Omega Rising Read online

  Climbing to his feet, he saw the AR-15, sans magazine, against the starboard wall of the cargo hold. Even as he was moving to retrieve the rifle he was scanning the room for the magazine that must have ejected on impact. It took him a few more minutes to find the black polymer magazine, and when he saw it he feared the worse; if it had broken he would be down to a single round in the chamber, and he was now half convinced he had gotten himself into a situation that he may have to shoot his way out of. Happily, the magazine appeared to have suffered no ill effects from the abuse save for some superficial scratches. Damn, Magpul makes some good shit. He slapped the mag back into the rifle and again felt ready to make some moves, even though his finger really fuckin' hurt.

  Jason's only priority at that point was to get out of the craft and make it back out of the area unseen. He has already gotten more than he bargained for during his ill-planned rescue attempt; he would clear the area and try again to alert the authorities. As he approached the rear doors he could tell something was different. When he first had entered there was the normal noises one would associate with that environment; air handlers, machinery humming and the occasional high pitched whine of a hydraulic accumulator charging. All these things were still present, but now there was a low pitched rumble that drowned out all the other sounds, and it wasn't the noise Jason would typically associate with turbine engines. Although a part of his mind was cataloguing all of these anomalies, he didn't let anything distract him from his goal. In this case his goal was the control panel mounted in a pedestal on the right side of the door that looked to be a likely location for the door/ramp controls.

  When he reached the pedestal that housed the control panel, that he assumed controlled the rear doors, he was brought up short . If he still had any doubts that this was an American aircraft, they were confirmed by the panel's display. The symbols on the screen were definitely written words, but it was not in any language Jason recognized. That wasn't necessarily saying a lot; he only spoke English. He tentatively touched the display to see what would happen. He was rewarded with the display turning red and a short blast from a klaxon-style horn. Some more odd script scrolled across the screen and then it went dark. Subsequent touches on the panel elicited no reaction. Awesome. Now what? He turned back to look at the front bulkhead to see what other options he might have.

  There were two doors in the forward bulkhead of the cargo bay. One was level with the deck and was large and very heavily built. The second door looked like the typical interior hatch you would see on a naval surface vessel; ovoid in shape and slightly inset into the bulkhead. It was directly over the first, larger door and accessible by a walkway and a staircase that ran down the port side of the cargo bay. The lower door looked well secured, but the upper door looked like a standard crew access hatch. With the same lack of thinking that had gotten him into the situation in the first place, he moved decisively towards the staircase and the upper access hatch.

  He stood before the hatch and couldn't find an obvious handle to open it. He did, however, see a large red, circular button. Doing what humans instinctually do when confronted with a large red button, Jason pressed it. Thankfully, the hatch simply slid aside into the wall recess giving Jason easy access to the interior of the craft. He peered into the doorway, rifle at the ready, but there was nothing to see but a dark passageway. Of course it has to be dark. He was beginning to be less and less comfortable about his situation, if that was even possible. Everything seemed... off. Even the act of walking had an odd feel to it.

  Remembering he had slipped his SureFire flashlight into his pocket, he grabbed it and lit up the area just beyond the hatch. It was rather anti-climactic; there was nothing but a short passage with a touchscreen control panel on the wall, displaying that same indecipherable language as in the cargo bay, and another entry hatch at the far end. As he crossed the threshold of the hatchway the flashlight slipped out of his hand and hit the deck. He froze instantly. That was definitely not right, there was a barely perceptible delay from when he expected the light to hit the floor and when it actually did.

  Frowning, he grabbed the charging handle of his rifle and cycled the action with the ejection port facing up. The 5.56x45mm cartridge flipped up and out of the rifle as it should, but seemed to take too long to hit the deck, and it flew further than he would have expected as well. What the hell is happening? He hopped lightly on the balls of his feet and he felt different, lighter. He again looked at the bizarre, alien language scrolling on the display to his right. His mind shied away from an obvious, yet absurd conclusion.

  He moved toward the second hatch, pausing to retrieve the ejected round and slip it into his pocket, and was relieved/horrified to find that the hatch automatically cycled to allow him further entry. An airlock? He gripped his rifle and moved forward with a determined scowl on his face, he desperately wanted off this ship (the word had automatically begun to replace "aircraft" in his mind) and get back to his cabin without being seen, he had the distinct feeling that no matter how noble his intentions were, his intrusion would likely be a punishable offense.

  As he traversed further into the ship's interior he noticed the unmistakable smell of burning avionics. He had been first on the scene at enough crashes to have the unique smell of burning wire, circuit boards, and composites permanently etched into his brain. The widening passageway he was in had a definite haze in the air that was visible in the low level lighting that looked to be some type of emergency lighting rather than a primary light source. Sighing at the inevitable, Jason pressed on, wondering when he would run into the first crew member of this ship. He was still clinging desperately to the belief that this was a heretofore unknown craft built in secret by a foreign nation that had happened to crash land in his backyard. But the evidence was mounting that this may not be the case; the technology evident here seemed far beyond anything he had ever heard of, and then there was the written language scattered throughout the interior. Maybe all that Area 51 bullshit was no joke.

  As the corridor ended Jason could see the interior was laid out around a large, open center area that looked to have some common spaces and what appeared to be computer terminals along the left side. The right side was dominated by what had to be the galley judging by the high-top metal table and sterile looking counters. There were additional hatches interspersed along the bulkheads and the center aisle he was standing on continued all the way forward to a wide staircase that led up into another darkened corridor, from which emanated a dim, red glow. After affirming that the large main area he was standing in was empty, Jason strode quickly for the stairs ahead of him. He was operating under the assumption that whoever built this thing also put the flight deck at the front. As he passed a lounge area he noted that the furniture looked like standard, Earthling furniture. That was somewhat comforting, but did little to stave off Jason's rising anxiety.

  Jason walked up the stairs with purpose, actually shouldering his weapon and making sure he was ready for anything, safety off. While he had no hostile intentions, he also had no desire to walk flat-footed and helpless into a bad situation. The corridor at the top of the stairs wasn't especially long or wide, but at the end he could make out the telltale sign of indicator lights and heard a soft muttering that he couldn't make out, punctuated by what he assumed were beeps from the instruments. He stalked forward on silent feet, ready for anything. He noted three rooms off the corridor, two to the left and one to the right, but they were unoccupied. That was as far as his investigation went, his goal was just in sight and he wouldn't be deterred by poking around in empty rooms.

  Flattening himself against the bulkhead at the threshold of the flight deck, Jason took a quick, cleansing breath and let it back out silently. In one fluid motion he rolled around the edge and brought his weapon to bear. The flight deck was enormous and was dominated by an incredible wrap-around canopy that blended with the contours of the ship, he noticed it was divided into four main sections. The view outside, however, riveted Jason
where he stood and sent his panic reflex into overdrive. Right outside, in all her glory, was the unmistakable sight of Saturn, up close and personal.

  "Oh shit!"

  That was all he got out before he noticed movement to his right. He whipped his head around and was face to face with... Is that a fucking robot!? The... thing... looked at him with an equally surprised expression. Its face looked like some sort of dull, burnished metal that flexed like skin and the eyes were oddly organic looking. That was as far as he got. The "robot" rolled its eyes (What the hell?!) and spoke to the ceiling in an unknown language, but the disdain in its voice was unmistakable. There was a bright flash and a burst of pain that felt like a taser strike all over his body. Darkness once again washed over him. His last thought was wondering what the incredibly loud CRACK! was he had heard just before his face impacted the deck.

  Chapter 3

  Aw damn, what the hell happened? I feel like a truck ran me over.

  Jason pried one eye open against the pain he felt everywhere. More pain. A bright, intense white light pierced through the cracked eyelid and rode the optic nerve straight to the pain center in his brain. He quickly slammed the eye shut, but now noticed the bright red glow as the overhead light shown through the skin of the lids. Still a trained warrior before anything else, he began to take stock of his injuries and situation before wasting time wondering where, exactly, he was. As best he could tell, the pain was generalized and intense, but not the result of a specific injury; he just hurt like hell everywhere. He could tell he was lying on his back on a fairly comfortable surface, and he was restrained. This last fact alarmed him greatly, although he did remember that he had stormed the flight deck, uninvited, brandishing a weapon. At this last thought his eyes popped open. Saturn. The robot. The written script throughout the ship.

  "I'm on an alien spaceship," he said aloud to nobody, or so he thought.

  "Actually, you're the alien in this case, and you're on my ship." Jason's heart nearly stopped at the voice. He craned his head to the left and down and saw the robot standing at the foot of the platform he was strapped to.

  "What?!" It was the best he could do as his brain struggled to keep up. Of all the questions he could have asked a being from another world, there was only one thing that he could think of. "How are you speaking English?" The robot's face morphed into an expression of incredulity, complete with a cocked brow. The expression was incredibly human.

  "You're strapped to an infirmary bed on a ship from another world while, presumably, being the first of your kind to lay eyes on the planet we're currently orbiting. That was the question that was most on your mind? Seriously?" The sarcasm that laced the voice told Jason he was not dealing with a simple automaton. The pain in his head increased as he simply couldn't keep his panic reflex under control. His heart rate began to climb quickly. Being restrained and, apparently, abducted was simply too much for his brain to process. So it didn't bother trying and he promptly fainted. The robot walked over to peer down at Jason. Looking at one of the displays on the wall, it shrugged and walked back out of the infirmary.

  The second time Jason awoke strapped to the same infirmary bed he felt much better, albeit still quite confused. He had no recollection of time, but it seemed like it had been at least twelve hours since he had first boarded the ship. Years of military training and experience had honed his internal chronometer to such a degree of accuracy that he never needed an alarm clock anymore, he simply decided when he would wake up and he would. Well, give or take a quarter of an hour or so. He concentrated on the passage of time. It distracted his mind from the reality of the situation, something he really didn't want to deal with just yet. Instead, he once again began to take a mental inventory of his body by systematically flexing muscle groups. He frowned. Maybe he'd been out far longer than he though, he couldn't detect so much as a strained muscle. In fact, he felt better than he had in years. When he finally moved it was to lift his head and look down at his body. As soon as he did he heard a "beep beep" and the restraints released and retracted into the base of the bed he was laying on. Interesting.

  He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Sitting there, he took in the room he found himself in. While intellectually he knew he must be aboard an alien spacecraft after seeing Saturn right outside and talking to what he assumed to be a robot, part of him still refused to deal with the enormity of it all. His trained operator's mind still insisted on thinking tactically rather than existentially.

  There!

  On a counter to his right was the intimately familiar buttstock of his AR-15. Maybe they don't know what it is? They. Even though he hadn't seen another animated soul other than the tin man on the flight deck, he had to assume that there was something... else... on board this ship. Aliens. Is this really happening? He stood slowly, half expecting an alarm to sound or a restraint to latch on to him. As soon as he stood his heart dropped. The rifle had been field stripped and its guts lay neatly organized across the metallic surface. The AR's parts were not alone, the rest of his possessions were also laid out in a similar fashion; his wallet, for example, had its contents in rows beside it.

  Displaying the same single-mindedness that had landed him in his current debacle, he strode over and began reassembling the weapon. Less than a minute later he was cycling the action to verify everything was back where it should be. When he grabbed the magazine he stopped, it weighed only a few ounces in his hand; empty. Damnit! Not as stupid as I'd hoped. Remembering something, he thrust his hand into the front pocket of his pants. Shit. They'd grabbed the loose round he had stuck in there as well. Even though it was now little more than a fancy looking club, he just couldn't leave the firearm behind. Sighing, he put the assembled weapon down and began collecting the rest of his stuff.

  The flashlight had been left unmolested and after a quick check to ensure it was functional he stuffed it into his pocket. He started putting everything back into his wallet when he paused at a worn photograph. Picking it up reverently, he gazed at the beautiful blond woman smiling back at him. She was wearing cutoff jean shorts and a black t-shirt, leaning over the open door of an older red Camaro, her eyes sparkling. He flipped it over and read the name written on the back, complete with a little heart drawn after it. He turned it over again and looked at the photo for a moment longer. Setting his jaw, he slipped the photo back into the back of his wallet and ignored the hollow ache in his chest.

  He walked towards the glass doors that looked much like the doors you would see leading into a supermarket on Earth. What the FUCK have I gotten myself into? Like their Earthling counterpart, the doors slid apart with an electric whine and he stepped through to find himself in the large common area he had traversed earlier on his way to the flight deck. Is it a flight deck, or a bridge? Eh, who gives a shit. Looking left, he saw the stairs that led up to the flight deck and walked towards them without hesitation. He deduced that if whoever owned this ship wanted him dead, he'd have been dead well before now, so he strode up the stairs with no regard given to stealth and walked with what he hoped was a confident swagger onto the flight deck again.

  "Oh excellent. You're up and about again. Any other brilliant questions you'd like to ask?" The robot's voice came from the front of flight deck near an access panel close to the enormous canopy.

  "My name is Jason Burke. May I ask why I'm here?" Jason felt being polite, yet direct was his best bet. The robot turned from the open panel and gave him an incredulous look.

  "You're here because you took upon yourself to board this ship and assault the bridge," the machine's voice mirrored the look on its face.

  Ah... so it is a bridge. And shit, I guess this is actually my fault.

  "I apologize for boarding your ship, but I wouldn't characterize it as an assault," Jason continued in a strong, but conciliatory tone. The robot stood with incredible speed and pointed to the access panel he had been working in.

  "No? Then what the hell is that?! You ran onto the bridge and sh
ot the nav sub-processor with that slug thrower of yours!" The level of emotion being displayed by the thing highly disturbed Jason for some reason. He lowered the rifle to the ground slowly and stood back up with his hands raised, palms down, in a placating gesture.

  "Maybe we should start over. Who are you, and where am I?" More than anything, Jason wanted this question answered. After that, he would see if he could convince the machine to take him home. As Jason spoke, the robot's posture relaxed and it walked with a fluid gait toward him. It stopped a pace away and leaned into him. Jason noticed that it looked to be about six foot tall as it peered at him. Again, he was startled by how life-like the eyes were.

  "Now see? Isn't that much more civilized than barging in and shooting up the bridge?" The being's sarcastic manner still had Jason out of sorts, so he simply nodded. Once he did, the thing broke into a huge, closed mouth smile. Jason maintained his gaze, locked onto it's eyes, despite the overwhelming urge to see just what the hell the thing had in its mouth. Was there a tongue? Teeth? If so, why? It continued, striding away from him with its hands clasped behind its back as it walked, "My name is Deetz. This ship is a Jepsen Aero DL7 heavy gunship. It's something of a rarity now as Jepsen is no longer building ships. Or anything for that matter." Deetz glanced Jason's way at that last part, "Long story. Anyway, she's small by most warship standards, but nearly indestructible. Gravimetric and thrust drives, plasma weapons and heavy particle beams as well as the normal compliment of lasers, missiles, disruptors, and countermeasures one would expect." Jason arched an eyebrow at the term "indestructible" as he looked around the bridge. In addition to the bullet hole he personally had added, the bridge appeared to have suffered some damage and perhaps a fire recently.