7 Months Ago. May 23rd, 2267. 06:30 Vosture Prime Station

John stepped aside after exiting the catwalk. He knew he was in a backwater system, but he didn’t expect the station to be this lifeless. There was no one in eyesight besides the gate agents, a pair of really bored-looking security agents, and of course, the other passengers exiting the voidliner behind him.

“Good lord, it is desolate here,” John said to himself.

One of the gate agents overheard it and responded sarcastically, “We’re at the ass end of the colonized galaxy. This is pretty normal, at least here in the commercial flights area.”

“Where are the customs gates?” John asked.

“Right down the hall, you won’t be able to miss it,” the agent pointed in the general direction.

John nodded and started walking. He increased his pace to overtake a few of the passengers who had gotten off the plane ahead of him. There was a hunch that this station had a single customs and immigration officer processing arrivals. Being stuck in the middle of that line was not something he wanted.

Sure enough, his assumption was true. There was a second gate, but it was unoccupied. Three people were ahead of him. An elderly couple was here only to visit their grandchildren. A blond woman with a wild haircut and equally wild look was ahead of John in line. She had an aura of being troublesome.

To John’s great surprise, his assumptions about this woman were totally wrong. He thought, ‘can’t always judge a book by its cover’ as he stepped in front of the customs officer window. John then yawned as he cracked his neck.

“Passport and boarding pass please,” the officer said.

John waved his tablet over the scanning device. He then pulled out Stephen Hurt’s digital passport and waived it across the scanner. John’s fake information appeared on the screen.

“Stephen is it, good morning,” the officer said in a monotone voice, “What is your purpose for traveling here.”

“Immigration. I’m going to purchase a homestead, going to be a farmer here if all goes well.”

The officer clicked a few things in his terminal. The story checks with the immigration application. No homestead had been purchased but there had been a few plots that he was interested in. The officer sighed, for reasons unknown to John, then continued to stare at the screen.

“Handprint please.”

John nodded and placed his right hand on the scanner. A quick DNA sample was taken. More information was gathered to ensure he was who he said he was. The officer then nodded again.

“You are approved for a visa that will last twelve months. Pursuant to the Vosturan Homestead Act you will need to purchase a plot of land and make it farmable. Buying the farmstead will grant you extensions on your visa. Failure to purchase a homestead will result in nullification of your visa. The office in charge of homesteads is not open today on the surface, you’ll need to visit them tomorrow,” the officer shook his head, “That department’s hours don’t make a damn bit of sense.”

“Understood, I hope to have one purchased within a week.”

“I’ve attached your visa to your passport. You can either take the elevator or a shuttle down to the surface. Shuttle costs more but is way quicker.”

John smiled and picked up his bag from between his legs. He slung it over his shoulder as he walked through a scanning device and into the unsecured portion of the station. There was much more occurring here, though that was relative given the absolute lack of anything happening behind him.

He walked over to a directory and found an extra-net café. Stephen Hurt needed to go away now that he was here. Steven Hart, disgraced commander and active fugitive, needed to come alive. It would be easier for him to accomplish this if he could go to the Naval Intelligence offices, but they were sealed shut and there was no effective way for him to get there without causing all sorts of trouble for himself there.

Virtual Gaiden, the only currently open extra-net cafe, was on the same level as he was currently on. It was nestled in between a pair of competing coffee shops. John’s noise noticed the distinctive smell the moment he walked inside, to say that he found it a bit off-putting was putting it mildly. The lone employee could barely look at John when he walked up to the desk.

“I need a private room for fifteen minutes.”

“Mmhmm,” answered the employee.

“Where are they? And are any open?”

The employee didn’t take his eyes off his screen. A nod and a pointed finger were all the responses John got.

“And what is the price?”

The pointed finger changed to a thumb as the man gestured to a sign on the wall. All of John’s follow-up questions were answered. It was going to cost twenty credits, their minimum price for anything, for thirty minutes of use of a secured and private extra-net terminal. He could pay when he left.

John nodded and walked down the small hallway to the remaining open room. The first two he walked by John could hear moans and other pornographic sounds emanating from them. All of a sudden, he regretted entering this establishment.

Whether by some miracle, the universe seemed to smile upon John that morning. The room smelled as if it were freshly clean. And not just a surface cleaning, it smelled like strong chemicals were used to wipe away whatever filth was in this room before. While he was still disgusted at being in this facility, at least he didn’t feel like he needed to burn his clothing after leaving there.

“Alice, forgive me, I didn’t know about this place,” John said as he poked at the chair.

John pulled out his tablet and set it on the wireless interconnect pad. He made a copy of Eve and uploaded her to the station’s server. She’d be his eyes on the station, and his means of connecting into the NI database if push came to shove. Doing that would undoubtedly alert anyone with eyes on intra-colonial communications.

He then pulled out a pair of passports. He immediately went to work transferring Stephen’s visa to Steven. Using his Naval Intelligence know-how, it was a relatively simple task to add a record that Steven Hart had arrived at the station the prior day. Ten minutes later he had all that he needed to finish the transition, but it wasn’t perfect. His modification of immigration records could be uncovered if a deep enough audit were conducted.

Steven Hart had already submitted a homestead request and purchased a place about a hundred-fifty miles away from the colony. Rather conveniently for him there was already a small, but quaint and well furnished, home sitting on that land. No one alive in the colony had ever met Steven Hart, much less knew he had already acquired a homestead. The records would obviously say otherwise but only someone exceptionally skilled would be able to detect anything untoward with the records.

Stephen Hurt’s digital wallet and passport were then wiped clean. Both electronic devices were then broken shortly thereafter. The heavy metal table the terminal sat on made it easy to snap the devices in two. He put the broken pieces into his left pocket. John would deposit the broken pieces in different garbage receptacles on his way out of the station.

He quickly left the disgusting café and meandered his way through the station. He wanted to get to the surface as quickly as possible. More specifically, John wanted to get to the homestead and see if the Director was telling the truth. If he wasn’t, then he knew he was sent up shit creak without a paddle. John was not in any mood to run an operation on hard mode.

John’s destination was a couple of decks down and clear across the station. That central portion of the station was where the shuttle services were located. John paused when he heard his stomach growl loudly. Perhaps his desire to get to the surface would need to be tempered a bit.

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Once again, the timing was perfect as John was within sight of the food court on this level. A quick pitstop was made. He ordered a breakfast sandwich at one of the deli shops. Two minutes later he had a small sandwich in his hand.

“Mmmm, bacon,” John said to himself as he continued to walk through the station.

To the average traveler or security agent onboard, he looked like a well-traveled and focused young man. In one hand was a breakfast sandwich and in the other was a tablet. John was reading it in between bites of the sandwich. His course then changed as he made a direct line to the nearest garbage can, the sandwich was exactly what he needed.

To John, nothing appeared sketchy or out of place here at the station. It was business as usual. Eve, however, was already sending messages to John via secretive and unusual channels via the extra-net. Something fishing was going on behind the scenes, the extra-net was kind of working fine, but the colonial channels were unusually restricted from sending any messages on official channels.

Ten minutes later John made it to the shuttles. Thankfully the disgraced Commander Steven Hart, like John, held a type rating on the shuttles stored here. He was able to immediately board a shuttle and take off. The station would control the shuttle’s departure and set it on course for its re-entry to the surface.

15:30 Vosture Prime Countryside – Naval Intelligence Dark Site 3A

Upon landing John immediately made his way to the monorail and took a trip into the colonial city. He needed to purchase a vehicle to be able to travel into the city. He had wanted a Ferrari or Lamborghini. Something sexy. Nothing about this colony was sexy, in fact, the modus operandi of the colony was practical over showy.

Not surprisingly, there weren’t any factories present producing sporty vehicles here. They had to be imported from another colony, which meant they were hilariously expensive and rare. Driving one would make him stand out far too much.

Ford, however, did have a small manufacturing facility that produced four lines of vehicles. John was pleasantly surprised at that revelation when he arrived at a dealership. Getting a new vehicle was an unexpected bonus.

He was not known for being a truck driver, but the metallic blue F-150 that he first set eyes on called to him. It was several inches taller than the other trucks on the lot, thanks in part to the larger all-terrain tires and beefy shocks. The Raptor model looked mean as hell compared to the plane Jane variants. It was love at first sight, and John had to have it.

His next stop was at a sporting goods store to pick up a couple of heavy-duty coolers, along with a pair of guns, a hunting rifle, and a large caliber sidearm. The last thing he wanted to do was drive two hours one way and then find out that he had to drive back to get food and other provisions. It was better to have too much food than not enough.

The final stop prior to leaving the city was at a large general goods store at the eastern edge of the city before the rural areas. Outside there was a lumberyard, several fuel pumps, and recharging stations. Inside there was a gun store, two restaurants, a convenience store, a hardware store, an arcade, and finally a large grocery store.

Had he known about the gun store he wouldn’t have bothered with the previous stop. That was nothing more than a lesson learned for next time. John also made note of the surrounding areas, the area was neither new nor old, and plenty of other businesses were in the area. The surveillance systems appeared to be fully functional too.

John’s homestead had two fuel tanks, but he didn’t know if they were full or not. Thankfully Naval Intelligence had done something for him and not only opened a purchasing account at a store on the outskirts of the colonial city. The tanks were filled when they were installed the previous year. Too many things were going right for John, he wasn’t used to this degree of success during these missions this early in them.

Two hours later John arrived at his destination. His new home away from home. The gate at the end of the road detected his presence and automatically opened allowing him to slowly creep his truck along his driveway. The wild grass was wickedly overgrown. Overall, he liked what he saw of his compound. There was a detached garage across from the house. At the end of the driveway, he saw a larger building, likely a workshop. And where he had hoped a tractor of some sort was so that he could cut the overgrown grass.

He parked the truck near the front door of the house. John quickly hopped out of his truck and walked over to the home. His eagerness to get inside was almost his undoing as he tripped stepping onto his deck. It was far from a graceful first step into the building, but he caught himself and prevented him from falling face-first onto the deck.

“Damn, not bad digs,” John said as he stepped into his new home.

The house wasn’t anything special, it looked like an L-shaped Tetris block laid on its long side. The second floor was only about half the length of the house and only contained the master bedroom and bathroom. The door he walked inside led immediately to the kitchen on his left. The dining room table was halfway between the door and the large bay windows on the other side of the house.

He took a moment to look down at the length of the house and saw the living room. There was a single couch and several chairs, but they didn’t exactly match. As a guy, they looked acceptable to him. John chuckled when he thought how much that would drive Alice nuts. A bookshelf could be seen on the right side of the house. A bathroom and a couple of closets were on that wall too. Behind the far wall was another bathroom and presumably the second bedroom and office.

“Eve, where is the supply cache?” John asked, knowing his VI had already transferred herself into the home’s network.

“An access panel is in the second closet on your right. Upon successful scan the hatch will reveal itself allowing entry,” Eve responded.

“What’s in the workshop?”

“A riding lawnmower, a John Deer 6170 tractor, and several implements,” Eve paused as she reviewed the manifest, “Of particular interest to you is a twenty-foot implement used for mowing overgrown lots.”

“Turn the lights on in that building and open the main door. I’ll have to be Farmer Bob this afternoon. Please make note of everything here. And find a how-to video on operating a tractor on the extra-net as I’ve never operated a tractor before.”

John turned to walk outside and began unloading his pickup truck and stocking the fridge and pantry. There was food in the house, but nothing fresh, so the stop was well worth it. After the coolers were emptied of groceries, he dumped the ice on the driveway and set the coolers upside down, with their lids open to dry them.

The next step, which took most of the afternoon, was learning how to drive the tractor and operate the large mower. Mowing wasn’t a fun task in and of itself, but John thoroughly enjoyed the tractor. There was just something about the whole experience that was so damn fun about operating such a unit.

As John was backing the tractor and implement back into the workshop, he heard his stomach growl once again. He was surprised to see what time it was when he looked at one of the tractor’s screens. He shut the tractor down and closed the workshop’s large door before jogging over to the house. The smell of fresh-cut grass overpowered his sense of smell. It was borderline unpleasant, but a necessity because the property was now both usable and livable.

John stepped up onto the low deck and pulled the cover off the grill. A great big smile flashed across his face when he opened the lid. It was a charcoal grill. Then his heart sank, he didn’t buy any charcoal and there weren’t any bags of lump charcoal in the workshop.

He jogged over to the garage and opened the side door. He then quickly opened the garage door. When it was opened, he pulled up his tablet and opened the Ford app. A couple of button presses later the Raptor roared to life and slowly parked itself in the garage.

“Thank fucking Christ. I’m going to get a proper grilled meal tonight,” John said as he picked up a nearly empty bag of lump charcoal.

He also picked up a gas lighter from a shelf next to the door before he closed both the garage doors and walked out of the smaller gate. The contents of the charcoal bag were dumped into the grill. He tore off a couple of pieces of the bag and shoved them into clumps of charcoal. Once they were lit, he headed inside to clean his dirty hands and prepare the meat.

John had dinner outside and watched the sunset on his homestead. This kind of life was something he could enjoy. It was quiet, slow, and very peaceful. In that moment the only thing he could think of was regret. Alice wasn’t here with him to enjoy it as he was. That brought John back to reality when he finished.

Now it was time to prepare for war. Or find out if Naval Intelligence fucked him in the ass. John honestly didn’t know what to expect. After placing the dirty dishes in the sink he walked to the second closet in the living room and walked into it. Almost on instinct, John knew exactly where the scanner was. Upon finishing scanning his hand a part of the closet retracted into the wall revealing a trap door that was locked. A second scan of him was required before it opened up.

As the hatch opened the latter was locked into place. John was impressed with the design but thought a retractable ladder was almost excessive. It went down almost twenty-five feet. The access port was surprisingly large. When he got to the bottom, he noticed there was a small lift.

“What the hell is this for?” John said as he knelt down.

“Look up and ahead,” Eve said over the speakers.

John complied and to his surprise, he saw not one, or two, but three specialized suits. The Mark IX stealth suit, released just last year to the special forces, was the first one he noticed. Another stealth suit was hung behind that one. To the right of that was a Mark IV Recon suit of power armor, it was more lightly armored than the bog-standard power armor but had a refractor field generator along with an enhanced electronics suite built into it so it could link up to other suits behind it. In short, it was an enemy’s worst nightmare, having incredibly accurate artillery strikes and long-range guided sniper fire directed towards them.

Then there was a suit of Mark V power armor, this particular suit was modified a bit to have more ammo pouches on its breastplate. John stood up and smiled.

“How in the hell does that get through that tiny hole?” John asked.

“It doesn’t, you must suit up manually. The suit is designed to break into seven components that will reattach to one another.”

“Gah, useless,” John said as he walked around the corner.

Guns, ammunition, magazines, scopes, and gun components were neatly arranged. Both walls were full of gear. If anyone was a gunhead they would have sworn they died and went to heaven. John couldn’t help but grin at seeing all the gear in front of him.

“I can make this work,” John nodded, “I can make this work.