by Andria Stone
His alarm went off at zero six hundred. Mark showered again, dressed in black running togs. He finished a healthy breakfast of six eggs on wheat toast, a bowl of oatmeal, milk, and a glass of juice with ten minutes to spare by the time he arrived at the fitness center. Eva zipped in right after him.
The sergeants appeared in tandem, perfect physical specimens reeking of superiority. As Mark suspected, Axel assumed the lead. Their day began with stretches, a cycle through the Circuit Training course, and a one-mile jog around the inside track. Eva seemed slower her second day. Mark felt lighter and faster. It might be the endorphins, so he didn’t overdo it. He worked up a sweat to flush any remaining toxins from his body.
Weapons training in the holo simulator came next. Mark’s score increased, even splitting the time between his right and left hands, continuing to work on becoming ambidextrous with the weapons. His sidearm field strip session went much better without the cast. Mark smiled to himself, feeling this morning had improved over yesterday.
They broke for lunch. Mark focused on protein and carbs with plenty of liquids. He remained quiet, preferring to observe Eva and the sergeants. More than once he caught Axel studying him. For exactly what, he didn’t know, although he had a feeling it wouldn’t be good.
After lunch, Mark and Eva were directed to an area in the gym with mats on the floor. Mark felt the end coming—this was it.
Axel began, “This particular style of H2H combat is designed to keep you alive. It’s not a sport. It’s an art. If you’re attacked, assume they mean to kill you. You need to learn how to survive and control dangerous situations. The primary purpose of these aggressive moves is to deliver a maximum amount of damage, fast. We will show you offensive and defensive techniques. They do not require long-term training. Are easily recalled under stress. And extremely effective in life-threatening encounters when a weapon or reinforcements are not available. They will become reflexive. You will create conditioned reflexes and you will act and react without thinking. We can teach you the skill set and the mindset. The most important part is—you have to be willing to use them.” He tried grinning. It came out as a smirk. “Besides, if you ‘accidentally’ clock somebody, don’t worry. We’ll take care of it.”
Mark and Axel faced each other, an arm's length apart. They were both over six feet tall with muscular builds. Mark averaged around 185 pounds.
Okay, maybe one ninety after pizza and beer.
He estimated the sergeant weighed a good twenty pounds more due to his muscle mass. He glanced over at Eva. She was David to Kamryn’s Goliath; shorter by eight inches, lighter by 60 pounds.
“Protect yourself,” Axel warned.
Mark quickly adopted a classic boxer’s stance, leading with his left. He didn’t know what was coming, but the look in Axel’s eyes meant he wasn’t going to like it.
Axel sank to a crouch with his feet apart, lunged with arms wide. He grabbed Mark slightly above the knees, lifting him a couple of inches, scooped his left leg around Mark’s right leg, throwing him off balance, pushing him backward to the ground. Axel landed on top of him like a hungry lion, with his left arm over Mark’s throat—all in two seconds flat.
“Well, that was fun,” Mark grunted. “You’ve been waiting to do that all day?”
Axel offered Mark a hand getting up. “I warned you. This is not a game. This is serious as hell—to keep you alive if there’s another attempt on your life, or hers.” He jerked his thumb toward Eva.
“I’ll show you how to do what I just did.” Axel dissected his move. They reversed roles. That’s how the training went for the rest of the day. A new move. Break it down. Reverse rolls. Point—and counterpoint. After spending five hours working on five, simple moves, they called it quits.
The next three days became a blur of exhaustive physical repetition. Building muscle, speed, stamina, self-confidence, and conditioning reflexes to prepare for the unexpected.
Chapter 5
On his seventh day of living underground, without breathing fresh air or seeing the sky, Mark arose, showered, and dressed for another grueling round of combat training. He opened the door, to find Axel leaning against the frame.
“Follow me, Sleeping Beauty.”
“Where are we going?”
“To Col. Harben’s office. We got new orders—we’re leaving today.”
“Today?” Mark’s self-confidence evaporated in the blink of an eye. He started to break out in a sweat. He’d gotten sidetracked in the physical aspect of training to go off-world, and had neglected the psychological preparation. He had known this day was coming. He needed more time. “I’m not ready.”
“Doesn’t matter. It’s an order. You don’t have a choice. Don’t think about it. Just do it. You’re good at that.”
Mark should have had something to eat first. No—maybe not. Could make him nauseous.
Kamryn and Eva were waiting for them as they rounded a corner. Eva was practically bouncing up and down. “I’m so glad to be leaving here. I can’t wait to get back to work. I wonder what kind of labs we’ll have up on Luna.”
“Don’t ask questions, or you’ll regret it,” Axel warned.
“Yeah, I learned that one the hard way. The colonel makes one hell of a first impression,” Mark said. He remained pensive for the remainder of their trek to the far side of the underground base to the commander’s office.
Harben sat behind his desk with his fingers steepled. The only other two chairs in his office were positioned at forty-five degree angles at each corner of his desk. Buchanan and Torance occupied them. The captains were ushered in to stand side by side between the majors. The two sergeants stood flanking them.
“Well, now that everyone is finally here,” Harben snapped. “We can begin.” He produced a small tablet with an earpiece and a data chip and placed it on his desk in plain view. “Capt. Jackson, can you tell me what this is?”
“My music—Sir.” Eva grinned.
“No. It is not.”
Her face fell. “But—”
“This data chip had massive amounts of Classified Terraforming research from your Nano lab on it. As well as Classified Advanced Cybernetics research from the Xenobiology lab. Not music, by any means. Do you know how this happened?”
“No, sir,” she gasped.
“Lucky for you, the DNA found on this data chip belongs to the fraudulent Beth Coulter. The CAMRI servers were indeed hacked. It was likely a ploy to detract from the real reason she was in the Nano Lab with this chip and a terrorist. She must have been in a hurry to hide this. The cyborg was probably looking for it in your quarters. If we had any evidence you were guilty of participating in this crime, you’d be spending the next twenty years in a military penitentiary.”
Eva shriveled under the weight of Harben’s allegations.
“Since all the terrorists died, interrogation wasn’t an option. None of their prints were on file—anywhere. Their DNA is multiracial. All over the globe. TMD uses the planet's most sophisticated facial recognition, so a few have been identified as mercenaries. Others may have originated from remote areas and were never intentionally scanned by biometrics. Apparently, all were expendable. Maybe a distraction so the woman known as Beth Coulter could access data not stored on the servers. She didn’t get it; that’s the important thing.”
Mark felt overjoyed at this news. He needed to brainstorm with Eva to see where their research might have converged. Maybe they could figure out what she’d been after.
“We now have conclusive proof through the medical data and images we’ve been able to access that the woman at CAMRI was not the same Beth Coulter who graduated college. The change took place about ten years ago. We don’t yet know who this imposter is. We also don’t know where the real Beth Coulter is, whether dead or alive. She was an only child, born in London, never married, never had children. Both her parents are deceased, and they had no siblings. It seems a lot of effort went into locating the type of person who would be easiest to imper
sonate.”
The profound sense of foolishness Mark had felt at being scammed by the imposter a.k.a. Beth Coulter faded. CAMRI had hired her, brought her into the facility, so they’d been hustled, first.
“The non-human cyborg is a different story. His facial features were duplicated. The original features are identical to David Wu, a popular Asian model.” Harben paused, to roll his eyes. “His image is everywhere. He was on a photo shoot in Shanghai for a solid week while all this happened. If there are more of these machines, we can presume they, too, have duplicated features of real people.
“If we get any new information which directly impacts you or your research, you’ll be briefed by Lunar Military Defense Commander, Gen. Yates,” Harben concluded. “He’s up to date on all the particulars.”
Buchanan spoke up, turning the discussion to her jurisdiction. “I’ve monitored your physical H2H and weapons training—which will continue on Luna. Your deployment has been approved. You four will be on a shuttle for Virginia this morning. From there you’ll board a Terran warship bound non-stop, straight for Lunar Base 3. This is where Capt. Warren and Capt. Jackson will complete their military service.”
She took four small boxes off the edge of Harben’s desk, handed one of each to Mark and Eva. “These are your new comm devices and tablets. You are not cleared to use them until you reach Luna. All your net use, and personal communications will be rerouted through military geosats, so if anyone’s looking, it will seem as if your service is still originating in Canada. Do not let these out of your sight. Also, your lunar location is classified. All information pertaining to CAMRI, everything that has happened to you for the past week, is classified. You are not cleared to divulge it to anyone. Whoever these people are—they’re not playing games. This is the reason we’ve kept you sequestered—for your protection. If Operation Pandora is resolved here on Terra, we’ll let you know. In the meantime—stay safe.”
Torance stood and smiled. “Everyone’s passed their physicals. All four of your geolocators have been activated—and will be monitored for the duration of your time off-world. So you’re good to go. Bon Voyage.”
***
Axel warned, “We’ll be back to get you two in an hour. Don’t eat a heavy breakfast, in case you puke. Make sure you go to the Latrine before we board. And don’t sneeze after we’re on board, either.” The two sergeants walked off chuckling.
Mark could see from her forlorn expression Eva hadn’t recovered from Harben’s accusations. “Look, I’m sorry he gave you such a hard time. You didn’t deserve it. I’m going to pack, then whip by the dining hall to grab a few energy bars. I’ll get some for you, too. Meet me back here in an hour.” He gave her a hug, and they parted.
He wasted no time in changing to a uniform and boots. After packing his meager possessions in a small duffle, he went in search of Torance. He hoped to persuade the doctor to give him something for acrophobia, claustrophobia, or for anxiety, afraid of having a severe stress-induced panic attack in full view of the whole universe.
He found the doctor in the first place he looked—the dining hall. Mark swung by the cafeteria line, snatched all six bars, plus two apples, and stuffed them in his duffle bag as he threaded his way over to where the doctor sat.
Torance was enjoying a breakfast of champions; pancakes swimming in syrup with heaps of bacon and fried hash brown potatoes.
“Good morning again, Major.”
The doctor looked up from his plate, his white brows pinched together. He held a piece of bacon between the fingers of one hand and a forkful of dripping pancakes in the other. “Captain, to what do I owe the honor of your presence?”
“I need to ask a favor, sir.”
The doctor devoured the food with both hands. He made a show of using his napkin. “What kind of favor?”
“I need something for anxiety, an SSRI or benzodiazepine.”
The doctor stared up at Mark for an interminable moment.
Finally, Mark felt compelled to admit the reason he needed the medication. “It’s not fear of flying. It’s leaving the planet that’s kicking my ass.”
“If this stems from your brother’s death off-world, you’ve waited a little too long to speak with a mental health professional, however, I could try to find a Chaplin.”
Mark stiffened. “I don’t need sanctimonious rhetoric, doctor. If this goes against your Hippocratic Oath, fine, I’ll self-medicate.” Mark spun around, aiming for the exit.
“Captain Warren.”
Mark stopped, and looked back.
“Carry this.” The doctor pointed to his plate. “Grab a tray and follow me.” In silence, he strode through the dining hall, around corners, down deserted corridors, finally arriving at a small exam room. He unlocked it and Mark joined him inside. The doctor pressed his thumbprint onto the panel of a glass cabinet, opened it, removed a bottle, and shook out four tablets. He pulled open a drawer, took out a leather-encased flask, handing it and the pills to Mark.
“Take one now. If Jackson needs something, break one in half.”
Grateful, Mark followed the doctor’s instructions. The liquid in the flask tasted like brandy. He took another drink, handed it back.
“And deal with your problem, Captain. You’ll find the doctors on Luna aren’t nearly as obliging as I am. Now go catch your shuttle. Leave me to clog my arteries in peace.” He picked up a piece of bacon and resumed eating.
“Thank you, Major.” Mark checked his watch. He had ten minutes to make it back. He ran like his life depended on it.
***
Mark and Eva followed the two sergeants to an elevator, boarded it, and descended one level. They exited, turned right a few paces, then got on a moving walkway.
Mark tapped Eva on the arm, holding out a couple of energy bars, and an apple. “In case you get hungry,” he whispered.
Eva stashed them in her pockets. She still looked like she’d been flogged.
After several minutes, they arrived at an enormous indoor hangar. It had floor sections marked off for a dozen vessels. Four spaces were empty. Their shuttle was one of the six remaining. They were identical. All the black transport-class shuttles displayed a red TMD insignia of eagle’s wings surrounded by a circle of stars. They walked toward one bearing the tail number: N913. It was shaped like a boxcar with a slanted front, twin side nacelles, two torpedo tubes, and a side hatch. Imposing, but unattractive.
Eight other soldiers were already inside when they boarded, strapping themselves into the harness stations. Kamryn and Eva took seats on one side, Axel and Mark sitting opposite them.
Axel leaned close. “Don’t worry, these things are pretty safe.”
“Wiseass.” Mark closed his eyes, practicing deep-breathing meditation. He remembered his first trip in a shuttle when he’d transferred from Virginia to CAMRI in Canada. No problems whatsoever. During the second trip, he’d been unconscious from Canada to North Dakota.
Without a sound, the shuttle maneuvered forward, swung left, floating out of the hangar. Moments later they cleared the tarmac, rose straight up, becoming airborne. The interior lights switched to dark blue, as did the twin glow strips on the floor. There was no sensation of ascending or speed. Smooth as glass. They cruised at 10,000 feet. In less than twenty minutes, they descended onto the tarmac of TMD Headquarters in Virginia.
Everyone filed out. The instant Mark’s feet hit the ground, he took a deep breath. He did not smell the salty ocean, or any hint of nature; only ozone, trioxygen, and a sharp whiff of chlorine. Plus, he hadn’t seen the sky in a week. This would be his last opportunity to experience the outdoors on Terra for the next six months—just his luck today was overcast. No blue skies. Gray as far as he could see. Mark felt gypped. To compensate, at least the first leg of the trip had been uneventful.
Axel led them toward two armed soldiers standing guard on either side of a door leading into an immense hangar. Their IDs were scanned and they were allowed to enter. Inside, all four of them paused t
o gaze at the impressive sight. Two rows of sleek, liquid silver spacecraft parked on pylons, tails to the wall, noses pointing toward the middle aisle. Mark estimated close to a couple of hundred maintenance crew milling about back in the hanger. All incoming personnel entered a metal barricaded walkway to a checkpoint manned by six, beefy-looking soldiers. Beyond them, two parallel rows, with the females directed down one side, males to the other. IDs were scanned again; they were fingerprinted and their DNA taken.
A few steps farther, they passed through a security system rivaling Fort Knox, with sensors that could detect bio, mech, and tech. Duffel bags were emptied, every item inspected, then locked in a clear bin. People were instructed to pass through an opaque decontamination chamber—in case you were ordered to disrobe for some unknown reason.
Behind them, a security violation set off a flurry of beeps. Everything stopped. Dead still. Mark almost stopped breathing. He felt paranoid—with good reason. The beeping ended. Laughter broke out. Mark started breathing. Things resumed.
The four joined up again after exiting the chamber and ushered to a holding area to await their flight. About forty-five others also waited. Some officers, mostly enlisted, with twice as many men as women. The sergeants stayed together, laughing, and joking.
Mark and Eva, not so much. She still wore a lost puppy expression. Mark began to think Harben might have done irreparable harm.
Damn, that pompous ass. Maslow's concept came to mind: “When you’re a hammer, everything else looks like a nail.” It indeed applied to the colonel. Eva had been so excited about going to Luna. Now look at her. He had to try to cheer her up, even if he regretted it later.
“Eva, once we land, and get processed, do you want to walk around the Base, get acclimated, maybe grab some dinner?”
“Really?” She looked up at him, a glimmer of a smile in her big eyes. “You would do that—with me?”
