by Rob Dearsley
Niels stepped past the guards. Jenna cursed under her breath and followed him. “I’m not hiding anything,” Niels said.
“Really, then why are you here?”
Niels took a breath. The expedition had been kept secret, even from the Colonies, there was no way he could tell them about it. “I’m here to come to a deal with your government.”
“Stop the blockade. Then we’ll talk,” another voice yelled.
“They’d all be dead without us,” Jenna murmured. “It was us who made the gateway technology and blind-jumped out here looking for them.”
She was, of course, right. And that was his biggest bargaining chip, but now wasn’t the time or the place to bring that up.
More and more people pitched in until it was an unintelligible roar, crashing against them, the crowds surging against the flimsy barriers.
Jenna grabbed him and pulled Niels back toward the knot of guards and senators who were further away than they’d been when he’d first addressed the crowd.
“Sir!” Jenna pulled him down as something whipped past them. More projectiles came at them and Jenna grunted in pain as something clipped her shoulder.
“Jenna?” he reached for her as she stumbled.
“Keep going, damn-it,” she said through gritted teeth.
Behind her, the barrier gave way and protesters surged through. The riot guards rushed to stop them but they were too few.
Something hard, sharp and with the glint of metal hit Niels and he stumbled back, blinded by pain and blood, clutching at the shallow wound over his eye. He could just make out Jenna stumbling under more blows, pulling her gun.
“Don’t.” He wasn’t sure if he’d actually spoken, and it didn't make any difference, she couldn’t hear him. “Please.” Stars, he begged, please don’t.
◊◊
Damn protestors. Lloyd watched as the crowd threw another volley of junk at Niels and the others.
“Sheepdogs?” Slater asked.
It wasn’t a question in Lloyd’s mind. Of course, they were, always. But for whom.
The protestors rushed forward, bowling through the ill-prepared riot guards. As Niels and his aid retreated under a barrage of junk, taking hits from a barrage of bottles, fruit and was that a pressure regulator? The woman – Jenna if he remembered right – shielded the elderly admiral with her body. Damn, she was hardcore.
The senators and their guards hurried toward the security doors of the Senate chambers, they’d been the best positioned to support Niels, bloody cowards.
Jenna went down under another hale of projectiles. Still fighting to stay between Niels and his attackers. Enough.
His decision made, Lloyd charged into the melee. “Not sheepdogs, hounds.”
Slater followed a beat behind him.
Lloyd shoved through a knot of rioters riding his tightly contained anger like a wave. He threw a pair of dock-workers off a guard as more riot officers reached them, forming a short shield-wall to protect their fallen comrade. Lloyd snatched up the fallen man’s shield as another volley of junk sent Niels tumbling into an ungainly sprawl.
They had to move, now. “Slater. Admiral,” he snapped.
At Lloyd’s orders, Slater ran for the downed Niels. Lloyd stayed at her side, covering them both with the large shield. The large sheet of reinforced carbon-weave, bucked as more makeshift missiles crashed into its curved plain.
A glance over his shoulder showed Slater helping the stunned Niels up. Keeping the shield up, he reached down and pulled Jenna to her feet.
“Can you walk?”
“I’m good.” He could hear the pain in her voice even over the crowd
“Slater?”
“Five by five.”
“On me then. Move for the Senate doors.” He glanced over his shoulder to check the two women were ready. “Go.”
Lloyd shielding the others, they backed toward the Senate doors. More projectiles crashed around them and Lloyd heard the sopping of liquid wash over the shield.
Oh crap.
With a roaring whoosh, the shield went up, flames rolling over its surface, hot enough to scorch Lloyd’s arms even through the carbon armour. Fighting the pain, he kept hold of the flaming shield as more impacts rocked it. Fire dripped from the shield to the decking as they hurried back. He wasn’t going to be able to hold on much longer.
“Safe,” Slater shouted from behind him.
He dropped the burning shield and bolted for the closing security doors. As he landed, a Marine guard swung into position, his riot shield covering the closing gap.
He’d made it. Hells, that was close. For a moment he just lay there trying to get his breathing and heart rate under control. Clerics and more security milled around the ornately appointed senate foyer, seemingly oblivious to the Starless Hell going on out there.
“Captain Lloyd.”
He looked up as Niels pulled free of a medic, a sterile patch over his eyebrow. “Yes, sir?”
Niels walked over and offered him a hand.
“If you don’t mind, I’m good here, sir.”
Niels chuckled crouching down Next to Lloyd’s head. “Fair play. Thank you.” He looked up at Slater, who had come out of the whole thing unscathed. “Thank you both.”
“Just doing our jobs, sir, “Slater said.
Niels nodded. “All the same, without your actions we wouldn’t have gotten out of there. Forgive me. I served with a Lloyd during the Separatist conflict.”
Oh, the irony. “On the Detmer? That was my father.” He couldn’t help but laugh, it was like some perverse joke on the part of the universe. “And now, here we both are, on opposite sides of separation.”
“Maybe,” Niels said. “Or maybe not. There’s more common ground here than people think. There’s room for everyone in the universe.”
Lloyd pushed up into a sitting position, frowning. There was something behind the admiral’s words. Something he wasn’t saying. Niels had a trump card. “Maybe, but it’s not me you need to convince. It’s not even that rabble out there.”
Niels turned to look at the ornate doors to the inner senate chamber. “No. No, it’s not, is it?”
◊◊
Dannage shrank back into the sofa. The sight of Craven brought back memories of being strapped to that chair, buzzing, glowing devices arrayed around his head. The stink of charred skin and the pain. So much pain he could hardly think past it.
No, they weren’t his thoughts. Craven hadn’t hurt him. Damn his mind.
Murderer. Torturer. The Terrans roiled at the edge of his awareness.
Arland flew at Craven, fetching him a blow to the side of the head that sent him reeling. The white-hot anger flaring in her eyes scared Dannage almost as much as Craven. He’d never seen her so angry, so livid before.
She grabbed Craven by the shirtfront and raised her fist to strike him again.
“Stand down!” A tall admiral, his uniform starched rigid and festooned with a veritable forest of ribbons, barked the order with such force Arland froze.
“Thank you,” Craven said, pulling free of her grip and turning his attention to Hale. “Do you know any more about what happened? Did you ever see this Sylus again?”
“Later, I did some of my own research about what happened,” Hale said. “It turns out it’s a genetic mutation that can cause some sort of anomaly in the brain structure. It’s the anomaly that reacts to the drugs and, as I understand it, creates some sort of biological version of the ship link.”
Even when it wasn’t focused on him, the beady intensity of Craven’s attention sent shivers down Dannage’s spine.
Craven’s intense attention turned to Dannage. Crap. He swallowed, backing up against the sofa. He really didn’t want that crazy muppet touching him. He wasn’t going to be helpless like that ever again. Before Craven could take more than a step, Arland had leapt between them, blocking Craven and shielding him with her body. He’d always thought it looked ridiculous with him towering a head taller t
han her, but now he was grateful regardless.
Vaughn, who had been listening intently throughout Hales story, leaned forward, oblivious to Craven, or maybe just trying to ignore him. “You think Dannage might have this anomaly?”
“It’s… possible,” Hale said. “Maybe the X-Mind used a similar cocktail of drugs when it linked with you.”
Dannage shivered at the memory of that wet, stifling mass falling over his head and shoulders, pulling him under and into the nightmare world of the X-ship’s mind. Falling through starless darkness.
Craven moved closer, trying to step around Arland. “Can we scan Mr Dannage for this genetic anomaly? Maybe we can replicate it.”
Stars, Dannage wouldn’t wish this on anyone. “I’m losing my Stars-damned mind here and you want to inflict this on someone else? Are you wrong in the head?”
Craven waved him, keeping his attention on Hale.
Hale shook her head. “I could never find any actual medical data on it. Only the gene designation.”
“Which was?” Craven pressed, his expression hungry.
Hale shrugged. “TX89561-3398, beta variant.”
Craven’s eyes widened in awe. “How can you remember-?”
“Eidetic memory, courtesy of the Terran Imperial Navy.” Hale tapped her head with one finger. “I never forget anything.”
“Hey, ass-hat. What about my cure?” Dannage snapped. “Is there a way to reverse it?” That was the whole reason he was here. The chance of getting this gone.
Voices crowded at the edge of his thoughts. Wary and keeping their distance for now.
Before Hale could answer, Craven jumped in. “And lose this opportunity. I don’t think so.”
Wait, what? No. They’d made a deal. They were supposed to help him. “The SDF promised to cure me.”
“Yes,” Arland said, rounding on the Admiral. “Captain Rossini gave us assurances.”
“I’m aware of what the Captain told you,” he managed to make the word captain sound like an insult. Bloody admirals, they all seemed to be jumped up ass-hats. “But,” Admiral Ass-hat continued. “That’s only after we get what we want. Mr Craven has some interesting theories that bear looking into.”
“Why is this man not locked up?” Arland said, practically biting off each word.
Craven shot her a cold smile. “Don’t fret, Miss Arland. Have Mr Dannage brought to my lab.”
He had a lab? Here? What the heck? Arland had arrested him. What was the damn point in that if the SDF were just going to let him go again?
Dannage pushed off the couch. “The hells with that, Luc, Arland, we’re leaving.”
“No, Mr Dannage. You’re not,” Admiral Ass-hat said, gesturing to the armed guards.
Maybe they could fight their way to the Folly and run for the slipway. They’d faced worse odds before. He remembered the all the SDF ships and weapon’s locks on the way in. There wasn’t a snowballs chance of them getting out of the system.
Traitor! Killer! The voices crashed through his mind, the anger driving Dannage to his knees.
Arland and Luc helped Dannage up and the guards herded them out of Hale’s lounge and back to the gondola station, Craven and Admiral Ass-hat in the lead.
They were bundled into the gondola and Dannage wound up opposite the admiral with Arland at his side. Craven, Aarav and the Doc were in the next gondola. The admiral’s nametag read Outterbridge.
“Why are you doing this?” Arland demanded.
“Mr Craven told us about Mr Dannage’s condition. If we can harness this ability, we can finish destroying the Terran ships. End their threat once and for all.”
The memory of Vanir’s fear flashed through Dannage’s mind, sparking his anger. “They’re running scared. They’re no threat to anyone. There’s no need to hunt them down like animals.”
“Why not? They would have done the same to us. You led the charge that destroyed them. Why the change of heart now we can finally strike the deathblow?”
Why indeed. They’d taken so much from him. Before his linking with the ships, he would have been the one to lead the charge. To end them all for what they’d done. It’s what he’d promised after Gypsum, after Sammy’s death.
He would have expected the Terrans to hate them, after everything. But they didn’t, they were just scared and alone. Dannage knew how that felt.
Dannage looked up, meeting Outterbridge’s eyes. “I’m not that man anymore.”
But then, who was he now?
◊◊
Arland pounded the communications console open. What the heck did the Admiralty think they were doing letting Craven do anything apart from break rocks in a penal colony? Let alone letting him anywhere near Dannage. After everything. Every time the admiralty stepped in, they screwed things up, and Outterbridge was no different. Her old Commander was right. To make an admiral, you took an average soldier and removed all trace of common sense.
The chirp of the com-link interrupted her inner tirade and Captain Rossini came on. “Commander Arland, what can I…” she trailed off seeing the anger in Arland’s face.
“Did you know?” Arland snapped.
“About what?” Rossini leaned in toward the pickup concern knitting her brow.
“They’ve let Craven go. He’s here, studying Dannage like nothing we did back on Granite made any damn difference.” And if they’d let Craven go, how many others? “This isn’t the first time is it?”
Rossini scrubbed a hand over her face and took a breath as though steeling herself for a fight. “Yes, I knew the scientists were being put to work here.”
“You let them go free!”
“Commander Arland, they are not free. They’re under constant lockdown, they can’t leave the stations, let alone the system. It’s a better use than leaving them in a hole somewhere. They shouldn’t have let Craven anywhere near Dannage, I was told he was being processed into a different station.”
“He’s here now. He took Dannage.”
“I’m sorry. Let me speak to the Admiralty and see if I can get this sorted out.” With that Rossini cut the line, leaving Arland looking at her own reflection in the blank screen.
“Boss?” Ellis slipped into the room and leaned against the bulkhead; arms crossed.
“It’s Craven. He’d got Dannage again.”
“Well, damn. Let’s get geared up and take that muppet down again,” Ellis said, pushing off the wall.
“Can’t.” Arland watched frustration playing across her reflection. She was supposed to protect Dannage. She’d only just got him back and was damned if she was going to lose him again. She couldn’t imagine what Craven was doing to him now.
The image of Dannage strapped to the chair in Craven’s basement lab, about to have his head cut open, flashed through her mind, followed by a new wave of anger. She should have just shot Craven when she’d had the chance.
Arland looked up to find Fyffe and Rutter had entered while she was distracted. The young tech looked pensive, worried, while Rutter radiated his usual sense of calm. Having them all here helped, even if there wasn’t anything they could do.
The door opened and a pair of armed guards entered, taking position either side of the doorway. Vaughn followed them in, avoiding Arland’s eyes.
“Mr Craven and the admiral want to see you,” Vaughn said, still studying his flex.
“What’s going on?” Arland demanded, rounding on the doctor. “What are they doing to Dannage?”
“They want to see if he can control one of the Turned,” Vaughn muttered at his flex.
“Damn-it, look at me.” Arland grabbed him by the shirtfront shaking him. “You let them put him in with a live bloody Turned?”
The guards shoved her back interposing themselves between her and the doctor. Behind her, Arland could feel Rutter and Ellis tense, ready for action.
“I’m sorry, Shauna. I’m trying.”
“Try Harder.”
“Commander Arland, please follow us,” the guard said
and turned on his heel, ushering Vaughn from the room.
Arland grabbed Rutter’s arm. “I need you to contact Captain Rossini on the Feynman, tell her what’s going on. Tell her they have a bloody Turned in here.”
“Yes, sir,” Rutter said. “We’ll be ready if you need us.”
Arland nodded and followed the guards into the hallway. Vaughn fell in behind them, keeping his distance and keeping his eyes down or on his flex.
A short walk took them to the gondola station where the guards hustled her and Vaughn into the waiting space gondola.
With a rush of acceleration, they were out in space, gliding between sections of the piecemeal space station. Just beyond a network of interconnected gantries, the inert hulk of a Terran ship rested. Hale’s living quarters. Her prison.
This whole damn system was just a prison.
They passed another gondola going the other way and another part of the Pyrite facility came into view. The elongated cylinder, buds of solar panels extending sunward from its midpoint, was all too familiar.
She wasn’t surprised that they would have incorporated the old Garrison station into the complex, and it looked like that was where they were heading. A combined docking bay and gondola station had been retrofitted into one end.
She really didn’t want to go back there.
Right now, the station was small enough she could cover it with her outstretched hand, but it grew quickly to fill the window, the blunt end of the station looming over them. The open maw of the docking bay enveloped them in a vertiginous rush. The gondola banged and rattled as it connected into the turnaround mechanism. Vaughn gave her an apologetic look as he climbed out ahead of all the guards. Arland glanced at the one remaining guard, the overhead light glinted off his hard-shell chest piece and the black of his compact rifle.
“Come on, then. Out.” The guard prodded her with his rifle.
Arland glared at the moron, and briefly considered an abject lesson maintaining combat distance. It wasn’t worth it. She hopped out onto the curved deck of the docking bay. The deck wrapped up and over to where a pair of transports docked above them. Arland couldn’t help watching them warily, as though they might fall at any minute.
They walked up the curve of the docking bay and down a ramp into a corridor further out. The way the Garrison’s corridors spiralled and merged between floors made it hard to keep track of where they were, much less where they were going. Eventually, they rose up into an internal tram station that filled half the station. The platforms curved up from the tram tracks into the Garrison’s central core.
