by A D Davies
He revealed himself and stood still, arms by his side.
Nan’s massive head whipped around. The two boys clocked him too, and reared up, chests out, like men squaring off in the street outside a bar. They held back, though, waiting for permission. Nostrils flared. Lips peeled back.
Prihya had insisted they spoke a kind-of protolanguage. From what Jules had heard earlier, it was more advanced than anything in the modern animal kingdom, including dolphins, but it was more tonal than actual words. Guttural and basic.
He bowed his head and averted his eyes, showing supplication.
Another ten seconds had passed.
Prihya.
Charlie.
Heck, Gilim. No one knew what awaited that poor guy if they didn’t stop this extraction.
Nan lowered herself onto a fist and leaned in to Jules. He kept his head down, unsure how long he’d have after Ah Dae-Sung reached Charlie and Prihya. It could be she wouldn’t need his help, but the sheer numbers were too much for him.
Nan snorted, spraying him with a fine mist of nasal particulate. No boogers, but he hoped the big gal didn’t have a cold. She then brought one hand around, a fist. Jules tapped the female giant’s hand with his own, eyes down, demonstrating supplication—a common gesture in animals. She and the two boys relaxed somewhat.
Jules lifted one eye, enough to see all, finding the trio watching him. The mother remained a sentinel, immovable, the boys skittish despite holding their ground. Jules risked lifting an arm, a greeting gesture he gambled—there was that word again—that they’d recognize as friendly.
The younger sibling—Noroth—tilted his head. Frowned. Then lifted his own hand. He waved in a childish manner, a smile creeping into being.
His big brother saw what he was doing and lowered himself on his haunches, as if about to charge at Jules. But Nan grunted to calm him, made a few clicking sounds followed by a low f-f-f-f-f noise. She was attempting to communicate with Jules, leaning in closer to hear his response.
But Ah Dae-Sung was probably within range. Jules was out of time. He’d hoped to gain some insight, some Bridget-like moment of clarity as she frequently had when stressing over a problem—a code or deciphering a key to a previously undiscovered language. That wasn’t going to happen.
So, he flicked Nan on the nose. Nothing violent, not like a slap. Still, she jerked in shock. Wade and Noroth growled. Jules laughed.
As soon as Nan’s eyes widened and her shoulders tensed, Jules took off running. He didn’t need to look back to know all three had twisted, set their muscular tree-trunk legs, and bounded after him. The shaking ground and howls of anger were plenty.
Charlie sank to her knees, staring up at her captor. “You can’t get away with this.”
“I am getting away with this.” Ah Dae-Sung used his free hand to make Prihya join Charlie.
“You promised you would not kill us,” Prihya said.
The commander glanced toward the clearing, through the foliage, and back to the women. He leveled his gun at them. Finger on the trigger. “What she doesn’t know will not hurt. And if she finds out—”
A primeval howl pealed out of the forest, startling Ah Dae-Sung from his task. He didn’t immediately return, either, his brow furrowing at the thoom-thoom-thoom of heavy footfalls, like a meteor shower striking the earth.
It was the opening she needed.
Charlie threw herself at Ah Dae-Sung. If he’d been pointing the gun at her, she’d have had no chance, but the commotion surrounding the prone Gilim had startled him.
Mistake.
She went for the gun first, but he was faster, pulling it away from her reach as he sidestepped and threw a ridge-hand strike. It connected with the back of her neck. Shards of pain split her head and her shoulders, sending her tumbling forward. She staggered sideways before the ground came up to meet her. She twisted to land on her back, seeing Dae-Sung restore his calm and swing his gun up.
Prihya tackled him at the knees, pinning the joint together and shouldering into the backs of his thighs. A classic rugby tackle. It looked like she’d indulged in the local sports. Ah Dae-Sung couldn’t stay upright but held onto his weapon as he keeled over.
Despite the pain, which felt like a trapped nerve, Charlie rolled forward and pinned the commander’s gun hand. While Prihya struggled to hold on, Charlie slammed the man’s arm against the ground, but the weapon would not come free.
He pulled a knife.
Charlie shouted, “Prihya, move!”
Prihya let go and rolled, just as Dae-Sung slashed downwards. The blade drew blood, a gash across her upper arm.
Charlie attempted a final twist of the submachine gun, but it wasn’t going anywhere. The knife was, though, so all she could do was relinquish her grip and scramble backwards. Not before the blade cut into her leg, though.
It embedded itself in her calf, drawing a yelp and forcing her to stutter in her escape.
The commander was up on one knee. Charlie sensed this was the end. No more fighting, no more chances.
Except…
Three giants burst into the clearing—Gilim’s mate and their two sons. They spread out, as if being directed by some unseen force. The soldiers who’d been strapping Gilim onto the gurney that Charlie had tried to sabotage fanned out, arming themselves. Pointing their weapons at the newcomers.
Ah Dae-Sung was no longer aiming at her. He yelled in Korean, and the workers with the prods and what looked like ropes and pulleys darted around, shouting into radios. Regrouping, fanning out, forming a perimeter.
But they were too slow.
Nan smashed the nearest enemy sideways, contorting his body into angles a human skeleton should not bend. He was dead before the first time he bounced. Guns fired, drawing blood, but penetrated no organs. The two juveniles spread out, both charging toward their father. Wade barely glanced at the gunman who was firing on auto, just kneed him at full speed as he plowed through.
Noroth gave two men his attention, though. He reached out and slammed them together, mashing them into one another with a sickening crunch.
Guns chattered, bullets flew, but—as LORI had been briefed—7.62mm rounds drew blood but could not penetrate the super-dense muscles of homo colossus. And they were angry. Fighting mad and determined to protect Gilim.
Charlie then spotted the human accompanying them.
Jules.
Of course it was Jules.
Jules had used the rampaging giants as cover, drawn them here having lit the fuse with the insulting flick, then let the keg explode as the threat to their kin became clear. His gamble had paid off.
Sprinting on, he only paused once to scoop up a rock and fling it at a gunman who drew down on him. It hit the man square in the forehead, giving Jules the half-second he needed to barge into him. He lifted the guy off his feet, redirected his target’s momentum into a midair spin, and thrust his heel through the guy’s jaw before he landed. Jules ran onward, having lost a step.
The abduction was continuing, though. They’d discarded the gurney and instead hooked a clamp to the straps holding Gilim in place.
Even darting from the most dangerous section of the fray, Jules absorbed multiple inputs: left and right, ahead, up and down. And now he saw Charlie and Prihya recovering, heading for what he hoped was cover. Charlie was limping, trailing blood.
Having realized their bullets just angered them, a couple of the attackers opted to use the electric shocks to fend off the incoming giants, while others fussed over Gilim. The commander was nowhere to be seen. Another man appeared to be giving orders on the ground. The man with the muscles. The one Tane had told them was Ah Dae-Sung’s trusted lieutenant, his second in command. If Dae-Sung had disappeared, he was heading for the final extraction. And if none of the armed minions were paying Jules much attention, that meant they had bigger things to address.
Like repeating their trick with the shield back in Alabama.
As if on cue, the wind picked up, a radial whirl
of a tornado that Jules recognized as downdraft. The helicopter positioning overhead was a heavy-duty transport with engine mufflers. Although not silent, the battle had masked its approach. Any aerial defenses must have been defeated, and they were relying on Tane drumming up support.
It would be too late.
Jules ditched his escape plan and redirected himself to the sleeping Gilim. The men were still prepping him, but the extraction would now be more precarious. No time to mount him on secure equipment.
It could kill him. Then where would it leave this colony?
Already beyond Gilim, fleeing toward Charlie, Jules switched direction. He took an arc behind the prone creature, keeping low as the troops guided the helicopter’s harness toward an accumulation of straps, the center of gravity for the big guy. He struck the first of four men in the back of the head with his elbow. It wasn’t strong enough to cause brain damage, but he’d be too dazed to fight for the next minute or so.
Which was all Jules expected he’d need.
He scrambled up onto Gilim, saw how the Koreans were fending off the family with their oversized cattle prods, and the high-pitched keening from Nan, veering away as she called into the forest. More vibrations thundered toward them.
Forget Tane’s backup. All Jules needed was to buy enough time for the other alpha to find them.
Jules dropped the other side, to where the three remaining troops were tugging clasps tight—two grunts and Pang Pyong-Ho. He took the first one at the knee, a horrible injury but the guy would have avoided if he wasn’t involved in this affair. Jules felt no guilt as he put a flat hand through his throat to disable him further.
The next one abandoned his job and raised his knee in preparation for a round kick. But in the fraction of a second between initiating the move and shifting to its second phase, Jules read the intent—a swift taekwondo attack. He countered it with a pivot into the joint to nullify its range, swept the standing leg, and brought his own knee into the man’s ribs. It flung him sideways, clearing the way for Jules and Pyong-Ho to face off.
The Korean lieutenant patted the thick, solid form beside him, and faced Jules with a look of glee as he adopted a backward fighting stance.
Taekwondo was a national sport in both Korean states, as synonymous with their cultures as krav maga was in Israel and rugby in New Zealand. In most of the world, Taekwondo teaching focused on the sporting aspect, but when learned to a military standard—which Jules guessed Pyong-Ho would have achieved—it was a fast, deadly fighting style. Most practitioners were smaller than his prospective opponent here, though, as the real masters relied on speed and strength.
In his teens, Jules was a world champion in krav maga, and could best his wing chun teachers just two years after commencing. But his chosen go-to fighting art remained aikido. It used an opponent’s strength against them, emitted an almost balletic manner with which he could dispatch attackers, and the hard, fast, and direct strikes from his other fighting styles had left many a bodyguard, mercenary and thief wishing they hadn’t gotten physical with the skinny looking kid.
Jules adopted a casual stance to Pyong-Ho’s formal one. He found he could move faster, springing forward and back. This would not be as simple as taking out a random merc.
Pyong-Ho made the first move, a shuffle and a dummy kick. Jules hopped to the side, still getting the measure of him.
But that was what the lieutenant wanted. It shifted Jules out of range and allowed Pyong-Ho to wrap his arm around one of the central straps containing Gilim. He winked, gave a sarcastic salute, and in a terrible American drawl said, “Another time, pard’ner.” He sounded like a child doing a cowboy impression.
With a handful of soldiers abandoning the perimeter to leap on and cling there, the helicopter hoisted Gilim into the air. Pang Pyong-Ho and those with the strong enough grips rose out of the forest.
Nan charged forward, her skin blemished by bullet holes and electrical burns. She sprang up, after her mate, swiping at him as he receded out of reach. She landed with an almighty thump.
The trees shook and a new giant emerged. Rosso—full of primeval survivalist rage—crashed out of the canopy, branches the size of human limb splintering off. With his run up, he had better distance, better height, than Nan. His fingers gripped the main cable holding Gilim, slapping aside the nearest soldier, who fell over fifteen feet. Teeth bared, drool slopping, he swung again, this time toward Pyong-Ho.
A mechanical chug-chug-chug began, louder than the rotors, flashes from the helicopter’s body. Tracer rounds tore through Rosso, a rail gun providing the firepower needed to penetrate.
He howled as his body jiggled, then released his grip before plummeting to the earth.
Jules had to run to avoid being squashed.
The giant slapped to the ground with an earthquake-like thump. He lay there, bleeding, staring at the sky.
They all stared. Nothing anyone could do but watch. Even Nan was too heartbroken to remember why she’d started chasing Jules, and all Jules wanted to do was comfort her.
Instead, he backed away, in case she looked to other humans for vengeance. Jules had done all he could. And it wasn’t enough.
Chapter Thirty-Three
It was all over. Jules had never felt so empty, so worthless. He’d followed Tane, and he’d followed his instincts, and neither had borne fruit. A North Korean fighting force had invaded New Zealand’s sovereign land and stolen a creature to power a weapon that could destroy cities, if not countries. When Jules set out a few days ago, taking leave from his role as an officer of the law, he’d expected a somewhat exciting archeological puzzle and maybe even a dig. If he’d known that it’d escalate to full-blown massacres and hauling the world to the brink of war, he’d have stayed home and done yoga.
Home.
That was an odd concept to him.
Could he even be a cop now? After his failures here? Not protecting Gilim, not serving the people.
All together again, the remaining group occupied the observation deck, battered and bruised. The only addition to their troupe was Julia Grainger, who had arrived in person with the too late reinforcements and began the debriefing by spitting fire. After absorbing the horrific news of fourteen dead and seven badly injured, she quickly morphed into a more diplomatic approach.
“How long until they can activate their weapon?” she asked.
Tane said, “We don’t know how they’ll get out of New Zealand. Probably cloaked the same way they approached Ahua. Let’s say four hours. If they then take between ten and twelve hours to reach the Korean peninsula, add a day to get set up with Gilim and the shields…”
“A day?” Jules said, staring out at the forest and the distraught giants consoling one another. Two families in grief. “How do you figure?”
Prihya answered for him, sounding as tired as Jules felt. “To charge up the activation suite, it’s at least an hour with Gilim compliant. Then, we need several hours for the shield to absorb that energy. Multiplying the same factors, using three more shields, and redirecting it through whatever setup they have there… Yes, a day, day and a half max.” She folded her arms across her body. “If they want to control the energy spike and resulting dome, they’ll need Gilim conscious and willing.”
“They can’t just strap him in and wake him up?” Toby said.
“No, we tried it,” Tane said. “It has to be a conscious act. Entering the machine and activating it.”
Bridget presented the page she’d written on, the glyphs and symbols of the people known by LORI as the Witnesses and by their hosts as the Elder Race. “Perhaps there’s a clue here. I can see more patterns now, and there’s some continuity to it.”
No one had discussed this in any depth. Yes, Jules was shocked when Bridget told him what happened, but it was similar to his own experiences when plugged into the network: vivid, clear images, knowledge pouring in. But when the subject disconnected, their recollection of the event faded. Less like a dream, more like the way b
right white dots fade from sight after staring at a candle for a while. You know you’ve done it, but the actual events have disappeared. Surprising that it had happened to Bridget when she was not genetically tuned to elements like the meteor rocks and powerful spheres, but her account of the experience made a certain sense.
Jules said, “This section isn’t connected to the main network.”
“It can send information to the other orbs, but it can’t control anything,” Bridget said.
“Neutrinos have no mass,” Charlie elaborated. “So they can still pass between points. Just not through the fractures in the Earth’s crust. Because we’re not on one anymore.”
Prihya tapped a pen on her chin, a look of concentration as she glanced between the activation suite Bridget had used and the agitated giants below, then to the orb and the machinery surrounding it. “If that’s the case, and we wire it to one of our guys down there, it might tap a different chamber. Somewhere else.”
Dan perked up. “Somewhere else like Korea?”
“That wouldn’t work,” Bridget said. “But you could send it through virtually any other point on the planet. A different orb that can still be activated. If we can work out the commands…” She rustled the paper she’d written on.
Jules said, “We don’t know anything for certain.”
“It’s the best we can do, though,” Toby insisted.
“It’s more likely the executive’ll have thought of that. If we send conflicting signals, it’ll either do nothing or it’ll do something we don’t want. Something bad.”
“Like a feedback loop?” Charlie suggested.
“Yeah, like a feedback loop. I’m thinkin’ that’ll either destroy or disable every machine in the network.”
Harpal said, “There has to be another way.”
“Why?” Jules asked.
Dan stood and scanned the faces. “What do you mean, ‘why?’ Because there has to be.”
“No there doesn’t.”
Dan scowled and was about to do something macho-looking or aggressive, but Bridget intervened.
