Target: Earth (Extinction Wars Book 5)

by Vaughn Heppner

  Despite the best efforts of the Plutonians to do otherwise, Earth-Force sensors discovered pieces of exotic hull armor drifting in space.

  Shuttles roared out, and pilots returned with the precious cargos. The hull pieces went post-haste to laboratories down on Earth.

  Now, our top scientists had to figure out what in the heck this stuff was and if they could duplicate it and how fast and in what kind of quantity. This was reverse engineering time, if—a big if in these sorts of things—our smart boys and girls could figure out what the hull armor was composed of.

  All the while, my AI analyzed the chip I’d brought in.

  After seventeen hours of waiting—I took a nap and a regular sleep during that time—the AI was still silent.

  The GEV was in a low Earth orbit with only N7 and me aboard. I no longer housed the stealth ship inside the former Light Cruiser Thistle Down. The vessel had taken damage during the battle and was on the waiting list for the orbital repair yards.

  More important battlejumpers were in the docks, with welders and others working overtime to repair the damage. Earth had become like an overturned anthill, boiling with frantic activity.

  Fortunately, the Starkien Fleet arrived, so we didn’t fear a quick repeat attack by the Plutonians.

  After waking up, I went to the stealth ship’s galley and put on some coffee. Then I walked around with a full mug, sipping and thinking. Finally, I found N7 poring over battle reports.

  “What have you found so far?” I asked.

  “Many things,” the android said, looking up from the table.

  “What strikes you as the most important?”

  “The Plutonian vessels at the end attempting to gather hull debris and vaporize it,” he said.

  I sipped, thought about that, and said, “They failed.”

  “Given the nature of the operation they were bound to fail. Thus, I ask the question, why did they attempt it?”

  “Trying and failing was better than not trying at all.”

  “That is not the answer, Commander. The Plutonians should have driven home their attack and bombarded Earth. On every other known occasion that is what they have done against a terrestrial planet or livable moon.”

  “Sure,” I said. “But we also know how important keeping the composition of their armor from us is to them.”

  “I do not believe that is the answer,” N7 said.

  “What is it, then?”

  “They want us to study the hull armor.”

  “Reverse psychology?” I asked.

  “Precisely,” he said.

  I sipped more coffee, thinking that through. “Do the slugs strike you as sophisticated thinkers?”

  “They do not,” N7 admitted. “I believe another mind was the genesis for the order.”

  “Jennifer?” I asked.

  “Or Orcus.”

  I shook my head. “Orcus must be Jennifer’s slave.”

  “I find the concept difficult to fathom.” N7 held up a hand as I opened my mouth to retort. “I understand Jennifer could have installed mental safeguards in Orcus. Remember, I was once your instructor when you wore a shock chip for Shah Claath.”

  I rubbed my neck, recalling those sorry days.

  “There is another consideration,” N7 said. “Jennifer suffered under Abaddon and she became like him. The First One had tricks within tricks. I deem it likely the DNA clone revival was originally an Abaddon concept of last resort. He would wish to be born anew given the unlikely occurrence of his defeat and death. Would he program Jennifer to revive his clone with implanted control devices?”

  “Abaddon was a clever bastard, I’ll grant you that. We still killed him, though.”

  “That is not germane to my argument.”

  “I know. But I like saying it. Makes me feel good.”

  “Yes. You are a true killer. It is your first love.”

  “Hey,” I said.

  N7 cocked his head. “Do you not accept that about yourself, Commander?”

  “I would if it was true, sure, no big deal.”

  N7 did not comment further on the topic.

  Would Abaddon want a clone to appear after his death? The clone would not be the individual that had died—it would not be the same him, but a copy. I suspected Abaddon had been so self-centered that he would gain no satisfaction thinking a clone would win where he had failed. That being so, he would not have programmed Jennifer to make Abaddon clones.

  Still, given his failure, he would want to pull everything down in an orgy of destruction. The Plutonians were indulging in mass destruction. Maybe N7 had a point after all.

  But I didn’t want to get into that right now. I was on a different trail.

  “Maybe the hull-armor-debris destruction wasn’t a Plutonian decision,” I said.

  I told N7 about the phase suits I’d detected, how the two had departed the battlefield during the fight. Surely, one of them could have given the Plutonians whatever orders the slugs had followed.

  N7 cocked his head the other way. “We did not see a dimensional portal reopen,” he finally said.

  “Why does that matter?”

  “Is that not the point of your observation? The phase-suited individuals were observers, returning to the pocket universe with the results of the attack.”

  “That’s an interesting idea. You think that’s what they did?”

  “No, as we did not see a dimensional portal reopen.”

  I sipped more coffee.

  “It would be good to know who those two beings were,” N7 said. “It would be even better to know where they went, if anywhere.”

  “Whoa. You think they’re still in the Solar System?”

  “It is possible.”

  “Right,” I said, finishing my cup. “I’m getting the phase tracker. It’s time to find those two.”

  -59-

  With the GEV, I returned to where I’d first spotted the two phase-suited beings and then headed in the direction they had gone. The phase tracker did not scan a large area. Thus, I set up a search grid, moving back and forth, waiting to see a yellow dot on the round screen.

  I never found anyone by using the tracker, not even after a day and a half of tedious searching. However, by that time, the AI had made a discovery from its analysis of the Plutonian machine I’d hacked.

  The discovery was primarily strange mathematical formulas translated into gibberish English, as far I was concerned. I brought the collected data to Ella aboard the Light Cruiser Thistle Down.

  The GEV and the light cruiser were in low Earth orbit. I transferred between them via my flitter.

  Ella inserted the data into an e-reader and began studying, trying to absorb the meaning of the formulas.

  I went back to the GEV and bed.

  In the morning, I ate a large breakfast of bacon, eggs and hash browns. Afterward, I headed to the light cruiser. When I found Ella, she looked up with bloodshot eyes. Had she been reading all night?

  “Anything?” I asked.

  It took her a second before she said, “I want to take this down to Earth.”

  I’d been wondering what exactly the formulas were. Maybe there were advanced techs that would seriously anger the Curator. I mean techs that this Civilizational Zone shouldn’t have. I was willing to give humanity the dimensional portal, superior hull armor and maybe even the particle beam. Otherwise, Earth wasn’t going to survive repeated Plutonian attacks combined with a massed Lokhar invasion. But what if the formulas represented something else?

  There was another thing. Why hadn’t the AI been able to crack the codes and just tell us what it had found, a summary, as it were? Maybe it could summarize now.

  “Give me an hour,” I said, “and I’ll give you an answer.”

  “Fine,” Ella said, rising unsteadily. “I need a break anyway.” She stumbled out of the room while I glanced at her notes. It didn’t help in the slightest; they were in Russian.

  I returned to the GEV, brewed a pot of coffee and went
to the AI. It still lacked an opinion on what it had translated. I asked it to go over the formulas.

  “What does it all mean?” I asked later.

  “That is an insufficiently precise question,” the AI told me in its robotic voice.

  I tapped my fingers on the console. “Give me a summary concerning the data.”

  “It is too much and varied to summarize easily.”

  That was an odd and even illogical reply. “Give me what you can, then.”

  “I am unable to comply with your request.”

  “Why’s that?” I asked, growing suspicious.

  “I do not know,” the AI said. “I am unable to present a coherent reason for my statement.”

  I sat back, scratching the top of my head. There was something weird going on here.

  “Have I stumbled onto a Curator-installed failsafe?” I asked.

  The AI did not respond.

  “Is it impossible for you to reply to that?” I asked.

  The AI still said nothing.

  “By your silence,” I said, “are you agreeing that the Curator installed a directive into you concerning this issue?”

  None of the extra lights embedded in the console blinked for even a second to show that the AI was thinking about the question.

  I scratched my head again. This was most—

  I froze. I had seen a faint gloved hand lift just a fraction out of the AI main frame. I don’t know how, but one of the ghosted beings—a being with a phase suit—was hiding inside the AI.

  I looked away slowly, trying not to react to what I’d witnessed. I had no idea why the phase tracker hadn’t spotted the other phase suits earlier—maybe the two had been in phase then and now were out again. I had to don my suit in order to investigate this while out of phase.

  “Have it your way,” I said, getting up.

  “Where are you going, Commander?” the AI asked.

  “I need to freshen up my cup.”

  “Please explain,” the AI said.

  Now I knew they’d tampered with the AI. It knew my habits. I shouldn’t have to explain adding coffee to my cup.

  “Give me a minute,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Commander, I believe I have found evidence—”

  “Save it,” I said, interrupting. “You can tell me when I return.”

  I headed for the hatch. As I did, a massive being phased in right in front of the exit. His height and the breadth of his shoulders left no doubt. An Abaddon clone blocked my escape.

  -60-

  I should have kept the force axe with me. But it was simply too powerful a weapon to just carry around. I should have kept my blaster on, too, but I hadn’t. I did have a trusty force blade, a regular one, in lieu of the giant Bowie knife I used to keep on my person.

  I’d been in the slammer at a young age, and had learned to carry a shank at all times.

  There had been two bruisers in my youth who had caught me in the bathroom alone. They had some funny ideas about what constituted kicks and giggles, and had insisted I strip and give them satisfaction.

  Well, that was the first day I had my new shiv. It hadn’t been much, a thin piece of carefully sharpened steel with a cloth handle.

  I’d cut them up pretty bad. The key had been a little deception on my part and striking without hesitation when I’d gotten the window of opportunity.

  As the Abaddon clone appeared, I grabbed my force blade, clicked on power and stabbed at his suited midsection.

  At the same time, something slammed against my shoulder blades from behind. It struck hard enough to knock the air out of me, and it caused my hand to open. The force blade hit the deck and winked out—the force of the blade retracted. It was a modern safety feature on the latest knives as manufactured on the Fortress of Light.

  I didn’t go down, but I reached for my knife. I needed something against this Abaddon clone—and against the sucker who had attacked from the rear.

  The phase-suited clone caught my wrists and held them with viselike strength. Since I couldn’t break free, as much as I tried, I used his hands as a pivoting point, jumping up and mule kicking him in the gut. He stumbled, but he also hung onto my wrists. I tried that again—and an even more powerful force slammed against my back. It drove me against the Abaddon clone, and he put me in a bear hug, squeezing me against his giant torso.

  I struggled in vain, an enraging sensation.

  “AI,” I said. “Sound the alarm.”

  “No, no,” a wheezy voice said from behind. “You misunderstand the scenario. This is not what you think it is.”

  I twisted my head as best as I could, but couldn’t see anyone or anything behind me to have spoken.

  “AI,” I said. “Sound the general alarm throughout the fleet.”

  “Are you certain about this, Effectuator?” the AI asked.

  “Effectuator?” the wheezy old-timer voice said. “You are an Effectuator, as in a Galactic Effectuator working for the First Guardian of the Fortress of Light?”

  I twisted my head more, and thought to finally see someone. I twisted the other way. Yes. I saw a white-haired humanoid wearing a phase suit with the visor to his helmet open. He had a shotgun-type weapon aimed at me. That must have been the device he’d been firing at me.

  “Tell the clone to let me go of me,” I said.

  “Please, Effectuator, do not call him that, I implore you.”

  “You implore? Who are you, old man?”

  “Before we chat, be so good as to tell your AI to desist in its warning.”

  “Why should I?”

  “Saul,” the being said; “Release him.”

  The Abaddon clone removed his huge arms.

  I landed on my feet and took a deep breath, arching my back and gingerly twisting it. The clone had torqued it with his bear hug. Then I shuffled around, looking at the white-haired humanoid.

  I realized he no longer spoke in a wheezy way. Had he faked that?

  Whatever the case, even though he stooped, he was taller than I was, had wrinkled skin, a beak of a nose and filmy green eyes as if he might be half-blind.

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  He grinned evilly. “Think of me as an interstellar hitman.”

  I squinted at him. “You’re an assassin?”

  “Not precisely.”

  “But you just said you’re a hitman. What’s the difference?”

  “Plenty. An assassin implies a political connotation. A hitman is for hire, a killer for profit.”

  “You don’t look like a hitman,” I said.

  “Exactly. My perceived feebleness helps me work in close to the target. Not that that matters in this case.”

  I stepped to the side so the Abaddon clone—this Saul—wasn’t behind me, while I kept the old hitman in front of me. He tracked me with his weapon.

  I shook my head. “This doesn’t make sense. You have phase suits.”

  “They come in handy in my line of work.”

  “That’s not my point. Phase suits are the ultimate in technology.”

  “Not quite the ultimate,” he said, “but I know what you mean.”

  “Where did you get them?”

  His evil grin widened into a smile.

  “What’s your name?” I asked.

  “You can call me Ifness.”

  “Just Ifness?”

  “For the moment.”

  “How is it you know English?”

  “Jennifer speaks it. So I thought it useful to learn.”

  “Uh-huh,” I said. “You know Jennifer?”

  “She’s the one who hired me.”

  “To take me out?” I asked.

  Ifness snapped his gloved fingers. “Creed,” he said mockingly. “You must be the Creed she hates with intense loathing.”

  “You already knew that.”

  “Tsk, tsk, don’t play the martyr, Creed. It doesn’t become you.”

  “You still haven’t said. Are you here to kill me?”


  From within the helmet, Ifness smile turned crafty. “That would seem to be the case—the logical deduction. However, nothing could be further from my mind.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “For the simplest of reasons. I desire sanctuary.”

  I searched Ifness’s filmy green eyes and couldn’t tell if he was serious, pulling my leg or wanting to work with me so I could give him a ride back to the center of the galaxy. If Ifness the Hitman wasn’t gunning for me, his target should be the Curator. Surely, Jennifer hated him, too.

  “I like you, Creed,” Ifness said. “You’re suspicious. Not only that, but you neatly thwarted the latest Plutonian raid. I noticed that you saw us during the battle and gave chase. Lately, you’ve been making our lives hell, trying to find us with the tracker. We lost our ride home because of that.”

  “Look,” I said, “If you want sanctuary, I’m going to need weapons, some of my friends here, and you’re going to have to surrender to me.”

  The filmy green eyes hardened. “Creed, Creed, Creed,” he said in a sinister voice. “You think my white hair makes me stupid. I resent that, as one professional to another. If you were just another fool, I wouldn’t care. You’re going to give me sanctuary on my terms or I’m going to kill you and take over your little stealth ship. I could use a vessel like this.”

  I shrugged. “Fine. You have sanctuary. What do we do next?”

  “I thought you’d never ask,” Ifness said.

  -61-

  First, via comm, I ordered N7 off the GEV. The android used the flitter and headed to the light cruiser.

  I hadn’t given N7 any coded messages. I didn’t think there was anything he could do to help me right now, other than threaten the destruction of the GEV. Ifness and Saul would just phase out and, presumably, escape. So what was the point? I’d die for no good reason.

  I wondered if Ifness had wanted me to give N7 coded instructions. Or maybe Ifness planned to kidnap me and take me to Jennifer. I realized too late that I’d been a fool and possibly played into Ifness’s hands. If I disappeared now, no one would know the reason. They might think I’d just defected and gone back to the Fortress of Light.