Under A Winter Sun Johan Dahlgren (digital e reader .txt) 📖

I scorn and reach for the binoculars in his hand.

He's silent for a bit. “I'm not playing your games, Perez.”

He hands me the binoculars. “We have to stop them.”

“Yeah, but how?”

His brow furrows in deep thought. Or something resembling deep thought. I don't know what Tyrus looks like when he's thinking. If he can think.

“I'll think of something,” he mutters.

Well, good luck with that.

“Whatever you're going to think up, better do it fast,” Jagr says. “Something's happening.”

I raise the binoculars and zoom in as Eirik raises his hands in the air and calls to his men again.

Hildr translates. “ 'Odin, All-father. Hear me now. In your great hands, I lay my life, and I become your willing tool. I join my brothers in your sacred Jotun army, ready to do your bidding. I am ready. Take me now.' ”

Eirik kneels before the crowd in Hrym's blood and closes his eyes. Geirmund takes up position behind him.

The old advisor lifts something from the container on the stage and raises it high on scrawny arms.

It's one of the mechanical centipedes.

Its pointy bits extend lazily in a disgustingly aroused way.

What's even more disgusting is that Geirmund reaches out and places it on the back of Eirik's neck. For a few long seconds, nothing happens. Then the centipede screams and shoots its spikes through Eirik's skull.

The Goliath's body seizes up in cramps and blood drips from the tips of the chrome spikes protruding from his face. Eirik's head drops forward, and the crowd falls silent.

His head comes back up and the hall roars in approval.

Eirik opens his eyes. They have taken on that unearthly blue light we saw in Skallagrim's eyes on the Galahad.

Blue eyes.

Like Morgenstern.

Like Tyrus.

And me.

Jagr said Gray's tech was far more advanced than anything on Earth. What if Gray didn't invent it? What if he found it, and now the Goliaths have found it too?

But how can that be? The only intelligent life we have ever encountered is the extinct Centaurs on Elysium, and they were nowhere near even human levels of technology. What are the odds the one inhabited system we've found so far has given rise to two alien species?

Then again, the blue eyes might be mere coincidence. I fucking hope so. I want nothing to do with this lot.

Eirik struggles to his feet with significant effort. He sways on his feet and stares wild-eyed around the assembled army. But something is wrong. I zoom in more with the binoculars. His face contorts with exertion, and he sweats profusely like he's trying to lift something beyond his strength. His eyes dart around the chamber, looking for support. He kneels again as if pushed down by invisible hands. Behind him, Geirmund stands grinning like a lunatic. The old bastard raises his scrawny arms to the heavens. Eirik follows suit, and with them, the Goliath soldiers raise their arms as one.

They all have centipedes on their backs.

The old man balls his fists and Eirik and the Goliath army copy his move like so many puppets on strings. Finn's younger brother howls in despair and the immense army roars with him.

Geirmund the Cunning laughs his guts out.

So, he is the power behind the throne.

“Zum Naglfar. Für Odin.”

Even I understood that. To the Naglfar. For Odin.

I lower the binoculars. Poor Eirik. I bet he didn't see that coming.

This is project Jotun. I can understand they killed Jagr's agent to keep this shit secret.

Tyrus swears. “We're fucked.”

We Are Not On Earth

“Not if I can help it.”

Soledad tears the cloth-covered sniper rifle from Tyrus' back. “If I kill that fuck Geirmund, I bet the rest will drop dead.”

Remove the head, kill the body. Not a terrible idea.

“Give me that, soldier.” Tyrus grabs the rifle from Soledad. “I'll do it.”

The cover falls from the weapon. It's a Lensfield SR1. My favourite rifle.

It is my rifle. I recognise the markings.

So, that's where it ended up.

“Hey, that's mine.” I lay a hand on the rifle.

Tyrus stares at me. “Well.”

It's an almost respectful well. “Finders keepers.”

“I intended to come back for it.”

“Right.”

“Guys.” It's Jagr. I ignore her.

“My rifle. I'll do it. You will miss, Tyrus, and then we're fucked.”

“I am the best marksman on Earth.”

“Maybe so, but for your information, we are not on Earth.”

“Guys.” Jagr's voice has taken on a dangerous tone.

I keep ignoring her.

“You think that's news to me?” Tyrus stares me in the eye, his face mere centimetres from my own. We could Eskimo kiss if we wanted to. We don't.

“Give me back my rifle and I'll end this.” I try to pull the enormous weapon from his hands. It's like trying to draw a sword from a stone.

“I'm in command here, Perez. I will have you shot for insubordination.”

“Perez. Tyrus. Shut. The fuck. Up,” Jagr whispers.

“You forget I'm not one of your army grunts,” I warn Tyrus. “You don't get to order me around.”

“This is my mission, Perez, and you will do what I fucking tell you to do.” Tyrus tries to pull the rifle back, but I refuse to let him have it.

“In your dreams,” I say and tear the rifle from his hands.

“Oh, shit.” Jagr ducks down behind the parapet.

A sudden bright light blinds me for an instant before the nanites on my retinas dim my vision and allow me to see again.

A giant searchlight has turned on our position from the stage. We're totally exposed up here.

Geirmund screams something from the stage. I bet it's “Intruders. Kill them.”

A hundred thousand Goliaths turn on us and raise their heavy assault rifles.

Oh, fuck.

They open fire.

A million shells shred the balcony and eat chunks from the cave wall behind us. The rock parapet, the heavy dropsuits and pure luck save us from certain death, and we scramble back into the tunnel as the air fills with dust from the disintegrating rock.

Jagr waves back up the way we came. “Go, go, go.”

The shooting stops.

I do a quick survey of our team. Everyone seems OK. Even the priest is alive. Fancy that. No one looks more surprised than him.

Tyrus