Never seen anything like it.”
“We’ll have you people back on the Point within the next day or so,” the communicator bleated again, this time directed to the medical bay. “Good job.”
I just stood, trembling, shaking.
“I need a damned drink.”
PSYCH
We pulled out of Maru Prime. Two Alliance ships – the Mallard and the Peace of Seattle – made good the escape and left the Krell to it. The Alliance had given as good as they got, and left behind the carcasses of several Krell starships. Whatever their reason for the abrupt and brutal incursion into the QZ, the Krell didn’t pursue. Maybe they were licking their wounds, maybe biding their time; but several hours into the retreat Naval control confirmed that the Krell had bugged out of Maru Prime as well.
Astronomically speaking, Maru wasn’t far from the Alliance border with the Quarantine Zone. The journey back took less than a day, cruising at FTL speed. I was glad that we could avoid the hypersleep capsules for such a short trip.
It had been a successful operation. Saul had been picked up almost as soon as his evac-pod had been fired out of Far Eye Observatory. He’d survived the ordeal without life-threatening injury, although I had no doubt the experience would be life-changing. He’d been witness to things few Sci-Div staff had the misfortune of seeing; brushed death so closely that the bony fingers had left their mark deep on his psyche.
I considered searching him out – asking him about the subject of his research, why Far Eye had been chosen as the location of a black ops project – but dismissed the idea. I had a feeling that our allocation to the retrieval operation hadn’t been a coincidence.
Of course, not everything had gone to plan. There had been losses.
There are always losses in war, the Directorate AI tacticians would no doubt say. Victory is all that matters.
I didn’t doubt that but recognising what we’d lost was what made us human. It separated us from the Krell. The mission had cost us an Alliance warship. Likely several hundred personnel onboard; gone to the cold void. Two of the simulant teams under my command had been located on the Washington’s Paragon when it went down. I was sure that their families would receive comfortable compensation packages and “Dear John” letters from the Department of Off-World Affairs.
The Mallard had taken fire during the battle over Maru Prime, and made dry dock on arrival at FOB Liberty Point . My squad gathered in the umbilical tube between the Mallard and the Point ’s dock.
The Far Eye operation had taken less than a week of objective time, but coming back to the Point always reminded me how long I’d been away on Helios. So much had changed in that time, and it wasn’t the place that I remembered. There was extensive construction work now: scaffold, welding teams, Army engineering units. The Point had grown to be the biggest station not only on the Quarantine Zone but in all of Alliance space. It was suspected to be the largest in all of human space, although the Directorate weren’t exactly willing to confirm that.
Soldiers and crewmen were dutifully lined up for clearance. The Sim Ops teams were dressed in Army khakis, Sci-Div in white smocks, maintenance techs in orange overalls, Navy in formal blues: all neatly separated by rank and role. Everyone had the tired air of having worked hard for a short period, and now riding the downer at the other end of a sudden adrenaline spike.
My squad had the same vacant, slightly misplaced expressions on their faces. It was a gaze that simulant operators developed over time, an implacable wrongness that a man should never feel when he is piloting the body he’s born in.
Kaminski jostled with Martinez next to me, agitated to get on base.
“Another successful operation,” Martinez said. “Another victory for the Lazarus Legion.”
“Does Mason get her badge yet?” Jenkins asked, in a disinterested sort of
“We’ll have you people back on the Point within the next day or so,” the communicator bleated again, this time directed to the medical bay. “Good job.”
I just stood, trembling, shaking.
“I need a damned drink.”
PSYCH
We pulled out of Maru Prime. Two Alliance ships – the Mallard and the Peace of Seattle – made good the escape and left the Krell to it. The Alliance had given as good as they got, and left behind the carcasses of several Krell starships. Whatever their reason for the abrupt and brutal incursion into the QZ, the Krell didn’t pursue. Maybe they were licking their wounds, maybe biding their time; but several hours into the retreat Naval control confirmed that the Krell had bugged out of Maru Prime as well.
Astronomically speaking, Maru wasn’t far from the Alliance border with the Quarantine Zone. The journey back took less than a day, cruising at FTL speed. I was glad that we could avoid the hypersleep capsules for such a short trip.
It had been a successful operation. Saul had been picked up almost as soon as his evac-pod had been fired out of Far Eye Observatory. He’d survived the ordeal without life-threatening injury, although I had no doubt the experience would be life-changing. He’d been witness to things few Sci-Div staff had the misfortune of seeing; brushed death so closely that the bony fingers had left their mark deep on his psyche.
I considered searching him out – asking him about the subject of his research, why Far Eye had been chosen as the location of a black ops project – but dismissed the idea. I had a feeling that our allocation to the retrieval operation hadn’t been a coincidence.
Of course, not everything had gone to plan. There had been losses.
There are always losses in war, the Directorate AI tacticians would no doubt say. Victory is all that matters.
I didn’t doubt that but recognising what we’d lost was what made us human. It separated us from the Krell. The mission had cost us an Alliance warship. Likely several hundred personnel onboard; gone to the cold void. Two of the simulant teams under my command had been located on the Washington’s Paragon when it went down. I was sure that their families would receive comfortable compensation packages and “Dear John” letters from the Department of Off-World Affairs.
The Mallard had taken fire during the battle over Maru Prime, and made dry dock on arrival at FOB Liberty Point . My squad gathered in the umbilical tube between the Mallard and the Point ’s dock.
The Far Eye operation had taken less than a week of objective time, but coming back to the Point always reminded me how long I’d been away on Helios. So much had changed in that time, and it wasn’t the place that I remembered. There was extensive construction work now: scaffold, welding teams, Army engineering units. The Point had grown to be the biggest station not only on the Quarantine Zone but in all of Alliance space. It was suspected to be the largest in all of human space, although the Directorate weren’t exactly willing to confirm that.
Soldiers and crewmen were dutifully lined up for clearance. The Sim Ops teams were dressed in Army khakis, Sci-Div in white smocks, maintenance techs in orange overalls, Navy in formal blues: all neatly separated by rank and role. Everyone had the tired air of having worked hard for a short period, and now riding the downer at the other end of a sudden adrenaline spike.
My squad had the same vacant, slightly misplaced expressions on their faces. It was a gaze that simulant operators developed over time, an implacable wrongness that a man should never feel when he is piloting the body he’s born in.
Kaminski jostled with Martinez next to me, agitated to get on base.
“Another successful operation,” Martinez said. “Another victory for the Lazarus Legion.”
“Does Mason get her badge yet?” Jenkins asked, in a disinterested sort of
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