Part 7

'This is a crazy idea, Dassion,' said Mira. She was pacing across the small kitchen area, her boots scuffing the tiled floor.

'No, it's not, Mira,' he replied. 'We have to find out what's going on.' After he had returned, several of the survivors hiding in the outpost had gathered to discuss what Dassion had seen earlier – the mysterious flier entering the space-port.

Kastus, the scrawny old priest, spoke next, his voice loud and powerful despite his thin frame and age. 'What if they are survivors like us, but decide to take what we have here? They could be scavengers, that's why they're going to the spaceport.'

Dassion thought about it momentarily as he absentmindedly rubbed his chin with his hands. 'Well, I…'

'Well what, Dassion?' asked Mira, her voice demanding. 'What aren't you telling us?'

The aging pilot hesitated, then said, 'I have lived an interesting life, seen many things good and bad, and I think…' he thought about it once more, 'the ship was weird looking. Not right. I think they're trouble.'

Mira turned to face him directly. 'So why go spying on them and possibly give away our location?'

Vern Finial, the administratum worker, suddenly took his turn to speak. 'I agree with Mr Way, we have to go and see what these other survivors are doing – I mean, they could just be like us.'

Mira shot a dark look towards the small, podgy-looking man. 'We have something good here – food, shelter, relative safety, good people. This just sounds wrong, and too dangerous.'

A thought hit Dassion all-of-a-sudden: Why was the Arbites girl so against finding out what was going on? You would think she would be the first to mount an expedition to figure out who the new arrivals were and what they were up too. Instead she was fighting against it. 'We have to go,' he said simply.

'I'm with him,' said Vern.

Father Kastus signed, and took a sip of his hot caffeine he held in both hands. 'I think we should wait awhile, see if they answer to the transmissions for help we send.'

Dassion turned to Dar who stood leaning at the entrance to the kitchen. 'Dar?'

'We go.'

A defeated look crossed Mira's face. 'Fine, go.'

'Mira,' started Dassion, 'maybe they've heard our emergency transmission already and know we're here. If we find out more about them now, it could help us.'

She looked at him, her eyes meeting his, and finally there was an unspoken understanding between them. 'Fine,' she said. 'But I'm coming.'

'Fine.'

*

Carson stood outside the fire-damaged factorium. The entrance was fairly large; the factory itself took up one whole block of the city. The bulky, ironcrete doors bent inwards, as if something had crashed into them from the outside, or some mighty force pulled them inwards. Either way, he wasn't getting in through the front. Not that the idea of breaking into a dark, unsafe building capable of holding hundreds of the living dead was in anyway appealing – but the sun would be down in a few hours and he needed to be out of the city centre by then.

Before the decent into madness, he had come passed this tech-factory many times to get his father's transports fixed, or run errands for the PDF since he knew the old tech-seer that ran the place well. They were just some of the fringe benefits of having such a famous father. Gregorian Leto, war hero. Carson shook the now distant memories from his mind and walked towards a lane that he knew hid one of the many side doors to the factory.

Several minutes later he was pulling open the door, the mechanical locks useless as the machine spirits seemed to have fled this area also. He hoisted the access open and immediately took a step back – the sun was hidden from here and he was taking as little chances as possible. He already knew his life now sat upon a knife-edge, attempting to enter a lightless, sunless building was pretty much suicide after all.

But what else was there to do? He needed to find a suitable form of transport. He had tried using the ground-cars, the big haulers and even a tank (he barely had it moving). He needed something smaller, nimble and fast.

Nothing stirred from the shadowy doorway. In fact, a deep silence had blanketed the city; even the wind seemed to have vanished. It was as if Tharius had fallen into a deep, depthless slumber.

Carson looked once more to the sky, knowing time was vanishing fast. He took a deep breath and entered the tech-factory.

*

Dassion walked determinedly towards the main hanger bay. He had had a few hours rest and was now ready to leave for his mission.

That's what it felt like – a mission. Like the old days. He had started life in the Planetary Defence Force, flying Aquila landers for the Officers. After he left, under stormy clouds, he worked for private contractors, shipping cargo throughout the system. He didn't miss working with Voiders, but he missed the life. After that, well, the Tharactus War broke out, and every available pilot was commissioned. Dassion was sure that he would not have survived the death of his world without the training and experience gained from his colourful past.

But that was the past, he thought, not the present. He had to find out if the new arrivals were dangerous and how much they posed a threat to his survivours. And that's what they where – his survivours. He had personally saved each and every one of them, except Eli, of course.

He turned the corner in the walkway and entered the hanger, where everyone was waiting. Well, nearly all of them. He shook his head and as he marched towards the others.

Mira and Kastus stood in the centre, the protector and the spiritual leader. Litia Ephese, the Tech-Adept, sat next to them in her scruffy red body-length robes. Her one augmented eye beamed red towards him, like a fake laser. She looked upset. Yessan and Jakes, the two outpost workers, were sitting eating protein bars, murmuring to themselves in dulcet tones. Vern paced in the background on his own, looking worried. Finally there was Dar, resting near the exit, gun in hand, staring impassively at him.

His survivors. His family even, given the dire circumstances.

He stopped before them. 'Eli?'

Mira was the one to answer. 'He was still sleeping,' she said, then added, 'I tried.'

Frustration welled up in him. Damn it, he needed Eli! His lined face creased in annoyance. 'Hermia doesn't have any weapons. I need him!'

'We know, Dassion,' Father Kastus said, understanding.

'I'm going to get him,' said Dassion determinedly. Eli Cain was an annoying, arrogant young buck, and one of the best Thunderbolt pilots he'd ever known. But at merely twenty, he was almost more hassle than it was worth sometimes.

'Did someone need my help?' said a voice from the hanger bay entrance.

Dassion turned and saw Eli: the young fighter pilot was suited out in his combat fatigues and held his flight helmet casually in one hand. He had dark, glistening skin and famously good looks, and he was parading his killer smile. Eli stood at just less than six foot, and had a rangy, tight body. The woman all adored him, even if they didn't admit it. Dassion had to mediate several outbursts already because of him – generally due to his fooling around.

Again a pang of regret hit Dassion, remembering what he was like at twenty. Really, he didn't blame the kid for his actions, but it did upset the balance of things at times.

'Hurry up Cain,' said Dassion, 'you and your Thunderbolt have a mission.'

'Finally,' smiled the young pilot, stepping forward.

Dassion wished he had the same confidence. Mira, Vern, Dar, Eli and him had to fly to the spaceport and find out what the new arrivals were doing.

And Dassion had a feeling the ship he saw was part of something foul, something evil, but he had to be sure, he had to know how much trouble they were really in.