by T. R. Harris
He also thought about Olivia Contreras, his on-again-off-again girlfriend for the past several years. While in the hospital, he made inquiries if she was at the Groom Lake base and found she wasn’t. As part of Dr. Cross’s medical research team, Zac assumed she was in Denver at the Enhancement Development Center, but a further search didn’t find her there, either. That left only the ranch Cross owned outside of town. He’d set up a research lab there during the time General Jack Diamond had him booted from the program. She was probably there, but so far, he’d had no luck making contact with the facility. It was as if it was closed, and with no forwarding number.
And now his feelings were conflicted. Until an hour ago, Zac was like everyone else on the planet Earth—growing more resolved to their tragic fate with each passing day. Most people accepted the fact that unless a miracle happened, the Human race was destined for extinction. And being stuck on the planet like all the rest, what was about to happen to ninety-nine percent of the Human population was going to happen to him, as well.
This strange reality made him more sentimental than normal, causing him to reevaluate his past relationships, something an NT-4 REV would never have done under normal circumstances. REVs didn’t have relationships, at least not with people; their entire existence revolved around the drug. But Zac was different, and because of that, he was having feelings he never thought he’d have. And now that he was at Groom Lake, his attention was focused squarely on Joanie Hollis.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” said a voice off to his right. Distracted, Zac turned to find Major Mark Perry standing next to him. Zac looked to the empty doorway Joanie had exited through a moment earlier, following General David Cross.
“What? What did you say?” Zac asked. He was still walking toward the door as he spoke, with the Air Force officer keeping pace.
“I looked you up on the internet after the flight. Why didn’t you tell me you were that Captain Murphy?”
“That Captain Murphy?”
“Yeah, the longest-serving REV in the Corps; the first REV officer ever, and a guy who keeps showing up in the news every couple of months or so, for good and bad. I didn’t know I had a celebrity in my ship.”
Zac looked down the hallway outside the conference room. Joanie and Cross were gone. He sighed, knowing contact with Joanie was inevitable at the small base. Reluctantly, he turned his full attention to the pilot.
“I’m hardly a celebrity, Mr. Perry.”
“Celebrity or not, it would have been nice to know I had a REV in my ship.” The statement was more a reprimand than a compliment. REVs had a pretty nasty reputation.
“You had nothing to worry about, major.”
“Yeah, about that. There were some strange references to you being different from other REVs. The article didn’t have much detail, but seeing you now, I can tell there is something different about you.”
Zac gave him a wry grin. “You mean I’m not the insane, out-of-control killer type?”
“REVs haven’t been like that for a while,” Perry said, not taking the bait. “But I didn’t know you guys could be, well, so normal-like.”
“I’m just a freak of nature, major.”
“Bullshit. Something’s going on here, and I’d like to know what. I think I deserve the truth.”
“Sorry, it’s classified.”
“Again, bullshit, Captain.” Perry was growing angry with Zac’s flippant answers and attitude. “The Human race is about to get its ass kicked in a couple of months, so I think we’re past the time for keeping secrets. And if you hadn’t noticed, I just volunteered to become a REV, just like you.”
“Not like me.”
Zac watched Perry as he studied the REV’s strong, chiseled features and deep blue eyes, almost able to read the younger man’s thoughts. Most senior REVs—especially NT-4 REVs—looked similar, each being tall, slender, and extremely physically fit. They didn’t start out that way; it was the drug. Over time, NT-4 altered the male body to create the most biologically perfect version of itself. This strange side-effect was once a major recruitment feature of the program; after all, it certainly wasn’t for the retirement benefits. Until Zac appeared on the scene, no NT-4 REV had ever retired from the Marine Corps. At least no living REV.
AC-3s weren’t affected in the same way. But they also hadn’t been around long enough for any physical changes to be noticed.
Considering what Perry said about secrets, Zac couldn’t agree more. At this point, it didn’t matter. Either his plan would work … or the species would die. And the Air Force officer would play a major role in his plan. Perry was right; he deserved to be brought into the loop.
“Okay, Mr. Perry. You really want to know? I’ll tell you everything.”
Perry was caught off guard by Zac’s sudden change in attitude.
“Well, okay, then.”
“I am the most senior REV there is, a product of NT-4 Rev, not AC-3. Because of that longevity, some of the most senior NT-4s have begun to produce a natural form of the Rev drug. It’s a mutation of some kind and it’s changed how we live our lives. We can become just as strong as a normal REV, but we can do it on-demand, without the need for activation. And we have complete control at all times. We think normally during a Run, and we don’t need Twilight to come back down. And we don’t need maintenance boosts to keep us alive. This was something no one expected—not even Cross—and it has taken years for the mutation to manifest. So, I wasn’t being a smart-ass when I said I’m a freak of nature. I really am.”
“A freak … I, I didn’t know,” Perry stammered. “And you say there are others like you?”
“Uh-huh. The two junior REV officers at the meeting are also natural REVs, what we call Deltas. All toll, there are thirteen of us. And with NT-4 no longer being used, that will probably be the extent of it.”
“It—this mutation—doesn’t happen to the AC-3s?”
Perry noticed Zac’s hesitation.
“It does!” the Air Force officer exclaimed.
Zac shook his head. “We’re not sure. Dr. Cross was tracking some anomalies in AC-3s on Borin-Noc when the base was attacked by the Ha’curn. I’m not sure what he’s learned since then, but I don’t see how it could happen. AC-3 is not as hard on the body as NT-4, and this mutation came about from the body’s natural defense mechanism. My body needs NT-4 to survive, so it began making its own form of the drug out of necessity. It took years for my body to adapt. AC-3s have a long time to go before any mutation shows up—if it happens at all.”
Perry had the look of a man who just looked behind the Wizard’s curtain. “So, as you stand here … you’re a REV?”
“That depends on your definition of being a REV. Am I activated at the moment, at full strength and ready for action? No, it doesn’t work like that.” Zac smiled. “But for the record, I am a lot stronger, faster and my body is tougher, even without full activation. And I can cascade at will, up to the point where I fully activate. Then I can come back down without outside help.”
“Cascade, activate? Of course, I’ve heard of REVs doing that, but what does that mean exactly?” Perry smirked. “I know I’m asking a lot of silly questions, especially since I’ll get first-hand knowledge of this soon enough.”
Zac smiled back. “No problem, and no secrets. Cascading is when the Rev drug is introduced into the body. In your case, you’ll get an actual shot. With me, my body reacts to stimuli and begins releasing the natural drug into my system automatically. Activation is when the cascading reaches a certain point when you become operational. For normal REVs, cascading and activation usually happen simultaneously.”
“I asked it before, but I’ll ask again: Does it hurt?”
“Not in the least; in fact, when the drug enters your body, you feel an incredible sense of euphoria. But I have to warn you, when you reach activation, you will let out the famous REV call.”
“The scream? Yeah, I’ve heard of that, too; that’s why I was wondering if it hurts. Seem
s like it does.”
“The scream comes from the release of the intense emotions associated with activation. Trust me; it doesn’t hurt. You feel great—if you could feel anything at all. The thing is, you don’t; however, after the Run, you’ll remember everything as if you’re watching a movie. But during the Run, nothing. At least that’s how it was with NT-4s. AC-3s, however, retain more awareness during an operation than NT-4s. That’s why I think you’ll be able to pilot the 308 when you’re on the drug. At least that’s the plan.”
Perry sighed. “We’ll find out soon enough. They want me at Building 299 at 0600 hours tomorrow.”
“That’s just the start of the testing regime. As you hinted at during the meeting, not everyone can handle Rev. Some people are even immune to it. They’ll start out seeing how well your system can tolerate stimulants—a lot of stimulants. Then you’ll move onto the good stuff. But AC-3 is different. From what I’ve seen, a full third of the applicants can tolerate the drug. That’s not how it was with NT-4.”
There was concern in the eyes of the Air Force officer. Zac didn’t see it as fear, but rather worry that he wouldn’t qualify. People like Mark Perry were the ultimate competitors, not only against others but with themselves. He was determined to prove he had the right stuff.
“You’ll do fine, major,” Zac said, clasping the younger man’s rock-hard shoulder. “You made it through the screening process to become a 308 pilot. Compared to that, qualifying for the REV program will be a walk-in-the-park. But get some rest tonight, if you can. Your life will never be the same after today.”
As Zac turned and walked away, he thought maybe that wasn’t the smartest thing to tell the already apprehensive Air Force officer. So much for him sleeping tonight. That possibility was history.
Zac was quartered in the barracks behind the mess hall. These were a series of old wooden buildings that had been recently refurbished after fifty years of neglect. The first four were set up for officers, which included the three REV officers and everyone else under the rank of full Colonel. The more senior officers on the base—including Dr. Cross—had fancier accommodations about half a mile away.
Zac barely shut the door before Angus Price and Keith Pierson barged in, not bothering to knock.
“Glad to see you’re back among the living,” Keith said while throwing himself onto the queen-size bed and spreading out like a snow angel. Zac sat on a chair at the room’s small dining table, while Angus plopped down on the couch. “And now you appear before us: Zac, the Savior of the Human Race. Praise be to Murphy!”
“Let’s hope so,” said Angus, seriously. “Things were looking pretty bleak until now.”
“There’s still a lot of questions to be answered first,” Zac reminded them. “I’m pretty sure we have the ships that can turn the tide. I just pray the pilots can do the job.”
“That Perry guy seems capable,” Keith observed.
“That’s not it,” Angus said. “I know he’ll do everything he can. I just hope he doesn’t turn into a blithering idiot on AC-3. That would be bollocks.”
Zac noticed worry in Angus’s voice. It was understandable, considering the stakes. But there was something else, something in how he articulated the word AC-3. A year earlier, Zac spent several months aboard transit ships, shuttling AC-3s from Crious to Borin-Noc, but he didn’t spend a lot of time socializing with them. They didn’t welcome his company, something he attributed at the time to the jewelry he wore on his collar. But it went deeper. They knew who and what he was, a crude Neanderthal REV in their opinion – an NT-4. There was a definite air of superiority with the AC-3s since they didn’t see themselves as being out-of-control wind-up toys during a Run. They were more sophisticated, more refined. And they were right in that regard; however, they needed a whole army of Controllers to make them that way, unable to move a step without input from someone else. Zac didn’t know if that was better or not.
“So, tell me, how many AC-3s are there at the base?” Zac asked, seeing if he could ferret out what was bothering Angus.
Angus let out a breath. “Damn, there must be a bloody thousand of the buggers, all prancing around like they own the place. And more are coming every day. The barracks behind us are filled with them. They’ve been training in the desert around here, getting jacked up and running through ops. Controllers have taken over several of the hangars, but as Joanie said, there’s not enough of them. Most of the time the AC-3s just sit around and wait their turn in the barrel.”
“You guys aren’t involved in the operations?” Zac asked.
“Us? No way,” said Keith Pierson. “It’s almost as if we’re lepers. The AC-pricks don’t want us around, and the officers running them are okay with that.”
“What about Cross, isn’t he getting you involved? He knows what you can do.”
Angus snickered. “I think he’s saving us for the big reveal, mate. And by the way, all the Deltas are here. They’re sequestered in a set of enlisted huts at the other end of the base, with their own mess hall, laundry and even an E-Club. The unspoken rule around here seems to be: ‘Thou shalt not fraternize with the NT-4 savages.’”
“We’re not savages,” Zac grumbled.
“Of course not,” Angus said. “We’re bloody supermen! Unfortunately, there’s just not enough of us to make a difference. And supermen officers—that’s even more of a rarity. If you hadn’t insisted on us being at the meeting today, Keith and I would have been cut out completely.”
Zac shook his head. “I’ll talk with Cross tomorrow. There has to be something we can do.”
“You mean besides coming up with an idea to save the Human race?” Keith said with a silly grin. “Unfortunately, if this works, the damn pilots will become part of the AC-3 team, and they’ll get all the credit. I suppose it doesn’t matter—not really—as long as we survive. I’m just a little frustrated with everything that’s been going on.”
“I can tell.” Zac stood up. “Now, I have to assume Delta officers are still welcome at the O-Club? What say we go tip a few pints, as our cockney friend here might say.”
Angus bounded from the couch. “Drown our sorrow in some primitive form of liquid Rev? Smashing idea, mate. And seeing how you outrank the two of us, the first three rounds are on you.”
“Three?”
“Yeah; it’s not like you have anything to save your money for, not with the whole extinction thing happening soon.”
“I see your point, Mr. Price; I don’t like it, but I do understand what you’re saying. Let’s go show these lightweights how Deltas can hold their liquor. A little spontaneous cascading to negate the effects; that should make an impression.”
“It may end up being our only claim to fame around here, Captain Murphy, sir,” said Keith. “But it’s better than nothing.”
4
Building 299 at Groom Lake was once known as the Test Engineering Support Center and had since been converted into an equipment-filled testing facility for new AC-3s. It was no secret that Command was attempting to boost the number of qualified REVs in anticipation of the ground war about to take place. Because of this, hundreds of volunteers were being run through the facility each month—as well as at other centers around the world—and with a twenty percent adjustment made to qualifying tolerances to boost the numbers. It didn’t matter if an applicant was borderline or not. If Humanity couldn’t stop the coming apocalypse, it wouldn’t matter what the long-term effects of the drug had on the marginal REVs.
What Humanity needed were thousands—if not millions—of revved up men to send up against the Ha’curn troops. Since the aliens could only field a finite number of assault troops against an entire planet of Humans, the idea was to overwhelm the invaders with an army of AC-3 REVS. The plan had potential.
It was also the reason some analysts believed the Antaere plans for the Ha’curn were mainly for show. Videos of millions of Humans being ripped to shreds by the savage alien cats would serve the Qwin well in keeping their Colon
y Worlds in line. But in reality, the only way the Antaere could truly eliminate the Human race was through massive nuclear bombardment, regardless of the efficacy of the Ha’curn assault. But still, something—or someone—had to be placed before the Ha’curn. Mankind couldn’t simply roll over and die. It wasn’t our way.
So, the ranks of the AC-3 REVs were growing exponentially. Even now, additional housing was being slapped together on the north side of the base for the recruits. This also created a corresponding need for more Controllers. As Joanie Hollis said at the meeting, this was turning out to be the major limiting factor. Jacked up REVs were easy to make; training operators to Run them was a lot harder and more time-consuming.
The following morning—and nursing no after-effects from the previous night’s drinking binge—Zac and his two Delta friends showed up early, anticipating resistance getting in to witness the test. In spite of the increased activity in Building 299, General David Cross had commandeered a private testing room for Major Mark Perry. In the end, it took an impatient ‘whatever’ from Cross before the Delta REVs were let in. The day before, the General seemed to fully support Zac’s idea. This morning, however, he was his usual distracted geeky scientist self, impatient and dismissive of anyone but himself and his project. Zac and the others were allowed to stick around, but they were not to interfere in any way.
Perry arrived fifteen minutes early himself, looking as though he hadn’t slept a wink during the night. He scowled in Zac’s direction. Zac shrugged; Sorry about that.
NCOs took control of the Air Force officer and stripped him to his skivvies before dressing him in a green hospital gown. The motions of the attendants were automatic, unemotional. They’d been doing the same to hundreds of young men continuously for the past few months. Perry was just one more.
The officer was placed in an ominous-looking exam chair, resembling something a dentist would use rather than a doctor. What made it ominous were the heavy leather straps for the arms and legs. Perry accepted his fate without question, allowing himself to be bound to the chair. The gown was pulled away from his bare chest and monitoring pads stuck to his skin, with red wires running from them and hooked into an impressive array of equipment not far away. Other techs sat before the monitors, each looking serious. Screens began to display lines highlighting Perry’s various bodily functions.
