REV- Renegades

by T. R. Harris

  Zac was young and impressionable at the time and fell for the glamour of fighting an evil alien race in outer space and on distant exotic worlds. He wanted to challenge himself—to become all he could be—so the Marines became his calling. And there were no Marines tougher than the REVs. At the time, there were only eighty active REVs operating in the Grid, and Zac Murphy was determined to become one of them.

  With relative ease he passed the initial screening, meaning he didn’t die or go crazy after the first injection of the drug. From there he moved on, graduating from the program at twenty-one and joining the fleet as an 0351-A: combat infantryman-enhanced, basic level.

  He wasn’t sure why he didn’t become more upset once the reality of the program became obvious to him. It was nothing like he’d been promised. Zac was hardly the hero, and more-often-than-not, was sequestered away somewhere within a huge battle-carrier and treated more like a novelty than a member of the crew. Whether the drug suppressed his depression or not, he never knew. Being alone and isolated became a way of life and he accepted it without complaint.

  Sure, he was honored occasionally by the Marines he worked with, but that was usually after a Run, where a lot of their lives had been saved by his mad killing spree against the alien enemy. Although he had a common tie with his fellow REVs, he developed no friendships or lasting relations. He wasn’t allowed to. REVs were unpredictable and dangerous, especially when two of them got together for any extended period. It was the whole alpha-male thing, driven by instinct and animal pheromones. Fortunately, the NT-4 formula had been tweaked over the past several years, reducing a lot of the primal competition between the men. But before then, one crossways look by one REV to another would often result in a spontaneous fight to the death, and anyone caught in the middle became collateral damage.

  That had been Zac’s life for the past fifteen years. He now held the distinction of being the longest-living REV in the Corps—ever. Angus Price was number three.

  The fact that two of the most-senior REVs in the service could be occupying the same space at the same time was a testament to the changes they’d gone through recently. Without as much synthetic NT-4 residing in their bodies—replaced by the natural form of the drug their bodies were producing—the near-constant irritation that caused REVs to cascade over the edge was gone. They were calmer, more in control. Although their bodies had easily three to four times the strength of a normal man, they didn’t show it or feel the need to always act on their emotions. To an outside observer, both Zac and Angus looked like everyone else. And to some people, that was the problem.

  The small window between the van’s cab and the back compartment slid open and one of the drivers—Sergeant Jamie Owens—turned his head toward the passengers.

  “Hey, we’re going to stop in Truckee for lunch. You guys have a preference?”

  “Steak!” the REVs replied in unison.

  Owens recoiled slightly. “Okay…steak it is.” He turned to the driver, another Marine sergeant named Ryan Cox.

  “Anthony’s…gotta be Anthony’s,” Ryan said.

  Owens turned back to the window. “We know a great place; best steaks in the Sierra. You guys must be hungry.”

  With the high metabolism of the REVs, they were always hungry, and for high-protein foods…like steak. “Yeah, I could eat,” said Zac, trying to tone down his previous outburst.

  “Me, too,” replied Angus.

  “Great. Be there in about twenty.”

  Zac and Angus looked at each other. There was worry on their faces. This would be the first civilian restaurant they’ve eaten at in over ten years….

  8

  Zac was amazed at the changes that had taken place in the High Sierra town of Truckee. All the surrounding slopes were covered in housing, although most were aesthetically integrated into the thick pine forest, preserving much of the ambiance of high mountain living. The population sign coming in on I-80 indicated seven hundred eighty thousand people lived in the area, which was incredible. The metropolitan area must extend all the way along Highway 89 to Tahoe City, Zac thought.

  Sergeant Cox pulled the dark blue van off the freeway through one of the exit portals and onto a surface street. Most parts of mountain freeways were covered in long plastic domes to protect against the elements. It was found covering the highways cut down on the need for snowplows and helped speed traffic along the road. They were just being installed when Zac left the planet.

  The parking lot for Anthony’s Steak ‘N Stuff was in the open and had been cleared of a recent snow fall earlier that morning. There weren’t a lot of cars in the lot; the restaurant catered more to the dinner crowd than for lunch. Even so, Zac’s heightened senses could detect from a half mile away the savory fragrance of meat cooking on a flame grill.

  The exterior of the restaurant retained the rustic look of a log building, with a peaked entranceway lined in rough timbers and dotted with pine cones. The theme was carried inside, with wood-paneled walls and seating made of thick, well-worn burgundy leather. Both Zac and Angus paused as they entered, taken aback by simultaneous flashbacks to a distant past. The restaurant was both familiar, yet strange, at the same time.

  “You guys okay?” asked Sergeant Owens.

  “Yeah, maybe just a little lightheaded from the altitude,” Zac lied. Their two escorts were oblivious to their true identities. To them, they were just a couple of Marines in civilian clothes being driven to Colorado. Beyond that, they knew nothing. No one asked their names, and no one volunteered the information.

  The cute, young blonde at the wooden hostess podium fumbled a stack of menus, gawking at the two REVs. The men were both over six-feet-tall, with sharply chiseled jawlines, extremely broad shoulders and impossibly thin waists. They each had deep blue eyes that conveyed both confidence and strength. And while Angus kept his head shaved, Zac had a crop of short, curly black hair that glistened in the overhead lighting.

  “Eh, will that be two for lunch?” the hostess stammered.

  “No, it will be four for lunch,” Owens corrected, frustrated by the fact that he and his partner were invisible in the presence of their two hunky passengers.

  “Of course, sorry. Please follow me.”

  There weren’t a lot of people in the restaurant, but Zac could still feel the eyes of the patrons on them as they were led to a circular booth at the far corner of the room. Zac slid in, with Angus next to him, while the other two Marines sat on the other side, with Owens next to Zac.

  Two equally young and attractive waitresses rushed to the table.

  “This is my station, Stacy.”

  “You’re on break.”

  “I’m off it now.”

  “Since when?”

  “Hey ladies,” said Ryan Cox. “Can we get something to drink while the two of you sort it out?”

  The women glared at each other until Stacy sulked away.

  The winner of the contest turned to the table—or more correctly—the left side of the booth.

  “I’m Connie, and I’ll be happy to serve you. Are you guys passing through, or are you staying for a while?”

  “Just passing through,” Angus answered.

  “From Sacramento or Reno?”

  “Fairfield, actually.”

  “Travis!” Connie exclaimed. “I’ve been there before. In fact, I go down there quite often. Is that where you’re stationed?”

  “Excuse me, Miss, but can you take our drink orders? We’re kinda in a hurry,” said Owens.

  “Oh, sure. Cool.”

  The drivers ordered beers, while Angus and Zac ordered Pepsis. They hadn’t had a domestic Pepsi in years and were curious to see if it tasted the same as the shipboard variety.

  “Can you give us a minute to look over the menu?” Owens asked.

  “Cool. I’ll be right over there. I’ll get your drinks, then just let me know when you’re ready to order.”

  The girl moved away, to be joined immediately at the waitress station by a sti
ll angry Stacy. The two women began jawboning as Connie quickly prepared the drinks.

  “What the hell is it with you two?” Owens snapped.

  “Yeah,” Ryan joined in. “You look like a couple of poster boys for the Marines.”

  “Or the REVs,” said Jamie Owens jokingly. Zac and Angus tensed.

  “Fucking REVs,” said the other driver. “They’re costing us the war.”

  “Not all of them,” Jamie countered.

  “You know my brother almost died on ES-8,” Ryan pointed out. “Now all the land we’ve gained is being turned back to the Qwin. A lot of people fought and died for what we had, the operable word being had.”

  “You can’t blame the REVs for everything.”

  Cox pouted, his rant interrupted by Connie with the drinks.

  “Are you ready to order?” she asked Angus and Zac.

  “Steak,” Zac said, flashing a smile that nearly caused the young woman to faint. “Two of your biggest.”

  “Two?” she asked, frowning.

  “Yeah, I’m really hungry.”

  “Same for me,” said Angus.

  “And what would you like with that?”

  Now Zac frowned. “With it?”

  “Yeah, it comes with a baked potato, coleslaw or fries. And you also get a house salad with the meal.”

  Zac was confused. Anytime he ordered steak on the ship they only brought him steak, and usually four or five huge slabs. It took a lot of calories to support a REV.

  “I’ll have the potato.”

  “With everything on it?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “Cool.”

  “Make that two,” said Angus.

  “And how would you like your steaks?”

  “Rare, or medium rare,” said Zac, beginning now to recall memories from his past.

  Angus nodded.

  Connie flashed the two REVs a warm smile and turned away.

  “Hey, wait!” said Sergeant Cox. “We’d like to order, too.”

  Embarrassed, Connie turned back to the table and smiled. “Sorry. And for you….”

  Stacy ended up helping Connie with the serving, placing four plates of twenty-ounce steaks with baked potato in front of the REVs. Their escorts ordered a burger and a BLT, and now sat with their mouths agape, staring at the massive amount of food filling the bulk of the table.

  “I guess you guys were hungry,” said Ryan Cox. “You know, that’s over a hundred adjusted dollars, just for lunch.”

  Zac and Angus panicked.

  “Shit!” said Zac. “We don’t have any money.”

  The drivers recoiled. “What the hell do you mean you don’t have any money?”

  “We came right off the ship and haven’t had time to call up our accounts. We have money, just not on us.”

  “I hope you’re not expecting us to pay for this?” said Owens. “We’re just a couple of E-5s and broke most of the time. Besides, that was really stupid of you not to bring any cards with you.”

  “Do you have a phone?” asked Zac. “I can make a call.”

  “To who, your investment banker?”

  “No, our superior officer. He can straighten things out.”

  Owens handed Zac his phone. Zac looked at the thin rectangular object with the blank screen and frowned.

  “Where the fuck have you guys been?” Jamie snatched the phone from Zac’s hand and turned it on. He pressed a few buttons and handed it back to the REV. “Just say or punch in the number.”

  David Cross had provided an emergency contact number before the REVs landed, in case plans had to be changed on the fly. This wasn’t exactly a change of plans, but it was an emergency.

  “I don’t know what the big fuss is about,” said Sergeant Cox. “The girls will probably just comp your meals if you can’t pay for them.”

  “And then take you in the back to work it off,” Jamie added, with envy in his tone.

  Zac punched in the number. Cross answered almost immediately. After explaining the situation, the doctor growled at Zac, telling him to give the phone to the escort.

  “Sergeant Jamie Owens here, sir.”

  Owens’ mouth fell open as he listened in silence to the voice on the other end of the line. A few moments later he disconnected the call.

  “What did he say?” Cox asked.

  “The money’s being transferred to my phone. I’ll pay for the meals.”

  “Is that it? You look pale.”

  “That was some colonel, and he’s really pissed. We’re not to let the men out of the van from here on out.”

  “They’re prisoners? No one told us!”

  “They’re not prisoners, just that we can’t have them running around outside the van.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because the fucking colonel said so, that’s why!”

  “What if we have to take a piss?” Zac asked, displaying a thin smile.

  “Then hold it! I’m not risking my career over a couple of pretty boys who don’t know their asses from a hole in the ground. I guess what they say is true: beauty and no brains.” He looked at the still uneaten steaks. “Hurry up; we gotta get back on the road as soon as possible.”

  9

  The two Marine sergeants traded driving duties, and except for a stop at a MacDonald’s drive-thru in Salt Lake City, they didn’t stop again before reaching Colorado Springs.

  Zac was still in a state of ecstasy from the French fries, asking for the drivers to stop for refills at every MacDonald’s they passed along the way. The drivers refused.

  The van pulled up to the main gate at the Peterson Space Operations Base and was immediately surrounded by MP’s. Zac and Angus were taken out and placed into another vehicle—a long limousine with blacked out windows. The drivers were also escorted away, to be debriefed at the security station. The limo pulled away for the final leg of the REVs’ journey to Cheyenne Mountain.

  It was still a hike outside of Colorado Springs to reach the huge mountain complex known as Cheyenne Mountain. It had been carved out of solid rock over one hundred forty years ago and had once teemed with over fifteen hundred military and civilian personnel. As the headquarters for NORAD, it had been built under two thousand feet of granite and housed fifteen, three-story buildings riding on a system of springs designed to protect the structures against nuclear attack and earthquakes. It was also hardened to withstand an electromagnetic pulse, as well as a thirty-megaton nuclear explosion outside the main entrance.

  But for all its standout features, the facility couldn’t survive the peace dividend. The main functions and commands were moved to nearby Peterson Air Force base back in 2006, and then it was completely shuttered in late 2032.

  A year ago, a small startup company paid five million adjusted dollars for the facility and set to work making improvements. It took eight months to complete the upgrades, which only covered about a third of the buildings. It was now one of the most advanced medical research facilities in the world, and no one other than a relative few military personnel and politicians knew about it.

  After an automatic gate swung open giving entry, the limousine pulled along the access tunnel to a large receiving area and deposited its passengers. It sped away before anyone came to greet them.

  Zac watched as the twenty-five-ton blast door at the North entrance cycled open and two huge guards appeared, each carrying what looked to be oversized Tasers. Twenty yards away—inside the complex—was a second security door. He looked at Angus and shrugged. It took a lot to make a REV nervous and surveying the imposing structure and vault doors was doing the trick. If any place could hold a REV, this would be it. Zac wasn’t sure if he was reporting to a medical facility…or to a prison.

  The tall, slender figure of Dr. David Cross came rushing through the far doorway toward the pair of REVs. He was in excellent shape for a man nearing sixty, and had the smooth, bronze skin of someone thirty years his junior. Only his silvery hair gave away his age, and certainly not the way he carrie
d himself or the sense of strength his fit body exuded.

  “I am so sorry,” he called out. “No one told me your exact schedule, just that you would be here in an hour or so. I would have been here to greet you outside if I’d known the exact time.”

  Cross was dressed in khakis with the silver eagle of a full colonel on the collar. Zac was relieved to see he wasn’t wearing a lab coat with the ubiquitous stethoscope dangling from around his neck. That would have been too much of a stereotype. Both REVs had known the doctor for their entire careers, with most of the contact back in the early days of their training. Recently, however, Cross had been out in the fleet, monitoring Zac after discovering he was producing natural NT-4. Zac also felt the good doctor was partially responsible for the time he’d spent on the prison planet Eliza-3, contending with the erratic weather and deadly beasts before being shipped off to Camp Slater on ES-6. He and the other four REVs testing positive for natural NT-4 only spent a couple of weeks on the planet before heading out on their fateful mission to the Temple of Light on Iz’zar. Cross had been on his way to the Camp at the time to conduct further studies on the team but missed them. By the time the mission ended in disaster, Cross was gone, with the Camp disbanded and the training and medical personnel running for their lives ahead of a violent native uprising.

  Cross had arranged for the surviving members of the team to be secretly transported to Earth. Only Zac and Angus made it. Don and Kyle were trapped on another world out in the Grid and would be for the foreseeable future.

  Zac had to say he wasn’t very impressed with the Cheyenne Mountain facility. He’d spent a lot of time in caves and underground tunnels—mostly carved out by the Antaere. This one was crude, dark and smelled of mildew. It also had a unique design. Huge caverns had been cut out of the granite, and within them were placed fifteen service buildings, resting on thick springs. Although some of the structures were set within alcoves in the rock walls, none touched the stone. They were freestanding buildings, and ugly things to boot. They had once been painted white, but after decades of neglect, rust was a more apt description of the color. Dr. Cross had taken over the facility a year ago, but it was obvious he was more concerned with the functionality of the site over aesthetics.