Countdown (The Shadow Wars Book 9)

by S. A. Lusher

  “They have to do a transplant,” Eve replied. “It's going to take about two hours.”

  “Did they find a donor? It takes something like three days for organs to be cloned, and that's a rush job,” Allan replied.

  Eve shook her head. “No, Hawkins had all of our organs cloned and put on ice as soon as we joined up. Several copies for each,” she replied. “He figured we'd need something like this sooner or later, given our line of work. They say he should be out for six hours, going through an accelerated recovery trial. He should be ready to head back out into the field ten hours from now.”

  Allan let out a low whistle. “That's nuts,” he muttered. “Shot twice through the kidney and he'll be up and ready to run and gun in ten freaking hours...” Eve didn't say anything in response. He glanced over at her. She was hugging herself tightly, even more pale than usual. “Are you okay?” he asked, glancing back down at Greg, lying on the examination table while a small team of surgical staff went about replacing his kidney.

  “Yeah, I, well...no, not really,” she murmured. Still staring, she said, “It's been a long time since I've been in a real relationship. A long time since I've invested in anyone. What we said earlier, over dinner, about having fun, I thought it was true, but...well, now I guess it's not really. The illusion has been shattered. I'm not just having fun with Greg, I...I don't know if I love him, but I do care about him. More than I realized...”

  Here, she looked over at him. “I saw Callie was injured in there. How do you deal with it? I mean, you care about her a lot...”

  “I do. More so than I have about anyone in...well, in a long time. And how do I handle it? Not very well. I guess it just looks like I'm better at handling it, or, I don't know, maybe I've been so miserable for so long that I've kind of come to expect misery. But I was scared when I saw her get shot...” he sighed. “I don't know. I don't know what we could be doing better, besides being better, being faster, being stronger, for them and for us.”

  “Yeah...I guess so,” Eve murmured.

  She returned her attention to Greg. Allan lingered a little longer, then reached out and squeezed her shoulder. “Let me know when he's awake.”

  “Okay,” she said. “Thanks.”

  He tossed one more glance at Greg, then turned and made his way back down into the infirmary. By then, the only people left in the room were Callie and the medic attending to her. As Allan approached, she opened her eyes again.

  “How is he?” she asked as he sat down.

  “He'll be fine. Be up and about in ten hours. Apparently Hawkins has a bunch of spare cloned organs for us on ice in the back just in case.”

  “That makes sense,” Callie replied.

  Abruptly, the medic straightened up. “Okay, I'm all finished. Try not to move around too much for the next hour or so. It'd be best if you got some sleep.”

  “Thanks,” Callie replied.

  The man stood up and moved across the room. Callie grinned up at Allan, reached up and grabbed the front of his shirt. She brought him in closer and whispered to him. “I can think of something that will help me sleep.”

  Allan shot a glance at the medic. “He just said you weren't supposed to move around that much,” he replied, unable to keep a smile off his face.

  “I know, but come on, are you really going to turn me down? Help me up, get me back to our room and...I promise not to move around too much.”

  Allan's smiled broadened. He leaned down, kissed her and started to help her up.

  * * * * *

  Twelve hours passed.

  In the gym and the training course, Drake and Genevieve whiled away the hours pumping iron and honing their skills and reflexes.

  Greg spent most of the time down and out in the infirmary, spending his time with Eve, who crawled onto the examination table with him once he was awake and aware.

  Allan and Callie spent most of their time in their room, neither of them fully willing to admit how much the close call had scared them.

  Through it all, Hawkins had his tech team sorting through the data that had been recovered from the asteroid-based outpost.

  When he had something, he assembled the team.

  * * * * *

  “We've got a problem,” Hawkins said from his position at the head of the table.

  “And that is?” Drake replied.

  “The good news is that the data you recovered filled in a crucial piece of the puzzle for us. We knew that these artifacts operated as keys, unlocking a portal to another dimension out in deep space. Now we have a bit of a better understanding...” He paused and typed something into the terminal built into the table in front of him. The lights dimmed and a holographic display of the Milky Way Galaxy flickered into existence over the table. After a pause, a dozen red lights popped into existence, slowly fading in and out.

  “So, now we know that there exist a dozen Cyr sites out in deep space. All of them are beyond our peripheral, beyond known civilized systems, which is partially why Rogue Ops has been able to get by with pulling this stunt off without anyone noticing. Apparently, while the devices themselves are much older than the Cyr, the Cyr found them and constructed these sites to harness their powers. We imagine that this is how Rogue Ops found out about it, by hacking into old Cyr data caches. Now, apparently, the idea is to use these keys to activate all of these sites, what the research refers to as Nodal Points or Nodes.” He paused, typed something else in.

  Red lines formed between all the points. They formed a dodecagon. “Now, once Rogue Ops has gathered twelve keys, which, according to the research, they have, they must begin the process of initiating the linking of all the Nodes. Once that happens...”

  Hawkins typed a third thing in. The Nodes began to flare red and then a web of lines formed, a line extending from each dot to the center of the shape, which created a thirteenth, larger dot. “The game is over. We lose. The big bad monster comes through the portal.”

  “So how do we stop it?” Greg asked.

  “Well, the good news is that the portal requires absolutely every single one of these Nodes to function. If one goes, they all go. Here's the bad news: we can't just swoop in and blow one of them up. All the research indicates that doing so would release some cataclysmic burst of radiation that would be brutally devastating to the galaxy at large. There needs to be a kind of controlled demolition. Apparently the Cyr built the feature into the devices themselves, but, unfortunately, the method of doing this wasn't in the data.

  “There's a bit of good news at the end of this. Two bits, actually. The first piece: there is a single site that Rogue Ops has come across in their own research of the Cyr that holds the key to this controlled demolition. The data indicates that it's an alien vessel, not Cyr, but older. The Cyr were doing research on it and...somehow the data ended up there. Probably as a hiding place. Either way, Allan, Callie, I'm sending you and a small Spec Ops team to search the derelict ship. There's a good chance Rogue Ops will already be there and we have no idea what's on the ship,” Hawkins said. He turned his attention to the others.

  “Now, the rest of you...a report in this data gave us Enzo's present location. He's at a distant colony where black market health clinics are all the rave. He's getting his shoulder checked out there. You're going in undercover.”

  “I want to go,” Eve said.

  “Eve, we've been over this-” Hawkins began.

  She shook her head firmly. “That was before, on a combat mission. This is different. I'm not sitting here while everyone else risk their lives.”

  Hawkins stared at her for a moment, then nodded. “Fine,” he said. He regarded them all. “This is it, people. We're approaching the endgame. The final showdown. Everyone needs to be at their best. We can't afford anymore screw ups. I've begged, threatened and called in a few favors, and managed to scrape together some Spec Ops teams from across the galaxy to go try to sabotage operations at three of the primary Node sites...but at the end of the day, I believe it's going to be
up to us to get this done. No one else is going to step up to the plate. Dismissed.”

  * * * * *

  “This is kind of crazy,” Allan said as he rooted around in the fridge of the umpteenth speedship he'd found himself on lately.

  “Oh, this is crazy?” Callie replied. She'd already salvaged something from the fridge and was drinking it, sitting at the table. They were still about six hours out and had yet to change into their armor. “After all the other shit we've been through?”

  Allan found a can of classic Vex and closed the fridge, crossing over to the table in the galley where Callie sat, he took a seat across from her. “Okay, point. But still, even for us...investigating an alien ship, one that isn't Cyr but is somehow even older? God alone knows what the hell we'll find onboard the thing.”

  “Hopefully nothing but some jerks in black armor,” Callie replied.

  “Come on, at this point, do you really believe that?”

  She shook her head. “No, not really.”

  A moment of silence passed between them. “How's your arm?” Allan asked finally, opening his can and taking a deep drink from it.

  “Much better,” Callie replied, rubbing gently at the wound. The fresh skin they had sprayed on to cover the wound was paler than the rest of it, but not by much. Allan thought it was hardly noticeable. “They can do amazing things with medicine nowadays.”

  “Callie...” Allan hesitated. He was staring down at his soda. He took a drink, swallowed, then looked up at her. “If we make it out of this...if we weather the storm and come out the other side roughly intact...what are our plans?”

  “Well, uh...I hadn't put too much thought in it. I-what brought this on?” she asked.

  “I was talking with Eve, up in the observation deck while they operating on Greg and she was realizing that she was...deeper into the relationship than she thought. It just got me thinking about our relationship.”

  “So what are your thoughts?” Callie asked.

  Allan hesitated further. “You go first.”

  Callie snorted. “You can face down space monsters and rogue military factions but you're scared of talking to your girlfriend about your feelings?” she asked. Allan wasn't sure what to say to that, so he kept quiet and shrugged. She pressed on. “I like you. A lot. If there's anyone in my life lately that I could see staying with for a long time, maybe building a life together, it's you. I think our biggest issue will be your emotional baggage...but who doesn't have that? I know I do. And you're getting help with learning how to manage it. I like you, Allan...I may even love you. But I can't tell right now because everything is so fucking nuts. I think it wouldn't be fair to either of us to make serious plans until after we deal with this problem. How does that sound?”

  “That all sounds about right to me,” Allan replied, feeling relief sweep through him. “And that makes sense. And I like you a lot, too.”

  Callie smiled. “I could tell.”

  * * * * *

  Drake wasn't sure he liked the plan, but it wasn't like he had a choice.

  He, Gen, Greg and Eve were currently being rushed to the nearest civilian spaceport so that they could be shoved onboard a civilian ship, one bound for the black market colony world on the fringe. It would add some time onto their ride but apparently it was worth it. With Rogue Ops seeing all their moves one step ahead of them lately, they needed to stay undercover. So the four of them were going as a group of friends, they all had fake IDs and lots of credits, pretending to be guns for hire on vacation. But at his core, Drake knew it didn't matter. He was going after Enzo, whatever method of transportation they provided for him, whatever way, however...

  He was going after Enzo.

  And he wouldn't stop until one of them was dead.

  CHAPTER 06

  –Once More into the Void–

  “I don't like it. There's been too many traps lately,” Allan said, staring intently at the oddly shaped metallic bulk floating in dead space ahead of them.

  He and Callie had put on their armor about ten minutes before they were due to drop out of FTL flight. The ship was supposed to be a derelict, adrift in deep space, far from any shipping lanes, planets or even solar systems. There was nothing for a hundred lightyears. Allan wondered how the Cyr had found the damned thing, but he was also deeply curious about what it is, who it had originally belonged to and why it had been built.

  From the Rogue Ops report, which he had read twice over on the way out, it seemed they found a few references to the ship in Cyr databases. They hadn't gotten around to getting a crew out there...or so the report said. The data was shoddy and in light supply and the last mention of it was over a week ago, so anything could have happened. Allan was at least glad that they had found the vessel, he half-expected there to be nothing out there once they arrived. But now that they had found it, he felt a discomfort settle over him, a slow creeping horror. He stared at the thing through the thick windows at the front of the bridge.

  Although in naked sight the ship was little more than a dark dot little bigger than his fist at this range, he could tell that it was immense and oddly shaped. They were presently holding at a good distance out while they ran every scanning device and sensor their ship had. Initial scans had revealed something: a human energy signature, and there was only one group of people who should be out here. Rogue Operations.

  “We've done well so far,” Callie replied. “And the trap isn't sprung yet. We've at least gotten this far. We can handle it.”

  Allan hoped she was right. He had to fight to keep himself from pacing. It got annoying when you were in bulky power armor. The pair of pilots were working the controls of the ship, studying the results of the scans as they came in. Finally, one of them leaned back and waved Allan and Callie over. They crossed the bridge.

  “What have you found?” Callie asked.

  “Scans confirm it's a Rogue Operations vessel. Not very big, maybe a crew of forty or fifty judging from its size. All systems seem to be running but...there's no one onboard. I'm reading zero life signs on the vessel,” the pilot explained.

  “And the alien ship?” Allan asked.

  “It's impenetrable to our scanning equipment. We can't even figure out what it's made of, let alone what's inside of it.”

  “So how the hell do we get in?” Allan muttered.

  This had been a problem they'd been discussing since launch.

  “The Rogue Ops vessel is linked to the ship. It would make sense that the crew could be inside the vessel and hidden from sensors,” the pilot replied.

  “And they left no one onboard?” Callie replied.

  The pilot shrugged.

  Allan sighed. “Well...take us in carefully. Bring us alongside the Rogue Ops ship.”

  “Affirmative.”

  Both pilots began working the controls, bringing them closer to the vessel. Allan stared at the dark bulk of the alien ship once more before turning away, feeling a ripple of cold fear shiver down his spine. He left the bridge with Callie and they walked the length of the small speedship until they came to the loading bay at the back. Hawkins had only been able to spare them three Spec Ops personnel, and all three of them were now in the back, finishing getting ready for the mission. Allan and Callie moved to join them.

  He was already familiar with Malone and Donovan to an extent. The new woman was a medic, a Corporal named Parker. They stood near the rear section of the loading bay, where they would soon be exiting the ship via airlock. Allan quickly brought them up to speed, then did a check of himself, his suit and his gear.

  “We're in position, still no signs of life,” the pilot reported.

  “Affirmative. Hold position, keep the engines hot,” Allan replied.

  “Got it.”

  “Let's move people,” Allan said.

  They headed into the cargo airlock at the back of the room. Allan listened to the sounds of the airlock working: the dull clangs of the interior doors locking into place, the hiss of oxygen as it was evacuat
ed from the room, the hollow, distant sounds of the exterior doors being unlocked and then opened. He stared as the back door slowly lowered, grinding silently down into its recessed nook in the floor, revealing the breathtaking beauty of the stars...or it would, if they weren't in the shadow of the alien vessel and the Rogue Ops ship attached to it like a tick on some huge metal beast. Allan disengaged his magnetic boots.

  He heard the others do the same.

  Silently, they floated, five men and women drifting across the small gulf in space using their thrusters to navigate. They sailed across open space until they were up alongside the enemy vessel, near the airlock. Allan waited in tense silence as Donovan set to work on accessing the control panel next to the airlock bay. Seconds ticked by in the cold quietude of space. The ripple of fear he'd gotten on the bridge had ended up pooling in his gut, making his stomach twist and turn with unease. He nearly jumped out of his suit when Donovan announced that he'd gotten the airlock open. It was big enough to accommodate them all.

  They hovered inside.

  Once they were all in the airlock, Donovan hit the button and the cycle began. Allan stood at the front, gun at ready. He wasn't sure what he expected to find, but he didn't trust the sensors. The airlock finished its cycle.

  The door opened.

  He found himself staring at a starkly-lit, empty locker room. Allan waited a few seconds, then headed out of the airlock. He swept the room with his rifle and found nothing. There was nowhere to hide. He motioned for the others to come out as he headed across the room, to the only door. Opening it up, he peered into the corridor beyond. Empty. Brilliantly lit. Clean. He picked a direction and began walking down it, checking the corners as he led the others along the lengthy passageway. He focused, listened for anything out of place, but he could hear nothing save for the sounds of the squad following after him. Still...

  He felt like he had eyes on him.

  Some malignant presence permeated through the chromium corridors of the Rogue Ops vessel. The corridor terminated in a large doorway that led to the bridge. Or, at least, it should have led to the bridge, but it refused to open.