Project: Wake Read online

  A guttural yell came from Tundra as the electricity surged across his body, blazing torment causing his muscles to tighten.

  The Captain groaned as the electricity cackled off, and he took deep breaths, wiping his bleeding nose. “You should’ve just obeyed me.”

  -Chapter 8-

  -Justice-

  Tundra hated being detained or even touched, which is why he kicked and punched at the Officers holding him at every chance he could. Sahara did indeed look surprised as they dragged a half-beaten, yelling, kicking, cursing Tundra into Saharas’ office. This brought Tundra a little pleasure.

  "What is the meaning of this?" Sahara demanded as they threw him at the floor. Tundra got up, grudgingly, his white uniform covered in mud and grass, probably from being thrown onto the ground.

  "This man," the S.S.S. Captain explained, obviously winded, "attacked one of our soldiers with a punch to the face."

  Sahara examined him, and Tundra scowled.

  "Well? What do you have to say for yourself?"

  Tundra gave no answer. The officer behind him kicked him in the back, demanding that he explain, but Tundra grabbed his leg and pulled up, causing a shocked officer to fall flat on his back. The other man wrestled Tundras’ hands behind his back again before he could make another move.

  The Officer groaned, and swore fouly as he got up, waving off a helping hand from the other officer. Now up, he raised a fist at Tundras’ face, glaring at him.

  "Captain," Sahara said forcefully. The man paused, looking at Sahara. Then he brought his hand to his side.

  Sahara stood up before Tundra, scrutinizing him, pondering what he would do with him.

  "Are you going to defend yourself on why you did this?"

  "I simply said that the occupants inside The Ship were alien.”

  Sahara sighed, looking down. "I find it extremely unlikely that they are extraterrestrial, Tundra."

  Tundra cursed again. "You’re just too ignorant to admit it." Sahara frowned, displeased. He put his hands in his pockets, looking resigned.

  "Tundra, After you have finished your work here, you may go back to Facility C." Tundra relaxed slightly. He wanted his job, it really was the only thing he had left.

  "And then," Sahara continued, "You are to take the first shuttle to your house. You are relieved of duty."

  Sahara turned and sat back at his desk. Tundra fell limp as the Officers carried him away.

  -Chapter 9-

  -Relations-

  Tundra nursed his bruises by himself, not caring to go to the set-up medical station. He tore some of his clothes that he didn't need and used them as bandages, putting water on them from the water basin. He had one cup, and he could fill it with water they had purified at a local river. He could fill it any amount of times, and Tundra had already filled it twice.

  He winced as he felt the blood crusted against his forehead, and he dabbed it gently.

  Sighing in exhaustion, Tundra collapsed on his bed. He regretted it as pain shot out from his spine, the bruises on his back coming in contact with the mattress. He closed his eyes.

  His job was gone. He had no one, not even a home to go to.

  He knew what he had to do, and he obviously had no other choice.

  With new resolve, he got up painfully, and dug through his bags, eventually coming out with a blue, plastic cell-phone. Despite being plastic, it actually worked, but only contacted one person. If the person verified his command in code, a location of where he was would be sent by satellite to the other phone.

  He pressed one of the two buttons on the phone, and placed it next to his cheek. After two beeps, and a few tense seconds, a voice came across the phone saying, "Question?" It was code to make sure it was him.

  He hesitated, then said, "Come," yet another code. Silence came over the phone as he waited. "Confirmed," came the answer, and Tundra breathed out a sigh of relief, placing the phone back into his pack.

  He was saved.

  -----

  Sahara hated the Shuttles, but he couldn't stay here any longer. Well, technically he could, but he didn't need to be. So, he took the next shuttle back to Facility C, enduring the shaking and nausea so that he could get back to do more mindless paperwork. A poor reason to endure nausea, really. But they would have sent him back soon anyways. The CIA would get there the next day, and he didn’t really want to be ordered about like a child being told to go to his room.

  Oh joy, Sahara thought as he shakily got off the shuttle in the Resource Drop Bay, and walked through the airlock door in the side of Facility C, getting used to having gravity again.

  He sighed, and dropped his empty vomit-bag in a garbage can where it was promptly compacted. He hadn’t needed it anyways.

  Going through the stairs and ladders again, he made his way to the Control Deck finally, and saw Kirby sitting in the Overseers’ seat. She noticed him and respectfully got off, handing over Overseer-ship to him.

  He nodded towards her and remained standing, wearily looking at his lunch bag. Kirby cocked her head. "Is something wrong sir?" she asked. "You look rather tired." Sahara chuckled slightly. "I'll always be tired Abby. But I had an interesting experience down below."

  Kirby's eyebrows rose as Sahara related to her the whole story. He chuckled again. "I shouldn't have told you about it. Now I'll have to fill out an extra report."

  "What did you do with him?" she asked, puzzled.

  "Oh, I let him stay until his work was done, and then he'll come back here to be taken home." He shrugged. "Wherever home is, of course."

  Kirby nodded thoughtfully. "He was fired because he said the people in The Ship were aliens?”

  Sahara cleared his throat. “Well, more for striking a S.S.S. Officer repeatedly in the face.”

  Kirby nodded again, taking that as a good answer.

  Unfortunately, Sahara himself didn’t know if it was a good answer. Tundra was using good logic. But still-

  Maybe Tundra was right. Maybe he was wrong to fire him.

  Sahara sighed as he thought more and more about it. He couldn't afford to have sympathy in this job, not with its stress and danger. Anything could happen out here in space, with nothing to help. He had to be able to take the decisions that he hated.

  Something caught his eye, dragging him from his thoughts. He stood up, looking to his right. There, an Engineer's desk screen was bleeping red, with warnings over it. The engineer was typing furiously to try and counteract it to no avail. Sahara sprinted over. "What's wrong?"

  The Engineer threw up his hands in frustration. "The satellite system just completely blew up! I can't see anything down there!"

  Sahara looked at the next desk screen next to him. That satellite system was working, why?

  Sahara realized suddenly that the only Tracking System that was not working was the one overlooking The Ship.

  He shot up, "Put it on high alert! We need to get visual back!" The Engineer did as told, and his screen went on the Alert screen, red lights started flashing and the Alert went on every screen in Facility C. What was going on down there?

  -----

  The ground shuttle came, fast and silent, gliding over the surface of the Earth like a bullet. Few people saw it coming, least of all Facility C, simply because Tundra had bugged their system. The S.S.S. Officers were not ready for the hail of firepower as the ship suddenly appeared above them and a hatch opened in the back. Men in black armor appeared, firing Automatics at the ground, targeting the Soldiers.

  As it lowered, everyone in the camp heard the firing of guns, and the screams of those that came in contact with the bullets emitted from black barrels. The S.S.S. did get a few of the men, but the S.S.S. were dying, and the new assailants had the element of surprise with them.

  A few of the S.S.S. tried to fight, running towards the sounds of gunfire. Most however, mechanics, scientists, and some S.S.S. were running away, trying to find some kind of shelter from the guns.

  The men exited the ship, with the wind h
eating up from the exhaust of the shuttle. They flanked through the entirety of the set-up camp, firing at some people who tried to fight back. Few survived.

  Tundra was standing alone in the sleeping quarters with his arms crossed over his chest, trying to stay as calm as possible. A man appeared in the doorway of the room, and Tundra felt a stab of panic as the man pointed a gun straight at his chest and motioned behind him, no doubt telling more men to enter.

  A tall man entered from behind the one holding the gun. He wore brown hiking boots, with army khakis, and a t-shirt with the sleeves torn off, which advertised his muscular arms. He had a pistol strapped to his side, and had a brown bandana around his forehead to keep up his sandy brown hair. He was tan, handsome despite his smashed nose, and dangerous.

  He smiled and walked up to Tundra, stride long, hand on his pistol, and stepped right in front of him.

  And this man was his brother.

  -Chapter 10-

  -E. T.-

  This shuttle accomodated him. It rode smooth along the ground, instead of shaking and jolting at every turn. It wasn't built like the ones Facility C had, it was aerodynamic, with curved wings for stability, and four exhausts on every corner to guide it.

  Tundra was brought safely in the ship, and at the insistence of Tundra, the alien ship was brought as well, stored in the bay of the huge shuttle. It was a lot for the ship to carry, but Chris had brought a minor crew with him. Just enough to infiltrate the camp.

  Chris was a terrorist, yet Tundra worked for the government. He used to actually be in his brothers’ terrorist cell, but the constant danger of being shot or betrayed proved too much for him.

  Tundra sat, body strapped to the side of the ship, other mens’ dark eyes constantly watching him with doubt and skepticism. Silence, except for the noise of the engines and exhaust, filled the room.

  Most of the terrorists crowding the ship wore black clothing with unkempt beards. Their faces were hard and older. Not elderly, just "older" with the aura of people who had seen their fill of blood and bullets.

  Tundra sighed inwardly. He would probably never get the trust of these men, but they trusted his brother, and that was enough...hopefully. He moved on his seat, uncomfortable with so many eyes staring at him, watching his every move.

  Chris walked in from the pilots cockpit into the seating area. He smiled at Tundra with surprisingly white teeth as he navigated towards him, hands on grips in the ceiling.

  He abruptly sat next to Tundra and buckled himself in. The long, tense silence continued.

  "What?" Chris asked himself, loud enough for Tundra to hear. "No kind words for your brother?"

  "Its been a while since we’ve talked," Tundras terse words answered, not making eye contact.

  Chris smiled. “I find it very interesting that you found your way onto a secret government satellite in space. That little information will be a good trading card in case we need it.”

  Tundra didn’t reply.

  "Hmm," Chris grunted. "Unfortunately you need to give me a reason why I should have rescued you, and why I shouldn't give you back to the government. I would’ve asked you on the phone, but I was in a tense moment and didn’t have any time."

  Tundra looked at his brothers’ face. Chris smiled, but his eyes showed no amusement, no humor. His face was cold and hard.

  Tundra panicked inwardly, but tried not to let it show on his face. "Because I'm valuable," Tundra replied, frantically trying to figure out how he was valuable. Chris nodded his head as if in agreement, then squeezed Tundras’ shoulder tightly.

  "I, am going to treat you like any of these other men." He pointed towards the people cluttering the inside of the ship. "If you aren't useful or valuable to this team-" he crossed his own neck with one finger.

  Tundra shivered visibly. "So," Chris said deliberately. "Do you agree little brother?"

  Chris nodded towards the storage compartment in the ship. "I hope I'm not lugging a three-ton hunk of metal to my base for no reason."

  Tundra thought, then smiled in false confidence. "I know what that "hunk of metal" is, Chris."

  Christopher Tundra cocked his head, genuinely curious. "What?"

  "It's a genetic cloner."

  Chris looked straight at Tundras’ face, searching for a lie. "You’re kidding," he said, uncertain. Tundra nodded, grabbing on to the foothold the cloner provided. "I'm positive of it now," Tundra said. "The cylinders in three of the machines inside are to imitate a womb, as a growing facilitator."

  Chris lifted an eyebrow with skepticism. "Clones?" Tundra nodded slowly. "Based on the D.N.A. I got from the aliens-" Chris interrupted quickly, "Aliens!?" He laughed and looked with amusement in his eyes at his younger sibling. "You've got one big story to tell brother."

  -----

  Back on Facility C, things were growing even more frantic as they tried to find out what was wrong with the satellite tracking system. Sahara kept sending for new mechanics that might know how to fix it. There was only one option though, but it wasn’t popular.

  "We can't reboot it!" cried one of the mechanics in the Control Deck. "That'll take hours to connect again!" he said, hands in the air in defeat. “We don’t have any other options!" yelled another man back at him.

  "Men." Sahara's clear voice swept across the room, quieting all arguments. "I find it very clear that we must reboot the system. It may take all night, but it'll be faster than anything else we can do."

  Most of the engineers all nodded silently, then went back to their stations as Kirby punched in a line of commands, programming the Tracking system to reboot itself. A loading bar appeared at the corner of the Alert Screen, and the red warning lights finally ceased. Sahara sighed, rubbing his temples in frustration. Kirby relaxed slightly. "What do you think is going on down there?" She asked, eyes towards the main Alert screen. Sahara shrugged. "There are a number of reasons that the satellite could’ve shut off its connection to Facility C.." He placed his chin in his hands, thoughtful.

  "Someone on the inside would have to do this, someone with extreme knowledge of our surveillance screenings over the software." He paused, looking at the loading icon too. "Whatever's going on down there, we've been completely cut off...and it can't be good."

  -----

  Tundra finished his tale of the extraterrestrials, away from the curious ears of the other mercenaries. "So the thing in our storage bay came from space?" Tundra nodded. "And it may have the capability to create, how did you phrase it? Oh! That's right, super-clones." Tundra nodded again, more reluctantly. "Aaaand, you're basing your right to stay here with me on it?"

  Tundra dropped his face into his hands. "I can do it Chris, I'm positive of it.”

  Chris's face shadowed a bit. "Alright. Let's say you actually can do this. How long would it take?"

  "About...Ten years? It’ll take a while to figure out the language of the aliens, and even longer to figure out how to work the machinery."

  "No," Chris replied. "I'll give you seven years to make obedient clones. Alright? If I don't have them by then," he crossed his neck with his finger. "Bad things. Remember that this will be costing me a lot of time and money for something you’re not even sure you can do. I will be willing to help you, if you help me.”

  After a few more hours of silence and tension, it terminated with the ship slowing and lowering to the ground. Tundras’ stomach lurched as it happened, and he could feel his stomach rising up inside him. He forced it down. Would he embarrass himself among these hard men? Unlikely.

  When they landed, Tundra stepped out to find he was no longer in the daylight. The moon shone above him, and for once he felt extremely exhausted. A bright white light extended from a building in front of him, and he sheltered his eyes with his hand.

  The thing they called a base was basically a small hospital that had men marching in and out of the entrances, guns in hand. Tundra shivered. How had his brothers’ terrorist cell flourished so much?

  A forklift beeped behind him, a
nd he turned, watching as the forklift brought up The Ship, along with what he hoped was the cloning tech inside it. He was positive he could do it...mostly. It would mainly be understanding the alien symbols and characters, and then he could work it, with help. He thought back to when the terrorists had invaded the base. Screams and gunfire relayed in his mind and he questioned the morality of it…

  Tundra stopped, his face grim and determined. NO. he thought forcefully. Sahara brought this upon himself. He walked on, smiling, pointedly ignoring the screams continuing in his head.

  He sought out Chris, who was guiding the forklift driver into the building, which had a large opening in the side for trucks. Chris skimmed a page that a man holding a clipboard was holding, and he nodded, gesturing him to move on. He noticed Tundra walking toward him and stayed in place, grimly.

  "I will need and associate to help me," Tundra said, fear creeping from his chest into his words. He forced it down. Chris raised an eyebrow. You've been doing that a lot lately, Tundra noted in his brain. "What kind of associate?" Chris asked, muscled arms folded over each other.

  "I need someone who is an expert in nano-tech," he hesitated. "And neurology." Chris eyebrows went up in surprise. "Prosthetic Neurology?"

  Tundra nodded. "This'll be difficult," he said, grimacing. "Why do you need one?" Chris asked.

  Tundra shrugged. “Just do it. A good Neurologist will know the basics of an obedience chip that the Russians used.”

  Chris sighed and shrugged. "This had better work, Alex," he said as he stalked off. Tundra sighed. "Yeah, it better," he muttered as he too walked into the base.

  Examining the base itself, it was large and many windows peppered the walls of it, gun barrels sticking through the windows. Although it did look old, it was surprisingly very clean. Chris probably kept a tight ship.