Harper's Ten: Prequel to the Fractured Space Series

by J G Cressey

  Nothing happened.

  He tugged again…and again.

  Nothing.

  “Shit.” The curse came from Becker, her weapon seeming about as responsive as his own.

  The snake began to writhe and succeeded in moving back, causing Franco’s curses to double in volume as he strained to keep Poots in his grasp.

  Activating his rifle’s blade, Cal drove it down into the back of the snake’s neck. Instantly, the beast relinquished its hold and retreated into the shadows, almost taking the rifle with it.

  “Ignore that last order,” Cal shouted as he grabbed hold of the now unconscious Poots and heaved her over his shoulders. “Rifle blades out, and everyone fucking run.”

  As it turned out, Cal wasn’t finding running an easy thing to achieve. If it had been difficult moving through the vegetation before; moving through it now on an incline with someone on your back was painfully slow. Becker had remained a few paces to his right, deliberately reducing her pace to match his own. They had only fallen a little way behind before Poots miraculously floated off his shoulders. Max had veered in from the left to pluck the woman off him as if she were a mere toddler. With his powerful, cybernetic limbs, he accelerated away and thundered on ahead. Cal didn’t waste time watching the robot. He knew Max would deposit Poots at the relative safety of the bare ridge above before assessing where his assistance was most needed next.

  Cal surged on, much faster now that he was only carrying his own weight. His rifle was tight in his grip, blade still extended. Looking ahead, he did his best to judge the terrain. Finding that some of the vegetation had been flattened in Max’s wake, he started to follow its line, shouting to Becker to join him.

  But Becker didn’t answer. He looked to his side and then behind him only to find her gone. Without missing a beat, he came to an abrupt halt and doubled back. “Becker… Becker…”

  “Here.” The reply was strained but clear.

  Cal ran a few more paces before he spotted her. She was on the ground amid some flattened shrubs. Her legs were clamped in a figure of four hold around the neck of another giant snake, this one bigger even than Poots’ attacker. Becker’s arms were locked straight, muscles bulging as her hands gripped the underside of the beast’s massive jaw. Her shoulders were pressed into the ground, her own weight and most of the snake’s bearing down as she arched her back in an attempt not to be tipped. Cal burst forward, thrusting the blade of his weapon out before him. As the point found its mark and partially buried its way into the creature’s side, he became aware of movement to his left. Pulling his rifle free, he twisted around just in time to meet the jaws of a second snake that exploded from the foliage. As the creature’s massive jaws closed around the muzzle of his weapon, Cal found himself knocked back by the ferocity of the attack. Hitting the ground hard, it seemed only a second or two before the snake was coiling itself around him. Considering the size of the creature, the force it was exerting shouldn’t have come as a surprise, but still it did.

  Taking a leaf out of Becker’s book, Cal attempted to lock his legs around his attacker, but it had landed heavily upon him, its weight already pinning him down. He did his best to quash his panic as he grappled with the beast—not an easy thing to do as its brute strength was fast overwhelming him. Unable to turn his rifle in such a way that he could utilize the blade on its end, Cal let it go, freeing up his right hand. He had another knife within the armor on his left thigh but, try as he might, it was no longer within his reach. Everything was happening too damn fast. He felt himself being turned as the attacker continued to coil itself around his torso.

  Desperately, he jabbed at the snake’s head with his thumb. Perhaps if he could injure its eyes, it would reconsider its prey. But the one eye that he could reach felt hard as stone, as if protected by a toughened lid. Cal could hear and feel grinding as his armor was shifted by the creature’s constricting body. The armor was Corrian built, crafted from the highest grade alloys. The creature would never have the power to come even close to crushing it, but this came as little consolation as it wasn’t one solid piece but a series of interlocking pieces connected by flexible, smart webbing. The webbing allowed for unrestricted movement and would repel any number of projectiles, but it had little rigidity. Before long, the armor would be parted enough that nothing would resist the killing squeeze. Cal felt the snake pinning his right arm then slide under his left, forcing it up until it was pressed against his face. Panic well and truly took hold then. The constriction increased and set about stealing the last of his breath. Cal suddenly had an overwhelming need to see sky, just a glimpse of that blue expanse. But as he turned his eyes upward, all he could see was shadowy leaves…then pale, scaly flesh.

  All went dark. Only his cold panic remained—that and the muffled sounds of armor creaking and his heart thudding. He tried one last-ditch effort to move, but it was futile, as if he’d been paralyzed from head to toe. A little spike of anger pierced through his fear. What a way to die.

  But it seemed his time hadn’t come just yet.

  A sudden, merciful breath rushed into his throat, filling his lungs and extinguishing at least some of the panic. The pressure and the undulating movement of the snake had ceased. Not only that but the deathly coil was beginning to unravel.

  Then, his eyes found the sky, blessedly bright above him. His mind whirled for a moment in confusion as he tried to blink away his blurred vision.

  “Let’s get moving.”

  The sound of Oshiro’s deep voice cleanly cut through the confusion like a guiding light. The big veteran stood over him, thick, blue blood dripping from his sword. Cal rubbed at his eyes and indulged in a couple more breaths before a coughing fit took over.

  Without waiting for him to fully recover, Orisho pulled him to his feet. “Come on; no time to hang about.”

  Still feeling as though he was hacking up a lung, Cal turned to see Wilson kicking the corpse of the other snake off Becker. She too was coughing and looked mightily pissed off.

  Finally gaining control of his breath, Cal stooped down and snatched up his rifle. “Agreed,” he said, his voice more of a wheeze. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  Cal collapsed, exhausted, onto the grassy ridge and once again fought to catch his breath. He wasn’t the only one. The whole team, bar Max, were on the ground, doing their best to remain poised for battle while their chests heaved and their fatigued limbs battled gravity. Not for the first time, it occurred to Cal how even the fittest of people could be reduced to gasping wrecks after running from something that was planning to eat them. He looked back to the line where the thick vegetation petered out to become short, mossy grass. For now, it seemed they weren’t going to be pursued into the open. Only one other snake had attacked during their run out of the valley—a smaller specimen that Orisho had sliced in two with swift efficiency.

  His pulse finally slowing, Cal propped himself up on his elbows and stared down to the valley bottom where the attacks had taken place. It seemed the snakes preferred to lurk where the vegetation was taller, denser, and damp—where it was cooler. The fact gave validity to Couter’s theories. He continued to stare, breaths now coming slow and easy. He had many close calls in his time, but this encounter perhaps topped the list. He’d been a heartbeat from passing through the veil that concealed the mysteries of any possible afterlife. Cal squeezed his eyes shut and pushed the thought aside. He thought instead about Forester. A good man cut down far too early by a cruel fate. The vitals on the data pad had confirmed that the medic had gone quickly. That was something at least—not to have suffered the slow, crushing death that he’d almost experienced.

  The first to die under my command. The realization hit Cal like a lance in his side. When you were a tight-knit group, enduring such extreme experiences together, becoming friends was almost a certainty. And Forester had been young, and he had a wife. Mary’s face flashed into Cal’s mind. Christ, how the hell am I going to break this to her? The weight of his ne
w rank suddenly felt that much heavier. And to make matters worse, he knew it could have been avoided. If he’d just trusted his instincts and ignored Captain Decker’s order from the start. He should have forgotten about the damn drone and headed straight for the base; then, none of this would have happened. Forester would be alive and well.

  Climbing stiffly to his feet, Cal looked down into the valley one last time and tried to suppress the anger he felt in himself. Wallowing in regret and guilt wouldn’t do him any good and certainly wouldn’t help the rest of his team. I’m sorry, my friend. He turned away and forced himself to bring his mind back into focus and orient it on those who still lived. Moving over to Orisho, he set a hand on his armored shoulder. “I owe you one, Orisho.”

  The veteran turned his broad face up to him. “If we’re keeping score, I’m pretty sure I still owe you one…possibly two.”

  Cal shrugged, his expression devoid of any humor. “Well, keep that sword unsheathed. It’s likely you might get to fulfill them soon.”

  The rest of the team were recovering quickly and checking their weapons. Couter had already stripped the armor from Poots’ leg and was seeing to her injury. Cal walked over to them. “How’s the leg?”

  Having regained consciousness, Poots looked up with a barely contained grimace. “Still attached. Might slow me down some, but I’ll live. Young Couter here seems to know his stuff.”

  Cal almost shook his head in bewilderment. It wasn’t the first time that Poots had suddenly gained a positive mindset after the shit had hit the fan. When things were good, she was cranky and cynical, but the worse things got, the more optimistic she seemed to become.

  “Anyone possess a working rifle?” Cal asked the team in general.

  “I managed to get one shot off,” Wilson said. “But it was faulty and had about as much impact as badly thrown punch.” He pointed the rifle to the sky and tugged on the trigger a few times. “Now, nothing at all.”

  As the others began climbing to their feet, Cal unclipped a point grenade and tried to activate it.

  Nothing.

  Damn it. What the hell is it with this planet? It seemed knives and swords were going to be the way forward from now on. At least they were close to the base.

  Leaving Max, Orisho, and Wilson to keep an eye on the valley’s edge, Cal climbed to the peak of the ridge with Becker and Franco in tow.

  “There she is,” Franco said, the normal playful edge devoid from his tone. The three of them peered into the distance where the research base was glittering like a little bundle of silver shells beneath the two suns.

  Cal breathed a sigh of relief. He’d half expected to be faced with another shrub-filled valley. Fortunately, the remaining vegetation between them and the base was scattered about the landscape sparsely with plenty of bare ground in between. In fact, the terrain was suddenly far less vibrant. A large lake could be seen in the distance to the north, but the grassy landscape was worn thin to reveal large expanses of grayish brown mud. In places the ground was pierced by clusters of sharp, towering rocks that sprouted skyward like giant thorns.

  “Looks like the clearest path is around to the south,” Becker suggested after some time.

  “Agreed,” Franco said.

  Cal brought his scope up to his eye. Damn. All he could see was a juddering blur. Screw this bloody place, he thought angrily as he held the scope out in front of him. If he’d had the power to crush the little malfunctioning lump of tech in his frustrated grip, he would have. “Anyone in the market for a paperweight?”

  “A paper what?” Franco asked.

  “A paperweight. They used them back in…never mind. My scope is screwed.”

  Franco smiled grimly. “Figures,” he said without breaking his gaze from the distant base. “You know, I’m half hoping there’s a fight waiting for us down there.”

  Both Cal and Becker looked at him quizzically.

  “Against something that’s upright and doesn’t slither,” he elaborated. “I could do with letting off some steam.”

  Cal nodded. “I think we could all do with that.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  “You’re going to have to cover those arms, Sergeant,” Cal said as he and Becker stripped off their armor. “I need you looking as pathetic as possible,” he said, throwing her a long-sleeved top.

  Becker snatched it out of the air. “Pathetic? You sure Franco wouldn’t be better for this job?”

  “I’ve already sent him scouting,” Cal replied quickly. He grinned at her, but Forester’s final cry was still echoing in his mind, and the thought of his friend’s demise soon wiped the smile away.

  “Wouldn’t work anyway, Sarge,” Poots said. “The idea is only to appear pathetic; to be so might ruin the plan.”

  Cal looked over at the private. She was propped against a tall, twisted rock. As well as her newfound optimism, it seemed the multiple pain patches on her injured leg had given her a sense of humor. Max was standing tall next to her. Since their run out of the valley, the combat robot’s limp had become decidedly worse, and his attention span was nearing that of a bored child.

  “I’m not quite sure I get the plan,” Couter admitted as he crouched down for the tenth time to check the healing wrap on Poots’ injury. The young man seemed keen to excel no matter what task he was assigned. “I know our rifles are screwed, but we’ve still got our blades. Why go in unarmed? Isn’t that against protocol?”

  Becker put her last piece of armor aside and climbed to her feet. “Protocol. Oh man, you really are green.”

  “Deception is sometimes the best weapon,” Cal said plainly. He detached his data pad from his wrist. Half of its screen had gone blank; the other half was twitching in a weird, electronic spasm. Bored of getting frustrated with failing tech, he shook his head and tossed it to the ground. A reprimand from the starship quartermaster was the least of his worries. Again, he surveyed the base. They were close enough now that good, old-fashioned, unadorned eyes were sufficient for the job.

  Before arriving on Capsun 23’s surface, the base had been a large ship, bulbous and ugly in its design but capable of traveling vast distances. Once it touched down, however, the bulky mass had opened up and unfurled like a colossal, metallic flower to reveal an altogether more attractive interior. Once fully spread out, the base consisted of multiple silver pods interconnected to one large, central dome out of which a tall communications tower soared. Multiple decks circled the tower like giant, horizontal wheels, their linking structures like spokes. Cal continued to survey the scene with growing unease. To say that the base was now bashed up would be a gross understatement. Most of its outer hull looked as though it had fallen foul to a hail of plasma charges then crudely patched back together by backworld scrappers. Many of the pods were barely recognizable, and two of them had been virtually crushed flat. Whatever the hell had happened here, it hadn’t been a joyous experience for those involved. A cold feeling descended on Cal as he thought about the civilians and what they might have been through.

  They would have to be careful. Whoever was left in the base would either be immensely relieved to see them or shell-shocked enough to attack in error. But it was the scavengers from the wrecked ship that Cal knew could pose more of a problem, and he had a feeling they were in there—only a gut feeling, but he was suddenly in the mood to trust his instincts.

  As if pulling the thoughts from his head, Couter stood and asked, “You think the survivors from that wreck are in there, sir?”

  “I do,” Cal said. “And the way our tech is failing, there’s no guarantee we’ll get into the base without an invite. If the scavengers have taken control and their tech is in the same state, they’ve probably manually activated the pneumatic locks.”

  “So we’ll have to lure them out,” Becker explained. “Make them think they’re the top dogs with something to gain from letting us in.”

  Couter nodded, seeming satisfied by the explanation.

  Cal pulled off his last piece of armor. W
ith his blade, he made a small cut on his left hand and, squeezing out some of the blood, rubbed it into his hair and smeared it down the side of his face. “Okay, Sergeant, let’s get this show on the road.” Both he and Becker were now entirely free from armor and smart webbing, leaving only their black under suits.

  “I look sweet and innocent enough for you, boss?”

  Cal shrugged. “I guess we’ll find out.”

  Cal banged on the main door to the base’s central dome for the tenth time and, with one arm around Becker’s shoulders, hobbled over to take yet another look through the viewing panel. He felt like an idiot keeping up this charade when it seemed there was no one around to fool. But he wasn’t quite ready to give it up yet.

  “Perhaps there’s no one left alive in there,” Becker suggested. “Or they’re too afraid to show themselves.”

  “Or we just don’t look worth the effort,” Cal suggested as he continued to peer through the viewing panel. The cold feeling concerning the civilians’ fate was growing harsher by the second. There wasn’t much to see through the panel; the suns were getting very low in the sky, which made for a dim view of an already gloomy interior. From what he could see, the inside looked just as bashed up as the exterior—damaged work stations, equipment strewn across the floor.

  “Maybe it’s time to try and force entry, boss. I’m not sure any of us are keen to spend another night out in the open after the crap we experienced earlier.”