As it subsided, whatever was left of the human side of Nick’s body regained control.
For a split second.
Then he heard the pound of armored boots and remembered there was another alien out there.
Reason told him there was nothing he could do.
Reason was wrong. His instinct was right. His fingers did something to that small glowing cube in his palm. They wrapped around it, but they did more. They didn’t just try to compress around whatever strange substance the cube was made from. That wave of energy Nick had felt in his body previously pushed out of him, pulsing through his hands, feeling as if Nick was holding a Tesla ball. It concentrated in the cube, and a split second later, as that other alien warrior came pounding through the door of the shop, breaking it as glass and metal hailed everywhere, Nick threw the cube.
The alien reached up and caught it. It had half a second to orient its head toward Nick, then paroxysms blasted through its form. Whatever Nick’s body had done to the cube was in turn doing something to the alien, something the alien couldn’t stop. His armor jerked this way and that as if he were a puppet being tugged around on strings.
The alien fell down to one knee, and this time, anyone would be able to hear the clang of its metal-reinforced knee smashing against the tile shop floor.
The alien’s head jerked this way and that, looking as if someone were trying to break its neck.
Its free hand twitched, the fingers pulsing like the arms of a jellyfish.
Then finally it fell forward. It slammed into the shop floor, and a second later, it was still.
Waves of electricity – or something like it – discharged from the cube still clutched in its right hand.
But soon they too ebbed.
And Nick was left there, alone, gasping in horror as he stared at the two aliens he’d killed with his own bare hands.
He couldn’t sit there forever.
Outside, the invasion of London was only just beginning.
Chapter 18
Amal
There was only so much they could do without sophisticated weapons. And without soldiers who knew what they were doing, it was only a matter of time.
And that time was quickly coming upon him.
Though Amal could keep the soldiers in the street around him calm – and though he could guide their moves – they were only one unit. And around London, the Army was falling.
He could be thankful for one fact.
The Cartaxians had obviously appreciated that something was different about this street and the human resistance along it. They were redirecting their forces, the almost imperceptible pound of Cartaxian warrior feet continually heading Amal’s way.
It wouldn’t take them long to figure out Amal was here – to scan for his non-human bio readings. Then, all they would have to do was take him out.
Amal did not stop. He didn’t run away. There might be sanity in trying to save himself so he could live to fight another day, but he would not leave the unit around him. For as soon as he extracted himself from it, their fear would flood through them, and they would be sitting ducks, as the humans would say.
So he continued to fight, even as he saw a contingent of 10 more warriors pound around the side of the street.
The soldier in front of him started to shake. There was only so much Amal’s mental influences could do. His touch could do the rest. He reached forward, placed a hand on the man’s shoulder, and gave him the silent command to stay strong.
With the forces he’d commanded, they’d managed to take down three warriors with nothing more than combined fire.
It was a drop in the ocean compared to the hundred warriors that had jumped down from the belly of the Cartaxian mothership. But drops in the ocean, when gathered together, are significant.
Amal just hoped that he was right, and there were more alien residents just like him out there – more who had survived the first assassination wave. And more who could help when humanity needed it most.
Out in the street opposite, Amal saw two Cartaxian warriors appear, jumping down off the side of a building, completely obliterating a fancy sports car as they landed on it. Its tires pinged out and struck the building opposite, its windscreen shattering out in a halo of glass and heat.
As the Cartaxian warriors stood, revealing their full height, Amal appreciated they were no ordinary grunts.
They were legionnaires. The level up – the level who were presumably intended to remain in the ships and direct the land forces.
Amal should be touched that his efforts had gained such notoriety.
One of them pointed at him, and Amal prepared.
Even before death, he could give these humans one parting gift.
He tightened his grip on the shoulder of the soldier in front of him. He focused his mind.
But just as those two legionnaires raised their hands and set their pulse cannons on Amal, he watched them snap their heads to the side.
Out in the streets, Amal heard a scream.
One that was louder than the sound-buffering field. One that should have been impossible to hear, and yet one that echoed out, practically blasting off the buildings like a shockwave.
It got both legionnaires’ attention, and they swiveled their heads to the side.
The scream was human. Or at least it was mostly human.
Though Centauris did not have the best physical senses – or at least, compared to some other races- what they did have was an unparalleled ability to recognize emotion.
And each species had its own emotional signifiers.
“Impossible,” Amal had time to say. Then he pulled himself to his full height, throwing caution to the wind, despite the fact there were two Cartaxian warriors nearby who could take the opportunity to smite him. It was all in aid of seeing one thing. The apparent human who suddenly came running from the street to Amal’s side.
The human was not a human at all.
“By the gods,” Amal managed, his gaze focusing in on the man.
He had a broad build and was tall.
But neither of those features were relevant.
He had no shoes on, and though it had been clear he’d been running for some time, there were no marks on his feet, other than where the rubber had melted and stuck between his toes.
His clothes were in disarray, his shirt top torn and covered in blood. But again, those details weren’t what mattered.
His mind was.
“Rayar,” Amal said, his voice stuttering.
He lost momentary control over the unit around him, and fear swelled through the ranks once more.
Amal couldn’t help it.
There should not be a Rayar on Earth. But the fact that there was changed everything.
The man was obviously disoriented, and judging by the wild look in his eyes, he had absolutely no idea what was going on.
The only way for a Rayar to be on Earth would be if it was hidden here. Meaning that man had absolutely no idea what he was, and he was undergoing an alien transformation on fast forward as his body reacted to the proximity of the Cartaxians and tried to protect him.
The two legionnaires obviously appreciated what they were seeing, and they now apparently lost all interest in Amal. They pushed up, instantly becoming airborne as the once invisible thruster strips on the backs of their armor pulsed out, blue lines of light slicing through the air as they shot up a good 50 meters.
Amal ran.
He shunted forward, using all his strength and agility to leap over a barricade in front of him. “Get down,” he screamed at the man.
The man simply looked at him, his eyes wild with fear and desperation.
When the man didn’t react, Amal threw himself at him, gathered his arms around the man’s middle, and hauled him to the side.
But that would be the exact moment when the legionnaires attacked.
And that would be the exact moment when the man’s instincts kicked into gear.
Rather than A
mal saving him, the Rayar saved Amal, suddenly putting on an almost impossible burst of speed and throwing them both to the side behind the relative safety of a parked van.
It was just in time as two pure white slices of light slammed into the road where they’d both been standing. They punched down through the asphalt and broke into the tunnel system below.
The bitumen bubbled, reaching such a level of heat, it wouldn’t just have scorched human flesh, it would have turned it to ash in an instant.
As the man shifted up, Amal stared straight into his eyes.
And the guy stared back. Though at first it was with fear – and Amal could feel it practically reverberating through the man’s emotional mind – in an instant, the Rayar kicked into gear, and Amal fancied the man suddenly realized he was staring at a fellow alien. Amal had a chance to clap a hand on the man’s shoulder. “You are a Rayar. An ancient race of rulers—”
He didn’t have a chance to finish. The Rayar picked him up once more, hauling him to the side just as the two legionnaires jumped against the van, crushing it like a hand slamming against a bug.
The guy grunted in Amal’s year, again the sound-buffering field covering London not affecting him somehow as that grunt punched out as loud as a shot.
The man, though obviously reeling from whatever was happening to his body, was just as obviously appreciating that he now had strength he’d never possessed. Rather than try to open the shop door beside him, he simply slammed a shoulder into it, and the thing buckled as if someone had punched a sheet of paper.
“You know what those things are, don’t you?” the guy said as he pointed toward them but never stopped backing away, leaping over the shop counter to their side and heading toward a door behind it.
Amal copied his every move, his lithe form making it look easy, and yet nowhere near as easy as the Rayar.
“Yes. I’m a Centauri.”
“You’re one of them?” the guy demanded as he kicked down the door behind the counter and blasted through, barreling like a bull pushing through a fence.
“I can judge from your emotions that you do not believe that.”
The man looked at Amal sharply. “What’s going on?”
“Earth is being invaded by one of the eight ancient races – the war-like Cartaxians.”
Amal watched, and he felt, and he appreciated just how much emotional import that word had for the man.
His inherent Rayar senses would be reacting to it, pulsing through whatever remained of his human heart and sending adrenaline pounding through his body.
When a Rayar was hidden on a planet, though they would be given the forms of the race around them, their bodies would always be programmed to protect themselves. So even if this man had absolutely no idea what the word Cartaxian meant, it was clear his heart did as it shuddered in his chest.
“What’s your name?” Amal asked as they both ran down the long corridor of the shop.
Out toward the front, there was an earsplitting bang as the legionnaires obviously used their pulse cannons to obliterate the shop front.
The ceiling above them shuddered, threatening to cave in, but just before a large chunk of concrete could strike the Rayar’s head, Amal shifted forward, caught it out of the air, and threw it at the wall.
The Rayar looked at him and nodded. “Thanks. I’m Nick. Who the hell are you?”
“My human title is Amal. It is conveniently close to my Centauri title which is Amakalanar,” Amal said, pronouncing it in the exact unique way Centauris did.
Somehow Nick had the time to arch an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t call that close. I’ll stick with Amal. How the hell do we stop this?”
“The invasion?”
“Yeah, the invasion.”
“There may be no way to stop it. That is no longer your concern, anyway.”
Nick looked at him sharply as they reached the back of the shop and Nick barreled chest first through a heavy locked door, the metal and wood simply opening out like a flower being hit by a bat.
Amal ran out behind Nick, then paused on the street as he put up a hand in front of Nick. At the same time, he used his mind to reach out.
“What the hell are you doing? I felt that. What did you do to my head?”
Amal looked at Nick sharply. “My race is uniquely capable of connecting with others. I was simply asking you to be calm and quiet. I need to check for enemy units.”
“You can tell where they are with this… mental communication of yours?”
Amal nodded.
“Then take me to them. Even if I have to fight each one of those bastards by hand, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
Amal looked at him seriously. “I can’t. That would break the Accords.”
“What the hell are the Accords?”
“Though you do not remember them, they apply to you, and most importantly, they apply to anyone who encounters a hidden Rayar.”
Though Amal had been referring to Nick as a Rayar mentally since he’d first encountered him, this was only the second time he’d stated that word aloud, and it had a real and visceral effect on Nick.
His cheeks paled, the skin becoming sickly wet. His eyes widened, too, and his neck muscles hardened as if he thought he was about to pick up the heaviest weight in the universe. “… Rayar?”
Amal pointed to him, confident that there was no one on the street. Yet. At the same time, he pointed forward, and Nick followed. “That is you. You are a Rayar. And Rayars form the ruling class of the universe.”
“Ruling class of the universe?” Nick asked, his voice stuttering, the revelation too much for him.
Before he could demand to know more, Nick brought up a finger sharply, and the quickness of the move obviously spoke to Nick’s protective side, as the man didn’t say a word again.
Instead, they both fell into step, and Nick followed Amal, not questioning until the two made it several blocks away.
As soon as they reached a quieter section of the city, Nick turned on him. “What about the soldiers back there? You were helping them, weren’t you? What will happen to them now?”
“Perhaps the Cartaxians left them alone,” Amal tried.
Nick looked right at him. “Perhaps?” His voice shook.
“Though I can tell you don’t want to hear this, you are more important than them. I’m now honor bound to get you out of here and off Earth.”
“I don’t want to get off Earth. And I don’t care about your honor. This is my home,” Nick said as he stabbed a finger at the broken, scorched pavement beneath him. There were two massive gouge marks from where a Cartaxian warrior had obviously landed from a great height. “I’m not leaving Earth. Not until it’s safe.”
Amal didn’t say a thing. He could read Nick’s emotions well enough to appreciate that there was no arguing with the man.
And yet, Nick would not get his way.
His full memories had not returned, and may not return until he was off Earth, but Amal knew precisely what Nick was. And he understood his worth.
Though Amal had once been resigned to staying on Earth and doing whatever he could to protect as many people as was possible, his vision had changed.
“Now what do we do? Between the two of us, we have a chance, right? Only about 100 warriors dropped down from that ship. I guess there’s more in there, but if we make a dent in the current land forces—”
“The Cartaxians will simply change the way they fight. Though, for some reason, they appear reluctant to engage their air forces, if we offer too much resistance, I guarantee you they will.”
Nick’s jaw hardened. “We have to do something. We can’t just stand here.”
“No,” Amal reached forward, locked a hand on Nick’s shoulder, and tried to center the Rayar’s mind, “we can run.” With that, Amal pulled Nick forward.
Chapter 19
Kim
At the end of the day, Kim was only one man – or alien.
And there was only so much he cou
ld do.
His endoskeleton may have been 10 times more sophisticated than Cartaxian armor, but what did that mean when they had an almost limitless supply of warriors?
It meant they’d only send more.
Kim put on a burst of speed, his now completely bare feet gouging a chunk out of the asphalt road as he threw himself forward, wrapped an arm around the closest Cartaxian warrior, pivoted on his hip, and threw the guy right through a parked car. Kim had so much velocity on the move, by the time the Cartaxian warrior struck the car, it burst into flames.
It wasn’t enough to completely obliterate the Cartaxian’s armor, but it was a step in the right direction.
Kim did the rest. He plowed forward, closing the distance between them in the blink of an eye. He latched hold of the guy’s helmet just as he pushed up from the burning remnants of the car. And Kim squeezed.
The Cartaxian tried to punch Kim in the gut, but the big guy’s fist simply glanced off. The warrior tried to punch him again, but again it glanced off. Kim didn’t even bother to scream – heck, make any noise at all – as his endoskeleton won out and he crushed the Cartaxian’s helmet. Instantly he heard the hiss as the Cartaxian’s body was disrupted, the remaining armor breaking it down and re-absorbing it back into the armor’s molecular buffers. The Cartaxians were obviously smart enough to appreciate that it was better to destroy their corpses so, in the unlikely event that the humans managed to capture a broken set of armor, they wouldn’t get access to the Cartaxian’s valuable biological data.
Not, of course, that the humans had the necessary biohacking abilities to do anything to the Cartaxians. But that wasn’t the point.
As the humans would say, this was not the Cartaxian’s first rodeo. They’d been invading worlds for eons.
And the Great Universal Body had been allowing them to do so, simply because the Cartaxians were considered ancient.
There was a lot about the modern universe that was stuffed up.
Hena Day One Page 11
