Chronicles: Acropolis 3000, #2

By Susanne L. Lambdin

  Ambrose, the most powerful man in the Acropolis Army-AirCorps, Director of Tactical Affairs and Military Operations, wants Demetri and her siblings dead. Sent to the Beta-Quadrant by Master Mercator, the Trinity Hybrids are assigned as soldiers to General Hadrian Craigg. Demetri and Baron assume the identities of a senator's missing children—Lieutenants Skylar and Seth Powell. Pretending to be members of the elite C-1 class proves a challenge, as fighting duels is the only way to defend one's honor at Outpost 2, and many have targeted Demetri. However, duels are the least of her problems.            

  Demetri and her siblings soon learn that a hybrid enemy agent is hiding out at Outpost 2, but it's the strange blue lights in the sky and unexplained deaths of fort guards that put the stronghold on high alert. Demetri discovers there are more than mutated animals and plants that live beyond the high walls. Another intelligent species with superior technology has emerged from the fallout of WWIII. The Trinity Hybrids, now called Echo Platoon, are sent to discover who they are and what they want, but few who enter the jungles of Beta-Q ever return.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Susanne Lambdin
• Release date: Jun 8, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201124106

Book preview

Everyone sees what you appear to be, few experience what you really are.

—The Prince

—Niccolo Machiavelli, 1513 CE

Flight to Beta-Q

Chapter 1

Demetri gazed out the window of the Rhino Class-C transport at a blue sky dotted with cumulus clouds. Sunlight reflected against its sixty-foot-long wings painted in bright neon yellow and green. Camouflage was the Acropolis Army-AirCorps' first line of defense against billions of registered mutants, referred to as 'REMs,' that lived outside the domed city of Acropolis, and all military vehicles resembled insects. The transport looked like a Rhinoceros beetle, its powerful lift fans generating a soft rumble and vibration beneath Demetri's boots. A sonic cannon positioned in a horn on the front of the vessel emitted a high-frequency pulse to repel predators, with plasma cannons mounted fore and aft. Dual ballistic-rheostat cannons in dorsal mounts offered a continuous wave of infrared lasers to shatter wings, shells, and organs within two hundred yards.

A platoon of fifty soldiers from the 25th Special Forces Group sat behind Demetri and her brother, Baron, in rows separated by an aisle that ran from cockpit to tail. The soldiers' powered-armor made them look like black armadillos. Demetri and Baron's black uniforms with the AAA insignia and silver bars denoted the rank of lieutenants offered the perfect camouflage, for neither were the C-1 officers they pretended to be.

I’ve scanned most of this dossier, Demetri said, lowering her battle-board. The flat, hand-sized computer was black. It had a small monitor and keypad on the front and could project a hologram. I’ve read about the life of Skylar Powell. Being a spy requires more than looking the part. I’ve had training. You’ve never been outside Acropolis.

I know spies don’t talk about being undercover.

The soldiers are sitting three rows back. No one is listening, she said. I don’t mean to complain. Seth Powell is an arrogant jerk. That’s not a far stretch.

A big grin spread across his face. Touché, he said, slashing his finger in the air. He leaned into her. It’s not like I can ask the pilot to take us back to Fort Warwick. Be happy you have a window seat. All I get to look at is the door to the cockpit. So far, these slugs are buying it. Relax.

Admit you’re nervous?

I admit nothing of the sort. I’m cool as ice.

Baron looked exactly like Lieutenant Seth Powell yet was nervous and fiddled with the bracelet on his left wrist. Besides providing time, location, and temperature, the bracelet automatically injected nurvo into their systems. Demetri wore a silver band. Still groggy from the first dose administered before they left Fort Warwick earlier that morning, she felt Master Mercator had erred in not letting them use holograms. The drug forced bones to lengthen, hair to recede, and muscles to expand. Transmutation was painful enough without side-effects to the drug. Yet, the result was an identical match to the Powell siblings. Their skin was now dark, their irises golden, and voices a deeper pitch. Her boots fit but seemed massive. Demetri felt like a stranger in her own skin, especially since her fingers were longer than average and her feet seemed enormous. She tightened her harness, worried as turbulence rocked the transport, and felt a tinge of jealously when Baron yawned and stretched out his legs. Nothing bothered Baron. Nor did he seem concerned they pretended to be dead people.

Colonel Craigg’s scout found the Powells’ bodies a week earlier, ‘burned beyond recognition’ in the jungle, and believed it was murder. Craigg was the commander of all military forces on Beta-Quadrant. Wanting the incident kept quiet, he had advised his superiors, General Hewlett and Master Mercator of Fort Warwick, of the incident and requested agents sent to his fort to discover how the twins met their fate. Their father, Senator Anwar Powell, was an influential man who sat on the High Council, and to avoid a scandal, remained in the dark.

Ever wonder why clones never say anything in flight? Baron asked. Those slugs behind us haven’t said one word since we took off. It gives me the willies. I would read their minds, but it’s like walking on a sticky spider’s web that leads to nowhere. He played with his harness, glanced over his shoulder, and then sat back, grinning widely as he usually did. On second thought, maybe you should be worried. Sergeant Hogarth is pretending to be asleep, and that’s weird. He paused to let Demetri listen to the faint whistling snores. No one snores like that. It’s fake.

Show some respect. It’s rare that any C-3 survives more than a year. Hogarth has fifteen years of service under his belt, Demetri said. Don’t invade his privacy. It’s rude.

What good is being a telepath if you don’t use your gift? I’m going to give it a try. I know we’re wearing NIBs, but they only block incoming signals.

I’m sure he’s asleep. You won’t learn anything.

Right, because the NCO is as brain dead as the rest of those raw recruits.

Curious, Demetri glanced over her shoulder to study the sleeping Sergeant First Class Hogarth, seated three rows behind the officers. Acropolis soldiers—6’4", blue-eyed, and blond— were cloned from the 29th-century war hero Dolph Himmler. Fifteen years of service meant Hogarth was precisely that much older than the recruits, and he had a thick gray beard and a long scar across his forehead. He made soft, whistling noises through hairy nostrils as he slumbered, and his eyelids quivered. The sergeant and the soldiers stored their helmets and MK-1 plasma rifles in an overhead rack that lowered after landing. None of the clones reacted to the turbulence or the shaking mountain of stacked crates latched to the sides of the craft. Demetri worried the increased vibrations would shake them loose. Hogarth continued to snore, though it seemed impossible a man could sleep with the constant noise, and suddenly opened one eye and stared at her.

You’re scrutinizing me, Lieutenant Powell. R&R is over, Hogarth said. It’s back to crappy RTMs, insect repellent, and rank latrines.

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you, Sergeant Hogarth, Demetri said. She doubted Skylar or Seth showed consideration to soldiers’ feelings. C-3s might be clones, but Demetri saw them as individuals capable of independent thought.

We should be over the ocean by now, Hogarth said. His bulky bio-armor creaked as he stretched his arms. Crosswinds between the continents toss transports like they’re made of rubber, and the boys might puke. Comes with the job, sir.

Why did you make the trip, Hogarth? Baron asked.

You know, every five weeks, I’m the one used to bring new lads and supplies to the outpost, Hogarth said, eyeing Baron with something akin to disgust. Any reason you think I’m not suited for the task? Maybe you think I’m too old for the job?

I really haven’t given it much thought, Baron said.

Her brother’s superior attitude was a perfect match for Seth Powell, who, like all C-1 Acropolitans, was born with a sense of entitlement. Seth and Skylar had lived in a big house in District 1, the East End, and were spoiled by their overindulgent parents. Senator Powell and his wife, both in politics and influential in the government, gave their children all that money could buy, at least until Seth was sent to Beta-Q with his awkward sister. She gazed out the window at the unmistakable vast expanse of dark blue visible through the clouds. There was a swift rise on an air current. The lift fans whined. Demetri grabbed the armrests, tasting bile in the back of her throat, for like Skylar, she hated flying too.

Hogarth is thinking how to kill us before we land, Baron said. A month ago, you reported Hogarth for drinking on duty. Fifty stripes on his back as punishment. Fifty scars to remind him how much he hates you. They don’t send the best down south, sis. Everyone sent to Beta-Q is a misfit, a loser, or a miscreant. It’s the ‘land of the lost.’ I say we’re going to fit right in with these fancy skin-suits.

Until someone sticks a dagger into our backs. Again.

Most likely, you’ll die first. I bet you did the first time, too.

You’re a morbid little monster, Demetri said, not amused. I was less worried when you weren’t talking to me. There’s no reason to be cruel, at least not when no one is listening. I just want to get to the fort and make sure Vega is okay.

Why worry about Vega? Spores. She’s got two boots on the ground. We’re like rubber balls tossed into the air. You heard what Hogarth said, Baron muttered. "Every five weeks, my ass. They say one in five transports sustains damage from an air assault or vanishes in the Bermuda Triangle. Did you notice this transport holds a thousand soldiers, but Warwick only sent a single platoon? They’re green. They haven’t seen action on a firing range. We have more supplies than slugs. Seth would be offended to be on this milk run."

It’s the year 3000. No one drinks milk anymore, Demetri said.

Not yesterday, but today we do, little sister. Being an upper-class snob has its benefits and its pitfalls, Baron said. His tone was sour to match his expression.

Demetri knew it wasn’t easy for Baron to feel like Seth, not when he was a C-2 replicon. Having their entire class of juniors plucked out of school before graduation hadn’t given Baron any time to learn what lay beyond the wall of Acropolis. Baron scanned the dossier to familiarize himself with Seth Powell, as she turned on her battle-board to read about Skylar, but he seemed uninterested and turned his off.

Fortunately for us, only Hogarth and the flight crew knew the real Powells. I’m going to wing it when we land and do what feels right. In the meantime, maybe I’ll pick up a few juicy tidbits about Seth’s romantic life in his diary.

Anything . . . just be quiet. I need to focus.

Demetri turned on her battle-board. The handheld, military-grade computer came with a small monitor designed to project a hologram display. A tap on the screen allowed her to enlarge or zoom in on an image. She could access the transport’s monitors, contact military bases, or send messages, as the computer had a wide range of functions. Master Mercator had downloaded everything she needed to know about Skylar Powell’s background, family, and service record at Outpost 2. Not wanting to project a hologram, she read about the ‘life of Lieutenant Skylar Powell’ on the small monitor. Her senator father had wished his youngest children to be officers, not politicians, and follow in the footsteps of their great-grandfather, General Anwyn Powell, whose military service had secured their family’s wealth and power. Skylar and Seth had an older sister, Cleo, who was a close friend of Colonel Craigg at Outpost 2 and a spy for Master Mercator. Cleo was aware her siblings were dead and following Mercator’s orders and had supported their cover story, saying Skylar and Seth had come home for leave.

At some point during the three siblings’ education at West Point Academy, Mercator had recruited Cleo to work for him. Both Skylar and Seth had graduated two years ago, with low test scores and a string of unpleasant incidents. Seth’s penchant for theft and Skylar’s social inadequacy resulted in their assignment to Beta-Q. Life proved no easier at Outpost 2. Skylar failed to show skills as an officer and, unable to make decisions, relied on Seth to provide direction. Colonel Craigg had written to General Hewlett, ‘I doubt we can expect much from Skylar other than a propensity for bird watching. Her brother shows a keen desire to brawl and kill everything that moves in the jungle. Perhaps I can do something with him.’ It was impossible not to empathize with Skylar. Her own experiences were similar at Trinity Academy, and as one of the smallest among her C-2 classmates, she’d known scorn from the moment she awoke.

Yet, Demetri had no idea what it felt like to have parents, as C-2s were replicons—a special breed of humans grown in incubators over a length of three years to reach physical maturity at eighteen years of age. Info-Pacs on a wide variety of subjects were downloaded into their minds, giving replicons pre-enhanced knowledge and higher IQs. Yet, they attended school to learn social skills and to appear as normal as possible. C-1s like the Powells attended school from the age of five and graduated from universities at the age of twenty-one.

Skylar had two siblings. She’d gone to the military with her brother Seth. Both received low marks, got into frequent trouble, and were finally sent to Beta-Q to avoid further embarrassment to their family. Their eldest sister Cleo was a spy for Master Mercator, though Demetri assumed this sibling had a day job.

Of the eight siblings born in Demetri’s pod, three had died in their incubators, and two brothers had been killed at school. However, Baron and Vega had survived, and like her, imagined they would finish school and become a Professional Tour Guide—the strategists and tacticians of the Army-AirCorps. Any further comparison between Demetri and Skylar, apart from an artistic trait, made them complete opposites.

Demetri had excelled in school after a rough start. Her high marks had brought her to the attention of Master Ambrose, the Director of Tactical Affairs and Military Operations, or DOTAMO, at Fort Berlin, the largest fort in Acropolis. Ambrose had chosen Demetri to be his new intern and removed her from school, but not before she learned someone had tampered with the incubators of select replicons, illegally introducing the drug drocozyne into their tubes. As a result, Demetri, her siblings, and their classmates became hybrid psychics. The drug's side-effects included violent psychotic breaks, sexual promiscuity, and suicidal depression, and many of her friends had died. While living with Ambrose at the Citadel, she had learned he ordered the illegal experiment, planning to use her and her classmates as spies and assassins, and she’d gone to Master Mercator for help.

Mercator, as head PTG of the Red Dragons at Warwick, had interceded. With the help of his intern and her friend, Orion, they had saved Demetri’s remaining classmates by sending them to Bet

a-

Q under the guise of soldiers. Mercator had shown Ambrose bodies burned at a crash site and told him both Demetri and Baron were dead. The DOTAMO was a clever man. She doubted Ambrose believed Mercator’s story and continued to search for them. Vega and their classmates were at Outpost 3 and had no idea Demetri and Baron were alive. Nor could their sister or classmates know they were posing as the Powell twins and spying for Mercator and Craigg. No one could know who they were, Demetri thought. No happy reunion, no shared stories, and no sisterly hug. Not that Vega ever cared what happened to her. Vega had tried to kill Demetri several times at school, yet she did feel some affection for Baron. Had Seth shown Skylar any affection? Interested in finding out more about the siblings’ relationship, Demetri scanned the dossier, looking for Seth’s name.

A classified message from Colonel Craigg to General Hewlett redirected her attention, and she brought it up on the monitor. ‘Officially, I am sending the Powell siblings home for a little R&R arranged with their sister, Cleo, who is working closely with Master Mercator against our enemies. The bodies of both officers remain buried in the jungle. I suspect they were murdered by one of Master Ambrose’s agents, but Senator Powell must be kept in the dark until I know what happened. His vote can sway the High Council to either support or, as we hope, remove General Thorndyke and the DOTAMO, Master Ambrose, from power. If, however, the High Council backs Thorndyke and Ambrose, they will remove President Howard from office and seize control of Acropolis. No one will be safe if this occurs. I rely on you and Mercator for assistance, but we must act swiftly. Yours respectfully, Colonel Hadrian Craigg III.’ Craigg’s message explained the situation at Outpost 3 and was as dangerous to read as it was for him to write. She pressed a button to delete what was meant for ‘her eyes alone.’

Feels like we’re in the eye of a hurricane. Smooth sailing now, Baron said. What’s wrong with you now? You look bugged out.

While I was with Ambrose, he projected images and memories of Craigg into my mind. He made me fall for the one man he hates more than anyone else. What if Ambrose knows I’m alive and planted me as a mole? A word or a sound makes me snap, and I kill Craigg. Skylar would take the blame, but I’d be shot. Senator Powell would be humiliated and perhaps forced to resign from the High Command and . . ..

Yeah, I’m sure you’re a brainwashed mole, Baron said. It’s too late to worry about it. This became a sink-or-swim situation the moment we sided with Mercator against Ambrose. Deal with the consequences. Read the girl’s journal. I want to know if Skylar or Seth had enemies. Who wanted them dead?

Everyone, it seems, Demetri said.

Well, Seth did sleep with most of the single women at the outpost. A few married ones too, and that includes the pilot of this Rhino, Baron said. The pilot is what the AirCorps refer to as a ‘Hangar 1 girl.’ My kind of woman.

You’re as disgusting as Seth.

All it means is I won’t have to pretend to enjoy myself.

Demetri ignored her brother and continued her search, trying to find any mention of a quarrel with another officer or any serious problems at the base. She read one daily entry, ‘I’m exhausted from yet another mission into the Cordoba jungle. There are millions of REMs of all shapes and sizes. I love the birds, of which there are so many, each more beautiful than the next―but the giant insects frighten me. The predators come at night. Our SkyShield isn’t strong enough to repel these monsters, and sometimes I hear men screaming as they’re dragged off the battlements by flying creatures. The engineers employ ‘medieval tactics,’ a moat and stockade, but the big bugs can either climb over or dig tunnels beneath anything. I never sleep, not well at least. I hate this place. I hate the Army, and I want to go home.’

Not much help there. She was afraid of everything, Demetri said.

I kill everything. What did the CO think of her? Baron asked. He looked uncomfortable discussing classified information as if they were still in school. They had no briefing prior to leaving Warwick, were handed computers by Mercator’s assistant, Orion, escorted to the transport, and sent on their way.

Demetri searched the diary for mention of Craigg. Much to her surprise, Skylar had written a great deal about her commanding officer. Eager for information, she started mid-paragraph to read, ‘Colonel Craigg thinks I’m useless. Maybe I am. JPTGs Tyson and Treslyn have no respect for me either, and I think Janus urinated on my pillow. The soldiers think I’m a coward, but they fear Seth’s erratic behavior more than me. My brother can be cruel or kind under the same circumstances, and we are hated. Seth is taking EBs on a daily basis, has turned into a speed junkie, and is showing signs of increased violence. Cleo says she’ll try to get me reassigned to Fort Warwick, but I have lost all faith. I don’t believe her. I am alone. I will die here, alone.’

Skylar’s last entry was dated the day before she departed the fort and read, ‘The small bird I found is a canary with two tiny beaks, and I keep it in a cage in my room. I asked Captain Hansel Rhiner to take care of the bird. He is my boyfriend. Hansel is tall, blond, and his eyes are a bright shade of blue. He says he loves me. I fear Hansel is spending too much time with Seth, as he is acting strange of late. Is my boyfriend taking energy boosters too? Sometimes, Hansel scares me. He has grown possessive, and his temper can be violent. What if he starves my little bird to death? Maybe dying is nothing to fear, as I imagine death a quiet slumber, where no one or nothing can bother you, not even bad dreams.’

Baron nudged Demetri in the arm, interrupting her. Her battle-board fell onto her lap and automatically turned off. A sudden gust of wind struck the transport, making it shudder. The vibration under her boots increased as the whine of the engines sounded shrill. As the wind howled outside the window, she gripped the armrests, close to panic, when the vessel shot upwards.

I think the pilot wants to fly over this storm, Baron said.

Demetri stared out the window. Dark clouds, gray and foreboding, spread across the horizon, and she spotted red lightning in the distance.

Hey, Sergeant Hog? What do you get when you breed a dog with a woman? asked a private. All the clones but the sergeant snickered. C-3 soldier-clones were not the brightest individuals. Only clones selected to be NCOs attended a military academy, the rest went to boot camp, and few still graduated and earned the coveted stripes.

A fat lip if you don’t pipe down, Hogarth said.

"Janus! I can’t wait to get a look at him. Hear the scout has a tail!"

The clones again snickered.

Never joke about the Tiger Man, Private Hutch-16, the sergeant said. Scouts are temperamental. If Janus catches wind of what you just said, he’ll tear off your testicles. He patted the seat in front of him. Calm down, the lot of you. It’s going to be rough from here on out. Stay in your seats. Keep harnesses fastened. Then he raised his voice. Except for you, Lieutenant Powell. Isn’t this about the time you duck into the cockpit for a drink with Captain Maize, sir?

He means you. Don’t go, Demetri whispered.

Oh, but I can’t resist, Baron said. He unfastened his harness, rose, and made his way to the door. Skylar, I leave you with Sergeant Hog and his piglets. He barely made it to the cockpit door before the vessel plunged. Fear visibly on his face, Baron clung to the doorframe and said, I hear it’s cocktail hour! and entered.

Demetri felt the sergeant’s hatred for Seth Powell. No larger than a silver dot inside her ear, the neural blocker kept telepaths from invading her mind, but it did not shut out random emotions from humans. With effort, she blocked Hogarth’s strong emotion, only to feel the fear among the recruits. The men were nervous. The flight south took them into ionic storms and strong air currents, and there was no land beneath, not since Central America sank beneath the ocean. The fear spreading through the cabin gnawed at her stomach. She knew from experience the thoughts and feelings of animals and plants were as strong as humans. As high wind slammed into the vessel, making it shudder, it seemed a real possibility they might not arrive at Outpost 3. She brought up a hologram grid of Beta-Q and expanded it with a tap of her finger to the battle-board.

The Atlantic and Pacific Oceans met where Central America had sunk beneath the oceans, a direct result of nuclear war and melting polar icecaps. The former Caribbean islands remained submerged. Acropolis, lacking both the Navy and Space Force predominant among nations prior to the outbreak of World War III, was not interested in underwater excavation any more than in space exploration. A treasure trove of artifacts remained hidden by the lack of submarines. At a loud clap of thunder, the hologram flickered, and a red warning light appeared near the cockpit door.

This is Captain Maize. We’re approaching Beta-Q and an ionic storm. Return to your seats and prepare for severe turbulence . . . that means you, Seth, the pilot said. We should reach Outpost 2 in one hour, weather permitting.

Demetri slipped the battle-board into her backpack, stowed it under her seat, and turned to gaze out the window. Ominous, angry clouds obscured any view of water or land. Ripples of horizontal red lightning filled the horizon, closer than before. The cockpit door suddenly opened with a loud bang, and Baron staggered out, struggling to stay on his feet as the transport veered to its port side, pushed by gale-force winds. Baron ran for his seat, dropped beside Demetri, and fastened his harness. His breath reeked of whiskey.

I’m okay. I only took a few sips, Baron said.

You’re here now. That’s all that matters, Demetri said. She gripped the armrests, knuckles turning white from the effort. Is it always like this, Sergeant Hogarth? she asked before remembering Skylar had made the crossing several times. Not a good start, she thought. Be like Skylar. It’s okay to be afraid.

It’s May, always a stormy time of year, Hogarth said. We’ll reach our destination, Lieutenant Powell. Think about food―flying always gives me an appetite. Tonight, I plan to eat grilled lizard steaks, a pot of mashed yams, heavy on the mango gravy, and a few of those fried banana fritters.

A soldier vomited, prompting several more to follow suit. The Rhino’s engines, as if replying, whined like a sick animal as high winds buffeted the craft. Another hard bounce caused Demetri to bite her tongue, and she tasted blood in her mouth. Her eyes widened as a lightning strike ignited an outer fuel tank. The resulting thunderous explosion sheared the wing in half, and the severed section slammed into the transport and punctured a hole near the tail. Crates ripped from their straps, sailed into the air, and soldiers hammered by the wind and rain shouted in alarm. A line of fire raced toward the fuselage. A klaxon throbbed with a piercing noise as smoke filled the cabin and flames flickered outside the windows. Voices rose in terror, turning into screams, as the Rhino started a tumultuous plummet toward the sea.

Bolts of electricity arced down the bulkheads, and there was a wall of flames outside Demetri’s window. The overheard compartments burst open and spilled weapons and helmets onto the floor and soldiers, moments before the door to the cockpit flew open. The navigator, face burned and flight suit smoldering, staggered out and collapsed onto the floor in front of Baron. The SkyShield had dropped, allowing wind to whip the flames which engulfed the cockpit. Two burning forms writhed in their seats and struggled with the controls as the craft fell. The door slammed shut.

Brace for impact! the sergeant bellowed.

Demetri knew they had only a few seconds after they hit the water to open the side door, egress, and swim from the vessel before it sank. Assuming they survived the crash, of course. She finally read the sergeant’s thoughts to learn―the door jettisoned automatically on impact, and Hogarth intended to be first to the door, to lead the others out. The waves were high, but he feared the suction as the transport sank. The life rafts would automatically deploy, and once aboard, he intended to keep paddling until they found land.

I love you, Baron, she said.

Don’t do anything . . .. Her brother fell silent, and his eyes widened in terror.

The transport’s tail slammed into the water with a deafening roar as the dying pilots ditched the aircraft. Demetri clung to the harness and bit her tongue again as time seemed to slow. The tail broke off the aircraft, and the last two rows of seats with their screaming passengers spilled into the ocean. The massive lift fans chopped at the water as the Rhino skimmed across the waves. Suddenly the craft buried its nose into a swell, mercifully ending the pilots’ agony. Four fissures, torn in the floor when the lift fans were wrenched away, allowed in water which joined the flooding through the missing tail section as the transport settled. The side door burst open, and tons of seawater entered.

Demetri unfastened her harness as the navigator’s body washed away, helped Baron remove his straps, and pulled him to his feet. Both siblings fought their way, handhold by handhold, through the water toward the exit. A rifle floated past, and Demetri instinctively grabbed it. She saw the power cell was on, the plasma glowing red in its transparent casing, and slid the sling over her neck. She placed her hands onto Baron’s back and pushed her brother to the door but realized, by his sluggish movements, he was in shock from the crash and unable to function.

Get to a raft! Don’t wait on me, Demetri shouted.

Baron dove into the water and swam toward a bright orange life raft, which had automatically deployed. Three more rafts appeared and swiftly glided away from the transport, propelled by the wind over the rolling waves. Demetri lingered to help as soldiers clambered over the seats or pulled their way along the aisle. Hogarth, orderly and calm, led the men in front. Their airtight powered-armor was buoyant but cumbersome, and the clones kept losing their footing as they floated off the floor. The troops further back fought both the rising water and terror, frantic as water surged through the missing tail section and sucked out crates and gear. Sergeant Hogarth stood on the front row of seats, dragged soldiers forward by their arms, and pushed them toward the exit. The overhead lights had flickered off, and the dim red emergency lighting provided a hellish illumination. The cockpit door had somehow closed, keeping water from flowing aft through the cabin. It gave them a chance, Demetri thought. A stream of light spilled in from the hatch, a target for the soldiers, now shouting in a panic as water reached the roof. Men swam past Hogarth and Demetri, bobbed out the exit, and swam toward the rafts.

Move it, men! Come to me! This way, Demetri shouted.

Don’t leave us, a soldier cried out.

Get out of here, Skylar. They’re replaceable, Hogarth growled. Despite his words, he helped a man bleeding from his forehead over the seats. Together, they dove into the water and swam toward a raft.

Demetri thrust a soldier out the door, glad his armor was weightless in the water, making the maneuver easier, and turned to look for others. A few had put on their helmets, enabling them to breathe underwater, and swam past her, not bothering to help anyone else, yet she remained as the water reached her chest, coming in faster. The transport, weighed down by the remaining wing, suddenly rolled onto its port side, submerging the exit. Demetri felt someone grab her arm. A private pulled her toward where light streamed in through the puncture in the side of the craft. Men scrambled over crates and each other, trying to get out as the Rhino started to sink. Demetri fell and became wedged between the seats as the private wormed his way through the hole. Demetri, head nearly underwater, unslung the rifle and, using the feeble light, fired at the side of the aircraft. Plasma burned away metal and dropped embers into the water and onto the soldiers as she enlarged the opening.

Backpacks, weapons, and men floated past Demetri as she pulled herself free of the seats. She saw the private had reached back through the opening to help her and threw aside the weapon to grab his hand. Once pulled out of the vessel, she lay flat on the aircraft to assist an injured soldier. One hard, adrenaline-fueled pull sent the man out of the Rhino, flying over her head, and into the water. He floated toward a raft filled with soldiers. Hogarth was among them and drew the soldier over the side. The brave private, his forehead split open and oozing blood, remained crouched on the side of the craft and refused to leave Demetri. Together they helped another soldier out of the transport.

Soldiers had paddled their rafts closer to the Rhino to assist those floating in the water. Although the howling wind made it difficult to get near the sinking transport, it also blew the swimmers to the life rafts. Hogarth shouted into the wind, but his words were inaudible.

The private finally addressed her. You did your best, LT. Let’s go, he said.

Get out of here, Private Hutch-12, Demetri said.

His blue eyes narrowed. You know my name?

Yes! I know all of your names! Now go, please!

A wave washed across the entire transport and poured through the opening. Demetri crouched near the hole and peered into the gloom. Five faces stared at her, each as terrified as the next. She dove back into the Rhino and, feeling hands on her legs, focused on one of the trapped men. As a hybrid, her strength was amplified, mentally and physically. She pushed aside a crate, grabbed the soldier in a bear hug, and kicked off something solid. She held the man tight as they flew through the hole then fell back onto the side of the transport. They slid into the water, and she kicked off again and jetted forward as suction pulled at their bodies.

The soldier’s powered-armor provided buoyancy, and Demetri held onto his legs as she propelled them with hard kicks toward the nearest raft. The soldier started to swim, but not to where she wanted to go. Hogarth’s men paddled toward them, but to Demetri’s dismay, the soldier swam toward an empty orange raft further away. He pulled himself into the raft. His burned face turned toward Demetri as he held out a hand. A large swell grew between them to send the lone man’s raft floating down the backside of the wave while it pushed her toward Hogarth.

Demetri saw two more rafts filled with soldiers paddling from the transport when she crested the next swell. The vehicle made a strange noise, as if mimicking a human cry, as it went under. She felt a current suck her backward, stuck her arm into the air, and heard the sergeant shout, I’ve got you, LT! and an orange patch appeared in front of her.

Plucked from the water by Hogarth with one arm, he deposited Demetri into the middle of the raft. She rolled over and vomited salt water until nothing remained in her stomach, then sagged against the side of the inflatable raft. It took a moment to recover, and she wiped her mouth and eyes clear. Baron, Hutch-12, Hogarth, and five more men were in the raft. All that remained of the transport’s sinking were patches of bubbling water in which floated an expanding field of backpacks and debris. A few bags sailed toward their raft, eagerly hauled in by the armored soldiers.

Baron moved to sit near Demetri and offered a feeble smile. You made it, he said and wiped off a line of wet snot from his nostrils.

Yeah, we both did, she said.

Demetri sagged against her brother, feeling grateful when he put his arm around her. Voices cried out across the water as the other two life rafts appeared, each with twelve men, but the raft with the single soldier was nowhere in sight. Demetri wondered why Hogarth urged the soldiers to paddle so strongly when the transport had already sunk. A sudden loud explosion beneath the water sent spray and debris upwards, and Demetri regarded the sergeant with greater appreciation.

It’s not like you to play hero, sir, Hogarth said, pride in his voice. But brave, very brave, and very unlike a bird watcher.

I thought it becoming on both of us, Hog, Demetri said. She couldn’t believe her luck, for her own backpack was beside Baron. With a tug on its handle, she pulled it over. Don’t worry. I’ll find land. She opened her pack, removed the waterproof battle-board, and turned it on. While I’m doing this, we should find the rest of the rafts and tie ourselves together. Can you see the lone private’s raft?

No, Lieutenant Powell. He’s long gone, Hogarth said.

In the thrall of the moment, Demetri no more thought of Skylar Powell than her mission and said, We lose no one else. You hear me, sergeant. No one else. Her prior actions spoke volumes, and a despised officer had won the soldier’s respect.

When Hogarth saluted and said, Yes sir, each clone did the same.

Radiation causes genetic mutation in plants and animals,

which augments evolution, but if left unchecked, it can be deadly.

―Doctor Richard Howard, 2120 CE

Black Rock Cove

Chapter 2

Twenty-foot waves propelled four inflatable boats toward an open horizon of gray, and moments later, the bows tipped with a swift descent to the trough, spraying the passengers. Ten-foot ropes tied the rafts together, and men stroked paddles on either side. Hogarth, in Demetri’s life raft, sat astern and used a paddle to steer. A visible sheen revealed the force field that kept water from entering the boats, so no soldier had to bail. A private had tied a rope to Demetri’s belt, threaded it under the loops of each soldiers’ holster, and tied the other end to the side of the raft in case the aquatic SkyShield malfunctioned. Five soldiers were ready to bail water with their helmets if the force field lowered.

Demetri tasted brine on her tongue and inhaled the odor through her nose. She kept her eyes lowered to the hologram projected from the battle-board found inside her backpack that a soldier had salvaged from the flotsam. The storm had moved to the west and away from Beta-Q, but the dual current created where the Pacific and Atlantic met pushed them to the northern tip. She had dispatched a general distress message to the Beta outposts, providing their coordinates and a projected landing site. A small beacon attached to the side of each raft blinked bright red while emitting an SOS to make it easier for any searching aircraft to find the occupants of the downed Rhino sent from Fort Berlin.

Private Hutch-12! Stroke with us, not faster, the sergeant said. Soldiers plunged their oars into the water in unison as rolling waves lifted the rafts skyward, and he added, Nice and steady, lads. You know the routine.

Where are we? How far are we from land? Baron asked. Think we’ll be spotted by radar and picked up? Does anyone even care?

Her brother was frightened. This was his first mission and clearly nothing like he had imagined. Fear made Baron act differently from the proud officer Seth Powel, making him useless. All the soldiers were scared, but action kept their minds occupied and their hands busy, and Baron needed a task.

We’re close. The coastline is fifteen miles south of us, Demetri said. Her voice was firm and steady since cowering as Skylar Powell was out of the question if they were to survive. She naturally assumed command. The current will take us into a rocky peninsula with a small beach. We cannot overshoot our target, Sergeant Hogarth, or we’ll drift for a hundred miles along cliffs until another landing opportunity presents itself. The men must keep paddling to make headway. I know they’re exhausted, and some need medical attention. Do we have a medic onboard?

Private Huxley-8 is our medic. Respond to the LT, lad.

Sarge? I lost the med-kit. Most injuries are burns, Huxley said. He was bald, and the tips of his ears appeared red, as it was cold.

Seth, I have a med-kit in my bag. Help those you can. Huxley, keep paddling, Demetri ordered. A few men had scorched hands and faces, but not one of them complained. Baron begrudgingly dug into the backpack, but he traded the kit for a paddle and let Huxley doctor the wounded. The wind is 12 knots, she said, pushing us west, Hogarth.

We’re in the Rio Pipeline. It’s a strong current and will take us along the coastline of District 1, formerly Venezuela, the sergeant said. "An 8.1 earthquake toppled most of the northern coastline into the sea, along with an outpost built near the ruins of Caracas, and seriously altered the coastline. One beach survived, Black Rock Cove, to the west of the outpost . . . miss it, and the current will take us out to sea."

I’m a good navigator. I found your beach on the map, Sergeant. I’ll get us where we need to go, Demetri said, as long as your men provide the muscle.

Confusion appeared on Hogarth’s weathered face as if he tried to reconcile what he personally knew about the Powells and what he’d just seen. Neither Powell was a good navigator, yet Demetri was a C-2 guide, trained for this purpose, and saw no reason to pretend otherwise, not when it was imperative to use her talents if they hoped to make it to land. The size of the swells had decreased as the storm moved to the west. Something else she felt increased their success rate, as the soldiers no longer battled the giant waves and were able to row with less exertion.

Few survive a crash in the Puddle, Hogarth said. Nor would many officers risk their lives for a clone, especially not a Powell. Something is different about you.

Don’t look at me to play hero, Baron said as he thrust his paddle into the water.

I meant your sister.

I did what I could, Sergeant, Demetri said. Outpost 2 now has our coordinates. Colonel Craigg will send someone to pick us up. We can light a few bonfires on the beach while we wait.

What can we expect ashore, SFC Hogarth? a soldier asked.

Rough terrain, mainly jungle, the veteran said. Rio took a direct hit during WWIII. Radiation levels were high and turned all manner of critters into behemoths. Some are swimming beneath us. We’re guaranteed action when the sun goes down.

Demetri had seen a great deal of debris float to the surface when the transport sank. Eight PLR-1 rifles were strapped together inside her raft, and there were possibly more in the other three. In addition, each soldier was equipped with a laser pistol, REM repellent canisters, and grenades. Her Black Star was snug in its holster, and the energy cell was undamaged from the salt water, as were the cells for the plasma rifles.

Demetri felt as if she had missed something. Well, she thought, when in doubt, ask the NCO.

Sergeant Hogarth? What else should I be doing? she asked.

Your battle-board can locate anything beneath these rafts, the NCO said. Check for reefs and creatures, LT. I know it’s a guide’s job, but you’re all we have.

Demetri had learned of the existence of oceans and lakes once she left school as Master Ambrose’s intern. His explanation as to why the government and the military denied the presence of water on the surface of the planet and kept people in the dark about the Frontier was a tactic employed by ancient emperors, kings, and dictators to maintain control of their subjects. Those who held power and money controlled the future, yet it made no sense to ignore what lay hidden beneath the ocean depths.

The battle-board’s sensor had a one-hundred-yard range and identified a pod of dolphins surfacing ahead of the rafts. Beautiful, sleek, gray creatures jumped over the waves and made curious noises. As the sun started to set, a soldier suddenly shouted, Land ahead, as the northern extension of the Andes appeared on the horizon. The pod of dolphins raced toward a line of jagged reefs but suddenly veered to head out to sea. Curious as to what caused the swift departure of the dolphins, Demetri glanced at the hologram to find a dozen large shapes beneath the water. Each form was twice the size of a raft, and they followed as the soldiers paddled toward a stretch of beach.

We have company, Demetri said. Drawing her Black Star, she watched for fins or scaly heads to rise above the waves.

"I can smell the sea beasties. Just don’t shoot our raft, LT," Hogarth muttered.

Don’t worry, Sergeant. I’m an excellent shot, Demetri said. She was, but Skylar Powell had shown no skill with firearms, and Hogarth, no doubt, had added the boast to a growing list of changes in her personality.

A large blue dorsal fin broke the surface between two rafts, and the tail appeared twenty feet behind the fin. The soldiers remained silent as more fins appeared, rising six feet out of the water. Demetri took aim at a dark form close to her raft and fired. A beam of red plasma struck the creature at the base of its fin and sizzled through its flesh. A massive shark broached and swam toward them with a tremendous splash, revealing two enormous heads with triple rows of gnashing teeth. She blasted the creature in both heads and smelled blood as it submerged. Within seconds, every fin had vanished, and she glanced at her battle-board to see the aggressive beasts ripping apart the wounded shark.

That bought us some time, Demetri said.

Good shooting, Skylar. Command suits you, Baron said.

Another first, Hogarth said. What did you two do? Trade underwear?

Paddle harder, men, Demetri shouted. She stuffed the computer into her backpack but kept the pistol out and watched for fins as waves carried the lifeboats over the jagged edges of the reef and propelled them toward the beach. She heard a loud pop, followed by a whistling hiss as her raft momentarily snagged on some underwater obstruction. The force field shorted out and allowed water into the craft.

Paddle for your lives, the sergeant shouted.

The surf rumbled as the rafts washed onto the beach, and soldiers scrambled over the sides to pull each lifeboat out of the pounding surf. Demetri and Baron waited until their deflating raft was safely ashore before climbing out. She took a quick headcount and felt grateful thirty-five men had survived. With Private Hutch-12’s assistance, she handed out rifles to the soldiers.

The sun waned on the horizon and cast shadows over the long stretch of sand bordered by cliffs and surrounded by dense jungle. Secure the perimeter, Sergeant Hogarth shouted, taking charge of the situation as he had done countless times before in service to the AAA.

Men in heavy powered-armor, a few with helmets on, formed squads of four and faced the jungle while others built three massive bonfires. Something from deep within the jungle roared, and Demetri pressed close to Baron, gazing at the hostile terrain as she removed the battle-board from her backpack. Her scanner showed several large predators moving toward the water and that the trees thrived with all sizes of creatures.

A soldier suddenly screamed, and Demetri and Baron, pistols in hand, turned toward the water. Massive gray tentacles with pink suckers had come out of the water and wrapped around the rafts and several soldiers. The siblings fired on a large shape in the water, but it moved fast, yanking what it had claimed into the surf, and vanished.

Was that a squid? Baron asked. His fear had receded now they were on dry land. He seemed curious and started to approach the water.

I think so, Demetri said and grabbed his arm. "Assume everything here will try to kill us. We’ve lost a few men and the rafts, so we’re stranded. Let’s not lose focus here. You need to take charge, Seth. Boss around a few soldiers and act annoyed."

I am annoyed. My uniform is soggy, Baron said, I have sand in my boots, and Hog is coming over to hear my orders. I’m supposed to be in charge.

Then take charge, Demetri said.

Lieutenant Powell, a word about our defenses, Hogarth said, cradling a plasma rifle in his arms as he marched toward the officers. Baron stepped forward. We lost our beacons on the rafts, but a corporal had a spare. We’ve set it up near the fires as I’m a bit leery about sending someone up a cliff.

Baron put away his pistol. Guards are posted, right? The men have guns. We’re ready for whatever comes next. Is there another problem?

REMs will be attracted to the beacon and the light of our fires, but both are necessary if we’re to be spotted by our rescuers. I suggest letting half the men rest now and trade shifts in three hours.

I agree, Sergeant Hogarth, Baron said.

Demetri doubted repellent was effective against the large REMs visible on the projected hologram and decided if Baron wanted to take command, her job was to keep her eyes on the battle-board’s sensor. A full moon shone high overhead. Burning driftwood created smoke that spiraled into the air. A citrus odor drifted to Demetri on a breeze. The beacon placed on a rock between two bonfires shone with a pulsating red light. She noticed a medic tended to three injured soldiers seated close to a campfire. A few men with burns groaned in pain, waiting for their turn with the physician. The rest of the soldiers stood at their posts and focused on the jungle, which came a myriad of strange, eerie noises that sent a shiver along her spine.

I know I should be scared, but I’m enjoying this, Demetri said, assuming that was something Skylar might say. I smell oranges. She noticed Baron’s slight grin but felt foolish when the sergeant stared at her.

This is Black Rock Cove. Some flowering vines are carnivorous, Hogarth said. It’ll get cold tonight. I can have a few men cut palm leaves and branches to make a shelter. We have RTMs in our belt-packs but should ration the food in case a transport takes long to arrive. He looked to Baron and waited for a reply.

See that it’s done, Baron said. He had lost his backpack and battle-board. With one hand, he unfastened his damp jacket while keeping his pistol at the ready in the other. The weapon’s soft, steady throb offered a comforting sound as a beast roared in the distance.

Forget making shelter, Hogarth, Demetri said. We’re surrounded by REMs, but so far, they’re not curious enough to engage. The troops are raw recruits, but you’re experienced. Can you and your men deal with whatever comes out of the jungle?

We can manage, LT. Just keep your eyes on the battle-board.

The sergeant gave a whistle, and two corporals darted toward him. The guards fell back, away from the trees, and several men faced the ocean. A chill in the air made Demetri stand beside a fire, and Baron followed.

"Apparently, you don’t like following my orders, he said. In another hour, you’re going to wish you had shelter. I understand why you trust Hogarth, as command is new to me. If you want to be in charge, just say so."

Only because I have commanded troops on the battlefield. I’m worried I lost Hogarth’s newfound respect for me with that stupid comment about orchids. It makes me sick to pretend I’m a coward when I’m not.

Think of it as acting, sis, and the world is our stage, Baron said. He laughed when she gawked at him. Look, you’re the BattleTech expert, not me, so do what you have to do to keep us alive. We can sort things out later at the outpost. Take command.

At the alarmed shouts of men, Demetri looked up. Several men pointed at the water and then lifted their rifles. A dark shape with a blinking blue light had appeared. The lone soldier paddled his raft onto the shore, jumped out, rope in hand, ran forward, and pulled the raft onto the beach. He greeted Hogarth with few words, then the exhausted soldier sank to his knees in the sand. Demetri was impressed the man had made it to land on his own. The sergeant handed the new arrival an RTM and a flask of water and sent him to sit near a bonfire to rest.

"Sergeant,