THE FIRST MISADVENTURE OF FRAGGER SPARKS: A Ranger Leads the Way

An elite Army Ranger, "Fragger" Sparks wakes up 600 years into the future to discover that he's now considered a "Rerun" - revived human "trash" - but trash with combat abilities that will transform the nature of space warfare.

EXCERPT: Fragger shook his head, trying to remember what had happened next, but nothing specific came, only a vague recollection of some `special' project. The inability to recall any details made him angry so he snapped, "Stop calling me `Fragger'! My correct name is Jonathan." Fragger forced his eyes open as he made the demand. His voice sounded harsh and grating as if his vocal cords were vibrating in gravel not air. It also seemed detached from his body as if it were floating around the bright lights on the ceiling. He squinted through gummy lids trying to get a better look at Leery and laughed at what he saw. The Revival Technician wasn't a squirrel. He was a man, a sweaty little pile of crap who looked squirrel-like but a man nonetheless and wearing a strange uniform. "On your feet, soldier!" the order came again. Fragger attempted to get up to brace the little bastard right up against the wall, but either he didn't have any feet or he couldn't feel them. Dream terror surged. "A mine?" he asked, forcing his body upright and discovering he was naked. He hated being naked, even in dreams. "Did I step on a mine?" "What? No," Leery answered. The Revival Technician couldn't decide where to place his focus. He alternated between gawking at Fragger as if he were some exotic beast and glancing anxiously at a resumption of the distant explosions while wiping perspiration from a sallow forehead. In the odd logic of the dream, the detonations appeared to come from a wall-sized painting of a bizarre chilly landscape dotted with rust-streaked rocks under a dusty pink sky. "You have all your extremities." Fragger checked his body just to be sure. His feet were still there and all ten toes, but with limited sensation. "What the hell's wrong?" he demanded. "I can't feel much of anything. Am I paralyzed?" "No, no, it's a side effect," Leery reassured him. "It goes away within a few minutes." "Within a few minutes of what?" "Revival, Sergeant." "What on earth are you talking about?" Fragger asked, annoyed by the little man's anxious rubbing at pale skin beneath a twitching eye, apparently a reaction to whatever the hell was going on outside the building. As he waited for an answer, the Ranger decided that while Leery was definitely not an actual squirrel, he was as close to one as a human being could possibly get. The man had puffy cheeks and a slight lower lip which he sucked at with two long front teeth. His black eyes were buttons of fear. Fragger guessed the technician was no taller than five-six. An oversized gray uniform trimmed with red epaulets did little to hide the slumped shoulders and paunchy gut. A big red "EC" insignia was stitched above the left pocket of the shirt. Leery's name was below it in white letters. A holstered pistol the likes of which Fragger had seen only on episodes of Star Trek hung from a wide black belt. Ankle high black boots completed the picture, a picture that made Frag ger think of his son when he was a young boy trying on his father's uniform. Leery was obviously a civilian playing military dress-up or, more likely, had been pressed into service and was not happy about it. Scientist, Fragger guessed. Squirrel-face has got the look of another kind of rodent-a lab rat. Definitely a rear echelon motherfucker. Damn, can't get away from REMFs, even when I'm asleep! "Well?" Fragger barked impatiently when Leery couldn't seem to drag his attention away from the noise. Leery twitched and jerked his gaze from the painting back to the Ranger. "Like I said, man. Revival. You know. Reborn, rebirthed, revived, cloned, good karma in a previous life, cool, that kind of thing, far out. Rock n' roll, booyah, mess up the Mohammeds." Fragger glared at the jittery technician and snapped, "Are you trying to be funny, you damned squirrel?"

A startled expression crossed Leery's face. "No, why? What's a squirrel?" "A little rodent, just like you. You're talking like I'm some damned moron. You're aping my speech. Making fun of me." The crrump! of explosions grew louder. Leery winced at the noise and explained quickly, "I haven't got time to make fun of you, Sergeant, believe me. I just used the speech pattern indicated for your particular part of the Terran Twentieth Century, that's all. Revival Technicians are trained to do such things." Fragger studied the man's face to see if Leery was playing out a practical joke that wasn't particularly funny, but the squirrel eyes showed no humor. They had the look of prey certain that a predator was about to strike. "My particular part of the Twentieth Century?" the Ranger asked. Leery flashed an insincere grin. "Happy Day of Second Birth, Sparks. As of today, you're about six centuries old. I hope you live to celebrate it."