Once Upon A Galactic Time (Alpha Red Book 1), page 1
ONCE UPON A GALACTIC TIME
Book I
The Alpha Red Series
N.D. SHAR
Copyright © 2022 N.D. SHAR - Natalie Debrabandere
All rights reserved.
The moral rights of the author have been asserted.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the author’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published or without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
ISBN: 9798495182073
DEDICATION
FOR MY DAD
who I’m sure helped me to write this book
from somewhere in the Galactic Void
28/08/2021
X
CHAPTER
1
I can’t stop shaking...
They left me to sit on my own in one of the examination rooms. I have no idea who’ll come to speak to me next, or what they might threaten me with, but one thing is for certain: I’m scared of what these people might do. The doctor who checked me over was civil enough, even though she kept mostly silent. The scrubs she gave me to wear feel like sandpaper. Barefoot, I long for fatigues, socks, and my combat boots. A weapon would be nice, too... I clench my fists to control another shiver. Doesn’t work. Stay calm, Red. Yeah, that’s easier said than done. Freezing cold in this room, and I assume it’s all on purpose. Bare concrete walls, no window. I’m very careful not to stare directly at the surveillance camera on the ceiling. I don’t want them to detect fear in my eyes, and I don’t trust myself to be able to hide it. Fuck! Being thrown in the brig was bad enough to begin with, but I never thought they’d put me under. As the memory rises, causing me to miss a breath, I visualize the Colorado mountains of my childhood and the forest trails I love to run. Whatever it takes. If I allow myself to feel even a portion of the terror and rage I experienced when they restrained me, and pumped that drug into me, I might lose it completely. Sure, they brought me right back again, but it doesn’t matter. I didn’t know they would. They never shared their plans, or that it was just a mock exercise. Having all options taken away, being drugged into a full coma… Every second of the ordeal was real for me. It was much worse than any SERE training I’ve ever done or could imagine putting new recruits through. Panic rising, and I swallow hard. For god’s sake, don’t think about this stuff! So intensely focused do I become on visualizing every inch of the running trails back at home, and staying in control, that I don’t even hear the door open.
“Commander Redfield?”
He’s tall. Dark-haired, brown-eyed, with a tiny white scar running through his left eyebrow. I’m sure I’ve never seen him around before. The fact he’s not in uniform worries me. Now that I know what these guys are capable of, I’ve lost all trust in the chain of command. What other nasty surprises have they got in store for me? I struggle to remember what I’m supposed to say, or even if I should speak.
“Sir,” I just nod.
My voice comes out raw. Wishing I didn’t sound so broken, but I can’t bring myself to really care. I don’t think I’ll be able to pretend much, anyway. Whatever happens now, they got to me with that sick stunt, and they must be aware of it. Meanwhile, he places a bunch of folded clothes on the table in front and takes a step back.
“These are for you. Please let me know when you’re ready. I’ll be right outside.”
He’s gone again before I can answer and, for a moment, I just stare dumbfounded at the door. ‘Please’? Been a while since I heard that word. Life at the Detention Center is the sort of harsh that makes even Special Forces selection feel like a kid’s holiday. Eager for answers, whatever I can get, I slide off the table. The room instantly starts to spin. Damn. Gripping the sides, I breathe through it. It gets better. Putting on fresh fatigues feels good, too. They delivered the thick socks I wanted and brand-new boots to go with them. I do hope they wouldn’t give me this sort of gear if they were just planning to terminate me.
“Please follow me, Commander.”
My escort is not only polite with me, but almost deferential in his demeanor, as he leads the way. Under less threatening or challenging circumstances, I would never be so obedient. I’d ask for his goddamn name, for starters, and to know what the hell is going on. Right now, though, simply putting one foot in front of the other without losing my balance requires all my strength and attention. To my relief, we don’t have far to go.
“Here we are,” he soon announces, and with a smile that I do not trust, nor return, he ushers me into a plush office where three other people are waiting.
The second we arrive, everyone goes eerily quiet, and they all turn to stare at me. In reaction, I resist the urge to glance over my shoulder. Hey, don’t get me wrong. As a decorated officer of the Navy’s SOCOG, the Special Operations Command Group, I’m fairly used to all kinds of people snapping to attention when I walk into a room. But this is of a different order of magnitude, and I would never expect it here. Camp Greywolf is a Grade-3 military prison. Any respect, medals, and whatever else I earned through my years of service doesn’t count for shit in this place. Just in case I had any illusions as to how not-special I really am, they made it extremely clear with the recent exercise. Was it a game? Some hazing gone out of hand? The wrong person? Or was I supposed to serve as an example? As if recognizing my confusion, one of the people present steps forward.
“Commander Redfield, it’s an honor to meet you.”
He’s built like a competitive swimmer, with silver hair that betrays his age, despite a still very black mustache. Not carrying a concealed weapon on his person, as far as I can tell.
“I’m James Hennisen,” he adds. “Current CEO of The Ethan Myrr Foundation.”
So fucking what? I do not shake the hand he offers or even nod in recognition. Truth is, my own shaking is still going on and keeping my teeth from rattling is a full-time job. There’s one other thing as well. In the short time it took to walk to this room, one particular feeling has taken hold of me. It’s the urge to run. I need some air, and I want out. Out of this place, out of my Navy role, out of a system I’d have given my life to defend, but which I feel has betrayed me. I am furious, and D.O.N.E. with it all. But this man just points to the other guy, the one who got me the clothes, as if my reaction were entirely natural.
“This is Kevin Williams, my research assistant. And—”
“Where’s Admiral Bragg?” I cut him.
“Oh, the Navy is not involved in this anymore,” he replies.
My jaw drops at that answer, but he doesn’t seem to notice, and just carries on with the introductions.
“Here are our medical specialists: Psychologist, Dr Amber Fox; and Field Surgeon, Lieutenant Kira Jones.”
The blond-haired lieutenant is the one who examined me earlier. She was not armed then, but now, I clock an automatic pistol in a holster on her belt. She looks like she could use it. The psychologist, in her fifties, gives me a friendly wave, like we’ve just met at a party or something. Frankly, I am amazed. How did this group manage to get rid of Warden Bragg? And how can any of this not be relevant to the Navy? One thing Hennisen just said makes me suspicious, as well, and a rush of anger brings welcome strength back into my legs.
“Is that what you people are?”
“What do you mean, Commander?”
“A psy-op team?” I snap, as I start to piece it together. “You put me through that fake sentence as an evaluation?”
In recent years, scientists have perfected a way to effectively pause time for human beings. They figured out how to induce a state of biological hibernation, mainly to allow for the repair of lethal injuries. One of these days, the technique may be good enough to facilitate space travel to Mars, still in its infancy, and to other planets in the galaxy. The Myrr Foundation, pioneer of new technologies and innovation, have been looking into this. It’s exciting stuff, and I’m all for it. Sadly, as with so many other ground-breaking discoveries, other groups soon found a way to exploit its darker side. For instance, prisons are expensive to run, right? For the state of California alone, annual costs rise into the billions of dollars. If inmates are in stasis, though, that drops to virtually nothing. So, why not? In a total breach of prisoners’ human rights, hasty experiments were run, sentences delivered, and countless lives put on hold. That’s the term they use for it: ‘Put on Hold’. I despise it, and everything to do with that process. Needless to say, the military also began their own trials into the technique. Cue one unlucky Navy Commander, landing myself at Greywolf for a three-months stint... Sure, if I’d not been out drinking with my guys, if I’d not punched a superior officer in the face during a stupid brawl, it wouldn’t have happened. But Greywolf is like a rite of passage for us, and I was kind of due a stay. It was to be a normal sentence. For sure, no one was going to put me to sleep for the duration! I did not volunteer for any tests or secret programs either. Looking at the people in front of me now, I wonder what organization they really work for. My voice rises along with a healthy dose of fury.
“This was a fucking test?”
Hennisen looks mildly displeased at my choice of language, my reaction, or both. Too bad. I’ve not even started tearing into him yet.
“Commander, please. This is really not what you think.”
“Tell me the
“I told you the truth. We—"
“No,” I growl. “The Myrr Foundation doesn’t force tests on naval officers without their permission.”
“That’s right, Commander, and we didn’t.”
“Bullshit!”
“I understand you’re upset, but you need to calm down.”
I cannot stand people not being straight with me. Order me to calm down, and I’m genetically wired to do the opposite. We are off to a bad start, he and I, and that’s even before his assistant tries to move me toward the couch.
“Keep your hands off me!”
I don’t know I’m going to punch him until I do, but as my fist lands squarely in his face, he groans in pain and my instincts take over. I start swinging. Williams goes down, clutching at the nose I might have just broken. You’d think Hennisen would get the point, but no.
“Commander…”
He decides to grab my arm. Bad idea. What part of ‘Hands off’ is not clear? I immediately flip his hold, twist his wrist, and put him down in a single move. My heart is pounding out of my chest. I’ve got to get out of here! The psychologist actually throws herself over the couch in her haste to get out of my way. Clever woman. Unfortunately, I’m not the only one who can move fast. Inches from the door, a sharp sting on the side of my neck stops me dead in my tracks. What the fuck? I whip my head aside to find a gun right in my face. The one holding it is cool and steady Lieutenant Jones. Aw, shit. Forgot about her. Rookie mistake.
“It’s okay, Commander,” she says. “No one’s going to hurt you.”
Funny thing for her to tell me, considering our respective positions. Her voice is surprisingly warm and soothing though, as if she’s sorry this is happening. I press a hand to my neck, find a spot of blood on my fingers when I pull back.
“What did you do?” I hiss at her.
“Just a mild sedative,” she promises.
Whatever she injected me with is already making my vision swim.
“Don’t,” I warn, as she steps closer.
Of course, at this stage, mine are all empty threats.
“It’s okay,” she repeats. “Relax.”
It looks like she re-holsters her weapon, but I can’t be sure anymore. Someone is there to catch me, as my legs fail. Hennisen speaks. He sounds very far away.
“Lay her on the couch.”
Someone else is holding my hand. Progress, albeit puzzling. All I got before was a metal gurney, rough guards, and cuffs. The last thing I’m aware of before darkness closes in is a gentle voice I haven’t heard before.
“Don’t worry, sweetie. You’re safe with us.”
CHAPTER
2
I wake up a few minutes later with a lingering headache. Things are quite different then. The psychologist has obviously been put in charge of things, and perhaps if they’d started this way, I may have been less inclined to throw punches. Dr Fox gets me a cup of coffee, wraps me up in a warm blanket, and calls me ‘sweetie’. Ask any of the men in my unit, and they will tell you what a ruthless fighter I actually am. I don’t do fluffy and sweet. I don’t hold much love for shrinks either. But as it turns out, I’m no match for this woman in my current state. I let her do what she does, and even take comfort in her gentleness. Williams sits on the other couch with a bandage over his bloody nose and two black eyes. He’s not getting the same treatment or attention, but at least, Jones patched him up a bit. He was very decent with me earlier, and I don’t like hurting good guys. He seems like one.
“Sorry about that,” I mutter.
“Apology accepted,” he grunts in return.
Fox beams at us both as if we were her children.
“How are you feeling, Commander?” she asks.
I gather from the lack of sweetie involved that we might get back to business soon. I certainly hope so.
“Warmer. Thanks for the coffee.”
“Good, good. You’ll be fine.”
“But I still need answers.”
My voice is threatening enough to make Hennisen butt in, uninvited.
“Trust me, we look forward to filling you in, Commander,” he informs me.
“I’ll just go through the necessary checks with her first of all,” Fox points out in a warning tone, before softening when she turns back to me. “It’s for your own wellbeing. I trust that’s okay with you?”
I have no idea what she means but, to be perfectly honest, I’m exhausted, finally. I reason that if these people were going to hurt me, they would have done it by now. At least, I assume so.
“Go ahead,” I tell her, and she wastes no time.
“Could you confirm your name, rank, ID number, date and place of birth for me, please.”
That’s hardly classified information, but yeah. Whatever.
“My name is Storm Redfield. Commander of Special Forces, United States Navy. ID number, AD28082-1. Born July 19, 2057, in Denver, Colorado.”
I clearly see Jones bite on her lip as I finish. Both Hennisen and Williams are also staring intensely at me. It’s just like when I first walked into the room. All three of them appear transfixed.
“Thank you,” Fox smiles, before I get a chance to ask what’s so fascinating about my details. “Can you think back to when Lieutenant Jones examined you earlier?”
“Yes.”
“Talk about what happened before that.”
I don’t like being made to recall that stuff. I do comply, in the spirit of getting this interrogation over and done quickly, and having my own questions answered.
“The warden called me into his office to tell me I was going to be…—" I choke on the words. Dammit!
“No rush,” Fox assures me.
I tell her the rest through gritted teeth.
“Admiral Bragg said he had orders to put me on hold for a period of time. They got me in cuffs, wrists and ankles, and took me down to the holding center. I thought it was a joke. Until the last second, I was certain they’d stop.”
With another strong shiver, I remind myself once again that although they did not stop, they did actually bring me back right away. I’m here, now… Alive, and able to function.
“Next thing I know, they’ve got me back in the infirmary, and she’s with me.”
Jones nods as I glance at her.
“Right,” Hennisen says.
“So,” I snap. “What was the purpose of putting me under? To demonstrate that no one’s safe from this sentence, regardless of rank and accomplishments? Or, something else? What?”
“We really don’t know, Commander,” Hennisen assures me again. “But I can imagine how terrifying the experience would be, and I’m sorry you had to go through it.”
This time, it occurs to me that he looks sad, and I wonder if that’s genuine. If only I weren’t still so cold, it would be easier to concentrate! As I tighten the blanket around me, Fox carries on, as if the interruption did not occur.
“When did this all happen?” she asks.
“Earlier today, as you well know.”
She gives me a soothing smile.
“Almost done. Can you confirm the date?”
“October 7, 2086. And yeah, we’re done. You need to fill me in, because nothing adds up for me right now. Who are you, and what’s going on?”
I don’t like to plead, but the more I try to make sense of the situation, the more holes appear in it. Fox takes my hand again.
“I’m fine!” I growl.
“Alright,” she says, and releases me.
Everyone else remains quiet. I see reluctance on their faces. Dismay… Compassion. And, all of a sudden, I know what this is about without needing to be told. Oh, fuck! I look to Fox.
“They didn’t bring me right back out, did they?” I murmur.
She softly shakes her head. No… I have to say it again.
“They didn’t. They kept me in stasis?”
“I’m sorry, Commander,” Fox says.
∞∞∞
I glance at each of the others in turn. Hennisen looks solemn but also relieved, as if he’s mighty glad we reached this point. Jones nods in encouragement. Williams manages to flash me a warm smile; busted nose, and all. Meanwhile, I feel strangely clear and empty.
