Invasion

by Jon S. Lewis

  When Colt turned around, Salaam was gone. In his place was an older man with silver hair, drooping shoulders, and bags under his bloodshot eyes. “Please, take a seat,” he said, then walked around to the other side of the desk where he collapsed into a swivel chair. “I apologize for the mysterious conditions of our meeting, but I have to take certain precautions.”

  “Where’s Salaam?”

  “Just outside the door.”

  “Who are you?”

  “My name is Albert Van Cleve.”

  “Then you’re the guy who contacted me?”

  Van Cleve nodded.

  “How did you know my mom?”

  “We were working together on an important article.”

  “So you’re a reporter?”

  “I’m the lead research scientist for a company called Trident Biotech.”

  Colt had heard the name. “You make biochips, right?”

  “My team developed a technology that improves the quality of life for people who suffer from things like epilepsy, Parkinson’s, and even paralysis,” Van Cleve said as he pulled a metal disk out of his coat pocket. He set it on the desk and pressed a button. A vibrant holographic image of one of the microchips flickered to life over his desk without the use of a monitor.

  “I contacted your mother because those same biochips are being used as part of an illegal mind-control program. You see, during the Second World War, scientists from Trident worked with the Nazis to plant receivers into the cerebral cortex of prisoners.”

  As he spoke, Van Cleve touched the image of the biochip with his fingertips. Then he motioned as though he were wiping it away. It was replaced by an X-ray of someone’s head and spine, and Colt could see where the biochip was attached. Tendrils had snaked from the chip and into the patient’s spinal column like a mechanical parasite. It looked painful.

  “The implant gave them control over those poor people in the same way a child would steer a remote control car.”

  “Then my brother was right?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I heard my brother say that the guy who killed my parents was a Trident operative.”

  “That’s partially true,” Van Cleve said. “As you would assume, the practice of controlling people in this manner is highly illegal, and the board of directors would prefer that their little secret not get out. When they got word that your mother was going to publish the article about their indiscretions, they decided to eliminate her.”

  “Wait—they were going after my mother?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Van Cleve said. “I’m sorry to say that your father was collateral damage.”

  Colt sat back in his chair and looked at Van Cleve. Then he shook his head. “If you were feeding her the information, why didn’t they kill you too?”

  “I’m only alive because they aren’t sure who your mother’s informant was. Once they figure it out—and they will—my life will be forfeit.”

  : : CHAPTER 17 : :

  Do you really expect me to believe any of this?” Colt stood up. “I mean, you’re telling me that one of the biggest companies in the world hired assassins to kill my mom because she was going to write an article about them? Come on!”

  “Perhaps this video will help explain why the technology is so dangerous.” Once again Van Cleve lifted his hand to the image before wiping it away. He selected a small icon, and the image of a boy no older than ten showed on the display. Van Cleve tapped the image once, and a video started to play.

  The boy was standing in a gymnasium as a nurse checked his blood pressure, then his heart rate. Once she finished, Colt watched as an image of Van Cleve walked into view. He was holding a small device that looked a bit like a phone. After he entered a combination onto the touch screen, the boy’s back stiffened and his eyes started to glow with a red light.

  “We call these people the Cursed,” Van Cleve explained as he watched the video with Colt. “Once they’re activated, they’re victims of our whims.”

  “Very good,” Colt heard Van Cleve say on the video. “Now I’d like for you to run to the wall and back.”

  The boy did as he was told.

  “Excellent. Do it again, please. Only this time, I’d like for you to run backward.”

  Again the boy followed instructions. Van Cleve continued to put him through a series of tests, asking him to climb ladders, jump over obstacles, and run through tires that were lying on the hardwood floor.

  The scene jumped to show the boy standing next to a window. The cameraman panned down to show that they were ten stories above a busy street. Then he pulled back to show Van Cleve standing next to the boy, whose eyes were still red.

  “I’d like for you to climb up and stand on the ledge, if you wouldn’t mind,” Van Cleve said.

  Without hesitation, the boy walked up a step stool and placed his feet on the windowsill. Van Cleve reached down to enter another combination into the device that had activated the remote mechanism inside the boy’s head. Once Van Cleve hit Enter, the boy’s posture slumped. His arms shot out so he could brace himself from a fall, then his knees started to buckle.

  A nurse ran over to catch the boy by his shirttail before she helped him back down to the step stool. “What happened?” the boy asked. His eyes were no longer red. Instead, they were filled with panic.

  “Tell me, son,” Van Cleve said. “What is the last thing that you remember?”

  The boy looked confused. “I . . . I don’t really know.”

  Van Cleve paused the video before turning his attention back to Colt. “As you can see, we are able to force the microchip recipients to do our bidding, and they don’t remember any of it. I could have made that young man jump, and he would have without pause.”

  “What’s the point?”

  “Think about it,” Van Cleve said. “Politicians, law enforcement officials, military leaders, the executives who guide our competitors . . . we control thousands of people around the globe. They do whatever we tell them without question.”

  Colt sat there a moment, trying to let it all sink in. “The guy who killed my parents had a biochip, didn’t he?”

  Van Cleve nodded. “He received the implant to stabalize his seizures.”

  “Then it’s your fault,” Colt said. “My parents are dead because of you. I mean, if you created the technology, then you’re just as guilty as the person who sent that guy to kill my parents.”

  Van Cleve sighed before running a hand through his wispy hair. “I’m afraid you’re right,” he said. “I sold my soul to advance science, but in the end it wasn’t worth it. Too many innocent lives have been lost, including your parents’. I have to find a way to make amends.”

  “It’s a little late, don’t you think?”

  “For your parents, yes,” Van Cleve said, “but there are thousands with those biochips . . . thousands who are mere puppets in the hands of Trident.”

  “Why me?” Colt said. “I mean, why not take this to the police, or to another reporter?”

  There was an explosion.

  “They’re here!” Van Cleve said.

  “Who?”

  “Trident assassins.”

  Another explosion struck, this time closer. The ground shook, throwing Colt from his chair. He rolled across the floor and slammed into the wall.

  : : CHAPTER 18 : :

  There was a flash of green light before the door shattered into countless pieces. Colt ducked, taking the brunt of the wooden shards on his back. After everything stopped shaking, he looked over to see Van Cleve slumped against one of the filing cabinets. His face was bleeding from all the cuts.

  Salaam rushed in and knelt next to Van Cleve. The robot was there as well, standing protectively over both men. Its hands were gone, and in their place were two cannons held at the ready. A tall figure swept into the room, dressed in deep gray with a ski mask, night vision goggles, and a jacket with a Trident logo on the shoulder.

  Colt could hear a humming sound as the robot’s ca
nnons flared to life. The barrels started to crackle with energy as two blasts erupted. Each struck the masked intruder in the chest. Like honey spreading over toast, the energy expanded until it encompassed his entire body. Then, in a flash of light, the man disappeared. Colt scrambled to his feet as he tried to process what had just happened, figuring the guy had been atomized.

  “Go,” Van Cleve said. His eyes were barely open and his voice was weak.

  As the ceiling gave way, two more Trident assassins repelled down through the debris. The robot hit one of them with a plasma charge, but the second landed and shouldered the rifle strapped to his back. His first shot released a concussive wave of energy that knocked the robot against the wall.

  The assassin took aim at Van Cleve, but Salaam was quicker. He leapt at the masked man, grabbing his wrist. The assassin’s shot hit the ceiling, which buckled under the impact. Chunks of plaster and wood fell, creating a cloud of dust.

  “Quickly,” Van Cleve said between coughs. He reached into his pocket and tossed Colt a key. “It’s out back . . . use the window.”

  Colt unlatched the hinges and threw the window open, then he turned back to look at Van Cleve.

  “I’ll be fine,” Van Cleve said with a frail smile. He coughed once more. “Go and find your mother’s files. It’s the only way you’ll be able to bring her killers to justice.”

  As Colt placed his leg through the window, two more assassins entered the room. The first kicked Salaam in the ribs before turning his attention to Colt. “Get the kid.”

  The second assassin took aim, but Colt slid out of the window before the shot was fired. As he landed, his breathing was shallow and his eyes wide. He tried to form a coherent thought, but none of this made sense.

  Colt ran, but his feet got tangled up. He fell, scrambling forward on his hands and knees. A shot exploded in the ground a few feet away, forming a crater in the asphalt. Colt lay still, his hands covering the back of his head. Then, after two more shots, he forced himself to stand.

  He looked for a car, but all he could see was one of the armored ultralights. That couldn’t have been what Van Cleve meant, could it? He paused to look at the key, but another shot brought him out of his haze. Colt bolted, running to the left, then right, and left again, hoping the erratic motion would make him a difficult target. Another plasma bolt erupted. He felt the heat from the blast before it exploded against a No PARKING sign.

  There was a blur of motion from his periphery, followed by a loud pop. Colt turned in time to see a canister shooting toward him. It exploded, releasing a net that spun through the air. Colt dove to the ground, rolling over his shoulder before regaining his feet. The net passed overhead and he kept running.

  He could see more Trident assassins jumping out of the shadows to give chase. The ultralight was only a few paces away.

  “Blow it up!” Colt heard someone shout.

  He risked another glance over his shoulder. One of the assassins was taking aim. Colt watched as the man’s finger pulled the trigger. The bolt raced toward him, but it flew over his shoulder, missing both Colt and the ultralight.

  Someone shouted. Colt turned to see the wall of the office building explode in a flash of blue light. Trident assassins were thrown through the air as Salaam’s robot emerged from the dust and debris. Its eyes were glowing and its arms waving as bolts of energy erupted from the end of its arms.

  Colt grabbed the handlebars and threw his right leg over the body of the ultralight. It felt like he was sitting on his dad’s Harley Davidson, except there was a complicated set of gauges on top of the gas tank, not to mention a set of wings and a propeller attached to the back.

  Colt looked for someplace to insert the key, but he couldn’t find anything. There was, however, a helmet. He put it on and attached the chin strap. Then Colt started flipping switches and pressing buttons. Still nothing happened.

  There was another explosion behind him, and a plasma bolt struck one of the ultralight’s wings. Colt could see a scorch mark, but the damage looked cosmetic. He ran his fingers along the sides of the ultralight, and that’s when he found the ignition.

  Another plasma bolt struck the ground a few feet away, throwing chunks of asphalt against the machine as Colt fumbled with the key. It slid into the ignition slot, and Colt twisted as the machine roared to life. So did the heads-up display inside the visor of his helmet.

  “No way,” Colt said. He was smiling as a digital map with a series of numbers and gauges showing power levels, shield capacity, and more shone inside the visor. Colt cranked the throttle and his head snapped as the engine engaged. Before he knew what was happening, he was racing down the narrow runway.

  It wasn’t long before he felt the front tire lift. Moments later he was flying as bolts of energy erupted in the air around him. Caught between elation and fear, Colt looked down to see explosions of light as the assassins focused their attention on the robot.

  Colt turned to the front in time to see a light pole. He dipped his shoulder to the left, and the motorcycle followed. He skirted the pole, but when he pulled back to the right, he overcompensated and the ultralight started to corkscrew. Colt felt dizzy. His stomach lurched as he pulled hard to the left, trying to straighten out. His jaw was clenched, and the veins in his neck were popping out.

  Colt leaned his body as far to the left as he could, pulling the handlebars in hopes that they would follow. They did, but Colt was heading toward an RV on the interstate. He leaned back, pulling on the controls. The nose of the ultralight lifted, then Colt revved the accelerator. It shot into the air, but not before the tires skimmed the top of the RV.

  Colt exhaled as he rose into the night sky. His hands were shaking and his mouth was dry. The display readings inside the visor showed that he had already hit seventy knots and he was at fifty-seven feet in the air and climbing.

  Colt heard the jet packs before he saw them. Moments later two Trident assassins stormed into view. Heat blasts shot out from the engines strapped to their backs, and each carried a rifle.

  According to the readings, Colt had topped out at about a hundred knots, and it didn’t look like the ultralight was able to go any faster. He pulled back on the handlebars and the flying machine climbed another thirty feet, but the assassins kept pace.

  Colt had no idea how to use the weapons system. Instead, he bore hard right. The surprised assassin tried to dodge out of the way before the ultralight crashed into him, but the sudden motion sent him into a tailspin. His rifle fell from his hands and Colt watched as the man landed with a thud on the desert surface.

  The second assassin kept his distance as he fired a series of plasma bolts. Colt responded by pulling back on the handlebars. The ultralight shot straight up before looping backward. The plasma bolts missed, and now the assassin was in Colt’s sights. A light started to flash on the display inside Colt’s helmet. Then, as though the ultralight could read his mind, bolts of light erupted from the barrels beneath the wings.

  The man in the jet pack swerved this way and that, but one of the discharges caught a hose that was attached to his jet pack, and it started to smoke. The assassin pulled up. He had to land before his fuel ran out.

  Colt knew he wasn’t safe yet. It wouldn’t be hard for the Trident assassin to radio Colt’s position to the rest of his team. He’d been lucky with these two, but he wasn’t sure how he would do against a whole squad. He started thinking about a good place to land—somewhere that would give him enough cover to slip into the shadows without anyone seeing where he went.

  Minutes later he was approaching a municipal airport that was only a few miles from Grandpa McAlister’s house. Since most of the traffic came from hobbyist aviators, Colt figured there wouldn’t be much going on.

  All he had to do was hold on to the handlebars, and the ultralight guided itself to a smooth touchdown. Colt drove it around the tarmac until he found what he hoped was a good place to park. He settled on a spot behind a large hangar on the far side of the airport
.

  Just as he was about to dismount, Colt heard a loud click, followed by the sound of hydraulics. He turned to watch the wings of the ultralight fold once, twice, and again until they no longer looked like wings. If anything, they had turned into some kind of storage compartments.

  “This is unreal,” Colt said as he sat on a fully operational motorcycle, trying to digest what he had just seen. “Nobody is going to believe it.”

  : : CHAPTER 19 : :

  Colt drove through the streets, not sure what to do. The only person he could think to call was Danielle. As soon as the thought popped into his head, a keypad appeared on the heads-up display. When he pictured the number, it started dialing. How was this even possible? Then the phone rang.

  “Hello?” Danielle said.

  “Hey, it’s me.”

  “It sounds like you’re in the middle of a windstorm.”

  “I need you to meet me.”

  “Now?”

  “I’m in a lot of trouble, Dani.”

  “Why don’t you come over here? I’m already in my pajamas. Besides, my parents haven’t seen you yet. They’re starting to think you have something against them.”

  “I can’t . . . not now, anyway.”

  “You met the creepy guy who called you today, didn’t you?”

  Colt didn’t reply.

  “That’s what I thought. Where are you?”

  Twenty minutes later Danielle met Colt at a pizza place down the street from the airport. She was wearing a baseball cap with her ponytail hanging out the back. Colt could tell that she was agitated, but when he finished describing everything that happened, she just sat there.

  “Will you say something?” he asked.

  “Like what? Congratulations on almost getting yourself killed? I mean, you just told me that you flew here on some kind of winged motorcycle while masked men in jet packs tried to shoot you with ray guns. Forgive me if I don’t do cartwheels through the restaurant while I try to decide if you’ve lost your mind.”