by Aaron Hubble
The captain walked in, a concerned look on his face.
“Yes, Captain? What can I do for you?”
The captain gestured to the holographic display unit on the admiral’s desk. “May I, sir?”
“Go ahead, Captain.”
The captain spoke several commands, and a report and a map materialized from the unit. “Sir, three days ago, command in the city known as Gadol lost contact with a Valkyrie assault aircraft. It disappeared somewhere over the mountains in the central region of the continent.”
“What was its mission?”
“The team was transporting several stasis pods to a city in the north and then was assigned to patrol the borders of the boreal forest.”
“Anything unusual?”
“Nothing. They did make contact with a band of indigenous in the forest and reported to Colonel Shepherd they’d been successful. He ordered the team to stay in the forest and engage in reconnaissance work. Several hours later contact was lost with the ship.”
The captain zoomed in on a spot next to a river running through the forest. “Yesterday, an emergency beacon signal was received from this location. Rescue and recovery units were scrambled and they located a Lieutenant Aedean Morris who was formerly a part of Hildr team, the team that was attached to the Valkyrie before it went down in the forest. He had with him a female indigenous.”
The admiral leaned forward and looked at the red line representing the Valkyrie’s flight path. Over the forest, the line traced a small outline over one spot and then seemed to take a non-standard tack just before it disappeared. An old nagging feeling came back to him.
“Was he able to shed any light on why the ship went down?” McPhall asked, studying the map.
“Yes, sir. His report states they were in pursuit of a group of indigenous when they encountered resistance.”
His stomach churned a bit. “What kind of resistance, Captain?”
“Apparently armed resistance, sir. He identified the resistance as a different group than the one Hildr team was pursuing. They were hooded and carried rifles. He assumes they were responsible for the crash of the Valkyrie, but he had been ordered to get the female out of the firefight and did not see the ship go down.”
McPhall rubbed his chin. “Thank you, Captain. At his earliest convenience, have the lieutenant transported to this ship. I would like the opportunity to speak with him in person.”
“Yes, sir. Anything else, sir?”
“No, Captain. You may leave. Thank you.”
The captain turned smartly, waited for the door to open and stepped through to the hive of activity that was the bridge of the Eden.”
McPhall turned his chair back to the window and picked up his now lukewarm mug of coffee. He sipped half-heartedly. Numerous campaigns had taught him that ignoring his instincts was a bad idea. His instincts had told him the forest needed to be scouted, but he’d pushed aside the feeling, instead concentrating on the cities. Possibly to the detriment of his men and their mission.
****
Morris gazed around the office. He’d expected a little more luxury for an admiral. Not that it wasn’t nice; it was just lacking amenities. The chair next to him looked comfortable, but he wasn’t sure if he should sit. The officer who’d led him from the hangar to the office hadn’t told him to sit and in Morris’ military-trained mind, you didn’t do anything until you were told to. Better safe than sorry.
The door behind him slid open. He turned his head to see a well-built older man with gray hair walk into the room. Morris had only pictures to go on - he had never seen the admiral in real life - but he figured this was him.
Looking up from the data pad he held, the admiral motioned to the chair beside Morris. “Please sit, Lieutenant.”
“Thank you, sir,” Morris said.
The admiral took his place in the chair behind his large desk. He set the data pad on the desk and then looked at Morris for several seconds, appearing to size him up. Apparently satisfied, he began to speak.
“Lieutenant, have you recovered from your experience in the forest?”
“I have, sir. There wasn’t much to recover from. I was just tired and hungry,” Morris said.
The admiral nodded. “Yes, well, good work out there.” The admiral scrolled through some information on the pad. “You are probably unaware that our scouts have located the crashed ship and, unfortunately, the remains of your squad. There were no survivors.”
Morris sucked in a breath. “They found them all dead, sir?”
“No,” the admiral said, shaking his head. “Not everyone is accounted for. Several men are missing, including your commander, Andy Dillon. I asked you here because I wanted to talk to you in person about your experience in the forest. Specifically about this second group of natives you encountered. I would very much like to hear your impression of who they are and what you believe they are capable of.”
Morris hesitated before speaking. “I didn’t see much of them, sir. They must have been hiding in the trees, because we didn’t know they were there. They popped up wearing green hoods and firing rifles. They seem well organized. They’ve definitely had military training. I don’t know if the ones we were chasing somehow contacted this other group or if it was a lucky break for them.”
The admiral steepled his fingers in front of his face. “That would match with the information on the ship we have now.”
A quizzical look formed on Morris’ face. “Sir?”
“When our recovery team found the Valkyrie, a large hole had been punched through its side. The Valkyrie did not malfunction, there was no pilot error; your ship was shot down by an ordinance capable of piercing its armored hull.” The admiral turned his pad around and pushed it across the desk toward Morris. Morris leaned forward and saw a picture of Mrs. Norris with a large hole in its fuselage.
“As you can see, Lieutenant, our ship was most assuredly taken down by military grade weapons, which begs the question: who is hiding in the forest?”
“Refugees from the city who have stolen our weapons?” Morris said.
“I doubt it. You yourself said the second group worked like a trained force. No, Lieutenant, this is an entirely different group of natives we have overlooked. They’re in the forest and our job is to root them out. I will not suffer another R3 on this planet. A resistance cannot be allowed to take hold and breed as it did on Earth.”
“No, sir.”
The admiral smiled. “I’m glad you agree, Lieutenant because I’m promoting you and putting you in charge of finding and eliminating any resistance in the forest. Your rank has been elevated to lieutenant commander with all of its attendant responsibilities and privileges. Our resources are at your disposal. Put together a team and come to me personally for anything you need. I am your direct superior in this operation. You answer to me and if that pompous jerk Shepherd tries to tell you otherwise, please refer him to me and I will deal with it myself. Is that understood, Lieutenant Commander?”
Morris sat with his mouth agape. What had just happened? He struggled to recover enough to string together several coherent words.
“Ah…yes, sir. When does the operation begin?”
The admiral looked at his watch. “It started thirty seconds ago. You are now on the clock, Lieutenant Commander. I expect results. If you need to burn the forest down, do so. The success of this mission is paramount.”
“Yes, sir.”
The admiral nodded curtly, stood and offered his hand to Morris across the desk. “If you have no further questions, you are dismissed to begin putting together your team.”
Morris grasped the admiral’s hand. “Thank you sir. I will begin right away.”
“Safe travels back to the surface, Lieutenant Commander.”
Morris saluted and then exited the office. He wasn’t sure if his boots were actually touching the floor or if he was floating several inches above the decking.
Lieutenant Commander. Yeah, that sounded nice. Whoever those gree
n-hooded punks were in the forest, they’d be sorry they decided to take down Mrs. Norris.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Pacing had become the sum total of Dillon’s existence. It took twelve seconds to walk around the perimeter of the room, fifteen if he really took his time and soaked in the scenery.
Three days after arriving in the city the doctor had deemed him healed enough to be moved. Apparently they didn’t have proper jail cells in this place because he was being warehoused in a large empty supply closet in the hospital. Jondon, the man he had come to understand was in charge of their “military” wing, had told him when a more secure location was found he would be moved.
He kept waiting for them to begin the torture and try to force information out of him, but other than restricting his food they hadn’t resorted to that yet. It was only a matter of time, in his opinion. They would soon tire of the game and bring out whatever implements of pain they preferred. He remembered an old science fiction movie he’d watched as a kid. The characters in the film had used bugs placed in the prisoner’s ear as torture. He’d seen some rather large bugs in the forest, so it was a possibility. Just not one he was keen on.
Dillon shuddered. He didn’t like bugs and the idea of having one in his head sent chills up his spine. He tried to think of something else. The last information he’d heard about the Pilot was she was still unconscious after her surgery. The doctor didn’t sound hopeful she would recover. While he was concerned for her welfare, he found himself emotionally unattached to her. He realized he actually did think of her as part of the ship, an extension of its equipment like the joystick or the landing gear. Thinking of her as a human was…well, hard.
There was a knock at the door before it opened. Two armed guards stepped into the room and took up positions on either side of the door. The female doctor entered after them. One of the guards closed the door after she was fully in the closet. The doctor stood with crossed arms, staring at him impassively. She did this when she wanted to talk to him and needed him to put in his translation unit. Dillon liked to mess with her by taking his time getting the unit into his ear and making a show of scrolling through the menu screen. It irritated the woman and that was exactly why he did it. It was the only control in his life he had left.
“Are you named Lucas?” the doctor asked.
Confused, Dillon stared at her before answering. “No.”
“Then what is your name?”
He hesitated. So far he had managed to give them no information. Would it really matter if they knew his name?
“Dillon. Andy Dillon.”
She stared back. “Was one of your other men called Lucas?”
“No,” Dillon said.
A look of irritation crossed the doctor’s face; she clearly didn’t believe what Dillon was saying. “The patient, the pilot of your ship, is awake and asking for someone named Lucas. Apparently the tech she was wired into taught her how to speak and understand our language.” The doctor shook her head in disbelief. “She insists the person she wants to see was someone on the ship. So I’ll ask again, which of you was named Lucas?”
Dillon shrugged. “There was no one on our ship named Lucas. Are you sure you didn’t cross any wires during surgery?”
The doctor eyed him, probably trying to make up her mind whether she believed him or not. “I want you to talk to her and see if you can help her understand where she is and what’s going on. She’s disoriented and needs to see a familiar face. You’ll submit to having your hands restrained and all your communication must be done with the translation unit on so we can understand what you’re saying. Any attempts to escape or pass on information will be met with swift action. Is this understood and agreed to?”
“Understood and agreed,” said Dillon.
One muscular guard stepped forward. “Extend your arms.”
Dillon complied. Metal manacles were snapped onto his wrists and he was quickly ushered through the door.
Dillon was led down the hallway, the doctor in front while the guards flanked him on either side. Even if he was able to get away from them, he had no idea where he was or how he would get out. He thought this city was probably somewhere in the forest, but for all he knew they were on an island in the middle of the ocean. He had been hooded when he was brought here, unable to see anything.
He decided he might as well try to make some conversation. “So, the Pilot, she survived.” The tinny translation came a second later.
“Yes, but not without delicate surgery. Did you know what was in her head?”
“No.”
The doctor rolled her eyes. “She was basically a slave to the ship, literally harnessed physically and mentally to a computer. From what I saw, there was no way she would last more than a couple of years that way. Her brain would be fried from the interface. What kind of barbarians are you?”
“Look,” Andy offered. “I have nothing to do with the Pilot program. I’m in the dark as to what they do to them, so don’t blame me for our scientists’ ‘barbaric’ behavior.”
“Right, you just follow orders and decimate entire cultures. Much better.”
Dillon bit off the sharp reply just before it exited his mouth. There was no need to irritate his “host” any more than she already was. Instead, he stared at his feet and counted the tiles on the floor. He seethed inside at being referred to as a barbarian and a killer. If these people had only agreed to help in the first place, the CPF would not have needed to go to such extremes. As far as Dillon was concerned, this was a peremptory strike to keep Earth safe and save her people.
They climbed a flight of stairs and emerged into another quiet hallway. After several more seconds of walking they reached a nondescript door guarded by two more well-armed men. As he was led in, he saw the form of a person lying in a hospital bed, connected to monitors, with a nurse hovering over her.
The doctor spoke to the nurse. “How is she?”
The nurse handed the doctor a tablet which the doctor consulted while the nurse talked. “She appears to be recovering very well. It was touch and go at the beginning, but she has regained consciousness much sooner than we anticipated.”
Looking at Dillon, the doctor motioned him over to the side of the bed. “I believe you know this woman?”
If Dillon hadn’t known it was the Pilot in the bed, he wouldn’t have recognized her. She lay covered to her chest in white hospital blankets and a thick layer of gauze wrapped around her head. Her face was swollen and and ashen.
He nodded. “What did you do in the surgery?”
The doctor snorted. “We saved her life. I removed the hardware wired into her brain. Without the interface, her brain was not receiving enough stimuli and she would have died. I was operating in the dark. I didn’t know if what I was doing would work, but she has woken up several times for brief periods. She was able to speak, which is also a good sign.” She moved to the side of the woman’s bed and pulled back the covers. “I wonder if you could help explain something else about her.”
Under the blankets, Dillon saw the Pilot had no legs, just stumps ending just above the knee.
Shocked, Dillon asked, “You had to remove her legs?”
“No,” the doctor irritably retorted. “Do you see fresh bandages there? No, her legs were already gone and there were signs of massive trauma all over her body. She lost her legs a long time ago. Not only that, but internally she has been patched together with some impressive medical technology. Someone went to a lot of trouble to keep this woman alive. Do you have any idea why?”
Dillon shook his head as he continued to stare at the woman in the bed. “No, I don’t know anything about her. I didn’t even know she was missing her legs. The Pilots are a new program. We never see them outside of the ships, and we know virtually nothing about the pilots. Most people prefer it that way. There’s something disconcerting about the way they talk and act, but it all makes sense now.”
Pulling the covers back over the Pilot, the doctor sighe
d, “You people seem to excel in mysteries and veiled truths.”
The Pilot stirred, her eyes fluttered open and looked around the room before eventually falling on Dillon. Her deep green eyes locked with his and Dillon saw a spark of life in them he had never seen before. He remembered her eyes as being flat and empty, but now they sparked with a fervency of spirit that surprised Dillon. The Pilot opened her mouth, but just made a squeaking noise. The nurse picked up a bottle of water and pressed it to her lips. She drank, and then laid her head back on the bed. She stared at him.
“Lucas,” she said.
“Uhh…no. No, it’s Dillon, Commander Andy Dillon. Remember, you were the Pilot of my ship.”
The woman tilted her head, a questioning expression on her face. She reached out and took his rough, weathered hand in her surprisingly gentle grasp.
“Lucas.”
Dillon looked at the doctor, who just shrugged, and then back at the Pilot. “My name isn’t Lucas, it’s Commander Dillon.”
A warm smile transformed the woman’s face. Dillon had never seen any expression on the Pilot’s face. No matter what was happening, there was only the cold monotone voice and impassive expression. This was something completely different.
“Always the jokester, but that’s why I love you.” Dillon could see each word was a struggle for her. She fought to keep her eyes open.
“Love? What…I mean, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t think I’m the person you think I am.” He shook his head and ran his hand through his hair. She was obviously suffering from the trauma of the surgery and the crash. That had to be it.
She took a deep breath, her eyes closing, “I know exactly who you are Lucas Kreg. You’re my husband.”
The woman’s grip loosened and her hand fell away, hanging limply over the side of the bed. Dillon took several steps backward, trying to digest what the woman had just said. It wasn’t possible. He had never seen this woman before two years ago when the Pilot program had first come on line, and he was sure he would remember if he had ever been married.
