Terra Prime (The Terran Legacy Book 2)

by Rob Dearsley

  “He left!” Along with Arland. Both of them gone back to the Systems Defence Force. He’d expected Arland to jump at the chance to re-join the military – she was SDF through and through – but to lose the Doc too. That sucked.

  “I’m still here,” Luc said. “Not that it makes a damn bit of difference to you.”

  Luc moved past him to take the pilot’s chair.

  “What are you doing?” Dannage snapped, his voice harsher than he’d intended.

  Luc sighed. “I can’t let you fly. Not after what just happened.”

  Dannage closed his eyes. Just breathe. In and out. In and- Stars damn-it all. He was losing everything he cared about. Everything that mattered. And now he couldn’t even bloody fly.

  He’d willingly thrown himself into the starless hells to end the Terran War, to kill that damn X-Ship, and this was his reward. It wasn’t fair. Faces flashed through his mind, SDF marines dead, helping him get his people off the Terran ship. They shouldn’t have had to. Maybe it would have been better if he’d died over there. It would have been easier.

  The sleeve of his coat was rough over his eyes as he scrubbed the tears away. When he looked up, they were surrounded by the giant, hand-like arms of the gateway.

  Space unfurled around them in a wash of blue and a second later, they were on the Subspace Highway. The blue stretching out before them into infinity.

  Dannage checked the navigation console, not really caring where Luc took them. The further the better. The Terran ships couldn’t reach him on the Highways. Six hours to destination.

  The blue of the nearly deserted highway rolled past. It was just him, Luc and a hundred lightyears. They were far enough out to not even have to worry about lane merging for a while yet.

  Even months on, the bridge, the whole ship, felt empty and off-kilter without Arland. Dannage should have gotten a replacement by now, but that meant admitting that she wasn’t coming back. That he’d lost her. Stars, he was such a muppet.

  He pushed off into the freefall of the cargo hold, heading for his cabin and cast a sidelong look at the door to the tiny medical bay. Another loss. If the Doc were still here, he’d have been able to sort Dannage out. There wouldn’t have been any awkward questions or worries about being dragged off to a government black site for ‘testing’.

  The door to his cabin bounced against his shoulder, sending Dannage spinning off through the hold. He was better than this. Focus. He grabbed for the handles either side of the door. His fingers brushed the cool metal before he spun away. Damn.

  As the handles came back into reach, he snatched for them, fingers closing around the worn tubing, and pulled himself through the into the gravity of his tiny cabin.

  Dannage threw himself down onto the cot, his eyes drifting to the blue swirling of the highway. He’d never really gotten used to sleeping on the highways. The constantly shifting of the blue light was distracting – and normally he’d be driving. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the small cameo, flipping it open.

  Dark curls framed a pale face with clear blue eyes, the mirror of Dannage’s own. Samantha, his sister, another loss to the Terrans. Stars he missed her. He could still see the naked terror in her eyes as she was dragged from the Folly’s hold. Still feel her hands clinging to his, desperate to not fall.

  “I’m sorry.” He ran his fingers over the cool glass. “I’m so sorry.”

  If he could have changed it, given his life for hers he would have. But it was all done and gone. He let the cameo fall to his chest, scrubbing the sleeve of his coat over his eyes.

  Three

  (Aplite System)

  Dannage leaned forward to get a better view. He’d never get used to seeing the new habitats. Drums, more than twice the size of any of the pre-war habitats, packed with human life. Apparently, it was easier to expand in the surviving systems than rebuild in the ones that had been destroyed. The Terrans were nothing if not thorough.

  Beside him, Luc sent the Folly in a long arc past the massive habitat and toward one of the planets. “Feeling better, Cap’n?”

  Sighing, Dannage dropped into the navigator’s chair. The whispers pressed against the periphery of his consciousness. Not quite intruding, not yet anyway. But they were always there, always waiting.

  “Yeah,” he lied. Then, thinking better of it. “Not really. I mean, I- I don’t know.”

  Luc put the ship on auto and turned to face him. “Is this about what happened during the war? About Sam?” His voice was gentle, tentative even, his usual drawl almost lost.

  “No. Well probably. But it’s not…”

  Luc waited. The hush of the air system the only sound.

  “Samantha, Simon, Ambrose. So many people died. I see Sammy every time I close my eyes. See her falling. See her death. I only ever see her die. Never any other memory.” He scrubbed tears from his eyes and looked up at Luc. “Why can’t I remember her alive?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  And that was it. Everyone was sorry. But no one had any damn answers.

  “It’s more than that though, isn’t it?”

  Dannage closed his eyes. Voices pressed in, jump vectors, threat detection. He forced them aside.

  “Yes. Ever since Pyrite, I’ve been hearing voices, having dreams. It’s the Terran ships. I thought it would go away. But it’s getting worse.”

  “Stars. Why didn’t you tell me! Or Arland, or the Doc?”

  Dannage pushed up from the chair. “I don’t know. Saying it out loud would make it real. I’m losing my damn mind. Or having it stolen.”

  “Is it true?” a small voice asked.

  Dannage almost didn’t recognise Jax’s voice without the slight distortion from the com system. He looked over in surprise. Jax's face was lost in the shadows of the large hood pulled forward around her head. He couldn’t remember the last time she’d left the cramped confines of the engine compartment. She’d never been comfortable in open spaces.

  She reached out to touch his face. Stars, she was thin. Long, dexterous fingers touched his cheek. “We would have helped if you’d asked. I’m sure we can fix this.”

  “I don’t think we can,” Dannage replied.

  “I thought that. For a long time. But I’m here.” Jax worried the ratty cuff of her top, dropping her head as if suddenly realising where she was. “Sorry.” Jax bolted for the bridge door, freezing at it opened on the cargo hold.

  Dannage’s breath caught at the sight of the young engineer. So brave for simply coming out here. It put him to shame. Where was the captain who threw himself into the fire for his people? He rushed forward bundling Jax into his arms pressing her head into his chest as he kicked off through the freefall of the cargo hold.

  After what she’d just done for him, he could do this little thing for her. His brave engineer.

  Jax’s breathing eased as she pushed through the hatch into the twisting confines of the engine compartment. Finally sharing the news loosened the knot of worry in Dannage’s shoulders.

  For a moment his mind was still and he could imagine none of this Terran business had happened. That he was normal again. Then the voices started in again, whispers pushing through his thoughts, insistent, relentless.

  Pushing the thoughts aside, Dannage followed Jax, pulling himself along on the tangle of pipework. “You good?”

  “I’ll be fine,” she replied settling herself amidst her nest of screens and consoles. She pulled her old-style mechanical keyboard into her lap. “Let’s see if we can see what’s up with your head.”

  Dannage wasn’t so sure she would, but it would be somewhat hypocritical for him to press her.

  The rattle of Jax typing combined with the hum of the engines into a soporific sound. Along with the relaxing embrace of freefall, Dannage could imagine it was like being back in the womb. No voices. Just the rhythmic click-clack of typing.

  “Huh,” Jax said.

  Dannage’s head snapped up from his state of mild torpor.

 
Jax said, “That explains a lot really. I’ve been picking up odd Tachyon waves for a while. It looks like they’re coming from your head.”

  “Tachy-what?”

  “Superluminal wave-forms. We use them for our faster-than-light coms and scanners. There’s no proof they’re harmful. But they aren’t naturally occurring. At least not in human heads.”

  “You think this is what my problem is?” Dannage asked, pulling himself forward to look at her screens. The banks of information on the screens didn’t become any more comprehensible from close range.

  “I don’t know. It would explain how you can communicate with the Terran ship.”

  “It’s pretty one way. They just shout at me the whole time.”

  “Have you tried talking back?”

  Huh. Dannage had been so focused on trying to ignore or suppress the whispers, he’d never thought of talking back.

  “I’ll think about it,” he said. “Keep looking and see if you can find something more.”

  “I’ll try,” Jax replied. “But I’m a mechanic, your head is a medical problem.”

  She was right. They needed the Doc. Or at least a doctor. “Find someone to help. I’m going to speak to Luc.”

  By the time Dannage got back to the bridge, Luc had the Folly in a holding orbit over a smaller moon. Beneath them, lights flashed and flickered on towers and loading platforms. It reminded Dannage of Silicate IVc, their first mission with Arland. Stars, that had been a massive screw-up. They’d never have made it out without Arland.

  Luc’s voice pulled Dannage from his memories. “What did Jax say?”

  “Lots of things I don’t really understand. Apparently, my head is giving off some kind of FTL com signal.”

  “Can she do anything to help?” Luc asked.

  “Not sure,” Dannage said. “She thinks we need a doctor.”

  “Or a Terran expert,” Luc suggested. “Maybe you could reach out to Admiral Niels.”

  “News feeds say he’s neck deep in all this Nowhere crap. He won’t have time for the likes of me.” But maybe… Dannage had heard things, whispers mostly. Luc wouldn’t like it though. “Anyway, I’m going to get some rest.”

  “No worries, Cap’n.”

  Dannage considered going to engineering and speaking to Jax in person, but he was uncomfortable enough doing this already, so he copped out and ducked into his cabin.

  “Hey, Jax?”

  “It’s only been ten minutes. I haven’t got anything yet.” The engineer’s voice filtered through the overhead speakers, tinny.

  “You’ve heard the rumours about black-market scientists reverse engineering the Terran tech?”

  “Yeah, along with the SDF, Recoup, XO, and every other corporation with a science division. The Terran technology is decades ahead of our own, more in some areas. If we can rework just a fraction of that, we’ll jump human technology forward by years.”

  “Back to the civilian researchers. Can you find one?”

  The rattle of Jax’s mechanical keyboard filtered over the com. “I’ll reach out and see what I can do.”

  “Thanks.” Dannage cut the com. Luc wasn’t going to like this. But what other choice did they have? He wanted his mind back.

  ◊◊

  The sun beamed down on the bustling market square. After the persistent rain of the last few days, the good weather had people filling the streets.

  Arland pushed through the crowds, Rutter’s hulking presence at her shoulder. They’d spotted a young man going into Craven’s building. Without any better leads, she and Rutter – being the only ones out of armour – waited for the youngster to leave and were now tailing him.

  At least they had been. Arland pushed past a pair of dawdling women to be confronted by more backs. They could barely move through these crowds let alone follow someone.

  “Damn-it,” she cursed in frustration, pushing past more men in brightly coloured shirts.

  “I’ve got him,” Rutter rumbled from behind her, barely loud enough to be heard over the chatter of the street vendors. “He’s heading into an alley on the west side.”

  West side, right. Arland turned around, trying to orient herself.

  “This way.” Rutter led her off. The crowds parted before him like water on the prow of a ship. It wasn’t fair.

  With Rutter in the lead, they hit the alleyway at a jog as the youngster disappeared around the corner.

  They’d been careful, and who would have been able to see them in the crowded market anyway? He couldn’t have made them. Could he?

  Arland broke into a run, Rutter a beat behind her. She pulled up just short of the corner and peered around just in time to see the youngster duck through a loading door.

  “Sir?” Rutter asked.

  “Move in. Careful and quiet.”

  The tall buildings either side cast the street into shadow. Even so, it felt damn odd creeping around in broad daylight.

  She tapped her com-link. “Fyffe, the target’s gone into the building northwest of our position.”

  The sound of tapping and chirping from Fyffe’s console filtered over the com, followed by the tech’s voice. “Got it. The building is registered to a freight company… that doesn’t actually ship anything. Probably a front.”

  “Plans?” Arland whispered as they moved closer to the loading bay.

  “Sending them to your flex now.”

  In response, Arland’s flex buzzed against her thigh. She pulled it out and flicked it open in a single, practised move. The translucent screen came to life with the wireframe outline of the building. The ground floor comprised of a large warehouse space flanked on either side by offices. Hopefully this was another of Craven’s buildings.

  “Not great for a stealth entry,” Rutter said.

  No. The loading doors opened into the central space. There might be shelving or stacked crates, but they couldn’t count on any cover. She paged up to the first floor. More office space and walkways crossing the warehouse.

  “Fire escape on the southern side.” Rutter pointed to the plans.

  The rusted ladder of the fire escape led them to an old office. Judging by the scent of must and the layer of dust covering everything, it hadn’t been used in a while.

  Arland drew her pistol. The cool, familiar weight of the gun in her hand felt right. She just wished she had combat armour. Although if she needed either the gun or armour, they’d have really screwed up.

  She cracked the door and peered through into an empty, darkened hallway. They’d not been prepared for a full-on infiltration, no throw drones or door mirrors. They’d have to do this old school.

  Straining her senses for any sign of movement, Arland slipped out into the hallway. Grubby windows cast muted light that blurred the shadows and left the hall with a monochrome feel. According to their plans, there was a door just down on the right that would lead out onto the walkways.

  The hall remained empty and silent. Arland padded toward the door, Rutter moving in sync with her. She couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched, an almost physical pressure between her shoulder-blades that reached around to squeeze her chest.

  Maybe they should have pulled back, gotten properly geared up, or even sent the drones in again. No. No time for doubts or ‘should haves’. She took a breath, steadying herself, and reached for the door.

  “-and I said, only if you pay me overtime.”

  Arland froze as a door further down the hallway opened. No one came out, but the voice continued his story. She glanced at Rutter. His gun was pointed at the door. He had a bulky suppressor fitted to his pistol, but in hard confines of the hallway, a shot would still be loud.

  “You can’t just make demands like that,” a second voice said, getting louder as the two guards came closer. “Anyway, we need to get down there.”

  Crap.

  Arland pushed her door open and hurried through, Rutter hard on her heels. Spinning, she shoved the door closed, catching a glimpse of a black-garbed figure. />
  “We good?” Rutter asked.

  Stars, she hoped so. She didn’t think they’d been seen, but what if the men were coming in here anyway? There wasn’t anywhere to hide on the catwalk. Maybe they should make a break for the far side of the warehouse. They should be able to make it before anyone came through behind them.

  Rutter’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Sir, look.”

  Worried he’d spotted more trouble; she followed his gaze. The warehouse below them was dominated by a pair of large cylindrical stasis tanks.

  The four-armed figures were over eight feet tall, their four arms heavily muscled beneath ruddy brown hide the colour and texture of sandstone. Flared heads with chitinous, black eyes. They filled the oversized tanks.

  Stars in heaven. Craven was mad, full on crazy. It was the only explanation. Why else would he have two live Turned?

  Arland stepped back, her heart tripping, her breathing fast and shallow. Studying dead Turned was bad enough, but to keep live ones, even in stasis. It was reckless. No, suicidal. And to bring them here, a civilian world.

  For a moment she could feel claws crashing through the hard-shell of her space-suit into her side, tearing muscle, digging deeper, ripping her insides apart.

  “Sir? You good?”

  Arland blinked back to the present. She wasn’t there anymore, and she had survived. She’d won.

  Pulling herself together, Arland looked back over the side. The right-hand Turned, the smaller of the two, had a series cables connecting to the back of its head. What the hells was Craven doing here?

  The young man they’d been following loitered near some benches on the far side of the room. Even from a distance, he looked nervous, trying to keep as far away from the tanks as he could.

  Another older man came into view. He wore a shirt and waistcoat which made his greying hair look almost dignified.

  “Come here, kid. There’s nothing to worry about.” As he spoke, the man looked up at the Turned, giving Arland a look at his face. Bushy eyebrows over deep-set eyes and neat stubble spotting a strong jawline. She knew that face from the file.

  It was Craven.