by Liz Paffel
“Impossible.”
If he’d really jumped ahead two rotations, he could have actually received the transmission days ago. Nothing about this made sense, which increased the likelihood that something just as strange had happened to the Zeph.
“A transport ship might have gotten sucked in. The defect I came down had intense pull and it spit me out at the base of this storm. If I wasn’t in the Threv with its stability capabilities, I would have gotten tossed right in.”
Quixx ran a hand over his face. “You’re thinking the Zeph is in there, too.”
“I have to find out.”
“Hahn, wait.” The Commander’s voice dropped. “Something has happened.” Quixx’s brow fell. His image began to flicker as the storm increased in intensity and rotated toward the Threv. Hahn adjusted the comm system, but his friend’s image began to glitch out.
“Quixx!”
“Your father… we’re close to the exile drop… four rotations…”
Four days? He eyed the storm, his breathing racking up until he felt lightheaded. He had to get his father to safety.
Quixx’s image flashed. “Coordinates… Hahn… coordinates…”
Poof. The comm went dead and the Commander’s image faded into a spark that fizzled into the air. Hahn slammed his fist into the edge of the console. Four rotations?
He had to go back to Axxeon 9. Getting his father into the Threv wouldn’t be hard. He could slip him away while the base station slept, and launch from the flight bay, undetected and untraceable.
The S.O.S.
The missing Zeph crew.
Was it possible they were here? The storm would have made it difficult to impossible for the Zeph to reach the Axxeon. The only reason he’d been able to clearly intercept the S.O.S is because he was close. Those stranded could have been sending transmissions for months, years. Being at the storm’s mercy meant transmission may have never gone through.
Gritting his teeth, he flipped on his tracking sensors. They blipped as they attempted to sync with Axxeon 9. A ray of light blasted from outside his view screen. It was a complete break in the storm.
He could dart through and make a sweep of the planet for any sign of the Zeph, and the S.O.S. If he was going to proceed, now was the time. Hahn worked his jaw back and forth. Was he going to waste this last bit of time he may have with his father on a ghost, or go back and keep his promise?
He could make a sweep. The break in the storm had to come around again, giving him the opportunity to exit. Marking the coordinates in the navigation system, he copied them on his comlet and sent it to Quixx.
He angled the Threv toward the storm break.
He lined up the craft.
And gunned it.
The Threv broke through the edge of the storm and lurched forward into a soupy mix of debris and particulate. Lightening speared in front of him, brilliant and blinding. With a curse, he pulled the craft to the right, angled slightly downward and plunged into the thick of the chaos.
What had appeared as a reprieve in the mess had deceived him.
Large pieces of debris shot like missiles in every direction. Lightening attacked in repeat strikes, rocking him violently from side to side. Flying deeper into the storm, Hahn engaged the protective cage system that would protect the Threv from impact. A series of clicking sounded as the curved titanium cage dropped from the belly of the Threv in two sections, rose around the craft and connected over the top.
Hahn rolled the Threv to avoid an incoming boulder. Too late. He struck it, the bars taking the brunt of the impact which sent him careening to the right. The Threv rolled, then jolted as it was struck on the left and sent into a tailspin. The craft immediately righted itself. Nausea rose in Hahn’s throat. Gripping the steering bar with both hands, he guided the craft through incoming debris, veering left, then right, then down. Pieces bounced off the cage while lightning raged around him.
Suddenly, the craft was struck from below, tossing him into a barrel roll. With a shout, he braced himself for the Threv to right itself, but the craft wobbled as it came out of the spin. The interior lights flickered before going out. The control panel went dead.
Heart in his throat, he tapped on the panel. Nothing. The Threv bobbed on the airflow inside the storm, careening to the side, bouncing off debris that connected with the cage. The craft jerked and made a sudden drop. Hahn’s body pulled up against his harness. It held him into his seat as the Threv dropped. The storm slipped over him, seemingly inside out, dark clouds flying past him… an obscure pattern of lines and colors... a mountain range, dips and valleys. What looked like trees.
Reaching beneath the control panel, he dropped down the override system and pulled up the steering lever. With a cry, he pulled back as hard as he could. The lever groaned, the Threv shuddering as it reluctantly gave up speed. Sweat poured down his face, wetting the inside of his helmet faster than the internal cooling system could dry him.
The cry of an alarm startled him. His gaze flew to the control panel. It was lit up, the gauges and screens blinking and flashing a map of the terrain. The ground was coming up fast.
Closer.
Fucking closer!
“Crash imminent. Prepare for emergency landing.”
The computerized voice almost made him laugh. There was no way to prepare. He was too close, coming in too fast. In a ship that was supposed to be indestructible.
His chest squeezed. Blood rushed through his veins like a physical touch from a freezing hand. It was almost painful, like cold, pulsating streaks of ice water circulating through his body. Goose flesh formed on his skin and he began to tremble. His solarderm flickered on in response, flooding his torso with heat. He had the violent urge to claw his harness off, get his shirt off. Get out of his skin!
The ground began to shine with a brilliance that hurt his eyes. There was no time to lower the anti-glare shield. A craggy ridge jutted up like broken teeth to his right. A smooth strip of sand directly in front of him.
He pulled back with all his strength to keep the Threv aimed at the sand. “Come on, come on!”
Tryllin’s face flashed in his mind. His brother’s nightmare was about to come true. Hahn was going to die on this ghost planet, having left nothing of himself behind but some sketchy coordinates for a planet no one would think twice about. His brother would send help. But they’d never make it through. The craft he’d created to withstand atmospheric calamity had failed.
He’d failed.
His brother. His father. The human desperately sending the S.O.S.
The Zeph.
Hahn blinked, watching the silvery cast of the surface reach up for him. His breath sounded in his ears. In. Out. In. Out.
In.
The Threv struggled to respond. The ground was mere feet below. He’d teased the craft to the lowest speed she’d be able to do under the circumstances. He hit the ground with a shattering jolt. Hahn cried out in pain as the impact vibration speared up his spine. The ship skated along the surface, kicking up billows of hard dust, and tunneled through the soft ground until it finally stopped.
Blinking to clear his blurred vision, he scrubbed a hand through his hair and raked his nails over his scalp, attempting to startle his brain into coming to full attention. Hahn slowly unbuckled from his harness, the back of his neck tingling with the sensation something was about to happen. His mind snapped fully awake. He’d all but buried the front end. The viewscreen was almost completed occluded with sand, making it hard to determine what was outside.
He rose and stepped up on the control panel, trying to peer out of the top of the viewscreen and over the blockage. Suddenly, the ship jerked downward, sinking into the surface with a jarring jolt.
Hahn flew backwards against his chair as the last bit of outside light coming in snuffed out. Heart thumping, he burst from his seat. If the Threv was completely buried, the top escape hatch might be impossible to push open. He tapped his comlet and a beam of light shot out. He used it to see
as he grabbed the emergency pack from behind the pilot’s seat, a full metafabric bladder of water, and a packed weapons belt, which he slung around his hips and buckled into place.
Turning to the control panel, he opened the comms and hailed Axxeon 9. “Quixx. Do you connect? “He watched for a signal to indicate he’d synced with the base station, but nothing appeared. “Quixx.”
Inspecting the control panel and electrical systems, he found everything in order. “Run system check,” he said to the computer.
“Scanning. Two alerts identified.”
“Identify.”
“Occlusion in turbo four. Disruption of main electrical fusion.”
Something was blocking one of the thrusters that gave the craft acceleration, and there was an interruption in the electrical transformer. Pulling himself between the seats, he crouched inside the narrow back compartment and pulled the electrical panel open. He knew how to fly—questionable considering how this had turned out—but electrical was another thing. The Threv was his design, but he’d left it to the experts to figure out how to power it.
Sparks flew out at him from the main electrical wires. They looked like leaking arteries where they joined the transformer heart. The indicator light in the center flickered pathetically. Something was keeping the transformer from drawing full power.
“Run terra-wide scan for life signs.”
“Running terra scan.”
Hahn moved back to the front and turned off the main power to the Threv, leaving emergency power in place which would pick up and record any transmissions from the base station. He looked at the crimson red button on the control panel. If he pressed it, an emergency signal would attempt to broadcast and wouldn’t stop until the ship was completely out of power.
He didn’t know where he was, or what kind of response he might draw to a distress call. He wasn’t afraid to defend himself, but he was one warrior and not prepared to face multiple enemies, so laying low was a priority.
He wasn’t going to send a distress call. Not yet. There wasn’t time to overthink any of this. He had to assess, plan, get out.
“Planetary instability identified. Shifting plates of significant force. Life forms detected. Coordinates on comms.”
The back of his neck prickled. “Identify life forms.”
“Indeterminant.”
Checking his comlet for the coordinates, he cracked the side door and shouted in victory as it gave way with a hard push. Silver sand reached to the very base of the door. He pushed until he’d made enough of a crack to squeeze through. Using a handheld scanner, he made a secondary sweep of his surroundings for life signs. Nothing. He jumped down, the sand swallowing his legs to mid-thigh.
What kind of planet was this?
Carefully, he waded forward, dragging his legs through the sand until he was free of the build up from this Threv’s tunneling. On harder ground, he scanned the area again as he walked forward a few steps.
And pulled up short.
The nose of his craft was touching the edge of a cliff. Cautiously, Hahn peered down. The cavern was dark, so he shone his light down. Despite its solar lumen brightness, the beam barely broke the surface of the dank, deep space.
Recalling the mountains off to his right as he’d plummeted down, he instinctively turned that way. Around him was a wasteland. Whoever may be on this planet had probably migrated to the mountain range for protection. He populated the coordinates the computer had populated. That was odd.
The map wanted him to head away from the mountains. Tucking that information away for the moment, he went to the back of the Threv and inspected turbo four. All were filled with sand, but four was packed, blocking the normal view of filaments and gears inside. Using his hands, he began sweeping the debris back, working until his arms ached and sweat streamed down his back. Finally, the workings inside were viewable. It wasn’t perfect, but from what he could see, there wasn’t anything else causing an occlusion.
His mind strayed to his father, but he shut it down. Guilt wouldn’t be so easily contained as it flowed through him, filling him up. He checked his comlet for any sign that the hail he’d sent to Axxeon 9 had been received. Nothing.
Looking at the sky, a muscle in this side of his cheek jumped at the view of swirling dark clouds streaked with a mix of silver and iridescent black lightning. Even in his flight suit, he could feel an ominous pressure subtly closing in on his body. He needed to move. Darkness could ascend on this planet anytime.
His solarderm prickled with little jets of heat. His senses were on high alert.
He needed to investigate the life forms before he lost the chance. If there was any possibility that he’d find a sign of the Zeph’s crew, he had to take it. Readjusting his pack, he found his footing on the ground and began a paced run across the sand. It was semi-slippery, causing the deep tracks of his flight boots to skid and slide with every few steps. Planting his feet harder helped, and soon he’d crossed the barren landscape within a short distance of his destination. Referencing the map again, he scanned the area with his hand held.
The scanner blipped. Life forms. A pulsing signal raced across the screen along with dots that indicated multiple life signatures. He went a little further, ascended what appeared to be a small hill but was actually a steep incline. He climbed it, paused on the edge and pulled in a surprised breath.
The top of a metal building peeked from between sand drifts. His scanner lit up, the pulse signals beating hard. He raised the scanner to his mouth and quietly said, “Identify life forms.”
“Human. Indeterminant.”
Movement from the corner of his right eye drew his attention. He tracked the motion and froze, his skin prickling in warning and warming with the heat of impending attack.
A huge, tubular life form slithered across the sand, circling the top of the building. Its long, pointed face split to reveal a red tongue that uncurled and darted around the air as if it were tasting. Sensing.
A spear-like spike appeared from the end of its tail, gleaming in the gloomy light as it found a crack in the roof and slithered inside.
Chapter Six
“Do I run?”
Blume’s soft voice wavered between hard lines of determination. It took Sasha a moment to break from her shock.
A creature not unlike a python half hung from the ceiling behind Blume, its tongue darting out and swirling in the air over the woman’s shoulder. A pointed head with a long nose looked similar to an opossum. Small, rounded ears moved strategically back and forth. It was listening, tasting, sensing. And Sasha had no fucking idea what to do.
“I’m going to run.”
“Wait!” Sasha hissed in a whisper. Maybe on Earth, the young woman could sprint ahead of a deadly python, but something about this creature suggested it moved faster than its doppelganger. She didn’t just have Blume to worry about. She had to think about all the women. There was no telling how much damage this thing could do.
She flicked her light over the creature again, needing another look. It didn’t react to the shine. In fact, it didn’t appear to have eyes. The face was completely smooth and covered in row after row of tiny, slick scales. If it found its prey by taste and hearing, maybe Blume could run after all. It wasn’t far to the door. If they could just get through and shut it before the creature could follow…
Sasha subtly motioned Angel and Fran toward the door. “Go out into the corridor. We’ll try and run out and close the door behind us.”
“Try?” Blume whisper shouted. “There is no try. Come on, bitches. On the count of three.”
Fran and Angel slipped out into the hallway. Sasha kept her light between Blume and the creature, highlighting both. A foul odor radiated off the beast, like rancid oil. She wrinkled her nose and took a small step back. “One.”
“Fuck this.” Blume lurched forward, tucked into a head-over-ass roll.
The creature burst forward, jutting over Blume’s rolling body, straight at Sasha. She didn’t think, j
ust reacted, her hands going out and wrapping around the animal’s thick neck. It slid forward in her grip from the momentum, its tongue lashing across Sasha’s cheek. She clamped her hand around it as hard as she could, but it was as wide around as both her thighs together, and pure muscle contracting and thrashing. It emitted a high-pitch screech. Blume suddenly popped up and grabbed it around the lower half. Somehow, Sasha managed to keep her grip on the flashlight. It aimed toward Blume… and the creature’s tail as it curved inward ominously.
“Spike!” She yelled. “Tail spike, sharp, stabby thing. Jesus, duck!”
Blume crouched low, the creature’s spear-like tail whizzing over her head and impaling into the side of its own body. It screeched again with a violent jerk. Sasha lost her grip with her left hand, the light crashing to the ground. It rolled away, the beam angling away.
Her heart lurched into her throat as she scrambled to regain her grip on the creature. They were fighting this thing in the dark, with no way to know where its tail was going. Blume cried out. The creature’s body pulled downward as if Blume had let go. The snake lurched through Sasha’s hands, its tongue streaking over her chin and along the side of her neck. Turning her face away, she struggled with all her might to hang on to it. If she could just toss it to the side, slam it into the wall, maybe they’d have a chance of getting out the door.
She couldn’t see a thing. It could stab either of them at any moment...
Suddenly, a soft illumination glowed behind Blume. It took a second to realize a figure was coming toward them, arms raised in a shooting position. A neon orange beam came her way, striking the alien snake in the middle of its body. The animal split the air with an agonized scream and threw its head back. Sasha had no choice but to let go.
The weapon beam came again with a crackling buzz and split the creature down the middle. The snake’s body flayed open into two halves, splitting with a gush of dark liquid onto the floor. Sasha pressed the back of her hand to her mouth to hold back the nausea burning her throat. Her gaze flew to the person holding the gun. Blume rose slowly, hands out. The woman was a soldier, way more qualified to survive a standoff than she was.
