Blake stepped out of the wrecked ship, his eyes adjusting to the strange light of the alien sun. The HUD flickered with activity, overlaying the chaotic landscape of the junkyard with a kaleidoscope of data points and annotations.
He moved forward, his boots crunching on the debris-strewn ground, distinct from the crunching of the wheels on the cart that Eland had provided him. The air was thick with the scent of rust and mud.
His HUD pinged and flickered, tagging objects with targeting reticles and scrolling metadata. Blake's mind raced as he processed each notification, letting his training sort signal from noise.
The scrap towers loomed higher as he penetrated deeper into the maze-like yard, jagged metal teeth against the alien sky. His augmented vision painted the landscape in false colors, highlighting salvage among the detritus. He found what he needed piece by piece - a coil of carbon-fiber cable rated for deep space, copper wiring still sealed in its original insulation, a cluster of fusion cells showing green on his power readings. Each discovery went into the cart, a growing inventory that might just buy him a ticket off this rock.
As he picked his way through the detritus, Blake's thoughts veered toward Eland. The interstellar archaeologist with the towering, cetacean-like figure should have been inscrutable, a puzzle of alien biology and technology. Yet, there was something startlingly familiar in the essence of Eland's mannerisms. It was a sense of shared experience, a commonality that bridged the gap between their disparate worlds. Despite the differences in their physical form, their technology, even their basic means of existence, Eeli was unexpectedly easy to relate to. Blake was comfortable working solo, but it really was nice to think he might have someone at his back in this situation.
The sun climbed higher in the sky, its heat beating down on Blake's back. A skittering sound drew his attention and he whirled, hand instinctively reaching for his sidearm. A small creature, no larger than a rabbit, regarded him with bulbous eyes set above a puckered mouth. Iridescent scales shimmered along its hunched back as it sat up on double-jointed hind legs.
Blake's breath came out slow. Controlled. A smile tugged at his mouth as he watched the creature vanish into the twisted metal heap. Jumpy. Getting spooked by the local wildlife wasn't going to help anyone. But better paranoid than dead.
Blake's heart rate ticked up again as the HUD pinged urgently, highlighting an anomaly amidst the debris. He approached cautiously, his boots crunching on the scattered scrap. As he drew closer, the sight that greeted him sent a chill down his spine.
An arm, slender and lifeless, protruded from beneath a mound of twisted metal. Blake's breath caught in his throat as he carefully began to shift the detritus, exposing more of the body with each piece he moved.
Finally, the figure was revealed in full. It was an alien, but unlike either of the types Blake had encountered before. Dark auburn hair framed delicate, almost elven features. The body was clad in a sleek, form-fitting suit of black and graphite, reminiscent of a wetsuit but made from a material that not even Blake's HUD could identify.
Blake crouched. Studied the dead alien with a combat veteran's eye. Entry wound: front. Exit wound: catastrophic. The kind of damage that said whoever did this meant business.
The entry point was neat. Clean. Smaller than a dime. The exit was different. Gone. Just gone. Like someone had scooped out the alien's back with a shovel.
Blake touched the suit. High-tech stuff. Not fabric, not armor, something else. It was responsive under his touch, almost like memory gel and ice-cold despite the heat of the day. Whatever had killed this person, Blake hadn't seen it before. And that was a problem because unknown threats were always the deadliest.
That axiom proved itself once more as Blake thoughtlessly rested his whole open hand against the corpse's chest.
Blake's heart started hammering in his chest as the suit seemed to twitch beneath his touch. He jerked his hand back, staring in disbelief as dark tendrils began to unfurl from the body like sinuous vines. They lashed out, snaring his wrist in a cold, vise-like grip.
This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
He yanked back. No good. The tendril's grip was absolute, microscopic hooks biting deep. Blake went for his blade but the thing was faster. More tendrils erupted, wrapping his arm in liquid darkness. Adrenaline started kicking in. Fight or die.
The black mass pulsed. Alive. Intelligent. It flowed like oil, engulfing him before he could react. When it hit his face, primal fear took over. No air. Just suffocating pressure and writhing movement against his skin. His lungs burned. His muscles strained. Nothing worked.
Pure animal terror gripped him as he felt the cold liquid pouring into his mouth and through his sinuses. The same gut-level dread he'd felt twenty-four hours ago. Retirement was getting worse by the minute.
For the second time in as many days, Blake Connover, infamous gun-for-hire and supposed professional bad-ass was rendered stone-cold unconscious.
----------------------------------------
The massive cultivator picked his way through the debris field, his shadow stretching like a giant's across crushed metal and broken machinery. Eland's Path had long since elevated him beyond mundane concerns like temperature, and he barely noticed the scorching heat that would have lesser men sweating. His augmented vision flickered as Blake's health indicators plummeted into the red. The nanite readout screamed a warning that made Eland's heart skip: his new friend was dying.
His spiritual senses expanded outward through the junkyard, awareness flowing across the warped landscape of broken machinery and discarded technology.
A flicker caught his attention - the faintest trace of aether marking Blake's fading life force. Eland bounded forward, hooved feet finding solid footing amid the wreckage. When he reached the lip of a shallow impact crater, his heart seized in his chest.
Blake lay crumpled on his side, unmoving. Beside him, the corpse of a Tylwith warrior, naked and battle-scarred. Eland approached cautiously, his senses on high alert. He knelt beside Blake, his massive hand dwarfing the human's shoulder as he checked for signs of life. Blake's chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, each one a small comfort.
"Zephyr," Eland rumbled, " run a deep scan; find out what's wrong."
"You were taking your time asking, so I've already started." Zephyr's dry voice sounded in his mind. "I'm detecting abnormal brainwave patterns and elevated adrenal levels. There's physical trauma, micro-abrasions and some punture wounds that might be needles. There's also abnormal nerve response indicative of electrocution, but I don't see any obvious external burns."
As Zephyr spoke, Eland extended a hand over Blake's still form, reaching out with his spiritual senses once more. He recoiled as if burned, eyes widening.
Blake's aura roiled with unfamiliar energies, pulsing and shifting in discordant patterns that defied Eland's understanding. It was as if something had taken root within the man, twisting and reshaping his very essence.
"Zeph, are you seeing this?"
"Affirmative. Blake's aura is... unstable. We don't have any information locally on anything similar. Some kind of parasite, maybe? Perhaps the Tylwith brought a guest with him."
At that, Eland turned his attention to the fallen Tylwith to look for any signs of parasitic infection. As he did, he couldn't help but note the subdermal decorations and ornate scarring on the warrior's chest and arms. This was no ordinary soldier. This was man nobility—a scion of the imperial line.
Trouble, Eland thought. But trouble for later.
"Cause of death was almost definitely the vortex round he took to the chest," Zephyr sent. "It nearly split him in half coming out the other side. He must have taken the shot unarmored."
Eland grunted an acknowledgment. At least it had been a quick death. His findings on the parasite front were less rosy. The energy weapon that had mutilated the noble shouldn't have damaged his spiritual framework too badly. Despite that, Eland was looking at a tangled and broken mess that could only have been the result of a deliberate spiritual assault.
"Definitely a noble," he mused. "Someone went through a lot of trouble to make sure he died and stayed dead. It was a professional hit, then they threw him into a Breach to hide the body."
"Can you tell if he had something living in him or not?"
"I'd put money on it, yeah, but no aristocrat would let some random spiritual hitchhiker go untreated. We're after some type of construct. Could've jumped to Blake. Stay alert on his vitals—I need to know if anything shifts, even a little."
"Understood. What about the Imperial?"
Eland rose, his eyes lingering on the warrior's still form. "We'll deal with that mess later—if ever. Right now, Blake is our priority."
He scooped up the unconscious man, cradling him against his broad chest. Blake's head lolled, his breath hot against Elan's neck.
What in the seven suns is going on here? he thought, his gaze shifting from Blake to the dead Tylwith and back again.
He wanted answers. But first, he needed to get Blake to safety.