Thomas Bennet

Location Unknown

(?PM/?AM)

I awoke sometime later to the screech of brakes that severely needed a fresh oil dousing. I tried to push myself off the cold, metallic floor I was laid out on, and a metallic jingling every time I moved my hands caused a rush of panic. It didn't help that a black burlap bag was over my head, either.

"Oh, this is just fucking great," I moaned. My head started throbbing where the rifle hit me during the blackout.

"¡Silencio, gringo!" someone shouted.

"¡Oye, cuate, tranquilo!" I heard Jairo protest, followed by the sound of a tussle.

The next thing I knew, I was pulled up to my feet and then roughly shoved to the ground, again. I tried my best to roll away from my injured side but landed on it anyway, biting my tongue in the process, only to be forced back onto my feet and roughly having the sack pulled over my head off my face.

My heart sank the second I saw the masked visage of a Verdugo shock trooper glaring daggers at me. Kitted out in all-black gear and silhouetted in the moonlight, this man looked like an avatar of death.

I didn't know what to do or say, so I just stared. It would have been nice if I had some kind of weapon on me to defend myself. He looked confused before grabbing my shoulder and leading me to the rest of the group.

As I regained my orientation, I took note of who all was present. Jairo was seated on a nearby rock, looking up at the night sky. Isobel stood by what appeared to be an old Soviet BDRM-like armored vehicle, collecting her files that the Verdugo had just tossed inside the vehicle. There were a few regular sicarios, a handful of what appeared to be captains, and a whole load of Verdugo. We were all positioned outside what seemed to be an improvised airfield, with the landing strip lights barely visible through the tree line.

I couldn't tell where we were, but quite some time had passed since I was knocked out. It was long enough for the sun to set and for the vehicle to stop in a forest. That didn't really give me much to go on, but there weren't many areas that the cartel could drive through openly. With the forest as thick as it was and the heavy layer of fog forming on the lenses of my glasses, I figured we'd probably retreated to Chiapas.

"Oye, Ben," Jairo said as he hopped to his feet. "How are you holdin' up?"

"My head's pounding." I groaned, struggling against my handcuffs. "What the hell is up with the handcuffs."

"Apparently you swung at one of the Verdugo guys during the blackout. Gave them quite the scare."

"I did?"

I had no memory of the incident. All I could remember was the lights going out and the back of my head being introduced to a carbon-fiber gunstock.

"We'll get your head checked out when we get to the island," Jairo assured, tapping the side of his head with a dopey grin. "Can't have a tech boy without a working brain, eh?"

"How's about my gut? I can still feel summa of that shrapnel shit around there…" grumbled, shifting my weight left to ease up the pressure around the wound.

"You'll be fine,Yanqui." Isobel hissed quietly as she strode over to us, trying to maintain her dominating air. She was still as nerve-wracked as she was when we were at the hide-out. "The doctors did a sufficient enough job given the circumstances."

"Just sayin', a second opinion could save a life," I shrugged. "So where in God's name are we, exactly?"

"No idea, cuate." Jairo shrugged, resting his hands on his head. "I think Chiapas, but maybe a bit further east?"

"We're all the way in frickin' Guatemala?" I whispered.

Again, Jairo shrugged, gesturing to the vehicle I was just dragged out of. He specifically motioned, rather sarcastically, to the lack of windows on the extended passenger cab of the vehicle. That did make it challenging to keep track of where we were.

I looked around at the Verdugo troops and regular cartel as they milled about the jungle. They seemed to be bored, impatient, angry, or a mixture of it all—the joys of waiting for an airplane. Unfortunately, there weren't any overpriced fast food joints or novelty shops for them to lounge around in.

My train of thought was broken when someone grabbed my arm from behind. My first instinct was to push away and try and kick my apparent opponent, but I stopped mid-turn when I realized it was only Jairo with a lockpicking kit.

"Jesus, man, say something," I hissed. "What're you doin' with those lockpicks?"

"Getting you out of these handcuffs," he grunted. "Now hold still."

He turned me back around and began fiddling with the locks. From what I could tell, my handcuffs were standard law enforcement. They were tough, but not so much that someone with enough skill couldn't manage.

"Genuine question, why are handcuffs called 'esposas'?"

"¿Que?"

"Why are handcuffs called 'esposas'?" I repeated.

"How the fuck am I supposed to know, I just speak the language!"

"Like, isn't esposas the word for wife?"

"That 's esposa, cabrón."

"But if a pair of handcuffs is par de esposas, then what's a pair of wives…?"

Jairo paused for a second, pondering the question I posed to him.

"Mierda…" he whispered, his movements becoming more rough as he fiddled with the lock. There was a satisfying click as the pressure around my wrists slid off.

I took a moment to roll my shoulders and flex my wrists to loosen up the tightness that had developed during my restraint. The burning sensation down my back slowly faded as I sighed in relief.

"We're not going to get in trouble if I don't have the cuffs on, are we?" I asked with a cocked brow, turning to Jairo.

"I don't think the Verdugo guys'll care unless you make a break for it," Jairo said as he stood back up, twirling the handcuffs around his index finger. "Though your lack of tats might be an issue when we get to the island."

He tapped my arm and pointed up and down the length of it. He then rolled up his sleeves, showing his own tattoos. He then gestured to the other sicarios around us, who were all covered in ink.

I sighed and rubbed my temples in annoyance. I already had an aversion to needles and the thought of a questionably sanitized needle putting ink under my skin made me nauseous.

"Do I really gotta get inked up?" I questioned.

"Unfortunately, yes," Isobel cut in, smacking Jairo upside the head. "¿En qué estabas pensando, quitándole las esposas así?"

"El Verdugo no parce importarle." Jairo said, gesturing his hands to me and the nearest Verdugo operator. The operator glanced at me, then Jairo.

"¿Se necesitas?" he asked Jairo.

"Nah, guey," Jairo said, beaming nervously. "Solo estoy explicando que tú y mi amigo aquí están unidos."

"Esta bien."

He turned back to me, blowing a long huff of air as he grimaced.

"So when's our ride supposed to pull up?" I asked as I nodded to the airfield in the treeline.

"No idea." Jairo repeated with a hiss. He gestured to all the other narcos around us. "We just got here. Why don't you ask the others?"

"Because I don't know them." I snarked.

"Okay, fair enough. I don't know them either."

We shrugged to each other and I turned around, trying to find something resembling an ATC unit, a radar unit, some radios, anything.

Instead my eyes were met with an endless darkness matched only by being matched to the rural South, with trees stretching for miles around and the only visible light produced by the assembled handful of vehicles and the flares marking the landing strip.

The cartel had boxes precariously stacked all over the place: around trees, under tents, and very frequently out in the open. The U.S. could easily strike this little encampment with a drone thanks to how poorly organized it was. Luckily for the cartel, the coalition was too focused on central and north Mexico to send any kind of ordinance this far south.

I jumped a bit as a nearby Verdugo operator's radio came to life, someone shouting indistinctly over the airwaves. It wasn't this singular operator either, I could hear about five other radios echoing the same garbled message.

"¡Escuchen! ¡El vuelo para el personal esencial llega en cinco minutos, el vuelo para el personal de seguridad llega en veinte! ¡Reúnanse en sus respectivos puestos!"

I turned back to Jairo and noticed his face twisting into an expression of annoyance. Apparently he hadn't taken into account the inefficiency of the cartel's logistics, especially now that the U.S. was now actively engaging them in open warfare.

"Hey man, looks like this is the last we'll see of each other for a hot minute," I said, reaching out for a fist bump. "Hit me up when you get to the island. We'll hang."

"Sounds like fun, cuate," Jairo nodded as he bumped my fist. "When you touch down, look up Benicio in Mosgué. He'll fix you up with some tats."

"Aight man, hasta luego."

I gave him a slight smirk as I passed him to join Isobel and what seemed to be some white collar workers standing under a tent. Verdugo flanked the boarders on either side, frisking them for contraband and waving metal detectors over them.

I stood beside Isobel and waited for them to frisk me as well. I did not have much of anything on my person, maybe a watch and a couple of peso notes in my wallet, but nothing that would be otherwise suspicious to even the most astute observer. Verdugo was perhaps a bit too astute.

I lifted my arms as instructed by the operator as he approached me with the metal detector. All was going well until he reached my abdomen. The metal detector screeched as it passed over my shrapnel wound. I looked down at the operator and he looked up at me, waiting for instruction.

Without warning, he began running over the injured area trying to find a weapon that wasn't there. Even when I winced in discomfort, he kept at it. He motioned to one of his comrades to come over, whispering to him as he waved the metal detector over the injury again.

"Levante tu camisa," the Verdugo with the metal detector hissed.

"What?"

"Lift you shirt, dumbass." he snarled, flicking the area he had been alerting and causing me to wince again in pain. "¿Ver lo que quiero decir? Se estremece cada vez que presiono esa área."

"Cálmate, Quince." his buddy snorted. "No quiero activarlo si es una bomba!''

"¿Bomba?" I cocked my brow in visible disbelief as I slowly lifted my shirt. "No, señor. We got hit- golpeado por un artillería de proyectil que se alejaba de Veracruz."

"Tu Español es un meirda, gringo." Quince spat as he watched me. "'Stick to English.''

I shot him an annoyed glare, one which he returned before his eyes drifted back to the area in question. His eyes widened a bit as he saw the bandages wrapped around my waist. He turned to his partner, who nodded as he looked the bloodied gauze over.

"Who patched you up?" Quince's partner asked calmly.

"The guys at the hideout. I was deemed less important than all the wounded sicarios y'alll were rollin' in." I explained. "The doc said he got most of the shrapnel out."

"Well, that doctor was a lying piece of shit," Quince cut in.

I tilted my head in mock surprise, as if Quince hadn't said the quiet part out loud. He gave me a quiet glare before punching me on my injured side. I doubled over, doing my best to hold my tongue as the burning sensation spread like wildfire up to my chest.

"Get him some aspirin, some water, and some from fresh bandages, and then call the med team at the airport." Quince ordered his partner. "We're going to get you a doctor who actually gives a shit about his job."

I wasn't keen to trust a man whose unit was directly tied to one of the worst massacres in recent history with my life, but I wasn't exactly in any position to argue. I sat and waited for them to return.

As I waited, I could hear the distant hum of an aircraft propeller getting closer. It was far quieter than I expected, something more akin to a loud desk fan than a commercial-grade turboprop. I followed the hum over my shoulder towards the source of the hum and noticed a light getting ever closer to the strip.

I could just barely make out the silhouette of a SAAB 340 in the moonlight before it dipped beneath the treeline behind us. Not exactly what you'd expect to find in the inventory of a militant drug cartel, but definitely worth the cost.

Quince returned just as the Verdugo began allowing the other passengers to board, roughly jamming a bottle of water and a pill into my hands as his hand drifted towards the knife tucked under the strap of his chest rig. I knew he intended to cut away the old bandages but his slow, methodical aggression in how he drew his blade made him look more like a serial killer than a soldier performing field surgery. Well, more changing out my bandages.

As he cut away at the gauze, I popped the pill and took a swig of water. It was lukewarm, but refreshing. I couldn't recall the last time I had something to drink since Veracruz, but it certainly wasn't worth the vaguely chloroxed aftertaste. I shuddered and tried to get the taste off my palate as fast as possible.

"Jesus fuck…" I grunted, my face still scrunched in disgust.

"So what's your story, gringo? CIA? DEA?" Quince asked. "Or just desperate?"

"The hell are you on about?" I asked.

"There's no way in hell a gringo just got up and joined the cartel of his own free will."

"No, I joined EnlaceSur, not some cartel. Though I should have expected y'all were rubbin' elbows based on where Enlace was based out of."

"So, tu es estupido?"

"Eat a dick."

"I'll chop yours off before I do." Quince snapped, pressing the tip of his knife against my thigh.

"¡Quince, dejáte de tonterías!" his hissed. "Gringo, lift your arms for me."

I did as requested and decided to flip the conversation back to Quince.

"So what's your story?" I pressed. "Quince isn't a normal name. Your parents lose track of how many kids they had and started numbering you guys?"

"My name is Quince, and that's all you need to know."

"You Verdugo guys ex-military or just really good at fighting?"

"What's it to you?"

"Just curious." I replied smugly. "You press me, I press you."

"You've heard the phrase, 'curiosity killed the cat,' yes?"

"Quince…" his buddy hissed, nodding to someone behind me as he wrapped a fresh bandage on my wounds.

I peeked over my shoulder to see Isobel staring us down from the tents. I'd been given the evil eye by many women throughout my life but nothing like the one she was giving the three of us. The hot, humid air around us seemed to rapidly chill the longer she stared at us.

"The pilot gave us two minutes," Isobel growled. "Hurry up, Mr. Bennet."

I turned back to Quince and tilted my head down and to the right, giving him a smug look. He gave me a blank stare and lifted his knife to eye level.

"You keep running your mouth, chico, and no one will ever find your body," Quince hissed, tapping the tip of his blade against my chest.

"With the way Ms. Isobel is staring us down, I think you might be joining me on that missing persons list." I shot back as I stood. "Best not to keep her waiting."

I dropped my shirt back down over the fresh bandages as I joined my employer on the path towards the aircraft. Her eyes didn't leave the two Verdugo opeq rators until we had made it past the treeline and she remained silent the whole way to the plane.

I smirked a bit as I looked the plane over, the sight of it confirming what I had suspected. It was indeed a SAAB regional liner, decked out with the Ferriera Foundation logo on its tail and a sleek white paint that bounced the moonlight like a mirror. Its turboprops had been replaced with what appeared to be some sleek Skelltech electric prototype. Aside from the ostensible war crime I was about to board, nothing else stood out to me.

Just as I took the first step onto the plane, I caught a glimpse of something moving around in my peripheral. I glanced to my right and noticed something fluttering by the side of the air strip, kicked up by the breeze created by the plane's propellers. I could vaguely make out the silhouette of something rectangular against the red glare of the flare used to mark the runway, the light bending and distorting strangely around the object. The cartel was using optical camouflage to conceal something on the airfield.

I climbed into my window seat and stared out where the concealed object sat, watching the flapping of the camouflage tarp become more agitated as the plane's engines began notching to full power. Whatever was under that tarp must have been of extreme value to the cartel if they were willing to use such an expensive, experimental technology to conceal it. My eyes followed the object as the plane taxied for take off. The tarp began to flail about violently, giving me the briefest glimpses of something within the cage it was masking. Knowing the cartel, it could have been anything: humans, exotic animals, material goods.

My heart dropped when I saw the red eyes looking back at me.

I've seen plenty of eyes stare at me in the dark: dogs, cats, deer. These were not the eyes of something born of Earth. They were a deep red color only accentuated by the light of the flares.

The plane lurched back as it began to climb higher and higher away from the air field, the eyes getting smaller and smaller as the strip faded into a distant red blot in a sea of deep black. For the moment, I thought I was free of the eyes. Yet the further we got away from the strip, the more my mind wandered back to those unblinking, red eyes.

I wasn't normally the anxious type but the mere mental image of what creature could have possibly possessed eyes like that. None of them were pleasant, to say the least.

Now was not the time to worry about such things I told myself. I had a new job tomorrow and that was stressful enough.

3

Olvr-Kul-Gizeks

Earth's stratosphere, descending onto an island in the Caribbean

2 AM

I watched as the sea of stars faded into heavy clouds, a bolt of lightning lashing its way across the sky before me. Atmospheric entries were always eventful, whether it be turbulence, clear skies, or storms like the ones we encountered.Thankfully, this one seemed to be a milder one, though it was enough to rouse me from my dreamless sleep.

Lyris stood at the ship's helm, her hands meticulously swiping through various holograms as she sought out the source of the ever-elusive Z-Space transmissions we detected.I joined her, observing the island she had singled out as the most likely source for the Z-Space transmissions we'd detected coming from the planet with the groggy haze of sleep blurring my sight. her face slowly compressed into a slight grimace of disappointment as her display turned from bright green to bright red.

Prince Sotol, I've lost track of the signal. she reported, turning to him at his station. Buried in local communications. I can barely make out anything with all the noise.

Anything useful? Sotol said, his eyes narrowing in concern.

Z-Spacewise? No. As for gathering intelligence on the locals? Lyris casually flicked her hand across the holographic screen, the sound of instruments and singing filling the cockpit. The language was unfamiliar, but it flowed like a gentle breeze throughout the ship. For a moment, there was calm.

The moment's serenity slowly ebbed as the music became garbled in white noise and then shrouded by precipitation splattering against the viewport. Visibility ahead of us was suboptimal at best, blocked by a wall of water. I had difficulty making out any kind of landmarks as we descended through the storm, the vaguest hint of any sort of settlement was the faint flicker of lights coming from the ground somewhere in the distance. There was no way we were setting down in these conditions, especially not without knowing the terrain. Our pilot, Orzon-Mezili-Uzen, put the ship to hover along with the storm to mask our presence while it scanned the surrounding landscape below.

Olvr, Lyris. Join me in the crew bay while Orzon handles mapping the terrain. Threx ordered, gesturing to follow him. I glanced over to Lyris, and she to me. We didn't say anything to each other, but I could see the childish glee sparkling in her eyes. She was a xenoantrhopologist, after all. I also tried to express my excitement, but I had this deep, hollow feeling in my gut. Something was amiss, and it wasn't just the weather.

The sensation didn't waver as we entered the crew bay; it only worsened. I was amongst some of our people's most experienced warrior-scouts, but I was a mere cadet—an Aristh.

As you all know, this planet is under suspicion of Yeerk infestation. Threx's thought-voiced boomed as he addressed the assembled cadre of soldiers, about thirty of us total, not including himself or Lyris.

As you well know, Lyris has traced a Z-Space signal to several locations. We will deploy on the island where one of the strongest signals originated.

We do not know what we will face upon deploying to the island, aside from the native human population. Given the area, it is unlikely they speak the language learned by Prince Elfangor. I advise observing the humans from a distance until the translator understands the local language. Collect recordings of conversations, music, and even documents if you're able.

Should we assume the locals are hostile? asked a warrior with a large burn scar extending from his shoulder to his tan-furred abdomen.

No, but do not assume they are friendly, either. Threx answered. Avoid unnecessary hostilities whenever possible, much less engage with locals to minimize chances of compromising our mission.

What if we're spotted? asked another.

You know the drill. Capture, wipe, release. Minimize the chance of harm to the local population.

Prince Sotol, the scan is complete. Orzon called out over a nearby transmitter.

Send it through. Threx requested.

The cab lights dimmed as a hologram began manifesting in the center of the crew bay. At once, we realized just how vast and varied the island was.

The island was dominated by a central mountain range extending from the northernmost tip to the center. A series of dense jungles dominated large swaths of the island before giving way to flat plains and swamps along the coast. Scattered throughout the map were small red dots noting human settlements and random concentric orange circles that popped up at random intervals, locations, and lengths.

What are those orange blips that keep coming up? I asked, my eyes trying to track where each appeared on the map.

Looks like Orzon incorporated the algorithm I've been using to locate Z-Space communications. Lyris replied before addressing the group as a whole. As you can see, the Z-Space transmissions have become disrupted and filtered through local communication signals.

She pointed towards the foothills of the northern mountain range, where one orange blip seemed to be the most enduring.

This will be our initial point of investigation. It's not nearly as strong as the initial transmission I detected, but it is currently the most sustained.

We can't just set down there, Lyris! protested another warrior, pointing to the relatively flat terrain of the area around the blip. We'd be too exposed.

That much we agree on. Lyris grumbled. I advise a position higher up the mountains… Here. Orzon, could you enlarge the area?

My eyes followed her hands as she pointed towards what looked to be a series of caves along the edge of the mountains, well above the desired target and large enough to set the ship down. It would give us a vantage point, but there was one minor issue.

It looks like there are three human settlements nearby. No tree line to conceal us. complained yet another warrior. Prince Sotol, why are we taking strategic advice from a female?

Because that female also happens to be one of the most intelligent people on the ship. Threx snapped, the echo of his hoof hitting the hull bouncing around the bay. Your concern is noted, but I advise you to treat your superiors more respectfully.

If I may interrupt, Prince Sotol… Orzon interjected.

Proceed.

Lyris had the right idea.

Orzon rotated the map to a topographical view, a blue line tracing the opening from one of the caves to what appeared to be the remains of an open-pit mine nestled in the jungle. The nearest human settlement was in a small valley to the west, obscuring its view of the mine behind brush and stone.

I stumbled across this while reviewing the scans of the island. There are structures on the ground there, but no signs of human activity.

Olvr explained. Initial scans suggest that the cave Lyris marked is likely linked to the mine.

Good work, both of you. Of course, we'll need to reconnoiter the area just in case.

Threx turned to us as he scanned for potential candidates for the mission. His eyes fell on me first, but he did not call my name. Not at first.

A group of 16 should suffice for the initial drop. You shall be referred to as Group R1 for the duration of the insertion. Threx explained. Your responsibility on the ground is to clear the structures of any potential interlopers or hazards. If you find a human, secure them quietly and move them to a secure area. We will wipe their memories once we land and move them to the nearest settlement.

Threx created a holographic list of the soldiers he wanted to participate in the mission.

I only recognized some from my arguably novice experience or from simply not interacting with them until my name. Those who did seemed quite pleased with the results. That was until they noticed my name at the bottom.

I felt the weight of their gaze as some turned to look at me. They were unsure of me, and I was even more so of myself. My gut twisted painfully over and around itself as I joined the rest of R1.

Nervous, Aristh? asked one of the older warriors. I simply nodded, unable to find the words to describe just how terrified I was. He placed a six-fingered hand reassuringly before speaking again.

Landing is the easy part. He declared. Getting around without being spotted is where it becomes difficult.

Again I nodded. I was figuring out how to reply. What could I have said in this instance?