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  Scott smiled. “Remmy works.” Remmy actually worked well. A lot of his friends at Michigan called him that. It felt good to hear again.

  “Class! Who yeh got with you?”

  David leaned inside and offered his hand. “David Jurgen. Good to meet you.”

  Becan swatted David’s palm. “Yis muckers, eh?”

  “Uhh…we’re roommates,” Scott said uncertainly. He could only assume that a mucker was a roommate. Or a friend. Or something along those lines. Despite the fact that Philadelphia was a melting pot for nationalities—the only EDEN Academy on the planet—Scott had never met anyone from Ireland there. There were plenty of Americans, Britons, and Australians. The English speakers were undoubtedly the majority. Russia and Germany were also heavily represented, as were China and Japan. The rest of the global population, while still there, were far less common.

  “Righ’, righ’, tha’s wha’ I meant.”

  David grinned. “Where are you from?”

  “Broadford, Ireland. Yeh really have to ask, do yeh?”

  “Are you guys just in from Philadelphia, too?”

  “We are. Guessin’ we’re all alphas then, righ’?”

  Scott nodded as Jayden slipped back into the room. As soon as Becan saw him, he said, “Tha’s me boyo Jay, he’s a bit o’ a quiet one. He’s one o’ them cowboys.”

  Jayden made for his bunk bed and snagged a brown cowboy hat from the bed stand. He placed it firmly on his head.

  “Jay’s a sniper, he is,” Becan said.

  “You’re a sniper?” Scott asked with an inspired stare. That was impressive. He knew a few snipers in Philadelphia, and their training was to be envied. There was no such thing as a sniper with a poor work ethic.

  “Yeah…”

  “Congratulations, man.”

  “Thanks…”

  Meanwhile, Becan’s gaze shifted to David, where it lingered for several moments. “How old are yeh?”

  “Why?” David’s eyes narrowed.

  “Yeh look…older.”

  “I’m forty.”

  “Tha’s why yeh look older…”

  “How old are you?”

  “A lot less old than you are.”

  Scott gave Becan a hard stare. A question was lingering in his head, and he had to ask. “Why didn’t you get stationed at Dublin?”

  “Tha’s a grand question. I’ve no bloody clue.”

  Scott laughed. Richmond didn’t seem so far from home anymore. “And I thought being stationed outside of Michigan was bad. How does your family feel about this? They’ve got to be missing you like crazy.”

  “I’ve got no family,” Becan said. “Me ma an’ me da died years ago. I’ve got no brothers or sisters.”

  Scott was oddly relieved by Becan’s answer. Scott had lost his parents too, back when he was in high school. They died in a car accident. It was always comforting to find someone else who knew what it was like to lose parents at a young age. He felt an unspoken connection with them.

  “Wha’ abou’ you now?” Becan asked. “Leave annyone back in the great state o’ Michigan?”

  “A fiancee and a brother,” Scott answered. Mark. He hadn’t seen Mark in months. Scott was like a brother and a father to him. Mark was still in his teens, but almost finished with high school. He planned to follow Scott’s footsteps into EDEN, no matter how hard Scott tried to talk him out of it. “Mark lives in Nebraska, though.”

  “So wha’ abou’ this girl?”

  “Her name is Nicole. We’ve been together for six years, she came to Michigan with me. We dated in high school, went to college together.”

  “So yeh been with this girl for six years an’ you’re not married yet?”

  “We’re engaged. Haven’t really been able to set a date, though. I thought we’d be able to after the Academy, but I didn’t think they’d send me here. Believe me, nobody wants it to happen sooner than me.”

  Becan nodded. “A lot o’ people I knew in Philadelphia got married. Never understood tha’, I didn’t. Get married in the middle o’ the Academy. Tha’ place is hectic enough as it is.”

  “Yeah,” Jayden said. “It’s pretty crazy. I don’t know how people had time to get hitched, classes kept me busy around the clock.”

  It was an odd mix, Philadelphia. On one hand, it was military training. On the other, it was no different from college. In the midst of workouts, drills, and weapons training, there were courses. Classroom courses with names that sounded as if they came straight out of a university booklet. Geography 101, Urban Tactics, Environmental Combat 300. You didn’t only graduate from the Academy with a sense of accomplishment, you felt like you earned a college degree.

  Scott folded his arms contemplatively. “Do you guys feel like Philadelphia prepared you for this?”

  “I think it did,” Becan answered. “I know a lot o’ people find it weird with the classes an’ everything, but everybody seems to come ou’ all righ’.”

  “It’s different.” David stifled a yawn. “Was everyone here in the soldier program?” Jayden shook his head. “That’s right—you’re a sniper, sorry about that.”

  “S’all right.”

  “I know what they’re trying to do. They’re trying to create smarter operatives, and the best way to do that is through coursework combined with military training. It’s a different system, yeah, but I think it works all right.”

  “I bloody loved Xenobiology,” said Becan.

  Scott concurred. Xenobiology alone made the Academy worth it. There were few things more fascinating than the in-depth study of extra-terrestrials. “I totally agree,” he said.

  “Grand stuff, tha’ was. Flickin’ amazin’.”

  “What was your favorite species?” Scott asked. There were three alien species in all that had made contact with Earth: the Bakma, Ceratopians, and Ithini. And of course, two animals in the canrassi and the necrilid. It was startling how little EDEN knew about each one, outside of general biology. Their cultures, their relationships, and most notably their motives for attacking remained a mystery.

  “I’d like to say necrilids, but really tha’ class jus’ scared the hell out o’ me. I liked learnin’ abou’ the Ceratopians, though.”

  Ceratopians. The brutes of the Alien War, like a page out of the prehistoric. Five-horned, bone-frilled warriors. Walking terrors. “Ceratopian class was good. You’re right about the necrilids, though, they’re pretty freaky. I think that’s why people aren’t as high on that class as you’d think, because as cool as they are, in the back in your mind you’re thinking ‘Veck…I might have to fight that thing one day.’”

  “Yeah. Exactly. Those things are scary as all hell.”

  There was so much about the Alien War that didn’t make sense. In fact, there was next to nothing about it that made sense. Three species appeared at almost the exact same time: the grotesque Bakma, the reptilian Ceratopians, and the quintessentially gray Ithini. The Bakma and the Ceratopians seemed to have nothing in common, except for one detail—they both worked with the Ithini. But oddly so. The Ithini were present with both species, except in seemingly mundane roles. It wasn’t clear whether they were supervisors or servants. Or something else.

  Then there were the canrassi and the necrilid, non-sentient alien animals. The canrassi—bearlike, spider-eyed beasts—were used by both the Bakma and the Ceratopians, either as mounted rides or animal labor. Necrilids were only seen with Ceratopians. That was just as well, as necrilids were generally regarded as the worst creatures imaginable. Black-skinned, sharp-clawed, long-fanged predators. Bugs with skin, with one horrible detail that stuck out from the rest. They were flesh-eaters.

  Why were the Ithini and canrassi connected to the Bakma and Ceratopians? Why weren’t the Bakma and Ceratopians connected with one another, and why did only the Ceratopians use the necrilid? They were all pertinent questions. But one question lingered above them. Why were they all after Earth? They appeared and attacked at the same time, within months of each
other, without a clue as to their motives. Some media reporters nicknamed the Alien War “The Race for Earth,” but nobody knew what was waiting at the finish line. Why were they here? It was a simple question without a single answer.

  David pushed up from his chair. The other men turned to stare at him. “What’s up?” Scott asked.

  “Nothing,” said David. “I think I’m just about to turn in, is all.” He stifled a second yawn. “I’m feeling that move from Philadelphia now.”

  Becan smirked. “Old people just get tired early.” David gave him a withering look, but the Irishman just laughed. “Fair enough, then. It was grand meetin’ yeh.”

  “Same here,” David answered amiably.

  Scott sighed and lowered his head, then he too stood up from his prop against the wall. “That’s probably a good idea. Tomorrow’s going to come fast.”

  “Yeh goin’ to bed too then?”

  Scott nodded. “I don’t want to be head-bobbing for whatever we have in the works tomorrow. I’m pretty sure that doesn’t make a good first impression.”

  “Yeah. Righ’, well I’m sure we’ll see yis both tomorrow, then.”

  “There’s a good chance we’ll all be in the same unit,” David said. “They usually group teammates close together in the living quarters, and we’re in the very next room.”

  “Tha’s true.”

  “I guess we’ll find out tomorrow.”

  “Yeah.” Becan plopped back down on his bunk and flung up a wave. “Night Remmy. Night Dave.”

  “Good night guys,” Jayden said.

  Scott and David bid their farewells, stepped into the hall, and closed the door to 421.

  “Nice guys,” Scott said. They seemed rather an odd couple, but he’d found them both friendly—in their own ways.

  “Yeah,” David agreed. “Unique little job of pairing EDEN did there.”

  “Yeah, really.” The door to 419 opened and they stepped inside.

  For the next several minutes, they prepared for the night. They took turns brushing their teeth at the sink, and then they slipped out of their jerseys and into nightwear. David climbed to the upper bunk as Scott flicked the light off from below.

  “Do you really think there’s a chance we’ll all be in the same unit?” Scott asked as he laid back on the bottom bunk.

  “I think there is.”

  “I hope so. That’d be fun.” He closed his eyes.

  Silence hung in the room for several moments before David spoke. “Right, because you know, EDEN stands for Earth’s Daily Entertainment Network.”

  Scott made a face in the dark. “Ha ha. Whatever, good night.” David chuckled, and Scott shook his head. “Earth’s Daily Entertainment Network. I don’t even know what that means.”

  “Maybe you will soon,” said David. “Good night.”

  Scott pulled the covers to his chin and turned over on his side. The initial uneasiness he’d felt had simmered down in his system. At least he had other people to share it with now. He looked forward to seeing Becan and Jayden again. His mouth stretched open in a yawn, and he once again slid his eyes shut. Within minutes, he was asleep.

  2

  Saturday, April 2nd, 0011 NE

  0545 hours

  The next day

  The door to General James Hutchin’s room slid open as Lilan stepped inside and paused at attention. Despite the fact that it was barely morning, Lilan’s uniform and crew cut were models of perfection. He gave the impression of a man who had been awake for hours. The door closed behind him, and Hutchin removed his reading glasses from his face. “At ease, colonel.” The general was a well-structured man, younger than Lilan, though his hair was streaked with dashes of gray.

  Lilan’s muscles relaxed. “Sir.”

  Hutchin motioned to the chair in front of his desk. “Have a seat, Brent.” Lilan rested a hand on the back of the indicated chair and slid down into it. “I’m sorry to hear about your platoon. A lot of good men were lost.”

  Lilan nodded. “Yes sir, a lot of good men were.”

  “As you already know, this is war, and these things are unavoidable. That’s why we don’t make too many friends in this business.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “And I have no doubts that you will take your newly assigned crew and turn them into a platoon as functional as your last. Am I correct?”

  Lilan’s posture straightened. “Yes sir.”

  “I expect no less.” Hutchin pushed back his chair and opened the topmost drawer of his desk. A single manila folder was produced, and he handed it across the desktop. “Here is your new crew, colonel.”

  Lilan accepted the folder, though his eyes remained on Hutchin. “Did you take my recommendation to promote John Tacker to major?”

  “I did. John’s had a good career with us, I think he’ll fit the role well. He was a good recommendation.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Lilan opened the manila folder and examined its contents. Hutchin’s focus lingered on Lilan’s expression as it shifted from businesslike to confused, and finally to disbelief. “Sir, this has to be a mistake…”

  “There’s no mistake, colonel,” Hutchin answered. “That’s your new roster.”

  Lilan’s eyes flashed across the desk. “General, sir, this shows every single operative other than Tacker, Henrick, and myself as an alpha.”

  Hutchin’s reply was blunt. “You are being assigned a rookie platoon.”

  “Sir, Alan Henrick was an exception,” said Lilan, “but even he was a beta when he entered Falcon. These are all alphas.”

  “I understand, colonel, but there is no mistake. That is your new platoon.”

  “Permission to speak freely, sir?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Falcon Platoon has a reputation to protect. We worked hard to earn it. It does the entire platoon a great injustice to replace those polished veterans with rookies straight out of the Academy.”

  Hutchin leaned against the armrest of his chair. “First of all, the we you’re referring to consists of three people. The old platoon is gone.”

  “Sir, I understand that, but—”

  “Do you think rookies can benefit and learn from your example?”

  “Sir, yes sir, but I—”

  “Then I expect you to do your job as a colonel and lead this crew as you led the previous crew. I don’t care about reputation. I care about results. I don’t care if you were Klaus Faerber and this was Vector Squad, you’d still get a team full of rookies if that’s all we had to choose from. We’re undermanned. You know that. This is all we can afford to give you, and if we break up any other platoon further, we’ll be jeopardizing their capabilities. That never has been acceptable, and it won’t start being acceptable now.”

  “I understand that, sir—”

  Hutchin cut him off again. “This is how it’s going to be. When I make a decision, that decision is final. You know that. Now, you will take this team, and you will lead them as you led the Falcon Platoon of yesterday. Take the assignment that’s been handed to you, and turn it into something to be proud of. Do what I’ve come to expect you to do. Make a bad situation good.”

  Lilan opened his mouth to reply, but no words came out. The decision had already been made, and the word trainer hovered in his mind. The room fell quiet, and he sighed surrender. “Yes sir.”

  “Is there anything else?”

  Lilan bit his tongue. “No sir.”

  “Excellent. Your operatives have been notified and will meet in the hangar for your formal introduction at noon. I’m sure you’ll have no trouble breaking them in.”

  “No sir.” Lilan closed the manila folder and stood up. “If there’s nothing else?”

  “Nothing else. You’re dismissed.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Lilan nodded to the general, turned around, and left the room.

  * * *

  It wasn’t until 0950 hours that Scott, David, Becan, and Jayden awoke from their slumber—a luxury they would not experience again
for some time. It was a well-known fact that EDEN thrived on morning schedules. There was a saying that passed on from each graduating Academy class to the next: Use your first day as an operative to sleep late—it may never happen again. It was advice that few Philadelphia graduates neglected.

  The four men went directly from their rooms to the cafeteria, where they discovered the vast difference between food services at the Academy and food services in the real EDEN. It was the difference between gourmet and cheap-as-possible. This was not a surprise—the Academy was designed to be reassuring on many levels. Once potential recruits became EDEN cadets, the pampering at the Academy began. Private rooms, fine cuisine, and a university atmosphere came together to form a grand scheme: convince them that EDEN was the right move, and when reality hit, they’ll have gone too far to turn back. For a vast majority of those enlisted in Philadelphia, the plan worked—only eight percent dropped out before graduation.

  When they returned to their rooms, they discovered that notes had been pushed under their doors. The notes bore simple instructions: Report to the hangar at 1200 for unit assignment. On-time is late. With little time to spare, they opted to dismiss further conversation and don their uniforms. By the time 1150 came around, all four were prepped and ready for the meeting. Together they ventured to the hangar.

  Though the Richmond main hangar was spacious, it paled in comparison to the massive hangars found at larger bases. Nonetheless, the four soldiers found themselves transfixed on the ceiling—if for nothing more than to feel the awesome depth of the room. Vulture transports and Vindicator fighters covered the ground space in neat rows, and mammoth Grizzly APCs—Armored Personnel Carriers—sat parked in preparation for a mission. The mere sight of them broke goose bumps across their arms and sent forth a powerful, overwhelming sensation—the extra-terrestrials had picked the wrong planet to fight.

  It was no challenge to locate the intended meeting area, as several perfect rows of steel chairs lined the center of the hangar. Scott guessed that there must have been at least forty of them. They were almost all full, occupied by various men and several women—all of whom chattered in hushed tones with one another as their gazes occasionally roamed the room. At the front of the rows stood an empty, olive-colored podium.