‘So how did he survive?’ Bra’hiv asked.
‘How the hell should I know? Ask him! He should have been dead!’
‘So you’re saying that you set the charge too early, denying Qayin the chance to flee the Sylph’s generator room?’
‘I’m saying that Qayin took too long,’ Djimon replied. ‘He should have pulled back with the rest of Bravo Company, but he insisted on supporting that damned Veng’en’s escape.’
‘The Veng’en that helped us win the battle?’ Bra’hiv echoed. ‘The Veng’en that may be our key to finding a new ally in the war against the Legion? That Veng’en?’
‘We didn’t know all of that at the time,’ Djimon snarled as he leaned forward in his seat. ‘Kordaz had just escaped from custody, killed one of our doctors and was heading aft. When we found him he was with Dhalere, who was screaming for help and covered in Infectors. Right there and then, our only concern was getting our own people out of there, not Kordaz.’
‘And Qayin, a fellow Marine?’ Bra’hiv pressed. ‘Did you judge him as unworthy of your efforts too?’
‘Qayin is not a Marine,’ Djimon snapped. ‘He and his convicts wear our colours and train with us but they are not patriots and you know it. They are street thugs, looking out only for themselves. Give them the chance, they’ll take the damned ship for themselves. If you want me to sit here and apologise for thinking that Qayin’s Bravo Company is as great a threat to our survival as the Legion, then you’ve got yourself a long wait, general.’
Bra’hiv stared at Djimon for a long moment and then he turned his head and looked behind him to a large mirror on the wall.
*
Lieutenant C’rairn stood in the darkness of the observation room and stared at the sergeant and the general for a moment before he spoke.
‘So, is that how it went down?’
Qayin stood beside the lieutenant, his massive arms folded across his chest and his tattoos glowing as he stared into the observation room. He knew that he held Djimon’s life in the balance: most victims of marooning did not survive for long. Although trained in the art of wilderness survival, even the toughest Marines were at a serious disadvantage upon an unknown planet with unknown life forms. Occasionally, or so he had once read, military or merchant vessels had come across lonely outpost worlds and discovered the remains of tiny camps isolated on barren plains near water courses. Usually occupied only by the bones of the soldier who had once struggled to survive there, they had uncovered diaries recording the hellish tale of the unfortunate victim. Invariably, the dead man’s skull had been punctured by a plasma round, one of three ritually provided to the marooned soldier along with his service pistol. Being abandoned was one thing: being marooned and thus denied human contact for the rest of one’s life took a far greater toll than most people realised.
Qayin figured that he knew Djimon would be entirely aware of those same facts, and would understand as soon as he was told of Qayin’s response.
‘It figures,’ Qayin replied finally. ‘Djimon set the charges and fled but it was the blast itself that blew me clear of the Legion, far enough to make it to the escape capsules. He would not have known that I survived the blast – he wouldn’t have been able to see me.’
Lieutenant C’rairn scrutinized Qayin carefully for a long time before he spoke again.
‘You’re sure,’ he said. ‘You’re happy that Djimon’s claims add up and he did not intentionally abandon you to die?’
Qayin nodded slowly.
‘Cut him loose,’ he said, already thinking about how he might use the sergeant’s guilt to his advantage. ‘We need every man we can get right now if we’re going to survive this war.’
‘He lied,’ C’rairn said. ‘He said that he saw you die, and he did not.’
Qayin looked down at C’rairn. ‘He made a mistake. But maybe if he makes mistakes like that then he should not be a sergeant any more, agreed?’
C’rairn studied the big Marine for a moment and then he nodded.
‘Agreed. Dismissed.’
*
The Atlantia’s observation platform directly above the bridge provided a stunning panorama of the surrounding galaxy.
Evelyn stood on the platform and gazed out across the distant asteroid field, the sunlight obscured by clouds of drifting dust so that it glowed like a terrestrial sunset in hues of gold and orange, beams of light piercing the cold blackness like the fingers of a god. Beyond, sweeping across the pitch black heavens, the tenuous arms of the spiral galaxy soared high and low as though embracing the newborn star.
‘You okay?’
Andaim mounted the steps to the platform and crossed to stand alongside her as she gazed out into deep space.
‘Sure.’
‘That’s woman–speak for no.’
Evelyn looked up at Andaim, who grinned at her and shrugged. She could not quite suppress the smile that formed on her face as she sighed and looked back to the starfields.
‘We won yesterday,’ she said finally. ‘But we barely made it through. We’re outnumbered and outgunned by who–knows how many other races out there and none of them are fond of us right now. I suppose I just don’t see how we can win this war.’
Andaim did not reply immediately, standing with his hands behind his back and surveying the stars before he finally spoke.
‘We, humans, got where we are because we survived against overwhelming odds. Virtually every moment of our history has been a survival story and we don’t for sure know if we’re the last ones left anyway. There could be other ships, maybe even military vessels like Atlantia, scratching an existence out there somewhere and waiting to find other survivors. We go on, because there’s no way to go back. That’s all there is to it.’
‘Sounds easy, if you say it fast enough.’
‘Best way,’ Andaim admitted. ‘Don’t dwell on it too much, Evelyn, or you’ll lose sight of what we’re trying to achieve.’
‘We’re alone.’
‘We’ve got each other.’ Evelyn looked up at him again and thought she saw a brief moment of panic swimming in Andaim’s eyes. ‘A thousand people together on a ship like this are not alone.’
‘And there was me thinking you were being romantic.’
Andaim appeared to gasp for air. ‘I was just saying, y’know, that we’re not alone. We’re together. Here.’
Evelyn peered at the commander. ‘How did Dhalere infect you?’
Andaim stared down at her for a long moment before he replied. ‘She must have coughed near me or something.’
‘Coughed?’ Evelyn echoed. ‘Must have been one hell of a cough.’
Andaim averted his eyes toward the asteroid belt. ‘Dhalere could be a very forceful woman, when she wanted to be, whether I or anybody else liked it or not.’
Evelyn cast her gaze back across the starfields and decided to let Andaim off the hook. She said nothing for a while and could sense the CAG’s discomfort beside her.
‘What are you thinking about?’ he asked finally, unable to keep himself from speaking.
‘Just thinking about home,’ she said.
‘We’ll make it back there, eventually,’ he replied.
‘But what will we find?’ she asked. ‘What will be left?’
Andaim did not answer her, but another voice from behind did.
‘Whatever we choose to make of it.’
Captain Idris Sansin climbed to the platform, followed by Bra’hiv and Mikhain. The captain walked to stand beside Evelyn, his hands clasped behind his back and his head held high as he surveyed the asteroid field and the vast galaxy spanning the heavens above them.
‘It is still our home, no matter what the Word may have done to it,’ he added.
‘Home is not much of a home without the people that once lived there,’ Evelyn pointed out.
‘There will be others,’ the captain assured her. ‘Our lives need not be the last that will ever be lived. If we do not believe that, then what is the point in carrying on
? All that matters is that we stay true to our course, that we ensure that we have each other’s backs when those weaker than us falter.’
They turned as Kordaz mounted the steps to the observation platform. He stopped at the top and looked at the captain.
‘You wanted to see me?’
Kordaz, despite the concerns of the civilian population, had been offered accommodation in the Atlantia’s sanctuary, a home among the trees that while not quite like his home planet Wraiythe was far more appealing to him than the cold corridors of the rest of the ship.
‘You have something to share with us,’ Bra’hiv said. ‘Something that you offered to share with the crew of Ty’ek’s cruiser in exchange for our safe return. What was it?’
Kordaz looked at them all for a few moments, and his skin rippled and darkened slightly across his chest beneath his uniform.
‘What use will it be to you all, out here, far from the Legion?’
‘We do not intend to remain here,’ Idris replied. ‘Our course will take us home, to Ethera.’
‘Etherea is no more, the lair of the Legion and the Word,’ Kordaz snapped. ‘There is nothing there for you any more. Why would you go there?’
‘To liberate it,’ Andaim said. ‘Whatever it takes.’
Kordaz looked at the commander. ‘You will be destroyed.’
‘We will be destroyed anyway if we flee,’ Idris said, ‘perhaps not now, perhaps not for millennia, but eventually the Word will find us and its legions will destroy us. Better for us to die fighting it than condemn our children, or their children, to do it for us. I suspect that such a sentiment is one that you as a Veng’en can appreciate? Death before surrender?’
Kordaz’s yellow eyes narrowed and his skin flickered even more darkly as he spoke.
‘When I was aboard the Sylph, I discovered how the Legion communicates,’ he replied.
Evelyn’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘How?’
Kordaz seemed almost to sigh, as though he were surrendering his own last bargaining chip in a game that could cost him his life.
‘They do not use radio waves or microwaves or anything like that, they don’t possess enough power to transmit signals,’ he said. ‘They use chemicals.’
‘Chemicals?’ Andaim echoed. ‘Like insects?’
‘Exactly the same,’ Kordaz replied. ‘The scorched–soil policy of my people has meant that they have never had the chance to learn of this, never had the opportunity to study the Legion closely. The Hunters and the Swarms and even the Infectors use arrangements of common chemicals as markers and signals, passing information between colonies and individuals. If you can learn how to understand those messages, you could perhaps disrupt them or eavesdrop upon the Word’s communications.’
The captain walked to the edge of the platform and turned to look at his crew members.
‘I need to know that I can trust each and every one of you,’ he said, ‘when the going gets tough. I need to know that we’re all on the same page, and that we don’t make the same mistakes that people made before the Word emerged to guide us. Mankind spent more of his time at war before that moment than anything else, and we cannot afford to repeat history.’
Andaim, Evelyn, Mikhain and Bra’hiv all glanced at each other, and then they all replied as one.
‘Aye, captain.’
Captain Idris Sansin nodded, his craggy old features creasing into a brief smile.
‘Good,’ he replied, ‘then we have a chance of surviving this.’
The sound of the Atlantia’s mass–drive engaging rose up somewhere far behind them, and they watched as the vast panorama of stars suddenly flared brightly in a kaleidoscope of colour and then vanished as the Atlantia broke through into super–luminal velocity and raced after the Veng’en cruiser.
***
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Dean Crawford is the author of the internationally published series of thrillers featuring Ethan Warner, a former United States Marine now employed by a government agency tasked with investigating unusual scientific phenomena. The novels have been Sunday Times paperback best-sellers and have gained the interest of major Hollywood production studios. He is also the enthusiastic author of many independently published Science Fiction novels.
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Atlantia Series 2: Retaliator Page 32