by John Murphy
“You will each be issued a vector plasma assault weapon as you exit this shuttle. They are easy to handle and much more effective than whatever peashooters you tried out in basic training. The rifles have three modes: safe, stun, and kill, should an encounter with predators become unavoidable. Do not take your weapons off safe until this shuttle has left visual airspace. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Master Sergeant Houlihan!”
“Good! Candidate Kerrington, you are in charge. Candidate Sowell, you are bridesmaid in the event Kerrington is unable to fulfill his duties.”
Kerrington and Sowell responded in unison, “Yes, Master Sergeant Houlihan!”
“Candidate Mitchell, you’re navigator. Have you been checked out on your nav pad?”
Mitchell waved the rugged nav pad in front of her. “Yes, Master Sergeant Houlihan!”
“Candidate Vasquez, you have been given the Qx-1000 explosive device. It weighs twenty pounds. That may not sound like much now, but it’s a bitch after a couple miles, so trade off as necessary. You got that?”
“Yes, Master Sergeant Houlihan!”
Killian saw the ruggedly built device locked down between Vasquez’s feet. It was about ten inches by eight inches, and six inches deep. He envisioned taking charge of it.
“Questions?” Houlihan inquired, scanning their faces.
Goreman raised her hand.
“What?” Houlihan toned down his bark.
“Are you the person who invented this program?” she asked.
The other candidates exchanged glances. They all wanted to know, too.
“No. Mission Veritas was developed by my father, Dr. Patrick Houlihan. He was a military psychologist. I work for a living.”
“Really?” Goreman replied, with a hint of glee.
Houlihan glared at her. “Yes.”
“Where is he now?” Spalding asked.
“He is no longer with us.”
“I’m so sorry!” Goreman said.
Spalding snickered. “He’s probably back home on a beach somewhere.”
Houlihan glared at him. “He’s dead, fuckface!” He glowered at the others. “Any pertinent questions?”
Benson raised his hand. “Is the air poisonous?”
“No,” Houlihan answered. “The atmosphere is safe to breathe for the duration of your mission, but it will make you dizzy. Wear your face shields down. You will need the oxygen while you’re moving so you won’t get dizzy, fall over, and break something truly important—like my gear. You can take your helmets off during breaks and when you sleep.”
Benson grinned, excited at the prospect of a good buzz. He looked around for someone who shared his enthusiasm, but there were no takers. His smile faded.
Tucker raised his hand. “Anyone ever die?”
“Yes,” Houlihan said, without emotion. “There have also been some serious injuries, so be extremely careful.”
“How many?” Tucker asked.
“I can’t get into that, but rest assured, every case was a result of poor judgment and stupidity. Treat this like a real combat mission.” He turned to Kerrington. “Candidate Kerrington, you good to go?”
“Yes, Master Sergeant Houlihan!” Kerrington gave a thumbs-up.
“Outstanding. Hang tight, princesses, and we’ll be on the ground in about twenty minutes.”
As Houlihan moved forward to join the pilot in the cockpit, the crewman strapped himself in toward the rear. Turbulence began slowly but increased in frequency and vigor as they entered the upper atmosphere.
Kerrington looked at each of the other candidates in turn so they could acknowledge his leadership. A few gave him a thumbs-up. Others looked away after a moment. With smug superiority written all over his face, Kerrington laid his eyes on Killian.
Killian returned the stare—not in a threatening way, but not wanting to back down.
Eventually, Kerrington looked away, grinning.
* * *
“Put your face shields down and hang tight!” Houlihan ordered over a speaker.
The turbulence calmed as they approached the surface, and Valley Forge settled into an easy glide path, hovered, and then set down with a firm shake.
“Roger that! Clear!” the crewman at the aft called into his helmet mic. He punched a button on the bulkhead. The ramp cracked open, allowing brilliant light to streak in. The engines blasted white noise as they idled.
“Please remain strapped in.” The crewman moved quickly, snapping, twisting, and yanking two dozen different things, as if speed were critical and this were a real combat mission. Killian admired that.
Precision.
Houlihan emerged from the cockpit and strode down the aisle to the rear of the craft, dropping his helmet’s protective goggles into place. He watched as the ramp completed its descent. The crewman rolled up a panel, exposing plasma rifles.
“Unbuckle and come out single file, starboard side first!” Houlihan shouted over the engine noise.
The candidates unbuckled, moved toward the ramp, and picked up their plasma rifles from the crewman as they exited.
“Form a defensive perimeter around the craft,” Houlihan instructed. “And remember, keep your weapons on safe until the shuttle is out of sight.”
Kerrington was in the middle of the group. As soon as he hit the surface, he shouted, “Move, move, move! Form a perimeter around the shuttle!”
Killian, second to last, shuffled forward. Ahead of him, the crewman gave Tucker a rifle, then held out a neatly looped orange rope. “You’re going to need this. It’s one hundred feet and can hold up to 10,000 pounds.”
It impressed Killian, as it appeared so thin and pliable. The crewman hung it on Tucker’s pack. Killian felt a moment of jealousy, which was quickly relieved when he was handed his own rifle.
“Make sure you keep it on safe,” the crewman said.
Unceremonious words for such a significant moment, Killian thought.
The candidates trotted out, kicking up clouds of fine red powder. Their movements weren’t as emphatic as one might expect of those just out of basic training. The completely alien environment made the group cautious.
They made a perimeter about fifty feet from the shuttle. They each stood casually, looking around at the rugged red terrain. With the exception of Goreman, this was their first exposure to another planet. The air was hazy with reddish dust, and the sky unfolded in gradients, from orange on the horizon to a deep burgundy overhead. By all appearances, it was a gritty, lifeless terrain.
“This sucks!” Benson said.
“Who said that?” Kerrington snapped.
“You’re on comms, and we can all hear what you say,” Sowell reminded.
Benson winced. He pushed the orange button on his face shield and opened it. He took several deep breaths. “Ahhhh!” He exhaled heavily.
Kerrington backed away from the ramp and saluted. Houlihan didn’t return the salute, as it was inappropriate to salute a non-commissioned officer. He stared blankly back at Kerrington as he punched a button on the shuttle. The ramp whirred closed. The engines increased their pitch, and the shuttle lifted away.
72 Hours to Extraction
“All right, candidates,” Kerrington said, turning to face the group. “Form up single file in your fire teams, on me.”
Kerrington stood roughly where the nose of the shuttle had been. The candidates trotted from the perimeter to form up in front of him in a straight line. As they got into formation, they lifted their face shields and smelled the air. It had a clearly perceptible metallic odor, yet also a faintly sweet smell.
The fire teams were broken down into three groups of four candidates each, with the last team consisting of three members: Carmen, Pima, and Dohrn. Kerrington would have been the leader of the last fire team if he hadn’t been designated the overall leader.
The candidates stood in loose formation, shifting, adjusting, and waiting to get underway. No one yet felt the dizzying effects of the atmosphere.
“Oh, quick change,” Kerrington said, with a hint of amusement. “Dohrn, you’re now fire team leader for team one. General Issue, take your position at the rear of the formation.”
Dohrn looked around awkwardly, as if reluctant to have her leadership skills put to any kind of test.
“That’s right, sweetie,” Kerrington said. “You get to move to the front of the line with the big boys.”
Dohrn shoved past the others on her way to the tall end of the formation. She slammed her face shield down to conceal her anger.
“You, too, General Issue,” Kerrington said, waving his arm. “Back of the line where you belong.”
Spalding covered his mouth, as if he could hide the source, and mumbled in his parrot voice, “Bang…cock!”
No sooner had Spalding pretended he hadn’t spoken, than Killian passed by. The moment they were shoulder to shoulder, Killian shifted his body weight with a twist of his torso and slammed into Spalding, knocking him back a few steps.
Amused by the surprise retaliation, Vasquez put his left forearm up for a solidarity sledge. Killian briskly walked past, ignoring the gesture. Sowell, Tucker, and Vasquez exchanged disappointed glances.
As he awaited further orders, Killian reflected on his time with the rebels. The leader had always moved to the back to observe the team. Killian had spent much time in the front being the eyes of the group, watching for trouble. He was fine with being at the rear and would have taken that position had he been put in charge. Still, the pettiness of Kerrington’s move irritated him.
“Now that things are as they should be, we can head out that way,” Kerrington said, pointing north.
Mitchell pointed to the east. “Aren’t we supposed to go that way?”
Unable to easily differentiate everyone, except by height, Kerrington scanned the group. “Where’s my navigator?”
Mitchell held up the nav tablet and pointed to the east again.
Kerrington corrected himself. “Yes, exactly. That way. We’ll form up on a high point and get a visual on our situation. Face shields down, children. Check your air.”
Kerrington pushed a button affixed to his chest plate, engaging the surface-to-station comm link. “Blue Orchid, Blue Orchid, Blue Orchid. This is Candidate Stiles F. Kerrington of Mission Veritas. I declare this mission is underway.”
A long pause. Then, “Mission Veritas, this is Valley Forge on behalf of Blue Orchid. Roger that. You are good to go. See you in seventy-two hours. Out.”
Kerrington turned to the group. “Candidates, put your vector plasma rifles on stun mode for protection against the indigenous species.”
Killian wondered if the plasma rifle projected the same power as the Carthenogen devil beasts’ rifles, or those of the invaders who had rescued him.
“Candidates, move out!”
They hiked up a dusty hill, their single-file line stretching and bunching here and there. As they reached a jagged crest, they broke their loose formation to line up along the edge of a canyon that stretched to the horizon.
Veritas’s rough peaks pierced the orange haze along the horizon. Golden light created sharp shadows in the angular walls of the canyon. Faint hints of water could be seen on the canyon floor a few thousand feet below.
Across the canyon, they could see mesa tops much like the one they were standing on. It was going to be a long, hard climb down and then up the other side. However, just as Commander Connor had promised, the view was spectacularly beautiful.
* * *
As the candidates made their way down the side of the mesa, Pima slipped on a long stretch of smooth rock. She slid down the slope, her body twisting in panic, her plasma rifle sliding away.
“Help!” she squealed.
Nothing could be done to stop her slide. She came to a stop at the bottom of the slope.
The others scrambled down the slope after her, their rifles snapped to their chests or backs.
“You okay?” Sowell asked, helping Pima to her feet.
“Yes, I think so.”
Kerrington pushed his way toward her. “Any injuries?”
“No. I think I’m okay.” She inspected some scuffs on her armor.
Killian crab-crawled down the same slope, his rifle locked in place across his abdomen.
“Killian!” Kerrington barked. “Why didn’t you watch out for Pima?”
“I had no idea she’d lose control,” he responded.
“Next time, you go ahead of her and catch her if she falls.”
“It was an accident,” Killian said.
“You’re supposed to be watching out for the safety of yourself and your teammates.”
Killian thought of Gahn, his rebel leader back in Bangkok, and his readiness to lay blame no matter what the issue.
“God!” Tucker said. “Don’t be such a dick.”
“Who said that?” Kerrington looked around at the shielded faces.
Tucker raised his hand. “I did. What are you gonna do about it, dear leader?”
“Lighten up, already,” Sowell said. “We’re just getting started.”
“We are to treat this like a real combat mission,” Kerrington said. “We have to be careful and watch out for one another.” Despite his words, Kerrington eased back on his tone.
“Where were you, then?” Tucker asked.
“I was in front, leading the way,” Kerrington said, an edge returning to his voice.
“Come on!” Sowell said. “Lighten up. No one got hurt, okay?”
“Okay, fine! Killian, I’m putting you in charge of Pima’s safety. If there’s any situation that looks dangerous, you make sure she’s taken care of.”
“Sure, no problem,” Killian said.
“I’ll help her, too,” Carmen said.
“No, Carmen. You watch out for yourself. I’m making Killian responsible for her safety. Killian, you watch out for Carmen, too.”
“I don’t need his help!” Carmen hissed.
“It was only an accident! I’ll be okay!” Pima said.
“Let’s stop wasting time. Get moving!” Kerrington said.
Heads shaking, the group resumed their descent. Killian stepped back, extending his arm and allowing Carmen to pass.
She shoved his arm out of the way. “Like I said, I don’t need your help.”
* * *
The group crawled cautiously down the rest of the rocky slope. Most rocks were small enough to hop down. Others required a careful slide and hop to descend. Killian did his best to assist Pima, who displayed only intermittent nervousness.
“You doing okay back there, Pima?” Sowell called over comms.
“Yes. Killian is helping me.”
“You okay, there, Killian?” Sowell asked.
“I’m good.”
Killian disliked the idea of someone depending on him. They should all carry their own weight. However, not helping Swanson was the technicality that kept him from completing his PFT, so he didn’t object. He was more interested in getting on with the mission than arguing. At least he didn’t have to carry her—yet.
“How did you get picked for this, Pima?” Tucker asked.
“Yeah, you’re pretty small,” Spalding said.
“A sexist and a size-ist,” Dohrn mumbled.
“Leave her alone,” Vasquez said. “I can help her if you need me to.”
“Not necessary. I gave the responsibility to Killian,” Kerrington said.
“How did you get picked for this?” Sowell asked.
“She’s fast and extremely smart,” Carmen said.
“Yes. I am very fast. I set a record on the O-course and two-mile run. And I’m a good cl
imber,” Pima said. “But climbing up things. Just not so good at going down rocks and cliffs with all this weight.”
Killian didn’t say anything about lapping his platoon on the O-course. The less he said, the less he risked divulging something he would regret. Besides, he didn’t want to sound like a braggart—like Kerrington.
“Her body weight-to-gear ratio is drastically against her favor,” Mitchell said. “She’s about ninety-five pounds, and the gear is about thirty, so she’s carrying one-third of her body weight. For males averaging 160 pounds, your gear is less than one-fifth of your body weight.”
“Dohrn and Carmen don’t seem to have any trouble with the weight,” Tucker said.
“They’re pretty tough chicks, and—how do I put this delicately—big boned, shall we say?” Spalding said. “I’d hate to fuck with them.”
“Fuck you, ya skinny toothpick!” Carmen said.
“Don’t refer to us as ‘chicks,’ Spalding. We’re not baby birds,” Dohrn said.
“Yeah,” Carmen said. “We don’t need your help, ya swinging dick.”
“Ha, ha!” Tucker laughed. “Gigantor!”
“That’s right, ladies,” Spalding said. “Gi-gan-tor!”
“Oh please, shut up!” Dohrn said.
“Yeah, or I’ll crush your scrawny little body between my big-boned thighs,” Carmen said.
“Okay, you got me on that one,” Spalding said. “Now I’m truly frightened.”
“Hey, come on, now,” Sowell broke in. “We’re not in basic training anymore. Spalding, why don’t you leave the girls alone?”
“Girls? Oh yeah, you’re right,” Spalding said.
“All right, children,” Kerrington said, speaking in a stern voice. “Cut the chatter. Keep all communications pertinent to the mission!”
Carmen muttered, “Asshole!”
After a few moments of quiet, Goreman said, “I think it’s rather nice that Killian’s being helpful.”
Several minutes passed without anyone speaking, except for occasional grunts and groans as the candidates descended the rocks.
Finally, Benson broke the silence. “What is it about this planet that makes you high?”
