Blade of Vengeance (Max Mars Book 2)

by Tripp Ellis

  Grant took a deep breath. There was no reigning Max in, and it wasn't worth trying. "How far out are you?"

  Max glanced to Zero for an estimate.

  "Maybe two hours, give or take," he shrugged.

  “Alright, I’ll see you on Artemis Station.” His face disappeared from her display screen.

  Zero engaged the slide-space drive. A quantum distortion washed through the ship. Max grimaced. With a fractured femur, the sensation was less than pleasurable. She wasn't in any condition to fight.

  35

  “What the hell happened to you?" Grant asked, eyes wide.

  Zero helped Max hobble off the shuttle onto the flight deck of Artemis Station. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

  “At this point, nothing surprises me."

  “I'm 99% certain my femur is cracked. I'll need to get to a med unit.”

  Grant’s eyes rounded. He was surprised at how mobile she was considering the circumstances. He and Zero helped her to the med bay.

  Dr. Volkov reviewed the scans of her leg. Max lay on a gurney as a 3D holographic image appeared above her, mirroring her to scale.

  “That is not good,” Volkov said, scrutinizing the damage. Her femur had been shattered into several pieces that looked like shards of glass scattered at random angles.

  “How bad is it?” Grant asked.

  “Well, there is significant damage to the rectus femorus, iliotibial band, adductor longus, vastus lateralis, vastus medialis, biceps femoris, not to mention several microvascular structures. There is some damage to the lateral femoral cutaneous nerve, but that’s merely a sensory nerve. She’s lucky there was no damage to the femoral nerve. But it's the bone that worries me.” A grim frown formed on his face. He pointed to her femur. “This is supposed to be one thick bone. Instead we have two main sections and about a dozen fragments. I'll need to put in a plate connecting the larger bones and attach the fragments to the plate in order for them to regrow. We are using Caltravox™ plates these days which are fully absorbable.”

  "That's great, Doc,” Max said, dryly. “What's the recovery time?”

  “No weight-bearing for a week."

  Max raised her eyebrows. "Unacceptable.”

  "I can give you an Exo-Walker so you can get around. But I wouldn't push it too far."

  Max cringed at the thought. Telling Max not to push it too far was like asking a tiger to change its stripes. "Of course not. I'll be a good patient." It was a blatant lie.

  Volkov ushered her into the operating room and a team of assistants transferred her onto the operating table and prepped her for surgery. They cut away the fabric of her garment, and cleaned and disinfected the wounds. Sterile drapes were placed over the area. Doctor Volkov loaded an injection gun with a nano-anesthetic that would only numb the affected area. "Do you want to be awake for this, or do you want to be knocked out?"

  "I prefer to keep my wits about me."

  "You shouldn't feel a thing.” Volkov flashed a reassuring smile.

  Max was skeptical. Her enhanced metabolism processed medication at an alarming rate.

  Volkov moved to the control terminal. He swiped through several screens and launched the diagnostic app. The system rescanned her body. The image displayed on a control screen, and Volkov programmed the surgery into the robotic surgical system. Within moments, a series of articulated arms swooped down, making an incision down Max's thigh. They moved with technical precision. The mechanical ballet cleaned the wounds, debrided necrotic flesh, re-vascularized damaged structures, and attached the absorbable bone plate. Caltravox was a synthetic bone-like material that was stronger than titanium.

  Once the surgery was complete, a regenerative compound was injected, and factor XXI glue was used to seal the wounds. A synthetic skin was sprayed over the top as a protective layer. The entire surgery took a little less than half an hour. Max was surprised the anesthetic lasted through the entire procedure. She couldn't feel a thing. Which was both good and bad. She had no intention of sitting still.

  The surgical team wheeled her back to the recovery area. Zero and Grant were waiting.

  “Everything went as planned," Dr. Volkov said. “I expect a full recovery. You're going to need to keep the wound sites dry for a few days, and I recommend starting physical therapy as soon as possible to break up scar tissue and prevent adhesions. I'll have the nurse swing by shortly to fit you with an Exo-Walker. But only if you promise to take it easy.”

  “I promise."

  Volkov gave her a skeptical look. “I’ll provide some Neuromodix™ for pain. Just try to wean off the stuff as soon as possible.”

  “Don't need it.”

  "You will when that anesthetic wears off.”

  Volkov left to attend to other patients. Max's eyes followed him. As soon as he was out of earshot, she sat up and pulled the IVs out of her arm.

  “Why don't you take it easy for a bit?” Grant said. “Let me and my agents handle this.”

  “You’ve lost your mind.”

  “I'm not the one who just had surgery and is trying to escape from the recovery room.”

  A nurse saw Max’s shenanigans and rushed into the compartment. She scowled at Max. “Oh, no. You can't get up. Dr. Volkov specifically said you were not allowed to walk on that leg without a brace.”

  “Then get me a brace,” Max said in a commanding tone, staring the woman down.

  The nurse glared back at her, not intimidated in the least.

  “Please,” Max added.

  The nurse huffed and spun around. She called back to Grant and Zero as she marched out of the recovery room, “Make sure she doesn't do anything stupid until I get back.”

  “Like that's possible," Zero muttered.

  The nurse returned in a few minutes with the brace. It extended from Max’s waist to her feet, and conformed exactly to her body shape. The exoskeleton allowed a full range of motion, and redistributed the weight of her body, keeping her at less than 50% of her normal load.

  Max stood up and took her first step with the assistance of the device.

  “How does it feel?" the nurse asked.

  “I feel fine.”

  “That's because the numbness hasn't worn off yet,” the nurse said with an arched eyebrow. “Take a few steps for me. I want to check your gait.”

  Max walked a few feet to the edge of the room, then turned around and walked back. “See. Perfectly fine.” Max's face scrunched up as she gazed down at the device. “I mean, I’m not going to win any fashion contests, but…”

  “You'll need to wear that for at least a week,” the nurse said. “It’s set to automatically reduce the assistance level each day, until you wean off of the brace completely. If you have any questions, just use the call button.”

  “Thank you.”

  The nurse left the recovery room.

  Max looked to Grant and Zero. “Are you two ready?"

  Grant looked at her with concerned eyes. “Do you really think you're in any condition to leave? Much less fight?”

  “I could kick your ass." She arched a sassy eyebrow at him. Then got into his face and taunted him further, “Come on. Right now. Let's go.”

  Grant rolled his eyes.

  “My money's on Max," Zero said.

  Grant gave Zero a sideways glance. But he had a sneaking suspicion Max would wipe the floor with him, even in her weakened condition. It was best to let Max have her way.

  36

  "How exactly are we going to accomplish this?" Murphy, an FCIS agent, asked.

  Grant stood at the front of the ready room. A display screen behind him showed a live view of a large luxury XR-77 Solocci Space Yacht in the Draconis sector. The footage was being relayed from a stealth drone.

  There were five other FCIS agents present, besides Grant. They were all clean-cut guys with short hair, chiseled faces, and athletic builds—all tactical gear. Max didn't know any of them, and the idea of bringing in unknowns was disconcerting.

  “We we
re able to pick up a transmission from the Solocci, registered to Conrad Headley, and track it to this location.” Grant pointed to the screen. "You can see the defensive cannons located on the port and starboard sides of the ship. For a private vessel, it's pretty well armored. I've sent detailed schematics of this ship to your PDUs. Please familiarize yourselves with the layout.”

  An FCIS agent in the back of the room interrupted. His nameplate read: Phelps. “So, we’re basing this raid on her suspicion?” he said with a skeptical tone, pointing at Max. “Do we have any probable cause? Any real evidence that the commission of a crime is taking place aboard the Solocci?”

  Grant’s face tensed. He was silent for a moment.

  "I'll take that as a no.”

  “I trust Max implicitly,” Grant said. “She has reason to believe that Conrad Headley is involved in a kidnapping and is plotting an assassination attempt against the president. I'd say that warrants further investigation."

  Phelps shook his head. “So, this is completely off the books, right?"

  "That would be one way of putting it,” Grant said.

  “Does anyone else even know about this?" Phelps asked.

  Grant cleared his throat. "If anybody has reservations and wants to back out, feel free to do so now. We will be operating outside of regulated space. There will be no backup. If anything goes wrong, we're on our own.”

  Nobody said anything.

  “Alright then,” Grant continued. “The Navy has been gracious enough to loan us two SR-230 Specters. These are state-of-the-art stealth vehicles that will allow us to approach the Solocci undetected. We'll jump into the sector, do an EVA walk to the Solocci, bypass the outer airlock, and infiltrate the ship.”

  “Whoa, wait a minute,” Phelps protested. “That's next level spec-war shit. Why aren’t we sending in a team of Navy Reapers? I mean, this is what they do."

  “Aw, don't tell me you're afraid of a little spacewalk?” Grant teased.

  All kinds of things could go wrong on a spacewalk—especially an untethered one. Drifting off into the void for all eternity and dying of oxygen deprivation when the suit ran out of air wasn't exactly on Phelps’s bucket list. With his courage challenged, he puffed up a bit to compensate. "I've done plenty of spacewalks, thank you. I'm just saying, there are specialized units that are better at this type of thing than we are.”

  “Yes, there are,” Grant said. “But we don’t have a spec-ops team at our disposal. Except for Max. She’s a former special operator. One of the best. Follow her lead, and you just might learn something. I know some of you have spec-ops backgrounds, and some of you don't. Like I said, if this is going to be too much for you, feel free to back out now.”

  Phelps grumbled under his breath.

  “I pulled you all into this mission because I believe in your ability," Grant said. "And you are all deeply committed to the FCIS, and our core mission.” Grant looked at his watch. "Time is of the essence. You’ve got 15 minutes to gear up. We’ll meet on the flight deck. Are there any questions?”

  Nobody said anything.

  “Good. We are wheels up in 15.”

  The squad of agents filed out of the ready room.

  Grant moved beside Max and whispered in her ear. He was putting his professional reputation on the line. “I hope you're right about all this.”

  “Me too.”

  Grant gazed into Max's crystal blue eyes. “Are you sure you're up for this?”

  “I feel great." Her thigh was throbbing with an immense amount of pain, but she was doing her best to ignore it. And she certainly wasn't going to let any discomfort show on her face. The exo-brace was doing its job. Max was able to walk around normally. The test was going to be whether it held up under extreme usage.

  “Let's get suited up" Grant said.

  “What about me?” Zero asked.

  “You should probably stay here.”

  “Oh, hell no. I'm going with you. You can't cut me out now.” Zero flashed a charming smile. “We've come too far together.”

  Grant wasn't sold on the idea.

  "He's good in a firefight,” Max said with a soft grin. “It's not like this whole operation isn't already against protocol.”

  “Fine,” Grant relented and eyed Zero. “But if you get killed, don't blame me."

  37

  “Now that is what I call a spaceship," Zero said, his eyes glimmering at the site of the two Specters on the flight deck.

  They were things of beauty. Sleek black spacecrafts with sharp lines and smooth curves. There was nothing clunky about them. There were no extraneous shapes. Nothing that could increase their radar signature. They were made of a composite alloy that was still top-secret. They were the most technologically advanced spacecraft in the Federation, and there were only a handful in existence. At over a billion credits apiece, they were in short supply.

  The Specters lived up to their namesake. They were ghosts. With active camouflage and cloaking technology, they were virtually invisible on long-range detection systems. In most cases, they would be in and out and the target would be neutralized before anyone knew what happened. Max was hoping they lived up to their impressive track record.

  The team split into two, four-person squads—Echo 1 and Echo 2. Max, Grant, Zero, and Murphy filed into one of the specters, while Phelps, Kahn, Stevens, and McDowell loaded into the other. Lieutenant JD Styles, and Lieutenant Edward Jarvis piloted the respective crafts.

  Max sat in the passenger compartment with the others, wearing the WarTek™ T-8000 Advanced Tactical Armor. It was a lightweight battle suit, fully pressurized. It had enough oxygen to last four days. The composite armor body panels were formfitting, and the advanced design allowed a full range of motion. There were navigational thrusters in the soles of the boots and in the palms, as well as other strategic locations throughout the suit. The OmniView™ optics provided advance battlefield awareness. Embedded cameras in the body armor allowed a near 360° seamless view. Night vision, infrared, optical zoom, and target tracking were core features of the optical system. A heads up display monitored vital signs and remaining oxygen, and displayed position data. The entire platoon was linked and could share data in real time. The suits had been designed under the close supervision of Naval Special Warfare. Paid for through a proprietary R&D fund under the direct authority of the president and the Department of Defense. The Navy Reapers got all the cool toys first.

  Lieutenant Styles programmed in jump coordinates and engaged the slide-space drive. Max didn't feel so much as a twinge in her stomach when the ship made the jump. It was perhaps one of the most valuable features of the spacecraft. Every vehicle had its own quantum signature when making slide-space jumps. Enemy detection systems were attuned to these signatures and could instantly identify an enemy spacecraft entering the area. The fact that Specters created virtually non-existent quantum distortions made them some of the stealthiest ships in the galaxy.

  Max used the flight time to clear her mind and focus on the task at hand—getting Riley back. That was the only thing that mattered. She was so entranced that she barely noticed when the ship emerged from slide-space. They weren't far from the Solocci.

  The entire crew waited with baited breath, hoping that they had arrived undetected.

  The pilot watched the scanner, looking for any change in behavior by the Solocci. Activating defense systems, change in vector, or power surges to the ion drives or quantum field generator would be an indicator. “I think we slipped in clean.”

  Max breathed a sigh of relief. “Pull us closer.”

  The active camouflage made the Specters almost impossible to see against the star field.

  “How close do you want to get?” Scott asked. “I can set us down on their hull, but I don't think that's a good idea.”

  “Come in from underneath. That's their blind spot.”

  Styles swooped the Specter underneath the Solocci. Lieutenant Jarvis followed closely behind. The two Specters hovered precariously
close to the underbelly of the yacht. Lieutenant Styles depressurized the cabin. The atmosphere whooshed into space.

  “Let me know when you're ready,” Styles said, his voice crackling in Max’s ear over the comm line.

  Max looked around to her companions. They all gave the thumbs up. It was time to go. Lieutenant Styles opened the ramp to the flickering star field.

  Max pushed out of the portal and floated into space. It was an ominous feeling, stepping out into the void untethered. Her assault rifle was slung over her shoulder, and a magnetic clip kept it attached to her body armor. She used the thrusters in her palms and boots to angle her body toward the Solocci.

  It was peaceful and quiet as she floated toward the ship. The calm before the storm. Max activated her magnetic boots as she neared the hull. She rotated her feet in front of her, and clamped onto the exterior of the yacht. The rest of the agents followed behind in rapid succession. It reminded her of the old days in Project SW Ultra—only she had more confidence in her squad then.

  Max moved to the airlock and fiddled with the keypad. Security systems on private yachts were quite a bit different than warships—much easier to circumvent. Max pulled a multi-tool from a pouch attached to her waist. It was tethered to avoid loss—there was nothing worse than working outside a spacecraft and having a screwdriver tumble into the void when you needed it most.

  Max pried off the access panel and rewired the keypad. Within moments, the outer airlock hatch slid open. It was just like old times. The two squads glided into the compartment. Max sealed the hatch behind them. So far, they had been undetected.

  Max peered through the polycarbonate viewport in the inner airlock hatch. She scanned the hallways—they were clear. “We’ll clear the corridors and take control of the bridge. Remember, there are civilians on board, hostage retrieval is our number one priority.”