Imperium: Coda: Book Three in the Imperium Trilogy

by Paul M Calvert

  Placed on top of the pile was a wide-brimmed sun hat, made of some unknown material. It had a flap of white cloth hanging from the back, and he gratefully put it on, hoping it would protect his face and neck from the faint, but hot sun overhead. Already, he’d felt his skin begin to prickle and realised the sun must be putting out a higher dose of UV light than he was used to. Underneath the hat was an osmatic water flask and a tightly balled pair of leather-like gloves with metal tips on the fingers. He put them on to try out for size, and immediately the material stretched and accommodated his hands, shrinking slightly to form a perfect fit. Confused as to their purpose he examined the metal tips, clicking the fingers of each hand together. Immediately he did so, the tips hardened and one-inch, razor sharp ebony claws formed from the ends of his fingers. Surprised, he clicked his fingers together again and watched as the claws vanished back into the tips.

  Confused by everything that happened and unsure what to do next, Collinson left the gloves on and walked back to the rocky outcrop. He sat down at its base and could feel the heat from the rock immediately transmit itself through the fabric of his jumpsuit. Checking to see if the flask was activated, he opened it and took a long drink of the cold water inside, briefly wondering if it might be poisoned or laced with some drug. It tasted of nothing, and as he was thirsty anyway, Collinson took another long drink before closing the lid and attached it to his belt.

  Perhaps it was the water or a combination of time and dim sunlight, but the last vestiges of drug-induced fog finally faded from his brain, allowing Collinson’s sharp mind to work properly again. He thought back over events, smiling when he recalled the killing, wondering how long he’d been kept unconscious and what planet he could possibly be on. Suddenly, Collinson leapt to his feet, his head swivelling back and forth as he finally realised where he was and what Gallagher had chosen to do with him. He felt his heart hammering in his chest and sought to calm himself.

  “That bastard Gallagher has given me over to the Felidae, and I’m on that Progression ship of theirs,” he said out aloud, desperately looking around for anything else that might be of help to him.

  Thinking he caught a trace of movement in his peripheral vision, Collinson spun to his left, catching sight of a small, cat-sized creature as it darted out from amongst the jumble of rocks and out into the nearby long grass. Debating whether to follow and see where the creature went or to examine where it had come from, Collinson chose the latter and walked over to where he had seen it emerge. He bent down to get a better view of the crevice it had come from but first clicked his fingertips together to form the claws, just in case anything dangerous emerged. Seeing nothing, except slight traces of what might have been small paw prints in the light, dry sandy soil, Collinson straightened up.

  He turned around, only to find himself face to face with a Felidae. Before he could react and almost faster than his eyes could follow, the creature slapped him, the force of the blow jarring his teeth and sending him to the floor, stunned. It took him several seconds to recover, at which point he leapt to his feet, looking around for where his attacker had gone. He could see nothing, and it was only the lingering after effect of the blow that gave any evidence anything had happened at all. He could feel sweat trickling down his face and angrily wiped it away with the back of his hand, only then realising it was blood. Collinson carefully removed one of the gloves and reached up gingerly to see if he could find where it was coming from, only now noticing the faint coppery smell in the air.

  It was only when his fingers touched his forehead that he felt any pain, a faint ache that quickly turned into three lines of fire stretching across his forehead. He realised then the Felidae had cut him with its claws. Although thankfully only superficial, the cuts were bleeding profusely, the blood running into his eyes and interfering with his vision. With nothing to staunch the flow, he hoped the heat of the sun would speed up the eventual clotting.

  Collinson put the now sticky glove back on, then carefully backed away towards the outcrop, looking for the relative safety of higher ground. He shook his head, blinking rapidly to get the blood out of his eyes, all the while looking around and behind for any sign of his attacker, determined not to be caught unawares again and make his attacker pay.

  Despite being on overwatch, Collinson was suddenly struck from behind and propelled violently forward, sprawling onto his face, feeling the heavy weight of his attacker sitting on him. Icy fire exploded across his back as he lay on the sandy earth, desperately trying to get up and defend himself. The pressure on him suddenly increased, then vanished and Collinson sensed the Felidae had leapt off him onto the nearby rocks. He sprung to his feet, cursing as his shredded back shrieked pain into his mind. Collinson could feel blood soaking into his flight suit and begin trickling down the back of his legs.

  Groaning with the pain of his wounds, Collinson looked up at the outcrop and watched the Felidae attacker sit down on the highest rock, watching him intently. It seemed totally at ease, sitting down on its haunches, ears flattened down. Although no expert on recognising these aliens, Collinson had seen enough to know who his attacker was. Empress Freya.

  He knew then, with a sickening certainty that he was being played with, as a cat would a mouse. By no means a coward, Collinson knew his death was certain but vowed to hurt the bitch before the end. Ignoring the fire in his back and forehead, Collinson took up a fighting stance and beckoned towards her.

  “Come on then, you neutered alley cat, do your worst,” he shouted.

  On the rocks, Freya stood up gracefully and slowly began descending from the rocks, towards him…

  SCENE 7, THE POSTMAN ALWAYS KNOCKS TWICE

  “I said I’m coming, you impatient so and so,” shouted Alastair, annoyed at the loud, insistent knocking coming from his front door, finally reaching it and opening the door wide to see who was making all the fuss.

  In front of him were two smartly dressed men in dark blue suits, but it was the four soldiers behind them with rifles that caught his immediate attention. Alastair frowned, instinctively moving to block the entrance with his body, not liking the look of this.

  “What do you want?” he asked, addressing the taller of the two men, sensing he was in charge, “And what’s with the soldiers? Has something happened?”

  The taller man stepped closer.

  “Can we speak with Ms McLeod please?” he asked.

  Before Alastair could answer, Flora called out from the living room. “Who is it, Alastair? Who’s that outside?”

  Alastair turned to answer his wife, holding up his hand to the stranger in a gesture of waiting, but before he could answer, the man moved forward, trying to shove him out of the way and get inside, the second blue-suited man following close behind. Unfortunately for them, Alastair, although taken by surprise at this move, pushed back and stopped both in their tracks. A brief struggle ensued, with Alastair calling out for Flora to call the Police, before launching a solid left hook that hit the taller of the two men square in the face, dropping him to the laminated floor like a sack of potatoes. The second stepped over his companion and jabbed at Alastair with a hand-held Taser, catching him on his shoulder and sending him twitching to the floor, where he lay alongside the unconscious first man.

  Inside, both women had gone to the window and caught sight of the soldiers and the beginning of the altercation at the front door. Without a moment’s hesitation, Flora ran to help her husband, running straight into the blue-suited man who similarly despatched her with the Taser, catching and then gently lowering her to the floor before moving further into the house.

  Karen, fearing the worst, instructed her armband to change into a low-powered weapon. As the blue-suited man burst into the living room, she calmly shot him in the forehead with a wide, hollow slug, accelerated at a speed designed to break bone and disable, not kill. The man’s head snapped back with an audible crack as the slug hit home, rendering him immediately unconscious. Immediately behind followed the first soldier,
his weapon already traversing in her direction as he caught sight of Karen. Before he could react, another slug took him in the head, instantly followed by another two into his body armour, propelling him into the other three soldiers, hindering their aim and access into the room. Instinctively, the semi-conscious soldier squeezed his trigger, sending a stream of bullets arcing across the room, blowing holes in the plaster walls and blasting sundry items to pieces. One of the bullets nicked Karen’s right leg, sending white hot pain signals to her brain, only partially masked by the adrenaline pumping through her system and making everything appear in slow motion.

  She dropped down and fired again, this time on automatic, sending dozens of slugs into the unfortunate soldiers, breaking bones and blasting them backwards into the hallway. She barely glanced at her wound, noting she was still able to stand, despite the discomfort, which told her nothing serious was damaged. “Probably just a flesh wound,” she told herself, stepping over the bodies to check on her aunt and uncle. Poor Flora was still unable to sit up, the effects of the Taser still playing havoc with her nervous system. Alastair was faring somewhat better, his larger size and innate resilience allowing him to get to his knees. She helped him stand, all the while checking outside for any more attackers.

  “What the hell just happened?” asked Alastair, his large hand grabbing her shoulder and turning her to face him. “Are they after you?” He paused for a moment, trying to collect his thoughts and make sense of what had just happened.

  “I’m sorry Alastair, I think they are, but don’t have the time to explain. I’m so sorry.”

  Finally shaking off the Taser’s effects, Alastair looked around, as if seeing everything for the first time, then ignored her and moved over to where Flora was just trying to sit up. One of the soldiers was groaning loudly and trying to rise, but as Alastair moved over to Flora, he kicked him hard in the face, muttering, “see how you like it, sonny,” rendering the man unconscious.

  “I’m alright, I’m alright,” protested Flora, not wanting any fuss and more concerned for her husband and Karen.

  Karen took in the strange tableau, unconscious bodies littering the hall floor and the acrid smell of propellant from the soldier’s fired gun. Behind her, the man punched by Alastair grabbed her leg and tried to pull her over but suddenly stopped as the breath exploded out of his chest when she sent a slug into his back, taking care to avoid his spine.

  She turned around to face her aunt and uncle, who were both staring at her in disbelief.

  “What on earth have you got up your sleeve?” asked Alastair, helping Flora to stand at the same time.

  “Just say, it’s something I picked up on my travels. I need to get away from here and quickly,” Karen hurriedly explained, “but I promise to explain the first chance I get. Look, just get yourselves outside and sit down on the ground with your hands on your head. They’ll be more of them coming soon, and I don’t want you to get hurt, so don’t resist and tell them everything you can, not that you know anything.”

  She took one last look at them before grabbing her jacket from the hook and searched for the keys.

  “I love you both, and I’m really, really sorry for this. I’ll make it up to you, I promise,” and with that ran outside and over to her car, quickly checking for any obvious tampering. Seeing nothing and hating herself for leaving her family in such a state, Karen climbed in and started the engine, accelerating hard, sending up a spray of gravel that rattled on the underside of her car as it shot over the cattle grid and out onto the road.

  Karen thought furiously as she buckled her seatbelt. “No point in looking for somewhere to hide as they were definitely expecting me and probably have other resources nearby, with more on the way. But how did they find me?” she asked herself, going over the sequence of events, then suddenly remembered the earlier glint of glass up on the hill as she drove to the house. “Damn, they must have been watching me from there. Probably bugged the house too. Shit.”

  “What should I do now, Vimes?” she asked her silent companion, hoping he could come up with a solution to her predicament.

  “You are doing fine, Karen. I’ve already begun to arrange for your family to get legal representation and have informed the media of an incident here, so the Government cannot have them disappear, although I fear that may not be enough. I will be with you shortly. Keep driving until I can pick you up.”

  Karen nodded, not bothering to respond. Her Mini was already travelling at over ninety miles an hour, despite having to accelerate uphill towards the small settlement at Struan, when suddenly, two men, wearing camouflage gear threw something across the road in front of her. Instantly, the thrown netting wrapped itself around her wheels and she lost control, her car veering to the right and crashing into the dark limestone walls which the road was cut through at this point. Her Mini bounced off, only to swerve across the road and slam into the rocks on the other side, its momentum carrying it up and almost over the cutting before flipping over and landing on its roof in the middle of the road, sliding for several yards before coming to a stop.

  Inside the car, modified airbags exploded around Karen, cushioning most of the force and saving her from impacting with the steering wheel or side pillars. They deflated immediately, leaving Karen hanging from her seatbelt. She fumbled for the belt release for several moments, the shock of the crash making her fingers slow to react, but finally managed to operate the release. Karen dropped several inches down onto her head, eliciting a curse as she struggled to now open the door. Finally able to crawl out on her hands and knees Karen found herself looking at a pair of combat boots. Without thinking she grabbed them and pulled hard, causing the soldier to fall backwards and land heavily on his back.

  Before she could get up, she was struck violently on the back of the head, her face forced forward and hitting the roadway with some force. She felt the sharp, intense pain of her nose breaking in the instant before losing consciousness, everything around her fading reluctantly away.

  Sir John was in his Whitehall office when an urgent message came through from his liaison at Operation Meteor, confirming Karen Mcleod had been spotted, driving back to her family. He immediately called through to the officer in charge of the operation on the ground, frustrated to find himself put on hold. While he was waiting to be put through, he buzzed for his aide to attend and gave instructions for a helicopter to be made ready for him from the fixed wing department at the Ministry of Defence.

  Finally, after what seemed an interminably long length of time, he was put through. The officer in charge, a Captain Paul Goodwin, came on the line, only to confirm that the target had been apprehended and taken into custody along with the aunt and uncle.

  “Is she unharmed, Captain?” he asked, concerned about what might have happened. Despite the use of deadly force having been sanctioned, he had made it abundantly clear what he expected from the boots on the ground.

  Captain Goodwin was a little slow in responding, so Sir John asked again. “Who’s been hurt and how severe, Captain?”

  “Two civilian special operatives suffered non-life-threatening injuries. Four soldiers with multiple fractures, again non-life-threatening. The target is injured and currently unconscious. Her car crashed, and she took a blow to the back of the head while being apprehended. Probable broken nose, but nothing too serious. Medics also report a minor bullet wound to her leg. The aunt and uncle are unharmed but seem extremely confused. The man required restraining.”

  Sir John considered for a moment, then continued, his mind racing. “Anything else, Captain?”

  “As agreed, a Chinook is currently about to take all three to the safe site for questioning, and we are working with the relevant departments for a cover story to be prepared for the local press. The car crash will help with this as there is visible evidence for the locals to believe.” A tone of admiration crept into the Captain’s voice. “For a civilian, she put up quite a fight, Sir.”

  “Indeed, Captain. Please keep
her sedated during transit as per your standing orders. Good day to you.”

  Sir John cut the connection, and sat back, resting his elbows on the armrests of his chair, fingers steepled under his nose. Numerous red flags were appearing on the three large flat screens surrounding his desk, either confirming what actions were taking place or that the Whitehall machinery was making sure the various parts of Operation Meteor were running smoothly. He flipped through them, noting the Chinook refuelling station was being prepared at the halfway point of the five-hundred-mile flight to Porton Down, various first contact “experts” and assorted scientific personnel were being summoned, and DA-Notices 1-5 had been served to the media over the incident.

  Sir John’s musings were interrupted by his aide, who confirmed a pool car was ready to take them the short drive to Horse Guard’s Parade where a helicopter would be waiting. He quickly shut down the computer and stood up, groaning a little after having spent several hours in the chair without a break.

  The aide handed him his coat and briefcase. “Sir John, I’ve taken the liberty of informing Lady Soames you have been called away on business and will not be returning home tonight but will speak with her later today. “

  Sir John nodded. “Thank you, James. I think I have an appointment with history to keep.”

  By the time Vimes reached the crash scene, hovering unseen several thousand feet overhead, he could see from his vantage point there was no chance of his rescuing Karen without giving away his presence and further complicating matters should a future Emperor want to continue using Earth. If what his presence represented became widely known, the political and sociological ramifications would probably ignite worldwide confusion, if not worse, so for the moment, he would wait.