Cold Fusion - A Sci-fi, Fantasy, and Fusion Short Story Anthology

Company D

He let a long sigh ease out as he stared at the readout in his hand. The words were a blur, the diagrams meaningless. But there was no mistaking the word at the bottom.

Terminal.

"We think it was extended exposure to the power cores in the mobile armor you piloted that corrupted your DNA, captain," the doctor in combat fatigues said. He knew the guy was a doctor because of the caduceus on his collar, not because of some elaborate introduction. The guy had just walked in and, after handing him the report, began speaking.

"The cores were supposed to be shielded, but combat wear and tear must've breached that shielding and let the rad from the core leak into your cockpit," he went on to say, trying to explain in words what the report in his hand already said.

"So, there's nothing ..." he began to ask. The doctor quickly shook his head.

"We could've tried gene reconstruction, captain, if we were back in the Fed's core systems. But out here, on the battlefield ..."

The doctor didn't finish. He didn't have to. The captain already knew what he would've said.

You're expendable.

He had heard it hundreds of times since leaving Boot and flying 10,000 light years to fight against an enemy that not only threatened billions of Fed lives but had overrun the colony his family had taken refuge on as well, a world supposedly so far from the front, it would never be in danger. That attack took his wife, his son, and his eldest daughter. Took them after the government told him they'd be safe.

Casualties of war.

They were collateral damage in a war that saw thousands die everyday. Expendable, just like he was supposed to be. Yet, in his heart, and deep in his soul, they had never been collateral, never expendable, an afterthought in government records. He had fought to keep them safe, nobody else.

Now only his youngest was left, an eleven year old daughter living with a cousin somewhere in the core systems. Eleven, with ten of those years spent without a father as he fought on distant battlefields to keep her safe. To her he wasn't expendable. He was all she had left.

And now he was going to die. Ironically not by the enemy's hand as he, and the government expected. But by being made terminally ill from leaked radiation inside the very piece of war tech meant to keep him alive.

"Is there anything we can do for you, captain?" the doctor asked, breaking him out of his reverie.

"Do I have enough time to fly back and see my daughter?" he asked, grimacing as his pain meds began to fade and the grinding agony set deep in his bones, the pain that had sent him to the sick bay to begin with, returned. The pain seemed to triple when the doctor shook his head.

"You've got days, captain," he grimly revealed. "Not the weeks needed to jump all the way back into the core."

He sighed again. He should've expected that.

"Then all I need is a data pad so I can update my will, and write a goodbye letter to my daughter," he said, fighting to keep the hopelessness and misery out of his voice.

Nodding, the doctor turned and left, leaving the captain to his dark thoughts in the spartan examination room. So engrossed was he in that introspection, he didn't hear the door to the room open almost immediately after the doctor left.

"You look a little despondent there, soldier," a hard voice dryly noted.

Instead of being startled, he felt a surge of anger wash through him at having his thinking disturbed.

"What the hell do you expect, man?" he growled. "The doc just told me I've only got days to live. I don't even have time to see my little girl before I kick it. That kinda news tends to make anybody feel a little down."

Jerking his eyes up from staring at the ground and towards the newcomer, he was about to spit something a bit more acidic when he caught the pair of stars on the guy's uniform collar.

"Uh ... Sir," he finished somewhat lamely, his angry words prudently swallowed.

The general, a fellow with chiseled features marred by a scar that puckered his left cheek, slowly nodded as he met the captain's gaze.

"Especially when that news makes your family's future a little uncertain," the general added. "How about I give you some news that'll make you feel a bit better about all that, captain?"

"Begging the general's pardon, but I'm not really seeing how that's possible." He turned away to stare at the wall. He was going to die and leave his little girl to grow up without a mom or dad, and nothing was going to make him feel better about that!

"Well, how about you let me tell you what that news is first before you jump back into that hole, captain." When he didn't respond, the general pushed on. "You're right, Captain Ezra Chanse. You are going to die, far from home and family, and there isn't anything I can do about that. But, instead of leaving your daughter with an uncertain future after you're gone, I can guarantee that not only will she receive your full vet's pension but we will take care of her every need as well. For as long as she lives."

Despite his dark mood, Chanse's eyes thoughtfully narrowed at the offer.

"Education?" he asked.

"Full ride scholarships wherever she goes anywhere in the Fed."

"Housing, food, clothing ..."

"Completely covered. She'll never need anything for the rest of her life."

"Medical?"

"Premium Platinum," the general replied without hesitation. "VIP service for the daughter of a war hero."

That brought his head up.

"Sounds too good ..." he began.

"To be true?" the general finished for him with a smile. "You have my personal assurance that it's completely legit."

Chanse frowned.

"And the catch?"

The general chuckled wryly.

"There's always a catch, isn't there?" he said with a hint of a smile. Then he was dead serious.

"The Fed wants you to go on one last mission."

Chanse grimaced.

"One last mission to earn my daughter a future," he said. "Again, if you'll pardon me for saying, sir, but isn't that a bit cliche?"

"We're the military, son. We all dress in the same uniform, use jargon, and pump ourselves up with slogans and catchphrases. We love cliches," the general said, once again wearing that slight smile. Then once more he sobered.

"Militaries throughout time and across cultures have used special teams to accomplish specific tasks against overwhelming odds with very little chance of survival. In the past, these 'suicide squads' were highly trained operatives that volunteered in order to accomplish a greater good. At Fed Spec Ops, we've taken it a step further. We have formed units of terminally ill soldiers, ones with only days left, to perform these strategic missions for us. There's no risk, because they're about to die anyway, and we're giving them the chance to go out on their feet instead of rotting away in a hospital bed."

The general leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowed.

"So, what do you say, Captain Chanse? Want to take one last shot at the enemy and earn your daughter a secure future?"

Chanse looked at the general, thoughts racing. Of course he wanted to give his little girl a better life. What father wouldn't? But to do it by going on a mission where he was guaranteed to die? It was insane!

Abruptly he sighed. Not like he had many options.

"You've convinced me, sir," he said. "I'll do it if I have your word as an officer that the Fed will give my daughter everything that you've promised."

"You have it, captain," the general instantly replied. Chanse nodded. Time to bleed one more time to keep his little girl safe.

"Okay, where do I sign?"