by T. R. Harris
But it was Zac’s job to get the ball rolling.
He was at the gate by the time the grenades exploded, taking out the defensive units. The exterior security force was insignificant compared to what was about to hit them in the form of an activated REV. Not every assault was led by a REV, but now that Zac was on the surface, the news would spread quickly and strategies would change.
Zac lowered a shoulder and barreled through the gate like it wasn’t there.
Within the open grounds outside the main generator building, other aliens had quickly assembled an interior defense line behind concrete barricades. There were about a hundred of them, all Qwin, and experienced fighters from the look of their organized formation. Zac’s HUD detected the heat signatures of the aliens as his mind locked in their locations. The performance-enhancing drug coursing through his system improved memory, even as his body and mind operated on autopilot. As it was with most advanced Savants, they didn’t have to think about solutions to complex equations—the answers simply appear to them. Under the influence of NT-4, it was the same with Zac. He was operating on pure instinct; conscious thought would have only slowed him down. Now his blistering eye/hand coordination did all the work. Without realizing it, his MD-104 was spitting white-hot lead at the Qwin. His reaction time was faster than anything other than full computer-assist, but that required a stationary platform and a full array of detectors to operate efficiently. Zac didn’t need any outside help. And he was also mobile, almost too mobile for the aliens to follow. He swept the area with his weapon, sending shattered and bloodied body parts exploding into the air. In six seconds, the area was clear of enemy combatants.
He detected two wounds to his body, one along the outer thigh of his right leg, and another on his left shoulder. Most of his armor was still intact, and neither injury impeded his attack in the slightest, so he ignored them offhand.
The remaining Qwin retreated into the main building leading to the dam, running under huge pipes and conduits, and around towering circular generators. Zac didn’t hesitate and followed them inside.
Although still locked together and operational, his armor was becoming pitted with dents from the alien ballistics, and occasionally his electronics would flicker from a strike of plasma energy. The suit was designed to withstand such punishment and to counter any electrical overloads, but like all things, it had its limits. Within the interior of the complex, those limited would be tested.
Zac was much faster than the fleeing aliens, even with his heavy pack, and soon he was blasting the creatures at point-blank range as he ran by. This particular squad—the remaining force from outside, was soon neutralized, leaving the units farther in the complex to form up defensive lines in the cavernous energy distribution area within the dam.
This was where the main conduits joined, allowing the natives to control the production and distribution of power to the city. There were ample hiding places for the Qwin, and they seemed to have every one of them utilized.
Zac unleashed a combined stream of thick, yellow flame from one arm, and the relentless scream of lead from his MD-101 on the other, covering a full one hundred-eighty degrees of the room in front of him. He took more fire himself, but shrugged it off. There would be time enough to heal after the Run, if he survived it.
The aliens broke off and ran deeper into the complex. Zac followed, easily overtaking the runners while barreling through hastily constructed barricades and defenses. The Qwin could barely turn over a table to hide behind before Zac was upon them. Seeing this, most of the aliens no longer bothered. They just ran.
“What the hell is he doing?” Lieutenant Colonel Paul Owens cried out. He ran up beside Captain Tom Keller. Both officers had running data streams on their HUDs, chronicling the progress of the Run.
Keller knew what Owens was referring to. Two klicks.
“I know,” he huffed as he ran. “Time at seven minutes, forty-five.”
“At that pace he’ll outrun his RU—and his backup.”
“Maybe less resistance?”
“Not according to mission stats. Rate of fire and tentative body count puts this at one the highest.”
Tom placed a small quadrant screen on his HUD and linked it to one of Zac’s collar video monitors. The REV was still blasting forward, killing aliens and moving forward through wide hallways and into cavernous workrooms. The aliens were everywhere, although most of the ones Keller could see on the screen were dead.
He checked the distance to target. Point four of a klick and increasing. Zac was running away from his support team and deeper into enemy territory.
At the ten minute mark, Zac was two-point-nine klicks into the complex, having run the full width of the dam and into tunnels placed within the solid rock of the opposite mountain wall—and a full klick ahead of the RU. He could be Twilighted anytime between now and twelve minutes into the Run, depending in his vitals. Keller scanned them on his HUD. The bastard was all in the green. This one was going the distance.
Suddenly Zac stopped. The view on Keller’s HUD showed the Zac stand upright and rigid, before toppling to the ground. The camera view was static, pointing ahead at ground level at a large, dark passageway forty feet away.
Keller checked Zac’s readouts. It wasn’t the Twilight, and neither was he dead. All indicators were still in the green.
Through the remote camera, the Marine captain saw dozens of Qwin rush from the shadows, all converging on Zac. The aliens knew what was happening—or at least they thought they did. Here was a Twilighted REV with his backup woefully behind. They would rip Zac to shreds.
Just then, flares of gunfire erupted from Zac’s MD-104. The line of fire raked across the advancing line, literally cutting the aliens in half at the waistline. Dozens died in an instant, while sending the few survivors racing for cover.
The camera angle shifted as Zac got to his feet and began to follow.
The two Marine officers exchanged baffled looks, before rejoining their running troops.
Zac noticed something odd about his left arm; it wasn’t working anymore. He felt no pain, just the drag on his body from the now useless flamer-thrower and grenade launcher dangling at his side. He reached across his body and tapped a release lever on the left arm of his suit. The armor fell away, along with the armament, lightening his load and allowing him to gain an ounce more speed.
He sprinted through another long tunnel and into a large chamber before racing across toward an opening where the aliens were running. Then he heard the three chimes.
Even in his frenzied state, instinct continued to guide his actions. He didn’t think what the chines meant, he just reacted to them. They were the five-second warning before Twilight.
With a Pavlov-like reaction to the sound, Zac set about clearing the area of all living things, expending round after round in a deadly circle of fire around where he stood. He still had a few round left when his body suddenly went rigid again and fell to the ground.
Second-Insir Basno Vin watched the Human creature fall to the floor of the chamber. He turned to his cadre and warned them back. The crazed killing machine had done this earlier; this could be yet another deception.
He peered to the other side of the chamber, watching and listening for signs of other Humans. In normal circumstances, they would be there, rushing forth to secure their fallen weapon. Yet there was only silence, punctuated by the baying of Basno’s wounded and dying all around.
This killer had acted differently, resulting in another sub-cadre being slaughtered. Basno was taking no chances.
He signaled for four of his troops to flank the creature to the right. He would crawl through the cover of the many bodies on the floor and approach from the left, hoping his faith in the Order would protect him.
The going was sickening, as he moved through the pools of blood and sinew that had once been his cadre companions. With each olen he moved, the desire grew within him to sever a piece of the Human beast for his collection, especially thi
s one. This beast had killed more Antaere than any he’d seen before. But now he lay inert on the concrete, an inviting target, if possibly a deceptive one.
A loud blast of gunfire startled Basno from his reverie. He glanced to his right to see his four-cad squad cut to pieces. He glared back at the creature the Humans called a REV, snarling as he did. Yet the body still lay unconscious on the floor.
More gunfire…and this time Basno identified the source, as more Humans entered the chamber from the far side. Glancing back, he saw his other cadre scurrying away, deeper in the complex. He was alone.
Grabbing a half-torso and blown off arm of one of his companions, Basno covered himself with the carcass. He would not get out of the chamber alive—that was evident. As such, his last duty to the Order was to exterminate the highest ranking enemy officer he could locate. He pulled his weapon in close to his body, looking ahead of him at the unconscious REV warrior. Senior officers would come to him; they always did. And that would be when Basno committed his final act of devotion to his race.
Members of the Recovery Unit ran up to Zac and surrounded him, as hundreds of armored Marines poured into the chamber and rushed off after the fleeing Qwin. Captain Tom Keller was one of the first to arrive at Zac’s side. Still panting from the long and fast run, he dropped to his knees and cradled Zac’s bloody head in his hands. Half the helmet was shattered, and there was a long, angry gash along Zac’s right cheek. His left arm was a bruised and bloody sock of shattered bones and from the double holes in his left leg, Tom wondered how he could stand, let alone carry out a Run of devastating effectiveness.
The med crew laid out a stabilizing gurney. It was designed to roll over bodies and other obstacles while providing a level ride for the patient. It also had a variety of drugs and plasma containers built into the rails. This was the critical period, when the level of NT-4 had to be brought down as quickly as possible before the REV burned out. But it was also NT-4 that allowed the body to function as such high levels. The Twilight drug helped, as did the other drug cocktail soon to be administered. The Catch-22 was obvious: how much drug to keep in the system to help his survive. But the med-techs knew their job. They asked a couple of the other Marines to help them lift him onto the gurney.
“Damn, is he still alive?” one of the Marines asked.
A med-tech had already slapped a couple of Wi-Fi monitors to his chest and temple and was tracking his vitals. “Still ticking,” he said. “Pulse strong, EEG active. He’s Twilighted but his mind is still active. Probably still on the Run in his mind, killing more aliens.”
“Oorah!” the Marine called out, which was picked up by several others within ear shot.
“Knock it off,” Keller ordered. “Get him out of here and to the staging area. He’s got a lot of healing to do. Let’s get him started ASAP.”
Keller stood up and watched his twelve-person EU crew move Zac’s unconscious body from the chamber. He glanced around the room. The floor was covered with the bodies of alien dead. It had been like this all along the course of the Run. This is one for the record books, he thought.
Then his eyes locked on those of another.
The alien was staring at him, with no signs of pain or anguish on his pale yellow face. Instead, his eyes were cold and sober, with even a slight grin on his face
Pop! Pop!
Keller jumped at the sound. For a moment he sensed his body, trying to tell if he’d been shot. That wasn’t always evident right away, and from the wicked look on the alien’s face, he wouldn’t be surprise to find a bloody hole in his body somewhere, disguised by shook.
“I got him, Captain!” yelled a young Marine. He was part of the main brigade under Owens’ command, so Tom didn’t know his name. “Fucker had a bead on you, too, sir.” The barrel of the M-101 was still aimed at the dead alien in the floor.
“Thank you, Marine. You did well.” Keller’s knees were like rubber. That was close. “Grab a couple of your buddies and check the others. No more surprises, okay?”
“Yes sir!”
The Marines—along with a generous helping of Army Rangers—were in the process of landing in a steady stream of shuttlecraft, filling up most of the wide plane outside the complex. Mobile Assault Vehicles (MAVs), with mounted 80s, were forming up and preparing to enter the complex. Captain Tom Keller was always impressed with the speed and efficiency of the securing procedure, how so much equipment and personnel could be dropped on a surface of an alien world and immediately set to work. It made him proud to be a Marine.
But his distraction was fleeting. A large medical shuttle was already on the surface with Zac inside. Before experiencing the various stresses associated with transition to orbit, Zac had to be checked out thoroughly and stabilized. It wouldn’t do to have a fractured rib slice through the chest cavity during a period of turbulence or rapid acceleration. The shuttle had all the facilities aboard to keep Zac alive, if it possible.
Colonel Owens intercepted him as he was entering the shuttle.
“How’s your patient, Tom?” he asked.
Keller had his battle helmet tucked under his left arm, so he had no access to the HUD and its link to Zac vitals. “He’s alive, that’s about all I know. What’s the initial mission sitrep?”
Owens let out a loud breath. “Your boy racked up another six hundred-plus kills. The remaining Qwin and a few of their devote followers tried to get out along the mountain ridge to the south. Looks like about fifty prisoners, the rest are KIA.”
“Oorah,” Keller said half-heartedly. He loved the idea of a shitload of dead aliens, but at the moment he was more concerned with Zac.
“Oorah,” Owens repeated. He looked hard at Keller. “You know we’ll have to get to the bottom of this.”
Keller nodded.
Colonel Owens pulled out a datapad and turned it on. “REVs never stop during a Run unless their mobility is affected. Murphy was on the ground for seventeen seconds without moving. How is that even possible while activated?”
“I don’t know. But you’re right…we need answers, and the only person who has them is in the shuttle fighting for his life. I’ll ask him…if he survives.”
NT-3a Procedures and Conventions (First Edition)
Dr. Clifford Slater (Earlier report dated 2067)
Subject: Failures experienced most often during Program Training and Subject Evaluation: Subsequent Protocols.
Training personnel and medical supervisors should pay particular attention to the early signs of the following conditions (attached). Any candidate for the Program, or active operator, must be immediately pulled from training, or from active duty, at any occurrence of these failures or symptoms. Immediate cessation of training, or active operations, is required. Under no circumstances is additional NT-3a or pre-drugs to be administered to these individuals.
The following conditions are noted:
Avulsion fracture….
2
As always when waking from a Twilight coma, Zac became fully aware the moment the counter drugs were introduced. He relaxed when he took a look around. He was on a hospital bed, surrounded by all the familiar accoutrements, either plugged into him or filling the room. There was even the lab-coated physician and a couple of cute and attentive nurses—along with one full-bird colonel.
“Welcome back, Marine,” said the square-jawed man with the short, white hair.
Zac recognized him as Col. Jack Diamond, head of the 91st Regiment, the intelligence division. Zac knew the officer; he was fellow REV Manny Hernandez’s uncle on his mother’s side. Even so, why was a spook at his awakening?
“Thank you, sir,” Zac whispered with a grimace. Although his senses were sharp and alert, his throat was as dry as the Sahara. One of the nurses helped him down a cupful of thick liquid. It helped.
“Great job back on Enif; chalk another one up for the good guys,” Diamond said.
“Oorah, sir. So we won?”
Although in a crazed killing haze while under the inf
luence of NT-4, a welcome side-effect was that afterwards a REV could recall every moment as if it happened in slow motion. If required, Zac could provide an accurate body count of every alien he killed. He already knew the outcome of the mission, and the colonel knew he did.
However, the one aspect of the mission—and the most troublesome for all REVs—was what happened after the Twilight drug was administered.
It was discovered years before that it was too dangerous for REVs to work within close proximity of their fellow Marines. While under the influence, anything that moved was a potential target, even friendlies. That’s why people like Zac were sent in first—and alone. They were the bunker-busters in this war, enhanced killing machines perfectly suited for ferreting out the aliens in their hideouts. But once the job was done, they needed to be subdued before the backup troops could enter. And it was during this Twilight Period—between the time the REV was put down and the support troops arrived—that they were the most vulnerable.
Zac would enter the Twilight knowing he’d fulfilled his mission. What he didn’t know was if he’d ever wake up again.
Seeing that he was now resting comfortably in a hospital bed and being tended to by pretty nurses, Zac didn’t have to worry about the Twilight period any longer, at least until the next mission.
But now his rehab would begin. Twilight—and the other associated diluting drugs—were designed to quickly lower the level of NT-4 in his system, then once the deadly effects were purged from his body, he would be allowed to awake from his drug-induced coma. No REV escaped a Run uninjured, and the doctors preferred conscious patients to comatose vegetables as the healing began.
With his near-perfect recall of the Run, he was aware he’d suffered some major damage. He sighed. Even with the enhanced healing provided by the small residual NT-4 left in his system, he knew it was going to take a while to get over his last Run.
