Initiate Read online

Initiate

  by

  Michael D. Britton

  * * * *

  Copyright 2012 by Michael D. Britton / Intelligent Life Books

  Yet another dark back alley meeting. More swirling mists on a foggy San Francisco night. And once more, Corporal Nigel Halsted was being asked to do things that left him feeling uncomfortable. The shadowy figure that spoke to him did nothing to assuage his discomfort. Instead, the man was all cloaks and daggers, and pressure.

  “Look, Halsted, I’m really giving you a break, here, you know. You got the additional training you did because you were top of your class at the SpaceForce Academy, and because certain – tests – we administered showed you were a perfect candidate for our group. This assignment is a real chance for you to show your mettle.”

  Nigel wasn’t stupid. He knew this group he’d agreed to join was operating way below the radar, seemingly independent of any kind of SpaceForce oversight. That was the problem – the clandestine nature of the group was exhilarating, but at the same time, he had a hard time trusting them.

  They seemed to answer to no one, and Nigel was a firm believer in the chain of command. But if what they said was true – that they existed purely for the betterment of mankind – then perhaps their other mantra was also true: that some organizations must exist in secret, outside the bounds of standard authorities, in order to preserve the way of life that makes those authorities possible.

  It seemed a convincing enough argument, in a kind of convoluted-rationalization sort of way. Even if he could swallow the circular reasoning justifying this group’s existence, Nigel still wasn’t sure that they trusted him.

  “My mettle, eh? More like to prove my allegiance.”

  “Halsted, this mission is critical. If we wanted to test your allegiance, we’d choose another way. I’ve handpicked you for this assignment because I believe you have what it takes to carry it out. Period.”

  The man spoke in half whispers – probably out of habit. Nobody else was around, but as long as Nigel had known Hughes – which was about four years – the man had always come off as conspiratorial and suspicious of everyone. Years of covert ops must do that to a man. Either that, or he spoke that way merely to affect an air of danger.

  Nigel considered for a moment, and decided this first adventure for the group would at least give him more insight into the furtive organization.

  “Very well. When do you need me?”

  “You’re a good man, Halsted. The assignment begins immediately. Take a look at these files.”

  Hughes handed Nigel a handheld Tactile Optical/Text Engine. He read the first few lines on the TOTE, then looked up.

  “Skabrins? Interesting sounding name for a species,” Nigel said, staring at the text on the TOTE.

  “Well, they look downright terrifying,” Hughes said. “Take a look at the images in the file.”

  Nigel tapped the screen and a snarling brute appeared on the TOTE, his deep-set eyes aflame with fury beneath a ridged cranium and wild, scraggly black hair. His fu-manchu style facial hair and jagged teeth completed the portrait of a crazed thug.

  “Ugh,” he said, screwing up his face. “Do they all look like that, or is this a particularly nasty one?”

  “The Skabrins are a race of warriors. They’re aggressive, ruthless, and out to conquer. They glory in dying in combat. Well, you can read the reports for yourself.”

  The reports were a highly classified set of files that another of Hughes’ operatives had stolen from the Passis intelligence agency, V’Shar. Another operative smuggled the data back to Earth, and other members of Hughes’ group – higher level members – analyzed the information. They decided that another mission was now in order.

  “How am I supposed to get there – to the Skabrins? The Passiss are still holding up development of the Bowman-designed vessel. They’re saying it could be years before we’re allowed to begin a full-scale exploratory mission.”

  The Passis were the first extra-terrestrial race encountered by humans, some forty years previously. Being a very logical and cautious species, the emotionless beings had taken it upon themselves to form a sort of patron-protégé relationship, overseeing Earth’s space program and ushering them into a growing collective of other planets as a sort of sponsor. However, the process was going much slower than many humans would have liked.

  “Actually, we fully expect the Discovery – that’s what we’ve established it will be called – will launch that mission in six months. Everyone thinks the Passiss are in charge, but our group is pulling strings like you couldn’t begin to imagine. Anyway, you won’t be on an Earth vessel. You’re going to be riding with the Passiss.”

  “The Passiss? And how am I going to pull that off? They don’t allow humans on their vessels.”

  “You’ll be surgically altered – temporarily, of course – to look like one of them. We’ll mask your body odor – they’re very sensitive to humans – and give you an identity. The hardest part will be acting like one of them.”

  “That shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll just remember not to crack any jokes.”

  #

  Nigel sat alone in a small, Spartan room aboard the M’Leth, a Passis cruiser. Since boarding, he’d only had to speak to two of the Passiss aboard the ship. He had done a good job – he betrayed none of the emotions of anxiety that he was keeping buried deep within.

  Now, in his quarters, he stared at a candle, meditating. He felt that immersing himself in the role helped him to really embrace the cover and solidify the authenticity required to fool everyone around him one hundred percent of the time. Anything less would mean failure, and he could not afford that. If he were discovered, not only would it compromise this mission, but it could do serious damage to human-Passis relations, setting back Earth’s space program indefinitely.

  Nigel took one more deep, meditative breath, then closed his eyes for a moment, examining the after-image of the flame dancing with the phosphenes against the darkness of his eyelids. He reopened them and reached for the candle, slowly snuffing it between his forefinger and thumb. He rose unassisted from cross-legged to standing, and sat on the edge of his bunk.

  The Passis robes he wore were actually quite comfortable and the fabric breathed sufficiently, so he did not feel too warm, despite the slightly high temperature aboard the ship. He switched on his SpaceForce TOTE, which was disguised as a piece of Passiss technology, entered a security code, and once again reviewed the details of his assignment. By his calculations, this ship would be at the outskirts of Skabrin space in another three days, and he wanted to be sure he had memorized every last detail of the data before the next phase of the operation began.

  #

  The M’Leth docked at a trading post in a small asteroid field at the edge of Skabrin space. According to Nigel’s files, this was where a Passis ambassador aboard the ship was to meet with a certain Skabrin leader to discuss plans for a non-aggression treaty. Nigel had told Hughes that he thought such a treaty would be in everyone’s interest, given how hostile the Skabrins seemed to be.

  Hughes had told Nigel to leave the thinking to his superiors.

  Their view was that a pact between the Passiss and Skabrins could threaten Earth’s interests in the long term, particularly since the Passiss were making these arrangements without consulting their human allies, possibly weakening Earth’s position in the galaxy’s burgeoning alliances. Nigel tried not to question the group’s analysis, but something didn’t quite sit right. Nevertheless, he went forward with full intentions of completing his mission as assigned.

  Hughes had supplied Nigel with a cutting-edge universal translation implant that resided deep in his ear canal and was not detectable by standard scanning devices. With it, he was able to clearly understand a sh
ipwide announcement that informed all aboard the M’Leth that they were free to disembark, and that the vessel would remain docked for two hours, thirty-two minutes.

  Those Passiss and their precision.

  Taking his cue, Nigel stashed his TOTE in the folds of his robe, put on a tan hooded cloak, and headed out of his quarters. He passed several Passiss serenely walking the ship’s corridors. Most didn’t even look at him, but a few offered him terse, expressionless nods, which he returned, stone-faced.

  For once, I’m glad the Passiss are such a cheery lot, he thought. No need to try to make idle conversation and risk blowing my cover.

  He quickly pushed the thought aside, remembering the importance of keeping his cover at the surface of his thoughts – because of the Passiss’ telepathic abilities. Hiding among them entailed more than just looking like them and speaking like them. He had to be like them, even on the inside, or risk exposure. It required intense concentration to keep his true identity buried.

  He stepped through the airlock into a docking corridor, then through another doorway that led to a huge open area. The air was hot and dry – even hotter than aboard the M’Leth – and the lighting was dimmer than Nigel would have liked. The whole facility was built into the interior of a massive hollow asteroid. High above, in the rocky “roof” of the facility, large round portholes provided a view of the stars.

  Nigel traversed a long catwalk from the docking area to the main platform, moving slowly and calmly. He was told he’d be approached by a Grodenite and given more information. He was also told what to expect when looking for his contact: a short, stocky, pig-like creature with a bad attitude. It wasn’t long before that description became manifest.

  “You Verok?” said the gruff alien, approaching Nigel from behind.

  Nigel turned fluidly and cast his gaze downward into a pair of dark, empty-looking eyes. “I am. Who asks?”

  “Trunig. I will not repeat this: listen now. The mark will be in room one-four-seven on level C in thirty minutes. Use code three-three-alpha-three to enter through the back door. Good luck.”

  The Grodenite moved off without another word or a backwards glance at Nigel, and quickly blended into the bustling crowd.

  Nigel committed the information to memory, and headed for a public computer kiosk. He found one quickly, and commenced his information request.

  “Interface, show me a schematic of this station.”

  “Schematic displayed,” intoned the computer in a dull monotone.

  Nigel studied the schematic, but did not ask the interface for directions to his destination. He had observed security cameras in this common area, and assumed some were trained on the computer kiosks – and he did not want security to be able to trace him later.

  The computer timed out and said, “Please make another request.”

  “No. That will be all, interface. Terminate.”

  The computer screen blinked and went to standby mode, awaiting a request from another traveler seeking information. Nigel turned and made his way through the crowd to a lift that would take him to level C. Once there, he found his way to a service corridor that led to a series of doors that were back entrances to conference rooms, used by the automated janitorial “staff.”

  He found the door he needed, and keyed in the access code. He entered the empty room, and sat at the near end of the conference table. The meeting would be taking place here in the next five minutes. He placed his TOTE on the table, and configured it to scan for biosigns. He wanted to know when the others were approaching.

  The minutes passed in complete silence, save the sound of his own breathing. Then a light blinked on Nigel’s TOTE, followed by another three blinking lights. Three individuals were coming, two Passis and one Skabrin.

  Nigel pulled a component from his robes and one from each shoe, and quickly pieced them together. He removed the power supply from his TOTE and inserted it into a slot in the weapon he had assembled. He moved to the door, and stood beside it, flat against the wall.

  As the Passiss entered, he stunned them with his weapon and turned on the Skabrin. But before he could fire, the Skabrin dashed the weapon from Nigel’s hand and assumed a fighting stance. Nigel dropped his outer cloak to the floor to afford him some freedom of movement, and backed up a step.

  The Skabrin drew a wicked-looking hand blade from the back of his belt, and lunged at Nigel with all the ferocity of a mad dog. Nigel, who was skilled in nine forms of martial arts, easily sidestepped the attack, and used the Skabrin’s momentum to send him careening headfirst into the wall. Nigel heard a cracking sound as the Skabrin hit the composite material, and assumed the giant had split his head open.

  But the Skabrin shook his shaggy mane as he stood, then let out a deep, barrel-chested laugh that turned into a snarl. He stepped away from the wall, revealing that it was the wall that had suffered all the damage.

  Nigel’s eyes widened a little, but he quickly regained his focus and prepared for the next attack. It was difficult to gauge what level of force to use against his opponent, because although the Skabrin was much stronger and more durable, Nigel didn’t want to hurt him too badly. His objective was to abduct him, not maim him. With this in mind, Nigel faked left, then dove right to retrieve his energy weapon. He grasped it from the floor and rolled into a sitting position, firing directly into the Skabrin’s chest. The Skabrin was repulsed for a moment, but then kept coming. Nigel had to fire four more shots into the enormous alien before finally knocking him unconscious.

  Unfortunately, the Skabrin fell directly onto Nigel, pinning him to the floor. Panting, Nigel wriggled out halfway from under the Skabrin, then managed to push the hefty body off of him and get up. He glanced over at the two Passiss, who remained still in the positions in which they had fallen.

  Nigel dismantled his weapon and returned the power module to his TOTE. He tapped in some commands, sending a microspace signal. Within minutes, the next phase of his mission would begin. While he waited, he dragged the Passiss to one wall of the room, and covered them with his unfolded cloak.

  Soon after, the door opened and three Deltazoid mercenaries entered to collect the Skabrin. As they reached down to hoist the Skabrin, one looked sharply at Nigel.

  “You weren’t supposed to kill him!” he said.

  Nigel closed his eyes and gulped. “Oh, crap.”

  #

  Nigel huddled in a black plastic booth at the back of one of the space station’s busy restaurants. He nervously fiddled with his TOTE, then finally opened up an encrypted text-only channel to Hughes.

  “There’s a problem. The mark is dead.”

  After six excruciating minutes, Hughes finally responded.

  “Explain.”

  Nigel reported in as few words as possible.

  “Accident. Deltazoids fled. Room with two unconscious Passiss beside a dead Skabrin.”

  More minutes passed.

  “Excellent. Arrange the bodies to implicate the Passiss. Record images of the scene and transmit to me. End communication.”

  The TOTE display went to black.

  I’ve totally botched the job, and he calls it “excellent”? Nigel thought. Something is just not right here.

  Then it hit him. I’ve been used!

  Nigel pulled out the components of his energy weapon and laid them on the table. He configured his TOTE to scan the objects. Sure enough, a small processor resided inside the trigger part of the mechanism. Further study revealed that the processor contained a simple program. It was designed to deliver a deadly discharge on the fifth shot. Knowing the stun would be ineffective, his employers had anticipated his need to fire multiple shots at the Skabrin. And, exactly as they had planned, the fifth shot was fatal. The Skabrin who Nigel thought he was sent to abduct was now dead.

  Nigel was fuming.

  He made a point of slowly gathering his items from the table, to give him time to regain his internal composure. Despite the rage within, it was crucial that he suppres
s it and maintain his cover. As he left the restaurant, he mulled his options, but soon realized that he had no viable ones except to do as he was told.

  Part of him wanted to just ditch the mess and let his employers deal with it, since it was really of their making, and he begrudged having to complete the task that they wanted of him, since he loathed being manipulated. But he knew better – if he didn’t finish the job, his employers would cease all support and disavow knowledge of his actions – essentially leave him hanging out to dry. He would lose his commission with the SpaceForce before even getting off the ground, and most likely end up being tried for the murder of the Skabrin. He shuddered to think what the Skabrin justice system must look like.

  So, with no real alternatives available, Nigel returned to the scene of the crime and carried out his morbid orders, shuffling bodies around like a theatre director, trying to create an illusion of the conference room’s recent history. The Skabrin was already starting to stink – well, stink more than he had when he was alive – and the Passiss were sure to regain consciousness within an hour, so Nigel moved quickly. It was exhausting work lugging all that dead weight around. Once he was satisfied with their positions, he used his TOTE to record images from several angles, then left the room, and left the space station.

  He made it back to the M’Leth with only three minutes to spare before departure. Once in the privacy of his quarters, he removed his cloak and robes, and sprawled out on his bed to cool off and get some rest. Within minutes he was asleep.

  #

  Nigel was awakened by a rhythmic vibration deep inside his left ear. He realized it was Hughes trying to contact him via the translator device.

  He sat up with a groan – not enough sleep and too much of a workout the day before. He flicked on his TOTE and opened the encrypted text channel.

  “What do you want?”

  Minutes passed, and Hughes replied. “Status report.”

  “I did what you wanted.”

  The delay continued between each transmission.