Chapter Six: Ex-patriots

Chapter Six: Ex-patriots

            Stefan was in pain; he knew that much. Beyond that, little was clear, including his vision. The world seemed to be shades of green and blue, and he was seeing bubbles. Bubbles? He thought groggily. Why in the name of all that was good was he seeing bubbles? He remembered…light. Lots of light. Fire, pain, an explosion, but nothing else. Something was wrong, and he knew it. He could hear the hiss of his own breath in his ears, and he felt as though his mouth was covered. Taking his hands up to his face, he realized two things. First, he was inside some kind of glass tube, and there was a breath mask on his face. He closed his eyes again and ran his hands through his hair, and then he stopped. What the...? He felt metal on his left hand. Why was there metal on his hand? He took both hands off his head and held them up in front of his eyes. That was when he felt his heart stop. A metal hand, he thought, feeling a wave of nausea. And not just a hand, either. His entire left arm was now made of steel. Why did everything hurt? The fire. He remembered. Oddly enough, only his left leg and arm seemed devoid of any burning sensations. He left arm was a prosthetic, which made the lack of feeling perfectly sensible. His right hand went to his leg, and he suddenly knew what the reason for his lack of feeling was…and at that point Stefan was instantly awake, covered in sweat. The dream ended as abruptly as it had begun, and only fragments remained embedded in his skull. Even as he tried to hold on to them, he could feel them fading. He had had dreams before, but this one felt different for some reason. More vivid. He sighed, rolled over, and tried to sleep again. He remembered well the day he’d gotten his prosthetics, and it hadn’t been like that at all. As Stefan felt his hold on conscious thought slipping, he remembered thinking, I’m gald that was just a nightmare.

The loudspeaker in the barracks went off at 5:41 in the morning, at which point Stefan almost shot it. Still, he prided himself on better self-control than that, and the offending noisemaker survived another day.

            “Task Force Epsilon, report to Mission Control for briefing, stat.” Stefan popped his neck, stepped into his fatigues, and strapped a knife to each hip. Brooks rolled of his bunk and slid into his trousers. On his waistband was the machete knife he’d picked up in the armory the day before, and he made no effort to remove it. Kane was on his feet and sliding his escrima sticks into the holster on his left hip.

            “Do they ever let you sleep in?” He grumbled. The Russian laughed.

            “Are you kidding me? This is sleeping in, you moron. In Counterforce, they had your sorry butt out of bed at 02:00 hours for mission briefs. So haul it. You’re getting zilch sympathy from this quarter.”

            Again, Dain had them organize in double file, and they jogged their way to the control room, with Psyn calling the step. They moved quite efficiently, making up the distance between their barracks and the main yard in a matter of several minutes. After that, they found themselves moving through the halls of the command center, and Dani did not hesitate to order her group into the control room, where the briefing was supposed to be held. Inside, Lacey Anders was sitting at a table with several other beings, some of whom were aliens. All, however, wore sage-green and yellow BDUs consistent with ICRF standards, and the medals and insignias they wore indicated that they were high-ranking individuals therein. Their boots were shined, and they were polished to the nines.

            “Whoa,” Ty said. “Who called in the prissy squad?”

            “Show some respect,” growled an alien individual at the table. “You’re in the presence of…”

            “Someone with a list of titles longer than his name,” Ty shot back. “We got it. But we don’t care who you are. We’re here....” He was completely unprepared for the lightning right cross that Stefan threw, though he felt his head jerk backward and gave a gasp of pain.

            “Shut up and listen,” the Russian growled. “You might learn something if you bothered to pay attention.” Anders was on her feet now, and she had an angry look in her eyes.

            “Thank you, Bakrylov,” she said. “As he said, Kane, you would do well to speak less and listen a little more.” She gestured to the wide holographic display in front of the table, and the blank screen suddenly came to life. There was at first little more than a sharp, cold white light; then, a man’s face appeared. While it was shadowed, Dani could see that the lien of his cheekbone was strong, and he had a monolithic chin. When he spoke, his voice was low and electronically distorted.

            “Ah, Task Force Epsilon,” he intoned. “Excellent work yesterday, I must say. Anders sent me the recording.” Kane snorted here, but said nothing. “You have been here for approximately twenty-four hours, and you may be aware that the ICRF has taken you with an interest in assigning you a special job.”

            “We guessed that from the barbed wire,” Shepard remarked. “You really didn’t want us leaving.”

            “No, we did not,” the man said. “As you may be aware, several high-ranking members of the ICRF are now dead, and we formerly believed that the government’s Counterforce arm might be responsible. However, our hackers accessed military records and data from a variety of branches, and we have realized that the force we are dealing with is in fact a paramilitary group that is closely affiliated with the government, but not close enough to be noticed.”

            “So we’re the answer,” Stefan reasoned. “Counter a paramilitary group with one of your own.”

            “Not exactly,” the man told him. “You see, we believe the government gives this group a target list, and we will not be in direct contact with you.”

            “What?” Dani’s incredulity was palpable. “You can’t be serious. Putting this team on the ground in the dark would be a disaster, with all due respect, sir.”

            “Forgive me if I find myself not caring,” the man snapped back. “You have no choice. Our organization is currently in a precarious position in the public eye. A recent rise in crime has been correlated to a rise in our membership.”

            “It is spurious,” added one of the men at the table. “We dedicate ourselves to peaceful conflict resolution when possible, and the absolute minimum application of force when it is not.”

            “Heard that one before,” Psyn growled. “So you’re not going to be in contact with us. Where will we be?”

            “That is an excellent question, though one I fear I cannot satisfactorily answer,” the man told her. “You see, the reason that this task force was created was to run down a series of leads our forensics team recovered from sites where these suspected assassinations took place. However, we need deniability.”

            “Because what you’re proposing is breaking the law,” Dani finished. “And you need scapegoats if it goes wrong. Let me guess: if we screw this job up, you’re going to paint us as a radical splinter group. Well, that’s just rosy; we’re going to get our butts fried because you need someone to pin the crime on.”

            “Only if you botch this,” the man told her. “If you do it right, we will see to it that your criminal records are expunged, and you can live literally anywhere in the galaxy you want. Otherwise, you’ll die. Any questions?”

            “Got one here,” Ty said. “If we can’t use ICRF gear, how are we going to get suitable battle armor and weapons? You tools aren’t exactly inconspicuous, after all.”

            “We’ll issue you a random set of weapons,” the man replied. “You’ll actually be going under cover as a freelancer bounty hunter team. To make yourselves a reputation, I’d recommend that you pick up a couple of jobs before you start on this case in earnest.”

            “All right,” Dani said. “Where are we starting?”

            “Saturn,” the man replied. “That’s where most hunter teams start; after all, a surplus of clients helps business. Any other questions?” No one from Epsilon had any, so the man dismissed them and shut the screen off.

            “Well,” Stefan sighed. “Didn’t quite see that coming.”

            Anders smiled with a cold emotion resembling a macabre satisfaction. “I thought you might not,” she said. “If you’ll follow Dalton again, he’ll take you to your new armory,” the freakish guard was standing by the exit once more, although he was wearing BDUs and not a business suit. Then again, Stefan wasn’t the least bit surprised. After all, this wasn’t a game of cricket; it was military revolt, whatever the ICRF might say about their minimalistic applications of force. That just translated into clinical murders instead of scorched earth, in his experience.

            “So why not give us the new threads off the bat?” Brooks asked.

            “We didn’t want you to know what your mission might be so soon,” Anders replied. “Now go on and get suited up. You’re leaving tonight.” The door swept open, and Dalton gestured to it.

            “I’d move it,” he told them. “Nelson’s not known for his patience.”

            “Who?” Ty asked.

            “Nelson,” Dalton repeated. “Don’t know his full name, and not dumb enough to ask. That was the guy who just gave you your mission. Now, there’s something I need to show you.”

            The new armory was more impressive than Kane wanted to admit. Maybe it was the fact that most of the gear looked like junk. Albeit lethal junk. There wasn’t a black-market or shoddy piece of tech that they didn’t have; pocket flamethrowers, flashbangs disguised as IEBU voucher cards, and a wealth of other pieces of mysterious and under-the-radar items that Kane was just dying to test.

            “Drop all your weapons,” Dalton ordered. “You’ll find a variety of tools and weapons at your disposal. Take things that follow the lines of your own special talents. Now, I have business to attend to. Once you’re finished, you’ll be notified of your estimated time of departure and arrival time.” With that, Dalton stepped out of the room. Stefan dropped his disruptor rifle and sighed. He pulled off his tan combat fatigues, revealing the gray jumpsuit underneath.

            “Why’d they give us all these fancy toys if we weren’t supposed to play with them?” Kane asked.

            “To sell the deception,” Dani replied, dropping her grenade launcher. “They wanted us to think we were supposed to be a military team.” She grabbed a blue and gray techweave shirt and pants, which she took into a side chamber. The Gin’Luthet ideal of weaving technology into fabric had altered both human fashion design and military battle armor. Now, energy shields could run all through a soldier’s armor, covering every inch of his body. And Dani could see that was almost exactly what this vest was designed to do. However, this suit’s weave was offensively, not defensively, focused. The machinery worked into the fabric absorbed physical force and redirected it with twice the intensity; its Kellaxian designers called it Physical Force Reversal Systems, while humans simply called it Inertia Weave. She grinned as she stepped out of her orange jumpsuit and slid the vest over her head. As she tightened the suit’s belt, she admired the intricate workmanship in the techno-weave. It appeared as though there might even be a few loose pieces of wiring in it for extra loadouts. Now that she was presentably dressed, she stepped outside to choose a weapon.

            Stefan and Brooks had apparently taken a bit less time to pick their new outfits, as they had very clear ideas as to what they wanted.  Stefan had chosen patchwork morginthium armor, a material designed to dissipate energy blasts and absorb bullets. While it successfully fulfilled the former function, morginthium performed in lackluster fashion in projectile deflection. Still, Stefan anticipated dealing with more energy weapons; after all, weapons specialists of the present day overwhelmingly favored plasma and directed laser projection (DLP) systems. Aside from that, she saw that he had a sidearm strung at his right side, but no other visible weapons. Brooks himself had chosen a tan muscle shirt and a set of dark grey pants, which he had decked out with a variety of weapons; two Kukri knives, a pistol, and a loop of wire that Dani knew wasn’t for refitting electrical circuits. Psyn, who’d just entered the room, looked like she was ready to start racing hoverboards. Although illegal on many planets, hoverboard racing was still one of the most popular sports in the galaxy. She was wearing a red racer’s jacket, and she had a pair of flash-filter goggles pushed back on her forehead. She wore a dark yellow shirt underneath the protective over-garment, and she had a long shock rifle slung over her shoulder. For her part, Dani would have liked to pick up her grenade launcher again, but it was a bit too heavy firepower for a bounty hunter meant to recover live marks. So, instead, she selected a disintegration rifle and slipped it into the niche in the back of the techno-weave suit. She also slipped on two dart-launcher bracelets, which would double as a fashion statement in addition to a weapon. Alison was wearing a more obviously souped-up tech suit, and she seemed to be enjoying the fact. Instead of the lightning gun she had previously favored, the computer expert was now carrying an assault rifle strapped to her hip and three bandoliers of ammunition strapped across her chest. Kane was wearing a mesh over-layer with a black falcon pattern on it, and he had a telescopic metal baton slung in the holster now on his left hip. His weapon of choice was actually a flechette launcher, a weapon similar to a shotgun but much more devastating. It fired sharp metal pieces that were packed into the shotgun.

            “All right,” Dani said. “Now that everyone’s properly dressed, let’s go see this ship.”

            Their vessel was a glorified trash carrier, and Dani had had her share of rides in them to know. The vessel was painted dull grey or perhaps chipped white, and its squarish construction indicated that it was not built for aerodynamics.

            “You’ve got to be joking,” Ty said, incredulous. “That’s a junk heap with engines.”

            Stefan shrugged. “Until you’ve been inside one of things’ compactors, don’t whine about accommodation.”

            “You have been?” Psyn asked, smirking.

            “No,” the Russian answered. “I got lucky and had an incinerator truck.”

            “Ouch,” Dani muttered. “Now, we should get on board. They want us gone ASAP.” The team followed their leader up the boarding ramp, and they found the interior not much better than the exterior. The panels covering the walls looked as though they’d been patch-welded by inebriated simians, and that was the best ones. There were metal plates that looked like they were eons old, and the workmanship was generally shoddy. Dani walked herself into the cockpit and fiddled with the throttle for several minutes before she shook her head in despair.

            “This is useless,” she said. “It won’t even start.”

            “Why would they give us a junk ship?” Shepard asked. “That doesn’t make sense to me.” Suddenly, the ship’s fusion lamps flashed twice, and they felt a rumble beneath their feet as the ship’s engines engaged.

            “So it does work,” Kane said, picking himself up off the floor. “Why didn’t it work for you?”

            Dani shrugged her shoulders. “How would I know?” She asked. “Anders probably has a remote access code to the ship’s navigation and thruster systems.”

            “Meaning no matter where we go or what we do, she’s in control,” Shepard muttered. “If we can get access to the ship’s computer, though…”

            “What?” Brooks asked.

            “Nothing,” Shepard answered. “Let’s see if Anders has us going somewhere, and what she’s left us with.” With the lights on, they could see their way around the ship much better, and none of them where much appreciating what they’d been given. The ration packs were minimalistic and uniform, the tech was sparse, and the holographic external information storage unit that she had left proved difficult for Shepard to get working. The ship’s navigation system, however, whirred to lie and displayed their selected destination and route: Saturn straight, no fueling stops. Thanks to the oversized Superlight Engine Unit in the back of the ship, they would reach their destination in a matter of hours. Provided, of course, that the force required to power the engine didn’t shake the junk-built vessel apart. Stefan and Shepard went to the back of the ship to tend the drive, and Dani joined them to check on the plasma engine. The hacker checked the coolant vanes on the side, examining the steam pouring out of them. While water vapor wasn’t a good sign, it was by no means a fatal flaw in the engine.

            “So what’s your story?” Stefan asked. “How’d you end up on Anders’ radar?”

            “What?” Shepard asked.

            “How did you become a hacker?” The Russian queried. “Why do all this?”

            Alison lowered her eyes, focusing on trying to reduce the vapor emissions. “Why do you care?” She asked.

            “Because you don’t talk,” he replied. “And I think it’s more of a lack of people to listen than a deficit of things to say.”

            Her lips quirked upward in a curious half-smile. “All right. I’ll talk if you’ll listen.” He nodded. “I was born on Mars to a small-time businessman and tech supplier. My father was a good man, but his innate trust of others proved his downfall. He took on several workers that he later discovered had ties to a technology and innovation giant called Excelsior Unlimited. They stole several groundbreaking designs he’d been exploring and ran us out of business by selling the shares at rock-bottom prices. The loss of his business took a toll on him, and he took to heavy drinking. By the time the Social Protection League noticed that something was wrong, he’d beaten my mother and siblings more times than I can count. And, as a hacker, I count pretty high.”

            “What happened?” Stefan asked.

            “They took us away from the home,” Ali answered. “No matter where I went or what I did, I never forgot what they did to my father. He’d always said I had a knack for coding, so I turned it to good use. I used company records to expose fraudulent business practices, and I wired money from Excelsior to those they’d cheated. Again, the government didn’t like that, and so they came after me. That made me decide to reveal a few unsavory secrets about them, and they weren’t too fond of me then, either. So I ended up in jail, and that’s where Anders broke me out.” Stefan nodded.

            “She seems to have a way of picking people who’ve had rough lives,” the Russian told her. “I’m not saying you weren’t right in what you did. Even so, there seems to be no right choice with how to fight the government. They just delegitimize all opposition, and those who raise legitimate concerns are sidelined.”

            “That’s why I prefer more radical expression of distaste,” Dani said, getting her head out of the engine. “More…incendiary ones.”

            Shepard shrugged. “The government has to be fought on all fronts. That’s the only way we can even try to win. If they aren’t pressed, they won’t make changes.”

            Dani nodded, screwing bolts into the plasma engine. Finally, she said, “We need a name.”

            “What?” Shepard asked, reaffixing the metal plate on the Superlight Drive.

            “We need something to call ourselves,” Dani said. “Anders just calls us Epsilon, so I thought something with an E might be good, but we’ll put it to a vote. “

            Once they were back inside the cockpit, Watkins broached the subject. “We’re going to need a name for our team,” she told them. “We can’t just go around calling ourselves Task Force Epsilon in public.”

            “So any ideas?” Ty asked.

            “All right,” Psyn said. “So we need a name. How about Echelon?”

            “Too rigid,” Shepard replied. “We’re not a rank of an organization.”

            “What about Exiles?” Brooks suggested.

            “Too blunt,” Dani admonished. “Besides, I feel as though I’ve heard that one before.”

            “How about Ex-patriots?” Shepard suggested. “All of us used to believe in other things, used to be fighting for other things. Now, we’ve got nothing and no one with us. We have nothing to fight for but ourselves.”

            “No,” Stefan said, “We have each other. And we’re all each other has. We have to stand for us, because if we don’t, no one’s going to. But I like the sound of that,” he added. “I could be an Ex-patriot.”

            “Agreed,” Brooks put in.

            “Yes,” Psyn agreed.

            “All right,” Dani said. “Ex-patriots it is.”

            Saturn

            Several hours later

            Saturn’s Ariadne Spaceport was one of the most famous in the galaxy. Aside from being a popular haven for crime, the planet was also a favored retreat of the rich and famous, who used their wealth to support a strangely clean-looking upper class, even though the majority of their support came from criminals. As Stefan stepped off the garbage freighter, he was suddenly aware of the dichotomy around him. He saw men and women in elegant, flowing clothes, the new fashion inspired by Phirygan dress and practice, and he knew by the amount of gold leaf and silver weave on their clothes that these were not ordinary criminals, and perhaps not criminals at all. Besides them, there were a variety of shady-looking individuals hanging around the spaceport, and he would have bet a good pair of boots that most of them had killed at least a few people in their lifetimes. Dani went up to the official and rested her elbows on the counter.

            “Can I help you?” The hypochondriac man asked.

            “You can,” she told him. “We’d like to know how much a magnet holding chamber is per day.” The man looked over his glasses at her.

            “Five hundred a day,” he answered without hesitation.

            “That’s interesting,” she said, “given that you advertise a rate of three hundred.”

            “Rates just went up,” he said gruffly. “Didn’t change the sign yet.”

            “I disagree,” Stefan snapped. “As I’ve already entered your company files, it says that your rates are still the same. Now, are you going to keep lying, or are you going to keep your end of the bargain?”

            The man’s nostrils flared, and he rose from his chair. “Do you have any idea who you’re dealing with?”

            “Someone I feel like knocking on his rear end,” Stefan growled.

            “Are you…”

            “I know your boss. He and I have done business in the past. And he won’t be happy if he hears you’ve kept my friends and I waiting,” Dani told him. “Are you going to stand in my way, or are you going to stop trying to rip off family members?”

            The man lowered his eyes. “All right,” he said. “Three hundred.” Dani handed him a drive with units uploaded onto it.

            “That should cover it,” she said. “Could you tell me where to find your boss, by the way? We’re in the neighborhood, and I’d like to know if there’s any work we could do for him.”

            The man nodded, suddenly appearing at ease. “There’s a bar just outside the spaceport, called the Raven’s Nest. You can’t miss it.” Dani nodded her thanks, and the Ex-patriots left the spaceport and entered Saturn’s Pinnacle City.

Author's Note

Note grammar errors and plot holes. Positive feedback is appreciated, but not necessary.