Salvaging the Beast (The Fall and Rise of the Third Planet Book 1)

by John Marshall Davis

  “No, sir,” answered Dean. “After that explosion, I don’t expect we will, either.”

  “This was supposed to be a milk run.” The lieutenant looked up at the ceiling. “As far as I’m concerned, you two are no longer cadets. You’ve proven that today.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Dean replied. Kira nodded, saying nothing.

  “My ankle is better,” the officer stated. “I think it was just a sprain, nothing broken. But this…” he pointed to the crimson fluid leaking from between segments of armor covering his chest, “requires some attention. I’m hoping to get treatment in our sick bay, not in some dirty Cage clinic.”

  “We’ll make it happen, lieutenant,” Dean promised. He meant it, and he believed it.

  “Where is your rifle, Crowley?” asked Grahl.

  “Blasted out of my hands, sir,” Kira answered. “I was too busy getting you out of there to look for it.”

  “What did I tell you about your strap?”

  “I know, sir,” she replied, looking down. Kira hated wearing the thing.

  “I can’t bust your chops after I set mine down to help Cadet Mosely open the container, now can I?”

  Dean winced at the memory of his teammate flying through the air and into a wall, the boy’s neck snapping upon impact. The shipping container they were sent to investigate must have been rigged to blow when something came too close. He could not stop wondering who had set the trap, and why.

  “My head feels like it’s in a damn vise,” Grahl spat. “Whenever I try to concentrate on something, I feel sick and lose focus. Here,” the LT handed his sidearm to Kira. “All my hours at the range don’t mean shit right now. Crowley, keep Stratos covered.” The lieutenant drew his knife. “I’ve got something special saved for anything that reaches me. My dad was a black market butcher, and he taught me everything he knew.”

  Dean pointed his rifle toward the left passage. “Let’s just pick one and see what happens.”

  The lieutenant grunted his assent.

  For almost an hour the corridor lead them around in every conceivable direction, ramping upward and downward. The air was hot and stuffy, and it looked like no one had been this way in years. Here and there sat old abandoned equipment: oxygen tanks, welding tools, broken mining drones, toolboxes, and plenty of objects the cadet couldn’t identify. The farther they went, the thicker the dust.

  Dean wasn’t sure how long it took to notice Kira was missing.

  “Crowley?” He called over his shoulder. The cadet came running up behind them.

  “Sir! I think I found an airlock. It was behind a pile of crates. I almost missed it.”

  “Bless you, Miss Crowley,” Grahl said. “The idiots who built this place did a sorry job of labeling stuff. Suits?”

  “Two,” answered Kira. “They look to be in good shape.”

  “That’s a start.”

  Backtracking, they followed her to the lock. Dean knew the officer was in a lot of pain, but Grahl kept up the pace regardless.

  When they reached Kira, she was standing in the airlock, holding up two space suits. From the looks of them, they were rugged and built for mining purposes.

  The lieutenant clutched at his side. He bent over, shaking. Kira dropped the suits, leaving them piled on the floor. She grabbed Grahl’s arm.

  “Take one for yourself, Crowley, and give the other to Stratos,” the lieutenant ordered.

  “With respect, sir, the officer takes the lead and I won’t abandon my CO.”

  Dean knew better than to argue with Kira when she had her mind made up. How would Grahl react?

  “Commendable, but I want you two out of here, now.”

  Dean would never learn how this argument would play out. Marching boots and orders to surrender changed the game entirely.

  Kira turned in a flash, her weapon raised.

  Oh no, Dean thought. You should be in cover, they’ll—

  Bursts of gunfire tore into the cadet’s armor, sending her stumbling backward until she collapsed against a crate.

  Kira lay on the floor over fifteen feet away, the wind likely knocked out of her. The enemy squad closed in.

  Dean retreated, pushing against Grahl who had no choice but to hobble backwards into the airlock. Once clear of the hatchway, the would-be Maxilla punched the large button on the wall, sending the door groaning downward.

  “Why are you leaving Cadet Crowley?” the officer snarled.

  “Sir, those are EAG Regulars in full armor. I counted a dozen at least.”

  “Are you serious?”

  Dean nodded. “We can remember her later, but right now, we escape or we die.”

  Halfway into his suit, Dean watched as Grahl pounded on the window, yelling at Kira to get up.

  “Listen to me, Stratos. Taking a Maxilla cadet alive—you know what they’ll do to her. Open the hatch!”

  “Sir, get your suit on, or her sacrifice won’t mean anything.” Dean marveled at his own words. Had he actually said that? It sounded so confident.

  Dean hated himself. His first act after being declared a Luna Maxilla was to disobey orders by abandoning a comrade. Dean vowed right then and there to make Earth pay.

  The last things he heard before the air drained away were soldiers shouting and Kira screaming.

  2310 AD, 8 years before Collision Event

  Thrusters easing off meant the Golden Chariot was nearing orbit. LFAF ships were not welcome on Earth, so they had to beat a fast retreat. Within minutes, Dean could feel it in his stomach—the all-clear sounded, validating his senses. Floating around the cabin, the Luna Maxillas removed their mission armor. Early testing had proven that the use of gravity plating gave away the position of a stealth craft every time. Unlike the regular infantry, Special Operations had to fly the old-fashioned way.

  Avoiding the usual banter with his teammates after a frenzied extraction, Dean made for the cargo bay hatch. Something had been nagging at him ever since he helped load the object they had stolen from a classified EAG facility. He wanted a closer look without the stresses of evasion and retreat distracting him.

  Private Parker, a rookie who was brought along despite Dean’s objections, had decided their prize looked like an egg, so the nickname stuck.

  A cargo net had been stretched across one end of the storage bay, holding a few dozen objects in place. Pulling the Egg free, Dean used his hands to spin it carefully. With each touch of his fingertips, he felt the oddest sensation, as if the object was daring him to prove it existed. That was the best way he could describe the experience.

  He thought about Parker. The private had done fairly well, but Dean disliked breaking in fresh meat on such a critical op.

  “Strat, what are you doing back here?” Major Boone’s voice startled him.

  “Just checking out the toy we snatched, sir,” Dean said, without turning around.

  “They might get pissed if they find out you looked at it too closely.”

  Dean cast a glance in Boone’s direction. “Do you think I am worried?”

  “Not in the least,” Boone admitted. “You were never the type. So what is so special about this thing?”

  “Hard to say. It’s just…” Dean hesitated. “Weird.”

  “Your scientific brilliance sure does round out my crack team of commandos.”

  Dean snorted at the sarcasm. He placed both hands on the mysterious object and pushed it away from him. It soared through the bay, heading for the opposite bulkhead.

  “Easy now,” Boone said, with nervous tension in his voice. “If you break it, they will definitely give you something to worry about.”

  Suddenly, a voice cut in over the shipwide comm, “Brace for emergency course correction.” The pilot had barely finished his sentence before the ship jolted, slamming Dean against the hull. He noticed the Egg flying directly toward him. Throwing his arms across his face before he was struck, Dean expected pressure and pain. He felt neither.

  “Jesus. Are you okay?” Boone asked.
/>
  “Walking on water, sir.”

  “I’m gonna have a word with that pilot. Too many of them rely on the proximity alarms instead of watching the scopes.”

  “I didn’t feel a thing,” Dean declared, amazed at how true that was. He placed the Egg back inside the cargo net and followed his superior out of the room.

  He had not been gone an hour before hearing Parker’s frantic voice on the comm.

  “Sergeant Stratos! I need you in the aft cargo bay. It’s an emergency.”

  ***

  Dean froze, not ready for what he saw.

  Parker had his sidearm trained on Corporal Albano. Spinning slowly in the middle of the room was Private Zelensky. A combat knife was lodged in his chest, nestled between two ribs. The wound spat globs of blood in every direction as he turned. Dean checked the man’s pulse to verify what he already knew.

  Major Boone soared through the hatch. After a moment’s hesitation, no doubt to absorb the scene, he grabbed the corporal, pinning him against the bulkhead.

  “What the hell happened?!” the officer barked.

  No response. Albano was wild-eyed. Spittle darted from his lips.

  Boone turned to look at his sergeant. “Switch on the comm, shipwide.”

  Dean propelled himself to the panel mounted on the wall and activated the speakerphone.

  “I need a Maxilla in the aft storage compartment, right now,” Boone ordered. “The rest of you, stand by.” He scowled, signaling to his sergeant to end the call. “Strat, go find something to restrain the corporal with. Rope, string, plastic ties, I don’t care. Grab a medical kit too. We’ll have to sedate him.”

  ***

  Dean placed Zelensky in a white, translucent body bag. The next step was to secure the body in a storage closet. He had volunteered to stay and clean up the blood stains and remaining globules that floated around the bay.

  Boone was in the midsection securing Albano. Dean had doubts there would be an investigation in the conventional sense. The Luna Maxillas were part of a secretive division within LFAF Special Operations, so there would be no court-martial. This had never happened before among the Maxillas, to his knowledge.

  The ship lurched to one side. He wondered if the pilot enjoyed waiting until the last second to dodge oncoming debris.

  The cargo net must have come unfastened, because the Egg managed to slip free and drift towards him. The surface was chrome and highly reflective. He could see himself, but the image was extremely distorted by the curved shape. Dean never found a seam, screw, or hinge on the thing to indicate it could be opened. If Special Research wanted to reverse engineer the device, he could not guess how they might go about it.

  Reaching out, he touched the surface—always that same sensation of both presence and absence. Dean felt his eyes close, and his thoughts were directed to Zelensky. What had driven Albano to attack his battle brother and close friend? As if in answer, an image started to form in his mind.

  His body was tugged by an invisible hand. Dean found himself unable to open his eyes, or in any way resist what he was seeing. Zelensky was up close in his face, the man’s arms outstretched. Zee withdrew quickly, turning to look at Albano who was approaching him from behind.

  Albano and Zelensky proceeded to argue. Both looked like they were upset, each as enraged as the other. Zelensky grappled with his friend. Dean couldn’t hear anything, but he knew Zee was yelling. So was Albano, who grabbed Zelensky’s knife from where it was strapped. The corporal drew back his arm, ready to strike. Dean was witnessing a scenario he had not considered before. This one suggested mutual antagonism.

  And then it struck him: the perspective. In his mind, he observed the fight as if he were located on the aft side of the room among the cargo. More precisely, it was the exact spot where the Egg had been secured.

  Opening his eyes, Dean saw his grotesque likeness reflected back to him by the strange device. The commando tried to withdraw, but his fingers were stuck fast. Something forced his eyes to shut. There was a final image of Albano plunging the knife into Zelensky’s chest, collapsing the man’s heart.

  A burst of light flooded his perception. He saw visions of familiar places. Dean felt trapped, unable to alter what he was seeing or doing.

  The Luna Maxilla watched as he strangled one person, then cut, stabbed, and shot another. It seemed eerily familiar. Next he saw a weapons control station, his fingers punching up a solution to flatten a rogue lunar mining settlement with a guided missile attack. These were not dreams. These events really happened. Dean was forced to view his entire military career, but only the instances where he was ordered to kill.

  He wanted to scream, to shout for it to stop, but the grotesque film continued to play out before him. Dean was desperate to look away but found he could not. Everything felt stronger and more real than it had when he did those things. The shame compounded. Would it ever end? How many had he killed exactly? Whatever was causing this psychosis, it was determined to make Dean remember.

  Finally, he reached a young woman with blonde hair whom he had found in the secret EAG base. She died quickly from a knife wound in her side. Everything faded to dark. Would Dean experience peace now, or was it going to start all over? For what seemed like a lifetime, he worried about the horrific possibility he might have to go through it all again.

  The bright light returned, then faded. Boone and Parker were struggling to remove the Egg from his hands.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The day Earth died, I was given a second chance. Doomsday was my salvation. What does that tell you about me?

  - Calypso Ree

  2316 AD, 29 hours before Collision Event

  The cell was dark, cramped, and empty, save for a single occupant. Sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall, Calypso rested her forehead on her knees. Moments like these in solitary were the few times she had real peace. Fighting off assorted bastards grew tiresome. However long it took, she would get out of here. The prisoner crossed her legs, closed her eyes, and relaxed.

  A half-waking dream reminded Calypso of the decisions that had guided her life up until then. Back on her old ship, she could see her uncle sleeping in his cabin with nothing between her and revenge. A quick stab of the knife, and the asshole would eat darkness.

  But she couldn’t do it. He was floating so peacefully in the zero gravity, unable to defend himself. Something deep inside seized her and would not let go. One moment of hesitation had cost her the only opportunity she would ever get.

  Now she was stuck in an old residential station orbiting Earth that Custodian Detainment Services had converted into a prison. You couldn’t build a better one. Escape by conventional methods was impossible up here.

  A small hatch in the cell door opened. “Ree, get up. Someone wants to talk to you.” It was Dugan, the security officer who patrolled the solitary wing. He was a real pig, making a point to grab Calypso’s bottom whenever he got the chance.

  “Who?” she asked, standing.

  “Beats me.” The door opened. Dugan held out cuffs and chains for her arms and legs.

  Calypso stepped out of the cell and into the restraints. Another officer stood nearby, assisting. She recognized him, but couldn’t think of his name. Once they had her chained up sufficiently, they led her down the hall.

  It didn’t take long. The other guard was walking in front, while Dugan rode her closely from behind, stepping on her heels. And then he went for it. His thumb sank in deep while grabbing with his fingers.

  She twisted to escape his grasp. Dugan persisted. She dug in her heels and bent her body, thrusting backwards, sending the officer flying to the floor.

  “Bitch!” he screamed, getting to his feet, raising his baton. He pushed her against the wall, grabbing the chain. Calypso knew this was turning him on.

  “Go for it. I’ll snap your dick right off,” she snarled, baring her teeth. Her black, sweaty hair ran down into her eyes. She had no idea if her threat would stop him or just egg him on
. The asshole did pause for a moment. Perhaps he believed she could do it.

  “C’mon, Dugan,” the other officer said. He approached Calypso and took her chain out of Dugan’s hand. “Ma’am, let’s go.” She read his name badge. Officer Farallis kept hold of her chain for the rest of the walk, but was gentle about it.

  ***

  This was not the first time the warden had invited her into his office for a chat.

  “Sir, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” responded Calypso.

  “Oh, come on, Ree. Let’s not play games,” said the warden, reclining in his chair. “You have a reputation. They tell me you are quite talented. I could use your…” The warden grinned, letting his broken and crowned teeth show. “Talents.”

  Calypso stared at a spot on the wall. She sat opposite the warden, framed by her two escorts.

  “I was a machinist on my uncle’s salvage ship,” she informed him. “Do you need a part?”

  Slamming his palms down onto the desk, the administrator was changing his approach. A yellow vase holding plastic flowers tipped over. “What do I need to do to get through all this self-protective bullshit and talk business with you?”

  “If I performed the service you accuse me of, I’d be pretty stupid to admit it to a prison warden.”

  “So, is that your final answer on this?” he asked, his eyes narrowing.

  “I cannot answer a question that does not apply to me.” Calypso was losing patience too.

  The warden looked down at his desk and sighed. “Get her out of here.”

  She spun around in her seat. Officer Dugan was glaring at her. It was then she noticed Farallis was no longer present. Another officer had relieved him. Goldman was a woman, but stronger than most of the men. The brute had it out for Calypso in the worst possible way. Her heart sank. This was not good.

  ***

  Staggering from the infirmary, Calypso could barely walk, leaning heavily on her escort, Officer Farallis. Her eyes felt swollen. A split lip tasted of warm salt. She had discovered the bruises on her legs while putting on a fresh uniform. She could feel the blood and other fluids seeping into the fabric between her thighs. Damp with sweat, her uniform clung to her skin. Walking down the hallway, her vision blurred and cleared, over and over.