Terra Prime (The Terran Legacy Book 2)

by Rob Dearsley

  Arland’s hand moved toward her pistol. People like Craven just hurt everyone, destroyed everything around them. Just the thought of the wetware lab they’d seen on the drone brought bile to her throat. Bloody wetware was immoral and illegal. This man beneath her peddled human flesh into computers.

  It would be so easy to end him and the threat he posed.

  “Sir?” Rutter asked from behind her, his tone broaching caution.

  “The SDF want him alive,” Arland said, as much to remind herself and Rutter.

  “We can’t just swoop down and drag the target up into the rafters.”

  “No,” Arland murmured. “Swooping would be bad.”

  “He’s got two facilities, at least. Maybe we can grab him in transit.”

  Movement from below drew their attention. A dark-skinned woman walked from the side rooms, overhead lights glinting off her ebony skin over taut muscles. “Mr Craven.” Her voice was unusually deep and cultured.

  “What?” Craven snapped, his eyes never leaving the Turned.

  “Geek says someone’s making noise on the net, looking for Terran experts. Wants to know if we should reach out.”

  Craven still didn’t look at her. “Does he have any details?”

  The woman pulled a flex from her trouser pocket and passed it to Craven. His posture shifted slightly. A slight tightening of the shoulders, quicker breathing. Arland got the impression of tightly contained excitement. “This could change everything. We must find this person. Yes, reach out. Do whatever it takes. Find them!”

  The woman marched back into the closed offices and out of sight. Craven looked between the massive Turned and the flex-screen.

  If Craven was in contact with someone maybe it would give them a way into his organisation. Arland tapped her com open. “Fyffe, the target is contacting someone. Can we find out who? Get anything from the other end?”

  Fyffe’s reply filtered through the headset. “I’ll do what I can, but if the past is anything to go by… Sorry, I don’t think I’ll get much.”

  “Not much more we can do here,” Rutter whispered. “We should pull back.”

  ◊◊

  Dannage leaned back, watching the intrasystem traffic flowing into orbit. Under Luc’s control, the Folly dove toward a nearby cargo station. They’d gotten a contract to truck a load of medical supplies to the new mega-habitat. It was a quick job, but after spending the last couple of weeks trekking out to Nowhere and back, a quick hop would be a nice change.

  “Captain,” Jax's voice came from the overhead speakers.

  “What’s up, Jax?” Luc asked.

  “I think I’ve got a line on someone who can help the captain.”

  Dannage kicked his feet down from the scanner console. “Jax, I’ll speak to you in my cabin.”

  “Wait.” Luc half turned from the flight controls. “Who is this guy? And where did you find him?”

  “A black-market bioengineer. Neuro-kinetic implants, synthetic organs. Heck, he even claims to have military medical nannites.” Jax's voice rose with excitement.

  Dannage sank back into his chair, sighing, and muted the com. He loved Jax, but sometimes she was clueless.

  Luc hit the autopilot and turned to fully face Dannage. “Why would some back-alley augment dealer be able to help?”

  The overhead speakers clicked back on and Jax said, “He’s been putting out feelers about Terran wetware, I’ve caught chatter he’s been looking into the ship-link.”

  “You can’t be considerin’ this, Cap’n. This is mental. Dangerous.”

  “You said it. I can’t keep on like this. I’m…” Dannage threw his hands up in frustration. He was losing everything. Or maybe he’d already lost it and it was too damn late.

  “You think someone like this is just going to help you?”

  “I can pay,” Dannage retorted.

  Jax cut in, “Actually, he is willing to waive his usual fee due to the uniqueness of your situation.”

  “Oh, that makes it so much better,” Luc said. “The crazy guy wants you in his illegal experiments.”

  “Jax, is there anyone else?” Dannage asked.

  “Not that I can find through back-channels.”

  “There you go. It’s a way through this. I can’t pass it up.”

  Luc retook the controls. “I still don’t like this.”

  “You think I do? Besides, I’ll have you backing me up, right?”

  Luc’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “Of course. Jax, who is this bio-engineer?

  Jax voice filtered through the speakers. “Dark-net calls him Mr Craven.”

  Four

  (Granite IV)

  Arland sat in their tin-roofed shack. At least it wasn’t raining for once. On the opposite side of the small space, Fyffe worked her console. The urge to check on the tech’s progress buzzed through Arland like an itch. She knew it wouldn’t make a difference and it was a bad habit to get into.

  “Anything yet?” Ellis slipped through the main door along with a spill of morning sunlight.

  “Maybe,” Fyffe said, without looking up. “The other end’s cycling access points so quick, it’s impossible to trace or hack. But I’ve been able to spoof the recipient on old APs and get signal fragments. Sorry, it’s not much.”

  “It’s something,” Arland said. “What do they say?”

  “Part of a coordinate set. I think it’s for the warehouse we’re watching. Sorry.”

  Before any of them could say more, the console chirped. Fyffe tapped at the controls, frowning in concentration.

  Both Arland and Ellis leaned forward eager to know what she’d found.

  Finally, Fyffe set her console down. “They’ve cut communications. I managed to get one last packet. It looks like a universal timestamp. Probably just part of the message metadata. Sorry.”

  “So, the timestamp is for now?” Arland asked.

  Damn. She’d thought this was their opening. That they would at least get something out of it. The whole operation was turning into a bust. Maybe they should just go in loud and grab Craven by force. They had enough non-lethals to do it.

  “Wait,” Fyffe said. “No. It’s not a current timestamp. It’s for thirty hours from now, give or take.”

  That was more like it. They had a time and place. It must be when Craven was meeting with this new client.

  “We have thirty hours before this meeting,” Arland said. “Ellis, I want the basement lab under full-time surveillance. Fyffe, is the drone still in place?”

  Fyffe tapped a control on her console and brought up the camera feed from the small drone. Arland didn’t look too closely at the video image. The less she had to see of that lab the better. The whole thing should be burned to the ground.

  Arland caught Ellis at the door. “Tell Rutter to get back here. I want to be ready to move in as soon as we know Craven is there.”

  “You got it, Boss.” And with that, he was out the door into the morning sunlight.

  A smile split Arland’s lips. It was time to take this monster down.

  ◊◊

  Dannage watched the slipway peel back from the Folly, the blue serenity of the Highway dissolving back into the noise and chaos of normal space.

  Target, seven…

  Dannage ignored the insistent whispering and looked out over the system, steadying himself on the pilot’s chair. His chair. Off to their right, the yellow star burned away, casting its light across more than a dozen planets moons and habitats, all colonised. Granite didn’t have any of the mega-habitats, but by the looks of the constructions scaffold, it wouldn’t be long.

  “There it is.” Dannage pointed to the fourth planet. A single continent dominated the facing side, almost solid grey of heavy habitation, ringed with crystal blue oceans. “Granite IV.”

  The HUD was aligned for Luc, so from his position behind the pilot’s chair, Dannage couldn’t tell where on the massive continent it was marking. But he’d put good money on their destination being beneath
that huge thunderhead that was working its way inland from the eastern coast.

  The Folly dipped toward the planet, the glow of entry rising across the ship’s nose as they hit the upper atmosphere. A large civilian transport rose up past them, its blue and white livery glinting in the sunlight. Condensation beaded up on the window as they dropped through the edge of the thunderhead. Lighting cracked in the distance, followed a couple of seconds later by a deep rumble of thunder, something more felt than heard.

  They dodged around a small planet-hopper before entering the floodlit confines of the spaceport.

  Dannage left Luc to finished locking down the Folly and climbed out into the hold. His ratty, old duster trailed out behind him as he pushed off toward the equipment locker on the far side of the bay.

  The circular portal to engineering was closed, locking Jax away in her cramped domain. Thinking of the young engineer, and all she’d done for him, Dannage steeled himself for whatever came next.

  He caught himself on the control console near the wide cargo doors. Around him, the Folly groaned as she settled onto her landing struts. Dannage flicked the internal gravity to standard down, swinging his legs beneath him as the gravity slowly pulled him down to the deck.

  “You sure about this?” Luc asked, climbing down the ladder from the bridge to join Dannage.

  Dannage rolled his shoulders. The grip of his pistol felt rough beneath his fingers. When did he reach for the gun? He’d have to be careful about that, didn’t want to give anyone the wrong idea and get his head blown off. Although that might stop the interminable whispering.

  He blew out a breath and looked down the ladder. He was stalling and he knew it. “No, but we’re doing it anyway.”

  “Come on then. Let’s get this done.” Luc passed him a high-vis poncho as they started down the ramp out of the ship.

  Dannage pulled the luminous orange and silver top on, leaving the hood down as they walked through the crowded spaceport. Deckhands in neon-yellow jump-suit

  s darted from ship to ship, checking refuelling and grounding lines. The buzz of activity distracted Dannage from the voices. If it wasn’t for the ozone stink from all the engines, Dannage wouldn’t have minded staying here. He’d have thought, what with all the time he spent around ships, he’d be used to the smell by now.

  He really didn’t want to see this Craven bloke. But it was too late to turn back now. Dannage cast one last look at the low flat profile of the Folly before heading out into the storm.

  Outside, rain lashed down from the gunmetal grey sky, sluicing off Dannage and Luc’s ponchos. Lightning flicked, reflecting off the glass and chrome of skyscrapers, and a moment later, thunder boomed. A pair of children squawked in excitement, splashing through puddles. Their brightly coloured waterproofs doing little to protect them from the rain. Behind them, an older woman followed, her head down, water streaming from the front of her hood.

  Despite the horrendous weather, the market square was crowded with a riot of coloured ponchos and the occasional umbrella. People hurried between the shelter of covered stalls and shopfronts amidst a constant buzz of chatter. In places like this, Dannage could almost imagine the war never happened. That he hadn’t lost everything to the damn Terrans.

  They pushed through the market crowds and out into a small square that was relatively empty. A glance around showed Dannage why. The shopfronts had been replaced by loading docks and plane blockwork walls.

  “Where to?” Luc asked.

  Dannage pulled his flex from his pocket and unfolded it. Shaking off the water, he checked the coordinates Jax had downloaded for them. He held up the display, checking the landmarks against the rain-soaked reality. There were the twin spires of the government tower, next to the blocky column of a space scraper.

  “Over there?” Dannage pointed to a narrow alleyway on the far side of the square. He looked over to see Luc frowning toward a shopfront. “What’s up?”

  “Not sure,” Luc replied, still distracted. “Feels like we’re bein’ watched.”

  Dannage squinted up at the rooftops around them. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting to see, the glint of a rifle scope, the flash of a targeting laser. There was nothing so obvious.

  He could understand Luc being jumpy. He was nervous about bringing someone else in, telling them about his problems. Jax had scoured the net for any information on Craven but turned up little more than they already knew. He was still a relative unknown. At least both he and Luc were armed and, if it came down to it, Luc was always handy in a fight. What he wouldn’t give to have Arland back for this.

  They reached the alley, a dark crack between the buildings. Dannage took a breath, time to do this thing.

  The alley was even more cramped than he had expected. They had to practically turn sideways to fit down it. At least the slanted rain didn’t penetrate into the crevice. Dannage stood for a moment and just dripped, enjoying not being rained on.

  A woman’s voice came from the shadows further down the alley. “Dannage?”

  He started, banging against the opposite wall.

  The short, dark-skinned woman stepped from a doorway, a small smile touching at her lips. “You Dannage? Mr Craven is expecting you.”

  “Thanks.” Dannage extended a soggy hand which the woman declined.

  “Follow.” Without another word, she turned on her heel and marched through the door and into Unit Fifty-seven.

  Dannage shook the water from his poncho and followed her into the darkened interior, wishing he’d brought a light.

  Low, floor level lighting gave the vague outline of the room. As Dannage’s eyes adjusted, the outlines of shelves and workbenches resolved from the shadows. The woman led them to a tight spiral staircase in the far corner of the room, hidden away behind a bank of cluttered shelving.

  The darkened room and the hidden staircase combined to make Dannage’s shoulders tighten in unease. She was just one woman, damn-it. If it came down to a fight, he and Luc could take her. Maybe. She looked lean and hard beneath her simple shirt and trousers, and the ivory handle of a knife flashed at her waist.

  “Weapons,” the woman said, holding out her hand.

  What weapons? flickered across Dannage’s tongue, but he bit it back. The way she carried herself, like Arland, like a predator. She was dangerous, ex-military, he’d bet on it. And beyond that, something about her felt familiar in a truly disconcerting way.

  He reached inside his poncho, feeling the rough texture of the pistol’s grip as he pulled it out.

  “Slow,” she snapped, her hand moving toward the blade on her hip.

  Very slowly, he turned the pistol over in his hands, offering it to her handle first.

  She took it, popping the magazine with practised ease and dropped both weapon and magazine into a plastic case.

  Luc unloaded his own pistol and dropped it into the case. The case snapped closed cutting them off from their guns. Dannage watched the woman, his body singing with tension. Even the Terran whispering silenced, pensive, waiting, watching.

  At the bottom of the stairs was a tiny vestibule, hardly big enough for two people, the perfect place to lose a knife fight.

  The far side of the vestibule was a heavy, armoured door. It reminded Dannage of the manual bulkhead doors on ancient ships, the ones with a big wheel-like handle in the middle.

  The woman paused for a moment, as though gathering herself, before pulling the door handle. Tightly corded muscles bunched in her shoulders and back as she heaved the heavy door open.

  Dull red light poured out through the doorway, turning the water dripping from Dannage’s hands to blood.

  Prisoners. Trapped. Free them. Avenge them! The voices hissed through Dannage’s mind.

  The woman’s dark eyes flicked impatiently, for Dannage and Luc to go in. He complied, stepping into that red room, Luc a reassuring presence at his back.

  For a moment, he was back in the Terran core room. The scent of ripe flesh, the soft squishing of
the floor. And in the centre of it all a human brain, ripped from its body and driven mad in the cold darkness of space. No wonder the Terran ships had hated humanity.

  No. He wasn’t there. The floor beneath his feet was rough, poured crete. The air was cool and dry, with a metallic tang that spoke of low-grade HVAC. He wasn’t on the Terran ship.

  “Cap’n?” Luc placed a hand on Dannage’s shoulder.

  He took a breath, pushing the thoughts and feelings from his mind. “I’m here.”

  Dannage looked around – for the first time, really looked. The basement was large, pillars breaking his view and stopping him from seeing exactly how large.

  A pair of younger men in sterile gear looked up from their work at Dannage and Luc. As he pushed himself up Dannage caught glimpses of something the colour and texture of sandstone and a flared head. It brought more memories of blood and death, but at least these were his own. He’d never forget the Turned and what they’d done. What they’d taken from him.

  Dannage’s hand slipped into his pocket, his thumb rubbing over the cameo of Sam, her smiling face framed by dark curls. His memories of his sister would always be tarnished by those of her death. Her hand slipping from his, her falling as the Folly rose.

  Without thinking, Dannage drifted toward the body of the Turned. The creature, the former Terran soldier, was small by Turned standards, only about six and a half feet, its four ruddy-brown arms heavily muscled and ending in clawed hands. Its chest had been cracked open exposing bloody innards. The Turned had shrugged off rifle rounds, how the hells had they managed to cut one open?

  One of the techs reached for a tubular tool, its power line snaking into the rafters above him.

  “Michael Dannage. It’s good to meet you in person.”

  Dannage snapped his gaze up from the Turned corpse to the speaker. A thickset man with a short crop of dark hair and the bushiest eyebrows Dannage had ever seen, advanced on him with the fluid grace of a fighter. Dannage didn’t peg him as military though. Not enough of a stick up his ass. He guessed this man was Craven, or maybe he was a proxy, some goon sent to play dress-up. Craven sounded paranoid enough to do something like that.