Read Online Atlantia Series 1: Survivor by Dean Crawford - Free Book Online
Authors: Dean Crawford
Tags: Space Opera
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control centre deepened as the men around Qayin got their first close–up look at her. A live current seemed to flicker across them, volatile emotions of desire and uncertainty about the newcomer and her featureless mask.
The security door was pushed closed behind her by one of the convicts, who sealed it and then turned to look at her from behind. Qayin saw his eyes drift down to her ass and legs, and then the convict stepped forward and one hand settled on her ass.
She moved with remarkable speed, spinning around as the back of one forearm swiped up and under the convict’s jaw and spun him sideways and over onto his front against a control panel. She grabbed the convict’s wrist with one hand as the other, the shank flickering in its grasp, flashed through the air and drove the weapon straight through the convict’s palm and deep into the plastic control panel.
The convict let out a scream of pain and two of his closest companions moved toward Alpha Zero Seven. As Qayin watched they backed away again as she smoothly unslung her rifle and charged the pulse–chamber, the faint hum filling the control centre.
‘Are we done assaulting our guest?’ Qayin asked.
The convict pinned to the control panel groaned in agony as he tried to pull the shank from his hand. Cutler walked across to him, reached down and yanked the weapon out to a fresh yelp of pain. The convict slumped to the floor, cradling his bloodied palm as Cutler turned and handed the shank out to Alpha Zero Seven. She reached out and snatched the weapon back, flipped it over and it vanished up her sleeve as quickly as it had emerged.
‘Are we done here?’ Qayin asked again.
The other convicts relaxed, their eyes off the woman and back onto Qayin. He turned to a convict manning the communications terminal.
‘Contact the bridge,’ he ordered. ‘It’s time to end this.’
Qayin turned to see Alpha standing on the edge of the platform, her back to the convicts lower down. She was either entirely fearless or psychologically adept: none of the convicts moved toward her, and the man she had injured was still whimpering as he bound his wound with strips of grubby clothing torn from his fatigues.
‘Bridge, this is cell block.’
The convicts listened and waited. They didn’t have to wait long.
‘Cell block, bridge.’
Angry. Uncompromising. Probably a senior officer, Qayin guessed, trying to maintain the hard line. The Word. Qayin pressed a button on the governor’s chair and the communications link opened up onto loudspeaker as he replied.
‘It’s time to negotiate,’ Qayin said.
‘There will be no negotiating. The Word does not…’
‘The Word is irrelevant here,’ Qayin interrupted. ‘You have a choice. Either you allow us access to the Atlantia or we pull you all down to certain death with us.’
‘You seem to have forgotten that we can send men out to cut you away at any time we choose.’
‘Then why haven’t you?’ Qayin asked. ‘Is it, perhaps, because you left a few people behind?’
A long silence echoed down the communications channel.
‘How many of our people do you have?’
Qayin’s grinned.
‘The only way you’ll find that out is if they walk across with us, or we finish sending all the pieces of them.’
‘How many?’
‘Several,’ Qayin said. ‘We will bring them with us provided you do exactly as I say.’
‘I want proof of life.’
‘You want?’ Qayin asked, smiling broadly. ‘ You want. Do we have somebody here important to you?’
The channel clicked and a new voice appeared. Captain Idris Sansin’s brittle, rough tones were clearly audible over the link.
‘Now you listen to me, scum. We give the orders here. The Word will decide what happens.’
Qayin did not respond. He put his fingers to his lips as he looked around the control centre. Nobody made a sound.
‘Do you hear me?!’
Qayin made a cradle for his chin from his interlinked fingers and
The security door was pushed closed behind her by one of the convicts, who sealed it and then turned to look at her from behind. Qayin saw his eyes drift down to her ass and legs, and then the convict stepped forward and one hand settled on her ass.
She moved with remarkable speed, spinning around as the back of one forearm swiped up and under the convict’s jaw and spun him sideways and over onto his front against a control panel. She grabbed the convict’s wrist with one hand as the other, the shank flickering in its grasp, flashed through the air and drove the weapon straight through the convict’s palm and deep into the plastic control panel.
The convict let out a scream of pain and two of his closest companions moved toward Alpha Zero Seven. As Qayin watched they backed away again as she smoothly unslung her rifle and charged the pulse–chamber, the faint hum filling the control centre.
‘Are we done assaulting our guest?’ Qayin asked.
The convict pinned to the control panel groaned in agony as he tried to pull the shank from his hand. Cutler walked across to him, reached down and yanked the weapon out to a fresh yelp of pain. The convict slumped to the floor, cradling his bloodied palm as Cutler turned and handed the shank out to Alpha Zero Seven. She reached out and snatched the weapon back, flipped it over and it vanished up her sleeve as quickly as it had emerged.
‘Are we done here?’ Qayin asked again.
The other convicts relaxed, their eyes off the woman and back onto Qayin. He turned to a convict manning the communications terminal.
‘Contact the bridge,’ he ordered. ‘It’s time to end this.’
Qayin turned to see Alpha standing on the edge of the platform, her back to the convicts lower down. She was either entirely fearless or psychologically adept: none of the convicts moved toward her, and the man she had injured was still whimpering as he bound his wound with strips of grubby clothing torn from his fatigues.
‘Bridge, this is cell block.’
The convicts listened and waited. They didn’t have to wait long.
‘Cell block, bridge.’
Angry. Uncompromising. Probably a senior officer, Qayin guessed, trying to maintain the hard line. The Word. Qayin pressed a button on the governor’s chair and the communications link opened up onto loudspeaker as he replied.
‘It’s time to negotiate,’ Qayin said.
‘There will be no negotiating. The Word does not…’
‘The Word is irrelevant here,’ Qayin interrupted. ‘You have a choice. Either you allow us access to the Atlantia or we pull you all down to certain death with us.’
‘You seem to have forgotten that we can send men out to cut you away at any time we choose.’
‘Then why haven’t you?’ Qayin asked. ‘Is it, perhaps, because you left a few people behind?’
A long silence echoed down the communications channel.
‘How many of our people do you have?’
Qayin’s grinned.
‘The only way you’ll find that out is if they walk across with us, or we finish sending all the pieces of them.’
‘How many?’
‘Several,’ Qayin said. ‘We will bring them with us provided you do exactly as I say.’
‘I want proof of life.’
‘You want?’ Qayin asked, smiling broadly. ‘ You want. Do we have somebody here important to you?’
The channel clicked and a new voice appeared. Captain Idris Sansin’s brittle, rough tones were clearly audible over the link.
‘Now you listen to me, scum. We give the orders here. The Word will decide what happens.’
Qayin did not respond. He put his fingers to his lips as he looked around the control centre. Nobody made a sound.
‘Do you hear me?!’
Qayin made a cradle for his chin from his interlinked fingers and
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