Terra Prime (The Terran Legacy Book 2)

by Rob Dearsley

  The platform and its array of columns were pockmarked with weapons fire from where Dannage and Luc had fought their way through the station to rescue her, back during the Terran War. Even then, government agents had been doing horrific, illegal research into wetware – biological computing – and if what Craven was doing was anything to go by, things hadn’t changed much. She thought stopping the Spooks would be the end of it, but things just seemed to come round and around again.

  Damn-it.

  “Sorry?” Vaughn asked.

  She hadn’t realised she'd spoken aloud. “Nothing. Bad memories, that’s all.”

  The guards led them up and into a part of the Garrison Arland hadn’t seen on her last visit. The doors hushed open into a viewing chamber of sorts. Outterbridge had his back to her, looking through a glass wall, out on a pair of chambers separated by another clear wall. On one side Dannage was strapped to a chair, scanners arrayed around his head, just like Craven’s damn basement.

  After everything she’d done. She’d saved him…

  Craven and Aarav worked on consoles connected to the scanners around Dannage. Aarav periodically cast nervous glances into the other chamber where one of the Turned towered at its full eight-and-a-half feet in height. Its four, clawed fists slamming against the ballistic glass. Even through the reinforced wall, its high-pitched screaming could be heard. As it whipped its head, she could see trailing wires. It was the same one from Craven’s warehouse. Stars.

  Arland rushed forward, pressing her hands against the glass on the captain’s side. His face was contorted with pain. His eyes closed.

  “Sir! Captain, Dannage!” She slammed the palm of her hand against the glass, hard enough to make Aarav jump.

  Dannage opened his eyes, his head rolling to one side to look at her. His expression was distant and unfocused. It reminded her so much of Maddix’s death…

  She clamped her hands over her mouth, stifling a convulsive sob.

  White hot anger rose up inside her. How could the SDF condone something like this? This wasn’t the SDF she fought to protect. They were little better than the Spooks. Incensed, she turned toward Outterbridge. Her fists clenched and trembling at her side. She had to think clearly. The idea of knocking him on his ass was so tempting, but it wasn’t worth it. She’d just get herself thrown in the brig, or killed, and for nothing. But it was so damn tempting.

  “It’s not working like before. He’s not synchronising. It’s like he’s fighting it,” Craven said over the intercom.

  “What do you suggest, Mr Craven?” Outterbridge asked.

  “He just needs the right incentive,” Craven replied looking at Arland. “He stopped Donna to save her.”

  “No! That’s crazy. Admiral, you can’t be considering this?” Vaughn stepped between her and Outterbridge. “We can’t put Arland in with the Turned. It will kill her.”

  The soldiers in the room shifted, looking at each other. Clearly, they weren’t any happier than Vaughn about throwing one of their own in with the giant creature.

  “We don’t need to throw her in with the Turned,” Outterbridge said taking a guard’s sidearm. There was a metallic clack as he racked the slide. “We just need the threat.”

  No way. Flashing claws, digging into her side. Even in memorandum, the pain was excruciating. There was no way she was going in there.

  “Get in,” Outterbridge said, advancing on her, pistol pointed at her chest.

  She froze, barely even breathing.

  Outterbridge reached over to open the intercom. “Mr Dannage, you have one minute to control that creature before I put your friend in there with it. Do you understand me?”

  The Turned raged against the glass.

  Outterbridge wasn’t really going to shoot her. He was just bluffing, right? Arland backed toward the glass wall as the Admiral advanced on her, a maniacal glint in his eye was too close to Craven’s for comfort. Stars, he would actually do it. He’d throw her to that thing. And for what?

  “Why are you doing this? We’ve already beaten the Terrans.” Well they had, Outterbridge hadn’t been there.

  “Maybe, but what about the next threat? Or the one after that?” He advanced on her. “I know your sort. You look at the night sky and all you can see is adventure and wonder. When I look at the stars, I see our end. Each one hungry for our death and our destruction and we have to be ready to fight them.” He grabbed her and shoved her toward the Turned. “Last chance Mr Dannage.”

  Dannage rolled his head to look at them. Stars, he was in so much pain. She wanted to reach out to him. Tell him it would be alright. Tell him to just let go. Ignore them. It wasn’t worth it. The Admiral wouldn’t go through with it – part of her even believed that last part.

  “Do you hear me?” Outterbridge shouted at the intercom.

  Recognition flashed through Dannage’s eyes, followed by anger. He saw, he knew.

  Outterbridge let out a hissing breath between clenched teeth. “Looks like your captain is playing games. Time he finds out who’s in charge here.” He reached out for the controls to the airlock style door.

  Damn it. She didn’t want to die like this. Not for some twisted experiment. She tensed to jump him, make him shoot her. At least it would be a quick death.

  “Sir?” One of the SDF guards pointed.

  The Turned had frozen in place.

  “I told you he’d break before we actually put her in there,” Outterbridge said to Vaughn.

  In the other booth, Dannage’s whole body tensed against the restraints. Even from a distance, Arland could see the sweat pouring off him.

  Dannage’s wordless cry crackled through the intercom. Aarav flinched away from his controls. Craven was too intent on his own console to notice anything else.

  The Turned threw itself toward Outterbridge and Arland, slamming into the airlock, hard enough to send vibrations running through the deck.

  “Seems like he still can’t control it,” Outterbridge said.

  The Turned hit the glass again, harder this time.

  A tight, cold smile curled Arland’s lips. “Or maybe he really doesn’t like you.”

  Outterbridge looked between her and the Turned, his expression becoming suddenly uncertain. “It can’t break out, right?”

  The Turned struck the glass again, its hand deforming as the bones shattered. The glass cracked.

  Dannage let out another wordless cry and the creature threw itself at the damaged glass. Two of its arms and part of its flared head crumpled under the force of the impact.

  The glass crazed, splintered and gave way with a deafening crash, pelting them with a hailstorm of razer-shards.

  The now free Turned looked at Outterbridge. Its scream mirrored Dannage’s. Outterbridge stared up at the creature, momentarily forgetting all else in the face of the eight-foot-tall killing machine. Arland knew the feeling.

  She threw herself toward the door, where the guards were already hurrying Vaughn out. Outterbridge regained his senses half a beat later and hurled himself after her. Too slow, the Turned slashed at him with its working arms, ripping into his arm and shoulder.

  “Dannage, no!” she screamed.

  The Turned paused for a moment, giving Arland a second to grab the moron Admiral and drag him clear.

  “Run.” Dannage gasped, then slumped back in the chair, spent.

  Gunfire erupted through the room, cacophonously loud, as the three remaining SDF troopers opened fire. Their ship-safe rounds shattered harmlessly against the ruddy-brown hide of the creature.

  “We need to get out of here. Engage lockdown.” Vaughn waved them toward the already closing door.

  “What about Dannage?” Arland asked, shoving Outterbridge through the narrowing gap as the guard’s gunfire was replaced by screaming. She didn’t look back, didn’t want to see the Turned ripping them apart. Damn Outterbridge and Craven.

  Vaughn looked between Dannage, still behind heavy-duty security glass, and the Turned as it rammed one of the gu
ards through a maintenance panel into the wall. “I’d be less worried about the captain right now. Can’t this door close any faster?”

  The SDF guards in their shiny hard-shell moved up firing through the narrowing gap in the door, firing. Like it would do any good. Not unless they had some heavy ammo squirrelled away somewhere.

  Outterbridge grabbed the guard’s harness. “Don’t kill it!”

  Emergency sirens whumped, echoing down the hallway.

  With a roar, the Turned threw itself through the hail of gunfire toward them, getting one arm through the hatch. Arland grabbed the guards, pulling them back as razor sharp claws ripped through the air where they’d been standing.

  The creature levered the doors apart, shoving its flared head through.

  Arland scrambled to her feet helping one of the guards up. The stripes on his uniform marked him as a corporal. “Give me your sidearm.”

  “Absolutely not,” Outterbridge said.

  The corporal handed her his pistol. “Not sure it’s going to do you much good, sir.”

  They both fired into the Turned. The creature screamed, lashing and catching the corporal’s harness.

  Arland threw herself at the man, knocking him from the creature’s grip. The brown claws ripped through her arm in a wash of blood. With a cry of pain, she fell back, clutching her wounded arm.

  Vaughn was there in a flash, pressing gauze against her wound. The white material turned instantly crimson beneath his hands.

  Above them, the corporal, shocked but otherwise whole, kept firing. “We need to fall back.”

  As if to punctuate his words, the Turned wrenched the door further open, pulling its way through.

  Vaughn helped Arland up and the group ran up the gentle curve of the corridor toward the tram station. The cry of the Turned was joined by the tortured screaming of metal, as it finished forcing its way through the door.

  More SDF troopers, armed with the same compact, ship-safe, assault rifles, rushed out of trams onto the station platform above them.

  The lead officer, lieutenant’s stripes on his burly shoulders, snapped Outterbridge a quick salute, before turning to Arland, “Report, sir.”

  Arland belatedly realised it was Rutter and behind him, a wide-eyed Fyffe clutched her rifle. Further back, Ellis snapped a telescopic sniper rifle out to its full length and shot her a cheery smile.

  Her whole team here. Relief washed over her, the knot in her shoulders loosening. Somehow having her team there made Arland feel like they might get out of this alive.

  “They have a damn Turned. It broke out. It’s right behind us. How did you get here?”

  “Fyffe, lock down the station,” Rutter ordered. “Mr Danes, cover her.”

  Wait, Luc was here too?

  The young tech rushed over to wall panel, Luc a step behind her brandishing a compact rifle. Fyffe jacked her console in and started tapping furiously, while Luc dropped into a shooters crouch.

  “Your mate, Mr Danes gave us a quick lift, picked up this lot on the way.” Rutter gestured to the squad of marines, garbed in the heavy chitinous combat armour, but still only carrying close combat rifles. “Rossini’s sending over a team with specialist anti-Turned gear, but they’re ten minutes out.”

  They’d brought the Folly, somehow the news buoyed Arland.

  “Contact!” Ellis raised his rifle and fired. The shot knocked the Turned back but didn’t do any damage.

  “You got anything more heavyweight?” Arland asked as they backed through the line of columns toward the trams.

  “Got it,” Fyffe said, unhooking her kit as shutters slammed down, cutting them off from the Turned. She and Luc hurried to join them, Luc keeping himself between Fyffe and the shutters, protecting her.

  The creature hit the door with a hollow boom that rumbled through the soles of Arland’s boots. Another crash and the door deformed.

  “Will it hold?” Outterbridge asked, his voice trembling.

  The door buckled.

  “I doubt it, sir.” Rutter reloaded his shotgun. “Back in the trams, people. Let’s get out of here sharpish.” He turned to Arland. “You’ve killed these things before. How do we stop it?”

  “No.” Outterbridge rounded on Rutter. “We can’t kill it. It’s too valuable.”

  “It’s it or us. You want to stay alive, right?” And then to Rutter “Have you got anti-armour weapons?”

  “Not with us, these are all ship safe.”

  Bloody protocol, the ship safe rounds were specifically designed not to be armour piercing. The door cracked inward.

  Arland’s mind raced. There had to be something, an armoury. Or… “What about Fighters.” They all piled into the trams. Vaughn checking on Outterbridge’s arm. His nannites – the same ones Arland had – should have already stopped the bleeding. Arland’s own muscles twitched as the wounds knitted.

  Fyffe flipped through screens on her wrist mounted flex. “Nothing armed on the Garrison, there’s a couple on one of the other stations, they’re closer than the Feynman’s shuttles.”

  Arland nodded. “Get on the horn and get us some close air support, and call Rossini and get an ETA for that anti-Turned squad.”

  Fyfe nodded and started talking into her headset.

  The trams whirred to life, sliding out of the station on magnetic runners. They all kept their guns up and pointed to the damaged shutter.

  The security barrier boomed, deforming toward them. Silence as they sped off down the Garrison’s central passage.

  Ten

  (Pyrite Garrison)

  Arland’s face filled Dannage’s thoughts. The fear, the naked terror in her honey coloured eyes, spilling over and washing away his restraint, his pain, his very self. He crashed into the barrier. Damn it, he’d get to Outterbridge, he’d kill him. He lashed out at the glass again. The pain of the impact something distant and not real. The glass splintered as he smashed through reaching for the evil little Admiral.

  “Dannage, no!” Arland screamed, hauling the wounded Admiral away from him.

  No. she wasn’t looking at him, she looked past him at… Oh, stars. Dannage saw himself the other side of the ballistic glass.

  The Turned’s anger surged and Dannage’s awareness fractured. One moment, he was looking at himself through the glass as Arland and the others rushed from the room. The next, he was himself again. The Turned roared.

  “Run!” Dannage said as he slumped back against the restraints.

  Jump vector seven-seven-five.

  He blinked back to himself to see the Turned rip through the security door.

  Threat detection green. Safety. Safety.

  Dannage was safe, drifting through endless night.

  Ice shot through Dannage’s veins, shocking him back to consciousness and driving the voices away. He snapped up against the restraints, gasping. This wasn’t right, he’d been free. He’d been…

  Aarav’s face appeared in front of him. “Calm down. It’s okay. We’re getting out of here.” He started working at the restraints.

  “How long?” Dannage croaked.

  “Not long, maybe a minute.” Aarav fumbled the final strap from Dannage’s arm.

  “This is amazing,” Craven said from behind him. “Complete neural sync. If we can replicate this… Amazing.”

  Dannage rose, unsteadily from the chair. Rubbing life into his wrists, he turned to Craven. The scientist had a hungry look in his eyes.

  “Mr Dannage-”

  Dannage’s fist connected with Craven’s nose in a crunch of bone and spray of blood. “I am not your damn lab-rat.” He shook out the pain in his hand. Hopefully he hadn’t broken anything.

  Craven looked up, clutching his bloodied nose, his eyes widening in fear. Stars, Dannage didn’t think he’d hit the man that hard.

  Aarav made a strangled choking sound, drawing Dannage’s attention and… Oh stars. The Turned roared and threw itself against the ballistic glass.

  “Let’s get gone,” Dannage said
, starting past Craven, Aarav hot on his heels. Ballistic glass splintered as the turned forced its way through.

  Craven stumbled toward them. “It will kill us all.”

  Dannage looked up at the Turned. He could still feel its raging anger and pain in the back of his mind. Crashing against his thoughts like waves against the shore.

  “No. It’s you that it wants.” Dannage hit the control and the door hissed shut cutting them off from Craven and the Turned.

  It was no more than Craven deserved. He’d tortured that Turned, jammed electrodes into its head. Not to mention what he’d tried to do to Dannage.

  The roar of the Turned echoed down the hallway. It would rip him apart – not a nice way to go, but someone like Craven didn’t deserve his pity, he deserved everything he was…

  “Stars damn-it,” Dannage muttered, hitting the door control.

  Craven fell through the opening door with a startled cry. Dannage grabbed him by the scruff and yanked him through, hitting the control to close the door.

  Craven rounded on Dannage, his voice nasal. “What do you think-”

  Dannage hit him again. “Shut up and run, muppet.” Pushing Craven ahead of him, Dannage hurried down the corridor, closing the next set of bulkhead doors behind him.

  Breathing hard, Dannage pulled – he needed to get into better shape. He looked down at his hands, unblemished, but he still had memories of beating them raw against the glass. Stars, he’d broken the Turned free. Set it loose on his friends. The fear drove him to his feet.

  “Where to?” Dannage asked.

  “Docking bay,” Aarav suggested. “If we can get off the Garrison, we’ll be safe.”

  “What about Arland and Vaughn?” Dannage couldn’t give a flying stuff about the admiral. He seemed just cockroach-like enough to pull through regardless. But he’d be damned if he was going to leave his friends behind.