BLACKOUT FULL CHAPTER PREVIEW

Chapter 13: Hard Burn

Second Lieutenant Leslie Boniface could feel the deck rumbling as the California started to accelerate away from the planet. Looking at the soup on his spoon, he could see the smallest of disturbances on the broth. A half second later, he finished that scoop and started another.

“What's going on?” Warrant Officer Jonathon Bullock asked. Bullock was a friend of Boniface's ever since both have them have stepped on this tub, and he always made a point to join him for lunch. The Warrant Officer had a tendency to be oblivious at times when his job didn't demand focus. It was as if lunch turned off the 'urgency center' of his brain and he coasted in first gear. When hell was breaking loose he was as sharp as a knife.

“We're heading out. Captain wants us to check out this comet.”

“Comet?”

“Yeah, a comet; Jesus Christ, have you been listening?”

“I'm a computer technician. I don't dine in the ivory tower like you.”

“Oh you mean this wonderful place?” he gestured to the room around him. “Come on Johnny, we're on our way to save the world.”

“Well there's my other question.” he pointed out as he stirred around his potato soup. “Why are we risking our butts for this little backwater? What does it have to offer us?”

“Well, a clean atmosphere for one. We can't scrub the air around here forever. Plus it has real gravity as well, so until this blows over, Helia's our only home. We're the Alliance right now. So we're all that's left of our fleet.”

“Jesus.”

“I know, so we have to play our cards carefully. The Captain wants us to get a good idea of the threats beyond. If that rock goes smack, there goes our little blue marble, and we're going to go along with it.”

They sat in silence for a few more minutes. Boniface took a drag on the bottle of cola next to him, belched, and then said, “Did the wrenches fix the leaks all over Deck 5?”

“Yeah, for the most part. It was easy to get some spare hull plates out of storage. Some of those guys over at the moon base were eager to give us a hand.”

“Did any come aboard?”

Bullock shook his head. “No, they all did EVAs at the most.”

“Good. Last thing we need right now are an extra pair of eyes.” Boniface leaned in and scooped mashed potatoes into his mouth. As he did so, Bullock looked like he was going to say something. “What?” he asked with his mouth full.

“Are you... uh, seeing our friend today?”

“Hmm? Oh yeah, yeah.” Boniface pulled back on his sleeve and looked at a watch. The time shone holographically half an inch off the face. “Aw crap, thanks for reminding me. I've got to be in the interrogation chamber in fifteen.” He finished his meal and stood up to leave. “What time does your next shift end?”

“Oh-five-hundred.”

“We'll get some dinner before I turn in. I've gotta run.” Boniface dumped the tray into a slot on the wall and dumped his empty bottle into a recycling bin. He pushed past a pair of crewmen and out into the hall. The entire place was still in shambles after days in orbit. Dust caked the floor, loose panels were stacked on the edges, and cleaning bots scraped at whatever could be picked up. Boniface rubbed at a long cut that had scabbed over behind his ear which stretched down to his right shoulder blade. This was courtesy of an explosion that sent shrapnel flying and sent two of his men to the morgue. Boniface considered himself lucky to have survived, but still couldn't help the feeling of survivor's guilt that pooled in his gut every now and again.

That Skirmish on the Soviet border had been completely deniable. Neither government could say that their forces had been involved in that nameless red star system that had been jokingly labeled 'Potential'.  If anything, the name was more an insult to the system's brown dwarf, an image of wasted potential. It was a failed star sitting miserably on the outer edges of that system. It was around that brown dwarf that the Alliance and Soviets had clashed over a single person, and he was now sitting in the brig.

General Menard Totef was the leader of a ground team that had set up an illegal staging area for the Soviet's Sixth Standing Defenders, which was a beautified way to say border patrol. The camp itself was illegal because it happened to be in Alliance Space outside of the contested parts of the buffer between the two nations. It was also illegal that the Alliance decided to launch an offense without contacting the enemy fleet and notifying them of their break in international stellar law, which was particular about these things.

Menard was on the ground with seventy thousand other men. Somehow, and Boniface was not privy to the details, he had been extracted from the ground by GUARDIAN forces, the special ops boys that liked to wear all black and turtlenecks; the sort that liked to strut about the ship like they owned every circuit and deckplate. Regardless of how he felt about it, Totef was now theirs and what was left of the fleet got the hell out of dodge. The best part was that neither side could say anything about it since both of them would be shown acting outside of the law.

Deniable operations were a fact of life in the Alliance.

Or were, since the Network went down.

Boniface passed down into Deck 10, which was mainly for cargo storage, but this was also where the brig happened to be. It was intimidation factor. Don't play ball and the fool would be dumped into space, which was completely against the Geneva Accords of 2110, but the interviewee didn't know that. Most times though they talked, which was a win-win scenario, and wouldn't leave a chump spending the last 11 seconds of consciousness lamenting his big mouth.
Boniface passed through the cargo corridor, which was slighly larger to allow forklifts to go about their duties, and found himself in the brig, which by all accounts looked like a modern prison. A guard stood by with a scanner out. He wanted Boniface's tags which he held up. The machine toned and the guard nodded. “Alright, time to purge.”

“Oh for the love of...” he didn't argue and entered a cylinder-shaped room. A pair of scanners stood at his side. Boniface closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable flashes anyway. The scanners started up and began to flash around him, bathing him in radiation that killed any excess bacteria, but tuned to keep him safe. His skin tingled like he was standing in the sun, but after a few seconds it was over. It wasn't an uncomfortable feeling per se, but some enjoyed it more than others.

“Cleared. Please enter.” the computer chimed. Boniface fastened his cap on his head and walked into the main cell block. The cells were lined against the wall in the way a prison hallway would exist groundside. There was only one floor though. Many times a brig sentence was not necessary and crewmembers would only need to be confined to quarters. Totef would be located in one of the back cells. It would be easy to find. The more assault rifles surrounding the cell, the closer he would be. True to form, number 15 had a small team of security guards around it. After one flash of the tags later, he stepped into the cell.

There was a small 'visiting' area that served as a sort of airlock in a way. The visitor was able to communicate with the inmate while being perfectly safe. Two inches of transparent metal separated Boniface from the man inside. The captive in question sat on a folding chair next to a basic bed staring at the wall and not saying a word.

“Has he done anything since the last interrogator left?” Boniface asked the men outside.

“He didn't sleep a minute.” one of the guards replied. I sent in one of my guys to check on him every hour, but he's still been in that chair.”

“How long has he been awake?”

“Let's see... three days. Give or take an hour or two.”

Boniface raised both eyebrows. “Three days?!”

“Staring at the wall when not spoken to.”

“But he speaks when spoken to.”

“Sure. Chat him up.” the guard shrugged.

Boniface sighed and looked at the General. Tetof had a thick beard, probably a Soviet military tradition. Every bigwig had a big bushy covering that he had seen. The man's hair was almost shoulder length. That was unheard of in Alliance military protocol.

“General Totof? I'm Second Lieutenant Boniface.”

He turned and made eye contact. Boniface met them and at once felt intimidated. He didn't know who Totof was until he read the briefing. His great grandfather had been one of the more important field commanders in the Soviet-Alliance War two hundred years ago. That would explain why the Alliance was so intent on capturing his descendant. The military skills ran strong in the family.

“Can you hear me?”

“It's not that I can hear you, but I'm trying not to.”

The man's voice was clipped. Disciplined. He wasn't one of those empty suits. Bonifacio could clearly sense that.”

“Will you indulge me a conversation?”

“Not before you answer why we're moving. I take it we're back at Earth, or some other major Alliance stronghold so you can... 'intern' me.”

Totof's accent was interesting to listen to. It sounded Russian, but not really, like a mix between it and something Boniface could not pick out. There was no harm in telling him the truth. They weren't going anywhere and Totof seemed smart enough to figure it out eventually.

“I'm afraid not, General. We're putting a hold on your... 'internment' for the time being.”

The general got up and moved towards the barrier between him and the Alliance man. He looked him over, judging him. Boniface didn't know if he was found wanting or not, but that didn't matter.

The general though had new questions. “Now why is that? Given the effort your crew went through to extract me..., and the minor bumps immediately afterward... we're probably at some supply dock to repair any damage, but... we've been here for days. Only now have we fired the ship's engines. If we aren't back at Earth, where are we, Lieutenant Boniface?”

“I would like to be asking the questions here, sir.”

“Stop.”

The Lieutenant clamped his mouth. He had been given an order by a senior officer.

“You want me to co-operate, you answer my question, because I have a guess about why we're here, and why I'm not in a... much more sophisticated prison.”

Boniface sucked in a breath, and tasted the tinge of metal.

“Long story short, the Beacons are not quite working. We're not sure the extent, but it's safe to say that since you're not on your own ship and we're still alive, I'm going to assume your fleet was just as affected.”

Totof made a face which suggested 'stop playing around'.

“No, I'm serious. It's all down. No communications, no travel, no nothing. We're stuck, you're stuck, and if you want to go back to the SRIS, you're going to have to walk.”

Totof's expression changed from a stoic military commander to a confused man. His eyes darted around and he tried to make sense of something in his mind. Boniface took the opportunity to tap a button on the wall which would record the interrogation session. The sessions were recorded anyway from a secondary security camera, but this one focused more on the physical presence of the inmate rather than the whole scene. The feed took Totof's heart rate, breathing patterns, and even his brainwaves. The General's brain was a firework display with synapses lighting rapidly.

He muttered something in his strange Russian dialect.

“Excuse me?”

“So, they actually did it. The crazy bastards actually did it.” He trailed off in the language which sounded like some sort of string of curses. His fist slammed into the wall before Boniface knew it. One of the guards leaned in with a shotgun ready.

Now he was interested. Did Totof know something, and was he going to wring it from the man?

“Who's they?”

“They are none of your concern.” the general said, looking like a very different man now.

“I think they are since you seem upset about something, and since the worst case scenario has actually blown over, you may as well be the last Communist in the universe. The SRIS is doomed.”

It was a classic interrogation technique – manipulation of the mind. Tell the prisoner the exact opposite of what they want to hear in order to break them. Under normal circumstances, Boniface was sure that the general would shrug it off as if it was nothing, but this situation was affecting him and the Lieutenant was going to take full advantage of that.

“The SRIS has held up for hundreds of years, and will outlast the Alliance.”

“The SRIS is based on collectivization. The Republics are 98% farmers and 2% Party. The 98% have no way to get their food to the 2%. The bigwigs starve to death, and the Republics collapse from lack of political skeleton. Simple as that. You've got to love single party states.”

Totof knew it was true. Everybody knew that the supposedly lavish Soviet banquets only composed of the most extravagant of the classes. The backbone of the SRIS were indeed farmers that fed those heavily populated worlds. Totof accepted this himself and began to speak.

“I do not want to tell you this. I would rather that the Alliance crumble into a heap and the Republics scoop up the dust and mold it to our own image. I believe there will be a shrine to Lenin on each of your worlds... but seeing as how we are, as you say, the last of our governments...” he leaned back in his chair. “When I was a boy on Faligova. There were whispers of a group of evil men. It was a tale meant to scare children into acting in a way that was pleasing to others. This tale told of these men. The name in their language means Hands of His Cleansing.”

“His?”

“God's hands.”

“So they were religious extremists?”

“I don't know.” The general said. “We never knew. The elders of my village made them out to be demons. The stories they told us...  makes me weep for my childhood and makes me recall very disturbing stories. Don't steal, don't tell a lie, live up to the ways of Lenin and the demons wouldn't come, or else the skies will go dark, the Beacons will darken, and the hands of God will descend upon you.”

Boniface didn't question why they worshiped God if they were following Lenin's Way, but asked, “How long have you known of them?”

“My baba knew of them, my dedu knew of them. Erm, my grandmother and grandfather. Over one hundred years.”

“That's a long time to wait. They could have been around since the Alliance-Soviet War.” That was just an impromptu theory, but to Boniface, it made sense if people on the losing side would have worked for some sort of revenge if they had indeed lost the war.”

“I know what you are thinking... but these men, they are not Soviets.” Totof shook his head. “One works for the betterment of the Republic and those that call it home. We work for a better tomorrow as comrades. Whoever did this, Lieutenant, they care nothing for the Republics... or the Alliance either.”

Boniface stood up.

“You are leaving?”

“Yes, but I'm coming right back. I need to look for something.”

“I am not going anywhere...” Totof joked. “Bring me back something we can both think on, da?”

Boniface nodded and left the cell. The guard he'd talked to leaned in. “Excuse me sir, can I ask you something?”

“What?”

“I... uh... couldn't help but overhear some of the questions about these... terrorists?”

“Yes, let's call them that.”

“The general referred to some of them as... demons. Is it... well... I don't know how to say this... possible that we're looking at some outside influence?”

Boniface raised his eyebrows in a way that said 'really?'. “Are you saying... aliens?”

“Well, we don't have much to work with right now, sir.”

“You're right. We don't. Leave the theories for people who know more about this than you do. Guard him, but if he needs anything, you call me.”

“Why are you reaching out to him? He's a Communist!”

“He's also the only source of information on this particular topic, so shut your mouth, and stow it! You are now going to treat this man with the same respect that officers of this ship get. Is that clear?”

“Sir!” the guard snapped.  

Boniface left the brig. He had to get down to the computer banks and search for any reference of these people the general spoke of. Any scrap of proof or evidence in the Alliance's Banks or the Duchies. Soviets weren't in the banks, so he still needed Totof for any additional questioning. He snarled to himself as he realized that he would only be able to access the cached database, but got himself moving though. Partial knowledge was better than no knowledge at all.


Sergeant Major Keegan Birch sat in the passenger seat of an M78A2 Light Reconnaissance Vehicle as it rolled out of the open door of the Arrowhead dropship he had been aboard. Cromwell sat in the seat next to him hitting the gas and rolling them into the sunlight. Birch had been ordered down to the planet as he had expected, and after a quick stop to link up with the rest of the security forces in the area, had finally arrived at the town of Morley. Despite the orbital shots of the area and the holographic display of the topography, there was nothing like seeing things for yourself. A second Arrowhead was resting on its tires not a hundred feet away from them and an identical jeep rolled onto the earth. Frakes and Ogami were manning that one.

“2-Echo Actual, Chipper 55, we're going to stay on station and wait on your report before rolling out the rest of the security force.” the Arrowhead pilot said over the radio.

“Solid copy, Chipper. We're clear of the bay, you can retract when ready. Wait on our OK. Don't have too much fun without us.” Birch tapped his earpiece and switched to team COM. “Alright, stay tight in formation. We're on business, people.”

“Nice place.” Cromwell said looking around. “Gravity's a bit lighter, but you can't beat fresh air.”

There were no roads along the landing site. They were further up ahead. The Marines didn't want to scare any of the people in the area by landing too close, but as a precaution they radioed ahead their arrival to the local airport. The air traffic controllers, completely at a loss on how to respond, OK'd their approach, but asked that the land at the tarmac, which the dropship pilots refused to dispel suspicion.

Morley was a sleepy town of less than a thousand people. The jeeps bounced on the grassy hills but made good time to the town which lay in the bottom of a valley hugging the side of a winding river. A bit east of that sat a large lake with jetties and cottages along side it.

“Man I could go for a cottage vacation.” Birch let himself say.

“We're on the clock, boss. Stay focused.” Cromwell said with a half-smile. He was about to fire back, but then realized they were hurling downhill at eighty kilometers per hour avoiding trees and rocks. Cromwell was handling them like an Olympic athlete handled a slalom.

Frakes and Ogami were taking it easier than them, slowing down to ensure that they wouldn't lose control.

“What's the matter ladies? Going too fast for you?” Cromwell spoke into the radio, keeping her cool the whole time.

“My insurance agency's gonna kill me when we ding up the LRVs.” Frakes responded.

They had good unit cohesion. Each one of them would take a bullet for the other in combat. Here, they were having some fun – something the Corps didn't always approve of.

The closer they got, the better the roads became. Ogami spotted a dirt road and signaled Cromwell who diverted course to line up behind them. The dirt roads eventually became paved in a sense. Cheap tar lay on top of the ground with cracks and potholes in it, but there was a road, and that meant civilization was close.

It was amazing to see the outskirts of the town consist on a few shacks that doubled as farms, and how they turned into suburbs over the course of their driving time. No matter which planet one went to the Human structure remained the same. The Marines were meaning to survey the area as well. If the worst was coming, it was vital to ascertain which towns would be better suited for inevitable refugees that the ships in orbit were going to bus around.

Cromwell thought the most about this. Despite being a city girl all of her life, she took a liking to the town right away and was not sure why. Perhaps it was the idealistic image that it created in her mind where small towns tended to stick together more. In a big city, nobody really cared much for the person next to them. While she was thinking, she swerved to avoid the first vehicle on the road that she saw – a compact sedan that was very likely not aware of the small military presence. The M78s weren't armed, but such vehicles were instantly recognizable. The driver skidded to a halt and looked at the large jeeps with a look of confusion on his face.

“Looks like some folks around here missed the memo.” Birch groaned. “Well, blame Command for not giving much advance notice.”


The town center of Morley did not look like a modern day population center as the Marines would think of it. It looked like something out of a storybook. The buildings had wooden exteriors and slatted siding, but a few signs of modern society like satellite dishes, holograms, and robots flying about reminded them that this was indeed the 27th Century, but it was a good attempt to prove them otherwise.

Cromwell parked the jeep in a vacant streetside lot and shut it down. Not long after, Ogami and Frakes pulled behind them. Cromwell jumped from the driver's seat and hit the ground, breathing in deeply and appreciatively. Her ears twitched in excitement.

“Forget the ship, can we stay here, Birch?” she asked. “This is nice. Looks like the land that time forgot if you catch my drift.”

“Yeah.” he added. “Stage 2s look a bit like this, and sometimes they never change. There's something about an old-timey look that people just like. I can't explain it.”

Frakes rubbed his stubble from the driver's seat of his M78. “Some of the local law enforcement came up behind us. I think they'll be showing up soon.

It was then that Birch remembered he, Cromwell, Ogami, and Frakes had their assault rifles inside the jeeps. It was just protocol to carry weapons in case of conflict, but if the police were asking questions, it would lead to a jumpy confrontation that he simply did not want.

Birch radioed up the Cutter and asked for advice on the matter.

“Cutter, 2-Echo Actual, come in.”

“2-Echo Actual, Cutter. Go.”

“Cutter, 2-Echo has entered the town of Morley. Can you advise us on mission parameters?”

“2-Echo Actual, advise you maintain position and make contact with law enforcement and government. From there, set up a perimeter. Do not set up checkpoints. Loose patrols are ordered to be maintained.”

“Copy. Interrogative: what if the citizens prove hostile?”

“Orders are to pull back and maintain distance, but keep an eye on the town. Until such a scenario occurs, civilians are friendly, repeat, friendly.”

“Alright, thanks Cutter. 2-Echo Actual out.”

Birch turned back to the jeeps expecting some form of police or onlookers gawking at the obviously military group, but there was nothing. In fact, there wasn't much traffic noise... or now that he thought about it, not much in the way of any Human life at all.

“Where is everybody?”

Silence except for the blowing of wind and the chirps of birds. The town sounded dead. Not a single person was seen walking around, and not a laugh of a child. It almost made Birch want to reach for his rifle.

“I've got a bad feeling about this.” Ogami said, moving back to the jeep.

“Leave it.” Birch said. “Cutter says no hostility of any kind.”

“What if they show us hostility?” Cromwell piped up.

Before Birch could come up with an answer, the sound of engines faded into hearing range. Birch was considering reaching for his gun himself when he saw a pair of white SUV-like vehicles round the corner at top speed. When the drivers spotted the Marines, two pairs of lights and sirens winked on.

“Well, here come the cops.” Frakes said.

“It's alright. Cutter told us this would happen.”

The SUVs screeched to a halt. The doors opened, and eight armed officers dressed in what looked like SWAT gear piled out, took cover, and pointed their weapons at them.

“Don't move! Get on the ground and put your hands on your head!” a voice from the police loudspeaker shouted.

“Hold on a second.” Birch said. “I'm Sergeant Kee-”

“Do it!”

Birch got down on his knees slowly and raised his hands, indicating he had no weapons. “Alright, calm down you crazy bastards! I'm not armed.”

“On the GROUND!” the loudspeaker bellowed at Birch's men.

“Do it, guys! No hostility!” Birch shouted. Frakes and Ogami surrendered quickly. Cromwell did so slowly, focusing her narrow eyes at the officers. “Sergeant, I am ordering you to surrender to these officers!”

She obeyed, threading her hands behind her head. Her ears folded back, and a few of her sharp teeth poked out.

Satisfied, two of the officers marched forwards with knees slightly bent and submachine guns shouldered. They wore face-concealing helmets with blast goggles and respirator-like mouth guards. These SWAT officers looked like they were meant to intimidate. Birch wasn't scared though, and neither were his men. These backwater colonials were making a show of it. Too bad the house was empty.

They handled their gear as if they were military, but Birch noted their technique was not like any basic training he was familiar with.

One of the cops approached him. His chevrons indicated he was a Corporal, but no exposed skin betrayed no heritage, but the broad shoulders indicated a Human male.

“Hands behind your back now!” he ordered.

“Are you arresting me?” Birch bit.

The cop didn't say anything but slung his SMG across his back and grabbed both of his arms. The officer forced them into the small of his back, and snapped shut a pair of steel cuffs around his wrists.

“Are you fucking arresting me?!”

The second officer half-ran up to the others. Cromwell started to rise when he got close.

“Don't...” Birch said, but trailed off.

The SWAT officer struck Cromwell. He swung the butt of his weapon straight into her cheek. Cromwell seemed to curl in the air and landed on her side. She was bleeding out of her mouth and nose and her eyes were half closed. She was dazed by the strike and didn't dare rise... or couldn't.

Frakes, Ogami, and Birch started to shout wildly. Cromwell should have stayed on the ground, but that hit was unwarranted, especially by police officers – respected members of society; the extension of the Alliance's laws. It boiled Birch's blood that one of his team would be attacked like that, but the officers held them down and restrained them, snapping the cuffs tight enough to cut into their skins. Birch felt the barrel of a weapon pointed against his back but he didn't think of the fact that he could die in chains here or about the fact that these officers were spitting on everything they stood for, but all that came to him was a deep confusion. He glanced to his left. Cromwell was down and hurt. Ogami and Frakes were now incapable of freeing themselves, and the Arrowhead pilots had no idea what was going on outside of the city.

He glanced to his right. He saw curious and scared faces now appearing in windows, shop doors, and around street corners. Dozens of eyes watching them with fear. However, Birch noted that while the people were staring at them, the Marines were not the ones that they were afraid of. It was the officers.

Birch saw one of the cops reach into the M78s and pull out their rifles.

Birch felt sick humor in his mind. Was it going to be death by irony? Shot by their own guns?

No such luck. The officers pulled them over. “You shouldn't have come here, Alliance scum.” before the butt of Birch's own rifle slammed into his face, the masked officer muttered one more word, but it wasn't in English. He didn't speak it, but he recognized the language. It was Russian.

Then it went dark.