Reapers: The Shadow Soldiers (7 page)

The headache was really getting to him now, so he rubbed his head lightly. If one thing was for sure, he’d definitely made a mistake. He was supposed to stay strong, but he had folded and went along with Control’s plot. They got him when he was the weakest. He should have known better.

He thought the mission would make him feel better, but this facility was actively making him feel worse. It was massive and confusing. He decided the best solution would be to not think about it at all. Instead, he looked over at the man sitting across from him. He was quiet, unobtrusive. He simply sat, read his book, and didn’t ask for anyone to pay attention to him. Burns lightly smiled—this kid reminded him of himself when he was that young.
 

“Do you have a name?” Burns asked, interrupting the silence. The kid looked up from the page, putting the book down once more.
 

“It’s David Brosi,” he informed him. Burns was glad this wasn’t one of those antisocial agents.
 

“Pleasure to meet you, Brosi,” he returned. “I’m Ben Burns…although, I’m sure you already knew that,” Burns stammered, remembering that he was dealing with Intelligence here.
 

“You’re the Colonel, right?” Brosi asked, leaving Burns confused.
 

“The Colonel?” he restated. “I’ve never been a colonel.” It was true. The highest rank Burns had ever achieved was corporal.
 

“No, it’s propaganda,” Brosi informed him. “It’s not a real rank, just a title. Were you not fully briefed?” he asked.
 

Burns slightly tilted his head. “The most
briefed
I got was a half-bottle of wine,” he told him, feeling the effects of the alcohol surge as he said the words. “To be a colonel, wouldn’t that mean I need a team?” he asked.
 

Brosi gave a nod. “That’s me. Or, at least, part of it is me,” he said. It took a while, but Burns realized what the man meant. He did have a team, and David Brosi was the first of several members. So, he wasn’t an Intelligence Operator after all, or at least that was not the reason he was here.
 

“Well, I’m sorry you were dragged into this,” Burns apologized to Brosi, wishing that he were the only one being dropped to Silverset. Yet, Brosi didn’t seem as mad as Burns thought he would be.
 

“I wasn’t dragged into anything,” he stated. Burns’ face loosened as he realized that Brosi actually
wanted
to be here.

“Don’t tell me you signed up for this?” Burns grumbled, surprised that anyone would be so naively trusting.
 

Brosi nodded heartily back. “They said they needed a technical expert. I spent four years at one of the best technical academies in the Dominion, so I thought it would be a good way to do something right for a change,” he told him, seeming very sure about his decision. Burns was again reminded of himself by the man.

“I’d say keep looking. There isn’t anything ‘right’ about this,” Burns murmured. Whatever was going to happen on Silverset wasn’t for naive idealists. Only cold, ruthless men survived from here on out. Yet, Brosi still seemed determined.
 

“LME technologies—that’s what’s wrong,” he countered. “I’ve worked there for years, and the only thing they care about is the money,” he grumbled. “We had technology being developed that could help millions of people, but we withheld it until it was more profitable to be released.” Brosi then pushed his book aside as he leaned toward Burns, gaining a slight look of ire—the same look that had become the whole of Burns’ personality. “I didn’t go to the academies to make LME’s wallets bigger, I did it to help people. They weren’t gonna let me, but maybe Intelligence will,” he finished, leaning back in his seat once more.
 

Burns looked at him with a stern face, unfazed by the passion in his words. “It’s a noble goal,” he assured. “Just get out as fast as you can. Deal?”
 

Brosi gave a nod back. “After we free Silverset, then you have a deal,” he promised. Burns gave him a smile; he hoped the man would listen. Though, hearing that spark of angry frustration in his words didn’t promise guarantees. Burns knew because he’d felt the same way—once.
 

The conversation stopped there. Brosi returned to his book and silence overcame the room.
 

Burns still needed a release from his thoughts, so he removed the blood-strewn picture of Evelyn and looked down at it. He was surprised he had even managed to pocket the picture before he passed out the night before. Used to be, it was a struggle to keep the photo from getting lost. Now he couldn’t get rid of it even if he tried—not that he would want to.
 

“Is that your wife?” Brosi asked suddenly, cutting the silence. Burns looked up at him with a long face.

“She was…special
,” Burns let on, “but that was a long time ago
.” Brosi slightly bowed his head and then looked down at his book. He played around with the corners a little, visibly thinking of something.
 

He then looked back up and spoke. “I’ve actually got a fiancée myself,” he announced proudly. “We’re trying to decide where to have the wedding. It’s a tough choice.” Burns looked back down at the picture solemnly. Meanwhile, Brosi continued on. “I mean, she wants it on Alleloth, but I’m not quite sure. So, we go back and forth.”
 

“You should just point at a map,” Burns grumbled, still looking down at the bloody photo.
 

“Excuse me?” Brosi asked as if Burns had offended him.
 

“I just—I think you should have made that decision before you headed off to war. Do you really want to leave her all alone—without a ring?” Burns questioned, feeling even more akin to the man.
 

“She understands,” Brosi murmured quietly, looking back down at his book.
 

“Does she?” Burns asked. Brosi looked back up, gaining an uncomfortable smile.

“Colonel, I feel like you and I are talking about different people,” his voice crackled. Burns slightly nodded his head in agreement and then looked back down at the picture.
 

Perhaps he was talking about more then just Brosi’s situation. He’d seen so much of his own self in the man that he felt like he could save him from what might happen. Maybe it wouldn’t though. Brosi was his own man, with his own life. He still had a chance to have a wonderful marriage. He didn’t deserve these cynical musings.
 

“Yeah—I think we are,” Burns muttered with a deep sigh. He definitely wasn’t a colonel like Brosi originally thought. A proper colonel wouldn’t turn his soldiers against him.
 

Feeling sick of distracting himself with thoughts, Burns began to solely focus on his hangover. It was unbearable, especially in the stark light of the facility. He really needed some relief—perhaps a warm meal and some water. He wasn’t going to get them in this room, he knew that. He needed to find the mess hall. Rhett probably wouldn’t approve of needless wandering, but this wasn’t up to him.

“Hey, do you know where the mess hall is?” Burns asked.
 

Brosi finished the last few words on the page and then looked up. “It’s just down the hall and to the left...I think,” he stammered a little. Burns gave a nod back; he was glad that he hadn’t completely burned his bridges with the man.
 

Standing, he pocketed the picture and set off for the door, hoping he wasn’t going to accidentally enter the wrong room and see something he wasn’t supposed to.
 

Making his way down the corridor, Burns kept aware for the first left that looked like it might have been the mess hall. Door after door, he didn’t see anything. It seemed that even the mess was going to be an enigma in this place. In fact, he ended up walking so far down that he entered the corridor he’d been down earlier with Rhett.
 

Realizing that the man wasn’t here to cover anything up, Burns peered down into the hanger. It was high time he'd gotten some answers, though this didn’t seem to be the way to go about it. The hanger was big and the ships inside were indeed very impressive, but they didn’t offer up any answers.
 

However, Burns noticed two people below that weren’t wearing the white jumpsuits of engineers. He slightly shook his head. One of the people was the agent who’d posed as Alex, and the other seemed to be Rhett. If he was going to get answers, this was his best chance. He couldn’t miss out on it. He looked around behind him and quickly found a staircase that would lead down to the hanger floor. Pushing through its doors, he made his way down the winding, industrial structure and onto tarmac of the hanger.
 

The hanger was a hectic place, but he couldn’t say the bustling, militarized nature of it wasn’t familiar.
 

“Oh, my,” he muttered as he approached the two. “What will your father say when he finds out you left the pub without telling him,
Alex
?” The woman shook her head, and Rhett looked back at her.

“Index, what’s he going on about?” he asked.
 

She stepped forward with a sour face. “The Colonel is making an attempt at mockery,” she said jeeringly as she crossed her arms.
 

“Ah? So, I’m a colonel now?” Burns grumbled back.
 

She gained an unpleasant look, like she somehow found this entire situation to be beneath her. “We thought it might help if people had a figure to rally behind, but I still think you’re better suited to assaulting people in abandoned alleyways.” Burns slightly squinted his eyes at her remarks, trying to decide if he should mention how pitiful of a job she did at shadowing him.
 

Before he could make the decision, Rhett caught the tension between the two and stepped between. “Peace,” he broke in. “We have enough problems to worry about without you two coming to blows.” Burns nodded stringently and stepped back a little, turning away from the woman whom Rhett called Index.
 

The man then continued on with his conversation as Burns listened in. “Anyway,” he started. “We have a number of infiltration methods charted out, but I feel like the Dusk-Falcon will be the safest route for the team.”
 

Burns lightly scoffed and turned back to him. “What do you care? You Intelligence types just like to use people—you don’t care about their safety,” he grumbled.
 

Rhett turned slowly toward him once more. “I’m not an Intelligence type. I’m going on this mission alongside you, Colonel.”
 

Burns blushed a little as Index gained a slight smirk. “My apologies,” he stammered. “Carry on.” Rhett nodded politely at Burns as Index walked forward a little.

“I think that will work great, Marc,” she told him. “Now, if you boys will excuse me, I must speak to Mr. Brosi,” she informed them as she began to walk for the hanger stairway.
 

Rhett acknowledged, then stepped forward and placed a hand on Burns’ shoulder. “I’m sorry to have kept you in the dark about my assignment,” he said. “She’s cleared me to divulge more information now. Meet me at the range and we’ll discuss,” he offered. Burns gave a nod as the man headed toward the staircase as well. Burns then looked around the busy tarmac of the hanger. He was beginning to see what Control meant when he said the mission was a
responsibility.
When Intelligence got to work, they didn’t mess around.

THE SHADOWS

The mess hall of the Syncopate facility felt small—cramped even—however, in light of the new information, Burns couldn’t help but feel like it was a stadium, and he was an ant. This intelligence operation was beginning to slowly overwhelm him. All of the planning, all of the people involved, and they wanted
him
to take the leadership role?
 

He hadn’t been a soldier in years, and even when he was, he was rarely in command. He wondered what prevented Rhett from being assigned the role. The man seemed apt for the task, but there had to be something that disqualified him. Burns just didn’t know what it was.
 

Finishing a rather unremarkable meal, Burns left the mess hall. Heading for the shooting range, he figured he would take Rhett up on his offer.
 

Strangely enough, unlike the mess hall, the range wasn’t that hard to find. It seemed the facility prioritized any rooms that were used for testing or development and tucked away the rooms that were purely for the comfort of the crew. A shining example of Dominion hospitality.

Entering the range through a door that hissed as it opened, Burns noticed the room was similar to the rest of the facility. It too was white, industrial panels, only it had the makings of a typical shooting range, including the smell of discharged shells.

Despite being utterly devoid of other people, Rhett had chosen one of the middle booths and was firing a pistol downrange. Burns grabbed some earplugs off a nearby desk and lightly approached the man.
 

As he finished off the last shot, Rhett lowered the pistol and inspected his aim. Through the light air of smoke, Burns could see that the man had done an impressive job. A few had even managed to hit the bull’s-eye. Burns nodded approvingly to Rhett as the man removed his earplugs.
 

“Colonel, glad you could join me,” he greeted with a slight smile. “When was the last time you fired an RR-17?” he asked as he grabbed a second pistol off a nearby rack and slid a clip into the bottom.

“Li-Hyung IV,” Burns answered. “It was dark, I was knee-deep in a swamp, and my target was a defecting Dominion councilman.” He decided to leave out the part where the councilman turned out to be an undercover ally.
 

Rhett turned and handed him the loaded pistol. “Special Forces work then?” he concluded. “Strange, I can’t seem to recall seeing that listed in your file,” he pointed out.
 

Burns looked over at him. “That’s because it wasn’t supposed to be,” he answered. “I was a ghost then, on paper and in reality...that’s why they chose me,” he explained with a bead of dread in his voice.