by Rob Dearsley
Light and heat washed over him.
He could feel it, scorching his hair. Dannage threw up his hands to shield his face, screwing his eyes up against the blinding white all around him. Gradually, it dimmed to something bearable and he opened his eyes, blinking away the artefacts that filled his vision. The scorching heat was still there, but that too became bearable.
He was in a building, and it was on fire. He knew he should be panicked, but he felt disconnected from the scene. He turned a slow circle. He was surrounded by a small apartment. It had a sense of homeliness. Whoever lived here had loved life, and that zest had impregnated the walls.
A choking sob drew his attention to the figure at his feet.
Stars. He took a step back, not wanting to look at the charred thing. How could it still be alive? Despite his best efforts, Dannage couldn’t look away. The thing, the man, writhed, bucking up from the floor. Its whole body was charred black, molten plastic fused with the ruined flesh of its chest.
Shadows flickered. Dark, featureless figures appeared, rushing toward the burnt wreck of a man. As they lifted him, his head lolled to one side. His eyes met Dannage’s and his lips split open in a maniacal smile.
“Everything burns.”
Dannage fell into darkness.
“So, what is this? Vengeance?” Dannage demanded.
He landed, bouncing off something hard. The impact jarred his shoulder and hip, leaving him gasping for breath. He shook his head, trying to clear it, aware of something in the darkness coming closer.
“They did this to me. Made this my prison.” The words seemed to come from everywhere all at once.
A flash of an operating table, the buzz of a saw, the hiss of life support, the scent of bleach and beneath it all, the coppery tang of blood.
“And that makes what you’re doing okay?” Dannage pulled himself to his feet.
He was in the Folly’s cargo hold, slumped against a crate, unable to move. Dannage looked up to see himself staring back down, eyes rolling madly, spittle frothing from his lips as he screamed.
“Well, hear this now. I will find you and make you pay. By all the Stars in all the heavens, I will end you.”
Looking up at himself like that, so completely out of control, made Dannage shiver. That wasn’t him, it couldn’t be. That crazed lunatic was capable of anything.
Anything? Like taking the Systems’ last chance and throwing it into hells’ teeth for revenge? Dragging those he professed as friends into the starless depths of damnation, on the slightest chance to strike at those who had hurt him?
“We are not so different, you and I.”
He didn’t recognise the system, but the dull red ember of a star reminded him of Hale’s story. Around and beneath him Terran ships fought each other.
“Revenge, freedom. We all fight for something.”
“We don’t need to.” His voice came out quiet and broken. The presence loomed closer. He could sense its satisfaction as the scene faded.
“We don’t have to be enemies. Submit and join us.”
Another scene flashed up. This one hitting Dannage in full technicolour. The tang of salt on the wind as it ruffled his hair and billowed his coat, the cold metal of the telescope pressed against his face as he looked out to sea.
“My turn!” Sam tackled him, sending them both tumbling, laughing across the grass. The brass telescope tumbled away into the meadow.
She pushed herself off him and went after the telescope.
“I wasn’t done yet.” Even to his own ears, the complaint sounded half-hearted. Dannage watched her scoop up her prize. A small smile curled his lips.
Sammy.
Tears filled Dannage’s eyes. The pain of her loss lanced through him, leaving him breathless, the reckless anger he’d felt at Gypsum returning. The presence became uneasy, pulling back.
Dannage pushed himself up from his knees. Memories of the same motion moments before, in the Terran ship’s Core room, filled in the scene around him. The sounds of the machinery pumping and gurgling as they kept the brain alive. The stink of rotten flesh filled his nose and throat. This time, he welcomed it and the rush of white-hot anger that came with it, clinging to it like the last light at the end of the world.
“No!” Dannage screamed. The scene shifted to the Folly’s hold, him clinging to Sam’s hand as the Turned ripped her away from him. He had the time to see every small line on her face, the terror in her eyes as she fell.
“No!” he screamed again into the darkness. This time, he knew he was being heard.
◊◊
Overhead, the massive collider ring, way bigger than the one Arland had seen on the Hlin, curved away toward the back wall of the compartment. Its superstructure was held in place by a tangle of gantries and walkways. The device fairly crackled with power.
Behind her, she knew the Marines would be setting up the demolition charge. Hopefully, whatever detonator the techs were rigging would leave them enough time to get back to the Folly.
Arland hunkered down behind the crate, reaching in her pocket for a fresh magazine. Her last. She slapped it into the rifle and worked the action. The screeches of the Turned sent the deck buzzing beneath her feet. Around her, Marines kept up fire against the fleeting forms of the Turned. Two of the creatures charged them, shrugging off the Marine’s gunfire to rip into the barricade and cut down one of the Marines before they could react.
Arland swung her rifle toward the nearest creature. The Turned clamped one clawed hand around the barrel, pulling it away from her. The creature’s strength was inexorable. Arland couldn’t fight it. Instead, she pulled the trigger.
The Turned’s lower arm exploded in a wash of gore, and the creature wheeled away, taking Arland’s rifle with it.
Without missing a beat, Arland pulled her pistol and fired in a single smooth motion. At such close range, the rounds hammered into turned, its head snapping back.
Arland risked a glance over to where Grayson dispatched another of the monsters. It had almost made it to the tech. The younger Marine’s helmet had a big scratch down the visor. A testament as to how close the creature had come to ending him.
More Turned darted in.
“Hold the line.” Grayson dropped his spent rifle to draw his pistol. “They cannot reach the tech.”
Arland took up a shooter’s stance and started firing. The lower calibre pistol rounds didn’t penetrate the Turned’s sandstone-like hide. They barely even slowed the creature.
The creature slammed into her, baring her backwards and down onto the deck. Memories of the Hlin’s engine room filled her senses. In a blind panic, she forced the pistol under the creature’s pointed chin and pulled the trigger. Its hands clawed at her helmet and arms, anything it could reach. Pain lanced through her as serrated claws dug into her arms. Arland kept pulling the trigger until the creature’s head was pulp and the motorised action clacked back against an empty chamber.
She pushed the creature off her and clambered to her feet. The Marines had pulled back into a tighter formation, practically back to back around the tech. Arland limped over to join them, slathering breach foam over her upper arms to reseal her suit.
Nowhere left to go. This would be their last stand. They just had to hang in long enough for the tech to finish.
“How long?” Grayson’s thought followed her own.
“Another couple of minutes.”
Simon leaned heavily against the gantry, his left leg and flank covered in breach foam. His face pale beneath his cracked faceplate. “We might not have that long.”
“Sir.” The final remaining Marine, a private, pointed. “They’ve stopped.”
Arland’s questions dried up when she looked out. The Turned were frozen in place.
◊◊
Dannage poured all his hurt, anger, and frustration into the presence, the Core Mind. Sam’s death, his parent’s reaction, the Folly, Hale, Arland. All of it.
“You think you have lost everything?”
No, he didn’t, but it was more than any person should have. He didn’t bother saying it aloud.
“Arland?”
Grayson’s team, or what was left of it, pulled back into tighter and tighter formation around a young tech, working on the thermite warhead. Arland was with them, her arms covered in bloody breach foam. A nasty gash on her forehead painted half her face angry red beneath the helmet. Even armed with just a pistol, she held her ground.
The scene froze in place.
Dannage crossed the bay in a pair of quick steps to stand in front of Arland. This close, he could see her steely expression crumbling into fear. Dannage reached out, gingerly tracing his fingers down the battered faceplate, imagining he could trace the line of her jaw.
“Is there anything you wouldn’t do for her?”
Dannage whirled toward the source of the voice. The burned man stood behind him, admiring one of the Turned.
“I made them. To them, I am a god.”
Dannage shook his head. “You’re no god.”
“Yet I have all the power, and you, hardly any.” Behind him, Dannage felt the collider ring pulse with barely contained energy.
Dannage looked away and into Arland’s rich brown eyes. “Then why are you scared?”
“I am your god!” the voice roared through his head. “You will kneel, or you will burn!”
Dannage turned, snarling. Another childhood memory flashed through his mind, distorting the landscape. Pennants fluttering over a vast city, something he’d seen in the movies. ‘No gods, no lords, only man.’
He turned back to Arland and kissed her gently on the forehead. “I’m sorry.” Then he turned to face the Core Mind. “It doesn’t have to be this way. We can end this, you and I.”
◊◊
Jax stared at the readouts on her screen, wide-eyed. Stars in heaven, they were all going to die. Not just them. The whole system, maybe even more. She had to tell them. Stars. She had to tell Arland now. She clambered over to the communications console. “Arland, Arland, can you hear me?”
Static, damn. Jax hoped it wasn’t too late. There had to be some way to boost the signal. Perhaps she could patch the ship-to-shore through the main array. It was a bit of a bodge, but it might hold for long enough. She squeezed through a small gap, heading for the far side of the compartment to where the coms gear blinked away.
It didn’t take her long to find the right connectors. Damn, she should have brought a crosspatch cable. She’d have to go back to the stock box to get one, and lose more time.
Jax took a steadying breath and crawled across to the box of cables. After a moment’s rooting, she had the cable and a couple of spares, just in case. It wouldn’t do to lose any more time, not when the stakes were this high.
She slotted the crosspatch into the coms panel and, using the small touch display, doubled the power going through the circuit. The system could take it, she was sure. Maybe. She dialled the power down by ten percent, just in case, and then tapped the com circuit open.
“Arland. Please, Arland. Come in,” she begged. Again, nothing. Stars damn it all, why wasn’t it working? The Folly had never failed her before, not like this. Everything was coming apart. She couldn’t fix it. They were all going to die.
Damn it, get a grip. She imagined Arland’s fierce eyes, pushing her forward. Arland was always so confident, always knew what to do. Arland would never panic like this.
One shaky breath, then another. She could do this, she just had to work the problem.
Grabbing the touch display, Jax brought up the diagnostic suit and started going through the cycles. Something flashed up on the second cycle. The main antenna, it must have taken damage while they were bouncing around in that battle. No big problem. She let out a shaky breath. She just needed to re-patch it into the backup antenna.
Oh no. No, no, nonono.
The antenna patch link, the one she needed, was behind access panel five-seven-alpha. In the upper bulkhead of the cargo bay. She couldn’t go out there, it was so big, so empty. Like the darkness before the first star.
Arland would, the voice in her head sneered. She shook her head, even to herself, she couldn’t speak. She had to do it, it was the only way. She had to save them all, stop them before it was too late.
Before Jax could think about it further, she grabbed a handful of assorted patch cables – just in case – and headed for the hatch, hitting the release switch with her elbow as she passed. The circular hatch irised open directly into the cargo hold. She froze. It was massive. So much space, nowhere to hide. Her breath caught in her throat, she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. She couldn’t go out there! Just the sight of it was enough to set her heart hammering so hard it might smash through her chest.
“Stars, please.” Tears rolled down her cheeks.
She punched the hatch control, turning away as the door cycled shut, leaving her gasping for breath. Why did she have to be like this?
The sobs racked her whole body. They were all going to die, just because she couldn’t do one stupid thing. All she had to do was go out there and plug the Stars-damned cable in.
Anger drove her to her feet, gave her strength enough to push her fears down as the hatch irised open again. Before she could think about what she was doing, she lunged through, her knuckles white around the cables.
Jax drifted into the cargo bay, the small air currents knocking her and ruffling her hair. She looked around for something to hold onto, to pull herself from the freefall, but everything was miles away. There was nothing.
She was alone, drifting in empty space. Her chest tightened painfully around her hammering heart, forcing a choked gasp from between clenched lips. She was going to die out here, all alone in space. She bounced off a small console, going into a spin, and flailed wildly for a second before her hand closed around the handle set into the side of the station.
She huddled around the console and tried to imagine she was back in the engine compartment, pipes surrounding her, holding her in their comforting embrace.
She took one deep breath, then another. When she was calmer she looked up, and up. Somewhere high above her was the hatch she was looking for. Just aft of the main stanchion, along the ship’s midline.
There it was. Jax took a deep breath and pushed off from the console.
As she left the safety of the console, her panic returned like an iron band around her chest, squeezing the life out of her. Finally, she reached the hatch. Fumbling with shaking hands, it took her three attempts to get it open. She shoved the cable into the unused connectors and turned toward the beckoning safety of the engineering hatch.
Nearly done, nearly back.
A scream cut through the bay. She flinched, knocking away from the panel and into a slow spin. Below her, the open cargo bay doors loomed. Panic made her thrash, which put her into a faster tumble.
The walls of the cargo bay flashed past, making her feel queasy. Beneath her, a brown creature clambered into the bay, reaching an oddly shaped hand out for her. Some daemon come to pull her down to where starlight couldn’t reach.
Its hand closed around her ankle, arresting her spin and pulling her toward the daemon. Her panicked thrashing was useless. She was going to die, they would all die. She’d never get back to her engineering again.
Off to her right, there was a loud banging, and she felt the creature's grip loosen. As though in a dream, she looked over to see Luc holding a big, nasty looking gun, leaning heavily against the wall. Was he broken?
He was yelling something. Words? They were just words. Jax couldn’t put them together right. Something about the console, a lever. He fired the gun again and she flinched away from the sound, bouncing off the console behind her.
“Damn it, Jax. Pull. The. Damn. Lever!” Luc yelled. Stars, he sounded so angry.
Jax looked up and there it was, right in front of her eyes. A TS-750 dead-man-switch, red paint chipped and flaking – she should get it repainted. It was the manual c
lose for the cargo bay doors. Bracing herself against the console, she pulled it. Some small measure of relief washed over her, as the heavy doors closed. Then Luc was there, bundling her up into a blanket. She huddled down into the folds of cloth, letting them block her view, confine her.
“’S-okay,” he murmured into her hair.
“No, it’s not,” she said, her voice still wobbly.
◊◊
Arland backed up a pace, slapped another clip into her pistol and aimed it into the darkness, tense and ready for another attack. It was all she could do, all any of them could do. The odd reprieve they’d gotten hadn’t lasted more than a minute, then the Turned had bolted into the shadows.
“Got it,” the tech announced.
“How long between triggering it and it going off?” Grayson asked.
“It’s using the timer from the grenade, so ten seconds,” the tech said. “Of course, it will take a minute or so to do enough damage to cause a Core breach.”
Grayson nodded, still scanning the darkness. “We can trigger it, run like the hells and hope we get clear of the engine compartment. Your Terran friend said the damage would be limited to the ship’s back section.”
Arland glanced over at Simon. He looked in no condition to run like hell. “What about the Turned? If we aren’t here can’t they stop it?”
The tech laughed. “Maybe with original magnesium fuses, but not now. Not enough time.”
Arland started as her radio squawked to life.
“Arland, can you hear me?” Jax's voice filtered through helmet speakers, barely audible through the interference.
Arland thumbed the volume all the way up before replying. “Reading you, just about.”
“You can’t blow up the Core.”
Arland froze, glancing over as though she might see the young engineer standing next to her. “Say again?”
“It’s the collider ring. The energy patterns I’m picking up are indicative of a fully formed, monostable proto-star. Energy readings are spiking all over the place, way more that on the other ships.”
