Rogue Ops Rising (The Shadow Wars Book 8) Read online

  After Kyra had left, Greg had spent about a day stuck in a miserable depression, recovering from his wounds sustained from the mission. The others came to see him from time to time but he'd been kind of rude to them, pushing them away, just wanting to be alone, experiencing what seemed to be the first real, brutal depression of his new life. When he'd felt up to it, he'd asked Hawkins to replace his arm and put him into a chemically induced coma for a few days to sleep off the misery and the pain. Hawkins had mercifully agreed.

  Greg had woken groggy and somewhat less miserable five days later. When he lifted his right arm and found himself looking at an arm, a flesh and blood arm, his arm, his mood improved considerably. It still hurt, but the pain was dull and far away. When he clenched his fist, it clenched perfectly. He moved his fingers, each individually, and found them all functional. It was like he had never lost his arm in the first place. There wasn't even a seam or scar or anything. The only thing that was slightly off was the smoothness of the flesh.

  He spent the next two days going through a kind of rehabilitation class. A pair of med-techs, a soft-spoken, middle-aged bald man and a whipcord lean black man with graying hair, took him through several 'courses'. Greg figured out that they were simply running his arm and his brain through a series of tests, making sure all the new neural connections they'd hardwired in were functional and that the arm was up to snuff. He learned later that they'd flash-cloned it, grown in a vat of viscous green liquid on a hyper-accelerated timeline with all sorts of chemicals and hormones that he neither could pronounce nor understood.

  What confused him the most about this experience was the fact that whenever he had downtime, Eve would come find him and spend time with him. He quickly found himself intoxicated by her presence. She was fun, flirtatious and seemed to have no concept of personal space, always hugging him and touching him and walking shoulder to shoulder with him. She would go on walks with him around the Atonement, eat meals with him, lounge around in the observation deck or invite him back to her quarters to watch movies or play games.

  It was on the day after his graduation from rehabilitation that it happened. He didn't know what it was, if he was just hurting from his loss of Kyra and looking for someone to fill the sudden void in his life or if he she made him feel all right again, high on life after surviving a string of insane incidents, but that night, she'd invited him again to her quarters to watch a movie. They sat together on a couch next to her bed, watching a horror movie, and she'd sat particularly close to him, shoulder to shoulder. He felt a kind of tension rising in his chest and he'd decided to make a move. He put his arm around her and she immediately pressed herself against him.

  It wasn't long before they were kissing, then stripping the clothes from each other's bodies, and then they made use of the couch. And then the bed. And then the shower. Each time made Greg feel like he was peeling away some smothering blanket, tossing aside his immense misery and forging a path back to happiness.

  They'd made it official the next morning, become a couple.

  The next two weeks had flown by. Hawkins wanted him on a few missions. 'Tying up loose ends' he called it. Greg had led Spec Ops squads against former Rogue Ops bases, trying to find more pieces to the ever-expanding puzzle that was the renegade government agency's machinations. He fell into a pattern of existence that was immensely satisfying. He'd fly out to some isolated location, either kick ass if they found Rogue Ops personnel or spend a few days dismantling the base for data if they didn't, then he'd fly back, get two days' downtime where he'd do little more than eat, sleep, shower and have amazing sex with Eve, then fly back out and do it again.

  The only other thing he'd experienced of significance over the past few weeks was that Hawkins had come through on his promise. He'd had his best technicians search the vast databanks of the ultranet and compiled as detailed a history of his past as he could. Greg had access to all kinds of information: his schooling, his place of birth, family, friends, who his first crush was, his favorite soda and foods, his parent's jobs, financial situations...almost everything. He'd spent close to a solid day poring over the data, absorbing it.

  It gave him significantly less pleasure than he'd hoped.

  He didn't remember any of it. It was all just facts and figures to him, dates, names, places...none of it really meant anything. He was still debating whether or not he wanted to meet his parents. They were both still alive and healthy, both of them members of Security-Investigations. He had no brothers or sisters, no aunts or uncles, his grandparents were dead. He didn't know if it'd be helpful or hurtful to let his parents know he was still alive but no longer recalled even the faintest detail of his childhood. If he was being honest with himself, however, he knew that he was going to meet them for the simple fact that it might jar his memories.

  Possibly the worst thing he'd gleaned from his history was that his secret fear was true: he was boring. There was no criminal record, no amazing grades, no great skills. He was just some guy who'd gone through training and got shipped out to a backwater planet. That had struck an uncomfortable chord in his mind, and he'd had Hawkins run a series of tests that had confirmed even further fears: the cure for the Necro Virus and the virus itself, which had entered his bloodstream near the end of his campaign against the Undead, had combined to create some kind of cocktail that gave him slightly enhanced strength and reflexes.

  Nothing superhuman, but it would account for his survival so far.

  With that little piece of knowledge, Greg had continued his campaign against Rogue Ops. And now he was back on the Atonement, waking up again, staring into the dim darkness of Eve's cabin, all these thoughts fighting each other inside his skull. He wanted the thoughts to cease, at least for a little while. Hawkins said they'd run down the list of all former Rogue Ops bases and contacts, so there would be a lull in missions.

  That was two days ago.

  Greg rolled over gently and looked at Eve in the dim light cast by distant stars through her two floor-to-ceiling windows. She was lying on her side, facing him, mouth hanging open, dead asleep. He suppressed a laugh. Eve was...something else. She was startlingly attractive. Shoulder-length red hair, slightly glowing blue eyes, clear, pale skin. She had a slight frame, a little under five and a half feet, giving her a pleasantly petite look.

  And now she was in his bed. No, he was in hers...whatever, they were naked, in a bed together. That should have been enough to make him happy, but it didn't. Well, not entirely. He was happy, just not happy enough.

  He was worried.

  Greg knew that Enzo and Eve hated each other. He suspected that Eve was sleeping with him to piss off Enzo, though that didn't quite hold up. There were better-looking men on the ship, and probably easier to deal with men. She'd put up with his depression from time to time, despite his attempts to keep it submerged. So maybe she felt bad for him. But that didn't quite scan either, she was too nice, too easygoing to just be being nice.

  Unless he was imagining that, seeing what he wanted to see.

  Greg sighed, shoved the thoughts aside. This is why he'd gotten into the habit that Eve had introduced him to last week. Carefully, he propped himself up on his elbow and reached over Eve to the bedside table. After groping for a moment, he grabbed a joint and a lighter. Eve liked the roll them herself. She said it was better than buying them wrapped. She was showing him how to roll them himself, but he kept getting distracted by her breasts, since she usually spent her time naked whenever they were alone together.

  Eve took a deep breath and her eyes fluttered open.

  “Hey,” she said, smiling sleepily. “I want some. Give it up.”

  Greg laughed, took a long pull, then passed the joint to her. He blew out a formless cloud of smoke as he watched her prepare to do the same.

  “Wake and bake,” she murmured. She took a few more pulls, then passed it back to him. “What time is it?” she asked.

  “No idea,” Greg replied.

  “Uh-oh,” Eve said, reaching up and rubbing her eyes. She yawned.

  “What?”

  “There's that tone in your voice,” she replied, “that tone that says something's wrong but you don't want to talk about it.”

  He sighed. “Nothing's wrong, you're just being paranoid.”

  “See? I told you.”

  She reached up, pulled the blunt from his mouth and then kissed him. “Come on, you can tell me. What's on your mind?” She put the blunt in her mouth.

  He looked over at her silently for a moment. Her pale face seemed illuminated in the darkness, her electric blue eyes glowing gently. Finally, he asked, “Why me?” He took the blunt back.

  Eve frowned, her brow wrinkling in confusion. “What do you mean?”

  “You could've had any guy on this ship, well, I guess except for Drake and likely a few others, but my point stands. You had so many to choose from, why me?”

  She smiled. “Because you have a cute butt and a nice smile.”

  “Come on, give me a real answer.”

  She sighed and reached over, taking the blunt back from him. “A real answer, huh? God...I don't know. A few reasons come to mind. You want the dirty truth?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, then. Reason Number One: you do have a cute butt and a nice smile, and a really nice nose, which is what drew me in at first. Reason Number Two: I was looking because, yes, I wanted to make Enzo pissed off because yes, sometimes I'm that petty, but also he was just...such an asshole. Reason Number Three: I felt bad for you. You'd just had a big breakup and I don't really know what happened but you looked so...lonely and sad. And, the final reason, well...” she hesitated and looked away, reaching over and stubbing out the blunt. Without looking back at him, instead opting to stare into the darkness
of her quarters, she said, “You inspire me.”

  “What?” he replied. “I inspire you?”

  “Don't do that,” she said, looking back at him. “This is hard for me. I'm...I'm not the most humble person, or the easiest person to get along with. I'm hot, I'm smart, I know how to get what I want. For forty six years I've been-”

  “Wait, you're forty six?!” Greg interrupted.

  “What? Yeah...why?”

  “I just...assumed we were about the same age. Holy shit, you're twenty years older than me?”

  Eve laughed easily. “Yes, honey, I'm old enough to be your mom. Is that going to change the nature of this relationship?” she asked.

  “No, no, not at all, but...well, maybe. It's hotter now.”

  “You learn that I'm almost twice your age and...you think I'm hotter? I'm okay with that.”

  “Good...now let's get back to this 'inspiration' I'm apparently giving you,” he said, grinning.

  She sighed again and laid back down, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her palms. “God, Greg...you aren't making this easy. There's something...inspiring about you. I mean, you lost your memories, you survived the fucking zombie apocalypse, faced down Rogue Ops, lost your damned arm...and you're still pressing on. You're still going. You're not crazy or depressed or angry, you don't have a drinking problem or a drug problem. It's impressive. It's a turn on, honestly...and there you go, the four reasons I hopped in bed with you. Doesn't exactly paint me in the best of light. Are you happier you know?”

  “Yeah, actually,” Greg replied.

  “Really?”

  “Yes. Definitely. We should do this more often. Keep it simple. Tell the truth.”

  “God, that's a fucking relief. I can't tell you how many irritating relationships I've been in. I spent most of my life swinging between dating stupid mercenary types and shy, awkward computer nerds. They're both easy to control and talk into bed...at first. Then it becomes difficult and complicated. They either start overcompensating because they feel I'm the one in charge of the relationship because I initiated it, or they're terrified of losing me and become all submissive and never question me, never challenge me, and then they end up resenting me because in their mind I'm a controlling bitch. In their mind, the unspoken message is 'do what I say or I'll leave you'. Which I never have laid down as an ultimatum, not once.”

  “...I can tell you feel strongly about this,” Greg said.

  Eve laughed. “Okay, okay, yeah. So I've got some damage. Who doesn't? Anyway, my point was...I don't think you'll do either of those things.”

  “Well...thanks.” He reached over and grabbed one of her breasts. “So...can we do it now?”

  “Oh my god, I'm dating a fifteen year old boy,” Eve groaned.

  Greg laughed. “What!? You seem to enjoy doing it.”

  “You just said 'doing it' twice! What is it about boobs that make men so fucking immature?”

  “So...can we?”

  “Fuck! Yes!”

  * * * * *

  Greg stepped out into the corridor, feeling happy and awake, freshly showered, ready to take on the day. Eve was right behind him. She closed the door. Right as she did, another door a little further down the corridor snapped open and a man wearing a white uniform backed out. In front of him, a hover-gurney emerged, with another similarly dressed woman on the other end. Enzo was on the gurney. A woman in a tanktop and cargo pants emerged, then Hawkins. Hawkins marched off after the trio with the gurney and the woman hung back, seemingly uncertain of what to do. When they were out of sight, she turned around, then froze when she saw Greg and Eve watching her. She turned around immediately and began walking away.

  “What the fuck was that about?” Greg asked.

  “Who cares?” Eve replied. “Come on, I want breakfast.”

  “'Who cares?' He could be dying,” Greg said.

  “He probably did something stupid to himself. He's a junkie and, worse, he's an asshole.” She began walking away.

  Greg followed after her. “Are you really that mad at him for propositioning you for sex?” he asked as they turned a corner, making for the nearest mess hall.

  “No! I've had plenty of guys ask me for sex. It usually works. I don't care if they come out and ask me. I mean, sometimes, you just want to fuck, no strings attached. That's fine. It's that he assumed we were going to have sex, that it was a foregone conclusion. He's so fucking full of himself that, in his mind, I was literally waiting for the first instant we were alone to hop on his dick, like I could barely restrain myself or something. Ugh. Arrogance is not sexy.”

  They came into the mess hall and discovered that breakfast was still available. They filled their plates with bacon, eggs and hashbrowns. Greg grabbed a bottle of milk, Eve a mug of coffee. They sat down in one of the less occupied corners and began eating.

  “So...your supplements are beginning to show,” Greg said, deciding to take the conversation in a more pleasant direction.

  Eve looked up from her plate. “Really?”

  “Yeah, I noticed it in the shower. You're muscles are definitely more obvious.”

  She grinned sheepishly. “Thanks. I've been working out a ton. I'm almost half an inch taller, too. The docs tell me that if I keep going at this rate, I'll be ready to hit the field in a few months.”

  For her entire life, Eve had done whatever she could to stay out of the battlefield. She assessed that her skills made her a prime candidate to sit behind a computer, and she was right. She was a technical genius and had been immensely valuable to Dark Operations so far. But after the events on Syberia, she'd come away with a taste for action. She'd tried to satisfy it with some virtual reality games, but that apparently didn't cut it.

  This was when Greg learned that when Eve wanted to do something, she really threw herself into it. She'd talked with Hawkins and he'd set her up on a unique hormone supplement and some gene therapy that would give her the physique of what she assumed a soldier was. She wanted to trade in her petite body for a larger, bulkier one, closer to Callie's body type. He understood that she wanted to put on forty pounds of muscle and about five or six inches. On top of that, she was training up. She'd already done hand-to-hand and basic small-arms combat training in the past, now she wanted to take it up to the next step. She spent hours every day working out, fighting with Spec Ops soldiers on training mats and banging out several hundred rounds on the shooting range.

  Greg tried to imagine what it'd be like to fight alongside his new girlfriend, and figured it wouldn't be all that different from his time on Dis with Kyra.

  He frowned.

  Kyra...

  “Hey,” Eve said, garnering his attention. “You're being sad again. Stop it.”

  “Sorry,” he murmured.

  Eve laughed. “Come on, don't be like that. I'm not your mom...oh god, is that going to become some kind of thing?”

  “No,” Greg replied. “I...what? A thing? Wha...”

  “I've been with a lot of men who have a lot of fetishes,” Eve replied.

  “I...uh...okay.”

  Eve laughed again. “Let's take your mind off of all that. Last night, as you were drifting off in marvelous post-coital glow, you were talking about memories. About how you lost all your old ones, and I asked what you were going to do about it, and you said you wanted to replace them with good ones. You said you wanted to make new good memories. I think you've been doing a good job. You should focus on that, making good memories.”

  Greg smiled. “Yeah, I guess so. Thanks.”

  They both looked over as a tall, thin man in a black and silver jumpsuit approached. “Director Hawkins needs to see Bishop at once.”

  CHAPTER 03

  –Happy–

  Trent strained and grunted as he pushed the barbell up once more, his movements slow and measured. The bar was attached to a rack built into the bench he was lying on and it would lock up if he pushed himself too hard and his muscles gave out. At the two hundred and fifty pounds he was pushing up, if that occurred, it'd very likely crush his neck and kill him. With the real danger removed, at this point, it was more a matter of pride than anything else. Trent reached the top, extending his arms all the way, then slowly began to lower it.