Start (30 page)

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Authors: Odette C. Bell

Tags: #Science Fiction & Fantasy, #Science Fiction, #Adventure, #Exploration, #Space Opera, #Space Exploration, #action adventure, #Time Travel, #light romance, #space adventure

BOOK: Start
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Right.

It was
time to prepare for an incursion.

Battle.

He
knew enough about the Barbarians to know they would not shoot a
ship as sophisticated as the Farsight out of space. They’d simply
board her, remove him, and take the vessel.

“Computer, prepare for an incursion. Release an armour unit,”
Carson spat as he took several steps into the centre of the
room.

“Armour unit released,” the computer noted.

He
whirled on his foot to watch as the small arms locker in the wall
unlocked, and the door disappeared into the wall, revealing rows of
neatly stacked red and yellow boxes.

He
lurched over to it, grabbing up one of the red boxes and opening
it.

Inside
were two heavy gauntlet-style gloves. Without hesitation, he
crammed them onto his hands. Then he slammed the palms together and
watched in silence as metal plating shot out from the gloves,
zooming up his arms, over his back, down his body, and finally over
his head. The plates clicked into place, and once the full-bodied
armour had formed, a zap of electricity passed over it, sealing any
cracks or holes.

This
wasn’t the first time Carson had used an armour unit, and it
wouldn’t be the last. Battle was part of his job.

He
preferred, however, to use the specially crafted, uniquely designed
armour sets the United Galactic Coalition heavy cruisers usually
outfitted their security teams with. While the Farsight could
manufacture one, Carson simply didn’t have the time. A fact he
suddenly rued. He had wasted three perfectly good days where he
could have taken his specifications, and spent hours perfecting a
strong, snug-fitting set of the most powerful armour the United
Galactic Coalition could manufacture.

But
god dammit, he hadn’t for a second thought he would run into the
Barbarians. And though he had considered the possibility of coming
across Nida and the entity, he'd quickly realised that no matter
what level of armour he was wearing, it wouldn’t matter. If the
entity could hack sophisticated systems like the entire Academy
computer, then the on-board processor of all Coalition armour would
be an easy target.

Now he
had several precious seconds to rue his decision.

Pulling a yellow box towards him, he opened it, and quickly
turned it inside out. Then he selected the correct code, and stood
back as the box morphed into a gun.

A
hefty, heavy-duty plasma rifle that should be able to do more than
a little damage to the Barbarians.

Then
Carson stopped, briefly, to turn over his shoulder and stare at the
view screen.

As he
did, he swore he saw an enormous torpedo heading straight for the
Farsight.

He
locked his magnetic boots onto the floor just before the entire
ship shuddered violently to the side.

Gritting his teeth, he swore through them, then he
waited.

The
computer ran through its damage report, and Carson grimaced at how
many systems were down.

He’d
hardly had this ship for three and a half days, and he’d already
broken it. The Admiral would kill him. In fact, she would probably
kill him twice, because not only would he lose the Farsight, he had
already lost Nida.

. . . . 

Nida.

That
thought was far too uncomfortable to process, so he pushed it from
his mind.

“Come
on,” he said under his breath just as the computer warned him that
all countermeasures were spent.

He
half closed his eyes, latching a hand onto the wall just as the
Farsight lurched so violently several armoury boxes fell from the
cupboard, onto the floor, and scattered in every
direction.

Then
he heard it—that very specific sound that told you a Coalition ship
was being boarded.

He’d
heard it before, and it always had the exact same effect on
him.

It
froze him and moved him at exactly the same time. It stilled the
emotional side of his mind, and forced his instinctual half into
action.

Carson
threw himself forward, locking the rifle against his shoulder and
ducking his head close to its sight.

“Come
on, you bastards,” he hissed, his voice coming out in a modulated
drone, altered by the mic of his armour.

With
another terrible shudder and one last warning from the computer, he
realised the Barbarians had boarded.

He had
no idea how many there would be, but he knew there was only one of
him. So he could bet the odds were not on his side.

Flinging himself forward, he commanded the computer to
lockdown all systems under a class VIII encryption code that could
only be unblocked by him. Then he made it to the bridge doors and
sealed them.

Though
he’d once thought this ship was big, it now seemed as small as a
prison cell.

He
could hear boots, and he fancied he could even smell that distinct
scent of Barbarian mercenaries. Unwashed bodies, dried blood, and
pure, distilled hatred.

He did
not stay in the corridor long; instead, he ducked into the main
quarters. His stuff was still all over the floor and bed. A pair of
standard, regulation grey nightclothes, several data pads he’d
manufactured, and a pile of dirty dishes from the
galley.

As
silently as he could, he took up position beside the bed, ducking
down low behind the girth of the mattress and grabbing a feather
pillow as he did. With a good aim, he threw it until it struck the
door and bumped off onto the floor.

Feather pillows were hardly standard in the Academy; he’d
manufactured one on board. He hated sleeping with those ergonomic
foam ones, and far preferred something that he could mould under
his neck. And right now his particular proclivities were about to
come in handy.

As he
hunkered down and waited, he heard the sounds of the incursion. The
running feet, the small explosions, the screams, and the continual
warnings of the computer.

But
none of it could trump how loudly his heart beat in his ears. It
thumped and drummed and pounded like an entire army of warriors
hammering against his skull and chest.

He
ignored it though. He drew on his years of training and dived
further and further into his instincts until he practically shut
down the analytical, objective side of his mind.

Now he
was nothing more than a set of ears, eyes, nostrils, and
hands.

Seconds later the door to his quarters opened.

Immediately Carson shot the feather pillow, and the hot,
blinding white bullet from his gun burst the outer casing of the
pillow and set the feathers alight, causing them to rush up in a
shouldering, and thankfully distracting, cloud.

Without waiting, Carson rolled to the side, firing again, and
he was gratified to hear the heavy thump of a body.

Yet
before he could cheer, there was a clink, clink, and he looked down
to see a stun grenade roll into the room.

He
shot it.

With
barely a nanosecond to spare.

If it
had been anybody else, maybe they wouldn’t have managed to do it,
but Carson had spent an unknown number of hours practising his
combat skills, and that included taking impossible
shots.

Capitalising on the surprise, he dropped to his knees, rolling
again, finally coming into line with the open door. As he punched
to his feet, he ran through it, blasting away with his gun in a
wide, wild arc.

He
heard another thump, then a growl right beside his ear.

A
Barbarian mercenary jumped towards him, pulling an enormous
electrified knife from the sheath on his side.

Carson
just had enough time to double back, then the blade came slicing
towards him.

Though
the armour he was currently wearing was good, a few strikes from
that electrified blade, and he would feel it.

He'd
also likely lose a limb.

The
mercenary growled at him again, and even through his armour, Carson
could smell the stench of the creature's breath. It didn’t just
remind him of rotting meat; it had a foul, curdled-milk edge to it
that made his stomach turn.

Doubling back again as the mercenary swiped for Carson’s head,
he tried to get off a shot, but the mercenary was too close and the
barrel of Carson’s gun was too long.

Though
he could turn and run back into his quarters, Carson didn’t want to
be pinned down. He had one advantage: surprise.

There
was another soft clink, clink, and in his peripheral vision, he saw
another grenade tumble across the floor towards him.

The
Barbarians were not a particularly caring bunch, and loyalty was
not something they lived by. If one Barbarian could benefit by the
sacrifice of another, then the sacrifice was made.

Reacting immediately, Carson shot at the grenade, but as he
did so he gave the mercenary with the electrified blade an
opportunity to strike, and strike he did. The man was not a Xerk.
He was from a race called the Mascar, and he was enormous. Easily
two-and-a-half-meters tall, he towered above Carson. Concentrated
within the creature's enormous barrel-shaped chest and
tree-trunk-like arms was astounding strength. Well, right now the
alien used it to slash the electro blade as hard as it could into
Carson’s arm.

Carson
was forced to his knees as pain shot through his shoulder and deep,
deep into his chest.

He
screamed out, but that did not stop him from jerking forward and
clutching both his hands around the hilt of the blade.

His
gun clattered to the floor, bouncing off his knee and onto his
boot.

With a
terrifying, blood-curdling scream, the alien managed to rip the
sword from Carson’s grip.

Then
he brought it down towards Carson's neck.

Immediately Carson reacted. He flung himself forward and into
the Mascar’s chest. He thrust forward with all the power his armour
could give him, and it was enough to throw the alien off-balance.
Then Carson dug his feet into the ground, pushed back, and flipped.
His hands landed, one onto the ground and one over his gun, and as
he flipped back onto his feet, he brought the gun up and
shot.

The
bullet landed dead centre and flung the mercenary against the
wall.

Turning just as another two mercenaries rounded the corridor,
Carson backed away, shooting as he did.

He was
running out of time.

He had
no idea how many Barbarians there were, but he could guess he
hadn’t even dented their numbers.

With
that horrifying fact dawning on him like the coldest of winter
days, he shuddered.

They
would find a way to kill him, and if they were feeling particularly
generous, they would simply take him into captivity and sell him as
a slave to the Kore Empire.

It
would be a sorry way for the leader of the Force to go.

As all
of these thoughts flashed through his mind, another followed
them.

He
would never find out what had happened to Nida.

Not
only had her ship been destroyed, and her body likely obliterated
by the explosion, he was about to join her.

Ducking and weaving and shooting, he managed to dispatch those
two mercenaries, but again he heard more powering down the
corridor.

He
backed off towards his room, ready for his final stand.

It
wouldn’t come.

At
least not today.

 

Chapter
27

Cadet
Nida Harper

They
had attacked her ship.

Out of
nowhere, a vessel had materialised. by the side of her cruiser, and
had started firing.

The
presence in her mind had taken sudden and immediate control of her
body, sending pulses of blue light into the panel of the cruiser,
but it had been too late.

The
enemy ship had already disabled every system and had overloaded the
engines. There was a gaping hole in the side of the ship, which
Nida was only protected from by the enclosed and sealed
cockpit.

Without the time to question or worry, the entity controlling
her had screamed.

An
incredible, unbelievably powerful, sorrow-filled scream that had
vibrated through every single centimetre of Nida, filling her with
the most agonising panic she would ever experience.

Then,
just before the enemy ship had finished them off, it
dematerialised.

Nida
blinked in surprise as the image of it simply disappeared on her
crackling, badly fractured view screen.

Then
more blue light had escaped her palms, travelling deep into the
arcing console before her. Without a command, or at least a verbal
one from her, the ship turned and continued along its original
heading.

Even
though the engines were badly damaged, the blue light pouring from
her hand seemed to sustain them, and they travelled on.

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