Gamma Nine (Book One) by Christi Smit

Christian’s rifle.
    Christian did
not recognize half of the attachments, picking up a few to look at
them with surprised curiosity. “How many do I need?” he asked
Rivers.
    “As many as you
can carry. When the crap hits the fan it’s better to have a few
options. This one,” Rivers paused to pick up a tube-like
attachment, but it had a smaller bore than any attachments in the
training manual, “launches titanium spikes, very handy when you
need to slow down a fast-moving beastie.”
    Christian had
no idea what to make of them, randomly picking up a few, guessing
at what their function was. “What about this one?” he asked,
hefting up a bigger attachment with a flat barrel and a fat gas
tank below it.
    “Ah yes, that
one, I was looking for that. It’s not ready yet, might just kill
you. If that happens I will have to explain to everyone why you
were firing untested and unsanctioned hardware.”
    “Unsanctioned?”
    “Yes, you think
these are all military design. No mate, these are my designs, all
of them are my babies.”
    “Babies?”
    “Well yes,
wouldn’t you love them like your own if you created them and
nurtured them like I do? Feed them beastie targets regularly, clean
them and give them a nice place to sleep.” Rivers held on to the
attachment Christian had held only a few moments earlier, he held
on to it like a father cradling his son for the first time.
    “He probably
loves his gadgets more than his own children.” Xander had
approached from behind, fiddling with his plethora of explosives
again. He was chuckling to himself as he looked through a crate
with even more explosive devices.
    “You haven’t
met my children. I definitely love my babies more than my own
offspring.”
    That made
Christian laugh as well, the squad’s light-heartedness was
unsettling at first, but the more he was in contact with them the
better it made him feel.
    “One week,”
Nathan said from the corner of the armoury, he was there the entire
time, stripping his own weapons, cleaning the parts with a dirty
cloth. “We have one week to train him, we should get to it.”
    Everyone wore
their helmets. It was impossible to see their expressions behind
their mirror visors, the tone of their voices the only hints
Christian had to what the mood of the squad was. Nathan’s tone was
flat and lacked any emotion. They were so accustomed to being
inside their suits; it seemed that they never took them off.
Christian had to agree with that idea, keeping the suit on forever
would not be a bad thing, it felt like part of him already. But it
was probably not very good for his body to be strained for too
long. He wanted to ask how long each of them had been in their
suits, but he was cut off by Captain Locke entering the
armoury.
    Locke’s helmet
was on as well. His voice however had enough authority behind it
that you did not need to see his face to follow his orders or know
what his expression was.
    “Corporal,” he
nodded at Christian. “I see the artist didn’t have to paint little
pink flowers for you everywhere. Good, we might be able to get you
ready in time then.”
    “No sir. What
am I in time for sir?” Christian asked Locke.
    “Your first
mission, in one week you will see what it’s like to be a real
Titan. Where you will either pass or fail your trials.”
    “I thought the
Labyrinth and everything before that were the trials?”
    “They were, but
because your final trial was cut short we have to sharpen your
skills during active operations.”
    “About the
Labyrinth,” Christian started to ask but was cut off by Locke’s
raised hand.
    “Nothing about
it Corporal, the final trial is nothing but a survival exercise, a
sadistic one but one nonetheless.”
    “What do you
mean sir?”
    “There is no
real end to the Labyrinth. It was designed to disorient you while
you were attacked from all sides. The room my squad found you in
was it, there was nothing beyond it. The shifting pillars and
enemies were all