Free Empire: Book 2, The Chronicles of the Invaders (The Chronicles of the Invaders Trilogy) by John Connolly, Jennifer Ridyard Page A

took your time,” said Paul.
    “Well, let’s just hope they didn’t lock the doors.”
    The blood drained from Paul’s face at the thought that, after all his efforts, they might be undone by some security-conscious scientists, but Steven simply winked at him and hit the door release with his fist. The door opened with a hiss, and Paul permitted himself a ragged breath of relief.
    “That wasn’t funny,” said Paul.
    The pad juddered again. This time, the shuttle seemed to slide slightly to the right.
    “Just get in and fly the damn thing,” said Paul.
    Steven disappeared into the shuttle. Paul followed him. It was much smaller than the Military craft that was now lost somewhere beneath the sand. It could take six passengers and crew at a push, and even thenthey’d be crammed inside. Paul tried not to think about what might have happened if they’d all survived the initial attack by the creatures. Would they have been forced to draw lots for their lives?
    Steven started the engines, and prepared for a vertical takeoff. As he did so, the shuttle began to slide in earnest, and it didn’t stop. Paul lost his footing, and banged his head painfully against the shuttle’s hull.
    “Hold tight!” said Steven. “This will be a rocky one.”
    He hit the thrusters, boosting the starboard thruster to compensate for the angle. The shuttle seemed to stagger into the air, but Steven kept it under control. Paul looked out of the window nearest to him to see the pad collapse and silicate alien forms thrusting at it in the vain hope that their prey might not have escaped.
    “Not this time,” said Paul, and the faces of the dead flashed before him. “You’ve taken enough of us today . . .”
    •  •  •
    They got De Souza on board first with the help of Thula and Peris. Still, Paul had to haul him up, and despite his drug-induced sleep, De Souza moaned as his butchered arm struck the door. Rizzo climbed in mostly under her own steam, and only reluctantly accepted Paul’s help at the last. Finally, it was the turn of Thula and Peris, the latter barely getting on board before their section of the wall finally collapsed. Paul closed the shuttle door, and the craft did one final circuit of the platform. Far below, the creatures rose up in frustration, their eyeless heads turned to the sky, their jaws snapping at vibrations in the air.
    But now the storm was almost upon them. It would engulf them if they didn’t find shelter from it. They couldn’t outrun it—there wasn’t enough time. Paul joined his brother, taking the copilot’s seat to give the others more room in the shuttle bay. Steven took them up, then hovered in the face of the approaching wall of sand.
    “What are you doing?” asked Paul.
    “Thinking. Supervisor Peris, sir?”
    Peris came forward.
    “What is it?”
    Steven removed a small cylinder from the inside pocket of his flightoveralls. He pressed down hard on the top, and the cylinder clicked open at the other end, revealing a red button.
    “What is it?” asked Paul.
    “It’s the self-destruct mechanism for my lost shuttle,” said Steven. “Permission to activate, sir?”
    Peris looked at him.
    “That’s an expensive facility,” he said.
    “They killed five of us,” said Steven, and Paul noticed that he counted Faron among the “us.” Whatever his faults, Faron had been one of them when it mattered.
    “Yes, they did,” said Peris. He nodded. “Permission granted.”
    Steven hit the button, and held it down for ten seconds as he ascended to a safe altitude. Even then, the explosion rocked the little craft, and the blast was like a new sun being born at their backs.
    Paul closed his eyes.
    Vengeance, he thought. Always vengeance.
    •  •  •
    To the south stood one of the massive rock formations that dotted the Tormic landscape like the spires of great, primitive cathedrals. If they could find a place to land on its southern aspect, they could wait out the sandstorm under