by Rob Dearsley
Craven – Dannage had to assume it was him – extended his hand. Dannage took it, the other man’s hand first enveloping, then crushing his.
Between Craven and his female companion, the threat of violence was palpable. Dannage’s hand slipped inside his poncho to the empty holster. Damn.
“Follow.” The dark-skinned woman pointed after Craven, her other hand resting near her knife.
Luc shot Dannage a questioning look. Dannage shrugged. They’d come this far, and while Dannage could practically taste the tension, neither Craven nor his – the word body-guard seemed to fit – had actually threatened them. Yet…
Craven led Dannage to a chair that looked like the bastard offspring of a dentist’s chair and torture chamber. “How long have you been having the hallucinations?”
“The dreams started a couple of weeks after the battle. The hallucinations only a week or so back. They come and go.” Dannage ignored Luc’s dirty look. “My engineer said something about Tacky-waves?”
Craven gestured for Dannage to sit. “Tachyon-waves, and yes. Your engineer forwarded the scans to me. The dreams and visions, what do you see?”
“It varies.” Dannage sat back, his gaze tripping over the array of scanner wands and surgical implements around his head. “Sometimes I just see the Terran ships. Sometimes it’s flashbacks. Fire and destruction. I’m there, I’m killing them.” He shook off the memories.
Whispers, louder, more insistent, Desecration. Mustn’t happen again. Locate target.
“Interesting.” Craven turned away to check something on his console. He returned, moved some of the sensor wands before going back his console again. “Your engineer mentioned something about a direct link with one of the ships?”
When they got back to the ship, Dannage would have to have a word with Jax about oversharing. “Yeah.” He tried not to think about it. The wet mass falling on his head, and the darkness that followed.
I burned once too. Not a whisper, but a memory
“An actual physical link? Not like the wireless ones the Turned use?”
“Yes. It wasn’t pleasant.”
“Interesting.” Craven worked his terminal some more. “Interesting. Donna, come here.”
The dark-skinned woman, Donna, walked past Luc. The red lights reflected off the ivory handles of her twin knives.
“What is it?” Dannage asked.
“Interesting,” Craven muttered.
“What’s so damn interesting?” Dannage shouted.
“Inter- “
“By the stars, if you say interesting one more time...”
Donna moved between Dannage and Craven, one hand going to her knife.
Dannage swallowed audibly. “Sorry.”
“It would appear there have been some morphological changes. Not quite what I expected, but this is very promising.”
Promising? It wasn’t promising, it was a bloody nightmare. Dannage just wanted it gone, any sane person would. But that’s not what Craven wanted.
Dannage had been so focused on himself, on his problems. He’d just wanted to get back behind the controls, to fly again. It had never occurred to him to think about it like this. It had never occurred to him that someone might want this.
A voice in the back of his mind – his own at least – whispered that Arland would have known.
He pushed up from the chair to face Craven and his lackey, wobbly on his feet. This was a bad idea; he should never have come.
“Mr Dannage. Your brain is amazing. I don’t know how you’ve managed it. I must take a closer look.”
“You mean more scans, right?” Luc said, moving closer.
Craven sighed. “I will need better access to fully understand what’s happening.”
Target located…
Dannage swallowed. “I think I’ll take my chances.” He backed up toward the door, Luc at his side. “Thank you for your time. We’ll be off now. Leave you to your research. Thanks again.”
“Donna.”
At Craven’s command, she pulled out one of her knives, the curved blade glinting blood-red in the lights of the lab.
Why did this always happen? The damn universe seemed intent on trying to kill him every time he poked his head up. This was the last time he stuck his neck out for anyone, even himself. His eyes fixed on Donna’s curved blade. He might not have a neck much longer.
The blade flashed through the light, red and black swirling across the blade. It reminded him of the Turned’s claws.
The Turned. Maybe. Hopefully, but what else was there. Dannage darted toward the autopsy table and snatched the stubby tube from where it hung above the dead Turned, it was much smaller than the one they used on the Folly. Stars, please let it be a plasma lance.
He spun, triggering the cutting tool and slashing with the half-meter beam of swirling incandescent plasma.
Donna danced back, inhumanly fast. Even so, the skin of her arm blushed painfully maroon, drawing a grimace. Behind her, the other guards backed up.
“Back up,” Dannage ordered, waving the lance like a madman as he retreated, Luc at his side.
Craven stopped mid-stride, watching them like a hawk. Hungry.
The cables of the plasma lance tightened, Dannage had maybe two steps before he’d have to give it up. No choice but to make a run for it. If they could reach the door, they could slam it behind them and, with a bit of luck, be up the stairs before anyone got it open. Once they had their guns back, they could at least make a fight of it.
Pain. White hot, searing pain lanced through his head. Not now, damn-it.
All units in range, jump to target.
“Cap’n?”
A lone Terran ship in a system Dannage didn’t recognise – Terran system designation CX78834, the ship informed him – in a low orbit around the main-sequence star, solar panels drinking in the energy. The ship broke orbit, jump coordinates flashing through Dannage’s mind.
No, not now, he begged. Stars please, not now. Donna’s boots advanced on him, he didn’t remember falling. He was peripherally aware of other guards holding Luc and gunpoint – no help there.
The Terran ship’s jump drive spooled up, power building toward a climax. He could almost feel space bending around himself.
Dannage blinked his eyes clear as he was pushed down into the chair. Straps fastened around his arms.
“It’s happening now, isn’t it?” Craven sounded excited, and inconsequentially far off. “Tell me what you see.”
Dannage was so tired of fighting. His lips split into a near-maniacal grin. “They are coming. They are coming for you, ass-hat.”
Five
(Granite IV)
Arland hunkered down against the driving rain. Lighting reflected off the buildings a second before a crash of thunder rattled the nearby windows. The storm was getting closer. The weather had forced most of the locals to the cover of the indoor markets. Better this way, safer if things got out of hand. Although if fighting rolled out onto the streets, they were properly screwed.
Arland leaned forward, peering over Fyffe’s shoulder at the drone feed. “Can you get a better angle?”
“Sorry, this is the best I can do.”
Arland’s earpiece cracked and Ellis’s voice filtered through. “Two contacts in the square, moving toward the alley.”
At Fyffe’s touch, the display split to show the feed from Ellis’s rifle. Two figures in high-vis ponchos paused for a brief conversation before ducking into the alleyway and out of sight.
Arland bit back her adrenaline. Waiting was always the worst part. Her hands moved instinctively through her equipment, the compact rifle and spare magazines, a pair of stun grenades and quick cuffs. Rutter had the breaching kit.
“Sir.” Fyffe gestured to her flex and the drone-feed, now full screen again.
The two men in high-vis walked in, Donna a step behind them. They just needed eyes on Craven and they were a go.
Arland pushed up, about to join Rutter so they could bre
ach as soon as their target showed up.
On the screen, one of the men turned dreamily toward the drone and stared at the two scientists who were working on a Turned corpse. Dark curls fell in front of his eyes.
No. Stars, no.
The figure, the man in the high-vis poncho was bloody Dannage. And now she knew what to look for the other, shorter man was clearly Luc.
What, in all the starless hells, were those two doing here? Did they not know how dangerous Craven was?
Damn-it, how stupid could one man be?
Caught between rushing into position and wanting to see what happened, why Dannage and Luc were there, Arland stayed rooted.
Fyffe panned the drone to follow Dannage and Luc as they moved deeper into the lab.
“Fyffe, let me know the second you see Craven.” With that Arland dashed out into the storm. She had to save Dannage, again. It seemed almost cyclic.
It was a short run to where Rutter waited at the far end of the alley. Even so, by the time Arland got there, she was soaked.
Still no word from Fyffe. Maybe Craven wasn’t there. Maybe he’d gotten wind of them and bolted. Maybe Dannage was fine.
She let out a snort of laughter. Fat chance of that. Dannage seemed to attract trouble.
“We’ve got friendlies in there, go quick and quiet,” Arland said.
Rutter nodded in response.
Her com cracked and Fyffe came on. “I’ve got eyes on the target. Repeat, eyes on target.”
Finally.
Rutter led off toward the door, Arland falling in close behind his wide, armoured shoulders. After a pause to check the door – locked – Rutter moved past it and exchanged his gun for a pry-bar.
A quick glance to confirm she was ready and he shouldered the door.
Arland rushed past him into the gloom, her gun at the ready. Without thinking, she flicked the mounted flashlight on and panned it down the left side of the room, trusting Rutter to cover the other side.
Her cry of “Clear” was echoed a beat later by Rutter’s. So far, so good. Although no sign of a way down to the basement. She lowered her rifle as she looked around for some clue. The room was a regular storage space, racks of shelving crisscrossing the floor.
Arland reached for her com, about to Ask Fyffe for directions, when her flashlight glinted off puddles on the floor. The trail of water lead behind a pair of cluttered shelving units. Rutter fell in beside her as she rounded the shelves.
There was something odd about the stairs. Arland moved clockwise around to the top, trying to get a good line of sight. The tight angle of the stairs fouled her. Damn.
That was it. How hadn’t she missed it before? The stairs went the wrong way. The tight right turn would favour someone coming up the stairs.
At Arland’s nod, Rutter led off down the stairs, his rifle at the ready.
Fyffe’s voice crackled in Arland’s ear. “Sir, things are escalating down there.”
Damn-it. “How?”
“One of the contacts is fighting with the bodyguard. Is that a plasma cutter?”
Stars damn-it, Dannage. “Rutter, move it, fast and hard.”
Ahead of her, Rutter pulled up, Arland almost bumping into him. She stepped out to see past him. A door, an old-style heavy bulkhead, was closed tight. Arland raised her gun to cover the door and nodded for Rutter to open it.
The big Lieutenant slung his rifle and grabbed the locking wheel in the middle of the door. Nothing happened. Rutter let out a grunt of effort, his shoulders trembling as he tried to force the locks on the old door.
Still nothing. They were losing too much damn time. “Breach it,” she suggested.
“Shotgun’s not going to get through this,” Rutter replied, letting the handle go and stepping back.
The small window gave Arland a view into the basement lab. Craven and Donna had dragged a limp – Dead? – Dannage toward a chair. They had to get in there. There had to be a way. Rutter had a full breaching kit, they could take down the damn wall if they had to and…
That would work.
“Rutter, backpack,” she ordered, already pulling him around and rooting into the backpack. There It was. She pulled out a coil of dull grey thermite rope. With Rutter’s help, she plastered it to the door. She didn’t dare look through the window, not wanting to know what they were doing to Dannage.
They stepped back, Arland shouldered her rifle and Rutter hit the detonator. Fire rolled along the rope, burning like a captive star in the confines of the small vestibule. As the flames died, Rutter barged the door inward and stepped through, careful to avoid the still glowing edges. As he moved, he cycled his shotgun, ejecting the empty cartridge and want right. Arland stepped through the burning hole a beat behind him, her own close combat rifle up and ready as she swung out left.
Arland scanned her half of the room for trouble. Luc was down, a nasty bruise spreading over the side of his face. A guard stood over him holding a stubby machine pistol. “Drop it,” she ordered.
The guard’s gun snapped toward her. Arland fired on instinct. The taser round let out a whickering buzz before it sent him sprawling. Behind her, Rutter’s shotgun boomed, followed by a dull thump as his own less-lethal round hit something soft.
“Left side, clear.” Arland pivoted further into the room, keeping Rutter at her back. Dannage was strapped to the chair, an array of vicious looking utensils around his head. His eyes rolled toward her, unseeing. Stars, what had they done to him? She lined up a shot on Craven, but he ducked behind the chair out of reach, forcing her to get in close. That was fine by her.
Rutter’s shotgun boomed again, and again. Crap.
She spun, just as someone batted Rutter’s shotgun aside and lifted the hulking man clean off his feet. There was a flash of dark skin as Donna slammed him back against a pillar, hard enough to crack masonry, and flashed a curved knife at his head. Even stunned, he managed to get an arm up in time to block the attack, the blade skittering over his hard-shell.
Arland snapped off a whickering shot. The dark-skinned woman barely registered the taser impact as she slammed Rutter in the column again and let his limp form crumple to the floor. Arland fired again, to little effect.
Screw less-lethal. She dropped the rifle and drew her pistol as Donna rushed her, all ebony skin and flashing blades. Arland got two shots off, the impacts knocked Donna Back, winding her.
Intel had said Craven was splicing Turned or Terran DNA into human guards, but to see it was something else.
Donna glared up at her through starless black eyes – Turned eyes – and lunged for Arland with a guttural scream.
Arland Fired twice more as Donna grabbed the pistol, pressing it into her abdomen. Arland tried to fire again but the gun jammed. Donna smiled, twisting the gun from Arland’s hands, and whipped her blade at Arland. Arland threw her arm up to block the blow.
For a moment Arland was back on the X-ship, drifting in freefall as a Turned ripped at her arms.
Pain knifed through her skull and back as the cool crete of the floor slammed into her. Donna’s hand knotted in the front of her equipment harness.
Donna crouched over her like an angel of death, one hand holding her down while the other raised the knife for a final blow.
“No! Stop!” Dannage pushed up, reaching out with his free arm. His eyes still distant, but focussed on Arland and Donna.
The knife tumbled from Donna’s fingers as she doubled over, clutching at her head. Arland looked from the woman to Dannage and back again.
Donna fell to her knees, clutching her head. “Get out of my mind.”
Arland scrambled away from the writhing form of Donna, scanning the room. Luc was up and helping Dannage from the chair. Rutter groaned, pushing himself up.
Wait. Where was craven? Arland cast about the movement sending needles of pain shooting through her chest and back. She tapped her com. “Fyffe, Craven snuck out.”
“Got him on drones. Hidden door on the south side,” Fyffe replie
d.
Ellis joined them on the com. “I see him. Want me to take him out, boss?”
Stars, yes. “Capture, not kill.”
“Got it.” Ellis’s voice was followed by the crack of his rifle.
It was more than he deserved, but… “SDF want’s him alive.”
“He’s alive,” Ellis replied. His voice was accompanied by the sound of a scuffle, then a thump. “Well, mostly alive.”
“You good, sir?” Rutter asked. He moved stiffly but kept his shotgun trained on Donna’s curled form. She looked small and lost now. Such a far cry from the warrior who’d almost killed her.
“Maybe,” Arland replied, looking from Donna to Dannage. Dannage’s confused expression mirrored her own. What had he done?
Rutter moved to pull Donna’s wrists through a pair of bulky cuffs. Arland knew the type; she’d even worn them herself. They weren’t comfortable but they would hold Donna.
“Arland?” Dannage approached her, shuffling his feet, his head down. Behind Dannage, Luc avoided her gaze.
“Captain?” In her confusion Arland fell back on old habits, frowning at Dannage. “What the hells are you doing here?”
Dannage kept his head down, damn him. “It’s complicated.”
“You went to Craven? To someone who traffics in misery and death?” Arland gestured to the lab tables where the half dismembered Turned lay. “Why?”
“It’s –” He went to turn away from her.
She grabbed his arm, spinning him back around and pulling him close. “Simplify it.”
Dannage raked his hands through his dark curls. His eyes drifting to where Luc helped Rutter drag Donna and the other guard through the ruined door.
It was just her and Dannage now. Alone together. Why couldn’t he just be straight with her?
“Why are you even here?” she said, turning back to Dannage.
Dannage looked up, his stormy eyes meeting hers. “It’s my head. Damn Terran ships won’t leave me alone.”
“What do you mean? The dreams?” She remembered him having nightmares after the Battle of Pyrite, but anyone would after what they’d all been through. Heck she still awoke soaked in sweat, feeling the claws of the Turned at her throat.
