Gamma Nine (Book One)

by Christi Smit

  These were the two squads that were ordered to New Horizon. Commander Alder refused the order, and remained at his post on a refugee space station in the Soras sector. He didn’t need supplies, nor did he need new recruits to screw up his operation. The risk in taking his flag ship, the Hammer Break, through the rebellion zones was too high. We could not lose the power it bolstered the fleet with.

  Only the Grim wolves returned to New Horizon on their home vessel, the Hyperion. The Hyperion’s captain using slip ways through dark sectors to go unnoticed, almost burning out the BEAM drive to reach New Horizon as fast as possible. Captain Locke, squad leader of the Grim Wolves, wanted to waste no time, he wanted to be ready as soon as possible for the next operation.

  On New Horizon, the Grim Wolves waited for reinforcement. They waited for what was rumoured to be, if all plans to gather resources failed, the last of the Titans.

  Chapter One

  Trials

  “Agonizing pain was not an apt description of what they experienced during those trials, their bodies were cut apart and glued back together by teams of scientists. It is beyond understanding how their sanity remained intact after everything they were put through. Their screaming never stopped echoing from the corridors of those facilities on New Horizon.”

  -Anonymous, Echo Facility, New Horizon

  2586 - 77 ASD (After Subjugation Day)

  He was standing underneath a sunless sky, pain was his constant companion. Even here, in his dreams, the agony could reach his senses. The suffering that waited for him back in reality would be much worse than he felt in this dreamscape. Surgery after surgery had forced his mind to retreat as far away from the real world as it could. He wished to dream of his childhood, instead he dreamed of a desert. A desert of dust and silence was all he could see from horizon to horizon. It was a strange sensation to feel the wind, but not hear it. He could hear nothing, not the sand hitting his body, nor the distant storms he saw from time to time. To think, he had volunteered for this.

  He had no idea how long he had to wait for that sudden unbearable jolt back into reality, but he already knew today’s surgery would be the worst one yet. The masked scientist and doctors were attaching his final interface ports to his spine. He could feel the burning agony as it spread from specific points along his back and neck. Tremors from the pain, bone deep, was affecting his ability to stand. Silly, he thought, back in reality he was strapped to a table of reflective iron. Scores of people laboured over his ravaged body, working with practiced precision to build something deadly.

  Build something deadly, he smirked as the thought crossed his mind, his mind made it sound like he was no longer human. But the torment he had suffered reminded him every time how human he really was.

  It was taking longer than usual. By his estimates he should have awoken on that cold table a long time ago, screaming as reality reasserted itself over his senses. But he was still trapped here with the ever growing unease he felt to his core. His limbs were heavy and aching, throbbing more and more while he tried to remain upright.

  A sudden rise of fluid from his stomach made him fall forward, his aching arms resting his forward motion. Invisible fluid he could not see rushed out of him, it tasted like blood and bile. He could taste and feel it leaking out of him onto the grey sand, but he could not see it. That ignited a small spark of panic, he tried to stand and refocus, but his limbs were lead that anchored him to the dusty ground. The fluid forcing him to splutter and cough, draining what little power he had left. You are still so weak and so pathetic Christian.

  His head snapped up, those words, they were not his. Across the desert a figure stood, shifting in and out of focus like smoke dissipating in the wind. The figure had spoken them in his mind, but the voice sounded different. A voice from the past that still haunted him, he had not heard it in a very long time. It was from a memory he had tried to bury many times, yet he never succeeded in doing so.

  The figure stood motionless, Christian felt it grinning at him, challenging him to respond. To his surprise it raised a smoky limb and waved at him. Just as he was about to reply to those hateful words in kind the desert changed around him. Bright light flooded his senses, pain lancing through him like impaling spikes driven through his body, it told him that he was waking up in reality. His eyes snapped open, hearing only a deafening scream echo around him. Realization dawned on him, he was the one screaming.

  Christian bit down, forcing the scream to stop. He struggled to hold it back, his eyes filled with tears from the effort of fighting the anguish he felt. He focused on the words emblazoned on the ceiling of the room he had woken up in. Courage. Honour. Pride. Those words were always an inspiration to him. A female face appeared between him and the ceiling, dazzling brown eyes stared down at him. He knew her well, her presence succour to his torture.

  “Titan, welcome back,” she whispered. “We almost lost you this time, be strong, the final step will begin soon.”

  He could imagine her smile underneath her medical mask. Such beauty was not meant to see men suffer like she had. She touched his arm to signify that she wanted him to be brave, and he responded with a slight nod of understanding. Christian steeled himself against what was to come.

  Above him the ceiling opened up with the sound of grinding gears and clattering chains. A new apparatus appeared from the hidden chamber now revealed to him, something he had not seen before. It reminded him of an ancient torture device he had seen in old books, our ancestors of old Earth called it an iron maiden. The thought caused him to stir, his muscles tensed against the straps that held him in place on the cold table. Its rough shape looked human, with thousands of needles pointing inwards, tubes ran from the needles to a giant reservoir tank mounted on the back of the unknown machine that hovered above him.

  One of the medical staff lowering the frightening device saw Christian’s unease. The man was controlling it with a mobile control panel, fidgeting with buttons and levers constantly. “Not to worry hero, this will make you whole again,” the man said with an unnerving level of levity to his voice.

  It seemed like he was enjoying this. Christian returned the man’s comment with a painful wry smile. Fool, he thought through the agony. He closed his eyes and waited for the torture to begin anew.

  “Corporal Quinn,” the female with the brown eyes spoke at his side. “This is the Nano Insertion Platform. It sounds very erotic, but I assure you it is not. The NIP is the final stage of your surgery; it will allow us to inject the Liquid Nano Robotics into your muscles and nervous system.” She walked to the table that held a plethora of surgical equipment, picking up a syringe full of blue liquid. She carefully tapped the syringe with her petite fingers and returned to his side.” After today your body will heal much faster, and the pain should subside within a few days. Please understand Corporal Quinn, this might be the last stage, but it is the most painful.”

  Christian tried to speak, but his mouth was dry and his throat stinging, only one word escaped his cracking lips before he had to swallow the pain down. “Ready.”

  “This will make you dream, it will keep you from flat lining again,” she said, sticking the needle into his aching neck, whispering her final words close to his ear, “I will find you if you get lost.”

  He didn’t have a chance to respond. The last thing Christian saw before he was back in the never ending world of his dreams was the NIP aligning itself above his prone body. Darkness was replaced by the alien light of the sunless desert. This time, however, the desert was different.

  The crew quarters on-board the Hyperion were not ostentatious like those on-board other void fairing vessels, they were simple and functional. Most of the crew rarely used their quarters for more than resting, every other waking hour they spent at their stations, giving mechanical life to dead metals and pipes. Captain Gabriel Locke sat at his tiny desk inside his dark quarters pouring over a map, low light discipline was protocol during resupplying. What little light he had was aimed at the ma
p he had been studying for hours, the files that had accompanied the map piled up around him by the dozens.

  A knock at the door dragged him out of his reverie. There was only one person in this galaxy that would ignore his orders so blatantly.

  “Enter, Lieutenant,” his voice carrying through the metal door of his quarters with ease.

  The visitor entered without a word and sat down on the Captain’s bunk with too much familiarity. He was clad in his mesh suit, preferring to always be ready for action. Tall, muscular and an ego to match his chiselled facial features. Dark brown hair, cut short, covered his scalp. Locke was taller, but less muscular than his Lieutenant, dark blonde with greying hair at his temples. Captain Locke on the other hand, had an aura of authority around him, like a nobleman from ancient Earth. He was a hard man to say no to, and an even harder man to dislike.

  His visitor stared at him, patiently willing him to look up, he wanted to talk.

  With a sigh of frustration Locke shifted his eyes from the table in front of him and looked at his second in command. “Yes Nathan? What is on your mind?” he said, leaning back in his uncomfortable chair.

  “Why are you not on the surface overseeing the progress of the new recruit?” Nathan asked.

  “Why aren’t you?”

  Nathan just grunted at the idea. He was always the stubborn rebel. An awkward silence settled on both of them.

  “Speak your mind Lieutenant, you know I how I feel about keeping your mouth shut when things need to be said.”

  “It is about this new recruit, sir.”

  “What about him?”

  “I think it’s a mistake to accept him into the Wolves, sir.”

  “Drop the formalities. Speak plainly. It is not about accepting him or denying him, we can’t pick and choose which orders to follow. The military, especially the part we belong to, is not a democracy.”

  Nathan drew a breath. “Gabriel, this recruit is not ready, he will not make the cut, and he will cause problems for us, even get some of us killed.”

  “You haven’t even seen him in action, why the negativity?” Locke reached for a file and pulled it from the pile on his desk. “Have you been reading a different report than mine? His performance is nominal, and his survival rate is higher than both of ours when we went through the trials. He might need some guidance and training in our ways, but we can teach him how to be a Wolf.” Locke shifted in his seat, the metal edges of the demon chair already causing his limbs to go numb. He knew Nathan would try and dodge his first question.

  “Why would command do this? Why would they take the best squad in the galaxy, make us drag our asses back to the safe zone, and then give us an FNG like him?” Nathan’s voice rose slightly with disdain as he pronounced FNG.

  “Your personal connection to the situation was noted before the order was given. And I am sure your ego was at the top of their list when they made their decision,” Locke answered, giving Nathan a sarcastic grin. “Orders are orders Lieutenant, I get mine and you get yours. Speaking of which, I expect you to be on the surface within the hour. We have only a few days to train the Corporal before we leave.”

  “Yes sir!” Nathan replied with a mocking tone to his voice.

  “You are excused. I have a mission to plan.”

  There was nothing left to be said, Nathan left the Captain’s quarters and closed the door behind him. In the corridor he cursed himself for bringing this up with his superior. Nathan never wanted to show any emotion around others, emotion was a weakness for the sick and dying. He looked down at his hands, flexing them as he rolled his neck and shoulders. That action always made him focus better. With his mind now clearer he turned and stalked down the corridor towards Hyperion’s shuttle bays.

  Stomach churning, nausea hit him as he landed on the strange sand. It took him a few moments to compose himself and sit up. Her voice echoed in his mind, those beautiful eyes, helping him regain some of his drained focus. New levels of pain sent waves of coldness through him, numbing his entire body from head to toe. He tried to lift his hand and wipe the dust from his face, but a sudden realization made him freeze in place. Sound. There was sound this time, dust buffeted against him and thunder rumbled off in the distance.

  “Hello,” said a voice from behind him. “We meet again.”

  If Christian had been wearing pants, he would have needed a new pair. He turned to face the figure, the creature of smoke stood only a few feet away from him. It looked at him with its hollow eyes. No discernable facial features could be seen except the outlines of what mimicked a human smile.

  “You have questions and I have the answers. Would you like to play a game before I answer them?” the figure said.

  A game, he thought, something about the way it was said reminded him of a memory. “Who or what are you?” Christian asked.

  “Oh, introductions are not necessary my friend. You already know exactly who I am. Go on, guessing is the first part of the game.” The figure took a step closer as it spoke, leaving no footprints behind it.

  “I don’t care what game you want to play. Answer me!”

  “There! You almost had it, try again kid. I can hear you even if you aren’t moving your lips. I can see you grasping for memories behind that grim face of yours.” It seemed to hover instead of walk, as if the sand around it was no hindrance to the creature. “We have never spoken before, but we are allies you and I.”

  “I...can’t remember,” he whispered, “you are just a dream, just my imagination playing tricks on me because of all the sedatives in my system. I am no ally to something like you.”

  “You, me, both have no meaning here. In this place individuality does not exist, everything in this dull place is mine and yours, yours and mine.” It was even closer now, silently shifting over the sand. “But I am getting far ahead of myself, that question was asked too soon. We are not ready to know that answer yet.”

  “What? That makes no”

  The figure cut Christian off with a wave of its smoky limb. “It would seem that our time is up. Such a pity, we could have had some fun. See you soon, kiddo.”

  Christian had no time to answer, the pain in his body grew to new levels of agony, and he closed his eyes as he tried to ride out this wave of torment. A new sound was drowning out the sound of the desert, overlapping all of his hearing. He opened his eyes, the pain still substantial. The desert had vanished again, replaced by a dimly lit room of white walls and green curtains. A man was standing by the foot of his bed writing on a clipboard as he scanned Christian’s paralyzed body. He was finally out of surgery and he was not strapped down anymore, but still he was unable to move. He could not speak or do anything more than move his eyes, the man knew he could not because he began to speak as soon as their eyes met.

  “Ah, awake are we? Very good then,” he said. “I’m Engineer Walters. You can address me as Sam Walters, Sam the Engineer or ‘Oi, you with the wrench!’.” He tapped his tool belt as confirmation. Sam grabbed hold of Christian’s big toe and shook it as a greeting. “Nice to meet you,” Sam said, wiping his hand on his overhauls, an utterly pointless thing to do considering how dirty he was, “Corporal.”

  Pain rocked Christian’s leg and he bit down a curse, he just watched Sam as he continued to meander on about his job. He still lay there, unable to move, as Sam launched into a detailed account of his final surgery. Sam was odd, tall and thin, like a lost bamboo stalk separated from the rest of his bamboo family. Glass thicker than void windows inserted into what seemed to be old welding goggles covered his eyes. The colour of his eyes just a smudge of green behind the thickness of his ocular device. A grease-smeared face and greying black hair completed Sam’s odd outward persona.

  Sam looked like just another deck engineer, destined to live in the bowels of a void vessel, forever tinkering and maintaining ship systems. But Christian knew better, the man at the foot of his bed was the Chief Engineer of the Titan Project. A genius, that was the only word to describe him, and now
he was attending to Christian personally for some unknown reason.

  “Why are you...?” Christian tried to say through his burning throat.

  “Why am I here? Oh, I thought you were told. You, Corporal Quinn that is, are the last Titan that will be created during this cycle.” Sam took a deep breath before he spoke again. “We are unsure if there will be any more production cycles after this one. You see, our vaults are empty, our resources dry. Only thirteen could be produced during this cycle, which means that there was only enough of everything to create thirteen complete suits and their Operators.”

  Christian nodded in acknowledgement. Shifting his eyes to the ceiling, there were no words there in this room. The missing words made him anxious.

  “During dire times there is always dire news. The Fateful Moment disappeared, with all of our Nano systems and power system in its cargo bays for the next ten cycles, some time ago. Anctinium is in very short supply, enough to maybe produce a few more Titan suits, but without the other systems it would just be an empty husk. All of them worthless without the other pieces of the project puzzle.”

  “When will I be able to move?” Christian’s throat was on fire with every word he spoke. Water, he needed water.