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  ‘Of course, she will hold.’ With the clipped steps of the military, Commander Dyrke El Zen crossed to her side. His stern gaze swept the room and the crew returned to their tasks. ‘You are damaged. I will send for the medic.’

  ‘Later, Commander. Your report please.’ Sherise braced herself. By what she’d seen so far, the news would not be good.

  He cleared his throat, standing feet apart with his hands clasped behind his back, shoulders as straight as tempered metal. ‘The outer hull is compromised in several sections. Reports are yet to determine the extent of the damage. We lost power when one engine compartment exploded upon impact and our energy field has been weakened, reducing our manoeuvrability. Sensors are destroyed, along with escape pods and three transport shuttles. Communications are damaged.’

  Stars above! And my people? ‘What of our crew and passengers? Has everyone been accounted for?’

  ‘Several compartments are cut off and we have yet to establish their status. We have received reports of at least twenty personnel either injured or deceased. Rescue teams are on their way but, with comms down, it is too soon to say how many have been lost.’ The groove between the Commander’s brows deepened.

  ‘I will report to the medie chamber and assist our medical team.’ She hesitated, sensing there was more left unsaid.

  Dyrke’s murky red and black aura crackled with tension. Her breath hitched in her throat. That quicksand feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach warned danger lay ahead.

  The Commander jerked his chin toward the forward screen. ‘Another mass has been detected. Impact in ten sectons.’

  Oh, goddess Cercis, save us.

  ‘Issue the order to strap down, including the rescue teams. How many people have been evacuated?’

  ‘With limited communications it is difficult to say.’ Dyrke snapped his gaze from the screens to her face.

  ‘Change our heading. As soon as the mass has passed, get us back on route.’ That is, Cercis willing, we can find the correct co-ordinates.

  The Commander inclined his head and barked out a string of orders. A warning alarm clanged throughout the ship.

  ‘This way, lady.’ Quick as a sneaky coda worm, Kondo grabbed hold of her arm and frog-marched her across the room towards a duplicate command chair. While she fumbled with the catch Kondo loomed over her, his large body casting a distorted shadow.

  Apparently satisfied she was secure, he strode over to Bree and towed her to a row of chairs behind Sherise. Held captive by her harness, Sherise stared at the screens. Ahead lay the pulsating inner-most layers that marked the exit of the Azzirt Vortex. And beyond lay Earth.

  ‘We’re going to die.’ Bree’s quiet words beat inside Sherise’s head in unison with the thumps of her heartbeats.

  What of the injured? What if they were unable to reach safety? She pushed words past her clenched jaw and directed them over her shoulder, ‘I will not die here and neither will you. You must have faith.’

  Doubt gnawed like a hungry rodent but Sherise had to believe they would survive. They had come so far, endured so much hardship and loss. Surely Cercis could not be so cruel.

  The Quinnie jerked from side to side, struggling to change course. A flow of gravitational waves and negative pressure collided in the ship’s wake and exploded into particles of stardust, debris and anti-matter that rippled across the screens in swirling colour. It would have been beautiful if the situation hadn’t been so dire. Riveted by images of the ship’s now blackened hull, Sherise swallowed, forcing down the bile burning her throat.

  In the forward vid-screen churning blackness forked by streaks of sizzling white energy split the darkness. Beyond the exit, a brief taunting glimpse of twinkling stars beckoned.

  Life.

  ‘The Quinnie fails to respond,’ said Dyrke.

  Her gaze whipped to the Commander, his dark skin drawn taut over his cheekbones, the hollows beneath pronounced.

  He added quickly, ‘Sensors advise the energy field is more compromised than our first report indicated.’

  ‘Where is the weak point?’

  Dyrke’s quiet words resonated through the wide room. ‘Starboard compartment. It’s on fire and burning out of control.’

  Which housed their supplies and the hydroponic section. And where many people worked.

  ‘Impact five sectons,’ said the chief navigator. He spun round on his chair, his gaze darting between Dyrke and Sherise.

  Sherise sucked in a deep breath. She knew that smell. The room reeked of sweat and fear. The same scent she now wore like dirty body-armour.

  ‘We must stabilise the energy field.’ She worked the words through numb lips. Not only did the energy field shield the ship from anti-matter but it expelled a constant charge that maintained a tunnel through which the ship could traverse a vortex. On arrival at the edge, the ship would exude a massive surge, exerting negative pressure to keep the gateway open sufficiently to exit. Without a functional energy field, they would be trapped. ‘We cannot afford to lose any more power. Any word on whether the people have evacuated?’

  ‘Negative. There is no response from that sector.’

  She gripped the armrests. No idea then if anyone was still alive in the burning compartment.

  But if she waited too long to give the order, the energy field would give way and everyone on board would die. Through her mind flittered horrific visions of bodies on fire while the ship disintegrated.

  I need more options.

  There remained only one.

  They had to jettison the starboard compartment.

  The forward vid-screen showed a mass of twisted metal hurtling towards them.

  Closer.

  Closer.

  ‘We need a decision,’ said Dyrke.

  Sherise licked lips cracked dry, swallowed over the acrid taste in her mouth and forced out the order. ‘Proceed, Commander.’

  ‘Release the starboard compartment. Bank thirty degrees to the port side,’ barked Dyrke. When his navigator shot him a horrified stare, the Commander held up a hand. He ground out, ‘Now, ensign.’

  Another jolt accompanied by a screech of metal and Sherise knew the clamps attaching the burning compartment to the rest of the ship had been severed. On the stern vid-screen the starboard compartment and its extruding bays sheared off and a moment later were sucked into the heart of the Vortex. One last flicker of light before the compartment was swallowed by blackness to vanish forever.

  The ship jostled from side to side as they sped past the wreck. At the very last moment, the metallic mass rolled and slammed into the Quinnie’s tail section.

  The ship went into a spin. Without its own gravity and force field, the people on board would have been smashed to a pulp. Her heartbeat pounding in her ears, Sherise gripped the armrests and prayed. The vibrations shaking the ship increased to such an extent she thought her teeth would surely fall from her head. Her gaze remained strained on the forward screen, willing the ship to hold until they’d passed safely through the Vortex exit.

  ‘Ensign, get us back on course!’ Dyrke said.

  ‘Steerage will not respond, sir,’ the navigator shouted.

  ‘The power source is falling,’ called another.

  ‘We must use the connection.’ The Commander had spoken into the comms.

  Sherise met his fierce gaze and nodded. She knew it was now all down to the Commander and herself and any others who held the gift from their ancestors. She delved deep into her essence where her link with the Quinnie had lain dormant all these years. For many sectons, her power source shrieking in protest, the Quinnie battled the forces determined to rip her apart.

  Bearing down with every fibre of her being, Sherise concentrated, channelling into the ship’s heart.

  She counted her heartbeats.

  Measured them against the beat of the Quinnie’s energy source.

  A current surged from where she gripped the armrests, zipping through her body to pierce the inside of her brain, blank
ing her vision with a burst of white light. She squeezed her eyes shut, breathing shallow pants while pain ripped through her. Simultaneously, the ship shuddered from stern to bow.

  With a roar the Quinnie pulled free and Sherise felt the ship surge forward. She snapped open her eyes. The outer-most force field ring of the Vortex was coming up fast. A helmet clattered across the floor. The ship spun in a fast rotation that made Sherise’s head whirl. The Quinnie rocketed sideways, plunged through the exit.

  Finally, the ship’s power source throttled back into a reassuring thrum and Sherise slumped in her chair. Sorrow for those they had lost ate into her essence, as corrosive as draptile spit. With a heavy heart, she severed her link with the ship then murmured a short prayer to Cercis.

  A river of starlight glowed on the forward screens. The stern screen revealed the swirling black mass of the Azzirt Vortex like the gaping mouth of eternity.

  By the goddess Cercis’s good grace, we live … some of us.

  Shudders wracked her. Memories surfaced of others who had died cycles ago, and now lay on a distant planet, cold and rotting. Now, by giving the order to release the starboard compartment, she was responsible for more deaths.

  She hung her head and forced back the grief.

  ‘Is it over? Are we safe?’ Bree’s voice was shrill with fear.

  Kondo responded, his voice cool, ‘It appears once more, the Darkons prevail.’

  ‘We have escaped the Vortex,’ Sherise said hoarsely. One by one, she relaxed her fingers, releasing their death grip on the armrest.

  She undid the catch on her harness. The air was as hot as the pits of Zirsk. She plucked at the damp clothes sticking to her sweat-coated body. Tendrils of hair plastered both sides of her face. The temperature control must be damaged. Using her sleeve, she wiped her face before lurching to her feet. Beneath her tunic, her knees shook so hard she feared the crew would hear the rattle of her bones.

  Across the room the Commander had also severed his link. He soothed the metal armrests of his chair with a caressing motion. There was grim understanding in his eyes when he met her gaze.

  Sherise managed a nod. They both carried the same burden of past defeats but this one, this order, was on her. She stumbled two short paces to where Bree remained seated, her body feeling as heavy as a tank drone. Her friend’s tear-stained face reflected the same turmoil that raged inside her. Was there anything she could have done to prevent this disaster? The images of people dying in agony burst into her mind: their terrified voices echoed in her ears as their bodies stretched to impossible lengths before they exploded in a mass of shattered bone and blood.

  I can no longer help them. Let them go. Time to deal with the living. Sherise pressed her fingers hard against her temple, hoping to squash her lurid imaginings.

  Bree sprang from the chair to throw her arms about her. ‘It’s not your fault those people were trapped. No one could have saved them.’

  Sherise hugged her back, feeling the sting of moisture at the back of her eyes. What would she do without her friend? Comforted, she blinked and stepped away.

  ‘How can I help?’ Bree stared about the room.

  Sherise murmured, ‘I will report to the medie chamber as soon as I hear the Commander’s report. They will have need of assistance. Can you check on our passengers and let me know how they fared?’

  ‘Okay, I’m on it. I’ll see you there.’ Bree nodded, then hurried off.

  Sherise pushed her limp braid over her shoulders, and crossed the room to where Commander Dyrke and his officers were gathered around a data stream.

  Kondo rose from his seat and followed close on her heels. Blood marked his cheek from a seeping cut above one eyebrow. He noticed her glance and muttered, ‘Some fool Darkon left his helmet on the ground.’

  ‘Attend the medie chamber and I will see to it.’ She turned her attention to the schematics. The runes and equations floating in the air flickered now and then from intermittent power surges; a clear sign the Quinnie was severely damaged. Too damaged to make the return journey to Darkos? Her pulse spiked and she rubbed trembling fingers across her forehead where pain sliced behind her eyes; an unfortunate aftermath from her connection with the ship.

  ‘Well, Commander?’ She focused on the data. Many of the terms baffled her. They appeared to be in no logical sequence. She frowned and pointed at one particular line of repeating text. ‘I don’t understand. These co-ordinates, do they not represent the remainder of our projected course? If so, then the context appears meaningless.’

  Dyrke clasped his hands behind his back. ‘You are correct. We are working on re-calibrating our system in order to interpret the data.’

  ‘And, the Quinnie? How badly is she damaged? Have the rescue teams been activated?’ She waited a beat before continuing, her voice soft, ‘I would like the names of those who have been lost.’

  ‘No contact as yet with the team leaders. Initial reports reveal the Quinnie has sustained significant damage.’ He stalked over to a row of holographic displays which detailed the ship’s schematics. ‘Here, here and here. These areas where the power sources are located are the most important, for unless we can repair her, she will not survive another trek through a vortex.’

  Sherise froze.

  If that was the case, they could never return home. And unless another ship followed, there would be no alliance between Earth and Darkos and no shared future for either race.

  But she must succeed. Somehow, someway, the damage must be repaired. Perhaps on Earth, she could find the technology they needed.

  ‘New data coming up,’ said Kondo. Nostrils flared wide, he folded his arms, his grim expression that of a warrior about to face the first charge into the jaws of the enemy.

  Commander Dyrke sucked in a sharp breath, his jaw set so rigid the muscles of his throat corded like cables of steel. He didn’t speak.

  ‘What is it?’ Sherise’s chest constricted as if a coda worm squeezed her, tighter and tighter as she waited five long beats for him to reply.

  Voice bleak, Dyrke turned to face her. ‘The last impact has propelled the Quinnie through the incorrect gateway. We have emerged three hundred Earth years into the future.’ He swallowed. ‘We have less than nine Earth weeks to restore the ship to full operating capacity. If we cannot do so, then the gateway path to our own time will close forever.’

  Chapter 2

  One week later

  Planet Earth - Year 2459

  Heat steamed from the parched, rubble-strewn earth where Maaka and his men patrolled. The heavy haze shimmered under the stark blue sky, distorting anything that lay further than a spear’s throw. In front of him, a light breeze sprang up and whispered through the waist-high grasses that edged the roughly ploughed field.

  Perfect cover for an attack.

  The Half-dead may not have souls, but they were not without brains.

  Maaka twisted his lips. Even though nightfall still remained a few hours away, he expected the torment of their insatiable hunger to drive them from their holes early.

  With each turn of the season his enemies appeared to multiply, while the numbers of his people, the Lycaneans, and their newly pledged allies, the Freebers, diminished.

  The lack of good food and clean water, diseases and frequent attacks from the predators that roamed unchecked over the harsh land were taking their toll. If only they had access to medicine and knowledge it would give them hope. But, banished to the Outworld, each day was a battle for survival.

  He tested the weight of the crude axe he held and scowled. If he could only source weapons capable of piercing armoured hides and destroying the predators’ nests, he would soon turn the tide of power. Alas, such technology was also denied to them.

  His people’s future lay as heavy as a mountain on his shoulders. He knew they had to annihilate the Half-dead or be vanquished.

  Beside him, Junta, his second-in-command, spat out the strand of grass he had been chewing and with a sweep of his hand indicate
d the farmers tilling the earth behind them. ‘It was a good idea to advise the Freebers of this field, even if it lies inside enemy territory. What do they call these plants again?’

  ‘Gammas,’ said Maaka.

  ‘Gammas.’ Junta repeated the word in a wondering tone.

  ‘Liu assures this food can be made into pie.’ Maaka shrugged. ‘Do not ask me what ‘pie’ means.’

  Junta grinned. ‘Anything will make a welcome addition to our solely meat diet. This new alliance will be good for our people. You have done well to forge this treaty.’

  ‘The Freebers’ knowledge of healing and farming can only assist. With a united front, we will be stronger. Pity they are so wholly bound to their vows of non-violence,’ muttered Maaka. If only they would take up the sword. Fight by our side. But no, they held fast to religious beliefs.

  And for their faith, they had died.

  Now they relied on his people, the Lycaneans, to provide protection. Still, as his lieutenant had said, it was a strategic move. More importantly, Maaka hoped the inter-race breeding would be the miracle they so desperately needed to avoid being turned if they were unlucky enough to be bitten by a Half-dead.

  Maaka narrowed his eyes, allowing his second eyelids to come into play and stared unblinking into the distance. Now, that his vision had acclimatised to the haze, the misshapen outlines of the Towers of Folly could be seen as dark shadows on the horizon. The broken remains of what had once been a great city now lay in ruins as a reminder of the arrogance of man. A time of power and greed, it lived only as myths and fireside stories in the memories of the Elders.

  A movement.

  With his hand, he made a quick slashing gesture and sank slowly into a half-crouch, using the tall grass as a shield. He didn’t need to check if his men had followed his signal to seek cover. As chieftain of the Lycaneans, he demanded—and received—total obedience.

  With infinite patience, he waited, his heartbeats steady. His soul simmered with resigned acceptance of what was almost upon them; another battle for life. In one hand, he gripped his sword, in the other, his axe.

  He blocked out the squeaks and rattles of the timber carts as they trundled over the dirt, the heavy pants and grunts of the warthogs and the slap of leather against their scaly hide that urged the animals to plod faster. He strained his hearing, seeking beyond the rhythmic swish of the sickles slicing through the vines, the thump of objects landing in the carts and the unending humming noise the Freebers emitted as they worked tirelessly under the relentless sun.