Василиса Чмелева – Parasomnia (страница 11)

A piercing wind shrieked in the distance as a monstrous wall of blizzard materialized on the horizon, devouring the landscape in its path. A static-like grinding noise began worming its way into my ear canal – ugly, guttural interference that set my teeth on edge.

"That's a Temporal Storm, Ethan," Skyla's voice cut through the distortion. "Find cover. Now."

"With fucking pleasure, sweetheart," I growled, spotting a snowcat idling in the distance – some Coldborn had left it running.

"Don't let him get away!" the judge roared.

I bolted for the vehicle, vaulted into the cockpit and slammed the throttle to max before my ass even hit the seat. Behind me, Sharius and his goons scrambled into their pursuit vehicles just as the Temporal Storm's leading edge began chewing up the landscape, swallowing the frozen statues of the crew in a swirling white oblivion.

I raced toward Eliot's position, carving through snow dunes like a madman. Half the Coldborn had already been consumed by the Temporal Storm; the rest lacked my reflexes – I watched in my rear cam as their snowcats launched off drifts like grotesque metal hares, only to crater through the ice in spectacular detonations of shrapnel and steam. Only Sharius clung to my tail with predator persistence, his vehicle chewing through the powder with terrifying precision.

The ship came into view in the distance, its rescue ramp descending, when I miscalculated a turn and flipped over. The snowmobile's capsule shattered. I was thrown from the vehicle, my body carving a trail through the snow. Miraculously unbroken, I grabbed at a torn flap of my suit near the elbow. Instantly, my skin was seared by an icy bite, as if hundreds of needles were plunging into the exposed flesh. The suit's sensors flashed red in a frenzied warning, and a siren blared in my ear, signaling that oxygen levels were plummeting rapidly.

Sharius came to a halt, emerging from his capsule with triumphant swagger.

"Your stupidity is punishment enough," the judge spat. "It'll kill you faster than my justice ever could."

"Wouldn't be so sure about that." I limped toward the ship as he drew his weapon.

"Pick your final pose, Kallinkorian," Sharius sneered. "Unless you want your people to find you frozen in some pathetic, cowering squat?"

"My people?" I barked a laugh. "Who'd give a damn about another vanished Kallinkorian?"

Sharius didn’t answer—just shook his head. My face had clearly worn out his patience. His weapon hummed to life, a blue bolt already screaming toward me when Eliot’s shot intercepted it mid-air.

The judge was hurled backward by the concussive blast, his weapon short-circuiting in a cascade of sparks as it tumbled into the snowdrifts.

"Get on the ship, Ethan." Skyla’s voice cut through the chaos. "No time for speeches."

Behind Sharius, the storm announced itself with a shriek—a wall of wind, ice, and snow swallowing the landscape. The judge scrambled for cover, his arrogance finally crumbling into raw terror.

"And who’ll mourn you, Judge?" I shouted at the Coldborn, sprinting up the ship’s ramp.

Eliot retracted the boarding platform, cutting off Sharius’ pursuit. The Temporal Storm swallowed the ship whole—through slitted eyes, I glimpsed the judge’s silhouette in the maelstrom. His body began to glow, a searing blue radiance building rapidly as the Coldborn’s screams warped into something else entirely—a child’s desperate wail.

The airlock sealed with a groan of straining metal. I stood blinking in the warm bay, the sterile white lights stabbing at eyes long accustomed to Blokays’ perpetual twilight.

"Goddammit, Eliot—" I winced, shielding my eyes. "Dial down the lights!"

"He saved your life. Show some gratitude, Ethan." Skyla materialized beside me, her holographic form sharp with disapproval.

"What the hell was that?" I jabbed a finger toward the planet's surface. "Explain."

"Blokays has an equatorial threshold—a transition zone." Her projection flickered. "It generates atmospheric aberrations. Temporal storms being one of them."

"And you didn’t think to mention that earlier?" Rage burned through my veins. "I nearly died on that fucking planet. Twice."

"You should've prepared better, Ethan. You're the one who cut me off while I was briefing you."

"How was I supposed to know you weren't just blabbering nonsense?"

"Be more careful next time. Luck won't always favor you."

"Now you're mocking me? Why the hell do I even put up with you?"

I slumped into the chair and glared at the ship's monitor. The planet's surface had vanished from view. The storm raged outside, hurling fist-sized snow chunks against the hull.

"How long will it last?" I asked.

"A couple hours," my companion replied tersely before vanishing from the compartment. "But it won't stop us from lifting off. Eliot can navigate through it."

"Abort takeoff," I ordered. "We'll wait out the storm."

"What are you scheming now?"

"Need to check something."

"Fine. Report to medical first—that frostbite won't treat itself."

I peeled off the torn spacesuit and cursed at the blackened flesh encircling my elbow.

"Two injections and you’ll be good as new," Skyla said, her hologram flickering reassuringly. "No need to panic."

"What I really need is some of that Coldborn firebrew," I muttered, swabbing the injection site. "Take the edge off."

"Don’t gamble with your senses, Ethan" Her voice turned stern. "It’s just a shot. Endure it."

A sharp beep sounded as the auto-injector's needle punched deep into my arm. I unleashed a stream of Kallinkorian curses so creative they'd make a dockworker blush, while Skyla's hologram cheerfully displayed my diagnostics.

"Healthy as an ox," she announced with infuriating brightness.

True to Skyla’s prediction, the Temporal Storm dissipated within hours. The surface had returned to its perpetual night—only now the snowdrifts had reshaped themselves, burying the ship’s landing gear. We still managed to lower the ramp.

I stepped out, adjusting my new helmet. This time, I kept the heating at maximum—no more frostbitten extremities or unwanted astral visions, thank you very much.

The planet’s silence was absolute, broken only by the creak of compacting snow under my boots as I circled the ship.

"What are you looking for,Ethan?" Skyla’s hologram materialized beside me, her tone laced with genuine curiosity.

"Shut up. Wait—no, scan for life signs nearby," I rapped my knuckles against the helmet.

"Bioscan detects one living organism. Twenty paces at your five o'clock. No movement detected."

"The hell you mean 'no movement'?" My brow furrowed. "Is it dead or not?"

"Vitals confirmed. Thermal signature present but static."

I moved slowly toward the coordinates Skyla had given me, until a small snowdrift caught my eye. Kneeling, I brushed away the powder with careful hands—then froze.

There, blinking up at me with round gray eyes, was an infant. A tiny Coldborn, its fingers like delicate icicles, kicking its legs as if delighted by the universe. And it was glowing.

"Holy fucking hell," I breathed. "Sharius got himself a reboot."

"The Temporal Storm defies prediction," Skyla replied, her voice tinged with awe. "When it engulfs Blokays, spacetime buckles like Kallinkor’s tectonic plates. One man might shed decades like a snakeskin, while another crumbles to dust mid-breath. It’s an anomaly where time frays—stretching one life across centuries, hurling another back to their cradle."

"Anything else you’ve conveniently omitted about this planet?" I asked, holding the tiny Coldborn at arm’s length like a malfunctioning grenade.

"If you mean anomalies, that’s all I have," Skyla replied.

"And what exactly am I supposed to do with this pint-sized hellspawn?" I exhaled sharply. "Two hours ago he was trying to ventilate my skull. Now he’s drooling on my gloves."

"If paternal instincts escape you, leave him. Something else will find him. Maybe."

"And if the storm cycles back?"

"Then Sharius might age decades in seconds—or blink out like he was never conceived."

I stared at the infant. Its wide gray eyes held no recognition—just the blissful ignorance of a creature unaware it was cradled by its would-be victim.

"Irony’s a bitch, eh, buddy?" I gave the tiny Coldborn a gentle shake. "Not only did you fail to kill me, but now you’ve won the cosmic lottery."

The baby gurgled with something disturbingly close to Kallinkorian laughter, its icicle fingers curling around my glove.

"Fine," I finally growled. "I’ll dump you with your kin. Let them deal with their reborn messiah."

"We need to leave, Ethan," Skyla interjected. "What if another pack of those entities is already hunting us?"

"You picking up movement on scans?"