The air in the sterile, dimly lit chamber of Nhyrr Zeta Base – a global black site buried deep beneath an unlisted mountain range – was charged. The cold, recycled air carried a faint, tallic scent. Fluorescent lights cast long shadows across the polished floor. At its center, a large ring structure, thirty feet in diater, humd. Its inner surface glowed faintly with circuitry. It was a gateway.
McKnight, rigid, stood before the ring. His dark grey combat suit absorbed the light. His eyes, visible through his visor, were cold slits. Beside him, Ronnie and three other Echo soldiers stood still. Their visors obscured their faces. Their movents were precise. They were automatons, controlled by a distant will. Their presence demonstrated Krill-enhanced human technology.
McKnight raised a gloved hand towards a large, reinforced window that separated them from the control room. On the other side, an operator, pale in the glow of his console, nodded. His fingers moved across a holographic interface, activating the device. Nurical sequences scrolled rapidly across his display.
"Phase one paraters confird," the operator’s voice crackled over the internal comms. "Stabilizing wormhole aperture. Gravitic flux compensating."
The ring structure humd louder. The humming intensified.
Then, a distortion appeared within the ring. It swirled, forming a vortex of purple light that stretched into a void. The air grew cold. The portal was open.
"Temporal synchronization check," the operator repeated. "Report status."
McKnight glanced at his wrist. His combat watch showed active readouts. Its chronoter matched the base’s master clock. A faint smirk touched his lips. "Temporal lock confird. Offset negligible. Yeah," he said, "working just fine."
He adjusted his grip on the black briefcases. They were shielded containers for currency.
"Initiating jump sequence," the operator announced. "Estimated transit ti: instantaneous. Destination paraters: Democratic Republic of Congo, coordinates [REDACTED]. Local ti synchronization active."
McKnight stepped into the vortex. The energy pulled at his suit. "Ti to harvest," he murmured. "Here we go, Africa." He entered the purple light. Ronnie and the three Echo soldiers followed, each carrying two briefcases. The portal remained open.
II. The Trade in Flesh
They were in a sterile bunker one mont. The next, the heat of the Congolese desert surrounded them. The air was thick with dust and a faint sll of unwashed bodies. They had arrived in a desolate, sun-baked region of cracked earth and sparse scrub. In the distance, a camp appeared—tents and corrugated steel structures. Ard n patrolled the periter.
McKnight and his Echo soldiers walked towards the camp. There was no challenge from the guards. They were expected. They moved through the camp, past fires and people, towards three large, windowless warehouses. The warehouses had a foul odor. Nearby, a few cabins offered shade.
They approached one cabin. A large man, sweating, sat at a table, cleaning a machete. He looked up, smiling to reveal gold teeth. "Ah, Mister McKnight! Welco, welco!"
The commander rose, pulling a leather pouch from his belt and tossing it onto the table. Ten briefcases, identical to McKnight’s, were already stacked beside it. Each humd with the energy signature of untraceable currency.
McKnight paused outside the cabin, tapping his watch. Ronnie and the three Echo soldiers stopped instantly, standing still.
McKnight stepped inside. The heat of the cabin was oppressive. "How many did you grab this ti, Commander?" he asked.
The commander laughed. "Ah, we had a hard ti extracting them from the others, Mister McKnight! Lost many of my n in the skirmishes," he said, gesturing vaguely. "But we managed to grab twenty thousand this ti. I wish to negotiate for one thousand per head this ti."
McKnight’s cold eyes fixed on the commander. "That’s not a problem, Commander," he said. "But my boss will question your price increases. Your efficiency seems to diminish with each quota."
The commander’s laughter stopped. He chuckled nervously. "Hahaha, this is the last ti, Sir McKnight! Besides, you have no one independent to operate in Congo. All other militia groups are under them." He gestured to the jungle.
"Well," McKnight replied, his voice even, "the other groups receive less or no money. We pay you a lot. We didn’t go to other groups because you’re consistent. But we found intel that other groups are desperate for money, and can gather more than yours. Consider this your final warning, Commander. Consistency is what we pay for."
The commander’s face lost its joviality. Sweat beaded on his forehead. "I promise you, Sir McKnight, this is the last ti. Next month, it will be as agreed."
"That’s fine," McKnight said, turning towards the nearest warehouse. "Let’s check the units."
The commander barked orders at his guards. The massive, rusty tal doors of the first warehouse creaked open, revealing hundreds of n, won, and children. They were silent, their eyes wide with fear. Ard n patrolled the crowded space. The air was thick with the stench of fear, gri, and desperation.
McKnight surveyed the trapped people. "I trust this is all twenty thousand?" he asked.
"No, sir," the commander said, rubbing his hands. "This is just six thousand. The others are in separate camps. We can escort you there once this batch is processed."
"That’s fine," McKnight replied, pulling up his watch. He typed a quick sequence. In the open doorway of the warehouse, a vortex of purple energy appeared. The ard guards inside the warehouse reacted as if accustod to it.
The commander ordered his n: "Escort them! Now! Through the portal!"
Ard n began pushing the captured people towards the glowing portal. A child was pulled from its mother, both disappearing into the vortex. Ronnie and the three Echo soldiers moved, forming a periter around the portal, ready to capture stragglers. The local ard n continued to force people into the gateway.
As the last group was herded through, McKnight turned to the commander. "That’s twenty million on those briefcases, Commander. I’ve priced them at one thousand per head, as agreed. I’ve just received word from my boss." He leaned in. "If you can capture more than forty thousand next month, he’s increasing the price to two thousand per head."
The commander’s eyes lit up. He grinned. "You can count on , Sir McKnight! Forty thousand? It will be done!"
After all captives were escorted, McKnight and his four Echo soldiers entered a pickup truck. The commander drove, leading them towards other camps where the remaining thousands awaited their turn.
Back inside the Nhyrr Zeta Base, a large, glass chamber showed activity. People were packed inside. Echo soldiers patrolled, ensuring compliance.
From an observation deck overlooking the chamber, three Krill officers watched. Their eyes registered the new arrivals. More people materialized from the portals, pouring into the crowded chamber.
Finally, McKnight, Ronnie, and the three Echo soldiers entered. As the last local ard man passed through, the heavy blast door locked. Echo soldiers, wearing gas masks, moved into position.
From unseen vents in the ceiling, a gas began to pour into the chamber. Panic erupted. People stumbled, coughed, and grew sluggish. The Echo soldiers moved, silent and relentless. Anyone who struggled was t with electric batons or punches. One by one, everyone in the chamber collapsed, their forms still. Only the Echo soldiers remained standing.
As the last person fell, tubes popped out from the ceiling. More Echo soldiers, in hazmat suits, entered. They attached the injections from the tubes to the unconscious people.
Once all were attached, a chanical hum filled the chamber. Blood began to drain from the bodies through the tubes, flowing upwards, towards the observation deck. Krill officers watched. On their consoles, readouts displayed Anu-blood concentration.
The bodies shriveled, turning pale and hollow. They beca husks. As a body was depleted, Echo soldiers detached the tubes and dragged the husks to a nearby pit. They tossed the bodies in. The pit swallowed them. The hum of the blood-processing machines continued. The harvest had begun.
McKnight, Ronnie, and the three Echo soldiers moved from the processing chamber to the transportation sector of the base. This area was a vast, expansive chamber, illuminated by powerful overhead lights that glead off polished tal floors. The air here was cooler, drier, lacking the acrid tang of the processing area.
The hangar bay was a hive of activity. Three frigate-class starships, sleek and formidable, stood docked in massive berths. Each possessed a different design, so with visible weapon emplacents, others with large, dark windows that hinted at command bridges within. Krill officers, their eyes scanning holographic displays, moved with alien purpose, flanked by their Echo soldier retinues. Human officers, dressed in crisp, black uniforms, conversed with engineers and scientists, a complex hierarchy of subservience and technical expertise at play.
To the right, three parallel tracks of maglev trains had just arrived. Their transparent carriages were packed with human figures. Human officers waited beside the tracks, their expressions professional, their bodies radiating a practiced, cold efficiency.
"Sir McKnight," one of the human officers greeted, snapping to attention and offering a crisp salute as McKnight approached.
McKnight returned a curt nod. His gaze swept over the figures in the trains. People of different ethnicities: fair-skinned Aricans, tanned xicans, rugged Canadians. They sat or stood, their faces ranging from vacant to bewildered, so showing signs of fear, others of resignation.
"Where is this batch from?" McKnight asked, his voice low.
The officer consulted a tablet. "Sir, these batches just ca from various facilities across the North Arican continent. Drug rehabilitation facilities, death row inmates, captured holess individuals, as well as drug addicts apprehended directly from the streets." He gestured vaguely at the trains. "They were easier to round up, less public resistance."
"How many are they?" McKnight pressed, a flicker of satisfaction in his eyes.
"They’re thirty thousand in total, sir, from all over the States and allied territories."
McKnight glanced behind him, towards the processing chamber. "Are they going to the processor too?"
"No, sir," the officer replied. "They will be sent directly to the lunar station for the quota. With this delivery, Lord Khians’s and Lord Kahn’s quota will be eighty percent complete, with still two weeks remaining on the Imperial deadline."
"Good," McKnight said, a subtle shift in his posture indicating his approval. He typed a quick command into his watch, sending a confirmation of the new arrival numbers to an unseen central system.
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