From the Torment of Dreams Read online

  “This is a fun sci fi tale of rollicking space battles and the soldiers who fight in them. It is a saga of men and the wars they wage, which is a timeless concept, and one that is endlessly intriguing.”

  Patrick D'Orazio, author of The Dark Trilogy.

  “From the Torment of Dreams is a riveting tale that carries the reader from darkness to light, from light to darkness, and leaves them wanting to go right back again.”

  Rhiannon Mills author of The Demon King

  From The Torment Of Dreams

  - Iain McKinnon -

  Published by arrangement of the author Smashwords Edition.

  Copyright Iain McKinnon 2013

  From the Torment of Dreams copyright © 2013-06-12

  This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events and situations are the product of the authors imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This book is available inprint with most online retailers.

  To Rachel. Without your light I would never have known darkness.

  To Dorothy for cultivating my ability.

  To Audrey who spent hours poring over my many rewrites with analytical precision.

  To Alison for loving me more than I could ever have dreamed and more than I've ever deserved.

  Also available by Iain McKinnon

  Domain of the Dead

  Remains of the Dead

  The sound track to writing this novel: White Zombie, Rammstein, Cubanate and Sisters Of Mercy

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Section 1

  Section 2

  Section 3

  Section 4

  Section 5

  Section 6

  Section 7

  Section 8

  Section 9

  Section 10

  Section 11

  Section 12

  Section 13

  Section 14

  Section 15

  Section 16

  Section 17

  Section 18

  Section 19

  Section 20

  Section 21

  Section 22

  Section 23

  Section 24

  Section 25

  Section 26

  Section 27

  Section 28

  Section 29

  Section 30

  Section 31

  Section 32

  Section 33

  Section 34

  Section 35

  Section 36

  Section 37

  Section 38

  Section 39

  Section 40

  Afterward

  Death for me is my life!

  Life for me is in the dying.

  The obliteration of my essence

  is the noblest of blessings.

  My perdurance in my human attributes,

  The vilest of evils.

  Mansur Al-Hallaj c. 244 AH - 309 AH

  Section 1

  Lying almost naked in his crib Lan waited. He waited for the drugs that would usher in unconsciousness.

  “You're next Agstaff,” said the orderly.

  “Aren't you going to wish me sweet dreams?” asked Lan.

  “You don't dream with enough of this stuff in you. They'll monitor your brainwaves and dose you up if you look like coming out,” the orderly finished preparing the syringe.

  “Next thing you know it'll be half a year later and you'll be in another star system,” he stuck Lan with the needle and injected the contents. The pin-prick stung as the drug flooded into his veins.

  “Good,” whispered Lan.

  The injection took hold, creeping up his arm like a frost. Scratching its way through his muscles into his shoulder, up into his neck, his vision closing in as the first drops of the somnific permeated his mind. His body felt like it was floating in serenity. His senses drifted upwards, light-headed, cradled by a drunken giddiness. It was quiet; the sounds around him had faded into nothing. Lan's eyelids sealed off the last of the world outside as he surrendered himself to the oblivion.

  Travelling in the night that separated the stars, the Terran Alliance ship, Coma Berenices made her way to one of Earth's subjugated colonies.

  Within her holds were supplies and troops for their garrison on Neotra.

  The old cargo ship had little in the way of elegance or grace, her short bulky body was like that of an old maid's toughened by years of hard toil and with curves in unappealing places. Functionality had been her designers' only consideration.

  “It's the ECG monitor in bay four,” said the ship's chief medic.

  “Yeah?” replied Captain Patron.

  The Doctor scurried to catch up with him in the long grey main corridor that serviced the ship.

  “Well, it's shorted again.”

  “What about the back up?” Patron kept up his stride as he tried to out-pace this latest annoyance.

  “The back-up's over in seventeen. We've been moving it between bays to try and monitor as many people as we can but that's putting their safety at risk,

  “There are men in some bays who haven't been monitored in weeks.”

  “So can't Maintenance fix it?” Patron knew where this conversation was going. He wished the Doctor would just come round to the solution without all this palaver. The Doctor couldn't let any inadequacy go without making a song and dance out of it. He would argue his way to the Captain, throw in an “I told you so,” and then come round to the “Well, maybe I could...”

  Captain Patron wasn't in the mood for this. Right now he had far bigger problems to worry about.

  The Doctor started, “Maintenance don't have...”

  Patron halted so sharply that the Doctor almost walked into him.

  “As I was saying Captain...”

  “Just get it sorted,” Patron snapped.

  The Doctor unconsciously took a half step back before he could swallow down his surprise. The Captain was never this blunt.

  Patron circled his temple with two fingers trying to dispel his mounting headache, “We've just entered the Asellus system and we're twenty days from Neotra. If there's a problem you'll have to work through it until then.”

  “But…”

  Patron made a stop sign with his open palm, “As I understand it, this is not life threatening. Getting this ship, those men and my crew to Neotra is.”

  The Captain's brusque tone revealed just how much stress he was under.

  “There are a couple of men exhibiting signs of Prolonged Dream Exposure,” the Doctor said sheepishly, “I need to pull them out of suspended animation.”

  “What the hell's Dream Exposure and why the hell is it important to me?” demanded Patron.

  The Doctor swallowed his anxiety, “When a subject is held in suspended animation it's like putting them into hibernation. They're in a state similar to deep sleep but if the drugs aren't monitored then the subject's brain activity can rise to the point where they enter fast-wave or desynchronised sleep...”

  “Cut the jargon.” said Patron. />
  “Sorry, it's more commonly know as REM sleep.”

  “You mean they dream?” asked Captain Patron.

  “Yes,” the Doctor nodded eagerly, “but even then that's not a major problem.”

  “So?” said Patron trying to hurry the Doctor up.

  “The problem is that your neural pathways can still learn in this state.”

  “What are they going to learn in their sleep?” Patron shrugged.

  “Most dreams are harmless, random diversions in the sleeping mind.”

  “Wait, are you going to tell me these men could have a killer dream,” exclaimed Patron.

  “No, not quite. Have you ever had a nightmare, Captain?” asked the Doctor.

  The Captain nodded.

  “Normally you'll have your bad dream two or three times then it will fade. It fades because you get time to reason it out and because you receive stimulation during the day. Your brain stores that day's events when you go to sleep. If the only thing you do all day is dream you end up in a loop. You dream the same things over and over again because there is no other information to process.”

  “And to cut a long story short,” interjected Patron.

  “When you wake up all you can think about is your dream. You suffer flash-backs leading to a profound feeling of disorientation. Not a good state for a soldier to be in I think you'll agree.”

  Patron gave a huff of exacerbation, “OK, what can we do to stop this?”

  “With constant monitoring we can identify repetitive patterns. We can increase the dosage of the hibernative. If that's not enough we can take that person out of suspended animation.”

  “But because you can't monitor them you want to take them out of the fridges,” said Patron.

  The Doctor nodded affirming Patron's conclusion.

  “When,” Patron stressed, “did the monitor in bay four short out?”

  The medical officer looked uncomfortable, “We don't know, what with the back up being in Seventeen for the past four months Maintenance haven't had a spare to run checks with.”

  “Sheesh,” Patron cursed with a shake of his head, “and they've been too lazy to check manually.”

  “As soon as I found out I ordered the check,” the Doctor said.

  “How many men do you want to revive?” asked the Captain.

  “A dozen or so are either showing symptoms or are at risk from lack of monitoring.”

  “Talk with the Quartermaster. He'll arrange the relevant supplies.” Patron turned to take his leave of the Doctor.

  “Captain um...” the Doctor paused nervous of what the answer might be, “how are things on Neotra, you seem stressed?”

  “Don't you read the communiqués?”

  “I'm not security classified,” replied the Doctor, “The last news reports I heard before we left were about anti-Earth protests.”

  “Well the whole thing's about to blow up.”

  “Why? Who won the election?” the Doctor asked.

  “Onodora, and the new Neotran President has sided with the dissidents. They declared their independence two days ago and Terran High Command are refusing to recognise their legitimacy.”

  “So you think this'll mean war?”

  “If it hasn't started by now it will have by the time we get into orbit.”

  The low, methodical thump of five thousand hearts echoed in the binary mind of a malfunctioning medical computer.

  Inside the hull of the Coma Berenices slept five thousand soldiers, each one sealed inside a metal coffin swathed in a blanket of tubing, wires and intravenous drips.

  The occupants could be mistaken for corpses, cold to the touch, lifeless and spiritless.

  But Lan dreamt whilst he was inside that machine.

  It wasn't the months, the days, the hours or the minutes that mattered but the seconds. Each second of thought was filled by one never-ending dream.

  Although his body lay still and peaceful his Id threw up the same terrible nightmare over and over. No clichéd monsters disturbed his sleep; something much more insidious haunted him.

  “Lan, I don't think we should see each other any more,” Nicola's voice was icy.

  A cold breeze wafted down through the avenue of autumn trees. As it passed it lifted up brown discarded leaves and compelled them to dance in tight spiralling circles among the naked oaks. They jostled and tumbled round as if to taunt the bare wood with what it no longer had. A strand of long blonde hair fluttered across Nicola's face. She raised a hand and brushed the lock to one side letting her emerald eyes gaze once more into his.

  Lan's perception changed, his view turned round on itself to look straight into his own eyes.

  He watched as another tear welled up and trickled down the red, puffy skin of his cheek. His focus was drawn to his pupils. They were his eyes, hazy blue irises framed by the light skin of his face but behind them he saw no vitality, no spark, only the reflection of his murdered soul.

  “I want you more than anything,” Lan pleaded, “I love you, I want to hold you in my arms, kiss you, make love to you. I'd do anything to have you.”

  “I don't want to see you any more, Lan,” Nicola's voice was cold and solemn, “This is difficult for me too you know.”

  She stepped back from Lan and drifted from his view.

  “I love you, Nicola,” Lan reached out in a vain attempt to stop her.

  As the kiss began Nicola's lips pressed gently against his, slowly her mouth opened and she pushed her lips harder against his. Lan, his arms wrapped around her, squeezed her tightly. He could feel her breasts heave against his chest with each breath. Lan let a hand stroke up the back of her neck, his fingers running through her hair. Nicola let out a soft moan of appreciation.

  Slowly she pulled back.

  “Was that nice?” she asked him mischievously.

  Lan's lips still tingled with the heavenly sensation. His whole body felt alive, like she had kissed him all over.

  “Yes, the best,” said Lan.

  “Lets go somewhere a little more private,” Nicola said as she nodded towards the exit of the nightclub.

  A cold breeze wafted down through the avenue of bronzed trees. The autumn sun was weak and pale.

  The wind carried with it the chill of winter and Lan felt a shiver creep through his flesh.

  Nicola didn't meet his gaze. She tried to avoid looking at him.

  “What is it Nicola?” Lan asked.

  “I don't think we should see each other any more,” Nicola's voice was icy...

  Safe inside their metal coffins five thousand Terran troops slept. Unaware of the passage of time they lay in their cribs drugged into oblivion. Their shallow heartbeats monitored by an ineffective medical computer. A computer that should have been monitoring all of its wards' brain waves, checking to see if anyone had emerged from their unconsciousness.

  But Lan dreamt.

  Section 2

  An eerie twilight from the distant star, Asellus, lit a handful of ships. They sat silently waiting in the darkness. From this far out Neotra blended in with the background of stars, a ball of light almost indistinguishable from the rest.

  Floating, gently drifting, Lupus Alpha hung there dark and quiet. Like a wreck she appeared dead. An empty carcass left to rot in the frozen night.

  Inside her hull it was the same, her corridors empty and cold.

  Suddenly the midnight silence broke.

  “Lupus Alpha, Lupus Alpha,” the loud speaker pierced the dark cabin, “This is Lupus Beta. Come in please Jackson, over.”

  Captain Jackson flipped his mic' to transmit, “Lupus Beta, this is Lupus Alpha. On line and clear, over.”

  A cloud of steam billowed into the frigid cabin from Jackson's breath. The puff of warm air brushed over a monitor and condensed.

  Baxsell's tinny voice crackled over the speaker, “We have a confirmed sensor contact. Target identified as the Terran transport Coma Berenices. Hostile acquisition in one twenty. Repeat hostile acquisition in one twent
y, over.”

  Jackson leaned forward and wiped the droplets from the screen with the palm of his glove, “Lupus Beta this is Lupus Alpha. Message received and understood. Stand by Captain Baxsell, over.”

  Finally she had arrived.

  The trap was set and in only a few short hours it would be over.

  Jackson leaned forward and toggled the switch for the intercom, “Shen, we'll be engaging the transport in under two hours, best get ready.”

  Shen barked a, “Yes Captain!” back at him on her way to make ready.

  Jackson sat back in his chair and gazed idly around the cabin. There was nothing he could busy himself with until they could ignite the engines. The days of quietly waiting in ambush would soon come to an end but for now time had congealed to a sluggish crawl.

  He called up the mission brief again. He didn't need to be reminded of his orders, just distracted from their consequence, “Your target is the Coma Berenices,” the words scrolled smoothly across his screen, “A long haul transport ship six months out of the Sol solar system,” abruptly the writing came to a halt as it collided with the left-hand margin. The following text dropped a line and continued, “When she left Phobos her main cargo consisted of troops to replace the garrison on Neotra. We suspect that her priority has changed and she is now delivering reinforcements.”

  Jackson knew that if these reinforcements were to reach Fort Veruct they would entrench themselves and impede Neotra's burgeoning independence.