“By who?”
“The werewolves.” A’eiio took a deep, shaky breath. “They have orbited dozens, maybe hundreds of EMP weapons around the planet. They plan to use them. Soon.”
Jack opened his mouth, but no words came out, only a shocked exhalation. He stared at the fairy in shock. She continued.
“The blasts would knock out the entire global infrastructure. Communications, computers, power generation, water treatment, vehicles, aircraft.”
“It would mean mass deaths,” Jack managed to choke out.
“Within two years ninety percent of the population would be dead.”
“But why would they do this?”
“To preserve this planet as a prison for exiles. It’s nothing more than a matter of convenience for them . . . to ‘cull’ a terminal species, as they put it.”
“Cull,” said Jack disgustedly. “Mass murder, and they call it culling.” He stood, his fists clenched. “I have to tell everybody. But I need evidence. I have to—”
“They’ll kill you!”
But Jack had already attracted the guard’s attention, who opened the cell door for him to leave.
Her face grim, A’eiio wafted her wings slowly in anguish. Jack would not be deterred. She had to do something to protect him.
• • •
E’iouy wore the same suit he had worn many times before, so he could meet the standards of decorum for the Supreme Court. But now he wore no flesh-suit. And he’d had his tailor add slits at the shoulders to display his large, diaphanous wings.
The rather conservative chief justice scowled at the sight of the silver-haired, sapphire-eyed, winged alien standing before him. But his clerk had thoroughly researched the laws, and none said a lawyer arguing before the court had to be of the native species. Only that the lawyer had to be an accredited lawyer. And this bizarre creature was.
“I am petitioning the Court for a writ mandating the release of all the species known as Mythicals from their unlawful detention,” declared E’iouy.
The chief justice, a spare, stooped man with a fringe of long white hair ringing a balding scalp, answered. “Please convince us . . . sir . . . that this petition has met the requirements for such an extraordinary writ.”
“Indeed, it has.” E’iouy consulted his notes. “As specified in the rules governing this court, the petition shows that it is in the Court’s jurisdiction, that exceptional circumstances warrant the exercise of the Court’s discretionary powers when no other court can provide adequate relief.”
“If your honors please . . . ,” interjected the government counsel, a stocky, ebullient man with a thick bush of curly hair. “We are faced with this . . . menagerie . . . of species of which we had no knowledge until very recently.”
E’iouy stood, glaring at the opposing lawyer. “I object! Menagerie? This characterization is demeaning! We—”
The government counsel interrupted, leaping to his feet. “Those species have proved murderous! For the protection of our population, we must quarantine them until such time as we determine they are no threat.”
“And your species does not murder?” challenged E’iouy. “Yes, one species has committed murders . . . ghastly murders,” said E’iouy. “But only one species. And only individual members of that species. Would the court intern all members of a given race if a few had committed crimes?” He answered his own question. “No, it would not. That would be illogical and cruel.”
“It would be cruel to inflict these aliens on our citizens without understanding—”
Now E’iouy interrupted, his voice strained with barely concealed anger. “Mythicals have been on this planet for thousands of years. They have contributed to your societies . . . in some instances saved you from yourselves. And for that service, you would keep them in captivity in a state that will actually kill some?”
“We only ask that the court keep in mind the fact that this is our planet, and that these aliens are all criminals by definition. We hope—”
“The court has heard enough,” interrupted the chief justice. “It will now begin deliberations.”
“May I ask that these deliberations be done swiftly,” declared E’iouy. “This is an urgent matter, since undoubtedly some of those imprisoned will die in captivity, given that their captors do not understand their physiology or their medical needs.”
“We have your briefs. We have heard the arguments. You will have our ruling when we decide it,” snapped the chief justice, rapping the gavel sharply to signal his displeasure with the presumptuousness of the alien standing before him.
This was the most incredibly stupid thing he had ever done in his entire life! Jack shoved his way through the pitch-dark thicket, far from the nearest town, even far off the nearest paved road. He smiled ruefully. Interesting phrase, “entire life.” His “entire life” could be over very, very soon. He suffered a severe bout of shivers, even though the night was warm.
But there was no other way to find out what he needed to know. If he was to credibly reveal the monstrous truth of the Palliation, he needed to have evidence from one of the monsters likely behind it—the murderous werewolf once known as Senator Warren Lee. To his utter surprise, a call to Lee’s old office had brought a return message from the werewolf with instructions on meeting him.
The beam from his flashlight danced around the brush as he tripped and stumbled, stopping occasionally to check his location on his phone. It showed he was still a quarter mile from the destination.
He froze at a possible noise off to his left, maybe a very faint swish of shifting tree limbs, maybe the crackle of leaves being trod upon. He couldn’t tell. He held his breath, listening. He reached around to his back, grasping the pistol stuffed into his belt. He thought about cocking it, flipping off the safety. But given his inexperience, he might just trip and literally blow his butt off.
No more sound. Must have been the wind. But there was no wind, you idiot! A foul, clinging odor assaulted his nostrils. Maybe a dead animal nearby. So, the sound might have been a small animal feeding at the carcass. Yeah, a small animal. He released his grasp on the pistol and scanned the flashlight in the direction of the sound. The light showed only impenetrable brush.
He continued on, until abruptly he emerged into a small clearing holding a shack. A faint light showed in the window. He called out, prepared to plunge back into the forest should anybody wielding weapons appear.
The door opened, and the doorway was filled with the massive silhouetted form of the werewolf that had become all-too-familiar to him. The werewolf’s eyes gleamed in the darkness.
“You came,” said Flaktuckmetang, chuckling darkly, folding his thick arms. “I thought you wouldn’t have the guts.”
“I know about the Palliation.”
“Good for you.” The werewolf closed the door behind him, walking out into the clearing. “Get that light out of my eyes.”
Jack lowered the flashlight. “I’m going to expose its existence. But I wanted to hear from you first.”
“And what do you expect me to say?”
Jack’s voice shook as he uttered his standard reporter’s line. “I want to confirm the story I’m going to write and get your side of it.”
The werewolf chuckled again. “My side of it is that your terminal species has rendered or maybe willful ignorance has led your species to cause irreversible damage to all the planet’s species. And now that you know of our existence, you will no doubt be intolerant of all our species that use this miserable rock as a planet of exile.”
“And so the Palliation is your answer?”
The werewolf looked up at the pitch-black sky for a moment and sighed. “We have concluded that the only way to save your race is to sacrifice most of you . . . to reduce the population to a state of balance with your planet, so that you may begin anew, with greater respect for the fact that you live on a finite resource that must be preserved. It is drastic, but it is necessary. You would do the same if it were any other o
verpopulating species that was so profoundly and irreversibly damaging its habitat.”
“Mass murder? You think we would launch mass murder?”
“You have done it before for less valid reasons. Actually, you’re pretty good at genocide. But we’re better.”
“That’s all I need,” said Jack, beginning to turn to go.
“But that’s not all I need,” said the werewolf. He crouched and lunged at Jack, one leap covering the distance between them. Jack reached behind him and yanked the pistol from his belt, realizing with horror that he hadn’t cocked it or flipped the safety off. With a powerful swipe, the werewolf tore the gun from his grasp, sending it flying into the darkness.
He slammed Jack onto the ground, and the light from the cabin showed an opening maw with slavering tongue beneath the glaring eyes. Now he would die. But the werewolf paused.
“I need a hunt,” he said. “Haven’t had a good hunt and a kill in a while. Get up. Run.”
The werewolf stood up, towering over Jack. It was a futile act, Jack knew. But nevertheless, he hauled himself off the damp, cold ground and plunged wildly into the forest, tearing through the undergrowth. Branches slashed at his face, raising welts, as he scrambled wildly through the utter blackness. Rocks tripped him, and he slammed into a tree, but he kept running. He felt blood running down his face.
He had no idea which way to go, so he blundered blindly ahead, changing course in the hopes that he could evade the creature. He tripped on a root, crashing to the ground, knocking the breath out of him. But a chilling howl behind him and the sound of a huge animal ripping into the brush spurred him to his feet.
As he ran, he began to pant in both fear and exhaustion. Grunting sounds behind him, coming closer. Then silence. Eerie silence. He was being stalked. Now he would die. Now he would be torn apart, eaten.
He collided with a large tree. Feeling low branches in the darkness, he knew he could climb it. Maybe he could get above the animal, so he could slam its head with a kick, knock him out.
But as he grasped a branch, a huge claw clutched his shoulder, talons tearing into his flesh, blood soaking his shirt. Claws hauled him from the tree, spun him around, smashed him against its trunk. He smelled the musk of the werewolf’s body.
“Not a very satisfying hunt,” said the werewolf. “But it will do.” He breathed in heavily. “Ah, the aroma of blood. So lovely.”
Pinning Jack against the tree with one powerful arm, the werewolf reached down with the other claw to clutch at Jack’s stomach. Jack braced himself for an agonizing death by disembowelment.
Then suddenly the werewolf was torn away, lifted up, bellowing, snarling, writhing helplessly. One flailing claw whipped out to deal Jack a vicious blow to the head.
Bleeding profusely, Jack slumped to the ground, consciousness fading, barely able to make out a massive, dark form twice as large as the werewolf, holding him aloft and shaking him like a rag doll.
Another monster come to kill me? He thought before unconsciousness enveloped him.
• • •
“Don’t you touch her!” exclaimed A’eiio, beating her wings so furiously that they lifted her off the concrete floor of the cell block to hover above the guard. The stout guard lifted his hands, both for protection and in compliance, backing away.
E’iouy ducked into the cell, scooping up Sam’s limp body and carrying her out of the cell. The guard’s attention was suddenly, pheromonally riveted on the unconscious pixie.
“What can I do?” he asked solicitously.
“You’ve done enough,” said A’eiio, as E’iouy carried Sam down the hall. “You never asked what would be the effect of imprisoning species you knew nothing about. For pixies, confinement induces profound, even life-threatening depression. They go into a coma. But you didn’t care, did you?”
“It’s not my fault,” said the guard plaintively. “I was just doing—”
But the fairies were gone out the door.
E’iouy and A’eiio hurried to the waiting limousine with Sam; and with Ryan the elf driving, the car careened through downtown traffic to the fairies’ home. Reaching their street, the limousine eased its way through the throng of reporters. E’iouy lifted Sam gently from the car and rushed for the front door.
He was immediately thronged by reporters, but abruptly the crowd parted, as the reporters gave forth yelps of pain. Steve the troll—who had emerged from his preferred riding place in the trunk—had begun viciously biting the legs of any reporters barring E’iouy’s way.
They were even more disconcerted by the appearance of Mike the ogre at the front door. He stepped outside and ushered the fairies and their unconscious patient into the house, then planted himself alongside Steve outside the door, like two fantastic statues, one tall, one squat.
Inside the house, the two fairies took Sam to the bedroom and laid her on their bed.
“Open the windows,” instructed A’eiio. “She needs light. She needs to feel free.”
E’iouy did so, and the afternoon sun fell on Sam’s inert body. A’eiio removed her prison garb, so she lay still and naked on the bed.
A’eiio bent over, whispering to her, “You are free, you are safe, you are with those who love you.” She repeated the mantra over and over, as both fairies fanned their wings, creating a gentle breeze that wafted over Sam’s body.
After half an hour, Sam stirred and groaned. She opened her eyes and weakly raised a hand. A’eiio took it in hers.
“Free?” she asked weakly.
“Yes,” said A’eiio.
“All of us?”
“Yes. My husband argued for us in their Supreme Court. They ruled this morning that the internment was illegal and unwarranted.”
“Jack?”
“He went to confront Flaktuckmetang. In the woods.”
Sam struggled to rise. “He’ll kill him! He’ll—”
A’eiio placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry. I asked a friend to protect him. A very large friend.”
• • •
Something was carrying Jack through the woods, crashing through thick brush as if it were straw. Something really big, thickly-furred. Something that smelled terrible. Jack’s blood loss and the concussion made him weak, fuzzy. But he was vaguely aware that the odor was the same one he’d smelled before.
He managed to open his eyes to look up at a huge domed head with a hairy apelike face and deep-set eye sockets. He tried to move, but his weakness and the creature’s powerful grip on his body prevented it.
“Who are you?” he managed to gasp.
The creature looked down at him with dark brown eyes. It answered with a guttural, rumbling sequence of syllables. From a large medallion on its chest came the words, “You were hurt. I am taking you to be treated.”
“But who . . . what . . . are you?”
Another rumbling answer, followed by what was apparently a translation by the medallion. “The fairy sent me.”
Fuzziness overcame him again, and he closed his eyes, his body sagging in the huge arms.
He became vaguely aware of the noise of passing vehicles. The creature had carried him from the thick woods into a small clearing near a highway. He felt his body being laid gently onto the ground.
Again, came the thick rumbling voice, followed by the translated words, “He is bad.”
But now a mellifluous feminine voice answered, “I will take care of him. The car is coming.” He opened his eyes to see hovering over him large, snow-white wings, a diaphanous tunic, a smiling, luminous face. Was he dying?
His eyes closed again. He felt bandages being applied. He felt himself being lifted into a car. He was enveloped again by the dark gray shroud of unconsciousness.
• • •
Geniato Belligrado slumped over, covering his face with his hands in utter despair, sitting on the concrete of the large prison yard, its high fence topped with razor wire, where he and the other Allies had been taken. The thought of his innocent, little m
other in a similar pen haunted him. They had been brought in separate buses with barred windows, along with others who had been arrested, through a large gate and into what was probably a deserted military base.
Had she been questioned as brutally as he had been? He had been shackled in an interrogation room and harangued by a remorseless military officer who said his mother would die in prison if he didn’t tell all he knew about the creatures called the Mythicals.
He had cried piteously, telling them she knew nothing about the creatures. He told the interrogator that he had only encountered a strange woman with some kind of torn disguise and an angel. And the angel had told him that there were many strange creatures on the planet; that they hid from people but were peaceful. And the angel had told him that he could decide to live on a planet with the angels. Or, they would grant him whatever he needed to have a happy life.
He chose the happy life with his mother. He trusted the angel. This was an angel with beautiful white wings and a golden smile who was offering him this good life. And the angel kept her word, and he promised to do things to help the Mythicals. The angel promised they would never ask him to violate any of his religious or moral beliefs.
So, he had agreed, and he had been happy with his mother, until the men in the suits had come and taken them to prison. He didn’t dare say it to the military officer, but he wanted to ask him who were really the bad ones—the people who cruelly imprisoned him and his mother, or the angel.
Across the sunbaked, dusty courtyard, he heard a rising sound of excited babble from the other prisoners. They were staring upward and pointing. A faint hum rose from the sky, and Geniato stood and peered upward where the other men were looking.
The humming grew louder and above the roof of the prison building appeared dozens, perhaps hundreds of delicately built men and women, borne on fluttering wings that glimmered in the sunlight. Their fine silver hair blew in the breeze from their wings, and their perfect pale skin shone as if it had a light of its own.
They swooped down, circling smoothly over the compound, as the men whooped with joy.
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