Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
R oan caught sight of Josh and Sergi as they disappeared down the conduit tube to his left. Packu stood waiting for Bantu’s sign that he had deactivated the sensors to the right. Roan returned his focus to Bantu. The younger man’s fingers hovered over the tablet in his hand.
“That’s the last of the sensors along this feed of conduits. I’ll monitor them and see if I can access more of the ship’s controls in case you need me. Packu, are you okay with the charges?”
“I got this,” Packu said, sliding the strap of the bag containing the charges over his shoulder. Sergi and Josh are going to place some along their way.”
Roan nodded, his eyes narrowed as he looked down the corridor ahead. The air smelled faintly of chemicals and ozone, a sterile, metallic scent that clung to the back of his throat.
“We’ll head for the containment labs,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Julia, here,” Cassa said, lowering a satchel filled with explosives.
Roan’s mouth tightened as he stepped forward, his hand brushing Julia’s when he took the bag. “I’ll take those. We don’t want any unexpected fireworks.”
Julia lifted an eyebrow, her lips curving into a slow, knowing smile. “I thought you liked the fireworks I set off.”
Roan’s eyes twinkled with amusement at the unexpected teasing in Julia’s eyes. He leaned slightly closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur.
“Oh, I loved the fireworks you set off, especially the explosion at the end. I just prefer the kind that leave us both breathless—and in one piece.”
Julia’s eyes glinted with mischief. “Who says I can’t do that with those?”
“Are they flirting?” Bantu asked, his eyes darting between them with a glimmer of confusion in them before he looked up at Cassa.
Cassa chuckled softly, peering down at them. “Yes, Squeals, and I hope they’re enjoying every second of it.”
Bantu shook his head, a bemused grin tugging at his lips. “I never thought I’d see iron-balls Landais flirting.”
* * *
Time seemed to slow down as Roan turned, leading Julia deeper into the heart of the space lab. Every step took them closer to the deadliest secret the Legion had ever created. The air was cold and stale, the walls of the conduit pressing in around them as they moved silently through the ship. Roan’s footsteps were deliberate, each step measured to avoid making noise.
Julia stepped up beside him, her eyes on the dim glow of Roan’s wrist-mounted holographic map. Her thoughts raced as she mentally mapped out the containment units and calculated the best way to reach the control panels once they reached the lab. The endless bright tubes seemed to stretch on forever. The air was thick with the faint scent of chemicals used for sterilizing. It reminded Julia of the disinfectant the airlines use back on Earth.
They stopped at an intersection where the conduit split in three directions. Roan glanced at her, his eyes searching hers with a worried expression. Julia exhaled slowly, steeling herself, and smiled back at him, letting him know that she was good.
“Left,” Roan whispered, his voice barely audible. “That’ll take us to the first containment unit.”
Julia nodded, her fingers brushing against the bulkhead to steady herself as they turned. Her senses were on high alert, every sound magnified—the faint hum of the ventilation system, the soft scrape of their boots against metal.
Suddenly, her eyes caught something—a faint shimmer in the air ahead. A sensor, nearly invisible, pulsed faintly as it scanned the corridor.
“Roan,” she whispered, pointing.
He froze, his eyes narrowing. “Bantu hasn’t disabled this one yet. We can’t wait. I’ll have to disable it manually.”
Roan studied the remote sensor. It must have been wired to replace a faulty one or as an added precaution. He wondered how many more there would be. His scanned the corridor for the control panel. There wasn’t one.
Frustration burned through him. He could see the opening that led down to the first lab just on the other side. His mind considered ways to disable the sensor without triggering it. The beam needed to be reflected across to the other side. If the beam was broken, it would trigger the alarm. His hands went to his jacket and he patted them.
“What are you looking for?” Julia asked.
He glanced at her. “I need something to reflect the beam.”
Julia frowned, looking at where the beam pulsed. Every second, it would send out a thin red light that would strike a mirrored disk across from it and bounce back. The beams were a little like playing Pong in the old video games. The only one that was constant was the one at the bottom. If that one was steady, they could roll under it. There was no way to reflect the entire row.
“The watch on your arm. It has a polished silver backing, doesn’t it?” she asked.
Roan removed the miniature computer he had been using to guide them. Turning it over, he noticed it had a flat, reflective back. Julia took it from him, blew a heated breath to fog the back, and cleaned it as best she could with the end of her shirt.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
She glanced up at him before turning the shiny disk back and forth in the light. “Body oils and lasers don’t work well together. I’ll reflect the beam while you go under. Then, we’ll trade.”
He opened his mouth to protest that it was too dangerous, but that would be a moot point. They had passed the danger part a long time ago. He stepped to the side, slide the bag containing their remaining explosives off his shoulder, and positioned himself horizontally with the beam of light.
Julia’s head bobbed with the pulse of the laser beam, counting. He realized that there was a pattern. The beams rotated in opposing waves. The bottom one was the only one to remain constant… except that every fifteen seconds it went off.
Julia counted, holding the shiny part of his wrist map by the straps, and placing it in front of the beam the second it went off. Roan slid the bag of explosives under the upper beam and scooted under it. He breathed out a shaky breath when he realized Julia’s plan had worked.
She looked up at him. Her eyes narrowed on his face when a flash of indecision swept through him. He looked at the opening to the lab.
“Don’t even think of it. I will follow you. You need me to figure out the sequence,” she said.
Roan’s lips curved in a rueful smile and walked over to take the straps from her. “It was just a thought,” he murmured.
“A very bad one,” she retorted with an inelegant snort.
Seconds later, she was standing beside him as he replaced the map on his wrist. She bent and picked up the satchel, slipping it over her head. Roan reached up and tenderly caressed her cheek.
“I love you, Julia,” he said, his thumb sliding across her cheek. “Whatever happens, I want you to know that.”
Julia’s expression softened. “I want you to tell me that again once we are out of here and not about to die.”
He chuckled. “Deal.”
* * *
They moved in unison to the opening of the conduit. The vented grate was wide enough and tall enough for them both to stand. They stood pressed against the side as two Legion scientists, a man and a woman, walked by. Each held a scanner and were focused on the huge containment unit filled with the glowing parasites.
Each wore crisp, white contamination suits, the fabric stiff and rustling with each movement. The suits, worn in the hope of surviving a contaminate breach, would worked in his and Julia’s favor.
Roan sent a message to Bantu to release the lock. They watched in silence as the light turned from red to green. Easing the grate open, Roan slipped out of the large tube. Seconds later, the two scientists lay dead from the slice of a massive charge from the Gallant staff he held in his hand.
Julia slipped in behind him as he lowered the man to the floor. She flashed a look from the two scientists to him. He shook his head.
“We couldn’t take the chance of them alerting anyone,” he said without remorse. “They also know the process.”
Julia silently nodded. “See if you can find two contaminate suits for us while I see what type of chemicals they are using.”
Roan nodded while Julia turned away from the sight of the bodies lying on the floor. Releasing a deep breath; he turned and headed for a marked cabinet against the far wall. He glanced over the first containment unit’s contents. His stomach twisted at the sight. Each unit contained a component of the weapon that could destroy an entire planet.
Julia moved to the nearest control panel and swept her fingers across the holographic screen. While the words were foreign to her, the chemical compounds were not. “This is it,” she said. “The dispersal agents are stored here. If we trigger them in this order, it will neutralize the parasites.”
Roan crossed over to stand by her. He scanned the controls. He didn’t understand everything he was seeing, but there was enough information to tell him that Julia was right. The symbols for the chemical elements matched what he was reading. He reached out, but Julia placed her hand over his.
“Let me do the first one—for Calstar,” she requested, her voice steady despite the tension.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
Julia gave him a sad smile and nodded. “I may not be able to mete out justice for my father and the other members of the Gliese project, but I can for your grandfather and the others your father and uncle have hurt.”
Roan’s lips curved into a smile of understanding. “If you are the most na?ve of the Ancients, you were right.”
A puzzled frown creased her brow. “About what?”
“My father and uncle have no idea what they are up against.”
Julia released a strained laugh and shook her head. “Hell hath no fury like a pissed off Ancient,” she quipped.
“I’ll take care of the scientists in the lab next door. You do deactivate this unit and meet me there.”
Roan hesitated, knowing time was of the essence, yet hating to leave Julia out of his sight. He hadn’t missed the flash of distress in her eyes at the sight of the two scientists he killed. He would try to shield her from the others as they moved from one lab to the next.
Turning away, he slid the contaminant suit over his clothing and pulled the helmet on before retrieving a security badge from the body of the male scientist. He stepped back and watched as Julia’s fingers danced across the console, his heart pounding in his chest.
As a deep blue mixture released into the first unit, Roan knew this was the moment that would decide everything.
* * *
Bridge of the Legion Battle Cruiser – Near Tesla Terra
The low voices of the crew on the bridge flowed around General Coleridge Landais like a low, ever-present growl. His eyes swept across the holographic projection in front of him, meticulously monitoring the positions of the Legion warships encircling Tesla Terra. Each red dot on the map represented a vessel ready to rain destruction upon the planet below at his command.
It should have filled him with satisfaction. It didn’t.
The tension crawling beneath his skin had been building ever since they entered the Tesla Terra system. He leaned forward in his command chair, his fingers tapping a restless beat on the armrest as he watched the space lab slowly drift into position.
“Sir,” the communications officer called, his voice tense. “Incoming transmission from Director Andronikos.”
Coleridge’s jaw tightened. He hated being interrupted mid-operation, especially by his brother. Still, he kept his expression neutral as the massive screen flickered and filled with Andri’s face.
“Coleridge,” Andri said, his voice cold and commanding. “Report.”
Coleridge kept his features carefully blank. “The mission is progressing according to plan, Director. The space lab will be in position within the hour.”
“Resistance?” Andri’s eyes narrowed, his tone deceptively calm.
A frown creased Coleridge’s brow. He leaned back, his arms relaxed along the armrests of his chair, his eyes flickered toward the tactical display.
“None. A few transports have left the planet, but nothing unusual. Our sensors have picked up no activity from either of the moons. It’s... quiet.”
Too quiet, he thought, unease creeping into his chest.
Andri’s lips curled into a faint, humorless smile. “You sound concerned, General.”
Coleridge forced a thin smile. “Just cautious, Director. I’ve learned that quiet can be deceptive.”
Andri’s eyes glinted with something sharp and knowing. “See that you don’t disappoint me again. I’ll be watching the destruction from my ship. If you fail, Coleridge, you know what awaits you.”
The screen went dark before Coleridge could respond. His fingers curled into fists, his knuckles whitening. He drew a slow breath, his fury coiling like a Torrian viper beneath his calm exterior.
He glanced at his new first officer. “Commander Straw, you have the bridge. Maintain our position and alert me if there is any change in the situation.”
Commander Straw nodded. “Yes, General.”
Coleridge stood, adjusting the cuffs of his uniform with deliberate care. “I will be taking a shuttle to the space lab. Ensure everything remains on schedule.”
Without waiting for a response, Coleridge strode toward the lift. The tension in his chest refused to ease. His instincts were screaming at him that something was wrong—that this calm was the prelude to a storm.
He stepped into the lift, the doors closing behind him with a hiss. His eyes burned with cold determination.
If there was trouble brewing aboard the space lab, he would deal with it personally.
He would not fail. Not this time.
And if anyone dared stand in his way, including his son, they would die an agonizing death along with the rest of Tesla Terra.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, the hiss of the airlock sealed behind him as Coleridge stepped onto the main deck of the Legion space lab , his eyes adjusting to the stark, sterile lighting that illuminated the corridors. The air was unnervingly cool and filled with the faint tang of antiseptic and recycled oxygen. Unlike the warships he commanded, the space lab wasn’t built for war. It was a labyrinth of labs and containment chambers, a place where science danced hand-in-hand with destruction.
The bulkheads were a polished silver alloy, their surface broken only by glowing blue indicators tracking the ship’s environmental status. Above, conduits snaked along the overhead, their pulse-like hum a reminder of the life-giving systems running through the ship’s veins.
Dr. Mella was waiting for him at the far end of the corridor, his thin frame nearly swallowed by the oversized white lab coat he wore. The man’s shoulders hunched slightly, his nervous energy radiating with every step as he hurried to greet Coleridge.
“General Landais,” Dr. Mella began, his voice brittle with anxiety. “Welcome aboard. We’ve made significant progress, though—though there have been some... complications.”
Coleridge’s eyes narrowed. “Complications?”
“Yes, well, the iROS is far more... temperamental than anticipated. It replicates quickly, yes, but it remains highly sensitive to heat during deployment. We’ve been forced to develop containment cylinders for proper release. The concept of integrating it directly into the ships has presented challenges?—”
Coleridge raised a hand, cutting him off. “Show me the containment units. I’m not interested in your excuses.”
Dr. Mella escorted Coleridge to the lift. They stepped in. Dr. Mella requested Level 18. Coleridge ignored the wheezing of Dr. Mella’s breaths. The Palterian species had six nasal passages down the center of their faces. Oxygen was filtered through thin membranes filled with mucus. The effect was that the Palterians always sounded like they had a bad cold.
Once the lift doors opened, Coleridge followed Mella down a series of narrow corridors until they reached a large, reinforced door. The doors slid open with a soft whoosh , revealing a cavernous laboratory bathed in an eerie blue light. The lab was divided into a long line of separate, smaller labs. There were five on each side. Coleridge took note of the number above the door to the first lab. Through the clear enclosure, he could see two scientists monitoring containment unit number ten.
He waved a hand to Dr. Mella to proceed him into the room. The scientists turned in unison. The protests on their lips fading when they saw who had entered. With jerky bows, they stepped to the side.
Coleridge slowly walked over to study the massive vat of parasites. The cylinder pulsed faintly, the liquid inside glowing a cold, otherworldly blue. Miniscule bioluminescent particles swirled within the fluid, occasionally flickering like distant stars before merging into larger clusters—the parasites.
Coleridge’s eyes narrowed as he studied the glowing liquid. The iROS parasites were barely the size of grains of sand, but they pulsed with unnatural energy, their movements almost hypnotic.
“We keep them alive by feeding them small amounts of oxygen through these tubes. The more oxygen they absorb, the more they replicate. If there is not enough oxygen, they begin devouring each other. If they get too much, they begin to replicate faster than the oxygen supply and once again begin feeding on each other. It is a delicate balance,” Dr. Mella said, his voice tinged with both pride and dread. “Once released, the iROS will attack the planet’s atmospheric layers, breaking down the oxygen molecules and leaving the surface exposed to radiation. As I mentioned, they’re contained in these cylinders for deployment to prevent premature destruction.”
Coleridge’s fingers brushed the cold glass of the containment unit. “How long until the atmosphere is compromised if all ten are deployed?”
Dr. Mella hesitated, his brow furrowing. He mumbled a series of complex mathematical formulas under his breath, wheezing loudly. It took almost a minute before he finally answered.
“Based on the size and atmospheric composition of the planet, I estimate three to four days, General.”
Coleridge nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving the glowing liquid. “And how long to replicate enough to compromise a dozen planets the size of Tesla Terra?”
“Well…” Dr. Mella paused, licking his lips. “Six months. Maybe longer. That’s if we use everything we have on board now. If we use all ten units, we will have only a few of the parasites to work with. The initial replication process is slow?—”
Coleridge turned sharply, his eyes locking onto Dr. Mella with an intensity that made the scientist flinch and his rambling explanation faded.
“Six months won’t do. I want every Battle Cruiser fitted with a mobile unit of this weapon in two months.”
Mella’s face paled in response. “General, that’s… not realistic?—”
“It’s not a request, Dr. Mella,” Coleridge snapped. “You’ll find a way. This mission is vital to the Legion’s success. The Director expects nothing less than perfection.”
Without waiting for a response, Coleridge turned and strode from the containment lab. His footsteps slowed to a stop when the double doors slid open.
A nagging feeling pulled at him and he turned to look down the corridor at the other cubicles holding the individual labs. His eyes narrowed as he scanned the scientists dressed in white contaminate suits through the glass enclosures.
Not even Roan would be bold enough to try to board this ship—even if he could .
With a grunt of irritation, he turned away, leaving Dr. Mella staring after him.
* * *
The lift doors opened onto the bridge. The view was breathtaking—and ominous. Tesla Terra hung in the distance, a fragile orb of blue and green against the vast black depths of space. The room was quiet, too quiet, with only the soft hum of consoles and the occasional murmur from the officers at their stations.
Coleridge’s boots struck the metal floor with deliberate force as he walked to the center of the bridge. His attention locked onto the planet. His heart beat steadily, but a flicker of unease stirred deep within him.
The surrounding space was too quiet. The mission was too easy. He knew his son too well.
Roan was a strategist, always calculating, always watching for weaknesses. Roan wouldn’t run. He wouldn’t hide.
His eyes narrowed as he scanned the tactical display. Every instinct screamed that something was coming—something hidden in the calm.
“Status report,” he barked.
An officer glanced up, his face impassive. “All systems normal, General Landais. No abnormal activity detected.”
Coleridge pursed his lips, but his hands curled into fists behind his back. The silence pressed against him, wrapping around him with long dark tentacles.
His son was out there. Somewhere. Watching. Waiting.
Coleridge’s jaw tightened. The air on the bridge seemed to thicken, the tension rising with each passing second.
“Complete another scan, including one of the ship,” he ordered.
“Yes, sir,” the officer replied, turning to give the order.
His eyes remained locked on the planet, his breath slowing. This was the calm before the storm. He could feel it in his bones.
When the storm came, he would be ready.
Or so he told himself.