Space Corps Retribution Read online

  Space Corps

  Retribution

  K. D. Mattis

  Contents

  Copyright

  Also by K. D. Mattis

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Coming Soon from K. D. Mattis

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2018 K. D. Mattis

  All rights reserved.

  This novel is a work of fiction. All characters, places, and incidents described in this publication are used factiously, or are entirely fictional.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted, in any form or by any means, except by an authorized retailer, or with written permission of the publisher. Inquiries may be addressed via email to [email protected]

  Cover design by Rob Erto

  Electronic edition, 2018

  Print edition, 2018

  If you would like to be notified of future releases from K. D. Mattis and receive notice of promotions and discounts, please visit kdmattis.com/sign-up.

  Also by K. D. Mattis

  The Space Corps Series

  Book 1: Revelation

  Book 2: Symbiant

  Book 3: Retribution

  1

  Artificial sunlight poured through a set of cheap, vinyl blinds, lighting up the room. No matter how many times he turned and adjusted his body, a distinct pressure emanated from his bladder that he simply couldn’t ignore. Ryan Gibbs pressed a button beside the bed and waited for the tonal beep.

  “Yes, Commander?” said a distorted voice through the speaker.

  Gibbs groaned as he pushed against the bed and forced himself into a sitting position. Doing so increased the pressure on his bladder, so he surrendered to gravity and fell back heavily onto his pillow.

  “I need to use the restroom.”

  “Right away, sir.”

  Moments later, a woman in a light blue uniform hurried in with a wheelchair, clipboard under her arm. The wheels rolled smoothly, except for the one on the front right, which wobbled and squeaked incessantly. The commander winced at the noise, turned to the window, and winced at the light.

  “Having a good morning, Commander Gibbs?”

  The commander grunted and rolled over to the edge of the bed. He managed to move his legs a bit, but he couldn’t muster enough force to swing them over toward the ground. After positioning his body a few times for leverage, he gave up and looked to the nurse. She took the hint and grabbed his legs, manipulating them into the right position. She then moved the wheelchair beside the bed and placed her shoulder under the commander’s arm.

  “Ready?” she asked.

  Gibbs nodded and pushed off as best he could. He succeeded and hovered over the edge of the bed. His feet danced below him, trying to grab hold on the ground. As much as he tried, he couldn’t feel enough to tell when they were in a position to hold him, so he shifted his weight back onto the nurse to avoid falling. She struggled to breathe under the additional load, but she didn’t complain as she eased the commander into the wheelchair.

  He nodded his thanks and rotated the wheels. With a few quick flicks of his wrists, his chair shot out the communal room and down the hall to the bathroom. He pushed his way in and came out a few minutes later with a look of contentment over his face.

  “Better?” the nurse asked.

  Once more, Gibbs smiled and nodded before wheeling himself to the cafeteria.

  “I think you’ll agree that it’s pretty amazing,” Wilson said. His enthusiasm carried him down the hall so quickly that he left his companion behind. Only when he didn’t hear the burdened breathing beside him did he realize the mistake. He turned on his heel and returned to his companion without a word.

  Gibbs couldn’t stop his hands from trembling. He stuck out the cane and pulled himself forward, using it to carry some of the burden of his weight. With every step, he grimaced, but he didn’t complain.

  “Doctor,” Gibbs said, “I know it’s early. Probably too early to tell, but has there been any progress in determining why he’s improving so quickly?”

  The doctor smiled and shook his head, watching the commander’s feet and attempting to match pace. “Not yet. There are theories, but the lab works slowly. With only one patient, we don’t have much to compare him to. Blood samples, stimuli tests. I’m sure it all looks pretty banal from the outside, but for me, it’s incredible.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, think about it, Commander. How often do we have to deal with a patient in recovery, like you, to whom we can only say it takes time? It’s frustrating for you, I’m sure, and there’s a real risk of demoralization with the kinds of timelines we see. If we can improve recovery time, we’d see improvements across the board, particularly in quality of life in the short term. Mental health matters.”

  Dr. Wilson grabbed at his badge and stuck it out to a sensor on the wall, opening a door. He and the commander turned inside and continued down another corridor.

  “We can’t go much further because of the quarantine, but I want you to see this. It’s incredible.”

  The pair continued to a large pane of frosted glass. The doctor flipped a switch, and the glass became clear. They looked through to see Robert Harris on the other side. He pumped his arms and held his head high while running on a treadmill.

  Several tubes ran from a machine to a mask covering Harris’s mouth and nose. His eyes stared straight forward to the wall. An attendant in the room took a few notes on a tablet before reaching over and increasing the speed. Harris took the change in stride and picked up the pace. After a few minutes, the attendant made more notes and slowed the treadmill to a stop.

  They couldn’t hear what was being said in the room, but Gibbs and the doctor watched as Harris removed his mask and stared cautiously at the attendant.

  “I’m surprised. He seems so eager,” Gibbs said.

  “That he does. He’s been like that since he got here. No matter what we ask of him, no matter how impossible it may seem, he jumps in and does it. His therapist expressed concerns early on that he was pushing himself too hard. It took a while for them to see that this wasn’t just a case of a soldier refusing to accept his limitations. He really doesn’t seem to have any.”

  “Doctor, maybe you can’t answer this, but—”

  “About the patient?” Dr. Wilson asked. “This isn’t a civilian facility, Commander. From a legal standpoint, Harris isn’t even a patient. He’s an experiment.”

  “I see,” Gibbs whispered. He turned to his friend behind the glass. “He spoke to himself. Well, not exactly to himself. It looked like he was talking to someone else. Like someone else was in his head and he could have a real conversation with that person. Is that still happening?”

  The doctor shook his head. “Not that we’v
e seen. If he’s experiencing hallucinations, he’s suppressing them or just ignoring them.”

  For the first time in weeks, Gibbs woke up before his alarm clock or his bladder had any say in the matter. Even the artificial lights behind the fake window had yet to kick on. He lay there for a moment with his hands resting across his chest. A glimmer of light from beneath the door lit up the room just enough for him to make out his surroundings. He focused on the textures of the wall above him. As he stared, he imagined a series of pictures. In one corner, he saw a depressed man sitting awkwardly in a chair. Directly above him, he saw a mountain range with a river running through the center.

  Gibbs sighed.

  Forcing himself into a seated position, he ran his hands down his legs. He felt the touch, but he couldn’t feel the warmth of his hands. As he massaged his legs, the muscle fibers twitched, but he could barely feel the change in pressure as he squeezed. Finally, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and let them dangle.

  The button beside the bed called to him, reminding him how easy it would be to hit the red button and make a request for a wheelchair. With a grimace, he pushed the idea out of his head and eased himself onto his feet. Once firmly planted, he ignored the shaking in his legs and gritted his teeth before pushing off.

  For a moment, he didn’t know if his body would stop the forward motion. He swung his arms out to the side and moved them in a circle until he looked down, triumphant. With a few shaky steps, he walked out the door.

  A nurse in the hall recognized the commander. Startled, she pushed her cart against the wall and ran to his side. The commander forced a smile and waved her away while using every ounce of his remaining focus to keep taking the next step.

  “I’m here if you need me,” the nurse called out with joy in her voice, staying in place as she watched.

  The commander pushed his hand back and stuck his thumb up to show his appreciation. A few more minutes of quiet struggle between himself and his doubts took him to his target: the bathroom.

  2

  Gibbs studied the man on the other side of the glass. His eyes ran over every feature and every blemish. With each word, Gibbs studied the man’s expressions more, hoping to realize the truth of what sat one room over.

  The door creaked open and slammed into the wall. Admiral Kayla Asher burst in with an arm full of files and a tablet, which she immediately dropped onto the table. She kicked the door closed behind her.

  She picked up the top file as she slid a chair out from the table. Her eyes darted across the page, and her expression changed from excited to bored as she read. Gibbs cleared his throat and the admiral paused. She looked at him over the top of the report, and her eyes creased with a genuine smile.

  “It’s good to see you up and about. They told me you’d get up when you were ready. What makes today special?”

  Gibbs looked down and frowned, suddenly conscious of the contrast between his hospital gown and the admiral’s uniform.

  “The last time you talked, you said we had work to do. It didn’t make sense to keep you waiting.” Gibbs forced a smile as he said the words.

  “Good,” Asher said. “I could use your insight.” Her eyes diverted to the person in the other room, visible through the glass. “We have a few dozen people infected with Symbiants. They’ve all been brought here under guard.”

  Motioning to the prisoner, Gibbs said, “He doesn’t look like he’s all there.”

  “A lot of them are like that. We hope it’s temporary due to the loss of the alien signal, but there’s no way of knowing. Others are completely lucid.”

  “Like Harris?”

  “Like Harris. Now there’s a study in the unusual,” Asher said.

  A loud buzz happened in the other room. Asher and Gibbs listened through a speaker. A moment later, a guard opened the door and allowed a doctor to step in. The woman took the seat opposite the prisoner and sat down before placing a tablet on the table between them.

  “Do you know where you are?” the doctor asked.

  The patient continued staring at the metal tabletop with his mouth hanging open.

  “I repeat, do you know where you are?” the doctor asked again, raising her voice slightly.

  The man tilted his head to the side. “Yeah.”

  “And do you know why you’re here?”

  “You want to know what’s wrong with me.”

  “In a manner of speaking, that’s correct.” The doctor paused and looked the patient over. “You were scanned and found to have an alien device implanted in your head. Do you remember when and how that happened?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Would you please elaborate?”

  Shifting his weight, the man examined the room around him with half-closed eyes.

  “He looks like he’s on some kind of drug,” Gibbs said.

  The admiral nodded in agreement. She placed the file down in front of her and rested her hands over it.

  The patient lifted his body and tried to stand, only to find his hands and feet restrained.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” the doctor said. “You’re secure and safe from the aliens. Their signal, the one that controlled you, is gone. We need to know when and how they put the device in your head.”

  Dropping back into his chair, the man leaned forward on his elbows. “I went out. I had a few drinks, and this man came up to me. He handed me something. I don’t know what. The next thing I knew, it was gone.”

  “Can you describe the item?”

  The man shook his head. “It was green. Kind of slimy. I don’t remember anything else about it. It made me feel funny. I thought it was laced with a drug that absorbed through the skin. In a way, I guess I was right.”

  The more he talked, the more lucid the man appeared. His eyes widened, and his postured improved.

  “I don’t know what it was.” He looked up at the lights to focus, collecting his thoughts. “After that, the man walked away. I wanted to follow him and ask him about it, but I couldn’t move.”

  “Why is that?” the doctor asked, her tone still flat and soothing.

  “I don’t know. Something told me not to.”

  “As in something used words and told you not to?”

  “No.” The man shook his head and looked into his palm. He tugged lightly against the handcuffs holding him to the table and placed his hand back down. “It was a feeling. A thought. The more I wanted to talk to the man, the worse the feeling became until it started to hurt. Not physically, but not not physically either. You know how it feels when you’re about to get a migraine and your body just doesn’t feel right?”

  The doctor nodded while she made notes on her tablet. “And did you inform your commanding officer about the incident?”

  “I couldn’t. It wouldn’t let me.”

  Back and forth the pair went, discussing various aspects of the Symbiant. What it felt like, how it controlled its host, and what the plan was. Every question brought out remorse and anger on the man’s face. She sat back in her chair for the final question.

  “The Symbiant is still inside you. Does it still communicate with you?

  Cocking his head, the man considered the question carefully before answering. “Does my answer matter? If it is still in control, it could make me say whatever it wants. It could tell you it isn’t in control or that it is. Whatever it wants. I’m not even sure I’d know if I was telling the truth.”

  Asher turned to Gibbs. “Any other questions?”

  The commander declined and focused on the man in the room. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t find any signs of insincerity in the man’s voice or actions.

  The doctor made a few more notes on her tablet before standing to leave. She gathered her things and walked out without saying goodbye. A lab technician that sat down and instructed the man to show his wrists. The prisoner turned his wrists up toward the ceiling, and the technician readied a rubber band, a cotton ball, and a needle. He slid the needle into the ma
n’s skin and started drawing blood.

  “Can you talk to me?” the prisoner asked.

  The technician pulled off the first vial of blood and replaced it with an empty container before placing a label on the vial with the blood.

  “Sure. What’s on your mind?”

  “How long am I going locked up like this?”

  “I’m not sure. It’s up to the doctors. You have to understand that this is a delicate situation.”

  “Can you get it out of me?” the prisoner asked.

  The technician laughed, but immediately stopped when he didn’t hear the prisoner join in. “I just draw blood.”

  Every drop of blood received the full focus of the technician. He held every vial up to the light and gave it a quick shake, studying the contents that splashed against the inside of the container. Each time, he put the vial into a padded box.

  When the technician left the room, the man in the chair pulled against his restraints, testing their limits. Each pull against the restraints came stronger and faster than the last. The metal of the handcuffs bit into his skin, marking him with deep impressions. He continued to pull, and the handcuffs responded in kind by slowly tearing at his skin. The pain didn’t seem to register, and the prisoner ripped back even harder.

  “What the—”

  Before Gibbs could finish his sentence, Asher rushed across the room and hit a red button. An alarm sounded on the other side of the wall, and two guards charged in with respirators covering their faces. They first tried to calm the man by speaking slowly and placing hands on his shoulders to establish a human connection. The firm and reassuring hands did nothing but drive the man’s fury.