Resurgence

by Daniel P. Douglas

  Between huffs and puffs, Sapp said, “It helps me work things out. I might just kill people for no good reason if I didn’t have a strong pair legs to keep me running.”

  “Good to know.”

  “So what’s up with Oeskone?”

  Eastaway sighed, then said, “Not sure why the boss picked me, the most junior platoon leader.”

  Sapp laughed. “Probably one of two things. He figures you’re ready to handle it. Or you’ve annoyed him enough and he wants you dead. I’m leaning toward number two. He’s kind of an angry old bastard. REF has passed him over for promotion a lot. He may view you as a threat.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “I’m just saying. The man’s a bastard. Watch your back.”

  More silence surrounded the soldiers on their run across the galaxy, then Sapp finally said, “Don’t worry, you’re ready.”

  They finished their exercise, showered, dressed, and then collected their platoon-mates inside one of the firing range’s training rooms. Twenty personnel in all, the platoon held six three-soldier teams. Three teams comprised a squad, providing the platoon with two squads. Sergeant Sapp and Lieutenant Eastaway represented the nineteenth and twentieth solders. They held overall responsibility for the entire unit as its platoon sergeant and platoon leader.

  “Sorry, guys and gals, but we aren’t going home right away,” Eastaway said. “You can blame Sergeant Sapp. Yep, yep—it’s entirely his fault.”

  Sapp shook his head while the other soldiers chuckled.

  “In all seriousness, though,” Eastaway said, “headquarters has redirected us to Oeskone, a jungle planet on the fringe, in the Outworlds. Some thin reporting indicates human colonists may have located ruins on the planet that are from an extinct, intelligent alien race.”

  “I guess they weren’t that smart after all, if they’re all dead and such,” Sergeant Sapp said.

  Several soldiers nodded their heads and laughed.

  “Good point,” Eastaway said. “Regardless of their IQ and apparent demise, the boss has selected us for the advance team. We’ll HALO infil under darkness near where some of these ruins may exist. The DZ is about ten kilometers from the colony complex.”

  Several platoon members muttered curses under their breath about the hazardous infiltration method.

  “I understand your enthusiasm,” Eastaway said. “Bottom line, we get in, check things out, find the anomalous ruins and artifacts or not, and determine more about the locals. Any questions?”

  Specialist Elias Fisher, who sat in the middle of all of the soldiers in the room, raised a tentative hand and said, “What are these aliens called?”

  “I don’t think they have a name yet,” Eastaway said. As his words trailed off, he gazed at Sapp, hoping his subordinate held the answer, but the sergeant just shrugged. Looking back at Fisher, Eastaway said, “Sergeant Sapp will try to find out and get—”

  “Angorgal,” a voice said from the training room’s entrance. As all eyes—including Eastaway’s—swung in that direction, they found the unit’s intelligence officer, Captain Hans Krieger, standing there. Continuing, Krieger said, “Angorgal is the name for the alien race. But you did not hear that from me.” He stepped forward and strutted up to Sapp and Eastaway at the front of the room. Once there, he turned, faced the soldiers, and said, “Apparently, they were reptilian-humanoids. But I’ll deny all knowledge of that, too.”

  “Thanks for the update, Captain. If that’s what we can call it,” Eastaway said, an uncertain tone accompanying his words. He rubbed his chin.

  To only Eastaway, Krieger said, “We’ll talk later. Continue.”

  Eastaway nodded and then looked out over his platoon. “Sergeant Sapp will download all pertinent mission data and maps into your exosuits. He will also work with you on the range for the rest of the evening.” Despite his ongoing apprehension about leading the advance team mission, Eastaway spoke the next words with straightforward ease. “You’re the best I know, and I am proud to serve with all of you. Let’s get in and out safely and all go home. Now, get to work.”

  “Let’s go, ladies,” Sapp said, leading the group out. “Feel free to powder your noses on the way if it will make you feel pretty. But make it quick, or I kill you.”

  <> <>

  Inside Tatiana’s quarters, she worked alone while David fetched a bowl of ice cream for himself from the colony’s dining hall. The hacker sat at her computer table, frustrated, feverishly trying to correct a problem with data from the Yamato Strand she had nurtured from the Combine’s intelligence reporting system. Interference blinked the screens of data until finally, it all blanked out permanently.

  “Great Gorbachev’s ghost, what the—”

  “Problems?”

  Tatiana stood, flustered not only from the technical problems, but also from the unexpected and uninvited Eagan Rodenmeyer. “I didn’t hear you come in.” She furrowed her brow at the door, then said, “I thought I locked that.”

  “I’m an engineer,” Rodenmeyer said. A shit-eating grin grew on him.

  Concealing her irritation, Tatiana said, “It’s Eagan, right?”

  “Yes, and perhaps I can alleviate your source of stress.”

  “No stress. Just need to fetch some new equipment from my—”

  “Lack of output creates doubt, honey. We’re results-oriented here. Don’t expect to get by very long on your looks alone.”

  “How dare you question my abilities.”

  “The only abilities I see so far are wrapped in tight leather.”

  Tatiana smoldered. She offered him an authorized bone to quell his doubt. “Do you have a man named Bancroft here?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.” Eagan couldn’t restrain a giggle.

  “Well then you should know he has a bank account in the name of Gerald Lazlow.”

  “So?”

  “Lazlow has received regular deposits from a Hong Kong account of Fu‑Sang, Meret, and Lang.”

  “Fu what?”

  “It’s an investment firm in the fringe.”

  “Again. So?”

  “It also happens to be a front for Combine intelligence.”

  Rodenmeyer grew more irritated. “How did you even come across such information?”

  “Penetrating CISOS files, of course. You know. Doing my job.”

  “And when did you plan to tell us this about Bancroft?”

  “I was just verifying a few more details when I had equipment problems. And then you barged in here and—like an idiot—accused me of incompetence!”

  Rodenmeyer sighed. But then a sinister smile crept over him, and he said, “So this account of Bancroft’s?”

  “What about it?” Tatiana said, sneering.

  “Any chance there are funds available for transfer?”

  <> <>

  After the last platoon member exited the training room and the door slid shut, Eastaway exhaled, releasing a breath from lungs long overdue for an exchange of air.

  Hans Krieger crossed his arms. His stern, sharp features and gray eyes peered down at Eastaway. “So, Captain Beach chose you?”

  Eastaway’s gaze found a pair of lower pant legs and boots ahead of him. “I wasn’t my first choice.”

  “I’ve read your file.”

  Eastaway’s chest hitched. He tensed and stopped breathing again.

  “What happened was cruel and unjust. Must have been rough growing up like that.”

  The young lieutenant forced himself to look directly at Krieger. The intel officer’s features had softened. Eastaway cleared his throat. Respiratory functions resumed. “And yet, here I am.”

  Krieger nodded, his scrutiny still attempting to penetrate deeper. “Jerod, I pursued intel work over other occupations because through it I believed I could protect people and save lives. After all, there’s more than one edge that creates the tip of a spear.”

  Eastaway smiled, his tension eased further.

  “But in the meantime, Captain Beach chose you and your
platoon to lead us into Oeskone.” Krieger paused, gazed around the room, and then indicated for Eastaway to sit at a nearby table. After both of them settled into the cushioned, black synthetic leather chairs, Krieger said, “I’m encountering a significant number of restricted files regarding Oeskone. There is definitely more out there about this place, but for whatever reason, higher authority is keeping it well under wraps.”

  “Oeskone and these Angorgal may be more important than we all realize.”

  “I didn’t want you to underestimate the situation.”

  “I’m curious about the source situation. Do you think there is one among the colonists?”

  “Would be helpful to know going in, huh?”

  “Which is why I ask.”

  Krieger sighed and said, “Source access details and characterization are restricted. But from what I’ve assessed based on various intel—and I don’t know for sure—a source is among the colonists.”

  “An outsider?”

  “Could be on the books for some agency, just don't know which. Maybe Combine—”

  “But we don’t know for sure?”

  “Suffice to say, our SIGINT folks picked up on some transmissions from Oeskone to a Combine listening post in the Yamato Strand.”

  “So, the Combine knows what we know?”

  An expression of uncertainty appeared on Krieger’s face. “The transmission’s encryption didn’t match any known Combine protocols. Either it’s something totally new, or it belongs to someone else.”

  “So their comm network is compromised?”

  Krieger shrugged and said, “Conceivable. But whatever the case, I tasked one of our long-range covert ESR ships to jam key superluminal comm hubs, so hopefully there is nothing more than static between Oeskone and the listening post these days.”

  “And our decryption of the transmissions told us…?”

  “I’m told we haven’t cracked things yet. Just another reason for caution. If you locate an outsider of sorts among the colonists, understand their loyalties may transcend your own.”

  Something else had nagged Eastaway since the briefing. “Is it a coincidence the Angorgals are reportedly reptilian-humanoids and Harel experimented with reptile and human DNA on Earth?”

  “What do you think?”

  Eastaway shook his head. “Not one bit.”

  “Agreed.” Krieger paused. Somberness infected his features and tone. “There is one other thing you should know for situational awareness. Some initial reports indicate Chinese Conglomerate forces are on the move.”

  “Where?”

  “More so closer to home, but a few forces move toward the frontier. Toward us. They may try another land grab.”

  “They haven’t learned their lessons?”

  “Trouble is, they get better each time, and we’re just not sure what they’re up to. Be prepared for a possible sudden shift in mission priorities.”

  “Never a shortage of work for us.”

  “On that, Lieutenant, there is no question.”

  Chapter 3

  Threat!

  Inside Eastaway’s personal quarters, he stripped down to his underwear and crawled into bed. Eighteen hours remained before the Slipstream’s anticipated arrival at Oeskone, and he sought sufficient rest before the mission. Fortunately, Coopark and his other roommate occupied themselves elsewhere, so he remained hopeful for some decent sleep.

  With closed eyes, his mind drifted to the day he told his father and two older half-brothers—Jesse and Vincent—of his intentions to join the military after college. A successful but unfulfilling life in the family business hauling freight as the equivalent of an early 24th-century truck driver while under the thumb of corrupt and cruel relatives had held no appeal to Eastaway. Pursuing an escape, he had opted for service to the Northern Republic, a path he hoped would provide a salvation of time and distance between not only him and his crooked father, but also between him and the half-brothers who had bullied—and simply beaten—him throughout much of his life.

  “Fuck service to the Northern Republic. What did the Republic ever do for you?” his father had told him. This from the same father who avoided paying taxes, smuggled contraband for organized crime groups, and who had escaped military service when a draft existed by providing fake medical records indicating some sort of disqualifying affliction of the mind. And God knows what else, Eastaway thought.

  “I don’t want to haul freight,” Eastaway had said to his father. “Or rub elbows with the criminal underwor—”

  “Keep your mouth shut, boy!” his father had said, gripping his son by the collar. “Your mother used to say stupid things like that—”

  Eastaway jerked open his eyes, panting. He tapped his forehead with his arm, caught his breath, and then closed his eyes.

  Meanwhile, Jesse and Vincent—the result of an affair his father had with a woman other than Jerod’s mother—had both urged him, “Get out while you can.”

  Eastaway understood the true intentions of his brothers existed nowhere near anything in his best interests. In addition to the constant bullying and thrashings he had endured from them over the years, they also both possessed notorious greed. They simply sought more profits for themselves and held no sincere interest in promoting an alternative path for their youngest brother.

  “And besides, this is a tough business. Not meant for a momma’s boy,” Vincent had added.

  “Good point. Maybe the REF will make a man out of him,” Jesse had said.

  Eastaway’s eyes opened once more, and the arm-tapping on the forehead resumed. When Jerod was a child, his mother had performed routine interventions between his older brothers and him. She had protected him until the two rapists and murderers shattered her loving shield. And when it had been Eastaway’s turn to protect her, he had failed, helpless to do anything but weep.

  And feel guilt….

  <> <>

  The incessant buzzing from the ship’s battle stations alarm system woke Eastaway. Still half-asleep, he wobbled to the tall gray metal cabinet across the cramped room, opened it, and then donned his jumpsuit. He grabbed a sidearm—a SIG Sauer .45-caliber blaster pistol—from within a metal safe on the top shelf inside the cabinet. After holstering the gun on his right hip, he headed for the exit.

  Soldiers and Slipstream crewmembers ran in both directions in the corridor outside his quarters. Weaving a path through busy passageways and stairwells, he navigated his way to his initial duty location in a battle stations alarm: The ship’s emergency operations center (EOC) located adjacent to the bridge.

  On his way there, Eastaway noticed the interior of the ship no longer resonated with the familiar FTL hum. Finding a porthole, he looked outside and confirmed the ship traveled under sub-light conditions.

  Upon entering the EOC, Eastaway immediately saw Sergeant Sapp above the swarm and heard Captain Beach’s voice over the din. “We’ve stopped due to a distress call from an immobile freighter-class Combine vessel. There’s been no additional communications from the ship, so I’ve volunteered to send an entry team over.”

  As Eastaway approached and stood next to Sapp, Beach paused his briefing and nodded at the lieutenant. A creepiness writhed through Eastaway as the gaze of the multiple other officers and NCOs joined with Beach’s on him.

  With several pairs of eyes on the young lieutenant, including that of his commanding officer, Sapp leaned down and, whispering to Eastaway, said, “Here it comes.”

  “Huh?”

  “What I told you yesterday.”

  “Lieutenant Eastaway and one of his squads will make the entry,” Captain Beach said. “Get your team assembled and on the hangar deck ASAP.”

  “Uh…yes, sir,” Eastaway said, a little dazed.

  As he and Sapp exited the area, the platoon sergeant said, “I told you so.”

  Eastaway shook off his stupor. “Oh, come on. Just because Beach is sending us over to the freighter doesn’t mean he’s trying to get me killed. Maybe he wants yo
u dead. You ever think of that?”

  “If you say so, Boss. But I think you are wrong on this one. That guy hates you for some reason.”

  “Just inform Sergeant O’Malley that her squad needs to draw weapons, get armored up, and head to the hangar deck ASAP.”

  “You got it, Boss.”

  After donning composite armored exoskeleton suits and equipping themselves with Ryker-Tech Arms Mark-IV pulse carbines, Sapp and Eastaway met up with Sergeant O’Malley’s squad, assembled in haste, inside the hangar deck.

  On Eastaway’s command, they all put on their helmets, powered and pressurized their armor suits, and switched on internal communications equipment.

  “Ok, who is not set?” Eastaway said. After several seconds of silence while the NCOs inspected their soldiers, he proceeded with a rapid briefing. “Alright, second squad, our trip to Oeskone is on temporary hold so we can check out an immobile Combine freighter that sent a distress call. Comms with the freighter have discontinued, so we’ll make entry to ascertain its status. Any questions?”

  No one spoke up, so Sergeant Sapp said, “You know the drill, so let’s get in, get a secure perimeter, then leapfrog. No one wanders away, and all teams support each other.”

  Captain Beach’s voice broke into Eastaway’s internal comms. “The Slipstream’s sensors scanned the freighter and compared it with a database of known Combine vessels. We have schematics for you. It may not be one hundred percent correct, but it should be accurate enough.”

  “Roger that; please download.” To his soldiers, Eastaway said, “Schematics are coming in now. Sapp, O’Malley, check them and let’s select a primary and secondary entry point.”

  The faceplate of every exosuit supported a heads up display (HUD), allowing the soldiers a view of the ship’s schematics. Optical interfaces permitted them to manipulate, control, and sort the information and graphics.

  After a couple of minutes, Sapp said, “I’ve found two I like. One’s near the bridge and the other is about mid-ship.” He transmitted highlighted data to Sergeant O’Malley and Eastaway, pointing out his preferred entry points.