REV- Rebirth

by T. R. Harris

  In a way, the crew was relieved knowing that Zac wasn’t being forced into making the confessions through torture or chemical inducements. But on the other side of the coin, it meant the Qwin didn’t need him to make the recordings. Eventually, it became an unspoken belief among the three Humans that Zac was long since dead. The aliens already had what they wanted from Zac—his image—and as an enhanced REV, all he was now was a potential danger. There was no need to keep the problem around any longer than necessary.

  It was also in Antaere space that they first heard of the Human defeat on ES-7. This became the dominant story in the newsfeeds, filled with graphic images of slaughtered Marines. There was even video of the death of the assault-leading REV by a mechanized NOV—as the Qwin called their own version of the REVs. It was a crushing and humiliating defeat and one the Antaere were reveling in. The broadcasts only added to the depression Angus, Ashley and Smitty felt on the way back to Earth.

  After leaving Antaere-controlled space, however, the team began to relax. They’d been on the edge for over a month, on constant lookout for Qwin forces, and it weighed on them. All three had lost weight, although Angus the least. His body fought against the stress—cascading slightly to offset the effects—while Ashley Hunter and General Smith suffered from it.

  They also began to get news showing a different perspective on the battle at the Bountiful Enclave. Raw footage was being broadcast showing how the REV—his name was Sergeant Peter Savage—had not been killed by the Qwin. Rather, he’d been Twilighted and then rescued by the heroic efforts of two of his fellow REVs, along with a Marine officer named Drake. The Antaere had conveniently edited out this fact from the video they were transmitting.

  Angus and Smitty literally cheered aloud when the rescuing REVs were identified as Kyle Johnson and Donovan Ross. They hadn’t heard anything about the pair since they left Camp Slater four months before. Angus felt a surge of pride in knowing that most of the team was still alive and ticking, even as he mourned the loss of Zac and Mike Brickey. His emotions were conflicted in light of the tragedy that took place on Kaus. But Kyle and Donovan were alive and well. It was a small consolation.

  Before the ship landed on Earth, General Smith was in contact with both the military and political leadership of the planet. He had been assured that all past transgressions had been forgiven and that he and Angus would receive a hero’s welcome. Smith saw through their bloviating proclamations. With the current messaging being about the evil Antaere and their genocidal Final Glory as detailed in the Corollaries, it was hard to continue with the persecution of the REVs and their mission to Iz’zar. They couldn’t push the veracity of the Corollaries while blaming the REVs who had sacrificed so much to bring them to Earth.

  The ship landed at Andrews Space Operations facility outside Washington, Columbia. The Corollaries were quickly offloaded and rushed to a military lab for analysis. Smith and the others were assured the process was relatively simple. Scientists and technicians would study the composition of the paper to determine age and origin. The ink would also be analyzed. There were samples to compare everything against. The results would be known soon.

  Angus, Smitty and Ashley were taken to a room in the Pentagon for debrief. It was carried out by a Navy captain named Brandon Weichert. Everything said in the room was recorded and would later be evaluated for security classification. The captain listened intently, asking questions as needed and helping guide the recollections of the trio until they told him everything they could remember. Then it was their turn to ask questions.

  “Is there any word about Zac Murphy?” Angus asked.

  The Naval officer shook his head. “Just seventeen separate confession videos, covering nine specific events.” He held up his hand to stop the coming protest. “Yes, we know they’re all fake, but the Antaere are linking him—and I might add—the rest of his REV team—to other disasters over half a dozen Colony Worlds. For example, terrorists took out a portion of the main spaceport on Enif a couple of years back and Lt. Murphy has confessed to being the mastermind behind the attack. Also, a Noc politician on ES-6 was assassinated six months ago…and Zac did it, according to him. It’s pretty funny when you think about it. Any rational person would know a Human could not have been at all those places at the times he was supposed to be there. Yet still, the propaganda is being believed.”

  “I don’t think it’s funny at all,” Ashley Hunter snapped. She had been a side note to the Corollary story, shuffled into the background to preserve her value as an undercover operative—if she ever returned to that part of her profession again. “And I bet all the natives are buying the bullshit.”

  Weichert nodded. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be flippant. As far as the response from the natives, we have the Purges to thank for that.”

  “Is that still going on?” Smitty asked.

  “Oh yeah; it’s probably the biggest obstacle we’re facing in getting our message out.”

  “Have any of them been carried out? I haven’t heard,” said the general.

  “No, sir, not yet.” Weichert smiled, not from humor but disgust. “You would think it would be easy to come up with the names of a hundred thousand traitorous natives to be executed on each of the six worlds participating in the Purges. Instead, anyone accused of siding with the Humans has a right to appeal. Most often, those accused turn around and accuse their accusers, which starts the whole process over again. Billions of natives are fighting over the right to prove their loyalty to the Antaere, while pointing fingers at everyone else. The lists keep getting edited and the deadlines moved. It’s obvious this is what the Antaere intended all along. They weren’t really going to kill the natives, just get everyone afraid to say anything bad about the Antaere.” The officer turned more serious. “The only exception is anyone possessing bootleg videos.”

  “Bootleg videos?” Ashely asked.

  “Yes, any of those exonerating Lt. Murphy, or of the Corollaries and even the true footage of the battle on Kaus. The Qwin have locked down any opposing views in their part of the Grid and anyone caught distributing these videos, or even watching them, are placed on another list for immediate execution. And the problem is no one knows who’s going to rat them out. It’s like the Gestapo in Nazi Germany. There were never a lot of them, but no one knew who was an informant and who wasn’t. The native populations are running scared, and even if they believe us, they can’t speak up. And now, after what happened on Kaus, even Earth Command is skittish. There have been a few more overtures from Colony Worlds asking for our help, but we can’t trust them, not now. As a result, when we don’t respond immediately, many of the rebels are either found out and killed, or they go deeper underground, losing what support they may have had.”

  “So I’m getting the vibe that even with the original Corollaries, not much is going to change.” Angus pointed out.

  “Unfortunately not, gunny.”

  “So what are we going to do?” Ashley asked.

  The captain leaned back in his chair, a grim look on his face. “We’re looking at a couple of options. One: The Antaere eventually launch an all-out assault on Earth. To prepare for this, we’re cranking out warships and planetary defense platforms at a breakneck pace. The second: We go after the Antaere on the Colony Worlds, but this time without giving a shit about the natives, at least not initially. We’ve pussy-footed around for twenty years, wasting lives, money and material, just to end up back at square one. It’s a pretty good bet the Antaere aren’t going to call it even and leave us alone. Earth is fighting for her very existence and as you know, the best defense is a strong offense. If we attack, we’re going all in. If the Antaere want a war, we’re going to give them one. A real war. A Human war.”

  General Smith smiled. “You should go into politics, Mr. Weichert. That was a very inspiring speech.”

  Weichert snorted. “I’d rather face the whole of the Antaere race, naked and alone, than go into politics, general. I wouldn’t last a day on that
battle front.”

  Smitty nodded and looked around at the others at the table. “So I guess we’re done here?”

  “I have enough,” Weichert confirmed. “If I need anything else I’ll contact you individually.”

  “Excuse me, general,” Angus said. “Since we’re kinda in limbo now, I’d like to take a trip out to Colorado.”

  On the long journey back to Earth, he’d told Smitty and Ashley about the nurse at Dr. Cross’s Cheyanne Mountain Complex and how she should have given birth to his child by now. General Smith didn’t think it was a good idea; Angus had enough complications in his life without looking for more. But he also couldn’t fault the man. He also couldn’t say no.

  The general nodded, while looking at Weichert.

  “I have no problem with that,” said the Naval officer. “You’re heroes now, so who’s going to say no? You can catch a sub-orbital hop out of Andrews and be there in under an hour.”

  “When will you be back,” Ashley asked, a quiver in her voice. Smith picked up on the emotions. It had been inevitable that she and Angus would hook up on the way back from Iz’zar; the attraction women felt for the REVs was undeniable and understood. They had done it only when Smitty was asleep in his cabin, yet the general had an uncanny ability to read people. He knew what was going on after the first time. Although he knew it was mostly physical between the two, with no promise for a future, Smitty still noticed the trace of jealousy in Ashley’s tone.

  “I’m not sure,” Angus said. “But this is something I have to do.”

  “I understand.”

  Weichert also picked up on the tension in the room. “I’ll make some calls and get you on the next flight going west.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Angus looked back at Ashley. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  Before he left the Pentagon, Angus went to the fairly decent-size PX located within the huge structure and bought a cellphone. He didn’t have trouble accessing his sizeable bank account this time, so he had the money. He also stocked up on luggage, toiletries and some civilian clothes. After sixty-four days aboard the Zanzibar, he was in desperate need of a change of scenery and attire.

  Although the hop out to Colorado Springs would only take twenty minutes, there wasn’t a flight leaving for three hours. During the delay, he used his new phone to call Olivia Contreras at Cross’s Rocky Mountain research facility.

  “Silvia’s not here, Angus,” Olivia said after the pair got through the obligatory greetings and a quick summary of what had happened since last they saw each other.

  “Where is she?”

  Angus watched the screen as Olivia shook her head. She was still as gorgeous as he remembered her to be, although she looked tired and dejected.

  “I don’t know. A couple of weeks before she was due, she just disappeared. The same happened to the other women who were pregnant from the REVs. I asked Cross about it and he said they were being cared for at another facility. He wouldn’t tell me where.”

  Angus’s face turned to stone. “He’ll bloody well tell me!”

  “He’s not here…although he will be back later this evening. He’s been in Denver on and off for the past month. Ever since we heard about ES-7 he’s been going there a lot.”

  “You must like that,” Angus said, forcing a smile.

  “I would, if I wasn’t scheduled to transfer out in a week.”

  “Transfer…where to?”

  “Crious. Orders just showed up a week ago. I didn’t request them. It looks like a lot of us are heading out.”

  “Cross is closing the facility?”

  “Not really. There’s new people coming in. He’s still running REVs through here, testing for the natural NT-4, but it seems as if David has lost interest. He seldom attends the tests when he’s here, and barely scans the reports. And like I said, he’s been gone a lot of the time.”

  Angus was furious. According to what Cross told Zac, the reason the younger REVs were producing their own version of natural NT-4 was from the tweaks to the formula Cross made after discovering that the mutation was possible. Now, according to Olivia, he didn’t care anymore.

  “Are there still naturals being found?”

  “Everyone who comes here is a natural—what we now call Deltas. They’ve been pre-screened already.”

  “Deltas?” Angus snorted. “I like that. Sure beats the hell out of calling us naturals. That always sounded kinda sissy.”

  He checked the flight schedule. He’d be boarding in forty minutes—and he was starving. He hadn’t had a decent meal in over two months. He’d have to eat before he left.

  “You sure you can get me into the Complex?”

  “Pretty sure,” Olivia answered. “Like I said, David is due back tonight, but it should be after you get here.” On the screen, her dark eyes looked worried. “Don’t do anything rash, Angus. You just got back in the good graces of the military. Don’t screw it up by going all-REV on Cross.”

  “All-REV? Is that a thing?”

  “Do you really have to ask?”

  They cut the connection sharing a pair of strained smiles. The next few days could indeed be…interesting.

  14

  Olivia was waiting for Angus at the North Gate. She had on a thin sweater and her arms across her chest, protecting against the constant chill of the Rocky Mountain elevation outside Colorado Springs. The two guards, dressed in the teal-colored uniforms of a private security company to disguise their true identities as military police, had been convinced by the ravishing, dark-haired beauty that it was okay to let Angus pass. It was hard to say no to Olivia—especially if you were a guy.

  The cab dropped Angus at the gate and he was motioned through. Olivia and he shared a warm hug, before he climbed onto the passenger seat of a small golf cart for the half-mile ride through the entrance tunnel leading to the main security doors into the complex.

  The place was just as dank, dark and depressing as the last time Angus was here. Back then, he and Zac had taken an alternative exit through an emergency access shaft when they left, while being chased by military troops led by the ambitious and flighty Senator Reece Hamilton. Angus longed to pay the slimy politician a visit, but he’d promised Olivia he would behave.

  It was early evening at the Complex, and Angus noticed a marked reduction in the number of people milling about.

  “I thought you said Cross was bringing in new people to replace those being transferred?” he asked Olivia as the cart moved alongside the series of three-story buildings that made up the main part of the underground facility.

  “Even so, we are down in numbers. I know another eight med techs are scheduled to arrive in two days. I’m supposed to get them up to speed before I leave.”

  “Take me to Cross’s office. I’ll wait around outside until he shows up. I don’t want him to know I’m here, until it’s too late.”

  “I’m going in with you,” Olivia stated. By the tone of her voice, Angus knew there was no arguing. Besides, if he found out where Silvia had been taken, Olivia wanted to know as well. The women had worked together since back at Camp Slater and had formed a tight bond…as lost souls hopelessly in love with a couple of unattainable REVs.

  Dr. David Cross was in a shitty mood. He had so much conflicting information tumbling around in his mind that he had trouble concentrating on where he was. That was the reason he let his long-time secretary, Lisa Frost, drive the golf cart. He didn’t want to bother with having to steer the damn vehicle.

  The limo had dropped the pair off at the heavy security doors to the complex, which looked more like the entrance to a vault than to a research facility. An enlisted man had loaded their bags in the back of a waiting golf cart.

  “Take me to my office,” he told Lisa.

  “You don’t want to go by your quarters first, maybe freshen up a little?” There was concern in her voice. She’d been with Cross for twelve years, and although she was fifteen years his junior, she still carried a burning, yet unfu
lfilled, longing for the man. He was a genius—and a rock—the most-stabilizing part of her life. Although others either despised or worshipped the man—with nothing in between—she knew him better than anyone. She knew his mind, his soul…and his secrets.

  “No, I have to look at the video again,” he answered, distracted. “And get me Patel’s report again.”

  “Of course, David. And a sandwich from the mess wouldn’t hurt either.” In private they were on a first name basis; in public it was Colonel Cross, sir.

  “Sandwich?” Cross blinked until the word gained meaning. It was the last thing on his mind. “Yeah, sure. Get whatever you want, after you drop me off.”

  “I meant for you, silly.”

  Five minutes later Lisa pulled up to the base of the metal stairs attached to the stone wall of the underground labyrinth that led to his office thirty feet above. The ladder was painted red, and above the landing was a green canvas awning with a single gold star emblazoned on it. This had once been the office of the commanding officer of NORAD, at another time in the long history of the Cheyanne Mountain Complex. Now, a lowly colonel was in charge. Cross hadn’t changed out the insignia, perhaps holding out until the star matched his rank.

  David stepped onto the ladder and was immediately confronted by a pair of figures appearing from his left. He stopped in his tracks, recognizing both people.

  Fuck! This is the last thing I need, he thought as his gaze locked on the brilliant blue eyes of Gunnery Sergeant Angus Price. His countenance remained firm, not bothering with any amicable greeting. He shifted his gaze to Olivia Contreras. She would be responsible for letting the REV into the Complex.

  “I suppose you wouldn’t care if I said I don’t have time for this?” Cross said to the REV. The two men were of comparable height, although Price was stockier—and bald. Cross was lean and fit, yet with a crop of too-long gray hair for a military officer. In his current position—as the God of the REV program—no one was going to tell him to get a haircut.