Chapter 21
Chapter twenty-one
Everything about this place was a shithole.
Carver scanned the horizon, his helmet interface sending streams of data.
The desert of cakey dirt had turned into an icy mess, each step hard and uneven.
There were no trees, no rivers, nothing to make the surface of Earth anywhere he would want to spend time.
Just an ugly building attached to an even uglier greenhouse, both on stilts, like even it knew better than to allow its belly to touch dying filth.
A surface-to-station tether shot up in the distance, the returning storm already obscuring its slender shape.
Thick clouds swirled in a foreboding circle. He didn’t have much time before he had to get out of here. He’d waited long enough to land, gauging the span it would take to retrieve the doctor and exit the atmosphere.
Movement grabbed his focus, and his hand went to his gun. His steps slowed as a person strode around the edge of the main building.
There had been nothing about a secondary target in his package, but during his short flight across the surface, his sensors had picked up a single-person pod, one that had self-destructed after landing.
The man heading toward him was definitely not Wynn Lambdin.
He was dressed in black.
He wore glasses.
He didn’t have a protective suit of any kind.
His skin was vulnerable to the elements, his body exposed to lethal levels of radiation.
Everything Carver had just read on the way here, why his superiors seemed fit to load him down with terabytes of data, clicked into place.
He hadn’t been told this was a rescue mission.
Carver pulled his gun and fired. His shot hit nothing but air.
He blinked, then the fucker was in front of him, delivering a punch that stole his soul. Carver flew, and so did his weapon. He landed with a thud and a crack, and his breath abandoned his lungs the moment he hit the ground.
A circle of blue sky rimmed his vision. His visor interface displayed data: wind speeds, temperature, and a helmet diagnostic after receiving the hit. It tracked the fucker as he neared at five kilometers an hour.
A shadow blocked the sun, then a tall form.
A disquieting sensation traveled over Carver’s body at the fucker’s perusal. He waited for another attack, his senses attuned to the other’s movements.
But then the man took a step back.
Not today. Carver’s hand shot out, and he engaged the shocker embedded in his PALM, its intensity level set to maximum.
The charge connected, and took the fucker down like a charm.
Carver lay there for one breath, then another before he rolled to his knees and stood, his eyes never leaving the prone form. Shit, that hurt. His entire body throbbed from the hit and fall.
He stared at the unconscious man. His glasses were askew, his eyes closed and jaw slack. The beginnings of radiation burns etched his cheeks a pink color.
Was he what Carver thought he was? He had short hair like a defender, and didn’t look different from any other man he’d met in his life.
Not taking any chances. Carver aimed at the man’s forehead and fired. Brain matter and blood sprayed across the ice, crimson on white.
The back of his neck prickled, and Carver lifted his head to peer toward the main building, a hovercart parked out front. If Dr. Lambdin hadn’t been changed into a Calypson, then she was probably dead.
Unwanted dread swirled in his chest. He’d signed up for a life-or-death deadline. Hopefully, the footage of the Calypson walking on Earth without a suit would be enough of a consolation prize to keep him alive.
He glanced up at the sky. He didn’t have much time before the eye of the storm passed. Might not take off and get clear of it if he wasn’t quick here.
Keeping his gun in hand, he trudged toward the outpost. He left his other gun where it fell, not wanting to waste time. It was programmed to his bio-signature anyway. No one else could use it without some major re-programming.
The closer he approached the building, the less ice covered the ground, making it easier to walk.
Kerclunk. The sound made him pause, fingers twitching. Metallic shutters descended over a large section of windows, covering them completely. He squinted. Someone was alive in there. He stalked toward the steps leading to the main entrance, then climbed them two at a time.
He pressed his hand to the door’s control, his PALM interacting with the outpost’s systems. Interesting. The building was under lockdown. Someone wanted to keep him out.
Lifting his hand away, he tapped on his PALM, then pressed it against the control panel. The contact allowed him to access the outpost’s security systems. Then, with a tap of his fingers, he overrode it using his universal codes.
Kerclank. The shutters retracted. The outer door to the decontamination zone opened.
With his weapon loose in his hand, Carver stepped inside. As soon as the doors closed behind him, a sheen of cleansing fluid covered his body, then trickled through the grating beneath his boots. Air swirled around him, the sound loud enough to mute everything else.
While the process continued, he scanned what he could see through the transparent doors. A basic hallway led in two directions. His eyes caught on a bundle of white on the ground, a UV-suit.
Carver turned his head slightly, toward where he’d left the body. He couldn’t see it from this angle, but he now questioned whether he’d killed a Calypson or someone else. The man hadn’t been armed.
Seconds ticked by, and his annoyance at the decontamination process grew. Finally, the light beside the door turned green, and the doors slid open. He stepped into the second portion of the decontamination zone.
Nothing moved on the other side of the door.
A wall compartment hissed open, waiting for him to disrobe. Not likely. He wouldn’t step into a building without protection, especially when that fucker had come from inside.
Carver pressed his hand to the panel, circumventing the process. It took too long, but the light turned green on the panel. The interior door slid open with a hiss of pressure.
Silence throbbed in contrast to the hum and hush of the decontamination process. He touched his PALM, adjusting his view to partial infrared. He scanned left, then right.
A heat signature pulsed, a slight smudge of red against the dead materials of the building. The hunched form held a weapon. The data streaming along the bottom of his visor told him it was a long-distance rifle, an older model that was prone to malfunction.
His finger flexed on the trigger of his gun, then he checked that his autonomous shielding was set to maximum. Not that a rifle like that would do much damage.
Keeping his eyes on the person on the other side of the wall, he touched the controls on his weapon, changing the setting to stun. His orders hadn’t altered since he’d received them. He was supposed to bring them the doctor alive.
The door on his left opened automatically when he approached, revealing a lab. Carver stopped out of the line of sight, and scanned everything he could see from his position: wide windows revealing the sunny landscape beyond, and a bank of terminals, their shiny black surfaces reflecting the light.
He refocused on the person, noting her feminine curves within the scope of the thermal imaging. Her slight form shook, the weapon jiggling in her hand. She stood with her back to the wall, her head moving back and forth between his location and an exit on the other side of the room.
Her behavior was the opposite of the fucker outside.
With a flick of his finger against his PALM, Carver adjusted his helmet settings so she could hear him.
“Doctor Wynn Lambdin?”
Her body stilled, her focus returning to his position. She raised the weapon a little higher, her head tilting to aim over the sight, but her arms shook.
“Who’s there?” Her words were tight, like she was being strangled.
“Your escort. I have orders to take you off world.” He stepped forward, just enough for her to see him, but kept his gun tucked behind his thigh. “Lower your weapon.”
She appeared to have her wits about her, fully human, exhibiting none of the characteristics that he’d seen in the files he’d reviewed on the journey here.
That made things easier.
She wore skimpy undergarments, a pair of white shorts and a top held up by thin straps. Tears tracked down her cheeks, her expression twisted with fear and anguish.
Despite the gun in her hand, Dr. Wynn Lambdin was not a threat. The fear on her face—that was real. No one could fake that.
What had the bastard done to put that fear there?
And he shouldn’t give a fuck. He had a mission to complete—take her to General Cazin on the Corvus. Carver had staked his life on it.
“Doctor Wynn Lambdin,” he repeated, though he knew it was her. Except for the puffy eyes, blotchy skin, and lack of clothing, she looked the same as her picture in her personnel file and the newsreels he’d watched. “ID confirmation required,” he ordered.
She stiffened, then her throat bobbed in a swallow. “Four seven one six two four.” The words sounded automatic, pulled out of her from years of working with the CORE government.
Confirmation materialized on his interface, along with the same picture from before.
“Put the weapon down.”
Eyes wide and red, she stared at him, unwavering, and for a second it felt like she could see right through his tinted visor, though he knew it was impossible. Then she turned her head, her focus shifting to the outside world.
He followed her line of sight. The wall of black clouds swelled toward them, and with it a thick belt of blowing snow. They needed to get out of here before it hit.
Her shoulders settled with a deep inhale. Then she refocused on him, raised the rifle, and aimed at his head. “No.”
Disbelief ricocheted through him, and he had the urge to laugh. No one ever told him no. They begged for their lives; they died before he even knew he was there; they shat themselves in fear. But they never told him no.
He filtered through the information he’d received, what he’d expected to find at this outpost, and how he’d misjudged the situation.
Dr. Lambdin didn’t want to be saved.
He stepped forward, and she twitched. “I’ve been ordered to take you off planet,” he said, his tone heavy with order. “Gear up.”
She shook her head. “I’m not going anywhere with you,” she gritted, her jaw tight and her fingers flexing on the rifle. “You can’t make me.”
“Oh! I see,” he said, keeping his tone light. “Not a problem.”
Her brow furrowed, and the rifle wavered.
Then he was moving, firing his gun before she could get a shot off. It hit her square in the chest. Her eyes widened a moment, then she dropped to the floor like he’d turned off the gravity.