Read Online The Terminal War: A Space Opera Novel (A Carson Mach Adventure) by A. C. Hadfield - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: A. C. Hadfield
Tags: Science-Fiction, adventure, Space Opera, Military, Science Fiction & Fantasy, alien invasion, Exploration, Space Exploration, first contact, Galactic Empire, Space Fleet, Space Marine, Colonization
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glad to hear those dulcet tones once more,” Mach said. “I had the worst nightmares ever.”
“You became celibate?”
“That would have been preferable to the horrors I saw,” Mach replied, trying not to recall those dreadful images. And failing, because if someone says to you don’t think of an elephant, that is exactly what you think of. The imagination is a vindictive son-of-a-bitch like that.
“Where are we?” a different voice said this time. Older, male: Beringer.
For a while, Mach had forgotten they had brought him along. But it was the clarity he needed, the final nail in the subconscious coffin—they were there. They were at Terminus!
Mach blinked the stasis-crud from his eyes and stood up, stepping outside of the shuttle into the cold dark of their surroundings.
The sodden clothes he wore, dampened by the stasis fluid, dripped with water to the ground, tapping like tiny, soluble crystals against a stone surface.
His bare feet transmitted the coldness up through his legs, chilling every muscle and tendon, bringing with it the tight pain of cramp in muscles previously starved of correct movement.
Not even the hi-tech vestan stasis system could prevent that, much to Mach’s chagrin. He turned back and helped the other two out of the shuttle. The three of them began to unload the craft of their supplies, of which amounted to no more than a single case of clothes, atmospheric suits, and various stims and nutri-shots. They weren’t allowed to bring their weapons or smart-screens, naturally.
“Someone’s coming,” Beringer said from Mach’s left. “I can hear footsteps.”
The older man was shivering like he would fall dead any minute. The darkness of the room lightened by progressively lighter shades of gray until Mach noticed Adira to his right, peeling off her sodden clothes.
The room they were in was completely devoid of any meaningful detail. Dark grey stone made up the surface of floor. And the walls, as far as he could tell. The place was at least large enough for five shuttles, and when he looked up, he saw a tiny sliver of white light between two long panels: a bay door, he thought. That’s how they must have come in.
A brighter light flashed on, blinding Mach. He held up his hand to his squinted eyes. A dark, tall shape came toward him. It was much taller than he, and willowy so that it almost seemed to shimmer in the brilliant illumination.
“Stand still,” the voice said in Salus Common. It resonated with more octaves and nuances than Mach could resolve. There was something almost musical about it, the way it seemed to phase in and out of keys and suggest more meaning than Mach could discern.
The figure before them reached out a thin hand, taking Mach by his wrist.
Mach tried to pull back, but the tall, lithe figure was much stronger than he had anticipated, and it snapped a cold, metal bracelet to Mach’s wrist.
Then it did the same to Beringer and Adira.
No one said anything for a moment. Mach tried to get his bearings, get his thoughts running smooth like the Intrepid’s engines again, but the cloud of stasis fog in his mind wouldn’t play fair.
“I’m Kortas,” the figure said. “Your Terminus representative. I am to brief you on the task and be your point of contact for the Guardians. You will do as we tell you. Come, we have limited time available to us. Afron’s mind has less than fifty standard hours before it’s no longer connective.”
“Connective?” Adira asked. She had finished putting on her dry clothes and looked at Kortas with no sense of surprise or bewilderment. The stims, Mach thought. The medical procedures she had after her fight must have held back some of the effects of the weeklong stasis.
“I’ll explain more shortly. For now, you three will require your protective suits. Terminus’ atmosphere is in its regression phase. It will be quite toxic for you, and our air supplies for this bay are
“You became celibate?”
“That would have been preferable to the horrors I saw,” Mach replied, trying not to recall those dreadful images. And failing, because if someone says to you don’t think of an elephant, that is exactly what you think of. The imagination is a vindictive son-of-a-bitch like that.
“Where are we?” a different voice said this time. Older, male: Beringer.
For a while, Mach had forgotten they had brought him along. But it was the clarity he needed, the final nail in the subconscious coffin—they were there. They were at Terminus!
Mach blinked the stasis-crud from his eyes and stood up, stepping outside of the shuttle into the cold dark of their surroundings.
The sodden clothes he wore, dampened by the stasis fluid, dripped with water to the ground, tapping like tiny, soluble crystals against a stone surface.
His bare feet transmitted the coldness up through his legs, chilling every muscle and tendon, bringing with it the tight pain of cramp in muscles previously starved of correct movement.
Not even the hi-tech vestan stasis system could prevent that, much to Mach’s chagrin. He turned back and helped the other two out of the shuttle. The three of them began to unload the craft of their supplies, of which amounted to no more than a single case of clothes, atmospheric suits, and various stims and nutri-shots. They weren’t allowed to bring their weapons or smart-screens, naturally.
“Someone’s coming,” Beringer said from Mach’s left. “I can hear footsteps.”
The older man was shivering like he would fall dead any minute. The darkness of the room lightened by progressively lighter shades of gray until Mach noticed Adira to his right, peeling off her sodden clothes.
The room they were in was completely devoid of any meaningful detail. Dark grey stone made up the surface of floor. And the walls, as far as he could tell. The place was at least large enough for five shuttles, and when he looked up, he saw a tiny sliver of white light between two long panels: a bay door, he thought. That’s how they must have come in.
A brighter light flashed on, blinding Mach. He held up his hand to his squinted eyes. A dark, tall shape came toward him. It was much taller than he, and willowy so that it almost seemed to shimmer in the brilliant illumination.
“Stand still,” the voice said in Salus Common. It resonated with more octaves and nuances than Mach could resolve. There was something almost musical about it, the way it seemed to phase in and out of keys and suggest more meaning than Mach could discern.
The figure before them reached out a thin hand, taking Mach by his wrist.
Mach tried to pull back, but the tall, lithe figure was much stronger than he had anticipated, and it snapped a cold, metal bracelet to Mach’s wrist.
Then it did the same to Beringer and Adira.
No one said anything for a moment. Mach tried to get his bearings, get his thoughts running smooth like the Intrepid’s engines again, but the cloud of stasis fog in his mind wouldn’t play fair.
“I’m Kortas,” the figure said. “Your Terminus representative. I am to brief you on the task and be your point of contact for the Guardians. You will do as we tell you. Come, we have limited time available to us. Afron’s mind has less than fifty standard hours before it’s no longer connective.”
“Connective?” Adira asked. She had finished putting on her dry clothes and looked at Kortas with no sense of surprise or bewilderment. The stims, Mach thought. The medical procedures she had after her fight must have held back some of the effects of the weeklong stasis.
“I’ll explain more shortly. For now, you three will require your protective suits. Terminus’ atmosphere is in its regression phase. It will be quite toxic for you, and our air supplies for this bay are
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