Chapter Two:

***

Norah woke up wet, sputtering water, and with a migraine so terrible that it was painful to think.

She heard the quiet drips of water before she opened her eyes to find…nothing. Pitch black darkness. She tried opening them again, thinking her lids were still closed, only to find more darkness.

She reached up and touched her eyes. They’re open.

The dark room shuddered and groaned, shaking the silence away and making the water splash over her wrinkled skin. Somewhere beyond her immediate perception, a terrible shriek arose.

Norah scurried to her feet, groping for her pistol. Not finding it, she backed away until she hit the wall on the opposite side of the room.

Everything came back to her as thunder, unlike any she had ever heard, roared through the dark space.

She slipped down the wall and covered her head as the laboratory fell apart around her. Unpacked beakers tumbled out of the cabinets, shattering; lab benches and chairs shook, and everything not bolted down joined her on the wet ground.

Norah didn’t move until she was sure it was over.

Slowly, she lifted her hands away from her head and bunched them into fists, pressing them into her eyes as her body tensed in fear. Her pants, her shoes, her butt were all soaked with water that grew more foul by the second.

When nothing slithered through the darkness to eat her and when the roof didn’t cave in on her head, reason came back. And clarity came with it.

“Robert?” she whispered, so low, so softly that she barely heard her own voice. “Robert?” she called out again.

No answer.

“Robert?” Her voice sounded like the cry of an injured animal.

She found the strength to move, knowing her fellow scientist could be in need of help.

The storm outside continued to bear down around the small outpost, but the thunder sounded farther off now. It was a short-lived relief.

It was then she realized that the sirens had stopped and so had the sprinkler system. She grasped for her wrist-con already knowing it wasn’t there but her fingers wrapped over her forearm anyway and squeezed.

How long have I been out?

Norah let go of herself and crawled toward the door, moving her arms around through the water to orient her location. She found her fallen gun and placed it back onto her hip. Her hands found Robert’s unmoving mass next.

She ran her palms over him. “Robert? Please wake up...”

No movement, not even a breath. He was on his belly, and a new panic rose up from the pit of her stomach to burn her throat and replace the stale taste in her mouth with acid.

His face was submerged in the water.

The tears she had successfully held back now formed in her eyes. “Robert?” her voice rose. She gripped his body and hauled him over, struggling with his sodden weight. “Please wake up. Please!”

Norah lifted herself over him and opened his mouth, performing CPR with the hurried desperation of an amateur. “Wake up, damn it!” She pumped his chest and sealed her lips over his again and again until seconds turned into minutes; until she realized that she was doing nothing more than kissing a corpse.

He’s dead. He can’t be dead. He has to get back to Lindsey. Norah laid her head on his torso and prayed for a heartbeat that never came.

The downpour settled before she lifted away.

Hours could have gone by. She didn’t know. Norah moved away from Robert’s body, uncertain what stage of decay he was in. She found his gun lying next to him and made it her own, placing it in the waist of her pants.

He’s dead.

The thought repeated in her head with numb reality.

She clambered around Robert’s body and crawled to the door, pressing her ear against its barrier. Her whole body strained as she listened for any movement beyond.

A chill crept up her spine.

It’s right on the other side. It’s listening for me as I’m listening for it. Robert is dead. Fresh meat.

Norah imagined a horrible nightmare mirroring her in the hallway. Waiting. Bloodthirsty and hungry. She lost track of time again while she was frozen in fear, imagining noises and the terrible scenarios that went with them.

She didn’t know what to do, having never trained for combat; having never thought that she would be prey to a predator.

She was a chemist. The only dangers she was supposed to face were runaway reactions and unpredicted products. She had undergone emergency preparedness training, as was required for anyone going to an uncolonized world, and was equipped with everything she would need to wait for help from Earth.

Norah moved away from the door and took a deep breath.

First, she found the discarded fire blanket and hung it on an open drawer to dry. Then scrambled under the table where the rest of the emergency supplies were stored, shoved back for her doomed samples.

She dug through it like a wild woman, blinded, until her hand landed on the flashlight. She turned it on, and appreciated the miracle of light more than she ever had before.

Her lab was destroyed. It hurt. Robert’s body made it worse, and she went to work with the mindset of someone who didn’t want to die but knew full well that she might.

A shriek, an ear-splitting wail rose up in the distance and echoed off the walls. Her heart raced. Her body convulsed with shivers. But she didn’t let it stop her. If she was going to survive, she was going to have to toughen up.

She found the receiver and telecom stored in her bag and broadcast a distress call, shouting a frightened whisper into the recorder. Norah begged for help she didn’t believe would come in time.

Axone was in Euthenia and Euthenia was as far out as any human colony could currently go. It was one of a dozen settlements that fell under the administrative umbrella of  “The Next Great Frontier” that the government had been forced to create in order to satisfy private organizations, like hers, that couldn’t be told ‘No’.

Help wasn’t coming.

Not until we’re missed. Not until they decide to investigate…They wouldn’t leave millions of dollars of equipment. Would they?

Her doubt was as strong as her fear.

She only hoped that someone at the ship was still alive and would come back for her. Her eyes landed on Robert’s body.

She was expendable, she knew she was, but some of her coworkers were not. David, the xenobiologist, was an expert in his field and Elton was a virologist and bacteriologist that had had a hand in finding cures for half a dozen intergalactic illnesses. They analyzed habitable planets, habitable locales for future development. That was valuable. We’re valuable. She told herself in comfort.

Norah went to Robert’s corpse. She needed to get him out of the water before further decomposition set in. She grabbed his arms and dragged him across the floor to the door, letting him drop beside it.

In spite of her despair, she took out her pistol and, with the flashlight, she nudged the door open. Norah aimed the light toward the ground, not wanting to give herself away.

But it didn’t matter.

She was trapped.

The ceiling had caved in and filled the hallway with plaster, cement, and insulation. A waterfall of rain fell from the crushed and burned ceiling, the victim of an errant lightning bolt, at least she hoped. Norah could smell the smoke and charred plastic. If there was a god then she was surely under his thumb.

No, she was under the heel of his boot.

Or that the devil was smiling down at her.

Either way, she was screwed.

Norah could still hear the monsters screeching outside; her nose began to bleed again.

***

He wasn’t headed for Ghost; he hadn’t even told Matt that he’d turned his ship around.

It didn’t matter anyway, Matt was stuck with him and his perfectionism.

The man had a chance to bail like everyone else had in his crew, but he’d chosen to stay.

Stryker had finally stopped trying to prevent his inevitable descent into a life alone out in space. A life interrupted only by machines like himself. He already felt he wasn’t answerable for his actions.

The controls flashed on his screen and he adjusted the ship’s speed to approach the planet that the distress signal came from. To track the sharp, blaring signal in his head. To confront its source, whether the distress was genuine or the bait for a trap. He scanned the surface of the world meticulously, growing frustrated with every minute that went by.

I might be too late. I’m not going to find her.

Norah Lee.

The name stuck to him and he found himself saying it out loud when he powered down into his rest mode. The female’s voice sounded young and so filled with fear it made him, a Cyborg, worry. He had to get to her.

I have to try.

Stryker didn’t know how long the signal had been going. For all he knew, it could be weeks old, months old, even years old. But what he did know was that he never failed a mission. Whether they were given to him or self-initiated, he had always known success.

Lady Luck looked down upon him with a radiant smile.

Norah Lee, I’m coming. He flew his ship over the swampy jungle landscape of the world, populated solely by giant trees and giant bodies of water.

Stryker eyed the monstrous black clouds up ahead–the sky looked as if it had been beaten black and blue. He let out a hiss, “Not in there.”

He cursed under his breath as the signal grew stronger as he got closer.

A storm rained havoc down from the atmosphere, thick with thunder that bore a striking resemblance to blood-curdling howls. He could hear it past the metal barriers of his ship. The clouds flashed muted purple as lightning arced inside. Every one of his mechanical heart beats was accompanied by a hundred bolts.

Stryker said goodbye to the sky as he flew into the maelstrom.

He found the source of the distress call.

It’s not an ambush...it’s a fucking death trap.

He lost all visual. Stryker turned on the intercom and slowed down his ship.

“Matt, I need you in the bridge, stat!” He watched the water pelt the reinforced glass of his window. His fingers drummed on his knee as the wind and lightning tried to tear his ship apart.

No one could survive this storm. His worry grew tenfold for Norah. I’m coming. He urged her to feel the willpower of his thoughts.

He was going down into it. He was going to save her. He steeled his heart with his oath.

A grunting, gurgling noise, followed by the annoyed footsteps of his crew-mate, sounded just before the man walked into the bridge.

“Yes, Master?” The sarcasm was evident. Stryker had no time for it; he turned around.

“I need you to man the ship–” He was cut off.

Matt jerked back, “Put your goddamn mask on, man!”

Stryker stared the horrified alcoholic down. He didn’t have time for incompetence he had a woman to save. Nevertheless, he lifted his mask up.

“–fuuuck, you could have killed me.”

“No one would mourn. Matt, I’m dropping down, taking the flyer with me–”

“Oh what the fuck man? Why is it raining out there? Aren’t we in space? Space doesn’t have water!”

Stryker sighed. Every second was one more second an unfortunate death could happen. A death he was going to prevent, if at all possible. Norah Lee…

He turned back to the controls and flew the ship above the clouds. Stryker was out of his chair and rushing to his armory with an urgency he hadn’t felt since he was on the battlefield years ago.

The smell of space-brewed beer followed him. It didn’t take much when a food replicator was involved.

“I don’t want to die!”

Stryker hated distress calls.

“You need to watch the ship,” he told Matt again as he pulled out a bag and started to fill it with survival supplies.

First aid. Needles. Synthesized medication.

“Stryker…” Matt watched him, wide eyed. “I can’t pilot a ship. Why aren't we landing?”

Rope. Water. Rations.

“No time.” Stryker turned to his weapons and shoved several boxes of ammo into the duffle.

“You’re freaking me out, man.” Matt took out one of his many flasks and gulped it down. “Never seen you like this before. The EPED got you good with this one.” He peered into the open bag.

Cleaning cloths. Ponchos. Compass.

“Distress call,” Stryker mumbled, looking around the space, hoping he wasn’t forgetting anything crucial. He equipped his Cyborg armor, built from his nanocells, and attached his knives. He picked up his plasmic sniper rifle and threw it over his shoulder.

Emergency blanket. Purification powder. Time was ticking.

“Since when do we answer distress calls?”

“Since now.”

Stryker belted his guns and extra knives over his biceps and thighs.

Based on the signal, he knew he was dealing with more than the weather. He had enough firepower to take on the world in his ship. He packed enough to take out a garrison, enough to take down several Wieraptors. He pressed his death-dealer magnum against his forehead, loaded with pryzian bullets, and whispered a prayer to his lover, Lady Luck.

He turned to Matt. “Am I missing anything?”

His thoughts were scattered.

He couldn’t fathom an intellectual reason why, only that he needed his second-in-command to verify for him; Stryker wouldn’t be the first Cyborg to think himself infallible.

Matt pulled open the duffle and eyed it with a glazed look. “How long you plan to be out there?”

“No idea, a day at least.”

He humphed. “A day is too long without one of these…” Matt dropped in a flask, a second one stored under the lapels of his jacket. Stryker’s lips lifted under his mask despite the urgency.

He threw the pack over his shoulders and headed to his flyer, Matt in tow.

It turned on as he approached it.

“Keep the systems running. If I’m not back within the next two days, put the ship on auto-pilot and it will take you to Ghost. The other Cyborgs will help you from there.” He entered the small aircraft, just big enough for four people comfortably and enough fuel to land on a nearby planet if something should ever happen to his ship.

“Still don’t know how to fly a ship,” Matt grumbled. “Please keep forgetting that small detail.”

“Manual’s under the console.” He flipped the controls on as the emergency hatch lifted open. An ocean of bruised clouds appeared just below them. The sounds of destruction bellowed violently now that there was no barrier between them and it. His pulse fluttered with misgivings. He turned to close the door.

“Stryker…”

“What?”

“Be careful, man, it looks like the devil’s beating his daughter out there.”

I’m coming, Norah Lee.

He flew into the roiling surge.