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Jules and Dean wore their Gatekeepers’ uniforms, and it felt right to keep them on while they walked into the Keepers’ supply warehouse. Her code worked, and there would be footage of them entering. If they found something to assist Papa with Slate’s issue, she didn’t care what kind of punishment they faced. Plus, she was with Dean, and that meant they’d face it together.
There was automated security, but since they were documented as members and programmed into the system, the drones wouldn’t attack. Jules was grateful for the small things.
She’d only been here once, and that was for orientation during an academy field trip. They saw the different suits, ships, and everything a Gatekeeper could ask for, ranging from tents specific to a race’s measurements, to food storage, to weapons of every kind. They perused the aisles, adding things to a multi-leveled rolling cart.
“What else do we need?” Dean asked as they neared the locked weapons room. Jules glanced at him, and he waited. “What?”
“Turn around,” she said.
“Why?”
“I was given a higher access code than you. I can’t break the sanctity of that,” she told him, completely serious.
“Are you being real right now?”
“Yes. You know how much being a Gatekeeper means to me. To both of us. I’m not jeopardizing that.”
“Even for me?” he asked tensely.
“Dean, this isn’t about you or even me. It’s about Uncle Zeke. So turn around so we can keep moving.” It came off as bossy, but it did the trick.
“You’re a tough cookie,” he said.
“I’m not a cookie.” Jules tapped the code in, and the lock beeped gently as it flashed green. She tugged the door wide and entered the room, the lights snapping on the movement.
She’d only used half of these weapons, but they’d studied most of them. Dean whistled as he neared a thick but deadly gun. “The DM-936. Man, they can vaporize a target at five hundred meters. Able to set to organic material specifically, or non-organic.”
“Take it.” Jules didn’t know why and assumed it was overkill, but she wanted to be prepared. She was so used to diving headfirst, racing in with her energy sphere keeping her and her loved ones safe. Now she felt the need for reinforcements. It wasn’t just her life on the line either. She couldn’t let anything happen to Dean.
“You sure?”
“Positive.” She gathered other supplies: some thermal grenades, as well as two pulse pistols, and an upgraded rifle she didn’t think her father had even seen yet. Its scope had all the features of a visor and HUD built in. She passed it to Dean, and he inspected it with caution.
“This is badass. Anything else?” he asked, glancing at their cart.
“If this isn’t enough, we shouldn’t be going at all,” she replied.
They threw it all into two duffels and added a few days’ worth of food and a heated tent, just in case, before heading outside. The parking pad was littered with spacecrafts, most meant for suborbital travel.
“Maybe we should try a Molariun skimmer,” Dean said, rushing toward one.
“That’s too big. Keep it classic. Let’s take the shuttle we’re used to,” she said, walking to the basic white model they flew everywhere.
“Fine, have it your way. But I’m piloting it,” Dean said, jogging ahead of her.
“Suit yourself.” Jules didn’t feel like leading anyway. She was tired and very worried. They boarded the shuttle, and she dropped her packs. For a moment, she’d forgotten about the artifact Sarlun had gifted her. She crouched in the rear of the shuttle, undoing the bag. The sphere sat in her palm, and she inspected the device. It was crafted beautifully, but that wasn’t what caught her interest. It was the distinct feeling she had that it was connected to the Deities.
“All ready?” Dean asked, and the ship vibrated around her.
Jules returned the article and found her seat beside Dean. “Ready.” She held the Locator, adding the coordinates to the shuttle’s GPS system. With a destination in mind, Dean lifted off, thrusting the ship forward. Jules kept expecting someone to stop them, but soon they were away from the capital city, the lights of the metropolis far behind them.
The computer said they were an hour and ten minutes from their objective, and Jules leaned her head against Dean’s shoulder, closing her eyes. She drifted to sleep in minutes.
Jules woke a while later, alarms ringing around her. Her body ached, and everything was freezing cold. “Dean?” Her lips were cracked, and she swallowed, dryness enveloping her mouth. “Dean!”
“I’m here, Ju!” His voice was strained but strong.
“What happened?” She looked around, getting a better picture as her cloudy mind cleared.
“I don’t know. One minute we were in the air, the next everything was fried. Energy swarmed the dash, and I was electrocuted. You were sleeping, and I blacked out. We crashed.” He was across the dark ship, near a huge tear in the side. Snow half-covered the floor near Dean already, and Jules wondered how long she’d been unconscious.
Her hand went to her temple, and she pulled it back, blood on her fingers. Jules tried to assess the damage, recall her training in the classroom, but everything was fuzzy, her mind not connecting the pieces together.
“Dean, I don’t feel well.” She tried to sit up, but her hip protested. She glanced over to see the arm of the chair digging into her side. With all the strength she could muster, she tore at it, breaking the joint completely off. The section fell to the floor and she was freed.
“Stay there,” Dean told her, but she ignored him.
“I’m coming to you.” It was only ten feet, but it felt like a mile as she moved across the damaged, snow-covered ship. Dean was far worse off than her. His uniform was soaked with blood from a gnarly gash on his head, and she touched his cheek, feeling how cold he was the moment she arrived. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, the cut is shallow. You know how flesh wounds bleed. Remember that time Canni hit himself in hand-to-hand training? We thought he was going to die, but he was fine. That’s what this is like,” Dean said, but it was evident he was in some serious pain.
“Where are we?” Jules asked. Her teeth chattered, and she searched for their parkas. She saw them close by and shook the snow free before passing one to Dean. He was propped against the side wall of the rear hold, and it took all his effort to place his arms through the holes. She helped him zip up and flipped the hood over his hair.
“We have a medi-kit and a thermal tent. I’m going to set that up, and maybe we can send a distress call.”
“Jules, the ship is fried. Everything’s down.” Dean met her gaze, and she understood. He wasn’t expecting a rescue team to swoop in any time soon.
“Then we’ll figure it out. That’s what we do. Can you move?”
Dean tried but groaned. “Ankle. I think it’s sprained. Hopefully not broken.”
She rolled his pants leg up and assessed it. The ship was dark with the exception of the night sky, and it grew harder to see as a thick cloud rolled in slowly, blocking the moons.
“Does that hurt?” she asked, and he groaned. It didn’t feel like a break, at least not from this rudimentary test. “I’ll be right back.”
Jules crouched and almost fell, her vision blurring as she lifted too quickly. In her concern for Dean, she’d forgotten about her own injuries. “We make quite the pair.”
Dean didn’t respond, and she kept on, searching for their duffel bags. She found them, dragging them to the exit. Once she uncovered the medi-kit, she gave Dean a painkiller with the injector but decided against using one herself. She’d take a dose when she was finished setting up their camp for the night.
“I can move it a little.” Dean rotated his foot and moaned at the pain.
“Probably a bad sprain. I’ll wrap it up. You wash your forehead and disinfect it.” She passed him a bag, and he set to work as she placed the sticky roll around his ankle. “Move the fo
ot upright.” He did and she finished it, the material hardening within two minutes. It was almost as good as a permanent cast.
Once Dean was patched up, they turned their attention on Jules and bandaged her own scalp wound, scanning her body for cuts and bruises. Her hip was sore, but overall, she felt okay. Her head throbbed with each movement, and she was concerned about a concussion, but for now, she was ready to go outside.
“Where are we?” she asked Dean.
“I’d say twenty kilometers from our target when we crashed. I still have no idea what caused it.”
“Maybe the shuttle was in for repairs. We shouldn’t have dashed off without asking Sarlun for help first,” Jules muttered, dragging the tent material from the shuttle. It was cold, freezing outside, and the snow was untouched. It draped over the entire landscape, which was flat and daunting. She inspected the area for signs of lights or dwellings, but came up blank.
“That was no malfunction. I think someone shot us down.” Dean used a broken piece of the ship as a makeshift crutch and stepped out beside her.
“What about the Locator? Is it functional?” she asked.
“I haven’t checked. It’s right here.” He reached under his jacket, into his uniform pocket, and pulled it free, handing it over. Jules took a long breath, the cool air burning her lungs, and flipped it on. Nothing happened.
“Damn it, Dean. It’s broken.”
“Must have fried when I took the shock. We’re so screwed.”
“No we’re not. We’re going to be fine. Think of it like a mission to another planet. An inhospitable one. What would Papa and Uncle Zeke do in this scenario? Throw in the towel?” Remembering the strength of those she’d grown up around fueled a fire inside, and Jules set to her task with deep focus. The tent nearly made itself, and in a short time, their shelter was built. It was only then that Jules gave herself the pain relief shot and felt her body relax.
After dragging all their supplies into the domed tent, Jules and Dean lay holding each other, grateful for the warmth of the thermal tent to keep them warm.
Twelve
One of the hunters we’d come across earlier had found us. I still couldn’t see its face, as the skin of some long-dead catch was strung over it. They were clearly intelligent, with the ability to clothe themselves, making them far higher up the food chain than anything else on this planet. It carried a spear, which I judged to be roughly fifteen feet in length.
I kept straining my neck to check behind me as we sprinted through the underground pedway. I wondered if the Grinlo used to outsmart their predators, and that was why they’d created the impenetrable encased sidewalks. Or perhaps these were the result of the Grinlos’ evolution.
“It ends!” Slate was out of breath, panic seeping through his confident shell. If we were caught, this animal would tear us to shreds.
He was wrong. This wasn’t another entrance to a building; it was a fork in the road, a hub of corridors, letting us go straight, left or right. I tried to think what direction we were heading, and where the location had been on our map from Regnig. We had to go right.
Straight ahead, rocks and dirt piled high after shattering the glass encasement years ago. They blocked the path, and seeing it gave me an idea. “Slate, we turn right and stop.”
“Stop? Are you crazy?” Slate’s footsteps were loud as he sprinted like a madman.
“Listen to me. After we choose our direction, we can fire at the ceiling ten feet behind us. Understand?” I asked. We were running out of real estate and needed to make our move. The animal was closer now, and if I wasn’t suited up, I imagined I’d smell its musky oil.
“Gotcha!” Slate said. “On your count.”
“On three! One.” My feet stumbled, and I struggled to stay upright. “Two.” I fell to the ground, sliding forward. My pulse rifle dropped. “Three!” I reached for it, spinning to my back, and shot at the ceiling along with Slate. The blasts struck the glass, cracking the solid surface. The animal reared, its fake mask flipping up to reveal a terrifying beast. In the cramped pedway, it bucked and clawed forward, foam spilling between large, jagged teeth. It had a pig-like snout, snuffling the air with ferocity.
“Keep firing!” I pulled the trigger, this time aiming at the animal. The blasts hit the hide and seared it, but did far less damage than I’d expected. Slate continued shooting the ceiling, and finally, we heard the cracks splitting in the glass. The animal looked up, comprehending the trap that had been set, and it leapt for us, trying to cover the distance before an avalanche of sediment fell through the corridor.
It was too late. The ceiling opened at the precise time the animal was underneath it, burying it in a pile of dirt. Its spear clattered to the floor only a foot from my leg, and I moved away. The entire area was enveloped in dust as the beast twitched near us, the pedway filled with debris from above, hiding most of its body.
“Boss, be careful.” Slate held a hand to my arm, and I nodded, taking one last look as the animal exhaled its last breath.
The ceiling didn’t stop making noise, and I glanced up as the glass began to spiderweb above us. “Slate, I think we need to move.”
He nodded while grabbing his pack. We ran as the pedway collapsed behind us. More than once I expected to be assaulted by raining dirt, but we entered another building two minutes later, falling to the floor in a heap. I was so out of breath and adrenaline-filled that I hardly noticed the entity standing in the foyer.
“Slate,” I whispered. The room was high and round, and soft lights glowed from dim fixtures, implying a useable power source.
He was climbing to his feet, shaking dust from his white spacesuit, and the cloaked stranger strode over to him.
“Slate! Behind you,” I warned, pulling my own gun to aim at the being. It didn’t slow him. He bent down, picking up Slate’s weapon, which he’d discarded on the floor when we’d dove into the building. Dirt still fell from the pedway beyond.
“What is it?” Slate asked as he lifted his arms in surrender.
The person’s cloak concealed their face, but they were about our height; slender, perhaps, but it was difficult to tell under the creases of the dark outfit.
It held out the gun, pointing it at Slate before turning the weapon around and offering it to my sidekick. Slate hastily accepted, having the decency to not aim it right back at the person. I lowered my own gun, and more beings entered the foyer, each in a cloak, and each unarmed.
“Who are you?” I asked.
They didn’t speak, so I flipped on the translation speaker and set it to the same reference language we’d used for the tube elevator. “Who are you?”
The lead person tossed its hood off. “We are Grinlo.” The voice was light and snappy, with an almost sing-song tone. Her hair was shaved into a buzz cut, her face lined with scars, but her pink eyes were piercing, contrasting with her dark skin.
The others removed their hoods, revealing more pink eyes and scars. They were a mixture of what I assumed to be men and women, some young, some old.
“I’m Dean Parker, and this is Zeke Campbell. We’re with the Alliance of Worlds, and we seek your help,” I said.
She stared at me, frowning, and finally broke into a smile showcasing pointed teeth. “We will assist you if the Celestial approves.”
“Did I hear that right?” Slate asked me.
“I guess so. The word, it sounded familiar.” Celestial translated from something that reminded me of a remark from Regnig during our discussions about this mission. “Ak-rin-da?”
She nodded. “You know the Celestial?”
I smiled in return. “I’d like to meet the Celestial.”
“What is this all about?” Slate whispered to me.
I flipped the translation off. “I think this may have something to do with the ship, Slate. They could take us right to our answers.”
“Or give us more. How are the Grinlo still alive?” he asked.
The leader took my hand, and the others gathered aro
und, a couple of the stronger ones taking our packs. She started forward, leading me into the building, and I glanced at Slate. “I guess we’ll find out.”
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Jules woke to the sound of footsteps in the crusted snow. It was light out, and she heard the wind cutting over the tent, whistling as it passed through their damaged shuttle a few yards away. She turned, shaking Dean. For a moment, she thought he was dead, expired in the night, but he grunted, rolling onto his back. His eyes jumped open, and he reached for a weapon beside his bed.
“Everything okay?”
Her finger pressed into his lips, and they listened. Another footstep, this one closer. “Someone’s out there.”
“Good. They can help us.” Dean’s hair was a mess, and she wondered what he saw when he looked at her.
“You’re right. Why would anyone come to harm us? Unless they were the things that shot us.” Jules had to remember they were on Shimmal, a planet with next to no crime, as peaceful a place as she’d ever visited.
“Let’s take our chances, Ju. I’m hurt, and we have no means of calling for help.”
“If I had my powers, we could…”
“It’s useless thinking that way, Ju. It won’t help us any, okay?” He started to climb out of the sleeping bag, and she saw he’d slipped out of his uniform during the night. He was in his underwear, and she almost blushed. He seemed to notice and turned around. “These thermal tents are hot. Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. I wish it was under different circumstances,” she said boldly, unable to face him again.
“Who’s there?” someone called. It took Jules a minute to realize the voice had spoken in Shimmali squawks and squeaks. It was one of the few languages she was fluent in.
“We’re humans, and we crashed last night,” Jules said in perfect Shimmali.
“Then we’d better move you to safety,” the woman said in English.
Dean smiled and opened the shelter’s door. Snow buffeted the tent, sending flakes inside, and a cheerful Shimmal woman greeted them, hands on hips. Her snout was slightly longer than Suma’s, but her eyes held the same helpful and friendly softness to them.
The Survivors | Book 15 | New Beginning Page 12