Redemption: Area 51, #10

by Bob Mayer

  The first six-inch long, one inch in diameter, depleted uranium round exploded the windshield, the driver’s skull, the head of the man seated directly behind him and continued through, coming out the rear. The next two also bore through, destroying everything in their path.

  The SUV rolled to a stop. One rear door opened and a survivor, dressed in black combat gear and covered in blood and brain, scrambled out and ran for the cover of the trees. Turcotte adjusted to the HET and put two rounds through the engine, which gave the truck driver a chance to dive out. Then he put two rounds into the crane’s engine compartment.

  Men in combat gear piled out of the following Surburbans and spread out into the Aspen grove. Three of them were cut down by a quick burst of fire from Colonel Mickell, hidden behind a fallen tree. Five pistols shots were fired from a different direction amongst the trees. Then all was quiet.

  Whoever was in charge ordered a quick retreat. The men fell back, disappearing from sight.

  Turcotte had three rounds left and he used one each on the engine compartments of the next three SUV’s. He’d briefly considered leaving those intact to allow the men escape, but they worked for Mrs. Parrish and he knew retreat would never be in the cards.

  Mickell came into the clearing. Turcotte slid down inside the Fynbar. He reloaded the ten-round drum, locking it in place. He turned off the power to preserve the battery. He looked up and saw Mickell’s head poking in.

  “They’ll regroup and come at us again,” Mickell said. “Probably calling for another HET and crane. And reinforcements.” He looked away. “Oh crap.”

  Turcotte climbed the ladder and joined him on top of the Fynbar.

  Fifty meters away, next to the HET, two men in black had Yakov handcuffed to one of the chains holding the crane in place. The Russian’s arms were stretched out and there was a streak of blood on his forehead.

  “The ship for your man,” one of the men yelled.

  “Get out of here,” Yakov shouted. “I will be—“ he grunted as the guard slammed the stock of his weapon into the Russian’s rather large stomach.

  Turcotte rested the MK-98 on the top of the hull, taking aim, which caused a quick reply from the mercenary in charge.

  “I’ve got nine other men aiming at your friend. And there’s a good chance they could take you out too. I’m giving you a chance to be reasonable.”

  Turcotte stood, leaving the MK-98 on the hull. “I told Mrs. Parrish I’m not a reasonable person.”

  “That’s why we’re here,” the leader replied. “We’ll let all three of you go free. No bad blood. We just want the ship.”

  “Not going to happen,” Turcotte yelled.

  “What’s the plan?” Mickell whispered.

  “No clue,” Turcotte replied. “But we’re not giving them the Fynbar and we’re not leaving without Yakov. I owe him my life.”

  “Roger that,” Mickell said.

  THE FACILITY

  “I don’t know what to do,” Asha said in a hushed voice.

  Maria and George were with her, underneath the Facility, outside a wide tunnel that extended in one direction over a half-mile before curving slightly. An electric cart was behind them. In the other direction, fifty meters away, was a closed steel shutter with two guards. Just in front of the shutter was a circular area, forty meters in diameter. Parked to side was an electric bus, windows blackened out, the driver chatting with the guards.

  “Are they loaded?” Maria asked, hearing the soft purr of the electric engine, something most people wouldn’t pick up at this distance.

  “No,” Asha said.

  “Why not?”

  “How could I?” Asha asked. “Did you show Mrs. Parrish the list? Tell her who was on it? Surely she would—“

  “I didn’t show her,” Maria said.

  Asha gasped. “She doesn’t know!” She collected herself. “She doesn’t know your grand-daughter is one of the metabols she ordered me to purge.”

  While the domed space a floor above them was the idyllic ecosystem, most of the technical infrastructure was here. Heating and cooling was done via a constantly circulating system of pipes. Power from nuclear reactors, the same design as the two anchored on the outside of the mothership, was distributed along this level. There were a dozen reactors, half on-line, the other half not yet active. They were buried six miles away and a half-mile underground in an abandoned mine that had been shielded.

  Maria reached up and pulled her glasses off, revealing empty sockets and fierce scars around them. She ran a hand across the striated, red skin, rubbing an itch that would never go away. “You’ve been isolated here, Asha. In the past twenty-four hours I’ve passed on orders to have people killed. That’s just one day. Routine business. I’ve served her for eighteen years. And her husband while he was alive.”

  “But,” Asha sputtered. “Your granddaughter. Surely Mrs. Parrish would make an exception.”

  Maria sighed and put the dark glasses back on. “Of course she knows. Every one of the Chosen was thoroughly screened. A connection like that wouldn’t go unnoticed.” She leaned closer to the tall black woman. “My granddaughter being in there isn’t a coincidence. There are no coincidences in the Parrish’s world. She was selected for the Chosen because she met criteria and she’s my granddaughter. My daughter died giving birth to Sofia. It was perfect for Mrs. Parrish to substitute Sofia for my daughter.”

  “’Substitute’?” Asha repeated. “I don’t understand.”

  “A leash around my neck,” Maria said. “The only reason Mrs. Parrish would intervene for Sofia is because it keeps the leash in place.”

  “But.” Asha was shaking her head, a step behind. “Sofia will be purged.”

  “So will others, correct?” Maria asked.

  “Yes, but—“

  “What about them? Do they not count?” George stirred and gave a low, uncomfortable whine.

  “Of course they do.”

  “And you’ve purged metabols before, correct?” Maria asked.

  Asha dropped her head. “Yes.”

  “How many?”

  “We try to treat them and our success rate has been getting better.”

  “How many?” Maria pressed.

  “Over two thousand. But you knew that. You know all she knows.”

  “Not all she knows,” Maria corrected. “She does not allow me access to the Strategy. I believe I know where this is going, but I am not certain.”

  Asha was angry. “You would sacrifice your granddaughter?”

  “You’ve sacrificed two thousand and forty-three children so far,” Maria replied. “I am not doing it for myself.”

  “I don’t understand,” Asha said. “You said Mrs. Parrish holds Sofia as a control over you. If Sofia is purged, she losses that control. Why would she do that?”

  Maria gave a sad smile. “We’re in a key phase of the Strategy, Asha. The Parrish’s Strategy has been in place for decades. A long game. Steps ahead. Why do you think Mrs. Parrish would allow this to happen now? Not what was planned, but I can assure you it was a possibility and she believes the Strategy accounts for all possibilities, no matter how remote.”

  Asha frowned. “I don’t pretend to understand this.”

  Maria reached out, a light touch finding Asha’s shoulder, then running her hand up her friend’s neck, to her face. She spread her fingers over her comrade’s face. “Poor Asha. You’ve had to do hard things too. I’m sorry I’ve been abrupt with you. Mrs. Parrish keeps a leash on all of us, some are just more obvious than others.”

  Maria removed her hand.

  “What do you mean?” Asha said. “What leash does she have on me?”

  “No one can tell another person such a thing,” Maria said, “if they are unaware. Mine was obvious. My daughter, then Sofia. Removing Sofia, while not optimum for Mrs. Parrish, will be twisted to serve a purpose.”

  “What purpose?” Asha said. “What purpose could purging Sofia serve?”

  “To test my loyalt
y,” Maria said. “Why do you think I am here? Mrs. Parrish decides to take a nap during such a critical time?”

  Asha was confused. “Will you help Sofia, then?”

  “No.”

  Asha took a step away from Maria and George. “Are you testing me for her? Are you going to report me? I was trying to do you a favor.”

  “There are no favors here,” Maria said.

  “Will you report me?”

  “For what?” Maria asked. “For passing me a note? It was redundant. I get the metabol report, just like Mrs. Parrish. I would have known anyway.”

  Asha’s shoulders slumped in defeat and relief. “Do you want to see Sofia one last time?”

  Maria pulled the glasses off. “How? Do your duty.”

  “The hell with you, you cold-hearted bitch. You’re not who I thought you were.” Asha turned her back and walked toward the waiting bus.

  “No one is,” Maria whispered. “Come,” she ordered George. She went back to the electric cart. George jumped in the passenger seat. Maria set the flexpad in the dashboard to take her back to Dreamland Control.

  AIRSPACE, COLORADO

  “Why do you trust this person?” Nekhbet asked as she buckled herself into the co-pilot’s seat and pulled the shoulder straps tight. “Are you going to do everything this Leahy asks of you?”

  Nosferatu was busy, checking the GPS, the instruments, then gave a quick tug on his own belts. They wore cloaks with hoods and wrap-around sunglasses to protect against the daylight invading the cockpit.

  “You’re not going to answer, are you?” Nekhbet complained. “I follow you wherever you desire to jaunt off to. Paris. London. That foggy hill.”

  “Tor,” Nosferatu corrected.

  “’Tor’,” Nekhbet said. “Hill, mound, whatever. And now? This?”

  Nosferatu turned to his lover and smiled, revealing the teeth that had cut through so much human flesh. “It will be fun.” He nodded out the cockpit. “Look.”

  The craggy peaks of the Rocky Mountains were ahead, snow glistening at elevation.

  “I like the Alps better,” Nekhbet said.

  “Of course,” Nosferatu said. “But this will be a new experience for you. For both of us. As long as I’ve lived, a new experience is something to be cherished.”

  Nekhbet rolled her eyes. “You’ve never died before. That will be new. And your last experience. And you’re taking me with you.”

  “I’ve been close,” Nosferatu said. “And you have too. But we’re not going to die. Trust me.”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “No.” Nosferatu directed his attention to piloting. He pushed the nose down. Checked the GPS. The trim. Speed. He throttled back. Lower. Slower. An alarm chimed. Then a voice warned: “Stall imminent. Stall imminent.”

  Nosferatu extended the landing gear.

  “Where do they get these boring voices?” Nekhbet said. “Is there one to tell you when you’re dead?

  “Stall. Stall.”

  Nosferatu saw the destination. Barely had time to process it, then gave the slightest nudge to the controls and they hit the ground, a slight bounce. He put full power into reverse, shoving his foot down on the brake, careful not to overdo and snap it off.

  The plane rolled for a hundred meters, slowing, then the right wing clipped a tree, slicing the tree in half. The next collision, with a stand of trees on the left didn’t turn out as well. The left wing ripped off and the plane spun in a counter-clockwise direction. The tail smashed against a thick tree trunk that brought the plane to an abrupt stop.

  “Wait here,” Nosferatu ordered as he unbuckled.

  Nekhbet was disoriented from the crash. “What?”

  Nosferatu was out of the cockpit, grabbing two Roman gladii from their scabbards. He kicked open the door and jumped out. His glimpse before the crash had oriented him and he ran toward the objective.

  Two men with automatic weapons were running toward him.

  “Are you all right?” one of them yelled. “We heard a crash.”

  Nosferatu accelerated, moving faster than an ordinary human. He passed between the two, a gladius slicing across each throat before they were aware of the danger.

  He kept running despite the lure of the pulsing blood.

  *****

  Turcotte was putting on the TASC-Suit, prepared to make an assault on Mrs. Parrish’s mercenaries to rescue Yakov, when he and Mickell heard the whine of a jet engine nearby and then a crash.

  “What the hell?” Mickell said from his over-watch position in the hatch. “Small jet just went down about a half mile away.”

  Leahy’s voice came from the leather briefcase. “A sign of my good faith, Major Turcotte. I’ve brought you assistance.”

  “I didn’t ask for any damn assistance,” Turcotte muttered.

  A burst of automatic fire. A scream.

  “Out of my way,” Turcotte ordered Mickell.

  The TASC-Suit was designed to be used in zero or low-G. The servomotors whined in protest as Turcotte climbed the ladder and exited the Fynbar.

  It took him a moment to get oriented, using the screens inside the helmet. Smoke was rising from the crash site. The two merks guarding Yakov were facing the other way, weapons to their shoulders.

  Turcotte raised the MK-98. The laser zeroed in, and he fired. The dart went through the guard on the left without slowing, sending the dead man flying. Yakov shoved the other guard away from him, swinging by the cuffs and kicking. Turcotte fired, hitting the second guard in the left shoulder, spinning him like a top.

  Turcotte jumped off the top of the Fynbar and learned the reason the TASC-suit wasn’t deployed in combat on Earth. The combination of its weight, along with Turcotte’s in 1 G was too much. The servos in the knees buckled, then locked under emergency protocol, leaving him frozen.

  *****

  Nosferatu ran through the Aspens, flitting between the trees, killing four more mercenaries before he arrived at the HET and the handcuffed Russian. The others had taken off running, dropping their weapons at this unexpected assault from behind.

  “Who the hell are you?” Yakov demanded.

  Nosferatu noted the spaceship and a man on top with an assault rifle aimed at him. He dropped the bloody swords. “A friend,” he said loudly, so he could be heard by the armed man. He noted an armored figure next to the space ship. “What is that?” he asked. “I have not seen such in centuries. A knight? How quaint.”

  One of the two guards was still moving, most of one shoulder gone, blood draining out. “What a waste!” Nosferatu said. He dropped to his knees and sank his teeth into the man’s neck, draining the rest of the blood before it went into the dirt.

  “This just keeps getting better and better,” Yakov muttered.

  Nosferatu looked up, blood smeared on his face. “Don’t tell my lover, please.”

  THE FACILITY

  Mrs. Parrish woke to the persistent buzzing of her flexpad. A sharp tone, indicating a priority one alert. She fumbled in the dark of her quarters, until she could turn on the light and grab her reading glasses.

  She stared at the screen for several seconds.

  She slid her feet into her shoes and walked to the door. She was still wearing the clothes she’d had on before taking her nap. The door to the control room opened, Maria and George dutifully waiting.

  “What is it?”

  The large display at the front of the room held everyone’s attention.

  “It’s from the VLBA,” Maria said. “We’ve locked the data from going to anyone else. The people in this room are the only ones who have it.”

  “What is it?” Mrs. Parrish asked, more confused than angry at having to ask the same question. “What am I looking at?”

  There was a black ovoid taking up most of the display. Dark as night.

  “There’s nothing there,” Mrs. Parrish said, moving to her chair and sitting down. “Someone tell me what the hell I’m looking at!”

  Maria had one of the techs w
hispering in her earpiece. She stepped next to the command chair. “We’re looking at all signals being blocked by an object. That object.”

  Mrs. Parrish was still confused.

  “That object,” Maria relayed, “is in the Solar System, between Saturn and Jupiter. It was initially picked up ten minutes and twelve seconds ago because of slight fluctuations in the rings of Saturn. All scopes are now aligned in that direction. It is a solid object and it is blocking any signal from further out.”

  Mrs. Parrish turned to look at Maria. “What kind of object?”

  “Based on the symmetry,” Maria said, “it appears to be a spaceship six thousand miles wide and four thousand miles in height. It is moving very fast, although slowing. The computer is still calculating speed and trajectory, but it’s estimated that it will arrive here, Earth, in a little over three days.”

  “The Ancient Enemy,” Mrs. Parrish whispered to herself.

  BE THE CHANGE

  REGRESS

  The shuttle is packed. Mostly with recently Selected going to their designated motherships for first duty assignments. Nyx is seated next to Yerz. His black battle suit is new, unstained. She prays it will remain unstained. Her gray suit is thinner, designed for space, work, research, but not fighting. Their helmets rest on their knees.

  “I will never see you again,” Yerz says.

  Nyx has her own orders. Finally going off planet to do what she was selected and trained for. Where? She has no idea. No one on this shuttle knows where their ships will take them. Security is paramount.

  “We will meet again,” Nyx says. “Deployments end.”

  “Mother,” Yerz says in that tone and she feels shame for such a blatant lie. “I am a man now,” Yerz continues. “That is what we were told after finishing training. My friends and I. We are warriors. The rumor is the mothership I am assigned will put down a revolt by the Mercene.”