Ouroboros- The Complete Series

by Odette C. Bell

  It appeared to take a great deal of effort, but she turned to him and nodded once. ‘It will be fine,’ she mumbled.

  He hoped she was right, yet he couldn't deny the surge of adrenaline her muttered promise elicited. In a wave, jumping, electrifying fear jolted through his every muscle and bone.

  Shaking it off, he continued forward.

  After some time, they reached the city's outer perimeter. It was an enormous and truly imposing sight—a wall approximately 10 meters tall, laden with wire and rudimentary turret guns, surrounded the city completely. Lights were set evenly across it, and as they approached, Carson felt his skin creep with fright at the prospect of one of those lights locking on him and illuminating him against the dark backdrop of the night.

  Fortunately they did not venture too close to the walls however. Instead, Harya took them on a circuitous route. Either she wasn't entirely sure where she was going, or she was doubling back for some security reason. Perhaps she knew how the defensive mechanism of the city's perimeter worked, but eventually she led them to an enormous set of pipes.

  Before Carson could wonder whether Harya intended to lead them within, she passed by the pipes and walked on for almost 200 meters.

  He really, really hoped she knew what she was doing. With every step, he couldn't stop his concern from building, however, neither could he stave off the guilt. What if he'd just trusted this woman, and she turned out to be a) a waste of time, or b) a trap?

  Carson tried to shake off his suspicions, but he couldn't deny his growing fear.

  Just before he moved to pull Harya aside and question her, he watched as she doubled down next to an innocuous-looking section of road. Scrabbling in the dirt, after almost 30 seconds, she rose and walked away.

  ‘What is she doing?’ he muttered under his breath, his words sharp and broken as frustration constricted his throat.

  Yet before he could act, Nida did.

  Drawing alongside him, she placed a hand on his arm.

  The move was gentle, yet had a deceptive firmness that grew with every second her skin pressed down against his. ‘She knows what she's doing. Trust her,’ Nida said simply.

  No. Not Nida.

  The entity.

  It spoke quietly and quickly, its words low and barely audible.

  Though his skin bristled, he controlled his reaction.

  He also controlled his tongue. He did not suddenly hiss at Harya to get back here. Instead, he waited.

  He did not, however, have to wait for long.

  Out of the darkness, he heard footsteps.

  As they grew louder, the skin along his arms prickled and stood on end.

  Though it probably broke the laws of the region, and Harya’s heart, he stood as close to Nida as he could.

  For a few brief but reassuring seconds, she reached out and held onto his arm. Then, as a figure resolved through the darkness, she let her fingers fall from his wrist.

  She stepped back just as Harya let out a sigh of relief. ‘There you are—’ she began.

  ‘What are you doing?’ someone hissed.

  ‘I have the resistance members. They saved me from a varg,’ Harya squeaked, stumbling over her words as she tried to get them out all at once.

  ‘You can't be here,’ the person snapped.

  Though Carson couldn't really see them—as dusk had quickly given way to a thick and black night—he could see the outline of a hard, metal armor covering their body from head to foot.

  Although the person had a soft, light voice, he quickly reasoned he must be looking at a man, considering the chauvinistic laws of this planet.

  But man or woman, they were clearly armed. They were also clearly angry at Harya for leading them here.

  ‘We need to take them to the resistance,’ Harya began, passion rising in her voice and making her words even quicker.

  The man appeared to pause. Slowly he turned over his shoulder and stared pointedly at Nida, then Carson. His eyes lingered long and hard over Carson, and though Carson could not see the man's face, he could bet the guy was sizing him up and registering what kind of threat—if any—Carson could pose.

  ‘We're here to help,’ Carson suddenly interjected, realizing he had to say something before this guy did anything rash.

  The man didn't say anything. In fact, it took Harya latching a hand on his armored shoulder for the man to sigh heavily.

  ‘Harya, we . . .’ he sighed again.

  ‘Please. They saved me from a varg,’ Harya's voice wavered up and down. ‘I have seen first-hand what they are capable of. We must take them to the resistance.’

  ‘. . . Alright,’ the man said after a long pause. ‘But if you,’ he said, turning sharply on his heel and facing Carson.

  Carson put his hands up before the guy could finish his threat. ‘We're here to help,’ Carson repeated.

  His words seemed to echo around in the silence, and before too long they had their desired effect—the man stood backwards, nodded his head, then waved them forward.

  As Carson fell into step, he surveyed the man, and, more importantly, the armor.

  It was rudimentary, to say the least. Probably a few millennia behind anything the Academy could produce, it wouldn't stand up to much of a beating. One shot from Carson's gun would obliterate it completely, and if Carson chose to put his own armor on, he would win any fight before it began.

  Still, Carson was wary as he walked forward, and became all the warier as they reached the enormous pipes again.

  The pipes led into a section of the perimeter wall, and were protected by a thick wire fence with several glowing machines lodged into it.

  Without reference to his scanner, Carson could deduct the machines could electrify the wire—all he needed to conclude that was the crackle in the air as they neared.

  Though he dearly wanted to ask how they intended to get past the fence, he knew enough to hold his tongue.

  The man was in heavy armor, and Carson could bet from the cut and color, he probably belonged to some kind of official force, whether military or police.

  In other words, he was a double agent—a loyal government employee by light, and a mole for the resistance during the night.

  Sure enough, the man quickly and confidently walked up to the fence, and within several seconds there was a click as he disabled the electricity crackling through every wire.

  Though Carson's heart beat hard in his chest, he kept his composure as the man finally opened a gate and waved them all through.

  Then the guy continued to disable several other defenses—all of which Carson kept a dutiful eye on—until they were free to clamber up the side of the pipes.

  Once inside, Carson expected the guy to leave them and return to his post, but he didn't.

  Instead, he led them forward.

  The pipes were massive. They also stunk.

  Really, really bad.

  It was a horrendous mix of week-old fish and rotten eggs. He wanted to gag, but he barely managed to hold himself together. Nida, however, kept coughing into her upturned palm, her other hand locked flat on her stomach.

  As they travelled further through the pipes, Carson's nerves started to compound.

  Expectation built within, and with every step, he wondered what would come next.

  There was a thick, indescribable brown muck covering the bottom of the pipe. It muffled their footfall, but that was the only good thing about it. With every step, it sent out an entirely awful squelch.

  Carson didn't even want to guess what it was.

  He didn't let it distract him too much though; he kept watch over the man.

  He also kept a protective eye on Nida.

  He wanted to pull her aside to ask how she was going, but knew he couldn’t risk it. Instead, he would have to put up with the lump that formed in his throat every time he looked at her.

  After what felt like an age trekking through that wretched-smelling tunnel, they finally reached what looked like a service door set in
to the smooth side of the rounded metal wall.

  Wordlessly, the man walked over, drew a large key ring from his pocket, selected the correct key, then opened the door.

  He waved everyone through, though as Carson passed, the man pushed a hand flat into his chest and shoved him back. ‘Not you,’ the guy grumbled.

  Carson stumbled, though quickly caught his balance.

  He faced the man, his brow knotting together as he assessed the guy’s intent.

  It was pretty hard to guess a guy’s motivations when he was covered in chunky metal armor, but this wasn’t the first time Carson had faced off against a faceless attacker. Though he couldn’t garner the man’s intentions from his expression, he sure as hell could from the man’s body language. And though the guy was an alien, there were some things that crossed racial barriers.

  Anger was one such thing.

  Sure enough, after a single moment of hesitation, the man pressed forward, his boots lodging into the muck covering the pipe, and sending foul-scented lumps of sludge splashing upward. He lunged forward, twisting hard to the side as he did, his fist aimed at Carson’s chest.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Harya shrieked.

  Before she could say anything more, the man twisted, pivoted on his hip, and landed a solid kick against the metal door, sending it slamming shut.

  Though Carson could hear the handle rattle, after several seconds it became apparent the door was locked and Harya and Nida were trapped on the other side.

  Trapped.

  Shit.

  Carson doubled back as the man lunged his way again.

  The guy moved quickly, smoothly, and with devastating efficiency considering how rudimentary and heavy his armor must be.

  Still, Carson managed to stay out of his way.

  Just.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ Carson spat, ducking to the side as the guy aimed a punch at Carson’s head.

  The guy did not answer. Instead, he kept attacking relentlessly.

  All too soon reality caught up with Carson.

  This had been a trap.

  He’d led Nida into a trap.

  Before that thought could rip through any last scrap of confidence he held, the man finally landed a blow. It was glancing, but Carson felt it as the guy’s armored fist connected with the side of Carson’s jaw.

  Though it was solid, and sent a jolt slamming through Carson’s neck and back, it did not force him backward.

  Instead, Carson finally went on the offensive.

  He locked his feet into the ground, for the first time not caring about the centimeters of gunk covering the pipe.

  Instead, he used it to his advantage.

  Whilst Carson’s own armor was sophisticated enough to allow the wearer to see even when something obscured his helmet, the guy before him was pretty much right out of the dark ages.

  So Carson kicked. He lodged his boot deep into the muck before him, and with a swipe of his foot, he sent a whole chunk of the outrageous-smelling stuff right at the guy’s head.

  Carson’s aim was perfect, and the muck struck the man’s helmet, covering it with a wet slap.

  As the man drew a hand up to clear his helmet, Carson acted.

  He darted forward, hunching over as he did and pushing out with his shoulder.

  He rammed into the man, wrapping an arm automatically around the guy’s middle. Then Carson pivoted on his hip, twisting to the side as he used the man’s own weight and momentum against him.

  Though the guy fought, Carson managed to flip him onto the floor.

  But the fight wasn’t over yet, evidenced by the fact the man almost immediately struck out with his foot, catching Carson on the leg.

  The blow was a hard one, and Carson was lucky not to stumble back. Instead, he reversed his momentum and flung himself forward.

  Right on top of the guy.

  Though the man was heavier, considering his armor, Carson had an edge.

  Okay, he had several edges. He had his own armor, the entity’s device, a pulse gun from the future, and a scanner that could tell him every weakness this man had.

  But that wasn’t the edge Carson now used.

  He relied on the simple fact the man’s armor was old.

  As the guy struggled, Carson grabbed hold of the guy’s helmet, forced it forward, then let go and slammed it hard into the unyielding floor of the pipe.

  Unlike Academy armor, there would be no proper cushioning within that man’s helmet. In fact, judging by the design and the fact the Vexians all seemed to be a violent bunch, Carson could bet there was not so much as padding within the helmet.

  Which meant that every time Carson grabbed up the helmet and slammed it down, the guy inside would be getting a pounding.

  Sure enough, the man’s struggling began to slow.

  But it was the lull before the storm.

  With a burst of strength and speed, he flung Carson off.

  Swearing, Carson rolled, then scrabbled to his feet just as the man lashed out with his leg.

  Though Carson didn’t want to have to resort to using his armor, gun, or the device, he was rapidly running out of options.

  Plus, even though he could still hear the door handle rattling, and hoped Nida was on the other side industriously trying to get through, he still had to get to her as quickly as he could.

  He had to get to her, he reaffirmed to himself.

  The man plunged forward, the quick and violent moves of his legs disturbing whole chunks of muck and sending them flying around in an arc.

  He balled his fist and moved towards Carson.

  Carson could have fallen back; he could have rolled; he could have ducked to the side. He could have done any number of defensive maneuvers.

  He didn’t.

  Instead, he shot forward.

  Right at the guy.

  As he did, he commanded his armor with a single thought.

  One of the bands of armor around his wrists suddenly shot up and covered his hand.

  Then he slammed that hand into the man’s helmet.

  There was a resounding crack, and the guy was flung backwards. His body struck the ground and slid several meters through the brown goo before coming to a rest.

  Immediately Carson told his armor to recede, and in an instant the plating covering his hand disappeared.

  In fact, the whole thing had happened so quickly, Carson was confident the man would never know what hit him.

  Letting out a sharp breath, Carson walked forward. Though the man was clearly down, Carson did not let his guard drop. Instead, he stepped forward slowly and carefully, surveying the man as he did for any sign of movement.

  Just as Carson reached the guy, the man’s foot twitched.

  ‘Stay down,’ Carson warned with a growl.

  Then he walked backwards, reached the door, and, without use of the key, simply tugged the handle right off—allowing his armor to reform over his hand for one brief second.

  Immediately Harya spilled through the open door, followed one second later by Nida.

  Automatically his eyes drew wide as he saw Nida, and he had to fight the urge to run forward and scoop her up in his arms.

  She was alive.

  He’d walked her into a trap, but thankfully she was still fine.

  He let out the breath trapped in his chest, sent a prayer of thanks to any force that would listen, and finally turned on his foot to face the man.

  There was an enormous crack over the guy’s helmet, with numerous hairline fractures running out from it like branches from a river delta.

  Carson had struck it with all his force. Okay, not with all his force—if Carson had brought the full power of his armor to bear against that man’s helmet, he would have shattered it and the head inside.

  Still, despite the fact Carson had not intended to kill the man, he had intended to knock the guy out. Yet the guy was clearly conscious as he twitched again and moved to sit up.

  ‘Don’t,’ Carson warned ag
ain.

  Before he could walk over and loom over the man threateningly, Harya ran up, fell to her knees, and hooked her arm behind the guy’s shoulder. ‘Sister,’ she said, her voice shaking badly.

  . . . .

  Sister?

  Sure enough, after a short pause, what Carson had thought was a man turned out to be a woman as she reached up and pulled her damaged helmet off her head.

  Long, lustrous white hair cascaded over her shoulders.

  If Harya was pretty by human standards, then this woman was categorically stunning.

  The woman narrowed her eyes and glared at him.

  Though Carson was thrown by the fact she was female—considering the draconian laws of this planet—he recovered quickly.

  In the future, it didn’t matter if you were a woman or a man—if you could hold a plasma gun and find the trigger, then you could fight.

  Yet he instinctively knew that wasn’t the case in this place and in this time.

  To confirm that, the woman snarled at him. ‘Surprised I’m female?’ she challenged.

  Carson shook his head. ‘Surprised you lost?’ he countered quickly.

  The woman laughed. But it wasn’t what you could term a friendly chuckle; she sounded and looked as though she wanted to kill him.

  ‘Cara, why did you attack them? I told you they were here to help,’ Harya said passionately as she kept an arm hooked behind her sister’s back.

  ‘Because you have no idea who these people are, and you can’t just invite them back to the resistance cell without knowing for certain they aren’t spies,’ Cara said through locked teeth.

  . . . .

  She had a point. Not, of course, that Carson was going to admit that out loud. Still, he had to agree with Cara on that one; Harya was clearly too trusting. All Carson had done was save her from a varg, and now she appeared to trust him with her life and all the secrets of this elusive resistance.

  Yet, where Harya was clearly naive, Cara was not.

  She now pushed herself to her feet with her sister’s help, but almost immediately took a step back and stood on her own. She squared off her shoulders, rounded her jaw, and narrowed her eyes. ‘You can have me, but you won’t get the rest of the resistance. I’ve been tortured before, boy, and I can be tortured again. But no matter what you do, I will not name names.’