1 CHAPTER 1: A TRIP TO EDEN

The torrential downpour of rain smashed against the metal and glass of the lone terminal building at the far corner of the Southern Utah Air Force Base. Mountains surrounded the secure facility on three sides, the lone runway extending out of sight to the north. Once used for the testing of experimental aircraft, the base was now mainly deserted. At least to the cursory glance of anyone who might be passing by and saw the buildings.

The base in actuality was very active, most of its facilities being underground, and therefore hidden from casual view. The two very large and odd-looking aircraft were parked close to each other on the tarmac, three hundred meters from the terminal itself. They were odd shaped aircraft, looking like massive wasps in their design. They had short stubby wings on each side with box shaped pods attached to each wing, their landing gear looking almost like clawed feet rather than wheels. Under the bubble nose of each aircraft was a large wicked looking chain gun of some sort that now sat dormant. Directly behind where the cockpit was on the top of the craft was another small bubble that ran back about six meters from the nose of the craft. Under that bubble could be seen a small map table of some sort and two couches against the wall of the upper deck room.

There were portable lights set up all around the aircraft at roughly a hundred meters distance, illuminating the heavy security that surrounded the two aircraft in an eerie glow. There was a ring of heavily armed guards standing at fifty meter intervals all around the craft, the rain not bothering them at all as they walked slowly along the perimeter, their eyes always trained outward. They were dressed in black fatigues and wore balacavas over their heads, hiding all but their eyes. Their rain drenched gloved hands clutched the silenced weapons they carried, the HK74 which was the newest version of the venerable HK MP5, and fired a devastating 10mm caseless round that was tipped with a pin drop of liquid explosive. There were small one man crane trucks moving large crates on wooden pallets into the bellies of both aircraft, driving up the sloped ramps into the dimly lit interiors of each ship. The security teams around the ships were exceptionally alert, their wicked looking HK74 sub-machine guns equipped with integral silencers and laser sights. The weapons hung from quick action slings, the gloved firing hands of the team members wrapped around the pistol grips, their fingers on the trigger guards. These were not ordinary Air Force security troops. They were perhaps; the most elite and lethal unit in the United States military, and they took nothing for granted.

Several hundred meters outside that inner ring of soldiers were half a dozen heavy gun Hummers. These particular vehicles, heavily armored and mounted with chain gun turrets, manned by equally alert members of the same security force, could destroy targets up to medium size tanks. Far in the distance, they could see the black out lights of another dozen Air Force gun Hummers slowly patrolling the perimeter of the tarmac, gun Hummers that were crewed by the same breed of soldier as the ones closer to the aircraft but assigned to the Air Force's Special Operations Wing.

The men and women inside the terminal paid no attention to the activity going on outside. They could not have cared less. They wore a mixture of civilian and military dress, and almost all of them had drinks in their hands. They were senior officers in all the services and the junior Senators and aides of the more important men and women gathering at this remote terminal. The work that was going on outside the terminal in the driving rain was below them and not any of their concern.

Except for the tall, heavily muscled young man dressed in Navy whites and standing in front of the large window just outside the lounge. His keen dark brown almost black eyes swept the tarmac below him, seeing the work that was going on three hundred meters from the terminal as if it was happening right outside the window. The young man's thick black hair was cut short, his skin deeply tanned. He looked like a man who spent most of his time outdoors, and in truth, he was. His uniform bore the three solid gold stripes of a full Navy Commander on his sleeve and his shoulder boards. The uniform fit his muscled form like a glove, as if he had been poured into the uniform. The seven rows of brightly colored ribbons on the left side of his chest were topped by a gleaming gold Navy SEAL "Budweiser" Trident, the official unit designator of the United States Navy SEALS.

Commander Martin Hunter was a unique young man among men, who commanded a unique SEAL team of men and women. All sixty-four of his team members were part of the failed military program to create genetically enhanced soldiers in the early 21st century. In late 2035, a dozen military and civilian scientists, some of the finest minds in gene research, were given the go ahead to put their genetic engineering minds together and begin the Genome Program. Using altered DNA sequences, they were able to breed genetically improved soldiers. These soldiers would have three times the endurance and strength than normal soldiers. They would be able to fight longer and harder than normal men and women without rest. Each of the military branches was given five units of seventy-two genetically enhanced men and women. Martin and his team were the first group to be born and bred from the scientist's test tubes. They were assigned to the Navy to be raised and schooled. From a very young age, they were trained and schooled in small unit operations and tactics. They were given the finest hand-to-hand combat training believed to exist in the Navy SEALs, all of their instructors being seasoned combat veterans. By the time they were eighteen they had officially been designated SEAL Team 12, and were activated as a unit.

In the course of the next fifteen years, they conducted fifty-nine operations in three separate wars. During that span of time, they suffered only eight members killed in action. They became known as the Team that could not fail. During that time, they earned the respect of every other SEAL Team, and were accepted into the small family of Navy SEALs. They were also the most successful of the Genome units in the military, and drew rave praise from the scientists who created them. The Genome program was a huge success initially, but the scientists never counted on the stresses and horrors of war and constant action. In the eleventh year of active duty existence for the Genomes, the problems began happening.

They began in the Marine units first. The Genomes began to disobey orders and conduct unsanctioned missions. Dozens of them began to mentally snap and go on bloody killing rampages. After three years of trying to determine what the problem was, and hundreds of humiliating and painful experiments, the Genome Program was officially closed, and all the remaining Genomes were secluded for further testing and elimination.

Specially trained teams from the government called "Sweeper" teams were used to eliminate the Genome soldiers determined to be unstable. Only SEAL Team 12 and one unit from the Air Force survived the Genome Purge, as it came to be known. The members of SEAL Team 12 were subjected to countless tests to try to determine why they were different. No instance of mental degradation had occurred within their ranks, and all of their members remained fit and in command of their facilities. The same was found for the Air Force's unit of Genomes, and again ... no reason was ever determined. Since no reason was ever found and the need for their advanced skills and experienced were needed they were returned to active duty. It was only seven months ago that Martin learned that his Team had been selected to be the new Security Force for a new base that was completing activation. This base was in a place none of them had ever been.

EDEN was on the moon.

EDEN was a sprawling base under control of the United States, but allowing many in the International Community to be part of its eight thousand-member crew. SEAL Team 12 was in charge of all security operations on EDEN thanks to a senior Admiral who had worked with Martin during the Central American War, and now was Commander of EDEN.

Martin was thirty-four years old now, his six foot two, two hundred twenty pound frame still just as hard and muscular as when he was eighteen. He bore the scars of five Purple Hearts received during the many missions they had conducted, yet he remained steadfastly loyal to his country and his Team. His genetically enhanced eyes focused on the SEAL closest to the terminal, and he saw his teammate as if he was only a few feet away, though to anyone not looking through enhanced vision devices, they would see only darkness and driving rain.

Martin Hunter had worked hard and long to obtain the status he now held. There had been times over the course of the years when he had questioned who and what he was, for his abilities far outweighed what any of the scientists had envisioned they would, in many more ways than they knew, but those questions had never affected his duties as Team Leader. He looked out for his team, and they looked out for him. He had been told by the man who had created him that the animal DNA that he and two others had been grafted with was that of a wolf, and over the course of the following years Martin had come to consider his SEAL Team his wolf pack, his family unit. He never revealed to anyone that it was he and the two others within his unit that had saved their fellow team members from the Genome Purge. It was something within their blood, something that had changed them even more than what the scientists said it would, and once they realized that Genomes were snapping and going crazy, and that they were not affected by this defect, they agreed to make the rest of their team members like them, in order to save them. Very few individuals outside of his SEAL Team, the man who had raised and created them and their commanding officer knew what he and his people could do, and they worked very hard to keep it that way.

"How goes the loading Chief Roberts?" Martin asked casually, as if he was talking to the window. His eyes however were focused on the senior Chief who stood apart from the others on the tarmac.

The SEAL on the tarmac did not turn at the voice of his commander in his head. All of SEAL team Twelve was equipped with transmitters and receivers implanted just under their skin along their jaw lines and the ridges of their ears. It allowed them to communicate openly and keep their hands free for other matters.

"We'd be done by now if it wasn't for the fact we had to unseal and repack four crates Skipper." The man replied.

"Explain." Martin told him.

"Some tech head basically ignored our instructions on stowing his gear. The crates were not sealed properly. We had to crack them open and repack six thousand pounds of equipment. Mostly research stuff it looked like." Roberts replied.

"Assigned to whom?" Martin asked.