MISSION VERITAS (Black Saber Novels Book 1)

by John Murphy

  When Tucker, Vasquez, and Dohrn came close, Killian waded over to meet them. “I’m sorry about that. It was a dumb idea.”

  It hadn’t really been a dumb idea, he told himself. There was a risk in everything. Going with instinct was always critical in combat. However, he saw the importance of taking responsibility and being humble before a team that wasn’t ready to understand him.

  A hint of a smile crossed Tucker’s face. “No worries, man. Nothing I couldn’t handle.” He appeared proud to have evaded danger.

  “Let me take your gear, Dohrn,” Killian said.

  “Naw, I got it,” Vasquez said. He picked up Dohrn’s pack and put it on top of his head. Water from the pack rushed down his face. He didn’t look at Killian.

  “Stay away from me, okay?” Dohrn said.

  Killian winced at her rejection and lowered his gaze.

  Without her gear, Dohrn was able to move ahead quickly in the hip-deep water. Killian could tell she was exhausted and angry. She had every right to be. He had already taken Pima out of the mission—and Carmen, too.

  When she was twenty feet ahead, Killian said to Vasquez, “Hey, I’m really sorry about that. I didn’t think it would become such a crisis.”

  “No problem, man,” Vasquez said. “It was the most logical thing to do.” His words were agreeable, but his tone suggested he was also angry.

  “Again, I’m sorry for being impulsive,” Killian said.

  “Like jumping off that cliff? Slicing Pima’s oxygen tube?”

  “Yeah. That, too.”

  “Hey, no worries. That was the only logical thing to do, too. You’ve got good instincts,” Vasquez said, lightening up.

  Good instincts.

  Killian thought of Wongsawat telling him the same. He was glad for Vasquez’s acknowledgement. Good instincts were what had gotten him through Bangkok. There was no basic training for that.

  “I’m sure it comes off as reckless,” Killian admitted.

  “Yeah, a bit,” Vasquez said. “But, you know, I kind of needed that.”

  “What?”

  “Saving Dohrn. I needed that.”

  “How so?”

  “Ever since my sister, I’ve kind of felt like I’ve let everybody down. My parents used to tell me that God made me big so I could protect everybody, but I felt like such a fake, you know? This was the first time I actually helped someone, like God meant for me to do it.”

  Killian had never given much thought to what God had intended for him. He never thought much about God at all. If anything, he felt like God had abandoned him. For the past two years, the only thing he had been interested in was surviving, fighting back, and resisting.

  “I think I understand,” Killian said.

  “It’s God’s will, man. He’s testing us. I finally feel like I’ve lived up to what he expects of me.”

  “Not me, man,” Tucker said. “I’m just here for the fun of it, the adventure. I kind of like this danger shit. This is really fucking exciting!”

  “That it is, my friend,” Vasquez said. “That it is.”

  Killian said nothing. He thought of the enemies he had killed. What had once been a badge of honor among the rebels was now a dark secret—a scar on his soul, as ugly as those inflicted on his back. He wished he could erase them all. There was no honor in what he had done. It had been about survival.

  Moreover, what about the few dozen civilians who had died because of his run-and-gun plan? That weighed on him tenfold. He couldn’t rationalize that away. What Risky and Doc had said about thousands being spared couldn’t wash away the blood from his hands, war or not. His only solace was that he knew evil was being perpetrated on humankind, and he had to resist it to his death.

  This was no test by God. If anything, God might be using him as a weapon against the greater evil. It was a cup of poison he hadn’t asked for, one that he’d rather not drink—but drink it he would.

  He wondered what he would have done had he declined Burdette’s offer. Would he be any less troubled? Or would he have gone insane? Would he have killed a civilian, or many, in an uncontrollable rage? It didn’t matter, he realized; he had taken the offer. His penance would more likely consist of dying on some strange planet—hopefully not this one.

  “And thanks, man,” Vasquez said.

  “For what?” Killian asked.

  “Cutting Pima’s oxygen tube.”

  “Huh? Why would you thank me for that?”

  “Because when my sister had her…accident…well, she lingered for a couple years before she died. It was especially hard on my parents and the rest of the family. Everyone had to take care of her, and it was all my fault. But I never told anyone what really happened. I felt so guilty that I thought about suicide, even. I thought a lot about putting her out of her misery and then killing myself so that everyone would be able to get over it and move on with their lives.”

  “That’s pretty rough, dude,” Tucker said.

  “You can probably understand that,” Vasquez said to Killian. “I mean, with your parents dying, feelings of guilt.”

  “Yes—I do,” Killian said. It was the first time he’d met someone else burdened with grief and a secret.

  “So when Pima fell and hurt her ankle, I thought God was punishing me some more for what I did to my sister. When you cut her O-tube, at first I was mad, but then it felt like I’d had God’s punishment lifted off my shoulders. So thanks, man. It was the right thing to do.”

  They sloshed on for a few minutes, nearing the rest of the group.

  “Maybe you could tell Kerrington it was the right thing,” Killian said, in an attempt to quiet his dark thoughts.

  Vasquez laughed. “Don’t worry about him. He’s like this little, yappy dog who’s gotta bark all the time to scare the big dogs away.”

  Tucker smiled. “I think he’s embarrassed that he got caught up in the current like the girls.”

  “Yeah, there ain’t no way he’d ever bite you. He’s scared of you,” Vasquez said.

  Tucker laughed. “Arh, arh, arh!”

  Their encouragement was welcome, but not completely assuring. Killian thought of Gahn, who had been similarly antagonistic. Killian had been bigger, stronger, and more ruthless than Gahn, and could have easily defeated him in a one-on-one battle. Yet when an opportune moment to eliminate Killian had presented itself, Gahn had taken it. Perhaps Kerrington was the same. Gahn’s treachery had been instructive: an outmatched foe merely had to wait for an opportune moment.

  Tucker splashed Vasquez, who couldn’t fight back because of the gear on his head.

  “Hey, cut that shit out, man!” Vasquez said. “Don’t make me dunk you. I’ll make you drink this shit.”

  Despite himself, Killian smiled at their horseplay. It was a moment of relief from the gravity of the situation he’d just put them through. Given their purpose on this planet, he wondered how long their innocence would last. Killian was fully aware of the brutality a future in Black Saber held for them. He tried to imagine awakening one day into such innocence. The thought was ridiculous, he knew.

  He had to stay on the alert for sabotage—from anyone.

  CHAPTER 18

  52 Hours to Extraction

  “THIS IS IT,” Mitchell announced as they came around a long line of boulders.

  “Thank God!” Spalding said. “I am totally wiped.”

  Others chimed in their agreement.

  They were finally at the foot of the jagged black mountains, which were made burgundy by the orange rays of the setting sun. The range became smaller at the northern end, and the group’s designated route crossed where the rocks plunged into desert flats.

  The preplanned campsite was set amid steep walls of boulders, which formed a protected hollow. The area was filled with drifts of reddish sand blown in from the surrounding terrain.


  “Let’s go, people!” said Kerrington. “Form a perimeter. Get your armor off to let your supraskins dry out.”

  The candidates spread out and formed a circle, removing and stacking their packs and armor, and then unfolding wafer-thin sleeping mats.

  “Man, I’m freezing in these wet things,” Benson said.

  Spalding nodded. “Yeah. I thought this supraskin shit was supposed to keep you warm when it’s cold and cool when it’s warm.”

  Mitchell wrung out her shirt. “It works better if the fabric isn’t soaked.”

  “So how do we dry it out?” Goreman asked, shivering as she stacked her gear.

  “Maybe we can get a fire going,” Benson said.

  “Nothing to burn, dumbass,” Tucker said.

  “Wait a sec,” Killian said.

  He moved toward a smallish boulder that was away from the others, switched his plasma to “kill,” and then fired at the rock. The boulder shattered, sending shards flying. Killian ducked as he was pelted with the hot shards. The rest of the candidates recoiled from the blast.

  “Damn!” Vasquez called out. “You shoulda kept your gear on before doing that.”

  “Damn it, Killian! Stop doing such stupid shit,” Kerrington scolded.

  “It’s too much,” Mitchell said as she came over to investigate. “That’s too much energy all at once. The rock is porous and has a great deal of water trapped inside. When you superheat it with the plasma discharge, the water turns to vapor and expands rapidly, causing the rock to burst.”

  She held her hands toward the disintegrated boulder. Puffs of steam rose from the glowing remnants. “It’s too hot to do anything with, but you’re on to something. Give me your rifle.”

  Killian offered the rifle to her. She pushed a button on the side, which allowed the rifle to breach in half along a hinge at the center. It exposed a glass plasma-charging tube filled with a viscous, glowing green liquid. She removed the tube and handed it to Killian. “Hold that carefully.” Then she snapped the rifle back together and approached another boulder.

  “Wait!” Dohrn grabbed Mitchell’s helmet and handed it to her. Dohrn held the rifle while Mitchell donned the helmet.

  “Maybe we should back up,” Killian said.

  “Yeah, no shit,” Kerrington said.

  Mitchell pointed the rifle at the boulder, then turned her head away. “Fire in the hole!”

  She pulled the trigger. Rather than the normal bright red bolt of plasma energy, a subdued bolt and many sparks leapt and sputtered as if the rifle had malfunctioned. She pulled the trigger again, and nothing happened. She flipped up her face shield and approached the boulder with her hand out to detect heat. Wisps of steam drifted off the rock’s surface. “That’s better.”

  Sowell stepped forward, followed by the others. “What just happened?”

  “The rifle has a capacitor that ramps up and holds a charge of voltage,” Mitchell explained. “When you pull the trigger, it discharges but then recharges and discharges again in milliseconds. What we perceive as one bolt of energy is actually a few thousand cycles in a split second.”

  “So what did you just do?” Sowell asked.

  “Without the charging tube, the capacitor discharges only one cycle of stored energy. It’s about a million volts, but it’s not recharged, and energy transference is very limited.”

  “Holy shit, a million volts?” Tucker said.

  “It’s not the voltage; it’s the amperage that’s dangerous. On stun, the rifle only transmits around one hundred milliamps. On kill, it’s over one thousand milliamps.”

  She rattled off these facts as she carefully touched the boulder’s surface.

  “How do you know all this shit?” Spalding asked.

  “I read about it on the flight down,” she said. “There, that’s about right. We can drape our supraskins across the rock and they ought to dry in a few minutes.”

  Following her example, the group did the same with their rifles and other boulders. They all stripped down to briefs, the women also wearing sports bras. Goreman took that off, too. The others stole glances, the males unable to suppress their looks of awe.

  Killian resisted the urge and turned away, although the glimpse of her replayed over and over in his mind. He felt a surge through his body, coursing to his groin. He fought it and willed himself to think of the gore of battle—that would surely expunge his instinctive lust for Goreman. He stole more glances just the same.

  Within half an hour, everyone was dried and dressed.

  During that time, the atmosphere had plenty of opportunity to take effect. The candidates behaved in a relaxed and giddy fashion, as if they’d had more than a few drinks.

  The sun had set and twilight grew deeper. The candidates devoured their food bars, hydrated, and sprawled on their backs. Despite their exhaustion, a few were quite animated in recounting the harrowing events of the slot canyon and the lake.

  Even Kerrington was smiling and laughing as he got up. He swayed a bit in the center of the thirty-foot-wide perimeter. “Good news, candidates: we’re back on schedule.”

  A subdued cheer went up.

  “Without Pima dragging us down, we made really good time, thank God!”

  “Hurray for Pima!” Spalding called out.

  “Hey, shut up, man,” Sowell said. “What if it was you who’d twisted your ankle?”

  “Hurray for it not being me!” Spalding responded.

  Tucker nudged him. “Shut up, you jerk.”

  Kerrington smiled. “All right, douche bags, back to business. Remove your light sticks and dig them into the sand. It’s going to get very dark here in a little while.”

  “Shouldn’t we try to check in?” Mitchell asked.

  Kerrington looked around, his body swaying. He flung his arm up. “Aw, fuck it. We’re okay.”

  As the candidates unsheathed their light sticks and turned them on, Spalding clicked his to strobe. “Hey, hey! It’s party time!” He swung the stick over his head.

  Sowell shook his head. “There’s one in every crowd.”

  Benson also switched his light stick to strobe and began dancing in his seated position, arms waving about his head. “Come on, everybody. Let’s party!”

  Tucker rolled his eyes. “Make that two in every crowd.”

  “Cut that fucking shit out,” Kerrington slurred. “You’re making me dizzy.”

  Spalding and Benson giggled as they clicked their light sticks to bright.

  “All right, candidates. I’m going to designate the area behind those rocks for head calls—boys to the right, girls to the left. Ha! See? I told you I’d be telling you when and where to shit!” He fell to his knees with laughter.

  The others looked at him with a mix of surprise and embarrassment.

  Sowell spoke up. “You should probably keep your light sticks with you at all times. And take your plasmas with you in case you stumble upon any indigenous species.”

  Kerrington ceased laughing and shot an angry glare at him. “Shut up, Sowell. I’m in charge here. Everybody—everybody—keep your plasmas within reach as you go to sleep, and keep the sand out of them, for fuck’s sakes.”

  “There are no moving parts,” Mitchell said, then snickered.

  Kerrington scowled. “What was that?”

  “There are no moving parts on the rifles, so it makes no difference if they’re on sand, or in sand, or buried in sand.” She waved her arms as she spoke.

  “Okay, Mitchell. Thank you for correcting me. I appreciate that very much.”

  “I’m just trying to be accurate.” She rolled her eyes in an exaggerated way.

  * * *

  Darkness came rapidly. On most nights, the landscape would be well lit from the reflection of Veritas’s sister planet, Juno. However, this night saw cloud cover that blanketed their m
ountain cove. To the east, the clouds thinned and glowed faintly against the horizon.

  The glow from the light sticks kept the circle of candidates illuminated, but only the rocks in the immediate area caught the light. Beyond that, it was black.

  Sporadic flashes lit up the underbelly of the heavy clouds moving in from the north. Arcs of lightning touched the valley the candidates had traversed. By the time the sound of the accompanying thunder caught up to them, it was merely a low rumbling. In the distance, rain fell as unseen thunderheads discharged curtains of rain.

  The candidates sat or lay on their sleeping mats. Killian had chosen a spot some distance from the others.

  Occasionally, candidates got up and made head calls in the designated areas. They grabbed their light sticks and plasmas and pierced the wall of blackness to seek out privacy.

  Upon returning from a head call, Sowell passed his spot and sat an arm’s length from Killian.

  “Hey,” Sowell said quietly.

  Killian nodded. “Hey.”

  Kerrington lazily tried to contact Blue Orchid, but he kept getting the same warbling static. “Aw, fucking piece of shit!” He tossed the comm unit into the sand before him.

  “Hey, Kerrington,” Vasquez said. “How about checking in on Pima and Carmen?”

  “What?”

  “Pima and Carmen. Check in to see if they’re okay.”

  “They’re out of range,” Mitchell said. “Our helmets are on a local frequency with much less power. If it was perfectly flat we might be able to reach them, but with these mountains, and them being over the edge of the canyon, they’re out of range.”

  “What about the big comm thingy?” Vasquez asked.

  “That’s on an entirely different set of frequencies, and much more powerful.”

  “How do you know all this shit?” Kerrington asked.

  “I thought of the same thing,” Mitchell said and waved the nav tablet. “I looked it up.”

  “See, brainy chick has all the answers,” Kerrington said. He stood up in the center of the circle. “All right, ladies, back to business. We need to set up a fire watch in two-hour shifts. Brainy chick tells me the indigenous species will stay clear, but there are predators on this planet. We need someone to watch over the campsite and the vicinity. Benson, you get first watch, followed by Killian, Tucker, and Spalding. That will get us through eight hours, and we’ll get underway before sunup.