Infiltration: Chapter Three Scene Two

 

He's alive! But poor Dramok Ilid is far from well.

* * * *

Spyshipshuttle, location unknown

DramokIlid opened his eyes, trading unfeeling black for agony and a strobing redmosaic of discordant and blurred shapes. He wondered where he was, but the hurtwas too great to rise and examine his surroundings.

“Help,”he tried to call. His voice emerged garbled, an injured animal’s moan.

Theutter silence told him he was alone. Slowly, his vision came into focus, butwhat he saw didn’t make any greater sense. Wiring harnesses hung from above,loops and thick strands of black, their contents spewed in silvery tassels. Hegradually made sense of what looked like a distorted and crazy-cornered shuttle’scockpit.

Slowly,the fog in his brain dissipated so he could remember. The orderly Imdiko Darirhad released him from the stasis field in which he’d been imprisoned while Dr.Umen…rather, the awful entity puppeting Umen…had carried out painful anddisfiguring experiments. Ilid and Darir had gone to Engineering in the effortto sabotage the spyship, which had been taken over by shadowy figures enslavingmost of the crew. They’d been cornered, and during the fight to escape, Darirhad accidentally fired on a plasma conduit as he was overcome by the Darks. Achain reaction had guaranteed the ship’s destruction, and Ilid had been tryingto escape on board a shuttle…this shuttle…as the spyship blew apart around it.

Hewas alive. The shuttle had somehow held together, more or less, and Dramok Ilidwas alive to tell the tale.

Maybenot. He was in excruciating pain from head to toe. He sat in the cockpit seatand had a vague memory of being jerked from it and slammed to the control panelhis head and chest now rested on before blessed darkness had closed in.

Hemight have remained draped on the controls, hoping and waiting forunconsciousness to rescue him, but the knowledge a medical kit was stowed onboard goaded him. There would be a supply of pain-inhibiting drugs in the kit.If he were dosed, he could think clearly enough to fly the shuttle to safety.If it proved incapable of flying, he could attempt to attract rescue.

Alreadywincing in anticipation of pain, Ilid forced himself to rise from the controlpanel. It was worse than he’d expected. The howl of agony in his belly andchest rose to a shriek. A thin scream squeezed between his gritted teeth. Hetasted blood, but he continued to push upright on a crooked, broken arm. If hequit, he knew he wouldn’t attempt to rise again. He’d simply lie there and waitto die.

Somehow,he managed to sit up until his shoulders met the seat’s backrest. Ilid stoppedmoving then, panting from the agony of breathing and spitting blood. He wasuncaring of the flood of tears pouring down his cheeks. Maybe it was beneath aDramok to cry, but had anyone been around to dare to say so, Ilid would havetold them to go fuck themselves dry.

Hehurt, body and soul. He’d cry every second of whatever was left of hismiserable life if he wanted.

Thetorment refused to dull, but as the minutes passed, Ilid grew accustomed to itsvicious grip sufficiently to consider his next move. First, he had a lookaround the cockpit as much as the hurt in his neck would allow. He could barelyturn his head to the left, but he sat on that side of the space, so most ofwhat he needed to see there was in front of him.

Theconsole was dark but for a few blinking indicators. There was a slightindentation he took to be where he’d landed on it. Considering militaryshuttles were built to withstand the punches of temperamental Nobeks, hisinsides should have been pulverized by the blow.

Asbad as he hurt, they probably had been. The anguish of breathing assured himhe’d broken a number of ribs, if not all. He guessed only his armored uniformhad saved his life.

Ilidlicked his lips. He was no mechanic, but the wiring waving in his face from theceiling and the random flashes of the console’s grid told him the shuttle wasprobably no more than a hunk of space junk. It would be a miracle if anythingworked. He hated to confirm nothing would.

Nonetheless,he spoke, his voice hoarse. “Computer, status of shuttle.”

Freshtears burst forth when an electronic voice miraculously answered him.“Shuttle’s helm and navigation are offline. Communications relay is offline.Backup power is damaged, but able to sustain life support systems.”

“Forhow long?” Ilid sniffled.

“Atcurrent levels, one week. Levels are at minimal for the sole occupant’s needs.”

Oneweek, if his internal injuries allowed him to live. It wasn’t impossible a shipwould happen along if he were in sensor range of a well-used travel route. Lackingnavigation, he couldn’t confirm he was anywhere near the usual lanes of spacetraffic. He hadn’t learned if the hijacked spyship had been using such a lanewhen it had blown up. Even if it had, there was no telling how far the shuttlehad drifted on the blast wave.

Itleft him only one option. “Is the vessel’s distress signal functional?”

“Affirmative.”

“Activateit.”

“Distresssignal activated.”

He’ddone what he could to invite rescue. Bereft of other distractions, the tortureof his injuries returned. He needed those pain meds.

First,he’d have to discover whether he could reach them. Ilid concentrated on hislegs, flexing his toes in their knee-high boots, then his knees. Nothing there feltbroken as far as he could tell. Just sore, as if he’d run several miles the daybefore.

Checkinghis hip joints by lifting his thighs an inch or so from the seat assured himhis upper legs were also not badly injured, but the movement set off horrificagony in his stomach and lower back. Ilid yelled to the red-tinged surroundingsa string of expletives fit to shock his mother.

Hismother. He didn’t want to think of her worrying about him. The message he’dmanaged to send prior to everything going to hell must have made her frantic.Or maybe his Nobek father hadn’t told her of it, though Ilid had no doubtGruthep would have understood something was terribly wrong with his situation.

HadGruthep been able to convince the fleet? Surely another spyship would be sentto check when Ilid’s failed to check in. As a lowly ensign, however, he had noidea how often they would have done so. Who knew how long before they werereported as missing?

Aweek until life support ran out was abysmally long to be in such pain…andwoefully short to be found. Tears welled in his eyes. He resolutely knuckledthem away. All he could do was concentrate on a single step at a time. For now,he’d focus on getting the agony under control.

Hehad one good arm. The other was bent wrong, and he couldn’t make his fingers onthat side move. No matter. He could walk, if his back would support him.

Bracingfor terrible pain, he set his feet and readied the hand of his unbroken arm onhis chair’s armrest. He drew a slow breath, as deep as his busted ribs andtormented insides allowed. Clenching his teeth and holding the breath, he usedhis legs and arm to thrust himself to standing.

Hescreamed as his guts threatened to rip apart. His stomach heaved, and he pukedblood-tinged threads. His existence was hellish torment. Blackness crept infrom his peripheral vision, and for a nightmarish instant, Ilid thought he wassurrounded by the alien shadows that had taken over his ship.

Awave of dizziness comforted him. There were no Darks, but he was on the vergeof passing out. For a moment, the pain receded, and he nearly gave in tounconsciousness as he wavered.

Ifyou go down, you won’t get up. You didn’t fight this far to give up, did you?

Thethought, spoken in Gruthep’s voice, forced him to fight the blessed oblivion. Ilidwanted his parents, especially his Nobek and Dramok fathers, to be proud ofhim. If he were found, whether dead or alive, he wanted them to know he’dbattled until he no longer could.

Hemanaged to stay on his feet despite his head pounding as if it would explode,despite the waves of faintness, despite the feeling his guts and lungs werebeing raked by claws. He held onto the backrest of his chair with awhite-knuckled grip. His knees wobbled, but he remained standing.

Heconcentrated on his breathing, willing it to calm the thundering pulse in hisears. As he did so, he looked in the shuttle’s passenger cabin.

Asimple carrier for the spyship’s away missions, it possessed eight seats,separated in two rows. Along the rear wall was a large, built-in floor bin.Smaller cabinet storage hung over it. Having never been on an away team, Ilidwas unsure what supplies were on board beyond an emergency medical kit. For themoment, the kit was all he cared about.

Thecabin was damaged, part of its ceiling caved in, chunks of its lighting panelsdumped on that side’s seats. The metal of the inner hull showed, dented butapparently unbreeched. Had the merest pinprick of a hole been present, Ilidwould have been dead.

Consideringthe pain, it might have been a kindness if the vacuum of space had filled theshuttle.

Hetook a lurching step, still holding onto his chair. He moaned, but the jab ofvarious pains in response to movement were minor compared to the blast of agonyhe’d suffered standing up. He grasped the doorframe between cockpit and cabinand lurched his other foot forward.

Hehad a bad moment when he had to walk two steps without anything to hold onto.His balance shifted, and he staggered sideways between the cockpit and thefirst of the seats in the cabin. He flailed as his surroundings wenttopsy-turvy. Only by using the grimmest concentration was he able to lungeforward and grab a seat.

Theviolent motion woke agony, and he screeched. His knees threatened to buckle. Heleaned hard on the back of the seat, though it pressed painfully against hisbattered chest. He spit blood again.

Ilidslowly recovered enough to resume. A few steps, each affording handholds, andhe’d reach the bins. Just a few steps.

Eachwas excruciating, both in effort and slowness, however. He was forced tocarefully navigate the broken ceiling components littering the floor. Triumph,as savage as his anguish, rose in him when he grasped the lid of the floor bin.He laughed at the ridiculous notion of victory to have walked no more thanfifteen feet. The hysterical edge to his barked hilarity scared him intoshutting up.

Becausethe floor storage was the better support, Ilid leaned his hip on it and swungopen the door to the closest wall cabinet. His gaze slid over well-organizedstores of water and food ration pouches, power chargers for handheld computersand com units, small hand tools, and…there. In the corner, the red icon of amedical scanner on its lid, was an emergency first aid kit.

Ilidgrabbed it and laid it on the floor bin’s lid. He wrenched it open. Becauseonly one hand was operational, his progress in loading a tube of pain inhibitorin the inhaler was horrifically slow. He was crying again before it finally,mercifully locked in place.

Hewrapped his lips around the device’s mouthpiece and depressed the plunger,ignoring the bolt of pain in his chest and gut to inhale the blast of mist asdeeply as possible. He took another hit and a third.

Thejagged pain dulled. Ilid moaned in relief. Again, when it halved. When agonyquieted to a dull ache, he had another dose.

Hecaught himself sinking, his ass sliding down the front of the floor bin towardthe floor. He stood up straight, marveling at the lack of pain as he did so. Itwas a lie. He was still badly injured, but he no longer felt it. He was closeto giddy from the lack of pain.

Geta grip. You have work to do while it lasts, because you won’t maintain thislevel.

No,he wouldn’t, certainly not for a week. A check of the emergency kit revealedthree additional canisters of inhibitor, each possessing a mere ten doses. He’ddamned near used half of his initial canister already. Considering a ten-dayweek, twenty-seven hours a day, and thirty-six doses left…

Onedose, every eight hours if he wasn’t found before life support ran out. Hesuspected a single dose wouldn’t do much to keep him free of agony.

Therewas no help for it. As long as he could stand and maintain mobility, Ilid hadtasks to perform. He’d enjoy his brief respite while it lasted and get some workdone.

Hemoved carefully as he removed food and water rations from the bin, mindful hecould make his injuries worse when he didn’t feel them. He tried ignore thefact of torment in his near future.

* * * *

The alien force dubbed the Darks has grabbed control of keypositions on Kalquor and the Galactic Council of Planets. Other leaders arestill unaware of the threat among them. The galaxy is wide open for destruction by an unfathomable enemy.

Former emperor Nobek Yuder has suspicions, but due torestrictions placed on him after his prison sentence, he can only stand by andwatch helplessly. A renegade Royal Councilman has designs to bring him back tothe political arena, but doing so could destabilize the Kalquorian Empire,leaving it vulnerable to invasion.

Meanwhile, one man on the brink of death, the only man whocan detect the nearly invisible Darks, is pulled from a lifeless shuttle byCaptains Kila and Nako. His incredible story tells them they’re in a raceagainst time to save not only the empire but the whole galaxy…but are theyalready too late?

On Earth II, Governor Stacy Nichol’s relationship with ClanRihep continues to grow. So does the danger, as opponents make deadly movesagainst her and the orbiting Kalquorian station where the clan lives. NobekKuran is determined to keep his clanmates and would-be lifemate safe, but howcan he stop a faceless enemy?

Relationships, old and new, are strained to the breakingpoint at a time when Earthers and Kalquorians need each other more than ever.The Darks are closing in, and no one is ready to oppose them.

Releasing November 3. Pre-order now at Amazon, Amazon UK, Nook, Smashwords, Kobo, Apple, and print.