by Richard Mann
Behind them were massed the lowest of the low, the clone soldiers and servants, greatly outnumbering their Narzuk and Patrician masters. The clones outnumbered their masters a thousand to one.
Patricians, including Narzuks, were not allowed to marry Plebeians, by law. The clone soldiers and slaves were not classed as citizens and lacked any legal rights whatsoever. There were two types of slave: There were clone slaves, the Grays, who were factory-built clones, and the Servi, who were prisoners of war, including women and children. The slaves were captured during Narzuk military campaigns on their near planetary neighbours, Ergal 6, and they were not Sumeri, but a different species. An inferior race. He regarded them as objects to be used and abused. Slaves were bought and sold freely, and regarded as the property of the owner.
Thus slavery was regarded as a circumstance of birth, misfortune, or war. Through hard work and service, a servi slave could become a Plebeian, with all the rights and privileges that came with it. The Grays, the clones, could never rise above their station and could never become a Plebeian, thus were classed as the lowest of the low. Being a clone was as an inescapably permanent condition, with no chance of progression.
All slaves who lacked skills or education worked in the fields or performed manual labour. Those servi who were disobedient or violent, would be sentenced to hard labour in the mines, where the conditions were not even fit for animals—in fact, the animals were treated better. If they were really unlucky, they were given a one-way ticket to the laboratories and torture chambers of Doctor Vlad-Uk, and were subjected to his horrific and diabolical experiments. Nobody liked the doctor, but he was untouchable, being a member of the Narzuk party. Order was easily maintained on the planet by a visit from one of the Narzuks, and the threat of a Narzuk detention order in the doctor’s laboratories was enough to bring even the most rebellious of detractors back into line.
Chapter 45
The Emperor Speaks
Vlad-Uk was the mentor and master of Lord Grim-Uk, one of the few Sumeri to actually meet him. His laboratories were located deep in the depths of the cave and dungeon network below the Imperial Palace, and his activities were shrouded in mystery. Nobody knew much about him, except Lord Grim-Uk. Of course, everybody wondered at Vlad-Uk’s unnaturally long life. If truth be known he had lived for centuries. Some Narzuks thought he had made a pact with a demon, and that was why he still lived. Lord Grim-Uk himself was over a hundred years old, only a few reached that age, the Emperor being one of them.
As Grim-Uk looked around him, he was shocked at the small number of Sumeri, both Patricians (including Narzuks) and Plebs that were left (there was double that number only ten years ago), and shocked at the growing number of clones needed to keep society and the military going. He looked forward again, as his Emperor was about to speak.
‘Mighty people of Sumeri, I speak to you now as your Emperor and Leader, and I call on you to do your duty.’
A great roar came up from the crowd.
‘We face a great crisis, as you all know our numbers have been diminishing slowly but surely, over the years. We are a dying race. All our women are barren. A small number of our men are still fertile, but that number is dwindling, at an exponential rate. Our scientists, those that are left, have done their best, but we still don’t have a solution, we must preserve our race.’
The Emperor paused, as he sipped some water.
‘We know of a planet, which we have visited many times over the centuries, where we can re-colonise, reproduce and make ourselves great again. That planet is called Earth. Our experiments on their human women have shown we can reproduce with a certain number of them if they have the right gene. But, we must preserve the purity of our race, to stop diseases and unclean habits. We will only choose pure-bred Earthling women, else our race will fail.’
The crowd became excited, and cheered as the Emperor raised his fist, The Narzuk cheering louder than the rest. Some of the Plebeians in the back row muttered and shouted comments at the Emperor. They were quickly picked out and carried off by loyal Plebeian guards, looking for promotion, or fanatically loyal Narzuk troops. They were never to be seen again.
‘We will create a master race of half human, half Sumeri children, who will come after us. A purebred race, strong, clever who will continue our bloodline. We will be strong again. Our Empire will expand, our prosperity will grow, as we conquer new territories.’
The Narzuk elite raised their right arm, their hands in a fist, in a salute to the Emperor. The smartly dressed Patricians, the politicians and businessmen, clapped and smiled.
‘Herr Herg-Zuk! Herr Herg-Zuk!’
Behind them the Plebeians half-heartedly raised their arms, murmuring, glancing nervously at the Narzuk guards lined up on either side, waiting to pick out any detractors.
Chapter 46
Atlantic Storm
ATLANTIC OCEAN
Peter and Vinnie were in the X-37D flying across the Atlantic, but they were losing height rapidly. Vinnie reached for the sick bag as they hit severe turbulence. Peter could not sleep, he had too much on his mind, as he looked out at the grey skies and white-topped waves below him. Kojak’s voice came over the tannoy, ‘Captain Morgan report to the cockpit.’ Peter knew instinctively by the tone, it was not going to be good news, as he ducked his head into the small cockpit. He had heard that tone before, in Yemen.
‘Pete, we have a fuel leak, we’re losing height rapidly, must have been that firefight over Buck House,’ the stress lines showed on Kojak’s face. ‘How much fuel left?’ asked Peter tentatively.
‘About enough to fly five hundred miles laddy.’
‘We’re in the middle of the fucking Atlantic, Kojak, what are our options?’ asked Peter controlling the fear in his stomach. Even Bulletproof Pete couldn’t swim the Atlantic.
‘We could fly south to Terceira in the Azores, but that’s 600 miles due south – we could glide the last hundred. But it’s possible there’s alien activity there, it’s a military base after all. Alternatively, we could try for an aircraft carrier that I’m picking up, 450 miles due west. But...’
‘But what?’
‘There’s a low-pressure area, fifty miles west between us and the carrier.’
‘How bad?’
‘It’s a bad one. The radar indicates a conjunction of two low-pressure systems. Means we have to fly right through it, not around it. Not enough fuel laddy.’
‘Go for the carrier. At least we’ll be heading in the right direction,’ replied Peter.
‘Seatbelts on!’ shouted Kojak over the tannoy.
The X-37D slowed to Mach one to conserve fuel, but Peter’s eagle eyes could already see the waves getting bigger; the troughs getting deeper.
‘Vinnie, get your seatbelt on mate, were in for a rough ride.’
Vinnie was quiet as the turbulence started.
Then as they hit the storm, a category four hurricane, they suddenly dropped a hundred feet as they hit a downdraft. Rain splattered the window, and visibility was zero.
‘Can’t we fly around it?’ asked a white-faced Vinnie.
‘Not enough fuel—just hang tight,’ Peter tried to sound reassuring, but the solid frame of the X-37D was taking a battering. Then the plane lifted fifty feet, then dropped like a brick again. Des, one of the SAS team shouted, ‘Pete we need to get out of this storm!’
Peter staggered to the cockpit.
‘Can we fly above the storm?’ asked Peter grabbing Kojak’s chair to steady himself. The visibility from the cockpit was near zero, just driving rain.
‘To do that we will use more fuel!’ replied Kojak.
They were both silent for a moment, weighing up the risks.
‘We could fly to 60,000 feet, that’s the safest we can fly without pressure suits, we will run out of fuel, then glide the last few hundred miles. We would be well above the s
torm,’ suggested Kojak in his most reasonable Scottish accent.
‘Ok Kojak, let’s do that—good call.’
Peter felt they had made the right decision and was glad that Kojak was flying the X-37D—one of the best, which explained why he was flying a Sirius project plane. It climbed quickly and the turbulence gradually lessened as they climbed above the storm.
As they got to 60,000 feet Peter could make out the storm centre below, the huge swirling mass of the hurricane with an eye in the middle. He could feel the plane gradually level out and then slowly descend. He felt calm as he watched the sunshine through the clouds and could see the curvature of the earth below – as he looked up, he could see the dark sky of space above him. Below he could see the Atlantic Ocean and the eastern seaboard of the United States.
The aircraft was silent now as it glided down through the clouds on the edge of the storm front. The plane was buffeted as they descended through the clouds until they could see the whites of the sea below. Peter’s eagle eyes could pick out a ship in the distance. As they got closer, he could make out it was an aircraft carrier. Not just any carrier, a Nimitz class US aircraft carrier, its huge bulk slicing through 50-foot waves.
Kojak spoke over the tannoy: ‘Brace for landing.’ He wiped the sweat from his brow as he looked at the fuel gauge.
Empty. They were flying on vapour.
‘USS Ronald Reagan, this is Sirius flight zero zero alpha. We have no fuel, were coming in for a crash landing. Repeat we have no fuel!’
‘Roger that zero zero alpha, stay on your approach. We have been tracking you.’
He was 500 feet above the carrier about a mile away. He lined up as best he could, the hurricane had spent most of its force but the winds were still strong. The plane veered to the left, Kojak struggled with the controls and wiped his brow again. He could see the landing lights, but the carrier was moving up and down in the waves. If he didn’t time it right they would crash into the carrier and be killed. The wind stopped, the aircraft carrier came up on a huge wave; he was now level. The X-37D landed just as the carrier lurched again, and came to a sudden halt as giant rubber bands laid across the deck stopped the aircraft.
They staggered out of the plane thankful for their lives. Peter crossed himself and said a silent prayer of thanks—his prayer to the entity he met in the desert had worked. Kojak came down the steps, ‘Great flying,’ said Peter shaking his hand.
‘We need to get going again soon laddy, there’s a lot of alien activity.’ Kojak rushed off to talk to the deck crew about getting the X-37D patched up and refuelled. Peter and Vinnie stood on the deck of the huge aircraft carrier, glad to walk on something solid, even if it was a ship. ‘I will make a brew, don’t trust these yanks to make a cuppa,’ shouted Vinnie above the noise of the wind as he scurried off.
Later, he joined Peter on the deck, handing him his steaming mug of Yorkshire Tea. As Peter sipped his brew the wind died down a bit and the waves became calmer; they were over the worst of the storm. He stood on the huge carrier deck and started to relax a bit as he watched the sun come out from behind the clouds, feeling the warmth on his face. He tasted the salty sea air and breathed in deep. He took another sip from his mug, Vinnie’s tea always tasted great and he loved him for it.
But then, his Caius instincts kicked in.
Danger was approaching—fast. Loud klaxons sounded on the deck.
Chapter 47
Incoming
‘Incoming – Incoming Action Stations!’ came warnings over the speakers.
Deckhands rushed here and there—a single F22 slowly descended on a lift. Peter and his team rushed to get below. But then Peter stopped in his tracks. Their craft must be protected at all costs.
The mission.
‘Get below!’ shouted Vinnie.
‘Get below decks!’ warnings sounded, but Peter retrieved his PR7 and loaded a magazine and grenades, then stood on deck next to the X-37D and gazed out into the distance, over the choppy foam-topped ocean, seeking his enemy.
Then he saw them.
Action stations sounded as three alien fighters sped over the ocean towards the carrier. As the alien craft approach the carrier, skimming the now calm sea in a V shape—low-level attack formation—two onboard Sirius-modified Phalanx Gatling guns were prepared for the incoming fighters, their radar tracking the fast-approaching alien crafts. The captain on the bridge looked out, adjusting his binoculars. These new Gatling guns had never seen action, and that worried him.
The Gatling’s whirred, as the servos kicked in at lightning speed, acquiring their targets, firing specially modified enriched uranium bullets in a wall of lead at 250 rounds per second. One alien fighter veered off, the other fired, causing severe damage to the carrier’s hull. The whole ship shuddered at the impact as flames erupted from the impact zone. Sirens wailed as fire crews ran about deck attending the fire. Another fighter was heading straight towards Peter and the X-37D. The Gatling’s fired a wall of uranium bullets, but the fighter continued on its path, charging its weapons, glowing orange.
Peter loaded a grenade into his PR7 launcher: aimed and fired. Two in quick succession. The fighter was hit just two hundred yards from the ship; it veered off and span out of control as it crashed in a blaze of sparks and orange fire onto the carrier deck, setting it ablaze. Fire crews rushed to put out the fearsome blaze.
But the danger is not over.
One fighter is still heading towards the ship, its weapons glowing orange. Deck hands look in fear as it approaches. Peter is out of grenades.
Options. Think man!
Then he remembered the desert. The Holy Desert, and the Archangel Michael, and the Ancient Sword of Power. Then an ancient memory – an instinct overtook him.
Peter’s mind entered an altered state - he knew instinctively how to do this, for he was Caius, the Eternal Warrior, come to defeat the alien menace, for that was his purpose, his mission, in this incarnation.
He cleared his mind, earthing and balancing himself before he spoke the invocation.
His mind wandered, contacting the dimension beyond time. Time itself seemed to stop, the deckhands and approaching craft, frozen in the moment, he had a vision of a sword, a large silver sword, with a golden pommel and jewels, amethysts, embedded into the pommel.
‘Caliburnus!’
‘Caliburnus!’
‘Caliburnus!’
Three times he said the words, as he closed his eyes, his mind focusing on the sword, and when he opened them, he was holding it in his hand. It felt heavy, powerful, and it vibrated with enormous power, as it gave off a blue light - all around him was a blue light. It was one of the seven holy swords of Prince Michael, Lord of Angels. For indeed it was an object of immeasurable power, which could only be wielded by one such as Caius.
“The sword will give you power, strength, and the will to succeed and conquer your enemies,” he remembered Prince Michael’s words.
As Peter admired the blade, it vibrated in his hand, the power running through his body – he felt invigorated. And yet he was not alone, for there was another entity, standing beside him, a figure in robes, blue and purple robes, he had a smile so beautiful, and he radiated such raw power, such infinite love, that Peter knelt before him, in silence. He now had a sense of the power and majesty of God.
As the being laid his hands upon Peter’s head, he felt a rush of power to his body, he now felt at peace with the world, as the energy surged through him. Michaels’ eyes flashed a fierce blue, and then he witnessed an emotion - infinite power, limitless and unstoppable, and when he looked up again, the entity was gone. He now stood, his eyes shining blue and as he raised his sword the atmosphere changed. Dark clouds gathered as the sword shone like the sun and lightning sprang from it - thunder rolled in the distance as the deck crew stood back frightened. Lightning sprang from the sword, with a light that blinded
the eyes and struck the oncoming craft, it caught fire and veered toward the carrier then at the last minute plunged into the sea. Peter looked at his sword – then it was gone.
Sailors looked warily at Peter, not quite believing what they saw. Then they slowly approached the smoking craft on the deck, carefully examined the wreckage and pulled out an injured alien, holding their noses, and looking at the strange creature, its pale green flaking skin, and large black eyes, half open—an alien on the border of life and death.
‘Gee these aliens stink, don’t they use deodorant?’ said one sailor. Peter walked up to the smouldering fighter and looked inside. He could see strange writing on the controls, reminding Peter of ancient Arabic, and examined the metal structure of the craft, which was unlike anything else he had ever seen. He found what looked like a communication device and examined the markings. One soldier touched the alien metal with his bare hands, then took it away as a rash appeared on his fingers, then his hand. A medic rushed to his aid, scolding him.
‘You were explicitly told not to touch anything without protective gear!’
Vinnie rushed up to Peter. ‘You’re a fucking nutcase!’
‘No Vinnie, I am Caius,’ replied the warrior as he put the alien device inside his backpack. Then he took Vinnie by the shoulders and looked him in the eye.
‘Caius is my secret name, of which only you and I will speak.’
Chapter 48
New York
Peter and his team piled back into the X-37D and then it took off streaking into the grey-blue sky, quickly accelerating to Mach 4 as Kojak spoke over the tannoy. ‘We’ve got new orders from Sirius HQ. We’ve been ordered to New York to observe and report. An alien ship is there, but the city is intact. Do not engage the enemy—observe and report. We land in thirty minutes. Message Over.’ Peter looked at his encrypted radio. Orders were confirmed.
