by E. R. Torre
Nox tried to fight it. She reached deep within, grasping at the meager energies she still had left.
“Give in,” Joshua Landon repeated.
Her mind moved frantically, her will still strong despite the overwhelming voices ordering her to stop. She fought and she fought, but she knew this was a fight she would not win.
“Give in,” he said for a third time.
And she did.
48
For Nox, consciousness came and went.
A strong white light shone down on her, only to fade away.
While this light was on her, she felt moments of lucidity. What she saw was a living nightmare. General Spradlin was tied up against a gritty wall in a dark cell, his half-naked body spread eagled. What clothing remained on him was in tatters, ripped and bloody. Hundreds of gashes, from small cuts to gaping wounds, marred his bare flesh. He was missing fingers, his right ear. His eye-patch was gone, exposing a dark, empty eye socket. There was damage to other areas…areas Nox found difficult to look at.
The Mechanic held a bloody knife, just like the other five one-time child soldiers. And, like children in a playground, she and the others took turns using their weapon to slowly kill General Spradlin.
That realization screamed in what was left of Nox’s mind. While Lemner’s passkey forced her hand, she knew many of General Spradlin’s horrific wounds were her own doing.
After a while…a lifetime…Nox and the others realized General Spradlin was dead. His death took many hours. For much of that time, the General said nothing.
Before it was over, he screamed.
The General’s blood stained the hands and bodies of all the one-time child soldiers, including Nox. The final cut was delivered by Joshua Landon. By then, General Spradlin was barely conscious and neither Landon nor Lemner’s passkey could hold back on their animalistic impulses. Once the General was dead, Lemner’s passkey was jubilant. It relished its revenge against the man who first approved the program only to seek its destruction.
There would be no last minute rescue. There would be no salvation. General Spradlin was gone.
The darkness in Nox’s mind receded and she felt her soul crying out. General Spradlin, the man responsible for destroying her childhood and ordering her death in Arabia…was himself dead.
And she was responsible for it.
I forgive you.
The voice was a ghostly whisper. It’s cool, easy tone startled Nox. She was afraid to embrace the message and afraid to listen to the words.
She was afraid it was all a lie.
I forgive you, it repeated.
He repeated.
General Spradlin was dead, but his last words to her were meant to ease her pain. Almost as if he…
Almost as if he expected it.
How much of this did you plan out? She heard herself say.
Nox’s eyes opened.
Nox was back in that tiny village in Arabia. She again stood a short distance from her child self in the nightmare version of her memory. The pregnant woman lay in the row of bodies. She moved. The child soldier saw this and prepared to take the shot…
The scene froze.
Nox felt a presence behind her. She spoke to it.
“Becky told me it was a programmed memory.”
The Mechanic turned. General Spradlin stood only a short distance behind her. His body was intact. He had his right eye and bore no scars.
The scene shifted. Colors blurred before tightening up. In this new scene, the village was intact. The people were alive and being herded into a group of military transport crafts.
“I’ve seen this already,” Nox told General Spradlin. “What am I missing?”
“This.”
The child that was once Nox watched as the villagers moved in a line before the transport trucks. Each and every one of them rolled up their sleeves and allowed the child soldiers to give them a vaccine before entering the vehicles. The child Nox carried a syringe that was identical to the one General Spradlin gave the grown Nox before he…
She tried not to think of that.
“It’s the same vaccine…”
“Yes it is,” General Spradlin said.
The child she once was gave the pregnant woman an injection. The woman experience no discomfort or pain. The young Nox put away the syringe and offered her a canteen.
“What’s in the syringe?” Nox asked.
“Magic,” General Spradlin replied.
The villagers huddled in the back of the transport craft, away from any satellite’s prying eyes. The other child soldiers looked away. They were ordered to do other things. The child soldier Nox once was couldn’t help but take a peek. She saw the pregnant woman and the woman saw her. She was sitting at the back end of the truck, just feet away from Nox. She reached out and gave Nox her canteen. There was an appreciative smile on her face. Nox took the canteen. She returned the smile.
Strange lights of all colors appeared. They sparkled around the villagers. One of the children cried in his mother’s arms, but most of the others were mesmerized. The lights had no source, yet enveloped all the villagers in each of the transport crafts. The lights caressed their skin and calmed their fears. They grew more intense…
A sharp crackle of energy was heard, like distant thunder. And then, all at once, the villagers slowly faded away. The pregnant woman raised her arm. She waved to the child Nox…
Just like that, the back of the transport vehicles –every one of them– was empty.
Only Nox witnessed this. The other child soldiers had drawn their shovels from their backpacks and were digging shallow graves. The transport vehicles noisily departed the village. Once they were gone, the child soldiers who weren’t digging graves pulled out their weapons. They fired at the village structures, destroying everything in their wake. When they were done, they produced plastic containers filled with blood and viscera from their backpacks. They spread this material around the walls and grounds of the now destroyed village, finally dropping more of it into the shallow graves before covering them up.
When their work was done, it appeared a tremendous battle had raged in this place. They radioed command.
Exactly one hour later, and long after the transport trucks were gone, a single tank rumbled into the village square from the west. Two tank officers exited the vehicle and couldn’t help but be impressed with the destruction around them. They kept their distance from the child soldiers and walked to the freshly dug graves. They counted these graves but did not bother digging up any of the supposed victims. They assumed the corpses were there, as they would from this day on and through many, many more villages.
“What happened?” the adult Nox asked. “Where did the villagers go?”
“Far away. To safety.”
“Explain.”
General Spradlin held out his arm.
“Why don’t you let me show you.”
Nox looked at the General’s outstretched hand. Her gaze returned to the empty village square and the phony graves and the child soldiers.
You’re not a killer, she thought.
Nox reached out and took General Spradlin’s hand…
…and all was revealed.
49
THE BLUE MOUNTAINS, ARIZONA.
October, 1925
All was revealed.
The Sheriff, Paul Spradlin, felt a blistering heat envelop the hand that touched the strange statue before him. The heat terrified him to the point he feared it would catch fire. At almost the very same moment, his mind was flooded with information and images. At first this torrent of information was overwhelming and made no sense at all. With each passing second, he realized he was witnessing memories from the distant past and all the way to the present. He saw mankind in its infancy, small tribes that traveled from location to location searching desperately for both food and shelter. He saw some of these tribes die out while a precious few established small enclaves, then villages, then cities…
Those i
mages were replaced with views of alien worlds, of war machines as yet undreamed of. The Sheriff saw metallic war birds scream through the air and deliver crushing payloads that wiped out glistening cities of emerald and bronze. He saw soldiers carrying futuristic gear; he saw handguns shoot searing beams of light. He saw destruction and death on a scale that made his memories of the Great War pale in comparison.
Then he saw them. The creatures.
They were fearsome and alien. They stood eight feet in length and their bodies were composed of sinewy muscle and metallic bone.
Somehow, he knew what they were.
These alien creatures inhabited a massive space armada and journeyed from planet to planet, searching for one thing only: Food. They had traveled for many millions of years devouring entire worlds to replenish their energies. They were fearsome parasites, and the many advanced civilizations they encountered in their journeys were destroyed. None of them had come close to slowing, much less defeating, them.
When they were done with their latest conquest, the mighty parasite armada moved off in search of new feeding grounds. What they left behind was horrifying. The planets they invaded were left completely lifeless and nothing more than empty husks.
Their latest target was the Earth.
Even now, the creature’s armada was several million miles past the solar system. The speeds necessary to make their long journey were great, and so too was the time required to slow down for their arrival. The armada would spend another three hundred years slowing before arriving on Earth.
The moment they did, the alien creatures would begin the process of taking Earth apart. They would make no attempt to communicate with any person or nation. They had no interest in this planet’s cultures and species, only in their own self-preservation. They needed to feed and if the human race, or any race, had to fall, then so be it.
When the visions were over, Sheriff Spradlin released the statue.
“Now you see,” the prospector said.
Sheriff Spradlin fought the urge to throw up. His head spun from the overwhelming information dumped into it. He held on for a few more seconds before falling to his knees. His stomach heaved once again. This time, he couldn’t hold back.
When his stomach was empty, Sheriff Spradlin wiped his mouth and faced the prospector. His body felt very odd, as if something new was flowing through his veins.
“What…what did you do to me?” Spradlin asked.
“When you touched the statue, you received an inoculation. The statue housed nano-probes.”
“What..what the hell is that?”
“Very small, automated machines. They penetrated your skin and are now in your veins. They’re streaming through your body, examining your makeup. Making changes.”
“What changes?”
“You’ll be more…much more than you were when the nano-probes have fully merged with you. You’ll have information beyond your wildest dreams, of technologies stolen and squandered.”
“The visions?”
“The nano-probes penetrated your brain and are now interacting with your brain cells. Those visions are images fed directly to you.”
“Why me?”
“I already told you.”
“Because I fought in the Great War? Because I know about our military capability?” A fresh wave of pain shot through the Sheriff’s body. He grunted and shook it off. “What we have is…is child’s play compared to these…things coming here.”
“You have time.”
Spradlin let out a laugh.
“Not nearly enough.”
“I’ve studied your kind for many, many years,” the prospector said. “You humans are incredibly resourceful. You can adapt.”
“What are you?”
“My masters call me a sentinel.”
The prospector pointed to the statue.
“We two are alike,” he said. “We are robots composed entirely of those nano-probes.”
“How did you get here?”
“There were three of us originally. We were scouts sent by the creatures who mean to devour your world.”
Sheriff Spradlin drew back.
“You…you’re with them?”
“I no longer do their bidding,” the prospector said. “When I did many millennia ago, my mission was simply to ensure this world was ready for their arrival.”
The prospector stared at the statue.
“My masters not only ravage worlds, but they also amass technologies. They are clever and adapt and use the information that helps them in their pursuit of fresh feeding grounds. Sometimes they use these technologies without fully studying and understanding them. There can be unintended consequences.”
“What do you mean?”
“The programming behind my being was stolen from a culture lost to my masters,” the prospector said. “They used the nano-probes and their programming to make me. As I said, we were to be their scouts, to observe this world and report back to them at regular intervals. Somehow, this programming malfunctioned or, perhaps, functioned in a way my masters could not anticipate. Over time, unknown subroutines were activated. Whether this happened by accident or was pre-programmed by the race whose dead hands my masters ripped the nano-probes from is unknown. What is important is that these new subroutines took over our being.”
“What did they do?”
“They allowed us to have independent thought. The first of my companions was driven mad by these new…thoughts. It launched itself into a volcano.” He pointed to the statue before him. “My other companion fared no better. It no longer spoke or interacted with me. It no longer wished me to be at its side. One night, many, many years ago it vanished. It took me until now to find it.”
The prospector approached Sheriff Spradlin.
“Between then and now, I’ve wandered the Earth and tested my newfound independence.”
“How long?”
“Over twenty thousand years,” the prospector said. “During that time, my communication equipment failed and I lost all contact with my masters. Not that it mattered. I no longer did their bidding. I spent millennia alone, wandering this planet and storing information. I disguised myself when needed and assimilated languages and customs of the various tribes, then cities, then Empires of this world. Eventually, I boarded a British ship and was delivered to the New World. It was during that trip that all the information I stored over all those years was processed. I came to a realization that I could not allow this planet to be destroyed. I spent the next two hundred years searching for my lost companion. I thought together we could come up with a way to stop our masters. When I finally found him a month before, I realized he was too damaged. The best I could do was reactivate a small percent of the nano-probes in his system. I made adjustments on them so they could incorporate themselves into a human body. Yours.”
“Why?”
“Because I can’t stop the coming invasion on my own. I need help.”
“Why should I trust you?” Sheriff Spradlin said. “How can I trust you?”
The prospector was silent for several seconds before saying:
“That is up to you, Sheriff.”
“How do I stop them?”
“I don’t know,” the prospector admitted. “But I’m certain together we can find the answer. We have to. Otherwise, you and all your kind will die.”
There were several more seconds of silence. After a while, the prospector walked to the edge of the cul de sac.
“I’ve given you warning, Sheriff Spradlin. A warning and an understanding of what you face. This is my gift…and curse…to you. What happens from this point forward is your choice. The decisions you make will be hard. Many will involve matters of life and death. If you are successful, you will earn the ultimate reward. Your race will survive.”
Sheriff Spradlin considered the Prospector’s words. He looked away and at the rock formations. He then looked up at the clear night sky. He saw the stars spread out before him and shivered. His eyes l
ocked on one of those stars, a faint light lost among millions. It was the armada. His eyes turned away from the sky and back to the Prospector.
“I will save the human race,” the Sheriff said. “I will accomplish what all those other races, including the one that originally programmed you, could not.”
“I’m pleased to—”
“I will do this without your help.”
The Prospector took a step back. Confusion was evident on its features.
“Why?”
“Back in the Great War, a soldier from the Axis army showed up one day at our line. He was unarmed, beaten, and starving. He said he was forced into this war against his will, and deserted his side. He claimed to want nothing more than revenge against the German army. To that end, he provided us with intelligence on troop movements. Our commanders used this information to plan what they hoped would be a devastating surprise attack. Up until the first shot was fired in that attack, we thought we had the upper hand. We did not. We lost more than half our platoon that day, including three of my very best friends. Somehow, I and a small group of soldiers managed to escape the massacre. We retreated and regrouped behind our lines, then informed our Commander of what happened. He was livid. He was certain the German deserter was a double agent and that set us up.”
“The Commander ordered the soldier’s execution. The soldier pleaded with us not to kill him, that he was innocent. He kept on pleading until the firing squad’s bullets tore through his body. Our commanding officer was certain the soldier was a double agent. I wasn’t. If there’s anything I learned over there, it’s that wars are messy and things don’t always work out as planned. Maybe the man was a double agent. Or maybe his superiors knew he was about to defect and allowed him to do so…after feeding him information they knew he’d give us to lead us into a trap. Or maybe the soldiers on the other side simply got lucky and figured out what we were up to and turned the tables. Either way, many died.”
Sheriff Spradlin stared deep into the prospectors eyes.
“You were one of them once,” he said. “You claim independent thought, but you’re a machine. A machine that does as it was programmed to do. Perhaps you were programmed to think you were independent. Perhaps you were programmed to lead us into a trap. Or maybe, just maybe, everything you say is true. Unfortunately, that’s something I can never know. And it’s something maybe you can’t, either. I could never trust you.”
