The Soldier: Final Odyssey Read online

  “If he survives,” Cade muttered.

  The soldier was breathing heavily. Maybe he hadn’t completely overcome the stun shots from earlier. The—

  He felt it on some level before he actually heard the explosion. How was that possible? Cade didn’t care. He knew what he knew.

  A horrific blast rent the air. It seemed to go on and on, too. The ground shook, the noise—

  Cade threw himself upon the moist soil. He clung to it like a lover, burying his face into the ground. The concussion swept through the jungle. Heat followed, bearable heat, most likely due to the heavy wet fronds, branches and leaves. The sound was deafening, but it didn’t break his eardrums.

  He’d gotten far enough away. He’d learned something as well. The plane’s missile had not been nuclear. No, it had been antimatter. Whoever had given the order wanted him truly dead and gone.

  The gale force wind finally died away.

  It must have been the tiniest amount of antimatter, but it had still been a hell of a warhead and detonation. If it had been any bigger, he’d either be dead by now or on his way due to radiation poisoning.

  The small antimatter warhead and shielding jungle covering meant he should live, if he hiked farther away fast.

  Cade waited a few more seconds. The operator could be tricky, placing a second warhead nearer him. Should he look for Dr. Halifax? The man had betrayed him, sold him out. He could no longer trust the doctor. Yes, the goblin of a man had likely learned interesting things. But in this instance—

  Cade scrambled to his feet. In this instance, searching for the doctor wasn’t worth the effort. He’d lost faith in Halifax, and that made all the difference.

  Chapter Twelve

  Back on the space station, Arbiter Ira Drang stood in the main operational chamber. She had just witnessed the Z-213 launch the air-to-surface missile. It had reached the landed shuttle and produced a small but impressive mushroom cloud. It was supposedly a “clean” antimatter missile, releasing the least amount of radiation possible. Still, the blast, heat and minimal radiation should have killed the dreaded Ultra, Marcus Cade, and that backstabbing Dr. Halifax.

  “Damned mutants are a bloody mess,” said the Patrol’s highest-ranking officer in the Therduim System. He was a sub-protector, originally from Bremen, small, old, with a shriveled head and sporadic tufts of white hair. He wore a black uniform and had served in the Patrol for an amazing fifty years. His most impressive ability was getting things done on time and with a minimum of fuss. Unfortunately for him, Therduim III would potentially put a great big blot on his fabulous record.

  The Pit was proving interesting, the mind scanner the one piece of genuine cyborg technology derived from it. The scientists and technicians working down there had gone on strike three separate times. They sullenly “dug” at the moment, but rumors of a gathering mutant horde had badly frightened the lot of them. In fact, the scientists had formed a committee, demanding the Patrol lift them off planet until they took care of the mutant horde.

  If Sub-Protector Egon Krenz could get the scientists really working again, discover more useful cyborg items and break the mutant horde—teaching the half-human creatures a lesson they would remember for a hundred years—then all would be well. Sub-Protector Krenz could retire with honor and distinction. If he failed, however—

  The Sub-Protector turned to Arbiter Drang. Despite his appearance, he was no one’s fool. He was a driver, and maybe he was ambitious in ways the arbiter had not yet discovered.

  Drang was in intelligence. Egon Krenz was in combat arms. Were they cat and dog? At times, she thought the Sub-Protector believed that they were natural enemies.

  “I’ve dealt with your carelessness,” Krenz said in his brittle voice. “I’m still not sure I believe your explanation of how all this occurred. It has cost me two shuttles when the bill from mutant depredations continues to soar. How am I supposed to explain all this to Accounting?”

  “Your Excellency,” Drang said. “I’ve already told you. The man was an Ultra soldier from the Cyborg War. We’re here digging up cyborg relics. How can it be surprising that Group Six found an intact sleeper ship from back then?”

  “Bah,” Krenz said. “So, he was big. So, he had muscles. That didn’t make him an Ultra.”

  “He slew Monitor Varo, smashing through a bulletproof two-way mirror with my subordinate. His punches killed or broke the jaws and neck bones of security personnel. I witnessed him in action. You can check the security videos if you need convincing.”

  Krenz stared at her, his thoughts unreadable. “He never should have gotten as far as he did.”

  “Which proves he was an Ultra,” Drang said.

  “You aided him, clearly.”

  Drang shook her head.

  “I could use the mind scanner on you to find the truth,” Krenz said.

  “Excuse me, Sub-Protector, but my people would not stand for that.”

  “They would if my jump troopers put pistols to their heads.”

  That was an ugly threat. Drang decided to ignore it. “Sub-Protector, we’re on the same side. We should continue to work together, not bicker like this.”

  “Two shuttles. This little incident cost me two shuttles, a Mark 9-10 Missile and an Anti-Slam 7.”

  Drang knew what he wanted. And those eyes, those pitiless eyes. What was Egon Krenz really after on Therduim III? He played a part, and therefore a game, she was sure of it. But she hadn’t yet cracked the case. Could he really be just what he seemed?

  “Perhaps I can…spin a story, if you will,” she said.

  Krenz continued to stare at her.

  “The story will be such that Intelligence will take the blame for the lost shuttles. Accounting can give us the bill.”

  “This is interesting,” Krenz said. “What about the two missiles.”

  “No,” Drang said. “That would be going too far.”

  A cruel smile twisted Krenz’s lips. “If you’d agreed to the missiles, I would have known you had a guilty conscience. I would have known you indeed aided this supposed Ultra. He’s dead, however, and I accept your offer. Write it up. Show it to me, and if I’m able, I’ll sign off on it. I will then overlook your clumsiness in losing two prisoners.”

  “One prisoner,” she corrected.

  “Two,” he said. “The doctor was on provisional status.” Krenz waved a hand as Drang opened her mouth to protest further. “Write up the story, as you say. I’ve other things on my mind. This mutant horde is real.”

  “How can you be so sure? We’ve seen no evidence of it.”

  “It’s real,” Krenz said. “I know it here.” The old man tapped over his chest where his heart would be.

  You don’t have a heart, Drang wanted to say. She did not, however. In truth, Egon Krenz frightened her, and she did not know exactly why. What she did say was this: “Will you send down a search team to make certain they’re dead?”

  Krenz had turned from her, but now he turned back to give her a side scrutiny. “I don’t have the men or time to waste on that. If you’d like to lead a team to go down and look, be my guest.”

  “Thank you, I will,” Drang heard herself say.

  Krenz raised his white eyebrows.

  “I’ll be careful,” she said.

  “It isn’t that. Die if you want. You must maintain an officer in direct communication with the spaceport at all times, however. If communications cease even for a moment, overhead jets will launch another missile.”

  “Do you fear the mutants getting a shuttle that much?”

  The small Sub-Protector shuddered. “If those mutants ever got loose in the space-lanes…they would make your Ultra look like a raw recruit.”

  “I doubt that,” Drang said. “But I get your point.”

  “I’m not sure you do. Frankly, I think it might be wiser on the Patrol’s part to wash Therduim III with nukes and then rain down asteroids to turn it all into seething lava. The mutants are death on two feet. If they ever trul
y became organized—” Krenz shuddered again. “That would be a war we would definitely not want to have.”

  “I’ll be careful,” Drang said.

  “You still want to go down?”

  “I want to double check. Remember, I saw the Ultra in action. He might have survived the missile.”

  Krenz scoffed, throwing a hand into the air.

  And that effectively ended the conversation, as Drang saluted and left, wanting to get down and check the blast site as quickly as she could.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Marcus Cade found a rare boulder. He slipped off his backpack and climbed up the rock, sitting on the mossy substance that covered it. He drank from his bottle, draining the water within.

  He wore a wide-brimmed floppy hat that he’d found in a storage compartment of the shuttle. His face was shiny with sweat while his spaceman’s garb was soaked with it. At this rate, he’d drink up his water supply in two days.

  His lungs felt tight, and he wondered if the plants gave off spores that had already infected him. Or maybe the planet’s concoction of air disagreed with him.

  Great towering trees and fronds surrounded him. He’d been using a game trail, although he hadn’t spotted any predatory beasts. He had seen their scat, however, and he’d seen long-limbed, long-fingered animals in the trees. The monkeylike creatures lacked fur and had huge eyes. Sometimes they paused to watch him. Twice, they’d hurled branches or rotten fruit. Otherwise, the tree-borne creatures left him alone, not even hooting, if they could hoot.

  Cade kept his pistols handy. The Pit workers had rebelled due to predatory wildlife. He remembered hearing that in any case. It would pay to be ready against such creatures. Of course, in these sorts of situations, it always did.

  He’d picked this spot because of the boulder but also because there was a break in the overhead vegetation. The sky was lighter blue than he recalled Earth’s being. Maybe Halifax would have known what that meant. Cade did not.

  The soldier wondered if he would die on the planet. He squinted and then shielded his eyes from the sun.

  There was a dot up there, moving fast. He knew what that meant, as he’d seen such dots many times in the past. A space vehicle was coming down.

  Huh. How about that.

  Cade continued to watch, and the dot soon became larger and then he could see what it was: a shuttle, a shuttle coming down in his direction. Likely, it was coming down to comb the terrain—

  Cade slid off the mossy rock. He did not scramble nor did he take his time. If the shuttle had sensors that tracked all motion, he was screwed anyway. He didn’t think they would have that. They might be able to sense body heat or maybe his molecular structure. Then again, the background radiation from the detonated warhead might be playing havoc on sensors right now.

  Cade picked up the backpack, shouldering it into place, and resumed his march under the towering fronds and branches. He knew the road was within his marching distance, as he’d seen it once from a hillock. His sense of passed time and distance was remarkable, part of his Ultra makeup and Old Federation military training.

  Whoever had launched the airstrike wasn’t going to accept his obvious death. They were sending a team or an overhead shuttle to check.

  Why had they used a missile? Were they more afraid of the mutants getting their hands on the shuttle or him getting away?

  It was an interesting question. He didn’t have the answer yet.

  Cade slowed his step. Before he proceeded farther, he needed a plan. He needed more information about his opponents. What was the best way to get the information? Could mutants speak the regular Concord language? Would they have normal intelligence? Those were unknowns. Perhaps the smartest course would be to ambush a road convoy, a small, preferably tiny one. He could question whomever he captured: man or woman.

  The shock of his situation was wearing off, as he was starting to think rationally again. The mutants were too much of an unknown. Halifax had said some of them had tusks. They were all cannibals. Did that mean the mutants ate other mutants, or that they ate humans? Were the mutants technically still humans, or had they become a new species?

  “What a mess,” Cade muttered.

  He would suppose the change had occurred from the Cyborg War. So, these mutants had at least a thousand years to become what they had. It would seem that the Concord and thus the Patrol had only recently learned about them.

  Halifax had said something else. What was it? Thirteen steps later, Cade snapped his fingers. The Patrol had asked for more troops to put down these mutants. Did any of these tusked creatures raid the road or the outposts?

  “Likely yes,” Cade muttered.

  He made a decision and turned toward the road. He was beginning to feel that it would be a bad idea if he ran into mutants. Better to grab a vehicle and some Concord hostages and make a reasoned choice. There were too many things he didn’t know about this place. Guesses weren’t as useful as reasoned actions.

  Cade found another game trail. This one was wider and obviously more used than the first. He even saw footprints from time to time. They weren’t distinct but they were of a human-shaped foot, only bigger than ordinary and with possible claw marks at the toes.

  “That’s just great,” Cade muttered.

  A half-hour later, he slipped off the pack, putting away his empty bottle. He dug out another, guzzling because he was so thirsty. If he didn’t find a river soon—

  Cade froze, listening. He raised his head a second later, and this time the sound was quite distinct. Voices. There were voices ahead, and whoever they belonged to were coming his way.

  Cade mouthed an obscene word, picked up his pack and looked for a place to fade into the undergrowth. He had a bad feeling that mutants were using the game trail and coming straight this way.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Cade hid behind heavy foliage, but he’d moved slowly and carefully to the new location. Sure, he could have blundered his way through, but the mutants might be trackers. They might see crushed leaves or stalks and instantly understand that someone was nearby. Heck, a boot-print or two on the trail might give him away. He’d lowered the pack and held two of the space-station pistols ready.

  The voices became more distinct. They were loud and thick, heavy. Cocking his head, listening as best he could, Cade heard their tread. The mutants must be big suckers, and they weren’t careful in the least.

  Had he misjudged them? Were they monsters more than mutants?

  The thud of feet, the talking—ceased abruptly.

  Cade’s heart rate increased. Were they inspecting the trail, sniffing the air? His curiosity finally overcame his caution. Slowly, Cade peered around a frond.

  “Ha!” said a huge, wide-shouldered creature. “Meat. There’s meat hiding here.”

  Cade blanched at the sight of the mutant. That’s what he had to be looking at. The thing’s skin was knobbed, warty and deep brown in color. He had a wider than normal, shaved head, with flat nostrils, thick lips and two yellow curving tusks like a warthog coming out of his mouth. He was taller and wider than Cade and wore heavy boots and a loincloth, with a big knife on his belt sheathed in leather. The mutant cradled a long rifle, an anti-vehicle weapon maybe, a .50-caliber piece it seemed like.

  “You’re not running away, meat,” the mutant said.

  It took Cade a moment to understand such articulated speech coming from the creature’s mouth. When he did—Cade stepped out from behind the frond, aiming the two pistols at him.

  The mutant’s eyebrows rose, and he seemed to study Cade for the first time. “You’re big for meat. Do you think you’re a fighter?”

  “Who are you?” Cade demanded.

  By this time, four more mutants had pushed through the foliage. They were each similar to the first, although the first one was clearly the biggest.

  The mutants glanced at each other before staring at Cade again.

  “You shoot me, the others will shoot you,” the first mutant s
aid.

  “I get that. You’ll be dead, though.”

  The new four growled angrily, bristles on their shoulders rising like a dog’s hackles.

  “You want to know who I am?” the first mutant asked.

  Cade did not answer. He just started into the creature’s dark eyes, recognizing intelligence, high intelligence, it seemed.

  “I am Jed Ra,” the mutant said proudly, slapping his massive chest with an open palm. “I am the chief.”

  “I’m Marcus Cade.”

  “What are you doing here?” Jed Ra demanded.

  “Did you hear the missile detonate earlier?”

  “Of course we heard. I’ve come to investigate.” Jed Ra raised the .50-caliber rifle. “I might shoot down the searching shuttle as well. Are they looking for you?”

  “Not to rescue,” Cade said.

  Jed Ra eyed Cade. “The missile was meant for you?”

  “My shuttle in any case,” Cade said.

  Jed Ra opened his tusked mouth and laughed. “No, Meat. You’re wrong. The missile was because of me. Maybe the Patrol doesn’t like you, but they’re terrified of me.”

  “You’re the leader of the mutant horde?”

  The four others growled, moving closer yet.

  “Stop,” Jed Ra told them over his shoulder.

  They obeyed sullenly, one of them muttering under his breath.

  Jed Ra turned around, raised the rifle high and slammed the butt against the mutterer’s face. It was a horrific and brutal attack. As big and tough as the mutant might have been, the blow opened his face as he slumped unconscious or dead onto the ground. Jed Ra whirled back to face Cade.

  “I am the chief. I rule here. Do you dispute that?”

  “Me?” asked Cade. “No. Why would I?”

  “You’re big for a Patrol soldier.”

  “I don’t belong to the Patrol.”

  “Next you’re going to say you aren’t on your way to the Pit.”

  “Jed Ra. Or should I say Chief Jed Ra?”

  “Either,” the mutant said.