The Blind War (The Shadow Wars Book 13)

by S. A. Lusher

  Weller got to work, her fingers flying.

  “Okay…” she murmured as data flowed to her console. “Scans register no other vessels in the region. No ongoing communication. No radiation. No energy spikes or readings of any kind,” she reported. There was another pause as they drifted closer. “No life signs and the ship is dead in the water. It isn't outputting any energy of any kind.”

  Despite this, she tried to contact it anyway, given the standard protocol in situations like these. Callie continued staring at the ship as it got closer, listening to Weller tersely call out over the dead airwaves, trying to establish a connection.

  “Nothing,” she said, abandoning the effort after several minutes.

  Callie glanced over at Allan. In their time together, he had, somewhat unofficially, taken on the role of leader. Leadership was something she had willingly given up near the beginning of this endeavor with Anomalous Ops over a year ago. She hadn't exactly come to regret the decision, but she was starting to question it a bit now. It wasn't that Allan was a bad leader. Despite his trepidation, he was actually great at it. He was fast, decisive, responsible. It was more that the thing that had originally kept her from wanting to take on a leadership role again, the death of her team before signing on with Anomalous Ops, was weighing less on her mind than it had before. It was a spiritual and emotional wound that was slowly healing.

  It would leave a scar, but it was no longer constantly painful.

  This was another thing on her mind lately. Although honestly, leadership roles didn't seem to be all that common in the situations they found themselves in. Usually, shit was so fucked that they all just did what had to be done without anyone making any decisions for them. She wondered if this mission was going to be like that or not.

  “Bring us in slow and link airlocks with the ship,” Allan said.

  “Affirmative,” Weller replied.

  “Come on, let's get into position.”

  She, Allan and Porter filed out of the bridge and headed back through the ship, towards the airlock bay. She could feel the atmosphere changing as they moved onto the other ship. Any air of casual calm drained away in the face of hardened professionalism. Anything could be on the other side of that airlock. Anything at all. They had all learned long ago not to trust the results of scanners, although it was nice that there was no interference this time around. They reached the airlock, got inside and began to cycle through once Weller had confirmed that they were linked. Callie had her rifle out, at the front of the trio now.

  The cycle finished and admitted them to the next airlock, which showed no immediate signs of conflict or damage.

  They cycled through a second time and the squalid airlocks gave way to a larger bay of lockers and benches and EVA suits.

  Still no sign of the conflict that had apparently ravaged this vessel.

  “Clear,” Callie said quietly. Their suits were in full containment now, granting them the atmosphere and heat necessary to survive a trip into a vessel that had neither. Which meant they were working against a shorter clock.

  They had two hours before their oxygen began to run out.

  Callie led the way, rifle in hand, moving across the bay to the only other door. She hit the manual release and forced it up. A pitch black metal corridor awaited her inspection beyond. Stepping out, she scanned left, then right.

  Nothing, though she saw some bullet holes along one side of the hallway to her right, and what appeared to be some flash-frozen blood on the floor.

  “Clear,” she repeated.

  They set off.

  * * * * *

  The ship was a dark, frozen nightmare.

  They walked its empty corridors, slowly uncovering more and more signs of destruction and slaughter. Bullet holes marring walls, frozen blood that usually stuck to the walls but sometimes floated in hard, red globules, mixed in with spent shell casings that drifted aimlessly in the zero gee that lorded over the vessel.

  Like at the colonies, there was a disturbing lack of bodies.

  However, as they searched high and low, checking out back break rooms, out of the way offices and storage areas, they began to find bodies. They were dead, to be sure, but they were there, and mostly intact. It struck Callie as very strange and it also began to fill her with a grim kind of hope. Despite how awful it was to be discovering these stiff corpses, it also seemed to suggest something good: their enemies were getting sloppy. Before, they had been utterly thorough, but here they had left behind at least a dozen dead.

  Maybe they would finally get a break in this miserable case.

  They continued their search of the ship, not lingering in any one location for too long, each of them splitting up and taking a different important area of the ship to save on time. Callie took the bridge and found it hastily stripped of parts, consoles and workstations ripped straight out of the wall. The front windows were shattered, somehow broken in the fighting, which looked to have been very heavy here.

  Porter reported that the engines were equally stripped of parts.

  Allan informed them that the cargo bays were pretty much emptied out.

  Despite the fact that it seemed as if the attackers had been in a hurry, an hour and forty five minutes went by and still they had nothing to show for their effort. No new information, no breaks, no new data.

  They were beginning to head back to the Raptor when Weller contacted them.

  “I've found something out here that I think you'll want to see.”

  “What is it?” Allan asked.

  “A body on the surface of the ship. I can't get much of a look at it from my current position,” Weller replied.

  “Affirmative. We're on our way.”

  The trio met up back at the airlock and cycled through as quickly as they could, excited for something new after spending so long navigating the dark, haunted corridors of a dead ship. Once cycled through, they refilled their oxygen tanks while Weller disengaged them from the supply ship and brought the Raptor back a little bit, to allow them access to its exterior. She moved them forward and up, inasmuch as that could be said, given that relative directions had essentially no meaning in outer space.

  Once they were topped off with air and repositioned, the trio entered the airlock again, cycled through and emerged into the blackness of space, now floating gently out alongside the vast, pitted, dull gray hull of the supply vessel.

  “I see it,” Callie said after they'd spent a moment scanning the immediate area. “To our ten o'clock,” she added.

  “I see it, too,” Allan confirmed.

  The three of them began to make their way up there, using thrusters built into their suits. The hull was largely featureless, made mostly of huge plates of gray metal, broken occasionally by a window or antenna or some other piece of scanning equipment or the bump of an emergency station or small storage compartment.

  Up ahead, they could see an arm sticking out from behind one such piece of scanning equipment. It was immediately obvious that whoever it was was dead, given that they could see bare pale skin. Carefully, not willing to take any chances, Callie, Allan and Porter moved slowly around the bulky protrusion, covering the corpse as it slowly came into view. There were a lot of unknowns here. They relaxed slightly as the corpse came fully into view.

  “There's our lucky break,” Callie said.

  “Hopefully,” Porter replied. “Let's grab it and get it back onboard.”

  The body in question was clearly one of the techno-terrorists. It sported several obvious modifications, including a few small antenna sticking out of its shaved skull and two metal eyes. It had obviously suffered a lot of damage, as the one arm that had been sticking out was its only remaining limb. The others had been apparently violently severed. Bits of bone and ragged shreds of deathly pale flesh were all that remained.

  Carefully, Callie and Allan grabbed the ugly thing and began to haul it back to the Raptor. Callie wondered how the thing had even gotten out here or why, but ultimately found
that she didn't care. They had their break.

  Hopefully.

  * * * * *

  “Okay,” Porter muttered, “let's see what we can see.”

  After getting it back onboard the Raptor, they hauled it to the small infirmary the ship sported and then went to get out of their suits. Once that was finished, everyone, including Weller, gathered in the infirmary to watch Porter work.

  “God, that's ugly,” Weller muttered.

  Porter had a laptop out and, after doing some basic examinations, had found a port drilled directly into the base of the man's skull, just above his spinal column. She had a theory that she should be able to directly jack into whatever hardware he had implanted in his head.

  “Yep,” Porter said without looking up from her laptop.

  Callie stood with Allan, leaning against the second of the pair of examination tables that took up residence in the center of the room. Dead ahead of them was the other table, occupied by what remained of the corpse. Porter sat in a chair directly next to it, her laptop balanced on her knees, her fingers flying over the keyboard. Weller stood on the far side of the room, near the door, looking like she was there only grudgingly, ready to bolt at a moments’ notice. Callie didn't blame her. The thing was honestly starting to freak her out a bit.

  “Okay,” Porter said suddenly, “time to get to work.”

  She stood up, setting the laptop down on the examination table, next to the corpse's head. She took a cord out of a small kit she'd brought with her and plugged it into the laptop, then she plugged the other end into the back of the dead body. They'd already run several scans on it, but hadn't determined very much about it save for the fact that it had tech implanted in its body and it had no obvious diseases, viruses or sicknesses.

  Callie found herself staring at the face, which was pale, the skin cracked and flaking disgustingly now that it was thawing. The mouth was open, as though it had died mid-scream, and the dead, metal eyes were more than a little chilling.

  It seemed as though the thing were staring directly at her.

  A few moments passed while Porter worked.

  Abruptly, the thing's eyes lit up, one glowing a brilliant electric blue, the other a smoldering, deep red. Callie and Allan stood up straighter.

  “We're in,” Porter said.

  “It's eyes are glowing,” Allan replied.

  “It's fine,” Porter said.

  “How would you know?” Callie asked.

  “As far as I can tell, this thing is dead, it's just a residual effect, like nerve twitches or air escaping a corpse. Now, let me work.”

  More silence passed. Callie found her gaze drawn back to the creature again. Now, the feeling of being watched by it was stronger than ever.

  “Okay, I've got something,” Porter said. “There's a lot of data in here. It looks fragmented, scrambled, but it's there, which means once I pull it, I can unscramble it, hopefully fill in some blanks. Vetra should be able to help with this.”

  “Good...it is really dead, right?” Weller asked.

  “Yes, it's dead,” Porter replied, sounding vaguely annoyed.

  A shrieking, electronic growl filled the air as the body suddenly twitched and spasmed to life. The single remaining arm shot up and around, fingers latching onto Porter's neck and locking into place, slowly closing. She let out a strangled cry of surprise as she jerked up and away from the table. The corpse was yanked up after her and slid off the table, briefly dangling from her neck before its weight dragged her to the floor.

  Both Callie and Allan let out cries of shocked distress and already had their pistols out of their holsters before Porter had hit the floor. They quickly moved around the examination table, trying to get to her. The half-corpse was issuing more shrieking electronic feedback sounds, twisting and jerking as it tried to use its broken body. Callie was the first around the table. She aimed her pistol, getting in close, knowing she had to be careful or else she'd hit Porter. Stepping on the thing's neck, she put the barrel of the pistol to its skull and pulled the trigger once. Then again, and finally a third time, before it stopped moving.

  Allan was already working to get its fingers from around Porter's neck and within seconds Weller was there at his side, helping him.

  Porter gasped as they got the thing’s grip off of her.

  For several seconds, no one spoke as they helped her to her feet and she got her breath back. Callie kept the thing covered with her pistol.

  “So, what was that, Porter? I don’t think I heard you right,” Weller asked finally. “You said you were sure it was dead?”

  “Eat me,” Porter wheezed, flipping her off.

  “You're not my type,” Weller replied.

  Porter offered a wheezing laugh that turned into a cough. She groaned and rubbed her neck gingerly. “Fuck, that hurt,” she muttered. “Thanks for the help...um, we should head back to the Dauntless now and look over this data.”

  “Let's take a closer look at you,” Callie said.

  “No, I'm fine, really-” she began.

  “Laura, lay down on the fucking examination table. You almost just got choked to death.”

  Porter sighed and relented. “Fine, but let's start back.”

  “On it,” Weller said, heading for the bridge.

  Porter laid down on the other examination table and allowed Callie to run some scans of her. Allan kept watch over the half-corpse.

  “I think I'll lock this thing up,” he said. “For good measure.”

  “Not a bad idea,” Porter replied, her voice still weak.

  “Stop talking,” Callie murmured, studying the information being displayed. She wasn't a medic, but she had enough training to know what she was seeing. Allan holstered his pistol and, carefully, hauled the body out of the room.

  “Okay,” Callie said once the scan was finished. “You're fine.”

  “I figured,” Porter said, sitting up. She sighed and rubbed her neck again. “I could probably use some painkillers, though.”

  Callie nodded and retrieved a few pills and a glass of water for her. Around her, she felt the shudder of movement as the Raptor began to realign itself. Within a minute, it had launched back into FTL flight.

  They were headed back home, for now.

  CHAPTER 03

  –Breadcrumbs–

  Allan glanced over as the intercom built into the wall clicked to life. “Gray, Ward, either of you there?” It was Porter.

  Allan finished drying off, tossed the towel over to the pile of dirty clothes in the corner and walked over to it.

  He hit the callback button. “Yeah, we’re here, what's happening?”

  “I've managed to pull something from the data. It's not much, but it's enough to go on. Hawkins wants us in Briefing One again. ASAP.”

  “We'll be there.”

  He let his hand drop, turned and began to hunt for a fresh uniform. Callie sighed as she stepped out of the bathroom. “You can't just let these drop on the floor in a pile all wet, Allan,” she said, going and retrieving the towel. “You have to hang them up.”

  Allan pulled on some boxers. “Tell you what. I'll start hanging them up as soon as you stop leaving half-empty cans of soda around.”

  She finished hanging up the towel back in the bathroom, stared at him, frowned. “Ugh, whatever,” she muttered.

  He couldn't help but laugh. If anyone were here, (which would be odd, given that they were both getting dressed,) he could easily envision them being accused of arguing like a married couple. Speaking of marriage…

  He shook his head, not really the time to think about that at any length. Of course, there rarely seemed to be time to think about it. Trying to focus, he continued getting dressed. It had been about two hours since they'd made it back to the Dauntless. Once they'd filed their brief mission reports, they'd taken the opportunity to get some more training and working out in, then they'd both met back in their shower for a bit of relaxation. Not that what they'd been doing in the shower was necessary v
ery relaxing.

  Callie finished pulling on her jumpsuit about the same time he did. Once they'd gotten their boots on, the pair left their shared dorm and began quickly navigating the corridors. They were both eager for answers. Once they'd gotten started on a mission, neither of them really felt like doing much else until that mission had been completed, whatever completion might mean. Normally they had no choice, since, under normal circumstances, they typically ended up trapped somewhere and escape coincided with completing their objectives.

  They arrived at the briefing room only a few moments later, finding Hawkins, Porter and Keron waiting for them.

  Well, maybe they'd have a bit more backup on this next leg of the journey. Though it would have been nice to have more than a single extra person, even if that person was a one man army like Keron seemed to be.

  “What do you have for us?” Allan asked as he and Callie took a seat.

  “Enough to go off of,” Hawkins replied. The lights dimmed and a new image appeared on the holographic projector. It looked like a miserable ball of ice. “This frozen moon is called JX-492, for want of a better name. There was hardly any discernible information among that retrieved, but there was a partial star chart that was enough to pinpoint where this individual unit was coming from: this moon. That, combined with mapping coordinates that were also deciphered, has given us the location of what may be an outpost. As this moon is actually within the Far Reach, albeit on the very fringe, I can't imagine it's the actual headquarters. Obviously, the next logical step is to send a team there, investigate and gather any more data possible.”

  “What did the analysis of the corpse give us?” Callie asked.

  “A couple of interesting facts, actually. The first is that it's dead, and has been dead for three weeks now. This person is basically a meat robot, being driven entirely by machinery. The other piece of information is that we can now confirm that whoever is doing this is harvesting people to turn them into more of these cyborgs. The man in question has been identified as an engineer at one of the colonies that was hit about three weeks ago.”