Ouroboros 2: Before Page 17

‘Were they modern ships?’ Carson suddenly asked.

  She knew exactly what he was talking about, even though his question sounded odd.

  ‘I think they were from our time, yes,’ she confirmed quietly.

  Just as she tightened her grip on his hand, he tightened his grip too.

  Now they held onto each other as though letting go would lead to death.

  ‘What did you . . . see?’ he whispered.

  ‘United Galactic Coalition ships—most of the entire fleet—destroyed in orbit around Remus 12,’ she croaked, her voice so quiet Carson would likely have to use his armor to pick it up and resolve the audio quality. ‘I saw . . . people in space. United Galactic Coalition soldiers. Dead. I saw their uniforms. They were like ours. I saw the broken ships too. They reminded me of our current class of heavy cruisers.’

  Carson breathed through his surprise. It was a harrowing sound.

  ‘Carson,’ she began. ‘It's . . . not the future,’ she tried. ‘We don't know that.’

  He went to smile, but the move turned into a strange, sorrowful frown. ‘The entity had the power to send us to the past. It had the power to decimate the Barbarians attacking the Farsight. It had the power to initiate the Endgame Maneuver. Nida, maybe it can tell the future too.’

  That hadn't been what she'd wanted to hear.

  She'd wanted, no, needed Carson to reassure her everything would be fine. She had to hear someone tell her the entity's visions were meaningless, were lies, were nothing more than harrowing nightmares.

  She didn't want to cry, not now, but she couldn't stop the tears from trickling down her cheeks.

  ‘We have to return the entity,’ she stammered. ‘We have to find the dimensional bridge. That will stop everything,’ she choked.

  Carson didn't respond.

  Maybe because he realized her conclusion was illogical.

  They had no idea whether returning the entity to its home would change the course of history. It was a complete guess to conclude that once the dimensional bridge opened and they sent it across, the United Galactic Coalition would be fine.

  ‘Do you . . . have any idea what destroyed the fleet?’ he asked quietly.

  She shook her head.

  Then she broke down.

  Her legs stilled; she no longer kicked them against the base of the furnace.

  Instead, she pulled her hand from Carson's and crumpled it over her mouth.

  Squeezing her eyes shut, she let her tears wash fast and thick down her cheeks.

  Carson shifted closer. Furling an arm around the back of her shoulders, he pulled her in until her head rested against his chest.

  He didn't say anything.

  He simply held her as she continued to sob.

  . . . .

  How could this be happening?

  Barely a month ago she had been nothing more than an ordinary recruit. She hadn’t been special in any way, other than her complete lack of skills.

  Now she was in the past, facing a future indistinguishable from hell, with the weight of reality crushing her from every direction.

  Carson still didn't say anything, and as she finally twisted to stare up at his face, she watched as a few silent tears streaked down his cheeks too.

  He didn't sob though.

  His shoulders didn't rock back and forth like hers did.

  He simply sat there, stalwart and silent in his grief.

  ‘I . . . have to go soon,’ he said after a long pause.

  He wouldn't look at her; he locked his gaze on the far wall, and didn't shift it.

  ‘Be careful,’ she tried.

  As soon as she said that, she realized how hollow her request was.

  Be careful?

  She didn't want him to be careful; she wanted him to stay here. She wanted this situation to sort itself out without either of them having to sacrifice everything.

  ‘Nida, it'll be fine,’ he swallowed. ‘But you've got to . . .’ he trailed off.

  Got to what? Be strong? Be capable? Pull her socks up and be an effective recruit?

  ‘Got to promise me that if it doesn't work, you do what you have to,’ he finished.

  . . . .

  That hadn't been what she'd expected.

  Because that was horrible. That suggested Carson thought his mission could fail.

  She wanted to beg him not to go. She wanted to assure him they could find another way, but she couldn't voice her plea.

  Her throat closed off.

  She couldn't push the words out.

  The entity, it seemed, would not let her.

  So instead she simply sat there.

  All too soon he was called away.

  As he shifted away from her, she felt a tangible sense of loss.

  It ached. It felt as if it stabbed through her like thousands of frost-tipped needles, stealing away her warmth and resolve.

  She didn't break down again though. Instead, she stared at him in silence.

  ‘We can do this,’ he tried as he nodded at her.

  She nodded too.

  Even though what she desperately wanted to do was shake her head.

  No, she wanted to scream. They had to remain together.

  But once again, she could not vocalize that burning desire.

  Instead, she watched as Carson did something strange.

  He reached up and placed a hand behind her head.

  Tingles escaped through her belly.

  Hot and fast, they were the only thing that could distract her from her grief and fear.

  He looked confused for a moment, as if he’d acted on instinct only to realize what he was doing.

  With a cough, he shifted back and nodded. ‘You'll be fine. And I’ll be fine,’ he added.

  She nodded.

  ‘Carson,’ Cara called from further into the room, ‘we have to leave.’

  Carson and Nida were out of sight, hidden by the bulk of the machinery around them.

  Suddenly Carson pressed close to Nida's side.

  As her skin raced with expectation, her stomach kicking and tumbling with the promise of his quick movement, she waited for him to act.

  . . . .

  Looking into her eyes, his gaze focused but searching, he handed her something.

  His gun.

  It was still in his leather holster. ‘You need to take this, Cadet,’ he added.

  . . .

  His gun?

  From the edge to his movements and the look in his eyes, she hadn't expected he would hand her his plasma handgun carefully concealed by his holster.

  Swallowing her disappointment before she could realize it was, in fact, disappointment, she nodded.

  She held the holster awkwardly, and this caused Carson to raise an eyebrow questioningly. ‘You do know how to use one of those, right?’

  She nodded. ‘Yes. Of course. It was one of the first lessons at the Academy.’

  He didn't look convinced. Yet he still took a step backwards, then another. In fact he walked a full five meters before he finally turned. Pausing, he looked at her over his shoulder. ‘Keep safe. And make me proud, Cadet,’ he added, almost immediately wincing at his words as if he found them embarrassing. ‘Just . . . keep safe,’ he repeated one more time before walking off and leaving her on her own.

  She stood there in silence listening to his retreating footfall as it echoed over the metal floor.

  Then she acted.

  She tightened her grip on the holster.

  She knew it would appear suspicious if she simply wrapped it around her middle, so she quickly ducked down, pulled up her skirts, and secured it around her thigh instead. After some effort, she managed to arrange it until its bulk was invisible under her skirts.

  Then she let out the longest and most pronounced sigh she would ever give.

  With a firm command, she told herself to face this situation.

  She was a Galactic Coalition Academy Cadet, and it was time she started acting like one.

  She walked
forward.

  She could do this. And as for Carson—of course he could complete his mission.

  He was the head of the Force.

  He was unstoppable.

  She would just have to do him proud, as he'd awkwardly requested.

  Smiling for some reason, she soon made it back to the rest of the group.

  Chapter 13

  Carson Blake

  Every brain cell he had screamed at him to stop. To change his plan. To stay by Nida's side.

  But he overruled them.

  This was the only thing he could do.

  Plus, the entity had assured him it would look after itself and Nida.

  And if it couldn't, the gun he'd handed Nida would help.

  If she could use it without blowing off her leg, that was.

  Wincing at that thought, he pushed it from his mind and forced himself to believe she could handle this.

  ‘It's time,’ Cara said from his side as she nodded low.

  ‘Right,’ Carson croaked.

  ‘We have a narrow window,’ Cara added.

  ‘Yeah,’ he managed, hooking a hand over his chin and letting his fingers draw down over his stubble.

  He hadn't had a chance to shave in several days, and if things kept going as they were, he wouldn't get a chance any time soon either. So soon he'd be sporting a beard.

  Realizing his growing facial hair was the least of his problems considering the situation, he nodded at Cara. ‘Alright, let's do this. But first,’ he turned on Varo who was standing several meters away with Nida.

  Varo put up a hand. ‘She will be fine. We will ensure that fact.’

  Carson didn't nod.

  Instead, he fixed Varo with the most challenging glare he could muster. Carson needed Varo to know that if he even imagined doing anything to Nida, Carson would hunt him down through time and space.

  Varo, to his credit, did not look away. Instead, he stood there and glared back.

  ‘Carson, just go. It'll be fine,’ Nida promised.

  While her voice was firm and assured, her expression was at odds with her words.

  She looked washed out with fear.

  . . . .

  He had to fight the urge to run over to her, cancel the plan, and hightail it out of here.

  Yet with a determined breath, he just nodded.

  She wasn't wearing the holster he'd given her, yet he could tell with a simple scan from his armor that it was tucked under her skirts. All plasma handguns gave off a specific energy signature, and were relatively easy to track.

  He was emboldened by the fact she'd hidden it.

  He also held onto the hope she knew exactly how to use it, and wouldn't hesitate if the situation—or Varo, rather—turned on her.

  ‘Right,’ Carson said again, coaxing his immobilized muscles into moving.

  ‘Come,’ Cara said simply. She ducked her head down until she stared up at him from under her brows. ‘I have confidence in you; you appear to know how to handle yourself.’

  He had to choke back a laugh at that.

  He'd been the one to win against her in the tunnels, so it should be him saying he had confidence in her.

  Yet with a kick to his stomach, he remembered how good she was. Maybe without the edge his armor afforded him, he would have lost.

  Maybe.

  ‘Come, Carson, the future awaits,’ Cara waved him forward.

  Carson turned to follow.

  Not before he searched out Nida's gaze and held it.

  A lot passed between them in that moment.

  Raw emotion. Longing even.

  But he didn't have the time or attention to process it. Instead, he drew on his years of training and turned around.

  It was time to go through with this mission. And he would make it a success.

  In silence, Cara led him through the main room and back into the tunnels. Though Varo had not changed his stance of lending them more men or firepower, he had conceded to give them guides and assistance through the tunnels.

  So Carson walked as part of a small group, all their boots echoing against the metal floor as they strode forward as one.

  There was always a sense of camaraderie on missions like this, and even though Carson didn't know anyone except Cara, he suddenly felt connected to the men around him.

  They were all risking the same thing. Their freedom. Their limbs. Their lives.

  As expectation built within him, a metallic taste built in his mouth. It wasn't blood. It was nerves, adrenaline, and the knowledge things were about to get dangerous beyond reason.

  Once they'd made it through the tunnels, Carson's expectation had built until it felt as though someone had riveted his eyes open and wound his heart up like spring.

  Then they reached it.

  The top.

  The city.

  They came out of a small doorway set in the side of an alleyway.

  The first thing Carson realized upon entering the fresh air was that it wasn't all that fresh.

  There was a strange, pervasive, acrid chemical tinge permeating the night. Without a thought, he activated his helmet and let it pull over his head. As it did, it managed to block out that smell. Yet the damn thing lingered on his tongue. He could taste it, and it tasted like smoke imbued with burning metal.

  ‘Come on,’ Cara waved him forward as she secured her helmet over her head.

  The rest of the resistance now left them. Without a word, they simply retreated back through that plain metal door.

  He watched them go, and as he did, his stomach kicked.

  He sent a silent prayer to Nida begging her to be alright.

  ‘Come on,’ Cara hissed again.

  He turned, pushed against his boots, and rushed up to her.

  Before he'd left the tunnels, he'd been sure to modify the appearance of his armor until it mostly resembled Cara's.

  Though Cara had been unquestionably impressed, she hadn't been shocked; to her, Carson's armor was a gift of the Goddess, and thus was imbued with god-like power. So it was no surprise that it could change shape and color.

  He wanted to ask her what the Goddess was—he wanted to pry into her beliefs.

  Did she believe in deities, in magic, in transcendence? Did she attend rituals? Did she believe in some kind of after life? Or were her beliefs more scientific? Did she know the Goddess—or the entity—was from another realm? Did she know it didn't belong here?

  Trying to sort through his thoughts, Carson was careful to stay close by Cara as they made their way through the city.

  Once the remnants of that smell had finally left Carson, he was free to assess the rest of the city.

  He was struck by how . . . lonely everything seemed.

  The streets were all but deserted.

  The buildings were tall, clinical, and imposing.

  There was barbed wire heaped in loops over fences and walls and before doorways.

  Everything was protected, secured, defended.

  There was no sense of anything organic, anything alive.

  Just the cold shadow of industry colored by the militarized buildings and streets.

  There was no graffiti. There was no art. All the buildings were the same; variations on a block, without any flourishes or flairs.

  It felt like walking through a model city, as if he'd been shrunk and placed inside a dollhouse. A particularly cold, industrialized, dystopian dollhouse. Still, it couldn’t change the unreal sense he felt as he followed Cara through the streets.

  ‘It will take five minutes,’ she hissed at him, her voice muffled through her helmet.

  He didn't answer.

  She didn't need to hear his yes; she only needed for him to march silently and purposefully by her side.

  She was quick on her feet. She was also very effective in picking up on enemy movements. She would pull close to the nearest wall, door, or corner whenever she heard movement, and only wave Carson on when the coast was clear.

  She was good.


  Really good.

  While he was more than aware of where government troops were—considering he could use his armor’s scanners—she just relied on her own senses, and they were perfectly accurate.

  Soon enough they neared the Central Security Facility.

  He commanded his armor to draw up a blueprint of the city, and he knew he was now less than two streets from their destination.

  From this point, their progress would become a heck of a lot harder.

  His scanners told him there were several active battlements dotted around the building in front of him. It also warned him of numerous vehicles and, importantly, weapons.

  Though rudimentary, he couldn't afford to ignore them. Whilst the government troops had nothing that could get through his armor, he had to be careful of Cara.

  Then again, it was becoming more than clear that she could look after herself.

  ‘The roof,’ she said simply, pointing to a tall building before them. She held up four fingers and pointed up.

  With the use of his scanners, he realized she meant there were four soldiers on top of the roof.

  . . . .

  Except there were actually five.

  There was another crouched low underneath some kind of makeshift roof.

  Though his scanners were not perfect, and could not rival anything a United Galactic Coalition cruiser possessed, they were still truly powerful. Especially in comparison to the technology of this time.

  Still, the fact Cara knew there were four enemies on top of that roof was still incredible. He didn't know what senses she was relying on, but whatever they were, they were damn honed.

  Silently they made their way to the building. Along one side was a long metal staircase that resembled an old Earth fire escape.

  They both took to it as quietly as they could. Though Carson's boots were heavy, they no longer made a sound; he told the on-board computer to make them as silent as could be.

  As for Cara, well, she just managed the same feat without the use of incredible tech.

  The further he travelled with her, the more impressed he became.

  Once they made it to the top of the stairwell, they stopped.

  Tension constricting his throat and making his back stiff and slick with sweat, Carson waited for Cara to make the first move. Yet at the same time he scanned the top of the roof.

  There were still five enemies. No, wait . . . now there were six. One had just come out of a doorway leading down into the center of the building.