Endeavour (Atlantia Series Book 4)

by Dean Crawford

  ‘Stay in cover, advance by sections on my command!’ Bra’hiv yelled.

  The Marines took up positions either side of the corridor opposite, beneath the stairwell that ran for’ard of the hold toward Endeavour’s bow. A very long corridor that likely traversed the length of the ship’s keel, it provided access to the upper decks at multiple points along its route.

  ‘It must be the Special Forces soldiers trying to escape,’ Andaim shouted above the din of gunfire ripping past them out of the corridor ahead. ‘This is the fastest way back through the ship.’

  ‘I had the men ray–shield most of the access points from the bridge deck aft,’ Bra’hiv countered. ‘If they go up, they’re not going to get very far!’

  A pair of shots whistled by and smashed into the opposite corridor entrance, the walls pockmarked now with scorched metal, some of it dripping in molten globules onto the deck.

  ‘By sections, covering fire!’ Bra’hiv shouted. ‘Advance!’

  Two Marines fired into the corridor as two more slipped by, hugging the walls as they entered the corridor and dashed into cover behind the next bulkhead. The two soldiers lay down covering fire from their new positions as behind them two more Marines entered the corridor, firing as they went.

  ‘Advance!’

  Bra’hiv’s commands were followed by two more Marines mirroring the movements of those who had preceded them, and with admirable precision under fire Bravo Company infiltrated the corridor and began advancing toward their enemy.

  Evelyn checked the load on her pistol as the Marines advanced into the corridor, waiting to back them up. She saw Andaim head inside, right behind the last of the Marines, and then she pushed off to follow him.

  The sudden pressure on her neck forced her to stop moving, a twist of a nerve somewhere between her collar bone and her throat that snatched the breath from her lungs before she could cry out for help. The entire right side of her body twitched as though a live current were rippling through it and her right leg gave way at the knee as she dropped onto the deck. Before she even knew what had happened a strong hand wrenched the plasma pistol from her grip as another ripped the communication antenna from her environmental suit, cutting her off from Andaim, Bra’hiv and the Marines.

  The strong hand gripping her throat and shoulder pulled her back up onto her feet, and she saw the metallic flash of a blade and felt it press against her flank, right about where her kidney was. A forearm wrapped about her neck and began walking her backwards, away from the stairwell and back toward the hold.

  *

  ‘Hold position!’

  Bra’hiv shouted above the din of the rifle fire being laid down toward them, the corridor ahead filled now with smoke, laid down by the elite troops they were following. The general peered through the smoke but could see nothing but the sporadic muzzle flash of the rifles firing at them.

  ‘The hell with this,’ he growled.

  Bra’hiv reached down to his waist and yanked a pair of grenades from his webbing. He pulled the pin on one of them, waited one second, and then hurled it into the smoke ahead. He pulled back against the bulkhead he was hiding behind, and then instantly pulled the pin on the second grenade and rolled it more gently toward the firing rifles.

  The first grenade detonated with a deafening blast that reverberated down the corridor as the shockwave smashed its way past Bra’hiv’s hiding spot. The plasma fire ceased abruptly, and then a second blast thundered down the corridor, designed specifically to catch–out wily enemies who may have avoided the first detonation.

  ‘Advance, now!’

  Bra’hiv fired three shots into the smoky corridor ahead and then his men rushed past him, their weapons also aimed ahead and firing as they passed their general. Bra’hiv broke cover and ran after his men, the smoke curling past him and scorching his nostrils as he reached them, the three soldiers kneeling and surveying the corridor ahead.

  Bra’hiv stopped and stared at the two rifles lying on their sides in the corridor, the walls scorched where the grenades had detonated. He could see no sign of the bodies that must have been holding the weapons. As the smoke cleared he spotted two metallic tripods scattered further up the corridor, and heard a faint clicking noise. He looked at one of the destroyed rifles and saw the trigger clicking as it fired on an automatic setting.

  ‘It was a decoy,’ he murmured.

  ‘For what?’ asked one of the Marines alongside him.

  Bra’hiv turned around, as did the other Marines, and then finally Andaim, who looked behind him and saw an empty corridor.

  ‘Where’s Evelyn?’

  Bra’hiv’s expression darkened and he pointed back the way they had come, but none of the soldiers had taken more than a step when a voice cut in on their communications channel.

  ‘Listen very carefully, do precisely as I say, and neither of these beautiful ladies will be hurt, understood?’

  ***

  XVIII

  Kordaz hurled Qayin back into the holds, the big convict sprawling as he hit the deck with a resounding thud. Kordaz glanced at the Devlamine stashed in the rear of the hold and though he could not smile his skin rippled with a colour that was associated with delight as he looked at the fallen man before him.

  ‘How apt,’ he snarled. ‘You’ll need a little more of that drug of yours to regain your strength, Qayin. And then a little more still. Before you know it, you’ll be as addicted as all the people you sold that poison to on Ethera and Atlantia. Enjoy it, Qayin. I look forward to seeing you either overdose or go through withdrawal when I cut off your supply!’

  Kordaz turned and stomped out of the hold. He shut and locked the access hatch behind him, and then after a moment’s consideration he rammed a length of metal girder under the locking mechanism, just in case the resourceful Qayin once again managed to figure out a way to escape.

  Kordaz’s body was filled with pain from the lashes of the plasma whip, and he felt weak as he walked back toward the gunship’s cockpit. His vision, still somewhat unfamiliar since the Legion had infected him, faded in and out as he struggled to maintain consciousness. He lost his balance and slumped against the wall of the corridor. Ahead, he could see the blinking lights of the cockpit, and through the open hatch he could see the vast hydrogen clouds glowing against distant starfields.

  He watched them for what felt like an age, and then his gaze settled upon the ancient wreck that seemed so important to Captain Sansin and his people. Kordaz found his gaze fixed upon the wreck, drawn by a fascination that he could not explain but which pulled him toward it as though via some unseen force. Kordaz stumbled forwards and managed to reach the cockpit doors, one hand shooting out to grab them and prevent him from falling to the deck.

  Almost immediately his vision cleared and the thick nausea clogging his belly faded away. Kordaz looked up, surprised at how quickly he felt better as he pushed off the cockpit hatch and stood looking at the wrecked spaceship in the distance. The shattered hulk of the vessel mesmerised him for no good reason and he took another pace toward it. To his surprise, he felt even better. Kordaz’s hunched, weakened stance straightened again and he felt his breathing settle once more.

  He stood for a long moment in the silence of the gunship’s cockpit, staring at the ancient wreck, and then he turned and walked away from the view. Instantly the nausea in his belly returned and intensified as a fearsome bolt of pain punched through his skull. Kordaz gasped and almost fell as he staggered against the cockpit wall and somehow managed to turn back toward the view of the wreck.

  The pain subsided and the nausea vanished once more.

  Kordaz stood in silence for a long moment. He took a pace backward from the view. A dull, throbbing ache swelled against the interior of his skull. Kordaz winced and took a pace toward the view once more. The pain receded. The words of Captain Sansin echoed distantly through Kordaz’s thoughts. And the infectors inside your body? The ones protected by the same resilience to radiation that you yourself possess? Woul
d they too have been completely annihilated, or are they the ones forcing you to seek medical help so that they can infect more people?

  Kordaz knew that he no longer had a choice. He stared again at the wreck and it was as though he could hear it calling out to him, a voice tiny in its volume but unavoidable in its intensity.

  Idris and Mikhain had been right. The cosmic rays on Chiron IV had not destroyed all of the Infectors in his body, and now they were taking control of him. Even as he thought about it, he realised that his horror at having finally fallen victim to the Legion was not anywhere near as awful as he had imagined it would be. He still knew his own mind and he still knew that he was being manipulated by the tiny devices swarming through his brain and his spinal column. And yet, despite that, he also felt as though he was experiencing something new, a new beginning. His memories of Wraiythe and the brutality of his kind, of the squabbling and traitorous nature of humanity all paled in comparison to the vision that began to develop in his mind’s eye: that of the Legion, of the Word, pure in its form and uncontaminated by greed, pride, grief or pain.

  Kordaz sat down in the captain’s chair and surveyed the two Colonial frigates and the ancient wreck before him. Despite its shattered hull and bitterly cold interior, the ship suddenly seemed more and more like his natural home than anywhere else in the cosmos.

  Without conscious thought his hands moved for the gunship’s throttles. Kordaz arrested the movement, confused. It was as if his arm had moved of its own accord, as though it had a life of its own. On impulse he grabbed it with his free hand as though to hold it in place.

  A surge of pain wracked his head and Kordaz groaned as he tried to resist.

  *

  Djimon moved quickly, the Executive Officer almost running through Arcadia’s corridors as he descended through the endless decks and burst onto a stairwell.

  Djimon knew that almost nobody aboard ship used the stairwells, the elevators far quicker and more efficient. However his passage now was one of secrecy and urgency, and he was determined to end the captain’s charade for once and for all. Mikhain, he had decided, was a weak man at heart, conflicted by his loyalties to Captain Sansin. Perhaps Mikhain had been a second–in–command for too many years, too safely ensconced in the knowledge that any decision he might make would reflect more on the captain of a vessel than himself. Djimon wondered not for the first time why Mikhain had not attained a command of his own long before the apocalypse had struck, and guessed only that he had chosen not to seek such promotion, perhaps even had turned it down.

  Djimon leaped down the stairs four at a time, landing cat–like with each enormous leap as he descended rapidly and finally reached the ‘tween decks, buried deep in the frigate’s heart and just aft of the sanctuary.

  Djimon slipped out of the stairwell onto the silent deck and listened for a moment. Arcadia was not as heavily manned as Atlantia, and the deck and corridor this deep inside the ship were silent and lonely. Satisfied that he was alone, Djimon hurried along the corridor until he reached the massive double–doors of the War Room. Built to act as a secondary command post in the event of the frigate’s main bridge being destroyed or boarded, the War Room was a smaller version of the command platform from which the entire ship could be commanded.

  Djimon accessed the War Room using his security pass and hurried inside before sealing the hatches behind him.

  He made his way quickly to the tactical station and scanned the instruments for a moment before he began accessing the frigate’s weapons systems. To his satisfaction, he saw Arcadia’s main cannons begin to charge up.

  Because of the War Room’s secretive nature, any actions made from within were concealed from the main bridge, allowing the crew in time of danger to maintain control of the frigate without boarders even realising until it was too late. Now, Djimon used that same capability to target any vessel of his choosing.

  Djimon shifted a targeting reticule and placed it over Salim Phaeon’s gunship.

  Moments later, the reticule turned a deep red and a Fire option flashed up on the screen.

  *

  ‘Any communication from General Bra’hiv?’

  Mikhain stood on Arcadia’s bridge and surveyed the vessels arrayed before him. Endeavour’s fractured hull loomed black and sullen before the spectacular panorama of glowing clouds and stars, while Atlantia reflected the warm light nearby, her angular hull glinting. To starboard, a tiny speck against the star fields denoted the position of Salim Phaeon’s gunship, Kordaz and Qayin aboard her. Mikhain’s gaze settled on the gunship and its attendant pair of Raythons.

  ‘Nothing,’ Lieutenant Shah replied.

  Mikhain ground his teeth in his skull as he wondered whether Captain Sansin knew more about what was happening aboard Endeavour than he was revealing. Meyanna Sansin was still aboard the ship, and if Kordaz was in need of urgent medical assistance then he would almost certainly call for her. If Kordaz was able to impart what he knew about Mikhain, or if Qayin was somehow able to achieve the impossible and regain the trust of Atlantia’s compliment…

  ‘Cannons firing!’ Lieutenant Scott yelled.

  Mikhain leaped out of his seat and stared in horror as two massive plasma blasts burst from Arcadia’s port guns and rocketed toward the gunship.

  ‘Belay that!’ Mikhain bellowed in fury.

  ‘I didn’t fire them!’ Lieutenant Scott cried in despair as his hands flew across his controls. ‘They’re not even supposed to be charged!’

  Mikhain stared at the display screen as he saw the two blasts smash into the gunship with a brilliant flare of white light.

  *

  Kordaz groaned as waves of intensifying nausea swept over him. He slumped against the control panel, and realised that he could not bring himself to suffer any further misery, his body and mind too weak to resist the calling of the Word.

  He released his disobedient arm, and it moved across to the gunship’s throttles and gently advanced them as a wave of blessed relief washed across his body as the nausea vanished.

  An alarm blared deafeningly loud in his ears, and Kordaz grabbed hold of the throttles with both hands and slammed them wide open as he saw the massive shots blast from Arcadia’s guns and rocket toward him, huge flickering balls of pure plasma energy as large as the gunship itself tearing across the open space between the massive frigate and his own vessel, tiny in comparison.

  Kordaz slammed the control column forward and grabbed hold of the control panel as the plasma blasts filled his vision, and with a deft flick of several switches he shifted the power to shields and directed them fully forward just as the blasts impacted the gunship.

  The vessel reeled under the blows and a claxon of deafening alarms wailed through the ship as it tumbled under the double impact. Sparks fell in showers from the cockpit walls as entire control panels were shaken from their mounts, flames licking at electrical circuits and wires from the massive surge in power.

  Kordaz managed to regain control of the gunship even as he glimpsed the two Raython escort fighters rocketing away from him and the impacts.

  The control panel was lit up like the glowing gas clouds before him, warning lights and beacons blaring for attention. The gunship’s hull had been breached in six different locations and she was bleeding atmosphere fast. He looked up at the viewing panel and saw deep cracks splintering the surface, structural failure of the cockpit now imminent.

  Kordaz wailed in fury as he slammed one fist down on the control panel, and with hate coursing through his veins he yanked the control column to one side and aimed the gunship directly at Endeavour.

  *

  ‘We’ve got motion!’ Lieutenant Scott called out. ‘The gunship is under way!’

  Mikhain’s eyes flicked to the tactical display and noted the increasing velocity read–out alongside the image of the gunship.

  ‘Signal him immediately, priority channel!’ Mikhain snapped.

  The communications officer sent the signal but immediately f
rowned and shook her head.

  ‘No response captain,’ Shah informed him. ‘The gunship has shut down its communications channel.’

  ‘What the hell is he doing?’ Mikhain uttered out loud. ‘Signal Atlantia!’

  Captain Sansin’s image appeared on the bridge viewing panel even before the communications officer could send the signal, Sansin clearly already informed of what was happening.

  ‘Who the hell ordered you to open fire on that gunship?!’

  ‘Nobody opened fire!’ Mikhain yelled back. ‘There may have been a malfunction of some kind!’

  ‘Who has control of her?!’

  ‘I have no idea,’ Mikhain replied, ‘they’ve shut off all signals channels and are not responding.’

  ‘They’re running, and I can’t blame them!’

  ‘Perhaps he intends to attack us,’ Mikhain cautioned. ‘We should disable them immediately and play it safe. Where is your wife?’

  ‘Still aboard Endeavour,’ Sansin replied, ‘and they’re not responding to our calls.’

  Mikhain turned to the tactical display and his eyes flew wide.

  ‘He’s charging weapons!’ he yelled. ‘Target her now!’

  ‘Belay that order!’ Idris shouted from Atlantia’s bridge. ‘We might end up killing them both!’

  ‘Why would you want to keep them alive?!’ Mikhain challenged. ‘They’re both traitors!’

  Idris’s face darkened as he whirled to face the camera. ‘And you’re not, Mikhain?!’

  A silence enveloped Arcadia’s bridge as Mikhain stared in shock at Idris. Atlantia’s captain appeared to immediately regret his words, the abrupt fury on his features vanishing as he struggled to contain his anger.

  ‘Tow the damned line,’ Idris snapped. ‘Intercept the gunship with our Raythons, weapons cold!’

  ***

  XIX