Our Contest

by Phillip Murrell

  “Shouldn’t Xibalba stay here, too?” Karmic asks.

  “That’s up to you, Xibalba,” Votary says, “but without Stitch to heal us and Lottery to cover us, we need someone like you to keep us from getting hemmed up.”

  “I can . . . I can still fight,” Xibalba says quietly, but with conviction.

  “My man,” Seal Pup says as he slaps the tired Templar on the shoulder.

  “Good,” Votary agrees. “Xibalba will lead the way in smoke form. I’m sure the Malignant haven’t figured out what it is and won’t look forward to another chance to take you. After Xibalba, I’ll follow in cloak form. Thumbnail, is your sketch ready?”

  “Give me a moment. I don’t have superspeed,” Thumbnail responds.

  Thumbnail draws furiously as the Templars build hasty defensive positions. About the time Xibalba’s new armor fully activates, Thumbnail finishes the perfecting touches on his drawing. Thankfully, no Malignant challenged them while they waited.

  “Ready?” Votary asks.

  “You tell me,” he says to Caliber.

  Caliber examines the drawing and nods.

  “Perfect, but why the wheels on the bottom?” she asks.

  “I’m not carrying that thing if we can just roll it,” Thumbnail answers.

  “Carry what?” Xibalba asks.

  Thumbnail reaches into his drawing and pulls out what looks like a silver torch that’s five feet tall and three feet in diameter. As described, there are four heavy duty wheels beneath it. Roids rests her hands on Thumbnail as he sets his drawing made real onto the floor. Moments later, the device becomes real. Caliber activates a few vapor board terminals on the side.

  “The readings are good,” Caliber says. “Do you mind stepping back, Votary?”

  Votary obliges her request. Once she looks satisfied that Votary won’t interfere, she activates the device. A blue dome surrounds the Templars.

  “Go ahead and take a shot,” Caliber says to Votary.

  He aims with his assault rifle and fires a three-round burst. Each penetrator hits the field and fizzles from existence.

  “Is that a portable energy shield?” James asks.

  “Yup,” Thumbnail answers, “and this kitten purrs.”

  “Good,” Votary says. “So, Xibalba takes the lead as smoke. I follow while cloaked. The rest of you huddle under the shield and follow me at a safe distance. It’ll keep us all safe. Pull out a second shield for the stay behind team.”

  “What about you?” Xibalba asks.

  “I’ll be safe sandwiched between you and the shield. I’m sure the Malignant will be too distracted by your combined presence to scan for invisible attackers.”

  “I’d feel better about it if you kept your drones for added armor,” Seal Pup states.

  “I’ll be fine,” Votary argues.

  “Just listen to me for once,” Seal Pup presses.

  “Fine,” Votary says. “We don’t have time to argue.”

  Votary recalls his three drones, and they take up residence as a reinforced chest and a pair of oversized pauldrons in a lighter gray color.

  Votary looks at the assembled Templars.

  “I just got an idea,” Votary says. “Everyone crowd around me and the wounded.”

  The Templars seem confused but obey Votary’s command.

  “Not you two,” Votary says to Mag Pulse and Roids.

  “Why not?” Roids asks.

  “Because I want the pair of you to pop them again,” Votary answers.

  “What?” Mag Pulse asks.

  “Hit the Womb again with your enhanced EMP blast,” Votary explains. “I’ll keep everyone safe in my negation field. Your armor will be fried, but we brought extra sets for Mule, Stage, SOT, and Hide.”

  “That’s harsh, man,” Karmic says.

  “It’s fact,” Seal Pup answers for Votary. “We’ll mourn them later. Votary’s right. If you hit them again, we’ll have the upper hand. The Malignant will take a blow to morale when their tools are taken away for a second time. It may even make them hesitant to send additional reinforcements.”

  “Exactly,” Votary says.

  “What if my augmentation helps Mag Pulse penetrate yours?” Roids asks.

  “That won’t happen,” Stitch says.

  “How do you know?” Roids asks.

  “She doesn’t, but I believe she’s right,” Votary answers. “If not, we’ll fight in comfort suits, but that’s no different than all of us fighting against armored Malignant. We’ll take the risk.”

  “Fine,” Mag Pulse says. “You guys ready?”

  “I’ve got them,” Votary replies.

  Mag Pulse and Roids combine to send a second massive EMP blast throughout the Womb. The lights are still down in this part of the ship from the first attack, but the Templars near Votary don’t lose any capability in their armor. The sound of mechanical locks releasing accompanied by James and Mary Lee exiting a second set of useless armor that floats away suggests the plan worked.

  “Get suited up again and watch your asses,” Seal Pup instructs them.

  “Alright, Templars, let’s end this,” Votary says.

  The revitalized team takes flight in their suits and fly through the hallways that reek of copper and shimmer with blood. Spent casings and empty magazines litter the hallway. Thumbnail and Nijigen push the shield as they go while the remaining Templars activate the second shield with drones guarding from outside of it.

  Donald and Alex drive through a chaotic Colberton in their ambulance. Both men are drowsy, but adrenaline from an explosion in space and a massive green light to their west is powering them.

  “What the hell is that thing?” Donald asks as he releases a hand from the wheel to point at a massive green laser.

  “I don’t know, but the national emergency system is telling people to stay home, so I’m going to call it Malignant trouble,” Alex answers.

  Alex looks at all the people gawking at the light display from the streets. The apprehension in the air is almost tangible.

  “It doesn’t look like any of them got the message,” Donald says of the onlookers.

  A whining sound builds up as the paramedics drive. The source of the sound has excited panic among the spectators outside. Pandemonium erupts as people flee in all directions.

  “What the hell’s going on?” Alex asks.

  He leans his head out the window and looks up at what several terrified people point at. He soon discovers the source of their dread. Over his head, the sky is full of orange spaceships resembling the one the Templars used to fly into space a few weeks earlier.

  “I think we’ve officially been invaded,” Alex says as he nervously chuckles.

  The severity of that statement feels comical to him in his shock.

  “What?” Donald asks.

  Donald looks out his own window even though he’s still traveling at forty-five miles per hour.

  “Watch out!” Alex screams.

  Donald refocuses on the road; correction, the sidewalk in front of him.

  “Shit!” Donald screams as he swerves to avoid teenagers paralyzed with fear.

  The ambulance careens off the brick bakery to the left. They narrowly miss the teens, but their ambulance ricochets off the wall and into a fire hydrant. The water shoots out of it toward a landing Malignant craft. The door gunner apparently takes the water as an augmented attack and blasts thick flachette rounds at the medical vehicle.

  The rounds tear through the back half of the ambulance. The paramedics find themselves in a tumbling vehicle as they feel the impact of bodies against the twisted metal missile.

  Donald is ejected from the driver’s chair after his seatbelt is severed by something in the chaos. He’s perfectly launched out his open window and hits his back on a bench near the bus stop.

>   “Donald!” Alex screams as he holds on tight.

  The Malignant ship seems content with the damage caused and flies on after dropping off a six-man team of Malignant marines. Alex feels the ambulance come to a rest and watches with relief as the transport flies off over his head. As it goes, it speaks a message.

  “Malignant of Earth, if you announce yourself, we will take you home. If you do not or if you are ISH, we will kill you. Within one global rotation, this planet will not have anything more than sea life.”

  “Shit.” Alex chuckles to himself. “I hate seafood.”

  Then the pain hits him. As his adrenaline from the crash wanes, Alex is made aware of the extreme pressure on his right leg. He looks down and sees a sizeable piece of shrapnel embedded in his calf and his tibia poking through his shin. Blood splashes with each pump of his heart.

  “Damn it.” Alex groans.

  He reaches behind him for his medical bag or any other supplies but finds himself staring at the open air. Twelve inches behind him, there no longer is an ambulance. Alex sees pieces of it littering the ground behind him. He thinks he sees Donald lying on the sidewalk, but he can’t be sure.

  Tears sting his eyes as Alex reaches for his belt around his waist. He takes it off and wraps it around his upper thigh. He looks for something to tighten his impromptu tourniquet. The options are slim. Of course, there were plenty in the back of the ambulance, but Alex has to use the tools available. Fate gives him a break when he sees the gear selector is barely connected.

  Alex groans as he reaches over and tugs. He surprises himself when the gear selector easily breaks free. He nearly hits himself in the face with it because of the substantial force he applied to tear it off. With his solution in hand, Alex tightens the belt around his leg. He holds it in place and hopes that one of his fellow citizens takes a moment to assist him. Judging by the screams coming from outside and the occasional gunshot, that isn’t too likely.

  “You good, Alex?” Donald asks.

  “Holy shit!” Alex shouts.

  Donald startled him so much that he lets go of the gear selector, and it quickly unravels his tourniquet. A small amount of blood squirts out from the lowered pressure.

  “Damn it. Sorry,” Donald says.

  Before Alex can answer, Donald opens the door. He has his aid bag with him, and he pulls out a proper tourniquet. Donald ties it above the one that Alex made. Alex is just thankful he doesn’t have to focus on holding it in place anymore.

  “I thought you were dead.”

  Donald smiles. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

  “Are there any Malignant out there?” Alex asks.

  “Not anymore,” Donald answers. “I guess they don’t feel the need to check on us. There’s an army of Votaries out there. We can’t hurt them, and they know it. They took a stroll down the street in the opposite direction.”

  “Good,” Alex whispers, followed by a deep breath. “I’m fine. You need to go check on the people we ran over.”

  “First, you’re not fine, and second, there isn’t anyone else I can help right now. Can you move?”

  Alex tries to put weight on his foot, but the pain is unbearable. He screams.

  “I can’t. Just go. They’ll be back, and you need to help others.”

  “I’m not leaving you, Alex.”

  “Damn it, Donald, just go!”

  “No, the guy said today is the end of the world. So, there isn’t any place to run to. I’m going to make sure you survive, if it’s the last thing I do.”

  “Did you choose those words on purpose?” Alex asks.

  Donald laughs. “Shit no. I’m glad you still have your sense of humor.”

  “I’m glad you’re speaking to me again.”

  “If you tell me ‘you love me,’ I’m going to shoot you up with enough morphine to make you pass out.”

  “If I tell you ‘I like you’ will you give me just enough that I can stop gritting my teeth?”

  “Sure, buddy.”

  Donald reaches into his bag and injects Alex with his request.

  Mr. Polite hears the screams from his hotel room. He ignores them at first, but then the subtle whine in the background grows obnoxiously loud. This forces him to step out onto his balcony.

  Mr. Polite gasps as he sees a Malignant transport drop marines off in the parking lot. They seem to ignore the frightened people near them when they land, but Mr. Polite understands this will change. He’ll have to deal with these people just as he did those who crashed into his front yard in Canada.

  Mr. Polite reaches out to the transport with a force shield bubble and crushes it around the transport. The six marines in the parking lot search for the attack that easily felled their air support. The wreckage crashes into the street behind them.

  “Up here!” Mr. Polite shouts at them.

  The marines level their rifles at him and shoot. All the rounds bounce harmlessly off his invisible protection. Mr. Polite creates a long force shield under his feet and uses it to lower him to the parking lot from the third floor. Bullets continue to bounce off him. Mr. Polite is actually bored when they throw augmented fireballs at him instead.

  “You were not invited to Earth, and it’s rude to call on someone unexpectedly,” Mr. Polite chastises.

  The Malignant draw swords and charge Mr. Polite. He envisions a low force shield that trips all six and scatters them among the white lines marking each parking space.

  Mr. Polite materializes fish bowl helmets over each marine and crushes their heads within them. The bodies lie prone as crimson blood pools in front of their necks.

  Mr. Polite finally takes notice of the giant green laser to his west. He inherently knows that it’s dangerous. He determines himself to be the only person who can stop it.

  Mr. Polite rises from the ground and allows his force shield to carry him to the laser at an amazing speed. To a casual onlooker, he would appear as a man flying on an invisible recliner at a hundred kilometers per hour.

  The A-Men watch as a Malignant transport lands near them on the mostly deserted streets of Colberton. This particular team of A-Men includes Beast Mode, Refract, Flashbang, Amorph, Moon Glare, Hot Box, and Stun Lock. They all wear military tactical attire, but most have their carbines secured to their chests with carabiners and pistols in their holsters.

  “What’s the play, Moon Glare?” Stun Lock asks.

  Moon Glare looks at the newest addition to the team. “You support Beast Mode. If these guys are like the Templars, we can’t take them with our weapons. We must think outside of the box. You keep hitting one until Beast Mode rips him in half.”

  “Got it,” Stun Lock says.

  Moon Glare gives orders to the rest of the team since Beast Mode already transformed into his hulking crab and ant monster standing fourteen feet tall.

  “Refract, try to make yourself a target if they use augmentations and aim them around. Hot Box, you cook them alive inside those suits. Full power, not that pussy shit you used on Amorph.”

  “Don’t remind me,” Amorph says about the candy store experience.

  “Flashbang, Amorph, and I will provide cover fire with the mortars,” Moon Glare continues.

  She taps the 81mm tube positioned behind her.

  “Just make sure you don’t miss,” Hot Box jokes.

  “The ship’s taking off,” Refract reports.

  “Give them a few seconds, then we attack,” Moon Glare says. “Just enough for that ship to get clear.”

  “I can take them down,” Hot Box offers. “I’ll fry the pilot.”

  “Maybe with the next one,” Moon Glare says. “If we take these six down, we’ll try something bigger.”

  Beast Mode grunts.

  “Agreed,” Moon Glare says. “Go.”

  Beast Mode stretches his wings and flies straig
ht toward the marine whom Moon Glare identified as the probable leader. Beast Mode catches the Malignant unaware and slams him into the abandoned city bus behind him. Both beings tear the vehicle in half as they battle through it.

  Flashbang lobs some blinding orbs at the remaining five marines, but they have no effect. He raises his slung carbine and assists Moon Glare and Amorph with providing harassing fire. The rounds bounce off the Malignant armor, but it does draw their attention away from teaming up on Beast Mode.

  “Fry ’em up like bacon,” Hot Box says.

  He points at a pair of Malignant and forces both to drop to their knees. The man and woman scream from inside their armor and writhe on the ground. Hot Box is forced to cease his attack and duck behind the corner of a nearby building as return fire flies toward him. The two downed marines are slow to get up, but they eventually do. Moon Glare notices they have an obvious gait as they join their comrades. She focuses her stare on one of the healthy ones.

  The Malignant marine lowers his weapon and simply sits on the ground. This leads to his death as Beast Mode snips his head off, helmet and all, with one of his mighty pincers. The Malignant leader’s body lies smashed into the wall of a local clothing store.

  The four remaining marines swing their weapons on Beast Mode and fire. His carapace protects him from the rounds. He scoops down and grabs another marine. He uses all six sets of arms, two with pincers, and tears the man apart. He then reaches down and grabs one that stands there as Stun Lock repeatedly punches and kicks him. Each blow freezes the Malignant for two seconds, but Stun Lock’s continuous attack keeps him permanently paralyzed.

  Stun Lock bounces between the three remaining Malignant and Beast Mode easily vanquishes them. Soon the two A-Men stand among an impressive pile of dismembered invaders.

  The other A-Men congregate with Stun Lock and Beast Mode.

  “That worked better than expected,” Moon Glare comments.

  She looks at Stun Lock and Hot Box.

  “You two come with me and help me tear down the mortar tubes we obviously don’t need.”