by T. R. Harris
“What do you mean?” Smitty asked. He already knew what MacMillan was going to say.
“Well, they act…normal,” MacMillan confessed. “And they haven’t asked for any maintenance boosts. What’s up with that?”
“Just between you, me and the lamppost, they’re an experimental type of REV, captain.”
“They were on the Temple mission, weren’t they?” asked Admiral Armitage. “That explains a lot. So what’s your op, Bill, or can’t you tell me?”
“Just a little favor I owe a friend.”
“I didn’t think you had any friends?” the flag officer joked. Smitty and her had a history together, so the comment was even more poignant.
“Not when they outrank me…ma’am.”
Armitage smiled. “You can have your boys, Smitty. Land in shuttle bay ‘C.’ We’ll bring them to you. After all, we can’t have you traipsing down the passageways looking like a goddam Qwin. You might get your ass shot off if you did.”
“My thoughts exactly, admiral. Rendezvous in six hours.”
19
Although the Grid was a bubble in space a thousand light-years in diameter, the explored region around it was twice that size and volume. The Antaere had long ago identified several other prospect worlds outside the Grid they planned on seducing with their religion—that was until they came to Earth. The non-converted on the Antara-like world had upset all their plans, and for the past twenty years all contact with potential colonies had been suspended, pending the outcome of the war with the Humans.
Yet within the Grid itself were literally hundreds of worlds with indigenous species, yet not of the make-up that would include them in the Order. On the other hand, even scattered within the Colony systems of the Grid, were planets with suitable atmospheres for the Antaere and their followers to breathe.
One of these worlds was called Bocinin. It was the sixth planet in the Enif system. It had primitive life forms, but nothing that could be termed intelligent. But what it did have was ample raw materials and a surface gravity half that of Enif. Congin Bornak chose the world for those reasons. It was easy to mine the ore that would go into the hulls for his fleet of warships, and the reduced gravity made construction easier than on a normal gravity world. It also allowed for the huge vessels to be built on the surface in a production-line system, employing massive cranes and other tools of the starship trade. Once constructed, the light gravity would allow the ships to lift from the surface, something they couldn’t do on Enif, or any of the other Colony Worlds for that matter.
There was a large station in orbit around Bocinin which sustained an Antara-standard gravity. The workers would rotate from the surface to the station to maintain their strength and bone density, even though limited space only allowed supervisors and high-techs the luxury of the periodic visits. The bulk of the labor force—Enif primarily—were replaced when their bodies fell below a certain threshold. There were billions on the nearby Colony World, so Congin never had a shortage of workers.
Earlier that day, the aging Antaerean had taken a shuttle down to the surface, accompanied by the young Rowin, Andus Zaphin. He was next in line to the position of Tesnin of the Antaerean people, the supreme Guardian of the Order. The pair then boarded a hovercraft for an aerial tour of the massive fleet.
As they glided over the rows of glistening silver hulls, amassed on a field measuring ten miles square, Congin felt a huge swelling of pride in his chest. The three hundred ships on the surface would soon join the twelve hundred others from across the Grid already in orbit. It was the largest fleet ever assembled, and it was all his doing. Granted, the Rowin was the official impetus behind the fleet, but that was only because Congin had maneuvered the naïve royal into doing his bidding. It had been Congin’s idea from the beginning, a plan that had been percolating in his mind for over twenty years.
“This is quite impressive, Counselor Bornak,” said the Rowin. Andus was only thirty-nine Antaerean years old, yet he had a very-developed sense of the political landscape existing within the Grid, as well as the Court of Antara. Congin could take credit for this, too. He had been the Rowin’s senior counselor for half his life, ever since a rather humiliating demotion from the staff of the Tesnin, Denak Zaphin, Andus’s father. At one time, Congin Bornak had the ear of the most-powerful being in the Grid. Now he would settle for the mind and soul of the soon-to-be most-powerful being in the Grid.
“Your guidance has been invaluable in making all this come to fruition, my Lord,” Congin complimented. Andus enjoyed adulation, yet he had known the counselor long enough to know patronization when he heard it.
Andus laughed while gazing through the window at the awe-inspiring sight below. “We both know it was your initial suggestion that set the events in motion, and it has been your untiring attention to detail and skillful management that will bring about an early form of the Final Glory to the Grid.” Andus smiled at his appropriation of the sacred phrase, applying it to the present. Congin knew the Rowin was a devout follower of the Order—as were all within the royal family. Indeed, it had been Andus’s distant relative, Mentar Zaphin, who wrote the Corollaries, the set of documents that Congin used to set the main part of his plan in motion two years before. Yet even then, he was in the process of amassing his fleet, slowly at first, unsure of the final timetable.
Even Congin was amazed at how swiftly the balance of power had shifted within the Grid. He gave credit to Andus where credit was due; it had been the young royal’s idea to impose the Purges. The fear and betrayal they brought to the Colony Worlds worked even better than planned. None of the subject races had time to consider anything else. All were fighting to stay off the lists, allowing Congin and Andus to demand anything they wanted from the natives, be it credits, material or personnel. No one questioned them. They just obeyed.
And now spread out below Congin and his young protégé was the culmination of the plan—and unbeatable force soon to be launched against the enemy of the Order, the heathen Humans of the planet Earth.
Congin ordered the hovercraft to hold its position at one side of the expansive field of warships. A screen lit up on the bulkhead to their left, with a bank of smaller screens flanking the main panel.
“My Lord Andus Zaphin, the stage is yours,” said Congin, stepping out of camera view. The lone image was that of the handsome young Antaerean royal. The side screens lit up, displaying the bridges of the six main battleships in the fleet, the ones that would lead the divisions. Crewmembers were facing the screen, awaiting the announcement from their leader.
With a nod, Congin gave permission for a technician to open the link to all the ships in the fleet.
Andus began; he required no introduction.
“Twenty years ago the evil Humans of Earth disgraced and disrespected all the followers of the Order. Since then, their unforgivable sins have continued, culminating recently in the destruction of the most-sacred site for all non-Antaere within the Order, the Temple of Light on Iz’zar. With this horrific act, a point was reached where their insults could no longer be tolerated. All you aboard the ships of the Order—be you Antaere or others—are to be the instruments of our final solution to the Human problem. No longer can this sadistic race be allowed to exist. Each of you will see to the extermination of the Human race.” He paused to let his word sink in before continuing. “Now, those on the surface of Bocinin, prepare for departure. And you in space, firm your resolve. The fleet I have assembled is the largest and most-powerful ever created. Without doubt, the surface of Earth will run with rivers of molten rock when you are done with it. I have made the outcome a certainty. With your numbers and your strength, the Human race will cease to exist. First Insirs, take charge of your vessels. The future belongs to you.”
Andus remained on the main monitor as the side screens showed spontaneous eruptions of cheers from the crews. This lasted only as long as Congin had instructed the Insirs to let it continue, before order was restored and the crews returned to their sta
tions.
On the surface below, the first line of silver starships lit off their lifting jets, casting this side of the field in a shroud of gray and white smoke. As the ships cleared the area, others lit off, all joining a presubscribed flightpath off the planet and into space. A moment later, the scene below was obscured by the swirling torrents of smoke, reaching up to the altitude of the hovercraft. The ships were guided by electronics, so visibility for them wasn’t necessary. Yet Andus and Congin had no reason to remain. They couldn’t see anything anyway.
“Return us to the shuttle pad,” Congin ordered the pilot.
Andus would accompany the fleet to Earth, while Congin tended to other matters on Enif. It wasn’t necessary for the mastermind of all recent events within the Grid to witness the destruction of Earth. He would visit later, once the nuclear fire had consumed the planet. For now, he had an even more enjoyable task to tend to…and to execute.
20
Zac heard movement around him. His awareness was sudden and stark, telling him this was an artificial awakening, something brought on by RG-9 or it’s alien equivalent.
Dammit, he thought. Still alive and still a prisoner. This sucks.
Before opening his eyes, Zac tensed his body and felt the familiar restraints holding him down, including across his forehead. The small amount of physical activity caused his body to shiver, not from cold, but from a raw electric energy coursing through it. This was a common occurrence when coming down from alien NT-4. It was also the result of the interaction between the various chemicals the Antaere had been giving him seemingly continuously, and well as his naturally-produced stimulant. But the energy seemed stronger this time, more…painful.
He opened his eyes.
There was an alien hovering over him. Zac recognized him as Som Groshin, the Antaere doctor who had been caring for him over the past couple of months, if caring was the right word. The alien had already taken him to activation once before; the second time after that bastard Congin Bornak did it a few days after his capture. Since then, Groshin had kept him so full of tranquilizers and other mood-affecting drugs that Zac barely knew which way was up. The days—indeed the months—were beginning to run together, with scenes melding together to form a kind of muddy memory he couldn’t fully trust. At times attendants would walk him; other times he would be bathed and turned, having spent considerable time in bed. How long, he couldn’t tell. He was continually indoors with its artificial lighting and its own day-night schedule. He desperately wanted answers. Why, he couldn’t quite put his finger on. What good would it do even if he had them?
And now he was waking up with the help of RG-9, which meant he’d been activated again. This would be the third time. He wasn’t sure if his body would survive a fourth.
“Can you speak?” the doctor asked him.
Zac swallowed hard. His throat was a little dry, but nothing horrible.
“No,” he answered.
The doctor recoiled slightly before recovering. The Antaere had a sense of humor, at least they were rumored to have one.
“Are you in good spirits?” Groshin asked.
“That will take a little longer for me to decide,” Zac answered. “You activated me again, didn’t you? How long was I under this time?”
“We have had you in a coma for fourteen days. We are at our final destination, so I was instructed to revive you.”
He was sure the alien meant to say Zac’s final destination.
“And where is that?”
“Enif.”
Holy crap, Zac thought. That’s right in Earth’s neighborhood.
Although the Earth-Standard worlds were numbered one to twelve, that didn’t necessarily translate into their distance from Earth. It had more to do with when they were contacted by the Antaere, as well as their conversion to the Order. ES-12 and ES-10 were closest to Earth, yet ES-8—the planet Enif—had ES-11 beat by about forty light years and ES-9 by a whopping one hundred fifty-two. Bottom line, at full gravity-drive, Zac was about two weeks away from his homeworld.
It also meant he was even closer to what was considered Human space. If he could get to a small starship….
Of course, Zac Murphy didn’t know how to fly starships. Everyone said it was easy, and with his enhanced memory and learning ability—thanks to NT-4—it shouldn’t be too hard to learn. But that would still take time, time he didn’t have. However, it was now worth a try.
“May I ask you some questions, Zac Murphy?” asked the Antaerean, interrupting Zac’s escape fantasy.
“Sure, what’s up?”
Zac gasped, suddenly having to take in a deep breath to keep from passing out. He was dizzy beyond belief and his vision a chaotic mass of shaky images.
The alien frowned. “Are you well?”
Zac shook his head as best he could. There was a strap across his forehead to keep him from lifting his head and smashing it into any Antaere who got too close.
“That last hit…it doesn’t seem to have set too well with me….”
Groshin took the chance of touching the lethal Human, pulling back his eyelids and shining a small light into them, just as any terrestrial doctor would have done. “You’re eyes are experiencing micro-spasms. It is causing your dizziness and feelings of nausea. I will administer a calming drug that should help.”
“More drugs, doc?” Zac stammered, drool draining out the corners of his mouth. “Did it ever occur…too many…already?”
“This one will not be like the others, yet I do agree with you. I have said so to Lord Bornak on many an occasion.”
Throughout the four long months of his captivity, Zac never volunteered the fact that he didn’t need maintenance boosts of NT-4. Congin already knew he was different, he just didn’t know how different. It had been Zac’s wish—his hope—that one of the alien drugs would kill him, thereby robbing Congin of the pleasure he seemed to derive from keeping Zac a prisoner.
It was unusual what Congin was doing. The Antaere didn’t normally keep prisoners, at least not for long. In the twenty-year history of the war with the Antaere, Zac never heard of anyone being held as long as he had. The Qwin didn’t bother with such things. Maintaining POW camps took time, money and manpower. If any Humans were unfortunate enough to be captured, their lifespan could be measured in weeks, not months. But Zac was unique; Congin kept telling him so.
The medicine Groshin gave him helped—a little—although it was an excruciatingly long hour of misery before it took effect, during which time Zac thought he’d vomit at any moment.
“Improved?”
“Yes, thanks, doc.” Zac studied the older Antaerean. Over the months, Zac had noticed a change come over the alien. He looked at Zac differently, even treating him more gently. Zac wasn’t sure what it was, but he almost got the impression Groshin liked him.
“I appreciate what you’re doing for me,” Zac said. “You’re about the only alien—Antaerean—I’ve even met that wasn’t a complete asshole.”
Groshin grinned. He was familiar with Human slang. “There was a time when Antaere were on Earth. I have been there myself, studying your anatomy and medical procedures. That is why I was given this assignment. I am one of the foremost experts on Human physiology.”
Zac smiled. “Then I’m in good hands. Now, you said you had some questions?”
Groshin perked up. “Yes! I would welcome an opportunity to ask you questions about your uniqueness, and honestly, how you have survived so long in our custody? You can see the monitoring screens; you must know your levels are not normal, even for a REV.”
Zac studied the alien again. He appeared to be sincere, a look of desperation on his face, seeking understanding. Zac gave a restricted shrug, seeing he was held down by the restraints.
“Yes, I am different. You probably know by now that I produce a natural form of NT-4 in my body—”
“Yes, we have detected the chemical, yet have not understood its function. There has been so much cross-contamination with our o
wn drugs, starting with the dosage Bornak gave at the beginning. Our readings have been unreliable since then.”
Zac noticed Groshin had dropped the Lord from Congin Bornak. It didn’t take an expert in alien body-language to know there was no love lost between the two Antaereans.
“As far as how I have withstood the constant overload of alien NT-4, as well as all the other shit you’ve been pumping into my veins to keep me quiet? It’s only a guess, but my body reacts to threats by producing more of the natural NT-4. As with all REVs—and even your own enhanced soldiers—once the cycle begins, it takes more of everything to get a reaction out of me, and then to sustain it. I imagine if you stopped giving me everything, my body would either return to normal…or I’d burn up, nothing in between. Knowing how these things normally work, it would probably be the ladder.”
“Do you feel this change is permanent within your body?” Groshin asked breathlessly.
“I believe so. That’s what I’ve been told.”
“You know that would qualify as a mutation of sorts.”
“I’ve heard that, too.”
“Have your own body-attendants—doctors—told you what this could mean, should you be able to pass the mutation on to your offspring?”
“A new kind of person, something like that?”
“Precisely!” Groshin was bubbling over with excitement. “As a scientist, I find this to be a most humbling moment, to be present at the time and place when a new species is born. This may sound fantastical and odd, considering our relationship, but I am honored to know you, Zac Murphy.”
It was time to go for broke, Zac thought. What did he have to lose?
“Too bad the moment won’t last, my friend,” Zac said. “From what I gathered earlier, I don’t have much time left. Whatever species of super beings I could have fathered will all die with me.”
“It will be a great loss.”
“It doesn’t have to be, Groshin…you know that.”
