by Tripp Ellis
Emma kept her eyes fixed on the building. Carson's apartment was on the 37th floor. His window faced street side, two from the left. Anderson scanned the street and the alleyway, intermittently. Traffic was beginning to pick up.
About three minutes into the raid, Emma heard the muffled rattle of gunfire. Her palm clutched the grip of her pistol. She was about to unholster it and charge towards the apartment building. But Anderson put a gentle hand on her shoulder, holding her back. "This isn’t Federation territory. You heard Laurent. We can't get involved."
Emma clinched her jaw and watched Rocco’s window with the eyes of a hawk. Suddenly, the glass shattered. Shards of debris plummeted down to the street along with the body of an officer. He tumbled end over end, screaming in abject terror until he splattered against the concrete. The impact was hidden from Emma’s view behind a parked car, but the audible squish was enough to vividly paint the picture. She didn't have to see it first hand. There was a dark crimson stain on the concrete that would likely remain there long after the body had been removed.
A moment later, Rocco leapt out of the window on a hoverboard. He looked like a competition surfer as he rode the board’s exhaust to the ground. He carved turns on the wind like they were giant waves.
One of the officers blasted at him with an assault rifle. The officer gave no regard to possible civilian casualties. Rocco’s zigzagging descent made him a difficult target to hit. Bullets streaked through the air, whizzing past him. The bullets impacted the concrete, spraying chips of debris.
Rocco carved a turn and aimed his pistol back toward his apartment. He squeezed the trigger several times. A flurry of rounds ripped through the air, one of them exploding the skull of an officer. It was an incredible shot. Either Rocco got lucky, or he was one helluva marksman.
The officer’s body slumped over the windowsill, oozing blood from his cranium. It looked like the body was just going to hang there, but a moment later, his top-heavy mass pulled him over the ledge.
Emma heard another, bigger squishing sound as the officer’s body slammed against the sidewalk.
Rocco had reached street level and was heading east.
Before Anderson could say anything, Emma was sprinting after Rocco. Horns honked as she darted into traffic, crossing the street. She almost got mowed over a few times by hover-cars.
She sprinted down the sidewalk after Rocco, weaving through pedestrians. There was no way she was going to catch up with him. He was moving much too fast on the hoverboard. Her chest heaved and she was sucking wind. Her quads burned with lactic acid. She wasn't going to quit running until her legs gave out from underneath her.
Rocco ducked into an alleyway, heading north. By the time Emma reached the turn, Rocco was at the other end of the alley, making a left. He disappeared around the corner.
"Get in!" Anderson yelled through the window of his hover-car as he pulled alongside Emma.
Emma leapt inside. Anderson punched it before she could even close the door. He blazed down the street and took the first right, then the next left.
"Well, that could have gone better,” Anderson said. They were going to be in a world of shit if this got back to Pinford.
Emma caught sight of Rocco weaving through pedestrians on the sidewalk. “There!”
Anderson accelerated, pulling up to Rocco. They raced along the roadway. There were rows of parked cars in between them. At the next corner, Anderson turned the wheel and drove the hover-car onto the sidewalk, cutting off Rocco. He smacked into the right quarter panel with his knees, and tumbled over the hood, smacking the concrete in the middle of the intersection.
The impact slammed all the air out of his lungs. By the time he realized what hit him, Emma was hovering over him with her pistol in his face. Rocco was wailing in agony. His kneecaps were shattered. His eyes glossed over, and tears of pain were seeping from the corners. Emma could see his desire to reach for his gun, but that was lying next to the curb by the storm drain, 20 feet away.
27
Ryan
It was Thursday, and Ryan was having a hard time. His stomach was roiling. He couldn’t keep anything down. Even when his stomach was empty, his body was trying to hurl. He felt weak and shaky. He had maybe gotten a half hour of sleep in the last four days. He was lightheaded and dizzy, and he had the cough of a 20 pack a day smoker.
He was in the chow hall, trying to stuff some food down his throat. But it didn’t want to go down. It was like his body had forgotten how to swallow. And what he did get down came right back up the minute he stepped out of the chow hall onto the Pulverizer. The green chunky fluid splattered on the asphalt. By this point in Hell Week, it wasn’t an uncommon sight.
After each meal, the recruits were required to stop by the medical facility and get evaluated by the corpsman. Ryan was dreading it. He was sick enough for a medical rollback. He sucked it up and put on his best face as he entered the facility.
“How you feeling?” Lambert asked.
“I feel great.”
“You eating okay?”
“Yeah.”
Lambert did a bio scan with his PDU. He passed the device over Ryan’s chest and it gave a 3-D image of his thoracic cavity. All of his vital organs and bones were visible. The corpsman could zoom into particular areas and see indications of infection, edema, stress fractures, herniated discs, etc.
He scanned Ryan’s entire body. After he was finished, he gave Ryan a grim look. “You’ve got a serious case of pneumonia. You’ve got stress fractures in both your legs.”
“So?”
“You’ve also got a particularly nasty strain of Norovirus. Have you been experiencing any vomiting?”
“No.”
Lambert’s skeptical eyes surveyed him. “With this stage of pneumonia, and the viral load you’re carrying around, you ought to be incapacitated.”
“I feel fine. I swear.” Ryan looked like he was about to spew, but he held it back.
“I don’t feel comfortable letting you go back out there.”
Ryan’s whole body tensed. “I’m going back out there. Give me a shot or something.”
“I’ve already given you a heavy dose of antibiotics and antivirals.”
“Give me more.”
Lambert pursed his lips, pondering what to do.
“Come on, Lambert. You can’t med-roll me. Not now.” Ryan pleaded with him. “It’s two more days. I can make it two more days.”
Lambert was silent for a long moment. “Alright. I’m going to give you something for the nausea and dizziness. You won’t be able to throw up, even if you wanted to. I’m also going to give you a long-acting regenerative compound. That will help your body recover faster. I’m giving you one more dose of antibiotics and antivirals. But that’s it. If you don’t show improvement by your next scan, I’m pulling you.”
Ryan grinned. “You’re the best, Lambert.”
“That’s why I get paid the big bucks.”
The two chuckled.
Lambert gave Ryan a series of injections in his arm, then sent him on his way.
Ryan dashed into the brisk night air and sprinted down to the beach to regroup with his boat crew. The class of 43 was down to 21 now. Boat crews had been reorganized several times due to the attrition. Gavin and Ensign Parkes were still hanging tough. They had been consolidated into the same boat crew with Ryan.
The instructors rotated out every eight hours, so there was always a fresh crew to harass the recruits. Instructors from all phases of BSCT were involved. Dugan was waiting for the recruits on the beach. "Well, reunited at last.” Dugan grinned. "Push’em out."
The recruits dropped to the sand and did push-ups with their feet up on the boat. After they had sufficiently worn out their upper body, Dugan made them go on the Base Cruise—racing around the base with the boats overhead. But this time they had to do it taking lunge steps, bringing a knee all the way to the ground.
Ryan’s quads, hips, and knees ached. With each step, his kneecap smashed against th
e ground. It didn’t take long to tear through his fatigues, and his outer layer of skin. The uneven height of the boat crew added an additional layer of difficulty. Boat crews had been originally assigned by height, now there was a miss-match of short and tall recruits in each crew.
The winners of the race, if you could call them that, got to stay on the beach doing PT while the others raced again. There were no real winners during Hell Week.
After several races, Dugan put the recruits into the surf for more torture. The water was 55 degrees. At that temperature he could keep them in there for roughly 12 minutes. For the recruits, it seemed like an eternity.
By the end of the Surf Torture, Ryan was chilled to the bone. His arms and legs were numb, and his body was shaking uncontrollably. The medication had stopped his vomiting, but he was still hacking up green goop from his lungs. One more of the trainees decided that he had enough. Stu Atkins staggered out of the surf and shivered his way to Dugan.
“I’m done.”
“Are you sure?” Dugan asked. “You’ve only got two days left.”
“I can’t take another two minutes.”
“This evolution is almost over. The O-course is next. Get through that, then make up your mind.”
Atkins stood there for a long moment. He was a good recruit. Dugan hated to see him go.
Atkins finally stammered out an answer. “Okay.” He trudged back into the surf and finished the evolution.
By the time Ryan got to the obstacle course, his arms and legs felt like wet noodles. He tried to attack the course again with violent aggression, like he had done in the evolutions leading up to Hell Week. But he, and the rest of the recruits, lacked the strength and energy. What had seemed relatively easy for him was now a slog.
Parallel Pain lived up to its name. His legs felt like mush as he scaled the Low Wall. His biceps burned on the High Wall. By the time he reached Hell No, his heart was pounding in his chest, and the world was spinning. He looked up at the towering structure. There was no way he was going to be able to make it to the top. His upper body strength was gone. The terrible seed of doubt creeped into his mind.
28
Emma
A crowd of onlookers were starting to gather. Emma rolled Rocco over and cuffed his hands behind his back and searched his pockets for contraband. She took his mobile device, a pair of keys, his wallet, and some loose change. Then she grabbed him by the collar and dragged him into the car. She threw him in the backseat and crawled in alongside him. She kept her pistol aimed at his head. She pulled her door shut and Anderson sped away.
"Who are you people? " Rocco asked. "You're not cops."
"Shut up," Emma barked.
"I need medical attention."
"If you don't shut up, you're going to need a lot more of it.”
Anderson raced through the streets of the city, weaving in and out of traffic. He pulled his mobile from his pocket and dialed Laurent. It rang a few times and went to voicemail. "Call me when you get a chance. We have the package."
"Oh, so I'm a package? Who do you people work for?” Rocco’s eyes narrowed as he surveyed the two of them. "You guys are intelligence. But you're not from Mosaav.” His eyes lit up as he had an epiphany. "So the UIA sent agents all the way to Aldebaran. That's interesting. I know you're not getting cooperation from our government. So, what's your connection to the MPD?"
"You seem like a smart guy," Emma said. "I'm sure you realize by now that we're not taking you to jail."
"That's good. I hate jail. I hate cops for that matter."
"We are taking you somewhere much worse.”
Anderson glanced in the rear view mirror at Rocco. "We're not supposed to be here. So that means we don't have to play by any rules."
"You're not going to get shit out of me."
Anderson grinned. "We’ll see about that."
"What happened back there in the apartment?" Emma asked.
"Bunch of dead cops, that's what happened." Rocco had no remorse.
"Under my seat there's a black bag,” Anderson said. “Place it over the scumbag’s head."
Emma leaned forward, keeping her pistol aimed at Rocco. She felt underneath the seat until her fingers brushed across a fabric bag. She pulled it out and draped it over Rocco’s head.
Anderson drove to a UIA black site. It was an unacknowledged location. Pinford didn't know about it.
It was an old warehouse in an industrial district. The perimeter was lined with a tall concrete wall topped with concertina wire. A faded logo was painted on the side of the beige wall that read M&J Fabrication. The paint was peeling and cracking.
Anderson pressed the remote attached to his keychain, and the front gate slid open. He pulled into the compound and parked in front of the structure. From the street, it was impossible to see inside the compound. The main structure looked abandoned. Broken, milky windows were scattered about.
Emma and Anderson dragged Rocco inside the building as fast as they could. It was dark and dusty, and there were still old invoices littering the floor. One of them was dated 2367. This place hadn’t been operational in quite some time. There was an office area with modern computer terminals and communication equipment. It stuck out like a sore thumb against the rest of the dilapidated interior. The place smelled like mold and rust. Toward the back of the building, there were makeshift holding cells that lined the walls. Anderson had used the site to interrogate suspects on more than one occasion.
"Is this the part where you beat me until I tell you something useful?" Rocco asked.
"No,”Anderson said. "I have no intention of using primitive, barbaric methods of torture.” He pulled the black bag from Rocco's head.
Rocco's eyes frantically darted around the room, trying to get his bearings.
Anderson held up a neural ring so Rocco could see it. “I don’t need to explain to you how this works, do I?”
Rocco’s eyes grew wide with fear.
Anderson placed the ring on his head. The connection points rested against his temples. "I find this method a much easier form of torture. And it doesn’t leave any marks.”
Rocco swallowed hard. The neural ring could stimulate the brain directly, flooding the body with pain signals. You could dial in the most extreme pain a person had ever felt, all from an app on your mobile device.
"You're in a lot of trouble right now,” Anderson said. “If we just let you walk out of here, you think the MPD is going to go easy on you after you killed several cops?” Anderson scoffed. “Not a chance. My money says you end up in a dumpster somewhere. You won’t even go to trial.”
“If you cooperate, we might be able to get you off the planet,” Emma said.
“I can take care of myself. And both of you are dead the first opportunity I get.”
“You really should learn better negotiating skills,” Anderson said as he activated the neural ring. He dialed in the pain intensity on his mobile.
Rocco shrieked in agony. His body twitched and convulsed. He flopped to the grimy floor. His eyes rolled into the back of his skull, leaving nothing but the scleras visible. He looked like a zombie.
Anderson let him writhe on the floor for about a minute, then he pressed a button on his mobile and discontinued the pain impulses.
Rocco gasped for breath.
Anderson knelt down beside him and smiled. “That was a 1 out of 10 on the pain scale. How high do you think you can go? I’ve never had anybody make it above five without dying. Most people talk by the end of the second setting. You can save yourself a lot of pain by just telling us what we want to know.”
Rocco looked like his brain was fried already.
“Where is Aknar Suspa?”
29
Ryan
Fuck it, I’m not letting this evolution beat me, Ryan thought. He summoned all his determination and strength. He refocused his mind. One challenge at a time. One evolution at a time. All he had to do was jump up, grab the wooden plank, swing his leg over, and pull himself
up to the first platform. Nothing else mattered—just getting to the first platform. He’d worry about the rest when he got there.
He moved up the tower from platform to platform, taking it one step at a time. When he reached the top, he was exhausted. His heart felt like it was going to burst out of his chest. He was gasping for air. His lungs were still filled with fluid. But there was a surprise in store for him.
The platform at the top of Hell No had been loaded with goodies. Candy bars, exercise recovery drinks, anti-inflammatories, Revitalize™ regenerative pills, PowerMax™ performance enhancing energy boosters—everything a Hell Week candidate would need. There was enough there for all 21 members of the class.
Ryan smiled. It was a gift from the heavens. He wasn’t sure if Dugan had put it there, or some sympathetic Reaper had taken pity on the recruits. Since his visit to the medical facility, his stomach had been feeling a little better, and his appetite was increasing. He guzzled down the recovery drink, and chewed down a candy bar. Then he popped the pills out of their blister packets, and washed them down.
The Revitalize was a good booster to the regenerative shot he’d been given by Lambert. And the PowerMax was a staple of Reapers in the field. It boosted mental, physical, and visual acuity. It was fast acting. Within minutes you could feel the surge of energy. It was jitter free and didn’t have a harsh come down.
Technically, it wasn’t allowed during Hell Week, but the instructors often turned a blind eye. Reapers were notorious for running covert ops during Hell Week to support the recruits, stashing goodies like this in random locations.
Ryan grabbed the rope atop the tower, and began the treacherous slide down. By the time he reached the ground he was feeling pretty good.
After the evolution, it was back to the water for more Surf Torture. Then it was time to go on an Island Cruise. The boat crews would have to paddle out beyond the surf, dump the boat and flip it back over, then paddle all the way around Black Rock Island.
