Connor walked across the airfield of the CDF base at Sanctuary. There was a small hangar across the way where the Falcon Fighters Series 7 were kept. Their dark, sleek bodies had stub wings and powerful rear engines designed for atmospheric flight. He’d just recertified his flight status and was now qualified to fly one of them. Technically, no one could just take one of the Falcon Fighters, but Connor was a general in the CDF, and rank did have its privileges. He couldn’t imagine any general in the NA Alliance military using a fighter for personal transport, but those in the CDF tended to be much more versatile, and he was qualified to fly the ship.
Diaz called out behind him, and Connor stopped as his friend jogged to catch up. Diaz was wearing the blue CDF uniform with captain’s bars on the side. His stocky frame bulged against the smart fabric of his uniform, and Connor could hear him exhaling loudly as he ran.
When Connor rejoined the CDF, there’d been a number of former soldiers who expressed interest in rejoining as well. Some of those soldiers served on a part-time basis while others had become fully active. In response to this recent resurgence, a reserve force for the CDF had been created. Reserves were an old tradition in Earth’s militaries that allowed former soldiers to maintain a less active role but provided a cushion of readily available soldiers that offset the time it would take to train civilians. Many of the reservists had come from the Recovery Institute at Sanctuary that Connor had founded a few years earlier to help soldiers reacclimate to colonial life.
Diaz caught up to him and sighed explosively. “I really need to up my cardio. I shouldn’t be this out of breath.”
Connor resumed his pace. “Well, you have been spending a lot of time at the family restaurant.”
Diaz smiled. “I love cooking, but my replacement chef is more than up to the task.”
Connor arched an eyebrow toward him as a comment hung on the edge of his lips.
Diaz waved him off. “Don’t give me that crap. I’m on active duty, and I’m here by your side.”
Connor closed his mouth and they were silent for a moment. Six months ago, they’d gotten a wake-up call regarding what the NEIIS had been dealing with before the collapse of their civilization—an interdimensional invasion force that they knew painfully little about. Connor couldn’t sit idly by and let others deal with it, especially not when he knew he could help, and Lenora fully supported his decision. Connor had stationed himself at the CDF base at Sanctuary so he could be close to his family, and he made a point of being part of his baby girl’s life. He refused to let the military take over like it had before.
“Where we going?” Diaz asked.
“I thought I’d take one of the Falcons for a short trip.”
Diaz looked at the sleek form of the Falcon and blew out a long whistle of appreciation. It was a two-person fighter that was designed to provide air support for ground forces, as well as stinger operations for blindsiding the enemy. It was also extremely fast, and Connor needed every bit of that speed to make his meeting for the Colonial Defense Committee.
“I thought you weren’t due to be in Sierra until this afternoon?”
“You’re right, but I need to go somewhere else first. There’s a …” Connor paused. He’d been about to say an old friend, but that wasn’t entirely accurate. Sure, the person he was meeting had been his friend once but not anymore. Not for a long time. “… an old acquaintance I need to see.”
They reached the Falcon Fighter, and the officer in charge escorted them to the pad. The Falcon had sleek lines, with the cockpit in front of the engines. The canopy opened to reveal two pilots’ chairs next to each other. A gray synthetic fabric covered the SmartCushion that would contour to their bodies for maximum comfort and support.
They climbed inside and Connor brought the flight systems online. When the control tower transmitted clearance, he engaged the engines. The Falcon’s repulser engines pushed the attack aircraft off the ground, and Connor eased it forward out of the hangar. They quickly ascended several thousand feet, after which Connor engaged the mains and the Falcon sped away. Despite the inertia dampeners, they both felt the kick of the powerful engines as they raced over the New Earth landscape. Diaz chuckled in appreciation. They headed north, and Connor set a course away from any of the colonial settlements.
“Thanks for coming with me,” Connor said.
Diaz eyed him warily. “No problem. Who are we meeting way out here?”
“Samson.”
Diaz cursed under his breath. “Not again. The last time— Are you crazy?”
Connor shrugged. “I need him.”
“I don’t think he cares. He threatened to kill you if you came looking for him again.”
“It’s been a few years, and a lot has changed. He’s the only one left who hasn’t…”
They were both silent for a few moments. Samson was one of the few surviving members of the Ghost Platoon. When they'd been brought out of stasis on the Ark more than ten years earlier, not every member of the Spec Ops platoon Connor had led for the North American Alliance Military had embraced becoming a colonist. None of them welcomed the idea, but eventually they'd all come around, with the exception of Samson. He’d had a rough time adapting to colonial living, and even though he’d been in the CDF helping to train the infantry and Spec Ops platoons, he’d never embraced the colony. Less than a year after being brought out of stasis, he left and headed out to the New Earth frontier. Connor assumed Samson had died, but he’d found him a few years ago while they were searching for NEIIS bunkers. Samson had been roaming the continent.
“Besides, he might actually talk to you,” Connor said.
“I haven’t seen or talked to him since he left. I doubt he’d even remember who I am.”
Connor sighed. “That’s just it. He doesn’t forget…anything.”
“I think we should just leave him alone. He never wanted to be part of the colony.”
Connor glanced at Diaz. “You can say it—he blames me for his being here. But we need his help.”
“Why?”
“When we created the Colonial Defense Force, we designed it to meet an enemy that was coming from space. Our infantry is extremely capable, but you were there. The threat we’re facing now is different. Samson was a heavy-weapons expert, and before that he was part of a force recon team. I can try and train troops to do the job, but sometimes there’s no substitute for experience, even for someone who’s been out of it for over ten years. Samson would be a real asset if I can convince him to return to the colony and the CDF.”
The Falcon Fighter sped along, consuming kilometers as the minutes ticked by.
“If you wanted him to come back with you, why did we take this ship? There’s no room for a third person in here,” Diaz said.
“I just want to ask the question. He’s lived apart from people for so long that he might need to warm up to the idea. Regardless, I owe him. I can’t give up on him.”
“Connor, there’s loyalty, but maybe you should let this go. Samson might be better off on his own. If he wanted to come back, he would’ve.”
Connor nodded. “You might be right. Actually, you probably are right, but I still need to try. Also, you don’t know Samson like I do.”
The remainder of the trip was silent as they flew over an old mountain range. A mist lay over the land like a crippled storm cloud, sluggish and dense in some places, thinner in others. They were three thousand kilometers from Sanctuary when Connor slowed their velocity as they approached their destination and scanned for colonial energy signatures. Samson might like to live apart from the colony, but there were some technological accoutrements that Connor knew he’d used. A colonial comlink registered on the scanner output, and Connor flew toward it. An alert appeared on the heads-up display, showing a large pack of ryklars that were just over a klick from them, but otherwise there were no other predators around.
Connor set the fighter down in an open area near a grove of New Earth trees that were similar to pines but with sap that released a pungent odor in the spring. They climbed out of the airship, and Connor deployed a couple of recon drones. He’d powered down the fighter’s systems, and the area was quiet except for the cool breeze that still had a bit of winter in it. The wind kicked up and the foliage shifted around them. Connor retrieved an AR-71 assault rifle and handed one to Diaz. No one went beyond colonial settlements unarmed, and now that Connor was back in the CDF, he had access to military-grade weapons. He kept the weapon in standby with the safety on, having no intention of using it. Diaz checked his and gave Connor a nod.
“So we’re just going to walk in there and what? Start yelling out to him?” Diaz asked.
Connor noticed the slightly elevated tone from his friend. “You seem a bit nervous. You can wait by the ship if you want.”
“Give me a break. I’m fine. I just want to get this over with,” Diaz said and walked ahead of him. He turned back. “You know we could’ve brought a squad with us. Might’ve been better.”
Connor smiled and took the lead.
A fog seemed to encroach upon the surrounding area, but they found Samson’s camp easily enough. There was a firepit in the middle of the camp, and the charred remains of the previous night’s fire glistened in the damp air. On the other side of the camp, about twenty feet off the ground, was a cabin. Its wooden construction looked well supported. The planks of aged wood were a tawny gray, and Connor wondered how long Samson had lived there. He called out a few times, but there was no reply.
“He’s probably not here,” Diaz said and walked toward a table. There were several tools on the table, and Diaz fingered them idly as he glanced at Samson’s abode. “How does he get up there?” he asked, gesturing toward the cabin.
Connor had just glanced up at the structure, searching for a ladder, when Diaz cried out and fell to the ground as if something had kicked his feet out from under him. Then his friend was dragged toward a tree and hoisted high into the air. There was a snap-hiss as webbing burst from a hidden trap and plastered Diaz to the tree. Connor quickly looked down and saw a metallic cord slithering toward his feet, too, so he leaped toward the firepit and the trap missed him. He fired a few rounds at it, and it retracted to its source. At least Samson hadn’t set his traps to persist.
Diaz swore. “That son of a— Get me down from here! I’m gonna—” He scowled, looking around for Samson. Connor grinned. He couldn’t help himself, and Diaz’s gaze swooped toward him. “Don’t you dare laugh at me!” he shouted as he strained against the webbing, but it held him firmly in place. His rifle was on the ground. “Did you know about this?”
Connor shook his head. “How would I know?”
Diaz shook his head and muttered something about grabbing his knife. “You can help me get down, you know, instead of standing there doing nothing.”
“I thought I’d take a few pictures and send them to the boys back home.”
“Dammit, Connor! I’m gonna kick your ass when I get outta here.”
Connor carefully walked toward where Diaz was trapped and stopped. He peered around the camp, looking for other traps, then inhaled and shouted, “I just want to talk to you. Then we’ll go.”
An arrow flew past Connor’s head and buried itself into a tree. Connor squatted down and brought his rifle up, engaging the multipurpose protection suit system he wore over his uniform, even though he knew it had been a warning shot. Samson hadn’t really been aiming for him, or he wouldn’t have missed. Connor scanned the surrounding forest, looking for a heat signature, but didn’t find any. He engaged the ryklar protocols on the recon drone and adjusted the setting for humans.
Connor turned away from Diaz. “You missed.”
An arrow struck Connor’s body and bounced off the MPS, which was more than up to the task of repelling such a primitive weapon. The recon drone alerted him to Samson’s location just in time for him to hear heavy footfalls moving away from them. Connor reached for the combat knife on his belt and tossed it up to Diaz, who just barely managed to catch it. Then he ran away from the camp, following Samson.
He caught a glimpse of Samson’s hulking form farther along the path. Glancing up, he saw a rotting tree limb ahead, so he brought up his AR-71 and squeezed off a few rounds. The limb fell to the ground, tripping the former Ghost, and Connor caught up to him, quickly blocking the man’s path.
Samson wore a long coat of ryklar skins, which looked to have been stitched together to cover his large frame. It was the ryklar skins that had prevented him from being detected on infrared.
Samson stood up, towering over Connor, and pulled the hood from his head. Years of roughing it on the New Earth frontier had hardened him. His thick brows pushed forward, and his menacing gaze was almost feral.
“I just want to talk,” Connor said, holding his hands up to show that he meant no harm.
Samson lunged forward with a growl, tackling Connor to the ground, but Connor managed to scramble away just as Samson slammed his fist down onto the ground where he’d been only a moment before. Connor stood up and kicked the big man in the stomach. It felt like his boot had struck a boulder.
Samson grunted as he regained his feet, and Connor pointed his rifle at him.
“Go ahead. Shoot me,” Samson said in a deep voice, calling Connor’s bluff.
Connor stepped back and let go of his rifle. The auto-tether snatched it to his back, securing it in place. “Don’t make me do this.”
The big man lunged forward, and Connor sidestepped, shoving away Samson’s powerful hands while kicking him in the rump—more of a sting to Samson's pride than anything else. Samson spun around and charged again, and Connor had no choice but to grapple with the former Ghost. Samson wrapped his arms around Connor’s body, trying to squeeze the life from him, but the MPS became a hardened shell, protecting Connor from harm. He slammed his hands onto Samson’s ears and then hammered his fists on the man’s face, but Samson growled and heaved Connor around as a wild animal would. Connor pressed his hands on both sides of the man’s throat and squeezed, seeking to cut off the circulation from his carotids, but Samson continued to squeeze Connor’s body in a bear hug.
“You’ll lose consciousness before you break my back. Let me go,” Connor said.
Seeing that his efforts had no effect on Connor, Samson dropped him to his feet and punched him square in the face. The MPS didn’t cover Connor’s face, and there was a white explosion of pain through his cheek. The force of the blow made Connor stumble, but he was ready for Samson’s next strike. He pulled Samson off-balance and hopped onto his back, putting him in a choke hold.
“You could make this easy,” Connor said, straining to hold the big man.
Samson growled, but he started to sway on his feet, fighting to remain conscious. He stopped struggling and held up his hands. Connor didn’t let go.
“All right,” Samson said, finally. “I’ll talk, but then you’ll get outta here and leave me be.”
Connor let go and landed on his feet. Samson turned toward him, and for a moment Connor thought he’d strike again.
“Let's head back to the camp. I need to get Diaz out of the tree,” Connor said.
Samson grunted and strode back toward the camp. His strides were lengthy, but Connor was able to keep up with him. When they got back to camp, Diaz was busy cutting through the webbing that held him to the tree.
Samson pulled up his sleeve, revealing a PDA strapped to his wrist, and operated the interface. The tension in the webbing retracted, and Diaz swung away from the tree as he was lowered to the ground.
Diaz came to his feet and snatched his rifle off the ground. “You know, I oughta shoot you.”
Connor got between them, and Diaz glared at him. “Get out of the way. Just let me shoot him in the leg.”
“You came uninvited,” Samson said.
Diaz shook his head, scowling. “It wasn’t funny in training, and it’s not funny now.”
“If you’d learned better, you wouldn’t have been stuck on that tree,” Samson replied.
“Oh really,” Diaz said, pointing his rifle at the cabin.
“That’s enough!” Connor shouted before Diaz started shooting. “Go back to the ship.”
Diaz glared at Connor for a moment. “This was a waste of time,” he said and started to leave, but he suddenly turned around and flung a little glowing sphere toward Samson. A small, focused, concussive blast knocked Samson to the ground, and Diaz laughed as he walked away.
Samson lay on the ground for a few moments, gasping, and then laughed. Connor walked over and extended his hand, but Samson ignored it and stood up on his own.
“I’ve been keeping track of you,” Connor said. “You move around quite a bit.”
“What do you want, Colonel?” Samson asked, addressing Connor by his old NA Alliance military rank.
Connor regarded him for a moment. “Neither of us are who we once were.”
Samson looked at Connor’s uniform. “Just because you convinced a bunch of colonists to call you ‘general’ doesn’t mean you are one.”
“They can call me whatever they want. I only care about getting the job done, which is to protect these people.”
“Well, don’t let me stop you.”
“It’s not that simple. I need your help. I need your skillset, your know-how, your experience.”
Samson shook his head. “You trained them. The Vemus are gone. Yeah, that’s right. I heard about the war you fought. If the CDF was good enough for that, then they’re good enough for whatever else you’ve got in mind.”
Connor told Samson about the NEIIS and what they’d discovered.
“A new threat to the colony,” Samson said. “You think that’s gonna get me to come back with you? Put on a uniform? Follow orders?”
“I thought it might. I’ve seen this enemy. They’re different from the Vemus. More dangerous. I need the best, and that means you.”
Samson crossed his thick arms. “Based on what you just said, you know hardly anything about what you’re facing.”
“You’re right. We need to do reconnaissance and find out everything we can about them because one day they’re going to come here, and if we’re not ready, then that’s it for all of us. And that includes you. Sooner or later you’ve got to come back to the colony.”
Samson sneered. “I never wanted this colony or these people. I don’t care if they all die.”
Connor regarded him for a moment. “I know that’s not true. You can fool the others but not me. I know you care if innocent people die. Everyone we left behind—”
Samson’s arms dropped to his sides as he stepped toward Connor. “Say their names,” he hissed.
Connor met his gaze. “I don’t have to. I have my own list of names, and I think of them every day, but I’ve moved on and you can, too. Or you can stay out here, bitter and detached from everything, trying to convince yourself that this is what you want. Dying alone isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Wil and Kasey would tell you that.”
“Wil and Kasey died following you.”
Connor balled his hands into fists. His knuckles yearned to punch something, hard, but he clamped down on his anger. “They died trying to protect the colony. This is our home now.” Samson opened his mouth to reply, but Connor shut him down. “There’s a place for you in the CDF if you want. Even if you don’t, you can still come back to any of the cities. Stop this before it’s too late.”
Samson’s frown deepened, and he looked away.
“I don’t expect you to come now, so I’ll leave this comlink with you. Its broadcast range is much greater than the one you’re carrying.” Connor tossed the comlink toward Samson, and he caught it more out of reflex than desire. “You should come back before it’s too late. You’re dressed in ryklar skins like some kind of animal. You’re better than that. Stop blaming me and everyone else for what happened.”
They were quiet for a few moments and the fog couldn’t decide whether it would swallow them up or not.
“You’re not the only one left, you know. Tiegan and Sawyer are both still alive. They live in Delphi, and they have families.”
“I had a family,” Samson said. He inhaled deeply through his nose and sighed, then turned around and walked back into the woods.
So did I.
Connor watched him go as the fog quickly swallowed his old friend. At least he’d taken the comlink. The new tracker in it could accurately pinpoint Samson’s location to within two meters. Just in case.
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