Our Contest

by Phillip Murrell

  “We should probably have Kimmy available for all recruit training sessions from now on,” Julie comments.

  Votary nods his agreement.

  “You need to be present from now on, too. You’ll switch out with Caliber. You have good intuition.”

  Hide waits for the last construct to attack. When the man is still several feet away, Hide turns invisible. The Malignant is confused on what to do and simply stands in place. Moments later, his head is violently yanked to the side, and a loud crack indicates that an invisible force broke his neck. Hide reappears and holds a hand up for a high five. He’s left hanging as the losers aren’t looking to celebrate, and the other winners are preoccupied. Mule and Thumbnail shout at each other, while Mag Pulse is never going to return the gesture. Hide sheepishly and slowly brings his hand back down.

  “Enough squabbling!” Votary shouts to Mule and Thumbnail. “Mostly pathetic, but there was some small success. We got out with a four to four tie, but we were close to fratricide. Each of you has twenty minutes to shower, change, and meet me in the conference room. I have observations to go over with you. I’m sure SOT does as well.”

  “I do,” Julie adds.

  “Twenty minutes started ten seconds ago,” Votary says.

  The Templars scramble to complete the list of tasks in the limited time.

  Mother sits on her throne as Guntho, Vlad, and Vape are brought to her. Vape is anxious and doubts whether this visit was a good idea. He wonders what would have happened if he had just gone with that Templar he killed a few weeks earlier.

  Guntho kneels before Mother. Vlad and Vape soon follow her direction. They stay like this until Mother eventually acknowledges them.

  “Commander Guntho, why do you equal failure?” she asks.

  “Several Ahika crew members were Gudz infiltrators,” Guntho answers.

  “There are no Gudz anymore,” Mother says. “We are all Malignant.”

  Vape snorts. The glare he receives from Mother makes him instantly regret it.

  “Why do you bring ISH before me?” Mother asks.

  “Now wait a damn minute,” Vape begins. “I thought we were your children?”

  Mother rises from her seat and, like a gust of wind, blows toward Vape. She grabs the man around his throat and squeezes. He considers turning to gas, but deduces it would be his death sentence.

  “How dare you address me, ISH! You are barely Malignant. Commander Guntho, do you vouch for this one?”

  “I vouch for both, Mother. They are useful and quickly joined our ranks.”

  “Then their actions are your own. You are responsible for the pair.”

  “I am responsible,” Guntho repeats.

  “Father has already given me the answers that I need about the Ahika and its failure. You corroborate the recordings. You will give your full report to someone of Admiral Drorus’ choosing,” Mother states.

  “I will debrief them myself, Mother,” Drorus confirms.

  Mother dismisses the trio with a wave of her hand as she casually strolls back to her ornate throne. Drorus urges the three to leave. They quickly obey. Drorus moves to follow them.

  “Admiral Drorus, before you leave, please prepare a drop ship for me to get the ISH who impresses me with her informational recordings.”

  “You mean Claire Kennedy?”

  “I suppose that is her name.”

  “I will send some marines to retrieve her.”

  “Unnecessary. My honor guard and I will do it ourselves. This one appears fearless. She did not show me much deference when we conversed.”

  “The ISH rarely show deference to anything but their own hubris.”

  “True. Still, she amuses me.”

  “A drop ship will be prepared immediately, Mother.”

  “Thank you, Admiral Drorus.”

  Admiral Drorus bows and turns to carry out Mother’s orders.

  Claire and Benji sit on the couch in their lavish living room. Claire snuggles close to Benji, still in his police uniform, as he holds her with his arm. She plays with her engagement ring as she takes in the musky odor of his cologne. The television shows an old police drama, but neither pays it much attention.

  “I love you,” Claire says.

  “I love you, too,” he replies.

  Benji has his right arm draped over Claire’s shoulders. He twists his hand to squeeze her breast.

  “I knead your tits,” Benji jokes.

  Claire rolls her eyes. “Do you think you’re clever?”

  Before Benji can answer, a loud banging comes from the front door. The force suggests that the person wants to intentionally damage the imported wood.

  “What the hell?” Claire demands. “It’s ten o’clock at night. Go home!”

  The knocking persists. Despite her true desires, Claire pushes herself up from the coziness of Benji’s embrace and marches to the door on a mission. Benji follows closely, probably because he suspects she’ll make another scene. Claire considers this possibility and looks forward to making the prophecy come true.

  She flings open the door. “What the hell is your problem?”

  Standing before her is a man dressed in a business suit whom Claire doesn’t recognize.

  “Are you Claire Kennedy?” the man asks.

  Claire smirks. “You know I am. What the hell do you want?”

  The man thrusts a piece of paper in her face.

  “You’ve been served,” he says.

  Claire is perplexed as she takes the paper.

  “What for?” Benji asks.

  Wynona Langley appears from her hiding place behind a pillar.

  “What for?” Wynona shouts. “That bitch assaulted me. That’s what for!”

  Claire remembers her fistfight with Wynona from a few weeks earlier.

  “Oh yeah. You’re such a pussy that you want to sue me?”

  Wynona’s response is interrupted by the roar of a loud engine overhead. The four humans look up and see a Malignant spaceship preparing to land on what used to be an immaculate garden. The thrust from the engines easily peels away not only the plants and grass but even the stone perimeter segmenting the walking path.

  Benji pulls out his pistol and turns off the safety, but leaves it by his side, somewhat obscured by his leg. Claire watches as Mother exits the landed craft with six orange-armored guards. Three flank her on each side. Wynona and her lawyer try to hide behind Benji and Claire, but their sudden movements cement their deaths.

  Mother reaches out each hand. One sends a streak of lightning into Wynona. She convulses and reaches for either Benji or Claire, but both are aware enough to keep from chaining the lightning into their own bodies. The lawyer is felled by a continuous blast of acid rain from her left hand. He screams as he melts under the constant burn of something far more caustic than sulfuric acid.

  Claire is thankful that Benji hasn’t raised his pistol as the seven aliens approach them. The weapon remains at his side.

  “Claire Kennedy,” Mother begins. “You, more than any other ISH, impress me. You will come with me and continue to transmit your informational recordings from my vessel.”

  Claire is no longer willing to let fear be used against her. She defiantly stares at the relative goddess in front of her.

  “The hell I will.”

  “You will, or I will kill your spouse.”

  Claire, surprising even herself, steps in front of Benji to block any elemental attack meant for him. She isn’t sure if it’s the guilt of her betrayal with Brock or her desire to die before ever feeling the pain of Benji’s death, but she stands in the way.

  “How adorable. The ISH wants to pretend to be loyal,” Mother gloats.

  It’s an action that Claire thought would be beneath a ruler of her level.

  “You will come with me now,” Mo
ther repeats.

  Claire hears the complete malice in her voice, and apparently, Benji heard it, as well. Her fiancé forces himself in front of Claire and pushes her back inside their home.

  “Run, Claire!” he shouts as he levels his pistol on Mother.

  Claire screams. She expects Mother to snuff Benji from existence as easily as she did Wynona and her lawyer, but thankfully, Mother does nothing. Not even after Benji opens fire with all sixteen rounds in his pistol.

  The bullets travel toward Mother. They pass through her body when she transforms into a swirling tornado less than six feet tall. Her honor guard are unaffected by what should be powerful gale force winds. Claire can even feel her dress snap from the gusts.

  The bullets that Benji sent at the honor guard bounce harmlessly off their armor, much as Claire expected they would. Claire braces for the killing attack from Mother. It never comes.

  “ISH, now you know your spouse will die for you. Tell him that it is his only complimentary action.”

  Claire reaches over and grabs Benji’s hands as he frantically tries to reload his pistol.

  “Don’t,” she says. “You’ll only kill yourself.”

  “I won’t let them take you,” Benji protests.

  “You have to because I won’t let them kill you, and this is the only way.”

  “No, Claire, please don’t. If you go with her, I’ll never see you again.”

  “Yes, you will. She wants me to report from her ship. You can see me every night at seven.”

  Claire winks, and Benji laughs through his tears.

  “I’m leaving now, ISH. If you do not beat me to my vessel, I will kill him, then instruct my fleet to raze this entire city.”

  Claire steps back in front of Benji, but he grabs her arm. She’s about to protest again, but he gives a brief and powerful kiss before releasing her. This show of love brings her own tears to the surface. She quickly follows Mother and makes sure to reach the ramp of the vessel that destroyed her beautiful front yard before the Malignant deity does.

  Benji can do nothing but watch as the ramp closes behind Claire. Claire can see him standing from the window next to her seat as the vessel takes off. She thinks she sees him use his radio to notify someone. Probably to report the deaths of two more people because they had the audacity to be too close to Claire when misfortune called for her again.

  Chapter 4

  A throng of people wearing simple brown-hooded robes stands in the middle of a busy street in a massive city. They impede dense traffic coming in all directions. They control several city blocks with thousands of supporters. The people on the very edges of the mob hold firearms of every variety and effectively keep a diminished police force at bay as their leaders speak from the center of the gathering.

  A man with his hood replaced by a ridiculous gold crown speaks to his assembled disciples through a public announcement system.

  “Fellow Abelists, today we appease our Father. Our sacrifice will save the planet and give Abel the power to defeat the vile intruders from space who consider us less than human. Our sacrifice will show Abel that we put our faith in his abilities!”

  “In Abel we trust!” the crowd screams back.

  Each religious fanatic reaches into his or her robe, some as young as ten, and pulls out a small pink pill. The parents of even younger children assist them with their own medicine. The sounds of gunfire from the edges of the crowd are heard by the people, but nearly all ignore them. They appear content with their decision.

  “As one, we commit our souls to Abel,” the leader says.

  “In Abel we trust,” the crowd chants as each takes the suicide pill.

  The crowd continues to chant their mantra as one-by-one their bodies convulse from the chemical attack on their nervous systems. Soon the melodic chants are replaced by rasped breathing and panicked screams. The conviction of earlier is transformed into terror as the youngest children die first. This vision of sacrificed innocence brings a belated remorse in most. It doesn’t matter. In just a few minutes, all of them are dead. The police slowly work their way through the crowd to remove the weapons while paramedics eagerly wait for the chance to move into the crowd and attempt to revive any whom they can.

  Cammy somberly reports to her audience as images of the mass suicide are displayed for them. She’s dressed in black, a color that she now wears for every show and vows to keep until the Malignant leave the planet alone.

  Cammy clears her throat of emotion and continues to report.

  “Once again, these are the images after the mass suicide of the Abelist cult in New Orleans. Over four thousand deaths have been reported from their mass suicide at eight o’clock central time this morning. The scene was made more disturbing by the number of young children murdered by their parents and other relatives. The Abelists seem to believe that our only hope for survival against the Malignant is for Abel to eliminate them from the universe. My next guest, Dr. Jacob Crusferd, will shed some light on this.”

  “Thank you for having me,” Dr. Crusferd says.

  “Dr. Crusferd, what’s your opinion on Abel as a savior, as some argue, or a devil, as others suggest?”

  “I’m not about to try and determine the actions of an alien with deity-level powers. We all saw the film of him easily torturing one of the Malignant. He appears to control reality.”

  “So, could he save us?”

  “I believe he has the power to, but since he hasn’t been spotted since that day and the Malignant have, he doesn’t seem inclined to care about us.”

  “What about the Templars?” Cammy asks.

  “The Templars must have been trained by him. Perhaps they were even given their powers by him, but they aren’t in Abel’s class. They won’t be able to save us, even with a year to prepare.”

  “Good point about the dreaded year we were given. Do you think that’s enough time for them to organize the augments of Earth?”

  “I don’t think there are enough of them for it to matter. Violence, short of Abel violence, won’t save us. Only diplomacy will work. Claire Kennedy encouraged people to calm down and prove our worth as sentient life. I believe she’s right and will follow her example.”

  Cammy swallows her disgust at the mention of a rival reporter.

  “Interesting that you bring up Claire Kennedy. As we all know, she was kidnapped by the Malignant soon after reporting that we should essentially behave. For all we know, she’s dead. Why should people follow advice that may have gotten her killed?”

  “If we don’t, we will just kill ourselves, and the Malignant won’t have to bother with their extermination.”

  “Fair point. Regardless, it does appear that most people are following her example. Crime is still up when compared to last year but reduced from the peak of hysteria we saw last week. Dr. Crusferd, thank you for your time.”

  “Thanks for having me.”

  “Coming up, I’m asking people what’s on their bucket list when aliens demand they have to up their timelines, especially with fifty-three percent of the population no longer going to work. We’ll be back after these messages.”

  “So, Abelists are killing themselves to appease some prick who doesn’t care about us, and I say good riddance,” Papa Nutmare rants.

  He leans back in his chair and takes a sip from his water bottle before continuing with his show.

  “The fact is, my Driblets, that Abel doesn’t care about us, Mother doesn’t care about us, and most of us don’t care about us. Don’t fall for this bullshit about giving us a year. That screams ‘smoke and mirrors.’ We need to prepare for an invasion any moment.”

  Shattered Blanket flashes his obvious displeasure with Papa Nutmare.

  “Papa, don’t say that. The mean men scare me.”

  “We don’t have time for the normal shit anymore, Jason. We need to rally the people.�
��

  “Fine,” Shattered Blanket says, “but does that mean we have to put them back into a panic? The Templars took care of the first ship, and they’ll find a way to get this next one. Then the Malignant will leave.”

  “Do you really believe that garbage? Why would a superior force cull its own strength?”

  “Because they work under some rules that don’t make sense to us.”

  “That sounds like convenience to me. My Driblets are free to allow that fairy tale to lull them to sleep, but I sleep with a loaded .45 under my pillow. The little green men are coming, and I’ve got a little something for them when they do. Those who realize I’m right should do the same. For the rest of you, here’s some music for you that’s more your age group.”

  Papa Nutmare pounds on his board to play London Bridge Is Falling Down.

  Drorus and Leebuch stand near Mother as she watches the various reports from Earth. Claire stands nearby. She isn’t shackled or restrained in any way, but she also understands that she has no possible means of escape. She fully accepts her predicament.

  Claire handles a small orange sphere that she was given. It’s currently depowered, but Claire summons the courage to activate it while Mother’s bridge crew go about their routine business. The orb silently lights up and hovers above the floor just above Claire’s eye level. She marvels as the small camera adjusts its lens to focus on Claire. A small orange light on the face of the Malignant camera blinks, indicating that it’s recording.

  “This is Claire Kennedy,” Claire whispers toward the sphere, “reporting from Mother’s ship, the Womb. I have to admit that I’m surprised—”

  “Speak up,” Mother orders.

  “What?” Claire asks, shocked that Mother is taking an interest in her again.

  “You do not question Mother!” Drorus shouts.

  “It is alright, Admiral Drorus,” Mother says with a simple gesture. “My familiar is allowed to be ignorant. She may be intelligent, but she is still just an ISH.”