel. Not another word,” Captain Tung Yep said. “I can’t know anything else about who you are other than to confirm your identity and then deliver you into someone else’s custody. If you tell me anything about the events that have transpired in the last twenty-four hours, it will be considered an act of treason and I’ll be forced to take you and your men into custody while an official investigation is launched.”
Connor nodded, finally understanding why the captain didn’t want to hear what he had to say. He’d been involved in enough missions that fell into the military “gray area” to recognize when the rules were being bent, but he had no idea who his mysterious benefactor was.
Captain Tung Yep came to a stop in front of a pair of wide doors. He gave his authorization and the door opened to a dimly lit room beyond.
“Colonel, this is where I leave you,” the captain said, and then he and his five-soldier escort disappeared down a nearby corridor.
For a moment, Connor hovered in the doorway. The cavernous room beyond was some sort of storage area.
“Step inside, Colonel Gates,” a voice called from inside.
The voice sounded wizened, carrying a tough rasp to it as if the owner of the voice had been in command longer than Connor had been alive.
Connor stepped inside and was quickly followed by the rest of the Ghosts. A few of them whispered to each other.
“You can leave your weapons in the containers to the side,” the voice said.
Connor saw the faint outline of a man standing just outside the lighted area.
Connor frowned. “Of course. Right after you step into the light.”
“You always were a stubborn pain in the ass, Gates. Can’t you just do as you’re told?”
An old man stepped into the light. Four thick gold bars rested on his sleeves.
“Admiral, sir,” Connor said and stood at attention.
The Ghosts instantly followed Connor’s example.
Fleet Admiral Mitch Wilkinson stepped before Connor and regarded him for a moment. “You know, if you’d joined the space navy and transferred under my command when I asked you to all those years ago, you’d have avoided this mess,” the admiral said. “At ease.”
Knowing better than to question the orders of a flag officer, Connor’s squad went over to the storage containers and stowed their weapons. Kasey took Connor’s M32 from him.
“You know me, sir. I learned from the best,” Connor said.
He hadn’t seen Wilkinson in almost twenty years. Wilkinson had served with Connor’s father.
Admiral Wilkinson looked over at the Ghosts. “Combat suits too,” he said and gestured for Connor to do the same.
Connor went over to his team and engaged the shutdown protocols for his combat suit. The armored unit split down the chest and opened. Connor stepped out and immediately became aware of his lack of personal hygiene over the last thirty-six hours.
“Come on back. I’m sure you’re nice and ripe, but it’s certainly not going to kill me,” Admiral Wilkinson said.
Connor went back over to the admiral. “I’m sure you didn’t just happen to be in the neighborhood, sir.”
“No, you’re right about that. The destruction of Chronos Station is going to have swift repercussions. It’s only a matter of time before a scapegoat is targeted.”
“How would anyone even know we were involved?” Connor asked.
“You think the Syndicate is beyond releasing the names of you and your team to the public?”
Connor went cold. If working in black ops had taught him anything it was that keeping your identity secret was paramount—both for your protection and that of your loved ones.
“There’s no way the alliance military will condone the actions that led to the station being destroyed. You’ll be branded terrorists, hunted down, tossed in jail, and probably executed for treason.”
Connor felt heat rush to his face. It was like explosions were going off in his head. An image of his son, Sean, came to the forefront of his mind. The last time he’d seen him he’d been three years old, and that had been eight years ago. He glanced over at his team. They were all in danger. Some of them had families.
“Now before you do anything stupid, you and what remains of your team need to follow me,” Admiral Wilkinson said.
4
Connor followed Admiral Wilkinson. More lights came on, revealing a massive warehouse filled with storage containers that were marked with a golden sunburst.
“Recognize it?” Wilkinson asked.
Connor shook his head. “No, sir.”
The admiral nodded. “Never mind that. Why don’t you tell me what really happened on Chronos Station.”
Connor followed the admiral through a maze of storage containers all marked with the golden sunburst. He filled Wilkinson in on the op, figuring at this point he had nothing to lose. It was a break in protocol, but all black ops teams accepted the fact that there might be a time when COMCENT needed to disavow all knowledge of them and the operation they were part of. Flag officers like Admiral Wilkinson were privy to knowledge that most others wouldn’t be. It came with the job. Connor broke down his recent activities in his hunt for the Syndicate—from the pieces of intelligence they’d gathered that put them on the path to Chronos Station to getting inside and storming the Syndicate stronghold.
They reached the edge of the warehouse, where there were several rooms, and Connor recognized a mobile medical unit setup. The people inside wore blue uniforms with a gold caduceus on the shoulders. One of the men walked over to them.
“We’re ready for them, sir,” the man said. He was of Asian ancestry, but he spoke as if he’d grown up south of the Mason-Dixon line.
“Connor, this is Lieutenant Kim. He needs to do a quick check of you and your men,” Wilkinson said.
Connor frowned. “We’re not due for med checks. What’s this all about?”
“Just a precaution. I’ll be across the hall, waiting for you,” Wilkinson said and entered an office.
“Shouldn’t keep the old man waiting, sir,” Lieutenant Kim said and gestured to the room.
Connor nodded for his squad to go inside and then followed. Doctor Kim pulled him out of the line to go first, saying the admiral had specified that Connor be checked first. Connor followed the doctor to one of the exam tables and granted access to his biochip. Within moments, all his medical history appeared on the doctor’s mobile holoscreen. Lieutenant Kim flipped through the history and noted Connor’s vital signs, which confirmed his excellent health. The doctor brought up a secondary screen that looked to have information about Connor’s physiology. The information on the screen went by so quickly that Connor couldn’t read it. A panel hissed opened from the bottom of a cabinet, and cold vapor licked the edges. Lieutenant Kim reached inside and pulled out a medical injection gun. Inside the small tank was blue liquid.
“What’s that, Doc?” Connor asked.
“It’s a booster shot for your nanites. Your records showed you were out of date.”
The doctor came over and pressed the metal tip against the side of Connor’s neck, squeezing the trigger and pushing the actuator forward, forcing the cocktail of blue liquid past his skin.
“You’re all set. We’ll check out the rest of your team, but the admiral’s waiting for you,” Lieutenant Kim said.
Connor rubbed his neck and glanced over at Kasey and the others. In response, Kasey ju
tted his chin up once with a slight raise of his brows. It was something he’d always done to let Connor know everything was fine.
Connor looked at the rest of the team calmly awaiting their turn to be checked by the doctors. More than a few looked over in his direction. He’d been their CO for years and they’d been through hell together, and yet today he felt he’d let them down. He kept going over the events that had led to the standoff with the head of the Syndicate. He doubted RJ was even her name. And was the person behind the voice even a woman? In hindsight, he kept thinking that instead of hunting his prey, he’d been led by the nose. He left the room and stood out in the hall. His breath quickened and he balled his hands into fists.
Connor heard slow footsteps from across the hall, and Admiral Wilkinson’s steely-eyed gaze regarded him. There was neither judgment nor compassion in Wilkinson’s slate-blue eyes—just an acknowledgment shared by those who were in command. Lives were always on the line, and today, lives had been lost. A lot of them.
Wilkinson waved him inside the office. News feeds showed on the wallscreen.
“Have you heard about this?” Wilkinson asked and gestured toward the screen.
Connor looked over and the feed showed a commentator on a ship in one of Earth’s oceans.
“We’ve studied almost every square kilometer of our solar system, built colonies on Mars and Venus and space stations among the outer planets, and we’re still making discoveries back home. We’re only scratching the surface of the secrets in our own oceans,” Wilkinson said.
Connor glanced at the screen again and then back at the admiral. “Permission to speak freely, sir.”
“Granted.”
“Why did you bring us here?”
Wilkinson waved his hand and the news feed stopped. He then gestured for Connor to sit down while he took his own seat.
“There’re no two ways about it. You’re in the shit. As deep as one can go. Before we go into all that, what were your future plans?”
Connor’s mouth hung open. “My future plans? Millions of people are dead and you want to ask me about future plans?”