Terra Prime (The Terran Legacy Book 2)

by Rob Dearsley

  “The team’s been ordered back to Pyrite,” she replied. “And you know that’s not what I mean.”

  “I know.” He raked his hands through his hair. “I know what you mean. But as soon as the SDF see what’s in here-” He tapped two fingers to the side of his head. “-they’re just going to exploit it. How is that any better than Craven?”

  “You trust Rossini, don’t you?”

  He let out a bark of laughter. “We worked together for about ten minutes, in a damn war-zone. I hardly know the woman.”

  Damn, he could be infuriating. She turned to face him. “The SDF have gathered all the top Terra experts at the Pyrite research facility, even Vaughn. If anyone can help you, it’s them. I’ll be there. I’m here for you.” She reached out for him, placing a hand on his arm. If the mention of the Folly’s old doctor didn’t persuade him, then nothing would. “Please, let them help you.”

  “The Doc’s there?” Dannage’s face brightened and he placed his hand over Arland’s. “I’ll speak to Rossini, ask them to help.”

  She took his hand, pulling him up. “We’ll ask.”

  ◊◊

  Dannage followed Arland through the arching hallway of the Feynman. Damn wonky gravity layouts made it feel like he was constantly reaching the top of a low rise. A pair of marine guards came into view over the horizon of the curve, flanking an otherwise unassuming door.

  That was the military all over, everything identical. All the individuality hammered out of you.

  The door swished open at their approach and the marines waved them through, one even offering them a smile. It unnerved Dannage. They just seemed too personal, not as much stick up their asses as normal.

  “Commander Arland, Captain Dannage, good to see you both again,” Rossini said, gesturing them toward the visitor seats. Her dark hair was pulled back into a simple braid. The style accentuated her thin face and high cheekbones. Her dark eyes watched them, constantly assessing.

  “Thank you, Captain,” Dannage replied. “At least it’s under better circumstances this time.”

  Rossini’s face softened. “Yes. Although Mr Craven has been making some rather outlandish claims, about you.”

  The bottom dropped out of Dannage’s stomach. This was it. Craven had told them all about him and his connection with the ships. Now, they were going to take him away and chop him up to find out how it all worked. He tensed, ready to run. The only way he was getting past the marines would be to take them by surprise. Barge one over, if he were lucky, he could be over the horizon before the other one knew what was happening.

  Arland’s hand on his arm broke his train of thought stalling his escape plans. “What sort of claims?”

  Rossini tapped a control on her flex and Craven’s voice filtered through discrete speakers in the overhead. “… he came to me. Mr Dannage is the key to unlocking the whole Terran network. His mind is connected…”

  That was it. Craven had given the SDF exactly what they wanted, a way to get inside the Terran systems, find the ships. Maybe even control them. Damn-it. What choice did he have now? “It’s voices in my head. The Terran ships.”

  Rossini rocked back in her chair, eyes widening. “It’s true?”

  Arland said, “The Captain doesn’t have any control over it.”

  Rossini nodded, tapping at her flex. “This was what you wanted to talk to me about.” A statement, not a question.

  Dannage swallowed. Nothing for it now, the cat was out of the bag. His only hope was to scramble out in front of it. “Yes. I just want this gone. I’ll do whatever scans you want if you can give me my damn mind back.”

  His heart tripped up into his throat as he waited for Rossini to react.

  Rossini rocked back, her eyes flicking between her flex and Dannage.

  Dannage watched Rossini, tension thrumming through him. Damn-it why didn’t she give him an answer?

  The middle-aged woman leaned forward over her clasped hands. “I would have to speak with Pyrite command. But in principle, we can work with that.”

  The knot in Dannage’s stomach released and he slumped down letting out a breath. This could work. Finally, someone who’d help him.

  His inner cynic reminded him that he’d agreed to any tests they wanted. Craven’s operating chair flashed through his mind’s eye. And, if the military wanted to cut him up to see how he ticked there wouldn’t be anyone rushing in to save him.

  He glanced over at Arland. Her eyes flicked from him to Rossini, a quiet tension buzzing from her.

  She would be there, Luc too. He had friends here.

  “Captain,” Rossini’s voice broke through Dannage’s thoughts. “We passed your scans – the ones Mr Craven did – on to the science team at Pyrite. One of the doctors is keen to speak with you. It may help to allay some of your worries.”

  Dannage frowned. He couldn’t imagine some egg-head drooling over his brain scans was going to make him feel better. By her slight smile, Arland had some idea what Rossini was on about.

  When it became clear neither woman was going to let him in on the secret, he said, “Come on then, let’s have it.”

  Rossini tapped a control on her desk and the screen off to their right sprang to life with the blue sweep of the SDF logo.

  A second later, the logo was replaced by the tall hawkish man. Wire framed glasses perched on the end of a long patrician nose.

  At the sight of Doc Vaughn, Dannage’s face split into a wide smile.

  Vaughn spoke without looking up, “I’ve told you, I’ll be done when I’m done and pestering me every five minutes will only make it take longer.” He looked up, his eyes widening in surprise. “Oh. Sorry, Captain.” Then he noticed Dannage. “Captain, err, Dannage, good to see you again. The brain scan is yours?”

  Dannage rose from his chair to fully face the screen. “Hi, Doc. Apparently so.”

  Vaughn’s expression and tone shifted from surprise to concern. “This can’t be right. What I’m seeing here is not… possible. How did you end up like this? How are you still alive?”

  Vaughn’s words rattled Dannage. He didn’t know it was that bad. If this was going to kill him then he had to fix it and damn the risks.

  Dannage opened his mouth abortively a couple of times. Where to begin? He couldn’t put it into words. Didn’t know how to start. His mind still reeled from Vaughn’s words. Arland placed a hand on his shoulder. Instinctively, he placed his hand over hers.

  “Captain?” Vaughn leaned in, toward the com pickup. “Start at the beginning?”

  Start at the beginning. Right. It was easy enough. “You remember, I kind of…” He struggled for the right word. “Kind of, connected with X-ship, back when we were trying to get Arland out.”

  The doctor nodded, pushed his spectacles up his nose and gestured for Dannage to continue. Dannage could feel Arland and Rossini watching him like an itch between his shoulder blades. They’d both been there at the end and had an idea what had happened to him in the Terran ship’s core. But they could never know what it had been like. Not really. To share his mind with the ship’s vast intellect. He pushed the memories aside to continue.

  “Ever since, I’ve been having headaches. Hearing voices, visions.” He shook his head, trying to get it straight. “It’s been getting worse. I keep seeing the Terran ships. It started as nightmares, but… But I hear the voices all the time.” He was about to go on, explain what had happened back at Craven’s. It felt like he was reaching into Donna’s mind, pulling at her thoughts. He’d felt her rage. He didn’t want to think about it.

  “Odd.” The doctor leaned back. “I would guess this is some latent side-effect of your linking with the ship. These scans aren’t great. Were you moving during the scan?”

  “Err, Doc. It wasn’t exactly voluntary,” Dannage said.

  Vaughn frowned, then shook it off. “Well, when you get here, we can get some high-res imaging. Find out what’s happening.” He turned his attention to Rossini. “When will you be here, Cap
tain?”

  “Five hours,” Rossini said without even checking her flex.

  An excited Vaughn signed off and the screen flicked back to the SDF logo.

  Dannage slumped back into the chair. The constant worry and tension of the last few hours had worn him thin. And it wasn’t over yet, he still worried Pyrite was a hornets’ nest.

  Arland smiled at him, as they left the office and rested her head on his shoulder.

  He’d make it through this.

  He had to.

  Eight

  (SDF Feynman)

  Dannage leaned back into the comfortable embrace of the Folly’s pilot’s chair, as he watched the light of the slipway paint the Feynman’s flight deck in shifting shades of blue. Powered down like this, the Folly felt strangely still and lifeless. He’d gotten so used to the constant hum of the engines or the buzz of the air systems it felt odd to be on the ship without it.

  He heard the hush of the bridge door followed by footsteps, confident, assured raps on the decking. Arland.

  She joined him, placing a hand on his shoulder. He slipped his hand over hers, giving it a quick squeeze.

  A groan rippled through the ship and a moment later the blue of the highway dissolved into the star-speckled blackness of normal space.

  Pyrite looked very different from the last time Dannage had been there. The broken, hollowed out planets and abandoned mining stations were gone, washed away by the same supernova that had decimated the Terran fleet. In their place, a network of interconnected stations spun around the dull blue neutron star. SDF ships and transports flitted back and forth between the stations.

  A pair of scout cruisers stood watch over the slipway.

  “Look over there.” Arland pointed, leaning past Dannage to get a better look. “I didn’t know they were building more Plasma Carriers.”

  Dannage flicked on the HUD bringing up scanner enhancements. The enhancements showed one of the SDF’s giant carriers holding station on the far side of the facility, the partially finished frame of a second next to it. They, like the Feynman, were less piecemeal in construction than the prototype Dannage remembered, but still looked like three carriers bolted around a long gun-barrel like frame, with a massive engine and reactor assembly on the back. Scanner feeds said they were nearly two kilometres long. Bigger than the Feynman, then. Did they really need to be bigger?

  The bridge doors hushed again and Luc joined them. “Arland, Cap’n. Rossini says we’re to make ready for departure.”

  Dannage frowned up at him.

  “No way for the Feynman to dock with the station,” Luc explained.

  It made sense. Shrugging, Dannage began pre-flight, while the other two took their normal seats.

  The com chirped and the disinterested voice of a flight controller came on. “Folly, you are cleared for departure form bay five. Please follow the attached flight plan and all instructions from Pyrite flight control. Any deviation from the prescribed flight path will be met with lethal force.”

  “Wait, did he say lethal force?” Luc asked, his voice carrying the same shocked worry that bounced through Dannage’s head.

  “Pyrite is a military facility studying the most dangerous technology in known space,” Arland said like it explained everything.

  “Still,” Luc muttered. “Seems a bit harsh.”

  A glowing blue waypoint line sprang up on the HUD and the flight deck’s launch indicator turned green. Dannage hit the engines. The engine pitch rose as the ship shot forwards, the sudden g-force pressed him back into his chair for a moment before the gravity reset. Dannage followed the waypoint line very carefully. He wasn’t going to take a chance.

  One of the scout cruisers – scanner feeds identified it as the SDF Chapple – moved into position off their four-o-clock, and the HUD pinged a weapons lock warning. The skin on the back of Dannage’s neck crawled like someone was watching him. Which he guessed they were.

  Scanners showed a pair of transports detach from other flight bays further down the Feynman, both making their own way toward the central nexus of the station. Neither of them were shadowed by cruisers.

  The station loomed ahead of them, a spider’s web of interconnected prefabs. It had the look of something that had been thrown together in a hurry and grown exponentially since then. The waypoint led them passed a tall silo, its framework linking to a power relay module and a bud of solar panels aimed pointlessly at the dying sun. The idiosyncrasies of prefab construction. Being surrounded by gantries and framework felt claustrophobic. Despite its sprawling design, the station looked small next to the massive bulk of the Feynman and the other Plasma Cruisers.

  The biggest single module rested at the heart of the facility. Their waypoint aimed for the wide slit of a docking bay on the main facility’s space side. The Folly glided in with barely a jolt and set down next to the hunched, predatory forms of a pair of SDF troop transports, their engines covered with storage muffles. Grounding cables connecting them to the deck. Obviously not the ones from the Feynman who had disappeared around the far side of the station.

  A long groan, almost a sigh reverberated through the console as the Folly settled onto her landing gear.

  Behind Dannage, Luc and Arland moved around, getting ready to go. Now he was here, this close, he baulked at the idea. What if they couldn’t help him? What if they didn’t want to? Despite everything, this was still a military facility and if they saw the chance to get a weapon would they care that it cost him his sanity… or his life?

  The Terran ships and their whispering loitered at the edge of his awareness. Still wary after seeing the Feynman.

  “Michael?” Arland’s hand slipped onto his shoulder. “We can put them off if you need more time.”

  He let out a quiet snort of laughter. Time? He’d already had far too much time. Now he had to do something, damn-it.

  “Let’s get this done.” He pushed up out the chair and followed the pair from the bridge.

  The station’s flight deck was a couple of degrees cooler than the Folly, the air dryer with a metallic quality that came from over-air-conditioning.

  The Doc met them on the flight deck, escorted by a trio of soldiers. Another, younger scientist stood off to one side studying his flex.

  “Captain.” The Doc’s smile split his thin face as he set his own flex down and extended a hand toward Dannage. “Good to see you again. Good to see you all.”

  Luc ignored the doc’s hand, pulling him into a brief hug.

  “Captain, this is my colleague. Doctor Aarav.” Vaughn pushed his glasses up his nose and gestured toward the younger man with a darker complexion and a neatly trimmed beard. Aarav lowered his flex and took Dannage’s hand. Aarav’s hand was soft, but his grip firm.

  “Pleased to meet you Mr Dannage.” Aarav moved around Dannage inspecting his head. “Your neural scan was, was…” He pushed Dannage’s dark curls aside, inspecting the base of his skull. “Unique.” Aarav looked up to Vaughn. “There’s no macro-scarring.”

  Stars, Aarav was an odd duck.

  “Simeon,” Vaughn chided. “Please stop poking him.”

  Aarav let out an abrupt laugh and came around in front of Dannage. He smelt vaguely of cinnamon. “I’m sorry, my friend. This is just an amazing opportunity.” Aarav backed away and actually bowed. Dannage shook his head. Definitely an odd one.

  “Captain,” Vaughn said. “I’ve had rooms prepared, for you and the others. If you want to rest a spell. And I would like to invite you to join us for dinner.”

  Dannage held up a hand. The suffocating politeness was all well and good, but he was keen to get this whole affair over with. He just wanted to know what was wrong with him. “Thanks, doc. But I’d rather get on.”

  Vaughn gestured for them to follow him. “Of course. I have to admit, I’m keen to get some high-resolution scans. But this is unlikely to be a quick process, so do feel free to use the station’s facilities as and when you require them.”

  Vaughn led them t
hrough the facility’s curving corridors. Dannage peeked through glass fronted doors into the labs. In the first, two people in formless isolation suites were autopsying one of the Turned. Its flared head cracked open to reveal the brain. Without thinking Dannage touched his fingers to his forehead. Feeling his own head cut open. – The buzz of a saw, the stink of antiseptic, and beneath it all, the coppery tang of blood.

  No! They weren’t his thoughts. Not his memories.

  Dannage looked down, focusing on the white knuckles of his clenched fists. His mind was his own, damn-it.

  “Captain?” Vaughn looked concerned.

  Dannage looked up. “Memories. From the link. Seeing the operations brought them back.”

  “Oh,” Vaughn said. “Proximity to the Terran technology might affect it as well.”

  “Or they’re just memories,” Arland said.

  Dannage eyed his old friend. Did Vaughn already know? No, even Craven couldn’t have known what had happened between him and Donna. He didn’t even want to think her name. He should tell Vaughn. The doctor wouldn’t be able to treat him if he didn’t know.

  Dannage could rationalise all he wanted. But the truth was, he was scared, terrified he was becoming one of them. The X-minds had been insane. Was that his destiny? To descend into ranting madness?

  Arland lifted his chin, her eyes locking on his. “Sir?”

  Dannage looked around becoming aware of his surroundings again. His hand pressed against the cool glass of the door. Everyone was looking at him. Damn.

  “I’m fine.” His voice came out gruffer than he’d intended. Arland held his gaze for a moment, not believing him. But she let it drop.

  “It was an officer.” Vaughn gestured toward the decapitated corpse of the turned. “We’re studying its ship-link. Understanding how it works could be key in locating and even controlling the remaining ships.”