Rise of the Liberators (Terrafide Book 1)

by Ryan Hyatt

  “My daughter needs implants to correct her color blindness,” Ray said. “Will she be covered for that?”

  “Absolutely,” the Colonel said. “Anything else?”

  “I’ll need to talk it over with my wife.”

  The Colonel, Felix and Humphrey smiled. Luckily they weren’t hiring a gambler, because Ray was a lousy liar. Any conversation he might have with his wife was to be a mere formality, and everyone present knew it.

  “Of course,” the Colonel said. “I’ll tell you what. Take the old lady out for a nice steak dinner tonight, talk it over with her, and we’ll see you tomorrow for your first day of instruction.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Ray took the Colonel’s advice literally, but as he explained the terms of his employment to Dee over a steak dinner, the lines of worry etched on her face seemed to grow deeper.

  “But Ray, honey, you’re not a young fool out of college anymore,” she said, her fork and knife braced defensively against her chest. “You’re a grown man, with a grown man’s responsibilities. You can’t be whisked away from home. You have a daughter to think about.”

  They were at Outer Chowder Steakhouse and among the only customers present, not only because it was a weeknight during the Greatest Depression and few could afford a dining excursion, but also because red meat, once an American staple, had become a rare meal for most families. Even hamburgers from fast food chains were a luxury for many households. A virulent strain of mad cow disease recently infected livestock in the Midwest, causing an unprecedented recall of beef that reduced the supply and increased the price of untainted red meat nationwide. Some conspiracy theorists believed the virus was a biological weapon unleashed by the Chinese or Russians, while others, with a religious bent, thought God was punishing America for legalizing gay marriage.

  None of that mattered to Ray that moment. For the first time in a long time he was feeling anger toward his wife. He put down his fork and knife, finished chewing his steak, and took a sip of beer.

  “For the past three years I’ve been cooped up in our home, raising our daughter by your side, applying for jobs that never lead anywhere, trying to keep my spirits high as we’ve depleted our savings and retirement accounts, watched the stack of unpaid bills grow, and waited for our home to be foreclosed on,” Ray said. “I’ve been powerless. I’ve been hopeless. I’ve been broke. And because of it, there’ve been times I’ve felt downright suicidal. Finally, an opportunity comes my way to set us straight, and I don’t have your support.”

  “Of course you have my support!” Dee said, extending a hand to her husband. “That’s why I’m saying what I’m saying, because I think you need someone telling you what you need to know right now, not some colonel blowing smoke up your ass. Talk about suicide, it sounds like you’re asking for it! This new project sounds crazy. You hear me? Nuts. What kind of name for a company is Rocket & Gamble, anyway? Who are they? How long have they been in business? Do you know? There must be another way, another option that isn’t so risky … to you … to us.”

  “There are no other options!” Ray said, releasing his wife’s hand. “Don’t you get it? It’s either I risk dying abroad to make a difference for you and Sara right here, right now, forever, or I stay and we die of neglect, or worse.”

  “Please, honey,” Dee said, re-extending her hand. “Don’t be so dramatic. We’ll get by, somehow. We always do.”

  Ray’s hands trembled; he would not accept hers.

  “I may no longer be a young fool out of college, but I’m also not old and beaten, either,” he said. “Not by you, not by anybody.”

  “Please, don’t let your ego get in the way,” Dee said. “It sounds like a great opportunity, but if anything goes wrong, that’s it. You’re finished. Gone. And we are, too. There’s too much at stake, too much to lose. This family can’t afford to live without you. Sorry, Ray, but this job is a bad idea.”

  “What about Sara’s eyes?” Ray said, clenching his fork and knife. “What are we going to do about them? Let her grow up never seeing that flowers aren’t black?”

  “We’ll figure out a way to help her.”

  “No, we won’t,” Ray said. “Let’s face it. We can’t even help ourselves.”

  “Don’t talk like that,” Dee said. “It’s not like you.”

  Ray gazed painfully into his wife’s eyes.

  “I’m beginning to wonder if you’re not part of the problem,” he said. “I’m beginning to wonder if you’re holding me back.”

  Dee’s hands began to tremble.

  “Holding you back?” she said. “I can’t believe what I’m hearing! Take me home. Take me home this minute, Ray Salvatore! This conversation is over! You do whatever the hell you please … Sara and I will get by, with or without you!”

  Dee wiped a tear with her napkin, gathered her purse.

  “Terrific,” Ray said, pushing his plate aside. “Let’s go home and spend more time together being mad at each other. Just what we need. At least if I had a job, our house wouldn’t be a cuckoo’s nest.”

  “God damn you, Ray.”

  Dee cried. Her makeup smeared. She let it run. She no longer tried to hide how she felt.

  The waitress jotted toward them with the check.

  “Would you like your meal in a to-go box?” she said.

  “Yes,” Ray said.

  “No,” Dee said.

  “Why not?”

  “This meal’s being paid for with blood money, and I’ve had my fill.”

  “Since when did you become a bleeding heart?” Ray said.

  “Since you became an asshole,” Dee said.

  The drive home was quiet. Ray briefly considered not reenlisting if it would prevent his wife from hating him, but he stopped second-guessing himself once the car turned onto their block. Several police cars were parked around their home, and an ambulance was parked in the driveway across the street.

  Ray’s heart raced as the O’Learys’ front door opened, and he watched the first bagged body being loaded into the ambulance.

  Ray rolled down his window and asked an officer what happened.

  “Murder-suicide,” the officer said. “The whole family’s dead.”

  Ray had seen plenty of death in his time, often wielded by his own trigger, but never close and personal. It was as if the madness and violence of the world finally was making its way to his doorstep, and he felt an overwhelming urge to take such an insane battle as far away from his home as possible. The O’Learys’ tragic and unnecessary deaths was the only confirmation Ray needed that taking the job with Rocket & Gamble was right.

  Ray parked his car, and he and his wife walked into the house to check on their daughter. It was past Sara’s bed time and she was asleep, oblivious to the nightmarish scene outside her bedroom window.

  Their teenage sitter, however, was shaken.

  “What happened?” she said.

  Dee clasped her and Ray said, “Something terrible…something you’d never see in decent times.”

  Ray didn’t begin feeling guilty about his decision to reenlist until the following morning when he was scheduled to report to Rocket & Gamble for his first day of instruction at the old Indigenous plant.

  For as long as Sara was alive, Ray had been unemployed, and he tended to sleep each morning for as long as his daughter allowed. That meant Ray usually woke, not to the sound of an alarm, but to Sara’s sweet laugh as she pounced on her father in bed and forced him to meet the day, sometimes before sunrise. However, feeling anxious with anticipation, Ray woke that morning before Sara did, and he took the opportunity to shower, dress, cook breakfast, make coffee and even return the kiddy pool to the patio before Sara found him in the kitchen.

  “Daddy?” she said. “Why are you dressed up again?”

  It was an astute observation for a four-year-old. Although Ray was an independent contractor allowed to dress in business causal the first months on his new job, he decided to wear his formal Marines uniform. He dec
ided in his mind he would do so to set the proper tone not only for his employer, but also for himself.

  The only way Ray was able to muster the inner strength to leave his daughter on a mission abroad was to already imagine himself safely returned, mission accomplished, and relaxed with his daughter at home. And the only way Ray was able to fathom that possibility was to wear his military uniform for the indefinite future and be the man he needed to be, so that he again might become the man he preferred.

  Ray was playing a trick on his mind and his daughter’s, too, too young to understand such contrivances.

  “Come here, sweetie,” Ray said, beckoning her into his arms.

  Sara ran to him, and he lifted her. She touched the medals on her father’s chest, and he led her through the living room, pointing at pictures of himself in uniform in the photo collages that lined the walls.

  “That’s me when I used to go to work, before you were born,” he said. “Now it’s time for me to go back to work, so I’m wearing this uniform. I’ll be wearing it from now on when I go to work. Understand?”

  “Okay, Daddy,” Sara said, but the frown on her face made it clear that even if she did, such news was still bad.

  “Come on,” Ray said. “I’ll make you breakfast.”

  “Cheerios?” Sara said.

  “Of course,” Ray said.

  “Yay!” Sara said, happy to hear good news.

  As Sara ate, Ray closed the windows and turned the thermostat to a comfortable seventy-five degrees, at which point the hum of the air conditioner gently rattled the house and began to cool it off for the first time since the home was purchased. It was amazing the AC still worked, and so well.

  Dee joined them, and she made Ray a sack lunch while he gathered his briefcase. Sara, intrigued by the commotion, finished eating breakfast and moved to her play area in the living room. She sat on the couch and flipped through a picture book, keeping a curious eye on her busy mother and father. Ray noticed her attention drift toward the empty space before her. He could almost see the synapses firing in her head, the chain of thoughts connecting to her quizzical face.

  Something was missing, something wasn’t right, but Sara couldn’t place it. She ran in circles and pretended to put her foot into something that was no longer present.

  “The pool went bye-bye,” she said.

  “It’s outside,” Ray said.

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s more fun that way,” Ray said, and he pointed through the window to the pool on the patio. “You can splash out there all you want, sweetheart. You’ll love it, and from now on it’ll be cool inside the house, so we don’t need it in here anyway.”

  Sara ran to the window and gazed at her plastic kiddie pool. There were too many changes underway for one morning, however, and her expression shifted from curiosity to confusion to concern.

  Ray lifted Sara, held her in his arms. He mouthed to Dee it was time for him to go. She nodded and grabbed his lunch and met them at the door.

  Outside was bright, beautiful and sweltering hot. Ray wasn’t sure how to assure Sara that he would return home, and then he thought of one of his old aviation tricks. He carried Sara all the way to the curb, where his red pickup truck was parked, and he pointed at the sun rising from the east. To him it was an intense orange ball that he couldn’t stare at without burning his eyes. To Sara it was probably white, and hopefully she didn’t stare at it and make her eyesight any worse.

  “You want to know when I’ll be home?” Ray said to his daughter.

  “Yeah, Daddy.”

  “During the day, when you look outside, you’ll notice the sun moves from where it is now all the way across the sky.”

  Ray pointed in an invisible arc toward the western horizon.

  “By the end of the day, the sun will be over those mountains,” he said. “When they get there, that’s when you can expect me home.”

  Ray traced the trajectory with his finger, and he watched as Sara traced the sun’s imaginary path across the sky with him.

  “Understand?” he said.

  “Yeah, Daddy,” she said, and she buried her head in her father’s chest, a sign to Ray that she really did understand.

  Dee said, “We’ll check on the sun throughout the day, to see when Daddy is coming home, okay?”

  “Okay, Mommy.”

  Then father, mother and daughter embraced. Dee had a special name for such tender moments.

  “Huggy Time!” she said.

  They laughed a little and cried a little as they held each other tightly.

  “Have a great day,” Dee said.

  “You, too,” Ray said, and he kissed his wife on the forehead.

  Then, Ray handed Sara to Dee in exchange for his lunch, and mother and daughter watched as father drove away, out of sight.

  CHAPTER 4

  The first weeks of Ray’s training were conducted in a windowless classroom beneath the old Indigenous plant and a gym also located at the underground facility. Ray’s time was evenly split performing the mental and physical conditioning necessary to become a successful Liberator pilot.

  Inside the classroom, Rocket & Gamble engineers explained the cutting-edge technology that made their company’s military goliath possible. Ray was informed that he was chosen for the job, in part because of his engineering background, but even for him the math and physics used to support Liberator’s numerous operations was difficult to comprehend, let alone believe. Ray did his best to assimilate knowledge of the machine he was to test and lead into battle.

  For each hour of classroom instruction, Ray spent one hour exercising. He was placed on a regimented diet and embarked on an arduous physical fitness program, which soon put him in the best shape of his life. He ran five days a week, lifted weights, swam, jumped rope and practiced various forms of martial arts.

  In many ways, Ray felt stronger, healthier and more capable than he had as a college running back more than a decade prior. Such impressive gains in his mental and physical well-being weren’t intended to boost his ego, but essential to the demanding nature of his job. Ray was informed that a pilot’s movements dictated Liberator’s with almost simultaneous precision. Thus, a pilot needed to be able to swivel from side to side, jump into the air, sprint and punch a target, if during the course of battle he expected his Liberator to do the same.

  Liberator, code-named Mama’s Boy, had few of the buttons or controls typically found inside the cockpit of military hardware. Ray was told he would be able to navigate his air, land and sea vehicle in a comfortable sitting, standing or lying position, depending on mode, within an ergonomically-responsive capsule that adjusted to the size and weight of its occupant. The cockpit in many ways functioned like a cocoon, providing pilot with critical feedback and protection from the external environment, a system unlike anything natural or manmade compared to it on Earth.

  Ray was to enter Mama’s Boy wearing a sensor-filled body suit, gloves and helmet, and he was to control it using physical motions, gestures, voice commands, or his own thoughts. Once the pilot was situated, thousands of transparent bio-optic threads crisscrossed arms, legs and chest, forming a neural relay network that extended beyond the pilot’s nervous system and anticipated communication between man and machine. These smart threads molded themselves around the pilot’s body, while at the same time they maximized the pilot’s mobility within the capsule – and thus maximized Mama’s Boy’s mobility on the battlefield.

  When this dynamic duo of man and machine was under attack, the threads restrained the pilot’s limbs and minimized the injuries the pilot sustained from impacts. In addition, the capsule’s cavities filled with transparent electro-static foam that formed a magnetic field and facilitated the telepathic relationship between pilot and his partner. Like the bio-optic threads, this electro-static foam also served a protective purpose, crystallizing around the pilot and cushioning him during heavy enemy fire.

  When Ray and his Lib joined the battlefield, he was tol
d to expect quick, exhaustive periods of engagement with the enemy followed by long, indefinite durations of inactivity. To this end, Mama’s Boy offered a standby mode in which its onboard computer system monitored enemy activity, while lights dimmed inside the capsule, and the bio-optic threads cocooned the pilot, massaged his muscles and helped him rest. Likewise, the network of threads to house Ray’s mortal coil also coiled into tubes that fed liquefied rations and water into the pilot’s mouth. These tubes, cleansed by the electro-static foam, also acted as sanitary suction pumps. Thus, it was possible to eat, drink, urinate and defecate onboard a Liberator while patrolling enemy territory, without relief or reinforcements, for up to a year.

  Nor was Mama’s Boy’s mobility limited to the human range of motion. Ray indicated in his notes the commands necessary to make his weapon contort into those peculiar forms its pilot could not. Motioning or saying or thinking “GET AIR” – depending on the sensitivity settings – forced Lib’s wings to expand from behind its back and jet engines to thrust the aviator upward into the sky. Once in aircraft mode, Lib hovered in place or flew around the world, depending on the pilot’s directive. Motioning or saying or thinking “RIDE” caused Lib’s cockpit and legs to fold into its torso, transforming the vehicle into a massive, fast-moving battle tank. With its saginium mesh overlay, Lib was able to roam the countryside undetected by radar and act as a huge battering ram that smashed through whole city blocks unscathed. Lib’s hull and shield were made from jessinium alloy that absorbed blast debris, which within minutes diffused throughout the ship’s outer-protective shell and helped reinforce it. This sophisticated body armor allowed Mama’s Boy to endure storms of gun and missile fire without jeopardizing the hull’s integrity or the pilot’s view of the battlefield. Finally, motioning or saying or thinking “SWIM” activated Lib’s aqua mode. As a submersible vehicle, Mama’s Boy was able to comfortably traverse more than a mile beneath the ocean’s surface at a top speed of one hundred miles per hour.

  Such revolutionary characteristics made Liberator more than a formidable opponent. Along with its fueling and firing systems, it was a conventional weapon system that seemed indestructible, Ray thought. Powered by a nuclear fuel cell, Lib was able to fly to any global hotspot and serve there for a year without a recharge. Besides its super-power source, Lib carried unsurpassed firepower. Its arsenal of smart missiles, high-caliber machine guns, and demolition strength matched the destructive capacity of a one-megaton nuclear warhead. According to Rocket & Gamble engineers, one Mama’s Boy acting alone could pulverize a city the size of New York in one hour. Not bad for a sixty ton machine.