by Bob Mayer
“Look,” Leahy said. There were dust clouds in the distance. “We don’t have much time.”
“I’ll take the Fynbar up and provide support,” Turcotte said. He took a deep breath. “I don’t want to kill innocent people.”
“You have no choice,” Leahy said. “The future of mankind is in there.”
Maria spoke up. “We have reports of people coming across the Nevada Test site in their vehicles. From all directions. They are desperate.”
Mrs. Parrish was watching the regeneration tube being slid into the elevator in the strut. The door shut, indicating the elevator was going to the airlock. “The rest of us should get inside.”
Turcotte turned to Nyx and Leahy. “Go with her. Leahy, stay on top of her. Nyx, get to the bridge. You probably know more than Julius.” He pointed at Yakov. “You go with Nyx. You’ve flown this thing before. I want you at the controls once it can fly.”
“My friend—“ Yakov began.
“Go!” Turcotte yelled.
EARTH ORBIT
A SHORT TIME LATER, BUT STILL THE PAST
The Battle Core settled into high orbit, 20,000 miles from the planet’s surface. Its trajectory was opposite the planet’s rotation. There was a reason for that, as there was for everything the Swarm did.
Weapons systems were powered up.
The Metamorphosis was complete and the results were walking, crawling, swimming, slithering and winging their way to designated warships for the pending drop on the planet.
It was all standing operating procedure for a reaping.
As the Core circled the planet, it began targeting procedures.
AREA 51
A SHORT TIME LATER, BUT STILL THE PAST
Turcotte sat in the pilot’s depression. Tens of thousands of cars and trucks were racing toward Area 51 from all directions. Planes were landing on the runway, some so anxious, they collided on approach and crashed. The antiaircraft batteries had fired their last missiles. There was no outer security. The mothership was inside Hangar Two and the ruby sphere wasn’t yet on line.
Turcotte looked at the thin line of mercenaries and New Zealand peacekeepers in a perimeter around the entrance to Hangar Two.
They wouldn’t hold long.
Turcotte banked the Fynbar toward the intruders. Fired a long burst from the Tesla cannon directly in front of them, incinerating the desert floor, until the coil ran out of power. He circled around.
It hadn’t slowed them a bit.
This wasn’t going to work.
He flew back to Hangar Two.
****
Yakov, Nyx and Labby were on the bridge of the mothership. Julius sat in the over-sized pilot’s chair, a line of sweat on his face.
“I will take over,” Yakov announced.
There was no argument. The Russian sat down, looked at the various displays.
He muttered something to himself in Russian, but Nyx heard him.
“You know enough,” she replied in the same language.
Yakov indicated a gauge. “We are not on line yet.”
“We will be,” Nyx said. “It is getting close.”
*****
In a small hold near the rear of the ship, Mrs. Parrish leaned over the regeneration tube, looking at the body inside. “Perfect. He is so perfect.”
She lifted the chain from around her neck and took the ka off it.
Maria and George watched. There was no one else in the hold, as per Mrs. Parrish’s orders.
Mrs. Parrish inserted the ka into the designated slot on the control panel.
*****
Turcotte landed just behind the perimeter. Opened the hatch and stood on top of the Fynbar next to the Tesla cannon.
Colonel Mickell came running up. “What are you doing?” He climbed up. “Rennie knows his troops have gotten a fatal dose of radiation. They’ll hold to the last men. I think the mercs will too. We need your fire support.”
Turcotte tapped the Tesla cannon. “I can fire as well from here. Better actually. But that won’t hold.”
Mickell spread his hands. “Then what?”
“’The better angels of our nature’,” Turcotte said.
*****
Mrs. Parrish reached into a pocket of her sundress and retrieved two cigars. She stripped the end off of one and snipped it.
“Maria, do you have the lighter?”
“Should you not wait for Mister Parrish?” Maria asked. But she handed over a lighter.
*****
Turcotte fired a sustained burst from the Tesla cannon over the heads of the New Zealanders and mercs, incinerating the concrete in front of the crazed hoard charging them.
The display of power finally brought the front of the crowd to a halt, those behind pushing on them, but for a briefest moment, there was silence
“Fire into the air,” he yelled to Rennie.
The peacekeepers let off bursts of automatic fire.
“Listen to me!” Turcotte yelled in his best parade field command voice. “Listen!” He fired the cannon again, level, in an arc over the crowd. Absolute silence reigned.
The eyes of thousands of desperate people were directed toward him.
“In the ship behind me,” Turcotte shouted, “is the future of mankind. Of humanity. Children. Five thousand of them.”
Some people began screaming back, mothers holding up babies.
Turcotte fired the Tesla, bringing quiet.
“The future of man,” he repeated. “The mothership is at capacity. None of us—“ he kept one hand on the cannon, the other sweeping out, indicating the soldiers in front of him—“can go on it. None of us. Myself, these men. None of us are going. We are here with you.”
Surprisingly, there was no outcry from the growing crowd.
Turcotte pointed up. “We are being invaded. By a species that hates intelligent life. But we are more than that. We are humans. We are mankind. We must insure our future. We must let this ship launch.”
*****
Mrs. Parris inhaled deeply, then exhaled. She was watching the tube.
“I never liked the smell,” Maria said.
Mrs. Parrish was surprised. “What?”
“His cigars. I always hated it.”
“I don’t need this from you now,” Mrs. Parrish said, turning back to the tube. “Not now. Remember. I’ve saved you. Twice now.” She leaned over peered through the small window at the body. “How long does this take?”
“Forever,” Maria said, holding up a ka.
Mrs. Parrish blinked. “What? What is that?”
“It’s Mister Parrish,” Maria said. “You inserted a blank.”
Maria dropped it to the floor and stomped on it. Hard.
George snarled at Mrs. Parrish as she rushed forward, crying out in despair.
*****
The front of the crowd was wavering. More and more were arriving on the outer fringes, screaming, pleading, their voices a cacophony of desperation.
“Mike,” Mickell said, pointing.
Turcotte looked over his shoulder. The hatch was closing on the ruby sphere.
“I’ll stand with you,” Turcotte said.
Mickell shook his head. “No. We’re done here. You get in your ship and go. They’ll need you. You held them long enough.”
*****
“What?” Nyx asked as Yakov said something she didn’t quite catch.
“I am praying,” Yakov said. He gently adjusted the controls.
“That is good,” Nyx said. “I suppose. It appears the sphere is on line. The hatch is closed.”
The mothership lurched several inches.
*****
Turcotte slid into the Fynbar sealing the hatch. He looked up as the mothership glided by overhead.
He felt something on his cheeks, reached up and wiped the tears away.
Then he took off. He took one glance below. Saw Mickell as the crowd surged forward. His comrade in arms dropped his weapon and waved.
Then he was surg
ed under.
Turcotte directed the Fynbar skyward, following the mothership toward space.
MOTHERSHIP
A SHORT TIME LATER, BUT STILL THE PAST
Leahy settled into the other pilot’s seat, but Yakov had his hands on the controls.
“Do you know how to activate FTLT?” Yakov asked Leahy.
“Hold on.” Leahy had the Tesla computer set on the console to the right, her hands on it, eyes closed. “It’s linking,” Leahy said. “I’m linking to the ship.”
“Ask it how to go into FTLT,” Yakov said, “because I have no idea. And, please, quickly.” He tapped the flexpad to his side. “Mike? Where are you? We can open a hold for you.”
“Negative,” Turcotte said. “I’m staying. Get those people the hell out of here.”
*****
Maria sat with her back against the locked door to the room containing the regeneration tube. She could hear Mrs. Parrish’s screams, but she’d locked the door.
George’s head on her lap.
“It’s all right,” she whispered to George. “It’s all right.” She was scratching behind his ear. “Everything is fine.”
George gave a contented sigh.
EARTH ORBIT
A SHORT TIME LATER, BUT STILL THE PAST
A particle beam burst hit the mothership. The impact shuddered throughout the ship.
“A bit more urgency,” Yakov said to Leahy. He leaned toward the flexpad. “Mike? We need you.”
*****
Turcotte glanced at one of the monitors. The forward edge of the Battle Core was coming around the curvature of the Earth behind them.
“No. You don’t. I’m going back down as soon as you get out of here. What’s the hold up?”
*****
The Swarm had registered the mothership lifting off. It was a relatively minor event in the overall concept of the reaping. The Core was closing on the mothership and would finish destroying it once enough particle beam weapons could be brought to bear.
*****
“I can do it,” Leahy said, her hands still on the Tesla. She opened her eyes and looked over at Yakov, a bit disoriented from her dual realities, the Tesla still in her mind. “Where should we jump to?”
“Anywhere but here,” Yakov said.
Leahy closed her eyes.
Darkness fell.
EARTH ORBIT
A SHORT TIME LATER, BUT STILL THE PAST
The mothership had been there one moment, gone the next, as it shifted into FTLT.
Turcotte was momentarily shocked at the abrupt disappearance. Then relief that some sliver of humanity had escaped washed through him.
That evaporated as multiple particle beams flashed past, firing at the spot where the mothership had just occupied. His muscles tightened as he expected his ship to be blasted as the Core shifted aim.
But nothing. The Core resumed firing downward toward the planet.
Turcotte gasped as pain spiked through his brain, from the base of his skull to right between his eyes. For a moment he thought the craft had been hit and he’d been struck by shrapnel. But something through the brain? He’d be dead.
He reached up and felt the back of his head, his forehead. Nothing. But the remnants of the pain remained, pulsing. A live wire at the center of his brain.
The implant!
Turcotte took a deep breath while he closed his eyes, waiting for some sort of image to develop, a message, anything.
But there was only throbbing pain.
What was the implant doing? Why had it activated for the first time?
Turcotte opened his eyes and realized that during that brief period, the Battle Core had continued to approach and was barely one hundred miles away and coming toward him quickly. He grabbed the controls and turned the Fynbar toward Earth.
This war was far from over.
EARTH15
THE PRESENT
DECISIONS
NORTH VALLEY, EARTH15
Arcturus pushed open the hatch to the control room of the talon. The five-hundred-meter drop with no power had caused some damage to the craft, but the overall structure was intact, given it was a warship designed for space battle. Isengrim was behind Arcturus and she emitted a low growl as they entered the room.
Anubis was in the pilot’s chair, her dark cloak soaked in blood. The seat had buckled in the crash and one of the supports had pierced through her thigh, the jagged tip clearly visible.
She was, of course, alive. The nanites had done a sufficient job of bringing the core of her back from the internal injuries sustained in the crash. Her hands were wrapped around the thigh, her bloodied face twisted in pain.
“There are limitations to having partaken of the Grail, are there not?” Arcturus asked as he stepped around some debris and stood in front of her.
Her red eyes fixed on him. “The Archaic. That is the name my spies speak of.”
“An understandable corruption. It’s Arcturus, actually.” He leaned over and looked at the rod through her leg. “Can’t get the leverage to free yourself, I see.”
“My bone has healed around it,” Anubis said.
“Unfortunate,” Arcturus said. He noted her crown lying next to the seat. He picked it up and put it in his leather backpack.
“Going to leave me here to suffer?” Anubis asked.
“No.” Arcturus reached out, putting his hands under her thigh.
“You need tools—” Anubis began, but she gasped in pain as he easily lifted her entire body, clearing her of the rod. He placed her on the floor.
“How did you do that?” Anubis asked as she pressed her hands over the wound, waiting for the nanites to stop the bleeding. “Who are you?” She glanced nervously at Isengram who was prowling about the room. “Why do you have a wolfram?”
Arcturus sat down in an intact seat. “We need to talk, Anubis of the Airlia. Much is going to happen soon.”
“You killed my brother. I will have my vengeance on you.”
“Perhaps you should heal first?” Arcturus said.
“There is a mothership inbound,” Anubis said. “This rebellion will be crushed.”
“Let us discuss that,” Arcturus said.
LIONS HEAD, ATLANTIS, EARTH15
Dawn came to an Atlantis free from Airlia command for the first time. Gathered on the head of the Red Sphinx were the people who’d made it happen: King Cetic, Moroi, Orlock, Drusa, Bren, Markus and the other leaders from the Great Alliance. The surviving Airlia were clustered below them in the courtyard, guarded by Nagil and humans. The Enan had landed just an hour ago and was hangered in the bay far up in the tower where the MDAC had been.
The Airlia were bewildered from their abrupt awakening from deep sleep, and more so by the unthinkable reality of their current situation. They had no idea how this had happened; all they knew for certain was that it had.
It was too much for them to comprehend; that the cattle had become the herders.
The large amphitheater was packed with the members of the Great Alliance, the citizens of Atlantis, and the handful of Nagil, black clothes covering their eyes. A line of warriors faced those in the stands, keeping them from charging forth and tearing the Airlia apart. The sense of victory was tainted by a level of rage that pulsed from the crowd.
“Of course, we must kill them,” Paric said to the other leaders. “That is certain. It is a question of how. They must suffer first. On the cross.”
“If they’ve partaken of the Grail,” Markus said, “they won’t die.”
“Where is the Grail?” One of the tribal leaders asked.
King Cetic, who had been listening and not speaking, turned to Moroi. “Did your people find it?”
Moroi shook her head. “No.”
“We can torture the Airlia,” Paric said. “They will tell us—”
“The Grail is worthless,” Moroi said, which got her the attention of all of those on the head of the Sphinx. “Arcturus said that the stone needed to activate it was dest
royed with Horus. Thus, the Grail is no longer an issue because it will not work.”
Cetic stared at her for several moments, his subordinates grumbling. But he nodded. “All right. We don’t need the distraction right now. It was an Airlia ploy anyway. No one ever saw a human partake.”
Paric was focused on the immediate. “Crucifixion is not a bad idea even if they don’t die from it. They will suffer for a very long time before we cut their heads off.”
Moroi held Excalibur in her hand, the blade tainted with Amun’s blood. The men began arguing among themselves about how to finish off the Airlia. Moroi noted that Drusa and Bren did not join in. She went over to the two women.
“As a Blue Cloak, you do not approve?” Moroi asked the All Life healer.
Instead of answering, Drusa asked one of her own. “What say you? Do we crucify the Airlia like they did us? The Nagil have suffered terribly at their hands.”
Moroi looked at the Airlia surrounded by angry guards in the courtyard in the shadow of the Red Sphinx. “We have suffered. But . . .”
Drusa waited.
Moroi finally picked up her thread. “But we only exist because of them. We have their blood.” She looked at the other women. “They made you humans.”
Drusa nodded. “That is what is believed.”
“Arcturus says otherwise,” Bren said.
They both turned to her. “He told me humans existed on this planet before the Airlia,” Bren explained.
“Do you believe him?” Drusa asked.
“I am not sure what to believe,” Bren said. “Arcturus knocked down the talon from Wormehill Tower. And killed Horus, defeating his army. He controls great power.”
“Why is he not here?” Drusa asked.
