Dreamscape Saga Part 1: Project Falcon (4 page)

Chapter Seven

Several days passed since Doctor Malone spoke with Benjamin Falcon. He worked hard trying to finish the last few tweaks on his report. As far as he could tell, there was no legitimate reason to believe the man was a threat aside from the fact that he was found on a Confederate research colony. Even so, he knew he would have a harder time convincing Sykes.

After a final read through of what he had written, Malone decided that the work was as good as it was going to get in such limited time.

It was difficult for the man to force himself to trudge down the corridors of the MSS. He had an appointment with the head of the council, and shuddered to think what could happen to Benjamin if he were late. He would simply hate himself if the man’s fate were to take a turn for the worse because he didn’t keep his agreement with Sykes.

The elevator ride lead from the observation tower up to the bridge. Just underneath which, Sykes’ personal office was located. His stomach turned as the structure sped along. He understood that during an attack, it would be a huge advantage to have the elevator run as fast as possible, but in his eyes, it wasn’t necessary during non-hostile situations.

Finding his way to the office, he scanned his hand at a security reader on the right side of the door and made his entrance. Sitting in the chair at the desk wasn’t Sykes as he was expecting, but Councilman Grieves.

Sensing that he took the man by surprise, Grieves said, “I’m sorry if I’ve startled you, doctor.”

“Not at all,” Malone said. “I’m sorry; it’s just that I was expecting to speak to Sykes directly.”

“You’ll have to forgive the councilman. I’m afraid he found himself a little too preoccupied to attend today, so I am here in his stead. Now what is it that you have to show me?”

“Well, obviously we’re here to talk about Benjamin Falcon.”

“Obviously. And am I to assume that you mean our surviving subject?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Benjamin Falcon? That’s a little unusual, isn’t it? Is that really his name?”

“Not exactly, Sir. The problem arose when he was unable to provide his name. Falcon was the designation of the project under which he was developed. We collaborated for a minute and decided to call him by that.”

Grieves was less than impressed. “He was unable to give you a name?”

“Yes, Sir. As odd as it may sound, he doesn’t have any memory of what happened to him before he was wakened in our lab.” Grieves gave Malone an uncomfortable stare, so the doctor continued. “You see, councilman, from what we can see, Mr. Falcon has never been awake before. As close as we can tell, he was genetically grown, physically modified over the years, and was going to be awakened when they were ready to use him.”

Grieves narrowed his eyes. “Use him? For what? That seems like a lot of work for another miner or soldier, doesn’t it?”

“And it should, Sir. I can’t rightly claim to know what they were planning to use him for, but the man is an anomaly to be sure. In place of his stomach, he has a rather interesting system. They ripped out his stomach, liver, intestines, and all the other minor organs involved in digestion and replaced it with a rather powerful machine that performs several functions. First, it provides internal sensory equipment that is somewhat comparable to the displays that Confederate soldiers see inside their helmets. In his case however, the signal is sent directly to his brain when he activates it. Secondly, it more or less has the ability to trick his brain and modify his perception of things. For example, his legs may be tired from running, but the thing will prevent the signal from ever reaching his brain so that he can continue almost tirelessly. Normally your body won’t allow you to do any lifting that tears more than a relatively low percentage of your muscle tissue. In his body, he can rip almost all of it in short bursts, giving him apparent, albeit short-lived, super strength. As if all that wasn’t enough, it also serves as a processing plant for nanobots that inject directly into his blood stream when he is injured and can directly target any damaged area. In short, he can heal several times faster than you or I with almost no scarring involved.

“The fact is, sir, this man’s body alone is incredible, thanks in large part to that device. The Confederacy had something big planned for him, because they didn’t stop there. The average person is plagued by emotion in almost any stressful situation, but he can turn it off like there was a switch in his head. His ability to rationalize and work things out is superior to even our best test subjects, and he has a fantastic ability to guess at what someone will do in any situation that we’ve thrown at him in the simulators. I’ve never seen anyone as capable as him, and I think he would make a tremendous asset to our team.”

There was a pause between the two during which the only thing that was heard was Grieves heavy, raspy breathing. The aging man flipped through the documents a few more times scrutinizing every letter of every word. He let go of the file and it landed with a heavy thud on the desk.

“I’m going to ask you plainly, Doctor Malone. If you were in my shoes, what would you do?”

“I don’t know, sir. I would probably have him join our ranks. If he proved himself, I would have him promoted to the highest position we could put him in. I have to ask you to understand that he was clearly created as a weapon. Although we don’t know to what end, I believe we could convince him to fight on our side and stand a better chance at making a strong resistance against the Confederation. Besides, what else would we do with him?”

“Kill him.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Sneering, Grieves spoke slowly, “You yourself said that he is a weapon, did you not? If I deem him to be a threat, then I can make no hesitation in disarming him, can I?”

Malone was burning inside to make some sort of retort, but was terrified of what would happen if he did. Before he could speak, his thoughts were interrupted.

“Well, let’s go see the ticking bomb then, shall we?”

Grieves entered into the infirmary with Malone sharp on his heels. There was no chance of him confessing it to the doctor, but he did not intend to kill the man if he was, in fact, all that the doctor said he was. It was clear to the council before engaging in the assault on the research facility that there was a chance of finding modified soldiers, and that they could likely use whatever modifications they found to aid their own men in the long run. After all, they were at war and they were in it to win. As things stood, the odds were slim to none, so any advantage they could possibly find should be utilized.

Before he entered into the room where the subject was, he decided he had better arm himself, despite the fact that the man had been deemed to be a low risk.

Malone looked at him urgently. “Sir, I hardly think that’s necessary.”

With a grunt, Grieves replied, “Unless you intend on taking full liabilities for my welfare from here on out, I would appreciate it if I were allowed to take action based on what I think. Are we clear?”

Malone stood back reluctantly, not wishing to instigate things further. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the Councilman’s judgment, rather he preferred not to startle Benjamin. The man seemed to him to be much more like a child emotionally, despite how well he performed intellectually. While the man certainly had the ability to shut off his emotions, the results were less than comforting during the tests they ran. It was as though his instinct and reason took over entirely. Although this didn’t prove to be anything of particular significance before, when confronted with a weapon, there was no way to tell how he would respond. At least when guards had their guns trained on him through the glass, the man could comfort himself with the fact that they couldn’t possibly kill him through the impenetrable walls of his cage.

When the councilman entered the room, he was greeted with a surprisingly pleasant tone. “I assume you’re Councilman Sykes?”

Grieves smiled and looked to the floor. “Not exactly. My name is Thomas Grieves. Perhaps you’ve heard of me?”

“Yes, sir. At least a little.”

“I trust all good things?”

“Mostly. They say that you are a brilliant man and a capable leader, but you are somewhat lacking in personal skills.”

“Well then I guess that makes two of us,” Grieves responded. “What are your intentions here?”

“I can’t say I have any. I wasn’t exactly voluntarily retrieved, but if I had to answer, I should say I would like some time to discover myself; find out who I am.”

“You mean to say you have no interest in serving in our military? You have no desire to strike against those that took your life from you, and made it impossible for you to remember anything? I want you to understand that you were grown like wheat in a field. I want you to understand that the only thing they were ever going to use you for, was a machine. A tireless one at that, always doing their dirty work. You are already well into your life, and you have nothing to show for it. No memories, no family, nothing. You don’t have a life and they weren’t going to give you one because, to them, you were no different than a drill. You were just a tool; a piece of machinery. Is there nothing inside of you that wants to get back at them for that?”

Benjamin considered the prospect for a moment, but his resolve was unyielding. “Mr. Grieves, I have to ask you to understand something, something I would hope you can appreciate. You’re absolutely right in the fact that I don’t have anything to show for my life, and you’re absolutely right to assume that I have a bit of resentment built up inside. Despite everything that you see, you’re still so blind because you refuse to see what you and your people have done to me. I have been alive, and I mean fully alive, for only a matter of days now. Ever since I was awoken, I have been restrained, poked, prodded, tested, and retested. I have had every sort of instrument of death pointed in my direction just in case I didn’t measure up to your expectations, or somehow stepped out of line. I don’t feel any more warm feelings for you and the Order than I do the people that kept me asleep. At least with them, I didn’t have to feel anything like I do now. So no, I don’t have any interest in your military, and I don’t have any desire to serve under your command, or anyone else’s for that matter. The best thing you could possibly do for me is let me go and find my own way.”

Grieves stormed out of the room and slapped his pistol down on a table before pushing past an anxious Malone.

“Councilman, what happened in there?”

“He’s refused to serve.”

“What are we going to do with him then?”

“I don’t care. Lock him up until the council gives a decision.” As Grieves walked away his voice trailed off down the hallway. “Absolutely ridiculous for such an ungrateful…”

Chapter Eight

After meticulous planning and nights without sleep, the day finally came for the assault on the shipping lines. Sykes was incredibly nervous. He experienced success as the Fleet Admiral, but all that could change. There wasn’t much of a fleet. Even so, if the assault succeeded, then they could increase the size of the fleet to something respectable. A larger fleet would involve more officers, and they could take some of the stress off his shoulders. 

Two frigates prepared to jump. The ships were far from impressive. If not for the outcroppings of turrets and sensor arrays, they looked very much like cylinders with a rounded hull. Three small wing-shaped apparatuses sat evenly spaced around the back of the vessels, but they were for stabilization and allowed for tighter turns. Aboard each ship was a standing crew of fifty men that was increased to seventy-five for this mission.

The two frigates punched in their coordinates, and jumped into the middle of the shipping line, each accompanied by two full squadrons of fighters. In no time at all, a large cargo train was detected on their short-range sensors and they were ready to attack.

As the cargo vessel pushed forward carrying upwards of seven hundred segments, the frigates took their positions. For most of the men on board, this was an excruciatingly frightful experience. Each heard of the sheer size of the ship, but they didn’t believe it until they saw it in person. Each segment was larger than the frigate, and the whole thing stretched on for what seemed like forever.

The first frigate charged head on toward the ship at full speed, taking with it all the accompanying fighters. When it was within range, they launched everything they had against the head of the monster while their sister ship prepared to replace it as the tugboat.

Surprisingly, the hull of the cargo vessel was resilient to attack. It didn’t present much of a threat, but could lead them right into the path of a Confederate warship.

Over the intercom, the desperation of all involved was apparent.

“Shut down the damn array! They’re going to call help!”

“This is Harper, my thrusters are down and I can’t maneuver.”

“Get Sykes, we need orders. Even if we take this thing, we can’t pull it!”

The assault was going to take down the ship, but as long as the head remained intact, they faced the threat of detection and failure.

Growing tired of the rate of progress, the second frigate took on an offensive position. Even with the extra firepower, the cargo vessel stood resilient. At long last, it showed signs of weakness as several small holes in the hull began releasing gas. Exploiting the situation, all four bombers flew in and released their payload on the weaknesses in the crippled vessel. In a brilliant flash of light, the front of the giant was destroyed and the two frigates moved in front of it. Attaching high-powered magnetic tow cables to the first segment, they changed their course. The ships and the cables strained against the force of the vessel’s momentum. Through sheer will power, they managed to pull it and change its direction.

Pummeling through space, the ships were a remarkable sight. After such difficulties, their mission appeared that it was going to be a success. If they had the sensor capabilities of a fully-fledged battleship, they could have detected the enemy closing in behind them. The captain of the cargo vessel, in his last desperate hopes of survival, managed to send off a faint, and almost missed, distress call.

Like a hawk hunting a snake, the Confederate vessel sat back waiting for the right moment to strike. Like any good hunter, its prey would not know of its existence until it was too late. The Confederate soldiers may be overly dedicated to their roles, but failure was not an option. Their ability to weigh odds and consequences had long since been removed after years of injections of the serum.

After several hours of travel, the frigates and their fighters came into visual range of the Mobile Space Station. With a few words of what happened on their journey, an outcry of victory shot up from every corridor. At last, they would have the ability to build the ships they so desperately needed to stage a reasonable rebellion.

Still stalking its prey, the Confederate vessel sat as far back as it could. As the cargo vessel could not jump, they could rest assured the ships would not escape, giving the hunters all the time they needed to call in reinforcements. Only two battleships and a carrier protected the station. If caught off guard, they faced destruction, and yet another would-be rebellion would be squelched.

Members of the Order set about processing the supplies on the ship. The haul was far better than they could have anticipated as it included pre-constructed parts for new ships.

Sykes stood on the bridge, overcome with joy at the success of the mission. He knew he would have to answer for the destroyed fighter, as Kerrigan could never see anything aside from the negative. Despite anything the council wanted to say about how they were technically involved in a conflict, Sykes knew as well as everyone else that they were fighting a war. A war in which there was going to be massive loss, much worse than a single fighter. Even though most would think of him as a thoughtless monster, it couldn’t be further from the truth. The man had gotten to the point that he shook at night as he succumbed to his stress and grief. The issue rested in the fact that he was the leader and couldn’t focus on anything but the big picture.

“Councilman, we have an issue.” The voice was desperate and lost, muffled in fear.

A crack resonated down every hall and corridor of the station, as the ship moved back with a giant lurch. The artificial gravity flickered on and off before stabilizing and several people stumbled after floating six inches and dropping.

“What the hell was that?” Sykes shouted. To say he was afraid would be a gross understatement. Every hair on the back of his neck stood and his ears suddenly burned. The point of the question was moot. He knew exactly what was going on. They were under attack. Over the past couple of months, he had felt a few small asteroids hit the side of the vessel. A couple shook the ship. This was different.

“Our hull is breached over three decks on the lower portion of the port engineering section. More missiles incoming, ETI is fourteen seconds. They’re deploying fighters!”

Sykes stood in absolute shock. This couldn’t be happening. They just won a major victory. Bracing for the blast, he knew it could mean nothing. He thought of everything they had done, and everything they sacrificed. A few seconds could strip all of it away.

“Impact in three… two… one…”

The barrage slammed into the ship. Damaged, the artificial gravity played games in random spots throughout the giant vessel. One second, it doubled its power and forced people to the floor. The next, it threw them into the air. Crewmen tried to stabilize it, but the continued attack made work difficult.

“Councilman, we need orders!”

Sykes grabbed onto a control panel, doing his best to keep his balance. Something was wrong. He could give orders with no problems when something was planned. Now, he couldn’t think clearly when presented with an immediate problem. Closing his eyes, he drew on everything he knew. If he failed in this, the Council would have his head.

“Shields. Put up the shields.”

He hoped the simple order could buy him time. There had to be something they could do, but the Confederate force grew larger. Sensors showed a battle group of four destroyers and eight frigates. Even if Sykes happened to have the entire fleet at his disposal, it wouldn’t make a difference. The odds against them were tremendous. As the opposing ships lined up in formation, he knew his time was running out.

The shields went up and the Confederate frigates began to move in wavelike patterns toward the space station, almost entirely ignoring the Order’s frigates and working closer to their target. Through the intercom, a transmission repeated itself in a broken voice. “You are guilty of piracy and attempting to challenge the supremacy of the Confederation. For this, you will be boarded and arrested. Resist and you will be killed. Comply and mercy will be shown.”

Every volley of fire from the enemy shook the ship violently, and added damage. With the shields up, missiles and torpedoes couldn’t do much harm, but the laser cannons were still able to do a number on the hull. One of the destroyers sat off in the distance and fired powerful rounds from its heavy turrets. From so far away, they were assured that even the most powerful shot from the Order’s destroyers couldn’t hurt them.

Sykes sat back and watched as his destroyers set about their work. His carrier released wave after wave of fighters. Without orders, they did no good. The lone fighter that was destroyed earlier was now destined to be joined by dozens of others at the hands of the much faster fighters of the Confederacy.

“Release all fighters. Get every one of them out there. Man all turrets. When those frigates get to us, I want to hit them with something. Recall the rest of the fleet, we aren’t going to last very long with such limited firepower.”

“Sir, is that a good idea?”

“Just do it.” Sykes was ashamed not to have a better hold on the situation. Already, there were many dead, and with the way things were going, there were going to be more. The captains of the vessels under his control took it upon themselves to go against the Confederate ships, but with little luck. As the destroyers and frigates didn’t have enough power to maintain a shield grid, they were at the mercy of their hull plating.

The destroyers held well against the approaching line of frigates. By coordinating their fire, they even managed to destroy two of them in a short amount of time. Despite their valiant efforts, the destroyers couldn’t hold the line forever. The frigates broke through.

The destroyers were left with grim choices. They could turn and protect the virtually helpless station, leaving their backs to the most powerful guns of the enemy, or they could face the onslaught without shields and challenge far superior weaponry. Each of the two captains chose a different option. The ship that chose to help the station was instantly destroyed by a volley of missiles.

Sykes was devastated. In a single shot, five hundred men were killed with their bodies either burnt to a crisp or floating in space. He looked on, but there was little he could do. A part of him wanted to scream out and lose control because of his failure as commander. In doing so, he would lose all credibility with his peers. The only way he stood any chance of coming out of this was to sit tight and hold on until their support reached them. He feared that the support wouldn’t be enough.

The members of the Order were well intentioned, but had little to no training. The posts they were given were based on the roles they played while they were a part of the Confederacy. Even though they had the programming in their minds, it was more like instinct than actual capability. The captains of the ships in the fleet had very little idea as to how everything actually worked; they just had a feel for it. They simply couldn’t compete against someone who was properly trained.

The frigates that broke past the destroyers circled the mobile space station and released odd craft that looked like little boxes connected to a four pronged needle. The craft sped about, considerably slower than fighters, but flew so close to the station that they couldn’t be targeted by the turrets. A few tried to breach the shield barrier, but couldn’t. For a second, Sykes thought he had found a moment of respite from the immediacy of their threat, but he couldn’t be more wrong.

One of the odd craft came to a near stop and turned its four pronged needle towards the hull of the station. The prongs turned a bright green, and the ship rammed the station, cutting through the shields and the hull.