Colony Benjamin Cross (korean ebook reader TXT) 📖

“I’m sorry, but I agree with Dan. I think letting that thing go would be a very bad idea.”

Her face tightened with betrayal. Before either of them could stop her, she lunged for the Centaur’s arm controls with both hands.

“Forget killing him, you’ll rip the sorry son of a bitch in half!” Peterson shouted, grabbing onto her arms and attempting to prise them away.

“What does this matter?” she replied. “You want him to die anyway, so at least it is quick this way. We must let him go. That is why we are different!”

“But you’ll damage the goddamn controls. Do you have any idea how much this thing costs? I shouldn’t be using it to save ungrateful Russkies in the first damn place.” Unable to loosen her grip, he turned to Callum. “Little help here, McJones?”

Callum lowered his hands gently onto Darya’s shoulders and spoke as calmly as he could manage. “If we let this thing go it could hurt other people. There could be other members of the team on Harmsworth right now. They could be hurt. Killed. Please, Darya.”

Her face softened at his words and gradually the muscles in her arms began to relax.

Peterson slowly removed his hands from hers and sat back. “You gonna listen to the man?”

Darya said nothing in reply. Then she pulled back suddenly on one of the levers, causing the left pincer to release. “But I cannot let him die!”

The creature’s head careered down into the water. Before Peterson could lunge back in and secure her other hand, she had released the second pincer, freeing the creature’s lower half.

There was silence in the cabin as all three of them held their breath, watching the inert body bobbing up and down below the Centaur’s nose.

“Already dead,” Darya said in a sorrowful voice.

Peterson shoved her hands away from the controls. “Good thing too! What the hell are you thinking, Lebedev? You don’t get to commandeer million-dollar equipment just because you’ve got a conscience needs calibrating.”

“I am sorry,” she replied, “but I cannot see animals in pain.”

“What about us? We’re animals. Can you see us in pain? Because that’s what you’d’ve seen if that thing wasn’t dead and it’d decided to rip on through the hull.”

Callum noticed the tears welling up in Darya’s eyes. “Come on, Dan, she could’ve died just now, she’s obviously not thinking straight, that’s all. Besides, it’s dead, so no harm done.”

“Oh, it’s dead, is it?” Peterson replied. He nodded towards the creature. “Not any definition of dead I ever heard of.”

Callum looked back just in time to see the creature’s tail disappear beneath the water.

“Sneaky little critter was playing possum all along,” Peterson shouted. He quickly reclaimed the controls and directed one of the arms down into the water in pursuit. There was a clunk as he brought the pincers together below the surface. Then the three of them watched as he toggled the lever, causing it to retract once more.

Peterson rocked heavily back in his chair. “Damn it!”

Out in front, water dripped rhythmically from the tips of the empty pincer.

He turned to Darya. “You better hope those things don’t hold a grudge!”

3

What remained of the Kamov lay on its side, twisted and glinting in the sunlight.

“Three hundred million rubles’ worth of military hardware,” Marchenko observed, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Enhanced military hardware,” corrected Koikov.

The two men stood shoulder to shoulder, staring into the burnt-out hulk. Like the other members of the search and rescue team, their faces were stained grey with the thick smoke that had flooded into the cabin after it had crashed into the Svayataya plateau.

“Did you speak to Lungkaju?”

Marchenko nodded. “He says the tail clipped something on take-off. Whatever it was took out the drive shaft and sent us spinning.”

“So he lost control.”

“It was an emergency take-off, Starshyna. Under normal circumstances he wouldn’t even have attempted it.”

Koikov pursed his lips. Deep down, he knew Marchenko was right. With the hideous screeching of the creatures close behind them, the team had fled the cave to find the world outside still cloaked in mist. Visibility had been next to nothing and the shared sense of terror amongst the men had resulted in a chaotic scene as they’d scrambled for the aircraft. So as much as he wanted to, Koikov couldn’t bring himself to blame Lungkaju for the fucked-up evacuation. Ultimately, the responsibility lay with him.

The two men continued surveying the remains of the Kamov’s fuselage in silence. It was buried into marshy ground only metres from the Svayataya precipice. The landing skids lay crumpled a good distance away, and window glass and scraps of metal debris littered the surrounding moss. It was a miracle everybody had made it out alive; even Lungkaju’s wolf had escaped uninjured despite being thrown across the cabin and narrowly avoiding Koikov’s head.

Koikov looked over at Marchenko. The sergeant’s brow was furrowed and his eyes were swollen with the events of the last few hours. “Where the hell are those things?” he asked. “We’re sitting ducks out here.”

“They’re too smart to come at us now,” Koikov replied, lighting a papirosa. “Either they’ve never seen humans before and they’re scared, or else they’ve seen humans before and they’re scared.” He spat on the floor. “They knew they could get the drop on us inside that cave. Yudina found that out, God rest him. So did Semyonov and his guide. But out here, in the daylight, they’re not so sure.” He paused to take a long drag. “At least not yet.”

Marchenko snorted. “You make them sound educated.”

“How long have you been on this shithole, Marchenko?”

“A couple of months.”

“Not jerking off in your cabin. I mean actually out here, on the island.”

“Seven or eight hours, Starshyna.”

“And are you not finding this place an education?”

“Of course, but—”

“But nothing. Whatever those things are, I’m guessing they’ve been here a lot longer than seven or eight hours. What they don’t know about this island probably isn’t worth knowing, and that’s all the education they need.”

Marchenko looked hard into Koikov’s face. “You