From the Torment of Dreams

By Iain McKinnon

Lan Agstaff joined the army to escape from the memory of a failed love affair. But on the way to his first posting in Neotra the suspended animation chamber malfunctions–and instead of peaceful nothingness he dreams endlessly about his lost lover.

By the time Lan’s ship gets to Neotra tensions have reached breaking point. Neotra has declared independence from its Terran masters, making all-out war virtually inevitable.

When his troop transport is attacked Lan almost escapes–only to be rescued by his attackers. Captain Christoph Jackson takes Lan on board his ship to placate his conscience–Jackson finds the reality of his patriotism at odds with his morality.

Meanwhile Nasim, a young village shaman, returns home to find his family slaughtered by Terran super soldier Zinner. Using his mystic talents Nasim sets off in pursuit of his family’s killers.

Lan, Jackson and Nasim soon find themselves coerced by the Neotran military government to help bring justice to Zinner for his war crimes. As the battle for Neotra reaches its climax the three are thrown into bloody combat.

Can Nasim exact his revenge?

Will Jackson be able to retain his humanity?

Will Lan be consumed by the flashbacks of his ex-lover or can he recover from the torment of dreams?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Permuted
• Release date: Nov 3, 2015
• ISBN: 9781618686909

Book preview

Lying almost naked in his crib, Lan waited. He waited for the drugs that would usher in unconsciousness.

You’re next, Agstaff, said the orderly.

Aren’t you going to wish me sweet dreams? asked Lan.

You don’t dream with enough of this stuff in you. They’ll monitor your brainwaves and dose you up if you look like coming out, the orderly finished preparing the syringe.

Next thing you know, it’ll be half a year later and you’ll be in another star system, he stuck Lan with the needle and injected the contents. The pinprick stung as the drug flooded into his veins.

Good, whispered Lan.

The injection took hold, creeping up his arm like a frost. Scratching its way through his muscles into his shoulder, up into his neck, his vision closing in as the first drops of the somnific permeated his mind. His body felt like it was floating in serenity. Light-headed and cradled by a drunken giddiness his senses drifted. It was quiet; the sounds around him had faded into nothing. Lan’s eyelids sealed off the last of the world outside as he surrendered himself to the oblivion.

* * *

Travelling in the night that separated the stars, the Terran Alliance ship, Coma Berenices made her way to one of Earth’s subjugated colonies.

Within her holds were supplies and troops for their garrison on Neotra.

The old cargo ship had little in the way of elegance or grace, her short, bulky body was like that of an old maid toughened by years of hard toil and with curves in unappealing places. Functionality had been her designers’ only consideration.

It’s the ECG monitor in bay four, said the ship’s chief medic.

Yeah? replied Captain Patron.

The doctor scurried to catch up with him in the long grey main corridor that serviced the ship.

Well, it’s shorted again.

What about the back-up? Patron kept up his stride as he tried to out-pace this latest annoyance.

"The back-up’s over in seventeen. We’ve been moving it between bays to try and monitor as many people as we can, but that’s putting their safety at risk,

There are men in some bays who haven’t been monitored in weeks.

So, can’t Maintenance fix it? Patron knew where this conversation was going. He wished the doctor would just come round to the solution without all this palaver. The doctor couldn’t let any inadequacy go without making a song and dance out of it. He would argue his way to the captain, throw in an I told you so, and then come round to the Well, maybe I could...

Captain Patron wasn’t in the mood for this. Right now, he had far bigger problems to worry about.

The doctor started, Maintenance doesn’t have...

Patron halted so sharply that the doctor almost walked into him.

As I was saying, captain...

Just get it sorted, Patron snapped.

The doctor unconsciously took a half step back before he could swallow down his surprise. The captain was never this blunt.

Patron circled his temple with two fingers trying to dispel his mounting headache, We’ve just entered the Asellus system and we’re twenty days from Neotra. If there’s a problem you’ll have to work through it until then.

But…

Patron made a stop sign with his open palm, As I understand it, this is not life threatening. Getting this ship, those men and my crew to Neotra is.

The captain’s brusque tone revealed just how much stress he was under.

There are a couple of men exhibiting signs of prolonged dream exposure, the doctor said sheepishly, I need to pull them out of suspended animation.

What the hell’s dream exposure and why the hell is it important to me? demanded Patron.

Patron saw the doctors Adams apple flex as if he were trying to swallow back his anxiety.

When a subject is held in suspended animation it’s like putting them into hibernation. They’re in a state similar to deep sleep but if the drugs aren’t monitored then the subject’s brain activity can rise to the point where they enter fast-wave or desynchronised sleep...

Cut the jargon, said Patron.

Sorry, it’s more commonly known as REM sleep.

You mean they dream? asked Captain Patron.

Yes, the doctor nodded eagerly, but even then that’s not a major problem.

So? said Patron, trying to hurry the doctor up.

The problem is that your neural pathways can still learn in this state.

What are they going to learn in their sleep? Patron shrugged.

Most dreams are harmless, random diversions in the sleeping mind.

Wait, are you going to tell me these men could have a killer dream? exclaimed Patron.

No, not quite. Have you ever had a nightmare, captain? asked the doctor.

The captain nodded.

Normally you’ll have your bad dream two or three times, then it will fade. It fades because you get time to reason it out and because you receive stimulation during the day. Your brain stores that day’s events when you go to sleep. If the only thing you do all day is dream, you end up in a loop. You dream the same things over and over again because there is no other information to process.

And to cut a long story short, interjected Patron.

When you wake up all you can think about is your dream. You suffer flashbacks leading to a profound feeling of disorientation. Not a good state for a soldier to be in, I think you’ll agree.

Patron gave a huff of exacerbation, OK, what can we do to stop this?

With constant monitoring we can identify repetitive patterns. We can increase the dosage of the hibernative. If that’s not enough, we can take that person out of suspended animation.

But because you can’t monitor them, you want to take them out of the fridges, said Patron.

The doctor nodded, affirming Patron’s conclusion.

"When did the monitor in bay four short out?"

The medical officer looked uncomfortable. We don’t know, what with the back up being in Seventeen for the past four months. Maintenance hasn’t had a spare to run checks with.

Sheesh, Patron cursed with a shake of his head. And they’ve been too lazy to check manually.

As soon as I found out I ordered the check, the doctor said.

How many men do you want to revive? asked the captain.

A dozen or so are either showing symptoms or are at risk from lack of monitoring.

Talk with the quartermaster. He’ll arrange the relevant supplies. Patron turned to take his leave of the doctor.

Captain um... The doctor paused, nervous of what the answer might be. How are things on Neotra, you seem stressed?

Don’t you read the communiqués?

I’m not security classified, replied the doctor, The last news reports I heard before we left were about anti-Earth protests.

Well, the whole thing’s about to blow up.

Why? Who won the election? the doctor asked.

Onodora, and the new neotran president has sided with the dissidents. They declared their independence two days ago and Terran High Command are refusing to recognise their legitimacy.

So you think this’ll mean war?

If it hasn’t started by now, it will have by the time we get into orbit.

* * *

The low, methodical thump of five thousand hearts echoed in the binary mind of a malfunctioning medical computer.

Inside the hull of the Coma Berenices slept five thousand soldiers, each one sealed inside a metal coffin, swathed in a blanket of tubing, wires, and intravenous drips.

The occupants could be mistaken for corpses, cold to the touch, lifeless and spiritless.

But Lan dreamt whilst he was inside that machine.

It wasn’t the months, the days, the hours, or the minutes that mattered but the seconds. Each second of thought was filled by one never-ending dream.

Although his body lay still and peaceful, his id threw up the same terrible nightmare over and over. No clichéd monsters disturbed his sleep; something much more insidious haunted him.

Lan, I don’t think we should see each other any more. Nicola’s voice was icy.

A cold breeze wafted down through the avenue of autumn trees. As it passed, it lifted up brown discarded leaves and compelled them to dance in tight spiralling circles among the naked oaks. They jostled and tumbled round as if to taunt the bare wood with what it no longer had. A strand of long blonde hair fluttered across Nicola’s face. She raised a hand and brushed the lock to one side, letting her emerald eyes gaze once more into his.

Lan’s perception changed, his view turned round on itself to look straight into his own eyes.

He watched as another tear welled up and trickled down the red, puffy skin of his cheek. His focus was drawn to his pupils. They were his eyes, hazy blue irises framed by the light skin of his face but behind them, he saw no vitality, no spark, only the reflection of his murdered soul.

I want you more than anything, Lan pleaded. I love you, I want to hold you in my arms, kiss you, make love to you. I’d do anything to have you.

I don’t want to see you any more, Lan. Nicola’s voice was cold and solemn. This is difficult for me too, you know.

She stepped back from Lan and drifted from his view.

I love you, Nicola. Lan reached out in a vain attempt to stop her.

As the kiss began, Nicola’s lips pressed gently against his; slowly her mouth opened and she pushed her lips harder against his. Lan, his arms wrapped around her, squeezed her tightly. He could feel the soft flesh of her breasts pushing against his chest with each breath. Lan let a hand stroke up the back of her neck, his fingers running through her hair. Nicola let out a soft moan of appreciation.

Slowly, she pulled back.

Was that nice? she asked him mischievously.

Lan’s lips still tingled with the heavenly sensation. His whole body felt alive, like she had kissed him all over.

Yes, the best, said Lan.

Let’s go somewhere a little more private, Nicola said as she nodded towards the exit of the nightclub.

* * *

A cold breeze wafted down through the avenue of bronzed trees. The autumn sun was weak and pale.

The wind carried with it the chill of winter and Lan felt a shiver creep through his flesh.

Nicola evaded his gaze turning her head down to avoid his eyes. What is it, Nicola? Lan asked.

I don’t think we should see each other anymore, Nicola’s voice was icy...

* * *

Safe inside their metal coffins, five thousand Terran troops slept. Unaware of the passage of time they lay in their cribs, drugged into oblivion. Although they appeared inanimate, their unconscious bodies generated a constant stream of information. Faint heartbeats, subdued brain waves, shallow breaths, the churning of chemicals both natural and artificial. Wave after wave of almost imperceptible electrical data flooded an overworked computer. It was supposed to analyze and adjust the medication for each of its wards, prevent any of them rousing from their enduring comas.

But Lan dreamt.

Section 2

An eerie twilight from the distant star, Asellus, lit a handful of ships. They sat, silently waiting in the darkness. From this far out, Neotra blended in with the background of stars, a ball of light almost indistinguishable from the rest.

Floating, gently drifting, Lupus Alpha hung there, dark and quiet. Like a wreck, she appeared dead. An empty carcass left to rot in the frozen night.

Inside her hull, it was the same, her corridors empty and cold.

Suddenly the midnight silence broke.

"Lupus Alpha, Lupus Alpha, the loud speaker pierced the dark cabin, This is Lupus Beta. Come in please, Jackson, over."

Captain Jackson flipped his mic’ to transmit, "Lupus Beta, this is Lupus Alpha. On line and clear, over."

A cloud of steam billowed into the frigid cabin from Jackson’s breath. The puff of warm air brushed over a monitor and condensed.

Baxsell’s tinny voice crackled over the speaker. "We have a confirmed sensor contact. Target identified as the Terran transport Coma Berenices. Hostile acquisition in one twenty. Repeat hostile acquisition in one twenty, over."

Jackson leaned forward and wiped the droplets from the screen with the palm of his glove, "Lupus Beta this is Lupus Alpha. Message received and understood. Stand by Captain Baxsell, over."

Finally, she had arrived.

The trap was set and in only a few short hours, it would be over.

Jackson leaned forward and toggled the switch for the intercom, Shen, we’ll be engaging the transport in under two hours, best get ready.

Shen barked a, Yes, captain! back at him on her way to make ready.

Jackson sat back in his chair and gazed idly around the cabin. There was nothing he could busy himself with until engine ignition. The days of quietly waiting in ambush would soon come to an end, but for now, time had congealed to a sluggish crawl.

He called up the mission brief again. He didn’t need to be reminded of his orders, just distracted from their consequence, "Your target is the Coma Berenices, the words scrolled smoothly across his screen, A long haul transport ship six months out of the Sol solar system— Abruptly the writing came to a halt as it collided with the left-hand margin. The following text dropped a line and continued. When she left Phobos, her main cargo consisted of troops to replace the garrison on Neotra. We suspect that her priority has changed and she is now delivering reinforcements."

Jackson knew that if these reinforcements were to reach Fort Veruct, they would entrench themselves and impede Neotra’s burgeoning independence.

The report continued, "The craft is minimally armed and unescorted.

"Primary objective: Prevent the Coma Berenices from reaching Neotra.

Secondary Action: If possible, salvage any supplies from the vessel that will aid the Neotran war effort.

Jackson looked out of the cockpit at the rest of the ships in his squadron. They too hung there immobile, as if frozen in time.

Sitting alone in the chilly cockpit, Jackson was unable to thaw his thoughts. The empty moments alone stretched on, leaving him to dwell on his situation. Grinding on him was his culpability; there would be nothing to shield him from the blame for this atrocity.

Oh, I was just following orders, but Jackson knew this was scant defence.

What I’m about to do I do of my own volition, he thought. The onus for this is mine, the sin for me to carry.

He ran a gloved hand through his short brown hair. Gusts of misty air tumbled out of his mouth with each breath. Silent running meant cutting the power to a minimum. After days of waiting, much of the heat from the ship’s insulated hull had bled off into space.

Jackson tugged in turn on the fingers of his gloves. Easing both pairs off, he dropped them onto his lap. His unprotected fingers punched up the heating system on his computer screen. The console beeped softly as he keyed in the request to increase the cabin temperature.

We’re too close, he told himself, finger hovering over the enact command. "The Berenices might detect it."

A thought flashed into his head. I could sabotage the mission.

As quickly as it had formed, he dismissed it. The nationalistic rhetoric sprang to mind, Until Neotra expels the Terran Alliance from her soil we will forever toil under her yoke.

But more important than ideology was Jackson’s captaincy, If this attack doesn’t succeed, I’ll be demoted back down to navigator or worse.

The frosty air nipped at Jackson’s fingers. As he reached out to retrieve the gloves, his attention was lured to a glint of light. The gold band around his ring finger caught the glow from the monitors and distilled it to a warm glimmer.

I’ll just perform my duty and be on my way, he told the empty cockpit.

Carry out my orders, and before I know it I’ll be back in Kathy’s arms and boasting about my heroism. He tried his best not to consider the outcome of his simple orders.

Like a good soldier, he was to carry out his mission. A mission he knew would end a lot of lives.

I’m just apprehensive because this is my first experience as a captain, he tried telling himself. After all I’m not a trained military leader; I work for customs.

It was impossible to blur the truth of what he was about to do.

Looking down at his hands, he caught himself turning the wedding ring around his finger. The solid metal rim rubbed softly against his knuckle.

At least I was a customs officer before war broke out.

Jackson heard footfalls coming up the corridor to the cockpit. He swivelled round in his chair to see who it was.

That’s all I can do until we power up. Shen leant against the bulkhead. The feathered lines in her cheeks stood out from the pink flush of her skin and her thin lips were bright red from the chill.

You’ve got that look on your face. What you brooding about now? Shen said, wiping her hands with a grubby yellow cloth.

Nothing, he denied as he pulled his gloves back on.

I’ve known you all your adult life, young man, so don’t pretend I can’t tell when you’re in a mood.

Jackson tried to divert Shen, You have not known me all my adult life! I’ve only been here seven years.

I’ve got a son...

...Not much older than you, Jackson barged in to finish Shen’s mantra, I know, you don’t have to harp on. Remember you’re my engineer not my mother.

You’re still a little boy. You all are; not one of you ever grows up.

You’re one to talk. What about our last night in port? Jackson pointed an accusing finger at his shipmate and a sly smile crept across his lips.

I don’t know what you mean, she said, flicking her gaze away in theatrical disdain.

Flirting like a school girl, grinning and giggling at every word that guy from Baxsell’s ship had to say.

Well he was rather dishy, and he was a divorcee too.

I’m surprised you can remember.

Shen paid no heed to Jackson’s mocking tone, As I recall, it was you we had to carry back to the ship.

No, that was Mornan! Got you there.

Well, you’re both still little boys, Shen said in her most matronly of voices. You not even in your thirties yet and Mornan pimple-faced and fresh out of college, just like you not so long ago!

Jackson’s grin slipped, I don’t feel so young any more, Shen.

Those pips on your lapel weighing you down?

You taking the piss? Jackson tugged at his bare collar, Like half the supplies we ordered there still on Greda,

We should never have left port without fresh coffee, complained Shen.

We left too much behind on Greda.

I sense you’re getting morbid on me, Jackson.

Jackson’s tone dropped. It’s been quiet waiting out here. I didn’t have time to think back on Greda, was all too hectic what with putting together the flotilla and the rest of the crew getting reassigned.

Those reassignments got you what you wanted Jackson, your own captaincy. And might I remind you, a good few years before you would expect.

Yeah I know.

Shen started to scrunch up the rag between her hands.

I don’t know what you’re fretting about; you’re not the only one to be catapulted up the command ladder.

Then without warning, she hurled the balled up cloth across the cabin.

Jackson threw his arms in front of his face in mock defence to ridicule Shen’s pitch. The grimy yellow missile unfurled and drifted to the floor short of its target.

That guy from Baxsell’s ship was an ensign last week now he’s first mate. At least you had the ambition to become a captain, so the war sped that up. Congratulations, now get over it.

Jackson took in a deep breath of cold air. I don’t know if I’ve made the right choice.

You never know until you look back. Take my first husband.

First husband? You planning on a second?

I’m not ruling it out. Shen stood away from the wall to make ready her exit. Anyway you’ll do just fine. You’re smart and clear-minded. We’ve both seen action, this’ll be no different.

You’re right.

Jackson caught himself fondling the wedding ring through the material of his glove. He looked back up at Shen and slapped his palms on top of his lap.

Jackson put on his best smile, You’re right of course. If we can take out smugglers on our own then we can take on a one hundred and seventy year old cargo vessel.

* * *

Captain Patron stood on the Command Deck looking down at the flight crew as they steered his ship to its destination. All was quiet, but he felt he had to be on the bridge as much as possible in these last few days. Tension was lower than he had expected, despite the fact that war had been declared.

The Alliance was suffering heavy losses in the ground actions on Neotra, but if the reports were to be believed, they had all but secured orbital control from the separatists.

Garrison Command relayed its flight orders and kept them updated on the ETA for the escort. All of this chatter helped to reassure the command staff and maintain a high morale.

But Patron’s outward confidence was a charade, If all is going so well then why has it taken them three days to dispatch an escort?

A junior officer turned to his captain, Sir. Fighter escort online. They report their arrival time to be one hour.

Patron nodded. Acknowledge the signal and confirm with a sensor reading.

Aye-aye, sir, the junior officer replied to the escort’s message and checked his readouts. Forward sensors confirm fighter detachment’s... one moment sir; the sensors have picked up an electrical disturbance along our path.

Patron stepped up to the man’s station, Clarify that last scan, Mister.

Reinitiating scanning. This is unusual; the disturbance is uniform, the officer looked over his shoulder at his captain. His puzzled expression showing his confusion, it’s artificial, and spread over an area of about one Klik. Energy output is estimated at one thousand kilojoules, sir.

Patron’s jaw fell slack, Engine start-up. It’s an engine start-up! Red alert! All hands to battle stations. Time ‘til encounter?

Ten minutes, sir.

Get those escorts online. I want them alerted to our situation and I want them here in eight minutes. Secure the vessel; shut down all non-tactical functions. Patron’s heart raced fuelled by fear and adrenaline.

Someone hit the warning klaxon and the lighting on the bridge changed as screens flashed red.

Captain, I have the escort’s leader on line. He says their fuel expenditure would exclude safe return parameters.

Fuck his fuel expenditure! If they’re not here in eight minutes, there won’t be a ship to escort!

* * *

Jackson opened a channel to the ships in the Lupus squadron, "Lupus Alpha to all ships. Commence attack."

* * *

As the Coma Berenices hurtled towards the centre of the Asellus solar system, a handful of stars lit up in her course. They seemed to hover for a moment before careering headlong towards the metal leviathan.

Incoming missiles!

Fire decoys! Patron ordered.

As the missiles homed in the Coma Berenices defended herself as best she could.

The sky lit up with decoys deployed from the Terran vessel. A screen of nuclear destruction was unleashed to shield the freighter from the incoming bogies.

The wave of Neotran warheads slammed head-on into the fiery cloud. Radiation burned straight into the projectiles as they passed through the epicentre. The rippling atomic furnace intensified as the shattered warheads provided more fuel for the firestorm.

Hard starboard! Patron called to his helmsman. The Coma Berenices’s engines propelled her sideways to prevent her from scorching in the defensive wall of flame. Clutching onto the guide rail, Patron felt the vibration of the ship’s engines. The fabric of the craft gave a low groan of disapproval at the harsh treatment.

How many bogies left in the air? the captain demanded.

Ah, five. Four to our port side... the officer paused and turned from his screen to look at his captain. One directly ahead,

All hands brace for impact!

The missile ran straight for the Coma Berenices. Five kliks from the nose of its victim it exploded.

Compared to the defence cloud emitted from the transport the spectacle was meagre. But the warheads launched from Lupus Alpha were never intended to breach the vessel.

As the missile vaporised, it threw forward a pulse of electro-magnetic energy. An invisible tidal wave washed over its quarry.

Four billion circuits fell silent as the power on the Coma Berenices died.

* * *

Lan felt sick. A heavy feeling of acid backed up from his stomach to his throat. He heard a sound in his head; no, it was outside. A voice. He focused his attention, trying to identify the figure in front of him.

Nicola? Lan squinted his eyes to try and see through the darkness.

The voice spoke again. I ain’t your mommy.

The haze over Lan’s memory started to clear. He could feel the padded cot around him and the various pieces of hardware connected to his skin. A sharp tug and Lan felt a needle being whipped out from a vein in his arm.

Here, apply pressure with this.

Lan had a piece of gauze thrust into his hand, Are we at Neotra?

The orderly grabbed Lan’s unsure hand and positioned it firmly over the welling blood, Na, you’ve had an early alarm call.

The orderly looked around the gloomy medical bay, too preoccupied to pay Lan much attention.

I was dreaming of my ex. Lan said.

Lucky for you, the orderly replied without registering Lan’s comment.

Lan pushed himself up on one elbow and peered over the lip of his crib. The ward was lit with an eerie hue. Emergency flares scattered on the floor cast crackling shadows along the walls.

The rest you can do yourself. The medic slapped Lan on the shoulder. Now move it trooper!

What’s going on? his question went unanswered; the medic was already extracting the next infantryman from his berth. Lan sat up and looked around.

Something was restricting his breathing. He let out a deep cough and spat the dislodged contents of his throat onto the floor. The mucus left a bitter taste, but the acrid moisture lubricated his parched mouth. He pulled loose the plastic tape that secured the various sensors and tubes on his body.

One by one, Lan removed the remaining intravenous needles. Fresh drops of blood seeped through the puncture wounds to form glossy domes of crimson.

He twisted his torso, hunching his shoulders, flexing his muscles to dispel the rigidity of six months enforced hibernation. The solid knots of muscles were not the result of stiffness brought on by immobility. Far from wasting away during the voyage, his muscles had swollen to an impressive size. The combination of drugs and electrical stimulation had augmented his physique. His young body had been moulded to an athletic tone.

Lan stepped out of the suspended animation chamber, careful not to tread barefoot into the patch of phlegm. The soles of his feet tingled from the chill of the cold metal floor. He shivered and brought his arms up against his chest to conserve warmth. The thin army issue shorts he wore did little to insulate his half-naked body.

Listen up! a sergeant roared.

The ambient chatter ceased instantly.

We are under attack. This vessel has been struck with an electro-magnetic field. All electricity is out.

There were murmurs of alarm from the assembled troops.

Continuing, the sergeant tried to allay their fears. We’re four days flight time from Neotra, so supporting units are not far away. Until we have friendly contact, we are on our own. Section leaders: get your men armed and dressed, and report to me in two minutes. Now move! He clapped his hands together to emphasise the urgency. This vessel may already have been boarded!

Section leaders started yelling at their men and the room was filled with disciplined chaos as soldiers equipped themselves. Lan crossed to his locker.

His hand was raised in preparation as he pushed the door open but nothing happened.

A wind billowed through the open door and the sudden banging jolted Lan’s nerves. Slowly he inched forward, both hands now steadfastly clutching a makeshift weapon. His heart pounded, his breath was short and shallow, every fibre of his body was prepared for violence.

He slipped quietly into the darkened room. Something fluttered on the periphery of Lan’s vision. He turned towards the movement and as he did, the banging came again. The window clattered to and fro in the gale, its latch snapped in two, the curtain flapping with each gust. Lan let go his grip with his right hand and reached out to examine the worn clasp.

It’s OK, Nicola. It’s just the window banging in the wind,

He heard Nicola behind him; her hand fell gently on his shoulder.

A hand fell on Lan’s shoulder. Come on, Agstaff! Get moving!

What? for a moment Lan stood there, pondering over the intrusion of the memory, Yes, sir. Sorry, sir?

It was so real he could almost have been back in Nicola’s house, confronting the imagined prowler.

Lan let slip a sigh as the memory ebbed away.

* * *

Kill me, O my trustworthy friends, for in my killing is my life, Jackson whispered to the empty cabin.

It was part of an ancient prayer. At this moment, he felt the line apt. He’d never been an overtly religious man. He believed in God, but had abandoned worship as soon as his mother had stopped dragging him to sermons. He had tried to ignore the condemnation of his soul, but in the end, there was little he could do but accept it. His gloved hand drifted over the console and, with a firm push, depressed the fire button.

A panel separated from the skin of Lupus Alpha and slid out of sight. From the hull a steel tray ascended into the night sky, the missile launcher swung into position and initiated. At the base of each rocket, an invisible jet of gas propelled them smoothly away from Lupus Alpha. They appeared to drift leisurely towards the powerless transport for a moment. Then, when they had passed their pre-programmed safety margin, the chemically powered jets ignited.

The torpedoes rapidly accelerated, covering the distance to their target in seconds. The pack separated and slammed unhindered into the Coma Berenices’s hull.

There were no fireworks no shocking explosion. The darts simply ruptured the Coma Berenices’s skin, burrowing inside like ticks. Unobstructed by the internal partitions and supports, each missile flew with impunity. They passed from port to starboard side with surgical precision to emerge bursting from the Coma Berenices’s hide, back out into space. Behind them, spewing from the gaping holes, bled a mist of debris and oxygen. The torpedoes’ courses had guided them away from the ship’s engines and reactor with the intent of robbing the skiff of its air and killing everyone on board.

* * *

Lan reached over to pull the uniform from its hanger. As he did, the deck shuddered and twisted, tossing him across the cryogenics suite. He flew through the air and impacted against a cot. A sharp corner struck hard against his ribs and a surge of pain immersed his senses.

Lan sank prostrate to the deck. He lay there and let the pain slowly recede. He tried to breathe in. As his diaphragm started to move, the ache in his side expanded and once more shrouded him in agony.

Brief, sharp breaths overrode the pain with the need for oxygen. He rolled over to try and ease his discomfort, only to be jarred back into pain. He stopped screwing his eyes up against the discomfort and looked around for help. The jolt and subsequent writhing had taken him out of the suspended animation bay and into the corridor that serviced it. Back in the ward, the troops and medics were trying to pick themselves up and get their bearings. Lan tried to call out, but the pain in his side wouldn’t let him draw a deep enough breath. Again he gasped, trying to draw attention to his plight. A breeze, too strong to have come from the maladroit air reprocessing, whispered over his face.

Impelled by the wind, a fluorescent marker trundled past Lan down the passageway. As it gathered speed, its leading edge clipped the decking and bounded into the air. Bouncing down the corridor, each skip grew longer as the artificial gravity dissipated.

The draught grew in intensity. Small pieces of litter were gathering momentum now and rushing past the fixtures in the corridor. Lan felt himself starting to move and clutched onto a conduit. He could feel the tug of the air current, eagerly testing his grip. Lan’s eyes widened with realisation.

Back in the medical bay, no one seemed to notice as they scrambled to arm themselves. Lan tried to shout out a warning, but as his chest rose for the call, his ribs grated together and his lungs retched out what air they held.

The wind whipped at Lan’s tears of pain. Gingerly Lan uncurled from the foetal position. Arm held tight against his shattered ribs, he heaved himself to his knees.

Fighting the pain and the furious rush of wind, Lan clambered down the hallway towards the escape pods.

As he hauled himself down the corridor, something dawned on him, If this is the result of a hull breach, what will I find first, a life raft or a gaping hole?

Lan had no way of knowing where the damage was; all he could do was hope that he reached an escape pod before being sucked out into space.

The wind was becoming too strong. His grip was weakening from the exertion and he struggled to hang on.

Larger bits of refuse began to be sucked down the corridor accompanied by the deafening roar of rushing air. A fragment of steel hurtled towards Lan. The scrap of ship’s superstructure whirled uncontrollably, its edges fractured to razor sharp points.

The metal skipped off the wall of the corridor and impacted with Lan’s shoulder, biting deep.

Lan screeched profanities at the throbbing gash only to have his breath snatched away by the rasping bones. Flinching from the pain, Lan’s muscles contracted. The tempest tore at his weakened grasp, yanking it from him. The escaping air swept him along, as it rushed towards a hole in the side of the ship. A crimson stream welled from around the embedded metal and sprayed off into the air. Again paralysed by agony, Lan’s mind struggled for control. Flying down the corridor he bounced from one wall to the next, battering his body further. Buffeted around a corner he glimpsed a sign. Lan lashed out and grabbed at a passing doorway. The doorframe caught him square in the midriff, punching the breath from him. There was an audible crack as the impact exacerbated his already injured ribcage. Lan tried to howl in pain but his deflated lungs could only manage a gasp.

Opening his eyes, he attempted to focus both his sight and his intent. Tears blurred his vision and were whipped from his face by the wind. He lay across the doorjamb, trying to still his breath and regain control. His chest felt like shattered glass. The pain slowly started to abate, and as soon as he could move, he started pulling himself back up towards the sign he had passed. The crawl forward was arduous. As he raised his arms to heave himself forward the ragged ends of his broken ribs grated together. A warm, thick flow of blood trickled down his arm as he dragged himself onwards through the dying wind. The distance he had to cover was only a few metres, but the pain and the wind and the clumsy movements in zero gravity turned it into a marathon.

The wind stopped.

Lan felt a loud popping in his ears as the last of the oxygen drained from the stricken vessel. He held his breath, fearing that his lungs would be ripped from him in the vacuum. With all the urgent strength he could muster, Lan lunged the last three metres to the door ahead.

The sign read, Emergency Evacuation Vehicle: Warning, Authorised Use Only.

Lan seized the crank and furiously turned the wheel. His jaws clamped together, the muscles in his face taut in spasm against the pain. Each twist sheared the ragged edges of his ribs together. His raw lungs squeezed out every last gasp of oxygen they contained. They cried out at him, begging for a breath, but he dared not give in.

Finally, the seals gave and the escape pod’s heavy safety door opened. Warm rivulets of red liquid streamed off behind him, tumbling away in the weightlessness, as he pulled himself inside. Still holding his breath and trailing blood, he slammed the pressure seal shut behind him. The room began to swim. He was suffocating as his lungs burned dry of oxygen. But he dared not breathe in the airless escape pod.

Lan’s vision started to close in. Fighting against the encroaching blackness, he saw a valve marked Compressed Air. With a drunken lurch, he grabbed for the nozzle. His willpower strained against the instinct to breathe. His lungs screamed for air. Lan’s conscious mind knew that there was no air to sustain him but his physical need could stay suppressed no longer. Unable to prevent himself, Lan let forth the flood of stale air from his tortured lungs. His diaphragm pulled down expecting to suck in life giving air, only to choke down emptiness. His lungs spasmed, trying to clutch hold of a few drops of oxygen. Gulping uncontrollably, Lan clutched the head of the valve and threw it open, collapsing by its nozzle.

Section 3

The stars were bright and peaceful. The rear of the drop platform swivelled round, bringing the white-clad drop squad directly over the planet. Their suits were large and ungainly. Even in zero gravity, they appeared awkward, moving like exhausted turtles struggling across wet sand.

Beneath them, the world spun silently as it had for aeons, oblivious to the actions of man. A bright ray