“No, Lana.” He glanced back. “We’re done here. You'll have to accept your presence on Terra Nova is not as a scientist but a construction worker.” His gaze slid down her body, at least twenty pounds lighter than when he’d seen her last. “Which from the looks of you gives me grounds to question your fitness.” He turned, but before he left, tossed over his shoulder, “I have other matters to attend to, if you’ll excuse me.”
Chapter Fourteen
THE BLARE OF A SIREN outside gave Lana a start. When she twisted to the window, brush in hand, a shower of paint spattered across her freshly painted wall and on the floor. She glared at yet another mess to clean up. Men shouting and boots thudding outside in the street drew her attention to the windows again. In a flash, she was down the ladder and at the floor-to-ceiling front windows. Looking out at the dirty, dusty, and frequently mud-caked capital city, she was reminded of pictures from high school history class of the western frontier. Lana half expected Wyatt Earp to come riding in on a horse, with a tin star pinned to his black topcoat.
With her cheek pressed against the newly installed glass—also christened with blobs of paint from her errant brush—she strained to see what was going on down the street but didn’t have a good angle. Curious, but most of all tired of the monotony of painting, which was about as entertaining as watching it dry, she rushed to the front doors to see what was happening.
When she stepped outside, she saw men pouring out of buildings and running toward the west end, where there was nothing except temporary storage for the sizeable construction supplies, big sewer pipes, and steel girders. But across from it, just last month, they’d opened the new emergency services headquarters. Not yet populated enough to warrant full-time crews, fire, and emergency medical personnel were on call round the clock, summoned by electronic messages and the civil alert sirens.
Maybe it was a drill. She’d read on the BRK digital message board monthly disaster preparedness drills would be starting soon. This included all the designated first responders, most employed as construction workers, security personnel employed by the contractors, and a contingent of Primarian Warriors stationed on-site since they provided planetary defense and would until military personnel were deployed to the fledgling colony within the coming year.
Terra Nova was most definitely a work in progress. From her vantage point, she could see their only clinic, the general store, the pub, the bakery, the two restaurants—such as they were—and, at the far end of the street, two large residence halls. One housed families and the other was for singles. The former was where she and the five other unmarried women on the planet lived with over three hundred single men. Beck had exaggerated only slightly when he said women were outnumbered 100 to 1. With the last arrivals from Earth a few weeks ago, women now accounted for 5 percent of the total population. They were wives of workers, nurses at the clinic, engineers who worked for Beck, and, like her, construction workers. There were also a couple of scientists, and the only female heavy equipment operator who also worked for BRK. Still much in the minority, Lana had a small taste of what the Primarian females had been dealing with for the past two decades.
She was flirted with outrageously by her primarily male neighbors. They weren’t pushy when she politely said no, but she felt the looks they aimed her way. She’d been asked out by practically every man on the fourth floor where she lived. Ordinarily, she’d be flattered, but she kept telling herself beggars couldn’t afford to be choosers. Here for six months without female companionship, they were like sailors looking forward to shore leave, but no relief was in sight. The first batch of nonessential inhabitants was still at least six months away.
Beck had laid down the law to her. No walking alone after dark, always wait for an escort, don’t encourage if she wasn’t interested, and never play one against the other, not if she didn’t want them fighting over her. When he told her this in his stern big brother voice, the image of two dusty cowboys in a bar brawl, one throwing the other through the plate glass window into the street popped into her head. When she’d giggled, he’d snapped at her to be serious.
Although she hadn’t taken his warnings serious at first, when she started getting their attention, she realized he was right. She didn’t want to be in the middle of more drama, so she kept her eyes and smiles to herself. Not that she had much reason to smile since coming to the colony.
The siren was still blaring, which she found odd for a drill. With growing curiosity, Lana started walking toward the west end. As she passed by the building under construction on the corner, a man rushed out and nearly collided with her. She recognized him as Jack Spalding, one of the electricians on Beck’s crew.
“I didn’t see you, Lana. Sorry,” he said as he steadied her. “But I was in a hurry.”
“I’m fine. Do you know what the sirens are about?”
“There was an explosion in the new mine,” he explained, only slowing, not stopping. “I’m on the response team. Gotta get there before they’re wheels up without me.”
“Of course,” she murmured, but he had already started down the street at a jog.
This didn’t sound good.
Just then, she felt a tremor beneath her feet, and the windows in the buildings up and down the street shook. She looked toward the west and saw smoke rising in the distance. It was a bright day, not a cloud in the purplish sky, and she could see the plume from where she stood, fifty miles away.
“Dear God, let everyone be all right,” she whispered as she also began running to the west end. She knew CPR and basic first aid, maybe she could help.
A Primarian-made shuttle was taking off when she arrived, and a group of about a dozen men was in the process of boarding a second. She noticed a red tunic-wearing warrior directing the loading of some equipment. He seemed to be in charge, so she headed his way.
“I’m a former USIF ensign, trained in basic emergency techniques,” she explained, not wasting time on preliminaries. “I’d like to do what I can to help.”
His lavender-eyed gaze looked her up and down from head to toe, and, from the flat line of his lips, she could tell he wasn’t impressed. Looking as she did, which she’d been told was a lot like Barbie with her narrow waist and slim hips, made more so with her recent weight loss, and blonde hair pulled back in a high ponytail, she could guess what he was thinking. But she had a brain in her head and could think fast on her feet.
“If you’ve been here any length of time, warrior, you know you can’t judge a human female by her cover. I’m trained, and, from the size of the smoke cloud, you’ll need all the help you can get.”
“We’ve got it under control, female. You could go to the clinic and wait. If there are victims, they will need help when the shuttles return.”
“But—”
“Do as he says, Lana.”
The familiar voice sent chills down her spine and she whirled. “Trask,” she whispered.
His eyes met hers briefly then shifted to the warrior. “This one looks loaded and ready to go, Tarus. Give the order. They don’t have time to spare.”
He nodded, giving Lana an irritated glance. “I was about to, General, before I was interrupted.” He walked to the door and stuck only his head inside the standing-room-only shuttle. “All clear for liftoff, Argo.”
“I’m closing the doors now. Stand back.”
The warrior stepped away and gave the side of the hull a slap before he took his place on Trask’s other side. When the shuttle cleared the landing pad and took off with barely a sound—Primarian technology far exceeded Earth’s own—Lana saw two other shuttles loading up. More men were waiting to board, but not enough to fill them both.
“You have room for me. I came to help, Trask. You’ll need me if there are many injured.”
“We have three dozen emergency personnel on the way, and my warriors can handle the rest. Do as Tarus suggested. Go check in at the clinic and see what help Adria needs. There are only three of them on duty today.”
<
br /> “But—”
“Do not argue with me,” he barked. “There isn’t time. Stay here, where it is safe. That is an order.”
She bristled. “You don’t have the right to tell me what to do anymore.”
“Wrong. Until your people are up to the task, warriors oversee security on the colony and have full authority to do what is necessary to ensure the safety of the citizens and maintain order, from the lowliest recruit to the highest ranking, which is me.” He took a step closer, dipped his head, and lowered his voice. “Get to the clinic, Lana. Do not defy me in this. I don’t have time, and neither does anyone who may have been injured in that blast. Are we clear on this?”
He didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he and Tarus both walked off in the direction of one of the shuttles. Stung by his brusque address, and his dismissive attitude, Lana glared after him. Despite the civilized clothing and advanced technology, both men would fit in perfectly back in the Stone Age.
“Arrogant, chauvinistic jerks, the lot of them,” she muttered, watching as Tarus then Trask climbed into the craft. A few minutes later, it took off like the others, with no more than a hum.
Trask was justified in being short with her. Most exes weren’t buddy-buddy, after all, but the other man, who she’d never met before had treated her with the same frosty disdain. In fact, all the warriors on the colony looked at her with a similar expression, as if they’d rather be anywhere else than in her presence. No, worse, as if she had a horrible case of B.O. Before she left, they’d always been polite, and most were friendly. Not anymore.
They weren’t rude, per se, or openly hostile, but they went out of their way to avoid her, or like Tarus, when they spoke to her called her “human female.” Of course, she’d been called Trask’s mate back then—as if she didn’t have an identity without a direct connection to their illustrious, far superior gender. Bleck!
She was confident they didn’t hold all human females in contempt, only her. They respected their esteemed general, and she had ended things with him badly. The rumors on board the ship had spread like wildfire and likely made the rounds as quickly back on Primaria. It was small, the population only 300,000 before they had arrived.
Most of the stories she’d heard were exaggerated. Unfortunately, one was true; she’d taken the coward’s way out and left him a note. Yes, Primaria still used paper—or a synthetic reusable form that didn’t kill off trees and was safe for the environment. Leave it to them to be eco-conscious. Use of paper on Earth had been abolished fifty years ago due to catastrophic deforestation—too little, too late for their home, unfortunately. But that wasn’t the point. Words on paper were cold. Even in the days before instant communication, it was in poor taste to break up with someone by note. In the modern age, there were so many other options to be face-to-face. There was live HVC—holographic video chat. Still, it wasn’t ideal, but, with the world in turmoil, and much of it at war, being in the same place at the same time wasn’t always possible. Neither was HVC, with widespread power outages and communications interfaces shutting down frequently. Barring that, a HIM—holographic instant message—would have been better than a note, but it still came off as impersonal.
Her momentous blunder still made her groan. She should have done something important like this one-on-one with Trask, but she couldn’t have faced him, witnessed the shock and hurt in his eyes, and still gone through with it. What’s more, the Odyssey was leaving, and she couldn’t wait.
Often, she rationalized since she was ending things, it didn’t make sense to draw it out or put them both through a painful scene. She should have known she couldn’t avoid it. He’d come after her. Yeah, she should have put money on him doing exactly that. If she had, she’d be filthy rich right about now.
So, yes, she was a coward and deserved the warriors’ scorn on their leader’s behalf.
Ready to be obedient—not that she had other choices—Lana turned to leave the shuttle port. As she did, something bright blue on a bench in front of the EMS building caught her eye. When she got close enough, she recognized it as a vest, the kind paramedics wore. Looking around, she saw no one coming for it, and when she stood on her toes and peeked through the window, she saw no one inside.
Did she dare?
She glanced at the last shuttle. Men, and, this time, two women wearing similar vests and blue jeans were waiting to board. Not thinking of the consequences, which wouldn’t be a surprise to anyone who knew her well, she slipped on the vest and joined the others at the end of the line. When she saw the woman in front of her juggling an armful of boxes stamped with red crosses, she relieved her of two of them.
“Thanks. These emergency kits are awkward and heavy,” she said while turning. Lana watched her head jerk ever so slightly in surprise when she saw her. Then her eyes lowered to her vest. “Are you new?”
“I just arrived. You might say I’m wet behind the ears.” Both were accurate statements although vague and deliberately misleading.
“Mm...” she hummed, considering her for a moment and shrugged. “We don’t know what we’re up against, but I have a feeling we’re going to need all the help we can get. I’m Chandra Greene. Stick with me since you haven’t been through orientation yet. Are you a medic or technician?”
This time Lana told an outright lie. “Technician.”
She frowned again. “Too bad, we could use another medic. We requested a doctor from the clinic, but they’re short-staffed as it is and need the one they have to manage any incoming traumas. The plan is to triage, stabilize in the field, and ship ’em out. Got it?”
“Come along, ladies,” a man called impatiently, motioning to them from the double doors of the shuttle. Everyone else had boarded while she and the medic were talking. He was human, to Lana’s relief, and barely looked at her when she stepped inside. Once she was clear of the door and on her way to a seat, he climbed in and shouted an all clear to the pilot.
“Ready to go, Jack.”
“Got it,” he called back.
Seeing her fellow BRK crewmember at the controls, Lana slid down in her seat. But he didn’t notice, too busy with takeoff procedures to pay attention to his passengers, other than to ensure everyone was in. “Buckle up,” he called one last time before the shuttle left the ground. “We’re going in hot.”
Organized chaos—those were the words that came to mind a few minutes later when she looked out the window at the scene below them. There was a frenzy of activity, warriors and medics rushing about helping the wounded, the former often carrying injured in their arms. And everything, whether the ground, or the air, or the people, was covered in fine green dust. The worst of it billowed with the smoke spewing from the mouth of what she suspected used to be the entrance to the uladite mine.
The shuttle slowed and hovered over what seemed to her was an impossibly small landing site, but Jack, who was a surprisingly skilled pilot, set them down easy without the scraping crunch of metal she’d expected to hear.
A bag of supplies dropped in her lap. “You carry this and stay with me. Let’s go.” When she glanced up from the canvas duffel, she saw the medic who had taken charge of her—thankfully—already exiting the craft, evidently having no doubt Lana would dutifully follow.
She experienced a sick sense of dread she might not live up to the help she promised, and hinder the rescue instead. But hands were hands she told herself, and she could always fetch and carry or comfort those who were hurt. Determined to do something productive, she followed her temporary boss from the shuttle and got busy.
For the next two hours, she worked side by side with Chandra, holding pressure to bleeding wounds, starting oxygen—after being shown how once—and keeping broken limbs in place while the experienced medic applied air splints. Lana took vital signs, which she figured out quickly because the external monitor with a diagram and labels about where to put the sticky electrodes was self-explanatory. She also flagged down warriors and had them transfer the injured after being
triaged to the waiting shuttles.
“You did good, rookie.”
Glancing up, she paused in the middle of restocking the emergency kit with bandage supplies from the bag she had toted in. Chandra looked wiped out, her long curly hair, that two hours ago was in a neat knot at the back of her head, had come loose and was now a disheveled glowing green cloud around her face.
“Thanks. But you deserve the praise. I am in awe of your skill as a medic.”
“And you’re a pretty good technician, although you aren’t one, are you?”
Caught in her well-meaning lie, Lana froze, but when the other woman’s lips twitched in amusement, rather than getting angry and chewing her out, she confessed. “No. I’m USIF, or used to be, and had first aid in basic training.”
She nodded. “I figured it was something like that, and you couldn’t stay away.”
“I couldn’t sit on my butt and do nothing, especially when I heard there were injuries. I had to see if I could help.”
“I’m glad you did, despite the fib. You should get trained, you’ve got good instincts and didn’t faint at the sight of blood.”
Lana laughed. “It usually makes me queasy.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah, but not today. I guess it was the adrenalin rush.” She looked around. “So that’s all of them?”
“Yep, except for a few minor scratches and bumps from the stubborn ones who refused treatment while dealing with this mess.” She twisted to look at the still-smoking mine. “Wonder what happened?”
“From the tremors we felt from fifty miles out, I’d guess a targeted remote detonation or something like a cobalt bunker blaster like we use back home.”
“Why would you say that instead of a cave-in?”
“Look around. See the debris field? It blew out. A collapse would mean an implosion. The leaves on the trees are withered, not burned, which means heat, but no fire. Most of the smoke is actually particulate matter, a mix of dirt, fine rocks and minerals, liquid droplets, and uladite—thus the pervasive green—and, considering the density, height, and reach of the cloud, whatever explosive they used packed a wallop.”
Defying the General (Primarian Mates Book 4) Page 26