Endeavour (Atlantia Series Book 4)

by Dean Crawford

  ‘Stand by,’ the sapper advised. ‘This will take a few minutes.’

  Evelyn turned around and walked back into the hold, patches of cooling plasma smouldering on the decks and two Marines laying on their backs side by side as a medic worked hurriedly on their wounds alongside Meyanna.

  She eased around the injured Marines and walked back to where the capsule containing the woman stood. She looked into the viewing panel at the masked face suspended within the fluid as though simply sleeping. The palour of the skin told Evelyn that the person inside must surely be long dead, but now she noticed something else: the cable extending from the top of the capsule and down into the interior. Almost every other capsule contained the same cable.

  Evelyn moved to the next capsule in the line and her eye traced the cable from its interior and up and away into the ceiling of the hold, where it was joined by countless others that swept away toward the aft wall. She had assumed like everybody else that the cables snaking downward were merely power cables, designed to preserve the lives inside the capsules almost indefinitely under the power provided by the fusion core. But now she realised that many were in fact inserted directly into the bodies of the captives themselves, and thus could not have been used to power the escape capsules.

  ‘The capsules are inert,’ she whispered.

  ‘What?’

  She turned as Andaim moved alongside her and looked up at the capsule.

  ‘They’re inert,’ she repeated. ‘These capsules were not set up just to preserve the lives of the species inside them. They were arranged to do something to them. The cables run directly into their heads, or whatever passes for a head in some of them, except for that woman.’

  ‘I’m sure it’s just a coincidence,’ Andaim said as he glanced at the capsule. ‘Whoever this woman was, she’s long gone now.’

  Evelyn could not tell if Andaim was saying it just to be nice to her or whether he actually believed it.

  ‘Did the Endeavour have a passenger manifest?’ she asked. ‘Something we could use to identify who she was? There’s no name on her ID badge, it’s been obscured.’

  Andaim nodded. ‘Endeavour’s passenger list was the most widely distributed in the history of space flight at the time, and most of the crew were recorded in great detail. I’ll have the manifest uploaded to Atlantia and we can check it out when we get back.’

  Evelyn nodded vacantly as she stared into the masked face, wondering who she had been and how she had come to be abandoned alone and freezing cold aboard Endeavour’s lonely hull. Evelyn recalled with a shock that she too had once been trapped within a similar escape capsule, also filled with per–fluorocarbon and very much alone as the temperature had gradually fallen. She had been in danger of freezing to death but had survived.

  This woman had endured the same terrifying fate, but had not been so lucky.

  ‘Got it!’

  Evelyn turned and saw the Alpha Company sapper disable the two charges, the blinking red lights switching off as he aimed a small, hand–held device at them. General Bra’hiv stepped forward as the sapper yanked the charges off the wall.

  ‘What do you make of them?’ Bra’hiv asked.

  The sapper turned the charges over in his hands for a moment before replying.

  ‘An older method of making them,’ he said, ‘I’ve seen the design before, most often used by Recon units, Special Forces, people like that. They would normally attach a detonator with a rapidly alternating frequency to stop sappers like me from blocking the signals using a hand–held jammer like I just did, but I guess these folks didn’t have much time to set the charges off. You must have walked in on them, general.’

  Bra’hiv nodded. ‘Do you still have contact with Atlantia?’

  ‘Yes,’ the sergeant replied as he looked at Evelyn, ‘and you need to speak to the captain urgently.’

  ‘Why, what’s happened?’ Evelyn asked.

  ‘We have another problem emerging, outside.’

  ***

  XV

  ‘You’re sure it’s the same ship?’

  ‘Positive sir, it’s Salim Phaeon’s gunship all right.’

  Mikain’s reply was devoid of doubt, but even so Idris Sansin could not quite believe that he was looking at the same craft, a cruel looking spaceship with hooked x–wing configuration and a long, equally hooked bow that had something in common with Ethera’s most savage birds of prey.

  Atlantia’s optical sensors were at maximum zoom in order to resolve the distant craft’s form, its deep red hull glinting in the weak light of the hydrogen clouds as it closed on Atlantia. Four Raython fighters had formed an escort around it, two of them maintaining position directly behind the gunship in case it attempted to attack.

  ‘Its shields are up and its weapons are hot,’ Mikhain added, ‘but it has made no attempt to attack our fighters.’

  ‘Communication?’ Idris asked.

  ‘Nothing,’ Mikhain replied, ‘and it’s jamming our sensors so we cannot determine how many people are aboard. We know that Salim Phaeon is dead, Idris. You killed him yourself and we all witnessed it.’

  ‘Which leaves only a single person who can be aboard that ship,’ Idris replied. ‘Qayin.’

  ‘He was last seen by one of our pilots fleeing the battle on Chiron IV, but we do not know whether he got off the planet or not.’

  ‘If I know Qayin, he got off the planet all right and likely took Salim’s gunship for good measure. He’d have headed straight for the Icari Line.’ Idris paused. ‘So why would he have come here? He must have tracked us.’

  ‘It doesn’t make any sense,’ Mikhain admitted. ‘I’d have thought Qayin would want to get as far away from here as possible.’

  Idris watched the cruel looking craft for a moment longer and then made his decision.

  ‘Keep trying to establish contact,’ he said, ‘but if they come within one thousand cubits without identifying themselves, we intercept and board her.’

  Before Mikhain could respond, Lael cut in from the communications console.

  ‘They’re signalling us, captain,’ she informed him.

  Idris straightened his uniform and turned to the main screen. ‘Open a channel.’

  The main viewing screen on the bridge switched from an image of Endeavour to one of the cockpit of the gunship, and almost immediately there was a gasp of surprise from the command crew as they saw a Veng’en staring back at them, his eyes aglow with a dull red light.

  ‘Kordaz,’ Idris exclaimed as he took an involuntary step toward the screen. ‘You’re alive.’

  ‘Surprised, captain?’ Kordaz asked, his gruff voice audible over the vocal resonance translator.

  ‘We thought that you’d perished on Chiron IV,’ Idris explained. ‘The Veng’en cruiser we engaged bombarded the surface. We thought that nothing could have survived.’

  Kordaz’s eyes narrowed.

  ‘The Veng’en bombarded the surface?’ he asked. ‘I thought that you did.’

  ‘No,’ Idris insisted. ‘Mikhain was in control of Atlantia at the time and used her to block the Veng’en attack profile. We only managed to gain control of Arcadia at the last moment and defeat the cruiser, but by then it was too late. It has taken months to repair the damage to Atlantia.’

  Kordaz watched the captain for a long moment.

  ‘The one you call Evelyn,’ he said. ‘She found me before the bombardment, but she left me for dead.’

  ‘She couldn’t move you,’ Idris replied. ‘You were too heavy and she thought you doomed, infected by the Legion. She had to take off or she too would have perished.’

  ‘And the Colonial pilot who shot me?’ Kordaz snarled. ‘What’s her excuse?’

  ‘She saw you about to kill a Marine,’ Idris snapped, ‘and acted accordingly. They were all under attack from infected Veng’en, what did you expect her to do? She did not know that you were on the surface, so how could she have known in that instant that she was firing on an ally?’

  Kor
daz emitted a low growl as though considering what he had been told. ‘And Qayin, the Marine who betrayed me?’

  ‘He fled,’ Idris replied, ‘escaped during the battle and is either far away from us or dead. I have no idea and I do not care. He abandoned his own men in an act of cowardice. He does not deserve our concern.’

  Kordaz nodded.

  ‘He is not so very far from here,’ the Veng’en reported. ‘In fact, he is aboard this very ship.’

  Idris raised an eyebrow. ‘Qayin is aboard your ship, right now?’

  ‘I followed him,’ Kordaz explained, ‘boarded this vessel and took control. Qayin is my prisoner and I offer him to you in exchange for your assistance.’

  ‘You kept him alive?’

  ‘Not without considerable effort, captain,’ Kordaz replied. ‘It is not the custom of my people to offer quarter to those who betray us, but I understand that it is yours to offer a fair trial to any human charged with cowardice, treachery and other such crimes. Qayin is a human, not a Veng’en, thus I felt that his punishment would be best administered by your own hands.’

  Idris took a deep breath. ‘I thank you, Kordaz, for your consideration in this matter. What assistance can we offer you in return?’

  Kordaz’s voice dropped an octave as he replied.

  ‘I am sick,’ he said. ‘I do not know how much longer I can survive without proper medical attention, and Wraiythe is too far to make the journey home.’

  Idris looked at Kordaz’s blood–red eyes once more. He had initially assumed that the affliction was perhaps a remnant of injuries sustained in the bombardment of Chiron IV, and that Kordaz had escaped before the full impact of the assault. The Veng’en was standing close to the monitor screen, close enough that Idris could not see anything below the warrior’s neck, but now he realised that there was a metallic tint to his eyes.

  ‘How did you survive the bombardment, Kordaz?’ he asked the Veng’en. ‘Evelyn said that you were fatally wounded when she last saw you, that she herself barely escaped the assault. How are you here?’

  Across the communications channel Idris thought that he heard a soft sigh as slowly Kordaz stepped back from the screen. Idris felt a tight knot of anxiety twist his guts as the Veng’en revealed a chest constructed it seemed of a metal fabric, as much organic as metallic, that reflected the lights from the cockpit around him.

  ‘He’s infected,’ Lael warned. ‘The Legion must have got to him.’

  ‘I was infected,’ Kordaz countered her. ‘I was injured by the shot fired by your pilot and then the bombardment afterward, but there were still many Infectors and Hunters on the surface. I was too weak to escape them, and thought that I was lost when they crawled upon my body and infiltrated my wounds. I cannot explain why they chose to repair and not consume me, but before they were finished the atmosphere of Chiron IV began to break down under the cosmic rays of its dying star. The radiation killed off the Infectors before their work was complete, but also gave me a fighting chance.’

  ‘And them,’ Idris realised as he figured out what must have happened. ‘The Infectors repaired you because you were their only chance of getting off that planet, a shield against the cosmic rays. They might yet be inside your body, perhaps hibernating.’

  Kordaz appeared surprised. ‘I had not considered that,’ he admitted. ‘But whatever their motivation, they failed. I remain uninfected but also not fully healed from my injuries, which would have killed me otherwise. I am weakening and I know that I cannot survive much longer on my own.’

  Idris bit his lip as he heard Mikhain’s voice cut in from Arcadia.

  ‘We cannot allow this to happen,’ he insisted. ‘This is exactly the kind of ploy the Word would use to get aboard us and start infecting.’

  ‘This is not a ploy by the Word,’ Kordaz insisted. ‘I am not infected but I have been betrayed by one of your own people, shot by another and abandoned to die by a third, captain. I do not have much patience remaining for your kind, and merely request medical attention from your wife, Meyanna.’

  Idris swallowed thickly.

  ‘My wife is aboard the vessel we have found,’ he replied. ‘They are having some difficulties, but I am sure we can come to some arrangement.’

  ‘Are you kidding?’ Mikhain uttered. ‘We can’t trust him, not now.’

  Idris felt the conflict building within him. Kordaz was, or had been, a warrior who despite his kind’s bloodlust had proven himself an honourable soul. But if the Legion had taken control of him, were even now waiting aboard the gunship, then how could he possibly bring Kordaz aboard Atlantia or expose his wife and the Marines aboard Endeavour to potential infection?

  ‘Where is Qayin, right now?’ Idris asked.

  ‘He is in the hold,’ Kordaz replied. ‘I have kept him there for the duration of the journey.’

  ‘Is he harmed?’

  Kordaz hesitated for a long moment before he replied. ‘He has seen better days. But he is alive.’

  ‘Show him to us, and we will organise his transport and also your medical assistance aboard the gunship.’

  Kordaz’s shoulders seemed to slump as though a great weight had been removed from them.

  ‘Thank you captain. Stand by, and I will bring him to the cockpit.’

  *

  Mikhain shut off the communications link and turned to his Executive Officer, Djimon, who was staring at the screen displaying Salim Phaeon’s gunship and wearing an expression somewhere between disbelief and dismay.

  ‘XO, with me,’ Mikhain ordered, and turned to Lieutenant Scott. ‘You have the bridge, lieutenant.’

  ‘Aye, captain.’

  Mikhain marched off the bridge with Djimon close behind and made his way to his quarters, waiting for the doors to close behind them before he spoke.

  ‘Qayin is alive?’ he snapped in disbelief.

  Djimon nodded. ‘It is possible. Nobody actually saw him die on Chiron.’

  Mikhain grasped his forehead with one hand, the other on his hip as he marched back and forth. ‘This is unbelievable. He knows everything.’

  ‘He knows nothing,’ Djimon countered. ‘Qayin is universally despised. Nothing he says will carry any weight either here or aboard Atlantia. That said, our best bet is to ensure that if Qayin is indeed alive he gets nowhere near Idris Sansin or Atlantia.’

  ‘Our best bet?’ Mikhain echoed as though Djimon was insane. ‘If Captain Sansin learns of what we’ve done our commands will be over and we’ll be subject to Maroon Protocol.’

  ‘Then we do what is necessary to ensure that never occurs.’

  ‘Oh really?’ Mikhain uttered. ‘Just like that, Djimon? Do you think that you could so easily kill Qayin, or Kordaz for that matter?! Kordaz would crush either of us like worms!’

  ‘It might be entertaining to give the Veng’en the chance.’

  ‘This isn’t a damned game, Djimon! What happens next will define the rest of our lives, and the only thing that will end it is…’

  A cold smile finally cracked like a glacier across Djimon’s features.

  ‘Their deaths,’ he finished the captain’s sentence for him.

  Mikhain slumped and he rubbed his temples wearily with one hand.

  ‘This isn’t right,’ he whispered, almost to himself. ‘Damn it, we’re talking about murder here!’

  ‘Do you think that Qayin would be any less likely to sacrifice lives in order to protect his own?’

  ‘Do you think that I want to be like Qayin?!’

  ‘You wanted your command,’ Djimon said as he gestured to the captain’s insignia adorning Mikhain’s shoulder patches. ‘Now you’ve got it and everything that comes with it. Don’t you even think about cutting out and revealing all to our beloved leader, Captain Sansin.’

  ‘There’s nothing that you could do to stop me,’ Mikhain shot back.

  ‘Isn’t there?’ Djimon asked, as one hand rested on the butt of his plasma pistol holstered at his hip. ‘Let’s not go there, captain. Let’s
ensure that whatever happens, nothing that either Qayin or Kordaz knows reaches Sansin’s ears, whatever it takes. We kill Kordaz, agreed?’

  Mikhain glared at the man towering over him as he realised the lengths that Djimon was prepared to go to, and he almost spat his response.

  ‘Agreed.’

  ***

  XVI

  Qayin sat in silence and waited, his eyes closed and his body tensed.

  The seat was as cold as the blood that still soaked the deck, black and thick beneath his boots. The atmosphere in the hold was also chilled, but he could not feel it due to the Devlamine powering through his veins. It was all he could do to remain silent and still, his head hanging low and his chin touching his chest. He felt as though his head was bobbing up and down, so hard was his heart beating. Lights pulsed before his closed eyes and all he wanted to do was leap up and run around, to destroy, to maim and to puncture anything that he could lay his hands on.

  His hands lay on the arms of the seat, the manacles loosely draped over his wrists. Beneath his right leg he had tucked the deactivated plasma whip, the slim handle invisible. With the kind of patience only pure hatred and the desperate thirst for vengeance could bring, he remained motionless and waited.

  After what seemed like an age had passed he heard the hiss of the hold doors as they opened and then the heavy, padding sound of Kordaz approaching. Maybe he would notice that the plasma whip was not where he had left it. Maybe he would draw his pistol, cautious of whether Qayin was truly still captive or not. Perhaps he would merely shoot Qayin in the back of the head, just to be safe?

  The heavy footsteps came closer, did not break their stride or rhythm, and he heard the Veng’en’s voice as the warrior moved to stand before Qayin.

  ‘It looks like it’s time for you to go home,’ he growled. ‘Just be thankful it will be into the care of your own people and not the Veng’en, who would gladly tear you…’

  Qayin released every ounce of the energy he had struggled to contain in a single burst of undiluted fury. He surged upward and out of the seat as his hand grabbed the handle of the plasma whip, heard his own grotesque cry of rage as he swung a punch that struck Kordaz directly across his broad left eye.