Dreamscape Saga Part 1: Project Falcon (5 page)

Chapter Nine

Despite his original concerns, Grieves ordered Falcon to be trained by Lieutenant Frost after speaking with Sykes. It seemed that regardless of Grieves’ opinion of the man, Sykes still believed that Benjamin had a lot of potential and would eventually come around and join in the war.

The training was intense, taking nearly sixteen hours a day and forcing Lieutenant Frost to abandon his other duties, but results were, without a doubt, beginning to show. When Benjamin first picked up a rifle, he took to it naturally. When it came to accuracy, there was no equal in all of the Order. When he raised his arm and focused on firing, his body grew ridged. He did not waver with his breathing like most men. When he pulled the trigger, the target was guaranteed to have only one hole in it, dead in the center.

Hand to hand combat was more or less Benjamin’s specialty. Although he used no definitive style or method, his movements were almost too quick to be seen, and his blows were frighteningly powerful. Originally, Frost felt himself worthy to spar with the man, but soon changed his mind. No matter how fast Frost moved, he couldn’t match Falcon’s speed. For Frost, the whole matter was embarrassing, but he was always willing to continue, if for no other reason than to learn something himself.

At the end of the day, as he was now, Falcon was locked in his quarters. Food was always a bit of an issue because he could not simply eat anything. Instead, a high-protein mixture was concocted and injected into his bloodstream, via a port in the machine in his abdominal cavity. The total capability of the machine had not yet been determined. There were many times in which it hindered him in his efforts, and he began to see it as more of a curse despite Frost’s claims that it was a blessing.

Maybe the universe was working against him. Maybe it wasn’t. Either way, Benjamin hadn’t come any closer to figuring out who he was or how he came to be. It was certain that even if anyone else knew any of the answers, they weren’t going to give them to him. It wasn’t altogether unexpected he supposed, but that didn’t keep it from hurting.

With a raised eyebrow, Ben was left to wonder about a small bump that, though barely felt, was hard enough to jar him from his thoughts. A second later there was another encouraging him to rise to his feet. Throughout his stay on the MSS thus far, he had not felt anything such as this and was curious as to its origins. He would not be left wondering for long.

“Battle stations! Battle stations! This is not a drill,” blared over the intercom and down every square foot of the giant space station.

“This is William Sykes. Infantry, suit up and check in with your squad leader for further instructions. All inactive crew are to head immediately to their quarters or to the closest safe-zone.”

Benjamin became increasingly frustrated. Every time the ship shook, his anxiety level kicked up another notch. Even though he couldn’t explain why, he had to be out there where the battle was, anything less was maddening.

Once more, the station shook, this time with a bit more fervor than the last. Benjamin stroked his unkempt face. It was all he could do to keep his sanity. In his short time with the Order, he put on more muscle. Regular meals aided in his growth. Still exceedingly thin, his muscles looked a little peculiar. With the incredible amount of toning they had, they looked almost plastic.

Just down the corridor, a charger burst through the walls with its four prongs plowing through the thick outer hull of the station. Once through, a thin red line cut its way from one prong to the next.

Benjamin fell to the floor due to the force of the impact. Without seeing Confederate soldiers, he knew they were close. He set to work arming himself. In the corner of the room was a chair with a thin metal frame. He grabbed it, attempting to bend one of its legs off. The work was difficult even for his sinewy body, but after much effort, the first leg broke free. There was a nice edge left where the metal finally gave way. Thinking he could do even better, he continued to break off the rest of the legs.

Down the corridor, the line completed its journey around the four prongs and the metal of the hull hissed terribly from the heat as it ignited the oxygen in the air. The gases and vapors released were toxic enough to knock a man dead in an instant.

Three crewmen rounded the corner and approached the impact site. The first walked up to inspect it a little closer and felt the effects of the toxic fumes, falling to the ground dead.

The two other guards raised their rifles to their shoulders, thinking they were ready for anything. The section of the hull inched forward. One of the men shook slightly, losing control of his rifle. The section continued to come out until it reached the halfway point. An explosion slammed it forward into the opposite wall. Both men in its path were dead instantly.

Out of the hole poured twenty armed men dressed all in black armor with helmets that shone three lights of white, green and purple. The glass on the front that allowed them to see was reflective, hiding the faces of the men behind it.

Once they were in the corridor, half the men went one direction and the rest went the other. Benjamin heard them walking by and started pounding on the door. For a moment, it seemed like no one would answer his desperate calls. Two of the men in black returned and stuck something outside the door. The object made a whining sound that became steadily higher pitched. At first, Ben couldn’t figure out what it was. Realizing it was an explosive, he ducked as far out of the way as he could.

It took a second or two for the smoke to clear, and the two soldiers made their way through the doorway. Benjamin was waiting for them. With two quick flicks through the air, both men found one of the metal chair legs stuck through their throats.

One of the men dropped instantly, and the other raised a rifle. Without a second thought, Benjamin treated him to one of the last chair legs, leaving him to die. Before leaving the room, he covered himself with the breastplate of one of the fallen soldiers. There was no doubt that if he were to face more men, it was highly unlikely that his luck would hold. He needed all the protection he could get. When he tried to use the helmet, he saw a screen that said ‘Unauthorized user’. It wouldn’t allow him to see through the visor. After multiple failed attempts, he discarded it and gathered the weapons off the two dead Confederate soldiers. With two rifles, a number of hand grenades and two pistols, Benjamin exited through the damaged door.

Ben felt an indescribable sensation that somehow told him that if he could make it to the command bridge, he might have a real chance at helping turn the tide of battle. He resisted the thought, but it transformed until it convinced him that it was the only way to survive. From the sound of it, the station was being pounded badly. Its poorly trained crewmen would have difficulty figuring out what to do.

Ben didn’t understand how he knew what to do. To the best of his knowledge, he never performed any sort of military duties. He had absolutely no reason to understand what he was doing. All this lead to another thought. As he headed toward the command bridge, he didn’t feel lost, didn’t have to look at any sort of maps, and pretty much knew exactly where he was. It all seemed a little whimsical and was almost definitely impossible, but he was going to take if for the moment and examine it later.

Every step led him closer to his goal. Along the way he saw the intermittent dead body left by the Confederate foot soldiers. Such loss was wasteful in his opinion. He knew the men should have been more prepared for an occurrence such as this. Unable to contain his anxiety, Benjamin broke into a hushed run, ducking down ever so slightly as he went along his way. Although he was wary of the Confederate soldiers, he knew that he also ran the risk of being shot by his own people, as he wore the enemy’s armor. Unfortunately, it seemed that everyone along the way was already dead.

A group of six enemy soldiers could be seen down at the far end of the corridor. They were a good distance away, but Benjamin bent down on one knee and raised his short rifle. With six, well-aimed beams of light, the men dropped.

Such was his journey to the elevator. Every dozen yards or so, he encountered the enemy. Their numbers dwindled, and he took them down with very little effort. It was as though they didn’t expect much resistance and were taken back by a man that not only resisted, but had the aptitude to do so and do it well. The farther he went, the less force he saw, and he began to run into allies. He faced the fear he had from the beginning and he was shot at. However, he was able to persuade the men that he was in fact not an enemy soldier. Three men saw how well he fought. Leaderless, they adopted him as their commanding officer. They fought alongside him and led him to an elevator. Once safely inside, they rode up.

As the elevator climbed, things were frightening. Every few seconds the whole thing would shake violently. After several minutes, much longer than it would have normally taken the elevator to climb the shaft, the men were dropped off outside the doors to the bridge. Benjamin entered the oblong room and looked around in horror.

Nothing worked properly. Every Confederate tactic to disrupt and confuse the Order’s operations worked, and did so beautifully. Benjamin was furious at the lack of coordination.

“Who’s in charge here?” he asked the young woman working a console to his right.

“Sykes,” she said.

Benjamin saw the man with the graying hair standing on a beam that crossed the pit in the center of the room. “Are you William Sykes?” he asked.

Sykes was lost in his own little world and the power behind the man questioning him snapped him out of it instantly. “Yes, what is it to you, crewman?”

“Stand down.”

“Excuse me?” he replied. Such insolence had never been directed at him. After all, he was the head of the council. As far as the Order was concerned, he was in charge of everything. To be told by a crewman he had never seen before to surrender control was absurd and insulting.

Without second thought, Benjamin said, “Sir, I need you to step down. I know what to do.”

Thoroughly confused, Sykes stared awkwardly at the man. “And I suppose you’ve had lots of experience leading ships into battle as a crewman? You’re not even an officer.”

“Look all around you. You’re ships and your men are in trouble. I can fix this. Give me that chance.”

Sykes was crushed when he realized that what the man said was true. As arrogant as he could be at times, he couldn’t deny that the people didn’t have much of a reason to follow him. After all, he did order the attack on the cargo ship in the first place that brought the Confederacy right to them. Even after they arrived, Sykes should have had a plan ready to fight them, but he did nothing. When push came to shove and the battle was underway, he didn’t know what to do. All around him in other parts of the ship, men were dying. It seemed like every few seconds the comm. officer would say something about a fighter being destroyed. Without another word of dispute, he walked off the platform. He stepped down into the pit taking over a neglected console, allowing Benjamin to take charge. If nothing else, if they survived, he could ultimately blame Benjamin for the failure. Even though such deceit and politics bothered him, he wouldn’t refuse it.

Benjamin stepped into the center position of the platform and put his hands behind his back. “Tactical, what’s the situation?”

“Sir, we’re facing a Confederate battle group. On our side, we have a badly crippled destroyer, a carrier, and the station. Our fighters are deployed, but they’re not much use. Other than that, we’re sitting ducks. If they feel threatened and call reinforcements, we’re gone, that’s all there is to it.”

Ben contemplated everything for a moment before asking, “Comm., do we have any word yet on the rest of the fleet?”

“Sir, we have confirmation that they have received our signal and are on the way. ETA is six minutes.”

“Understood,” he said as he typed something into the small screen attached to the chair at his side. “Tell them to arrive at those coordinates exactly and move in. Make sure they know what order to arrive in.”

“Yes, sir,” she said with a hint of curiosity. The coordinates he gave wouldn’t put them at a point where they could immediately help. She sent off the message with a little prayer that the man that took over control of the bridge knew what he was doing. Sykes was a good enough man in her eyes, but it was clear he was lost.

Sitting down, Benjamin worked furiously on the console attached to his chair. “Tactical, order all anti-fighter turrets to open fire on the frigates. A fighter can’t do us much harm, but maybe we can at least prove to be a nuisance to the frigates. Order all but two squadrons of fighters to the farthest destroyer, and target all shielding rods. Have bombers follow in and destroy communications towers both long and short range.”

Even though the shielding would protect the vessel against physical objects such as bombs and missiles, Benjamin knew that it couldn’t block energy-based weapons. If he had the rest of the fleet, he could knock out the shields with the heavy turrets. In this case, he had to rely on fighters. If the destroyer saw the other vessels arrive, it would call reinforcements. Benjamin knew of the arrogance of the Confederate officers and he hoped to prey on that.

The rest of the fighters were ordered to protect the crippled destroyer. As much as the station needed the support, Benjamin couldn’t just sit by and watch the destruction of such a large vessel.