by C. G. Hatton
Someone leaned close, taking hold of his arm gently, someone else on the other side. He felt another two shots injected straight into his wrist, the warmth from those more intense, spreading further, the alien virus in his bloodstream snatching at it. He opened his eyes and tried to get his legs to move.
Another voice nudged into his mind, urgent, desperate. ‘Did you find him?’
‘Yeah,’ he thought back, closing his eyes again. ‘Angel, he’s alive. They’ve got him.’ In chains and, from everything he’d picked up from the hive, revelling at their chance to examine such a valued human specimen, but he shut that thought down, avoiding sending it. ‘I just don’t know where.’
He heard the guild recovery teams relay that to each other, a mix of relief and dire foreboding coming at him from all directions before another voice cut in.
‘C’mon, buddy, we’ve gotta walk out of this one and we have to go now.’
Hal Duncan. That meant he was in good hands.
“Where’s Hilyer?” he muttered, throat raw, as they pulled him up. He managed to get his feet under him. Shivering now it was over. The reality of exactly what he’d done starting to sink in and hit hard. He didn’t want to open his eyes because he didn’t want to see the carnage he’d caused.
It was a woman who answered, close, the one holding him on his left. “Rounding up his little playpals. He’s fine. You both did fine. Now let’s get outta here.” Sienna. That filtered through eventually. Sienna was there. And she’d get him out. She always did.
“Wait,” he managed to say, “get the staffs,” too aware that he was mumbling incoherently. He switched to direct thought. ‘Hal, get the shaman staffs.’
‘We’ve got them. LC, c’mon, we have to go.’
He forced his legs to move, one foot in front of the other, but he couldn’t stop shivering, every hurt and ache crashing down now the adrenaline was wearing off. He’d run tabs for the guild that had felt this bad, back when life was simple. Before the virus. Before the Bhenykhn. He wished it was just a tab.
They made it out of the Bhenykhn grand hall, knowing there were more of the aliens moving in, warm humid air hitting his face and chest as they got him outside. He still had his eyes closed, trusting his senses and the two people holding him up, a swarm of guild personnel all around them.
He reached out to the Ops Chief again, wishing it wasn’t Angel Martinez, searching her out and making a connection, direct, mind to mind, as private as he could make it. ‘I’m sorry,’ he sent. ‘That’s all I could get.’
‘At least he’s still alive,’ Martinez sent back. ‘At least NG is still alive.’ Exactly why the Bhenykhn wanted to keep NG alive, and what the hell the aliens would be doing to him flitted over her thoughts before she shut it down. ‘You’ll figure out where. And then we’ll get him back. We have to. We have no chance of surviving this war without him.’
Chapter 2
“They don’t have a chance anyway. But then they never really did.” He couldn’t help the scathing tone. It wasn’t despair or defeatism. Purely pragmatic fact.
The Man moved forward, hesitating to take a seat. The console at the centre of the alien command centre was powered down. Everything was powered down, every huge hulking body decomposed to sludge, all the symbiotic organisms withered and dead.
“Sit,” Sebastian said. He spread his hands. “No drugged wine,” he said, not bothering to disguise the bitterness. “No candles. No chess set. I’m not playing games with you. Not the way you used to sit with Nikolai, trying to give him those moralistic lessons in your subversive way from the safety of your cosy little den.” He shook his head slowly. “If there was a chess board here, now, between us, trust me there would be no noble sacrifice, no gambits, no bold countermoves. I would sweep my arm and the pieces would fall as humans are falling before the Bhenykhn.”
The Man didn’t move.
“You came to this galaxy,” Sebastian said, “and created the Thieves’ Guild to maintain balance, always balance, between the disparate factions of the human race. To prepare us. For this. Where is your balance now, old man?”
“Where is Nikolai?”
He gave a small, sneering laugh. “We have much to discuss before we even get to Nikolai.”
•
A gunship roared overhead. Close. One of theirs but LC still flinched, senses raw, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. He wasn’t the only casualty but he was the one they were all looking at.
He let them hustle him towards a medevac ship, too many wounds hurting, too much to handle, the commotion and noise receding to a distant haze as he tried to shut it all out. He was jostled as he was led down the aisle, hesitating as he realised where they were taking him.
“No pod,” he protested. “I need to get this intel downloaded.”
“It can wait,” one of the medics said, brusque, pushing someone aside to get him through, thinking LC was too close to crashing to even be trying to walk for Christ’s sake, wanting him secure in an isopod before they lifted.
“No.” He tried to break free and turn, searching for Hilyer, Hal Duncan, Martinez even, someone who would understand.
Hands gripped his shoulders and steered him aside. ‘Right here,’ he heard, calm and clear inside his head, and he relaxed, letting them take him towards the racks of bunks, and almost falling as they eased him down.
He was shaking.
“I need a data board.” He knew he was mumbling, nothing working right, so hot it felt like he was in danger of spontaneously combusting, the pressure inside his head from the approaching hive increasing fast.
A hand pressed against his chest, too firm to fight, and finally he gave in, lying back and letting them strap him in, the harness digging deep, frantic shouts of “Go, go,” and the rumble of engines sending every pain receptor into overdrive.
‘We’ll get it when we’re clear, buddy,’ Duncan thought.
‘No, you don’t understand,’ LC thought back, shivering, closing his eyes and trying to brace himself as the ship took off with an intense jolt. ‘They’re about to launch the second wave of the attack.’
A medic stayed with him as they flew, a vicious vertical lift, straight up so fast the artificial gravity field momentarily failed to compensate. He was struggling to breathe, the medic somehow managing to attach IV lines and apply dressings as they were rocked and knocked sideways by multiple impacts.
They were surrounded. He could feel the alien hive in all directions, the immense presence intensified by a dark pop of black void that hit him hard in the centre of his chest each time a human ship was destroyed, battered by each death as if it was a physical blow.
Someone took his hand and held it tight. Angel Martinez. She was Ops Chief for the mission. No way should she have been hitching a ride on a medevac ship. But she was right there at his side, an oasis of calm, cool and soothing, even as they flew through the shitstorm of alien ordnance pounding them. He could hear her thinking how she used to let NG take energy from her whenever he was this wiped out, wishing LC could do the same, wishing she could for that matter. He’d never been able to. NG had tried to show him how, tried to teach him how to shut out pain but he’d been a lousy student. He could destroy stuff, that was easy. And read minds. That was about all the control he had.
They took a direct hit and rolled, the medic swearing, lurching and one of the IV lines tearing out with a sting.
LC curled up against the pain that flared in his shoulder, fresh claw marks still burning.
Six months ago, they’d had nothing capable of withstanding Bhenykhn weapons. One hit, one kill. No matter how sophisticated the shields of the human ships. That one blast would have ripped the hull apart. Now? In the six months since the invasion, they’d been scavenging and developing tech that was giving them a chance. But it was desperate. Hit and run, guerrilla tactics, frantic evacuations and skin of their teeth operations to steal enough resources to survive as they fled in the face of a relentless enemy
they couldn’t beat.
Martinez squeezed his arm as they levelled out and accelerated, reading his mind and thinking back, direct, ‘We will beat them. We’re the Thieves’ Guild, right?’ She leaned in close and whispered, “No one messes with us.”
A year ago he might have believed it.
Klaxons blared, proximity sirens screaming, jump warnings loud and the pilot sounding off a countdown that was too fast to be safe.
LC blinked open one eye.
They hit jump and his senses spun into grey, worse than usual, stomach clenching and temperature rising. It felt like it lasted forever then they dropped into deep space. No hive, as if someone had switched off a source of white noise. The tension around him eased. The klaxons cut, someone shouting the order to go dark. Then it was quiet. The kind of quiet you only get in deep space when the engines are out, comms off, ship powered down and drifting. It was eerie. Beyond eerie. If the Bhenykhn jumped in after them, they were sitting ducks.
No one breathed for a long minute.
Then the medic reappeared, reattaching the line and checking his stats, not happy and not impressed at the state of his shoulder.
LC lay still. He was filthy, the smell of damp still strong. He could feel the virus in his system struggling to heal the damage and neutralise the toxins, and watched out of one eye as the medic stripped off a blood-soaked field dressing, swearing and applying a fresh one.
“He needs trauma patches,” the guy said to someone.
Not going to happen.
“Or an isopod.”
LC tensed.
“He’ll be fine,” he heard Martinez snap, dark and foreboding. She moved into his line of sight. She was still wearing body armour, a rifle slung over her back, even on board the medevac ship, as if they weren’t safe anywhere. She looked tired. They all were. It had been a long six months.
Martinez turned, eyes flashing, her freaky pale eyes that gave away the fact that she too had the alien virus. She held up a data board. ‘You’d better be fine. I want the intel you have crammed into that amazing memory of yours and, LC, it had better be good.’ She leaned close and pushed the board into his hand. ‘Because I have to explain to Evelyn why the hell you went off mission and decided to let yourself get caught by them.’
He squinted at her. He couldn’t argue. He had. It had been the only way he could get close enough. He’d been hoping she hadn’t realised what he’d done.
‘I can read your frickin mind, you idiot.’ She gave him a look, disapproving but at the same time glad that he had done it, and made it out alive. She shook her head. ‘Just make sure the damned intel is better than good.’
There was a bang. His eyes shot open and he scrambled to sit, get away, get his back against a wall, a rush of adrenaline hitting his chest. He had no idea where he was, pain flaring, expecting the stench of leafmold and a cloying damp heat, and instead it was cool, a sterile chill to the air, the glow of soft blue lights breaking the darkness and an erratic beeping that was racing in time with his heart.
Medical facility. He breathed, shallow and fast. He was in a private room. Clean. Fresh dressings, an IV line in his arm, a chill spot in his neck that yelled new Senson.
He must have passed out on the medevac ship. He’d filled the board with a ton of data, very aware that everyone was looking at it over his shoulder and wondering if he was even sane, working until he’d felt so queasy it had dropped from his fingers and he’d closed his eyes.
He relaxed, slowing his breathing. Apart from the gentle hum of machinery and that mad beeping, it was quiet.
He didn’t realise Hilyer was in there until there was a soft, “Hey.”
LC turned his head. Hil was sitting next to the bunk, feet up, playing on a data board, like he’d been waiting for him to wake, like they’d done for each other countless times.
“Hey,” he said back in not much more than a croak. “Where are we?”
“The Man’s ship.”
Fleet Comm One as it had become known.
Safety. As far as anywhere was safe. Home. As far as anywhere was home.
Hil leaned across and nudged a bottle into his hand. “Enjoy it, we don’t have many left.”
He sat up and took it with a muttered thanks.
Hil raised his own bottle, inviting a clink, eyebrows raised. “You okay?” he said.
LC gave him a nudge with the bottle and took a sip, the beer cold and welcome as it slipped down his throat. He coughed, having to shut out the intense fog of memories that were threatening to intrude, every moment, every sensation. He looked down at his arms, welts around both wrists where the chains had rubbed the skin raw.
“Yeah, I’m good,” he muttered, trying to shake it off. “That would have been worth a shed load of points if we still had a standings board. We should ask Evie to bring it back.” He balanced the beer bottle against his leg and twisted to look at his right arm. The shoulder was still heavily strapped, the whole arm numb. He unwound one of the dressings around his forearm, staring at the angry, puckered scars clawed into his flesh.
He couldn’t read what Hilyer was thinking, couldn’t even sense him there, hadn’t been able to since Hil had been infected by that weird mix of virus and electrobes, alien DNA and AI biotech, but he didn’t need to be a telepath to pick up on the feeling that something was wrong.
He looked up.
Hil had a weird look on his face.
“What?”
Hil squinted at him. “Five minutes later and you would’ve been dead meat in a pile. Do you realise that?”
“We had a plan.”
“I couldn’t get inside.”
“What?”
Hil’s eyes were dark. Hard to tell he even had the alien virus if you didn’t know.
LC stared back at him.
“I couldn’t get in,” Hil said again, knocking back a mouthful of beer. “To the hall.” He tipped the bottle towards LC. “When you were about to get your ass kicked and handed to you on a plate. That’s what Evie is freaking out about. We couldn’t get in.”
“You did.”
“Yes, we did.” Hil leaned across and clinked the bottles again.
We. Hil and his little gang of Hailstones.
“Where are they?” LC’s voice caught in his throat.
Hil smiled. “Iona says you’re welcome.”
The Thundercloud. That almost made him feel more queasy than the thought that he might have been trapped in there alone. He’d always had back up from the guild’s massive AI-controlled weapons platforms. Since his first tab when he was fourteen. They were part of the guild and he’d never questioned it. Didn’t mean he had to trust them.
He raised the bottle, pausing as a spark of aggression flared outside the door.
LC looked across.
He heard a loud and angry, “No.” Evelyn. Her voice was as unmistakable as the fiery thoughts flashing through her mind.
Martinez was with her, both stopping short of coming in, mid argument. LC flinched as a punch of emotion hit him like a sledgehammer as Martinez fired back, “Who the fuck made you queen?”
“You did. You all did,” he heard Evelyn say, voice raised, temper flaring as frustration got the better of her. “I didn’t ask for this but for some reason you all turned to me like I was NG’s successor. I didn’t ask for this. You want me to be some kind of battle commander? Christ, Angel, you have more military experience than I have. I’m an assassin. I ended up in the Thieves’ Guild by accident. You think I want this?”
It was the first time he’d ever heard her admit that out loud. LC closed his eyes. It was making his chest hurt. He wanted to reach out to Sienna through the Senson implant but he could hardly ask her for what he wanted with Hil sitting there.
“It wasn’t an accident, Evelyn,” Martinez was saying outside his door. “NG trusted you. And yes, you are his successor. He made you that. You are Thieves’ Guild as much as the rest of us. And we are right in the middle of this war because we’re th
e ones that stole the virus.”
He was the one who’d stolen the virus.
“None of us want this,” he heard Martinez say, “but it’s where we are.”
“I know, I know – someone has to organise all this shit.” He’d never heard Evelyn sound so defeated. “Angel, the Imperial Seventh fleet just got wiped out.” Her voice was as cold and sharp as the daggers she still carried. “Redgate is under attack. We’ve lost three supply convoys in the last week. And you’ve been out there letting LC of all people play chicken with the Bhenykhn?”
He didn’t want to listen, wished they’d just come the hell in and yell at him.
“Evelyn…” Martinez said.
“Angel, we’re losing.” Evelyn’s voice was intense, each word simmering. She wanted NG back as much as Martinez, as much as any of them, LC knew that. But it really had been a long six months, and he could feel that her temper was barely constrained. “We’ve lost Earth. We’ve lost Winter. We’ve lost NG. I’m not prepared to lose LC as well. He’s grounded. We can’t let him pull this kind of stunt anymore. He’s still the only viable original source of the virus. We know the virus reacts differently with everyone that survives it. Look at you. Look at Hilyer, for Christ’s sake. LC is the only one we have who can hear the Bhenykhn. We might never replicate that. You don’t seem to appreciate what that means. How valuable he is to us.”
She didn’t add ‘to me’ but he heard the echo of it in her thoughts.
And couldn’t help but fixate on that one word, ‘grounded’.
He missed what Martinez said in response but the emotion in Evelyn’s reply hit hard.
“Angel, I’m doing the best I can to keep us alive. To keep the whole human race in the fight. You want the job? Just say so and the crown is yours.” There was a pause then she said, “I’ve called a council of war. Here. I’ve sent word to Wu. What’s left of the coalition is sending an envoy. Drake and Itomara are coming in. Get LC on his feet and get his head straight. I want that intel.”