by Jan Domagala
“And how on earth do you intend to do that?”
“I’ve developed a nanoserum – billions of tiny robots programmed to attach the serum to the specific strand of your DNA. We just inject it into your bloodstream and they get to work. We should see results within a very short time.” Baxter said, smiling and almost rubbing his hands together in glee at the prospect of this new development.
“Billions of tiny robots, Doc? I’m no scientist but how have you programmed so many, in such a short space of time?”
“We’ve been working on nanobots for many years. They’re used extensively throughout the medical profession, as I’m sure you’re aware. Programming them was relatively easy; they work in a series you see. If you programme one, it passes that data along to the rest almost instantaneously.”
“When are you planning on...?” Stryder stopped short when he saw Baxter reach for a syringe.
“Right now Captain, roll up your sleeve please.”
Before he knew it the injection had been administered and he was pulling down his sleeve again.
“How soon Doc, before you know? What can I expect?” he asked, unsure of what would happen next.
“Not sure really, but the nanobots should get to work immediately. As to the question whether you’ll feel anything, I wouldn’t expect so. Remember this is taking place at the genetic level so the changes should go unnoticed until the immune system is threatened.”
“So what you’re saying basically, is that I won’t know if it’s worked until I get injured?” Stryder asked.
“Well, I suppose that’s somewhat true, yes,” Baxter replied seeming a little unsure.
“You don’t sound too confident, Doctor.” Sinclair said.
“We’re not dealing with absolutes here, we’re into uncharted waters. This has never been attempted before and quite frankly, until we get some sort of results, until we can test this, I don’t know what to expect.”
“Forgive me Doc if I don’t feel reassured,” Stryder said.
“If it works though, just think of the potential. Think of the lives we’ll be able to save,” Baxter said, pushing his spectacles back up his nose.
“Going back to my earlier question about Howard, sir, why is he going to so much trouble to kill us all off? Does he know something about this that we don’t, or is the Alliance so afraid that we may be on to something that they’re desperate to stop us at any cost?”
“It’s no secret that they are desperate to prevent us gaining any sort of advantage over them and if they can’t duplicate our research, then the safest thing to do is either discredit or destroy it,” Sinclair said.
“If he’s in charge of security won’t he be pissed off that you brought in Recon Delta to take over?”
“Oh, I do hope so,” Sinclair said with an uncharacteristically smug smirk.
“I get it, you want to rattle his cage and force him to make a mistake.”
“Of course,” Sinclair said.
“So, not only am I a guinea pig, but I’m bait now as well,” Stryder said.
Baxter looked from him over to Sinclair, then down to the floor, unable to maintain eye contact with him. The General, though, had no trouble at all looking at him straight in the eyes.
“Don’t feel guilty, Doc. I’m first and always a soldier, this comes with the territory,” Stryder said never taking his eyes off Sinclair.
“You got that right, Captain; this is what you signed up for,” Sinclair said coldly.
“Yea! The life in Recon Delta, it’s not just a job, it’s an adventure,” Stryder replied.
2
Captain James Howard was in his office when the news of Bell’s death filtered through to him. Instead of feeling panic or concern over a further death he and his men had been unable to prevent, he felt pleasure.
He had taken another risk in eliminating Bell – the third risk – and he would take one more to complete his mission to destroy this project. He could not allow the Confederation to gain such an advantage over the Alliance. For that reason, whatever risks he took, would be worth it.
This posting had been a recent promotion for Howard. He had worked hard to get there, starting out as a lowly Constable and gradually, through effort and initiative, making his way up through the ranks until he reached Captain. This posting was the most prestigious of his career, in charge of security on Research Station Five, the largest research facility that the Colonial Confederation had. Situated out in deep space, fifty-seven light years from Earth, it was where all the major testing of new weapons and equipment was undertaken, along with any new research and development such as this project.
The real Captain Howard would be so proud, but this Howard was in fact Captain Pavel Tchercovic of the Elysium Alliance’s equivalent of Recon Delta, an elite unit known as the Black Knights.
When the Alliance learnt of this project through a mole planted within Col Sec a full year before testing began, they started researching the personnel of Research Station Five. It was somewhere they had never been able to infiltrate, until now.
The posting of Captain James Howard six months prior to the start of the project, came as a godsend. No one on the station had ever met him, and his official file was the only record they had of the man. It was a simple matter for the mole to gain access to the official records database and exchange Howard’s photograph for one of Tchercovic so that when he arrived to start his tour of duty he was, to all intents and purposes, Howard.
He had done his research before arriving at the station so he knew as much about the project, those in charge and those participating, as the mole had been able to learn. Once there, and when the testing began, he surreptitiously entered the main computer to check on the progress. He became aware early on of the doubts Baxter had, and of the dangers inherent in the project. However, instead of sabotaging the serum he decided the best tactic would be to play on the dangers. If the test subjects all died, they were more likely to abandon the project.
If that were to happen, and with the death of Bell he was hoping that would be more likely now, he planned to steal the research data and transmit it to the Alliance via a secure burst sub-space signal, where they could duplicate the programme with better results and thus gain the advantage Col Sec was hoping for.
When he was informed of the arrival of the detail from Recon Delta to supplement his security, he wasn’t sure how to act. His first reaction was a mixture of pleasure and frustration. Pleasure at the prospect of pitting himself against an adversary supposed to be his opposite and equal, yet frustration at the knowledge that they intended to continue with the project and not abandon it as he had hoped.
More to the point, though how would the real Howard have reacted? He would have been incensed, to be sure, that his authority had been superseded by Recon Delta. He would probably have lodged an official complaint to General Sinclair personally.
Deciding that was the best action to take to ensure his cover remained in place, he left his office and made his way to the main lab where he knew Sinclair would be.
He arrived just after their conversation about him had ended.
“General Sinclair we need to talk, sir, in private,” Tchercovic said as he burst into the room, anger etched across his face.
“Ah, Captain Howard. Here to discuss the new security arrangements I’ve implemented to assist you and your men, no doubt,” Sinclair said, to take the sting out of Tchercovic’s assault.
“That’s not what I’ve been told, sir. As I understand it, Recon Delta has taken control of the security of your project. My men and I have been locked out.” Tchercovic said, making a show of barely contained anger.
“That’s right; have you a problem with that Captain?” Sinclair asked.
“If you had a problem with how I run the security of this station, I would have preferred you come to me with it, rather than go over my head.”
“You may be in charge of the security of this station Captain, but I am in command of this station and everyone
on board. I don’t need to refer to you on any of my decisions. You are under my command here, Captain; don’t ever forget that. Dismissed,” Sinclair said with a tone of finality in his voice.
Tchercovic was barely able to control his anger at the rebuff; real anger this time, not feigned. He wanted to tear the General’s head off but to remain in character, simply said, “Aye sir,” then turned and left.
Outside the lab Tchercovic had to pull himself back under control. That was close; he had never come so close to losing it like that before. He prided himself on being the consummate professional. Always under control, but just then when confronted by Sinclair, he felt that control slipping. Just a fraction but it had happened. He only hoped that no one had noticed.
Getting to the last test subject, Stryder, would be harder now that Recon Delta had been brought in, but that would not prove too much of a problem. Everyone thought that Recon Delta was the elite, the best of the best, but he knew different. The Black Knights were superior in every way imaginable, and he would prove it.
INSIDE THE LAB, STRYDER looked at Sinclair and said, “That man was rattled.”
Smiling, Sinclair said, “That was the point.”
3
Over the next few hours, Tchercovic watched through the surveillance monitors as Stryder was tested at the lab before returning to his quarters.
At no time during this period was he left alone. There were at least two Marines with him, or close by, at all times. Getting to him through this barrier was not going to be as easy as he first thought.
While he was studying the monitors, another plan began to formulate in the back of his mind.
As he watched Stryder settle down for the night he realised what he must do. He must steal the research data and destroy the station. All the witnesses, test subjects and the much-vaunted Col Sec, with their esteemed Recon Delta, would be destroyed. They would be unable to testify as to who was responsible, or have the ability to rebuild.
Being the head of station security afforded him certain privileges, such as having all the station’s security protocols.
Entering the station’s main computer he logged into Engineering where he programmed the core reactor to go critical in one hour.
That should be plenty of time to sabotage the life pods, download the research data and get the hell off the station, he thought.
Once that was done he hacked into the main lab’s internal computer and entered the master decrypt code that unlocked all the files. All security chiefs on Outpost Research Stations are issued with the code key. Each key is specific to one station and is only to be used during major emergencies to retrieve important data so that it cannot be destroyed, or stolen.
Not bothering to sift through all the files for the pertinent data, and so that he didn’t leave anything behind, he downloaded them all onto a data card.
All that remained was to sabotage the escape pods and all the docking bays so that no one could leave, except him, of course. The best way to do that was to restrict access to the docking bays effectively locking them off. As for the life pods, he programmed them all to vent atmosphere thirty seconds after release from the station.
Confident that he’d left nothing to chance, he locked down the main computer with an encrypted command that would take over an hour to crack. By that time it would be too late.
He left his office and headed towards Docking Bay Six, the only one not locked down, and where a ship was berthed. It was his escape route.
The clock was ticking. There was less than forty-five minutes left before the station’s core went critical and destroyed everything and everyone on board.
No one knew what was about to happen, he had covered his tracks too well. They were all going to die and he was the only one who knew.
Slowly, he began to walk towards his ship and his way out.
SINCLAIR WAS ASLEEP when the silent alarm went off. Tchercovic had disabled the alarms when he programmed the reactor core to go critical but, thinking he had completed his task, failed to check if the audible alarms were the only ones activated.
A warning light shone directly into the face of the sleeping General from above his bed; a bright, intense white light guaranteed to wake anyone.
Scrambling out of bed he quickly pulled on his pants then said, “Computer, status.”
“Station’s main reactor will reach critical mass in forty-three minutes, twenty-seven seconds,” replied the calm female voice of the computer’s simulated interface.
“Reverse the action immediately,” ordered Sinclair as he continued dressing.
“Unable to comply,” said the computer.
“Explain?” Sinclair asked as he stopped dressing, a bad feeling swarming over him.
“To initiate that action, an activation code is required.”
“Command override, Alpha One, authorisation code Sinclair, General, Col Sec,” Sinclair said quickly as he frantically resumed getting dressed. Somehow, he knew his override code would not be accepted, but he had to try.
“Unable to comply, code not recognised. Countdown will continue,” replied the computer.
Through his NI he said, “Engineering, what’s your status?”
Almost immediately a voice came back on to say, “We’re a bit busy just now sir. We’re attempting to re-initialise the reactor safeguards but the main computer’s locked us out. We’ll get back to you.”
Sinclair knew this was bad and he knew who was behind it. It had to be Howard. Next, he contacted Stryder. When he came back, it was obvious he’d been asleep.
“Yes sir?” he said his voice thick with fatigue having just been woken up.
“Howard’s sabotaged the station. The reactor will go critical in forty minutes and he’s locked us out of the main computer,” Sinclair told him urgently, yet calmly.
Stryder was instantly awake on hearing the news. “If that’s the case and he’s disabled the alarms, it’s safe to assume he’s covered his tracks. He’ll have downloaded what he needed from the computer and probably made sure we couldn’t get off the station, should we somehow be alerted before we blew up,” he said, surprising himself by just how alert he was, so quickly.
“We have to stop him getting away with the project data,” Sinclair said.
“Computer, locate Captain Howard,” Stryder said.
“Captain Howard is on Deck Eight, en route to Docking Bay Six,” was the reply.
“You get the evacuation started, sir. I’ll get Howard,” Stryder said. Before Sinclair could even think about replying, the link was severed and Stryder was leaving his quarters having got fully dressed during the call.
Two Recon Delta Marines met him at the door; one of them wore the stripes of a captain. He was slightly taller than Stryder with wide shoulders and a broad chest. His dark brown hair was clipped into a buzz cut, identical to the other Marine standing next to him. Steel grey eyes stared at Stryder as he appeared in the doorway.
“Excuse me sir, where are you going?” he asked.
“No time for details, but this station is going to explode in little over half an hour. I’m going after the guy responsible before he escapes. He has the key that allows us back into the main computer that’ll prevent it, otherwise we’ll have to evacuate. Now get out of my way soldier.”
The Marine weighed up what he’d heard, saw the intense look in Stryder’s eyes, and came to an immediate decision.
“Okay sir, we’re with you,” said the Marine.
“Good, but General Sinclair might need some help with the evacuation, I can handle this on my own,” Stryder replied.
“With respect sir, I’ll stay with you,” replied the Marine who then turned to his team mate and said, “Cowboy, locate the General and work with him. Rouse the rest of the squad and get them up to speed. The clock’s ticking, let’s go boy.”
“Aye, sir,” Cowboy replied. He was thinner than the captain with lighter hair and darker eyes. They both wore sidearms and had the Remm assault rifle a
s standard issue. Cowboy slung the rifle over his shoulder as he ran off to carry out his orders.
“Okay then it’s just you and me, but remember we need this guy alive. Is that clear?” Stryder said, not waiting for a reply, for he was off and running down the corridor. After all, like the man had said, the clock was ticking.
4
Tchercovic was halfway to his escape route when he heard, “Howard, hold it right there.”
The voice was unmistakable, that asshole they sent Recon Delta to protect, Stryder.
“How in the entire galaxy did he find out what was happening?” he thought, as he wondered what to do next.
As he was so close to his ship and the countdown about halfway through, he couldn’t allow himself to be brought back, no matter what the reason. Therefore, there was only one course of action open to him.
Drawing his pistol, he spun around and fired.
The Sig P996, the standard sidearm for security personnel, was based upon the Sig Sauer P200 range of semi-automatic pistols from over four centuries ago. It was a short pistol with a slide on top, which primed the battery clip that fitted into the butt. It fired a bolt of plasma, ionised energy, in a pulse to minimise the blooming effect, which would cause the energy to spread over a distance minimising its effectiveness. It had two settings, ‘stun’ and ‘full power’. The ‘full power’ bolt struck Stryder high on the right side of his chest as he desperately twisted his body trying to avoid being hit, only spotting the pistol at the last second.
The force of the bolt accelerated Stryder’s motion and sent him spinning to the floor, leaving a trail of blood arcing through the air to trace his path.
The Marine was caught off guard also. His reactions were a millisecond slower than Stryder’s. By the time he’d switched his gaze from Stryder to Tchercovic, and thought to bring up his assault rifle, Tchercovic had already altered his aim.
The second bolt struck the Marine in the centre of his chest, sending him flying backwards down the corridor. His life was saved by his body armour, which was designed to handle more powerful charges than that.
