Fractured Mind Episode One (A Galactic Coalition Academy Series) Read online

  Chapter 9

  Sarah Sinclair

  She woke slowly. It was hard to pull herself up from the pall of unconsciousness. It stuck to her like hands grasping at her throat and neck and chest.

  Locking a shaking hand into the rough metal floor, she pushed up. Blinking hard, she pressed a hand against her face, rubbing her eyes back and forth, pulling her sweat-caked fringe from her eyes.

  The door to the deck outside was still open, and she saw a few rays of dying sunshine push their way through.

  ... She snapped forward, realizing what that meant.

  She'd been unconscious for more than half the day.

  “God, no, god, no,” she said as she grabbed up her communicator in her shivering fingers. She tried to manipulate the controls, her hands continually sliding off them as more and more sweat built up along her palm. “Come on. Come on. Why won't this thing work?” she spat through gritted teeth.

  A second later she realized it couldn't get a signal. That meant one of two things. Either the entire Earth distributed communication network was down, or someone was jamming her signal.

  In a snap, she remembered Lieutenant Karax's last hasty words. They sliced through her mind like an electro-sword spinning from one ear to the other.

  She brought a hand up and pressed it against her temple, nails snagging against her skin, her eyes opening as wide as they could.

  She had to get out of here. Christ, she had to get out of here. People were after her.

  She pushed to her feet, even though her mind still spun. She had to lock a hand on the wall beside her for support.

  She managed to keep on her feet. Barely. There was this strange kind of pressure welling up in her neck, spreading out from the left point on her shoulder. It felt like it was digging into her, like it was some kind of insect that had burrowed under the skin and was now tunneling down to her heart.

  Just as that horrible thought snapped through her mind, she clutched a hand to her chest, digging her fingers so hard into the fabric of her tunic she almost ripped holes through it. With panting breath and a practically convulsing body, she managed to walk her hand across the wall until she reached the open door to the deck.

  She ducked her head. She scanned the horizon outside. Dusk was setting, hanging low over the mist-covered mountains, pushing between those arm-like megaliths.

  Though her communicator wouldn't work, she still held it tightly in one hand.

  Suddenly she jerked it up and stared at the time. Christ, she'd been unconscious for almost 10 hours.

  10 hours.

  As that thought struck her, another wave of nausea met it, and she stumbled into the wall. She had to press both feet hard into the floor to ensure she didn't topple over. After a few seconds of a truly woozy sick feeling slicing through her mind, she crumpled one hand over her mouth, pressing the communicator against her lips as she wrapped her other arm around her stomach.

  She doubled forward and breathed and breathed until the wave of nausea passed.

  She let the communicator slip out of her grip and tumble to the floor as she locked both hands on the wall and walked herself toward the deck controls.

  She reached them, and with shaking fingers managed to close the deck door.

  Though she'd only completed one shift with Frank, he'd already told her about the numerous security features of this floating bar. Because of the specific clientele it dealt with, it required countermeasures against rowdy patrons, as Franck had put it.

  When things got too bad, you could kick your patrons right out of your pod and seal it with the kind of structural shields a Coalition heavy cruiser might use to protect its engine core.

  Reluctantly pulling one hand from the wall, still keeping the other locked against the metal for support, she managed to stagger forward.

  Her brain... it wouldn't work. It wasn't just that her mind kept spinning with fear. It was that she could barely see. She could barely move.

  It was like something was sapping her energy, wheedling into her mind and taking every scrap of strength she had left.

  Eyes blinking, filling with tears, she managed to make it over to the bar, even though she had to descend to her hands and knees and crawl over half the length of the floor to do it.

  Locking a hand on the side of the bar, she walked herself up it, then collapsed on top of it, panting as she tried to gather the energy to move around the bar to the security controls she knew were underneath it.

  One second after one second, one staggering step after one staggering step, she finally reached the door controls. Clutching a hand to her mouth as another wave of nausea washed over her, she pressed her forehead against the cool metal underside of the bar and allowed herself to screw one eye closed. With the other she watched her shaking fingers as they lurched over the controls.

  A few times she mistyped, and the lights came on in full, and the matter recalibrator started pumping out cocktails.

  Finally, finally she did it.

  There was an electronic ping that echoed around the room and a subtle vibration that ran through the floor and up into her crumpled form.

  Before she could allow herself to fall unconscious again, she crumpled down onto her stomach and crawled forward, practically sinking her fingernails into the metal to drag her heavy body out from underneath the bar.

  She made it onto the floor, and from there managed to loll her head toward the left, her gaze flicking up.

  She saw the blue flickering structural shields come into place around the windows and door.

  And then Sarah Sinclair fell unconscious once more. As she did, the strangest sensation stole through her body. It felt like somebody was stretching her thin. As if she'd been melted into liquid and spread like a puddle over that goddamn sticky floor.

  The sensation didn't last. The dreams would.

  ...

  Lieutenant Karax

  He pushed himself into the furthest corner of the utility cupboard, clutched the magnetic knife in one hand, and clenched his teeth.

  He had a single moment to look up into the reflective metal wall beside him. His brow was bleeding, a massive gash down his cheek, and his implants felt like they were vibrating through his spine.

  He'd underestimated the Corthanx Traders. They had agents everywhere.

  Just as Karax had been about to access the interplanetary transport system, he'd been attacked. He'd barely got out of there with his life. Which meant three things: the Corthanx Traders were serious, had agents everywhere, and they had full access to the Academy's biometric scanners.

  Karax clenched his teeth and drove them so hard together it felt like each one would break from his jaw and fall to his feet.

  He stared at his image in the reflective panel.

  He pulled down his collar to reveal his left shoulder.

  He clenched the magnetic knife in one sweaty hand as he squeezed his eyes closed.

  A second later he opened them and plunged the knife in. He clenched his teeth together and stifled the scream that wanted to tear from his lips.

  He kept gouging at his skin, digging deeper and deeper until the magnetic knife locked onto something.

  With one last, muffled bellow, he yanked the knife out. Something clicked onto the end. That something was his identity chip. A locater that could be used to find him anywhere on Earth and anywhere with access to Coalition standard scanners.

  Why he hadn't thought to take it out earlier, he didn't know. But now he had no option.

  If he wanted to get to Sarah, he had to start taking this seriously.

  Blood spilled down his arm, running over his elbow and splashing against his boots.

  He pressed his injured shoulder into the wall, closing his eyes as he stole a few calming breaths. He drove the inhalations deep into his stomach as he arched his neck and rolled his head back and forth against the wall, somehow hoping the methodical movement would dull the pain tearing through his arm and deep into his chest.

  It
wouldn't. It couldn't. And he didn't have the time.

  With a grunt, he pushed forward, dropped the knife, and picked up the standard medkit he'd managed to steal from the train station office.

  He drove down to one knee, fighting against the suddenly woozy feeling that shook through his mind like an earthquake. He had to unwrap his hand from his bleeding shoulder and press it against the floor as he fought for his balance.

  A few seconds later he reclaimed it, then tipped forward, grabbed up the medkit, and ripped into it. Half the contents scattered over the floor of the utility cupboard. He clutched onto the wound repair kit.

  With practiced movements, he applied it to the gouge in his shoulder.

  A few seconds later the pain cut out completely. It was replaced by a reassuring calm numbness. He pushed the numbness away as he stowed the wound repairer in the pocket of his pants and wiped the blood from his bare torso.

  When it was gone, he walked over to the far side of the utility cupboard and plucked up his tunic top.

  He muscled it on and stood for a single second, staring at his reflection in the shiny panel. Then he jerked forward, grabbed the magnetic knife, and stabbed his identity implant. He sent a surge of power pushing out from the implant in his shoulder, ensuring the blow was so solid the magnetic knife crushed the locator in a single blow.

  It shattered and scattered over the floor. With another grunt, he pushed to his feet.

  Though he wanted to keep hold of the knife – of any goddamn weapon he could get his hands on – he knew he couldn't get on the train with it. And he had to get on the train, because that would be the only way to get to Sarah.

  While the intra Earth matter transporters were impossible to get on without valid ID, he knew enough to sneak his way onto the trains.

  Wasting no more time, he shifted back, kicked the useless contents of the med kit and the knife into the far corner of the utility cupboard, then walked out the door.

  He paused just as he opened it, flicking his gaze from left to right, looking for any more agents.

  When he saw no one muscling toward him through the crowd, he pushed out and walked forward. Bringing a sweaty hand up and thumbing his nose, he headed straight to the nearest train platform.

  He'd done what he could to hide his appearance, though in reality getting rid of his identity chip was the biggest step. While it was clear the Corthanx Traders had agents on the outside and access to the Academy's systems, he doubted they had equal access to the Earth Defense Security Network. If they did, they wouldn't have had to craft some hologram of him to fool Sarah into giving them her location. They would have just accessed her civilian communicator to figure it out for themselves.

  ... But this was a gamble. If he was wrong, and they did have equal access to the defense security network, then he was already as good as dead. His face would be picked up by one of the many security scanners, and he'd likely be dead before the train stopped.

  But this was a risk he had to take, because there was nothing else he could do. He was cut off from help, and time was ticking down.

  So Lieutenant Karax made his way slowly but deliberately toward the train platform. From his current location, it would take less than half an hour to get to Zhangjiajie.

  From there, he'd be able to use the location data stored on his WD to find Sarah. He just hoped she'd be there when he came looking.

  It had already taken him over seven hours to shake the agents on his tail. Seven goddamn hours. He tried to push that harrowing thought from his mind as he pushed forward and into the train.

  The doors closed behind him with a smooth pneumatic hiss. He reached a hand out, clutched it on the wall, and indulged in closing his eyes for a few seconds.

  When he opened them, he pushed forward and sat down, crunching his arms around his middle, ducking his head down and pulling the hood of his jumper over his face.

  One thought kept ricocheting through his mind as the train took off.

  If he'd been on the ball – if he'd stopped to listen to a word Sarah Sinclair had said – maybe none of this would have happened.

  But he'd failed. So he was gonna goddamn fix it.