Gabriel's Redemption (5 page)

“No, I don’t think you are,” Santander replied evenly. “Wrong place at the wrong time, I suppose.”
 

He held his hand out to the security officer, who passed over the handgun. “Codes,” he said. The security officer flashed arming codes for the weapon to Santander’s neuretics, and the handgun powered up.
 

“Wait!” screamed Rechichi, holding his hands up, palms out, in protest. “You can’t do this!”

Santander raised the weapon, the tingle in the grip indicating it was armed and fully charged. “Of course I can. I run things here, remember?” And he fired.

The handgun wasn’t silenced, so a loud piercing
clangggg
filled the small office. The depleted uranium pellet shot from the barrel, accelerated by magnetic fields to over six thousand miles per hour, and smashed through the plant worker’s skull. The entry wound was tiny, matching the pellet’s 3 millimeter diameter, but the resulting exit wound wasn’t nearly as neat. The back of Rechichi’s head exploded onto the wall behind him, and his body flew backwards out of the chair, onto a large plastic sheet. A small hole was visible in the back wall, now dripping with brain matter and blood.

“
Damn
, Thao, what the hell is this thing?” Santander asked the security man, looking in wonderment at the weapon.
 

The security man who had given Santander the gun smiled. “Miniature railgun, sir. Made by Strittmaier out of New Berlin. Newest tech on the market. Undetectable to electronic or neuretic scans too. Cost me a month’s pay to afford it.”

Santander nodded. “I like it. No recoil, that’s fantastic.” He turned it over in his hands a few times. “A little loud though. Gurnett, look into getting some of these. And reimburse Thao for having to buy his own.”

Thao beamed. “Thank you sir.”

Santander looked over at Dural, whose wheezing had completely stopped. Even his breathing had stopped as he stared behind him at the carnage that was his coworker.

“Dural,” Santander said.

Dural’s head snapped back. “Yes, uh, sorry. Thanks Mr. Santander. He just walked in on me, he shouldn’t even have been on shift. Won’t happen again, I know you need those vials, and I’ll keep them coming.”

“I do need those vials. What I don’t need are morons working for me.” He raised the pistol again, and fired twice into Dural’s chest. The body toppled over to rest near Rechichi, two holes blown clean through his chest, the chair back, and the wall. The dual clangs reverberated off the ceiling and walls.

“Hot damn, I love this thing!” he exclaimed, handing it back to Thao. “Gurnett, you gotta get me one. First on the list, hear me?”

Gurnett nodded. “Absolutely. Sorry again to bother you.”

“Not a problem, I needed a little release,” Santander answered. “Nice touch with the plastic sheeting, makes cleanup a lot easier.”

He strode from the room, whistling.

Chapter 4

The Combat Raven screamed across the sky, a sonic boom trailing its ion wake. Dropping below the sound barrier threshold, its swept-back wings shifted forward, pulsejet engines swiveled vertical, and landing struts extended themselves from the military transport's underside. In a blast of superheated dust and pebbles, it settled on the ceramacrete pad at Las Cruces.

Space Alley, as this region of New Mexico was nicknamed, was home to the NAF's largest Naval Aerospace Station. Over 3,000 men and women, along with 400-some odd air and space vehicles, called the 100,000 acres of dusty, sandy plains home.
 
After the rising sea levels destroyed the Kennedy Space Center during the Dark Days, it became the primary orbital launch facility in North America. It boasted eighteen separate launch pads, 56 miles of reinforced ceramacrete landing runways, and hangars for vehicles ranging in size from the single-seat F/A-72 Lynx aerospace fighter to the 180 foot tall Caballo heavy lift rocket. It had the odd misnomer of being ‘naval’ yet completely landlocked, but the Naval Aerospace Force had changed drastically in mission since the late twenty-first century. Very few naval vessels these days ever saw a drop of water.

Las Cruces had begun life in the early twenty-first century as home to the first private spaceport, with an eccentric UK businessman launching the first commercial spaceflights for rich businessmen and bored playboys. In 2096, shortly after the discovery of wormhole travel, the government purchased the entire site, lock stock and barrel, and converted it into the Federation's home base for military operations in space. Extremely isolated, painfully hot and inhospitable, Las Cruces made for an ideal location for a military base. Unless you were one of the military personnel sweating through each day, of course.

The Combat Raven’s fuselage was still cooling and ticking as the door swung open. The sweltering air blasted Gabriel as he emerged and squinted into the setting sun. He stood at the top of the steps, overlooking the massive complex of gleaming white buildings.
 

A blacked-out Land Rover Constellation utility vehicle pulled up, gravel spitting from its wide rear tires. The rear door opened and a very tall, gaunt NAFN officer in combat grays unfolded himself from the vehicle. He approached the foot of the steps and saluted. "Commander Gabriel, welcome to North American Federation Naval Aerospace Station Las Cruces!"

Gabriel grimaced into the sun and shaded his eyes with one hand, ostensibly returning the salute. "Thank you, uh…” he said, then paused as his retinal implant zoomed to search for a rank insignia or any indication of who his greeter was. His neuretics’ facial recognition program zipped through his military database file with no joy. “And you are?"

The officer lowered his hand. "Sorry Commander. Senior Chief Petty Officer Anderson Mayton, sir. In our, umm, line of work here, we don't wear rank insignia. Even here.” He took a couple of steps up, boots clanking on the steel treads, and extended his hand. "I'm your Special Forces liaison here prior to your launch tomorrow afternoon.”

Gabriel descended the steps and took Mayton’s hand. "Thanks Chief, it's been a few years since I've been here." Mayton towered above him, something Gabriel at six foot four wasn’t accustomed to.

“I’d be happy to show you around, lots of changes with the new B-112 suborbital bombers coming online last year. Whole new runway, state of the art weapons loading system, and you should see the stealth systems on the…”

“Long flight, Chief,” Gabriel interrupted.
 

“Right, sir, sorry. Maybe tomorrow morning? Your launch isn’t until fourteen-hundred hours,” Mayton replied.

Gabriel appreciated Mayton’s enthusiasm, maybe overenthusiasm.
Always nice to see a man who enjoys his job
, he thought.
Just not right now
. “Possibly, we’ll see. Right now I just need to grab some chow and crash.”

“Absolutely, Commander. Did you arrive with escorts?”

“Two attachés,” Gabriel replied. “They’ll be staying on the Raven until after the launch, then returning to Toronto.”

“Very good sir. Any bags?"

Gabriel jerked his thumb back over his shoulder towards Renay Gesselli, who had just exited the aircraft. "Just one. Good luck trying to handle her."

Mayton was taken aback for a brief second, then caught himself. "Uh, yes sir, of course. Right this way, out of the heat, and we'll get you over to the barracks to meet your team."

The two men walked over to the Constellation, leaving a bewildered and sweating Gesselli standing at the top of the aircraft steps to struggle with two large carry bags.

The Constellation wound its way between generic-looking white buildings, leaving a plume of reddish dust in its wake. Inside the oversized truck, Gabriel, Gesselli, and Mayton sat in air-conditioned comfort on leather couches. Gabriel and Mayton were on one side of a small table; Gesselli and her gear faced them across the table, her nose buried in her flexscreen. Gabriel stared out the tinted window at the base and thought back to his last visit here. Fall of 2171, a week after the riots and takeover of the government offices on Eden. He had a team then, a close-knit group of men and women he trusted with his life. Now, he was on his way to meet a new team, and memories of friends long past haunted him.

Mayton nudged Gabriel with his elbow. “Commander, were the new barracks completed the last time you were here?” he asked.

Gabriel didn’t turn away from the window. “No, we had just basic housing. I heard a bit about the plans for the new ones, but never saw them.”

“Oh wow,” Mayton exclaimed. “You’re in for a treat. You won’t believe the digs they built for SpecFor. Individual staterooms, even for enlisted. No more hot bunking or sharing toilets. Huge workout facility, state of the art gear, including a live-fire yard. Immersive holosim theater for both training and games…and we’ve got the
very
latest from Disney. It’s like a home away from home. No, better…it’s like some rich guy’s home away from home.”

Gesselli looked up from her flexscreen with an annoyed frown. “All on the taxpayer’s tab, right Chief?”

Mayton shrugged. “I guess so. My opinion is it’s worth it. A lot of these guys are here for a few days, head out on a mission, and never come back. Might as well make their stay here enjoyable, right?”

Gabriel turned to look at Mayton and stared directly into his eyes. Mayton shrank back a bit. “Chief, you ever go off-world on a mission?” he asked.

Mayton swallowed. “Ah, no sir, I’m a paper-pusher at heart. No combat experience.”

“Then I’d appreciate if you didn’t discuss other men’s risks so lightly,” he said in a low voice.

“Yes sir, ah, of course. My apologies,” Mayton stammered. He glanced about the cabin, looking for something to change the subject. “Ma’am, may I ask what’s in that case? Never saw a weapon carryall that shape.” He indicated a plasteel box, code-locked handle, sitting on the seat next to Gesselli.

“You may ask,” she replied, not looking up from the flexscreen.

Mayton looked at Gabriel and raised his eyebrows.
 

Gabriel gave a slight shrug. “It’s what I’ve had to put up with the past three hours, don’t ask me.” He turned back to the window, signaling the end of the conversation.

Mayton turned back to the table, fixing his stare on a fly walking on the edge, and shut his mouth.
 

The rest of the ride was spent in silence, something Gabriel was thankful for. He knew the silence wouldn’t last.

The Constellation crunched across the pebble-strewn roadway, down a ramp, and into a garage under the windowless SpecFor barracks building. A door slid shut behind it, closing the garage in darkness. The driver expertly maneuvered his way through the parking facility — whether by memory or IR sensors, Gabriel wasn’t sure — and stopped the truck, killing the engine. The door on Mayton’s side opened, and a light shined in.

“Commander Gabriel, Lieutenant Gesselli?” a voice called.

Mayton answered for them. “Affirmative, and Senior Chief Petty Officer Mayton escorting.”

“Please step out of the vehicle and show your IDs,” the voice said.

Mayton eased out of the truck, allowing Gabriel to follow. Gesselli was right behind, reaching back for her bags. “No need, Lieutenant, we’ll have your items brought to the meeting room,” the voice assured.

“Fine,” she replied. “Not a scratch, I assume.” She carried only the small plasteel case and her flexscreen tube.

Gabriel thought he heard a slight snicker coming from the direction of the light as he stood up outside the truck. Gesselli emerged and straightened her uniform blouse in the weak light. She handed two ID chips to the man holding the light. He glanced at them briefly and handed them back. “Are you both equipped with military-grade neuretics?” he asked. A light appeared behind him, above an unmarked door, casting a brighter glow on the group.
 

“You know we are,” Gabriel answered. “You scanned us before the door ever opened.”

Mayton reacted with a start. “You picked up our scan?” he asked.

Gabriel chastised himself silently. He had spent an obscene amount of money, and several incredibly painful days recovering in a rat-infested slumpad in Kingston, having hacked black market milspec neuretics installed. With capabilities far in excess of standard mil-rets, he had the ability to detect even the most stealthed passive SpecFor scans (among countless other abilities, some of which he was only still learning about). However, one of the greatest advantages of his hacked rets was the fact that no one knew about them. “No, but you just confirmed it, didn’t you?”

“Nevermind,” said the unnamed man. “Both of you, open up a channel so we can verify identity and clear you for the rest of the building.” He pulled a tube from a waist pouch and extended the flexscreen.

Gabriel called up his sentry program and ordered an open pipe for security. “Go ahead,” he said after a second. Gesselli nodded. “Done,” she said.

The man tapped a few commands, and Gabriel monitored the security call in his visual overlay.
This one was thorough
, he thought, as he watched the snake-like image float across his Mindseye and probe into standard security areas. It was politely turned away from Gabriel’s secure storage folders, and the probe’s memory of that rejection was purged from its system before it ever reported back.
 

He sent a quick low-level scan towards Gesselli, his drill worm easily cracking her firewall, and was able to peek into her system. He watched her rets performing the same permission duties. Level Five mil-rets, he noticed. Unusual for an LT, even in Intelligence; it should be more like Three or Four. She’s either not what she says she is, or someone high-up trusts her far more than he expected. He killed the passive probe before she noticed anything.

“OK, clear,” the man said after a few seconds, and tapped a few more commands on the flexscreen. The door behind him slid open, revealing two heavily armed (
and almost comically huge
, Gabriel thought) sentries on either side. “Welcome to SpecFor Las Cruces, Commander, Lieutenant.” He stepped aside to let them pass.