“And yet, it’s time,” Darsh responds.
“DJ, don’t . . .” Votary trails off.
Darsh focuses the discussion on Abel.
“Abel, you always proclaim to care about free will. Do not deny us this. Let us go.”
“I don’t think you’re ready,” Abel says.
Suddenly, and with little fanfare, all the clones disappear. Darsh is an individual again for the first time in days.
“I need to go,” Darsh says.
Votary senses deception. It looked like it was painful for Darsh to use a first-person pronoun, however, Abel makes the decision for him.
“As you wish,” Abel says.
He creates a portal behind the hover chair in the station to Darsh’s right. Darsh stands and looks at it. The pause is less than a second before Darsh steps through the portal without any further discussion. Votary swallows his emotions from behind the anonymity of his helmet.
“Let’s go, Votary. The battle still looms.”
“Yes, Father.”
Votary follows Abel out of the silent and empty library. He feels deep regret and loss just moments after Darsh’s departure.
Chapter 7
Melanie pours a bowl of chicken noodle soup from the pot simmering on the stovetop in the hotel room she shares with Mr. Polite. She can hear him moan in the bedroom. She was surprised when he burst into the room with a mouth full of blood accompanied by red and blistered skin. He had left for his morning walk and came back enraged. Melanie soon realized why when she saw the news reports of the attack that Mr. Polite was clearly the catalyst of. He made her turn it off.
Now she stands with some comfort food to speed his recovery. His injuries gave her hope that he could be killed. She doesn’t know how, but someone destroyed some of his teeth. The rest of his mouth is fine, but even a single weakness can help her. She’s spent several hours focusing on sending disease and infection into the numerous open wounds.
Melanie grabs the bowl of soup and carefully walks into the room where Mr. Polite lies. He looks at her with a warm smile as she enters. It probably caused him immense pain to form. Normally the eeriness of his sincerity would make her skin crawl, but the additional pain makes her enjoy his greeting.
“Chicken noodle soup for my fiancé,” Melanie teases.
Although it clearly hurts him to speak, Mr. Polite responds. Melanie initially had to focus to understand his words, but unfortunately the trauma wasn’t too severe, and she quickly learned how to understand him again.
“Not a fiancé yet,” Mr. Polite says as his voice croaks.
“A girl can dream, can’t she?”
Mr. Polite sets the bowl on the end table and holds out a hand for Melanie.
“Sit, please.”
Melanie accepts the hand more forcefully than she would for a normal person. She relishes the hiss that escapes his lips when she presses his burnt skin.
“Gentle, please.” He moans.
“Sorry,” Melanie lies.
“No need to apologize. I know you didn’t do it on purpose.”
Melanie inwardly giggles.
What a fool, she thinks.
“I wanted to find you a ring,” Mr. Polite surprisingly admits.
“Really? Why were you attacked for that?”
“I honestly don’t know—”
Mr. Polite interrupts himself with a fit of coughs. He turns from Melanie and covers his mouth until the attack is over.
“Sorry, my dear,” Mr. Polite says. “I don’t even know who attacked me.”
“The A-Men again?” Melanie wonders.
“Perhaps. Very rude of them if they did. I spared them last time, but assassinations won’t be tolerated. When I get my strength back, I’ll have to deal with them.”
Melanie fills with dread. She doesn’t need him on a murdering rampage with a mission. His inconsistent bouts of murder are already too troublesome to manage.
“It was more likely the Malignant. They tried to take you once before, remember?”
Mr. Polite seems to consider this.
“Maybe, Melanie.”
Melanie rests her hand on Mr. Polite’s brow. She sends images of decay into his mouth. She feels him shift beneath her and presses the power.
“Ow!” Mr. Polite moans again.
“Are you okay?”
“No, suddenly I’m overwhelmed by . . .”
Mr. Polite simply pauses. The move makes Melanie take her hands back and leave him alone. He looks at her but not with the doting eyes he normally has for her. They show confusion that slowly and obviously turn to hatred and betrayal.
“You!” he accuses.
“Me?”
Melanie feels her heart quicken as she stands from the bed. She instantly regrets the decision as it seems to cement Mr. Polite’s new opinion of her.
“You did this to me,” he says. “You made me weak. Somehow, you’ve made me sick.”
“I haven’t,” Melanie says as she tries to slowly back away to the door. “I love you—”
“Liar!” Mr. Polite interrupts. “You played with my heart.”
Melanie can no longer move. She fills with terror as she realizes Mr. Polite has her immobilized in a force shield.
“Please, baby, don’t.”
“You manipulated my affection for you. That’s extremely rude. Why did you do it?”
Melanie decides to die as a fighter and not a captive. She unloads all her frustration on him.
“Why? You have the audacity to ask me why? You kidnapped me. I’ve wanted to run so many times, but nothing can stop you. You murder indiscriminately, and you want to ask me why? What a hypocrite you are.”
Melanie’s mouth is forced shut. Since she can no longer scream at him, she wills all the death she has left until he decides to end her life. Tears flow down her face as she knows she’s sealing her own doom. Mr. Polite’s own rage seems to keep him from realizing that every second he lingers potentially brings his own death.
Mr. Polite shifts in the bed and points an injured hand at Melanie.
“You could have left,” he defends himself. “Kidnapping is rude. I would never do that.”
You literally carried me out of that movie theater, Melanie thinks.
“What did you do to me?” Mr. Polite asks.
He releases the hold on Melanie’s jaw. She’s free to respond.
“I gave you every disease I could think of. I’ve spent nearly every moment of the past months that we’ve known each other trying to kill you. I suggest you go see a doctor, but they all know your face. They’d probably inject you with a disease, too.”
“Shut up!” Mr. Polite roars.
He uses his power to lift Melanie from the floor. She floats six inches above and feels pressure on all parts of her body.
“You brought this on yourself,” Mr. Polite says.
“Said every abusive man to his wife,” Melanie defiantly says as she begins to choke.
It’s the last thing she ever says. For barely a moment, she senses pain before dying. Mr. Polite crushes her entire form into an invisible bag of pulp and blood. The crimson sphere hovers toward the window and smashes through it. Screams from the unfortunate patrons swimming in the pool below ring up to Mr. Polite. He cries in his bed.
Abel sits on the throne brought for him next to Mother for their second weekly meeting. Claire strains to hear their conversation. She’s able to understand the discussion with a bit of focus. Mother’s utter contempt for her as a pet makes her privy to various aspects of the Malignant fleet.
“Well, Father, are you ready to renounce this planet of the ISH and come with me? Coelum could be ours again.”
“Ot Her, your persistence is equaled only by your stubbornness.”
“And perhaps your obstinacy.”
“Did you enjoy my recordings on how effective the Templars are?”
“I saw them. Your people are impressive. Very powerful, but not by nearly enough to overcome my numbers. All you are doing is stalling. They will all die, and you know this.”
Claire watches as Drorus and Leebuch, the next most important people, share a concerned look. The reporter in Claire senses a story, and she thinks she knows what it is. She hopes that Mother is an outlier on the crazy scale and the other Malignant are more rational. Piecing together the casual comments and body language of the past days she’s been a captive lends credibility to this thought.
Then again, they are aliens, she thinks.
Mother interrupts Claire’s thoughts when she speaks again.
“I have regarded some of their entertainment recordings to determine if they have any worthy qualities.”
“That is not an effective method,” Abel says.
“I disagree. I found that they helped make certain my hypothesis. These ISH are hypocritical in almost every possibility.”
“Explain how?” Abel says.
Claire is glad he did. She wants more inner feelings from this woman. Abel seems to be able to get them.
“Many of them claim to support the outdated concept of democracy,” Mother begins, “but then refuse to obey the same rules in their personal lives.”
“I do not comprehend,” Abel says.
Me neither, Claire thinks.
“They claim to support one vote per person, but then they do not give their youth the same privilege.”
“They are children. Malignant do the same thing.”
“Of course, we do, but we support benevolent dictatorships. If these parents, who are really nothing more than children themselves on this planet, truly believed in democracy, I suspect many would enjoy different dinners. Instead of meat and vegetables, they would dine on honeyed fruit.”
“They call them sweets here, but I comprehend your statement,” Abel says with a smile.
The amusement is not lost on Mother. Claire thinks she sees the woman contemplating attacking Abel. Perhaps it’s just wishful thinking on Claire’s part. She has no doubt that Abel could end Mother and her entire fleet with nothing more than a sigh.
Leebuch includes herself in the conversation. Claire considers it a bold move, but Mother seems to be on her best behavior with Abel so close.
“Mother, perhaps we should consider Father’s perspective? With the animals on Coelum, perhaps we could transform Earth into New Coelum?”
“Your eventual successor is wise beyond her junior years. You are fortunate to have this one, Ot Her.”
Mother ignores the barb and focuses on Leebuch.
“My premiere child, that is not the proper thing. We only have one home, and this backwater planet most certainly is not it.”
Leebuch appears to switch tactics. “Then what about showing mercy on this planet if these overpowered augments who support Father use their abilities under the Malignant banner?”
“I am positive I could arrange that,” Abel says.
Claire prays that Mother will show a moment of clarity. The hope is soon crushed.
“That would be against the rules,” Mother simply states. “Humans should never have evolved on this planet. They should have been game for a different animal species. This planet should be nothing more than resources, and I will have normal return.”
Claire sinks. This woman must die.
“You are wise, Mother. I will regard your actions to guide my own development,” Leebuch says with a bowed head.
Mother returns the bow and looks at Abel.
“Father, I believe it is time for you to dismiss yourself. You seem to have an influence amongst my crew. A good thing, to be certain, but one that must be moderated.”
“As you wish, Ot Her,” Abel says as he stands from his throne. “Forever enemies.”
“Until our celebration,” Mother responds with a smile. “Leebuch, escort Father out.”
Leebuch bows and gestures for Abel to lead the way. As Claire watches them pass, Abel gives her a wink. He could never know how much that wink gives her hope. She knows his power. She hopes the time that he’ll use it comes soon.
Drorus takes the opportunity to speak quietly with Mother. Claire must strain extra hard to hear his whispered words.
“Mother, should you entertain these visits? Each time he comes, I hear more rumblings among the Malignant who used to support his banner.”
“Good,” Mother says. “We need two full forces for Our Contest to continue. I suspect there will be some treachery. Then the forces will be known, and we will sharpen our skills to take back our home world.”
“Mother, we have the skills already. We do not need Father. We should just go back and eliminate the threat from Coelum. It will not be a difficult battle.”
“I do not want our home damaged,” Mother answers. “We need to draw the animals here, then unleash our countless victories. Their leadership will hear of the losses and flee the planet unmolested.”
“What if they destroy it on their way out?” Drorus asks.
“Then we will retaliate on their side of the universe; nothing will spare them from our wrath.”
Claire can barely keep track of all the politics that the Malignant operate under. She wills herself to remain silent, a challenging task, lest Mother decides to move her to a farther corner of the throne room. Even worse, Mother could realize that Claire’s death would benefit her. Her friends and family already assume it happened.
Poor Benji, Claire thinks. I’m sorry to put you through this. I’ll make it up to you. I love you.
Claire’s thoughts go back to her betrayal with Brock. She has a lot of making up to do with Benji. She hopes she gets the chance.
Seal Pup hears the chime inside his helmet letting him know that his Malignant-based armor is finally fully booted.
“Damn, y’all take forever to get ready now,” Knight Terror complains.
His body is transformed into a bipedal walker brimming with assault rifles and rocket pods. Per the rules of this training simulation, Knight Terror has modified them to fire green paint.
The other Templars come online and grab their own non-lethal firearms. Seal Pup can tell the new recruits on SOT’s side of the simulator are nervous. He would be, too, if he had to go against the veteran team on his side.
Standing with Seal Pup are: Stage, Stitch, Nijigen, Knight Terror, Caliber, and Gallery. Each, except Knight Terror, wears his or her updated armor. They take twenty minutes to charge and integrate with the host, but the small wait is worth it.
Across from Seal Pup by one hundred meters stand his opponents. SOT leads them. The team consists of: Xibalba, Swap, Catharsis, Mule, Roids, Thumbnail, Mag Pulse, and Hide.
They may have the numbers, Seal Pup thinks, but we have the experience.
“Woo! Go, baby!” Mitch shouts.
Seal Pup waves at his boyfriend. Mitch surprisingly sits with Abel and Votary, the only spectators for the match. Votary stands from his seat and walks toward the center of the simulator to explain the rules.
“Looking good, Templars,” Votary begins. “Try to remember that we’re on the same side here.”
“Did you hear the man, Julie?” Knight Terror shouts.
“SOT,” Votary corrects.
Knight Terror shakes it off. “Man, whatever; I just want to make sure that bitch knows this is just pretend.”
“You’re free to remind me,” SOT challenges.
“I’m glad you’re all so spirited,” Votary says. “Allow me to continue, and you may begin to work out any lingering disagreements.”
The two eager teams give Votary their undivided attention.
“Thank you,” Votary says. “Here are the rules. We’ll have two rounds, with a possibl
e third, if we have a tie. There will be rules on what you can and can’t do during each round. You’ve been given weapons that’ll mark your armor with paint. We’ve also fixed your armor with simulators to replicate your powers. This means that Gallery and Stage won’t have to hold back. The simulators will show you what would really happen. The first round will have no rules. We’ll see how well you guys do with that. I’ll introduce the changes at the beginning of each round. Are there any questions?”
Votary scans the room. No hands are raised.
Votary walks over to Swap and issues an ominous warning that sounds in each Templar’s helmet.
“If you try to swap Abel’s powers out with anyone, I’ll kill you,” Votary threatens.
Swap takes a step back.
“It probably wouldn’t work anyway,” Votary adds and walks back to his seat.
“Is he serious?” Swap asks her team.
“Fifty-fifty,” SOT says as she waggles her hand. “I suggest you take him at his word. Besides, I doubt it would work.”
“Got it. As if I needed yet another reason to be terrified,” Swap says.
“You may begin at the sound of the buzzer,” Votary says.
Votary sits next to Mitch and Abel. Seal Pup gives a final wave at Mitch and receives one in kind. He chuckles to himself when he sees Abel materialize a foam finger. The buzzer sounds, and Seal Pup instantly shouts orders to his team. The sound is audible to both teams, so he doesn’t benefit from an internal frequency.
“Stage, Gallery, I need you—”
Seal Pup’s orders are interrupted by his own screams. He falls to his knees as he sees Catharsis single handedly neutralizing his entire team. He can almost see SOT’s predatory smile beneath her black helmet.
“Were you saying something?” SOT mocks.
Seal Pup can do nothing but grit his teeth and will himself not to fall prone. His teammates are not as resilient as he and easily fall. All, that is, except Knight Terror.
The Templar technomorph drives forward on his tracks. He blasts thunderous fire at the rookie team. Fortunately, they take cover behind a barrier erected by one of Thumbnail’s sketches.
“Mag Pulse, take him down!” SOT instructs.
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