Incursion Read Online Free PDF

unresponsive meat?"
    Grimm leaned closer, too close. Face to face. Close enough to smell soldered cables, plastic, and machine oil. He smelled like an engineer, not a pilot. "I'd make you respond. You could say I owe you after taking both your codes." He smiled. "Just let me try." He touched the side of Kyle's neck, and Kyle jerked. He couldn't tell what was worse—how intrigued he was by that promise or how little he believed it would actually happen.
    Grimm shoved a support block under Kyle's neck and stood. "Time to launch. Relax, guys."
    He swaggered out, and the door sealed.
    Somewhere, a man hyperventilated, sucking in harsh, fast breaths to saturate his blood with oxygen. Another whispered what sounded like a prayer in a foreign language. Kyle closed his eyes and mulled Grimm's words. His promise. Why Grimm would be attracted to him, or pretend to be.
    But what could he gain by pretending? The diplomatic codes were by far the most valuable thing Kyle had owned. Grimm surely would not be fucking him for his money. And damn, but it was a promise he was actually interested in. Maybe because Grimm was a piece of home—a twisted, changed piece, but an embodiment of memories nonetheless.
    To prepare himself for the launch, he imagined his consciousness fusing with the steel, ceramic, and titanium shell around him, like he had when he'd sat in the pilot's chair. It was self-deception; this ship wasn't his body, and the mental exercise served no purpose, unlike the times when he'd used it to familiarize himself with a new ship, or reacquaint himself with a current one at the beginning of a shift.
    A low vibration signaled the thrusters were on. Two of them. Then the vibration got so strong it rattled his teeth. Four thrusters? Or had Grimm merely cycled them up to firing?
    Mother of Light, Father of Darkness.
    "Here goes," Winter groaned between clenched teeth, when suddenly, all the engines fired.
    The vibration turned into a bone-shaking tremor, a million parts quaking in their foundations or locked behind cages as the ship launched.
    It was a combat launch, not designed for passengers but soldiers. The acceleration was brutal, like a thousand organ-busting kicks against every tissue in his body. A frail passenger—or one not strapped down and supported by the intelligent foam of the beds—wouldn't have survived the pressure against the heart and lungs. Grimm was flirting with swelling their brains in their skulls, turning the gray matter (or whatever color Winter's had) into mush trickling out of their noses and ears.
    Somebody screamed, or tried to. It was a breathless, pained keening that Kyle didn't want to hear again in his life. Utter agony. He couldn't even dream of turning his neck, pressed into the mattress as he was, expecting his organs to burst through his back and ooze onto the floor. He fought to stay conscious, focus on breathing, gulping down what oxygen he could. If Grimm was following standard procedure, O 2 content would be higher now to help them survive, but it still felt like breathing with a mountain on his chest. Everything hurt.
    And then the pressure was gone, the pain an echo. The ship had left the planet's atmosphere and the worst of the gravity field.
    Winter moaned a curse and released her straps. Kyle turned his head and noticed her get up. She staggered to her feet and turned to the mercenary closest to her. "You good?"
    The man answered in the affirmative, and Winter made the rounds, from one to the next, ensuring everyone was conscious and nobody had bitten off their tongue. Kyle just floated in his own mind. The launch pain had turned effortlessly into a high that was better than most drugs he'd ever tried (usually on long spells of leave from the Space Navy—those people didn't joke around about recreational drugs). He felt weightless, euphoric, and aware of how much the natural adrenaline buzz affected him.
    He released his straps and sat up, wobbly even sitting down, so he steadied