Thick drops of rain pelted the rover as a sudden thunderstorm rolled in, and rivulets of water streamed across the windshield before a low-powered shield engaged. As the shield pulsed, clearing Connor’s view, a notification chimed and then popped into existence on the rover’s holoscreen. Connor glanced over and then quickly dismissed it.
He heard Samson clear his throat from the passenger seat. “I don’t think you’re going to make that Security Council meeting,” Samson said.
“Nathan will be there,” Connor replied.
They were driving along a rough path thirty kilometers from Sanctuary. The rover was more than up to the task of navigating the rugged terrain, but Samson was right; they weren’t going to get anywhere quickly.
Samson arched a thick eyebrow and remained quiet. Connor was glad his friend had rejoined the colony, but he'd noticed that Samson was still prone to long bouts of silence. The only exception to that was when he was commanding his own Spec Ops platoon on a mission; however, when not on task, he was quietly reserved.
“This is just as important,” Connor replied.
Samson made a show of glancing out the windows at the surrounding forest, looking unconvinced. “What are we doing way out here, and why take a rover?”
“I thought you of all people could appreciate a short trip away from the hustle and bustle of city life, even one like Sanctuary.”
“Yeah, right,” Samson said and shook his head. “Don’t tell me then.”
“Will anybody who’s grumpy today please raise their hand? You didn’t have to come, you know.”
“Right now, I’m wishing I didn’t,” Samson said and glanced at the HUD overlay that refreshed with a flashing waypoint. “Since when is there a Recovery Institute building way out here?”
“Only the past few months. It's just one HAB unit and a bit of a work area.”
“Who’s it for?”
“His name is John Rollins,” Connor said, and Samson frowned. “You’ve never met him. He was left behind in an alternate universe and became a prisoner of the Krake. When we found him, he was starving and on the verge of losing his mind.”
“I’ve heard the name before and read the mission reports.”
Connor gripped the rover steering wheel firmly. “It was bad. The atmosphere was slowly poisoning him, and I don’t know how he survived. We all thought he was dead.”
Samson nodded. He was a career soldier from Connor’s old Ghost Platoon before they’d been shanghaied into the colony. “What’s he doing way out here?”
“Hopefully, getting better.”
“Are you telling me the doctors recommended seclusion as some kind of therapy to deal with what this guy went through?”
“Rollins asked for this. He had a rough time during the Vemus War and . . . let’s just say he’s not a people person. He’s being monitored and has regular visits from the staff at the Recovery Institute, but he prefers to be alone. Part of this arrangement requires him to return to Sanctuary at least once a month.”
They were both quiet for a few minutes.
“Why do you do this?” Samson asked.
“What do you mean?”
“You make it personal.”
“I left him behind.”
“You just said you thought he was dead.”
Connor was quiet. “I’m just checking up on an old friend.”
“Were you friends?”
“What’s with the third degree? What’s your problem?” Connor asked.
“My problem is that you’re allowing yourself to be pulled in a bunch of different directions, and we can’t afford that right now. This is a distraction. You brought me back to help you prepare for the Krake, and I’m just doing my job by pointing that out.”
Connor kept driving. Samson could believe whatever he wanted. The truth was that Connor did sometimes make things personal, and he cared about what had happened to Rollins, but that wasn’t the only reason he was there.
Connor gave Samson a flat look, and Samson blew out a breath. “You almost had me going.”
“I knew you’d get there eventually. Rollins has had the most interaction with the Krake. I’m hoping he’ll remember something we can use,” Connor said.
He felt terrible about leaving Rollins behind, but they'd thought he was dead and hadn't had any time to do a thorough check. They'd had to flee the Krake military base and were lucky to get out alive. This was before Connor had rejoined the Colonial Defense Force, ending his early retirement.
They entered the campsite amid a few HAB units intended for long-term use away from any of the colonial cities. They were popular with the forward operating research bases that were still in use. Connor powered off the rover, and they stepped outside.
Rollins had been a combat engineer and liked to work with his hands, so Connor wasn't surprised to find a small warehouse with its doors open and lights on inside. Off to one side was a line of agricultural-type robots that were either in need of repair or just a basic maintenance cycle. Rollins had agreed to provide this service to help offset the resources required to maintain his living space way out here.
Connor called out for Rollins, and some of the machinery he could hear running from around the corner stopped. A lean man stepped out. He was wearing an apron with several tools in the pockets. His hands were dirty, and he had a few smudges on his cheeks, but Rollins looked much healthier than he used to. He’d regained some of the weight he’d lost from almost starving to death, but he was a long way from healed.
Rollins jutted his chin up once in an acknowledgment, glancing at Samson and then back at Connor. “I see you brought company this time.” He turned back around the corner to the work area and put down the piece he’d been cleaning.
“I can have him wait with the rover if you want,” Connor offered. The thunderstorm continued to rage outside. They were in the middle of a downpour, but it was a short walk to the rover and Connor knew the rain wouldn’t bother Samson at all.
Rollins returned without the apron or the part he’d been carrying and glanced at the ground. “I know it shouldn’t bother me,” he said and then gritted his teeth. He looked at Connor. “He can stay.”
“Thanks,” Connor replied.
Rollins walked over to one of the workbenches and leaned back against it. Connor recognized that it was a strategic location that wouldn’t allow anyone to approach Rollins from behind, as well as giving him a view of the entire area.
“I heard you were in trouble,” Rollins said.
Connor's face reflected his surprise. “Is that so?”
“It’s been all over the newsfeeds. I do check on them from time to time. The doctors are afraid I’ll lose touch,” Rollins said, shaking his head.
Connor glanced around the workshop. “It looks like you’re keeping busy out here.”
“It helps if I keep moving,” Rollins replied.
“Well, you don’t need to stop on my account. What are you working on?”
Rollins glanced toward his work area, and Connor followed his gaze. A standard Field Ops motion scanner was disassembled, the parts strewn across the workbench.
Rollins pressed his lips together, looking as if he was deciding whether to let Connor in on a secret he’d been keeping. Then he shrugged. “I was tweaking the detection capability of the scanner assembly.”
Connor approached the workbench. “What are you trying to do with it?”
“They’re preconfigured to look for things like ryklars or berwolves or any other predators we have in the area. I wanted to rotate the profiler to scan for something different. Almost like a general predator profile.”
Connor pursed his lips in thought for a moment. “Easier said than done. Are you getting inundated with false-positive readings?”
“I was, but I was able to get around that by having it use a standard field survey set of protocols—you know, the ones Field Ops uses to survey the region. Instead of just flagging a species as unknown and waiting for someone to catalog it, I’m having it make a guess as to whether it's a predator or not,” Rollins said.
What Rollins was describing was no easy feat. There was no way he could do this on his own, which meant he was working with somebody. This was a good thing.
“I had some help,” Rollins said, rubbing at an imaginary piece of dirt on his workbench.
“Who’s helping you?”
“Lockwood. He’s been sending me software updates based on the changes I’ve been making to the drone. And don’t look so surprised. The kid sent me a message a month ago asking how I was doing. He’s grown up a lot,” Rollins said.
Connor nodded. Rollins had an abrasive personality, and Connor remembered Rollins first meeting Lockwood almost two years ago when they’d stumbled upon the Ovarrow stasis pods. It was hard to believe it had been that long.
“He’s one of the good ones,” Connor agreed. “I’m glad you’re keeping busy.”
He could see why Rollins would take on a project like this. He’d spent months surviving, not knowing whether he was going to live or die in one of the harshest environments imaginable.
Rollins looked away from him and his shoulders rounded. “You want to know if I remember anything else.”
Connor knew Rollins’s recovery had been extremely difficult. The doctors had described his condition as an almost complete breakdown of conscious thought, more or less as if the man had been in a permanent mode of fight or flight. Connor had seen this behavior before in other soldiers he'd known—the ones who were broken inside but wouldn’t let themselves quit.
“I wish I didn’t have to,” Connor said.
“You certainly gave me enough time. The Krake really didn’t know what to do with me. After the bomb went off, things just fell apart. I managed to escape with the help of the other prisoners. They either let us go or they just didn’t care anymore. Hell, they knew we were going to die anyway, so why waste the ammo?” Rollins said.
Connor grimaced. He planted that bomb when they'd gone back through the archway. It had been intended as a trap for the Krake.
“Now, don’t go being like that. I’m glad you bombed those bastards. I would’ve done the same thing. They left some of their own behind.”
Connor frowned. “They left other Krake behind?”
Rollins's bushy eyebrows pulled together and he nodded. “They all just killed themselves once the ships were gone. There were eight or nine of them, and they just . . .” Rollins said and squeezed his eyes shut. “They could have survived. I don’t understand why they did that. Several of the Ovarrow did the same thing later on, and they might’ve been the lucky ones. There was a lot of fighting for resources. I stayed alive by staying away from the group and moving around at night, at least before those creatures started showing up.”
Connor remembered the strange predators they’d fought. Their bioluminescent fur glowed red when they were about to attack. They were fearsome creatures whose claws could tear through CDF combat suits.
“I tried to make my way to where we'd come through the archway, but it was too dangerous. It took me . . . I don’t know how long for sure. Maybe a week or two to gather the components to transmit a distress signal. I had to cannibalize my own PDA to make it work. Everything after that was just . . . surviving, scavenging for something to eat. Nothing tasted right, and the air burned my lungs. They have me sleeping with a regulator now, which is supposed to help with the pain, but it still hurts to breathe sometimes, especially if I work too hard. I wish there was more I could tell you. I wish I could tell you something so you could go hit them where they live. They knew we were alive down there, trying to survive, and they sent those creatures down. Who does that to prisoners? If I knew something that could help you hurt them, I'd tell you. Hell, I'd volunteer to help you.”
“I know you would, but you’ve done enough, John. Let someone else do it.”
Rollins inhaled deeply and sighed. “The sleep regulators are supposed to help me rest. I wish they could stop me from dreaming, but they don’t make medicine for that.”
“Are you sure you’re all right out here? I know you want to be alone, but sometimes it might help to be around people,” Connor said.
Rollins shook his head. “Based on what I'm reading in the newsfeeds, there's been quite the upheaval. Government officials are being arrested. A rogue group was torturing the Ovarrow. Then there you are, front and center. They’re claiming you abused your power as a CDF general.”
“I did what had to be done. Now I’ll need to answer for it,” Connor replied.
Rollins snorted bitterly. “Sometimes people don’t like to take their medicine. Sure, they’re upset with what you did, but I bet the alternative would’ve been worse. I suppose you’ll tell them to learn from it, but what’s to stop them from making you their scapegoat?”
Connor could always count on rigid honesty from Rollins. “They need me, and they know it. At least, the right people know it.”
Rollins nodded and then his eyes glittered as if he’d just remembered something. “The Krake came back to the planet two times. First, they were assessing the damage. Then the second time, they unleashed those creatures on us. After that, they never returned. The question you can ask the Security Council is: what happens if the Krake were to come here and start dumping those creatures on New Earth, wreaking havoc in the cities?”
Connor nodded grimly. “That’s exactly what I intend to tell them. If you need anything at all, Rollins, you know how to contact me. If I’m not around, you can contact Diaz. He’s pretty much at Sanctuary all the time.”
Rollins shook his head. “That guy hated me.”
“He didn’t hate you. He thought you were a pain in the ass, which is the truth. You are a pain in the ass,” Connor said, and Rollins nodded. “Seriously, he’d help you if you needed it.”
Connor and Samson went back to the rover, and Samson was quiet as they drove away.
“I brought you along because you’re the only one I know who’s lived on his own away from everyone else for that long,” Connor said.
“I lived away from the colony, but I was here on New Earth. I didn’t survive on some kind of prison planet. I don’t know if I could help him at all,” Samson said.
Connor doubted that. Samson had lived apart from the colony for about eight years. The man had had that long to explore the continent, contending with all the creatures that called New Earth home, using only the barest survival skills. Connor knew Samson would think about Rollins and come up with some way to help the man in the future, even if he didn’t think he could now. Connor couldn’t do everything himself, and maybe he could hit two birds with one stone.
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