Resurgence, Page 2

  But how many will have to die now at the hands of expediency? he thought.

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  December 2312…

  The nightmare awakened Second Lieutenant Jerod Eastaway. Inside his junior officer’s quarters aboard the Republican Expeditionary Force (REF) cruiser Slipstream, he tore the covers off his sweat-soaked body and sat up. The low, steady hum from the Slipstream’s engines sent a subtle—yet reassuring—vibration through his body.

  That’s right, we’re on deployment near the frontier, he thought.

  He sighed, wiped away the moist film from his face, and then rubbed his weary blue eyes.

  “You called out to your momma again.”

  Eastaway’s vision adjusted to the dim light. One of his two roommates remained fast asleep, while the other one, First Lieutenant Tom Coopark, sat propped up swigging from a bottle of synth-whiskey. Eastaway considered—and then dismissed—the notion of drinking some too. Although the nightmare haunted him every so often, he always opted to cope with the horrible memories through other means.

  “You hear me? I said you were calling out to your momma again.”

  Rising from his bunk, Eastaway said, “You sure it was my momma I was calling out to, Tom?” He reached for his faded olive-drab jumpsuit and black boots on a nearby metal crate.

  Coopark’s crooked face smirked as he huffed out a chuckle. This led to a belch, and then, “Don’t know what your demons are, and I’m sure more of them will find you, but this helps keep mine away. Want some?” Coopark held out the bottle and jiggled it.

  Eastaway zipped up his jumpsuit then sat on his bunk. Turning his attention to putting on his boots, he said, “Nothing I can’t handle without the booze.”

  “What an idealistic youngster you are, Mr. Faraway. Why are you even here?”

  Eastaway stood. His next steps carried him toward the door. “Just hoping to do some good, I guess.”

  “Huh. A tee totaling momma’s boy, that’s what you are. This man’s army will recruit just about anyone these days…”

  Coopark’s words trailed off as Eastaway exited their quarters. He navigated the Slipstream’s narrow and deserted gray corridors and stairwells with no delays. In less than a minute, he arrived at his destination—a firing range—several decks below.

  The night-shift armorer recognized Eastaway even through half-asleep eyes. He shook his head and said, “The usual?”

  “Serve it up.”

  The armorer stepped away from the secure counter area and disappeared into the bowels of the armory. Faint clanking metal noises preceded his swift reappearance carrying a black rifle case. He laid it on a table next to the counter and opened it. After withdrawing the Ryker-Tech Arms .37 caliber semi-automatic pulse carbine from within the case, he spot-checked the serial number, mumbling its digits. “Yup, that’s it.”

  “Any lane?”

  The armorer opened a panel and handed the carbine and three power pack magazines to Eastaway. “Any one of them that’s open. Which is all of them at this hour.” He laughed, then said, “I hope the sleeping aid works.”

  Eastaway slid the magazines into his jumpsuit’s cargo pockets and then cradled the carbine upright. “Thanks for the medicine.” He found the lane farthest from the entrance and logged into the holographic targeting computer. Having a pre-installed program, Eastaway’s prep time was minimal.

  Before long, blue plasma energy bolts sizzled down the lane at the holographic targets that resembled two violent criminals responsible for a tragedy seared into his childhood memories.

  An hour and a half and nearly six hundred bursts of fire later, Eastaway felt as if he’d chased away the demons for now. He returned the weapon to a drowsy armorer and then retraced his steps to his quarters.

  Coopark slept flat on his belly, one hand hanging over the side of his bunk clenching the empty synth-whiskey bottle, which rested on the floor. With both roommates now asleep, Eastaway undressed in silence. He laid down, exhausted, and soon, sleep’s embrace held him close.

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  On the Outworlds planet, Oeskone, variations of thick, wild, green jungle foliage surrounded a brown and tan modular complex of buildings and huge dual landing pads. A small number of colony militiamen equipped with turbine engine packs zipped between perimeter defensive positions. And inside her workplace within the depths of the complex, Tatiana Kolesnikov felt out of place on the most remote planet in the Outworlds.

  Computer and communication equipment cramped the space, while a small portion of it also functioned as her personal quarters. Sitting at a table adjacent to her narrow bed, Tatiana studied computer data and communication feeds. She glanced at David, her eight-year-old son, who slept on the nearby bed. She managed a smile, but sadness strained it. How could she have brought him here? How could she have left him behind? At least here, she could watch over and protect him. There was no one she trusted enough to do that for her if she had left him behind.

  Turning back to multiple computer screens in front of her, Tatiana watched more streams of data sucked via a superluminal comm hub in the Yamato Strand. She isolated portions and examined them closer when she or her analysis software detected what looked like a pattern or trend that might tell her something more about the layers of protection guarding CISOS, the Combine Intelligence and Security Operations System.

  “You have a beautiful child.”

  The sound of his voice dumped a heavy sickness into Tatiana’s gut. On impulse, she wrapped an arm around her waist before twisting around to greet her boss. The full lips of the thirty-year-old single mother turned on a well-practiced, seductive smile that so many men, especially the elderly Abraham Harel, seemed to like. She winked at him and said, “So nice to see you in my bedroom, Mr. Harel.”

  Abraham Harel, the Oeskone colony leader, sat next to David. He stopped stroking the boy’s straight blond hair, folded his hands on his lap, and then peered at Tatiana with beady dark eyes and a mild grin. With his black goatee beard, he looked like the Devil himself.

  “Your work excites me,” Harel said. “I know it’s been only a few weeks since your arrival, but I wanted to check on your progress and needs.”

  Tatiana’s rich Slavic accent carried the next breathy words forward. “I’m glad I can stimulate your attention.” She leaned back in her chair and held out her hand at the screens of flowing data. Her movement accentuated her breasts rising underneath her royal-blue tunic. “I give you the tip of the CISOS iceberg. Soon, we should have our first taste of Combine Intelligence reporting.”

  Harel’s gaze danced around at the myriad data, but it soon settled instead on Tatiana’s chest. Shifting his attention to her green eyes, he said, “Russia’s greatness produced Joseph Stalin and superior hackers. You can be proud of your heritage.”

  “Mr. Harel, outside of my bedroom, I prefer the term ‘data acquisition and exploitation engineer.’ In here, though, you may call me ‘hacker.’ It will be our dirty little secret.”

  Harel leaned forward and caressed Tatiana’s black leather-clad knee. “Oh, Miss Kolesnikov, I am so very glad I hired you.” David stirred. The old man rose and grinned, narrowing his beady eyes into slits. “Please come to me for any reason.” He turned, and navigating around various pieces of electronic equipment and cables, swaggered his way toward the door. In the process, Tatiana glimpsed a pronounced circular scar on the back of Harel’s neck that protruded above his shirt collar. She grimaced at the sight of it as he exited.

  “Mama?”

  Looking down at David, Tatiana smiled despite her sadness. “Yes, my little man?”

  “I don’t like—”

  Tatiana hushed her son. She gestured with her hands to lower his voice.

  David crawled toward his mother and peered up at her from the bed. He whispered. “I don’t like that man. He scares me.”

  Lifting David and holding him close eased Tatiana’s aching chest and subdued her rising tears. But the guilt remained. “I promise to keep you safe. So
on we will go somewhere far from here.” A better life for both us will be our reward, she thought.

  David hugged his mother tighter. “I promise to keep you safe, too.”

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  “The Engineer,” Eagan Rodenmeyer, had never trusted Bancroft in the first place. But Harel had needed someone with parapsychology know-how, and so he rolled the dice. In so doing, the old man got his psychokinesis expert, but one who—apparently—also happened to work in secret for the Combine. Because of Harel, the Combine had succeeded in penetrating his emergent crusade with Bancroft, their wholly owned spy.

  Harel accepted too many risks, in Rodenmeyer’s opinion, and now mitigation stood at the top of his to-do list. Task-oriented, Rodenmeyer had served Harel well, and the old man’s second-in-command grew aroused in anticipation of a gratifying resolution to the Bancroft matter.

  “Where are we going?” Bancroft said. Nervous laughter followed, and then he said, “I’ve never strolled this far from the complex. I have a fear of reptiles that is of biblical proportions.”

  Rodenmeyer paused his steps. He turned around to look at the “dead man” walking behind him. Bancroft ducked and swatted at a Vorte wasp buzzing around his head and neck. The creature was twice as large as his hands and had sonar capability, like a bat. It dodged the swipes and then hummed away.

  “Not to worry, Professor,” Rodenmeyer said, tapping the blaster pistol holstered on his right hip. “I’ll take good care of you if we run into any lizards or snakes.”

  “That’s very nice of you, Eagan. But that still doesn’t answer my question.”

  “It’s a surprise. Mr. Harel asked me to show you a new discovery. He requests your objective opinion, so he doesn’t want me to describe it in advance.”

  “A new discovery? How exciting. Yes, yes, let’s go. What are you waiting for?”

  Rodenmeyer smiled as he swiveled around. “Right this way, then.”

  After several more minutes of trudging through the jungle, the sweaty pair arrived at the edge of a circular pit roughly ten meters deep and twenty-five meters wide. Camouflage netting covered most of it. Around it, four posts held electronic equipment that jammed any nosy air- or space-borne sensors. Concrete covered the pit’s interior sidewalls, and the bottom held local flora and fauna.

  “It looks like a zoo exhibit,” Bancroft said.

  Rodenmeyer ignored the comment and busied himself opening a hatch that led to an enclosed ladder into the pit. “Follow me.” He slithered into the opening and waved at Bancroft to join him. “When you clear the top, press the green button to close the hatch.”

  Bancroft held up his finger as if he wanted to ask a question, but Rodenmeyer didn’t give him time to ask it. Instead, he slid down the ladder in a speedy descent. After reaching the bottom, he opened another hatchway into the pit and then stepped out and aside to make room for Bancroft.

  “Waiting, Professor.”

  “Which button, did you say?”

  “The big green one.”

  Rodenmeyer heard the familiar metallic clank of the upper hatchway closing followed by the sounds of repetitive footsteps on the ladder. His gratifying moment drew closer. He smiled at the appearance of the “children” peering out through the palms and ferns in the middle of the pit. One stuck its leathery and scaly leg out in an effort to move forward, but Rodenmeyer held up his hand. The leg withdrew.

  The bespectacled Bancroft stumbled into the pit. After rising, he took off his eyeglasses and wiped them with a dingy handkerchief while Rodenmeyer closed the bottom hatchway.

  “Now then, Eagan, what is this new discovery? This pit looks of fairly new construction. Hardly what I’d expect at an ancient Angorgal site.”

  “Patience, good doctor, patience.” Rodenmeyer whistled and then they emerged one at a time. They walked, upright, bipedal, into view of both men.

  Bancroft stood motionless, mouth agape, eyes wide open.

  “Well, Professor, what do you think?”

  “What the…? They are like…upright Komodo dragons…with bright red chests….”

  Rodenmeyer nodded, and then said, “Not bad, not bad.” He walked forward and the seven creatures moved toward him, their forked tongues flicking the air. About two-thirds his height, the erect, muscular anthropoid lizards encircled him. He nodded at one. It took a few more steps and then leaned in and hugged him.

  “Children need love, Professor.”

  “Children? Eagan, should we be in here?”

  “Especially young ones like these.”

  The nervous laughter squeaked out again. “Young? How old are they?”

  “This group is about five years old. They still have a lot of growing to do. We can accelerate that, though. They’ll make fine soldiers someday.”

  “Soldiers? Eagan—”

  “Just like their older siblings and cousins.” By this time, all of the child lizards had formed up in a line behind Rodenmeyer. “You see. Already they drill.”

  Bancroft started a slow shuffle backwards. “I think I’m ready to leave now. I’ve seen enough.”

  “But for now, they are children. And you know what children need in addition to love, Professor?”

  “No… I don’t… I would like to go now.” He turned and scampered toward the lower hatchway.

  “They need nourishment. They need to EAT!”

  The lizards surged forward, running on their two legs, bearing sharp fangs and claws. Bancroft screamed and fumbled at the hatchway’s panel. The first creatures to grasp him with their clawed hands tore into his body, spinning it beneath his head before they severed it. Rodenmeyer grinned as the head rolled aside and one of the creatures kicked it away. The hungry children yanked at Bancroft’s twisted, disemboweled body. As they slashed into him, his blood splattered across their red chests. One lizard tore off Bancroft’s left arm and held it over his head like a trophy. He grunted and hissed.

  “Eat well, children,” Rodenmeyer said.

  A doorway in the nearby concrete wall slid open and Abraham Harel stepped out from a shadowy corridor. He smiled at what he saw in the pit. “Doctor Bancroft, I presume?”

  “What’s left of him. Where were you earlier?”

  “I visited Miss Kolesnikov in her quarters. Don’t be jealous.”

  “Another outsider, Abraham.”

  “You were an outsider once. Besides, we need her talents.”

  “Just like we needed Bancroft’s? No telling what the Combine knows about us now.”

  “All the more why we need Miss Kolesnikov to hack into CISOS and grab its treasures of information. Besides, she is money-motivated. Wants to make a better life for herself. We have met, and probably exceeded, her price for loyalty.”

  “I think you just want her around for other reasons.”

  “Like I said, don’t be jealous. Come, let’s take the tunnel back to the compound. The sun is much too warm right now.”

  The two colony leaders entered the corridor, which soon gave way to a long, rocky tunnel.

  “Eagan, now that the Bancroft matter is settled, I want your only priority to be the ship.”

  “A test flight is forthcoming.”

  “And stealth protocols, EMP cannon?”

  “Both functioning sporadically.”

  Harel rubbed the back of his neck. “We can’t continue to rely on the single, individual harness for protection.”

  “Train others,” Rodenmeyer said, noticing Harel’s discomfort.

  “They must show aptitude first. Not all are as well focused as you.” He paused and sighed. “If our enemies close in before we are prepared…we must get the ship in proper order.”

  “It will be ready.”

  “A weapons and chemical shipment is also due to arrive any day now from Earth.”

  “Our typical logistics partners?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will they have the thermonukes?”

  “As much as this shipment cost, they better.”

  When the tunn
el reached a four-way intersection, a teenaged girl with short red hair, multiple face piercings, and garbed in a white lab coat trotted up to Harel. Out of breath, she said, “Sir, sir—”

  Harel held out his hands. “There, there, young one, take a breath.”

  The girl clasped Harel’s hands. She raised her head, and appeared mesmerized as she gazed into his dark eyes. After exhaling a deep breath, she said, “Sorry to alarm you, but female twenty-nine just laid a blue egg.”

  Harel took a step back and raised a hand to cover his mouth.

  “I’m sorry, Abraham,” Rodenmeyer said.

  Tears formed in the corner of Harel’s eyes. “After all our research, breeding, time and effort, and we—” He shook his head and waved his hands. Resolute and stern, he said, “Never mind. Our Ruuksauro guides are very clear on this issue. No Mokisiaan strain can be allowed to taint the purity of the Sekkalan bloodline. Feed the blue egg to the children. Eagan, slaughter twenty-nine immediately.”

  Chapter 2

  The Mission

  Aboard the REF cruiser Slipstream, Captain Hans Krieger, the intelligence officer for the 501st Special Operations Company, entered the ship’s crowded executive briefing chamber and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, the target planet is Oeskone.”

  Inside the cramped and sweaty space, about half of the officers and about as many non-commissioned officers (NCOs) moaned. Some of the others muttered an assortment of curse words. A few had no understanding of Oeskone’s whereabouts, so confusion abated any undesirable responses.

  Not a unit prone to complaining, the reactions of the officers and NCOs remained, nevertheless, expected. Christmas and other holidays approached, and with six months of hazardous patrol and operational work behind them, the soldiers of the 501st just wanted to get home. With no casualties during this particular tour—an atypical statistic for their risky line of work—no one sought a change to that achievement. Most expected this meeting to encompass a final wrap-up of their recent efforts before heading home. But Special Operations Headquarters on Earth had just realigned the hopes of the 501st.