by Tripp Ellis
“Give us a good look around,” Lieutenant Grimsby said.
“Aye, sir.”
Kowalski circled the facility from high above, then dipped down, just above the tree line, and made another pass.
The complex seemed lifeless. There wasn’t a living soul anywhere. Exterior lighting indicated that the facility still had power. There were some broken windows here and there. But the processing equipment was at a standstill. The RedRiver dropship was on one of the landing pads. From above, it looked intact. But there was no sign of the contractors that Elliott had sent previously.
Kowalski banked the Vantage around and surveyed each of the five satellite substations. They were all in the same condition as the main facility. But there didn’t appear to be any evidence of small arms fire or heavy artillery. The ground wasn’t pocked with bomb blasts. It didn’t look like any kind of battle had taken place.
The thought had crossed Tyler's mind that pirates had raided the facility. Or, maybe, a foreign invader had staked a claim to the planet. But none of that seemed to be the case. Nobody was shooting at the Vantage. Deadly rounds weren’t streaming up from the jungle and pinging the hull.
“Bring us back to the main entrance,” Grimsby commanded.
“Aye, sir.”
Tyler pressed the button, and the back ramp began to lower. The hot sticky air rushed into the cabin. It was like getting hit in the face with a steamy dishrag. It didn’t take long to feel slick and greasy, coated with sweat.
“Alright, people,” Grimsby shouted. “You know the drill. Breach and clear the facility. I want to see technical perfection.”
“Are you ready, Reapers?” the Master Chief yelled.
“Hooyah,” they shouted in unison.
Charging handles clacked and clattered as the platoon locked and loaded their weapons. Adrenaline was running high among the platoon. The atmosphere was electric.
“Say it, Finn,” Faulkner shouted. “Say it.”
Tyler grinned. “I’m not saying it.”
“Aw, come on!” Mosley said. “Say it!”
They all wanted him to quote the famous line: Let’s get this party started. But Tyler wasn’t going to do it.
The skids of the Vantage touched down.
“Move out!” Donovan yelled.
The Reapers filed down the ramp, weapons in the firing position. After the last operator cleared the ramp, the Vantage lifted back in the air. The foliage swayed from the displacement of the thrusters.
The platoon advanced to the main entrance of the facility with tactical precision. It was easy to see how the Reapers had earned their name—silent death.
Elliott was still standing in the middle of the landing pad, dumping the dried puke out of his helmet. He stared at the helmet, perplexed—he certainly didn’t want to put it on his head.
Grimsby shook his head.
Elliott finally set the helmet down on the tarmac and jogged over to the rest of the platoon. His gear clanked and clattered. It was a miracle he made it to them without falling over.
Grimsby glared at him.
“Sorry. I'm not used to this,” Weston said.
“That's why you should've stayed back at New Earth.”
Tyler's eyes surveyed the metal blast doors. They were dented and scuffed. It looked as though someone had pummeled them with a large battering ram.
The platoon readied their weapons. Grimsby entered the access code on the keypad. The main doors slid open with a piercing squeal—the alignment was askew. A rush of air blew out from the complex.
The air coming out of the complex was hot. Not air-conditioned. It wasn't a good sign. The facility was running on backup power. Emergency lighting flickered through the corridors. The compound was in disarray.
The Reapers breached and cleared the entrance with textbook moves. They crept down the corridor. The walls were pitted with bullet holes and blast marks. Twisted wires and broken conduit hung from the ceiling. There were multiple areas of blood spatter. Debris and trash cluttered the facility. Something had definitely gone down here, and it wasn’t pretty.
The facility looked much the same as any other. Octagonal passageways, grated metal floors, sliding steel doors, exposed piping and conduit. It was made of prefabricated materials. Modular components that could be connected to suit a multiplicity of needs. All made by Hughes & Kessler, of course.
The Reapers moved to the control room. Grimsby gave a nod, and the platoon breached the compartment. Rifles swept the corners as the team fanned out.
“Clear,” Ramirez shouted.
His response was followed by several others.
Within moments, the room was secured. It was full of display screens and controls. All of the plant’s operations could be controlled and monitored from this station.
The facility was based on pyro-metallugical extraction—thermal processing to withdraw the metals from the rock. Massive flash and electric furnaces processed and re-processed slag, further refining and recapturing desirable metals, including plutrontium.
With the facility so far beyond the bounds of regulated space, Hughes & Kessler didn’t have to comply with any environmental considerations. It was a slash and burn operation. There was no consideration given to reducing emissions from smelting. They were going to pull what they could out of the ground, dump the toxic chemicals, and leave the planet a polluted wreck.
Tyler looked over the display screens. There was no activity in the plant. He glanced to Elliott. “Do you have any idea what happened here?”
Elliott shook his head. “There were over 1000 employees,” he stammered.
“Alright, lets move section by section,” Grimsby shouted.
The team moved back into the corridor. They pushed down the hallway and quickly came upon a section of broken windows. The metal frames were bent and bowed inward. Whatever had been trying to get into the facility had found a way.
Shards of glass crunched under the Reaper’s heavy boots as they advanced.
Tyler could hear the muffled sound of movement filter into the corridor from a nearby room.
Rifle barrels snapped in the direction of the sound. Grimsby motioned for the team to surround the entrance. When the team was ready, the LT pushed the button on the wall—but the door didn’t open. It was locked from the inside. Grimsby tried punching the security code into the keypad, but that didn’t work either.
Tyler could hear movement within the compartment. There was no telling what was inside.
Grimsby whispered to Elliott. “Can you override this lock?”
13
Slade
Slade had never actually met President Amado before. By all accounts, he was very charming in person. He knew how to work a room, and he always made everyone he met feel important. People who met him always said that even if you didn't like his politics, you ended up liking the man himself. He was a skillful politician.
But underneath the façade was a trail of corruption that stemmed back to his days as governor. Somehow he managed to emerge from scandal after scandal unscathed.
Amado appeared on the display screen in Slade's quarters with a brilliant smile. His upbeat and casual demeanor surprised her a little. She was expecting a hostile confrontation.
"Good afternoon, Admiral Slade," Amado said. “It's nice to finally get a face-to-face. I have heard so much about you. I'm quite surprised we haven't had the opportunity to speak before now.”
“It's a pleasure to speak with you, Mr. President,” Slade stammered. She wasn't exactly sure what to think of his demeanor. After all, she had just defied him and threatened to use military force against him. Treason, by all accounts.
"I understand there is a bit of tension between you and Admiral Kilgore.” It was perhaps the understatement of the year.
“You could say that, sir."
“Please, call me Alan. See, it’s like putting two prize fighters in the same room. Both of them are going to puff up a little bit and make challenges. but with
the current state of affairs, I think it's best if you two don't trade punches.”
“I agree, sir.”
“I'm sure we can all come to an amicable agreement. I am willing to acknowledge the pardons granted by acting President Perez. I will release Cameron Thomas, and I will not pursue any further legal action against the two of you.”
Slade was waiting for the other shoe to drop. She knew there was going to be a catch.
“Provided, of course, that you relinquish command of the Revenant. You'll step down and retire from the Navy. We’ll give you a big ceremony, pin a medal on your chest, put a statue of you at the center of the reconstruction in Nova York, and give you a healthy pension. Everybody wins."
Slade’s body tensed, and her stomach turned in knots. Slade had never back down from a fight in her life. She wasn't one to capitulate, but she knew it may be her only chance to save her son.
“You haven't formally resumed the office of the Presidency yet,” Slade pointed out.
“I've spoken with acting President Perez. We have come to an agreement. By this afternoon, I will have resumed the Office.”
Slade sighed. “I’ll agree to the terms, provided there is no retaliation taken against any of my crew. They will all be allowed to retain their rank and position.”
Amado smiled. "I knew we could come to an agreement. I’ve set up a press conference for this afternoon. You can announce your retirement then. My aid will contact you with the details.”
“I want Cameron returned to the Revenant prior to the press conference.”
"Of course. I'll release Cameron immediately, as a gesture of good faith.”
The transmission ended.
Slade sat on her bed and deflated. This was the end of her storied career. Slade's eyes brimmed. A wave of emotion rushed over her. She felt empty and hollow. But grateful. Everything she had done, in one way or another, had been for her son. She spent the last 25 years of her career fighting for the Federation in order to make the galaxy a safer place for Cameron, and millions of other children, to grow up in.
She was also gravely concerned for the future. There were looming threats out there in the galaxy, and Amado had already proven himself to be incapable of handling them.
Slade indulged herself in a pity party for a few minutes, then pushed it aside. Feeling distraught wasn't going to change anything. She never had the luxury of indulging in frivolous emotion, and she wasn't going to start now. All she could do was make the best of the situation that presented itself.
She dug into a drawer and found the black box that contained her old collar pins in the rank of Captain. Then she made her way to the CIC. It was buzzing with activity, still on alert status. Zoey Bryant was at the command station.
Slade presented her with the collar pins. “The Revenant is yours, Captain Bryant.”
Her eyes glimmered with astonishment and confusion. “I don’t understand?”
“It’s called a promotion. I can give it to someone else if you don’t want it?”
“No. I want it.” The words leapt off Zoey’s tongue.
“Good.”
“What’s going on?”
“I just made a deal with the devil. Let’s hope I don’t get burned.”
Zoey’s face tensed with concern.
The LRADDS display lit up, and an alarm sounded. A green icon appeared, tracking toward the Revenant.
“Sir, we’ve got an inbound craft coming from the Devastator,” the tactical officer said. “A Federation shuttle. They are requesting permission to land.”
“Clear them on flight deck A,” Slade said.
She left the CIC and made her way down to the flight deck. Crews scurried about, tending to fighters and re-arming them with ordinance. She couldn't help but fidget from nerves waiting for the shuttle to land. Was Cameron okay? Was he really aboard the shuttle? Was this some elaborate ruse?
Minutes seemed like hours. Finally, the shuttle crested the edge of the flight deck. It lumbered forward and the skids touched down. The hydraulics whirred and the ramp lowered.
Slade’s eyes beamed with joy as Cameron descended the ramp. He didn’t look any worse for the wear. A little thinner, maybe. But still fit and healthy.
He stepped to the quarterdeck and greeted his mother with a salute. “Permission to come aboard, sir.”
“Permission granted.” Slade tried to contain her emotions, but her eyes were misty. The two exchanged a sharp salute. “It’s good to have you back, Ensign.”
“It’s good to be back, Admiral.” Cameron grinned.
“We’ll get you set up with some crew quarters. When you’re ready, you can return to duty.”
“I’m more than ready, sir.”
“Report to the CAG once you get settled in.”
“Aye, sir.” Cameron said. “Who’s the CAG now?”
“8-Ball,” Slade said.
“8-Ball?” Cameron asked, surprised. “I go away for a little while, and everyone gets promoted."
Slade shrugged. “Who knows, Ensign. Square yourself away, do your job, follow orders, and you might make Lieutenant Junior Grade.”
Cameron looked at her skeptically. At the rate he was going, he was going to stay an Ensign forever. He glanced around the flight deck. “How did you pull this off?”
Slade was silent.
His eyes grew full with concern. “It's not true, is it? You're not really going to retire?"
Slade pursed her lips.
"You can't. These people are criminals. You can't let them back in charge,” he pleaded with her. “Send me back. Call off the deal. I'll sit in that cell the rest of my life rather than let the Federation go down the tubes. We were almost destroyed. That can't happen again."
“The deal is done.”
Cameron clenched his jaw. His face flushed red with anger.
The shuttle lifted off and glided out of the bay, heading back toward the Devastator.
“That will be all, Ensign.”
Cameron took a deep breath. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
Cameron scurried off the flight deck. Slade was just happy to have him back, even if they were going to butt heads, as usual.
An urgent voice boomed over the 1MC, “Admiral to CIC! Admiral to CIC!”
Slade cringed. It couldn't be good. What else could go wrong, she thought?
14
Tyler
“The master code should unlock every compartment,” Elliott said. He punched in the number on the keypad but nothing happened. “Unless it was changed,” he stammered.
“Petrov, burn it out,” Grimsby commanded.
“Aye, sir.”
Petrov stepped to the metal sliding door and pulled out a plasma torch. It was about the size of a flashlight, with a tapered nozzle at one end. It resembled an otoscope—the device that old fashioned doctors used to look into your inner ear.
He lowered his tactical goggles to protect his eyes. He fired up the torch, and began to cut a large rectangle in the steel door. Sparks showered down to the floor. The steel glowed orange, and the flickering plasma illuminated the faces of the platoon in the dark corridor.
After a few moments, Petrov had completed his cut. The rectangular steel cutout was hanging on by a thread. The team readied their weapons, and Petrov kicked the rectangular shape to the ground. It clanked and clamored as the Reapers poured into the room. Their fingers gripped tight around the triggers of their RK 909 assault rifles, ready to squeeze off a lethal flurry of gunfire.
There was, indeed, something in the room.
“Don’t shoot,” a terrified man screamed. He was clutching a pistol, which he quickly dropped to his side once he saw who was coming through the door. His eyes were wide and his face was pale and covered in sweat. “Thank God. I was beginning to think no one was coming.”
“Who are you?” Grimsby asked.
“Dave Horton. Leader of the RedRiver team.” He was shaggy and unkempt.
“Where’s the rest of your squad?�
� Grimsby asked.
Horton shook his head. “They didn’t make it,” he stammered. He was frazzled, and looked like he was on the brink of a nervous breakdown. “I’m the only one left. I locked myself in here with all the supplies I could find and hoped for the best.”
“What happened here?” Tyler asked.
Horton swallowed hard. He looked like he didn’t want to answer. It took him a moment to speak. “I’ve never seen anything like them.”
“Them?” Tyler asked.
“Do you have a ship? I mean, of course you have a ship, how else would you have gotten here,” Horton muttered to himself. “Let’s get on it, and get the fuck out of here. I’ll be happy to answer any of your questions once you get me off this rock.”
“I’ll get you off this planet once we achieve our mission objective,” Grimsby said in a stern voice.
“Lieutenant, with all due respect, the only mission objective you should have right now is getting out of here alive.”
Grimsby clinched his jaw. “What are we dealing with?”
“Why don’t you go take a walk through that jungle and find out?” Horton said.
Grimsby glared at him. “You know, from where I’m standing, you seem really ungrateful.”
“Right. I get it,” Horton said. “You guys are Reapers. You think you’re a bunch of bad asses. You think you can handle anything. But you can’t handle this. Nobody can.” Horton had worked himself up into a frenzy.
Petrov sneered at Horton, catching sight of his tattoo. “This is what happens when you send X-Force to do a Reaper’s job.”
Horton glared at Petrov. “You want to know what’s out there? I’ll show you.”
“I eat fear for breakfast.” Petrov grinned.
Horton crept into the corridor, letting his pistol lead the way. His big eyes scanned in all directions as he led the team through the maze of corridors.
The platoon followed with caution. They weaved through the passageways, wondering where the hell he was taking them.
