The Portal (Novella) Read online

  The Portal

  www.escapepublishing.com.au

  The Portal

  S. E. Gilchrist

  When Janni, a young salvager, boards a space wreck, she is caught for daring to steal Darkon tech by a patroller and the one man she had thought she would never to see again. Several months before, she had allowed him to slip past her defences for a brief and wonderful interlude. But with both of them on either side of the law, they had walked away. Now they are trapped on a wreck and with an alien life force hunting them. Will the patroller save her life or abandon Janni to her fate?

  About the Author

  S. E. can’t remember a time when she didn’t have a book in her hand. Now she writes her own stories where her favourite words are ‘what if’ and ‘where’. She combines passionate romance with action and adventure set in dangerous worlds. Her heroines are valiant and know exactly what to do with their alpha heroes.

  She writes in the romance genres of sci-fi/futuristic, fantasy, post apocalyptic/dystopian and ancient history. An Aussie to her backbone, S.E. lives down under, in the beautiful Hunter Valley of Australia.

  Her first release Paying the Forfeit, a short erotic romance story set in a post-apocalyptic world, was published by Momentum Publishing in e-book format.

  Legend Beyond the Stars is her first major release and is book 1 in the series Legends of the Seven Galaxies, published by Escape Publishing in e-book format.

  This hot short story, The Portal, is linked to the same series, Legends of the Seven Galaxies.

  Website:

  http://www.segilchrist.com/

  Twitter:

  @segilchrist1

  Facebook:

  SEGilchrist

  Acknowledgements

  With sincere thanks to my writing buddies: Stacey Nash, Kerrie Paterson and Erin Moira O’Hara for their invaluable feedback with this story. Hunter Romance Writers rock.

  To my family, always.

  Contents

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  Star Time: Darkon Year 6035

  Olman Garrison, Basa System: Six Standard Months Earlier

  On Board The Freedom: Present Time

  Olman Garrison, Basa System: Six Standard Months Earlier

  On Board The Freedom: Present Time

  Also Available From Escape Publishing…

  Star Time: Darkon Year 6035

  Janni leaned closer to the viewing panel and squinted at the sudden flash of brilliant orange that burst through the wispy space dust. Then, it was gone.

  She slumped against the navigational chair. Tapping her fingers to a quick beat against the metal armrest she stared at the ceiling, blind to the crazy lines of twisted wiring and metal tubing above. Unease played tootsies with her bowels. She shifted her weight, the hard plastic squeaking from her movement. Had it been another ship?

  Frowning, she turned her head and asked, “Did you see that light?”

  Her partner in crime, co-owner of The Orion, the rusty, limping salvage ship Janni called home, raised his head from an examination of a schematics display. “What light?”

  She sighed. “Must have imagined it. Okay, Bansell, how are we looking?”

  “The prize should be coming up on our port side now.” Bansell rubbed a hand over his bald, spotted head.

  Janni swivelled her chair and stared out the small porthole for several beats before giving a low whistle. “Wow. What a wreck. She must have been drifting for some time by the look of the damage to her hull.”

  Her partner grunted. “It appears the ship at one time passed through an asteroid belt. I recognise the damage pattern.”

  Janni pinched her lower lip between her index finger and thumb while she scrutinised the data flow. “System check reveals no heat signatures, so no life forms on board. That’s kinda weird. I’ve never heard of the Darkons abandoning their ships before, have you?”

  “Negative. But many strange things occur out here on the Rim.” Bansell rubbed his hands together, making a rasping sound like coarse sandpaper and tossed her a grin. “If she was abandoned in a hurry, there will be much on board for us to salvage. This past cycle has been too lean with pickings with the war escalating.”

  Janni thought of the strange light she had seen and mumbled, “I’m not so sure about this one, Bansell.”

  Bansell laughed, a sharp harsh bark of sound. “No choice. We need that cargo. None of our crew has been paid for four standard months. We are down to our last few creds and rations are low. If we do not obtain a payload, the crew will jump ship the next station or planet we come across.”

  “Yeah, I know. You don’t have to remind me of the parts we need to repair the hyper space drive.” Janni shot a quick look at her partner. “Any sign of those bloody patrollers?”

  “None so far. Our systems reveal the stars are clear.”

  “Alright then, let’s do it.” For what choice did they have? If they stayed out here on the Rim any longer, they would starve or fall victim to space fever. It would do no good revealing to Bansell that prickling sense their ship was being followed. This payload may be too rich to ignore.

  Janni launched from her chair and clattered down the metal rungs to the vast hanger bay beneath. Already suited up for the job, she jogged across the runway slapping one of her crewmen on the back as she passed. She grabbed the handholds clamped on both sides of the small spacecraft’s open hatch and heaved her body into the airlock. The hatch closed behind her and after punching in her personal code, the green light flicked on and another door slid open. She hurried through the cramped interior towards the tiny flight deck. A few moments later, strapped into the pilot’s chair, she performed the flight checks, and then waited for the all clear.

  The hanger door clanked opened.

  The flyer’s engine fired into life. Janni rotated the controls with the palm of her hand and the machine zoomed down the runway and into the black depths of outer space.

  Within seconds, she had the power boosted to full mark and saw directly ahead the dark misshapen shadow of the battered wreck.

  It was a long distance voyager, its hull blackened by cycles of traversing the wormholes that linked the known universes. As a former slave on a similar voyager, none knew better than she the intricate passageways that mazed through the interior like an Azarian jelly insect with its dozens of thin, tentacles.

  Hence, she was the logical choice for laying claim to the prize. All she had to do was place her bio-signature marker on the command centre door, which would effectively eliminate any signals the ship still emitted and hope like hell no Darkon Patrollers were in the vicinity.

  The Darkons didn’t take kindly to another race laying claim to one of their ships. If caught, it would be a good ten or so cycles before any salvager saw the light of day.

  Red and green dust sparkled like tiny gems over the flyer’s hull as it zipped through the space-cloud and approached that dark shape. Forward beams flicked on, painting the damaged ship with amber light and spooky shadows as the flyer flew closer. The hairs on her arms covered by her bulky flight suit sizzled and gritting her teeth, Janni set her sights on a small docking station under the starboard section.

  It only took a matter of minutes and the flyer was berthed, and its clamps were securely attached to the short runway. Another quick systems check, this time on her flight suit and she exited her small ship.

  No sounds filtered through her helmet. It was deathly quiet, like the graveyard where Janni had spent a night with a bunch of her fellow teenage friends, long ago. A remnant of her other life, but the eerie, heavy atmosphere that had hung over the cold tombstones then was the same as the dank sensation that sank into her bones now as she opened a hatch and stepped ov
er the hob.

  The door whined shut, a rusty, scraping noise that set her teeth on edge, and she secured it tightly before turning round. As if she had been a catalyst, lights flared revealing a scarred passageway that ended at the base of a stairwell and a line of chutes. Now, that was creepy.

  “Girl, what is taking so long?” Bansell’s tinny voice startled her, making her jump and realise she had been standing, as if frozen for several minutes. White noise crackled through the comms drowning out the remainder of his words.

  “I’m inside and heading for the command centre,” she said. Bansell did not respond. There was interference on the line, but from what? Just do the job and get the hell out of here.

  Not keen to trust the operating system of the chutes, she climbed the remains of a twisted stairwell and emerged on the main level. She set off in a jog along a well-lit passageway. The noise of her heavily booted feet clanged loudly in the ominous silence. Her breathing heaved in and out, a sure sign of her stressed state, sucking in more oxygen than necessary. Get a grip. Surely you’re not afraid of the bogeyman in the shadows. Janni shook her head, as if refuting the jeering voice in her mind, burying the scared child who huddled inside and tormented her sleep with nightmares of this new alien life she now lived. I’m a survivor. Compared to what I have seen, what I have done, this is nothing.

  Time to check the stats and concentrate on the job. The data continually scrolling down to the left of her visor revealed the ship retained full operating power and all vital life support systems were intact. Atmosphere read at normal levels albeit the temperature was a lot higher than the norm for a Darkon ship; still, perfect for human survival. How odd. Where was the crew then? Why had they abandoned the ship?

  Janni quickened her pace, her heart rate increased and beads of sweat formed on her body making her feel she was boiling alive inside the heavy body suit she wore over her short tunic and trousers.

  That’s it! I can’t stand it any longer. She paused and peeled off the sticky suit, ridding herself of her helmet too, she tossed the items aside where they huddled like discarded skins on the floor. They would be easy enough for her to retrieve on her return to the flyer. Besides she could move faster without all that bulk weighing her down. Running a hand through the flattened tufts of her short, dish-blonde hair she sucked in a deep breath, spluttering into a mild coughing fit.

  Dust, engine fluids, damp skanky air and something else. She sniffed again.

  Sulphur! With uneasy images tumbling through her mind, she trotted along another corridor and worried over the source of that smell.

  At last! Triumphantly she reached out, her marker clutched in her hand, mere inches from the compartment door.

  Someone gripped her waist tightly; lifted her high and spun her round holding her effortlessly above the ground. Taken by surprise, she kicked out with her feet and swung her arms about, but failed to make purchase with her attacker.

  She recognised the uniform and her heart rate reached rocket mode.

  A Darkon patroller.

  Set roughly onto her feet, she tried a roundhouse punch but he ducked and snuck under her throw.

  The officer grabbed her hands, shoved them behind her back and held her face first against the door.

  Despair filled her, as the manacles snicked tight about her wrists. The thought of returning to the deprivations and danger of a prison cell set her stomach heaving with stress.

  “There is a heavy penalty for thieves who steal from the Darkon Guardians,” clipped the voice above her head. He whirled her around.

  Janni sniffled and battled her desire to burst into useless tears. As her gaze met his, she swallowed hastily to conceal her gasp at the young Darkon male who stood unhelmeted, before her.

  The Darkon patroller stared back, a heavy frown dug into his forehead. He muttered, “I wish I had found you on any ship but this one.”

  “You!” A quick memory flashed through Janni’s mind of her first meeting with this warlord, roughly nine standard months past. Both their ships had berthed for refuelling on a decrepit space station orbiting the fiery planet, Zirsk. Janni had set a direct course to the bar where she had nursed a shot of Niska juice while assessing the patrons. The patroller had caught her with her hand clasped tightly over a pouch of credits she had lifted from a drunken reveller. Annoyed and more than a little anxious, she had glared into his grim face and watched as a strange, yellow light flared to life within his dark eyes and a smile curved the corners of his mouth.

  Even stranger still, he had stood aside and let her go.

  “My little thief. I thought I recognised the signature of your ship and have been following you for several systems. This time, I am afraid you will not escape so easily.” He caught her hasty glance over his shoulder. “Do not look for rescue. Even as I speak, my ship is in pursuit of your rust heap.”

  “Why?” she managed through shaking lips.

  The hard line of his mouth softened and Janni watched it curl into a wry twist. “You stole something from me,” he muttered.

  Janni stiffened. “Rubbish.” As if, she’d be that stupid.

  The soldier slapped a hand against the wall behind her and leaned in close. So close she saw the amber glow of his eyes spreading until only a thin black rim circled his irises. His lips a mere breathe from hers, he murmured, “Do you have no memories of the market place on the garrison planet, Olman, little thief?”

  Her stomach clenched and she snatched her gaze from his dark face and fixed on the broad expanse of his chest. Memories? More than memories, for each moment they had spent together had seared into her brain. In truth, she had despaired she would never be done with the cauldron of need and hope that tormented her every moment of every day.

  Olman Garrison, Basa System: Six Standard Months Earlier

  They had shuttled down from The Orion, to the planet’s surface several rones ago. After inspecting the crates of spare parts a dealer-grunt had delivered a rone or so earlier, the crew now stood gathered outside the cargo door.

  “That’s it.” Janni wiped engine fluid from her hands with a rag before tossing it aside. “We need a new isolator switch and a nuron crank shaft or the next time we go for a jump, we’re gonna be toast.”

  Bansell waggled his furry eyebrows.

  Janni rolled her eyes. “Think, a hot and fiery death.”

  “Aaah.” Bansell fixed the dealer-grunt with his unblinking stare and growled, “How much?”

  “Not easy to find. Need two hundred creds and much time.”

  Bansell waved him off. “Bah. Where are we going to get two hundred creds? Get out of here.”

  Janni watched the dealer-grunt scuttle off on his four legs, rubbing the back of her tight neck with a grimy hand and then braced herself. She knew what was coming next.

  “We spread out, do some hustling. Deek, you stay here and see our stores are loaded. We meet back here in five rones,” said Bansell. He glanced at Janni and she nodded, somehow managing to keep her expression from revealing her distaste.

  If only there was another way to find the creds they needed. I guess I should count myself lucky, Bansell doesn’t suggest I add whoring to my skillset. And if he ever dared suggest it, she’d jump ship the first opportunity she got and take her chances on her lonesome. After she knocked him to the ground, that is.

  They moved out, separating, melding easily with the other travellers and war-weary soldiers ambling down the narrow, rock-paved streets, all heading for the central square where the market-stallers held sway.

  Where anything could be bought—for a price.

  Janni mingled within the flow. Keeping inconspicuous with her head lowered and shoulders hunched beneath her worn cloak, she trudged along, every now and then scanning the crowd looking for a suitable mark. No prosperous merchants with bloated bodies and shiny metallic buttons here. Her spirits sank until she felt as well-worn as her ancient, scuffed boots. They would have to do without the new parts, for there was no way she was thi
eving creds off these poor souls, with their gaunt, pinched faces and patched clothing, some more threadbare than hers.

  These people were the epitome of refugees of a war that had lasted far too long. The theft of whatever creds they possessed might well mean utter devastation to their pitiful lives. She eyed a bone-thin Jurian shuffling alongside two blank-faced grunt soldiers. I can’t do it. There must be another way.

  About to retrace her steps to the runway, she caught sight of non-reflective black armour within the crowd, passing near where she loitered against a crumbling timber wall.

  Patrollers.

  She’d recognise that uniform anywhere.

  Janni stood on tiptoe then quickly ducked down. More than one, it looked like an entire squad was on the prowl. They could be searching for runners. They could also be searching for salvagers. Had they caught sight of her ship? Were they hunting her and the others?

  “Step up, step up little female and for the price of ten creds experience Pampering for the Soul,” said the market-seller bobbing about in an open doorway to her right.

  When she stared at him, he beckoned her forward with a beaming smile. His high-pitched voice had captured the attention of one of the patrollers who began to shoulder his way through the press of bodies, heading right in Janni’s direction.

  She spun round and fixed the trader with pleading eyes. “I have no creds and I need a place to hide for a few minutes. Please will you let me inside?”

  The trader hawked and spat into the dirt. He peered around her tense body before giving a reluctant nod. “Be quick and do not venture any further into the palace.”

  As she brushed past, he grabbed her arm, his spindly fingers digging deep into her flesh. He added, “Do not touch anything.”

  “Thank you.” Janni tore out of his grip and hurried inside the shadowed interior.

  Palace, he had called it. At some stage in its long life, she guessed it could have passed as a sumptuous dwelling for a wealthy trader, but now refuse and rubble littered the hallway. The once ornate and intricately carved ceiling was ruined, most of the pattern rubbed back to peeling ceiling-board.