Tempered in Steel: A Military Sci-Fi Series by J.E. Mac

Author:J.E. Mac [Mac, J.E.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Aethon Books
Published: 2023-12-18T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

Char winced at the popping suction sound. The wet slurp repeated in semi-regular pattern. Despite batting her last nerve, she followed the slurp pop slurp deeper into the alien vessel.

Cautiously, she padded behind the group, her feet sinking into the floor, a pillowed surface cushioning each step.

She checked her wrist display. The air was breathable—enough. She removed her mask and let it hang against her back by the surgical tubing running from her oxygen tank. Acrid humidity nipped at her nose, an overly sweet scent, foreign and absent of Heaven’s recycled, deodorized air.

The walls of the narrow corridor constantly dripped as if someone had left a faucet running upstairs, giving everything a slick, wet, glossy sheen.

An image kept appearing in her mind’s eye. Somewhere in the twisting corridors behind her, an alien corpse lay in dismembered pieces.

She tried to push the image away. Stonewall it. She tried to focus on the task at hand, on the mission. They were here to locate the alien power source and return with it. Or, in a worst-case scenario, retrieve information on how humanity could use it for themselves.

Although she knew the mission parameters, that wasn’t the real reason she had come. Her reasons were altogether different. She wanted to prove herself. Become humanity’s hero. Its savior.

But she couldn’t block out the images of Quon huddled over an alien, shoveling its contents into his mouth, the gurgling, lip-smacking sounds echoing in her mind louder than her own thoughts.

Quon plunked his trophy, a metal rod he used as a walking stick, into the soft floor. He leaned into it with his weight and raised it with the familiar, grating popping sound.

Each slurp sent shivers through her body. Her pulse beat loud in her ears. Each pop drummed to the constant thumping rush of blood, rising in decibel, drowning out the whispers of her companions.

Her thoughts roared.

Of her father.

Screaming in her ear.

You stupid girl.

“I am not a stupid girl!” she shouted.

Before Char realized what she had done, she heard her own voice echoing down the corridor—stupid stupid stupid—slowly dissipating into white noise.

Wilkins and Fairhaven stood statue still, eyes wide. Their gazes asked questions their mouths didn’t dare.

Quon proceeded forward, head raised, peering side to side, pushing the occasional ribbon of hanging slime out of the way like a jungle guide. He was seemingly unaware of her outburst.

“I...” Char caught the eye of Wilkins and Fairhaven. She lowered her head, dodging stares.

“I’m not,” she said, her tone defeated. “Not stupid.”

Wilkins and Fairhaven stood silent, listening to the sounds of Quon padding through the corridor ahead of them. The fading slurp pop slurp kept tabs on his whereabouts. They waited, ears perked, listening for sounds that her outburst had alerted anyone or anything. Waited to see Char’s reaction. Waited to see if she would do anything else out of the ordinary.

Wilkins said, “We already got Quon to worry about. We gotta worry about you, too?”

Instinct told her to say no. Without thought or contemplation—just say no. But something else begged for a different response.

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