Burden of Sisyphus

air was soon filled with laser fire, as cadets spun in graceful arcs and turned into intense dives to gain a tactical advantage on their adversaries.

Slowly, one at a time, cadets were struck by their peers’ laser fire or slashing knives. Stiffening, they plummeted from view, diving stiffly toward the lake.

Keryn watched the stunning acrobatic dance above the lake for nearly thirty minutes until only three students remained, their flights becoming little more than a blur. Not needing to see any more, she flicked off the console, and the room was again enveloped in the dark gloom of night.

Though temporarily blinded, she remained seated at her desk.

“I am so screwed,” she said into the darkness.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“We’ve established a steady orbit around Purseus II,” the pilot called back to the crew cabin of the transport ship.

“Roger that,” Vance yelled back, trying to be heard over the low din of the humming engines. Looking out the open back bay, he watched two other Cair class transports starting their engines and activated his radio before continuing. “Halo, are you online?”

“I’m here, Michael,” she said, transferring her voice communications to the covert operation team’s channel. “I’m bringing satellite tracking online now.”

“Let me know when you have a visual for our descent,” he said into the microphone hanging before his face. Like the rest of the soldiers crammed into the rear of the transport ship, Vance wore the dark-plated armor more typical of infantry than covert operations. It sat uncomfortably on his shoulders, as it did the rest of his team. Still having a bad feeling about the mission, he wasn’t willing to take any chances. Though it was uncomfortable, body armor was capable of stopping a direct shot from most Terran weapon systems.

“Imagery is now online,” Halo finally said. “I’m ready when you are.”

“Roger that, Halo.” Vance pulled the mike away from his mouth to yell to the seated soldiers, “We’re starting our drop in five minutes. Make sure you’re securely locked into your seats. It’ll be a bumpy ride through the atmosphere. Check your buddy, too. I need all of you healthy when we hit the ground.”

He motioned Dallis and Decker to join him near the cockpit. “Are your men ready to go?”

“The Black Talons were born ready,” Dallis said with a smile.

“I’ve double-checked their equipment and basic loads myself,” Decker said flatly, sharing a knowing glance with Vance. Neither Pilgrim felt confident since the mission briefing. “We have enough ammunition onboard to stop a small army.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” Vance patted their shoulders and moved toward the cockpit. “Looks like we’re ready to start our drop,” he told the pilot. “Let me know when we break through the atmosphere. I want to get eyes on the city before we land.”

“Yes, Sir,” both pilots replied.

Vance went back to strap himself into a webbed seat.

The meager light flooding through the rear door of the transport ship began to disappear, as the heavy door slowly slid closed. With the last sliver of light finally gone, the interior of the ship rumbled, as it lifted off the floor of the hangar bay. Sitting sideways, all the soldiers were thrown against each other, as the ship accelerated quickly to launch free of the Goliath. The ship settled in the frictionless space, and the noise died to a low hum. Vance was able to unlatch from his seat and stand to address the soldiers.

“Listen up!” he called. “You’ve all received the intelligence brief containing everything we know. As you’re aware, that’s very little. That means I expect every one of you to be vigilant once we’re on the ground. Take nothing for granted. If it seems wrong, it probably is, and there’s a chance it’ll kill you. Everyone onboard this ship will be located with my team, which means I’m relying on you to watch our backs. Do you understand me?”

“Sir, yes, Sir!” they called.

Vance smiled, having forgotten the rigid discipline enforced among the infantry. It was very different from his own team’s behavior, many of whom ignored his speech.

“We’ve got just under an hour until we hit the atmosphere around Purseus II. Take this time to do one final check of all your gear and ammunition. We won’t have time for combat checks once we’re on the surface.”

Vance sat and closed his eyes, beginning the ritual he started years earlier. He slowed his breathing, letting himself drift into a meditative state. His heart rate slowed, and the nervousness he felt fled. On the planet, no one needed a commander too stressed or worried to make timely, correct decisions. Lives hung in the delicate balance based on the decisions he made during the mission. He wouldn’t let people die, because he made the wrong one.

A few seats down, Yen started intently at his open palm on his knee. The heat within the cabin grew, as the air shimmered. In his open palm, blue light coalesced, illuminating the dark cabin. Yen’s eyes narrowed, as the blue light grew, elongating from a single point into a blue tendril that waved in the recirculated air. Sweat beaded his forehead, as he tried to maintain control over the manifestation of his psychic energy, but the tendril wavered unsteadily while they watched. Though he strained to keep it together, it quickly broke apart, dissipating like sand in a strong wind.

Once again, the cabin was cast into gloom. Yen cursed, as Eza leaned toward him.

“Close, Yen,” Eza said, his eyes readjusting to the darkness.

“What was that?” a voice called from across the narrow aisle.

They looked up and saw an infantry soldier watching, his face hidden behind a thick, black helmet.

“Just trying an experiment,” Yen replied, looking at his empty palm. “One that really isn’t working out too well so far.”

“You’re the psychic, right?”

Yen cocked an eyebrow at him. “And you are?”

“Roberts. I’d shake your hand, but I’m kind of strapped in place right now.” He reached up to remove his helmet, letting his flowing silver hair cascade around his face. Yellow and green Wyndgaart tattoos glistened against his sweaty skin-a drawback of wearing so much protective equipment.

“Look, Eza.” Yen elbowed his friend. “It’s another one of you.”

Eza smiled at Roberts. “There’s no one else like me.”

Roberts, to his credit, changed the subject. “So what were you trying to do?”

Yen shrugged. “I’m trying to do more with my abilities than minor telepathy and telekinesis. I’m trying to manifest my powers as a physical weapon.”

“He’s jealous,” Eza chided, “that he doesn’t get to get physical with the Terrans like I do.”

Yen elbowed him harder. “Maybe it’s true, but, if I get it to work, I’ll have a weapon at my command any time I require one. Imagine carrying a psychic whip capable of passing through armor and disrupting a Terran’s nervous system when it strikes. Think about how much stronger I’d be if I could wield that!”

Roberts recognized the lust in Yen’s eyes. That look was very familiar to the savage warriors of Wyndgaart. “Sounds impressive, but it’ll never replace the cold steel of a strong knife.” He unsheathed an eighteen-inch blade from his hip, flipping the well-balanced metal in his hand.

“A knife?” Eza asked. “Why carry a knife when you can carry a man’s weapon?” He pulled a curved ax from its sheath on his leg. “This is what a real man carries.”

Eza’s ribbing began a litany of arguments between the two Wyndgaarts about the benefits of their respective weapons. The conversation eventually turned to discussion of their home world and the lives they left behind when they joined the Alliance military. Their talk filled the rest of the house until the intercom sounded, notifying them that they were preparing to enter the atmosphere of Purseus II.

“If you aren’t already strapped in,” the pilot said, “you may want to do so now. The onboard inhibitors will be able to absorb only part of the shock when we hit friction.”

Yen turned to Eza. “Give them up.” He held out his hand.

Grumbling, Eza struggled to pull his ID tags over his head. He begrudgingly dropped his set into Yen’s hand, while Yen handed his own tags to Eza.