Genesis (Man vs Machine #1)

13 | BLACK HORIZON

Cadet Ryan James stood on the starboard side of the Viridian, watching the desert ground run underneath him. They were halfway to the Core and making good progress. The ship was on auto – they simply had to punch in the coordinates and the Viridian's AI would automatically chart the best course.

James checked and double-checked his firearms. One pistol, sitting faithfully in its holder. One autorifle, slung across his back. Six knives strapped to his thigh – they wouldn't do much, but their weight was nevertheless comforting.

Finally there was his pulse-rifle - something that resembled a grenade launcher in size and shape, but was far more powerful. Instead of regular grenades, you could either load it with a scrambler, which would completely denature any CPU or electronic components within a thirty-foot radius, or a Pinball. The technical name for the Pinball was the AR-39 Sub-projectile Launcher. It shot ultra-sharp needles from the side of it that faced the opponent, rendering the target completely immobile. It could mangle humans and bring Titans to their knees.

The Viridian itself was not made for battle. It was a transport ship, and plush seats were prioritized over ammunition. However, it was a stealth ship, flying silently and quickly, and couldn't be detected by most forms of tracking. It did have one set of guns underneath the cockpit on either side. But this was a stealth mission, so they wouldn't have to use them. Hopefully.

James returned to the cockpit. Jenna, their pilot, sat in front of the controls, watching the control screen and making sure things were going smoothly. He could tell she was nervous. They all were.

James didn't even know if they'd all make it out alive.

He surveyed the deck: four of them sat around a hovering table, laughing over a game of poker. Michaelson stood near the ramp, looking out the back window. The remaining two – Liam and Aiden Hall, callsigns Razor and Bullet, the team's battle experts – he presumed were downstairs.

They were all young; nobody on the ship was older than twenty-three. Some had just been enlisted, and others, like himself and Michaelson, had been here for years. James, even though he was one of the oldest, did not feel very experienced at all.

He hated battles and violence, but joining Cyris's military was the only way he could find somewhere to stay. He'd been all over the city and through its many lodges and apartments, but his landlords had either been demanding, cruel or exploitive. So at eighteen, he'd joined Intelligence alongside Michaelson, after the three years of training.

James turned and walked to the ramp, coming up to stand behind Michaelson, who was watching the landscape outside with a look of resigned bewilderment. James watched the desert too – studied its dips and rises, how it undulated, how the sand turned lighter and coarser as they moved south.

'Morning, Ryan,' Michaelson turned and smiled at him. They were an unlikely pair of friends, Michaelson good-natured and friendly, James brooding and withdrawn.

'Morning, Aaron.'

'How much farther?' Michaelson turned his back on the view to face him fully.

'Another hour from here,' said James, and absently ran his fingers over the pistol at his hip. 'On schedule. No complications so far.'

'Excellent.' Michaelson pulled out his holo-pad. 'I'll update the Commander.'

There was a pause as Michaelson tapped in the commlinks.

James watched as the 'CONNECTING' screen gave way to a high definition video of Grant and the teams at the Intelligence HQ. They were all smiling, Alder in particular looking as if he'd just received the best gift of his life. Allen walked into view and stood behind Marcel.