Ouroboros- The Complete Series

by Odette C. Bell

  He was so shocked she was still alive. Everything his armor had calculated about that gun told him she should be dead.

  But she was alive.

  ‘Cara, we have to leave,’ he begged, readying himself as he heard more footfall.

  ‘This way,’ she pointed sharply towards a lower section of the roof.

  He knew the plan.

  This wasn't it.

  In fact, Cara had been deviating from the plan almost from the get go.

  . . . .

  She should also be dead.

  She ran off towards the lower section of roof. Though her footfall was measured, there was only the slightest of limps affecting her gait.

  Carson turned. He followed, yet as he did, he reached down and he grabbed the gun that had shot her.

  Now it was in his hands, it was far easier for his on-board computer to scan it.

  ‘Carson,’ Cara called, ‘come on.’

  He stopped.

  This was a trap.

  . . . .

  He'd just walked into a trap.

  The gun he held, the gun that had shot Cara, was not filled with ordinary bullets.

  He let the gun clatter from his fingers.

  He spun on his foot.

  For the first time he truly drew on his training.

  He forgot about Cara and all her distractions.

  He forgot about the resistance and its cause.

  He forgot about this planet and its history.

  He treated the world around him as unknown, as dangerous, and as entirely alien.

  He might have crafted himself a fancy disguise to fit in, and the entity may have conveniently given Carson and Nida the ability to speak the local language. But none of that changed the fact this planet was an alien world with an alien culture, alien customs, and an alien history.

  Carson caught up to the situation, but it was too late.

  He had the time to think of one thing.

  It was not how Cara had betrayed him. It was not about how foolish he'd been for walking into a trap.

  It was that he'd left Nida alone.

  Chapter 16

  Cadet Nida Harper

  As she ran through the tunnels, she had to think, and she had to do it quickly.

  She reasoned Varo and his men would remain unconscious for 3-4 hours, which was hopefully all she would need.

  Before leaving them, she'd checked them over for weapons and communication devices.

  She'd obliterated the weapons with several pulses from her gun.

  She'd been unable to find anything that resembled a communication device. Not that she could confirm that fact unfortunately—without a scanner, she was just guessing.

  ‘Come on,’ she whispered to herself as she ran forward.

  She was desperate.

  No, she'd crossed into a realm that went beyond that simple emotion. Her whole body buzzed with the need to get to Carson.

  If she didn't . . . if she got their too late . . . .

  She closed her eyes, forcing back the tears. ‘Come on,’ she said louder, enjoying the edge to her voice as it ricocheted around the room. ‘Come on.’

  It took her some time to navigate through the tunnels. It appeared Varo had been right—she really did need him and his team to get out of here.

  There was one fact, however, Varo had not considered.

  Her gun.

  When all else failed, Nida picked a likely wall and shot it.

  If you were stuck in a maze, the polite thing to do was to figure your way out. The impolite but always effective strategy, however, was to destroy whatever obstacle lay in your path.

  So that's what Nida did.

  She shot wall after wall, setting the plasma gun to such a high level that it burnt through the concrete rather than blasting through it and causing rubble and dust to rain down on her.

  Her heart didn't just beat in her chest anymore; it beat throughout her whole body. She could feel it bouncing and rattling her bones. And every breath was so sharp and shallow, her throat wheezed with the effort.

  She didn't give up though.

  She kept powering forward.

  She might be the worst recruit in 1000 years, but considering the Galactic Coalition Academy would not be formed for several millennia, that fact no longer meant anything.

  She wasn't at home anymore. She was on Remus 12 in some unknown past, and she was on her own.

  That one fact gave her more strength than any comforting words could.

  Without Carson to hide behind, she had to save herself.

  Knowing that gave her powerful resolve, and for the first time, that resolve made her forget something.

  The entity.

  The shadow within.

  The effects. The power. The visions. The way it all controlled her.

  Those facts were far, far from her mind as she strode forward, shooting whatever wall that got in her way.

  When she made it to the streets above, she knew she wouldn't be able to continue with the same strategy. That would be a recipe for getting shot.

  But there was something that she could do; introduce chaos to their order.

  If Cara really had kidnapped Carson and was leading him into a trap, the last thing that alien woman would expect would be for an angry and wild Nida to come kicking and screaming into the mix, firing off plasma bursts in every direction.

  Okay . . . so it wasn't much of a plan, and Nida knew instinctively she would have to come up with something better when she actually reached the facility, but for now she just had to make it outside.

  In similar fashion, it didn't take her long to find herself standing in a larger room that was far cleaner and better kept than the tunnels she'd been traversing.

  It seemed to be some kind of station—there were long objects that looked like rudimentary trains.

  Thankfully it was also deserted.

  Not hesitating, Nida ran forward. Glancing up, she saw there were windows on the walls.

  She could see the night sky outside.

  Her heart leapt.

  She'd done it. She'd made her way outside.

  She ran faster now.

  Her feet slammed against the ground, sending out powerful echoes; a drum beat to keep her pounding forward.

  She directed herself at the far wall.

  She'd been sprinting on and off for the past half hour, which, if she'd paused to think about it, was incredible.

  She'd never been the fittest of recruits. She tried hard, but she wasn't one for stamina and exercise.

  Now none of that mattered, because she had one burning need.

  To get to Carson before it was too late.

  And that need washed away any feeling of fatigue or ache.

  She ran faster now.

  Then, all of a sudden, she skidded to a stop, her move so sudden she actually tumbled over.

  Picking herself up, her skirts a mess around her, she staggered forward.

  There was a large pole in the middle of the room with a map on it.

  The map appeared to show the city.

  It also pointed out the large landmarks, her current location, and, in shining red letters, the military zone.

  Right in the middle of the military zone was a large facility.

  The Central Security Facility, to be exact.

  . . . .

  Nida couldn't believe her luck.

  If she'd shot a different set of walls, she wouldn't have come out here, and she wouldn't have seen this map.

  At first she tried to remember the streets and alleys, charting a path from where she was to where she needed to be.

  Then she stopped.

  She stood back, flicked the gun to its weakest setting, and shot the casing that housed the map.

  The glass melted away.

  Slamming the butt of her gun into whatever metal and glass remained, and being careful to wait for the heat of her blast to disburse, soon Nida pried the map from its casing.

  It was a l
ittle singed and worse for wear, but it was still readable.

  She ran forward again, rolling the map up and tucking it down the front of her top.

  Right, she could do this.

  She would have to.

  She had no idea how secure the central facility would be, but she could bet there'd be more than a fence and a trite sign warning people to keep out.

  So it was time to get creative, as Sharpe might say.

  Reaching the far wall, Nida hesitated, winced, shot it, and finally walked out into the night.

  She'd made it into the city.

  It was now time to make it to Carson before it was too late.

  Chapter 17

  Carson Blake

  It was too late.

  He'd walked into this trap blindly.

  There was nothing he could do.

  He'd given Nida up.

  . . . .

  God.

  He'd given her up.

  Carson stood there for a single second, immobilized by what he'd done.

  This had all been a plan to get her, hadn't it? To separate the two of them?

  He whirled on his foot just as an enormous spot light shone down from a higher section of roof, locking him in place against the darkness. He didn't need to put his hand up to stare past the sudden and violent illumination; his armor filtered it out.

  ‘Do not move,’ a voice came over a loud speaker, ‘you will be shot.’

  Carson moved.

  And they shot him.

  Or at least they tried.

  Bullet after bullet snaked his way, biting into the concrete roof under his feet and sending up tufts of dust and rubble. It cascaded around him, but it couldn't blind him.

  The smell of the bullets couldn't choke him.

  And neither could the bullets themselves fell him.

  They all glanced off his armor. Ricocheting this way and that, the sound of them zipping around was deafening.

  He powered forward.

  He tried to use the Goddess’ tear again, yet once again it wouldn't work.

  Damn it.

  He'd just have to use his armor.

  Which was fine by him.

  He launched himself up a sheer wall. He used his momentum to climb it as though it were little more than a slight bump in the ground.

  Then he did it again until he reached the raised section where the spot light sat.

  Around it were soldiers.

  About 45 by his count.

  They all shot.

  They all failed to kill him.

  There were enormous electric cables sitting over the roof, all feeding the massive spot light.

  He didn't stop.

  He reached one, grabbed it, and yanked.

  He pulled the thing free in a cascade of sparks that alighted around his armor like sparks along a match.

  In fact, he pulled that cable with such force that not only did he snap it, he sent the enormous spotlight tumbling over too.

  It crashed into the concrete roof, the globe exploding in a blinding flash.

  The soldiers screamed.

  Carson wasn't done yet.

  He ran forward.

  He reached the side of the roof.

  Several men threw themselves at him.

  He didn't hesitate. He ducked, he weaved, he dodged.

  He reached the high lip of concrete that ran around the roof.

  He rushed forward.

  He planted his foot on it and he jumped.

  The building was a high one, approximately 30 meters according to his scanner.

  Which meant the drop back to earth was not conducive to health.

  It didn't matter though.

  Nothing would in his armor.

  He sailed down, locking his arms by his sides and getting ready to roll.

  Then he landed.

  Or he struck the ground rather.

  His armor was heavy—really heavy.

  He practically formed a crater as he thudded into the ground.

  But that didn't stop him from jumping to his feet, forcing himself forward, and aiming right at one of the enormous metal fences that surrounded the facility.

  He pelted forward, and just as he did, he heard a whir.

  He knew it was the turret guns set high on the fences.

  He didn't even flinch.

  With a piercing noise, they began to shoot.

  Bullet after bullet slammed around him.

  They ate into the ground, dust and stone and dirt shooting up and blasting over Carson's legs and torso as he pelted forward.

  Though several bullets managed to strike his armor proper, they did not plunge through. Yet neither did they glance off like the fire from the roof had.

  Instead, his armor was forced to put up a localized force field, slowing the bullets and absorbing their impact across a great surface, rather than let them strike his ablative plating.

  Though his armor was still fine, it couldn't keep up this level of activity forever. Still, it would take something a lot worse to dent it, let alone get through to the flesh and man inside.

  He didn't think as he reached the fence before him—he raced forward, forcing himself into a powerful dive roll.

  His body was going at such a speed and his armor was so heavy, that he just ripped right through the tightly wound wire.

  It parted before him as if it were little more that thin gossamer curtains billowing in the wind.

  He could still hear the screams.

  He could still hear the desperate, fearful shouts.

  He didn't care.

  He just ran forward.

  He would get to Nida.

  As the resistance had led Cara and him through the tunnels and up to the city, he'd been sure to log their exact route. He knew exactly how to get back to them.

  Yet he also knew that Nida would no longer be there.

  She would have been moved, taken away . . . .

  He shuddered.

  He couldn't bear to think of where she could be and what could be happening to her.

  So he just ran faster to compensate for that horrible thought.

  Faster and faster.

  He pushed his armor to its extreme.

  So much for not disrupting the history of this planet. So much for not letting them know about his future technology.

  He had just punched through the Central Security Facility's defenses with impossible ease.

  They would not forget this. The government. The resistance.

  Yet he couldn't think of that right now.

  He couldn't think of the damage he might have done to the timeline.

  ‘Come on, Nida,’ he said desperately as he ran through the last section of fence, the wire dashing against him like little more than light drizzle.

  Soldiers lined the streets.

  One had something that resembled a rocket. Carson just dodged it with an effective and high flip.

  He pelted forward. His heart little more than a continuous vibration in his chest.

  He would get to her.

  Though they would have moved her, that wouldn't matter. He knew what to look for—the only other human on the planet.

  Though it might take time and some peace and quiet, he would be able to recalibrate his scanner to pick up only human life signs.

  It would have a relatively good range, especially if he boosted the scanner with all the juice his armor had.

  He would find her.

  He just had to get out of here first.

  He ran to her.

  Though he could not appreciate it, she ran to him too.

  Chapter 18

  Cadet Nida Harper

  When she reached the street, she soon heard the sirens.

  Not long after, gun fire met her ears.

  Instinctively she ducked towards a wall as a truck rumbled past with soldiers aboard.

  She hid behind the low lip of a wall until it had passed.

  Trembling she pushed to her feet.

 
She could hardly breathe, and her hand was so sweaty around her gun, she worried she would drop it.

  Switching grip as she wiped her palm on her skirt, she closed her eyes for a brief moment.

  Then she ran forward.

  Every now and then she checked the map to confirm she was heading in the right direction.

  She did not move fast; she could not afford to.

  Though the streets were mostly deserted, every now and then a car or transport would rumble past full of screaming, clearly alarmed soldiers.

  She did not need her scanner to realize something was wrong.

  The gunfire, of course, also helped.

  As she neared the Central Security Facility, she realized it was coming from there.

  . . . .

  Carson.

  She stood there, stock still, hoping he was fine.

  ‘He has armor from the future,’ she told herself firmly. ‘He's Carson freaking Blake,’ she added.

  He could get out of that trap.

  He had the scanner too. And that incredible machine—the Goddess' tear as the resistance called it—would be more than capable of getting him out of trouble.

  ‘Come on,’ she told herself forcefully.

  She walked forward.

  Though she started off trembling, soon she commanded her body to still.

  She concentrated on doing what it would take.

  The city was dark, and as she walked through it, she wondered where all the people lived. Were they inside those cold and drab buildings? Were they huddled in their beds as they listened to the gunshots rip through the night air? Or did they not notice? Had they learnt to tune out the sounds of violence?

  Keeping to the shadows and checking her map regularly, Nida kept moving forward.

  Her shoes clicked softly on the bitumen and concrete.

  Her dress also moved around her, the long skirts furling around her legs as she hurried along.

  The green of her skirts and the embroidery were the only color in the whole town.

  Everything was shaded in hues of brown and gunmetal grey.

  Yes, gunmetal, that was the perfect color to describe what she saw.

  Every building was a testament to war. To battle. To the cold embrace of security.

  Biting her lips and not caring that she tasted blood oozing against her teeth, she paused to check her map once more.

  Then she closed her eyes.

  This was it.

  She could hear the soldiers now. And the transports carrying them were coming thick and fast.