Generation (Shadows of the Void Space Opera Serial Book 1)

by J. J. Green

  “Yeah,” said the copilot, “like, bugger me sideways.”

  The two women looked at him.

  “It’s just a joke.”

  “This isn’t the time for joking, Lingiari,” said Jas.

  “I’m pretty sure he did address them first,” said Lee, “but he said, kill that officer. They probably didn’t know who he meant. The third mate was there, too. So they didn’t fire. Lucky me. But what are we going to do with him? Take him into the engine with us? I don’t know how we’ll get him down a ladder tied up like this.”

  Loba gave a great wrench and tried to squirm out from under the copilot. Lingiari grabbed the man’s white curls and pushed his face into the floor. “Better cut that out, mate.”

  “We can’t take him down into the engine service tunnels,” said Jas. “We can’t let him anywhere near the defense units, and we don’t have time for a long-term strategy. I couldn’t get onto the flight deck, but we have to, and soon. We have to get Grantwise away from those controls.”

  “Is there an autopilot?” asked Lee. “Could he activate it and lock it even if we get onto the flight deck?”

  “Yeah, there’s an autopilot, but you can’t lock it in to land on a planet. That’s the last thing you’d want to do in an emergency,” Lingiari replied. “That’s not the problem. Look, to pass pilot training you’ve gotta land the simulator ship as if you were landing on Earth, just once, using the RaptorX engines. Took me twelve tries, and I was one of the better ones. That planet below us isn’t Earth, and while Grantwise might stand a chance of landing on it without crashing on a good day, I can’t speak for that thing inhabiting him.”

  “That decides it,” said Jas, standing up. “Come on. Bring Loba. We’re going to the flight deck.”

  “What’s the plan?” asked Lee as they pulled the master to his feet.

  Lingiari grabbed one of Loba’s arms and pointed the muzzle of his weapon at his head. Jas held her weapon to the other side as she also grabbed an arm. “Simple,” said the security officer. “If they don’t let us onto the flight deck, we kill him.” Loba struggled as they half-pushed, half-dragged him out of the cabin.

  “But what if they don’t care?” asked Lee.

  “You think they won’t care if we kill him?” asked Jas. “But he’s their...” Her words dried as she realized what the navigator meant.

  “Loba’s our master, doesn’t mean he’s theirs,” said Lee. “We don’t know what status the creature inside him has. He might be a nothing. Or they might not pay individuals any mind. The aliens could be a community species, and he’s only one unimportant individual.”

  “Krat,” said Jas. “For someone who’s terrified of aliens, you sure know a lot about them.”

  “That’s because I’m terrified of them. Know your enemy.”

  Lee had made a good point. Jas was assuming the aliens would act like humans. Mistake number one in the starship security officer manual. How could she have been so dumb? Maybe it was because she was used to aliens that looked like aliens. “Do you have a better plan?”

  “No, I was just pointing out the problem,” said the navigator.

  “Gee, thanks.”

  Loba was struggling like a wildcat as they dragged him along. He tripped and fell, landing on his knees. Jas found grappling him to his feet while holding onto her weapon to be a struggle. Lingiari was doing his best to help, but he was also holding a weapon in one of his hands. Before she knew it, the master had slipped from their grasp and managed a few steps. It was several moments before Jas and the copilot could get him under control again. The thing inhabiting Loba certainly seemed to fear what would happen when they got to the flight deck. Maybe Lee was right and the rest of them would let her fry his head. If that happened, she, Lee, and Lingiari were toast too.

  Jas took comfort in the cool, smooth feel of the weapon in her hand. If the worst came to the worst, she would get as many of them as she could before she went down.

  They were nearly at the flight deck. “Hey,” she shouted. “Hey, whatever you are, we’ve got Loba, our master, so we’ve got whichever one of you that’s inside him. And we’ll kill him if you fire.”

  “Maybe,” Lee piped up, “maybe I should stay back? In case...you know?” The navigator suddenly looked very small to Jas, and more than a little frightened.

  “She’s right,” said Lingiari, “in case we don’t get out of this, and even if we do, one of us should stay out of it. Someone has to send a packet to Earth to tell them what’s happening. We have to try to break through the security.”

  It was another thing Jas hadn’t thought of. Everything was piling up on her. “Yeah. Lee, go and try to get into the comm system. We can buy you some time to get around Loba’s security blackout. If you can, send a packet to Polestar and tell them everything that’s happened. What am I talking about? Tell the Global Government. They have to know, or else the Galathea could turn up and infect the whole planet.”

  “Right,” said Lee with undisguised relief. “Good luck,” she called over her shoulder as she moved in the direction they’d come from.

  “And hide,” shouted Jas, after a moment’s thought. “Pretend you’re a techie...or something.” But the navigator was gone. She didn’t know if Lee had heard her.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Hauling the struggling Loba to the flight deck was hard, even with Harrington’s help. Carl had always admired her strength and fitness, and now he appreciated them even more. The master was heavier than he looked, and fought to free himself so strongly that Carl suspected he knew the other aliens wouldn’t do a thing to save him. The master was also shouting, but his gag muffled the words.

  As they got close to the flight deck, they passed signs of a viciously fought battle. The walls, ceiling and floor were melted, pitted and scarred, and the infrastructure of the ship showed through. A horrible stench hung in the air.

  “Ready?” asked Harrington, her expression pained.

  “As I’ll ever be,” Carl replied. He grunted as they dragged the master over the holes and beams that were all that remained of the corridor floor. His feet trailed, bumping against metal ridges. They were nearly there. Had the infected officers heard Harrington’s warning? Would they pay any attention? If he and the security officer were going to die, it was now.

  Five possessed officers were blocking the corridor. They eyed the two of them and the bound and gagged Loba.

  “Stand up,” said Harrington, pushing the muzzle of her weapon roughly into the master’s temple. His eyes hooded, the man grudgingly supported his own weight and stood. He averted his head from the watching officers.

  “We know he’s one of you,” said Harrington. When none of the officers answered, she added, “And if we kill him, the one of you that’s inside him will die.”

  Still the master and officers were silent. “You’re thinking we won’t kill him because he’s the ship’s master, right?” Carl asked. “You’re wrong. The man’s an arsehole, and we don’t give a shit.” He pointed his gun at Loba’s foot and fired. The man screamed and fell to his knees, grabbing his wounded foot. Blood seeped through his fingers.

  “Gee, Lingiari,” whispered Harrington.

  “Start talking,” said Carl, “or I’ll shoot higher.”

  “What do you want?” asked an officer. The words sounded a little strange, poorly formed, as if the man wasn’t used to speaking.

  “Let us on the flight deck, now, or he dies.” Harrington grabbed Loba’s arm and hauled him, whimpering, to his feet. The master favored his uninjured foot and leaned against Carl.

  The officers didn’t reply or move. Carl wondered if they were speaking telepathically. Loba hung his head and closed his eyes. Was he begging for his life?

  Carl sneaked a glance at Harrington. Her profile was set, fearless. He suddenly wished he’d had a chance to get to know her better. There had to be another side to this tough, cranky woman. He hoped they would get through this.

  Still no one
said anything. What if the stalemate continued? They didn’t have a plan for this scenario. Harrington shot him a look, but he couldn’t read her expression.

  At last, the officers broke. “Give him to us,” one said, “and we will allow you to enter the flight deck.”

  These aliens had a low opinion of human intelligence. “We’re not stupid,” said Carl, and he aimed his gun at the master’s other foot. Loba tried to move it out of Carl’s sight, but this meant he had to put his weight onto his injured foot, and he partially collapsed.

  “Time’s up,” said Harrington, and moved her finger to her weapon’s trigger. Loba’s eyes became wide. He yelled through his gag and wriggled violently. Carl had to dig his fingers into the man’s bicep to maintain his grip.

  “We will allow you onto the flight deck,” said the officer. “You do not need to give us your master.” The other officers stepped away, clearing the path along the corridor. Their weapons dropped to their sides.

  “Stay back,” said Harrington. She pulled Loba forward, and Carl helped her drag the man through the waiting officers. He turned and pointed his weapon behind them as they passed, while Harrington kept hers trained on Loba’s head.

  “Think they’ll let us in?” Carl asked the security officer softly.

  “We’ll soon find out.”

  The aliens must have been communicating telepathically, because the flight deck door opened as they approached. The large room was empty but for one man. Grantwise, or rather, alien-infested Grantwise, sat at the ship’s controls. The visual screen was up, and the planet surface was zooming up, the horizon flattening even as they watched. He was already taking the ship down.

  “Krat.” Dropping Loba, Carl ran to the intercom and thumped the button with the flat of his hand. An alarm blared out, and the ship’s lights began to flash. “Crew to crash seats, now,” he shouted into the intercom. “This isn’t a drill. This is not a drill. Crash seats immediately. Everyone.”

  Harrington had dragged Loba to the flight controls. She was trying to pull the pilot out of his seat while not losing her grip on the master. She couldn’t do it. Loba wrenched himself out of her grasp and tried escape, but as soon as he put his weight on his injured foot, he collapsed. He got to his feet, but Carl ran at him. He threw his shoulder into Loba, sending the master flying. Carl was on him. The two men grappled.

  Infested officers poured into the room. Carl tried to bring his weapon round to fire at them, but Loba punched him in the head, and his shots went wide. The master landed another punch, spinning Carl around and knocking him nearly senseless. Everything seemed to slow down. As he turned, he saw Harrington struggling with Grantwise. She lifted her gun to his head. She was going to kill him. Krat. Then there wouldn’t be anyone at the controls. What was she thinking?

  Carl felt like he was floating. That was some punch Loba packed. Then Carl realized he really was floating. He was hanging in midair, halfway to the ceiling. Everyone was floating. The officers were spinning lazily, their hair trailing. Even Grantwise was lifting out of his seat. Harrington’s expression was so surprised, Carl almost laughed.

  What must have happened came to Carl in a flash. Confused by the increasing pull of the planet’s gravity, the Galathea’s gravity drive had cut out. But the ship was falling so fast their descent was matching the attraction of the planet’s mass, canceling out the force’s effect. Falling. They were dropping like a stone. The ship wasn’t flying through the atmosphere, cruising to land. Whatever the hell Grantwise had done, the ship was out of control and they were going to crash.

  Harrington hooked her feet under the flight control desk. She grabbed the pilot by the scruff of his neck, pulled him out of his seat and pushed him away.

  Carl tried to move toward the controls, but ended up swimming comically in the air, not making any progress. He needed something to push against. Craning behind him, he saw Loba, who was grabbing for a weapon that was floating just out of his reach. Droplets of blood were gliding from his foot wound.

  Two birds with one stone. Carl gave the master a mighty shove with his feet, sending the man spiralling out of the vicinity of the gun and himself closer to the flight controls. Harrington gripped the control desk with both hands and swung her body round so that her feet were toward him. No need for an explanation. He reached for her ankle and hauled himself hand over hand along her body until he was in reach of the desk.

  A deep, searing pain ran up his leg. A shot had grazed his thigh. Drongos. If they didn’t let him try to land the ship, they would all die. A series of hums sounded beside him as Harrington returned fire. He folded himself into the seat and slotted his legs under the desk. After putting his arms through the harness, he snapped the buckles closed. He was still floating a few centimeters above his seat, but he could concentrate on his task.

  The horizon was a flat line. The next minute would be a killer.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Jas had one job: protect Lingiari. The loss of gravity had taken everyone by surprise, but now Loba and the officers were becoming accustomed to the weightlessness. Though she’d shoved him away as hard as she could, Grantwise was still the nearest of them. He floated only a couple of meters away from the flight control desk. Jas pointed her weapon at him. The man stopped reaching to get a grip on something, but from the corner of her eye she saw the other officers were taking advantage of her focus on the pilot. They were edging closer. She swung her weapon round.

  One of her feet was hooked though the back of the pilot’s seat, where Lingiari floated against the straps of his safety harness. He was furiously swiping the pilot’s interface, bringing up fast-flowing figures. He began keying in numbers and dragging his fingers across the screen, altering levels. The visual on the planet surface told her there was only the remotest chance they would make it.

  A shadow to her left. Grantwise had managed to lock a finger on the pilot’s seat. Without even thinking about it, she fired at the hand, severing it at the wrist. The pilot floated away, blood flowing from his stump, a look of disbelief on his face. His hand remained hooked by its pinky finger on the seat. The pilot’s blood had sprayed the back of Lingiari’s neck, but he didn’t seem to notice.

  “Come on,” he muttered, glancing at the visual. “Come on, girl.”

  Jas swept the remaining officers with her gun. Grantwise’s experience had dampened their enthusiasm about attacking. Or maybe they’d realized that the copilot was their only chance of survival. Everyone needed him to succeed now. The officers hung in the air, watching.

  “What’s happening, Lingiari?”

  “Working on it.”

  “Have we had it?”

  The copilot didn’t answer. They were going to die. There was no way Lingiari could pull the starship out of its dive. It was impossible. This was it.

  Jas gazed at the alien-infested officers. She wondered what they were saying to each other in their heads. Were they wishing they’d done things differently? Did they regret inhabiting the foreign species that had come to their planet?

  Did she have any regrets? She’d always thought things might end something like this, given the nature of her job. At least the loss of her life wouldn’t break anyone’s heart. She had no parents or siblings who would never see her again, no child who would lose its mother. Was there anything she would have done differently? She recalled Lee’s comment about her temper. Maybe the woman had a point. Maybe if she hadn’t gotten angry that day in the mission room, if she’d taken the time to talk to the other officers privately and gotten their support, none of this would have happened. If she’d done things differently, Margret, Loba, and the rest of the officers might not have got possessed. Or Haggardy. What had happened to him? She hadn’t figured that out.

  Maybe this was all her fault.

  A hand gripped her calf. Reflexively, she pointed her gun down, only to realize the hand belonged to Lingiari.

  “I’ve done all I can.” He was shouting, though the flight deck of the Ga
lathea was eerily quiet. It was strange how they could be traveling so fast yet so silently.

  “We’re gonna crash,” Lingiari said. He was pulling her down into the copilot’s seat. In the visual ahead, the scrubby landscape of K. 67092d flew up dizzyingly fast.

  “I’ve leveled her off the best I can. Full reverse thrust.” Lingiari was still shouting for some reason.

  Jas was fumbling with the buckles of her harness. “Can starships—” she said as they hit.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Carl could never remember much of what happened when the Galathea crashed on K. 67092d. The hull of the deep space vessel protected those inside from the sound of it sweeping through kilometers of soil, rocks, and vegetation, cutting a swathe along the planet’s surface. He vaguely recalled the flight control visual showing the landscape flowing past like a runaway express train before the connection was destroyed and the screen went blank. After that, there was only the terrible juddering that made him feel as though his teeth were being shaken out of his head and his bones shattered.

  With more than a hundred meters of engine lying between them and the ground, Carl dreaded to think what the juddering meant in terms of the prospect of the engines ever working again and allowing them to leave the planet.

  Grantwise, Loba, and the other infected officers had dropped to the floor like stones when the Galathea had hit, and the one point two Earth gravity of the planet had become suddenly and terribly present. Carl kept his gaze averted from them while the ship was grinding to a halt. There was nothing he could do anyway.

  After what seemed like forever, the shaking stopped. Carl realized his eyes were closed. He opened them. The main lights were out. Emergency lighting had come on, making the flight deck look like something from a low-grade horror movie. Only the monsters looked human, and they were lying in contorted positions around the deck, not moving.

  He hardly dared to look toward the copilot’s seat, but after a moment’s hesitation, he stole a glance. He exhaled. Harrington was alive, though her expression was drawn and, if it weren’t for the dull red lighting, he was sure she would be as white as a ghost. She returned his look and seemed glad that he’d made it too. She gave him a weak smile. In his memory, it was the first time he’d ever seen her do that. He liked the effect.