by K. D. Mattis
The light faded. The crowd remained silent and faced the tall cylinder in the center of the group.
The structure began to move. Slowly at first, but the movement picked up speed. Dull colors began to flash at the crowd. The light didn’t shine as brightly as before, but still lit the faces of everyone around.
Shaking his head, Gibbs shifted his weight once again. A hand on his shoulder made him freeze. Cautiously, Gibbs looked to his right. The Symbiant looked to him with a somber expression. Genuine emotion.
His mouth moved to speak, but Gibbs knew better than to emit any noise. He winced. He couldn’t understand the message of the beacon, but he could understand that there was a message, and that it wasn’t good.
The beacon stopped flashing. As if heated by an unseen force, it melted, hidden by the darkness and silhouettes of the crowd. Everyone turned and walked away. Some acted as if they were still under some trance. Others seemed to break free of the message of the beacon much easier and walked away as if nothing had happened, as if they were perfectly normal human beings.
When the Symbiant walked away, Gibbs followed, matching his pace step for step. The crowd dispersed, and it wasn’t long before the pair was so far away from everyone else that there was no chance another soul could hear them.
“Well?” Gibbs asked, his voice breaking the stillness of the night air.
The Symbiant ignored him and kept walking.
“I’m talking to you,” Gibbs said. “What the hell was that back there?”
Gibbs allowed his forearm to brush against his pistol resting in its holster. The farther the Symbiant walked, the more he thought about pulling it out. Instead of acting on his instinct, he ran in front of the Symbiant and blocked his path.
“What’s going on?” Gibbs pleaded.
For several moments, the Symbiant stood perfectly still. His mouth remained closed, and he stared off into the distance.
“I don’t know how to say this.”
Gibbs waited a moment. “Just say it straight.”
“My people are desperate. You understand that?”
The Symbiant slapped the side of his head and walked in a half circle with his eyes shut. Gibbs watched on with his hand on his pistol, but he left it in place.
With a deep breath, the Symbiant continued. “We don’t have a planet anymore. The majority of our population is dead, at the hands of the same species that will probably wipe out your people.” The Symbiant paused and took a deep breath. “All that’s left of our legacy is genetically modified slaves. The Culdarians used us to infiltrate your planet and gather information. Most of us obeyed because it was the only way to survive. Those of us that didn’t…”
“I can guess what happened,” Gibbs said.
“I’m sure you can.” The Symbiant looked at the commander’s gun and shook his head. “Now, with your planet at risk, my people have a choice. It’s not a good one.
27
From the parking lot, Asher noticed the figure of her old friend in the distance. Her vehicle came to a halt with a lurch. She understood the need for pomp and circumstance at such an event, but it took considerable effort to keep herself from jumping out of her seat. Instead, she settled for nervously wringing her hands.
American flags lined the road and whipped around in short spurts as random gusts of wind lifted them toward the sky. Brightly colored decorations hinted at a celebration and victory. For Asher, she saw only a desperate attempt to claim power over something they couldn’t control.
In a way, the sky should have been calming, but the few clouds mocked her, reminding her of the Culdarian weapon. If the weather could be weaponized, what chance did humanity have?
The SUV moved forward again only to lurch to a stop a few seconds later. The woman pushed her negative thoughts to the back of her mind and focused on happier things. Despite her excitement, Asher would have to wait her turn. Her hand wringing turned into a frenetic foot tapping. The noise must have caught the driver’s attention, because he looked into the rearview mirror and cleared his throat.
“Excited, Admiral?”
Asher smiled and looked out on the large, open field. The dark interior of the vehicle felt overwhelmingly confining in comparison. She allowed her gaze to drift off toward the clouds again. They almost didn’t look right from below. Again, she forced her thoughts onto happier things.
Regaining focus, Asher said, “Yes.”
She brushed down the front of her dress uniform. The rich black of the jacket blended into the black leather seats of the vehicle. All the commotion outside, the people rushing from one spot to the next, thrusting microphones and cameras in other people’s faces, felt quiet. If she tried, maybe she could blend into the seat. Maybe she could avoid all of it.
“Holy cow. These are the smaller ships?”
The driver’s inane questions pulled Asher from her peace. She brought herself back into the moment.
“Yes.” After a pause to run her tongue over her teeth, Asher continued, “You’re looking at a major expansion of the First Fleet since its inception. It’s not exactly a battle group, but it will do for now.”
The driver looked in the mirror a few times. The forced, exaggerated stares were meant to grab Asher’s attention. She gave him none, so he replaced his friendly smile with a stony gaze. The queue of vehicles moved slowly but steadily forward until the rear door of the SUV pulled alongside a temporary wooden pathway.
A kind, older gentleman opened the door and reached his hand out toward the admiral. After a moment of hesitation, Asher reached forward. Torn between acting cordial and acting in control, she maintained a flat expression and offered a curt nod to the man. With a warm squeeze of her hand, she showed her heartfelt appreciation for the gesture.
Even in the sunlight, the dozens of camera flashes disoriented her. She looked through the crowd and made a point to ignore every question thrown at her. She hated crowds. She hated the questions. Most of all, she hated the expectation that she’d answer their questions.
As she walked down the platform, some of the reporters grew a bit too bold and pushed into the velvet barricade. One of the chrome posts fell to the ground, and two men stepped over to approach the admiral.
Asher ignored them and walked down the path. As if following an unspoken order, a man carrying an assault rifle moved toward the men. His presence convinced them to fall back into their place. After retreating behind the velvet barricade, they even pulled the post back into its original position.
“Admiral Asher. It’s been too long.”
The words hung in the air. Everyone around to hear them seemed to take notice of their significance, and the crowd parted, revealing Thomas Reynolds standing beside his wife. She clung to his side as if lost in the sea of people and clinging to the only thing keeping her from drowning.
Smiling, Asher reached her hand out to shake the man’s hand. Her smile took on a warmth that put the man’s wife at ease. As Reynolds took his old friend’s hand, his wife reached out with both arms and pulled Asher in.
“Thank you,” she said.
“For what?” Asher asked.
“You brought him back to me.”
Reynolds’s wife pulled back for a moment only to lean forward and embrace Asher again.
“I didn’t know if he would ever get out of that cell. When I heard he was arrested, I didn’t know what to do. He told me you had to arrest him. Then he told me you helped get his pardon pushed through—”
Pulling his wife by his side, Reynolds planted a kiss on her temple and allowed her to bury her face in his shoulder long enough to regain her composure.
“It wasn’t easy for her,” Reynolds said.
“I know.” Asher shook her head with her face twisted in anguish. “I’m so sorry. And I’m so sorry that I had to stay away.”
“But you did have to stay away. I understand.”
The firm, knowing look from her friend told Asher that he meant what he said.
Reyn
olds nodded his head slowly. “We’re at war now. War always has a cost. I’m just glad I got to come home. How many friends didn’t?”
“Too many.”
Reynolds’s wife walked toward a refreshment table. In a mass of black uniforms, her bright blue dress stood out. As she walked away and grabbed a drink, Asher couldn’t help but stare. Everything she did looked so… normal.
“So,” Asher said. Her voice raised in a false sense of positivity and excitement. “You’re a consultant now? What do I call you?”
“Well, certainly not Captain. Not anymore. I’m not certain how I feel about that, but my wife seems to appreciate it. I guess that’s something.” The pause felt like an eternity. “I could use something.”
The last sentence hung in the air. The sudden drop in his voice betrayed his feelings.
“It’s not right, is it?” Asher asked.
“Which part?”
Asher began walking toward the field with her friend right on her heels.
“This. Everything. That we’re still here, I guess.”
A firm hand pulled Asher back by her shoulder and spun her around.
“Is that survivor’s guilt I hear?
The din of the crowd grew loud. Too loud. Asher looked in her friend’s eyes and felt alone, harassed by the display around her.
“Not exactly. I just… We shouldn’t be here. Not now. We have better things to be doing. Don’t you think?”
“It’s not fair.”
Asher nodded. “That we’re not somewhere else, or that we’re not dead?”
“Both.”
Small drones zipped around above everyone’s heads. Green lights blinked on their underside as they moved around. Their quiet hum could barely be heard above the crowd. Everyone ignored them as they went about their work.
When one o’clock came, the crowd moved to a spot on the field. Many people carried drinks and hors d’oeuvres. The refreshments were expensive and expertly crafted, but for all their flourish, no one paid them any mind. The only things that mattered rested in the middle of the field, far from the crowd, but standing as tall as the trees in the distance.
The sky was quiet. No planes crossed across the blue palette above. Outside of the drones hovering over the crowd, the sky was unblemished by anything manmade. Asher knew that wouldn’t be the case for long.
Several vehicles kicked a modest cloud of dust into the air as they moved toward the ships in the field. Ten identical vessels lined up in two rows. Each was as large as a building and stood ready to accept the line of men that filed out of each vehicle. Fifteen men lined up in front of each ship. They were too far away for anyone in the crowd the hear them, but Asher knew the speech each crowd heard from its commanding officer.
When the commanding officer of each ship gave the order, the men filed into the ships and disappeared.
A smile crept over Asher’s face. Part of it was pride. Part was envy. She couldn’t hide it and didn’t bother to try.
A klaxon sounded three times. Right on cue, the crowd hushed, and everyone looked toward the ships. Seats were available for most of the group, but not a single person sat. No one wanted to risk an obstructed view. Five minutes later, the klaxon sounded again.
A shot rang out from the ships. Several people in the crowd pushed their hands up to their ears. Asher smiled, knowing it wouldn’t be enough to mask the roar of the engines when the first ship started up, but even she winced at the noise.
She reached into her pockets and pulled out a compact set of ear plugs and hurried to insert them. Every second of delay caused even more discomfort as the ships each turned on their engines in sequence.
With her hearing protected, Asher realized she wasn’t so much hearing the ships as feeling them. The air and ground vibrated in unison, forcing the crowd into a coordinated dance, of sorts. Asher looked over at her old friend and felt the warmth of his smile. His skin glowed, and he looked alive.
The vibrations of the ground turned to violent shaking. Everyone managed to stay on their feet, but not without some difficulty. The more the crowd struggled to stand, the higher the first ship lifted into the air. Blue exhaust pushed out from the ship in thin, tightly defined sheets that tapered off into a line only visible in the heat distortion left in its wake.
The crowd pushed into each other to express their excitement.
When the first ship was barely visible, it stopped, spun a few degrees, and shot off into the distance. A shockwave of sound shot down to the crowd and ignited an explosion of applause and cheers.
One by one, the ships slowly lifted into the air and shot off with a blast. With only three remaining, Asher looked over to see a group of men running toward the ships.
Too late.
Too late, Asher looked up at the drones and noticed the red lights flashing. In the chaos of the noise, she couldn’t ask questions. She could only trust her instincts. She shouted to Reynolds. He couldn’t hear her, but his instincts were the same.
Reynolds turned and ran through the crowd, practically dragging his wife behind him. Pure terror filled her eyes, and she did her best to hang onto her husband. Her grip turned her knuckles white, and she stumbled trying to get her feet under her.
Asher turned, grabbing everyone she passed by their shoulders to get them to follow her. Some did. Others remained oblivious and captivated by the still rising ship.
Fighting her instinct to keep running, Asher turned back to see the ship. It stopped rising on the planned path and moved forward. She tried in vain to call out. It wasn’t for help or to issue an order.
She screamed.
The back end of the vessel expanded and red bursts ripped out, quickly engulfing the ship. Large chunks of metal shot out in all directions and plummeted to the earth.
The remaining two ships powered down, and the noise of their engines went silent. She tried to make sense of the situation, but Asher couldn’t hear her own thoughts. She ripped out her earplugs and threw them to the ground. It didn’t make a difference. The noise of the crowd replaced the noise of the engines. Most ran. Some fell to the ground in a panic, unable to cope with the chaos around them. Too many shouted and screamed for Asher’s voice to make a difference. A tingling sensation in her pocket called for her attention. She took out her phone and saw the word “Dad” on the screen. Hitting the ignore button, she went to work.
28
Commander Gibbs sat watching the footage on the television. The old tube-style television wasn’t as clear as he would have liked, but in that moment, he was grateful for that. The images were horrific enough, and greater detail wouldn’t lessen the pain. His shoulders sat perfectly still and his hands hovered just above his knees, unsure of what to do. When his phone finally rang, he let them hover there just a moment longer. Whoever waited on the other end of the line couldn’t possibly have good news.
“Hello?”
With the phone lightly pressed against his ear, Gibbs listened intently to every word, but he offered none of his own for several minutes. His fingers trembled as he mindlessly traced the seam on the leg of pants.
“I see,” he said at last. “Should I bring him in?” A pause. “You’re certain?” After several more minutes of one-sided conversation, Gibbs said, “Thank you.”
The commander stood slowly while facing the wall. His rigid movements gave him a semblance of control over his body. His eyes shot down to the inside of his jacket. The glint of metal told him he had what he needed to control the situation.
“What did you do?” Gibbs snarled, staring at the Symbiant. For a moment, the Symbiant remained silent.
The commander shouted and thrust his body away from the pathetic creature lying in front of him. Despite the Symbiant curling into a fetal position, its face showed no sign of fear or remorse. In that moment, Gibbs could plainly see that the creature before him wasn’t human.
“I won’t ask again,” Gibbs said. He spoke plainly and with great emphasis on each word. “What. Did. You. Do?�
��
“I have been with you for days. I didn’t do anything.”
“No!” Gibbs shouted again. “You said your people had a choice. Was this it? Was this their choice?”
With his free hand, Gibbs grabbed the remote control off the worn wood of the dresser and began flipping through the channels. Every single local channel and all the national news channels showed slightly different angles of the same image, over and over again. The Space Corps ship rose up into the air and exploded.
“Please,” Gibbs begged. He couldn’t tell if he was pleading with the Symbiant or with himself. “Tell me this wasn’t you. Tell me this was just a horrible accident.”
“What difference would it make?” the Symbiant asked. “The lives are lost.”
With every replay, Gibbs lost something of himself, like parts of him were dying like those people in the field. He’d always prided himself in being a calm and collected man. It’s what made him a good commander, but he felt himself losing his cool, filling up with hatred for the creature in front of him. He paced and ran his hands through his hair, desperately trying to get his thoughts in order. He had a mission, and he couldn’t do it without the creature he suddenly suspected of the atrocity.
The Symbiant shook his head. “I didn’t do this. You know that.”
“I don’t know anything. You said your people had a choice.”
Gibbs threw the remote mindlessly. It struck the headboard of the bed and the batteries popped out and fell to the floor.
“Your people have a choice. What does that mean?”
The Symbiant turned silent once more.
“A choice,” Gibbs said. “What can that mean? How many of you are there now? Hundreds? Thousands? Last night, how many was that? All of them? Just a few?”
The questions turned to pleading as the news reporter droned on in the background about possible causes of the explosion.
“What are they going to find when they find the black box from that ship? Was this an accident?”
No answer.
