by Don Foxe
“I just need something to do,” Billy said. “Chaspi and Stacey have the dangerous part of the plan. Break into a Space Fleet facility, steal a shuttle, fly cross-country hoping they find Daniel Cooper. We’re just going to keep an eye on the research lab in Hattiesburg to make sure they don’t try to move Col. Barnwell.”
“You must always be aware of the larger goal, Billy-kun.” Sensei swiveled his chair to face the younger man. Billy could not stop the impulse to grab the steering wheel, though he did stop an actual physical reaction. He grew up with automated vehicles, but seeing the person in the driver’s seat distracted still bothered him.
“The goal is not only the rescue of Col. Barnwell,” the former policeman and royal guardsman said, “but his validation of a conspiracy to destroy Earth’s central government. He probably has valuable details, names, and possibly the actual plans of those who abducted and imprisoned him. To stop a sedition one must put together all the pieces of the puzzle. In this way you discover those leading the movement, and where they have placed assets. Remove the leaders, and you derail the plot. Remove the assets, and it cannot be moved forward by others.”
“Protect Col. Barnwell and his piece of the puzzle,” Billy replied.
“Ay,” the older Japanese said. “If AStasaei and Chaspi are unable to locate Captain Cooper, it becomes our job to secure the puzzle piece.”
“A college boy, an alien, and a martial arts master against an army of evil agents,” Rosz said. He turned his chair, placing his feet atop the seat next to him. “Wake me when we arrive. It will be interesting to see what happens.”
“Karate Master,” Sensei Kai said.
SFAMRG Facilities
The girl from Fell moved as a shadow over the pavement, her extended hand pushing the gate open. Through to the other side before Chaspi covered the distance from bushes to fence.
The Bosine rushed through the gate, held open for her. Before Chaspi could comment on the easy entrance, the fear she felt, or the need to pee, Stacey bolted toward the complex of squat buildings ahead of them.
More afraid of falling behind than wetting her pants, Chaspi followed. Within yards of the Fellen, she barely saw her friend moving into the deeper darkness between the structures. Cat, Chaspi thought to herself. Stacey moves like a cat.
She followed into the darker shadows, running hard to try and keep pace. She ran into Stacey’s arms without seeing her first.
“Wait,” Stacey whispered.
“Why?” Chaspi asked, the word a gasp between gulps of air. “You took down the security, and you said no one remained after the base closed.”
“Better careful,” the other girl replied. “And give you time to catch your breath,” she added. “Can you see the shuttles?”
Chaspi looked forward, across a gravel lot toward a large field. She could see shapes lined up in two rows, extending away from their location.
“I guess,” she replied. “If you mean those blobs.”
“We are going for the third blob on the right,” Stacey said. “The side hatch will be open when you get there. As soon as you are inside, close it. The panel will be to the right side of the door.”
“How will I see?”
“I’ll turn the red-lights on. You will be able to see, but they will not create a glow.”
“And there she goes,” Chaspi said to herself as The Fellen flew away. She followed, unsure if she should be angry Stacey assumed she could not keep up, or grateful she intended to wait on her.
Red light, through the open door, push the button marked CLOSE, and rush to the front of the shuttle. Chaspi plopped into the right seat. Again before she could make a comment, the shuttle lifted, tilted back to front, and sent Chaspi grasping for her harness.
“Are you sure the simulation program qualifies you to fly this thing?” she asked, snapping the center of the X-straps closed.
“I think we are going to find out,” Stacey replied, leveling the craft and engaging thrusters. The shuttle shot forward, heading west, passing over the security fence with less than a foot of clearance.
“Why did you and Aya pick this one?”
“Three museums are requesting it,” the co-ed-turned-pilot replied. “It will take months for Space Fleet to decide which one gets it. Less likely to rotate up for additional work until then.”
“What’s so special about this shuttle?”
“No idea. Aya said because of its name, but that made no sense.”
“What name?”
“The Picard.”
CHAPTER 20
Fin Island
No surprise the young Fellen appeared poured into the METS, displaying a combination of curves and muscles characteristic of the women from her planet. Chaspi proved the bigger surprise. The Bosine transplant normally dressed for comfort, opting for casual Earth clothing similar to the soft, often shapeless clothing preferred by people from Osperantue. The skin-tight METS accentuated a firm chest, narrow hips, and muscled legs. Without the distinctive athletic muscle Stacey exhibited, and less defined than her friend, the suit showed her toned, with little body fat.
“Amazing,” Stacey said, running her hands across the fabric. “It’s like wearing nothing, but I feel, how do I explain? I feel safe.”
“I’ve heard that before,” Nathan Trent said. He and Coop arrived on Fin Island shortly after receiving news of the unexpected appearance of the two young women. “The METS includes an environmental modification system. As a result your body remains at a constant and comfortable temperature. I suppose it is best described as coddled.”
“I feel naked,” Chaspi said, one hand purposely held low, shielding her groin. The other arm crossed her chest, the hand firmly attached to the opposite shoulder.
Stacey, unconcerned about the personal exposure, gave a small smile, displaying sharp fangs.
“You have nothing to be ashamed of, Chaspi,” she said. “Your body belongs to you. Besides, you look good.”
The Bosine returned a thank-you smile, but her arms and hands remained in place.
“The METS are usually undergarments,” Coop said. He pointed at a table on the far side of the combination lab-studio. “There are BDUs and boots for you. Mara guessed at sizes, but they should do for the short time you need them.”
“BDUs?” Chaspi asked. She and Stacey walked across the room toward the neat bundles. Stacey moved with confidence, gliding barefooted. Chaspi took smaller steps, but hurried to reach the added protection of real clothes.
“Battle Dress Uniform,” Coop answered. “Fancy military talk for heavy duty shirt and cargo pants. In this case, navy blues to help you blend into the dark. Your METS don’t come equipped with the photosensitive cells that allow me to blend into my surroundings.”
“But they are designed for nighttime incursions,” Trent said. Yours are coated with a special die to trick the eyes of people who see you in the dark. The suits also mask heat signatures.”
“But they do not make you invisible,” Coop warned. “You might as well keep the outer clothing on.”
“Good,” Chaspi said. She pulled the cargo pants up quickly. With her lower body securely covered, she took more time putting on the rest of the uniform, finishing with boots. The issue for her Bosine physiology came in the form of gloves. Bosine have a thumb and two fingers, each wider than a human’s. Trent worked with one of the island’s maintenance staff, a gardener who claimed his father was a tailor. Together they fashioned pieces of METS fabric into hand-covers designed for Chaspi. The redesigned gloves did not come with sensors embedded to allow her to feel textures, and they did not fit as snuggly, but they fit. They would protect her hands from cuts and projectiles.
Chaspi laced and latched her combat boots. She looked up and found Stacey, long since dressed, across the room in front of another table.
“Damn,” she muttered. “She even looks hot in stupid military clothes.”
She joined her friend, who now held a baton with a brown and black rubber grip
. The baton fifteen-inches long, with a third of that rubber grip, and two-thirds black-matte metal.
“What is it?”
“Stun rod,” Stacey answered. “The grip is to insulate the user from shock, and contains a power crystal chip. When you squeeze the grip, it sends a current into the metal. The shock is strong enough to knock a catherea out.”
“Catherea?”
“Big, nasty Fellen jungle cat,” Coop answered. “The stun rod is a Fellen weapon. Foresters use them against animals. Like Stacey said, it will knock them back, or even unconscious, but it rarely kills. To be lethal you have to maintain contact against a vulnerable spot.”
“Place it against a temple and squeeze,” the Fellen explained. “It will shut down the electrical activity within the brain. There is a holster. May I?” she asked Coop.
“Yours,” he replied. “Chaspi, I know people from Osperantue are not inherently violent, but you will need a weapon if you insist on going with us.”
“I’m going,” she said, steel in her voice reflected in her posture. “I am not afraid of hurting someone if they intend to hurt me or my friends.”
Coop selected a pistol from the table and handed it to her.
“Taser Projectile Pistol, or TPP,” he told her. “No trigger, so we don’t have to modify it for your fingers. Aim, squeeze the grip, and a taser plug is fired. When it hits someone, they go down. 50,000 volts at twenty-five watts. Actual delivery is less than two-thousand volts following the establishment of the current, but plenty enough to knock out a large human.”
“Cool,” she said, admiring the dull black pistol made of composite plastics.
“Limits,” Coop said. His serious tone forced her eyes from the weapon to him. “Maximum distance is only fifty yards, and, for you, best distance is less than ten yards. Get close to make sure you hit your target. Understand?”
“Ten yards,” she repeated.
“It carries ten plugs, and there is no field reload. It uses a compressed gas delivery system in the grip, linked to the squeeze trigger. Ten shots and the gas is gone.”
“Ten yards, ten shots,” Chaspi said. “Holster?”
“Better,” he replied. From underneath the table he extracted a military tactical vest. “Quick draw holster at the chest for the TPP. You’ll be carrying medical supplies in the pockets. The cross-draw knife at the bottom is a last-resort, or if you need to cut through something.”
He pulled out a second vest and tossed it to Stacey.
“Grab a TPP. Your baton won’t get in the way. You’re carrying miniature explosives. Okay with that?”
“As long as they don’t go boom around electrical discharges,” Stacey replied. “You know, like stun rods and tasers.”
Coop smiled and Trent laughed from across the room. “I thought Storm was a smart ass,” Trent commented, “and Sky was the badass. Coop, it appears you have the combination of the two in one back-up.”
“No booms unless we arm them first,” Coop assured her. “I’ll show both of you how on the trip to Mississippi.”
“Are we taking the shuttle?” Stacey asked.
“The shuttle is on its way back where it came from.” Mara joined them. “We adapted a drone delivery package to the piloting system. Once the shuttle is back at the maintenance yard, I’ll reboot the security system.”
“The drone pack will be noticed,” Stacey warned.
“There will be time to retrieve it,” Trent assured her. “The Picard isn’t going anywhere anytime soon. I’ll have one of my engineers in Toronto run an inspection and sneak it off.”
“How do we get to Mizippy?” Chaspi asked.
“Mississippi,” four voices in unison.
“You did a hell of a job with that shuttle,” Coop said to Stacey. “Manually piloting it over 2,000 miles, locating Fin Island, and setting her down on the front lawn. I’m interested in seeing how you handle a Wraith.”
“What’s a Wraith?” Stacey and Chaspi both asked.
Southern University of Mississippi
Hattiesburg, Mississippi
Bio-Chemical Research Facilities
Between 3:00am and 4:00am local time
Billy crouched in the bushes near the rear of the bio-chemical research building. Rosz watched the side to his right, and Sensei found a spot on a hillock that allowed him to monitor the front and left side of the structure. The building included access and egress points on all four walls. The main entrance consisted of double glass doors, and a glassed entry showing a tiled lobby. Dim lighting did not reveal anyone stationed in the entrance area.
The side Rosz surveyed had a single solid door with a wall lamp.
The opposite side provided access for deliveries. A concrete ramp and a metal garage-style door.
The rear, Billy’s responsibility, also used double doors, but solid with head-high square glass windows.
Second floor windows were dark, but lights could be seen from all the windows on the third floor. Ambient light filtered through covered glass panes on the fourth floor.
Billy visited the southern United States for vacations with his parents a couple of times. Those times during the summer, and at either the Atlantic or Gulf coasts. Considering the heat and humidity he remembered, he did not plan on a freaking freezing Mississippi.
He wanted badly to complain over the closed com-system the three used, but Sensei demanded they remain quiet unless something urgent occurred.
“Someone is coming out the front,” Sensei’s voice whispered in Billy’s right ear. “They are heading for the parking lot. I will move closer to make sure Col. Barnwell is not with them.”
The rear doors suddenly opening surprised the young Canadian, who rocked back in his crouch, tipping over and onto his butt.
He looked up and through the winter-thinned bush to see three bulky bodies move forward, followed by a grav-sled carrying a large bundle pushed by a short, stocky silhouette. Two more big bodies came through, and the doors closed.
“People just came out the back with a grav-sled,” he whispered, urgently. “I think they’re headed for the parking lot beside the other research building, and I think Col. Barnwell is on the sled.”
Whether he spoke too loudly, or too long, the two trailing guards turned to his direction.
Holding his breath did not help. The two suddenly converged on his bush. He tried pushing up, but his hands and feet slipped on the frost-covered pine-straw. Unable to get to his feet quickly, he rolled over in order to crab-scramble escape. Facing away, he never saw the butt of the laser rifle descend onto the back of his head.
By the time Rosz arrived, the main group already left the sidewalk and stepped onto grass for a shortcut to the far parking area. The two who found and clubbed Billy hurried to catch up.
He quickly checked his fallen friend to make sure he was alive, and the head wound did not gush blood. Billy breathed in and out, shallow, but steady. No blood came away after Rosz ran his hands over the other boy’s head and body.
He called , “Sensei?” No reply. Decision time.
Rosz ran after the small group of people escaping across the manicured lawn. Light spilled from a hover-van, now visible in the parking lot with its side door open, ready for the grav-sled.
Two forms ahead of him stopped moving away. They turned to face him, arms coming up to fire weapons.
He held the two bastions low and in front of his body. His only hope would be to try and deflect the stun loads. Oh, and the other only hope — stun loads and not laser blasts. Or maybe they would miss him in the darkness. He had lots of hope, and one thing more important.
Sensei barreled into the two, coming from Rosz’s right. Flashes as Tasers fired harmlessly into the ground. Rosz arrived as the Japanese kicked a weapon from the hand of a rather large woman. The other one, a man, tried bringing his rifle up while he remained on one knee.
Rosz’s rattan stick chopped across the wrist of the trigger hand. The muffled grunt of pain not as loud as the sound o
f the bone-breaking injury. Proving his high threshold for pain, and dedication to duty, the man rose to advance on the young Bosine.
The female security agent released a flurry of kicks and punches at her smaller opponent. The karate master ducked or blocked every potential blow, landing a knuckle punch of his own. The woman reeled backward, her hand clutched at the center of her chest. The bruise would be a world record.
The other guard reached for Rosz with his good hand. Rosz rewarded the man’s desire to strangle the smaller alien with a flow of figure eights. As soon as one bastion blocked, the other moved into place to deliver a stinging blow. The bigger opponent backed away, arms flailing as if warding off mosquitoes.
Ungentlemanly, Ishihara delivered an old-fashion uppercut to the woman’s exposed chin. Down went Frasier. He turned to help his young student in time to watch as Rosz landed four concussive blows to the forehead and temples of his attacker. The man collapsed to the ground.
“Well done, Rosz-kun,” he praised the young man. “But I am afraid they accomplished their mission. The others have reached the van.”
Rosz, sweat streaming across his face, flicked it away as he followed Sensei’s gaze. Three large bodies stood guard as two others attempted to load the grav-sled with Col. Barnwell into the waiting vehicle.
The shadow that crossed his vision swept the legs of one guard, sending him butt-first onto the hard pavement. Something made of semi-solid smoke continued moving, yanking the next guard backward, bowing his spine. An elbow slammed down, crushing the bad guy’s exposed windpipe. Rosz thought it was an elbow. Whatever, the man’s throat no longer functioned. He could hear the result of the blow in the quiet night as the guard desperately wheezed seeking air.
“Amazing,” Sensei whispered. Mesmerized by the dance of the shade in the ambient light of the van’s open side door and parking area’s weak lamps.
The third guard, with time to realize they were under assault, used his shoulder-fire laser rifle as a fighting stick. He thrust it forward, and twisted to drive the stock into the face of the spectral foe.
