Book 1: The Rebirth of the Aztecs

Chapter 5 Part 1: Another Day Another Dollar

Four Months Later

Somewhere Off the Coast of Northern Australia…

Nelson sighed as he gazed over the calm black waters stretching into the night around him. Dreary and dead as his life ever since he’d said yes to the shady recruiters looking for navy techs who didn’t ask questions, and liked fat wallets. That was Nelson through and through. If he wasn’t so brilliant at maintaining and running spy rigs like the one hidden deep within the bowels of the disguised espionage ship the Zealander Navy would’ve canned him years ago.

So here he was chasing money and getting in over his head till at last he was marooned on this chum bucket called The Kra-ting Tongkam, a supposedly Thai “science and research vessel.” Right, and Nelson was an upstanding sailor who was never late because of cheap booze and unsavory nightlife when in port. Whatever, no one had bothered them so the cover must have been good enough.

The pay was way better than the kiwi boat fleet he’d jumped ship from, and they covered for anything, absolutely anything, he did while in said ports. A mighty temptation for a young man. The problem was they were never on dry land. The tech had thought the Zealand Alliance Navy’s tours were tedious patience melting affairs. 

They consisted of sailing into the middle of disputed waters staring down Chinese destroyers and Indian frigates thumbing their noses at the quarter of Australia and the Pacific still in Kiwi hands, turning around, and then doing another lap for a month or two. That had been exciting for a tour or so till Nelson had realized none of them were actually hostile. World War Three was long gone, and this was a new world. It was all a lot of posture, not much substance. Boring, but at least you kept your skin and were in port to refuel from all those full speed drills every month. Not on this “science” boat.

They were a long term affair that could be out for more than a year without even smelling land. There was a pretty good bar and crew accommodation aboard, but even that got old after another endless day of looking at screens, compiling data, and washing salt water off of satellites.

A final sigh sent the green eyed blond from the rusty shell camouflaging the high-tech interior lurking below deck. The endless ocean was supposed to have freed Nelson from the slums and broken vets begging for money on the streets of Melbourne he’d come from. Apparently the trucker’s son had traded one prison for a slightly nicer mobile prison, and a possible good life if he ever escaped to spend the money he was earning. Not that cash lasted long at port. Bored young men had holes in their pockets as his petty officer had always said when a sailor asked for a week pass. He wasn’t wrong.

Nelson figured he hit the gym for the thousandth time today as he plodded into the fluorescent light white washing the interior of the ship. There was nothing left to do since they were in full internet lockdown, and he was tired of speedrunning his single player videogames. If the big shindig in Singapore with the Chinese lasted any longer the tech figured he’d be beefed up enough to compete in a Mr. Universe competition.

Then again, judging by some of the uncomfortable things he’d read here and there when trying to work and not ask questions Nelson was pretty sure only freaky gay dudes kept that institution running post World War Three. No thank you.

Snorting the Tech scratched his growing stubble as he shambled through the halls like a zombie lost at sea. Every day Nelson felt like the creaking walls were shrinking in around him. His energy ebbed with each week. If he wasn’t careful he was going to get addicted to weight lifting. More and more it was the only time he felt alive anymore.

He cursed as he banged his head for the thousandth billion time on the low hanging passages meant for tiny asian sailors and not oversized bored techs. Maybe he should just skip out at the next port. One paycheck could last him a long time, and get him pretty far. Then again, this tech was good, and the bosses, whoever they were, very powerful. Nelson figured he wouldn’t get very far on his own. Brains and brawn can’t stop bullets on their own.

A strange echoing puff and a loud thump stopped the muscled tech weenie in his tracks. He might have been imaging it while thinking about assassins and such, but that sounded a heck of a lot like what suppressed guns and bodies hitting the floor sounded like in a classic first person shooter.

For half a second panic threatened to swallow the tech till he remembered he was in one of the most top secret double dark world secret programs ever created. Either it was nothing or their employers had decided to clean house in which case running wouldn’t do him much good. A little voice nagged him about option C, but whatever C could be was imagination and nothing more.

Nelson turned the corner in a rush, and sighed in relief. Maybe even with five percent disappointment. There was his least favorite sailor acting janitor Crisanto who had just blew several puffs of compressed air into a clogged vent, and managed to drop several loads of soiled linens in his cart in the process. Thuds and puffs. Nelson couldn’t decide if he was paranoid or so bored he was ready to accept death for a taste of excitement in his dull existence.                                                                                                                          

“Ah, the Punyeta special techi comes back to his hole at last. Just end our frustration and listen to the voices, and jump while you're out there already.” Nelson twitched at the unpleasant wrinkled sailor who made more than a brain surgeon for doing a crappy job at laundry, and yet still was a grumpy rat who hated anyone who was seen as higher status than himself.

The unpleasant Filipino had been a nonstop wave of negativity wherever he went on the ship. This time Nelson was tired, and down enough to respond in kind. He’d pay for his transgression later with something nasty in his food or sheets a few days later, but the tech didn’t care. He was low enough to think about jumping sometimes. The kiwi didn’t appreciate any more encouragement on that front.

“Yeah? How about you die first you bloody walking sack of bones. No one will miss you. Just die you old man,” right when Nelson said “old man” a puff of brain matter and gore flew from Crisanto’s grizzled head soaking the walls and splashing the now shocked tech with a salty unpleasant spray of wet bone fragments. The sailor made janitor collapsed in a heap making a distinct thump that was far more meaty than the bundle of sheets that had fallen a few minutes before. Nelson could see metal flechettes sticking out from the ruined skull at his feet.

Each second felt like an eternity as Nelson took in the mess, and then slowly turned toward where the missiles had come from. He could feel heat on his head as he expected his brain to explode in a wave of metal spikes at any moment. It didn’t, but the sight that waited for the young tech wasn’t a reassuring one.

There were twelve men in black filing into the tight passage wearing full battle rattle and a mixture of guns, compressed air rifles for underwater engagements, and coil guns. That last one the Tech instantly recognized as the source of the flechettes that had turned his least favorite sailor’s head into hamburger. The natural hum of the ship had covered the sound of the electromagnetic machines of death, not that they gave off much noise to begin with. Perfect for someone infiltrating a highly secured ship with a plethora of security. Far quieter than suppressed weapons, though they required a power supply carried in their kits that hung on their packs like unused flamethrower tanks. By far this was an exciting development, but Nelson figured he was going to wish he was bored and in the gym by the time the night was over.

The Story Will Continue Every Monday

Thanks for reading! Click the image below to go to my blog so you can be updated on future projects, and support the Grizzly Clan so we can keep the stories flowing.