He grimaced as he looked across the manicured lawn to the large mechanical object just to the north. He touched the comms link on his jaw and opened a channel to his assistant. “Get Acevedo in here and have them move that thing out of the front gardens. Also, advise the chef I will have the duck for dinner.” It might be the end of the world, but that didn’t mean one couldn’t be civilized.

  The tall man appeared in the doorway instantly. He looked frail. Nevis knew that was incorrect on so many levels. Bertrand Acevedo could appear different as the situation demanded. Nevis had never quite figured out how the man accomplished it. His face was so bland and forgettable that you could look right past him and never notice, but as many of his victims discovered, if he was that close… it was already too late.

  Acevedo took a seat without being told. His breathing slowed, and his posture relaxed so much that he seemed to become one with the expensive, leather club chair.

  “We are going to need to handle a problem.”

  Acevedo said nothing but tented his fingers and rested his chin atop them.

  “The Sisterhood.”

  A brief spark of life showed in the killer’s eyes, a delight, a challenge perhaps. It was there, and now it was gone.

  “Which one?” he finally asked.

  Nevis poured wine; he considered offering Acevedo some but smiled, already knowing the man never drank, never smoked, never had sex as far as his people could tell. He was a killing machine, an organic robot who let nothing interfere with any mission. He sipped the delicious vintage and again remarked on its complexity. How could something be almost too much and not quite enough at the same time?

  “Does it matter? You know who we want, but at this point, at least send the bitches a message.”

  Lumia, The Grand Mother, would be the ultimate prize, but he knew better than to even hope that. On Last Day, they had targeted her compound in Morocco with multiple rounds of ordinances including the modified Darkstar, and even one of the very expensive Sapphire warheads mounted to a stolen Russian-made cruise missile. They had even dropped high-altitude bunker busters on the supposed escape room deep underground. They found neither Lumia nor any of the Sisters in the rubble. Instead, they found the mutilated bodies of almost two hundred of their own private paramilitaries chained to walls. The Sisterhood was great at laying traps but disguising them to be impossible for a foe to resist.

  “My friend,” Nevis moved slowly over next to the man’s chair, “strike them where it will hurt. We are too close to let that bunch of hormone-crazed lunatics cause us more problems. The closer the pain is to their leader, the better.” Lumia might always be just out of reach, but causing some significant losses in her inner circle should work. “I want them back in whatever fucking hole they first crawled out of. Our new world has no place for them.”

  Acevedo stood in a fluid motion that seemed more like gravity releasing its grip than a physical act. He nodded and turned for the door, moving with cat-like grace.

  After all these years, the man still gave Nevis the creeps. He was not a friend; he was a tool, a dangerous one. Acevedo might even be the best, as he’d never failed an assignment. He also didn’t brag or offer any details of how he managed to accomplish any of the tasks. Only rarely would Nevis even ask for more details.

  He downed the rest of the wine and set the empty glass down on top of the Steinway piano. The polished, black mirror-finish reflected his face in dark relief. Tapping his comms dot with a trembling finger he made the call. He was declaring war on the Sisters of Light, and others would need to be prepared.

  CHAPTER

  TWELVE

  Drop Team ready rooms all had the same smell. I’d never been able to fully describe it. They stored the unused drop-coffins against the far wall, and no matter how much refurbishment we did, they still retained that slightly burnt ozone tang. Combine that with the funk coming from the hard-shell vacuum suits we sometimes wore and some of the other natural aromas, I felt sure I could have found it without Ada’s map.

  This was the first time I had seen all the team together since that field in Tennessee. I thought that it felt like a lifetime ago before realizing how accurate that was.

  “It lives!” Priest said.

  “We took a vote and are officially changing your combat call sign to Ghost,” Halo added.

  “Not funny, assholes, and you are not allowed to change the call sign of a squad leader.”

  There were fist bumps and back slaps for me and Lux. It seemed like the squad had adopted him as one of their own. They were just getting into their body armor, and I told them we were making a slight detour.

  “Your Spidey sense again?” Halo asked.

  “Not this time, some intel we need to follow up on. Captain Hauk will just have to bear with us, this could be important.”

  The normally quiet Korean sergeant came close and extended his hand. “Very good to see you again, Master Sergeant.”

  The two of us held each other’s gaze for a moment. He and I had been through so much, saving each other countless times down in the bowels of that awful underground factory. Volumes of silent understanding passed between us in that moment. He nodded, and I knew he was ready for whatever came next.

  “Okay, listen up. G-Force is in command.”

  “Not you?” Priest asked.

  “I’m still technically dead so until we get that straight, I can’t get clearance. Bayou wants me up here for now, but that could change. Gi can plan it and get the load-outs. Go heavy on what is needed to put down those damn beasts. You remember. The ones that we hope we don’t encounter.”

  “Ooh rah!”

  That was it, no bullshit egos, no eye rolls. The new guy, or The Fucking New Guy, had a clear understanding of the threat they would likely face. My team knew its role, and it executed best when the appropriate person was calling the shots. Leadership in a squad like this was more about capability than authority. This mission belonged to the ROK operator, who nodded his assent.

  “I’ve heard Hauk can be a handful,” I said. “Anyone ever seen him in action?”

  “Not directly,” Priest said. “Served with his brother on Pathfinder Team before you guys drafted me.”

  “Pathfinder, “I said. “You guys got chewed up pretty damn good as I recall. Where was that, Poland?

  Bishop, aka Priest, looked down, and I knew he was seeing the faces of his buddies that hadn’t made it. It was a common trait for all of us. “Belarus, some little shit-hole spot on the map up near the Russian border.” He paused to secure the ratchet straps on his combat boots three times on each foot. We all had our good luck rituals. “Logan Hauk was a hell of a soldier, hell of a leader. He was our lieutenant before the shit went pear-shaped. His brother’s company came in and liberated us. Red-7 got their name from that mission.”

  I laughed recalling the story now. Jordan Hauk supposedly landed in Russia, stole an entire combat convoy and drove into neighboring Belarus flying the Russian flag to get to what remained of Pathfinder. “Okay, Priest, you get Captain Hauk on board. He won’t want to leave Earth side, but we need a base to mount ops from, and the Stone Mountain is better than anything else right now.”

  The all-comms system chimed, “Master Sergeant to the bridge, we have contacts.”

  I shook the men’s hands again and wished them luck. They would deploy as soon as we reached the right orbit, and I had a feeling I was going to have my hands full until then. Sumo and Lux turned and followed me back toward the bridge.

  CHAPTER

  THIRTEEN

  “We are 120 kilometers. Periapsis is coming down, and factoring our trajectory, we have an intercept course coming up in eleven minutes.”

  Strangely, I understood all of that.

  “Thanks, Packer.” I turned to Bayou and smiled.

  “Something is out there. Long range scanners have identified an inert mass. How did you know?” she asked.

  I shrugged.

  “Can we match orbit?” I knew this could be the real problem. Like two cars traveling in opposite directions on the interstate, if we were in radically different orbits, we might only get one brief look at whatever it was my dad wanted me to see.

  “No need, it is in the same retrograde orbit as us. As soon as the AI can calculate a true speed and tumble, we can slow to match,” the pilot said.

  “Ship.” I said. Then, looking at the lieutenant, I asked, “Does our ship AI have a name?”

  She shook her head, “Does it really matter?”

  It did, to me at least. While AIs were not sentient, having one in my head had made me more sensitive to their status. Plus, I simply preferred thinking and referring to them as something other than machines.

  “My users have used several common names to address me since my installation on this vessel, Master Sergeant,” the ship’s monotone AI said. “Your current crew has not yet assigned me one.”

  “I see. Did you ever have one you preferred over the others?”

  “The space engineers who perform maintenance on me typically refer to me as Belle.”

  “As in Southern Belle?” I asked.

  “I would assume so, this ship is named…”

  I cut her off, “I know, big freaking rock outside Atlanta. Okay, Belle, get me a visual mockup on that object as soon as you can. Also, notify the SEs that we may need them for an EVA.”

  “Lieutenant Riggs had me do that a half hour ago. The retrieval team is standing by in the main docking bay.”

  Several anxious minutes went by as Belle began filling in images on a three-dimensional outline of what her sensors were seeing. I’m not sure what I was expecting, a weapons cache, maybe some kinetic rods, but what took shape was a complete surprise. The ship rocked sideways suddenly.

  “Sorry, encountering unmapped space debris,” Belle stated flatly. “Slowing to match speed and rotational attitude.”

  “That’s a…” Bayou started.

  I nodded, “It’s part of one of the destroyed ships. Looks like one of the cargo bays. Had to be a big mother.”

  Now we were getting real-time updates and could see the piece of debris was large, at least seventy yards long and maybe half that wide. It was also tumbling on multiple axis.

  “They are venting atmosphere. That’s causing the leak. It appears to be part of the cargo and crew quarters from the Denali. I am picking up life signs.”

  Ada, alert the SEs to have medbots ready to receive them, I said silently. “Belle, can we recover the fragment intact?”

  “If Captain Packer will allow me full control, I can match spin and should allow the engineers to attach winching clamps.”

  “Do it, Packer.”

  “Master Sergeant, a word,” Bayou said as she motioned toward a small room off the bridge. I looked at the image of the container and saw its rotation slowing, which meant ours was actually speeding up to match. I nodded and followed my XO into the room.

  “What or who will we find in there, Kovach?”

  “No clue.”

  She licked her lips, then dove right in. “Joe, look, I know you just got thrown into this, but I’ve been dealing with it for days. We have to decide if we’re going to be a rescue and aid vessel or a ship of war. First, going after Red-7 and now this? We have a planet full of victims and apparently survivors out here as well. Where can we do the most good?”

  It was a good question and admittedly one I had given little thought to. “Bayou, this war is being fought a hundred and seventy miles below us. All we can do up here is regroup and plan, that is what this minor detour is. Maybe we find some armaments, maybe fighters, but it is doing some good.”

  “And if we find some asshole Alliance admiral who has different ideas?”

  “They can bunk on ten-up.” She smiled. Most ships of the fleet had nine decks sealed to the hard vacuum of space. One deck, the outer deck, was not sealed. Ten-up was our way of saying toss them into the deep dark.

  We watched the live feed as the space engineers moved out, quickly secured the large mass, and moved aside to let others begin the retrieval. At the same time, fresh oxygen tanks were fitted to external valves, so clean O2 would flow to the interior. The new cargo was winched in and secured way more quickly than I would have guessed. The engineers were used to working out there and were damned efficient.

  “Mister Packer, take us to dive depth, notify G-force when on station. Bayou, you’re with me.”

  CHAPTER

  FOURTEEN

  I’d made it only a dozen steps before my stomach cramped, and I dropped to a knee. The pain was so intense my eyes went blurry.

  “You good, Kovach?”

  I looked up at Riggs and nodded. “Yeah… I think… no, I know what it is. I’m starving. Do we have a working galley?”

  “Yeah, it’s stocked, and all the automated stuff works. The SEs take turns doing the main meals themselves. Sort of a competition among them. A few are talented behind the grill.”

  We stopped in. Riggs suggested a cup of oatmeal and watered-down juice. “You’ve had nothing in your system for days. The medbots stopped the nutrient flow when you decided to check out.”

  I got an Italian proto-beef sandwich on a ciabatta roll with chips and a black coffee. No sense in living if I have to do it on oatmeal and water, right?

  “I heard you tell Carol that it was her friend that shot you. She killed you. Why?”

  I shook my head between bites that literally reminded me of how Sumo could devour his food in massive gulps. The pain in my belly was already easing, though. “No idea, Riggs. She’s a strange one, lots about her just doesn’t add up. Somehow, though, I think she knew the shot wouldn’t kill me, nor was not getting the antirejection drugs going to be lethal.”

  “The shot didn’t hit anything important,” she replied. “In fact, it was perfectly placed, just damaged something that the scans couldn’t identify. It apparently wasn’t essential.”

  “No idea what it is… was?” I asked.

  “Nope, the scanners simply ignored it when we tried to get more information. You know the auto docs on these boats are kind of limited,” she said as she stole one of my chips.

  “Or…they program the system to not reveal anything deemed classified,” I said, leaning over to grab a small salad that was sitting in the chiller case.

  “Yeah, like the repulser engines on the TriCraft?” she said.

  “Too many goddam secrets, Deb. The shit down there in that fucking monster factory. That was our people’s doing. That was a Hammer facility.”

  “Our people, their people… what the fuck difference does it make anymore, Joe?”

  I was missing something, something big, but despite my upgraded cognitive abilities, it simply wasn’t there.

  “What?” Bayou asked.

  I smiled; she’d been around me long enough to know how my mind worked.

  “Can’t decide between the pudding and the cake?” she quipped. “Do both, I think it’s been that kind of day.”

  I did both, and she was right. The cake was freaking amazing, too… damn, that was worth coming back from the nether regions for.

  I saw the look she was giving me; something serious was on her mind. “Ask it,” I said between bites.

  “Where were you?”

  I slowly put the fork down, wiped my mouth and leaned back. The question needed no other context. It was the small black spider crawling around in the back of my own mind. Something I had refused to acknowledge personally… not yet at least. I drew in a deep breath and let most of it back out. “I don’t know… somewhere dark… really, really dark.”

  She and I were soldiers, honestly, we dealt with it. As Pops said, death is our business, but it still freaks us all out. Soldiers tend to compartmentalize the shit out of it, though, and now she was asking me to unpack it for her. Explain to her something I hadn’t even allowed myself time to consider.

  “Just dark?”

  “That’s what I remember, Deb, dark, wet, silence. Death is not a happy place.”

  “You weren’t dead,” she said, obviously not even able to convince herself. “Ok, you were clinically dead, the machines said you were dead…”

  “I think we should drop it, Riggs. I’m still me, as far as I can tell at least.” The truth was, I don’t think I had been gone—not totally, and that scared the fuck out of me.

  She nodded, and I finished my cake. Then, a related thought finally bubbled to the surface, something my mind had been stewing on for a while just below the surface.

  “Where were all the people?”

  “That’s your big question? What about who started this damn war? How were we so unprepared? Who shot down the other carriers? Why in the fuck were we making monsters?”

  “Who shot JR?” I quipped.

  “Don’t you mean JFK?” she answered quickly.

  “Dallas or Dallas, that’s the real question.”

  Actually, all of them were very good questions, all questions we needed to be finding answers for. Ada was streaming a list of additional ones as we spoke. The list had to be already in the thousands. “You said New York was nearly empty,” I said. “That makes some sense, it took a direct hit.”

  “Kinetic strike, we think.”

  I nodded, finished the coffee and refilled my cup. “Out past the coast, though, beyond the reach of the bombs, most of the people were still gone, dead, I mean. We checked a few houses, we saw lots of bodies.”

  “Carol’s kid says the same thing. Most of the houses were empty or had dead people.”

  “Shit. Poor kid,” I said.

  “Kovach, he’s one of the lucky ones. One of the very few to have made it out.”

  “Killer vines, mutant animals, murder-crabs, Decimators. Obviously, that was just the stuff we saw. Could something else be at work down there, bioweapons, contaminants, or something?”