Interference Cycle

By L.D. Blocker

What happened on Eros?

The year is 2027 and mankind has gallantly stepped out into the solar system to establish the first Asteroid Mining Operation Station (AMOS) on the Near Earth Object, 433 Eros However, the enterprising space venture comes to an industry-wrecking halt when the station begins experiencing enigmatic bouts of interference in communications with Earth. Worse yet, the worsening interference seems to be regularly occurring cycles.

The promise of despair only thickens when a recovery contingent is dispatched in a desperate attempt to bring the AMOS back on-line. Instead of restoring hope, they are met with a very unlikely fate that leaves the awestruck corporation with only more questions and very impatient investors. Something has to be done, and quick. Something more daring and dynamic than anything ever undertaken before...


Send in the Aerotroopers!

Frank Briar and Aerotrooper in the elite Aerospace Security Division of the world renown megacorporation, Central Solutions. When he and a small detachment of Aerotroppers are selected to assist in the troubleshooting of the second AMOs recovery mission, after surviving a life devoted to the trade of warfare and being deployed with a team of equally skilled warriors, Briar is certain his team will achieve a decisive victory. That certainty, as well as their very lives, is challenged when they are faced with a particularly unconventional kind of warfare. As the shadows close in around them, Briar has to face his darkest enemy of all...himself.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: May 7, 2020
• ISBN: 9781728348193

L.D. Blocker

L.D. Blocker tries to bridge the gap between modern technology and very near future space pioneering. Deriving is motivation to write in the sci-fi genre from James Cameron's 1986 blockbuster film, ALIENS, his universe comes off with the bold, gritty edge of a corporate-run future, where money always has the final say, and motivations are never truly known. After receiving his High School Diploma from the Poudre Transition Center in Fort Collins, Colorado. Blocker joined the US Marines as an infantryman. After serving three years with one combat tour in Iraq in 2006, he committed a violent crime against another Marine in 2007, for which he was incarcerated and subsequently, after years of reconciliation, tried his hand as an author. He plans to live in Green River Wyoming wih his Dad upon release from confinement. As of the original printing of INTERFERENCE CYCLE (2014), L.D. Blocker currently resides in a long-term are facility for the 'legally challenged' (a.k.a. the United States Disciplinary Barracks in Fort Leavenworth, Kansas) He has no internet access limitation.

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2020 L.D. Blocker. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse  02/27/2020

ISBN: 978-1-7283-4820-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-7283-4819-3 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2020904109

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Synopsis

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Epilogue

Glossary

Acknowledgments

SYNOPSIS

T he story takes place in the year 2027 when a major corporation, Celestial Solutions loses its primary financial nest egg; an asteroid mining operation station (AMOS). All communication with the station was abruptly lost and orbiting satellites started picking up sketchy readings from the AMOS indicating that all power to the station seems to go out and come back on in some sort of an interference cycle.

After a rescue, crew that was sent out to recover the station fell to a hail of unknown enemy gunfire, a second crew was sent consisting of a newly formed Critical Response Immediate Security Investigation Survey (CRISIS) team along with a security element of a Direct Action Response Control Operations team. The story loosely follows the DARCO team member, Frank Briar, as the primary protagonist.

The story begins when the rescue team launches from Earth to rendezvous at a space station to test their equipment before making the long space flight to the asteroid. While at the station, they experience failures in their equipment that nearly kills some of the team. They resolve to trudge on with the mission when they find out that their home base on Earth has been hit with tsunamis and all of their support has been destroyed. If they don’t get the AMOS back on-line, Celestial Solutions may not have the funding to bring them back.

Stress takes its toll on the entire crew as they learn how to work together. During this time, a spark of interest happens between Frank Briar and the CRISIS member, Myla Jun, though there seems to be as much mystery as there is affection developing between them.

By the year 2027, no such convenience as ‘shields’ or ‘deflectors’ have yet been created and something as simple as a small meteor strike quickly becomes a massive threat to the shuttle, requiring crew members to exit the vessel while in flight to fix the problem.

While en route to the asteroid, the DARCO team continuously trains to prepare for any threat they might encounter and to keep their skills fresh after a month of space flight.

Briar gets to know Jun and her robot on a more personal level and, to his surprise, she turns out to be a married lesbian with a broken past. Briar is all too familiar about broken pasts and helps make Jun feel comfortable about herself around him, while keeping his past a secret.

An old Russian ‘stealth satellite’ is discovered and it causes a ripple-effect of conspiracy to develop within the crew that results in extensive background checks on the crew that results in the discovery of 3 of the DARCO team being prior felons (including Briar which, in turn, infuriates Jun), and accusations and threats of espionage go from angry to dangerous.

The crew pulls together enough to reach the asteroid as one cohesive unit. Even with an unexpectedly difficult landing, they are still able to begin surface operations in a relatively smooth manner. CRISIS constructs a portable meteor-protective hangar over the shuttle, while DARCO heads out toward the AMOS. Briar is leading the recon team and he does his best to avoid or brave the many natural hazards on the surface as he drives his rover out to a vantage point where they can observe the AMOS. He moves closer on foot and, once again, encounters more obstacles before noticing that the shadow of the crater the AMOS is in is slowly getting closer to the station {the shadow seems to be related to the power outages, so it means they have to hurry to get the station back on-line before the shadow gets there). He also sees a dead body on the surface and calls for reinforcements to prepare to breach the station before the power goes out again.

Back at the shuttle, inexplicably, all communications with the DARCO team as well as Earth is lost right before all power in the shuttle itself fails. Jun is outside of the shuttle during the power outage. Even her suit shuts down which calls for a dynamic, risky rescue to bring her back aboard, barely alive. However, as the powerless shuttle gets colder, the crew begins to become more aggravated towards each other, as if whatever caused the shuttle’s power to fail also caused their inhibitions to fail as well. Arguments turn to fights, which turn to rape, which turns to homicidal acts. Before they reach the point of no return, they realize that the hangar they made is creating a shadow that is helping to trigger the mysterious power-outage that the AMOS is experiencing. With a cunning effort, they are able to take the hangar down. Immediately afterward, communications is reestablished with DARCO and Earth.

Their victory is short-lived when they hear the grim report from the DARCO team that was forced to do an emergency breach of the AMOS when they experienced a similar power failure that caused them to seek refuge through one of the ventilation shafts leading down into the mine. They report that the AMOS is crawling with bad guys. With the DARCO team already injured, they have little chance of successfully completing the mission. CRISIS is tom between leaving ASAP and trying to save DARCO. Briar and the rest of the injured DARCO team are fighting for their lives down in the tunnels of the AMOS where their suits and equipment turn on and off depending on their position within the mine, seriously diminishing their fighting ability.

The shuttle is too damaged to takeoff from rough terrain and has to be modified to be moved over to the AMOS runway to takeoff from there. They have to get the shuttle moving before newly discovered bad guys traveling across the surface get to them.

Back in the mine, Briar gets caught in an explosive trap that appears to result in the grizzly death of him and one of his comrades, leaving only two DARCO left, and one of them (their leader) has a broken neck, leaving him a quadriplegic. The remaining DARCO element that stayed with the shuttle put up a defense against the oncoming enemy while the CRISIS team works frantically to get the shuttle ready to move. With extreme efforts by all, they are able to escape toward the AMOS.

The surviving DARCO team inside the mine decide to blow up the AMOS by bring explosives to its gravity core. Once the explosives are set on a lift to go down to the core, the leader requests to be executed, leaving only one DARCO member against all of the mysterious enemy … until Briar shows back up.

The shuttle arrives at the runway and is staying only long enough to prepare for takeoff. In that remaining time, Jun and other CRISIS and DARCO members volunteer to look for the rest of the DARCO team that they have once again lost communication with.

Down in the mine, Briar stays behind to blow up the AMOS while his teammate escapes to try and contact the CRISIS team to let them know about the impending explosion and to get away as soon as possible.

Meanwhile, the volunteer rescuers find the DARCO team’s abandoned entrance point to the AMOS at the same time the enemy catches up to the now static shuttle. The remaining DARCO team leaves to go fight off the enemy while the CRISIS volunteers stay at the entrance site to help recover the returning DARCO member who has reestablished communications with them.

In a panic from the sudden attack, the shuttle takes off without any of the volunteers. At the same time, the CRISIS rescuers at the entrance are ambushed by the enemy and only Jun escapes. Before they can get to her, the DARCO survivor returns from the mine to fight off the enemy. With Jun’s help, they narrowly escape in a rover.

Briar gets the explosives down to the lift to the gravity core and finds a recording that explains what has happened at the AMOS: They drilled into a dormant proto life form that began to have numerous effects on the AMOS faculty causing them to make weapons to fight against each other and began to change into strange life forms. After finding this out, Briar discovers the main life form that is causing the interference cycles and, even though he escapes it, it keeps him from blowing up the AMOS and he loses his rifle in the process. He is left on the run inside the mine having to battle off an entire gamut of sub humans and creatures with only his hands and a knife until he comes across his teammate’s lost rifle.

Back on the surface, the remaining DARCO and CRISIS team seeks refuge inside of the AMOS shuttle hangar where they find the shuttle from the first rescue team and they plan to use that as their alternate means of escape.

Briar tries to get a working elevator to come down from the hangar (without knowing the rest of his team is up there) to bring him safely back down to the explosives. Doing this causes Junto send her robot down on another elevator to find out what’s going on. She discovers that Briar is alive and, with another dynamic effort by the survivors that are now defending the shuttle inside of the hangar from creatures that were hiding inside of the AMOS, Jun rescues Briar and, at the cost of the lives of a few of the survivors, they takeoff straight from the hangar and escape the asteroid right as the next interference cycle is starting.

Louise Prockter and Mark Robinson

03.jpg

Figure 4.2. A global map of Eros constructed from more than 300 separate images obtained by the MSI instrument. All longitudes spanning latitudes from GOON to 60’S are shown in a simple cylindrical projection (bottom). The North Polar Region (upper left) and South Polar Region (upper right) are shown in polar

04.jpg

Figure 4.3. Six equatorial and two polar perspective views or Eros. These views were produced by overlaying the global base map on top of a digital model of the shape of the asteroid.

PROLOGUE

20270826 05:15 Universal Time (Ul)

Mission Control Room

Deep Space Operations Command Center (DSOCC)

Celestial Solutions Corporate Headquarters Compound

Stewart Island. New Zealand

"M ission Control has safely toughed down and is now taxying down from the flight line to the hangar apron of Derringo proper. We are continuing to transmit on all standard and emergency frequencies. Still no response as of this moment … standby, we’re going to dispatch the ground crew to see if we can’t safely enter the shuttle hangar manually. This will take a minute, their checking for any possible contagion in the Multiplex. They’ll be sending the bots in first, of course, so don’t expect any speedy results. If anyone down there needs a bathroom break, now’s the time."

Even at their destination’s approximate apogee of 225 million kilometers from Earth, due to the orbiting network of 210 geostationary Tracking and Data Relay Satellites (TORS) between the two points, Mission Commander Shane Saubou’s voice came in as clear as it would from anywhere on Earth. The only real difference being the twelve minute lag time between each transmission either way.

Isaac Fawcett, the Senior Mission Director at the Celestial Solutions compound based out of Stewart Island, New Zealand, was usually never present for monitoring shuttle mission updates. Not since the corporation had grown to be such a dauntingly multifarious entity. Celestial Solutions had literally become its own industry. Everything from common household goods, to high-end pharmaceutical medical care including superlative cancer research facilities, to the world’s most expedient and cost efficient air transit system, the Sky Track. Then there was the element that really set the corporation apart above the rest. Aerospace advancement.

In the span of just a few years, Celestial Solutions had streamlined space flight so well that the average businessmen and women could work hard for their end-of-the-year bonus so they could take their family out for an exciting weekend in orbit! Or even a luxury cruise around the moon. Not only could service satellites be launched every week of the year, and cheaper, but now you could have affordable insurance on them. If something happened to a satellite, it could be completely repaired in forty-eight hours. The space age had truly arrived, and Celestial Solutions had ushered it in.

Nothing so dynamic had ever before been attempted, and at the expense of over ten years of extreme risk in every imaginable facet, but Celestial Solutions was born and survived on the rigors of its phenomenal inception. They had come so far due to the very calculated and well-projected decision to attempt to establish an ore mining station, designated an Asteroid Mining Operation Station (AMOS), on the Near Earth Object (NEO) 433 Eros.

The heart of the operation lay in the advent of the corporation’s primary Single-Stage-ToOrbit (SSTO) transport shuttle, the CS-1A1 Variable Turboramjet-Rocket Aerospace Craft (VTRAC). Using advanced, modular synthesizing electrolysis intake conversion engines, the VTRAC shuttles were not only able to achieve and sustain velocities of up to Mach twenty-eight within Earth’s intermediate to upper atmosphere, but they could actually create their own fuel and storable 02 while in flight. The feature was quickly turned toward space flight technology by modulating the electrolysis chambers to be able to separate the hydrogen molecules within the compounds hydroxyl and deuterium that both occur regularly throughout the solar system. Once the technology was successfully tested on the corporation’s own TRR-31 Turboramjet-Rocket satellite that was able to reach Lagrange Point Five in Jess than four months, it was time to test the engine out on a manned shuttle. Like Columbus reaching the new world, the success of the VTRAC opened a new world of possibility.

As amazing as the VTRAC was, it was the exorbitant amount of precious minerals, especially rare-earths, made available by the AMOS—appropriately named Derringo, meaning ‘daring to do’—that made Celestial Solutions success truly possible.

That was why when the sudden loss of contact with the AMOS happened, Senior Mission Director Isaac Fawcett was called in to personally oversee the mission that was charged with getting the station back on-line. Within ten short years, the mine had allowed Celestial Solutions to generate a net worth of over twenty trillion dollars. They absolutely could not afford to lose the AMOS for any duration of time, and they hadn’t heard anything from the mine since the eleventh of June. That was two-and-a-half months back. Unacceptable. Investors were getting anxious for results, and with every nonoperational day, billions of dollars were being lost.

Wiping the fading red-gray hair from his sweaty brow, 57-year-old Fawcett reached for his simmering cup of coffee, and then thought otherwise. He looked out over the Mission Control room of the Deep Space Operations Command Center (DSOCC). The room was the size of a school gym, but with its terrace style set of computer-filled rows and service consoles, all facing a giant situation screen that was projected across the entire back wall like a well-lit movie theater, the DSOCC seemed very small. Besides the mandated wearing of either headsets or earpieces, usually professional was the dress code for the dozens of technicians that were vigilantly recording and collating the data that streamed across their monitors. Even with all that was at stake for the corporation depending on the outcome of this mission, these were can-do people that were ready to support the mission crew in every way they could. To them, it was just another day in the DSOCC.

Drawing a more confident air from his well-centered staff, Fawcett assumed direct control over the outgoing communications transmission as he keyed the mic on the powerful UHF radio satellite link, Wayfarer, Mission Control. We all know the bots are a bit ad hoc, and I don’t want you guys in a hurry to the point where you might miss something, but remember the timetable. Until you’ve figured out what’s causing the station to blackout during the asteroid’s shadow cycles, it’s still a threat to the mission. Keep that in mind while you’re waiting. Maybe check the mine’s surface vent chambers. You said earlier that you had detected something out by one of the vents.

Twenty-four minutes later, Mission Commander Saubou’s response came back over the link sounding a bit distracted as if trying to hold two conversations at once, Mission Control, Wayfarer … um, about the vents, we’re not entirely sure how deep the regolith is between us and the vent. The site hasn’t been monitored for over two months, and with the mine’s augmented gravity core still operational, it’s hard to say just how much space dust has accumulated. Not to mention we’re not exactly equipped to deal with extended surface EVA. We are looking into sending a team out there once we’ve got a better idea of what we’re dealing with in the hangar.

Right as Fawcett started feeling the urge to transmit another reminder, Saubou added, . . . and yes, we’re paying close attention to the timetable. There wouldn’t be any point in trying to get into the hangar it we didn’t have any power to equalize the pressure with. Especially with a one-hundred-fifty-thousand square meter hangar like this. That’d just be a damn mess. Now, once the bots are… eh-ar-on-ktzzzn …

Saubou’s transmission squelched out momentarily. Even with all the TDRS satellites maintaining superb loran communications, transmission disturbances were an unremarkable occurrence given the great distances and innumerable amount of debris and other interfering factors that could cause temporary lapses in communications … as long as they remained temporary …

". . . ekkitta … m-m-mzzztk … s-ssshhouldn’t t-take more than an hour to gain substantial clearance. I can’t say one way or the other about the survivors if there izzz … nny, but we should at least be able to get s-su-umm … nnswers. At least the remaining power was able to be rerouted to the transceiver antenna array. So tar though, idd-d-dzzzti+ill a mystery in there.

We’ll be leaving (Wittly onboard to receive any think-tank patches for you guys to … ktch … e-eep him up-to-date with if you come up with anything. Over.

Three hours later …

Due to this fact, direct teed from the bots became somewhat interrupted the further down into the mine they went. Concerns were growing rapidly when some of the bots had stopped transmitting any video, audio, or even scanner basic readings.

Of the eight PISS bots deployed, four had been tasked with searching the Multiplex, the upper eight levels of the station that made up the back wall of the shuttle hangar. The other four bots were sent down into the mining operation center, directly below the hangar/Multiplex via the logistics transit lift. Six out of eight bots had returned when given the command to do so. Some took longer than others to receive the commands. The bots returning from the mine took the longest to get back. Two of them did not return at all. This disconcerting fact would have roused more scrutiny by the investigators had it not been tor the all-encompassing discovery of the PISS bots searching the Multiplex. The reason the bots had been called back was because they had found survivors.

Since no airborne pathogens had been detected, the recovery team had entered the hangar to make sure it was safe to bring the shuttle in once they got permission to proceed to do so. Saubou was scraping up a sample of the grease from one of the bots and wiping it into a specimen bag when Astronomies Technician Blake Gordein, one of Saubou’s trusted flight crewmembers, tapped Saubou on the shoulder saying, Here they come. From the footage we got, they don’t look so good … Saubou looked over to the logistics lift that seemed to be operating at much less than nominal power. The large double doors labored through mechanical weakness to slide open, revealing …

It didn’t take the discerning eyes of the medical technicians attached to the recovery team to be able to tell that the emerging survivors had been spending the last two-and-a-half months in less-than-desirable conditions. Though the bot that had first detected them on the upper level of the Habitat Module Complex (HMC), it wasn’t until the timid life forms finally made their way down into the hangar bay where they were able to be observed directly by the investigators that their condition was truly realized. Filthy and emaciated, the lesion-riddled visages of the miners weren’t the first concerns to be raised, not even their deeply sunk-in eyes that seemed to be unable to focus drew much attention initially. What caused jaws to drop universally between the members of the recovery crew—as well as everyone in the DSOCC Mission Control room who were witnessing the events on a twelve minute delay—was the fact that only a small portion of the reverie-faced miners were still garbed in their Gyrostat G-suits. The suits, called G2-suits, were designed to create enough constant centrifugal force, provided by a series of ergonomically placed intrinsic gyrostats, to reduce the effects of bone and muscle atrophy on the human body while spending long durations in zero-to-low gravity environments. The suits were mandated to be worn twenty-three hours a sidereal day in accordance with the corporation’s aerospace health policy. The shriveled and gaunt appearance of the unsuited miners provided perfect visual aids for why the policy was set into place.

After a moment’s calculation, Saubou shook his head, Not under three months. There’s just no way they could get this bad in three months. These guys look like they couldn’t survive five minutes on Earth outside of a pressure chamber. We’ve had people handle periods over four times this long who looked better than this, and they were in complete zero-G! This place has at least some form of constant gravity. This doesn’t make any sense. Mission Control, something’s definitely not right up here. Over.

No, this doesn’t make any sense Shane, and you can bet I’m going to grill our health department over this until it does. This might mean some serious infrastructure overhauls, transmitting back as Saubou’s feed continued on the big screen, a concerned, but slightly at ease Fawcett deduced as he slowly started to feel the situation beginning to come back under control. Now was the time for that refreshing sip of coffee. It was the first sip he had taken from his last three cups. Fawcett’s promotion-hungry assistant kept an eye on the amount of steam coming from his boss’s lucky mug. When it cooled down, whether or not any contents had actually been consumed, the mug—decorated with a black background that was speckled with hundreds of little white stars—would be emptied, rinsed, and refilled.

It was pathetic ass-kissing, but Fawcett wasn’t going to complain if his assistant really thought that something like that was what made the difference with Fawcett. As the steeping mist arose, it tickled Fawcett’s nose while he sipped. The molten goodness made him suddenly realize just how damn cold he was. It was always cold in the Mission Control room—an essential asset to a room running so many high-powered operating systems—but Fawcett’s fingers felt like they were thawing out on the warm mug. This was too stressful for his age. His BLOCKER circulation was bad and he was not in any condition to be gallivanting into high-stakes situations any more. He had had a good run, but this was it. Celestial Solutions did not need Fawcett anymore. It was time to retire. First, he needed to see this last debacle through now that it seemed they had a leg to stand on.

Though the coffee was caffeinated, Fawcett could feel his heart rate settling down with every comforting sip. Closing his eyes to fully remove the stressful world in front of him, he calmly said aloud, Okay, Emily, call Health Science department and have them look into potential causes of this accelerated atrophy situation. If my gravity cores aren’t doing what they’re supposed to, want to know why and how we’re going to fix it.

‘‘Yes Mister Fawcett," the station secretary replied.

Fawcett heard the response before he sightlessly dispatched the next agenda, More importantly, let’s get Personnel on the wire so we can get solid IDs on the survivors so we can have everything from medical histories and compensations, to notifying the families all off of the ‘to do’ list and over to the ‘done did’ list. I assure you all, our ‘to do’ list is going to be-

POP!

The sudden noise came from at least three different speaker systems at once, causing an inadvertent surround-sound effect. Shit! escaped Fawcett’s lips as he was more concerned with the burning coffee on his hand that he had spilled when the surprising noise caused him to flinch. . . . the hell was that? His answer came not from within the Mission Control room, but from far across the cosmos. When Fawcett had opened his eyes again, his entire world had changed. Bodies.

The monitor that Fawcett was now watching was showing the video footage transmitting from Mission Commander Saubou’s helmet camera. Either something had happened to the audio feed or Fawcett’s hearing had just suddenly gone out. Noise wasn’t needed to accurately discern the situation. The specific details or apparent reasoning would be impossible to know, but it was clear that a trap had been set, and those who had set had intended to do the recovery team harm. This fact was made perfectly obvious as, among the tumultuous background, Mechanical Engineer Roger Black, another close friend to Commander Saubou, hung limp in Saubou’s arms, having suffered what must have been a bullet wound straight through his visor and into his eye socket. Before the gore from the devastating wound had a chance to take seat in Fawcett’s disbelieving mind, the camera flashed upwards as Saubou glanced up at whatever was happening around him. Saubou was a leader, but not a warrior. He was just an engineer trying to help his fellow coworkers conduct a difficult job. So when he looked up to see spurting fountains of bright red blood contaminating the atmosphere around his eroding team, his freezing-up action seemed perfectly normal. The monitor’s screen lit up with brilliantly high defirntion as sparkling images of projectiles violently ricocheting off of the hangar deck flew past Saubou’s view. The video feed on the screen began to vibrate and shudder as more projectiles thud into Saubou’s chest, slinging him and his video footage to face up at the high ceiling as he slammed hard against the deck. Other screens in the Mission Control room were monitoring the other team members’ footage, but Fawcett was locked onto Saubou’s screen as if … as if he couldn’t leave there…

It must have been the shock that was messing with Fawcett’s hearing because, as the footage from each of the other recovery team members began to wink out to the very distinct sound of gunshots, Fawcett heard what he knew to be Saubou’s soft, gurgling cries for help … wait, they weren’t for help. Saubou was choking out some barely comprehensible apology to Blake, . . . s-shoulda … l … l shoulda … been there … b-Blake … cough cough … I know h … how much cought-the house… meant t-ta you … y-you and … Julie both… l just-

A fleeting shadow of a figure carrying something that abruptly flashed and killed the feed to the link up was the last transmission from any of the crew, including the two members who had stayed aboard the shuttle that had taxied into the hangar once they had thought it was clear.

Fawcett felt like he was standing in the farthest corner of the universe as he stared with empty eyes at the static filled screen. He should have been crying he thought to himself, but he was still trying to apply logic to what just unfolded in front of him. Who? What? Why? How? This wasn’t some third world country undergoing some ineffective transitional government. This was a state-of-the-art, completely inaccessible mining station. On a constantly monitored asteroid. In space! Places like that aren’t taken by gunfire, they’re bought out at worst. So what the hell happened up there?

Seeks veapons et most, a very deep and heavy, yet crisp voice broke through the void that Fawcett was slipping into. Dhat’s dhe amount of security veapons ve keep up dhere. Dhey could not khave gotten veapons up dhere any odher vay.

With a fluttering bout of sandpapery eyelids over his bloodshot eyes, Fawcett turned to see a portly man that was now occupying the space next to him. The stout man, old, but still with a thick head of dark brown hair, resembled a weathered, human version of something that was designed to carry a field artillery piece. The man’s unpleasant expression with fish-tight lips, crinkled a bit further when canting a slight nod, as if accepting an unspoken acknowledgment from Fawcett.

Right as his stupefied brain began to recall just who the being next to him was; Fawcett’s memory was assisted by the man’s resonating, Slavic voice, Leonid Andreivich Sakharov, internal Affairs Chairman. If I had not come to you first, Master Fawcett, you would have come to me. It is my job to assume the worst will happen, and to have a plan for when it does.

Fawcett had never spoken to Chairman Sakharov before, though he had sat in on many board meetings that included the man, but Fawcett had never had a reason to talk to the Chairman of lnternal Affairs. He was indeed the corporation’s spooky guy that they kept around to manage spooky business, and now, in Fawcett’s darkest moment, he apparently had no other choice but to conspire with the man who worked in the darkness. Fawcett’s guts dropped. After recovering himself and trying not to rip the hair out of his scalp, Fawcett tersely replied, Mister Sakharov, I can appreciate that you can be objective about the situation, but I don’t know how people deal with terrible loss where you come from, but I just witnessed very good employees of mine get slaughtered on a trillion-dollar investment that we may have just lost entirely … l’m sure there’s a thousand things that could be done about this, all the right decisions, but if you don’t mind, I really just need you to back off and let me accept that my friends are gone. I’d just like some time to think about what I’m going to say to the families I’ll have to report this to.

Sakharov ceased his grimacing face into what must have been his version of a smile, "A good kheart and deep emotional connection with those you care about … it makes for a clear conscience, yes? Khowever, it also makes dhe vorst strategic liability. Time for mourning iss a luxury ve zhust do not khave. In approximately seeks hours, an Emergency Action Evaluation Board viii be kheld in response to vhat zhust khappened at dhe station. You viii be called soon and expected to show. Dhe board viii consist of mostly dhe same representatives. Khowever, dhere viii also be a few additions dhis time.

"Preceding dhis entire mission, dhe US and NATO vere both contacted and vere formally requested to participate in dhe formation of a contingent Joint Aerospace Counter-terrorist Task Force. Vonce dhe so called ‘mighty’ US backed out due to her enormous financial constraints, NATO and dhe European Union vasted no time in closing dheir shutters on us. Not even Russia could overlook dhe apparently khorrible timing of our strife.

Basically Meester Fawcett, our unfortunate circumstances khave let us khigh and dry vit a bunch of veddy impatient investors, and no von to turn to. Khaving known dhis akhead of time, ve at least khad a chance to form an ‘in house’ contingent, and dhis time Meester Fawcett, ve viii be dhe vons vit dhe guns …

Fawcett felt a lump of futility beginning to form in his throat … it was definitely time to retire.

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CHAPTER ONE

20270927 07:45 UT

Operation: CS-AMOS 27-29

Mission: Reigning Star II/ Chrono: 00days.00 hrs.—00 min. 12 sec

Passenger Compartment

SSTO-LSST (Light Supra-Hypersonic/Sidereal Transport) VTRAC-03 Imago

Celestial Solutions Shuttlecast Magrail-01

Stewart Island, New Zealand

T he Shuttlecast. These puppies launched shuttles into orbit about once every few hours, and they had an impeccable track record for having no serious malfunctions in the chute … so what were the chances of this being the first time something did happen? Then again, maybe there were other accidents that had just never been reported. A megacorporation like Celestial Solutions wasn’t about to show any signs of weakness like a faulty shuttle delivery system.

Strapped snugly into his Takeoff/Landing (TIL) harness—a sort of streamlined bucket seat with a roll bar and a five-point harness—Staff Specialist Frank Briar kept his mind busy with contemplating constructive thoughts as he waited to launch from the powering up Shuttlecast.

Staff Specialist (Spec-S) Frank Briar was a dedicated, sometimes overly analytical, tactical security specialist in Celestial Solutions regimental sized security element, cleverly named the Aerospace Security Department (ASD). All of the weapon-toting operators on the force were called ‘Aerotroopers’. Spec-S Briar had been a section leader in charge of 30 Aerotroopers in an Experimental Technologies (XT) platoon. Though messing around with crazy new weapons and gadgets was an outstanding perk to the job, the constant analysis reports drained a lot of the fun out of it. That’s probably where Briar’s damned analytical disposition spawned from.

Throughout Briar’s life, he had held numerous combat arms occupations, and had to make ridiculous amounts of reports, orders, and counseling’s of every kind, but nothing equaled to the volumes of paperwork that remained in a perpetual stack on Briar’s desk. At the end of the longest, most trying days where his brain was just on this side of throwing a rod, he knew in his heart of hearts, he wouldn’t give up this job for anything. Who was he kidding? Briar loved his job. He could appreciate his time and service in Prima-One, a maritime-based private military company, his five wild years as a paratrooper in the French Foreign Legion, and his poetically tragic as a US Marine infantryman where he had served in the second Iraq war. It wasn’t that Briar was a war junky, he was actually quite opposed to violence when it could be avoided, and only ‘shared’ it with those who seemed to find violence to be the only way to solve life’s problems. Combat arms just seemed to be a strange, unexplainable calling in Briar’s life. That calling had finally paid off when he took a job with Celestial Solutions.

Getting into the corporation’s ASD wasn’t a direct path for Briar. Despite all of his combat training and experience, because of other experiences that were also part of his past, he wasn’t eligible for service in the ASD. However, when he applied for the security job on his 36th birthday in February of 2022, Celestial Solutions was still in its up-and-coming phase and was still willing to hire him as a grounds maintenance man. Though not being what he was originally aiming for, his vehement interest in the progression of the space program and the fact that the corporate headquarters was based out of southern New Zealand, Briar found himself more excited about being a grounds maintenance man than he was for most of his past jobs. He embraced the change of pace, enjoyed the scenery, and marveled every time he had the opportunity to watch the amazing VTRAC shuttles launch from their nine-kilometer long Shuttlecast runway. The super electromagnetic maglev railway was three-quarters underground, and because of the Shuttlecast’s strategic engineering based around natural sound barriers, the hypersonic boom of the launching shuttles—propelling out of the Shuttlecast’s terminal end at over three times the velocity of a high-power rifle bullet—was no louder than a normal jet taking off from a runway.

Shuttles returning from orbit made for a much more interesting show, especially at night as they would—after conducting an extremely refined deceleration process—land like a conventional airplane on a corresponding runway that ran the nine-kilometer length of the Shuttlecast. As busy as Celestial Solutions became after their technologies proved a hit, there were times when just minutes after one of the three adjacent Shuttlecast gad hurled a VTAAC into orbit, another would be vectoring in on its approach.

In 2022, the ASD only consisted of two 300-man companies; one Aerotrooper company and one support company, and they had their work cut out for them as they maintained strict security on the quickly growing corporation. Since manpower was always an issue for the ASD, it wasn’t uncommon for them to outsource certain training assets, like the opposition force (Opfor) for example. Briar’s old calling came creeping back up when the ASD was planning a counter-terrorism training evolution that was to take place within the maintenance complex that Briar worked at. They were looking for volunteers to play the OpFor, the bad guys in the little war game. Briar said he wasn’t afraid of guns and would give it a try as long as the Aerotroopers weren’t too hard on him.

With a cadre team of three Aerotroopers overseeing the six-man maintenance staff, including Briar, the training operation ended up with an entire platoon—94 Aerotroopers—being brought to a complete standstill for an entire weekend that ended up requiring a tour-de-force of another entire helicopter assault platoon of Aerotroopers to be inserted in. The scenario was supposed to last for no more than six hours. During the debriefing, the cadre team that had been working with Briar gave strong recommendations that he be considered for a waiver to be able to join the ASD. Considerations were made, and five years later, Briar had participated in repelling two actual terrorism attempts on the New Zealand compound and had been appointed as a section leader in the XT platoon.

As the years went on, Celestial Solutions only progressed further in their diverse ventures. They were not only mining an asteroid, they were making space a desirable destination that was accessible to all. Their Infinity space station/resort stayed completely booked for year round reservations. Infinity didn’t have an off season and sold out more than any other theme park or resort in the world. The space station/resort could house up to 350 guests – not counting the actual station staff that operated the orbiting construction yard, ore smeltery, logistics warehouse, medical science annex, and the Deep Space Relay Communications Center (DSPARC pronounced ‘D-spark’).

There seemed to be no cap for the corporation as billions quickly turned into trillions in annual revenue gains. Of course, with the onset of increasing success came the constant risk of others who would attempt to take that success away. As a result, the ASD grew exponentially from a small task force of only a few hundred men into a fully self-sustaining, multi-role operational department consisting of two complete regiments of more than 7,500 men each. Both regiments containing their own indigenous, fully dedicated service support, airlift, and maritime groups. Though not anywhere large enough to conduct large-scale offensive operations, Celestial Solutions boasted a state-of-the-art defensive force that no rational military in the world wanted to have to contend with. Unfortunately, without their number-one logistics supplier—the AMOS—the ASD would be dead in the water in short order.

Everything that was related to the Celestial Solutions corporation relied on the recovery of the AMOS.

Briar found himself in his current predicament, strapped into a VTRAC shuttle on a course heading for the AMOS, because he happened to have helped design, and was fully qualified on a new type of hybrid weapon that the corporation’s Research and Development (R&D) Department was testing out. The weapon would play an important role in the upcoming mission.

The current mission was designated: Reigning Star II. This was the first shuttle deployment debarking for the AMOS since the first Reigning Star mission. The first had failed and all contact with the mission’s team was lost. Following the tragic loss, a shock wave of alarm resonated down through the rest of the corporation resulting in a temporary operational lockdown of all departments except Headquarters and the ASD. The Internal Affairs Department conducted aggressively thorough investigations throughout the numerous facets of the corporation while the ASD was put on high alert, clearing all ground, sea, and airspace on or near any elements of Celestial Solutions infrastructure.

Within hours of the Emergency Action Evaluation Board that was held in response to the disastrous results of the first shuttle mission, plans were made for a second reactionary mission task force to be assembled and deployed as soon as rationally possible. The same station recovery assets that existed on the first mission would be sent once again, the difference being that this team would be provided with a security detachment of specially trained Aerotroopers. Since there was a small security contingent at the AMOS with an armory of six firearms, the task force would consist of two VTRACs, each carrying enough firepower to overwhelm the maximum potential threat. Each VTRAC, with a maximum crew capacity of sixteen, would carry a recovery team of ten crewmen: five flight crew and five mission technicians, and attached to them would be a security detail of six Aerotroopers. Due to the situational severity, all information about the mission was classified and compartmentalized. Brevity codes and new designations were assigned to the task force.

The flight crew and mission technician elements of each shuttle were designated the Critical Response Immediate Security Investigation Survey (CRISIS) Team, while the security complement was designated the Direct Action Resolution Control Operations (DARCO) Team. In the month it took to conceive and construct the CRISIS and DARCO teams, much of the mission training and rehearsals were left to an abbreviated and somewhat ad hoc curriculum as a result of the time constraints set on by the growing concerns of investors that wanted to have results by the end of the fiscal year. That basically meant that Celestial Solutions only feasible option was to, at the very least, have sent a ‘troubleshooting’ element out to the AMOS by the end of the month to be able to tell investors that the situation was actively in the process of being rectified.

Though very few people were aware of it, the mission wasn’t scheduled to launch for two more days. However, it was pushed up on account that unusual tectonic tremor activity between the western pacific and Philippine plates had recently been detected and, although the majority of the Celestial Solutions HQ compound was subterranean, design to withstand the effects of a sizable earthquake, the Shuttlecast was very sensitive to any seismic jarring and risked a high possibility of causing the mission to be grounded for weeks. The launch date had to be pushed forward. The point was compounded when an earty, unexpected tremor caused coolant leaks in two out of the three magrails of the Shuttle cast, rendering their maglev launch rails inadequate for orbital launch. Fortunately, Shuttlecast Magraii-01 was still fully operational. Besides pushing the mission launch date up two days early, that left two serious issues still to contend with; the first being that now only one VTRAC could launch at a time, and second, because of the seismic abuse sustained by the compound’s nuclear and hydroelectric power plants, it would take at least a day to generate enough power to launch the second VTRAC. Therefore, one VTRAC would launch an entire day ahead of the other.

The first shuttle to be launched was the SSTO-LSST VTRAC-03 Imago, which happened to be the shuttle Briar found himself strapped into, trying as best he could not to concern himself with the futile thoughts of just how functional the Shuttlecast’s Magrail-01 really was Briar looked around at the neutral colored ceiling of the flight deck’s passenger compartment with an uneasy air. He had only taken two three-month tours out to the heavily coveted security rotation out to the Infinity space station. Those were the only times he had ever traveled in a VTRAC. Even then, under optimal conditions, he wasn’t too keen on the whole experience. Just like his contradictive demeanor of being a combatant who detests combat, he was also an avid supporter of the space program who abhorred taking part in actual space flight. That’s how things always seemed to piece together in his life, just like a brand new square tire.

‘‘Hey! Would you quit looking around with that ‘Oh my God, we’re all going to die’ look? You keep doing that, especially during takeoff, and you know your face is going to end up getting stuck like that." Briar dropped his glance from the ceiling down to the T/L harness next to him right as Senior Staff Specialist (Spec-6) Anthony Dukes started tapping his G2-suit gloved finger against the visor on Briar’s helmet.

Briar blinked dumbly a few times before catching up to himself and replied, Well Spec,… the term ‘Spec’, short for Specialist, was commonly used to address senior ranking Aerotroopers, if we do die, there probably won’t be enough of us left for anyone to ever know."

Spec-6 Dukes was the, sometimes excessively, charismatic platoon leader of the XT platoon. He was a black, former US serviceman who wore his 48 years of age as if he was somewhere in his late twenties. Though he was bald, and a bit shorter than he would like to admit, he kept himself in stupid good shape, maintaining a muscular physique. He still couldn’t swim for shit though, and always caught hell for it. He attributed this discrepancy completely to a certain stereotype and not for a lack of ability or dedication.

It’s comments like that that always make me wonder how you never ended up on the back of a milk carton, frank. Why don’t you try to calm down with a little complex protein intake before we go? Just keep your visor down when it all comes back up. I’m not spending the next month in this bitch with it smelling like your damn stomach curds, Dukes advised.

I’m sorry Spec, were you talkin’? Briar asked sarcastically in his faintly southern accent. No, no t was just wasting my time investing in a lost cause. Keep making that face, though. It sits well on you.

The bantering came to a piercing halt when the old-fashioned call of the alert klaxon sounded. The time for launch had come. No turning back now. A bright red harness-lock sign shown over the two seven-seat rows. Each of the rows, now draped in eerily contrasting shadows, had two aisles dividing them into two-seat sets flanking a middle set of three seats. This conventional configuration helped to make all the seats easily accessible while keeping the overall size of the passenger compartment relatively small. This allowed for as much habitable space inside of the crew cabin’s living quarters as possible. Briar knew that the shuttle’s cockpit that was just forward of the passenger compartment had their own alert system, so why the hell did the alarms have to be so loud? Was that normal? On top of all that, his nose started to itch. Damn.

Then, as the klaxon faded, it was replaced by the rushing sound of gas washing over the craft. It was the liquid nitrogen super conduction coolant rushing into the magrail’s solenoid manifold casing. A rather informative engineer who was sitting in the seat just ahead of Briar had explained the process earlier when he had asked about the popping noises all around the shuttle’s hull that sounded like ice cracking… or the shuttle breaking. It was completely normal, though. The VTRAC was perfectly insulated against the -450° C temperatures occurring around it, but there was always minor fluctuations from within the structure. As interesting as all that was, Briar would have felt better if the engineer had just left it with ‘it’s perfectly normal’. Then again, death was perfectly normal.

A distant, subtle whine sounded and began to increase in pitch as a deep, resonating hum started to thrum around the shuttle. Briar planted his boots against the deck and pressed himself back into his seat, preparing for the initial push of the impending takeoff. Strangely enough, he started feeling a slight tug forward. The incorporeal force that pulled on him made him feel slightly queasy.

All right, now that’s not normal. CIDS isn’t supposed to kick in until T-minus five seconds, Mission Specialist 2 Maurice Bishop, a stoutly built black man with a doubly stout mind, announced as he leaned in his harness to check on the pilot and mission commander up in the cockpit. Dropping his concern after a moment, Bishop relaxed back into his seat replying, Oh well, at least we know they’re working. It’d be a short trip without’em.

Briar, just ecstatic to hear something was out of the norm from the same guy that had explained the most frightening aspects of the launch process, tried to focus his thoughts on anything else. CIDS. What the hell was CIDS again? Oh yeah, Counter-electromagnetic Inertial Dampening System. The thing that keeps us from turnin’ into jelly on the way up he remembered.

That dingbat pilot of ours must be jumping the gun. With a good operator, you never even know the CIDS was switched on, Bishop continued as the fourteen passengers in the compartment all began experiencing a heavy-headed dizziness.

Up front in the cockpit’s pilot seat was Astronaut Pilot Bradley Shrine, was finishing up all of the preflight checks in preparation for the launch. After double checking all of the necessary indicators, the pilot let out a stress relieving sigh, . . . woo … alrighty then Commander, temperatures all look fine, engines are primed and spinning up at neutral rotation, air space is clear, and we have all green signals on all the tube’s sensors out to egress. We’re ready to switch over to departure freq.

Sounds good. Go ahead with departure. Now, don’t mess with it now that it’s already initiated, but I think you fired up the CIDS a little early, Brad. You don’t feel that? Shuttle Commander Albert Campbell conveyed his concerns in a calming yet assertive manner. A tact that he was well known for. People under Campbell’s command usually didn’t fear screwing up as much as they just didn’t want to let him down.

What? The CIDS? l … damn. I thought that was just my headache. I screwed up the protocol …! never do that . . . I-

Hey Brad, relax. That just happens to be the one element of protocol on the entire list that can afford to be initiated out of sequence. Don’t make a habit out of it, but if you had to mix something up, I’d rather it be that before anything else. Just breathe for a second, I know things have been hectic lately, but once we get going, we’re leaving all that stuff here. The sky is your domain. Now, let’em know we’re clear and take us out of here, Shuttle Pilot! Campbell punctuated his encouraging order with a casual two-finger salute.

Shrine returned the gesture with more comically exaggerated movements before pressing the switch indicator that brought their primary flight radio transmitter onto the Celestial Solutions Shuttlecast Control Tower’s departure frequency. Clearing his throat, Shrine keyed the mic, ‘Tower, this is Imago. Radio check. Over."

The speaker on the command console sounded redundantly in time with Shrine’s helmet radio,… Imago, this is Tower. We have you loud and clear on departure for rail zero-one …

Roger Tower. I confirm rail zero-one. All systems are go. Standing by for power transfer and launch confirmation countdown.

Roger Imago. Initiating power transfer to rail zero-one … you are clear for launch. I say again, you are CLEAR for launch. Countdown to launch in … T-minus … thirty seconds … good luck Imago …

Tower, Imago. I read you clear. Roger tango. Copy standing by. Shrine turned to Campbell and after switching to the intra-team band, he mused, ‘That went well. I actually think we’ve got this thing in the bag."

Nice work on the comm, Campbell responded, happy to see that Shrine didn’t let the CIDS mix up set him any further off kilter. A fast recovery was more impressive than perfect performance in Campbell’s eyes. Now let’s just try to enjoy the last easy part of this mission …

Back in the passenger compartment, the rest of the crew was slowly adjusting to the irritating counter pressure field of the CIDS. Seven of the eight CRISIS team members occupied the entire front row while one sat in the back row with the six Aerotroopers of the DARCO team. All conversations had been reduced to impatient murmurs, nervous foot-tapping, and fidgeting as they waited.

Finally, a distant yet predominant voice boomed over the Shuttlecast’s Magrail public address system, STANDBY FOR SHUTTLE LAUNCH IN … T-MINUS … TEN SECONDS … NINE … EIGHT … SEVEN … the humming began to pulse louder, accompanied by a hissing wave of gas and crackling electrical currents … FIVE … FOUR … THREE … TWO …"

Three warning honks sounded in rapid succession, indicating positive power surge on the egressing end of the Magrail, the Doppler-turbo mid-rail point, and finally the humming launch hangar. Then the nauseating counterpressure began to increase, spiking agitated cringes from all the crew and causing every hand to snatch white-knuckle grips on their armrests. The feeling was comparable best to the uncanny weightless-sinking feeling felt in the stomach when cresting a loop on a theme park’s Hypercoaster. It was an unforgettable feeling and, on an ideal shuttle launch, the CIDS counterpressurizing would hardly be noticed if powered up and applied at the right moment. Pre-launch was still a tricky process, especially the CIDS synchronization. If it was off a bit, it made the unforgettable feeling way more unforgettable, making the rest of the launch somewhat unremarkable. Even though you were being propelled from zero to Mach 10 in the 4.5 seconds it took to be shot down the nine-kilometer length of the Magrail, then achieving low orbit in under two minutes, it just felt more or less like a slightly turbulent takeoff in a conventional airplane.

As the flight took place, the harsh red and amber caution lights dimmed to a more pleasant sorrel orange. The color inadvertently matched the momentary plasma ionization of the VTRAC’s outer hull that could be seen from the cockpit’s windshield as they passed through the thermosphere. Occasional microbursts of turbulence subtly jarred at the vessel, but their speed was so great—while constantly increasing—they simply split right through most air disturbances. They had launched in the early morning, so the thinning of the atmosphere as it gave way to space was less dramatic than a daytime launch. The perfectly clear view of the stars, onset by the sudden shedding of atmospheric pollution, still remained spectacular. A vibrant medley of mechanical sounds had announced to the crew that all of different thrust transition processes the variable cycle intake engines were operating at. The sounds were so perfect and methodical that, had the trip been much longer, the steady hum of the engines would have put more than one of the passengers to sleep.

While the shuttle escaped Earth’s atmosphere, Mission Commander Campbell called back to the passengers over their helmet radios, ‘Welcome to low orbit everybody. You’re all now in a weightless environment so I suggest you all take this time to get acclimated to it before we reach Infinity station. Helmets and gloves can come off now, and if anyone needs to use the hygiene compartment, feel free to do so. I ask that now one removes any other article from their suit on account that our ETA to the station is only twenty-one minutes and, once we get there, we’ll have a lot to do." As Campbell was speaking, TL harness straps began to come to life as they lifted into a weightless dance that was followed soon by gloves and helmets that were removed by the relieved crew. Even Briar had relinquished his dismal assessments as he unlocked his TL harness to take in the utterly singular experience of zero gravity.

Bang-up job with the CIDS there, pilot. At least we didn’t have any nosebleeds this time, Bishop, the shuttle’s flight engineer, chided as he unlocked his harness to check the readings on the passenger compartment’s Central Atmosphere Monitoring System (CAMS), more out of good habit than anything else.

Yeah right, but not a word about that perfect ascent to follow it up with, though huh? Pilot Astronaut Shrine replied in good sportsmanship.

It was a great ascent, and I can’t thank those supercomputers—that do ninety percent of the flying on this bird—enough for their great work. As Shrine was in the middle of mouthing, something else off, Bishop floated up out of his seat and spun to face behind his seat as he pulled his arm from the remaining strap. He looked back at Briar and said, Well, at least he didn’t hit a bird. Then he gave a joking wink before floating on his way.

Briar looked over at the seats in the rear starboard comer of the compartment. There sat two members of the DARCO team who had not yet removed any articles of their G2-suits. They were his old friends, old ‘salt-dog’ servicemen from Briar’s US military days; Junior Specialist (Spec-2) William Krauss, an ex US Army paratrooper scout, and Spec-2 Mitch MacLain, an ex US Marine Satellite Communications (SatCom) specialist. On Briar’s referral for the best people available for the CRISIS mission, the two veterans had just recently been employed by Celestial Solutions, and this was their virgin shuttle flight. Though the two men were technically the team’s ‘newbies’ and had only been given their Aerotrooper Shields (a collar device worn by individuals that had successfully graduated from Aerotrooper Recruit Indoctrination Platoon, commonly referred to as ‘RIP’ or just ‘indoc’) strictly on a provisional basis, they were by o means inexperienced to dangerous environments.

Spec-2 Bill Krauss was actually one of the team’s oldest members, having to frequent the Muscular Rejuvenation