“Lieutenant?” A voice came from behind him.
Knowles. He walked up to the tank without acknowledging her and stared inside.
“Evan,” she said. “We need to talk.”
He stared into the tank. It was still wet, small beads of water remained in the bottom. He looked at the nodules along the side, the injectors that had begun the process.
“Zero point,” he said.
She walked up to the tank and stood on the opposite side. “It’s a lot to take in all at once, I know.”
He looked up. “How do you know? How many procedures have you done? How many of…of us have died in this damned test?”
She looked down into the tank before replying, and when she did, her voice cracked slightly. “You are the seventeenth person to come through here. I can name each and every one of them. Fourteen men, three women. To me, you are not weapons, or tools, or hammers. You are people. Each one of you different and unique.” She looked up and met his gaze. “Six died during the test.”
He ground his teeth together and leaned his forearms on the edge of the tank. The broken skin on his right arm protested as it stretched and began to bleed again. “Six? Jesus Christ. How can you…”
“Because it works. Because this program can do far more good than harm. Because…”
“You’re a damned doctor,” he said sharply. “How can you allow patients to die like this, knowing what they have to face? How can you put people through this?” He looked up at the ceiling. “And how many prisoners have died on your watch? Can you name each and every one of them, Moira?”
Knowles dropped her gaze again and paused for a long moment. “Biermann is a bastard. There’s no other word for him. But he’s right, and he knows what he’s doing. In the long run, this program works, and the product of this program must be tested before it goes into the field and puts other people at risk.”
He laughed. “Do you hear yourself? Product. It. You’re contradicting yourself, doctor. Either we are people, or we’re tools. Which is it? Do you know anymore?”
He turned from the tank and stepped over to the table. He reached under it and picked up his boots and began putting them on. He felt a wetness under his shirt, and remembered the mag pistol wound. I’m a wreck, he thought. And this is a successful test?
“Evan, you have to understand. You of all people. You’ve been through death before, all the way back to your mother…”
He spun to face her. “Don’t ever bring up my mother,” he snapped.
She recoiled at his tone and posture. “I… I’m sorry. I only meant…”
“Forget it.” He bent over and fastened his second boot, then stood back up. “I know what I got myself into. And you’re wrong. I am a weapon, I suppose. A product that has to be tested. I get it. Don’t worry about your precious tools being damaged.”
“Wait,” she said. “Listen. I know what I do here is… controversial. But I do it for the best reasons. And you… you’re different than the others.”
He shook his head and grabbed the water bottle. “Don’t try to flatter me, doc. And by the way, doing it for the best reasons is an excuse some pretty damned terrible people in history have used to justify their actions. You might want to avoid using that phrase in the future.”
That stung her, he saw. Her face clouded and she wrung her hands. “I know,” she said, and took a deep breath. “I know. But what I said about you… I meant it. There’s something different about you. I’m not even sure what it is. You have a past, you’ve had your share of problems, but…” She took another deep breath. “Heart. You have a heart. I don’t even know how or why I’d say that, but… well, there it is. And I’m sorry.”
He rocked back on his heels and memories flooded over him like a waterfall. Her words, what she just said to him about heart, were almost exactly what his mother used to say to him as a small child. Words he remembered all these years later. Images arose in his mind of Ekaterina Gabriel poking him in the upper chest. “This is your strongest muscle, Evan. You have a heart like no one else.” Words she repeated in the hospital, dying of cancer. Some of the last words she ever said to him. “Use it,” she had said. “Listen to your heart. It’s your strength.”
He looked down at his forearms, the first thing he noticed when coming out of the tank. Muscles he hadn’t had before going in, but superficial muscles. Not like what his mother had told him he had as a scrawny six-year old.
“Evan, are you okay?”
He looked up at Knowles. She was staring at him with a look of concern; he could see that in her eyes. The same look she had given him as the tank lid closed over him. Her feelings were genuine, and she genuinely was concerned for him, her job and its controversy aside.
He thought back to his brief conversation with Admiral Cafferty’s attaché during OCS. She had asked him why he enlisted in the Navy, and his answer was that he had nothing else, and thought he’d be good at it. And he was good at it. Thinking back to signing his original enlistment paperwork, he knew then he was following his heart. As he was when he expressed a desire to join Special Warfare, and as he was when he willingly underwent an experimental medical procedure to augment his abilities and turn him into an even more capable soldier.
“I understand,” he said. “And this is who I am now.” He held up a hand as Knowles started to speak. “I appreciate your concern. I really do. But this is the path I’ve chosen. I understood the risks, though not to this extent,” he said with a small smile.
Knowles walked over to the locker where the planted bloody shirt was. The blood drops on the floor between the table and the locker were gone; the cleanup crew apparently wanted to make sure everything was back in order. Maybe for the next test, he thought, grinding his teeth.
She opened one of the doors and reached inside, withdrawing a white box. She returned to Gabriel, holding it with both hands.
“Let me see the gunshot wound,” she said as she placed the box on the table.
“It’s fine,” he said, waving her off. “Bleeding stopped.”
“I’m sure it has. My nanites have added benefits all around. But I want to make sure.” She opened the box and picked up a small plastic device shaped like an old-fashioned turkey baster.
He frowned, knowing what was coming. He pulled up his shirt, and Knowles bent to peer at his wounds.
“Through-and-through. That’s good.”
“For you, maybe,” he said.
She smiled. “And for you. No surgery, at least until the medpack procedure tomorrow.” She used the device to squirt a grayish liquid liberally over both his entry and exit wounds. Gabriel stared at the far wall, knowing the biofoam would sting. And it did. But not like the auto-injectors did. Everything had changed for him. Everything was new.
Knowles pressed a self-seal patch onto each wound, then closed the box. Gabriel lowered his shirt, noting with a corner of his mind that while his wound may be have been cleaned up, his bloody shirt with two holes in it still showed he had a hell of a morning.
Knowles stared at the medical kit after she closed it for a long moment.
“What’s next for you?” he asked. “More tests?”
She gave a faint smile, then turned from the table.
“Something tells me this program will be winding down soon.” She looked around the lab. “I think some of the equipment may have been damaged in this last test. Plus, I believe I may be looking into retirement. I hear Jamaica is a beautiful destination.”
Yes, she certainly had read his jacket, he thought.
He was about to answer when an overhead speaker crackled to life with Biermann’s voice.
“Lieutenant Gabriel, if your mission to retrieve your shoes was successful, please report to my office on the double.”
Gabriel squeezed the water bottle until the top popped off. Knowles laughed softly and bent over to pick it up off the floor.
“Take care of yourself, Lieutenant,” she said, handing the cap back to him.
“Zero point, you say,” he said.
She smiled. “Make the best of your new beginning, Evan.”
He nodded. “Thank you, Moira. And you too.”
He turned and walked out of the room, purposely not looking back. Only looking ahead.
Chapter 13
Biermann was seated at his desk when Gabriel entered. All the cleanup crews had finished, and according to the station security system he had tapped back into, the blast doors were all open and Cielo’s personnel were returning to work. He made a mental note to ask Biermann how he had cleared the station for his test. And another mental note not to kill the arrogant bastard.
“Yes, you have your shoes. Isn’t that nice,” Biermann said, rising from his chair. “Have a seat. There’s a priority transmission for you from Admiral Cafferty in Toronto. He’d like to speak in private. And there’s a wet towel on the end of my desk. Make yourself a little more presentable, Lieutenant.”
Biermann walked past Gabriel and through the door without another word. The door slid shut behind him. Gabriel walked around to the back of the desk and sat down, looking at the blank comm terminal. Blank except for small text that read, “VOICE CODE NEEDED.”
He pursed his lips. Voice code? What voice code? He picked up the towel and wrung it out into the plastic container it sat in and wiped the dried blood from his face. He used the black screen as a mirror and rubbed until he saw nothing but jagged red marks in his cheek. As good as it’s going to get. His neuretics medical alerts had mercifully ceased as his body got caught up healing the rest of his body.
“Ah, hello?” he said hesitantly as he dropped the bloody towel back into the container.
The terminal beeped and “ACCEPTED” replaced the other text, then the screen lit up with the face of Vice Admiral Eriq Cafferty.
Gabriel wasn’t accustomed to communicating with superior officers over vidcomm, so he wasn’t sure whether to stand at attention or just sit patiently. He chose the latter.
“Lieutenant Gabriel, good to see you again, son,” Cafferty said. “Captain Biermann has briefed me on the results of the procedure and the, ah, operation. I had a feeling you’d come through with flying colors.” His face grew slightly as he leaned closer to the video pickup. “I’ve had my eye on you since before OCS. And so has Pete, ah, Captain Biermann. Which is why you were chosen for this. How are you?”
“Sir, I understand. If I may speak freely, an hour ago I would have questioned a lot of what went on here, but I understand. Captain Biermann has been… thorough. And Doctor Knowles has been helpful. I’m… I’m okay, sir.”
Cafferty nodded. “Excellent. From what I understand, it’s a hell of an adjustment. And Biermann’s test is… difficult. Anyway, the reason for my call. Lieutenant, I believe you have a bright future in the Navy ahead of you, and I’m proud to have you under my command. You’ll find you may be serving two masters for a little while. Myself in the regular Navy, and Captain Biermann in NAVSOC. I need you to understand we all have the same goals, regardless of the chain you find yourself under. Is that clear?”
“Yes sir, quite clear.”
“Good,” Cafferty replied. “And speaking of command, Captain Biermann has briefed me on your upcoming mission. It’s an extremely important one that needs to be handled with the utmost discretion. I think you’ll find a lot of what we do involves political overtones, and they can be… tricky.”
Gabriel furrowed his brow, and Cafferty must have seen the movement. “Lieutenant, has the captain briefed you?”
“No sir, he has not. Honestly, I still haven’t gotten checked out by Med yet.”
Cafferty grimaced. “Oh for shit’s sake. Pete’s priorities are always somewhere else.” He leaned away from the video pickup. “Get the captain back in to talk to you right away. In the meantime, Lieutenant, I’ll be following your progress. You’ve got a lot to look forward to. I believe you’re going to be a busy man.”
“Thank you sir, I will do my best.”
Cafferty smiled. “I know you will, Mister Gabriel. Best of luck to you, son.”
The screen blanked and Gabriel sat back in Biermann’s chair. Everyone seemed to have a path laid out for him but himself. That wasn’t something he was comfortable with, but that was the nature of the military. He had learned that long ago, but sometimes it still rubbed him the wrong way. Like the test, he didn’t like being led, or herded, in a direction he didn’t truly want to go. But as his mother told him, he’d continue to follow his heart.
The door slid open and Biermann entered. He walked up to the desk and stood with his arms folded.
“Good conversation, Lieutenant?”
Gabriel sighed inwardly. Back to business.
“Yes sir,” he said as he stood up. “The admiral said you were supposed to brief me on a mission, sir.”
Biermann smiled, but as Gabriel had seen several times before, the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Yes, of course. You’ll actually be shipping out immediately after Med is done fixing you up. There’s been an incident on Ganymede. One of the major mining companies, Ouro Limited out of Argentina, has had an uprising of sorts. More of a riot according to the data we received. And they’re asking for our help with a hostage situation.”
“Hostage situation?”
“Yes, several miners were taken in the riot. And even though Ouro Limited is a South American company, they’re asking for a favor from the NAF. As Admiral Cafferty said, many of our missions involve political overtones.”
Gabriel realized Biermann had tapped into the private conversation he had with Cafferty, and wasn’t surprised at all. Biermann struck him as someone who wanted to be in control at all times. And he understood.
“The NAFS Jesse LeRoy Brown, PFS-710, a NAVSOC training frigate, is headed to Cielo as we speak, and she’ll be docking within the hour. There’s a Navy squad on board. However, their lieutenant came down with measles, and they’re currently in need of a squad leader. Therefore,” Biermann said, inclining his head towards Gabriel, “you’re up.”
Gabriel frowned. “Measles,” he said.
Biermann’s dead-eyed smile returned. “Yeah, how about that. Hasn’t been a confirmed case in decades, and boom. Not sure if it’s divine providence or just plain coincidence, but an opportunity presented itself. And here we are.”
Here we are, Gabriel thought. Zero point. Nowhere to go but up.
<<< END >>>
Keep reading for excerpts from all three books in the Evan Gabriel Trilogy!
Preview of Gabriel’s Redemption, Book 1
Evan dove into the clear blue water, leaving the safety of the catamaran behind, and swam deep, adjusting his goggles as he kicked. He felt more than heard his older brother Zack hit the water behind him, then a second hollow splash as Tyler followed. Evan knew he was ahead of the other boys, that he’d find his quarry first, but he also knew in the back of his mind he was the youngest and the smallest, and still had to work the hardest.
As he passed twelve feet, he took a quick peek over his shoulder, pinching his nose and snorting to equalize the pressure. The nearly transparent Caribbean water allowed him to see that his sixteen-year-old cousin Tyler had already caught and passed fourteen-year-old Zack, another age and size advantage Evan didn’t have.
At eleven, Evan was fortunate enough to still be able to hang out with the older boys…but today was different. He could feel it, something in the warm salty air. He knew this time he’d be the one telling stories over conch ceviche on the beach, the one who’d be the center of attention once he retrieved the first shell from the white sand bottom. He spotted the perfect candidate, partially buried and barely noticeable. Easily the largest anyone would find today. He kicked hard away from the charging Tyler, reaching out with one hand…
*****
Gabriel awoke with a start, jerking his head up from the tattered pillow, and instinctively reached out for his gun. His right hand found it in its customary place, less than two feet from his head, on the peeling laminate of the nightstand. His fingers closed around the Heckart’s worn grip, his neuretic brain implants sending the code to arm and charge the weapon. Every muscle in his body was tensed like steel cord. What the hell woke me up? he thought. Something in the air, some out of the ordinary sound, something over and above the usual Jamaican street buzz.
He sat up in bed, weapon held tightly. The reassuring tingle in his palm indicating the Heckart was armed and fully charged. He peered around, eyes adjusting to the feeble moonlight leaking in the cracked window. Hotel room just as he left it, window opened less than three inches to combat the stifling Caribbean heat, a heat unusual for December. His neuretics fired off a quick burst, confirming none of his motion alarms had been triggered. What was out of place, what caused the sharp reaction?
He debated running a somewhat-risky active scan when the sound of clinking glass wafted in from outside and his eyes darted to the window. Muffled laughter, an old man coughing, the screech of a cat, and more clinking as last night’s Red Stripe bottles were kicked over. More coughing, a muttered patois curse towards the cat, then silence.
He slid noiselessly to the window, staying out of the dust-filled moonbeams piercing the seedy hotel room. Back to the wall, weapon next to his ear, he stole a quick glance outside. His second floor room afforded a sweeping view of the street and its dilapidated buildings. Years ago Jamaica was a tourism mecca, but that had changed drastically since the Dark Days and the ensuing devastation of most lowlying land areas. This Ocho Rios street was a living example of third-world society’s collapse: strewn with garbage, overflowing dumpsters, and countless lost souls looking for the next day’s meal, drink, or narcotic.
Gabriel: Zero Point (Evan Gabriel Trilogy) Page 7
