David Kantrowitz's Blog, page 4

Legacy of the Centaur (RFVIII), Chapter 12

Spoiler alert: This is the beginning of the 8th book in the Reckless Faith series. You may read the prologue here: https://devonai.wordpress.com/2023/10/31/reckless-faith-viii-prologue/

“You have no idea where you want to go?”

In the cargo hold of the Reckless Faith, John and Kyrie stood with Secretary Tailor as the Alnairian tried out one of the bunk beds, the man sinking deeply into its springs. The extraction of Tailor from Alnair by the Faith had been accomplished without a problem, and while the Fox and its crew remained on the surface for further research, the Faith had returned to Tartarus. John and Kyrie had just finished debriefing Tailor, hearing a story that matched what he had told Vecky, Cane, and Sam. Meanwhile, Agena and the Tondelayo had returned to the Percheron, having lost visual contact with the unknown shuttle very soon after entering the atmosphere. Though unable to track it with scanners, its destination seemed obvious.

Everyone was aware that time was of the essence, but John wanted a chance to talk to Tailor before the allies decided their next move. Their team in the old facility had found two laboratories on Sub-Level Four, each crammed to the rafters with interesting documents and items, and were busy searching for whatever secrets they might hold. With the departure of the Bidelman, and the possible involvement of the so-called Gray Men, John was rightfully concerned about the well-being of his people on the surface, but not quite ready to attempt an evacuation.

Tailor responded to John’s question. “I’ve spent my whole life on Alnair. I only know a little bit about other worlds. I’ve heard good things about Secundus. It doesn’t really matter if I’m going to be homeless and broke.”

“You won’t need to worry about money,” began John. “We can replicate whatever precious metal you think you’ll need. After that, you’re on your own. Otherwise, we’d be happy to deposit you back where we found you.”

Kyrie looked at John. “It could be instructive. If the Gray Men really exist, we might be able to flush them out using Mister Secretary here as bait.”

Tailor stood up, not without some effort. “I can see you’re joking, but even still, I’ve cast my lots. How soon can you have me out of here?”

“You’ll have to wait until we have some kind of resolution with the situation on the surface,” said John. “You’ll be safe here until then. After that; well, our top speed is 1.5 million c, so we can have you anywhere within five hundred light-years in a matter of hours.”

“That claim is laughable.”

“Believe me, don’t believe me, I don’t care. Trust us, or take your chances elsewhere. Now if there’s nothing else you need, we have mission to complete.”

Tailor blushed. “I’ll… I’ll need a bigger bed.”

“We’ll replicate a larger bunk for you. Ari, are you listening?”

“Of course,” said Ari’s voice.

“See if you can fabricate a double-wide bunk for our guest. Forty-eight inches should suffice.”

“Brain the size of a planet, and…”

“Just do it, Marvin. It’s not all cocaine and hookers, you know.”

John and Kyrie exited to the corridor. They entered the cargo bay, and took the stairs to the armory. Passing through that chamber, they next went into the orb room. There, they found Richter and Evangeline still connected to the orb, both with their right hands pressed against the translucent sphere, and with a blank expression on their faces.

“What if they need to use the bathroom?” asked Kyrie.

“They can disconnect themselves anytime they want,” replied John. “If they’re in the middle of something, they can always soil themselves.”

Kyrie stifled a laugh. “Geez. I suppose you’re right. Did we pack any adult diapers?”

“I don’t think so. Regardless, I’d never let them live that down.”

“Oh, I’d never let Richter hear the end of it.”

Moving on, the pair passed through the galley, up the stairs there, and through the lounge area and the conference room to the bridge. Milena sat in the pilot chair, as usual, and Ari, in her android body, manned the systems console.

“Status?” asked John.

“Still no sign of the shuttle that was launched,” replied Ari. “Either they’re still down there, or it managed to return to its host ship without us spotting it.”

John sat in the nearest chair. “What about that transponder satellite?”

“We’ve cracked its encryption. It’s transmitting the equivalent of Alnairian Morse code. Since we’ve been listening, we haven’t heard anything other than a request from the surface for an update. The reply was ‘continue mission, out.’ Other than that, there’s just a ping every few seconds to maintain contact.”

“Hail the Percheron.”

“You’re live.”

“Colonel Dietrich, this is Commander Scherer, over.”

“I hear you,” said Dietrich’s voice. “What do you want to do?”

“You’re up to speed on the situation with the satellite that the Bidelman left behind?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Let’s review what we know so far. Commander Hadar claimed that a crack squad of marines is down there. We have no reason to believe that was a bluff, and the transmissions from the satellite seem to confirm it. As for the mystery ship currently in orbit, and the shuttle it launched, we should assume that it’s a third party with their own agenda. Therefore, I suggest that we hack into the satellite, and attempt to contact the Alnairian marines directly. I don’t think we can maintain a posture of total secrecy anymore, and I’m guessing that a violent confrontation with our team in Inferno is inevitable if we don’t try to intervene.”

“All of that sounds reasonable, Commander. We’ve got all of our sensors running at full blast as usual, and we stand ready to back you up. I would only request that you keep your contact attempts live on the shared channel, so we’re listening in real time on our end.”

“Of course. Ferro, make it happen. Reckless Faith out.”

“I got you,” said Ari. “Any communications through the satellite will be shared with the Percheron. As for the marines, I’m already ready to try to send them a message. The signal is strong enough for either audio or a Morse code message, whichever you’d care to try first.”

“Let’s do the latter, it might be less jarring.”

“What do you want to say?”

“Why not tell them the truth? If we want their cooperation, they’re going to find out eventually.”

“Okay, but this is a Morse code-style transmission. Keep it short.”

“Fine. Prepare to copy. ‘This is the independent vessel Reckless Faith. We have a team below the prison attempting to extract an inmate. We do not want a fight. Requesting immediate parley, over’.”

“Transmission in progress. It will take a few seconds to complete.”

John leaned back in his chair. “Alright. Let’s hope they’re in a talkative mood.”

__________

“They’ve got a lot of nerve.”

On Sub-Level 2, Sergeant Scrivener and four of his team had just finished re-checking the decontamination chamber they had been through earlier, leaving two in the corridor to stand guard. Private Archer, having read the message received by the ship calling itself the Reckless Faith, stood ready to reply, if his boss had anything to say. Though they were eager to press on to the dining facility above, where two marines had secured themselves with a combination of small arms and proximity mines, a response seemed necessary.

“How do we know that these people aren’t responsible for massacring the prison population?” asked Corporal Hunter.

Scrivener grunted. “We don’t. But why bait us with a truce, if they could just come get us? Whoever slaughtered Inferno obviously had no problem with the guards.”

“Yeah, but they only had sidearms, and we’ve got a battalion’s-worth of firepower.”

“Considering the totality of circumstances, I think it’s more likely that they’re allied with the team that preceded us and is allegedly somewhere further below. Before the Bidelman left orbit, Hadar mentioned the possibility of cloaked ships nearby. If they have a team below us, then they know they can’t extract them without running into us. Hence the request for a parley.”

“It was speculated that the automated turret fired on a cloaked ship.”

“Exactly. And, since the departure of the Bidelman, anyone else could have landed a team and massacred the prison, even the mythical Gray Men. If true, they’re probably after the Kira’To as well.”

Archer said, “So we should ask the Reckless Faith the name of the prisoner they’re trying to rescue. There was one other unaccounted for after the count.”

“I agree. Send the message.”

“Wait,” began Hunter. “Respectfully, sir, if it’s Kheiron, then even if we work together then we’re just going to end up arguing over custody.”

“They can have him. Our orders were to find the Kira’To, and return it to the Bidelman. Except the Bidelman’s not here anymore. Alnair doesn’t have cloaking technology, which means that if they truly mean to retrieve him alive, the Reckless Faith is going to transport him out of our solar system and back to wherever they came from. I’d be satisfied reporting that result back to Commander Hadar. If this new unknown force kills all of us, then the mission fails. So, working together is our best bet. Hell, they may even be willing to give us a ride home. I don’t see that we have any choice but to open up a dialogue and hope they’re telling the truth. Private Archer, proceed.”

Archer nodded. “Roger. Message sent.”

“Thank you.”

After a few seconds, Archer spoke again. “Chason Talyn.”

“The other missing prisoner,” said Hunter. “I’ve still got the dossiers on my PDA; do you want me to look him up?”

“Sure,” said Scrivener.

“Let’s see… accused of murdering an Alnairian, pled not guilty, was convicted anyway, sentenced to life in prison here at Inferno, appealed to Alnair, appealed to… well, everybody. Denied, denied, denied. Sheesh. This guy really believed he was innocent.”

“Is there any indication of who might have the resources to spring him?”

“There are notes from the warden regarding extensive correspondence with Talyn’s sister, Wega. The letters themselves aren’t here, but Cooper knew their contents. Is that even legal?”

“I don’t care. What’s the gist?”

“Just that Cooper believed that Wega would never give up on Chason. In her last letter, she said ‘Keep your hope alive, dear brother. I’m calling in an old debt.’ Nothing more.”

“So she might have had the resources to hire freelancers. Good job, Corporal. Archer, prepare to copy.”

“Go ahead, Master,” said the private.

“Reckless Faith. Send one to parley, Sub-Level Three, collider control room. We will send one, over.”

“Got it. Give me a minute.”

“You intend to go alone?” asked Hunter.

“Fuck no,” spat Scrivener. “Nor do I expect our friends to send one to meet me. I’ll go alone into the control room, but I’ll need two escorts down there. The rest of you will meet up with Courier and Clerk and bolster their position.”

“We’re already spread pretty thin. Are you sure?”

“That still leaves four in here. If you’re worried about it, set up some M57s. Allying with the team from the Faith could be our only hope.”

“You’re the…”

The sharp report of rifle fire echoed through the door to the hallway. With a practiced snap, everyone inside raised their weapons. Scrivener reached over with his left hand and keyed his radio.

“Miner, Bowyer, report!”

There was no reply, and silence returned. Slowly, and creaking on its hinges, the heavy pressure door swung open, revealing nothing but darkness. A quick check of his troops showed Scrivener that PFC Sawyer was the only one still wearing his helmet. He thrust his elbow in the younger man’s direction.

“Private, go to IR.”

“The floor and bulkhead have been, uh, painted,” came the stunted reply.

In an instant, fast-moving figures, blurred by movement, began to stream through the open doorway. With no time to react, Sawyer and Archer were cut down as black shadows flicked past them. Arterial blood hit the wall and ceiling at the same time as the remaining three marines opened fire. Scrivener backpedaled toward the far wall, aiming and firing with what would have normally been surgical precision, but this time his shots seemed to pass through his targets without effect. In the moment after his rifle ran dry, which seemed to last an eternity, he dropped it, drew his pistol, and sucked in a deep breath in preparation for a deep, defiant scream.

Just before he could shout, the figures stopped moving. In the stark fluorescent lights from above, he could see three Kau’Rii, clad in clothing that seemed impossibly black. From behind the clear and steady sight picture of his sidearm, the one closest to him lowered its long knife, and twisted its face into a sick grin. All of Scrivener’s men were dead or bleeding on the deck. Though his ears were ringing, he could hear the lead figure speak.

“Where is the Kira’To?” it asked with a raspy, androgynous voice.

Scrivener put his left hand in his pocket, finding the remote detonator to the mines that Archer and Hunter carried. “Up my ass, Tenchiik. Come and get it.”

__________

Ray, Christie, Mike, Chason, and the golems of Evangeline and Richter, had never seen an Alnairian marine before. When one stumbled into the particle collider control room, and collapsed at their feet, their only clue that it was one of the men they were expecting was that the stranger didn’t immediately try to kill them. Instead, they were met with a man in blood-soaked and tattered combat armor, grasping a pistol with the last vestige of his strength, and wearing the expression of someone who had just clambered out of the depths of Hell itself. By then familiar with Alnairian military ranks, they could see he was wearing the chevrons and rockers of an E7, a Master Sergeant.

Mike and Richter quickly secured the door behind him while the others attended to him. It was initially impossible to discern his own wounds from the ichor that caked his armor, so Christie and Evangeline set to work to strip him down. Though he groaned, the man didn’t put up any resistance.

“Are you the envoy from the Bidelman?” asked Ray.

“Scrivener,” was all he could manage.

The women unstrapped straps and unbuckled buckles, eventually freeing Scrivener from his armor and accoutrements. He was suffering from lacerations to all of his extremities, including a nasty gash across his cheek. Christie and Eva retrieved both field dressings and dermaplasts from their kits, and applied them as most appropriate for the severity of each wound.

“What the hell happened?” asked Richter.

Scrivener whispered, “Tenchiik.”

Everyone but Mike blanched upon hearing that name.

“Are you sure?” asked Eva.

“Kau’Rii assassins with blades, wearing black. Too… fast to shoot.”

“You’ve dealt with them before?” asked Ray.

“No. Legends. Myth. But what else…”

Scrivener’s eyes rolled back in his head, and he stopped responding.

“His injuries are consistent with a vibro-blade,” said Christie. “Who’s got the IV rig?”

“Me,” replied Mike.

Over the next few minutes, Mike, Christie, and Eva worked on getting some fluids into Scrivener, and checked to make sure the bandages were holding up.

Eva said, “We’re going to have to work up a phenotype for him and check to see if any of us are compatible donors, or he’s toast.”

“It’s more complicated than that,” countered Christie. “We know nothing about the composition of Alnairian blood. A phenotype or genotype test could reveal the wrong information, or nothing at all.”

“Then we’re looking at an evac,” said Ray. “I say we gather up all the computers and documentation from the labs and get the fuck out.”

“We’ve already read most of it,” said Eva. “We just haven’t had time to analyze it.”

Richter said, “If there really are Tenchiik running around in here, we should focus on linking up with any remaining marines first. Also, with the Bidelman gone, and regardless of the mystery ship, I think it’s time for the Faith to come get us. The Percheron and the Tondelayo should be able to defend our positions against a single ship.”

“We should also get the Fox back here, assuming they’re not in the middle of something important on Alnair.”

John’s voice could be heard over the radio. “I agree. We should be able to make short work of any plasma turrets on the surface, now that we’re not concerned about stealth. Give us a few minutes to coordinate and we’ll head down.”

“Roger that,” replied Ray. “Hopefully you won’t have any problem hacking the airlock controls either. Also, stand by for a second, we’re going to see if there are any marines still alive. If so, we’ll let them know you’re coming.”

Christie held up a PDA. “This is Scrivener’s. I’ve already found the communications program. The frequency to his people on the ground is still dialed in.”

“Perfect. Go ahead and try to make contact.”

She nodded, then pressed a key on the device. “Alnairian marines, this is the team in Inferno from the Reckless Faith. Master Sergeant Scrivener has been critically wounded. I know you might not trust this message, but at the very least you can see that I’m using his PDA. If there’s anyone left alive, the important thing is that you know that our host ship is coming to get us. It would be convenient if you could hold your fire if you see any humanoids coming through the airlock. Over.”

Eva said, “It seems that Kheiron is going to slip away during all of this.”

“If he’s even still on the planet,” said Ray.

“I’m getting a reply, text only,” began Christie. “To read it requires an authorization code, which I assume Scrivener knows.”

Mike looked up from the sergeant’s battered body. “He’s definitely not regaining consciousness anytime soon.”

“Can you crack it?” asked Richter.

Christie shrugged. “Eventually. The problem is that there’s doubtlessly some sort of failsafe present here. Enter the wrong code three times, and it locks the device, something like that. It would take time.”

“Can you tell if it was transmitted locally, or through the satellite in orbit?”

“Locally.”

“Then we can presume there’s at least one marine still alive down here. If they don’t want to talk, then we’re going to have to double-check our targets on the way back to the prison, and hope they do the same. Let’s choose a litter team and get moving.”

“Hold on, there’s another text coming through, this time it’s in-the-clear. It says, ‘dawn’.”

“Dawn?” asked Mike.

“It’s a challenge word,” said Richter. “Try ‘dusk’.”

“Isn’t that a little too obvious?” asked Ray. “And why try a challenge word so soon after asking for a code?”

“Good point. It could also be an opportunity for a duress word. If, say, Scrivener was conscious but being held by hostile forces.”

“Why risk it, then? If we get it wrong, they’ll be more likely to shoot at anything that moves, furry face or not.”

“I agree,” said Christie. “I’m going to reply back that they’re just going to have to trust…”

She trailed off and looked at the ceiling. In the same moment, Eva and Richter went limp and hit the floor, their weapons and equipment scattering in all directions. Mike managed to dodge both the bodies and their accoutrements and keep the IV bag from being knocked out of his hand.

“What the fuck just happened?” Mike asked, astonished.

Christie seemed confused, then looked at him. “I just switched to autonomous mode. I think we lost the signal from our ships.”

Chason gestured at the motionless androids. “They don’t have autonomous mode?”

“We’re still working on it.” She examined her PDA, as well as Scrivener’s. “Yup, we’re completely blacked out down here.”

Ray said, “The Faith is on her way. We’re going to have to try to hold this position until they get here.”

“I don’t think this Scrivener guy is going to make it,” said Mike.

“Hope for a miracle, then. For him, and for us.”

Continue reading: https://devonai.wordpress.com/2024/02/22/the-wolf-and-the-centaur-rfviii-chapter-13/

The Wolf and the Centaur (RFVIII), Chapter 12

Spoiler alert: This is the beginning of the 8th book in the Reckless Faith series. You may read the prologue here: https://devonai.wordpress.com/2023/10/31/reckless-faith-viii-prologue/

“You have no idea where you want to go?”

In the cargo hold of the Reckless Faith, John and Kyrie stood with Secretary Tailor as the Alnairian tried out one of the bunk beds, the man sinking deeply into its springs. The extraction of Tailor from Alnair by the Faith had been accomplished without a problem, and while the Fox and its crew remained on the surface for further research, the Faith had returned to Tartarus. John and Kyrie had just finished debriefing Tailor, hearing a story that matched what he had told Vecky, Cane, and Sam. Meanwhile, Agena and the Tondelayo had returned to the Percheron, having lost visual contact with the unknown shuttle very soon after entering the atmosphere. Though unable to track it with scanners, its destination seemed obvious.

Everyone was aware that time was of the essence, but John wanted a chance to talk to Tailor before the allies decided their next move. Their team in the old facility had found two laboratories on Sub-Level Four, each crammed to the rafters with interesting documents and items, and were busy searching for whatever secrets they might hold. With the departure of the Bidelman, and the possible involvement of the so-called Gray Men, John was rightfully concerned about the well-being of his people on the surface, but not quite ready to attempt an evacuation.

Tailor responded to John’s question. “I’ve spent my whole life on Alnair. I only know a little bit about other worlds. I’ve heard good things about Secundus. It doesn’t really matter if I’m going to be homeless and broke.”

“You won’t need to worry about money,” began John. “We can replicate whatever precious metal you think you’ll need. After that, you’re on your own. Otherwise, we’d be happy to deposit you back where we found you.”

Kyrie looked at John. “It could be instructive. If the Gray Men really exist, we might be able to flush them out using Mister Secretary here as bait.”

Tailor stood up, not without some effort. “I can see you’re joking, but even still, I’ve cast my lots. How soon can you have me out of here?”

“You’ll have to wait until we have some kind of resolution with the situation on the surface,” said John. “You’ll be safe here until then. After that; well, our top speed is 1.5 million c, so we can have you anywhere within five hundred light-years in a matter of hours.”

“That claim is laughable.”

“Believe me, don’t believe me, I don’t care. Trust us, or take your chances elsewhere. Now if there’s nothing else you need, we have mission to complete.”

Tailor blushed. “I’ll… I’ll need a bigger bed.”

“We’ll replicate a larger bunk for you. Ari, are you listening?”

“Of course,” said Ari’s voice.

“See if you can fabricate a double-wide bunk for our guest. Forty-eight inches should suffice.”

“Brain the size of a planet, and…”

“Just do it, Marvin. It’s not all cocaine and hookers, you know.”

John and Kyrie exited to the corridor. They entered the cargo bay, and took the stairs to the armory. Passing through that chamber, they next went into the orb room. There, they found Richter and Evangeline still connected to the orb, both with their right hands pressed against the translucent sphere, and with a blank expression on their faces.

“What if they need to use the bathroom?” asked Kyrie.

“They can disconnect themselves anytime they want,” replied John. “If they’re in the middle of something, they can always soil themselves.”

Kyrie stifled a laugh. “Geez. I suppose you’re right. Did we pack any adult diapers?”

“I don’t think so. Regardless, I’d never let them live that down.”

“Oh, I’d never let Richter hear the end of it.”

Moving on, the pair passed through the galley, up the stairs there, and through the lounge area and the conference room to the bridge. Milena sat in the pilot chair, as usual, and Ari, in her android body, manned the systems console.

“Status?” asked John.

“Still no sign of the shuttle that was launched,” replied Ari. “Either they’re still down there, or it managed to return to its host ship without us spotting it.”

John sat in the nearest chair. “What about that transponder satellite?”

“We’ve cracked its encryption. It’s transmitting the equivalent of Alnairian Morse code. Since we’ve been listening, we haven’t heard anything other than a request from the surface for an update. The reply was ‘continue mission, out.’ Other than that, there’s just a ping every few seconds to maintain contact.”

“Hail the Percheron.”

“You’re live.”

“Colonel Dietrich, this is Commander Scherer, over.”

“I hear you,” said Dietrich’s voice. “What do you want to do?”

“You’re up to speed on the situation with the satellite that the Bidelman left behind?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Let’s review what we know so far. Commander Hadar claimed that a crack squad of marines is down there. We have no reason to believe that was a bluff, and the transmissions from the satellite seem to confirm it. As for the mystery ship currently in orbit, and the shuttle it launched, we should assume that it’s a third party with their own agenda. Therefore, I suggest that we hack into the satellite, and attempt to contact the Alnairian marines directly. I don’t think we can maintain a posture of total secrecy anymore, and I’m guessing that a violent confrontation with our team in Inferno is inevitable if we don’t try to intervene.”

“All of that sounds reasonable, Commander. We’ve got all of our sensors running at full blast as usual, and we stand ready to back you up. I would only request that you keep your contact attempts live on the shared channel, so we’re listening in real time on our end.”

“Of course. Ferro, make it happen. Reckless Faith out.”

“I got you,” said Ari. “Any communications through the satellite will be shared with the Percheron. As for the marines, I’m already ready to try to send them a message. The signal is strong enough for either audio or a Morse code message, whichever you’d care to try first.”

“Let’s do the latter, it might be less jarring.”

“What do you want to say?”

“Why not tell them the truth? If we want their cooperation, they’re going to find out eventually.”

“Okay, but this is a Morse code-style transmission. Keep it short.”

“Fine. Prepare to copy. ‘This is the independent vessel Reckless Faith. We have a team below the prison attempting to extract an inmate. We do not want a fight. Requesting immediate parley, over’.”

“Transmission in progress. It will take a few seconds to complete.”

John leaned back in his chair. “Alright. Let’s hope they’re in a talkative mood.”

__________

“They’ve got a lot of nerve.”

On Sub-Level 2, Sergeant Scrivener and four of his team had just finished re-checking the decontamination chamber they had been through earlier, leaving two in the corridor to stand guard. Private Archer, having read the message received by the ship calling itself the Reckless Faith, stood ready to reply, if his boss had anything to say. Though they were eager to press on to the dining facility above, where two marines had secured themselves with a combination of small arms and proximity mines, a response seemed necessary.

“How do we know that these people aren’t responsible for massacring the prison population?” asked Corporal Hunter.

Scrivener grunted. “We don’t. But why bait us with a truce, if they could just come get us? Whoever slaughtered Inferno obviously had no problem with the guards.”

“Yeah, but they only had sidearms, and we’ve got a battalion’s-worth of firepower.”

“Considering the totality of circumstances, I think it’s more likely that they’re allied with the team that preceded us and is allegedly somewhere further below. Before the Bidelman left orbit, Hadar mentioned the possibility of cloaked ships nearby. If they have a team below us, then they know they can’t extract them without running into us. Hence the request for a parley.”

“It was speculated that the automated turret fired on a cloaked ship.”

“Exactly. And, since the departure of the Bidelman, anyone else could have landed a team and massacred the prison, even the mythical Gray Men. If true, they’re probably after the Kira’To as well.”

Archer said, “So we should ask the Reckless Faith the name of the prisoner they’re trying to rescue. There was one other unaccounted for after the count.”

“I agree. Send the message.”

“Wait,” began Hunter. “Respectfully, sir, if it’s Kheiron, then even if we work together then we’re just going to end up arguing over custody.”

“They can have him. Our orders were to find the Kira’To, and return it to the Bidelman. Except the Bidelman’s not here anymore. Alnair doesn’t have cloaking technology, which means that if they truly mean to retrieve him alive, the Reckless Faith is going to transport him out of our solar system and back to wherever they came from. I’d be satisfied reporting that result back to Commander Hadar. If this new unknown force kills all of us, then the mission fails. So, working together is our best bet. Hell, they may even be willing to give us a ride home. I don’t see that we have any choice but to open up a dialogue and hope they’re telling the truth. Private Archer, proceed.”

Archer nodded. “Roger. Message sent.”

“Thank you.”

After a few seconds, Archer spoke again. “Chason Talyn.”

“The other missing prisoner,” said Hunter. “I’ve still got the dossiers on my PDA; do you want me to look him up?”

“Sure,” said Scrivener.

“Let’s see… accused of murdering an Alnairian, pled not guilty, was convicted anyway, sentenced to life in prison here at Inferno, appealed to Alnair, appealed to… well, everybody. Denied, denied, denied. Sheesh. This guy really believed he was innocent.”

“Is there any indication of who might have the resources to spring him?”

“There are notes from the warden regarding extensive correspondence with Talyn’s sister, Wega. The letters themselves aren’t here, but Cooper knew their contents. Is that even legal?”

“I don’t care. What’s the gist?”

“Just that Cooper believed that Wega would never give up on Chason. In her last letter, she said ‘Keep your hope alive, dear brother. I’m calling in an old debt.’ Nothing more.”

“So she might have had the resources to hire freelancers. Good job, Corporal. Archer, prepare to copy.”

“Go ahead, Master,” said the private.

“Reckless Faith. Send one to parley, Sub-Level Three, collider control room. We will send one, over.”

“Got it. Give me a minute.”

“You intend to go alone?” asked Hunter.

“Fuck no,” spat Scrivener. “Nor do I expect our friends to send one to meet me. I’ll go alone into the control room, but I’ll need two escorts down there. The rest of you will meet up with Courier and Clerk and bolster their position.”

“We’re already spread pretty thin. Are you sure?”

“That still leaves four in here. If you’re worried about it, set up some M57s. Allying with the team from the Faith could be our only hope.”

“You’re the…”

The sharp report of rifle fire echoed through the door to the hallway. With a practiced snap, everyone inside raised their weapons. Scrivener reached over with his left hand and keyed his radio.

“Miner, Bowyer, report!”

There was no reply, and silence returned. Slowly, and creaking on its hinges, the heavy pressure door swung open, revealing nothing but darkness. A quick check of his troops showed Scrivener that PFC Sawyer was the only one still wearing his helmet. He thrust his elbow in the younger man’s direction.

“Private, go to IR.”

“The floor and bulkhead have been, uh, painted,” came the stunted reply.

In an instant, fast-moving figures, blurred by movement, began to stream through the open doorway. With no time to react, Sawyer and Archer were cut down as black shadows flicked past them. Arterial blood hit the wall and ceiling at the same time as the remaining three marines opened fire. Scrivener backpedaled toward the far wall, aiming and firing with what would have normally been surgical precision, but this time his shots seemed to pass through his targets without effect. In the moment after his rifle ran dry, which seemed to last an eternity, he dropped it, drew his pistol, and sucked in a deep breath in preparation for a deep, defiant scream.

Just before he could shout, the figures stopped moving. In the stark fluorescent lights from above, he could see three Kau’Rii, clad in clothing that seemed impossibly black. From behind the clear and steady sight picture of his sidearm, the one closest to him lowered its long knife, and twisted its face into a sick grin. All of Scrivener’s men were dead or bleeding on the deck. Though his ears were ringing, he could hear the lead figure speak.

“Where is the Kira’To?” it asked with a raspy, androgynous voice.

Scrivener put his left hand in his pocket, finding the remote detonator to the mines that Archer and Hunter carried. “Up my ass, Tenchiik. Come and get it.”

__________

Ray, Christie, Mike, Chason, and the golems of Evangeline and Richter, had never seen an Alnairian marine before. When one stumbled into the particle collider control room, and collapsed at their feet, their only clue that it was one of the men they were expecting was that the stranger didn’t immediately try to kill them. Instead, they were met with a man in blood-soaked and tattered combat armor, grasping a pistol with the last vestige of his strength, and wearing the expression of someone who had just clambered out of the depths of Hell itself. By then familiar with Alnairian military ranks, they could see he was wearing the chevrons and rockers of an E7, a Master Sergeant.

Mike and Richter quickly secured the door behind him while the others attended to him. It was initially impossible to discern his own wounds from the ichor that caked his armor, so Christie and Evangeline set to work to strip him down. Though he groaned, the man didn’t put up any resistance.

“Are you the envoy from the Bidelman?” asked Ray.

“Scrivener,” was all he could manage.

The women unstrapped straps and unbuckled buckles, eventually freeing Scrivener from his armor and accoutrements. He was suffering from lacerations to all of his extremities, including a nasty gash across his cheek. Christie and Eva retrieved both field dressings and dermaplasts from their kits, and applied them as most appropriate for the severity of each wound.

“What the hell happened?” asked Richter.

Scrivener whispered, “Tenchiik.”

Everyone but Mike blanched upon hearing that name.

“Are you sure?” asked Eva.

“Kau’Rii assassins with blades, wearing black. Too… fast to shoot.”

“You’ve dealt with them before?” asked Ray.

“No. Legends. Myth. But what else…”

Scrivener’s eyes rolled back in his head, and he stopped responding.

“His injuries are consistent with a vibro-blade,” said Christie. “Who’s got the IV rig?”

“Me,” replied Mike.

Over the next few minutes, Mike, Christie, and Eva worked on getting some fluids into Scrivener, and checked to make sure the bandages were holding up.

Eva said, “We’re going to have to work up a phenotype for him and check to see if any of us are compatible donors, or he’s toast.”

“It’s more complicated than that,” countered Christie. “We know nothing about the composition of Alnairian blood. A phenotype or genotype test could reveal the wrong information, or nothing at all.”

“Then we’re looking at an evac,” said Ray. “I say we gather up all the computers and documentation from the labs and get the fuck out.”

“We’ve already read most of it,” said Eva. “We just haven’t had time to analyze it.”

Richter said, “If there really are Tenchiik running around in here, we should focus on linking up with any remaining marines first. Also, with the Bidelman gone, and regardless of the mystery ship, I think it’s time for the Faith to come get us. The Percheron and the Tondelayo should be able to defend our positions against a single ship.”

“We should also get the Fox back here, assuming they’re not in the middle of something important on Alnair.”

John’s voice could be heard over the radio. “I agree. We should be able to make short work of any plasma turrets on the surface, now that we’re not concerned about stealth. Give us a few minutes to coordinate and we’ll head down.”

“Roger that,” replied Ray. “Hopefully you won’t have any problem hacking the airlock controls either. Also, stand by for a second, we’re going to see if there are any marines still alive. If so, we’ll let them know you’re coming.”

Christie held up a PDA. “This is Scrivener’s. I’ve already found the communications program. The frequency to his people on the ground is still dialed in.”

“Perfect. Go ahead and try to make contact.”

She nodded, then pressed a key on the device. “Alnairian marines, this is the team in Inferno from the Reckless Faith. Master Sergeant Scrivener has been critically wounded. I know you might not trust this message, but at the very least you can see that I’m using his PDA. If there’s anyone left alive, the important thing is that you know that our host ship is coming to get us. It would be convenient if you could hold your fire if you see any humanoids coming through the airlock. Over.”

Eva said, “It seems that Kheiron is going to slip away during all of this.”

“If he’s even still on the planet,” said Ray.

“I’m getting a reply, text only,” began Christie. “To read it requires an authorization code, which I assume Scrivener knows.”

Mike looked up from the sergeant’s battered body. “He’s definitely not regaining consciousness anytime soon.”

“Can you crack it?” asked Richter.

Christie shrugged. “Eventually. The problem is that there’s doubtlessly some sort of failsafe present here. Enter the wrong code three times, and it locks the device, something like that. It would take time.”

“Can you tell if it was transmitted locally, or through the satellite in orbit?”

“Locally.”

“Then we can presume there’s at least one marine still alive down here. If they don’t want to talk, then we’re going to have to double-check our targets on the way back to the prison, and hope they do the same. Let’s choose a litter team and get moving.”

“Hold on, there’s another text coming through, this time it’s in-the-clear. It says, ‘dawn’.”

“Dawn?” asked Mike.

“It’s a challenge word,” said Richter. “Try ‘dusk’.”

“Isn’t that a little too obvious?” asked Ray. “And why try a challenge word so soon after asking for a code?”

“Good point. It could also be an opportunity for a duress word. If, say, Scrivener was conscious but being held by hostile forces.”

“Why risk it, then? If we get it wrong, they’ll be more likely to shoot at anything that moves, furry face or not.”

“I agree,” said Christie. “I’m going to reply back that they’re just going to have to trust…”

She trailed off and looked at the ceiling. In the same moment, Eva and Richter went limp and hit the floor, their weapons and equipment scattering in all directions. Mike managed to dodge both the bodies and their accoutrements and keep the IV bag from being knocked out of his hand.

“What the fuck just happened?” Mike asked, astonished.

Christie seemed confused, then looked at him. “I just switched to autonomous mode. I think we lost the signal from our ships.”

Chason gestured at the motionless androids. “They don’t have autonomous mode?”

“We’re still working on it.” She examined her PDA, as well as Scrivener’s. “Yup, we’re completely blacked out down here.”

Ray said, “The Faith is on her way. We’re going to have to try to hold this position until they get here.”

“I don’t think this Scrivener guy is going to make it,” said Mike.

“Hope for a miracle, then. For him, and for us.”

Legacy of the Centaur (RFVIII), Chapter 11

Spoiler alert: This is the beginning of the 8th book in the Reckless Faith series. You may read the prologue here: https://devonai.wordpress.com/2023/10/31/reckless-faith-viii-prologue/

Major Maya Sakura sat toward the back of the bridge of the Percheron, electing as usual to be a passive observer to whatever Colonel Dietrich and her original battle-hardened crew were doing. The trip to Zeta Centauri was her first mission with the ship and, so far, it had proved to be positively pedestrian in comparison to what the Percheron had gone through before. Despite all of that, Maya was on the edge of her seat, even as the ship made another countless revolution around Alnair II without anything new happening. She had easily made friends with Mike Mungavin in the few months since joining the crew, and it was stressful enough knowing that he was down on the surface with precious few allies to watch his back.

Maya was a replacement for Doctor Ogden, and like him, she had been given the rank of major in order to assure a seat at the captain’s table whenever senior staff were called. It did not reflect any standing of hers in the Japan Aerospace Exploration Agency, from which she had come, but she appreciated the privileges it afforded her on the Percheron. Though as a flight surgeon for JAXA, with enough experience to fulfil her role, the manner and circumstances surrounding Ogden’s death were never far from her mind. Still, the apparent low-key nature of their current mission paled in comparison to other challenges the crews of the Percheron and Reckless Faith had faced in the past year.

Listening to radio chatter and conversations on the bridge, Maya was up to speed on how the mission was progressing. The Faith had just departed for Alnair III to retrieve the defense secretary. The ADF Bidelman had also just broken orbit, and gone to FTL along a vector that would bring it back to its home planet. This coincided with what Tailor had told the crew of the Fox, and had the Percheron on high alert. Maya hoped the Faith would return soon, as it seemed anything could happen now.

The reason for Maya’s passiveness, other than as a personality trait, was that she was far from fluent in English. She relied heavily on the translation software loaded into a small device she wore in her left ear to understand the rest of the crew. Likewise, anything they said to her was translated into Japanese. There was a split-second delay, which despite weeks of practice, was difficult to ignore. Christie Tolliver had offered to teach her English instantly, by way of merging her mind with the orb, but Maya found anything having to do with the orb unsettling. The casualness with which most members of both ships shared their minds with a computer was something she still didn’t understand. Perhaps to them, knowledge or enhanced abilities was more important than privacy.

A scintillating point of light began to cross the main screen, becoming slightly less bright when it began to transit the surface of Tartarus. After a few seconds, it seemed no one else on the bridge was going to notice it, and the sensors were quiet, so Maya cleared her throat and spoke.

“What do you suppose that point of light is?” she asked, pointing at the screen.

“Huh?” Lieutenant Brockway responded. “Oh, I don’t know. Nothing’s showing up on the scanners. Maybe a piece of space debris?”

“Magnify, factor one hundred,” said Colonel Dietrich.

The image zoomed in, revealing a ship. It was a simple cylinder in shape, a flat gray in color, with rows of windows along the side that seemed to delineate five decks. Toward the aft were slight circular protrusions where one would expect to find engines or propulsion components.

“The NDSS is showing very small perturbations in the EM spectrum. It’s below the threshold of our minimum alert settings, that’s why nothing was tripped. The ship appears to be cloaked in every way except the visual spectrum. The configuration is a match for a Res-ZorCon freighter, five decks, two hundred and twenty-five meters in length. In fact, it’s the same make and model as the Almagest, if you remember it from the mission logs.”

“The Almagest was destroyed at Freedmen Colony,” said Dietrich.

“Correct. However, I’m sure the Residerian-Z’Sorth Conglomerate manufactured quite a few of these freighters. Should we try hailing it?”

Dietrich shook her head. “No, not until the Faith returns.

“They’re launching a shuttle.”

On the screen, the bridge crew watched as a much smaller vessel emerged from its host and headed toward the atmosphere.

“If they’re doing that, they probably can’t detect us.”

“Either that or they don’t see us as a threat,” replied Lieutenant Haverbrook.

Dietrich shrugged. “I think the former is far more likely. Alert our people in Inferno, and tell the Faith to get back here, double-time. Lieutenant Agena, this is the captain, respond.”

A new voice could be heard over the intercom. “Agena here, ma’am.”

“Prepare the Tondelayo for launch, then stand by for orders.”

“Good copy, Colonel. We’ll be ready in five minutes.”

Brockway looked over her shoulder at Dietrich. “You want to deploy the Warhawk?”

Dietrich nodded. “We need eyes on that shuttle, and we can’t wait for the Faith to get here, reach a quorum, and act. So I want Agena down there to see what these mystery visitors are up to. Make sense, Lieutenant?”

“Of course, I just…”

“I know, we only have one Warhawk. I’ll instruct Agena to use caution.”

“Fuckin’ jealous,” said Haverbrook.

“Watch yourself, Lieutenant Haverbrook. We both know Agena has a lot more time in a Warhawk than you. Besides, nobody can make the Percheron purr like you.”

“That’s a mixed metaphor, considering a Percheron is a horse,” said Brockway.

“Neigh then? I don’t know, the point stands. I don’t like being left out of the action any more than you do, but we all have our roles. Let’s just hope these strangers don’t have an armada waiting to arrive.”

__________

“The Bidelman has abandoned us.”

Far below the surface of Tartarus, in a control room for what had been identified as a massive particle collider, Sergeant Scrivener and his squad of marines were shocked to hear what Private Archer had just said. Having lost contact with their host ship, Archer, their communications expert, had spent almost half an hour trying to reestablish a signal. Despite what he had said earlier, Scrivener had lost patience with waiting around, and he and his men had proceeded further into the catacombs of Inferno. They continued to find evidence of a recent incursion there, including fresh crumbs from someone’s meal in the control room. Malthus was as surprised as any of them to see such advanced technology below the prison, and they were all intensely curious as to why it had been abandoned. After sending three marines to explore the rest of the level, Scrivener looked to his remaining men for help.

With all other measures failing, Archer had defaulted to scanning for ULF signals, a strategy unknown to him until Scrivener had shown him the relevant regulation on his PDA. They were at first delighted to hear the faint, electronic pings that came through, and Archer had set to work decoding them from pulses into words. None of them liked the summary of the message that Archer had just offered, and Scrivener all but yanked the private’s PDA out of his hands. The sergeant’s eyes flashed over the message.

“This can’t be right,” he said.

“The translation program is older than I am,” replied Archer. “You’re more than welcome to translate it yourself. With all due respect, I mean.”

Scrivener was no more capable of interpreting the message than the program Archer had used, so he was forced to accept the results. Silently handing the PDA back to his subordinate, he took a moment to stare at the dark corridor beyond the control room windows, and a minute later, he made a decision.

“Marines, it’s true, the Bidelman has withdrawn to Alnair Prime. This changes nothing for us. We’re still at one hundred percent capacity, so it makes no sense to abandon our mission now. The Bidelman left an orbital transponder for us. If we find this cursed Kira’To, and take custody of it, then I’ll contact Commander Hadar and tell him. I can’t conceive of a scenario where Hadar, who is a man of his word, would leave us to starve down here. Or worse.”

“You know we’re with you, no matter what,” said Hunter.

The other marines returned from exploring the level. They briefed Scrivener on the room full of cyclotrons they had found, the explosives that had been placed on them, and the ones that had been destroyed.

“I’m not usually one for conspiracy theories,” began Archer, “but the totality of our situation is awfully suspicious.”

Scrivener nodded grimly. “I have to agree, Private. Never in my career could I have imagined this. There are sinister powers at work here, and we seem to be the unwitting victims of them. But we’re still marines and we have a job to do. Whoever is responsible for this has made a big mistake if they think we’re going to give up and die down here. Oofah?”

“OOFAH,” everyone emphatically chimed.

Sergeant Clerk said, “We haven’t talked about who has come before us. I mean, the evidence we’ve found of a recent intrusion.”

“Do the Kira’To even eat regular food?” asked Hunter.

“Who the fuck knows?” uttered Scrivener. “At this point we can’t assume we’re after a Kira’To. It could be a regular flesh-and-blood prisoner, or another group entirely. With the technology we’ve found, we can’t rule out the involvement of alien forces.”

“How would people from another planet have even found out about this place?” asked Archer.

“There’s at least a thousand years of galactic history surrounding Alnair. We’re mere infants compared to it. Anything is possible.”

“Let’s think through this,” said Clerk. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Master, but this is the first time Fleet marines have been deployed off-world.”

“That’s right. We’re making history here, if that makes you feel any better.”

“With all due respect, that’s not my point. You said yourself that Inferno normally falls under civilian authority. We shouldn’t be here at all, let alone girded for war. I think that everyone, all the way up to the president, only found out that there’s a Kira’To here recently. How else would everything remain status quo for so long without anyone being concerned about Kheiron? That revelation, along with an incursion by another alien force, must have triggered a response from the Gray Men. It’s the only logical conclusion.”

Scrivener scoffed. “The Gray Men are a fairy tale.”

“After everything that’s happened today, how can you be so sure? Commander Hadar is no pushover, and I suspect that deploying an orbital ULF transponder wasn’t authorized, but instead, done as a last resort versus outright abandoning us.”

“I’m not one to shy away from a fight,” began Hunter, “but it seems to me that the best course of action is to return to the prison and see if the warden has received additional instructions. If keeping the secrets of Tartarus is the goal of Alnair, whether it be that of the president or the Gray Men, then the fate of the prison, and its inmates, would be part of it.”

“Corporal Hunter is right,” said Scrivener. “Still, in order to fulfill our original orders, I’m only going to send two of you, and Brewer, back. The rest of us will continue our mission below. Clerk, choose somebody to go with you. Find out what’s going on in the prison, and report back immediately.”

Clerk nodded. “Private Courier, you’re with me.”

“Shit’s fucked,” said Courier, standing.

“Excuse me?”

“I meant, oofah, Sergeant.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“Why me?” asked Malthus. “I’m better off staying with you.”

“Because at this point,” began Scrivener, “the more you learn about this place, the more your life may be forfeit in the eyes of whoever the hell is really in charge here. I’m giving you a chance to fade back into the prison population before it’s too late. Besides, I’m tired of babysitting you.”

“Promise me you’ll spare Talyn, if you find him.”

“We’re not murderers, asshole. Assuming he doesn’t jump out of a dark corner screaming ‘booga-booga,’ we’ll spare him. Now get moving, clock’s ticking.”

_____

Sergeant Clerk, Private Courier, and Malthus Brewer retraced their steps, ascending through the old facility beneath Inferno. It didn’t take long for the trio to return to the heavy metal door that led to the laundry room, and unsurprisingly, they found it to be locked from the other side. Courier scanned it with his PDA, then turned to the others.

“The locking mechanism is exactly one meter above the floor,” he said. “We’ll need a strip of sever cord to blow it from here. Either that, or a wrecking ball.”

“What about a well-placed bullet?” asked Clerk.

“I mean, you can try, if you want to waste ammo. Either choice is going to make one hell of a racket.”

“Brewer?”

Malthus raised his eyebrows. “What? I don’t know what you expect me to do. I don’t have a secret inmate radio shoved up my ass or something.”

“I’m just asking. Relax.”

Clerk unlimbered his rucksack, and retrieved a small pouch. Inside, he removed a coil of sevcord, and used a pair of shears to clip off about ten centimeters. Then, he placed one end into a remote detonator, and affixed it to the spot that Courier had indicated. They retreated around the nearest corner, and Clerk poked at his PDA to set up the explosion.

“Fire in the hole,” he said.

A deep thud followed, echoing down the corridor. Upon inspection, the door had been blown ajar by a few inches. Clerk and Courier moved into the laundry room, with Malthus right behind them. Immediately, the marines raised their rifles, and a moment later, Malthus saw what was bothering them. Three bodies lay sprawled out on the floor, so covered in blood that it was initially impossible to tell what had killed them. Spreading out, the marines took cover behind two washers on either side of the room. Malthus found himself next to Clerk. The sergeant drew a pistol, and handed it to him butt-first.

“You know how to use this?” Clerk asked.

“Basically,” Malthus squeaked.

“It was a yes-or-no question.”

“Yes, then.”

He handed him a spare magazine, then the pair of marines swiftly but carefully cleared the rest of the room. Malthus was tempted to check the bodies, which turned out to be inmates, but even if any were still alive, it didn’t look like there was anything the three of them could do. Despite their best efforts, they found it impossible to proceed to the central corridor without stepping in blood. Though Malthus retched, he managed to keep his lunch down.

Over the next thirty minutes, they explored the entire prison, save for a few administrative rooms they couldn’t get in. The results were grim; everyone was dead, prisoners and guards alike, killed by knives, swords, or some other sharp object. Most of the victims were found in the cell blocks. They found Warden Cooper in the dining facility, where he and several others had made a futile attempt to barricade the main doors. If not for the stoicism of his companions, Malthus would have been in a panic. At that point, Clerk got on his radio and informed Scrivener what had happened. Malthus listened in.

“What about the airlock?” Scrivener was saying.

“It’s functional,” replied Clerk. “If we ever get evac’ed, we can still use it.”

“Any idea how long ago this happened?”

“Not really. Judging by the blood dripping down the walls, not long.”

“You’d better get back here, Sergeant. Ask Brewer if he knows of another way into the old sections, other than the laundry room and ventilation tower.”

“I heard him,” said Malthus. “I do not.”

“And you’re sure that door was locked when you got there?”

“Absolutely,” said Clerk. “Unless Courier’s PDA malfunctioned.”

“Unlikely. Regardless, we have to assume that whoever did this got past you somehow, and are down here with us. So, we’re going to come to you. Find a defensible area and wait. How many M57s do you have?”

“Two.”

“Good. Set them up if you can, but for the love of the Core, keep ‘em on manual mode. I don’t want you to gib your own rescue team.”

“Roger that. Anything else?”

“We discovered a large, flooded cavern on Sub-Level Four. We were about to explore what Brewer said were laboratories before this happened. I’m not looking forward to clearing every area we already swept again, but we don’t have a choice. So, it’s going to take us a while to get to you. Hang tight.”

“Wilco. Clerk out.”

Continue reading: https://devonai.wordpress.com/2024/02/15/the-wolf-and-the-centaur-rfviii-chapter-12/

The Wolf and the Centaur (RFVIII), Chapter 11

Spoiler alert: This is the beginning of the 8th book in the Reckless Faith series. You may read the prologue here: https://devonai.wordpress.com/2023/10/31/reckless-faith-viii-prologue/

Major Maya Sakura sat toward the back of the bridge of the Percheron, electing as usual to be a passive observer to whatever Colonel Dietrich and her original battle-hardened crew were doing. The trip to Zeta Centauri was her first mission with the ship and, so far, it had proved to be positively pedestrian in comparison to what the Percheron had gone through before. Despite all of that, Maya was on the edge of her seat, even as the ship made another countless revolution around Alnair II without anything new happening. She had easily made friends with Mike Mungavin in the few months since joining the crew, and it was stressful enough knowing that he was down on the surface with precious few allies to watch his back.

Maya was a replacement for Doctor Ogden, and like him, she had been given the rank of major in order to assure a seat at the captain’s table whenever senior staff were called. It did not reflect any standing of hers in the Japan Aerospace Exploration Agency, from which she had come, but she appreciated the privileges it afforded her on the Percheron. Though as a flight surgeon for JAXA, with enough experience to fulfil her role, the manner and circumstances surrounding Ogden’s death were never far from her mind. Still, the apparent low-key nature of their current mission paled in comparison to other challenges the crews of the Percheron and Reckless Faith had faced in the past year.

Listening to radio chatter and conversations on the bridge, Maya was up to speed on how the mission was progressing. The Faith had just departed for Alnair III to retrieve the defense secretary. The ADF Bidelman had also just broken orbit, and gone to FTL along a vector that would bring it back to its home planet. This coincided with what Tailor had told the crew of the Fox, and had the Percheron on high alert. Maya hoped the Faith would return soon, as it seemed anything could happen now.

The reason for Maya’s passiveness, other than as a personality trait, was that she was far from fluent in English. She relied heavily on the translation software loaded into a small device she wore in her left ear to understand the rest of the crew. Likewise, anything they said to her was translated into Japanese. There was a split-second delay, which despite weeks of practice, was difficult to ignore. Christie Tolliver had offered to teach her English instantly, by way of merging her mind with the orb, but Maya found anything having to do with the orb unsettling. The casualness with which most members of both ships shared their minds with a computer was something she still didn’t understand. Perhaps to them, knowledge or enhanced abilities was more important than privacy.

A scintillating point of light began to cross the main screen, becoming slightly less bright when it began to transit the surface of Tartarus. After a few seconds, it seemed no one else on the bridge was going to notice it, and the sensors were quiet, so Maya cleared her throat and spoke.

“What do you suppose that point of light is?” she asked, pointing at the screen.

“Huh?” Lieutenant Brockway responded. “Oh, I don’t know. Nothing’s showing up on the scanners. Maybe a piece of space debris?”

“Magnify, factor one hundred,” said Colonel Dietrich.

The image zoomed in, revealing a ship. It was a simple cylinder in shape, a flat gray in color, with rows of windows along the side that seemed to delineate five decks. Toward the aft were slight circular protrusions where one would expect to find engines or propulsion components.

“The NDSS is showing very small perturbations in the EM spectrum. It’s below the threshold of our minimum alert settings, that’s why nothing was tripped. The ship appears to be cloaked in every way except the visual spectrum. The configuration is a match for a Res-ZorCon freighter, five decks, two hundred and twenty-five meters in length. In fact, it’s the same make and model as the Almagest, if you remember it from the mission logs.”

“The Almagest was destroyed at Freedmen Colony,” said Dietrich.

“Correct. However, I’m sure the Residerian-Z’Sorth Conglomerate manufactured quite a few of these freighters. Should we try hailing it?”

Dietrich shook her head. “No, not until the Faith returns.

“They’re launching a shuttle.”

On the screen, the bridge crew watched as a much smaller vessel emerged from its host and headed toward the atmosphere.

“If they’re doing that, they probably can’t detect us.”

“Either that or they don’t see us as a threat,” replied Lieutenant Haverbrook.

Dietrich shrugged. “I think the former is far more likely. Alert our people in Inferno, and tell the Faith to get back here, double-time. Lieutenant Agena, this is the captain, respond.”

A new voice could be heard over the intercom. “Agena here, ma’am.”

“Prepare the Tondelayo for launch, then stand by for orders.”

“Good copy, Colonel. We’ll be ready in five minutes.”

Brockway looked over her shoulder at Dietrich. “You want to deploy the Warhawk?”

Dietrich nodded. “We need eyes on that shuttle, and we can’t wait for the Faith to get here, reach a quorum, and act. So I want Agena down there to see what these mystery visitors are up to. Make sense, Lieutenant?”

“Of course, I just…”

“I know, we only have one Warhawk. I’ll instruct Agena to use caution.”

“Fuckin’ jealous,” said Haverbrook.

“Watch yourself, Lieutenant Haverbrook. We both know Agena has a lot more time in a Warhawk than you. Besides, nobody can make the Percheron purr like you.”

“That’s a mixed metaphor, considering a Percheron is a horse,” said Brockway.

“Neigh then? I don’t know, the point stands. I don’t like being left out of the action any more than you do, but we all have our roles. Let’s just hope these strangers don’t have an armada waiting to arrive.”

__________

“The Bidelman has abandoned us.”

Far below the surface of Tartarus, in a control room for what had been identified as a massive particle collider, Sergeant Scrivener and his squad of marines were shocked to hear what Private Archer had just said. Having lost contact with their host ship, Archer, their communications expert, had spent almost half an hour trying to reestablish a signal. Despite what he had said earlier, Scrivener had lost patience with waiting around, and he and his men had proceeded further into the catacombs of Inferno. They continued to find evidence of a recent incursion there, including fresh crumbs from someone’s meal in the control room. Malthus was as surprised as any of them to see such advanced technology below the prison, and they were all intensely curious as to why it had been abandoned. After sending three marines to explore the rest of the level, Scrivener looked to his remaining men for help.

With all other measures failing, Archer had defaulted to scanning for ULF signals, a strategy unknown to him until Scrivener had shown him the relevant regulation on his PDA. They were at first delighted to hear the faint, electronic pings that came through, and Archer had set to work decoding them from pulses into words. None of them liked the summary of the message that Archer had just offered, and Scrivener all but yanked the private’s PDA out of his hands. The sergeant’s eyes flashed over the message.

“This can’t be right,” he said.

“The translation program is older than I am,” replied Archer. “You’re more than welcome to translate it yourself. With all due respect, I mean.”

Scrivener was no more capable of interpreting the message than the program Archer had used, so he was forced to accept the results. Silently handing the PDA back to his subordinate, he took a moment to stare at the dark corridor beyond the control room windows, and a minute later, he made a decision.

“Marines, it’s true, the Bidelman has withdrawn to Alnair Prime. This changes nothing for us. We’re still at one hundred percent capacity, so it makes no sense to abandon our mission now. The Bidelman left an orbital transponder for us. If we find this cursed Kira’To, and take custody of it, then I’ll contact Commander Hadar and tell him. I can’t conceive of a scenario where Hadar, who is a man of his word, would leave us to starve down here. Or worse.”

“You know we’re with you, no matter what,” said Hunter.

The other marines returned from exploring the level. They briefed Scrivener on the room full of cyclotrons they had found, the explosives that had been placed on them, and the ones that had been destroyed.

“I’m not usually one for conspiracy theories,” began Archer, “but the totality of our situation is awfully suspicious.”

Scrivener nodded grimly. “I have to agree, Private. Never in my career could I have imagined this. There are sinister powers at work here, and we seem to be the unwitting victims of them. But we’re still marines and we have a job to do. Whoever is responsible for this has made a big mistake if they think we’re going to give up and die down here. Oofah?”

“OOFAH,” everyone emphatically chimed.

Sergeant Clerk said, “We haven’t talked about who has come before us. I mean, the evidence we’ve found of a recent intrusion.”

“Do the Kira’To even eat regular food?” asked Hunter.

“Who the fuck knows?” uttered Scrivener. “At this point we can’t assume we’re after a Kira’To. It could be a regular flesh-and-blood prisoner, or another group entirely. With the technology we’ve found, we can’t rule out the involvement of alien forces.”

“How would people from another planet have even found out about this place?” asked Archer.

“There’s at least a thousand years of galactic history surrounding Alnair. We’re mere infants compared to it. Anything is possible.”

“Let’s think through this,” said Clerk. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Master, but this is the first time Fleet marines have been deployed off-world.”

“That’s right. We’re making history here, if that makes you feel any better.”

“With all due respect, that’s not my point. You said yourself that Inferno normally falls under civilian authority. We shouldn’t be here at all, let alone girded for war. I think that everyone, all the way up to the president, only found out that there’s a Kira’To here recently. How else would everything remain status quo for so long without anyone being concerned about Kheiron? That revelation, along with an incursion by another alien force, must have triggered a response from the Gray Men. It’s the only logical conclusion.”

Scrivener scoffed. “The Gray Men are a fairy tale.”

“After everything that’s happened today, how can you be so sure? Commander Hadar is no pushover, and I suspect that deploying an orbital ULF transponder wasn’t authorized, but instead, done as a last resort versus outright abandoning us.”

“I’m not one to shy away from a fight,” began Hunter, “but it seems to me that the best course of action is to return to the prison and see if the warden has received additional instructions. If keeping the secrets of Tartarus is the goal of Alnair, whether it be that of the president or the Gray Men, then the fate of the prison, and its inmates, would be part of it.”

“Corporal Hunter is right,” said Scrivener. “Still, in order to fulfill our original orders, I’m only going to send two of you, and Brewer, back. The rest of us will continue our mission below. Clerk, choose somebody to go with you. Find out what’s going on in the prison, and report back immediately.”

Clerk nodded. “Private Courier, you’re with me.”

“Shit’s fucked,” said Courier, standing.

“Excuse me?”

“I meant, oofah, Sergeant.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“Why me?” asked Malthus. “I’m better off staying with you.”

“Because at this point,” began Scrivener, “the more you learn about this place, the more your life may be forfeit in the eyes of whoever the hell is really in charge here. I’m giving you a chance to fade back into the prison population before it’s too late. Besides, I’m tired of babysitting you.”

“Promise me you’ll spare Talyn, if you find him.”

“We’re not murderers, asshole. Assuming he doesn’t jump out of a dark corner screaming ‘booga-booga,’ we’ll spare him. Now get moving, clock’s ticking.”

_____

Sergeant Clerk, Private Courier, and Malthus Brewer retraced their steps, ascending through the old facility beneath Inferno. It didn’t take long for the trio to return to the heavy metal door that led to the laundry room, and unsurprisingly, they found it to be locked from the other side. Courier scanned it with his PDA, then turned to the others.

“The locking mechanism is exactly one meter above the floor,” he said. “We’ll need a strip of sever cord to blow it from here. Either that, or a wrecking ball.”

“What about a well-placed bullet?” asked Clerk.

“I mean, you can try, if you want to waste ammo. Either choice is going to make one hell of a racket.”

“Brewer?”

Malthus raised his eyebrows. “What? I don’t know what you expect me to do. I don’t have a secret inmate radio shoved up my ass or something.”

“I’m just asking. Relax.”

Clerk unlimbered his rucksack, and retrieved a small pouch. Inside, he removed a coil of sevcord, and used a pair of shears to clip off about ten centimeters. Then, he placed one end into a remote detonator, and affixed it to the spot that Courier had indicated. They retreated around the nearest corner, and Clerk poked at his PDA to set up the explosion.

“Fire in the hole,” he said.

A deep thud followed, echoing down the corridor. Upon inspection, the door had been blown ajar by a few inches. Clerk and Courier moved into the laundry room, with Malthus right behind them. Immediately, the marines raised their rifles, and a moment later, Malthus saw what was bothering them. Three bodies lay sprawled out on the floor, so covered in blood that it was initially impossible to tell what had killed them. Spreading out, the marines took cover behind two washers on either side of the room. Malthus found himself next to Clerk. The sergeant drew a pistol, and handed it to him butt-first.

“You know how to use this?” Clerk asked.

“Basically,” Malthus squeaked.

“It was a yes-or-no question.”

“Yes, then.”

He handed him a spare magazine, then the pair of marines swiftly but carefully cleared the rest of the room. Malthus was tempted to check the bodies, which turned out to be inmates, but even if any were still alive, it didn’t look like there was anything the three of them could do. Despite their best efforts, they found it impossible to proceed to the central corridor without stepping in blood. Though Malthus retched, he managed to keep his lunch down.

Over the next thirty minutes, they explored the entire prison, save for a few administrative rooms they couldn’t get in. The results were grim; everyone was dead, prisoners and guards alike, killed by knives, swords, or some other sharp object. Most of the victims were found in the cell blocks. They found Warden Cooper in the dining facility, where he and several others had made a futile attempt to barricade the main doors. If not for the stoicism of his companions, Malthus would have been in a panic. At that point, Clerk got on his radio and informed Scrivener what had happened. Malthus listened in.

“What about the airlock?” Scrivener was saying.

“It’s functional,” replied Clerk. “If we ever get evac’ed, we can still use it.”

“Any idea how long ago this happened?”

“Not really. Judging by the blood dripping down the walls, not long.”

“You’d better get back here, Sergeant. Ask Brewer if he knows of another way into the old sections, other than the laundry room and ventilation tower.”

“I heard him,” said Malthus. “I do not.”

“And you’re sure that door was locked when you got there?”

“Absolutely,” said Clerk. “Unless Courier’s PDA malfunctioned.”

“Unlikely. Regardless, we have to assume that whoever did this got past you somehow, and are down here with us. So, we’re going to come to you. Find a defensible area and wait. How many M57s do you have?”

“Two.”

“Good. Set them up if you can, but for the love of the Core, keep ‘em on manual mode. I don’t want you to gib your own rescue team.”

“Roger that. Anything else?”

“We discovered a large, flooded cavern on Sub-Level Four. We were about to explore what Brewer said were laboratories before this happened. I’m not looking forward to clearing every area we already swept again, but we don’t have a choice. So, it’s going to take us a while to get to you. Hang tight.”

“Wilco. Clerk out.”

Legacy of the Centaur (RFVIII), Chapter 10

Spoiler alert: This is the beginning of the 8th book in the Reckless Faith series. You may read the prologue here: https://devonai.wordpress.com/2023/10/31/reckless-faith-viii-prologue/

Commander Hadar huffed in frustration as he rode the lift down to the lowest level of the Bidelman. His consternation had been caused by the loss of radio contact with the squad of marines on the surface of Tartarus, an event none of his crew seemed sufficiently concerned about. Despite assurances from his technicians that this was to be expected, it was a conclusion he wasn’t willing to accept. After terminating a conversation with one of his engineers in the ventral antenna array, he had risen from his chair on the bridge and stormed off to the nearest elevator.

The engine room on his ship was almost as long as the entire vessel, spanning ninety meters from bow to stern. The main reactor assembly was a horizontal cylinder, running the length of the room, and monitored from stations toward the bow. The pulsing rhythms of light and sound along the cylinder were mesmerizing even while in orbit, but relaxation was not his goal. It was a short trip from the lift and across a corridor to get there. Though he startled the engineers there, he ignored them and strode wordlessly to another chamber beyond. This one contained the service and maintenance equipment for the dorsal transceivers. The smell of burning tobacco hit his nose as he entered, and he surprised the hell out of the two men inside. He spoke without waiting for a greeting.

“Technical Order 7-8C dictates that a VLF transmission in the seventeen to thirty microcycle range should be sufficient to penetrate matter of the density expected within the crust of a planet to five kilometers.”

Astonished, the man closest to him, a warrant officer, stammered out his response. “Y… yes, that’s what the manuals say.”

“So what’s the problem, chief?”

“As I said over the intercom, we’re encountering some sort of unexpected interference. Our transmissions seem to bounce off of an unseen barrier at a depth of a hundred meters.”

“And what have you done to counteract that phenomenon?”

The chief gestured at his console with futility. “We’ve already exhausted our options. There’s nothing else we know to try.”

Hadar glowered at him. “Have you tried a pulse code at a lower frequency?”

“Why would we even attempt that if our people on the surface aren’t expecting it?”

“You clearly aren’t familiar with combat contingency protocols.”

“I beg your pardon, sir, but what set of protocols? I’m not an idiot.”

Hadar sighed, and softened his tone slightly. “I meant infantry combat protocols. My apologies, chief. I benefit from being a ground-pounder in a previous life. In the event of the loss of contact, radio operators are trained to monitor ULF frequencies for pulse codes.”

“Yes, sir. We can certainly try that.” He poked at his console for a moment. “There’s a program on here for the translation of text to pulse.”

“Excellent. Begin right away. Let me know as soon as…”

A different voice filled the room. “Commander Hadar, this is Lieutenant Ferrer. You’re receiving a transmission from Admiral Butcher, highest priority, encrypted, audio only.”

“I’ll take it in here. You two, get out of here. I doubt this will take long.”

The chief and the other technician scurried out of the room. Hadar walked up to the nearest console, extinguished the cigarette he found there, and entered his personal code.

“Go ahead and let them deal with it, I’m too close to retirement to give a shit,” said the voice through the console.

“Admiral? Commander Hadar here.”

“Oh. Sorry. Commander Hadar, you are hereby ordered to evacuate your troops from Inferno and return to Alnair. How long do you think that will take?”

“What? Why? What’s the problem?”

“That’s above my pay grade, commander. Again, what’s your ETA back home?”

“Due to unforeseen complications, we’ve lost contact with our marines on the surface. We have a work-around in place, but it could be an hour or two before we get them back to the Bidelman.”

“You have fifteen minutes. After that, break orbit and return to Alnair. That’s a direct order.”

Hadar scoffed. “Sir, that’s impossible. Even if we do restore contact with them immediately, it’s not physically possible for us to launch a shuttle, dock, and have them back aboard in that time frame. And that’s assuming they can make it back to the main facility right away. We don’t know how deep they’ve progressed so far.”

“Well, that’s too bad for them. You can meet with me at Lucidus when you get here and you can complain about it to my face. Until then, you have your orders.”

“What about Warden Cooper? Should I tell him something about our new plans or keep him in the dark?”

“That’s not your problem anymore, commander. Once you’ve returned, everything that happened today will be classified. Butcher out.”

The line went dead. Hadar opened the door to the engine room, and beckoned the chief and his companion back inside.

“Good news?” asked the chief.

“Fuck-all it is,” Hadar spat. “Chief, if we were to leave an orbital transponder here, and return to Alnair, would you be able to daisy-chain your ULF transmissions through it to the troops below?”

“Child’s play, sir. Assuming, as you surmised, that they’re listening.”

“Good. I’ll work with the bridge crew to get that satellite launched and in a stable orbit. In fourteen minutes, we’re returning to Alnair, so I’ll need you to be on top of things down here.”

“You can count on me, sir. May I ask what this is all about?”

Hadar put his hand on the man’s shoulder. “You have to believe me; if I knew, I’d tell you.”

__________

Vecky, Cane, and Sam were not surprised to discover that Secretary Tailor lived in a luxury gated community in the suburbs surrounding Lucidus. The perfectly-manicured lawns, gardens, and recreational areas all served well to illustrate that this neighborhood was the home of some elite people. Its large size ended up working in favor of the team from the Fox, as only once of its several entrances was guarded by a live person. The rest were accessible via a key fob device. Cane had no trouble spoofing such a signal on his PDA, and they were able to walk in right off the public street.

Earlier that day, after a little bit of digging around online, they were able to find a recent civil lawsuit filed by Tailor against his neighbor, complaining about allegedly non-compliant trees the latter had planted on the property line. They couldn’t be sure that the secretary’s address as listed in the suit was accurate, or was his actual home, but it was worth checking out.

As the trio walked by rows of palatial mansions, Vecky was struck by how uniform they were, despite minor variations in architecture, and she would stop short of calling them opulent because of the lack of any outward embellishments. Though it wasn’t anywhere she’d care to call home, it was at least peaceful there. As with other worlds she’d visited, ground vehicles were still the most practical form of transportation within the local area, and most homes had attached garages to contain them. In only a few cases were cars parked outside, and of those, they were dominated by one particular brand. Vecky figured they were either a status symbol to the residents, or simply a matter of a lack of choices.

The sun was setting in the west, illuminating a few errant clouds overhead in shades of pink. Cane was keeping an eye on his PDA as they navigated the unimaginative grid of boulevards and cul-de-sacs. All three of them had noticed that most streetlights that lined the roads also had a security camera mounted on top but so far, their wanderings hadn’t attracted any attention. At last arriving at the address they were looking for, they scanned the building, trying to maintain the appearance of doing anything but that.

“It seems to be empty,” said Sam.

Cane nodded. “I’m reading the same thing.”

“Shit,” began Vecky. “We can’t stand out here and wait for Tailor to come back. We should have rented a car rather than let a taxi drop us off, at least then we could wait under cover.”

“Why not let ourselves in, then? I’m sure whatever security measures are in place will be no match for me.”

“That seems like the best option,” said Sam.

The team approached the door on the side of the garage, and Cane allowed his PDA to interface with the keypad there. True to his word, the lock clicked open, and they let themselves in. The garage had two bays, both empty, as well as a collection of landscaping tools. The door on the far side led to a breezeway or mudroom, and beyond that, the kitchen. Though the owner of a small restaurant would have been in envy of that space and its appliances, little of it appeared to be in regular use. Looking inside the fridge, Vecky found several containers of prepared meals, each branded with the packaging of what was obviously a home-delivery service. Heat-and-eat, were the instructions.

“For all the trappings of wealth, this guy seems to live a lonely life,” said Sam.

“Assuming the military has more than us to worry about,” replied Vecky, “he’s probably too busy to cook for himself. Perhaps a spouse would’ve done so, but as we discovered, this guy is a dedicated bachelor.”

“Then why maintain a home this large?” asked Cane. “Damn, you’d think he’d adopt a pet or something.”

Sam shrugged. “Who cares? Come on; let’s find a place to wait. If we spend too much longer in here, I’m going to start stealing food.”

Moving on, they proceeded into the dining room. A long table was at its center, crowned with a crystal chandelier, and set with twelve places, each with plates and glasses covered in years of dust. The next room was a living area, and seemed to be where Tailor spent most of his time. Several black leather couches were in the middle of a depression, the floor of which was covered in a thick pile carpet of beige. A huge monitor was mounted on the wall. Other than a couple of lamps on side tables, and a bar cart in a corner, the room wasn’t particularly inviting. A dark blue fleece blanket with a white fleur-de-lis pattern rested on the sofa that faced the monitor.

“Should we look for a home office, or something?” asked Sam.

Cane’s PDA beeped at him. “Hold that thought. There’s a shuttle inbound.”

He pointed at the main entrance. They went over to the front windows, and peeked through the curtains. As indicated, a small shuttle was landing in the driveway. A side door opened, and a man stumbled out, as if pushed from behind. A corpulent native Alnairian, his appearance matched photos of Tailor they had found. He shielded his eyes from the sunset and walked an uneven path to the front door. He had a pistol in his left hand, held by the slide, and he tucked it underneath his armpit while he fumbled in his pocket for something. Cane gestured to the others, and they retreated back to the living room, drawing their sidearms.

The locked clicked open, and Tailor came inside. He dropped a key fob on the floor, then turned around and made sure the security system was armed. Next, he withdrew a magazine from another pocket, loaded the pistol, and put it in a holster on his right hip. Cane leveled his own weapon at the man, and spoke calmly.

“No sudden movements,” he began. “We’ve got you in our sights.”

Astonished, Tailor froze. He looked at Cane and Vecky, but seemed to completely miss Sam’s presence.

“You fucking people,” he blurted. “You didn’t get your point across already?”

“Sam, get his gun.”

Stepping out, Sam further startled Tailor, then removed his pistol.

“Come on,” said Vecky, motioning toward the couches. “Let’s have a seat.”

Tailor headed directly to the bar cart, and poured himself a huge glass of an amber liquid.

“First things first. At this point I don’t care if you shoot me.”

Carefully placing his glass on the coffee table, he sank heavily onto the sofa. The room was starting to get dark, so he turned on one of the lamps. Retrieving his glass, he considered the intruders.

“Try to relax,” said Cane. “We’re not going to hurt you.”

“I just got roughed up by my own intelligence agency, and then three aliens show up in my own home. Why would I think I was in danger? Just do what you came here to do.”

Vecky said, “We’re not assassins. We only want to ask you some questions.”

“If you’re not with the AIA, then who are you?”

“Shufflers. Our target is an inmate on Tartarus. If you can help us get him out, we’ll cut you in on the bounty.”

Tailor barked a laugh, then drank from his glass. “Too bad you didn’t catch up to me yesterday. Now, I’ll have nothing to do with that place, and I’ll be dead before I cooperate. If you really are just seeking information, you might as well kill me or leave me be. Come to think of it, I’m probably a dead man anyway, once the AIA finds out you were here.”

“We were careful,” said Vecky.

“I’m sure you think you were.”

“What if we can get you off-world?” asked Cane. “I don’t know if you’ll ever be able to return; but for now, we can get you somewhere safe. A couple hundred light-years out ought to do it.”

Tailor paused for a moment before replying. “Kill me here, or kill me somewhere else, I suppose it doesn’t matter. However, whether you have a shuttle or a ship, we’ll be shot down before you can break atmo.”

“I don’t think that will be a problem. Still, we’ll be taking a risk getting out of here, so first we’d like to ensure that you’re worth the trouble to us.”

“Even if I wanted to help you, the Alnairian fleet is no longer authorized to perform any operations on or around Tartarus. It was a gray area to begin with, our involvement there. The prison falls under civilian authority.”

“What do you mean when you say people from the AIA roughed you up?” asked Sam. “Don’t they work for you?”

“Yes, but there is another group embedded within, spies that allegedly report directly to the president. Until today, I thought they were just a rumor. A conspiracy theory. Popular culture refers to them as the Gray Men. Keepers of secrets, you could say.”

“How can you be sure the men who visited you today were with that group?” asked Vecky. “It sounds like it would be impossible for you to confirm it. They could have been just a bunch of nutjobs.”

“Maybe. They are, at the very least, legitimate members of the AIA. That much was clear by how much they knew about my personal life. It was enough to convince me to cooperate. They threatened a lot more than my death, as I’m sure you can guess.”

“Who are Alnair’s enemies?” asked Cane. “Who would benefit the most from posing at such a group?”

Tailor shrugged dramatically, almost spilling his drink. “Great question! Alnair is at peace with our stellar neighbors, and united under a planetary government. Political groups here bicker about minutiae, hardly anything worth this kind of effort. No, the Gray Men are Alnairians, of that I’m sure. I just don’t know what secrets they’re trying so hard to protect.”

“You don’t have the balls to go directly to the president? That might clear things up.”

“As I said, there are some things worse than death.”

Cane put his pistol away and sat down, so the others did the same. He turned to Vecky.

“I think we should evac him now, as a show of good faith.”

“I agree,” replied Vecky, pulling out her PDA. “Commander Scherer, this is Captain Kitsune.”

“Go ahead,” said John’s voice.

“We’ve got a mission for you or the Percheron here on Alnair, whichever one is available. Can I assume your invisibility shields are still working?”

“All systems are at 100 percent.”

“Good. How soon can you get here?”

Continue reading: https://devonai.wordpress.com/2024/02/05/the-wolf-and-the-centaur-rfviii-chapter-11/

The Wolf and the Centaur (RFVIII), Chapter 10

Spoiler alert: This is the beginning of the 8th book in the Reckless Faith series. You may read the prologue here: https://devonai.wordpress.com/2023/10/31/reckless-faith-viii-prologue/

Commander Hadar huffed in frustration as he rode the lift down to the lowest level of the Bidelman. His consternation had been caused by the loss of radio contact with the squad of marines on the surface of Tartarus, an event none of his crew seemed sufficiently concerned about. Despite assurances from his technicians that this was to be expected, it was a conclusion he wasn’t willing to accept. After terminating a conversation with one of his engineers in the ventral antenna array, he had risen from his chair on the bridge and stormed off to the nearest elevator.

The engine room on his ship was almost as long as the entire vessel, spanning ninety meters from bow to stern. The main reactor assembly was a horizontal cylinder, running the length of the room, and monitored from stations toward the bow. The pulsing rhythms of light and sound along the cylinder were mesmerizing even while in orbit, but relaxation was not his goal. It was a short trip from the lift and across a corridor to get there. Though he startled the engineers there, he ignored them and strode wordlessly to another chamber beyond. This one contained the service and maintenance equipment for the dorsal transceivers. The smell of burning tobacco hit his nose as he entered, and he surprised the hell out of the two men inside. He spoke without waiting for a greeting.

“Technical Order 7-8C dictates that a VLF transmission in the seventeen to thirty microcycle range should be sufficient to penetrate matter of the density expected within the crust of a planet to five kilometers.”

Astonished, the man closest to him, a warrant officer, stammered out his response. “Y… yes, that’s what the manuals say.”

“So what’s the problem, chief?”

“As I said over the intercom, we’re encountering some sort of unexpected interference. Our transmissions seem to bounce off of an unseen barrier at a depth of a hundred meters.”

“And what have you done to counteract that phenomenon?”

The chief gestured at his console with futility. “We’ve already exhausted our options. There’s nothing else we know to try.”

Hadar glowered at him. “Have you tried a pulse code at a lower frequency?”

“Why would we even attempt that if our people on the surface aren’t expecting it?”

“You clearly aren’t familiar with combat contingency protocols.”

“I beg your pardon, sir, but what set of protocols? I’m not an idiot.”

Hadar sighed, and softened his tone slightly. “I meant infantry combat protocols. My apologies, chief. I benefit from being a ground-pounder in a previous life. In the event of the loss of contact, radio operators are trained to monitor ULF frequencies for pulse codes.”

“Yes, sir. We can certainly try that.” He poked at his console for a moment. “There’s a program on here for the translation of text to pulse.”

“Excellent. Begin right away. Let me know as soon as…”

A different voice filled the room. “Commander Hadar, this is Lieutenant Ferrer. You’re receiving a transmission from Admiral Butcher, highest priority, encrypted, audio only.”

“I’ll take it in here. You two, get out of here. I doubt this will take long.”

The chief and the other technician scurried out of the room. Hadar walked up to the nearest console, extinguished the cigarette he found there, and entered his personal code.

“Go ahead and let them deal with it, I’m too close to retirement to give a shit,” said the voice through the console.

“Admiral? Commander Hadar here.”

“Oh. Sorry. Commander Hadar, you are hereby ordered to evacuate your troops from Inferno and return to Alnair. How long do you think that will take?”

“What? Why? What’s the problem?”

“That’s above my pay grade, commander. Again, what’s your ETA back home?”

“Due to unforeseen complications, we’ve lost contact with our marines on the surface. We have a work-around in place, but it could be an hour or two before we get them back to the Bidelman.”

“You have fifteen minutes. After that, break orbit and return to Alnair. That’s a direct order.”

Hadar scoffed. “Sir, that’s impossible. Even if we do restore contact with them immediately, it’s not physically possible for us to launch a shuttle, dock, and have them back aboard in that time frame. And that’s assuming they can make it back to the main facility right away. We don’t know how deep they’ve progressed so far.”

“Well, that’s too bad for them. You can meet with me at Lucidus when you get here and you can complain about it to my face. Until then, you have your orders.”

“What about Warden Cooper? Should I tell him something about our new plans or keep him in the dark?”

“That’s not your problem anymore, commander. Once you’ve returned, everything that happened today will be classified. Butcher out.”

The line went dead. Hadar opened the door to the engine room, and beckoned the chief and his companion back inside.

“Good news?” asked the chief.

“Fuck-all it is,” Hadar spat. “Chief, if we were to leave an orbital transponder here, and return to Alnair, would you be able to daisy-chain your ULF transmissions through it to the troops below?”

“Child’s play, sir. Assuming, as you surmised, that they’re listening.”

“Good. I’ll work with the bridge crew to get that satellite launched and in a stable orbit. In fourteen minutes, we’re returning to Alnair, so I’ll need you to be on top of things down here.”

“You can count on me, sir. May I ask what this is all about?”

Hadar put his hand on the man’s shoulder. “You have to believe me; if I knew, I’d tell you.”

__________

Vecky, Cane, and Sam were not surprised to discover that Secretary Tailor lived in a luxury gated community in the suburbs surrounding Lucidus. The perfectly-manicured lawns, gardens, and recreational areas all served well to illustrate that this neighborhood was the home of some elite people. Its large size ended up working in favor of the team from the Fox, as only once of its several entrances was guarded by a live person. The rest were accessible via a key fob device. Cane had no trouble spoofing such a signal on his PDA, and they were able to walk in right off the public street.

Earlier that day, after a little bit of digging around online, they were able to find a recent civil lawsuit filed by Tailor against his neighbor, complaining about allegedly non-compliant trees the latter had planted on the property line. They couldn’t be sure that the secretary’s address as listed in the suit was accurate, or was his actual home, but it was worth checking out.

As the trio walked by rows of palatial mansions, Vecky was struck by how uniform they were, despite minor variations in architecture, and she would stop short of calling them opulent because of the lack of any outward embellishments. Though it wasn’t anywhere she’d care to call home, it was at least peaceful there. As with other worlds she’d visited, ground vehicles were still the most practical form of transportation within the local area, and most homes had attached garages to contain them. In only a few cases were cars parked outside, and of those, they were dominated by one particular brand. Vecky figured they were either a status symbol to the residents, or simply a matter of a lack of choices.

The sun was setting in the west, illuminating a few errant clouds overhead in shades of pink. Cane was keeping an eye on his PDA as they navigated the unimaginative grid of boulevards and cul-de-sacs. All three of them had noticed that most streetlights that lined the roads also had a security camera mounted on top but so far, their wanderings hadn’t attracted any attention. At last arriving at the address they were looking for, they scanned the building, trying to maintain the appearance of doing anything but that.

“It seems to be empty,” said Sam.

Cane nodded. “I’m reading the same thing.”

“Shit,” began Vecky. “We can’t stand out here and wait for Tailor to come back. We should have rented a car rather than let a taxi drop us off, at least then we could wait under cover.”

“Why not let ourselves in, then? I’m sure whatever security measures are in place will be no match for me.”

“That seems like the best option,” said Sam.

The team approached the door on the side of the garage, and Cane allowed his PDA to interface with the keypad there. True to his word, the lock clicked open, and they let themselves in. The garage had two bays, both empty, as well as a collection of landscaping tools. The door on the far side led to a breezeway or mudroom, and beyond that, the kitchen. Though the owner of a small restaurant would have been in envy of that space and its appliances, little of it appeared to be in regular use. Looking inside the fridge, Vecky found several containers of prepared meals, each branded with the packaging of what was obviously a home-delivery service. Heat-and-eat, were the instructions.

“For all the trappings of wealth, this guy seems to live a lonely life,” said Sam.

“Assuming the military has more than us to worry about,” replied Vecky, “he’s probably too busy to cook for himself. Perhaps a spouse would’ve done so, but as we discovered, this guy is a dedicated bachelor.”

“Then why maintain a home this large?” asked Cane. “Damn, you’d think he’d adopt a pet or something.”

Sam shrugged. “Who cares? Come on; let’s find a place to wait. If we spend too much longer in here, I’m going to start stealing food.”

Moving on, they proceeded into the dining room. A long table was at its center, crowned with a crystal chandelier, and set with twelve places, each with plates and glasses covered in years of dust. The next room was a living area, and seemed to be where Tailor spent most of his time. Several black leather couches were in the middle of a depression, the floor of which was covered in a thick pile carpet of beige. A huge monitor was mounted on the wall. Other than a couple of lamps on side tables, and a bar cart in a corner, the room wasn’t particularly inviting. A dark blue fleece blanket with a white fleur-de-lis pattern rested on the sofa that faced the monitor.

“Should we look for a home office, or something?” asked Sam.

Cane’s PDA beeped at him. “Hold that thought. There’s a shuttle inbound.”

He pointed at the main entrance. They went over to the front windows, and peeked through the curtains. As indicated, a small shuttle was landing in the driveway. A side door opened, and a man stumbled out, as if pushed from behind. A corpulent native Alnairian, his appearance matched photos of Tailor they had found. He shielded his eyes from the sunset and walked an uneven path to the front door. He had a pistol in his left hand, held by the slide, and he tucked it underneath his armpit while he fumbled in his pocket for something. Cane gestured to the others, and they retreated back to the living room, drawing their sidearms.

The locked clicked open, and Tailor came inside. He dropped a key fob on the floor, then turned around and made sure the security system was armed. Next, he withdrew a magazine from another pocket, loaded the pistol, and put it in a holster on his right hip. Cane leveled his own weapon at the man, and spoke calmly.

“No sudden movements,” he began. “We’ve got you in our sights.”

Astonished, Tailor froze. He looked at Cane and Vecky, but seemed to completely miss Sam’s presence.

“You fucking people,” he blurted. “You didn’t get your point across already?”

“Sam, get his gun.”

Stepping out, Sam further startled Tailor, then removed his pistol.

“Come on,” said Vecky, motioning toward the couches. “Let’s have a seat.”

Tailor headed directly to the bar cart, and poured himself a huge glass of an amber liquid.

“First things first. At this point I don’t care if you shoot me.”

Carefully placing his glass on the coffee table, he sank heavily onto the sofa. The room was starting to get dark, so he turned on one of the lamps. Retrieving his glass, he considered the intruders.

“Try to relax,” said Cane. “We’re not going to hurt you.”

“I just got roughed up by my own intelligence agency, and then three aliens show up in my own home. Why would I think I was in danger? Just do what you came here to do.”

Vecky said, “We’re not assassins. We only want to ask you some questions.”

“If you’re not with the AIA, then who are you?”

“Shufflers. Our target is an inmate on Tartarus. If you can help us get him out, we’ll cut you in on the bounty.”

Tailor barked a laugh, then drank from his glass. “Too bad you didn’t catch up to me yesterday. Now, I’ll have nothing to do with that place, and I’ll be dead before I cooperate. If you really are just seeking information, you might as well kill me or leave me be. Come to think of it, I’m probably a dead man anyway, once the AIA finds out you were here.”

“We were careful,” said Vecky.

“I’m sure you think you were.”

“What if we can get you off-world?” asked Cane. “I don’t know if you’ll ever be able to return; but for now, we can get you somewhere safe. A couple hundred light-years out ought to do it.”

Tailor paused for a moment before replying. “Kill me here, or kill me somewhere else, I suppose it doesn’t matter. However, whether you have a shuttle or a ship, we’ll be shot down before you can break atmo.”

“I don’t think that will be a problem. Still, we’ll be taking a risk getting out of here, so first we’d like to ensure that you’re worth the trouble to us.”

“Even if I wanted to help you, the Alnairian fleet is no longer authorized to perform any operations on or around Tartarus. It was a gray area to begin with, our involvement there. The prison falls under civilian authority.”

“What do you mean when you say people from the AIA roughed you up?” asked Sam. “Don’t they work for you?”

“Yes, but there is another group embedded within, spies that allegedly report directly to the president. Until today, I thought they were just a rumor. A conspiracy theory. Popular culture refers to them as the Gray Men. Keepers of secrets, you could say.”

“How can you be sure the men who visited you today were with that group?” asked Vecky. “It sounds like it would be impossible for you to confirm it. They could have been just a bunch of nutjobs.”

“Maybe. They are, at the very least, legitimate members of the AIA. That much was clear by how much they knew about my personal life. It was enough to convince me to cooperate. They threatened a lot more than my death, as I’m sure you can guess.”

“Who are Alnair’s enemies?” asked Cane. “Who would benefit the most from posing at such a group?”

Tailor shrugged dramatically, almost spilling his drink. “Great question! Alnair is at peace with our stellar neighbors, and united under a planetary government. Political groups here bicker about minutiae, hardly anything worth this kind of effort. No, the Gray Men are Alnairians, of that I’m sure. I just don’t know what secrets they’re trying so hard to protect.”

“You don’t have the balls to go directly to the president? That might clear things up.”

“As I said, there are some things worse than death.”

Cane put his pistol away and sat down, so the others did the same. He turned to Vecky.

“I think we should evac him now, as a show of good faith.”

“I agree,” replied Vecky, pulling out her PDA. “Commander Scherer, this is Captain Kitsune.”

“Go ahead,” said John’s voice.

“We’ve got a mission for you or the Percheron here on Alnair, whichever one is available. Can I assume your invisibility shields are still working?”

“All systems are at 100 percent.”

“Good. How soon can you get here?”

Legacy of the Centaur (RFVIII), Chapter 9

Spoiler alert: This is the beginning of the 8th book in the Reckless Faith series. You may read the prologue here: https://devonai.wordpress.com/2023/10/31/reckless-faith-viii-prologue/

Malthus wasn’t surprised to see a squad of Alnairian marines striding down Inferno’s main concourse, headed toward the laundry room. What did surprise him was that they were heavily armed and armored, seeming more as if they stood ready to take on a superior force of Rakhar soldiers than a few errant prisoners. Based on his conversation with Lieutenant Ferrer, some kind of incursion into the depths of Inferno was expected, but these guys were ready to go to war.

In one brief but impulsive moment, overcome with concern for his friend Chason, he blurted something out.

“I know the layout of the old facility.”

The man at the front of the group held up his fist, and all nine men turned to face him. The man at the center took a step toward Malthus.

“I’m Master Sergeant Scrivener,” he said. “And you are?”

“Malthus Brewer.”

“Where did you get that information?”

“I’ve got a photographic memory. A diagram of what lies beneath was once found, but hidden away by its discoverer. He allowed me to look at it; I only needed a few seconds to memorize it.”

“Why should we trust anything you give us?”

“Because I’ve only a few years left on my sentence, and any cooperation on my part could result in time removed. Leading us to our deaths is the last thing I want.”

Scrivener reached into one of his many pockets, and removed a notepad and a pen. “Sketch out what you know, and be quick about it. If your layout matches what we encounter, I’ll tell Commander Hadar about your contribution.”

“It would be a lot easier if you just took me with you.”

“Nice try, inmate. We’ll have enough to worry about without making sure you don’t escape.”

“As with those that have gone before me, escape is not the goal, only a chance for self-determination. For those without hope, it’s compelling, but I’m not without hope. I gain nothing by running from you.”

“And you think we can take you with us without permission from Warden Cooper?”

“I know it.”

Scrivener motioned for him to take the notepad. “Here.”

“I already told you, I’m not going to…”

“Just fucking take it.”

Confused, Malthus accepted the implements. “Okay.”

“Flip to the previous page.”

Doing so, six sets of terrestrial eight-digit grid coordinates were revealed. “Which planet is this?”

“It doesn’t matter. Give me the pad.”

He did so. “I take it you want me to read all those numbers back to you.”

“Yup.”

“Sure!”

Malthus recited the numbers back, as easily as if he still had the pad in front of him. Scrivener raised an eyebrow.

“Impressive,” said the sergeant. “There’s one more thing before we agree to take you with us, Mister Brewer. You’re friends with Kheiron, right?”

“I see you’ve done your research. We’re cellmates, nothing more. If you’re asking me if he trusts me, then I suppose he does so as much as anyone else in here. I’ve been nothing but fair to him.”

Scrivener nodded. “Then you’re welcome to join us. Just keep in mind: we don’t have an environmental suit for you, and the first sign of trouble, and any one of us won’t hesitate to perforate your skull.”

Malthus gestured toward the laundry room. “Lead the way, sergeant.”

Baker and Farmer were guarding the door. Scrivener spoke with them briefly, then Baker led the group inside. They passed by all the equipment, reaching a steel door with a padlock. Baker unlocked it, and one of the marines opened it, revealing total darkness beyond. A cold breeze wafted by their ankles. Scrivener turned to Malthus.

“You stay right behind me at all times, at the center of the squad,” he said. “Got it?”

“Okay.”

“You’re sure you want to do this?” Baker asked him.

“Eh. What else do I have to do?”

The group proceeded, and Baker closed the door behind them. It slammed, and a foreboding echo cascaded down the corridor.

“What’s up first?” asked Scrivener.

“This area should contain access to and equipment for the ventilation system. I doubt we’ll find anything else of interest. We should look for the main stairwell; it should be about three hundred meters straight ahead.”

A bright light shot out from the gloom, and struck the point man dead in the chest. He, and the two men on his flank, returned fire in an instant. The noise was unbearable, and Malthus clapped his hands over his ears. The shell casings from their rifles bounced off the walls and clattered to the floor.

“Report!” bellowed Scrivener.

“We downed an aerial sentry,” replied the man on the left. “Corporal Hunter was hit with a laser weapon. He’s uninjured, and there’s superficial damage to his front plate.”

“Everyone take a knee, and stay alert. Private Archer, scan for transmissions. Hunter, get a photo of that thing.”

Hunter advanced under cover from his team. The man directly in front of him pulled out a PDA, and poked at its screen for a minute or two. Scrivener turned to Malthus.

“I know what you’re going to say,” began Malthus. “The prison didn’t put sentries down here.”

“How do you know for sure?”

“Because if they did, you can bet that prisoners like me would have to maintain them. I had no idea such a thing even existed here.”

Archer spoke. “Top, the only frequencies on the air are those from Inferno, and our own.”

“They might be fully automated, then,” replied Scrivener. “Hunter?”

“The drone here is a match for a Bellator Systems Mark Six, last manufactured twenty-five years ago.”

“That’s an Alnairian company,” said Malthus.

“I know that,” snapped Scrivener. “Listen up, marines. We’re going to secure this level, but we’re not going any further until I’ve had a chance to up-channel a sitrep.”

“Left you out of the loop, huh?”

“I wouldn’t be so snarky if I were you, inmate. You’re just as committed as the rest of us.”

Hunter had advanced just beyond the wreckage of the drone, which put him at an intersection of hallways.

“Sergeant Scrivener,” he said. “There’s another downed sentry around the corner here, along with fresh tracks and some 10×24 casings.”

“Shit. Then we’re not alone.”

__________

On Sub-Level 3, Chason and his new friends had finished exploring the level above, encountering nothing else other than a ransacked storage room. They had just entered a control room, marked on the map by an acronym or abbreviation whose meaning was untranslatable without further context. Immediately, however, they could see large windows at the far side of the room that looked out to a huge, cylindrical corridor, lined with power conduits of various sizes. The grimy consoles, cabinet-style servers, and a few lights on the walls were receiving power, but none of the computer displays were switched on. Barely audible in the background was a low hum.

In one corner, next to a utility closet, a makeshift bed had been set up, along with a small table, on which sat an electric lantern and a grimy mug. Judging by the condition of these things, they hadn’t been used in a long time. Christie walked up to the windows, marveling at the space beyond.

“Assuming this area is an ellipse or a circle,” she began, “it would be at least ten kilometers in diameter.”

“It could be a particle collider,” said Ray.

“I was thinking the same thing. I’ll see if I can get one of these computers working.”

Eva looked at Chason. “Anyone ever mention a facility like this to you?”

He shook his head. “No. I’m just as surprised as the rest of you.”

The display in front of Christie lit up, and she smiled. “Eva, Richter, come take a look.”

The two requested androids joined her by the console. Christie began to navigate through the interface. Ray and Mike joined them, but being unable to read Alnairian, all they could see was gibberish. Still, some things were universal in appearance.

“This looks like a command line program, like DOS,” said Mike.

“It is,” replied Christie. “It’s going to take me some time to figure out how to run a program.”

“A contraption this complex couldn’t possibly rely on such a simple OS,” said Ray.

“I can’t imagine it would. This is probably just the shell of the system. As I said, I’ll need some time.”

Richter said, “I may be able to read this language, but I won’t be of any help here. I’ll leave you and Adeler to figure it out. In the meantime, there’s a lot more to this level to explore.”

“Don’t wander too far,” said Eva.

“Chason,” began Christie, “do you know your way around a Phalanx?”

“You mean your machine gun?” he asked. “No. I’ve barely got any experience with a pistol. In fact, if you’re proposing the rest of us go out there alone, I’d rather stay here.”

“You can’t fault the kid for wanting to stay here,” said Richter.

“Kid?! How old do you think I am? Anyway, I’m not a seasoned… whatever my brother was, or you lot claim to be.”

“Nobody’s pressuring you to do anything,” said Eva.

“It’s fine,” said Ray. “Richter, Mungavin, and I will go. Chason, watch their backs, in case they get too absorbed by their work.”

Chason nodded. “That I can do.”

The three men returned to the central corridor, and the door slid shut behind them. The control room had been the first choice for them after descending from the level above, but several other paths were also available. Ray and Mike looked at their PDAs, once again trying to compare Chason’s diagram with what they could actually see before them.

“If this map is right,” said Ray, “there should be two long rooms running parallel to this corridor, with three entrances each.”

“Where are you seeing that?” asked Mike. “The map is only a cross-section.”

“I’m sorry. Christie translated this part here for me. It says ‘capacitor rooms, north and south.’ See the triple boxes? I’d guess the center box is the corridor, with the two overlaid slightly above and below as the parallel rooms.”

“Gotcha. This is like trying to navigate across the United States with a novelty coloring map from Dairy Queen.”

Richter chuckled. “Yeah, kinda.”

The group entered the next door on the left. A long, dark room was beyond. With no interior lighting, Ray and Mike lowered their visors and activated the IR overlay feature. Richter simply pulled out a flashlight with an IR mode. Before them, lined up against the far wall, were a dozen steel cylindrical devices, two meters tall, and open in the center like a spool. Each one also had a rounded archway over it, painted black. The devices at the center of the spools were rectangular boxes of thick, dark gray metal. A metal grate in the floor covered a conduit that ran parallel to the cylinders.

“Those look like cyclotrons,” began Mike. “They look almost exactly like the cyclotrons at the Lawrence facility in Berkeley.”

“Isn’t a cyclotron also a kind of particle accelerator?” asked Ray.

“Yes. They’re used for isolating radionuclides, either for research or medical purposes.”

Richter said, “So if Tolliver is right about the other thing, this facility must’ve been used for researching subatomic particles.”

Ray nodded. “Seems that way. But there’s a lot more to this place below. Come on, let’s sweep the area and check the room across the hall.”

All of them pulled out their PDAs, and spread out. It didn’t take very long before Richter’s attention was drawn toward one of the cylinders, particularly, a small object attached to the side.

“Hey guys, check this out,” he said. “I’m reading a nitrous hydrocarbon compound on this device that is very similar in composition to plastic explosives. There’s also what looks like a remote detonator attached to it.”

Mike replied from the next cylinder over. “There’s one here, too.”

Soon, the team discovered that all twelve cylinders had the same device attached to their sides with fabric adhesive tape. None of the objects were emitting any kind of signal or power signature. Richter scrutinized one of them with his flashlight.

“I’ve got crystalline residue on this one, and the duct tape is crumbling. It looks like these things have been here for a long time.”

“Can they be rendered safe?” asked Ray.

“I have no idea. Better to just leave them alone for now.”

Finding nothing else, the trio crossed the hallway into the other room. It was the same size and orientation as the last one, but where the suspected cyclotrons used to be, there were several large heaps of metallic junk. As they investigated further, it became obvious that the equipment in the room had been a mirror of the last one, but everything had been intentionally destroyed. Scorch marks marred the wall and ceiling.

“Somebody wanted all this shit gone,” said Richter. “I guess the explosives in the other room failed for some reason.”

“Why bother?” asked Mike. “They could’ve just collapsed or filled in the stairways and elevators if they really didn’t want anyone to access them.”

“It is curious,” said Ray. “Maybe they wanted to be absolutely certain no-one could steal the technology here.”

Moving on, the team reached the end of the main corridor. There, they discovered a locked door with writing and symbols on it. The symbols were a humanoid skull and a lightning bolt. Richter translated the writing.

“This room contains, or did contain, a high-voltage three-phase transformer.”

Ray said, “This lock is the same type we encountered before. We’ll have to blow it if we want to get in there.”

“I don’t think we need to worry about that right now. Let’s report back to the others.”

They returned to the control room. Christie and Eva were absolutely enthralled by whatever was on the console, and barely acknowledged their presence. Chason greeted them enthusiastically. In the curved corridor beyond the windows, a long row of LEDs had been illuminated. Pulling herself away from the computer, Eva turned around. Ray gave her an update on what they had found. She smiled, nodded, and gestured toward the windows.

“You were right,” she began. “This is a giant particle collider. It seems this entire level was dedicated to the study of quarks. Christie and I have managed to power up the main array enough to send a test signal around the loop.”

“Is any of this dangerous, or have applications for weapons?” asked Ray. “Somebody wanted all of this destroyed.”

“Knowledge is power,” said Christie, her eyes fixed on the monitor. “As much fun as I’m having with this thing, I’ve already found that any files related to its discoveries have been purged and overwritten. If the Alnairians learned anything here, that data is somewhere else now.”

Richter said, “Then unless you’re planning on becoming a permanent resident, there’s no point in dicking around with it. I appreciate your curiosity, but I think it’s time to move on. Answers may lie further down.”

Christie pressed a few keys, and the LEDs in the raceway switched off. “You’re right, of course.”

“We’ll have a quick break, water up, and snacks for those who need them.”

No one objected, so everyone grabbed a chair. Chason looked with envy at the food items that Ray and Mike removed from their pockets.

“I don’t suppose…” Chason mumbled.

Ray passed of a packet of crackers to him. “What were you planning on eating down here, anyway?”

“I brought some supplies. As I mentioned, rumors are that it’s survivable down here long-term, though I’m beginning to suspect that was all bullshit. Before you showed up, that was a chance I was willing to take.”

When the flesh-and-blood humanoids were done eating and drinking, they policed up their trash and got ready to move. Everyone returned to the central corridor, went to the stairwell, and descended to Sub-Level 4. Christie peered at her PDA.

“We’ve got laboratories down the hall that way, and a large chamber labeled ‘pool’ in the other direction.”

“I don’t suppose there’s a five-star spa down here,” said Mike.

“Let’s check that out first,” said Ray.

The team turned right, and entered an enormous rough-hewn oval cavern. True to the description, the bottom half was filled with murky water. A railed platform had been constructed near the door, and there was a single computer console. Other than that, there was nowhere else to go. Mounted on the ceiling, ringing the entire pool, were two dozen devices that resembled satellite dishes, each pointed toward the center of the cavern.

“What in the world?” murmured Chason.

Christie approached the console, and powered it on. “Let’s see what we can find out.”

Eva held out her PDA. “This is not a natural formation. If you look closely, you can see excavation patterns.”

“One would think there’d be stalagmites if it were a natural cavern,” said Ray. “Or stalactites. Whichever one is the one that points down, I mean.”

“It reminds me of something. It’s on the tip of my brain.”

“I’m in,” began Christie. “This chamber is meant to register solar neutrinos passing through the planet. When active, that pool contained deuterium, pumped in from purifiers elsewhere on this level.”

“Damn it, that’s what I was thinking.”

“What use would such a facility serve?” asked Richter.

“It would be essential toward the eventual creation of a quantum-entangled neutrino device,” replied Christie. “My guess is that this facility either predates the introduction of Alnair into the galactic community, or they tried to develop their own technology rather than just purchase it from another species.”

“Or they wanted a proprietary model,” added Eva. “Perhaps they had a theoretical design that would be more efficient than anything already available.”

“That may be. But together with what we found above, it all seems to point to a time when Alnair was an emerging civilization, desperate for technologies to bolster their defenses. I hope we find out why they abandoned this place, and tried to destroy it.”

“The most obvious answer is that they were also working on something clandestine and dangerous,” said Richter. “If our own government is any model, such secrets are guarded with jealousy.”

“Or they uncovered something below to be feared,” said Chason.

“Here be dragons,” said Mike.

“Something like that.”

Continue reading: https://devonai.wordpress.com/2024/01/24/the-wolf-and-the-centaur-rfviii-chapter-10/

The Wolf and the Centaur (RFVIII), Chapter 9

Spoiler alert: This is the beginning of the 8th book in the Reckless Faith series. You may read the prologue here: https://devonai.wordpress.com/2023/10/31/reckless-faith-viii-prologue/

Malthus wasn’t surprised to see a squad of Alnairian marines striding down Inferno’s main concourse, headed toward the laundry room. What did surprise him was that they were heavily armed and armored, seeming more as if they stood ready to take on a superior force of Rakhar soldiers than a few errant prisoners. Based on his conversation with Lieutenant Ferrer, some kind of incursion into the depths of Inferno was expected, but these guys were ready to go to war.

In one brief but impulsive moment, overcome with concern for his friend Chason, he blurted something out.

“I know the layout of the old facility.”

The man at the front of the group held up his fist, and all nine men turned to face him. The man at the center took a step toward Malthus.

“I’m Master Sergeant Scrivener,” he said. “And you are?”

“Malthus Brewer.”

“Where did you get that information?”

“I’ve got a photographic memory. A diagram of what lies beneath was once found, but hidden away by its discoverer. He allowed me to look at it; I only needed a few seconds to memorize it.”

“Why should we trust anything you give us?”

“Because I’ve only a few years left on my sentence, and any cooperation on my part could result in time removed. Leading us to our deaths is the last thing I want.”

Scrivener reached into one of his many pockets, and removed a notepad and a pen. “Sketch out what you know, and be quick about it. If your layout matches what we encounter, I’ll tell Commander Hadar about your contribution.”

“It would be a lot easier if you just took me with you.”

“Nice try, inmate. We’ll have enough to worry about without making sure you don’t escape.”

“As with those that have gone before me, escape is not the goal, only a chance for self-determination. For those without hope, it’s compelling, but I’m not without hope. I gain nothing by running from you.”

“And you think we can take you with us without permission from Warden Cooper?”

“I know it.”

Scrivener motioned for him to take the notepad. “Here.”

“I already told you, I’m not going to…”

“Just fucking take it.”

Confused, Malthus accepted the implements. “Okay.”

“Flip to the previous page.”

Doing so, six sets of terrestrial eight-digit grid coordinates were revealed. “Which planet is this?”

“It doesn’t matter. Give me the pad.”

He did so. “I take it you want me to read all those numbers back to you.”

“Yup.”

“Sure!”

Malthus recited the numbers back, as easily as if he still had the pad in front of him. Scrivener raised an eyebrow.

“Impressive,” said the sergeant. “There’s one more thing before we agree to take you with us, Mister Brewer. You’re friends with Kheiron, right?”

“I see you’ve done your research. We’re cellmates, nothing more. If you’re asking me if he trusts me, then I suppose he does so as much as anyone else in here. I’ve been nothing but fair to him.”

Scrivener nodded. “Then you’re welcome to join us. Just keep in mind: we don’t have an environmental suit for you, and the first sign of trouble, and any one of us won’t hesitate to perforate your skull.”

Malthus gestured toward the laundry room. “Lead the way, sergeant.”

Baker and Farmer were guarding the door. Scrivener spoke with them briefly, then Baker led the group inside. They passed by all the equipment, reaching a steel door with a padlock. Baker unlocked it, and one of the marines opened it, revealing total darkness beyond. A cold breeze wafted by their ankles. Scrivener turned to Malthus.

“You stay right behind me at all times, at the center of the squad,” he said. “Got it?”

“Okay.”

“You’re sure you want to do this?” Baker asked him.

“Eh. What else do I have to do?”

The group proceeded, and Baker closed the door behind them. It slammed, and a foreboding echo cascaded down the corridor.

“What’s up first?” asked Scrivener.

“This area should contain access to and equipment for the ventilation system. I doubt we’ll find anything else of interest. We should look for the main stairwell; it should be about three hundred meters straight ahead.”

A bright light shot out from the gloom, and struck the point man dead in the chest. He, and the two men on his flank, returned fire in an instant. The noise was unbearable, and Malthus clapped his hands over his ears. The shell casings from their rifles bounced off the walls and clattered to the floor.

“Report!” bellowed Scrivener.

“We downed an aerial sentry,” replied the man on the left. “Corporal Hunter was hit with a laser weapon. He’s uninjured, and there’s superficial damage to his front plate.”

“Everyone take a knee, and stay alert. Private Archer, scan for transmissions. Hunter, get a photo of that thing.”

Hunter advanced under cover from his team. The man directly in front of him pulled out a PDA, and poked at its screen for a minute or two. Scrivener turned to Malthus.

“I know what you’re going to say,” began Malthus. “The prison didn’t put sentries down here.”

“How do you know for sure?”

“Because if they did, you can bet that prisoners like me would have to maintain them. I had no idea such a thing even existed here.”

Archer spoke. “Top, the only frequencies on the air are those from Inferno, and our own.”

“They might be fully automated, then,” replied Scrivener. “Hunter?”

“The drone here is a match for a Bellator Systems Mark Six, last manufactured twenty-five years ago.”

“That’s an Alnairian company,” said Malthus.

“I know that,” snapped Scrivener. “Listen up, marines. We’re going to secure this level, but we’re not going any further until I’ve had a chance to up-channel a sitrep.”

“Left you out of the loop, huh?”

“I wouldn’t be so snarky if I were you, inmate. You’re just as committed as the rest of us.”

Hunter had advanced just beyond the wreckage of the drone, which put him at an intersection of hallways.

“Sergeant Scrivener,” he said. “There’s another downed sentry around the corner here, along with fresh tracks and some 10×24 casings.”

“Shit. Then we’re not alone.”

__________

On Sub-Level 3, Chason and his new friends had finished exploring the level above, encountering nothing else other than a ransacked storage room. They had just entered a control room, marked on the map by an acronym or abbreviation whose meaning was untranslatable without further context. Immediately, however, they could see large windows at the far side of the room that looked out to a huge, cylindrical corridor, lined with power conduits of various sizes. The grimy consoles, cabinet-style servers, and a few lights on the walls were receiving power, but none of the computer displays were switched on. Barely audible in the background was a low hum.

In one corner, next to a utility closet, a makeshift bed had been set up, along with a small table, on which sat an electric lantern and a grimy mug. Judging by the condition of these things, they hadn’t been used in a long time. Christie walked up to the windows, marveling at the space beyond.

“Assuming this area is an ellipse or a circle,” she began, “it would be at least ten kilometers in diameter.”

“It could be a particle collider,” said Ray.

“I was thinking the same thing. I’ll see if I can get one of these computers working.”

Eva looked at Chason. “Anyone ever mention a facility like this to you?”

He shook his head. “No. I’m just as surprised as the rest of you.”

The display in front of Christie lit up, and she smiled. “Eva, Richter, come take a look.”

The two requested androids joined her by the console. Christie began to navigate through the interface. Ray and Mike joined them, but being unable to read Alnairian, all they could see was gibberish. Still, some things were universal in appearance.

“This looks like a command line program, like DOS,” said Mike.

“It is,” replied Christie. “It’s going to take me some time to figure out how to run a program.”

“A contraption this complex couldn’t possibly rely on such a simple OS,” said Ray.

“I can’t imagine it would. This is probably just the shell of the system. As I said, I’ll need some time.”

Richter said, “I may be able to read this language, but I won’t be of any help here. I’ll leave you and Adeler to figure it out. In the meantime, there’s a lot more to this level to explore.”

“Don’t wander too far,” said Eva.

“Chason,” began Christie, “do you know your way around a Phalanx?”

“You mean your machine gun?” he asked. “No. I’ve barely got any experience with a pistol. In fact, if you’re proposing the rest of us go out there alone, I’d rather stay here.”

“You can’t fault the kid for wanting to stay here,” said Richter.

“Kid?! How old do you think I am? Anyway, I’m not a seasoned… whatever my brother was, or you lot claim to be.”

“Nobody’s pressuring you to do anything,” said Eva.

“It’s fine,” said Ray. “Richter, Mungavin, and I will go. Chason, watch their backs, in case they get too absorbed by their work.”

Chason nodded. “That I can do.”

The three men returned to the central corridor, and the door slid shut behind them. The control room had been the first choice for them after descending from the level above, but several other paths were also available. Ray and Mike looked at their PDAs, once again trying to compare Chason’s diagram with what they could actually see before them.

“If this map is right,” said Ray, “there should be two long rooms running parallel to this corridor, with three entrances each.”

“Where are you seeing that?” asked Mike. “The map is only a cross-section.”

“I’m sorry. Christie translated this part here for me. It says ‘capacitor rooms, north and south.’ See the triple boxes? I’d guess the center box is the corridor, with the two overlaid slightly above and below as the parallel rooms.”

“Gotcha. This is like trying to navigate across the United States with a novelty coloring map from Dairy Queen.”

Richter chuckled. “Yeah, kinda.”

The group entered the next door on the left. A long, dark room was beyond. With no interior lighting, Ray and Mike lowered their visors and activated the IR overlay feature. Richter simply pulled out a flashlight with an IR mode. Before them, lined up against the far wall, were a dozen steel cylindrical devices, two meters tall, and open in the center like a spool. Each one also had a rounded archway over it, painted black. The devices at the center of the spools were rectangular boxes of thick, dark gray metal. A metal grate in the floor covered a conduit that ran parallel to the cylinders.

“Those look like cyclotrons,” began Mike. “They look almost exactly like the cyclotrons at the Lawrence facility in Berkeley.”

“Isn’t a cyclotron also a kind of particle accelerator?” asked Ray.

“Yes. They’re used for isolating radionuclides, either for research or medical purposes.”

Richter said, “So if Tolliver is right about the other thing, this facility must’ve been used for researching subatomic particles.”

Ray nodded. “Seems that way. But there’s a lot more to this place below. Come on, let’s sweep the area and check the room across the hall.”

All of them pulled out their PDAs, and spread out. It didn’t take very long before Richter’s attention was drawn toward one of the cylinders, particularly, a small object attached to the side.

“Hey guys, check this out,” he said. “I’m reading a nitrous hydrocarbon compound on this device that is very similar in composition to plastic explosives. There’s also what looks like a remote detonator attached to it.”

Mike replied from the next cylinder over. “There’s one here, too.”

Soon, the team discovered that all twelve cylinders had the same device attached to their sides with fabric adhesive tape. None of the objects were emitting any kind of signal or power signature. Richter scrutinized one of them with his flashlight.

“I’ve got crystalline residue on this one, and the duct tape is crumbling. It looks like these things have been here for a long time.”

“Can they be rendered safe?” asked Ray.

“I have no idea. Better to just leave them alone for now.”

Finding nothing else, the trio crossed the hallway into the other room. It was the same size and orientation as the last one, but where the suspected cyclotrons used to be, there were several large heaps of metallic junk. As they investigated further, it became obvious that the equipment in the room had been a mirror of the last one, but everything had been intentionally destroyed. Scorch marks marred the wall and ceiling.

“Somebody wanted all this shit gone,” said Richter. “I guess the explosives in the other room failed for some reason.”

“Why bother?” asked Mike. “They could’ve just collapsed or filled in the stairways and elevators if they really didn’t want anyone to access them.”

“It is curious,” said Ray. “Maybe they wanted to be absolutely certain no-one could steal the technology here.”

Moving on, the team reached the end of the main corridor. There, they discovered a locked door with writing and symbols on it. The symbols were a humanoid skull and a lightning bolt. Richter translated the writing.

“This room contains, or did contain, a high-voltage three-phase transformer.”

Ray said, “This lock is the same type we encountered before. We’ll have to blow it if we want to get in there.”

“I don’t think we need to worry about that right now. Let’s report back to the others.”

They returned to the control room. Christie and Eva were absolutely enthralled by whatever was on the console, and barely acknowledged their presence. Chason greeted them enthusiastically. In the curved corridor beyond the windows, a long row of LEDs had been illuminated. Pulling herself away from the computer, Eva turned around. Ray gave her an update on what they had found. She smiled, nodded, and gestured toward the windows.

“You were right,” she began. “This is a giant particle collider. It seems this entire level was dedicated to the study of quarks. Christie and I have managed to power up the main array enough to send a test signal around the loop.”

“Is any of this dangerous, or have applications for weapons?” asked Ray. “Somebody wanted all of this destroyed.”

“Knowledge is power,” said Christie, her eyes fixed on the monitor. “As much fun as I’m having with this thing, I’ve already found that any files related to its discoveries have been purged and overwritten. If the Alnairians learned anything here, that data is somewhere else now.”

Richter said, “Then unless you’re planning on becoming a permanent resident, there’s no point in dicking around with it. I appreciate your curiosity, but I think it’s time to move on. Answers may lie further down.”

Christie pressed a few keys, and the LEDs in the raceway switched off. “You’re right, of course.”

“We’ll have a quick break, water up, and snacks for those who need them.”

No one objected, so everyone grabbed a chair. Chason looked with envy at the food items that Ray and Mike removed from their pockets.

“I don’t suppose…” Chason mumbled.

Ray passed of a packet of crackers to him. “What were you planning on eating down here, anyway?”

“I brought some supplies. As I mentioned, rumors are that it’s survivable down here long-term, though I’m beginning to suspect that was all bullshit. Before you showed up, that was a chance I was willing to take.”

When the flesh-and-blood humanoids were done eating and drinking, they policed up their trash and got ready to move. Everyone returned to the central corridor, went to the stairwell, and descended to Sub-Level 4. Christie peered at her PDA.

“We’ve got laboratories down the hall that way, and a large chamber labeled ‘pool’ in the other direction.”

“I don’t suppose there’s a five-star spa down here,” said Mike.

“Let’s check that out first,” said Ray.

The team turned right, and entered an enormous rough-hewn oval cavern. True to the description, the bottom half was filled with murky water. A railed platform had been constructed near the door, and there was a single computer console. Other than that, there was nowhere else to go. Mounted on the ceiling, ringing the entire pool, were two dozen devices that resembled satellite dishes, each pointed toward the center of the cavern.

“What in the world?” murmured Chason.

Christie approached the console, and powered it on. “Let’s see what we can find out.”

Eva held out her PDA. “This is not a natural formation. If you look closely, you can see excavation patterns.”

“One would think there’d be stalagmites if it were a natural cavern,” said Ray. “Or stalactites. Whichever one is the one that points down, I mean.”

“It reminds me of something. It’s on the tip of my brain.”

“I’m in,” began Christie. “This chamber is meant to register solar neutrinos passing through the planet. When active, that pool contained deuterium, pumped in from purifiers elsewhere on this level.”

“Damn it, that’s what I was thinking.”

“What use would such a facility serve?” asked Richter.

“It would be essential toward the eventual creation of a quantum-entangled neutrino device,” replied Christie. “My guess is that this facility either predates the introduction of Alnair into the galactic community, or they tried to develop their own technology rather than just purchase it from another species.”

“Or they wanted a proprietary model,” added Eva. “Perhaps they had a theoretical design that would be more efficient than anything already available.”

“That may be. But together with what we found above, it all seems to point to a time when Alnair was an emerging civilization, desperate for technologies to bolster their defenses. I hope we find out why they abandoned this place, and tried to destroy it.”

“The most obvious answer is that they were also working on something clandestine and dangerous,” said Richter. “If our own government is any model, such secrets are guarded with jealousy.”

“Or they uncovered something below to be feared,” said Chason.

“Here be dragons,” said Mike.

“Something like that.”

The Wolf and the Centaur (RFVIII), Chapter 8

Spoiler alert: This is the beginning of the 8th book in the Reckless Faith series. You may read the prologue here: https://devonai.wordpress.com/2023/10/31/reckless-faith-viii-prologue/

The central library in Lucidus was also home to Alnair’s largest museum, as well as its most prestigious university. As such, the location consisted of several buildings, each resplendent in mottled gray brick, marble columns, and roofs of either red tile or gleaming gold leaf. Sprawling itself across several acres in the heart of an otherwise modern metropolis, it was a peaceful refuge from the noise and bustle of its asphalt and concrete host. For the crew of the Fox, it wasn’t anything any of them hadn’t seen before, but it was still impressive. After wandering through its main entrance, finding a map, and proceeding into a large, verdant courtyard, they paused to get their bearings.

“You’re sure the Syndicate has people here?” asked Cane, watching as a group of students in sage-colored robes walked by.

Dalia shrugged. “I told you, it’s been a couple of years.”

“There’s no question they wanted us to go to Alnair,” added Sam.

“It’s too bad you didn’t,” began Vecky, “perhaps then we wouldn’t have to risk our cover to find them.”

“I still think we can find what we need in the archives,” said Miriam.

“We can do both. Venator, you and the Parmenters see about the Syndicate. Colchester, Penrose and I will visit the library. Remember, we don’t know how much time our friends have before they’re forced into a confrontation with the fleet.”

Cane nodded. “Then let’s set a rendezvous time. That fountain there, in two hours?”

“That sounds fine. Just be ready to move if we’re called back before then.”

Cane took a picture of the map with his PDA, then handed the paper copy back to Vecky. He and the twins headed west, toward one of the museum buildings, quickly losing sight of their companions behind a grove of trees. Not a lot of time had passed since the Terrans had asked the crew of the Fox to return to Alnair, and so he still had many questions for Sam and Dalia about their alleged Syndicate contacts. At last alone with them, he decided to press the issue.

“Tell me more about the job you turned down.”

Passing through an ancient portcullis into a grand hall with granite walls, the trio quickly discovered that they’d have to purchase tickets to enter this particular wing. After paying a nominal fee at the pair of kiosks that flanked the area, manned by terminally-bored adolescents, they continued into a sepulcher-quiet chamber with the first of many exhibits. Barely giving the display cases full of arrowheads and flint knives any heed, Cane waited for a response from his companions.

“The Syndicate wanted to deliver a PDA with a fresh set of commo ciphers and updated dossiers to their people here,” said Sam.

“Toward what end?”

“To maintain secure transmissions and interactions, I would imagine.”

“I meant, what business are they doing here?”

“How would we know?” asked Dalia. “The pay was shit, so we declined. As we’ve said, the only other tidbit of info we got was that there were one or two of our people working in the museum. As a former Syndicate man, I’m sure you can guess what they were doing here.”

Cane nodded. “Indeed. All right, then, let’s find their import-export office.”

Without any idea of where to start, it took the trio almost an hour to stumble upon the room they wanted. Though it was down a hallway with a sign that warned against public entry, no one was there to stop them. Upon entering, they surprised an older Primarian man sitting behind a cluttered desk. Before he’d had a chance to say a word, a look of recognition crossed his face.

“Close the door, then,” he said, removing his spectacles. “Scan the room if you want; we can have a private conversation here.”

“I take it you don’t get a lot of Matesians out this way.”

Sam clutched his PDA in his left hand. “He’s right, the room is clear.”

“No,” said the man. “My name is Bene, if you’ll find it useful.”

“Not really,” said Cane. “We’re not here on Syndicate business, though as it happens, all three of us are, or were, affiliated with it.”

“I’ll need to verify that.”

Dalia said, “I’m Dalia Parmenter; these are my brothers, Grent and Samniel.”

Bene worked at his console for a moment before replying. “Impressive dossiers. But you said you’re not here on Syndicate business. You know that means I’ll be limited in how much help I can give you, whatever your goals actually are.”

Cane tossed a purple velvet bag onto the desk, which landed with a thud. “Don’t worry, Bene, we won’t ask you to compromise your position here. We’re looking for information about Tartarus. Consider that as compensation regardless of what we learn.”

Bene opened the bag, and removed a few of the several gold ingots that were inside. “The Alnairians guard that place with jealousy. Whatever you’re doing there, expect to be rebuffed… vigorously.”

“We already know about the prison. There is evidence, however, that much more was going on at that location in years past. Anything you might be able to tell us about it would be useful.”

Bene leaned back in his chair, and stroked his goatee. “Well, you’re right about the planet being of interest to the Alnairians for a long time. The official record is that Inferno was a mine, and then converted into a prison after its lodes ran dry. That much is probably true. My time here has revealed rumors that not only did a research facility exist there prior to that, but also that Tartarus used to be a world much like Alnair I; that is to say, a rock without an atmosphere. One might conclude, therefore, that either the research they were doing there or the mine that followed are responsible for the inhospitable atmosphere found there today.”

“Could it have been a failed attempt at terraforming?” asked Sam.

“Maybe; that’s as good a theory as any, for those of us without access to the truth.”

Cane looked over the shelves that lined Bene’s office. They were filled with artifacts such as vases, small statues, musical instruments, and clay tablets with indecipherable writing. Most had ID tags with barcodes attached to them.

“Is it really worth the Syndicate’s time to be moving stuff like this?” he asked.

Bene shrugged. “I suppose the right piece might be worth a lot to the right collector. I don’t really care; I get a salary from the museum, too.”

“Seems like a pretty sweet gig. Anyway, what else can you tell us about Tartarus?”

“Only that several years ago, an artifact was brought to the university for study. The rumor was that it was found on Tartarus, and possibly native to that world. A revelation of an ancient civilization having existed on that barren wasteland would have been a big deal to the Alnairians. Alas, it was ultimately discovered to be of Alnairian III origin.”

“Did you see it?”

“No. I don’t know what it was.”

“Then why mention it?”

“This may be a ‘sweet gig,’ as you put it, but I’m still a Syndicate man. I have connections here. I have it on good authority that the artifact was indeed found on Tartarus, and its true origin was covered up. There are laws against desecration of native lands that also apply to the other planets in the solar system. You can see what a mess the industrialists would have on their hands if Tartarus was suddenly subject to those laws.”

“That’s all very interesting,” said Sam, “but it doesn’t really help us.”

He scowled at the younger man. “You haven’t told me what your precise interest is. Feel free to narrow down your questions, or share your whole plan with me if you really want my best help.”

“It’s just that there’s an awful lot of element 79 in that bag,” said Dalia.

Bene put all but one ingot back in the bag, and tightened the drawstrings. “There you go. That’s all I know. Though I can point you in the right direction from here, keep in mind that gaining the cooperation of others here on Alnair could be much more difficult than throwing money at them. Loyalty, among such people, can be hard to gauge.”

“Fine, then,” said Cane.

“Senator Tailor. He likes alcohol and opioids.”

“Got it. Thanks for your help. I doubt we’ll see each other again.”

The trio exited the office, and walked back down the hallway.

“It’s a good thing you bear a resemblance to Grent,” Sam said to Cane.

“And that Bene didn’t notice I’m a head taller than him. Come on, let’s hope Kitsune and Colchester got something useful from the library.”

__________

The ASF Bidelman was a heavy cruiser, large even for that designation, but ultimately not a battleship due to its lack of fighter bays. Alnair had never seen the need for a proper battleship, rather delegating fighter support to smaller, faster vessels. Relatively isolated from the rest of the galaxy, and for the most part not subject to its chaos, Alnair was privileged to have to only worry about self-defense. Still, their fleet was formidable, and should give any belligerent party pause about engaging it.

Reports of late about the Rakhar were concerning, and as it happened, Alnair had decided to step up production of cruisers and fighters just in case the unpleasantness going on near Pegasus were to spill over into their quiet sector. Commander Hadar was the sort to enthusiastically support that buildup, even though his own responsibilities hadn’t yet demanded such a stance. In fact, his current mission to Tartarus was the most interesting thing to happen to him since he’d been promoted to commander.

Hadar and his lieutenants had returned from the surface after their questioning of the prison’s staff and inmates had reached its natural conclusion. What they knew for sure was that Chason Talyn, a Kau’Rii of otherwise no interest, and Kheiron, a Kira’To, had likely escaped into the old sections beneath the penitentiary. The former man was of no concern, but the latter was a huge problem to Hadar’s superiors. It was after briefing them on what he’d learned that Hadar became fully aware that the reputation of a Kira’To was well-deserved. Kheiron was a palpable threat, and though the admirals and senators above him gave assurances that he would be dealt with, their tone hadn’t left Hadar with a lot of confidence that any of them could do anything about him.

Adding to his frustration was that Hadar hadn’t been given any further information about the true nature of the Kira’To, and whether the Alnairians were holding back for the sake of operational security, or that they simply didn’t know, the commander could only guess. All he had to go on was that his decision to dispatch a squad of marines to pursue Kheiron into the depths of the old facility had been met with no opposition. Sitting alone in his ready room, just off of the bridge of the Bidelman, he couldn’t help but worry that he’d just sent those nine men to their deaths.

The only thing left for him to do at that point was review the sensor logs recorded at the time the supposed asteroid struck the cooling tower. Something about the conclusion that it had been just an errant piece of space debris didn’t sit right with him. Further scans of the superstructure at the top of the tower had indicated a much lower-speed impact, as if something the size of a shuttle had been hovering there before careening out-of-control into the ventilation fans. Even a relatively small meteoroid would have caused much more damage than that. Adding to his suspicion were several sensor logs that showed very unusual energy signatures within the last couple of hours.

Someone or something was there, and though it may have been undetectable with their sensors, the data wasn’t wrong. Thus began a deep dive into reports across the quadrant regarding anything that might explain what he’d seen. Toward that end, there was ample information available about the Rakhar incursion at Eniph, and the freelance vessels that had intervened with great effectiveness to thwart their plans. Contained within those reports were stories about a ship called the Reckless Faith that had almost flawless cloaking abilities, along with related reports about how they had liberated the planet Umber, and returned to the core galaxy to prosecute several other incursions that involved corporeal enemies, and a metric shitload of info regarding an ancient Kira’To project known as the Stymphalian Raptors, which had become the subject of lots of free discussion among online fringe groups.

Nursing a large pot of corferic, Hadar read everything he could about recent events. He reached a rather obvious conclusion, eventually: the Reckless Faith must have learned about Kheiron’s presence at the prison, and had arrived to involve themselves with it. Toward what end, he wasn’t sure, but it was a most unwelcome development. He sighed, pushed down on the surface of his desk to stand, and entered the bridge. There, his command staff looked to him expectantly.

“Transmit a message, wide band, all frequencies, as follows,” he said. “Interlopers, this is Commander Hadar of the Alnairian Space Fleet. We are aware of your presence, but remain unable to detect you directly. Right now, a squad of highly-trained and deadly marines have been dispatched to the surface of Tartarus, and will use any means necessary to eliminate any threat to the facilities there. You are outmatched. Whatever your purpose here, I urge you to open up a dialogue with us, to avoid any further loss of life. Consider your response in a timely manner, for our troops on the ground already have their orders. Hadar out.”

“Message sent,” said Lieutenant Smith.

Hadar took his seat at the center of the bridge. “Then we wait.”

__________

On the bridge of the Percheron, Colonel Dietrich tapped her left armrest with intensity. Manning the flight controls, as usual, was Lieutenant Haverbrook, while Brockway stood by to her right at the systems console. Also present were Doctor Villari, Ogden’s replacement, as well as Captain Mintaka, the ship’s security chief. While she was tempted to take action, Dietrich knew her counterpart on the Reckless Faith well enough to wait until he initiated a conversation. Indeed, moments after receiving Commander Hadar’s message, John Scherer’s voice filled their ears.

“Percheron, I assume you’ve copied that transmission?” he asked.

“Of course,” replied Dietrich. “What do you think?”

“I don’t think we need to reply. None of the Alnairian vessels have launched additional shuttles, which leads me to believe that our people on the surface won’t be outmatched by these allegedly deadly marines.”

“You’re assuming that when they say squad, they’re talking about our own definition of nine to thirteen troops.”

“True. Ferro is analyzing the Alnairian language as it’s being translated to our ears. I’m sure that won’t take long.”

“Indeed it didn’t take long,” said Ari’s voice. “The database, confirmed by updates given to us by the Fox, indicate that Alnairian nomenclature is what we’d expect for force sizes. Further info that we can access from the ‘net confirms it. Unless Commander Hadar is being intentionally vague, a squad of no more than nine is what faces our team below.”

Dietrich said, “Those are greater than two-to-one odds, unless you’re assuming that Talyn will fight on our side.”

“It’s his only chance for freedom,” said John. “Plus, our people aren’t exactly amateurs. They can hold their own.”

“I have confidence in them, too. And yet, opening up a dialogue with the Alnairians may buy us some time. Despite the fact that we’re trying to spring out one of their prisoners, the balance of power may allow us to negotiate regardless.”

Dana’s voice could be heard over the comm. “You’re right that they don’t know how many ships we have, or what our capabilities are. I’m in agreement with you, colonel. I think we should reply.”

John said, “You’ve all had a chance to review the information brought to us by the crew of the Fox. Their primary concern is likely the Kira’To down there. Based on what Kitsune and Venator told us, they know at least some of our involvement with the Kira’To in the past. If we’re going to talk, that should be our leverage.”

Dietrich nodded. “Agreed. How do you want to proceed?”

“Since the Reckless Faith was mentioned by name, I’ll initiate contact. There’s no need to reveal the presence of the Percheron right now.”

“Very well; we’ll listen in. Before that, though, what’s the latest from the ground team?”

Brockway glanced at Dietrich. She knew that her commander was frustrated with the fact that while transmissions from the surface were sent to both ships, Scherer tended to dominate the conversation, leaving the crew of the Percheron to feel like passive observers. Considering that Christie was now the central nervous system of the Percheron, it was a slight not easily ignored. Being treated as servants to the cause could only go on so long, and it was obvious to anyone aboard the Percheron that Dietrich’s patience was being sorely tested yet again. Brockway herself was bemused that ego battles were still a thing among humans, despite so much more being at stake in the last decade or two.

“You don’t know?” asked John, only adding to Dietrich’s apparent ire. “Richter and Adeler have declared themselves to be combat effective. As long as their signals with their host ships remain strong, they’ll be an asset to our effort.”

“Great. Except I disagree that now is a good time to open up a dialogue. I’d like to put it to a quorum.”

“Of course. I’ll take our pulse here and you do the same. Stand by.”

Dietrich turned to her crew. “All right, show of hands, people. Who thinks we should initiate contact with the Alnairians?”

No one raised their hands.

“That was easy,” said Brockway. “You’re not going to ask the rest of the ship?”

“There are only two other officers not present here. So the vote carries either way. Commander Scherer, the Percheron stands opposed.”

“I’ve been outvoted here as well,” replied John. “We’ll wait. Another question worth asking is whether or not we should try to get Sheng Fuyue out here to better deal with the Kira’To on the surface, if there really is one.”

“If he’s willing, and can get here in a timely manner, then I don’t see a down side.”

“I agree. I’ll ping the Antares and see where they’ve ended up. For now, stay frosty.”

The Wolf and the Centaur (RFVIII), Chapter 7

Spoiler alert: This is the beginning of the 8th book in the Reckless Faith series. You may read the prologue here: https://devonai.wordpress.com/2023/10/31/reckless-faith-viii-prologue/

“A miniature fusion reactor? That’s the first I’m hearing about it.”

In a room on Sub-Level 2 of the old Inferno facility, Chason, Ray, Christie, and Mike conversed with the crew of the Reckless Faith high above them. The room appeared to have once been a simple decontamination chamber, as indicated by an airlock that was followed by a large communal shower, and the entrance to a chute that bore a description, helpfully translated from Alnairian by Christie, that read ‘incinerator.’ It was the first area below the level with roving drones that the team had found, and the room, comprised of moldy tiles and rusting fixtures, seemed like a safe enough place to pause and give their allies an update. What might have needed to be decontaminated so many years ago, for the moment, remained a mystery.

Mike’s statement was prompted upon hearing that Christie’s android chassis had a powerful energy source, and was the biggest problem with their new plan to implement Project Doppelganger to aid them in their mission. Though the project was little more than a footnote in the deluge of information streaming from NASA prior to their departure from the Sol system, Mike was nevertheless familiar with the basic idea.

“As you know,” began Ari over the radio, “we can’t transport radionuclides. However, we have figured out how to power a VAD body with lithium-ion batteries in place of a fusion reactor, even given the limitations of space down where one might normally find a liver. There’s good news and bad news about that, of course.”

“Duration,” said Ray.

“Bingo. The bad news is that a single battery is only good for seven hours of normal operation, and they weigh ten kilograms each. The good news is that they’re easily replaceable, and we can transport as many as you’d care to carry in your rucksacks. Furthermore, as long as you’re in range of our transporter, we can supply you with more.”

Christie said, “Based on our scans of the substrate, right now will probably be our last chance to transport anything down here. I can carry two at my current encumbrance; I imagine it won’t be a problem for my companions to carry one each. So you’re talking at least 35 hours in addition to one or two doppelgangers.”

“I’m so lost,” said Chason.

“They’re talking about transporting one or two remotely-controlled androids to our location,” replied Mike.

“You really think you need more people to extract me?”

“As we said, there are several Alnairian fleet vessels in orbit,” began Ray. “They’ve launched shuttles, so we have to assume the prison is crawling with troops. We can’t get you out of here right now, so we might as well have a couple more allies down here with us.”

“Then it’s decided,” said Ari. “You’ll be getting Richter and Adeler. Give us five or ten minutes to load the data and let those two use the bathroom, get a snack, whatever, before they interface with the orbs. Assuming no problems, we’ll transport the gear, and they’ll try to get a good connection with their bodies.”

“Take your time,” said Christie. “Ground team out.”

Ray said, “Chason, you said you had some sort of map of this place. May we see it?”

Chason pulled out the requested object, and handed it to him. “Sure.”

Ray and Christie scrutinized the document.

“This doesn’t look like a mine at all,” said Christie.

“That’s what I thought, though others in the prison seemed quite sure it was a mine at some point. Whether that was before or after all those facilities were constructed, I don’t know. All I can tell you is that the section that is currently the prison is mostly unchanged from those on the diagram that show the barracks, chow hall, administrative areas, laundry, and commissary.”

“Sub-Level One, where we found you and the drones, and what we’ve seen of Sub-Level Two, where we are now, match this diagram. However, we can’t assume that any of this is still accurate. The reactor shown here, is that still the main power source for the prison?”

“Probably? I have no way of answering that.”

Ray said, “When the others get here with their avatars, we should explore further. There may be another way out not shown here. Also, if the Alnairians come looking for us, we should put some distance between us.”

“I think you’re crazy wanting to go deeper.”

“Wasn’t that your original plan?” asked Mike.

“Yes, and it was crazy when I thought of it, too. Now I have a rescue team on my side.”

Christie looked at the ceiling. “Ferro, are you still listening?”

“Yes,” replied Ari.

“Contact the Fox. Tell them we’ve got a mission for them. Assuming they still have permission to land on Alnair Prime, I’d like them to see if they can find out more about the history of Inferno. Apparently it was a research facility at one time, and you know we’re suckers for exploring abandoned research facilities.”

“They do have the potential to be really fuckin’ cool, if they’re not incredibly dangerous. Hey, I’ve got to concentrate on getting this transportation job in place. I’ll relay your message when we’re done here. Reckless Faith out.”

Chason ran his finger down a section of tiled wall, revealing decades of grime. “Your motivations are inscrutable, if you really are a bunch of freelancers.”

Ray smiled. “Freelancers we are, but we’re also quite possibly the best team in this galaxy for this sort of work. If you knew us better, you’d know we can’t resist a good ancient mystery.”

“Yeah? I know an inmate you should talk to, he claims to be a Kira’To.”

Chason’s would-be saviors stared at him in shock. After looking at her friends, Christie gestured with her arm.

“About yea tall, gray skin, bulbous eyes, a thin mouth, no discernible nose, and an egg-shaped head?”

“Damn, don’t tell me he’s not lying. I thought he was full of shit. He calls himself Kheiron.”

Christie almost whispered her reply. “The centaur.”

“You’ve heard of him?”

“Not specifically. Though, his choice of name fits a paradigm, and raises a ton of questions.”

“I’m no expert on the species, but according to legend, a healthy Kira’To would never allow itself to be imprisoned without some sort of powerful force field. Since you three made it in here with relative ease, I’d have to guess Inferno has no such device.”

“None detectible with standard sensors. It could be a one-way thing, I don’t know.”

“The plot thickens,” said Mike.

Ray nodded. “That may be. But if we’re to find out more about Kheiron, or any other inmate for that matter, we’ll have to surrender, and/or open up an honest dialogue with the Alnairians, which would jeopardize our primary mission.”

Christie shrugged. “Or ask one of our resident favorites to try to meditate and talk to Aquila about him. With Evangeline about to join us, and Kitsune busy commanding her ship; that would leave just Colchester, or possibly Andrews.”

Chason frowned, and his hand wandered toward the pistol on his belt. “I’m beginning to suspect you people aren’t just here to rescue me. If you’ve got an ulterior motive, I’d like to hear it now.”

“Hey, relax, Talyn. Kheiron’s existence, and presence here, is a total surprise to us. We only know about four Kira’To, and all but one are super fucking dead. Aquila, the last, is our friend.”

“Technically, we can’t be sure Scorpius is dead,” said Ray.

“You’re not helping, Bailey! Look, Chason, if we could extract you now, and get you out of danger, we would. And for now, we can’t waltz in and chat with the being who may or may not be an extra-dimensional entity staying in a corporeal prison for its own amusement. Ultimately, Ray is right. It’s better to descend into the old tunnels, and avoid any further confrontation with the Alnairians. I’m sure the rest of our allies would agree, at least until a better alternative presents itself.”

A swirling dance of green light appeared in the center of the showers, accompanied by the sound of sand cascading onto a tile floor. As the group watched, two figures materialized, and solidified. When the glow of energy had ceased, silence again returned to the room. Before them was what one could call reasonable facsimiles of Chance Richter and Evangeline Adeler, but with an uncanny affect. At first staring ahead and unresponsive, the team approached them, and the strangeness of their doppelgangers became apparent.

Though the pair wore EVA suits, they grasped their helmets in their hands, allowing a clear view of their bald heads. Obviously, neither were bald in human form, and the difference was stark, but it wasn’t the only problem. Their skin was too smooth, and their eyes were glassy. Moments later, their pupils began to move, and they focused on their friends, but despite this, their eyes seemed more like painted ceramic balls than flesh-and-blood. Both grasped M4 Carbines, and had rucksacks and sidearms as well. Despite all of this, when Richter spoke, his voice sounded normal.

“For fuck’s sake,” he said. “What’s the matter?”

Ray said, “Your doppelgangers are, um… less than perfect.”

“So what? Deal with it. The real challenge is going to be operating them from hundreds of miles away. Let us worry about that.”

“This is also literally the first time we’re trying a real-world mission with newly-created doppelgangers,” said Eva.

“It’s just jarring, that’s all,” said Christie. “My own chassis is a work of art in comparison. I’ll have to address the data loss later. Anyway, take some time to do systems diagnostics and get a feel for your bodies. We’ve also got some new information to share with you, so let’s hope we’ve got enough time for that before the Alnairians show up.”

__________

Warden Cooper’s office wasn’t particularly large. Barely enough room to accommodate three people, the space didn’t exactly befit a man of his importance. Nonetheless, over the last ten years, he had done his best to make it comfortable, at least according to his own tastes. Military-themed posters on the wall and impedimenta on the shelves harkened back to his time in the Alnairian fleet, but there wasn’t so much as to make a visitor feel like his six-year stint had totally defined his life. Lamps both on his desk and on a pedestal in the corner provided softer light than the harsh fluorescents overhead, and the synthetic, cubicle-style furniture found in the rest of the administrative areas had been replaced with simple wooden alternatives. Any visitor would find the arrangement to be peaceful, regardless of their reason for being there.

Commandant Hadar, and Lieutenants Ferrer and Smith, hadn’t mentioned to each other Cooper’s service history, though the first man almost certainly knew of it. Likewise, so far in their interactions, the warden hadn’t brought it up; the most obvious reason was that it had no bearing on anything going on at the moment. If Cooper was inclined to use that camaraderie to curry favor, he hadn’t done it yet. Though Ferrer’s opinion was that the warden’s status as a veteran earned him more respect than Hadar had yet shown him, he could only keep his mouth shut.

Seconds earlier, Cooper had been bid to enter, and he stood with his hands in his pockets in front of his own desk. Hadar had his feet propped up on it, and barely acknowledged the warden’s presence, instead keeping his attention on his PDA. He was about to say something, when a transmission interrupted him. He listened to the message through his earpiece, then spoke.

“Understood. Hadar out.”

“Good news?” asked Ferrer.

“Neutral news. Analysis of the damage to the ventilation tower indicates an asteroid strike. The automated defensive systems were set to fire on anything not broadcasting an IFF signal. At the speed that rock must’ve been going, it was a futile gesture anyway.”

Cooper sighed. “Then it’s just my bad luck that an inmate has gone missing today.”

“It seems that way. However, you’ve got two missing prisoners. Chason Talyn, and the Kira’To known as Kheiron.”

The warden squirmed uncomfortably. “Kheiron, too?”

Hadar put his feet on the floor, and pulled his chair up to the desk. “That’s the thing, Petty Officer Cooper. There’s no record of Kheiron ever being sentenced here, and it’s quite a surprise to us that a Kira’To was here in the first place. You must know that such a being can’t be confined anywhere without extraordinary measures.”

“I didn’t know that. I also know for a fact that Kheiron is on the record; I’m not totally oblivious to the men under my care.”

He put his PDA down on the desk. “So you’ve never noticed that his file is incomplete? That there’s nothing about his crime, arrival date, or duration of sentence? In fact, the first entry in his file is just a note from eleven years ago, when he was moved to a new cell because of ‘incompatibility’ with his cellmate. Then the same ten years later, five years later, and once more two days ago. The last two bear your authorization.”

Cooper shrugged. “Most of the fault lies with my predecessor. On any given day, I’m too busy to scrutinize someone’s full record while performing a routine action.”

Hadar scoffed. “Even when the inmate in question is a Kira’To? As rare a race as to ever appear in our solar system, with a legendary reputation?”

“Kheiron doesn’t look like he could fight his way out of a paper bag, let alone pose a threat to our entire civilization. Your admonishments are unreasonable, Commander Hadar, unless you have experience with the Kira’To you haven’t revealed.”

He nodded. “I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt that your isolation here has left you out of the loop as far as recent developments in our galactic neighborhood. While Alnair itself isn’t directly involved, there are rather disturbing reports coming out of nearby systems like Sagitta, Aquila, Cygnus, and others, on recent Kira’To activity. Which is why, effective immediately, you are relieved of your position. I’m in charge of Inferno now, but I’ll give you the courtesy of remaining a passive observer in what happens next rather than have you removed.”

Cooper sat on the far side of the desk. “That’s quite magnanimous of you. I take it you’re going to do an exhaustive search for Kheiron?”

“That’s right. A squad of marines is prepared to search this place, as well as the abandoned sections below. You should inform your staff that they need to give them their full cooperation.”

“I will, except that I have no knowledge of the mine. Once your people go beyond the confines of this prison, they’ll be on their own.”

“Let us worry about that. Make the announcement. You’re dismissed.”

“What about Talyn?”

“Chason Talyn is of no consequence, and is the least of our worries.”