Blood of Heroes (The Ember War Saga Book 3) by Richard Fox Page B

made out a Destrier heavy transport craft descending through the haze, the anti-grav thrusters whining like a bone saw. “They’re on our side.”
    “Gall, this is Raider Six,” Hale said through the IR. “Thanks for getting here so quick.”
    “We saw the wreck of Mule Eight and were looking for you on the wrong side of the fire,” Durand said. “Good thing you sent up a beacon. How many more transports do you need over there?”
    “One Destrier is enough,” Hale said.
    “I thought there were…roger. Load up and we’ll get the civvies to New Abhaile,” Durand said.
    Torni hefted the children up in her arms and carried them to the waiting ship.
     

CHAPTER 6
     
    Lieutenant Sam Douglas woke up and stretched. The single sized bed mattress must have been made of springs and tissue paper, but Douglas couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept so well. Life at the Kilauea Rest and Relaxation station was a huge improvement over what he and his soldiers had in Phoenix. No constant calls for formation, head count, or being parceled out as labor to assist whatever civics project didn’t have enough robot workers that day. Still, even that was better than living aboard a space ship.
    When their time came for a platoon R&R pass to Hawaii, morale picked up immediately. A transport ride across half the Pacific and their five day vacation began. Douglas took the first day to do nothing but sleep.
    He swung his legs over the side of his bed and set his bare feet against the linoleum floors. The touch stung his feet like he’d stepped on a live wire. He jerked his feet up with a yelp and looked at the floor, half expecting to see broken glass. Nothing but an off-white tile. He pressed a hand against the bottom of his feet, they felt fine.
    “Weird,” he tapped his feet against the floor with no ill effects. He stood up and stumbled forward, catching himself on the back of a chair. His legs felt like rubber, struggling to support his weight. He hadn’t felt this weak since his last twenty mile road march back at Fort Benning. A sudden headache pressed a vise against his temples.
    He hadn’t been drinking. Food poisoning from the resorts robo-kitchens?
    He picked up his Ubi from off a nightstand.
    “Call Sergeant Black,” he said. Maybe he wasn’t the only one feeling like this. The call rang, but no answer.
    “Call Sergeant Newell.” The Ubi slipped from his hand and clattered to the ground. Douglas flexed his fingers, unable to feel them. He looked down at the Ubi and saw drops of blood falling against its screen. He wiped blood away from his lips. Why couldn’t he taste it?
    Douglas lurched over to the sink and let the blood drip down the drain. He wiped his hand across his mouth. Ribbons of flesh came away from his face. Douglas looked into the mirror and saw his cheeks drooping off his face.
    He managed a ragged scream before collapsing to the ground.
     
    ****
     
    Stacey watched the footage of Douglas’s final moments, her jaw slack.
    “I told you,” Ibarra thrust a holographic finger at the probe. “Told you a six day grow was too fast for the proccies. Look at this mess,” his finger snapped to the screen.
    Stacey turned away, unable to watch any more.
    “I think I’m going to be sick,” she said.
    “Thorsson, what’s the damage?” Ibarra asked.
    The blond haired Icelander was on a screen, calling in from the procedural factory on Hawaii. He wore a hazmat suit, one that looked as if it had gotten a fair amount of use in the last few hours.
    “96 percent loss on the batch,” Thorsson said. “The other four percent look to be stable—physically. Mentally, that’s a different discussion. Lab says their lysosome organelles are defective, which is why they…melted.”
    Ibarra put his hands on his hips, “Can we fix that? If there’s an easy solution then we’re still in the game.”
    “Jesus, grandpa,” Stacey said. “Men and women are dead. Can we take a break from the mad scientist