Colony's Edge: Infestation

By Caleb Sidders

Callum and his crew, the Nomads, are a group of small-time mercenaries on the planet Novis. Callum makes a powerful enemy in the city underground while refusing to complete a job. In order to escape this enemy, his team takes on a risky job and face incarceration. Callum, not resigned to his fate, decides to escape his prison and, in the process, accidentally releases a beast more horrifying than death itself.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: May 13, 2024
• ISBN: 9798893150193

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Colony's Edge

Infestation

Caleb Sidders

Copyright © 2024 Caleb Sidders

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2024

ISBN 979-8-89315-001-8 (pbk)

ISBN 979-8-89315-019-3 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

The Skids

Chapter 2

The Club

Chapter 3

Aramis Junction

Chapter 4

Shining Sapphire

Chapter 5

Rune Station

Chapter 6

Osiris Prison

Chapter 7

Cellblock D

Chapter 8

The Survivors' Barracks

Chapter 9

The Maintenance Tunnels

Chapter 10

The Arboretum

Chapter 11

The Office

Chapter 12

The Greenhouse

Chapter 13

The Spider's Nest

Chapter 14

The Residential Quarter

Chapter 15

The Lobby

Chapter 16

The Hangar Bay

Chapter 17

The Generators

Chapter 18

The Avadora

Chapter 19

The Freighter

Epilogue

About the Author

Chapter 1

The Skids

I sat in the shuttle, watching as the ground became smaller as we rose above the industrial district, the case chained to my hand swinging as we climbed. The stench of unwashed bodies clogged my nose. The smell of something burning wafted into my nostrils as we passed through a cloud of smog, the kind that perpetually hangs over the city. As we rose above the landscape, my breath hitched as I saw the city spanning across the horizon with a dozen miles of towering skyscrapers and megabuildings. Giant monolithic spires of concrete jutting tens of miles into the sky rose above the perpetual smog, shafts of light fighting to break through the dark cloying clouds. The shuttle dropped again, shaking me from my stupor, landing heavily on the messy streets. I pushed my way off the crowded shuttle and took a deep breath, relishing the smell of the fresh air. I dropped my gaze, ignoring the men clothed in pressed, clean, white officer uniforms, their backs ramrod straight as they observed the crowd exiting onto the level.

The ACP must be getting desperate to come recruiting in the Skids. Novis must be behind on their quota, I thought as I pushed past the men.

I walked through the city streets, buffeted by the crowds of indifferent passersby. Bright fluorescent lights struggled to illuminate the streets, casting long shadows along the buildings.

I don't like this. Why does it have to be a sketchy alley? I mumbled, my hand reflexively drifting to the pistol on my hip.

I changed paths and headed down a side road, ducking away from the public. The alley was damp and cold. The smog perpetually hung over the city, blanketing the lower streets with hazy lens. In the distance, I could see the outline of a man with a heavy coat.

Obviously the buyer, I thought, rolling my eyes. I still don't like the feel of this job.

I hesitated to look at the heavy case they had handcuffed to me. I began to feel my heart beating faster as I took difficult steps forward. I took a deep breath, steadied my resolve, and marched out as confidently as possible.

I'm here, I said, my voice echoing off the tall buildings.

Good. Open 'er up, the man said with a crooked smile.

I opened the case and nestled inside were several tight bundles of nitro wrapped in airtight plastic. I hate when I'm right, I thought, my heart skipping a beat at the sight. This drug has burned a swathe through the Skids, destroying lives and claiming junkies last creds, I thought, grinding my teeth.

Well, that's just a beautiful sight, ain't it? The man laughed, revealing a bagful of loose credits.

Ah, you know what, I made a mistake, I said with a wince. This is the wrong case! I'll go get the right one, I finished, turning around.

C'mon, kid, getting cold feet now? Right at the finish line? he said, his voice dropping to a low growl.

Look, pal, I don't want this to get any more awkward than this has to. Bottom line is I'm not selling you nitro, I responded, turning around, hand hovering over my holster.

This isn't the kind of game you want to play, kid. Hand it over and we can pretend this didn't happen, he growled, pulling a damaged pistol on me.

Divines, when I'm right it really sucks, I thought, drawing my pistol.

A flash and twin puffs of smoke filled the small alleyway. I pulled the case in front of me, instinctively dragging it between me and his plasma bolt. The shady man didn't have the same reflexes as my bolt splashed across his chest, melting his clothes and searing his flesh. He fell back with a scream and rolled on the ground in agony, his screams echoing among the giant buildings, getting lost before they reached the street.

I didn't want to have to do that! Couldn't you have just let it go? I shouted at him, blasting the handcuff off my wrist.

Y-you're done for, boy! You messed with the wrong people! he yelled, clutching his chest.

I looked at the unshackled briefcase at my side and winced, looking at the scorch mark across the front of the case. I walked over to him, took the bagful of credits, and began walking away. After a few minutes, I emptied the bag of credits into my pockets, leaving the empty bag behind on the street. I walked through the lower streets, basking in the neon glow of many signs. The winding, crowded streets were abuzz with the sounds of angry people. Overhead, the occasional ship flew over, eliciting shouts of anger from the dozens of pedestrians. I navigated through crowds and ducked into a sanitation building several blocks from the scene. I walked into the lobby and up to the receptionist.

Sorry, sir, no jobs are available for this quarter. Come back in a few weeks, and I'm sure there will be an opening, she said, not looking up.

Well, I'm not here for one of those jobs, miss. I have something I need to incinerate, I said, setting a credit chip on the desk.

Ah, I understand, sir. Incinerator is located inside the main room, far left corner, she whispered, grabbing the credits.

Thanks, I said with a wink, following her directions.

Grab a mask on your way in! she called after me.

I strolled through the door, grabbed a black gas mask from a bin, and affixed it to my face. I looked around the massive sanitation room and recoiled at the filth piled high. The room was swelteringly hot. Many incinerators lined the space where men stood shoveling filth into the hot furnaces. Several men stood without masks, smoking and drinking, watching me with cold dead eyes. Far above, a man called out. An incomprehensible warning echoed through the building followed by a pile of filth that fell from the sky, splattering onto the ground.

Whoa, way worse than I would've guessed, I thought as I walked around the fresh pile of garbage. Understaffed and she still says they're no jobs? The union must be striking again, I thought, nodding politely at the staring workers.

I walked to the large furnace and paused as I felt the overwhelming heat blast over me. Recoiling away from the fire, I tossed the case full of nitro directly into the furnace.

Nitro isn't stable, not to mention what kinda junk they use to cut the stuff. Should get well clear, I thought. Get clear! I shouted, jogging away from the furnace.

After a second, the furnace erupted, shooting hot ash coals and debris across the room. Ignoring the confused looks of the workers, I walked out back through reception.

I was never here, I said, placing another credit chip on the desk and walking outside.

I felt a weight lift off my shoulders as I walked through the streets, returning to our dock. After a few hours of walking, I finally escaped the bustling crowds and the quiet lower-level ports. I passed a few closed and locked-up bays, eventually stopping before one with an intercom on the side.

It's Cal. I'm back, I said, pressing the button.

After a second of silence, I began knocking on the door. I sighed as I realized the comm wasn't working. I reached my hands out and grabbed at one side of the door. With a grunt, I began pulling the door open. I could feel a drop of sweat sliding down my face as I struggled to pull it open. After a second, I began to slide into the small gap I had forced open between the door. Sucking in a deep breath, I slid between the doors and let them close with a loud metallic thud.

Kirk, the door is stuck again! I shouted, walking toward our ship.

The Nomad was a large freighter covered with loose panels and dark-black streaks, where plasma had struck across the hull. Outside, Kirk worked on the ship, welding plates back into place. Inside the bridge I could see Dane sitting in the captain's chair, pressing buttons on his console. On the top sat two plasma turrets mounted on a swivel. Inside one sat, Eli smoking a cigar and listening to music. Kirk was big, maybe twice as big as any other man on the ship, but he didn't rush to violence and was as good with his words as a blaster. His hair was red, dotted with bits of oil and grease.

Yeah, I'll get to it. Let me finish this real quick, Kirk called over his shoulder, interrupting my thoughts.

First you should come to the bridge so we can split this take, I said with a smile while jingling my coat filled with credits.

Good news I hope, Kirk answered, jumping up and following me inside.

Go grab Eli real quick. He won't be able to hear the comms, I said over my shoulder.

Copy. See ya in a sec, Kirk replied, jumping up a ladder.

I walked onto the bridge and gave Dane a sarcastic salute as I walked to the other end of the holo table. Dane's eyes were a blue-gray and a beard was graying at the edges. His hair was short and well-kept, the only evidence of his military discipline.

Good to see you're back. How did the job go? Dane asked, rolling his eyes with a smile.

Well, good news is I got the credits and stopped a drug dealer. The bad news is that the drug dealer was the buyer of the mysterious case, I answered, emptying my pockets onto the table.

You what? By the Divines, I can't believe you! Of all the irresponsible, selfish things you could've done, killing the buyer is top of the damn list! Dane yelled, storming around the bridge.

Hold on now, what's the issue here? Kirk asked, walking onto the bridge.

Callum here killed the buyer. Now our necks will be on the line with the dealer, Dane answered, trying to calm himself.

Seems simple. We go up a few levels, avoid their thugs, or we could simply wait for 'em and blast them away when they try and get through the door, Eli said, taking a long pull on his cigar.

We can't just declare war on the local drug dealers. We'll have an army of junkies and thugs to constantly deal with, Kirk replied, looking over to Eli.

Look, Cal, I get it, no one here likes drug dealers or criminals, but you're digging us a hole here, Kirk answered, setting a hand on my shoulder.

Look, we made a couple hundred credits here easy. We simply go up a level or two, not anything too expensive, I said with an exasperated sigh.

See, sir, Cal's gotta good head on his shoulder after all, Eli said, stepping into the light and giving me a hearty shake.

Eli was bald. His hair burned away long ago during his military service. The scars left by his service gave him an ill temper, leading to a constantly itchy trigger finger.

This isn't something we can just run from. We can't stay away from them forever. We need to make it right with the seller, Dane said, pacing around the bridge.

Well, Cal and I could head back to the original seller. Try and smooth things over. Explain the situation and offer him the creds we got from the job to make it right, Eli suggested, tapping out his cigar.

Not the worst idea. You two gear up and head that way. Kirk, you need to get us flight worthy in case this doesn't work. I'll be in one of the turrets just in case, Dane ordered, strolling off the bridge.

I left the bridge, heading into my room and grabbing the cloak off my door, sighing as I recalled the awful burning rain that fell over the industrial district. I slipped the cloak over my clothes, checked my pistol, and headed to meet Eli in the hangar. He had slipped on his combat armor, the bandoliers bristling with spare power cells barely visible beneath his oversized poncho. A grim smirk was plastered on his face as he adjusted his armor.

Not so glum, Cal, this should be an easy job, he said, giving me a friendly push toward the exit.

If it's going to be simple, why bring all the hardware? I asked jokingly.

Well, Dane always says it's good to be prepared, he replied, giving me a wink.

Do you really think we'll need to shoot them? I asked.

Hopefully not, but if we do, you'll be happy I brought all this, Eli responded, dropping his carefree tone.

I still don't get why these guys set up in the old industrial district, I said, changing the subject as he got serious.

Well, one thing criminals and mercenaries both appreciate is anonymity. Since the rains started, normal folk avoid it like the plague, and since only the criminals are left, the security forces steer clear too, he explained, leading me to the shuttle.

I guess it just seems a little inconvenient for people in their line of work…and ours.

Yeah, you'd be surprised how much more inconvenient getting raided by the police is, Eli quipped as we entered the busy craft.

The stench of the shuttle was almost unbearable. The scent of unwashed bodies and grime was thick and cloying, the smell burning into my nostrils with every breath. The craft banked around the towering smoke stacks, swerving between monolithic skyscrapers. The smog that perpetually hung above the city was darkest here. No trace of natural sunlight penetrated the thick, cloying mist.

The other residents around us began affixing rebreathers to their faces as we descended. Eli looked at me and handed me a bandana. I sighed as I tied the cloth around my face, the fabric doing little to filter the stench.

You know I was really looking forward to buying another rebreather with my cut of the creds, I quipped as we exited the shuttle into the cloying smog.

Ha, well, maybe we can find some wiggle room in the budget after this, Eli said, grinning ear to ear as he led the way.

The Skids were dirty. This was another level. The grime was nearly shin deep at the shallowest of times. The few people that remained here did so to great peril to their health, those lucky enough to afford it were dressed head to toe in expensive protective gear, and the rest made do with what little equipment they could refurbish.

As we walked deeper into the district, the stench of rot began to clog my nose and gag me. Large piles of dead were left rotting in the open, their belongings stripped before being dumped here. A few people were combing over the mounds, desperately searching for valuables that might have been missed in the initial search before the sanitation crew abandoned them.

Looks like the burn crews are still on strike, Eli grumbled as he climbed the mound of corpses.

What is that? Four weeks now? I asked, fighting the urge to vomit.

Five I think. Guerrero must be getting desperate if he's letting them dump corpses here, Eli called over his shoulder.

I mean, he has to negotiate at this point, right? I asked, avoiding the hollow eyes of the dead.

You'd be surprised how bad it can get before he'll negotiate. This isn't the first time the burn crews have gone on strike. Last time it was almost half a year before they went back to work, Eli responded, clearing the block of rotting corpses.

We passed through the dilapidated streets, pausing before a large warehouse, the windows shuttered with large metal panels, the exterior surrounded with a fence humming with electricity. The large double doors were sealed, and a small intercom was embedded in the wall.

"Crew of the Nomad here to discuss business," Eli said, pressing the button.

After a moment, there was a buzz as the doors unsealed and slid open, revealing a drab, dank room swelteringly hot that reeked of unwashed bodies. The room was clogged with dozens of people selling salvage to those who wandered the clustered stalls. Their shouts and cries were unintelligible as they haggled with buyers. Two burly guards stood at the entrance, ready to escort us to their boss. We passed through the makeshift market, being buffeted by the antsy crowd, our hands clutching our pockets as we passed, weary of the pickpockets that littered the lower levels. We climbed a set of stairs and approached another sealed door. After a second, the door opened, and we were ushered inside. This room was the opposite of the black market. The room was lavish and scented heavily to cover the lingering stench that drifted through the cracks. A man in a red robe sat at an ornate desk in the center of the room.

Ah, come in. I hope you're here to give me my cut, he said, smiling happily and standing up from his desk.

Uh, not quite. There was a…complication. First you didn't tell us we were smuggling drugs, Eli said.

The contents of the parcel were need to know, and you didn't need to know, the man growled.

Second the buyer attempted to scam us, so I killed him, I lied, stopping Eli from answering.

So you cost me the creds, killed my buyer, and come here to do what? Turn yourself in? he asked, flashing a manic smile as he paced the room.

We came here hoping to smooth things over. Help you understand why things went down the way they did, Eli piped in.

"You