Thieves' Guild Series (7 eBook Box Set): Military Science Fiction - Alien Invasion - Galactic War Novels

by C. G. Hatton

He didn’t believe them but he made himself let his right arm relax, running his left hand over his wrist to feel bare skin, slick with what felt like blood. He sagged back, breathing ragged.

  “It’s gone,” someone else said, letting up their hold and steadying him as he knelt there, trembling. “They’ve taken it off.”

  He couldn’t sense who it was, couldn’t get his head straight to think further than just breathing. And that’s when he felt the burning. Intense, blossoming heat that was wrapping itself around his veins, his limbs, shooting out and racing along the tendrils burned into his skin, deeper, clutching his heart and gripping his mind in a red hot vice that was getting hotter and hotter. He couldn’t move, every cell in his body on fire.

  He forced open eyes he didn’t know he’d shut and saw Sean, reaching for him. The energy was building and he couldn’t control it.

  He was going to kill her. Nothing he could do would stop it. He screamed at her to go, the warning caught frozen in his throat. His mind overloaded. The heat spiked. And the blast sent him crashing into darkness.

  He surfaced into a fresh maelstrom of pain, heat throbbing in waves across the every inch of his skin.

  “What choice do we have?”

  He couldn’t place the voice. He tried to move but he couldn’t so much as twitch his fingers.

  “We don’t have any choice,” someone else said. “He’s lost twenty percent of his muscle mass. Never mind how much organ damage we’re looking at. The virus hasn’t been getting the energy it needs. It’s been buzzing off the high from the krak and the insanity, and it’s been feeding off him. I don’t think you understand what I’m saying. It’s been consuming him. It’s not LC that is addicted to the battlefield drugs, it’s the virus. And this at the same time that the alien bioweapon has been creeping through his entire body, poisoning him in ways we can’t even measure.” There was a pause, a long pause, then whoever it was said quietly, “He’s dying, Evelyn. This is the last thing we can think of. And yes, I know it’s desperate. But there is nothing else we can do.”

  That sounded kinda permanent. Screw that.

  He felt someone squeeze his hand. “There must be something else.”

  He tried to open his eyes but nothing was working, even breathing through a ventilator was hurting.

  “We’ve been trying to give it the energy it needs. Nothing we try is enough. This is alien DNA, alien physiology. We have nothing else to even try to counter it. You won’t let us try this? Then it’s the end of the road, Evelyn. I’m sorry.”

  Each heartbeat was a thunderous thump.

  “We can’t risk that,” she said again. “Come on. Please.” He heard her voice break. “This is LC… there must be something else…”

  He reached into the pain, grabbed a strand of energy and tugged. ‘If you’re gonna kill me,’ he thought at it, ‘you’re gonna have to fight me for it.’

  It swirled around him, into him. He gasped, felt hands reaching for him, that high pitched beeping going wild, shouting and panic. He didn’t want to hurt them. He tried to scramble away and get some space but whoever it was held tight and pushed down on his chest. He shoved them away and tumbled backwards, fell off the bunk and tried to curl up, harnessing more and more of the energy spiralling around him. The virus took it and wanted more. His chest was heaving. The tendrils wrapping around his heart tightened. He grabbed for more energy. Someone was holding him, pinning him down, shouting.

  Someone yelled, “Do it. Christ, just do it.”

  He couldn’t fight them. A cold sting hit his neck. An agonising spark of cold ice flashed into his bloodstream. His breath caught in his throat and dense black closed in fast.

  “How are you feeling?”

  LC blinked. He stared up at the medic. He didn’t know where he was for a second but the ceiling was clear, isolation cell, IV line in his arm and wires on his chest. A hint of energy was playing at the ends of his fingers. He tried to sit up, to move his arms and was caught with a tug at his wrists. Restraints. That wasn’t good.

  He glanced across at the door and back at the medic. It wasn’t anyone he recognised. “What happened?”

  The guy frowned, looking up from the data board he was holding. “What do you mean?” he said, cautious. “What happened when?”

  LC swallowed, awkward, head full of cotton wool, racking his brain to connect the last thing he could remember to now. He needed a drink. Needed more than a drink but when he tried to reach out to find a friendly he couldn’t sense anyone beyond the guy standing in front of him. He drew a slow breath in, the vaguest hint of decaying leafmold tainting the sterile chill, a waft of damp in the air as if he couldn’t let it go. Not good. He released it slowly, forcing himself to calm.

  “Amnesia is common with head wounds,” the guy said. “Don’t worry. What’s the last thing you remember?”

  “The wristband.” He looked down. It was there on his wrist. He pulled against the restraints, half-hearted. “Are these necessary?”

  The medic ignored his question. “What about the wristband?”

  LC shook his head. “I… nothing.” He raised his eyes. “Miranda. Olivia’s ship. That’s the last thing I remember.”

  Not Olivia.

  “Patches of isolated amnesia can be expected. You got shot in the head.”

  Shot in the head?

  The guy gestured. “Never mind everything else you’re dealing with. So we’re going to take this slow – tests, gym, physio. Just like every other time. Are you ready?” The medic turned away.

  The flash of heat was so sudden, he didn’t have time to answer. In a blink, the white lights of the sterile room vanished. Dark walls closed in, dank, oppressive, blood-stained walls, knives hanging from hooks on shelves that were lined with bottles and jars, the stench overpowering, the hive mind pushing, relentless, cloying. Excruciating pain hit hard. Orange lights flickered. He flinched, chains clanking as his arms twitched against the restraints, rusting, jagged edged manacles that clawed into his flesh. When the figure next to him turned back, it wasn’t the medic, it was a tall twisted hulking bastard alien with talons outreached.

  A cry caught in his throat.

  He blinked.

  White lights and clean air.

  The medic was reaching for the IV line, regarding him with concern and a cautious, “Luka?”

  His chest was heaving. For fuck’s sake, that had been too real. He closed his eyes and let his weight press into the bunk, expecting to drop back into it.

  “Why the restraints?” he breathed, struggling to keep his voice steady.

  “Just a precaution.”

  “Why?”

  The guy glanced away.

  LC couldn’t read him, couldn’t see past the fuzzy fog that was wrapped around his own mind, couldn’t reach out to find anyone. “Where’s Sienna?” he said, voice cracking, panic twisting in his stomach. “I want to see Sienna, or Hil.” He tugged on the restraints. “C’mon, dammit, let me up.”

  The guy was messing with the IV line. “It’s for your own safety,” he said and he reached to place a hand on LC’s chest, pushing him down.

  Reality shifted.

  He blinked, eyes hot and watering. It wasn’t real. He tried to move but being restrained, panic hit deep and he struggled, tugging so hard his wrists almost dislocated. The energy welling up inside released in a burst that sent sparks flying, the lights exploding and the room plummeting into darkness.

  He shivered, blinking, trying to shake it away. He should be able to see in the dark, had been able to see in the dark since the virus had first taken a hold. But he couldn’t.

  Orange flickers began to permeate the darkness, a glow of light from burning braziers dancing with the hideous shadow of a tall, twisted figure. He could hear the hollow clack of knucklebones, the scent of burning incense cloying, mixing with the blood and sweat.

  “Breathe,” someone said softly, close by.

  Sean but she wasn’t there.

  The leathe
ry face of the shaman twisted into a snarl as it leaned over him, the flames reflected in its orange eyes, in the blade of the knife it held hovering above his chest, dripping blood, each drop hitting his skin with a sizzle and burn as if it was acid. It leered, an intense focus searing into every corner of his mind. It lowered the blade slowly, resting its tip on his breastbone, the red hot touch of the metal promising more pain to come. It drew the knife down, blood welling in a perfect line down his chest to his abs.

  This couldn’t be real. Could it?

  His senses were spinning.

  Please don’t let this be real.

  He shivered as the shaman touched a long, bloody fingernail to his cheek, tracing the scar there, increasing the pressure even as the tip of the knife pressed against his stomach, opening up the line across his cheekbone, blood trickling down past his ear as he lay there, every muscle tense, breathing down to shallow snatches.

  The blade lifted, the flash of respite brief before it plunged into his stomach.

  He screamed.

  Chapter 20

  “Is any of this real?”

  It was a loaded question and rightly so.

  “Of course it’s real,” the Man said, calm. The way he always used to talk to Nikolai. Manipulating.

  “Perception of time was always different in your chambers. How do I know all this is not just another elaborate construct? You play games. You’ve played nothing but games with me. You created Nikolai from nothing. How can I, out of all of us, know what is real and what is fake?”

  He placed the huge rifle on the console, the alien metal clattering against the cold surface. It sounded real. He’d felt pain that was real. They’d all felt pain that was real.

  “It is real,” the Man said. “Trust me, this war is very real.”

  Sebastian rested his hand on the weapon, stroking his fingers against the mechanism. “This war is not about saving the human race,” he said, realising it as he stared at this alien in front of him, this so powerful being that had imprisoned him for so long. “But you are using them. If someone as powerful as you can’t defeat the Bhenykhn…”

  •

  Someone was holding his hand. He could feel straps around his wrists.

  “It’s only to be expected,” someone was saying quietly. “He’s lived with post-traumatic stressors since he was thirteen. Before that even. Have you seen his full history? Jesus. Seriously, I’ve known this kid since he first arrived and you want to know what I’ve always thought? This is what makes him so good.”

  “Well, we might have just hit his limit.”

  The pillow was soft beneath his head. The air cool and clean. His skin felt cool and clean. Intact. Head whirling but no pain, stomach queasy but no gaping wounds throbbing with poison. He didn’t want to open his eyes in case he dropped back into the nightmare.

  He wanted Sean to be there, desperately beyond reason wanted Sean, but he couldn’t sense anyone, as if he had a barrier around his mind. He wanted to know Sienna was alive. He wanted to know that NG was alive.

  A nightmare, that’s all it had been.

  The heat and pain hit hard. No. His chest started heaving again, hyperventilating, the cloying stench making him wretch. He struggled against the restraints, eyes flashing open to see the shaman right there, above him, breath hot and dry. It stretched its hand above his abdomen, above the wound in his side. He could feel the energy throbbing, the heat between its leathery hand and his skin building.

  He flinched away, turned his head and saw NG standing there, staring at him.

  He froze.

  NG was holding a knife, blood trickling down his arm, eyes dark, every muscle tense. There was a shaman standing behind him, others, encircling them, all holding their staffs upright, blue energy flashing in streaks from tip to tip.

  LC could hear drums pounding a rhythm that matched his heartbeat. He could feel the raw anticipation of battle pulsing all around him. He looked back at the shaman looming above him and tensed as those orange eyes glinted.

  No, no.

  He was done.

  He tugged on the manacles, blasted them, sparks flying, and scrambled away, tumbling backwards.

  The shaman banged down its staff.

  Lightning raced through his flesh, across his skin, forking, escalating, agonising.

  For a nightmare, it fucking hurt.

  And vanished as fast.

  LC staggered back to consciousness, struggling to catch his breath, limbs shaking, looking up to see a different medic staring at him, oblivious of what had just happened. He was drenched in cold sweat, holding a fighting stance as if she’d just attacked him.

  Was he going insane? He needed more than a drink.

  He forced himself to straighten, relax. His wrists were bleeding.

  “I need Sean,” he said, voice shaking, trying to sound reasonable and not like a freaking mental case. “And Hal. And Hilyer. Pen.” Damn it. He needed to talk to someone.

  He backed off and stood there, one hand on the clear cell wall, breathing in the cold air. His skin was on fire, the lightning flashes sparking. He could still smell the leafmold, could almost feel NG trying to reach him. He spread his fingers on the cold, hard surface and felt the ship vibrating beneath him. It felt real. But he could blink and be back there. Bleeding, in chains. He could feel the weight of them. Raw, red sores stretching around each wrist.

  He forced his eyes to stay open, staring at the medic who was no doubt calling for reinforcements. He stared beyond her at the door, the white walls beyond the cell, willing it to be real. He needed it to be real. If it wasn’t, if this was the dream, then where was he? When was it? The prisoner pens? Had he imagined everything? The rescue, Hanover… everything since then? His fingertips were tingling. When had the nightmares become reality and reality the nightmare? Oh shit. The Bhenykhn were in his head. Everything was a lie. An alien construct, pushing him, testing him. He started to tremble. Had they even escaped the command ship? The FOB?

  He blinked. Darkness descended fast and he was back there, standing in a cage, manacles and chains back around his wrists, wearing dirty, torn combat pants and nothing else. He was covered in mud, sweat, blood. He raised his eyes to see a shaman regarding him with curiosity burning in its alien eyes, half a smile pulling at its twisted leathery face, chitinous hands gripping its staff as it leaned closer.

  ‘It dares defy us,’ he heard inside his head, a rasping guttural sneer, and it raised the staff.

  LC flinched, back bumping up against the bars, bracing himself, looking desperately for NG. If they were still at the FOB, that meant the Alsatia hadn’t been destroyed. That always present hollow tug inside pulled at him. He could almost wish this was reality if that meant the Alsatia was still there. What if it was Erica? What if they hadn’t even escaped their first encounter? Olivia would be alive…

  He stared back at the shaman, suddenly curious himself. He’d just need to connect with the hive to find out.

  Pain exploded in his head and he opened his eyes to chill air and clear cell walls.

  “LC…?”

  He looked round, heart thumping.

  Sean was staring at him from the door as if she was expecting him to vanish in a puff of smoke.

  He needed a shot of krakn. If not insanity.

  Desperately.

  He could feel the burning sensation rising.

  He put his hands on his knees and leaned over. Hell, he needed a shot of something. Anything. And he needed it now.

  “You don’t.”

  He raised his eyes, looked at her and said it. “I need something, Sean. I…”

  “LC, you can’t.”

  Easier said than done. LC shook his head slowly and mouthed, “I can’t do this.”

  She took a step forward. “You’re stronger than you think.”

  He didn’t even know if she was really here or if it was another Bhenykhn trick. He backed away, stumbling backwards, expecting to drop back into the clutches of the shaman. �
��You don’t understand.”

  She was right before him in the blink of an eye.

  He really was losing it. If he hadn’t already.

  She reached for him. “LC, sit down.”

  He flinched as she touched his arm, backing away.

  “This is not just withdrawal. You have to fight it. I know you can fight it.”

  “I can’t fight them,” he blurted out. He was shivering uncontrollably. “Sean, I don’t even know what’s real anymore. They’re drawing me back and I can’t stop it.”

  He felt the heat rising again, surging through his system as the darkness came creeping in all around them.

  No.

  She reached for his arm. “Luka, stay with me.”

  He looked into her eyes, really looked at her, looked into her soul to see if she was for real. “I saw NG,” he said.

  “Stay with me,” she said again, moving closer.

  He saw out of the corner of his eye other people moving in, circling around them in the darkness beyond the cell, orange lights glinting.

  He tried to push her away, muttering, “No,” but she was too fast and she was holding him tight before he could move. Energy was building at his fingertips, temperature shooting up. He couldn’t stop it, trembling, feeling the pull of the other reality, leafmold stench and incense assaulting his senses, mind swirling.

  Sean held him tight. “You got to the top of the guild standings and you stayed there,” she breathed into his ear. “What was it that kept you going?”

  Ten years of working at the guild, ten years of training and running impossible tabs and winging it, all flashed across his mind.

  “What kept you going?”

  He wanted to say he didn’t know but he couldn’t lie to her even though the answer stuck in his throat and made his chest hurt.

  The dark, dank heat receded. As if it was being burned away by bright sunlight that was fighting its way through to save him. Dry and dusty, blue sky and searing heat that made the broken tarmac shimmer.

  What had kept him going? Through every injury and failure, the damn stupid challenges of the Maze, the tabs and the standings board, every bet and dare anyone ever threw at him?