Ouroboros- The Complete Series

by Odette C. Bell

  “You're tired, you're stressed, and you spent the afternoon being coaxed back from death,” she answered her own question. And it was a pretty good answer. There was nothing wrong with her, other than that which she had already stated.

  Feeling relieved at that conclusion, she leaned forward and spread the fingers of her right palm over the top of the TI block. Her hand hovered several centimetres above the block, and with a commanding thought, she tried to force the block to jump up into her grip.

  It didn't work.

  It never worked.

  But before she could give up and flop back down, something incredible happened.

  The block began to spin.

  Fast.

  Blindingly fast.

  In fact, the force of it rattled the bedside table.

  “What the . . . ?” she began, pushing herself back on her bed.

  Then the block shot towards her.

  She had just enough time to push her hand out to grab it before it slammed into her chest.

  Then she held it.

  Surprise slackened her jaw.

  Had she just . . . moved the block on her own?

  She slowly brought her palm out, opened the fingers, and stared at the little cube.

  With a gulp, she set it back on her bedside table, then she pushed her hand out again. With a silent command, she imagined the block jumping up and flying into her grip.

  It did.

  Fast.

  In fact, the speed of it threw her backwards until she banged against the wall behind her bed.

  “What?” she gasped, staring at the block tightly clasped in her fist.

  Then she offered a quick, nervous laugh.

  She tried it again.

  She set the block down, she commanded it to come to her, then it came.

  And the more she tried it, the quicker it came to her, until she had to stop. Pain stabbed through her arm and hand from catching the speeding block, but she paid no attention to it.

  Instead, she jumped to her feet and she laughed.

  Happily.

  Wow. She'd done it.

  She'd mastered the training block.

  It had only taken her years and years of practice. But right now, that little fact didn't matter. Nida let out a relieved laugh and skipped around the room.

  She had to show somebody.

  She had to prove to someone else at the Academy what she'd just been able to do, otherwise she wouldn't believe it herself.

  With another happy little laugh, she opened her door and practically danced out into the living room.

  She expected to see Alicia there, eating in front of the TV, looking bored as usual.

  She didn't.

  Instead, she glanced over to see two men sitting on her couch.

  She'd seen one off the Academy bulletins, and she knew the other personally.

  Lieutenant Carson Blake.

  In her apartment. Sitting on her sofa. Staring at her TV.

  . . . .

  What the hell?

  He looked up, and so did the man beside him, Lieutenant Travis.

  They both appeared surprised, and she quickly realised she was in nothing more than a pair of flimsy black shorts and a singlet.

  “Ah . . . what are you doing here?” she squeaked as she positioned herself behind the kitchen bench.

  Blake actually looked flushed, but his friend just shrugged his shoulders. “Your flat mate Alicia is in her room. We're just waiting for her.”

  “Oh,” Nida muttered, quickly realising that Travis and Blake were clearly the two lieutenants Alicia had mentioned last night.

  What with one thing and another, Nida had completely forgotten Alicia had invited guests around. “Ah, right,” she managed, turning around to head back to her room.

  She realised she was being rude, but she didn't care. She just wanted to get back into her room before she blushed an even more incandescent shade of blue.

  No, red.

  She meant red.

  God dammit, blue was on her brain.

  As she shook her head to dislodge the thought, Blake got to his feet.

  “How are you?” he asked quickly. “I didn't get a chance to see you after the accident.” He looked genuinely concerned, and as he crossed from the lounge towards the open kitchen, he appeared to assess her for any sign of injury.

  Which was kind of embarrassing considering she was still in her pyjamas.

  “What?” she asked stupidly as she tried to hide behind the bench.

  “You're accident,” he said slowly, as if he were talking to a child, “in the training centre. The block,” his eyebrows knit together as he took a swallow.

  “Oh that? It's fine,” she flopped a hand at him.

  As she did, a small drop of blood flew from her palm and landed on the clean white bench before her.

  “Hey, are you cut?” Blake took several sharp steps up to her side.

  “No,” she answered automatically, then brought her hand up to stare at it.

  It was bruised, cut, and blood was dripping down her palm and fingers.

  . . . .

  The cube.

  Jesus.

  Every time she'd caught the training block, it had been moving with such force, it had lacerated her hand.

  Yet . . . she hadn't noticed.

  The excitement of being able to move the cube had somehow blocked out the pain of injuring her hand.

  “Um,” she managed dumbly as she continued to stare at her palm.

  Looking up to see Blake's clear shock, she quickly cleared her throat, closed her hand into a fist, and nodded. “Um yeah,” she managed. “Just a little. It's fine,” she added.

  He was looking at her askance, as if she were mad. “That looks pretty bad.”

  “It's fine,” she squeaked.

  “How did you do it?” he kept trying to shift around the bench to get a closer look at her, but she wouldn't let him. She just ducked further around the bench to keep her threadbare shorts from view.

  “Ah . . . fell over?” she tried, knowing her questioning tone was unconvincing.

  Before Blake could call her bluff, the main doors opened, and Alicia's friend Bridget walked in.

  She gave Nida a pointed look.

  It was time for Nida to make a discrete exit before she could get in any trouble.

  “Right,” she squeaked, “enjoy your date.” With that, she turned and practically threw herself at her door.

  Once she was through it and it closed behind her, she leaned there, shaking her head as she did.

  “Oh . . . oh that was just . . . perfect,” she managed sarcastically.

  Carson Blake of all people had been in her living room. What was worse, she'd acted like a complete idiot by not realising she'd cut herself.

  With a heavy swallow, she brought up her right hand and stared at it.

  It was badly bruised now. She could see the familiar mottled pattern of purple, black, and murky red.

  The bleeding was slowing at least.

  She took a breath as she poked her injuries with her good hand.

  They didn't . . . hurt. Not like they should. A dull ache radiated from them, sending a mild cold sensation pushing through her wrist, but that was it.

  She'd bruised herself before, and she'd cut herself—multiple times—and it never felt like this.

  It was almost as if her brain was preoccupied with something else. Like her central nervous system was too busy processing the tingles burrowing into her flesh to bother with the pain from her latest injury.

  She grated her teeth back and forth, still poking at the bruise, then she pushed up from the door and stared over to her computer.

  She wondered whether she should try to contact one of her doctors, just to let them know what was happening to her . . . in case it was serious. But with a sigh, she realised there was no point. They'd already checked her over thoroughly, and she had a reputation for being a walking accident—one she didn't want to keep adding
to.

  Still, as she turned her attention back to her hand, she decided she would definitely see someone in the morning if her weird symptoms persisted. Right now, however, she would have to bandage her hand.

  She walked over to her bedside table, grabbing a top from it and holding it tight against her bleeding hand.

  Then she glanced at the training block.

  She'd placed it back in the cradle once she'd finished practising with it.

  It sat there, locked in place by several strong metal clamps.

  She felt sick as she looked at it.

  In fact, a horrible nausea started to lift through her, making her shiver and sweat.

  As she stared at the training block, she swore she saw the yellow light on the cradle flash to blue.

  Then the intercom on her door beeped.

  She jumped, letting out a yelp.

  “Ah, Harper?” someone asked hesitantly.

  It was Carson.

  She was thankful for the soundproof walls. She didn't need him thinking she was any more. pathetic than he already did.

  “Harper?” he tried again. “Are you alright?”

  She clenched her teeth, and sucked a breath through them.

  She shook her head.

  She was starting to realise that just maybe she wasn't alright.

  She couldn't feel her hand. The pain . . . it just wasn't there.

  And those flashes of blue . . . .

  She shook her head again, the move sharp and desperate.

  “Harper?” Carson asked once more.

  She stood up.

  She had to go back to the medical bay. Okay, so the doctors would likely tell her she was just being a hypochondriac, but she had to check.

  She walked for the door.

  Alicia and Bridget would kill her for coming out and interrupting their pre-date, or whatever it was, but Nida didn't have a choice.

  Plus, if Alicia didn't kill her, this cold, stone-like sensation would.

  Reaching for the door, Nida was about to open it before she realised she was still half dressed.

  “Woops,” she mumbled to herself as she cast around for her clothes.

  She walked over to where she'd dumped her uniform.

  She didn't reach it.

  “Harper?” Carson tried once more. “Seriously, are you alright in there?”

  There was a crack.

  A loud one.

  She had just a second to look up as she saw the training block tear from its cradle.

  It shot towards her.

  She stumbled backwards, throwing herself at the wall and pushing out her hand to catch the block.

  She managed to catch it, but the force of it bowling into her served to slam her against the door.

  It also broke her wrist.

  She could hear it, but she couldn't feel it.

  Then the block kept on moving.

  Though she'd caught it, it didn't stop.

  It twisted in her grip, flinging her with it as it smashed into the door. Her knuckles slammed against the unyielding metal of the door frame, and she screamed in horror as blood splattered from them.

  She still couldn't feel it though.

  And the block still did not stop moving.

  Yet no matter how hard she tried to let it go, she couldn't.

  It felt as if her fingers had turned to stone.

  Chapter 8

  Carson Blake

  “Come on, Carson,” Travis said from the couch, “she clearly doesn't want to talk to you. Just leave her alone.”

  Carson turned over his shoulder to shoot Travis a silencing glare. “She is injured,” Carson said clearly.

  “She's always injured,” the woman called Bridget laughed. “Travis is right. She'll be fine.”

  Carson looked at them both, then he promptly turned around, jammed his thumb into the intercom button by Cadet Harper's door, and asked to be let in again.

  “Carson, come on,” Travis tried as he finally got up from the couch.

  “Nope,” Carson answered clearly. “You guys can go, but Nida is injured, and needs to go to the med bay. Plus, after the accident today, I owe it to her to check,” he added under his breath.

  “What accident? You mean the one in the training centre? Did that happen to her?” Travis asked conversationally.

  Carson didn't bother to reply.

  Then he heard something.

  A thump.

  A loud one.

  It came from Harper's room.

  He stood back sharply.

  Then he snapped forward and jammed his finger back into the button. “Harper, Harper,” he snapped, “open the door. What happened? Are you alright?”

  “She probably just tripped over,” Bridget tried from behind him, but her voice wavered.

  Travis now walked quickly to his side.

  There was another resounding thump from Harper's door.

  “Okay, this isn't right,” Carson breathed quickly.

  Then he did something he probably shouldn't.

  He invaded Cadet Nida Harper's privacy by overriding the lock on her door.

  It was easy, especially with his level of clearance. All it took was several codes typed into the panel on the wall.

  The door opened.

  With a swish.

  And Nida flew out.

  He had time to duck to the side, furling an arm out to grab her around the middle.

  Her torso slammed against his grip, as something propelled her forward.

  Everything happened so damn fast.

  He kept his arm around her, but he had to use every gram of his strength not to let her go.

  Then, with a crack that sounded like bone snapping, something erupted from her hand.

  Small and black, he realised it was a training cube. The tiniest and easiest of the training cubes in fact.

  Well it sprung from her grip like a bullet, then shot across the room.

  He had barely a second before it changed direction abruptly and headed straight back for Nida, travelling at blinding speed.

  Travis jumped forward, grabbing the cube as he did, his right arm exploding in yellow energy as he turned his TI onto full.

  Though he managed to catch the cube, he couldn't stop it, and it dragged him forward, his boots squeaking dramatically across the floor.

  “Turn it off,” Carson commanded, spitting his words desperately.

  “I can't,” Travis spoke through clenched teeth, tension making every muscle in his neck protrude outward. The tiny training cube in his hand kept pulling him forward, right towards Harper.

  “Turn it off,” Carson now screamed. He still had an arm around Harper. She was practically limp in his grip, her right arm hanging loose against his, blood covering it and splashing against his boots.

  “I can't,” Travis said, yellow energy cascading up his arm, indicating his TI was at full capacity.

  It would ordinarily take little effort for someone like Travis to turn off a TI cube, let alone such a small one.

  But he couldn't, and he clearly gave it everything he had.

  The cube kept dragging Travis forward as it forced itself towards Harper.

  If or when Travis let go of it, the little cube would punch forward with such speed, it would likely rip through Harper's chest.

  Realising that in a cold wash of dread, Carson thrust Harper back and through her open bedroom door. Then he reached up and closed it.

  He watched the doors swish shut with a whispered hiss.

  He stared at them.

  He had barely a second to turn towards Harper. She lay still, his free arm still pinning her to his side.

  She was awake and breathing erratically, but her right arm was a bloody mess against her stomach.

  Before he could reach down to check on her, something slammed into the closed doors, forcing them to buckle forward.

  He jumped, doubling back.

  He watched the metal bend and twist as a small cube-shaped dent appeared in it.


  The training block was forcing its way in, right through the closed, reinforced doors.

  He swore loudly, then snapped his attention back to Harper.

  She couldn't be doing this. Not only did she have precious little ability with her TI implant, she was practically out cold, yet the block was still moving.

  He stared at her quickly, realisation dawning on him.

  Her implant.

  It had to be malfunctioning.

  It was the only thing that could explain what was happening and what had happened earlier today.

  He reached down, just as the doors gave a groan.

  As quick as he could, with sweat covering his brow and building up between his fingers, he pushed the top of her singlet down.

  All TI implants were embedded just below the throat, and he quickly found hers with trembling fingers.

  He then commanded his own implant with a quick and powerful thought, sending a pulse of yellow energy through his palm. It pushed down against the small, round, silver implant that was flush with her skin.

  He would try to turn it off. And if that didn't work . . . Christ, he'd have no option but to rip it from her throat.

  It wouldn't kill her, but unless he stopped that training block, it would rip through her like hail through a spider web.

  He waited, unable to breathe, barely capable of thinking, and poised with so much tension raking his body his bones could have shattered.

  He waited for the implant to turn off. With a click, it did.

  But the block didn't stop.

  He turned his head in a snap to see the doors still buckling under the cube's force.

  He stared at the sight, surprise ripping through him.

  Then, just as the doors threatened to give way, the groaning stopped.

  Silence filtered in.

  He heard Travis swearing from the other side, and with a heavy breath, Carson realised it was over.

  “Are you alright?” Travis screamed at him.

  “Fine,” Carson shot back.

  Then he turned.

  And he stared at her.

  She was still awake, but only barely.

  She was on her back, her body twisted in an uncomfortable arrangement, her head lolled to the side as she stared at her bloodied right palm.

  “It's okay,” he dropped to his knees beside her, his palm hovering over her badly injured arm.

  She looked up at him, wheezing as she laboriously turned her neck.