Colony by Benjamin Cross (ready player one ebook .TXT) 📗

“Ah, Doctor Lee. I was hoping that you would join in the conversation. It may shock you to learn that your paramour Mr Peterson was an eco-terrorist. Membership of the EIA team was his cover. His objective was always to destroy the Albanov.”

“I don’t believe you,” Ava said. “Dan may have been a lot of things, but he was no murderer.”

“The purity of his intentions is beyond doubt,” Volkov replied. “He is a misguided fool, but his motives were noble enough. He wanted to save the Arctic from exploitation. The problem is that this is impossible. Naïve idealists like Mr Peterson are just too blinded by sentiment to see it. Commercial exploitation of the Arctic is inevitable.” He grinned. “Thanks to his own actions, it is now closer than ever.”

Callum kept quiet. The last thing he wanted was to believe a word Volkov said. Yet there was a ring of truth. He remembered when Darya, Ava and he had first awoken on Harmsworth. His own words repeated on him: Dan’s the last person any of us saw… one of us has woken up armed with a whole raft of survival equipment… the one he has feelings for…

The conundrum had been why Peterson would drug three of his colleagues and strand them on Harmsworth? Now, in the surreal confines of Volkov’s assault helicopter, the answer seemed to slug him hard around the face. And the pieces kept on fitting. Peterson was a true nature lover. He was passionate about the Arctic. The submarine would have given him the ideal means of operation and escape…

But what Ava said was also true. Peterson was not a ruthless killer. Of that, Callum was certain. He was a nice guy, quirky and highly strung, but a decent human being.

Suddenly it all made perfect sense.

Why would Peterson drug three of his colleagues and maroon them on Harmsworth?

Because he was trying to save their lives.

2

The mist was clearing. The grey blanket had fractured into a 3D jigsaw puzzle, its pieces thinning and warping, billowing past Koikov as he sprinted to the top of the moraine.

Until now, his only indication that the rescue helicopter had arrived at the extraction point had been the thumping of the rotors as he’d scrambled up the slope. Now that he could see the craft, he could tell instantly that there was something wrong.

Marchenko had been told to expect an Mi-26, a troop-carrier with a hundred-person capacity, perfectly suited to severe weather conditions. The co-axial, heavily armoured assault helicopter now heading away from him was no Mi-26. It was more similar to a Black Shark, a Kamov 50, only slightly larger. And why would the craft be painted white rather than regulation military shades? A White Shark.

As he cast around for an explanation, his gaze fell upon the jumble of blood-stained corpses. His eyes widened in disbelief and he sprinted over. Dropping to his knees, he rolled the nearest man onto his back.

“Marchenko!” The damage to his body was extensive. But his eyes were open and the tiniest shred of life clung on within him. Koikov raised his head up, supporting the back of his neck. “Marchenko? Marchenko, what happened?”

Blood spilt from the sergeant’s mouth as he tried to speak. “They… must have… intercepted… my transmission…”

“Intercepted your transmission? Who? Marchenko? Who’s they? Who the fuck did this?”

This time there was no response. Marchenko’s gentle eyes took on that sudden dimness that Koikov had seen too many times before. In vain, he crouched over the corpse and began chest compressions. He’d performed no more than three before his hands cracked through Marchenko’s shattered sternum and disappeared into his chest cavity.

He tore his hands away and retched violently. It was no use. Marchenko was gone. He checked the others for signs of life. All of them were gone.

Koikov’s breathing spiralled; his head spun. The scene before him was more gut-wrenching than anything he had witnessed so far on Harmsworth. It was not the work of dragons. His team’s wounds were not the result of claws or teeth. They were bullet holes, the result of man-made metal rounds fired at close quarters.

Something cold stung at Koikov’s cheek and he wiped away at it. His fingertips were moist. A single tear had escaped him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d shed a tear. They were useless. They solved nothing. But, on this occasion, they just happened.

As the helicopter made away, he buried his face into Marchenko’s shoulder and wept.

* * *

“You used him,” Callum spat. “You used Peterson. And for what? What’s this all about, Volkov? Money?”

Volkov pursed his lips. “I did not use Mr Peterson; he volunteered his services readily. And I much prefer to think in terms of economy, not money.” He grinned. “My reasons for involving Mr Peterson are none of your concern. But let’s just say that the Harmsworth Project is going to be much more economical when his transgressions are brought to light.”

“Darya told me you were a greedy, manipulative bastard, but this…”

Volkov threw a glance in Darya’s direction. His eyes narrowed. “Yes, our paths have unfortunately crossed before. She and her kind have cost me a great deal in the past, but not this time.”

Ava turned to Callum. “Doctor Ross, surely you don’t believe this bullshit about Dan?”

“Of course not,” he lied; he needed Ava’s help more than ever and the last thing he wanted was to isolate her feelings.

“What is it you want, Volkov? If everyone was supposed to go down with the Albanov then why are we still alive?”

A dark smile crossed Volkov’s lips. “I have kept you alive because I would like to play a little game with you, Doctor Ross.”

“A game?” Ava said. “Are you serious?”

“Deadly,” he replied, reaching into his belt and removing a handgun. “I call it Mr Peterson’s Data Stick, and it works like this.” He pulled back on the top of the weapon, cocking it. Then he pointed it at Callum’s face. “Round one. I point this gun at each player in